The Errand Day

The Errand Day

The smell of burnt bacon wafted up the stairway of the Dursley home, gently tickling Harry's nostrils. He could hear Dudley thundering down the hallway, his girth so incredible that he nearly brushed both walls. Uncle Vernon was slamming the front door after fetching the morning paper, cursing the paperboy for throwing it at the far end of the driveway, forcing him to walk outside in his slippers for what he considered quite a distance. Harry had other things on his mind. He stared at himself in the mirror, noticing how much taller he was than last year. The sink seemed to be much lower than before. His skinny frame and knobby knees had filled out with Quidditch and the chores Aunt Petunia imposed on him. Longer, lean, and strong, he admired the definition in his muscles. Other changes had occurred as well, such as the alarming amount of black hair that seemed to be sprouting from his pale, snowy white body. He had wondered if his father had been hairy, and made a mental note to ask Sirius. Wrapped in only a towel, Harry carefully shaved his face, wincing when he nicked himself. Even his face had changed, first his nose at an alarming rate, and then his chin. Yet it all seemed to be coming back into proportion now. Having no help at all from Uncle Vernon, he had resorted to looking up shaving methods on the Internet one afternoon when the Dursleys were at the amusement park. After liberally applying hair gel and spiking his jet-black hair (why fight it, he reasoned), Harry put on deodorant and a splash of cologne. At sixteen, Harry was well groomed and quite dapper. Well, at least until he put his clothes on.

Aunt Petunia screamed up the stairwell, "Harry, get down here right now! I swear, if you don't pry yourself away from that mirror, I will lock you up!"

"All right, I'll be right down."

Aunt Petunia turned to Vernon, exasperated. "I don't know what has gotten into that boy! He practically lives in that bathroom! We might as well have taken in a girl. I am so glad our Dudley diddly-dums isn't so vain." She turned to Dudley, who was sitting at the breakfast table, transfixed on the television. His blond hair was greasy and unkempt, his three chins had sporadic blond whiskers protruding here and there, and he had quite a few pimples on his cheeks and forehead. Lovingly, she smoothed his hair with her hand and kissed him on the top of the head. He didn't move.

Harry bounded into the kitchen, dressed in blue jeans and an old t-shirt, not Dudley's of course, since he was taller than his cousin, Aunt Petunia had resorted to buying him used clothes from a charity thrift store instead of giving him Dudley's hand-me downs. This had sparked a huge debate between Aunt Petunia, who didn't want to be seen with Harry looking so poorly in ill-fitting clothes, and Uncle Vernon, who didn't want to spend a few measly pounds on his nephew.

"Where do you think you are going?" boomed Uncle Vernon.

"Mrs. Figg's."

"What on earth for? She's on holiday."

"She asked me to mind her house and feed her cats while she's gone." Harry gulped down his orange juice and practically inhaled his toast and jam.

"Really, now. Is she paying you?" Uncle Vernon looked straight at Harry. He has been pushing the idea of a "proper job" on Harry ever since he has come home for the summer.

"Yes, but not much, and I've had to buy cat food with it, so really, it's almost nothing." Harry rinsed his dishes off in the sink and wiped his hands on the dishtowel.

"Perhaps you should spend what little time you have left this summer working a real job, Harry, and not loafing about with those lazy friends of yours, mind you, you don't want to end up as a shiftless bum like your father." Aunt Petunia quipped.

"He was not a shiftless bum. He was an Auror, he had a job, and no, it didn't pay much, but he did it to serve, not to get rich!" Harry's green eyes were blazing.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon both gave Harry scathing glances, ready to verbally pounce at any second. Dudley suddenly shook himself free of his media-induced trance and chipped in, "What's an Auror?"

"It's sort of like a special unit on the police force. They go after the most dangerous of criminals and bring them to justice. He was very good at it."

"Oh you are so full of it!" exploded Aunt Petunia, throwing down to pot she was washing. Harry ducked and ran upstairs, grabbed his rucksack and jumped back down the flight, two steps at a time. He was out the door before Uncle Vernon could even get up from his chair. Not that Uncle Vernon bothered to; he had realized that Harry was much bigger now, and very fast and strong. The last time he had tried to thrash him, Harry had taken the belt from him and pushed him away. Verbal abuse was his only recourse now.

It was a glorious English morning. The dew glistened on the lawns and flowerbeds, the sun shone intermittently through the white fluffy clouds, and a cool breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. Harry let himself in to Mrs. Figg's house, crinkling his nose at the horrible stench of ammonia. At least one of her many cats was not using the litter box.

"Ugh." Harry cleaned the food and water bowls, refreshed them, and scooped out the used kitty litter. He checked the post, both Muggle and wizard, and noted a letter from Hogwarts addressed to him. Opening it, he breathed a sigh of relief; it was his sixth year list of books and materials, including some new and very interesting ones. There was a time, not but a few months before, when Harry wasn't sure if he was going back to Hogwarts, or be free at all, for that matter. Thank Heavens for Dumbledore.

Grabbing some Floo powder from the pot on the mantle, Harry stepped into the fireplace and clearly annunciated, " The Leaky Cauldron!"

Tom, the innkeeper, looked up at Harry, smiled a toothless grin, and said, "Nice to see you, Mr. Potter! My, what a fine, strapping lad you're turning out to be. Never mind what they say about you in the Daily Prophet, the rubbish that Skeeter woman spits out. You're a fine young man, yes, and no propaganda is going to change that!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tom, I appreciate it. So what am I today? A mass murderer, a raging psychopath, or just a swotty little brat?"

"Oh, all three and then some, amusing really." The toothless grin faded. "So what are you needing today? Are you going to stay for awhile?" Tom gave Harry a fatherly look, he rather missed having him around after the summer he finished at the inn.

"I got my Hogwarts letter! Off to get my school things, run some errands, but I'll be back in time for lunch."

"Wonderful, have a good time then, but steer clear of Knockturn Alley, lots of shifty types coming through there right now, don't want any trouble," Tom cautioned Harry.

"Trust me, I'll stay far from there, I don't want any trouble either."

The first stop was Gringotts. Harry took some of his withdrawal and had it converted into Muggle money; he found as he got older, he had more of a need for it and Uncle Vernon refused to give him any. At Flourish & Blotts he bought gently used copies of his schoolbooks, and as the sun rose higher, he loaded up his rucksack with parcels, everything from potions ingredients to new Quidditch gear, a new cauldron, astronomy instruments, tarot cards for divination, gourmet dog treats for Snuffles, loads of delicious sweets (handy for bribing Dudley), and new robes. And not just for him, either. He felt bad spending this much money, but he rationalized that the way things were going, he might not live long enough to spend it, so what was the harm in enjoying his inheritance now?

As he was passing the ladies boutique, he glanced inside, as any sixteen year-old would, and caught sight of a very pretty frock, a pearlescent blue-green, simple, but elegant. Perfect for Ginny, he thought. Without hesitation, Harry nipped inside and hailed the clerk. Surprised, she responded.

"This one here? What size?"

Harry was stumped. "Well, she's about this tall," gesturing to his collarbone, "and about this big around, and rather slight."

"With red hair?" the clerk had a sweet grin on her face.

"Er, um, yeah." Harry blushed a deep red.

"Ginny Weasley, right?"

"Uh, yeah, right."

"Size 2, she's a tiny one, and you're right, it's perfect for her. She was in here a few days ago with her mother, and it caught her eye. You must be a very good boyfriend to know her tastes so well," the woman insinuated slyly. She had obviously read the Daily Prophet's feature article on Harry's supposed love life.

"Well, actually, she's not my girlfriend, not yet, but I wouldn't mind it!" Harry couldn't believe he just told this total stranger that.

"This will do it, but you need a few things to go with it... shoes, stockings, perhaps a little purse? Accessories are most important." The plump little witch zoomed around the shop, loading up her arms with all sorts of unnecessary items.

"No, just the dress, thank you, I'm afraid I'm on a bit of a budget, but maybe next time I'm here," he politely refused.

Back at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry unloaded his enormous pile of parcels onto a table and sat down.

"Goodness, gracious, what did you get all that for!" exclaimed Tom, as he waved his want and magically expanded the inside of the rucksack to accommodate it all.

"Oh, I picked up some birthday and Christmas presents while I was as it. I don't know when I'll be back, so I thought I'd get it all out of the way." Harry gobbled down his Cornish pasties and took the last swig of Butterbeer. "I've got to go, can't be late, my Aunt and Uncle will be worried," he lied. "Thanks so much for lunch, it was delicious," he lied again and tipped generously.

"Oh you are most welcome, come back soon, and be safe!" Tom's eyes misted up, he was quite fond of the boy, and understandably worried about his future now that you-know-who was gaining power exponentially, it seemed.

Shooing the cats away from the table, Harry unloaded his parcels and stashed them in the wardrobe of the spare bedroom at Mrs. Figg's. Checking to make sure everything was locked, he glanced around the cluttered but tidy little house. Not bad, he thought, I haven't broken anything or blown the place up yet.

Dudley was waiting for Harry on the front step. "What took you so long? It's after lunch! Mum will mad, she'll have you polishing silver for a week for this!" he threatened.

Harry reached down into his pocket and pulled out some Fizzing Whizzbees, Dudley's favorite sweet. The driveway was empty.

"How long has she been gone?"

Dudley greedily eyed the sweets. "A few hours."

"All right, then, I got back shortly after she left."

"Oh you did?" Dudley sneered.

Harry pulled a few more out of his pocket and waved them at Dudley.

"Oh, yeah, you did!" Dudley agreed, taking the sweets.