Dangers Of Living

Chapter 2- Harry Potter, the Last Slave in Britain

"Oh, you should have seen the look on his face, Vernon!" screeched a high-pitched voice. Spit flew out of her magenta painted lips as the large woman spoke. "He loves me, I can tell! Why, he was positively enamored!" she gushed, stroking her ugly brown dog. He was squirming around in a desperate attempt to get off her humongous lap, but she had him firmly locked down under her pudgy arms.

Vernon chuckled. "I´m sure he was Marge, I´m sure he was," he said, gazing adoringly at his sister. So far, he had been having a wonderful time at her house. But he was also glad he would be leaving tomorrow, continuing his vacation and his holiday to France.

Petunia walked into the garishly decorated kitchen with a bright smile on her face. "I´ve just finished packing the things into the suitcase, darling," she announced, sitting on Vernon´s voluptuous knee. She threw her arms around him as far as they would go, and gave him a tight squeeze. "We´re all set for tomorrow."

Suddenly, Vernon´s sister Marge´s tone was sharp. She lost the sickly sweet voice she had when speaking of her newest crush, and gained a special one that was also reserved for only one person- Harry Potter.

"So," she said, hate dripping from her voice in only that one word. "You´re leaving that boy with me?"

"Now, now, Marge," Vernon said hurriedly. "We worked out a deal, remember? Fifteen pounds a day and we also pay for any added expenses. It´s only for a week." He worriedly looked at his sister. Her round face was scrunching up in thought.

"What about the funny business?"

"There will be none, Marge," Petunia said smoothly. She patted her hair and rose from her husband´s knee, her cheerful mood gone, along with Marge´s sticky voice. "That has been taken care of."

"He´s dangerous, that boy. I still don´t know if I want to do this. If I didn´t need the money for bingo...." She trailed off.

"I know, you wouldn´t be doing this," supplied Vernon. "But remember, you can do with him what you like. It´s free labor!" he said, desperately trying to quell any last thoughts of doubt in Marge´s mind.

"Rather like a personal slave?" she said, obviously liking the idea.

Vernon was quick to agree. "Exactly," he said, playing a smile on his face that wasn´t unlike the ones crooked used car sellers do just before they´ve tricked an old lady into buying a junk bucket. But to Marge, it was reassuring grin. The nasty little boy wouldn´t try to hurt her, and she would have a personal servant. The deal sounded fine to her.

But to Harry, who was listening from outside the door, the arrangement sounded absolutely horrible. He knew the Dursley´s didn´t like him, but how could they do this? Come to think of it, wasn´t it illegal, slave labor?

He had been brought here completely against his will, not that he had ever even stated exactly what his will was. This summer, he had been rather subdued, and so quiet, even the Dursley´s noticed it and Petunia had even made a comment about it.

"Cat got you tongue?" she asked one day at breakfast. When Harry shook his head no, she said, "I don´t think I´ve heard you talk since you´ve come back." Harry didn´t know how to answer. He also was baffled as to why his aunt even cared. He just shrugged and studied his piece of bacon and missed the strange look that passed between his aunt and uncle. Petunia nervously cut up her eggs and kept staring at Vernon, as if having a silent conversation. And Dudley was looking back and forth, from his mother to his father, to the top of Harry´s head as he tried to figure out what was going on.

Finally, Vernon cleared his throat and announced that he´d best head off to work. He said he would drop Dudley off over Pier´s house on the way, so both father and son left. Petunia didn´t say anything until she heard their car start up outside and pull off.

"Harry," she said quietly, but Harry must not have heard her. He continued moving around the off on his plate, staring out of the window. "Harry," she repeated, louder, this time. He looked up, with a sullen expression on his face.

His look automatically threw him off. She forgot her planned speech and asked him, a bit angrily, "What are you making that face for? I haven´t even assigned you your chores yet!" she said indignantly.

But Harry still didn´t answer. He shrugged again, and speared a huge piece of egg on the end of his fork and popped it in his mouth. He knew this was a sure-fire way to avoid questioning- Petunia was a stickler for rules and manners, and wouldn´t ask him another thing until he swallowed hid food, for fear that he would talk with his mouth full.

Petunia was irked when she saw Harry chewing so slowly. He knows I want to talk with him, she noticed, and is trying every trick in the book to get out of it. But she was willing to wait. She had all day, and so did he.

Finally, he had finished his food. Quickly, before he could create another delay, she whisked his plate away from him. As he looked up in shock, she gave him a cynical smile, letting him know that she knew exactly what he was doing.

"Harry," she said, trying again. He looked up at her, and she saw his green eyes were dull. They used to remind her constantly of her sister, but not today. They didn´t sparkle as her did. "Harry Potter," but this time she seemed to say it more to herself than to him.

He must have lost his patience, because he finally spoke. "Yes?" he asked, and his voice was gravelly and quiet, even though he had meant to speak loudly. The condition of his voice surprised even him, and he cleared his throat, embarrassed.

"I was just thinking about how much you used to remind me of your mother," Petunia said, catching Harry off guard. He had never heard her speak of his parents in a way that wasn´t an insult.

"Not anymore?" he asked, controlling his voice carefully.

"No, not anymore," she answered pleasantly, pleased to have started up a conversation. "Your eyes changed, since last year I suppose. Did you notice at all?"

Harry turned bright red. He never would admit it, but he had been staring at his eyes in his reflection just that morning, and had thought the exact same thing. Now his eyes were a normal green, not setting them apart from the crowd. He shrunk down in his seat uncomfortably, not quite sure why he felt too ashamed about this. It wasn´t like he had any control over what color his eyes were.

Taking his silence as a yes, Petunia continued, "It must have been something that happened at- your school," she said, almost choking on the last two words. How odd it was to call it something that normal, without a negative adjective attached to it.

Harry shifted in his seat. On the whole, this conversation was very unnerving and it had just taken a turn for the worse. So far, he had managed to only think about school in his dreams. To have it brought up in an idle conversation, especially by his aunt, hurt. A lot. It must have showed in his face however, because his Aunt Petunia didn´t even give him a chance to respond to that statement. Harry was glad for the reprieve, because he wasn´t sure of what he would have replied. He certainly couldn´t tell her the story. He could never share personal information with his aunt. She´d only find some way to use it against him in the future.

But what she filled the silence with was so unexpected; Harry almost fell out his chair with shock. It turned out to be the exact opposite of what he had just been thinking. "If you ever need to talk, I´m here, Harry," she said, with a genuine look of concern on her face. Harry recovered and looked at her, trying to judge her expression. He received another shock when he realized that she was being honest. Didn´t she hear how ridiculous that proclamation had sounded? When someone says, "I´m there for you," it´s usually not the person who has despised you for the past 14 years of your life and made it a living hell. And especially not when they sound so completely sincere.

What Aunt Petunia said had made Harry feel a jolt of emotions- shocked, angry, sad and confused. He was at a complete loss of words. So, to remedy at best what could be called an awkward situation, he decided to remove himself from it. He got up, took his plate off the counter where his aunt had placed it and rinsed it off. Petunia just watched him silently, realizing her offer had been all but turned down. But just before he walked out of the kitchen, she called to him one last time.

"Do you ever wish that, maybe, you had been...Harry Dursley?"

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. Was this her idea of a sick joke? Asking him if he had ever wanted to be a part of the family they had fiercely excluded him from, for almost fourteen years now? Whether it was or not, Harry knew the answer. Petunia might think all her past wrongs could be undone with one conversation, but it would take much more than that to make up for all the years of hurt and pain. So much more than the one question, the one attempt, that Harry wasn´t even sure it was a possible thing to do. He shook his head furiously no and ran outside the side door to the garden. Once he was out there, he realized that maybe, if she had asked him the same question before he started Hogwarts, he would have said yes, eager at the opportunity to be loved and accepted. But now he knew what love and acceptance as- it was the Weasley´s, Hermione, Sirius- and it was something the Dursley´s could never give him, because they didn´t have it themselves.

Petunia was left alone in the kitchen with a single tear trickling down her cheek, wondering if her relationship with her dead sister´s son could ever be salvaged.

Hermione was laying down in her uncomfortable hotel back, looking out the window at the stars. Her parents were right about one thing, she concluded. She did spend a lot of time thinking and worrying about her friends. But that was because they needed it. Especially Harry.

She had been saying that phrase a lot- `especially Harry.´ Just recently, she had written it in a letter to Ginny, and had said it aloud in a conversation with Viktor. But Harry was that way with her; he had his own part in her heart in which no one else was included. Not even Viktor. Harry was special, and not in the magical sense.

Hermione re-read the letter she had just gotten from him. But she didn´t know why she bothered; it didn´t really say anything. It was nothing more than a polite cordial response to her long note she had sent him previously. And when she had still been on writing terms with Ron, he had said that he was getting the same type of letters in response from Harry. Someone needed to go talk to him and find out what was really going on, and she desperately wished it could be her. If she had the opportunity, she would jump at the chance to fly out of Bulgaria and go straight to Surry, and try to have a real conversation with her best friend.

She was startled out of her contemplation and fantasies when the phone rang beside her, right into her ear. Irritated, she picked it up and said "Hello?" into the earpiece.

"Hermione?" said a thickly accented voice. "Is that you?"

"Yes, this is she," replied Hermione. "Viktor?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yes, it´s me. I vas vorrying that I had rang the wrong number," he said, the concern evident in his voice.

"No, no, you´ve done it just fine," she rushed to reassure him. "But, a telephone? I didn´t even know you had one..."

"We don´t," he said, confirming her suspicions, "But a bloke on my team told me how to get your number, and then I found a telephone booth. Not so hard," he chuckled.

"Oh," said Hermione, surprised. She eased back onto her bed. "But why call? Why don´t you just come up to the room, or wait until tomorrow? Aren´t we going to take a walk after your practice?"

"Are your parents there?" he asked unexpectedly, not even bothering to answer her questions.

"No, they´re out for a drink," said Hermione impatiently. "But Viktor, I thought-"

"I need to see you now," he interrupted. "Please come meet me."

"Now?" Hermione asked. "It´s after ten!"

"Please," said Viktor, pleading. "It´s important."

"Well, alright, I suppose," Hermione agreed uncertainly. "Where are you?"

"On Bolshevik, right near the bridge. And hurry, it´s important." He hung up abruptly, and Hermione was left with the sound of a dial tone. Gently, she hung up the phone, slipped on her shoes and put on her jacket over her flimsy pajama top. She turned off the light and snuck out of the hotel into the humid darkness of a warm Bulgarian summer night.