If Harry had been told years ago that all he needed was a cold stare and a self-assured attitude to stop his uncles from insulting him and his cousin from hitting him, he would surely have saved himself many nights crying into his pillow because of helplessness. Because that had been exactly the only thing he had needed, to show them his new face, his new Slytherin face, to make it clear to them that if they thought they would abuse him again, they were very wrong.
It was true that the abuse had reduced to incredible levels, that they no longer spent every second they had insulting his dead parents or leaving him without food for days, but that didn't mean that they had become nice or anything like that, it seemed that they now chose to pretend to be completely invisible and Harry enjoyed it very much.
The first week of vacation they had given him a room, a real one, for him and only for him. It was not the best in the house, in fact it was small, previously it had served as the storage room for all of Dudley's things that he ruined because he had the delicacy of a troll.
It had been enough for Harry to mention how angry his super-powerful wizard friends would be to find him sleeping under the cupboard and to casually add the incident in the lighthouse where Hagrid had given his cousin a pig's tail. They had practically taken his things out and thrown them into that extra room that he had of course had to fix up, throwing things here and there, keeping those that were of any use like the old wardrobe that was nothing compared to the beautiful wardrobe he had in his room at Hogwarts, or the desk that he had had to put a lot of tape on to keep it from falling apart completely.
Once she had managed to get a decent room, the next thing had been to get rid of the responsibility of preparing breakfast and dinner as if she were some kind of house elf.
That had been much easier, she had simply taken it upon herself to walk around the living room with a book of poison potions that Draco had sent her at her request, recite the ingredients out loud—many of which could be found in her aunt's kitchen—and then make it clear that she had memorized them all. Her aunt had been so frightened that she had locked all the kitchen shelves and had strictly forbidden her to go near the food, afraid that she would end up poisoned, or worse, that her little good-for-nothing offspring would pay the consequences.
The Dursleys didn't know - and Harry wouldn't tell them either - that he was forbidden to do magic outside of school, so every time Duddley started to get the courage to bother him, pushing him down the stairs or eating his breakfast, Harry would simply limit himself to whispering made-up words and his cousin would run away in terror. Maybe Vernon would scold him later, but the satisfaction of seeing him fear what he was, his magic, was enough for Harry to agree to spend the rest of the afternoon locked in his room reading his textbooks, doing his homework and Draco's, who calmly wrote to him every three days to remind him how he liked the presentation of his essays.
It seemed that the only one who was not intimidated by Harry was his uncle, who, furious with his new attitude, was more unbearable than ever. Maybe it was because, compared to his wife, the man had not witnessed firsthand any magical or extraordinary acts, since most of his time was spent at work outside the home. Maybe it was that he feared him so much that acting strong was his only way to cope. Whatever the case, Harry felt capable of enduring his uncivilized shouts for as long as necessary, his motivation residing in the ideal that one day, when he was of age, or perhaps before, he would be able to leave there, but not before leaving them a small memory of the years of unbearable treatment.
Harry missed Hogwarts so much that being away from it was like having a permanent stomach ache. He missed the castle, with its secret passages and ghosts; his classes (although perhaps not Snape); the owls that carried the mail; the banquets in the Great Hall; sleeping in his four-poster bed in the dungeon dormitory; visiting Hagrid; he missed Quidditch, but above all he missed his friends; Ron with his witticisms and his jokes told with his mouth full of bread; Hermione with her know-it-all face and her nose in the air, offended by Ron's joke; Draco with his crooked smile and his bright grey eyes, looking at him with complicity for some joke. His whole life was in the magical world; there he was somebody, there he didn't need to pretend that he would poison food to be treated with respect, there he was a hero, a prince.
He woke up on the morning of his birthday because of his uncle's knocking on the door, who was hurrying him to breakfast. Harry, of course, as in previous years, didn't expect anything special for that date that was especially ignored by his family. There were no special dinners for him, or twenty million gifts waiting in the living room from the first hour of the day, he didn't have special treatment or a fun trip to the beach. Harry suspected that that day the only thing he would get would be a broom, and not the racing one that his uncle had locked away along with his wand, but the one that was used to sweep the floor, because cleaning was one of the things he hadn't been able to get rid of. He could already imagine the horror of the Slytherins if they saw the great Harry Potter cleaning up the dirt that his fat cousin had intentionally brought in!
Half of breakfast passed in a quiet semi-silence, only interrupted by his cousin's inelegant way of chewing his bacon. Harry picked at his food, trying to come up with a convenient excuse for the fact that none of his friends had sent him a birthday greeting, or that it would be a long time before they arrived, it was still early and being the holidays it was likely that all his friends were still asleep. He was in that thought when Vernon, with a moustache full of bread, said:
"Well, as we all know, today is a very important day." Harry looked up in disbelief. "Today may be the day I close the most important deal of my entire professional life." The boy went back to his breakfast, seeing this coming. Vernon was referring to a stupid dinner party. He had talked about nothing else for the past fortnight. A rich investor, his wife and son were coming to dinner, and Uncle Vernon was hoping to land a huge contract. "I think we should go over it all again. We'll have to be at our posts by eight o'clock sharp. Petunia, will you be…?"
"In the living room," Aunt Petunia replied quickly, "waiting to welcome you to our home."
—Well, well. And Dudley?
—I'll be waiting to open the door. —Dudley smiled stupidly. —May I have your coats?
"They're going to think it's adorable!" exclaimed Aunt Petunia, enraptured.
"Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he turned to Harry. "And you?"
"I'll stay in my bedroom, quiet, pretending I don't exist," Harry said wearily.
"Exactly," said Uncle Vernon cruelly. "I will show them into the drawing room, introduce them to you, Petunia, and give them something to drink. At eight fifteen—"
"I'll announce that dinner is ready," said Aunt Petunia. "And you, Dudley, say..."
"May I accompany you to the dining room, ma'am?" said Dudley, offering his thick arm to an invisible woman.
"My ideal little gentleman!" sighed Aunt Petunia.
"And you?" Uncle Vernon asked Harry brutally.
"I'll stay in my bedroom, quiet, pretending I don't exist," Harry recited.
—Exactly. Well, we should have some compliments ready for dinner. Petunia, do you have any suggestions?
—Vernon has assured me that you are an excellent golfer... Tell me where you bought that dress...
"And you, boy?" he turned to Harry again.
"I'll stay in my bedroom, without making noise, pretending I don't exist," he repeated.
"I hope so," said the uncle harshly. "They don't know about you and they'll continue to know nothing about you. Well… I'm going into town to pick up dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you," he growled at Harry, "stay out of your aunt's sight while she's cleaning up."
Harry walked out the back door. It was a bright, sunny day. He crossed the lawn, dropped onto the garden bench and hummed under his breath, "Happy birthday… happy birthday… best birthday ever…"
He had received no cards, no presents, and he would have to spend the night pretending he didn't exist. He stared dejectedly at the hedge. He had never felt so alone. More than anything else at Hogwarts, even before playing Quidditch, what he really missed was his best friends, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. But they didn't seem to remember him. None of them—except Malfoy—had written to him all summer, even though Ron had said he would invite him to stay at his house for a few days.
Where were those sycophants who did nothing but clean his shoes when he needed them? He had become so accustomed to being the center of attention that going back to being a nobody was extremely tiresome.
"I know what day it is," Dudley crooned, waddling toward him.
"Congratulations," Harry replied. "You've finally learned the days of the week!"
"It's your birthday today," he said sarcastically. "How come you haven't received any greeting cards? Haven't you made any friends even in that monstrous place?"
"Make sure your mum doesn't hear you talking about my school," Harry replied coldly.
"Why are you looking at the hedge?" he asked suspiciously.
"I'm thinking of the best spell to set it on fire," said Harry. At this, Dudley stumbled back, panic flashing across his chubby face.
"Mommy ...
He laughed like never before in his life, at least until his aunt punished him by spending the afternoon fertilizing the flowers in the garden while his cousin was overflowing with pleasure watching him get hot and sweaty while he enjoyed a whole tub of ice cream. Harry hadn't wanted to use magic, but she had ended up melting him from sheer anger.
They should see the famous Harry Potter now, he thought ruthlessly, mulching the flowerbeds, his back aching and sweat dripping down his face. It was seven o'clock in the evening when he finally heard Aunt Petunia calling him, exhausted. He entered the cool kitchen and quickly ate two pieces of bread and a little piece of cheese his aunt had left for him, which was rubbish compared to the pork roasting in the oven or the pudding on the fridge. Petunia practically snatched the plate from him when she was done and shouted at him as she smoothed down her salmon-coloured cocktail dress.
When he was in his room, tired as he felt, he only managed to lie down on the bed, smiled remembering his cousin's face of panic when he thought he would do magic and let out a malicious laugh thinking that he had to do it one more time, at least by bothering his cousin he forgot that small detail of having been forgotten by the world that claimed to adore him.
He slipped out of the room and took a refreshing shower. When he returned, ready to sleep for the night, he was surprised to find a house elf beside his bed. He had never seen one before, but he had read about them. The elf had left a box on the mattress.
"Hello?" the black-haired man asked, and the nervous elf looked at him with his huge green eyes. He was only wearing a dirty pillowcase and was barefoot.
"Harry Potter, sir!" the creature cried in its shrill voice. "Dobby has wanted to meet you for a long time, sir. It is a great honour." Harry smiled. Finally, someone remembered him!
"What's your name?" he asked, closing the door behind him, still wrapped in a towel. The sound of the doorbell rang outside. "You're a house elf, right?"
—Yes, sir, yes, my name is Dobby.
"Well, I don't want to be rude, but I don't exactly want to welcome a house-elf into my bedroom right now. I'm delighted to meet you," he added quickly. "But anyway, is there any particular reason you've come?"
"Yes, sir," Dobby replied frankly. "Dobby has come to tell you, sir, two things, sir, the first of which is that young Malfoy and Mistress Narcissa have sent this for you." He gestured at the gift box on the bed. "They say, sir, that you must put it on immediately… the second thing… Dobby is wondering where to begin…"
"Sit down," said Harry politely, pointing at the bed. He had already discovered the advantages of having magical creatures, such as centaurs, on his side.
"S-sit down!" he moaned. "I've never, ever in my life…" Harry thought he heard someone talking in a halting voice downstairs.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I didn't mean to offend you."
"Offending Dobby!" the elf said in a disgusted voice. "Dobby had never been asked by any wizard to sit down… as if he were an equal."
—The Malfoys don't do it?
"Of course not! Master would never…" Then he stopped abruptly. Harry looked at him intently. "Harry Potter must not accept anything from Master," he blurted out suddenly, then disappeared with a snap.
Harry stood, staring at the empty space the elf had left, he had come to warn him about his master, about Lucius Malfoy, his best friend's father.
He looked at the box, Dobby had said that it had come from Draco and his mother. Would it be safe to open it? Was it a prank on Draco's part? After all, elves were obliged to comply with every order given to them, even lying.
He sighed and sat up in bed, staring at the perfectly wrapped present. The only one he had received all day. He placed his palm over the box and closed his eyes, trying to feel for something that would warn him of danger, just as the books Dumbledore had given him had taught him. Finding nothing, he decided to open it. Inside was a black silk outfit, a robe, trousers, a shirt, a vest, and even a pair of shoes. Above all that was a note in which he recognized Draco's handwriting.
"Put this on and come down, I have the best gift in the world."
Harry eyed the outfit suspiciously. Go down? Go downstairs when his uncle had flatly said he was to stay upstairs and keep quiet? He shrugged and began to dress. This could be fun.
As he got ready, he began to imagine a lot of things that could happen; he imagined Draco appearing through the fireplace in the living room to take him to Malfoy Manor - at last - but not before having caused his family to have a heart attack. He imagined him arriving with his parents through apparition or making a grand entrance, landing a carriage with black pegasi in the garden. It all seemed hilarious to him and the faces of his uncles and cousin would surely be priceless.
He looked at himself in the cracked mirror behind the door and walked out of his room. Shiny shoes made minimal noise on the wood so Harry didn't bother to be stealthy. His robes dragged lightly on the floor, they were extremely soft and light. He took the steps down one by one, wondering if he should wait for anything in particular, Draco didn't mention anything about a sign. He stood on the bottom step, thinking and that was when he heard it, his friend's voice coming from the living room, chatting quietly.
He walked as if in a trance until he found himself at the entrance to the drawing room where the strangest image in the universe was painted in front of him; the Dursleys and the Malfoys, having tea. The people who hated muggles the most and the number one enemies of wizards. Harry blinked a couple of times, even the Malfoys dressed like muggles but... Where was Lucius? The first to notice his presence was his uncle who furiously approached him, the second was Draco who winked at him in a conspiratorial manner. Vernon had been about to shout something at him when Narcissa Malfoy stepped forward.
"Harry Potter," the woman said in an angelic voice. Uncle Vernon froze in place. Narcissa Malfoy, with her incredible platinum blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes, approached him, gently pushing her uncle aside. She smiled at him and said, "I'm glad you could come down. I was starting to get bored with muggles."
"Are you my uncle's investor?" he asked, stunned.
"That's still to be decided," she replied, taking him by the shoulders and guiding him to one of the armchairs. Aunt Petunia and Dudley stared at them with their mouths open.
"I wonder… what does this mean?" Vernon asked, coming out of his stupor, practically stammering. Then he turned bright red in anger and turned to Harry and exclaimed, "You! You did something to them! I knew I couldn't trust you to leave things alone! You had to come and ruin everything! Is it because we ignored your stupid birthday!?"
"Vernon..." his wife tried to reassure him. Narcissa, impassive, looked at him with her icy eyes.
—That's enough! Whatever you're doing, finish it already!
—Ugh, Harry, you weren't exaggerating, they really are horrible —Draco said suddenly, earning everyone's looks—. My dear sir, I'm afraid we can't make a deal under these conditions, much less when you dared to speak like that to my best friend—he stood up, finishing his last sip of tea. —Mother, can we go now?
"You," his uncle pointed at him, his mouth open, "and they..." He pointed at the Malfoys.
—If you had asked, I might have told you about them. They are not wizards, but they are also one of the richest families in England, he replied, dismissing it. The Dursleys kept their jaws on the floor, as if they couldn't believe that such distinguished and elegant people were within their social circle.
"Thank you for dinner," Narcissa said finally. "I'm afraid the business cannot be carried out, but we would like to take Harry home for a few days. Draco was very anxious to see him." She looked at them politely. "I believe they won't refuse," the Dursleys shook their heads in astonishment. "How kind. Come on, Harry, Dobby will take care of your business."
"You're going to love the Manor," Draco said, loud enough for Dudley to shriek something like "They're taking him to a Manor?!" "We'll be able to play Quidditch without any problems, we've got huge gardens. "
"Over fifty acres," Narcissa said. "The suit is perfect, I hope you like it. I picked it out for you. Draco says you prefer simple things."
"It's perfect, Mrs. Malfoy." He turned one last time to see the painting of his family standing there, staring at him as if the world had gone mad. "Thank you."
—Please call me Narcissa.
Upon reaching the door they apparated straight to Malfoy Manor.