Harry potter and the Time of Retirement
Everything related to Harry Potter belongs to JKR
Chapter 25 – Year 2
"Bonjour, monsieur Potter. To the beach early again?" asked a friendly man at the gate.
"Good morning, Mr. Vallès. And yes" said peacefully Harry, greeting the man but without stopping to talk. The guard, nodding respectfully, just aimed his stare elsewhere.
It had been pure nostalgia that brought Harry here, in this small muggle camping ground in France. That, and the combined mix of boredom and irritation that started to plague him after the first month spent back at Privet Drive with his relatives. There was only so much his patience could take, after all.
Walking down the wooden stairs that showed the path to the nearby beach, with thankfully no one in close proximity, Harry stopped once again at the same spot where decades earlier – arguably, later, in a future that was now only a memory for him – his family and that of Ron and Hermione had spent their last time together immersed in a fully muggle environment.
Smiling, while placing his towel on the sand, he recalled how Ron had complained about his wife's decision to bring them all to a place where they could not use their wands 'even for the simplest thing' – and yet how he just did not have the courage to tell Hermione no, her more and more fading links to her own parents and the muggle world in general being the obvious reason of this last, desperate attempt to reconnect.
'It wasn't so bad, actually' thought Harry, reminiscing of that particular summer. Them, the adults, found very little in common with either the locals or the other tourists and remained mostly by themselves, touring the local natural beauties. The kids, though, had apparently the time of their life coming back to their family's tents each day with something new to talk about: new games played with other kids, music, sweets, and those small animated gizmos that Harry could not see around yet, but knew one day would overtake the muggle culture.
It took quite a while, and what he assumed was – from hints inserted into the letters they received from Hogwarts – the teasing of their peers, to make them lose interest in enjoying all those different activities even back in their own, magical world.
"Those were the days" murmured Harry sarcastically, mentally sneering at his stereotypical interpretation of an old man. That he actually thought that, was not something he wanted to contemplate too much – the uncertain fate of his family an irregular source of fear for him.
Laying down, he started his new routine which consisted of lazily enjoying the sun until too many people – for his tastes - arrived, then taking a bath and finally going back to his tent to prepare some random tour in the countryside nearby the camp; all this until dinner time. He had nothing against all the muggles living in the area, but he had also no desire whatsoever to communicate with them. A couple of them actually tried to approach him – probably due to his exterior look that, thanks to a couple of disguising spells, was similar to that of a random guy in his fifties.
'They were nice people, I guess' he recalled, eyes close, thinking of their friendly attempts to strike a conversation. Harry had remained polite, of course, and tried to keep the conversation going but it was always soon apparent he was not into it and everyone eventually said their goodbyes and left. Which suited him just fine.
Falling asleep, Harry was later woken up by a weird flapping sound and a set of murmurs from other beachgoers. Assuming it was just the normal background noise made by the coming tourists at mid-morning he opened his eyes to check and, probably, leave for his tent – only to find in front of him an owl. A very familiar looking owl.
Checking around himself, Harry saw how he was now the very center of attention in the small beach – luckily only of a small number of people. The sun, nowhere close to the center of the sky, proved how it was still early.
Keeping his control, Harry called the owl closer to himself. "Here, Errol."
Unfortunately, it was of no use; the old Grey Owl being obviously tired beyond measure. Not hard to understand why: even though the only cargo Harry could see was a letter tied to his neck, the sheer distance between the Burrow and France would be enough to test even a much younger owl.
Wearing his shirt, and picking up his own stuff, Harry finally cradled the weezing old pet in his arms and started walking back towards his tent.
"Back already, Monsieur Potter? That is – what is that?" asked the guard.
"An owl, Mr. Vallès. It crashed near me at the beach."
"Unusual. Should I call a…. how do you Englishmen says…. a pet doctor?"
"It's probably unnecessary" answered Harry. "It seems only tired and hungry. I'll give him some food, and by tonight it should leave."
"If you are sure, monsieur" said the guard, unconvinced.
Harry didn't press the conversation and moved forward, towards a big muggle-made tent near one corner of the camp. Once inside, he placed Errol on the ground and gathered some slices of salami and a cup of water.
"Eat, Errol" said Harry, feeding the first pieces to the bird and leaving the rest of the meat and the filled cup next to him. While Errol was busy feeding himself, Harry took the letter, and started reading it.
"Harry, hi! It's Ron, from Gryffindor.
Are you enjoying your summer so far? I really wonder how it is to live together with muggles. My dad sometime goes on and on about them, on their weird little ways to do stuff.
Anyway, do you remember our meeting back at Malfoy's house? I finally convinced my parents to let me have a party with all of our year mates. Snakes excluded, of course. And you are invited! Everyone in my family wants to meet you; well, except the twins. And Percy, my older brother, you know about him? Anyway, you must come, just owl me. My dad says that you probably don't have access to the Floo, so he offered to come and pick you up. The party itself will be in the evening of this Sunday, we could come to your house after lunch. Bye!
Ron Weasley"
Perplexed, Harry placed back the letter on the floor. Close to him, Errol had fallen asleep – unsurprising, for a nocturnal animal that had just ate after an exhausting trip.
Standing up and walking out of the tent, letter in hand, Harry tried to sort his thoughts. After one month at home with his relatives, and a week in borderline isolation here in France, he would not mind meeting some familiar faces. Sure, the Weasley family posed its own set of problems to him, but it was time to make peace with the idea of having them around. Ginny herself was due to start school the coming September.
"Mmmhhh" murmured lowly Harry, walking outside of the line of tents into the short trees and brushes that surrounded the camp. It was nice here, but not so nice that he needed to remain any longer. He had his dose of nostalgia, and enough time by himself to feel lonely again.
'Maybe it is time to go back' thought Harry, shrugging. 'Sunday evening… 4 more days. No need to rush.'
Going back to his tent, he wore some casual, summer clothes and - after making sure to leave a small opening in the zip entrance, enough for Errol to leave if he so wanted – he walked all the way to the camp's office. Setting up his departure for the coming day was a quick affair, as was paying the bill – his shortened stay even left him some extra pounds, that he would have again to change at the ministry.
'I don't have enough for the new supplies' considered Harry. Plus, this year he was supposed to buy that ridiculous full set of Lockhart's merchandise. How did he pay for them last time? He could not recall how he had his vault's key in his hands, only that he had. Probably because he was with the Weasleys, at the time.
'It could be worth it' added mentally Harry, recollecting how he got the set of books for free, the first time around. He had no desire to approach that clown, but money was money and not having to pay for useless trash was even better.
'I could also sell them to someone else, and take to class random books with disguised covers' sniggered internally Harry. He had no plans to read Lockhart's lies anyway.
Sitting down at the local open bar, and laying down on the table a paper and a pen he borrowed from the office, he started to write his answer for Ron.
"Hi Ron. It's Harry, from Hufflepuff.
My summer is going well, thank you; I hope yours is the same.
I will be happy to come at your party, and meet everyone else. As for your father's offer, thank him for me but I must decline. I'll come to your house by myself, after lunch.
Say hi to the rest of your family, and see you all this Sunday.
Harry J. Potter"
'This will be enough' thought Harry, folding the paper in two. Hedwig would arrive by sunset, as usual, so he would be able to send his answer back soon enough. For a second, Harry wondered if it was the case to also send a letter to Dumbledore asking for more money, or the key for his vault, but decided against it in the end. There was no hurry, yet, and waiting right until it was almost time to go to school would give the impression that the extra galleons were needed for school supplies only.
'I could also add how ridiculous is for our new Defence teacher to charge us with his own books' thought Harry, standing up and wondering what to do.
Since it was, after all, his last day there Harry decided to tour the nearby town, and maybe buy some of the local sweets. They were certainly something, especially the chocolate ones.
It was late evening already when Harry found himself in front of his relatives' door in Privet Drive; a quick – but certainly exhausting - apparition from the French coast to Diagon Alley first, and a trip through the public transport services of London (cheaper, and taxing only for his unwanted muggle pounds) made for a fast return. Unsure for a second, in the end he rang the doorbell and soon his aunt appeared in front of him, clad in a surprisingly dirty apron.
"Oh. You are back" she said, moving aside.
"I am. Hello, aunt Petunia" said Harry, stepping inside the house with his pair of bags in his hands.
"At least you called us in advance, this time" she said drily, closing the door and walking back to the kitchen – from where the smell of something baking was coming from.
"Uncle Vernon and Dudley?" Harry asked while remaining on the kitchen's entrance.
"Your uncle is at work. Dudley is out playing" she said distractedly, too busy with her own stuff. Not that Harry expected any less.
"Good for them" he commented, and started climbing the stairs; unfortunately, his aunt's voice followed him. "I need help here. Lay down your bags in your room, and come back."
Sighing, and shaking his head, Harry did as told. 'Not that I expected any better, but….' was his mental commentary. His desire, back on the camping grounds, to have company again did not include this kind of attitude. Nevertheless, he went straight to the kitchen without losing too much time.
"Mix the cream in that bowl. Not too quick, in a steady pace" ordered him his aunt, again without looking at him.
"Yes, aunt Petunia" he answered evenly.
For a couple of minutes nothing happened. Finally, bored and irritated, Harry decided to talk.
"So, no questions? I have been away for almost two weeks after all" he spoke.
"I am not interested in whatever…. weirdness you were doing out of here. You were away, and that was good enough" she said almost with contempt. Harry was not done trying, though.
"I was in a beach-front camp in France, actually. A completely normal one" he said.
"Ah. And how did you, a kid, manage to get in? Normally?" she countered.
"Again, yes. I paid my fare, slept in a tent, tanned on the beach. All you are supposed to do" he said.
"Mmmhh. I doubt that. Your… kind like to show off during summer, about your freakishness" she said, in a slightly different tone that Harry noted. 'Maybe I should stop this here… maybe not' he thought, hardening his stance at the almost invisible sneer of disgust plastered on his aunt's lips.
"I assume you are talking about my mom" he started, even though he was aware on how that topic was not welcome, especially with his aunt which unsurprisingly tensed immediately. "Have you thought that, maybe, she was just excited to share something with her family?"
"She wanted to show off! She thought she was special, but she wasn't, you hear me?" aunt Petunia almost growled, laying down a pan on the table and turning to glare at him. Harry was not in the mood to be diplomatic, though, so he refocused his stare on the bowl he was mixing, but kept talking with an almost taunting tone.
"Everyone told me she loved her family. Obviously, as it is not normal to hate your relatives… or pick on their orphaned child" he concluded, dry smugness dripping from his voice. After some seconds of complete silence, though, he turned – bowl still in hand – to see his aunt looking at him with genuine anger. She pointed her finger toward the door.
"Get out of my kitchen. Now" she ordered him. Harry let the bowl go.
"With pleasure, auntie" he said, shaking his head. Going back to his room, he picked up a book and tried to read, but to no use – his thoughts were elsewhere.
Replaying the conversation in his mind, Harry felt unsure: did he do the right thing? There was a fine line between antagonizing his aunt, and trying to force some sense into her thick head. Had he been too aggressive?
'I can't be the only one who behave like an adult, though' he concluded in the end, exasperated. Calm and patience were virtues, sure, but not if taken to an extreme. Standing up, Harry pocketed some of his now few remaining pounds and walked out – of the room first and of the house later. Sighing, as if under an unwanted duty, he aimed a short "I'm going out" towards the kitchen not expecting a reply that, indeed, did not come.
Walking out in the sun, Harry slowly felt his anger dissipate, but not a pale feeling of sadness. His youth – 'My horrible youth', he thought sarcastically – was something he dealt with already, true; his aunt and uncle's hostility towards him was a disgrace, but not something he was responsible of.
Reaching a nearby park, filled with moms and toddlers playing around, he bought an ice-cream and sat down, trying to enjoy the peace and the nice weather. All he could think was that he missed his family, and what that park really missed were his own grandchildren playing somewhere.
Eventually going back to Privet Drive, Harry hoped to avoid more drama. He did not discount his aunt accusing him of being rude or whatelse to his uncle, who would be more than happy to start an argument. Luckily, it was soon enough in the evening and his car was not outside the house yet. Stepping inside, he noticed instead a relatively loud noise created from several voices – mostly of kids.
In the living room, playing with some weird muggle gadget linked to the television, were Dudley and some of his old pre-middle school friends. For the life of him, Harry just could not remember their names – only, vaguely, their faces. What was interesting, though, was the presence of another two women, busy talking with his aunt.
"I am home" he said, stepping inside the room and aiming straight for the table were the adults were sitting. Of the kids, none seemed to notice – or, more likely, be interested – in his arrival. For the ladies, it was quite different.
"Ooohh, you must be Harry! I have heard about you" said one, a older blonde with a yellow-patterned dress and a wide smile on his face.
"Me too, deary. I hope you are behaving, young man" said the other, a plump woman in her fifties, switching from smiling to a stern expression.
"Good evening. I saw my aunt cooking before, but I did not expect we would have guests today" said Harry, pleasantly, standing nearby the table. His aunt, meanwhile, remained silent and nervous-looking on her chair.
"Oh, no need to be so formal. This is just a friendly meeting between neighbours" said the blonde one, looking at aunt Petunia.
"You should have helped your aunt cooking, boy. She is not here to slave away for you, you know?" complained the other one, wiggling her finger towards Harry.
"Actually, I was helping mix the cream before, but aunt Petunia told me to go and let her work. I hope I was not a distraction, auntie" said Harry, sweetly. After a couple of seconds of silence, the two ladies turned, with an inquisitive expression on their faces, towards Petunia that placed under pressure addressed Harry.
"Of course not, Harry. I just needed my space."
"So, Harry!" started cheerily the blonde. "How is school going? Your aunt told us it is out of London."
"I hope you finally got some discipline, there. Causing your poor aunt and uncle so many problems…" said the other.
"Mmh? My teachers are quite satisfied with me. They said all I needed was some discipline" answered evenly Harry, looking at his aunt.
"I knew it, that's the right way to go. Dudley, too, is really lively dear Petunia…" added the plump woman while drinking her tea – and hiding her smile with the cup.
"There is nothing wrong with Dudley, I assure you. He just takes after his father" said aunt Petunia, with definite strength in her voice.
"She did not mean that, Petunia, we all like Dudley" said the blonde.
"Yeah, he is mostly a good cousin, I guess" added Harry, fidgeting. He had hoped to get some fun out of his aunt, but he was quickly losing interest.
"Dearie, you grow up together, you should consider him your brother now!" said the blond,with conviction. Harry, torn between her pleasant naivety and his own mental roll of the eyes, suddenly felt interested again.
"Maybe! Should I also call you mom, aunt Petunia?" he said, smiling widely at his now much paler aunt, while the two other ladies seemed thrilled at the idea – though, probably, for different reasons. Aunt Petunia, after some seconds, smiled herself and addressed him peacefully – her hands seemed quite under tension, though, and talon-loke.
"Maybe. Why don't you go play with Dudley now, Harry? Our conversation would probably bore you."
"Sure, sure. Again, I wish you all a nice evening" said Harry, nodding and smiling, before leaving. Behind him, he could hear the voice of the plump lady 'whispering' to the others:
"Well, he was much more polite than I expected, Petunia! Why don't…"
Harry sat down on the couch, next to a tallish-for-his-age boy; he, with a grin on his face immediately pinched Harry who countered with a mean elbow jab on his ribs and a cold stare down. The boy seemed willing to react but, after a quick glimpse to the women in the room, just glared at Harry and refocused at the game on the television.
For his part, Harry just took a glass of some muggle sweet drinks laying on the short table in front of the kids, and tried to relax. This 'coming back home to companionship' for now was not working well, especially compared to spending some extra days on the beach, and he hoped that Ron's party would prove worthy of the sacrifice.
After a well-deserved pause, I am back. I am in the process of re-reading book 2 of HP, in search of inspiration. I also noticed, as some reviews pointed out, that the Grangers did got their money exchanged at Gringott – or at least, it is strongly implied. As it is not stated otherwise, I will (eventually) retcon one of my previous chapter, so that only muggleborn families approved by the ministry can. It seems a good compromise to me.