Harry Potter and the Unicorn Guild

What Every Young Witch and Wizard Should Know was... interesting, but Harry doubted he'd have much need of any of the various contraceptive charms and potions it talked about - not anytime soon, anyway, not the way his luck with girls had gone so far. He'd kissed one girl and ended up alienating her soon after, and he didn't think his luck would be changing anytime soon.

Not only that, but any girlfriend of his would almost certainly end up becoming a target for Voldemort and his Death Eaters. It simply wouldn't be a good idea for him to enter into any kind of serious relationship until Voldemort had been taken care of. Harry grimaced; it was quickly becoming far too depressing, thinking of all the ways Voldemort had screwed up his life so far.

With a sigh, he closed the book and threw it in his trunk, picking up Magical Plants and Their Defensive Uses instead. He was reading about the Venomous Tentacula (useful for pushing your enemies into, as the teeth contained a paralyzing agent) when he heard the front door open and Uncle Vernon call, "Petunia, I'm home!" A few minutes later he was stumping up the stairs.

Harry heard him open the door to Dudley's room. "Say, Dudders, there's a boxing match on the telly tonight. How about you and I - " An ominous silence followed.

"HARRY POTTER! GET IN HERE, NOW!" Uncle Vernon's bellow thundered through the upstairs.

With a gulp, Harry slid off his bed and went to Dudley's room. Uncle Vernon was holding Quidditch Through the Ages, and Dudley was sitting on his bed, staring sullenly at the floor. "Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked nervously.

Uncle Vernon brandished the book at him so violently that Harry had to jump to the side to avoid getting smashed in the face. "WHAT - IS - THIS?" Uncle Vernon shouted angrily, spittle flying across the room.

Harry drew himself up to his full height - over the school year, he'd grown so much that he was now as tall as his uncle - and steeled himself against Uncle Vernon's ire, answering as calmly as he could and looking his uncle straight in the eye. "That's one of my books."

As he spoke, Aunt Petunia appeared at the bedroom door, panting slightly, her pale eyes wide with alarm. She looked from Dudley to Harry to Vernon, and recoiled at the look of fury on her husband's face. "Vernon..." she whispered.

"AND WHAT IS ONE OF YOUR BOOKS DOING IN DUDLEY'S ROOM?" his uncle roared, ignoring the presence of his wife.

"I lent it to him," Harry said coolly. "He asked to borrow it."

Uncle Vernon let out a short burst of laughter that sounded like a bark. "He asked to borrow it, did he? Rubbish! Dudley doesn't read - he's an athlete, not some swotty little bookworm! And even if he did want to read, it wouldn't be one of your books. You're lying, boy!"

"Go on, ask him," Harry said with a shrug. He knew Dudley would lie about it, but he didn't care - Uncle Vernon could bluster all he wanted to, but one mention of Moody and he'd quickly shut up.

"Well, Dudley?" Uncle Vernon looked expectantly at his son.

To Harry's great surprise, Dudley stood up and muttered defiantly, "It's true."

Aunt Petunia gasped. Uncle Vernon's jaw dropped, and then he wheeled on Harry. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SON?!" he howled, shaking a beefy fist in Harry's face. "You've bewitched him, I know you have!"

"I have not!" Harry said angrily.

"He has not!" Dudley protested at the same time. His parents' eyes flew toward him, but Dudley didn't back down. At the moment, Harry was feeling just as stunned at Dudley's behavior as his aunt and uncle.

Dudley squared his porky shoulders. "I'm not bewitched, or under any curse, or anything like that, Dad. Honest. I - I heard a g - er, one of his friends talking about this sport, and I was curious, so I asked him - "

"FRIENDS?" Uncle Vernon sputtered, tossing the book onto Dudley's desk and eyeing the moving Quidditch player on the front malevolently. "Wha - what friends? When have YOU met HIS friends?"

"A couple of my friends came over earlier today," Harry supplied. He'd hoped to keep their visit secret from his uncle, but it was going to come out eventually, so it might as well be from him.

Uncle Vernon's eyes were blazing with fury. "WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU, BOY - I DON'T WANT YOUR KIND IN THIS HOUSE!"

"Oh, lighten up, Vernon," Harry said impatiently. "It is my birthday, after all. They threw a surprise party for me at Mrs. Figg's, and they helped me carry my gifts over here. They were in the house less than ten minutes."

"Why - I - you - " Uncle Vernon whirled to face Aunt Petunia, who was standing still as a statue in the doorway. "Did you know about this?! Did you know that his lot were in the house?"

Aunt Petunia swallowed, her eyes darting to Harry, then Dudley. "I - " She swallowed again. "I knew."

"And you ALLOWED them in here?"

"For - for heaven sakes, Vernon, they were only children," Aunt Petunia said nervously. "I m-met them and they seemed harmless enough. And they weren't in the house very long."

Uncle Vernon's eyes bored into her like one of the drills at Grunnings. "But why?" he fumed. "WHY did you allow it?"

"I couldn't help it, Vernon," Aunt Petunia said faintly, her face the color of curdled milk. "There - there was a girl with him... she looked just like Lily, it flustered me so..."

"Aunt Petunia, maybe you had better sit down," Harry said uncertainly; his aunt looked like she was going to pass out.

"Now listen here, boy!" Vernon boomed, whirling on Harry as Aunt Petunia dropped on to Dudley's bed, covering her face with her hands. Dudley tentatively put his arm around her. "You -

"No, YOU listen, Vernon!" Harry yelled, fed up with his uncle's blustering harangues and bigoted attitude. "I've had it up to here - " he punched the air a few inches above his head, " - with your attitude toward me and my world! D'you think I wanted my parents murdered by a psychopath? D'you think I wanted to have to live here with you? NO! I didn't want it any more then you did, but that's what happened, and we can't change it! Yes, I'm a wizard! Yes, I do magic! But what has magic ever done to you, huh? How has it ever hurt you?"

"IT HURT MY WIFE, POTTER!" Vernon shouted, his eyes bulging in his face. Aunt Petunia uttered a soft cry and started to sob. "IT HURT MY WIFE, AND IT DAMN WELL HURT ME TOO!"

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, staring at his uncle with mingled fascination and suspicion. He'd seen Uncle Vernon angry, furious, and even enraged - but he'd never seen him like this. There was something on his face that went beyond rage.

His uncle thrust his face to within inches of Harry's. "Haven't you ever wondered, boy," Uncle Vernon hissed vehemently, "why Petunia is the only relative that you have left? Don't you ever wonder what happened to your grandparents?"

"Yes! Yes, I have wondered - but anytime I said anything, you told me not to ask questions!" Harry retorted.

Vernon smirked. "It figures you wouldn't even bother to try and find out what happened to them - how and why they died," he said viciously. "Shows how much you really want to know about them."

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" Harry bellowed, losing all patience.

"Our wedding, Potter," Vernon spat. "Some of your kind came to our wedding and started waving those wands around. They came for your father and mother, but they got Petunia's parents instead!"

Harry's mind reeled. He opened his mouth and closed it again, aware that he probably looked like some odd sort of fish. He turned to his aunt, struggling to bring his temper under control so he could speak to her without yelling. "Aunt Petunia, is this true?" he asked, his voice gruff from shouting.

Aunt Petunia removed her hands from her tearstained face and looked at Harry, an expression of pure anguish on her face. Harry had never in his life seen her look like that. "Yes, it's true," she said hoarsely. "Your mother had just graduated the year before; she was engaged to your father - she brought him to the wedding - right after the ceremony all these men in black cloaks and white masks appeared and started shouting curses - shooting bolts of light - they were aiming for your parents but got my parents instead - " She began to shake violently. "They sent a mark up into the air - a green skull, and a snake. It glowed - lit up the whole yard - it was horrible."

Harry sucked in his breath, his eyes wide with horror. Aunt Petunia had to stop and compose herself. "Afterwards," she continued, shakily, "more wizards came, they erased the memories of the guests - I heard your father tell Lily that the men they caught were going to Azkaban, and the dementors would keep them there forever - " She burst into a fresh round of tears.

Harry turned back to Uncle Vernon. "I didn't know," he said quietly, horror-struck. For once, he felt nothing but sincere compassion for his Muggle relatives. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Now do you see, boy?" Uncle Vernon asked disgustedly. "I never wanted anything to do with your kind ever again, but unfortunately we got landed with you when your parents blew themselves up - "

"They didn't blow themselves up!" Harry snapped, his temper blazing again. "They were murdered by Lord Voldemort, just like my grandparents." He whipped his wand out of his shirt and pointed it at his uncle, who gasped and backed away.

"Now you listen to me, and you listen good," Harry growled, sounding, to his ears, an awful lot like Mad-Eye Moody. "My parents were not responsible for the death of my grandparents. Lord Voldemort is the one at fault - he was the one who ordered that attack; my parents had nothing to do with it. They didn't ask to become his targets; they were just brave enough to stand against him. They were trying to make the world safe for people like you. And I'll have you know that just because a few wizards are evil doesn't mean they all are. I don't think all Muggles are bad just because I've had to live with you."

Uncle Vernon swelled indignantly and opened his mouth, but shut it hurriedly as Harry jabbed his wand at him. "I'm not finished yet!" he said fiercely. "Lord Voldemort has been after me my entire life. So far I've escaped him five times - five! And I've lost people I love, too." He swallowed. "He killed my parents, he killed my friend Cedric, and he - he and his Death Eaters killed my godfather a few weeks ago. I watched all those deaths happen."

Aunt Petunia let out a strangled gasp. Dudley seemed to be frozen in place, and Uncle Vernon was glaring at him suspiciously.

"Every time he's attacked me, I've narrowly escaped with my life. And what do I come back to? THIS!" Harry gestured wildly. "I come back here, and I have to put up with your slurs against wizards, and your insults about Hogwarts, and your rudeness to me. And I'm telling you, I'm not putting up with it any more! The only reason I'm here is because of them." He jabbed his wand toward Aunt Petunia and Dudley. "They have my mother's blood, and as long as I live with them, Voldemort can't touch me here. He can't touch you here, either. Voldemort can't come near this house unless I can't call it home."

Uncle Vernon simply stared at his nephew, the veins in his forehead bulging dangerously.

"That's what he said," Aunt Petunia said suddenly, breaking the silence. "In his letter, the one that was with you the night you came here."

"Dumbledore," Harry said, more of a statement than a question. Aunt Petunia nodded. "Well, then, you know I'm telling the truth."

"What of it?" Vernon growled.

"It means that I have to say here to keep you - and Dudley, and Aunt Petunia - safe. And if I'm going to stay here, some things have to change," Harry announced calmly. "Number one: if you don't bother me, I won't bother you. Number two: you won't question me or otherwise comment when I choose to go somewhere for the day, nor will you attempt to restrict my comings and goings or harass those I visit. Number three - "

"Now see here, boy!" Uncle Vernon blustered. "I won't stand here while you - "

"NUMBER THREE," Harry shouted determinedly, ignoring his uncle's protests, "you don't have to like me - you don't even have to pretend to like me - but you will treat me with respect. And if you do, I will return the courtesy." He looked levelly at his uncle. "Do we understand each other, Vernon?"

"That's enough," his uncle said hotly, his hands balling into fists at his side. "You have no right to call me by my name like that - "

"You're not my uncle," Harry cut in, "so I won't call you 'Uncle' any longer. I will call you 'Vernon' or 'sir,' all right? In turn, you will call me 'Harry,' not 'boy' or 'Potter.'"

Uncle Vernon ground his teeth, but didn't answer. Finally, after exchanging a glance with his wife, he gave Harry a stiff nod.

"All right, then." Harry replaced his wand in his pocket. "Now that we're clear on that, I'm going back to my room. Aunt Petunia, I'm not hungry, so I won't be coming down for supper. Dudley, keep the book as long as you need to. If you have any questions about Quidditch, you know where I am." He turned and, brushing past Uncle Vernon, strode out of the room and into his own.

Inside his own room, Harry felt shaky and weak, as though he'd just battled with a dementor. He dug through his trunk until he found one of the boxes that contained Mrs. Weasley's homemade fudge. As he munched the chocolate, he felt a bit better - but he couldn't stop replaying in his head what Vernon and his aunt and told him.

He remembered asking Aunt Petunia about his mother's parents once - he couldn't have been more than six or seven. Her face had gone white, then red, and then she'd shouted at him not to ask questions and sent him to his cupboard without supper. Since then, he'd never dared ask about them. He didn't even know their names.

He grabbed his leather-bound photo album and flipped through the pictures, but he didn't see any that might have been of his mother's parents. No wonder, since they'd been Muggles - he didn't even know if Muggles could appear in wizarding photos.

He stopped at the photo of his parents' wedding. His mum, dad, and Sirius looked so happy - what if their wedding had been interrupted by Death Eaters? Would they look as happy as they did? For the first time, he fully understood why his aunt and uncle hated wizards so much - and he also understood why there were no other pictures in the house except for those of Dudley. He'd wondered about that before - there were no portraits of relatives, no framed pictures of his aunt and uncle's wedding day, just Dudley learning to crawl, Dudley breaking his first model airplane, Dudley on his first day of school...

He remembered the hatred he'd felt for Sirius when he'd been under the mistaken impression that Sirius had betrayed his parents. To Vernon and Aunt Petunia, his mother and father had betrayed their trust by inviting danger into their wedding - danger that culminated with the tragic death of his grandparents and turned what should have been a happy day into tragedy. Would he hate wizards any less in that position? Maybe - but maybe not.

And, also for the first time, he understood something else. Uncle Vernon loved Aunt Petunia. That had been eminently clear when Uncle Vernon had yelled, "He hurt my wife!" The look on his face - pure rage, utter fury - he imagined he might look the same when those he loved were threatened.

What struck Harry, however, was the love. Lord Voldemort knew nothing of love - it was a concept foreign to him. That oversight had brought about his first downfall, when he forgot about the love Lily Potter had for her son. In the same way, it was love - twisted, perhaps, but love nonetheless - which motivated his uncle's behavior. Wizards had hurt his wife; therefore, out of love for her, he hated wizards and wanted nothing to do with them.

So as reprehensible as Vernon was, he still loved. He valued his family - he loved his wife; he loved his son. He didn't love Harry, but Harry didn't care. He found it difficult to muster up much contempt for Vernon when people like Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Lord Voldemort existed. Vernon was a selfish, boorish, ignorant individual - but he could love, still had the capacity for love, which put him heads and tails above Lord Voldemort. And if Harry could deal with Lord Voldemort, he could certainly deal with Vernon Dursley.

And, Harry mused, it wasn't like he was lacking for love now. Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, even Dumbledore - the list went on. Perhaps he had lacked love from the day his parents died until he went to Hogwarts, but no longer. His birthday party today had been plain evidence of that. Love had brought him to the Department of Mysteries - love had saved him when Voldemort tried to possess him. Love was one thing Harry possessed which Voldemort did not.

Suddenly, Harry bolted up in bed. "'He will have power the Dark Lord knows not,'" he quoted, breathing heavily. "That's it - that's what I have that he doesn't. It's love." He flopped back down on his pillows, staring up at the plastered ceiling. "But how am I supposed to defeat him with love?" he wondered aloud. "I can't love him."

As much as he pondered the problem, he couldn't come up with an answer. His head was aching again, and he'd had an early morning and a busy day - he was too tired to think. He'd consider it more tomorrow... he was too tired... he was... he was...

He was asleep.

And for the first night in a long while, he didn't dream.

~ end of Chapter 5 ~