Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent

He finally arrived back at number four, Privet Drive, sweat running down his face and his legs wobbling with every step, as though he’d just learned to walk. He staggered up the stairs to the bathroom for a shower, collapsing in a heap in the corner of the stall while the water beat down on him.

For the next week, he didn’t get much done in the garden; running in the mornings had him all done in, and he felt like he was just dragging himself around the rest of the day. By Saturday, his aunt and uncle were complaining about how slowly the work was going, and Harry actually didn’t blame them; he felt that if he were moving any slower, he’d be going backwards.

“Sorry,” he said at dinner, barely able to keep his head from falling into his plate. “I’ve been trying to build up my stamina by running in the mornings. I only just started, so I’m not really there yet. But I’ll work over the weekend too, don’t worry...”

He was startled by a light coming into his aunt’s eyes. “Is that what you’ve been doing? Running!” He could virtually see the little wheels in her head spinning around. “In that case, you have another job--unpaid, I might add. You can be Dudley’s trainer!”

Dudley looked up from his celery sticks and lettuce; the rest of them had pork chops and potatoes and buttered beans. Harry and Dudley looked at each other, equally horrified.

“But Mum--”

“But Aunt Petunia--”

“But nothing!” his aunt declared. “You start tomorrow!”

Harry and Dudley both grimaced, looking warily at each other. There’d been an uneasy detente in the house since Harry’s return, but that didn’t mean they wanted to do things together, especially running every morning. Harry had in fact been getting better and better every morning. That day he had run back and forth to the park twice, keeping a good steady pace the whole time and feeling more energized at the start of his work day than winded. It was starting to work. He had also learned about warming up and warming down before and after running from a report on the evening news, and he wasn’t cramping up now, as he had on his third day out.

The next morning, he knocked on Dudley’s door after he had gotten dressed. There was no answer. Harry turned the knob and entered.

Dudley was still in bed, fast asleep. Harry looked around his room; Dudley’s room was a dream for any fifteen-year-old boy. He had two televisions and video recorders, a state-of-the-art stereo system, a computer with a twenty-inch screen and about a hundred computer games. He had every CD he wanted, every video he wanted (some, Harry noted, were very racy) and there wasn’t a book in sight. He looked through Dudley’s dresser for something he could wear to run, and found some sneakers and socks too. Then he shook Dudley roughly.

“Wake up, you! Your mum wants us to go running, so we’re going running!” Harry never wasted his breath being polite to Dudley, as he did with his aunt and uncle; that was just for self-preservation. Dudley rolled over and opened his eyes, looking alarmed. Then he closed them again, covering his head with his pillow.

“Geroff! Go away! This is a nightmare!”

Harry pulled the pillow off his face and threw back the covers. He put his face about an inch from Dudley’s and tried to sound like a drill sergeant he’d seen once in an American movie about the army.

“Get up, you git! You are going running!”

Dudley tried to swat him away, but Harry was too fast; he sprang across the room, jogging lightly in place near the door.

“If you want to whomp me you’ll have to catch me!”

Dudley grunted and reluctantly pulled on the clothes Harry had gotten out for him and tied his sneakers. Then Harry turned and ran out the door and down the steps, feeling the entire staircase shuddering as Dudley angrily followed him. Harry opened the front door and sprinted down the front walk, Dudley following after he’d shut the door.

After he’d passed a couple of houses, Harry realized he wasn’t hearing another set of footsteps behind him anymore. He turned, jogging in place again to keep up his heart rate, and saw that Dudley was standing in front of the house next door to Number Four, his head in the vicinity of his knees, panting and already dripping with sweat.

Harry jogged back to Dudley, then simply hopped up and down next to him, waiting silently. After a couple of minutes, Dudley straightened up and Harry nodded at him, still jogging in place.

“Right then,” he said to Dudley. “Ready to go on?” Dudley nodded grimly, no longer attempting to whomp Harry, but seemingly determined to do anything his skinny cousin could do. And possibly, Harry thought, considering his chances with Julia in September...

Harry slowed down some, although he still was literally running rings around Dudley. He would jog forward about a half-block, then jog back to Dudley, stay by his side for another half-block until the pace started to frustrate him too much, then sprint forward again, only to backtrack once more to be by Dudley’s side again. When they finally reached the park, Dudley just wanted to collapse on the grass, but Harry wouldn’t let him.

“Stretching now,” he told him. “Should have done it before we left, but now will do. Otherwise you’ll cramp up.” He demonstrated for Dudley, who gamely tried all of it, even reaching for his toes (he wasn’t even close). Harry nodded at him, surprised that he was doing as well as he was. He wouldn’t have thought Dudley would be able to do half of what he had, let alone do it without constant whining.

After the stretching, Harry told him to get up for the run back. Dudley did better this time; he and Harry actually jogged side by side much of the way back to Privet Drive, although Harry felt as though he were holding himself back. When they reached the front gate, Harry told him they had to do warm-down stretches, and Dudley nodded, red-faced and panting, complying without a word. When they were done, they rose to enter the house and Harry simply slapped Dudley on the back, giving him a small smile. Dudley gave a tired smile back, but it seemed to be a great effort, and it ceased quickly as Dudley closed his eyes and staggered up the stairs to the bathroom for a shower. As Harry watched him go, it seemed to him that in the time it had taken them to run to the park and back, something had somehow changed between them. He wiped his sweat from his forehead with his arm as he walked to the kitchen, then turned on the faucet at the sink, bent his head under it, and proceeded to drink directly from the tap.

After a week, Dudley was actually running by Harry’s side every morning, although Harry was still going slower than he would have liked, and sometimes sprinted ahead and then back to Dudley again. He usually drank a good deal of water and had some food while Dudley showered, then took his turn. He was so busy working on training Dudley and doing the landscaping seven days a week that his birthday crept up on him.

On the morning of July thirty-first, Dudley came into Harry’s room to wake him up, instead of the other way around, as was their usual routine. It was a Monday morning, bright and humid, and Harry was particularly tired because he’d stayed up late reading for his History of Magic summer homework, and writing a parchment and a half about Dumbledore defeating Grindelwald in 1945 (Grindelwald had been on the Axis side during World War II, no surprise there). Harry couldn’t tell whether Dumbledore was actually being credited with ending the war by bringing Grindelwald down, but it wouldn’t have surprised him in the least. Hitler was known to have more than a passing interest in magic and the supernatural, and Harry knew that all of the most important Allied victories occurred after Dumbledore had taken care of the dark wizard.

Harry groaned and looked up at Dudley much as Dudley had done on their first day of training, only to see his pillow coming down on his face. “Hey!” he yelled as Dudley pressed it down on him, then managed to worm his way off the bed, falling on the floor with a thud. Dudley threw the pillow onto the bed, laughing.

“You should have seen your face!” he howled. Then he pulled a package from behind his back and tossed it onto the bed. “Happy Birthday, Harry.” Harry looked up at him from the floor, in shock. He had never in his life received a birthday gift from his cousin. He pulled himself back up onto the bed and opened the wrappings, which had concealed a portable tape player and headphones, and there was already a tape in it. It was good to go.

Harry smiled at Dudley. “Thanks, Dud.” He looked at the tape in the player; it was some Goth band. “Goth?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Just because I’m a wizard?”

Dudley shrugged. “It’s all I could think of. It’s not new. Neither is the tape player; it’s an extra one. I don’t need three.” Even though Dudley was admitting that he had made a minimal effort to get him a birthday present, Harry appreciated it. It was more than his aunt and uncle had ever done. Just as they were about to leave, a sudden flurry of owls came in the window. Harry had sent Hedwig to Sirius several days before, with a letter asking about spellbooks for using snakes in magic, and now she was returning with his present and a card. Harry started to open it, but then a medium-sized brown owl flew in with a package unmistakably bearing Hermione’s handwriting, followed by Pigwidgeon hauling a package far too large for him and a frightening eagle owl that Harry suspected had brought something from Hagrid, who had given Hedwig to him as his first birthday gift ever, when he was eleven.

Dudley backed up into a corner, alarmed by the four owls flying around the room, but trying to look composed. Harry took the packages from them, one by one, gave each of them owl treats, and sent each of them on their way except for Hedwig, who settled down into her cage for a nap. Harry tore the paper off Sirius’ package first. He set the card up on a shelf and then looked at the large book in his hands: Sorcerers, Serpents and Snakes by Colleen Colubra. Inside, Sirius had inscribed it: “Dear Harry--Happy Fifteenth Birthday! From your godfather,&##148; and there followed a scrawl wherein Harry could vaguely make out an S and a B, but which was otherwise illegible. Harry started to page through the book, grinning. This looked like it might have something useful in it. He wanted to start reading it right away, but instead he forced himself to move on to Hagrid’s package. It had some kind of very sweet-smelling pastry with honey and walnuts in it, which Hagrid identified as a Ukrainian version of baklava. “...not that I’m saying I’m in Ukraine...” Hagrid’s note said. Harry smiled. Hagrid was terrible at keeping secrets.

Next he opened Ron’s package. After setting another card up on the shelf above his desk, he found a cake sent by Ron’s mother, a box of Honeydukes sweets, and a belt with two entwined snakes for a buckle, and a narrow holster attached to it for his wand. Sirius has been talking, Harry thought. Then he noticed that there was another card and a small bundle in the bottom of the Weasley parcel. The card was from Ginny, saying simply, “Happy Birthday, Harry. Love, Ginny.” He opened the accompanying paper-wrapped lump and found a small amulet on a silver-colored chain. The amulet was shaped like a basilisk, and it had small glowing green eyes. He smiled upon seeing it, and immediately put it around his neck. Dudley took the card and read it, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

“Love, Ginny, huh?”

Harry grimaced, not feeling up to explaining Ginny and the basilisk to Dudley. Finally, he opened Hermione’s package, which he could already tell--no surprise there--was another book. Sirius had definitely been talking, for it was a thick text on the care and feeding of snakes. As Harry opened the card, a photograph went fluttering onto the floor. Harry read the card while Dudley stooped to pick up the photo.

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday! I hope you find this useful. Sirius said you might. Here’s another photo, this time on Corfu. Now we’re off to Bulgaria. Sirius will be accompanying us, posing as our dog. It seemed like the best plan of action. Mum is still a bit alarmed whenever he becomes human again; I think she prefers his canine form. Hope to see you in Diagon Alley! I’ll say hello to Viktor for you. Thinking of you.

Love from Hermione

Harry smiled at the thought of Hermione’s parents coping with Sirius changing into a large black dog and back again as the mood struck him. Her parents weren’t in the least bit magical; they were dentists, but they had accepted their daughter’s status as a witch with equanimity, putting aside their dreams of her one day going to medical school (as Hermione had assumed she would from the age of six).

Harry looked up at Dudley, who was holding the photograph he’d picked up from the floor. Harry could see that on the back of the photo, Hermione had written Happy Birthday Harry, With Love From Hermione. Dudley’s jaw was hanging open stupidly. He swallowed. “Is she your girlfriend?”

Harry sighed; he’d had to contend with that question much of the previous year, when it had even been reported as fact in the wizarding newspaper The Daily Prophet. “No, we’re just friends. She’s one of my two best friends. Boy, people think just because a girl and boy are friends...”

“She’s not a girl,” Dudley interrupted.

Harry frowned at him. What was in the picture, anyway? Dudley was holding it very tightly; his knuckles were white. “Of course she’s a girl, what are you on about?”

“Nope,” Dudley insisted. “She’s a woman.” He handed the photo to Harry, and now it was Harry’s turn to let his jaw drop.

Hermione was alone in the picture this time, instead of with her parents. She was on a sunny beach, leaning back on her hands for support, with one tanned leg extended straight out, the other one with the knee raised. All she was wearing was a black crocheted bikini. It was a very small black crocheted bikini. Harry was floored. Hermione had so much--skin. She wore dark glasses again, as in the Parthenon picture, but she wasn’t smiling this time; she looked rather serious. Harry felt his mouth go dry.

From what seemed like a million miles away, Harry heard Dudley’s voice saying, “Are you sure she’s not your girlfriend?” Harry looked up at him, startled, then placed the photo on the shelf carefully, next to the other one.

“Yeah,” he croaked; his voice had almost finished changing, but not quite. Dudley shook his head, turning to go.

“Idiot...” he heard his cousin muttering as he left the room. Harry fingered the basilisk around his neck and looked again at the picture of Hermione on the beach, her glowing skin, her hair a riot of shining curls, brown touched by gold, unmistakably now a woman and no longer a girl. He thought of her going to Bulgaria, and suddenly he understood Ron’s annoyance with Viktor Krum.

After he and Dudley went running, Dudley let him have the first shower. Harry was taking the day off from gardening after that, though. He sat down to look at the books from Sirius and Hermione, and he let Dudley try some of the Every Flavor Beans Ron had sent (Dudley was fine when he got blueberry, treacle tart and even fish and chips, but recoiled when he got one that tasted unmistakably like furniture polish).

Periodically through the day, Harry looked up at the photos on his shelf, hoping Hermione was okay, and touching the amulet Ginny had sent, silently wishing for Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys to be safe, too.

At dinner, Dudley sounded rather pointed as he asked Harry whether he had had a happy birthday, and whether he’d had chance to try out his tape player. “If you want a different tape, just look in my room and take whatever you like,” he added.

Harry thanked him and said that he hadn’t tried it yet, but he thought he would tomorrow, while he was working in the garden. He didn’t know yet quite what was coming. Now Dudley turned to his parents, saying, “So! What did you get Harry for his birthday?”

Harry’s Aunt Petunia looked up from her plate, startled. His uncle Vernon stopped with a piece of meat he’d been chewing stuck in his left cheek pouch. They both looked at their son as though they’d been hit by the strongest stunning curse there was.

“What?” his dad exploded after a minute, not having moved the half-chewed meat, so it went flying out of his mouth into the middle of the table. He reached for it, picked it up and put it back in his mouth. Harry recoiled, grimacing. “We never get him anything, you know that!”

That wasn’t strictly true, Harry thought. For his tenth birthday he’d received a pair of his uncle’s old socks and a wire coat hanger.

“Exactly!” Dudley shot back at his father. “What if something had happened to you when I was little, and Harry’s parents had taken me in? Would you want them to treat me the way you’ve treated him all these years?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” said Aunt Petunia. “If anything had happened to us, you’ve have gone to Aunt Marge’s...”

“That’s not the point!” Dudley sputtered. “What if I’d gone to her and she treated me the way you treat Harry?”

“Well, that would never happen, Duds, because she loves you.”

“I’m saying ‘what if,’ you gits!” Dudley exploded at them, shaking his head. His parents looked at him perplexed, not understanding the source or content of his teenage rebellion.

“Don’t you talk to me that way, young man!” his father yelled, after a moment of shock.

“I’ll talk to you any way I damn well please,” Dudley informed him, getting up and leaving the room. Harry sat uncomfortably, still chewing a carrot, trying to do it quietly, and looking back and forth between his aunt and uncle, who were now glaring at him, clearly blaming him for Dudley’s behavior. Then it all came out.

“This is all your fault. You’ve--you’ve bewitched him! We’ll tell that school of yours you’re doing magic, and then you’ll be kicked out!” said Aunt Petunia. Harry shook his head innocently, his eyes wide. He knew he wouldn’t be kicked out; the Ministry of Magic could perform the Priori Incantatem on his wand and easily ascertain the last spell that had been performed by it; they wouldn’t just take the word of a couple of Muggles.

He swallowed his food and excused himself, feeling their eyes boring into his back as he ran down the hall to the staircase. As much as he appreciated Dudley being on his side, he had been treading lightly with his aunt and uncle all summer, and he didn’t need them blaming him for Dudley’s change of heart and accusing him of breaking the law against underage wizards performing magic outside of school.

He went up to his room and sat down on his bed to read more of Sirius’ book, when it occurred to him that he hadn’t had any birthday cake yet. He got up and opened the box on his desk, immediately smelling the rich chocolate and cream emanating from it. Then he had an idea, and he crossed the hall and knocked on Dudley’s door.

“Hey, Dud,” he whispered loudly, sticking his head around the door. “Want some cake?”

Dudley had sat down to play a computer game. “Well, okay. But only a small piece. I’m in training, you know.”

Harry smiled. “I know.” They went into his room and sat down on the floor, but suddenly Dudley got up and ran back to his room. He returned with plates and forks and a cake server. Harry was perplexed as to why these things were in his room.

“When they put me on the diet, Mum cleaned all of the food out of my room I had stashed there, but she didn’t care about this stuff. I have a service for eight.” Harry smiled and sliced some cake for them both. “Happy Birthday, Harry,” Dudley said with his mouth full.

Harry swallowed a bite of Mrs. Weasley’s delicious birthday cake and smiled at his cousin. “You know, Dud, I actually think it is.”

They each tucked in two pieces of cake and said goodnight. Harry took off his shirt, followed by the rest of his clothes, except for his drawers. He lay back on the bed with his hands behind his head, gazing across the room at the cards and photos on the shelf, especially the photo of Hermione on the beach. He fingered the amulet around his neck for a moment; somehow, the idea of sleeping with it around his neck didn’t bother him the way a shirt did. He took off his glasses and turned out the light. His birthdays were definitely getting better.