Harry Potter and the Flying Squad

Harry Potter sat in his room, at the table he called his desk. It was a simple table, medium-sized, pretty battered; however it was a real place to do paperwork. This was as close to heaven as he would ever expect while in the Dursley house on Privet Drive.

A year ago, he had been forced to do his writing while lying in bed, hiding parchment and quill, always at the risk of spilling the ink across the sheet. But no longer. Things had changed.

The change hadn't come by itself, and not at all from his Uncle Vernon or his Aunt Petunia. No, Harry had fought for it, although the fight had been a short one, with a determined Harry on one side and his horrified relatives on the other.

It started two days after Harry's return for summer vacation. It ended the next morning. But let's tell it in order ...

* * *

Back from Hogwarts, Harry had spent two days thinking about the current situation and his state. Then he realized that he would need weeks to recover from the recent events: the death of Cedric Diggory, his fight with Voldemort, and the fact of Voldemort alive and free.

He became aware also that his tolerance had grown too thin for what the Dursleys considered a normal treatment in their house - for him, mind, not for their own son. But what could he do? Using magic was unlawful.

Only ... the Ministry of Magic was in a shattered state.

He came to a conclusion. If he was supposed to face the risk of Voldemort attacking any day, a minor investment in unlawful magic was certainly the least of his worries. And so, next morning during breakfast, Harry started the War of Just One Day.

"I have to tell you something," he began. "It has to do with my position in this house."

Aunt Petunia, busy with the large quantities of Dudley's breakfast, had twitched at Harry's first words. Now she stood frozen, seemingly unable to turn.

A moment before, Uncle Vernon had been reading the newspaper, which lately was full of weird little stories. It took him a few seconds to register from where the wind blew in Harry's words, then the paper fell down, presenting a face of utter disbelief.

"What did you say??"

"What I'm saying is, I won't accept the way you're treating me any longer. From now on, I'm going to make sure that I have a decent life here. For starters, that - "

"Shut up, you perverse creature! Who do you think you are? A guest at a luxury hotel? You ungrateful - "

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Uncle Vernon's shouting stopped mid-sentence. His body froze, leaving his face an ungraceful reddish purple.

Aunt Petunia turned, her eyes fixed on Harry's wand. Slowly, two trembling hands approached her throat.

Dudley was trying the impossible - to shrink in place until his enormous body would no longer be exposed to the scene.

"You will listen to me!" Harry stared at his uncle. "You never have, but you must now. I'm stuck with you, and you're stuck with me. I can't change it, not until school starts again. Until then, you can give me duties and errands to perform - up to a maximum of four hours per day. It's my payment for my room and the food I get - probably an overpayment, but so what - and it's four hours more than your own son is giving."

Dudley showed the good sense not to move or speak.

"Apart from these four hours, I'm on my own. Whatever that means, it certainly means that I'm not at your command. You won't see much of me, and that'll be good for all of us."

Harry glanced at Aunt Petunia, whose hands had found their destination and were now clutching her throat.

"I'm going to change a few things about my room; and while I'm living there, I'll make a normal amount of noise until I feel like sleeping. If that bothers you, get used to it."

Uncle Vernon seemed to be trying another impossible thing - to break the stunning spell.

"What you say about me or my parents while I'm not around is up to you; what I can't hear I don't care about. But if you ever insult me again, I'll make you regret it."

Harry's voice dropped to a strangled hissing. "And if I ever again hear you insulting my parents, you will dearly wish you hadn't."

He rose from his chair. "Don't expect the authorities to come around just because I'm keeping you at bay with a little spell. They have their own concerns right now."

He pointed his wand at Uncle Vernon. "Mollirate."

For a second, nothing happened.

"Any orders for today?"

Uncle Vernon was moving. "Wait a second, I'll give you orders!" There was the fear of God in his face - still, he seemed driven by an impulse impossible to suppress. "You son of a - "

He stopped in mid-sentence, and mid-step, staring at Harry's wand.

"That was close." Harry's face was full of calm determination. "As a last warning, today's four hours are cancelled. I have business to do anyway."

He went out.

* * *

Walking down the street, he tried to come up with an idea how to get a table, a chair, and a few other items - bookshelves, for example. His own money - wizard money - wouldn't buy him even the smallest piece of furniture. Asking the Dursleys was out of discussion, as a matter of pride more than morale. What then?

Gringotts would change his money to Muggle currency, any time. The only question was, how to travel? The problem looked insolvable.

Passing a corner, Harry saw an office building across the street. People - Muggles, who else - were moving old furniture out and new furniture in.

Old furniture?

There was a man standing next to the entrance, watching and occasionally giving an orders. Harry walked over.

"Excuse me, sir."

The man seemed as broad as he was high. His muscles looked as though throwing Harry across the street wouldn't make him breathe harder. His face turned to Harry.

"What's up, son?"

"Sir, I'm looking for a bit of old furniture. Er - then I saw this here, and I thought - maybe, if you don't need them any longer ... I'd like to ask if I could have some pieces."

The man examined Harry's body. "Your manners are okay, son, except that manners won't move so much as a chair. How're you gonna move the stuff?"

Harry looked at the pile of desks. No way - unless, in the dark, with nobody around, and a wand ...

He turned back to the man. "I don't know yet, sir. But I'll find a way."

"Tell you what ... You work with me till five o'clock. Then you pick your choice, and I'll give you a lift - both you and the furniture."

Five o'clock meant six hours. Would he ever get paid?

The man didn't blink, nor did he look away. Two calm, hard marbles were waiting for Harry's answer.

"A lift, and something to eat at lunch. I've got no money at all."

The marbles sparkled. "That's what I thought. Okay, son, we have a deal. Get moving."

The work turned out harder than anything Harry had done before. A single piece of furniture was no problem, nor was the second. The third - not quite. The fourth ... And there seemed no end.

The man's hand was on Harry's shoulder. "Son, I didn't mean to drive you into a breakdown. Look, you have to get into a rhythm. Steady does the job. Don't run. Walk your step, be it empty handed or loaden ... That's all you have to learn about moving."

It was true. Switch off your mind, and walk.

At lunch, the man appeared with a bag. "Here, my boy ... Thirty minutes break - hope you don't mind tap water."

"Thank you, sir. No, water's fine."

Inside the bag were three rolls and an enormous piece of sausage. At the first moments, just holding the food was hurting as much as with the furniture before. But Harry felt great. Maybe, he thought, the turning points in your life were marked by sausages.

The break had done a small wonder, which held for quite a while. Then it was the routine that kept him moving. Then it was the thought of a desk and a chair ... Then it was five o'clock.

Harry already knew which pieces to take. Each turn had been marked by a glance at the selected items: a desk, a chair, a small filing cabinet. There weren't lamps around - so what, his wand would do the job.

A semi truck appeared, came closer, and stopped. The man jumped out and looked at Harry's selection. "Them?"

Harry nodded.

Before he could move, the desk was on the loading space, followed by the cabinet. He just found the time to pass the chair into the man's hand - one hand; for a chair, this figure didn't bother using two arms.

"Jump in, son."

They reached the Dursley home in a few minutes in which the man hadn't found a reason to talk. Now, after examining the building, he asked, "This your parent's house?"

"My relatives."

Harry felt, rather than saw, the man glance at him. "I see."

They moved the desk upstairs together. Coming down the stairs after the first turn, they passed an open-mouthed Dudley, who took care to stay out of reach from their path.

On their second turn, the man took the cabinet, Harry the chair. When they had deposited the pieces in Harry's room, the man reached in his pocket and retrieved a business card.

"If you want to work for money, son, gimme a call."

The man looked at the door, then turned back to Harry. "The offer goes to the person, not the house. Same with the money, if you agree. Good night."

"Thank you, sir, and good night."

Some minutes later, Harry walked downstairs for supper. When he sat down, Uncle Vernon breathed heavily.

"You've lost your right to sit with us. Leave the room!"

"Fine with me."

Harry stood up and pointed his wand toward at table. "Accio cibum."

Dudley and Uncle Vernon's plates flew across the room into his hands.

Upstairs, Harry celebrated the first meal at his new table. The food was great after a hard day's work, but nowhere near as good as lunch. And of course it was too much by far. He deposited the leftovers in Dudley's room.

Next morning, Harry went downstairs and sat down for breakfast.

Silence.

A moment later, Aunt Petunia came with his breakfast; it was almost normal, only more than he'd ever had before.

When he'd finished, Harry asked, "So what are my orders for today?"

A gruff voice behind the newspaper answered, "Your aunt will tell you, after breakfast."

The War of Just One Day was over.

* * *

Now Harry was sitting in his room, reading a large volume about politics in the wizarding world, with a focus toward riots, rebellions, and revolutions. It was homework, but only up to a point. In contrast with recent years, Harry's interest was awake. He wanted to learn how wizards had managed to cope with enemies in the past centuries. Unfortunately, he found nothing comparable to Lord Voldemort.

Something rushed in through the open window.

For a moment, Harry expected a daytime bird, attracted by his wandlight. Then a large shadow obscured the lights from the street, its wings folded. An owl was sitting on the windowframe.

Harry extracted the letter from the capsule at the left foot, then invited the owl, which obviously expected to return with an answering letter, to some refreshment.

Hedwig, he recognized with relief, was glad about the company more than she was annoyed by Harry offering her own food. He opened the letter.

Harry scribbled, "Okay. Harry," on a parchment, put it into the capsule, and sent the owl off.

A letter from Sirius Black - written so that it could fall into the wrong hands without telling much. Wednesday was tomorrow. Sirius would be waiting in his dog shape, making sure that nobody else would see a large black dog that wasn't expected on Privet Drive.

Unable to read further, Harry closed the book and began speculating wildly about what Sirius would tell him. It was a long time before he fell asleep.

* * *

Wednesday evening, Harry strolled down Privet Drive. Some hours earlier, he had checked the location to figure out where Sirius would wait. There was a corner with bushes high enough to provide cover for a dog even as large as his godfather. And this was exactly where he found him.

The dog gave no sign of recognition, nor did Harry. They walked past the last building where they reached a spot under trees. Checking around, Harry saw that they were alone. When he turned back, Sirius was standing there.

They hugged. "Harry," said Sirius, "it's good to see you. How's life with the Dursleys?"

"Better than ever. I came up with a few arguments to convince them that it's better for all of us if they stop treating me like a retarded slave."

"Really? Like what, for example?"

Harry pointed at his pocket. "Like my wand, for example. I told them not to hold their breath, waiting for the wizard cops to come running and stop my unlawful magic ... As it turned out, I didn't need much."

Sirius' laugh was short and bitter. "So the mess in the Ministry of Magic is at least good for that, if nothing else."

"What's up, Sirius? Why are you here?"

"To give you a present." Sirius reached in his pocket and came up with something shiny. "Here - it comes from a old good friend."

Examining the item, Harry saw a heavy medal on a chain, made to wear around the neck. It looked like gold.

He glanced up. "A present? For me? ... Why? Is it from - "

Sirius' hand was on Harry's mouth. "Yes."

His godfather's voice, not loud before, was barely audible now. "It's an invitation, and this is your travelling ticket, if you know what I mean. Use it at ten o'clock precisely, to meet somewhere we can speak safely."

Harry stared at the medal, at Sirius, and then back at the medal again. If he'd understood correctly, he was expected in two hours' time at Hogwarts. But this was impossible - portkeys didn't work in the school area.

Sirius' next words answered the unspoken question.

"How's your homework? Although that's not the issue right now - by the way, do you like walking around lakes?"

It took Harry several seconds before he understood. The portkey would send him to the place where the Hogwarts Express arrived, outside the protective zone that prevented apparition, portkeys, and other techniques from working.

"Yes," he said, "I do. Lakes and train stations."

"Good. It's a pleasure talking with an open mind."

Sirius fixed the chain with the medal around Harry's neck. "Put it under your shirt - when it's time, rub it on both sides with your fingers. And now you should leave. We can continue our conversation later."

"Can you give me a hint what's this all about?"

"No, I can't." Sirius looked deadly serious. "I promised to deliver the invitation and the ticket, and nothing else. Now go, Harry."

Harry walked back toward the Dursley's house. At least this time he would only have to wait two hours for his questions to be answered.