Harry Potter and the Soul Shatterer

Severus Snape leaned over Harry's bed, his eyes shining malevolently shining. He then opened his mouth and said, in a ridiculously high-pitched voice: "Rise and shine, everyone!"

Harry woke up at once, jumped out of his bed, and grabbed Hedwig's cage, just as the door was opening. Aunt Petunia, who had just awakened him, stared at the sight of the rope tying the cage to the doorknob with surprise, but chose not to make any comments on Harry's primitive anti-theft device.

"It's seven o'clock, already! Why don't you take a shower? Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes. By the way, the towels are in the cupboard!" she told him with a fake smile.

"Uh, oh, yes -thanks!" replied Harry, struggling to undo the knots.

While he was in the shower with the water pouring down his face, Harry pondered about the meaning of last night's vision. He knew that what he saw actually happened, for he had the rare gift of being able to read Voldemort's thoughts at times (luckily the reverse was not possible -so far). This way, he had been able to witness the gathering of the Death Eaters through Voldemort's eyes, and did not feel particularly happy about what he had seen and heard. The fact that Snape, Dumbledore's assassin, and the man he hated the most after Voldemort himself, had been promoted to the rank of top Death Eater, was indeed bad news. Unlike many of his peers, Snape was a powerful wizard, a master of non-verbal curses, and a highly trained occlumens, capable of blocking any attempt to read his thoughts.

On the bright side, it was now obvious that Snape had numerous foes among the Death Eaters, and nobody was more likely to resent the growing influence of Hogwarts' former Potions master than Wormtail, who betrayed everyone to gain his master's favors -all in vain, as it turned out. Such a rivalry could offer many possibilities, if only properly exploited...

"Breakfast is ready!"

Aunt Petunia's shrill voice wrenched Harry from his thoughts. He turned off the shower and, draped in a huge checkered towel, went back to his room. There, another surprise awaited him. Instead of his old clothes, a large silky three-piece suit had been put on his bed. Harry opened his trunk. His Hogwarts uniform was also missing. Furious, he went over to the staircase.

"Where are my clothes?" he shouted down.

"In the washing machine, they were filthy! Why don't you try the nice suit I put on your bed instead?" came the reply.

Harry quickly got dressed, fuming. It's either that or the towel, he thought. When he entered the kitchen, his Uncle lowered the newspaper he was reading and whistled at him. "Now, there's a classy lad!" he roared approvingly. "About time you start dressing like a real Man of the World, don't you agree?"

Harry was far from sharing his uncle's enthusiasm. "Man of the World? I look more like a penguin in this!" he replied angrily. The suit was in fact quite large (it may have belonged to Dudley before he gained more weight), and the choice of colors was rather doubtful. The worst was the green-brown shirt, which Harry couldn't look at without thinking of rotten apples.

But Uncle Vernon was not deterred. "Nonsense! This look will perfectly match your future role in life."

"Which will be-?" Harry said, looking suspiciously at his uncle over his teacup.

"You'll see soon enough!" Uncle Vernon looked at his watch. "Heavens!" he shouted. "How time flies -and money with it! Well, lad, let's be on our way!"

"Where are we going?" asked Harry, as his aunt gently but firmly pushed him towards the door.

"In the van, for now!" Vernon replied in a Sphinx-like manner.

Although he still hesitated -in seventeen years, he'd had his share of bad surprises with the Dursleys- Harry decided in the end that this could be the chance to satisfy his curiosity, and followed his uncle outside.

Across the street, old Ms Figg thought for a moment that her aged eyes were betraying her as she looked at the unusual scene. Dressed in a formal, if ugly, way, Harry was being escorted by his whole family to the van, and Vernon politely opened the door for him.

As the van pulled out of the driveway to the shouts of "Have a nice day!" Harry discreetly waved at the old lady. He knew that she was a witch herself, -or more exactly a squib, or a witch who had lost her powers-entrusted by Dumbledore to keep an eye on him. In fact, there was a good chance that he would be shadowed whenever he would leave his uncle's house during his staying. The actual Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, saw him as a highly valuable asset in his fight against Voldemort, even though Harry had so far refused to work with him. Was Ms Figg now working for the Ministry as well? Harry made a mental note to investigate the matter -when he would have more time on his hands of course.

***

After a short drive, during which nobody said a word, the van parked in front of a dilapidated multi-story building in the middle of a grim industrial park. Harry and his uncle entered the dusty hall, took the elevator up to the ninth floor, and walked up to a large glass door with the words 'Grunnings Ltd' in large bronze-like letters. Once inside, half a dozen employees surrounded them, all trying to talk to Uncle Vernon at the same time.

"Morning, Mr Dursley!"

"Your tea will be ready in two minutes, Mr. Dursley!"

"The waybill is here for you to sign, Mr. Dursley!" It just arrived...."

"Should I call the meeting, Mr. Dursley?"

Uncle Vernon walked straight through the crowd, snapping brief answers such as "Fine!", "Later, later!", or "No sugar!" He led Harry to a large mahogany door with a sign in gold letters saying "Vernon Dursley - President of the Board of Directors." He opened it, and waved Harry in.

The office offered a stark contrast with the rest of the building, with a mini-bar, several leather-covered armchairs, and a magnificent desk behind which Uncle Vernon sat with his back to the window before offering a seat to Harry.

"No thanks," said Harry, coolly. "I prefer to hear your explanations while standing up. So, what's the story? D'you need someone to cook and clean up here as well?"

Uncle Vernon had a large Cheshire cat-like smile. "Patience, my lad. You'll have an answer to all your questions in no more than five minutes!"

Just as Harry was about to say something he might have regretted afterwards, someone knocked at the door. "Come in!" said Uncle Vernon. The door opened, and several grayish men entered one by one, all bowing obsequiously to Uncle Vernon. They all were as badly dressed as Harry and his uncle, and had the same mournful, browbeaten expression. In a way, they reminded Harry of Death Eaters, but without the gleam of fanaticism in their eyes.

As they sat down in silence, Uncle Vernon stood up, walked around his desk, and, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder, said, in a solemn voice: "Gentlemen, I would like you to meet Mr. Harry Potter, my nephew and Grunnings' new vice-president!"

Before he could recover from the shock caused by his uncle's words, Harry fond himself surrounded by a half-circle of grey men who were shaking his hands and patting his back while congratulating him in a similar mournful tone.

"Thank you, thank you!" said Uncle Vernon in a stentorian voice. "See you all in the meeting room in five minutes!" The gray men left after bowing to Vernon again, and only then did Harry manage to find his words. "ARE YOU NUTS? ME, VICE-PRESIDENT OF...? NO WAY!" he yelled.

"Oh, and why not, if I may ask?" Uncle Vernon asked, looking amused.

Harry hesitated a moment. Though he had plenty of good reasons to refuse the job his uncle was offering him (so to speak), he wasn't ready to tell him that fighting Lord Voldemort was the most important one: that was his concern, not Vernon's.

"I mean -I don't know the first thing about business," he finally said, "and even less about drills! Besides-"

"Oh, that..." interrupted Uncle Vernon with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Don't worry, when I started myself, I couldn't tell a shareholder from a screwdriver!" He laughed heartily. "Believe me, lad, there's no school like experience; diplomas are just good for pen-pushers!"

Harry opened his mouth, but before he could reply, Uncle Vernon was talking again.

"Good gracious!" he exclaimed, looking at his watch again. "Will you look at this? How time flies!" And money with it, Harry thought almost automatically. "Well, lad, it's time you learn your first lesson in real life: never be late to meet a guest - especially if this guest can save your neck!" he said with a wink.

Taking Harry by the arm, he walked him out of the office and down the corridor, to a large door with the sign 'Conference Room' on it. There he stopped, and turned towards his nephew. "This time, I'll do the talking, you just listen. Understood?" he whispered in a slightly threatening tone that sounded a bit more familiar to Harry.

Both entered the meeting room where the grey men were already seated around a large oval conference table, looking as mournful as ever. Harry and his uncle imitated them and Vernon quickly became absorbed by a new occupation, which consisted in looking at his watch while biting his fingernails.

Suddenly, the door opened with a bang, making Harry jump on his seat. A huge pink-faced man, even larger and more badly dressed than Uncle Vernon, had entered the conference room. Ignoring his host's extended hand he slumped in the largest -and most comfortable- chair with a loud burping noise.

"Hullo Vernon, you old cow!" he bellowed. "Sorry if I'm late! Bloody traffic!" His little bovine eyes fell on Harry. "Say, who's the four-eyes?" he asked Vernon. "Some college-trained monkey you brought in to help you sell me that codswallop of yours?"

"My dear Humphrey," said Uncle Vernon in a voice that had lost much of his assurance, "please meet my nephew, a fine young man who enthusiastically decided to join our ranks as Grunning's new vice-president!"

An outburst of roaring laughter interrupted him. "Vice-president? Yeah, right!" said Mr Humphrey, wiping his eyes. "And what's he going to do? Count paperclips? Or personally interview new secretaries? If he's to follow your steps, I bet his functions will require more vice than presidential skills, ha, ha, ha!"

Uncle Vernon blushed, yet managed to articulate, "Lights, please!" The room was instantly plunged into darkness. Harry then heard a clicking sound: someone had turned on a slide projector. Several columns of numbers appeared on a wall-size screen.

"These figures," said Uncle Vernon, in a voice he obviously wanted to sound very professional, "represent the expected returns on our future expansion strategy that will consolidate the enduring partnership between our two great enterprises. As you may remember from our last meeting, the expected rate of return..."

The remainder of Vernon's speech was quickly lost to Harry, as the voice of his Uncle slowly morphed into a sort of background noise, from which a few words emerged, like trout jumping out of a lake: 'market share', 'competitive edge', 'synergy', 'team work', and so on.

I must have gone crazy... What am I doing here? I should be looking for horcruxes instead of listening to all this nonsense! He thought. I must find a way out, and fast!

Suddenly, a giant blue whale jumped out of the lake.

"...As our contribution for this project," Uncle Vernon was saying pompously, "we can rely on a highly valuable property in the heart of old London. According to our sources, the value of real estate in the vicinity of Grimmauld Place can be estimated as..."

Harry stood up, stunned. Grimmauld Place...Sirius' house! That's what they're after! They want me to sign it away! he thought, flushed with anger.

Now everything was clear: it was because they coveted Harry's late godfather's property -now his- that the Dursleys had acted so strangely, going to such lengths as to offer him a job he didn't even want. They were just trying to bribe him! Harry's indignation however quickly cooled down, replaced by a bitter sense of satisfaction: now that his curiosity was at last satisfied, his next move was to do whatever he could to wreck his uncle's mischievous plans.

"Any questions?" Uncle Vernon asked the audience, as the lights were turned back on.

Before he knew it, Harry had sprung from his seat. "Yeah, just one question! Wouldn't have been more appropriate to at least inform the rightful owner of this property - and that means ME- of those plans in the first place?" he shouted at his uncle.

A stunned silence greeted his outburst. Uncle Vernon's face was turning crimson. Obviously, he didn't expect such a reaction from his newly appointed vice-president. A few grey men concealed a mocking grin.

"Always the same, Vernon, you old swindler! So, that's why you brought him here! And without even telling him about all this!" Mr. Humphrey guffawed.

Grabbing Harry by the shoulder, Uncle Vernon pushed him towards the door. "Would you excuse us for a moment?" he whispered to his guest, his face now purple with embarrassment.

"Now, listen here, boy!" he growled to Harry, once they were outside. "There are many who would be delighted to take your place, including Dudley. So, unless your idea of a career is doing magic tricks in the subway for the rest of your life, you better start cooperating! First, you are going to tell me how to get to that ruddy house of yours! I haven't been able to find it, but I know it's there, since the old bloke said so! So, if you don't want to go back to your cupboard, I strongly suggest you spill the beans!"

Harry's mind was racing. There was no shortage of arguments to oppose to Vernon's plans. Firstly, he had absolutely no intention in helping his uncle in any way. Secondly, the old Black House had been so packed with dark magic spells by Sirius' Muggle-hating family that only wizards could live in it. But, most importantly, the number twelve, Grimmauld place served as headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, a secret organization created by Dumbledore to fight Voldemort. However, the real question now was whether these arguments would be sufficient to deter his uncle...

Suddenly, he had an inspiration. "You want to see my house?" he told Vernon in a challenging tone, "Fine, you'll see it! Better, I'll take you there myself, right now!"

"Good! I see that you're becoming more reasonable!" Uncle Vernon released his grip on Harry's shoulder, and opened the conference room's door. "Everything's fine, our little disagreement has been taken care of! And now, my dear Humphrey, the vice-president and I would be most obliged to take you for a visit of to this famous property, as a token of the seriousness of our proposal." he told his guest.

Mr. Humphrey sighed. "All right, let's go see what the boy's shack looks like..." He rose and walked out of the room, followed by Harry and his uncle. Outside, Vernon abruptly turned towards his nephew: "Let me get things straight, boy," he hissed in a low voice. "I understand that you are not to perform any of this- magic, during the visit!"

"Don't worry," answered Harry dryly, "I won't do any magic..."

"Good," Vernon replied. He turned his back on Harry, and left.

...But you can bet your life that the house will, thought Harry.

(to be continued)

Author's note:

So the Dursley mystery is finally resolved! This chap was inspired by a line in the HBP, where Uncle Vernon was 'greedily' enquiring about the number twelve Grimmauld Place during Dumbledore's visit at Privet Drive.

Again, a million thanks to Alessa for the proof reading!