Say please and thank you
For the first time in an entire four minutes, an argument had broken out over breakfast at Number Four of Privet Drive.
"Third time this week!" yelled Vernon Dursley. He had been awakened earlier than usual by screeches of an owl, the ramble of a shaking case, and the hissing of a snake-- all from the room of his nephew. "If you can't control your wretched pets, they'll have to go--"
"They're bored. That's what happens when animals are kept caged up for too long with no form of entertainment and little food. They get noisy because they're bored and hungry," said Harry tiredly, as he fixed up the coffee pot to pour another cup. "If you just gave me more food, this wouldn't be a problem. Or if I could let them out, you wouldn't even have to think about them."
The summer hadn't been as fun as he thought, for the Dursleys, the family that lived in the house of Number Four, had forced him to be that much their servant. He served breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and he couldn't even remember the last time he had eaten a full meal. And he didn't have only himself to feed, but three pets too. And one of them wasn't even his! He hadn't even been able to get a stash started.
"Well they won't be let out! I know what'll happen if they get to run free," Vernon said, exchanging looks with Harry's aunt, Petunia. It took almost a year, but she seemed to have noticed the missing collection of jewellery.
"I want more bacon," declared Dudley Dursley.
"There's more in the pan, sweetums." said Petunia, turning to face her pig of a son snapping her fingers-- a sign telling Harry to come over. "We'd better bulk you up while we can. I don't like the sound of that school food."
"Nonsense, Petunia! I never went hungry at Smeltings!" Vernon said proudly.
Harry had walked over, holding the frying pan, but when Dudley told him to give it up, he couldn't help what he said.
"Say the magic word."
Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a loud thud that felt like it shook the whole kitchen; Petunia shrieked and smacked Harry's head; Vernon jumped to his feet, furious. Harry had been just as shocked, but even more so when he continued speaking out of control.
"I meant please, not 'magic,'" He explained. His next words made him suddenly aware that he must've spent too much time around two certain people before returning here, because he added-- "it wouldn't kill him to have some decorum--"
"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," thundered Vernon, spraying spit over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE 'M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"
"You say "the 'M' word" as if it's a horrible thing!"
"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY! HOW DARE YOU TALK BACK!" roared Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.
"I didn't threaten him, I--!" Harry started, but was met with another slap to the head.
"You will never see that wretched school ever again!" Petunia screamed, dragging Harry along the hall.
"No, I didn't, really! Stop! Let me go! I—" He yelled. He squirmed just enough to pry his arm out of Petunia's grip, and made a break for the stairs. Luckily, she didn't bother to chase after him. He locked the door to his room; It was what was going to end up happening anyway.
He was so, so stupid, as the voices said for probably the millionth time that day, and they finally really did have a reason to say it. He fell before his bed miserably. It creaked under his weight. He'd have to get around to fixing that again-- eventually.
Harry wasn't normal. In more ways than one, really. He was an abnormally short boy; He had darker skin than others; His eyes were two completely different colours and his pupils were shaped irregularly; He had a boa constrictor, an owl that technically wasn't his, and what looked like a mix of a beaver and a gopher, all for pets. Most of all-- he was a wizard. But at the house of Number Four, he was a freak, and from now on, it seemed, a servant.
But when he was at Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he was the Boy Who Lived. At Hogwarts, he was the youngest Seeker in a century. At Hogwarts, he was the boy who may as well have been the smartest in his year. He missed Hogwarts desperately. Even if it had brought out the worst in him, the weirdest, it was the best place he'd ever been. He missed being able to fly in the air on a broomstick-- he missed his friends-- he missed casting spells-- he even missed potions, his least favourite class. He missed not being surrounded by people who hated him to the core day in and out.
The Dursleys, if not obvious, did hate him. If there had been a competition on who hated him the absolute most, they'd win before it even began. Harry looked nothing like any of them, which made it hard to explain to the neighbours in the past-- they were all pale skinned with thin, straight blond hair-- with the exception of Vernon, who lacked hair at all-- and where Vernon and Dudley had no necks, Petunia making up for it by having one the length of a giraffe's. Harry, meanwhile, had very dark skin, dack hair that was anything but thin and straight, with green and brown eyes and pupils that weren't the right shape. He was short and skinny, he wore glasses to see, and he had a lightning-shaped scar that spanned across his entire forehead.
But the scar did not only make him odd by Dursley standards-- he was odd by wizard standards aswell. The scar was one only he had that never healed. At the age of one, Harry had somehow survived a curse from the greatest Dark sorcerer- apparently, of all time- Lord Voldemort, whose name most witches and wizards still feared to speak. Harry's had died in Voldemort's attack, but Harry had escaped with his lightning scar, and somehow-- nobody understood why-- Voldemort's body had been destroyed the instant he failed to kill Harry.
So Harry had been brought up by his mother's sister and her husband. He had spent over ten years with the Dursleys, never understanding why he kept making odd things happen without meaning to, but he always knew from a very young age that the odd things didn't just 'happen.''
And then, exactly a year ago, Hogwarts had sent Hagrid, the Gamekeeper, to deliver Harry's letter personally, and the whole story had come out. Harry had taken up his place at wizard school, where he and his scar were famous... but now, the school year was over, and he was back with the Dursleys for the summer, being treated like a bug that had wandered into coyote territory.
The Dursleys hadn't even remembered that today happened to be Harry's twelfth birthday. Of course, his hopes hadn't been high; they'd never given him a real present, let alone a cake-- but to ignore it completely.... He shouldn't've cared, as the voices said, and he knew that. He knew better than to feel bad about it. He felt like it didn't matter, but it did, yet, knowing they didn't care either, it just... hurt. And last year seemed to have been his last year-- ever since he arrived at the Dursleys, he'd received all kinds of presents, at the foot of his bed from a mysterious sender; but this year, nothing arrived.
Harry's room was silent and still, save for Hedwig hooting every so often or Hydrus hissing about how he wanted to be let out-- but otherwise, it was so silent Harry could hear Vernon saying his name from downstairs, almost clearly; He dared to try and listen in, but he couldn't make out enough words because he couldn't hear over the voices. And then, Vernon called up for him outright.
"Now, as we all know, today is a very important day." He said, as Harry walked into the kitchen. Petunia sent him a death stare, but Vernon hadn't bothered. It seemed he had already gotten over Harry disobeying her. He stood silently in the corner.
"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career," said Vernon.
Dragged him out his room for this, of all things. Finally, the voices had said something else agreeable-- something very rude, but it was so true-- he didn't have to be called down for this- not again, atleast. Vernon was talking about the same stupid dinner party, again. He'd been talking of nothing else for two weeks. Some rich builder and his wife were coming to dinner and Vernon was hoping to get a huge order from him(Vernon's company made drills).
"I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said Vernon. "We should all be in position at eight o' clock. Petunia, you will be--?"
"In the lounge," said Petunia promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."
"Good, good. And Dudley?"
"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a ugly, toothy smile. "May I take your coats, Mr and Mrs Mason?"
"They'll love him!" cried Petunia rapturously.
"Excellent, Dudley," said Vernon. Then he rounded his fat face on Harry. "And you?"
"I'll be upstairs in my room, not making any noise and pretending I don't exist." Harry said, avoiding eye contact. The wall was interesting enough, he figured, if he pretended he could run through it...
"Exactly," said Vernon nastily. "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight fifteen--"
"I'll announce dinner," said Petunia.
"And, Dudley, you'll say--"
"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs Mason?" said Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.
"My perfect little gentleman!" sniffed Petunia.
"And you?" Asked Vernon viciously to Harry.
"Upstairs in my room, not making any noise and pretending I don't exist." said Harry dully. The wall was starting to get boring. He was able to sneak out when summer first started-- he had gotten his hands on a guide for morse code, but he'd hardly had any time to study it. Maybe if he tried to remember on his own, he'd get it quicker...
"Precisely. 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.... Oh, do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs Mason...."
"Perfect... Dudley?"
"How about this-- 'We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr Mason, and I wrote about you,'"
This was too much for both Petunia and Harry. Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son, while Harry turned his head away so they wouldn't see him laughing.
"And you, boy?"
Harry fought to keep his face straight as he faced Vernon.
"Upstairs in my room, not making any noise and pretending I don't exist," he said.
"Too right, you will," said Vernon forcefully. "The Masons 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. We'll be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time tomorrow."
"And who will I be staying with while you're in Majorca? Mrs Figg is only getting older." Harry asked.
"You'll be at that horrid school of yours." Petunia said. "Vernon and I have agreed, that as long as you don't do anything we tell you not to around the home, don't get in our way, and follow the rules tonight, you won't stay here. You can go visit one of your freaky little friends who offered you to stay. We don't want you here at all, let alone by yourself."
So that's why he hadn't been in much more trouble.
"That stunt you pulled was your only warning. Now-- I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you," Vernon snarled at Harry. "You stay out of your aunt's way while she's cleaning up everything you failed at."
"Yes sir." Harry said, and made way to leave through the back door. It was a very warm, sunny day. He crossed the lawn, slumped down on the garden bench. Petunia's "prized" roses had been pruned once this week, one of his every-other-day chores, yet their growth and happy rosiness didn't make him feel better. Infact, it made him feel worse. He sighed, and sang under his breath--
"Happy birthday to me... happy birthday to me. Happy birthday dear Harry..."
No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the day pretending not to exist. He gazed miserably at the hedges. Even the flowers and the leaves looked prouder than him. He had never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, even more than Quidditch, the one thing he was good at, Harry missed his best friends. Padma Patil, Luna Lovegood, Lisa Turpin, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and- sometimes- Draco Malfoy. Maybe it was because he couldn't send out Hedwig, or that the journal had been locked in the cupboard with all the rest of his magical belongings, but not a single one of his friends sent him a gift. Or maybe it was selfish of him to expect one.
As far as people knew, he was spoiled rotten inside and outside Hogwarts, for some reason he never understood. More than once-- more times than he could count, really-- he had almost picked the lock on Hedwig's cage and sent her out with a note, flying for Draco, or Hermione, or Lisa. The three of them could find some way to get him out of the Dursleys home. Lisa had a muggle father and a witch for a mother, Hermione had two muggle parents, and Draco's parents were both magical. Ron and and Padma had two magical parents too, but as far as Harry knew, Draco's parents were much more influential. Luna, however, only had her father around, and from Harry had heard about him, it wasn't worth trying.
But what stopped him, what had made his courage disappear-- what if they didn't want to help him? What if Hedwig didn't know where their homes were? Magic, not that he'd admit it to anyone's face, had begun to feel... impossible. It was as if the longer he spent at the Dursleys, the less he could even do it. Or he could have been losing his touch with magic because of what he'd been doing all summer. Which was, none of it.
Probably because he was 'officially' the servant of the Dursleys, and they didn't want to see anything floating even a fourth of an inch above the ground that shouldn't have been, a broom sweeping itself across the floor, a pair of sheers cutting the flowers without someone holding them-- not even if they did so perfectly.
But suddenly, Harry felt like he was back in the garden. But he wished he wasn't. A pair of large green eyes had been staring at him through the hedges. He blinked, hoping he was hallucinating-- and the eyes disappeared. He got up to go somewhere else, thinking, it was probably a stray animal, when he heard an incredibly annoying voice.
"I know what day it is," Dudley sang, waddling toward him.
"What?"
"I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to Harry's face.
"Good job Dudders, you've finally learned the days of the week. It is Friday. Why don't you go tell Mummy? I bet she'll be delighted."
"Today's your birthday," Dudley taunted. "How come you haven't got any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that freak place?"
"Oh, wow, better not let your mum hear you talking about my school," Harry snapped, bored of Dudley already. "who knows what she'd to do you with what she does to me. She hates hearing about it. And, certainly you've seen the bruises? Not very pretty, and I can promise they hurt."
Dudley, looking slightly fearful at the mention, hitched up his trousers furiously. "Why were you staring at the hedge?" He asked suspiciously.
"I'm trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire, of course, what else?" said Harry dully.
Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat face. "You can't-- Dad told you you're not to do m-magic-- he said he'll chuck you out of the house-- and you- you haven't got anywhere else to go-- you haven't got any friends to take you in--"
"Jiggery pokery--" said Harry, throwing his arm up to the hedges. "Hocus pocus--"
"MUUUUUUM!" howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed back toward the house. "MUUUUM! HE'S DOING YOU-KNOW-WHAT!"
Harry hadn't even enjoyed teasing Dudley anymore. As neither her son nor the hedge were in any way hurt or burnt, and Petunia knew he hadn't really done magic, but he still had to dodge a blow she aimed at his head with the frying pan. Then she gave him work to do, tired of him 'sitting around and doing nothing,' with the promise he wouldn't eat again until he'd finished.
Harry was almost tempted to yell out-- "Like you're going to give me food"-- but went out and got working. The entire day, while Dudley lolled around stupidly, eating three scoops of ice cream, while Harry cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, trimmed the flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses, and repainted 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... maybe he didn't have any friends at Hogwarts.
Wish they could see the famous 'Harley Potter' now, he thought, as he spread manure on the flower beds. His back ached, and sweat was running down his face, and his hands were red and scarred and hurting from touching thorns in the flowers. The unlikeliness that Petunia couldn't have done all this herself, he highly doubted. She could have atleast given him gloves- and he knew she had some- picking a thorn out his thumb for the fourth time.
It was half past seven, and the sky had slowly begun to get dark, when finally, Petunia was calling him inside.
"Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!" She yelled out the backdoor. The kitchen, where Petunia had the trail of newspaper leading to, was steaming hot. On top of the fridge sat the pudding for tonight– it was a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. Atleast a pound of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.
"Take your food and go upstairs! The Masons will be here soon!" snapped Petunia, pointing to two slices of bread and a lump of cheese on a paper towel on the kitchen counter. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress. In Harry's opinion, there were much nicer dresses she had that she could wear.
Harry washed his hands and picked up his lazy dinner.
"Upstairs! Now!" Petunia screamed.
As he passed the door to the living room, Harry caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dursley in bow ties and dinner jackets. He had only just reached the final stair step when the doorbell rang and Uncle Vernon's furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs.
"Remember, boy-- one sound--"
"And I can say goodbye to ever seeing that school of mine again. Yes, I've heard."
Harry walked to his room, as quietly as possible, closed the door, and broke up his 'dinner' for Hedwig, Hydrus, and Sly to share. He may have to settle for half a piece of cold bread, but atleast he, nor any of the others he had to share with wouldn't go entirely hungry. He could manage that much. He turned to fall on his bed and maybe just take a nice, long rest and sleep off his hunger, but to his surprise...
Something had already been sitting there.