Chapter Text
“It’s just for a few weeks.”
“But… but, I can’t—”
“Of course, you can! He’s a menace, sure, but he’s your kind of menace.”
“What does that mean?”
“I know what you’ve been doing.”
“I don’t un—”
“A little birdy mentioned that you have a bun in your oven.”
“...”
“Excuse my crass language, dear… even though you may be used to it in whatever hovel you live in.”
“Are you seriously asking me for a favour while insulting me?”
“Apparently, a mere description of the situation is an unforgivable insult to you.”
“Goodbye!”
“I’ll pay you a hundred pounds!”
“Is this a babysitting charge?”
“You’re desperate for it, sweetie. And we’re handling the airline fees, so don’t bawl your eyes out.”
“No.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You need the money.”
“I’ve managed for years without a single phone call from you. I don’t need your pity cash.”
“Urgh, why must you be so sensitive? Is it the hormones?”
“Don’t ever call me, again.”
“Two hundred pounds!”
“...”
“Are you there?”
“What’s the catch? Aside from all the digs?”
“Just say you’ll take him for three weeks. You can lock him out, put him in a tent on the terrace, or have him living out of your tub. Let your imagination run wild, dear.”
“You grew soft over the years.”
“Two hundred, love. And since that’s twice my initial offer, you can take him for a month.”
“The hell… clothes and allowance?”
“He has clothes. I’m not paying another penny.”
“(Sigh) Lemme talk to him.”
“He’s busy. Besides, he’s fine with it.”
“I’ve never spoken to him before. He’s never heard my voice. It’ll be a little difficult to clock him at the airport.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, just give me your address! I’ll give it to him, he can find his own way.”
“How old is he?”
“A bona fide teenager, sweetie. And he’s not worth even your effort. Is it a yes?”
“Two hundred?”
“A month.”
“Deal.”
The telly was running news on a runaway convict. Harry’s uncle was whiling away tea time pointing out the various physical attributes of the prisoner.
“When will they learn,” he roared, pounding the table with his large purple fist, “that hanging’s the only way to deal with these people?”
“Very true,” said Aunt Petunia, who arrived from the backyard after her strangely animated call.
Uncle Vernon drained his teacup. “They better catch this fellow before he gets anywhere near the M25.”
“Marge’s coming by train,” Aunt Petunia reminded him. “Not by road. Or foot.”
Harry was brought back to earth with an unpleasant bump.
“Aunt Marge?” he blurted out. “Sh—she’s not coming here, is she?”
“Marge’ll be here in a few days,” Uncle Vernon snarled, “and while we’re on the subject”—he pointed a threatening finger at Harry—“you’re leaving for a while.”
Harry stared. “I’m what now?”
“My niece is taking you in for a month,” Aunt Petunia said with a nasty look. “You need to help her around the house. She has a… a condition.”
Uncle Vernon muttered something about tramps-a-lots and Harry was still gawking. Since when did Petunia have a niece? Harry was her nephew. Was this girl some secret sister he didn’t know he had?
“You’re packing your bags tomorrow and taking a late flight out. Remember to keep your passport and Visa.”
Harry did a double-take. “My Visa?”
Dudley grew utterly incensed. “Why aren’t we going out of the country?”
“Diddykins,” Aunt Petunia soothed. “We’ll have fun in London with Aunt Marge! I know there are some beautiful dinners we can get from the best restaurants.”
Dudley grunted, partially placated. He was still disgruntled though.
Harry raised his voice, “Where am I going?”
“She doesn’t know a thing about your… freakiness,” Aunt Petunia grumbled, waving a hand over all of him. “So you better keep your mouth shut. If she kicks you out, it’s on you. We’re not changing the date on your return ticket.”
“But where—”
Uncle Vernon’s glare promised a walloping. “Don’t ask questions!”
Harry sent a few letters out with Hedwig, after having hurriedly scribbled down that he might be flying out of the country in less than 24 hours.
It had to be a joke.
That notion went out the window when Aunt Petunia handed him his tickets, passport, and Visa the next day.
“America?” he blurted.
“Keep your voice down!” she snapped. “Put that in your bag and don’t take it out till we reach the airport!”
The flight was past midnight. Even though Harry knew there was a time zone difference, the flight timings threw him for a bit. He packed as much as he could but he knew that his Hogwarts trunk would baffle security.
Uncle Vernon stopped at the drop site and barked at him to run. Harry yanked his bag and trunk from the car hurriedly, nearly dropping them on his foot.
The car zipped away without a second’s pause and Harry gulped before marching into the tall, imposing buildings of Gatwick airport.
Luckily, the check-in officer mentioned that the stewards on the plane would keep an eye out for him till they landed. Harry said goodbye to his trunk as it shuffled away on a long conveyor belt.
He nearly slept in front of his boarding gate and had to be roused by one of the staff before he actually missed his plane.
The flight itself was rather pleasant. Harry missed the feeling of air whooshing past his ears, the real adrenaline of flying was lost in the small aeroplane. He had the middle seat, but it wasn’t so bad. He enjoyed the take-off.
Harry slept soundly. The two women on either side of him snored loudly though that wasn’t a bother, especially after living with four other boys in a dorm room for two years.
They landed in broad daylight, the tires screeching on the runway. Harry followed the other passengers and picked up his trunk.
Now was the tricky part. He had to find an exchange office and get his pounds converted to dollars. He hoped he had enough for a cab.
Harry was wandering by a row of offices when he found a large sign held up by a very pregnant woman.
She stood just beside the groups of people outside the Arrivals exit. The sign she held was bright pink. HARRY POTTER was splattered on it like someone had hastily scrawled the name.
He stared wide-eyed before tugging his trunk behind him. He approached her and she immediately found him.
“Um… I’m Harry Potter,” he said doing his best to not gape at her stomach. “Are you Aunt Petunia’s niece?”
“Yes!” the woman crowed. She urged him to duck under the yellow band.
“I’m Sally,” she said breathlessly. “Sally Jackson. My mother was Petunia’s cousin, I think.
She had brown wavy hair, pulled up in a messy bun. She was sweating through her clothes and some people were giving her a wide berth. Harry thought she smelled of sugar and pastries.
“Uhuh,” he mumbled. “Um… I’m Harry. I guess Aunt Petunia told you that.”
Her smile was infectious. She was watching him like he’d told her a brilliant joke.
“I was at your parents’ wedding,” Sally told him and Harry had a jolt. “Your dad’s name was James, right? It’s been a while, but I remember a few things. My mom had told me that Lily had a kid. But I’ve been in America most of my life, I never thought of reaching out. I know that’s so rude, but I should have called. I didn’t even realise Lily and James had… that they were gone till Petunia mentioned it.”
Harry nodded. “It’s okay.”
She watched him closely. Then she jumped.
“Oh, yes! This is my baby! Such a kicker!” she announced, clapping both her palms on her bulging stomach. “Baby, this is your uncle, Harry!”
Harry would have gone speechless, but instead his eyes drifted shut. They stayed closed until Sally said in a softer voice, “Let’s get you home, huh? Shall I take your trunk, dear?”
His eyes snapped open, “It’s okay! I got it!”
“Alright, Harry. I made some mashed potatoes and chicken for you. Or are you veggie? I think I can whip up a salad for now and run to the store later. Baby loves his chicken and cheeseburgers and I could live off of them but the doc says I need nutrients so I’ve been stocking up on fruit and greens too. You have quite the buffet waiting for you!”
She hailed a cab with a terrific whistle promising to teach him how to whistle like that, and they reached their destination in under an hour.
Her place was small. It was a one-bedroom flat with sparse furniture. The open kitchen smelled wonderful though. Harry noticed that the couch seemed newer than the rest of the things around it.
“It’s a pullout,” Sally explained. “The shop-owner said it’s really comfy. But if your back aches, I can put my yoga mat on it. Sorry about this, I would have taken it if it weren’t for my big stomach. And my big feet.”
“The couch looks great,” Harry promised.
Aunt Petunia would have been horrified by the state of the flat. The paint was peeling from most of the walls. The doors had hairline fractures and he heard muffled voices from other floors. The furniture was mismatched like Sally had purchased everything from a flea market third-hand.
But the photos on the wall, the worn books on the shelf, and the aroma of roast chicken from the kitchen warmed up the entire flat and nearly drowned out the noises from busy New York streets. Sally had made it homey like the Burrow, a goal the Dursleys hadn’t accomplished despite living at Privet Drive for more than a decade.
“Bathroom’s over there,” Sally said, creasing the front of her loose blouse. “I’ll heat up the food. You can freshen yourself, take a shower too. You got your toothbrush and jammies? Do I need to get anything?”
“I packed everything,” Harry reassured her. The last thing he wanted was to put her out and make her think it wasn’t worth it housing him. She clearly had her own thing going, especially if she lived alone like this. Aunt Petunia had made it absolutely clear that Sally would need him to work and help around the house. A single toe out of line would have Harry living in an alley until the flight back.
He wasn’t about to mess this up.