Chapter Text
Harry Potter sat at the dining table across from his Uncle Vernon, chewing slowly on the slice of toast the Dursley's had allowed him to eat. Uncle Vernon was in a foul mood, like he'd usually be in the morning, narrowing his eyes at Harry and huffing at anything Aunt Petunia tried to say. She tried to create conversation about Dudley, his pig of a cousin who leant over his plate shovelling piles of bacon and sausages into his ginormous mouth, but it fell silent over the sound of the knives and forks clacking against the white, floral plates.
"I want more bacon." Dudley belched, wiping his oily mouth with a napkin, his grubby fingers smearing it across is face in a stuttered motion.
"There's more in the pan, sweetie," replied Aunt Petunia instantly, looking at him with beady eyes of affection. "We have to build you up while your home. I don't like the sound of that school foo-"
"Oh, rubbish! I never once went hungry when I was at Smeltings," interrupted Uncle Vernon proudly. "Dudley gets plenty of food, don't you son?"
All the attention turned to Dudley, who's grin was partly seen between his two fat cheeks that wobbled when he turned to look at Harry. "Pass the frying pan."
"You forgot the magic word," said Harry irritably.
Harry didn't realise what he had done until a collective gasp from the Dursley's instantly aided in the realisation of his mistake.
Within a few seconds: Dudley laid flat on the floor, the chair snapped underneath him as the room shook slightly, enough for all the pictures of his cousin to lean towards the left; Aunt Petunia shrieked, clapping her hands over her mouth in horror. The worst reaction by far, was Uncle Vernon's. He stood angrily, face a dark purple as the anger radiated off him in waves that Harry could almost physically see. He leaned forward over the table, fist plummeting into the wood as veins began to throb across his forehead.
"I meant please," Harry squeaked quickly and quietly. "I didn't mea-"
"WHAT HAVE INTOLD YOU?!" Uncle Vernon thundered. "YOU KNOW MOT TO SAY THAT WORD IN THIS HOUSE!"
"But I onl-"
"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" he bellowed, slamming his fist into the table again.
"I just-"
"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY MENTION OF YOUR SILLY ABNORMALITY!"
Uncle Vernon raised his hand and connected it to the side of Harry's face. The smack echoed and the stinging sensation begun instantly as Harry looked at the ground in shock. Harry peered up at his now slightly less purple Uncle then to his pale Aunt, who tried busying herself by trying to heave a wailing Dudley off the floor.
Uncle Vernon sat down, breathing heavily as if he ran down the street for the first time in twenty five years, watching Harry closely and cautiously out of the corner of his stubby eyes. Ever since Harry had to come back for the summer holidays, the Dursley's were anything but welcoming and accepting of his return. Harry Potter was a wizard, a wizard who just returned from his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Harry missed his school. He missed the castle, the hidden passageways, the ghosts, his classes, Owl Post, eating in the Great Hall, sleeping in his four-poster bed in the Dungeons, visiting Hagrid on Friday's and playing Quidditch. But most of all he missed his friends. Draco and Pansy in particular. He would undoubtedly have every class with Draco Malfoy who Harry would say was his closest friend. He spent all his time with Draco, in and out of school. Harry also missed Professor Snape, the potions master at Hogwarts. Since the Dursley's picked Harry up from Kings Cross Station, they locked all of his spellbooks, wand, robes, cauldron and his Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick in Dudley's second bedroom, along with Hedwig who Harry saw once a day to check on. The Dursley's didn't care if Harry lost his place on the Slytherin Quidditch team or come fifth place in his grade. He was content with coming second to Hermione Granger, the brightest witch Harry had the pleasure to meet. He had promised Professor Snape that he would read 'A Hundred Uses of Herbology' to help him with Potions ingredients. The Dursley's didn't care if Harry went back having done nothing at all.
The Dursley's were muggles and as far as they were concerned, having a wizard in the family was a complete and utter shame. Uncle Vernon had even padlocked Hedwig inside her cage, to stop her from carrying messages to anyone in the wizarding world; incase Harry got out of his room under the stairs. It wasn't just Harry being a wizard that embarrassed the Dursley's, it was also his scar that made Harry so particularly unusual, even for a wizard. The scar was the only hint of Harry’s past, of the reason he had been left on the Dursleys’ doorstep eleven years before. He had spent ten years with his Aunt and Uncle, never understanding why he kept making odd things happen without meaning to, believing the story that he had got his scar in the car crash that had killed both his parents.
And then, exactly a year ago, Hogwarts had written to Harry. A school for wizards and witches alike that he had spent learning about a world he only dreamt about. But now the school year was over, and he was back with the Dursley's for the summer, back to being treated like a freak. The Dursley's didn't even remember that today, the 31st of July, happened to be Harry’s birthday. Harry didn't have any expectations for his birthday; but to ignore it completely, especially after what his Uncle had just done to him wasn't exactly usual. It's not as if Harry wasn't used to it, the treatment he got whenever he did accidental magic or made Uncle Vernon's coffee hotter than usual was always a punishment.
But at that moment, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly and said, “Now, as we all know, today is a very important day.”
Harry looked up in utter disbelief, shaken from his thoughts.
“This could be the biggest deal of my entire career!"
Harry went back to his toast which was now cold and dry, bitter and disappointed that his Uncle chose now to talk about his stupid dinner party. He’d been talking about nothing else for two weeks.
“I think we should run through the schedule one more time,” said Uncle Vernon, a smirk crossing his round face as he looked over at Harry. “We should all be in position at eight o’clock. Petunia, you will be?”
“In the lounge,” she said quickly, arms gesturing widely in a forward motion. “waiting to welcome them warmly to our home.”
“Very good. And Dudley?”
“I’ll be waiting to open the door.” he said poshly, standing up straight with his pig nose turned up in the air. “May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?”
“Oh, Duddy!” cried Aunt Petunia dramatically.
“Excellent, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon proudly. Then focusing on Harry. “And you?”
“I’ll be in my bedroom, making no noise,” said Harry tonelessly. "Pretending I don't exist."
“Exactly,” hissed Uncle Vernon. “I will lead them into the lounge and introduce you."
He stood and moved around the table, pointing to Aunt Petunia as they all played along.
"Then pour them drinks. At eight- fifteen —”
“I’ll announce dinner,” cut Aunt Petunia pointedly.
“And, Dudley, you’ll say —”
“May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?” said Dudley, offering his fat, flabby arm to an invisible Mrs. Mason who would most likely smile politely and nod. Harry instantly thought of Draco and Pansy laughing at Dudley, the way he ridiculously tried to hold the position before tiredly lowering his arm.
“My beautiful little boy!” sobbed Aunt Petunia and Harry had the urge to roll his eyes.
“And you?” snarled Uncle Vernon harshly to Harry.
“I’ll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I don't exist.” said Harry dumbly, bored with this whole situation.
“Precisely." he said, content with Harry knowing his place.
"Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?”
“Vernon tells me you’re a wonderful golfer, Mr. Mason." Aunt Petunia shrilled. "Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason!"
She batted her eyelashes in a horrendous way that would make Pansy gag and Draco hurl.
“Perfect, Dudley?”
“How about," Dudley poked his tongue out of his mouth, a face that made him look like a Jack-o-Lantern carved out for Halloween. "‘We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you.’ ”
This was too much for both Aunt Petunia and Harry. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son, while Harry tried to stop himself from laughing.
“And you, boy?”
Harry fought to keep his face straight as he looked at his Uncle.
“I’ll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I’m not there."
“Too right, you will,” Uncle Vernon said forcefully. “The Mason's don’t know anything about you and it’s going to stay that way. When dinner’s over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I’ll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I’ll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten."
"Right," he clapped two large hands together in a bellowing snap. "I’m off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you,” he spat at Harry. Coming in close and gripping his face tightly and jerking it forward. “You stay out of your aunt’s way while she’s cleaning.”
Harry left through the back door, rubbing his jaw in an effort to ease the slight tension Uncle Vernon created there. It was a wonderfully sunny day. He crossed neatly mowed lawn, careful to avoid any visible footprint, slumped down on the garden bench, and sang under his breath:
“Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me-”
No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. He gazed miserably into the hedge. He had never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more even than playing Quidditch, Harry missed his best friends. They, however, didn’t seem to be missing him at all. Neither Draco or Pansy had written to him all summer, even though Narcissa insisted he stay for a while.
Countless times, Harry had been on the point of unlocking Hedwig’s cage by magic and sending her to Draco and Pansy with a letter, but it wasn’t worth it. Underage wizards weren’t allowed to use magic outside of school. Harry so desperately wanted to hear from the, even reserve confirmation it was all real. But the long silence from Draco and Pansy had made Harry feel so cut off from the magical world that even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal. And Harry thought it never would.
“I know what day it is,” sang Dudley, waddling toward
“What?” said Harry.
“I know what day it is."
“Congratulations,” said Harry. “So you’ve finally learned the days of the week.”
He'd learnt so much sarcasm from Professor Snape and Draco that it almost came naturally to Harry. In a way that could get him in trouble.
“Today’s your birthday,” sneered Dudley. “How come you haven’t got any cards? Haven’t you even got friends at that freak place?”
“Better not let your mum hear you talking about my school,” said Harry dryly.
Dudley smirked and ran inside, as fast as his fat, stubby legs could carry him. Harry paid dearly for his moment of sarcasm, having to duck as Aunt Petunia aimed a heavy blow at his head with the soapy frying pan, swinging until it collided with the back of his head. Then she gave him work to do, with the promise he wouldn’t eat again until he’d finished.
While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice cream, Harry cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, trimmed the flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses, and re- painted the garden bench. The sun blazed overhead, burning the back of his neck. Harry knew he shouldn’t have risen to Dudley’s bait, but Dudley had said the very thing Harry had been thinking himself, feeling embarrassed about what his friends would say if they saw him like this.
It was past seven in the evening when at last, exhausted and drained, Harry heard Aunt Petunia calling him.
“Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!”
Harry moved carefully into the shade of the gleaming kitchen. On top of the fridge stood a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets that hid the pudding for tonight. A loin of roast pork was sizzling in the oven and Harry's mouth watered severely from the smell of the glaze.
“Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!” snapped Aunt Petunia, pointing to two slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the kitchen table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress and stomped around the kitchen. Harry washed his hands and bolted down his pitiful supper, swallowing dry clumps of bread and cheese. The moment he had finished, Aunt Petunia whisked away his plate. “To your room! Hurry!”
As he passed the door to the living room, Harry caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jackets. He had only just reached the door to his cupboard when the door- bell rang and Harry was pushed up against the cupboard, face hitting the vent as Uncle Vernon hurried him inside, locking the door behind him. Harry was submerged in darkness, waiting until the Mason's were out of sight before turning his light on.
“Remember, boy." Uncle Vernon sneered quietly and then marched back into the living room while Dudley opened the door.
Harry released a sigh, curling in on himself as he heard the front door open. But when an odd whirl and snapping sound happened in his cupboard he sat up quickly, forcing Harry to knock his head in the process.
"Dobby?" Harry asked, rubbing his forehead. "What are you doing here?"