"Vernon," Petunia said in a weak voice, "was that really us? How could we behave like that with a child? What was wrong with us?"
Vernon Dursley was in no less confusion than his wife, but his anger currently overshadowed all other emotions:
"I think it's another one of your... those," he waved his plump hand and spat out the following words, "magical tricks."
He himself felt disgusted remembering some moments of his behavior toward his nephew, but unlike his wife, he felt not guilt but anger.
"Not mine!" his dearest wife flared up. "I have nothing to do with them!"
Vernon sighed. He had no desire whatsoever to hurt his wife. But he wanted to hurt someone: someone who was responsible for all the disgrace that had been happening in their house, and in his head, after all!
The nearest wizard was... his nephew. Who was currently sleeping like a log after returning from those wizards of his. Skinny and somehow... fragile. Vernon realized he would sooner knock down anyone who hurt this... little deer. Really knock them down: first a left to the jaw...
Petunia quickly figured out that her husband was most likely right.
"But who could have needed this?"
"I don't know, Pet. Maybe someone just decided to... play a joke," Vernon blushed. He remembered those jokes of the lowest kind. Just that wedding... it was still unpleasant to remember his complete helplessness.
"But with such a little one as Harry was? Why?"
"Do those... need any logic or justification?"
"Thank God it's over... Maybe we should go to church?"
Vernon shrugged. He was rather cool toward church. And he was already thinking about something else.
"What do you think, Pet, was the one who provoked all this watching us? At least occasionally?"
"I would have noticed that," Petunia snorted. "There are practically no strangers on our street!"
"Practically?"
"Yes. And them, you can be sure, our gossips discuss up and down. Although wait... Figg has rather strange cats. They're always climbing into my garden. And the old woman herself... Don't you remember when she became our neighbor?"
Vernon raised his light eyebrows in a peak, wrinkling his forehead.
"I don't remember. I thought: always. When we moved in, she... No, I don't remember her. Hmm, I don't like this, Pet. Therefore, we'll have to behave in public the same way as before. Well, you understand: scold Harry, nag him for any little thing..."
"Yes. It's unknown what happened to us, and unclear what we'll get for it..."
Petunia shuddered and opened "The Last Cases of Miss Marple" almost in the middle. Reading perfectly helped her calm her nerves and gave some interesting and useful ideas.
After the spectacular lunch of one voracious reader, the Dursleys couldn't help but be interested in what he had found in books they bought exclusively for collection. It was proper to have books in the living room - so they would have them. Mysteries are popular? We'll buy those. So first Petunia, and then Vernon, still peeked into them. They were impressed. And who wouldn't be impressed: Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, Dick Francis, Graham Greene...
And they began to read: they were far from their nephew, of course, but they quite managed to discover a number of pleasant moments. Including how nice it was to exchange impressions about what they'd read in the evening over tea. And now both were categorically against their own life turning into a mystery. They would prefer to read rather than become characters. But since things were shaping up that way...
"Keep an eye on Figg, dear. And we'll need to talk with Harry."
***
In the morning, Harry got up for the first time in his life when he naturally woke up. No one woke him... It flashed through his head how he had stumbled home with a bundle of books... from the doctor, right. He'd still have to explain... He sat on the bed for a bit, preparing a couple of versions so he wouldn't get flogged immediately for lying. Or at least not too severely.
For example... "They advised reading more - to develop eyesight. See, paper of different colors? Letters of different shapes and heights?" Or maybe it was better to say "just stopped by while waiting for the bus"? Or say that someone was selling needed expensive but old books cheaply? Deciding he'd figure it out based on the situation, Harry slowly got up, listening to the silence of the house.
"Interesting... Are the Dursleys even alive?" - he quickly dressed and went downstairs. Uncle, buried in his newspaper, didn't react to his appearance at all, and Aunt sent him to the kitchen with one nod. Having quickly swallowed a rather abundant and tasty breakfast, confused Harry returned to the living room, expecting instructions about what needed to be done around the house and in the garden. But instead...
The conversation was long and surprising. Playing spies together, knowing you'd get support at home - he couldn't even hope for such a thing! Be offended about the past?.. Yes, he could easily act exactly that way. But what was the point? Since Uncle Vernon had suggested "burying the hatchet"... He'd have to read this... Cooper. Probably also interesting. Now he'd have to pretend he was being hurt. Together with the Dursleys. Crazy! But this was much better than the previous harassment. And how interesting it turned out that you could just talk with adults, knowing they'd perceive you normally!
True, he was still afraid - what if everything returned to square one? Therefore, no matter how much he wanted to share his thoughts and problems with his aunt, especially that he still hadn't found a way to tell Hermione about magical clothing and about the incident at Flourish and Blotts, he kept quiet. It was enough for now that they'd harass him not for real - his job was to play along.
***
Dudley Dursley was in shock. When he, having slept enough, looked out of his room, he heard quiet voices in the living room. And coming closer, from the stairs he saw how his parents were secreting about something... with Harry?! How could this be, they didn't call him? Secrets? Well, he'd show them now... Dud rolled downstairs full of indignation, which he immediately poured out on everyone.
His father smiled strangely at him, holding his mother's hand, and sent him to dress and wash. And have breakfast. They'd tell him later, he said. Yeah... Dudley dressed faster than a fireman at an alarm, and ran downstairs again: to the bathroom. They'd tell him, yeah. He'd find out everything himself - why else had his brother told him so much interesting stuff. He took his toothbrush out of his glass and put it to the wall that bordered the living room... He could hear poorly, but he managed to grasp the essence. And his parents never noticed that their boy's washing took somewhat longer.
***
When Dudley mysteriously cut his third circle around Harry, the latter finally raised his shaggy head from another book.
"Wait, I'll finish reading soon, then I'll tell you."
"I'm not about that," Dud surprised him. "I heard what you talked about with my parents."
"So what?" Potter became alert. Even though his cousin had quieted down, could he suddenly believe in his good attitude?.. With Aunt and even Uncle it was somehow easier. Especially after their quite sensible assumption that someone had bewitched them, and now it had worn off. It really seemed likely. Too bad Harry couldn't determine traces of spells. But surely this could be done somehow?
"Your glasses aren't quite ordinary - they're an artifact, take care of them," that same familiar voice surfaced from somewhere. "If you adjust your vision in a certain way, you'll be able to distinguish a wizard by bright aura, a squib by a thin light veil, and a muggle by the absence of these signs. Imposed charms are also visible in the aura, they're distinguished by colors and shades..."
Harry was shaken by the shoulder.
"Huh? What? Well, why?..." he was terribly annoyed - the memory was interrupted at the most interesting part!
"What's wrong with you?" his cousin frowned. "I even wanted to punch you in the forehead again."
"Uh... So why didn't you?"
"Pfft. Are you an idiot or what?"
Harry looked puzzledly into the piggy eyes: something completely unfamiliar to him flickered in them. He almost recoiled when Dudley leaned to his very ear:
"I'll bet old lady Figg is watching you!"
"Why's that?"
Even though Dursley Jr.'s intellect was developed only for about nine or ten years, as it turned out, nature hadn't deprived him of observational skills. And in general, children can notice what others don't pay attention to at all. Harry was given so many examples that he simply couldn't disbelieve his cousin.
When Petunia returned from the kitchen to the living room, she again almost lost the power of speech, seeing how her son and nephew with serious expressions shook hands with each other. "Just not Dudley," flashed the first thought, but immediately the second followed. "He also participated. Chased Harry. Need to talk..."
***
The family in full composition sat in the kitchen over tea. Harry told about his visit to Diagon Alley. He apologized to his aunt, whom he had to deceive, and forgiveness was promised to him on condition of telling about everything he knew. It was scary, but Aunt's signature cookies, generously poured into his plate, and the roll with jam... He had never even dreamed of such things before. And how tasty it was!
"Relaxed," thought Vernon. "Well done, Petunia."
"And no spells needed," Petunia smirked to herself, putting another piece of roll with cream on her nephew's plate.
"Mmm..." Harry and Dudley blissfully moved their jaws and didn't think about anything yet. The culinary talents of the hostess of house number four on Privet Drive weren't for nothing the subject of envy of the surrounding housewives.
And then Harry told, told...
Dudley had always been afraid to admit his interest in the magical world, however, awakened curiosity demanded satisfaction, so now he was catching his chance. But when his cousin painted them in colors (which turned out to be mostly dark) not only his visit to Diagon Alley, but also briefly outlined what he had been doing for two years at school, Dursley Jr. was horrified.
"Well no-o, I don't want to look at this world of wizards of yours anymore. Not even with one eye - I don't want to!"
And only seeing the faces of his mother, father, and completely dumbfounded Harry, Dudley realized he had let something slip.
Vernon's heavy palm descended on his nephew's shoulder, and... affectionately ruffled it. Harry even cringed a bit from surprise: Uncle was smiling at him.
"I sympathize, Harry..."
He. Was. Called. By. Name. He wanted to exhale, but he didn't immediately remember how.
"Isn't there any possibility to refuse? Can something be done so you don't have to go to that terrible school anymore?"
Harry sighed and spread his hands, looking guiltily at his aunt. He still couldn't get used to her pitying him.
"We need to find out as much as possible about the laws of this world of yours!"
Harry smiled broadly at his uncle.
"Are you really interested? I'll bring them right now!" and rushed to get his books as soon as Vernon nodded.
"The boy's not stupid..."
"A stupid one would have died there long ago," his son put in.
Right observation. Vernon ruffled his head too.
"Dad, will we be like spies now?" the child's eyes burned with enthusiasm.
"Maybe we should leave?" his wife seemed to voice his own thoughts.
Vernon grimaced: there had been experience, and completely unsuccessful.
"They'll find us," returning Harry handed his uncle a hefty tome, as if nailing hopes for easy deliverance from wizards. "I don't know yet how they do it, but they'll find us. Here, 'Code of Laws of Magical England' with commentary... by someone; that seller said he won almost all his cases in Wiz... in magical court."
Vernon carefully took the heavy folio in his hands and cautiously lifted the leather cover.
***
Vernon Dursley, having read about the intricacies of laws and precedent law until he wanted to spit boiling water, decided to switch to other questions that didn't cause such negativity. Namely, who and why had disenchanted them. The one who had enchanted them, or another? Or had it worn off by itself, like with his nephew? Actually, what had happened to them at all? After all, not only their attitude toward their nephew had changed, but also their well-being... had improved.
Harry in his room carefully wrote out more and more new questions in his notebook.
Why did I consider Dumbledore my savior, when the letter was a standard invitation and would have come anyway?
Either I felt so bad at that moment, or, - he remembered his reaction to the bookstore, - these were some kind of charms. In every letter?! Unrealistic! But I didn't even take them in my hands... The owls themselves wouldn't let me!
...Why, if everyone cared about me as a hero, didn't anyone even ask about clothes or why I had the cheapest school supplies? After all, in the first days they examined me from all sides, couldn't they have seen this? In boarding schools, as I now know for certain, they're supposed to care for schoolchildren. And what's wrong with Hogwarts then? Or with me?
...Someone looks after all orphans, but who looks after me? The Dursleys? Now yes, but before?
He drew a crooked rectangle and wrote "Statute of Secrecy" in it, drew two arrows from it, one ending with "Hagrid!" and the second with "Owls!", propped his cheek on his fist and thought again. Something completely wild was emerging: those or the one who sent them to him spat on the Statute... Yeah.
But then he drew in air, rounded his eyes and again scribbled with his pen (he had to get used to it, after all) across the page.
...Why didn't the school headmaster Great Wizard Dumbledore sense the possessed Quirrell right under his nose? Couldn't he? Or... - Harry thought for a long time and almost just made a blot, but still finished writing, - ...didn't he want to?
While Harry exercised in penmanship, the older Dursleys discussed the current situation. To say they didn't like it was to say nothing. But there was nowhere to run, and they definitely weren't ready for emigration yet, though Vernon did voice such a thought. Actually, he was mostly worried about his own son. Well, and about his wife, of course. Just as Petunia worried about both of them. But the fate of the poor orphan nephew now also seemed not indifferent to them... And there seemed to be positive moments too...
And their son began to behave surprisingly quietly: he finally also began to read. Mayne Reid and Fenimore Cooper... The others didn't notice this right away, and then it was too late.
***
Vernon started his own notebook in a thick leather binding, as solid as himself. There he began to write out all laws concerning interactions between wizards and muggles, and the more he wrote, the less he liked it all.
The older Dursleys, digging in their memories, finally came to the conclusion that they had begun to change from the day they were given their nephew. The rejection, if not hatred, grew proportionally to the boy himself... And these were definitely charms. After all, what sane adult would even think to use a three or four-year-old child as domestic help, and even scold him for clumsiness? Nonsense!
So what had happened? Who had disenchanted them? The answer was unclear. But both spouses began to feel better, the atmosphere in the house stopped being as tense as before, and everyone somehow amicably stopped being hysterical. Diddikins and Vernon gradually stopped eating like they were out of their minds, and Petunia, on the contrary, developed a healthy appetite. And it was very pleasant to live in a house renovated with the help of their nephew's magic.
***
Speaking of the house. Petunia at first restrained herself with all her might from calling someone over: she wanted to show off, but then she'd have to answer questions... How, and when, and who and for how much had done such wonderful renovation for them. She'd have to weave tall tales - she couldn't tell the truth about how all this was created in fright by her own twelve-year-old nephew. What kind of fright would that have to be...
And then more talk would start, gossip would spread around the town. No-o, safety above all! Better to enjoy the new house themselves than to put at risk their dear son, precious husband, magnificent herself, and, it turned out, quite nice and useful nephew. Even if he was the cause of troubles, it was indirect - the danger didn't come from him!
Their conclusions were simple. For wizards they were like animals anyway, and they could do whatever they wanted with them. And therefore they had to somehow protect themselves. They had to somehow help Harry. Taking care of physical protection was for Vernon. But magical protection... They saw how their nephew, no longer hiding at all, studied one book after another. They allocated him another hundred pounds, which Harry spent at that same used bookstore, which finally made friends with the seller.
"What's faster, a spell or a bullet?" Vernon once asked his nephew.
"Of course, a bullet..." Harry calculated once more, remembering what he'd seen at school and on TV, and nodded affirmatively.
Dursley Sr. cheered up, collected some certificates, got a firearms license, went to Manchester and returned with two boxes. One contained a "Sterling MK VII," which Petunia at first even shied away from, the other - a pair of "bulldogs." Vernon, of course, appropriated the "Sterling." And Harry, freezing with delight, learned that one of the "bulldogs" was intended for his aunt, and the second - for him! It remained to learn not only to shoot, but also to hit, which he considered a fairly simple matter, and wrongly. On the first family trip to the shooting club, no one hit the target except Vernon. He proudly twirled his mustache, but couldn't repeat the achievement. So it remained, one out of thirty.
"Never mind, at point-blank range you definitely won't miss," he tried to calm his wife on the way back.
In response, his dear wife told him many interesting things and with unexpected expressiveness confirmed her readiness to become a sniper, training even daily. Harry clearly understood one thing: Aunt was categorically against point-blank shots... He agreed here. If you're close - they could easily take the pistol away. And wizards always throw curses from a distance. Yes, Aunt was right, no "point-blank," and therefore - study, study, and study!
Going to the shooting club of the neighboring city every time was long and expensive. Vernon frowned. Petunia insisted. Harry strained himself: in that same textbook for fourth year he found silencing charms, which he learned and offered to test at his own risk. The Dursleys agreed: apparently, the method of "Harry's work around the house" had managed to change their attitude toward magic, and they accepted that it could turn out to be quite useful. Now they would force Harry to study even if he himself didn't want to...
True, first he tested the charms with Dudley: pretending to fight, both shouted at the top of their lungs. There was no reaction from the outside - neither neighbors, nor cats, nor the older Dursleys paid any attention to the noise they made. They could proceed to the main part of the plan. Attracting his brother turned out to be simple: what twelve-year-old boy would refuse an extra chance to shoot? So part of the back yard behind the garage turned into a shooting range...
They set up targets. Harry had become so skilled in wandless magic that he could summon the needed emotion without being torn away from another book - he just had to mentally imagine it. It turned out there was no complexity here, just that it used a lot of strength and made him terribly hungry. Fortunately, they fed him quite decently now. Even more than others. His cousin still wondered where so much fit in him and how he managed to stay so skinny? But soon he figured it out himself: magic!
***
Harry and Aunt Petunia finished their accuracy competition. Friendship won, that is, they knocked out the same number of points.
"We need to complicate the task," Aunt said thoughtfully. "What do you think a situation will look like if we have to shoot?"
She tensed up a bit from her own question, but she wanted to know. Okay, she didn't want to (she had been looking at advertisements and magazines about continental real estate for the second week), but it was necessary. Petunia was going to survive, help her husband do the same, raise her son and possibly her nephew, and preferably babysit grandchildren. And even better, granddaughters. And if for this she had to shoot while running, well, she was already in pretty good shape. She couldn't kill someone, but make it so they wouldn't kill her... them... She preferred to aim for legs.
Harry after a pause finally delivered:
"First, it's best to disappear from the place where the wand is aimed. And hide behind something. Spells only work directly. Well, except for shields, it seems..."
"That is, we'll have to shoot offhand? And it's not necessary to aim for the head? You can hit anywhere?"
"Anywhere, Dud, the main thing is to hit. You can't cast spells very well when wounded. Probably. Uncle said that wounded people only run that fast in movies?"
"Wait... they have to draw something with the wand, right? That takes time?"
"Depends on what spell... oh... Aunt! You can aim right at the hand with the wand! Then in general... You're a genius!"
Vernon looked with surprise as satisfied Petunia in a dust-stained old tracksuit made a jump to the side, crouched, raised her hand...
"Hooray! Aunt, right on target!"
"And this is much harder," Dudley noted at the end of training. His fat was already starting to come off, but he was still breathing heavily. The boy dreamed of also learning to ride horses and throw lassos...
"You can't carry weapons," Vernon added. "Otherwise they'll put me in jail. And soon it's back to school..."
"Well, you all probably won't be threatened with anything without me," Harry blushed. "I would understand you if you left me and went away. It would even be easier. You treat me too well now."
Dudley silently puzzled... His aunt answered him.
"We already discussed this question, Harry. And decided that either on you, or on us they imposed, as you call it, either evil eye or charms. True, it's unclear why they wore off, but, though I didn't tell you before... How we behaved then seems completely abnormal to us now. We must... now, when you're in a difficult situation, we're obligated to help you."
Harry looked at his uncle in confusion. He nodded.
"Maybe you know something or can suppose?"
He only shrugged. How could he? He already understood that he knew shamefully little about the world where he had spent almost two years. And there seemed to be no one to blame for this except himself.
Harry understood that he had been studying incomprehensibly until now, and if anything stuck in his head, it was mainly thanks to Hermione. Speaking of Hermione! He finally shared his thoughts about his friend with his aunt, told about magical clothing and immediately got a hint: look in the directory and search for a phone number. So simple! Soon the problem was solved, but the Grangers, unfortunately, weren't home - only then did he remember they were supposed to go to France. Okay, he'd postpone this until his birthday. Oh, he could be such an idiot sometimes...
***
The search for reasons why the charms had worn off gave no results. And how could muggles know how a cocktail of Phoenix tears, Basilisk venom, and... remains of a horcrux of the last strongest Dark wizard of Britain dissolved by them affected living beings?.. By the way, from his school days - an excellent speaker and storyteller, magnificently able to persuade...
Harry had equally nowhere to draw such knowledge from. The boy didn't suppose anything at all about this, but he liked how his life had changed. And how it continued to change no longer strained him as much as it made him happy, despite certain, or rather, uncertain danger. This is what he shared with the Dursleys.
"Who needs me? Why? Well, this Voldemort killed himself on me, but I didn't do anything..."
"Harry, I think it's not about that," Uncle rocked in his chair. "Or not only about that. You turned out to be a rich heir, right?"
"Well... it seems so," Harry still didn't know details about his wealth, but he had seen piles of gold in the vault with his own eyes.
"A rich orphan... Strange that none of your people took you under their wing. Very strange!"
Harry sighed and shared his plans regarding visiting Gringotts. Uncle nodded approvingly.
"For now you're really not ready. But I can give you something," he handed him his notebook. "Here are excerpts from your laws regarding muggles. Try to do the same regarding inheritance of deposits."
While Harry sat at this tedious but necessary work, his brother (yes, he increasingly began to call his cousin that to himself) quietly finished "Osceola" and tested various cunning traps on Mrs. Figg's strange and insolent cats. Indians knew their business in this matter, he quickly appreciated it. Only he never managed to get his hands on a furiously hissing animal - he had to let them go. But the owner now often couldn't call any of her pets for half a day.
The cats gradually but quite quickly grew smarter, and Dudley imperceptibly to himself became more sophisticated... and began to invent something himself. Mrs. Figg had already left twice somewhere with the cats, but always returned. And this was clearly not to her liking. Dudley almost bet with Harry when the nasty old woman would break: leave and not return, but... Let this secret remain his own for now. When he finally succeeded in everything, then maybe... If his brother convinced his father to get him another "bulldog"...
Stop. He couldn't walk around with weapons. But how could he protect himself without them? Bow and arrows? Out of the question. Long. Difficult. And very noticeable: same as sticking feathers in his hair and walking through Little Whinging. But a slingshot or sling... And a lasso - after all, it's just a long thin belt or rope, right?..
Decided, if someone tried to hunt them, then Dudley Dursley would go on the warpath! And never mind if there were wizards there or whoever. A stone definitely flies slower than a bullet, but certainly faster than a spell!
If only Harry could find aiming charms to always hit with a slingshot! For Big D this still remained an exciting game...