It was fair to say that, as soon as Harry was forced to get in the back of Uncle Vernon's flashy Mercedes, his time at Hogwarts felt like an eternity ago. It was easy to tell Matthew and Hermione that he would be okay but he'd known that it was a lie. He didn't want them to worry about him, when he'd already survived eleven years of Dursley torment beforehand. A couple of months wouldn't kill him. He'd wanted the other two to enjoy their Summers as they deserved. They would be able to go outside and play, as any kid loved. He was likely facing a long time locked away in his 'bedroom' under the stairs. He wondered whether it would have changed since he'd last seen it, a lifetime ago. Perhaps Aunt Petunia would have cleaned it and the cobwebs would be gone. Or maybe Dudley would have discovered the few measly possessions Harry owned and taken them for himself. Harry predicted that it would feel like a completely different space to what it had been when he'd thought himself normal. Now, with magic coursing through his veins, the confines of a cupboard just didn't feel as restrictive.
His uncle didn't say anything during the car drive. There were no typical questions being asked, such as how his year had been or whether he'd made any friends. The only thing he'd uttered was his barking command in the train station that had first alerted Harry to his presence. He didn't mind the silence. It was much better than being shouted at and it allowed him to stare out the car window in peace, watching the buildings and other vehicles whizz by in a blur. Uncle Vernon had even allowed him to keep Hedwig on the backseat, though still tightly locked away in her cage. Harry was thankful for that (he had even said so, earning a noncommittal grunt from the older man) because he had no doubt that the snowy owl would have hated rolling and rattling in the darkness of the boot. He could have let her fly home - she was intelligent enough to know the way - but a selfish part of him wanted to keep her close, as if having her by his side gave him an extra sense of protection against his family. And it stopped him from feeling too lonely, separated from his close friends.
Despite his ill feelings, there was something in the air that suggested that the relationship between him and his uncle had shifted. There was still a lot of animosity there and it was clear that Vernon didn't like him in the slightest, but he wasn't voicing those opinions. He was keeping his apparent hatred locked away under the surface, like he'd been told not to insult his nephew, at least not to his face. Harry would be thrilled if that lasted for the Summer. There was no part of him that believed that there would ever be love shared between him and his extended family but being civil towards one another was something that he could get onboard with. All he had to do was not break the peace. Keep out of their sight and out of their mind, and all would be good. The only issue was that this armistice was a fragile one and even the most innocuous of remarks or actions could break it. He would be walking on eggshells for the duration of the Summer but he was willing to give it a go.
With all of these thoughts running through his head, it was not time at all before they were back at number four, Privet Drive. It was strange to have returned back to where he'd done most of his growing up, although it felt like he'd done more of it at Hogwarts. The house that had, at times, felt like a prison now seemed tiny in comparison to the school, his new home. It felt ordinary and boring and Harry was starting to wonder how it was possible for something so mundane to exist at the same time as all the extraordinary things he'd experienced over the past year. Uncle Vernon parked the car on the drive and got out without saying a word. There was no welcoming party waiting for Harry - it would have been more of a surprise if there had been. What left him stunned was when he saw his uncle opening the boot and taking his trunk into the house. It was so out of the blue and so out of character that it left Harry sitting in the car in silent disbelief. He glanced at Hedwig, who gave him an equally clueless look, and then remembered that taking his time was something that could get Vernon out of this seemingly pleasant mood, so he rushed into the house, making sure to close the door behind him.
Harry spotted his uncle setting his trunk against the wall and wiping his hands as if he had touched something truly horrific. He guessed that, to his magic-hating family, that was probably accurate. So for him to have carried it without being asked, there was evidently something going on. Something that Harry wasn't going to complain about. He'd learnt to never look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when it came to the Dursleys.
"Thank you...sir," he said gratefully to Vernon. "You didn't have to do that but...yeah...thank you."
"Hmm. Well, you're still a scrawny excuse for a boy so I didn't think you'd have the strength to carry it." He shouldn't have prompted his uncle to speak because then the semblance of peace was shattered. But there was still a part of his demeanour that was different. It was as if he was insulting Harry just for the sake of it, for appearances sake.
Harry chose not to respond, instead moving to his trunk to start hawling it to his cupboard. He was under no illusion that it would be a tight fit with both him and the large chest in such a cramped space, but he guessed he would simply have to make do. Maybe keeping his magical supplies so close would mean he had a constant reminder of what was waiting for him. And having it right next to him meant he wouldn't forget to write letters to Matthew and Hermione, as if he needed any reminder.
"What are you doing, boy?" Uncle Vernon snapped at him.
"Um...moving my trunk?" Harry didn't know what he was doing wrong. He had guessed that it would be something innocuous that would restart their animosity.
"Well, move it upstairs. You'll be sleeping in Dudley's spare room for the Summer."
Harry couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Dudley's second room was permanently reserved as a store room for all of his toys, the ones that he didn't play with anymore but wouldn't dare depart with. There had been a couple of occasions were Vernon or Petunia had attempted to throw some away - a board game that was missing crucial pieces, a cuddly toy that had lost its squeak, a wind-up car that no longer had any wheels, that sort of thing - but the little brat had screamed bloody murder until the items had been placed back in their original spots. So something drastic must have changed since he'd last been there for him to be living in it. Eleven years had passed with him being in the cupboard under the stairs. His Hogwarts letter had even included that in his address. And now he was being given his own room. He just wished he could have seen Dudley's face when the news was broken to him.
His Aunt Petunia appeared in the hallway, having evidently been in the kitchen when they'd arrived. She didn't say anything. She just wore a tight smile that was accentuated by her pointed features. The smile didn't seem genuine though. Just like with Vernon, the pleasantries felt forced and fake. It was like they were pretending to be something they weren't and Harry was all too happy to let them carry on playing this game if it meant he wasn't being insulted or harassed every five minutes.
"Your...headmaster...saw fit to visit us a couple of months ago," Vernon grumbled. He'd spat out the title as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Checking up on us, he said. Wanted to see if we were treating you properly. I don't know what lies you've been telling the old coot but he seemed determined on changing the way things are. I don't want no magic person telling me how to run my house!" He paused to control himself, his face now a putrid purple under the pressure bubbling away. "But this was the fastest way to get rid of him. So go up to your room and keep all of your stuff in there. If I see anything... magical ...downstairs or in any room that doesn't belong to you...you'll be out of this house before you know it."
" Vernon ," Petunia hissed. "You remember what that man told us. He has to stay here, no matter how much we might not want that."
His uncle scowled so deeply that Harry was sure that the rolls of fat on his face might fall off. Instead, he bit his lip and sharply nodded his head. "Fine. Fine. I remember it blooming well."
"As long as he stays out of sight throughout the day, apart from doing chores around the house, then I don't think we'll have any trouble here." She was acting like a negotiator between two warring parties. Harry supposed that wasn't far from the truth.
"And as long as he keeps that bird silent," Vernon added grumpily.
"I'll happily do what you need me to with keeping the house clean," Harry said. He knew it was best to be polite and obedient. If they could pretend to tolerate him, then he could at least treat them the same way.
"You don't get a choice on the matter anyway," Vernon told him. "As far as I see it, you should be paying us. Having a roof over your head. Now a bed too! It's a liberty, you scrounging off us for so many years. But you don't have any money so there's no point even asking. So you can earn your stay by helping your aunt maintain such a gorgeous house, which is far from easy." He smiled smugly when Petunia cooed and kissed him on the cheek for the unorthodox compliment.
Harry was too busy silently laughing on the inside at something he'd said. Dumbledore had obviously told them certain things but not everything. If the Dursleys had laid eyes on the inside of his vault at Gringotts, the wizarding bank, then it would have been empty before the goblins could process the transaction. Harry had very little need for so much money. He would have been willing to pay rent if it had come to it, although it was way funnier to hold back his funds as his own way of getting back at them. Harry had considered booking a hotel or staying in one of the rooms in the Leaky Cauldron over the Summer since he would have had plenty of golden galleons left over to leave a handsome tip too. But he hadn't been able to properly consider the idea, Dumbledore making it clear that he had to go back and live with his family. He had protested, understandably. But it had been for nothing. Whatever the old wizard had said to the Dursleys, it was probably the same mystifying remarks he'd left Harry with.
"Yes, sir," Harry smartly replied before restarting his journey upstairs, knowing that that conversation was as good as it was going to get. It was a sort of victory, coming out of it with most of his dignity intact. It took quite a considerable effort to lug his heavy trunk up the steps, the wooden box thumping rhythmically. Harry was surprised that Aunt Petunia hadn't started screeching at him for ruining the carpet. He could picture her wincing with every hollow bang. He wished that he could have used magic to levitate the trunk, thinking back to that charms lesson where they'd learnt wingardium leviosa . Matthew had made lifting suitcases look remarkably easy on the first day he'd met him too, assisting Hermione before they knew how good a friend she would grow to be. But Harry understood that a wizard his age wasn't allowed to perform any spells in the Muggle world. He thought it was a stupid rule, although he could hear Hermione's voice in his head telling him why it was the safest option and how it kept the public from learning that magic existed. His tired arms were making him refuse to listen to her sound logic. Matthew's voice in his head was telling him to just do it and see what happened, ever the adventurous one in the group who often acted as if rules didn't apply to him. Now he came to think about it, Harry was surprised with how two people with such polarising mindsets could work so well together. Opposites attract , he supposed. He could ponder that later. For now, he had to be content with lugging the trunk manually, at least knowing that the Dursleys still didn't know he couldn't use magic. He could have some fun with that.
Dudley's door seemed to be locked shut, something else that Harry wasn't going to complain about. Maybe his cousin was protesting over the fact that Harry had actually been given a proper bedroom at the expense of his storage. If he could put off seeing Dudley for as long as possible, then everything would be alright. Harry hesitated at the door of his new room, the trunk lying by his feet and Hedwig looking up at him expectantly. It felt like a big moment, having his own proper space for the first time. Living in the cupboard, along with all of its obvious drawbacks, didn't provide much privacy, with Dudley always making sure to stomp on the stairs to make a load of noise and Petunia constantly dragging him out to do housework. At Hogwarts, he loved the dorm rooms because it meant he could spend as much time as he wanted with his friends (barring Hermione, who never stepped foot in the boys' quarters) but, again, that didn't give him any time alone. Apart from pulling the curtains together on his four-poster bed, he was always surrounded by people, most of them snoring. The issue was the same in the medical wing, which he'd spent a fair amount of time in already. Now, he was getting something that most kids took for granted.
Opening the door didn't reveal anything he hadn't already seen before. There had been plenty of times over the years when he had looked inside enviously, more at the bed than the piles of all of the toys. Dudley would end up catching him most of the time and would laugh at him endlessly. There was nothing too spectacular about it. Compared to the majority of bedrooms, especially the others in the house, it was rather small. The wallpaper hadn't been replaced in over a decade and the carpet that had been there previously had been replaced by a wooden floor, as if it was inevitable that he was going to make a mess. The bed consisted of a cheap metal frame that probably wouldn't pass health and safety checks nowadays, and it was unmade, with the sheets and duvet waiting for him in a neat pile. He recognised them, the cheap ones that had often been stored in the cupboard with him. There was a tiny desk by the window that Harry wasn't too sure had been there before, with a chair placed next to it. One of its wheels was broken but it still managed to stay upright. There was nothing else. No elements of personality. No added luxuries to provide some much needed comfort.
To Harry, it was one of the best things he had laid eyes on.
He moved into the room, the effort of moving the trunk much easier but also much louder as it dragged against the wood. Harry placed it by the foot of his bed, where it would normally be back at Hogwarts, before heading back and bringing Hedwig into her new home, giving her the best spot by the window so she'd be able to leave and hunt without too much difficulty. He set everything up, relishing in the opportunity. The owl treats were wisely put next to Hedwig's cage, but not too close to make her want to claw her way through the bars. He stacked up all of his books in separate piles, prioritising the ones he would need to complete his summer homework. Quills and parchments were neatly arranged (he knew Hermione would be proud) because he expected himself to occupy most of his spare time with writing. He pondered that thought, how he sounded so different already to the boy that had left with Hagrid on his birthday. His clothes didn't take a lot of time to organise, mainly because he hardly had any. His school robes stayed in the trunk and the few garments he did own fitted easily in the drawers he'd been provided with.
After a while, Harry allowed himself to admire his work. It still wasn't too impressive - he could picture Draco Malfoy guffawing at the sight - but he liked the look of it a great deal. Anyone not paying too close attention would simply see it as a normal, rather bare, room. But there were still the magical objects hidden in plain sight that would act as a reminder of the life he had to go back to. It made the pain a little more bearable, of being separated from that world. He could stay connected to that realm as long as he had those things with him. As long as the Dursleys didn't realise that they were out. He would enjoy it while it lasted, at least. Or maybe the slight change in their personalities would mean they didn't care as much about what he did in the privacy of his own room. He could but dream.
Focusing on the point of staying connected, he sat by his desk and took a few parchments from the pile. There was no point wasting any time in writing to his friends. It was likely the only excitement he would get for a while and it would allow Hedwig the chance to stretch her wings at last. He started off by writing a short note to Dumbledore, thanking him for whatever he had said to his family. It was going to make his life a lot easier and he felt he owed the headmaster a great deal of gratitude. And, if he was able to sneak a few more answers out from his frustratingly tight lips, then that would be an added bonus. His letters to Matthew and Hermione were fairly similar, telling them about what had transpired in the short time since he had left King's Cross. Harry was worried that maybe he was being too clingy, writing to them so soon. He should have been letting them have their own separate lives, whatever they were getting up to. But he felt so isolated already that he couldn't help himself.
He told Hermione about how he was prepared to do all of his work as early as possible, mainly to keep himself entertained (it was a sorry state of affairs that that was the case) and what subjects he was excited to cover for the first time. She would be proud of his studious nature, which was mainly down to her influence. He detailed all of the fun games he intended to play on Dudley whilst he thought he could perform magic to Matthew, something he knew Hermione wouldn't approve of but Matthew would find hilarious. Harry asked him whether he knew how to give a person a pig's tail so that he could at least know the spell to threaten Dudley with. He would be proud of his cunningness, which was mainly down to his influence.
Harry sealed the three letters, tying them tightly into rolls, and opened his bedroom window. Letting Hedwig to hobble out of her cage, he stroked the feathers on her head gently, allowing her to softly and affectionately nip at his fingers with her beak. Telling her to be safe and to come back straight away if she had any difficulties with finding them (she'd shot him an insulted look at that), he watched her soar away into the ever darkening night sky. He sat there for a moment or two longer, just looking out into the outside world, pondering how much had changed since he'd last been in this house. As Hedwig became an undistinguishable dot in the distance, he started to count down the days until their responses came, hoping that they were just as eager to write as he had been.
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A week had passed without any further communication from his friends, nor Professor Dumbledore, which was starting to put Harry in a foul mood. Hedwig had returned fairly promptly with no return letter attached to his leg, much to Harry's disappointment. But he hadn't thought too much about it. They probably wanted to write in their own time, without the pressure of an owl staring at them impatiently with its yellow lantern eyes. They'd be able to employ one of the owls from the wizarding post too, so it wasn't as if they needed Hedwig to do the delivering. And Dumbledore, for one, was a very busy man. There was no telling what he got up to over the Summer, getting the school ready, doing all the other things that a man of his prestige was forced to do. His friends would also have been busy, catching up with their family in Hermione's case. What Matthew was doing was anyone's guess, but it was likely very time consuming. So there was no need to panic straight away. This was normal. He was just overreacting, wanting to keep his tether to the wizarding world firmly attached. Matthew would tell him to calm down if he were there with him, to read a book and occupy his mind another way.
Harry had done enough reading over the week to drive him insane. That was if he hadn't already gone crazy as each day passed with no letters reaching him. A week was plenty of time to send off even a quick note. That was the polite thing to do in Harry's mind. So what was stalling them? Had they realised that they didn't actually like him and were now trying to cut him off, hoping to do so without having to tell him properly because that was the kinder option to take? Of course, Harry had gone through these doubts towards the end of the year, when he had been worried that his strange life (even stranger than just having magic) would drive them away. But they had assured him that that would never happen. Had they been lying? He pictured them having fun together, laughing at the fact that he was missing out. Obviously, Dumbledore not responding was a separate conundrum since they weren't friends but Harry was too hurt to think properly about it all.
He'd thought back to how this magical journey had all started, with the onslaught of letters. He remembered how his Uncle Vernon had done his best to hide them all, to burn them, to rip them up, to throw them away before he realised (or sometimes when he had, which had always put a smile on his face). Harry wondered whether he could have been doing the same without him knowing, a way of getting back at him whilst he had to be nice to his face. During one mealtime, after another day of waiting that had proved fruitless, he had plucked up the courage to ask his uncle whether there had been anything in the post for him recently. Vernon had looked surprised by the question - probably because Harry hardly ever opened his mouth at the table as he'd been taught over the years - but had told him that there'd been nothing with his name on. He was either telling the truth or an incredible actor; something in Harry told him that he was being honest this time, which sent another pang of pain running through his body.
Dudley, of course, had been just as curious as to why he was asking and had gone on and on about Harry waiting for his friends to talk to him. Friends that evidently didn't exist. It was the most he had seen his cousin smile since he'd returned. Harry would be walking up the stairs or leaving the bathroom, and Dudley would be there, cackling and chortling at the fact that Harry was all alone. It had led to a rather tense moment when Harry, finally having enough of the fat boy's incessant behaviour, had started sprouting off nonsensical words that, to a Muggle, might have sounded vaguely like a magical spell. He hadn't actually done anything to him. The worst he had said was limoncino but that hadn't stopped Dudley screaming the house down until Aunt Petunia had rushed up the stairs in panic. Harry had been banished to his room for that, even though he could tell that his aunt knew he'd not done any proper magic, without having tea. It had been worth it to see Dudley's terrified face and it had taken Harry's mind off things for a short while at least.
It was one morning, whilst he was cleaning the dishes (for the second time - they had supposedly not been sufficiently spotless the first time around), that things took an unexpected, brighter turn. The house phone started ringing, a jarring noise that almost made him drop a plate onto the floor. He'd learnt to tune the noise out by now, knowing that the inevitable outcome was his Aunt Petunia having a half hour conversation with one of the other housewives in the neighbourhood, nattering about menial gossip that seemed to excite them a great deal. Being nosy was her one true hobby and who was he to take that away from her? But, when she went to answer the phone and there was a short pause of silence as she listened to the other person talking, there was not the usual chatter. Instead, it was Petunia's shrill voice, sounding quite fearful, shouting for him to get there quickly.
There was a moment where time felt like it stood still. Dudley, eating his breakfast (two bowls of chocolate cereal and a muffin), and Vernon, watching the weather report, both stared at him in bemusement. Equally perturbed by the unexpected summons, Harry got a sense of his bearings and ran into the hallway. Petunia looked at him warily, holding the phone at arms length as if it was going to explode. She didn't say anything as she passed it to him, before she hurried back to the safety of the kitchen. Harry didn't know what to expect. No one had ever called him. It just didn't happen. He had no one in the Muggle world who wanted anything to do with him, thanks to the lies that his family spread. But it must have been something bad with the way Petunia had reacted.
"Hello?" he said into the device, unsure as to what was going to happen.
"Ah! So he can answer the phone!" It was Matthew. Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. His friend sounded like he was shouting over something; it definitely seemed like he was outside. "So you're not dead then?"
Harry frowned at that. He was beyond confused by the entire interaction. He hadn't even known that Matthew knew how to use a telephone, never mind what number to call to find him. "What do you mean by that?"
"We've been trying to contact you for over a week!" the other boy told him, using an extremely annoyed tone. "Hermione sounded like she was pulling her hair out because you weren't responding. Five letters we sent you between us and none in return! Now what's all that about?"
"Matthew...what are you on about? Where are you? How are you calling me?" Harry was sure that there were more questions to answer but his brain was struggling to cope with the amount already.
"It's a public telephone box, I have every right to be using it," the boy responded defensively. "Hermione managed to find your family's telephone number in a big yellow book or something. I've had to talk to seventeen different Dursleys, though, before I managed to get through to your aunt, who sounds just delightful by the way."
"How have you been talking to Hermione?" Harry asked, feeling quite insulted. It appeared that his friends had been keeping in touch without him, as he had feared.
"By owl, obviously! Have you not been listening? Hermione had the good grace to send me a letter and then respond when I did the same. You haven't mastered that knack yet it seems."
Harry wasn't standing for that. "But I didn't get any letters! I sent you both one, as well as Professor Dumbledore, and I haven't heard from any of you since!"
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Really?" He wasn't shouting as much now, but it sounded just as busy in the background. "How peculiar. Perhaps your owl got lost."
"Hedwig wouldn't make that mistake," Harry argued.
"Yes, well, that still wouldn't explain why our letters didn't reach you. That is a mystery. Hermione will be ever so glad that you're still alive. You know how panicky she can get. And phoning is so much easier. I wish the wizarding world would get with technology and the modern times, but I'm sadly an outlier with that opinion."
"Is there...a reason why you're calling? Not to sound rude or anything - I'm happy to hear from you - but my Aunt keeps looking around the corner like something bad is happening so you might have to keep it short."
"Firstly, we wanted to make sure that you were okay. After what happened with Voldemort last month, there was no telling what could have happened. And, secondly, we had to send you the invitation somehow."
Harry's interest was piqued. "What invitation?"
"It was Hermione's idea really since she's the one who'll be hosting. You always spoke about how rubbish your relatives were so she wanted to save you from that, especially since it's your birthday in a couple of days."
"Matthew...you're rambling." It was a trait he'd had since the first moment they'd met.
"Sorry...I don't get to talk to a lot of people when we're not at Hogwarts. You'll have to ask your family but I bet they'd be glad to get rid of you. Hermione wants you to stay at hers for a little while. And I don't think she's going to take no for an answer."