Harry Potter and the Battle for Hogwarts

Chapter Two: Emily

"No decency or consideration at all! There's company in the house, for goodness sake, and doesn't even bother to put on pyjamas let alone get dressed!"

There was probably a time when Harry would have found the affronted and shocked look on Aunt Marge's face amusing, but he could not remember it. He ignored her, sat down at the table and pulled some toast towards him, not really feeling very hungry. He knew it was indecent to wander in in his boxers, his hair as dishevelled as if he'd been riding in an open-topped car for six hours, but he just couldn't be bothered to get dressed. He couldn't be bothered to do much at all these days. Besides, what did it matter if Aunt Marge criticised him for it? She wouldn't be happy even if he came in looking like James Bond, so why even try?

"He's getting worse, you know! Moping and slouching about, barely saying a word except when he's talking back or swearing, coming down to breakfast half-naked - " Just be thankful I put the boxers on, Harry thought dully - "If he had anyone who gave a damn about him you'd think someone had died!"

Harry stiffened. Uncle Vernon looked as though he was about to tell Harry to get back upstairs and put something on, when he caught Harry's eye and knew in an instant that Harry wouldn't go even if he did order him. Therefore, to avoid a scene, Uncle Vernon changed the subject.

"Anyway... erm... yes, as I was saying before we were interupted - " He threw a disgruntled look at Harry, who returned it in full measure. " - that phone call just now. Do you remember, Petunia, my old work collegue Parker?"

Harry looked up, his interest caught in spite of himself. Dennis Parker was probably the only work collegue of his uncle's he'd ever been able to stand. Most of them were of the snobbish, ridiculously well-spoken, despairingly boring variety, who looked down their noses at anyone less well-off than them. Parker was rich, sure, but he was no snob. In fact, he'd been the only person who'd actually liked Harry growing up.

Aunt Petunia paused in pouring Dudley orange juice. "Parker? The American?"

"That's right. Went back over there eight years ago. Well, that was him on the phone and apparently he's back in town, for good this time it seems."

Harry had to stop himself from groaning. He liked Parker, but if he was coming back for good he must be bringing the family with him. Which meant Emily was back in town. She was the same age as Harry, and he hated her almost as much as Dudley. Almost.

"Oh, what made him come back?"

"Work. They're staying with a relative at the moment. It's only temporary, though. He's going to bring down that old shack on Wisteria Walk and build a new place. He wants to do a deal on some drills."

"Oh, Vernon, that's wonderful!"

"Very large order he wants as well. Some good money to be made from this.. Yes, sir, very good indeed! We might just get that holiday home in Majorca after all."

Aunt Petunia was practically skipping with glee and Dudley was looking smug. Harry knew he was thinking about the jealous looks on his friends' faces when they found out. Well, at least Uncle Vernon would probably do most of the negociating over the phone or at work. Hopefully he wouldn't see much of Emily.

"I suggested that he come over to dinner tonight to talk about the deal, and bring the family with him."

Harry's forehead hit the table. They all looked at him.

"Is there a problem, boy?" snapped Aunt Marge.

"No."

"If you've got something to say you can damn well say it. Go on."

Harry didn't answer. He just got up and left the room. As he walked down the hall and up the stairs, he heard Aunt Marge make an indignant noise and say, "You see what I mean? People like that don't belong in civilised society! But with parents like his, who can be surprised?"

Harry went back to his room and collapsed onto his bed. Sirius was dead, Voldemort was back in action, Aunt Marge was here, and just when he'd thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, Emily Parker comes back on the scene.

Emily. Her parents couldn't have chosen a less suitable name for her. Emily sounds pretty and sweet and so very... femanine - which was exactly what she was not.

She had first moved to Little Whinging when Harry was seven. Her family had come from California and the first thing she had made clear upon her arrival at school was that she hated the uniforms. They hadn't had them at her old school, and being made to wear a dress was not something she had coped with extremely well. Emily was a perfect example of a true tom-boy. In fact, anyone would have thought she was a boy. She dressed like one, acted like one and was definately as tough as any boy on the playground. Anyone thinking they could mess with her would soon learn their lesson the hard way. That was a lesson Dudley had had to be taught as well.

If there was one thing, one single thing that Harry grudgingly respected her for, it was that she was the only person Dudley hadn't given a hard time. Not that he hadn't tried. But his attempt to bully her had resulted in her punching him so hard he would have fallen over if Gordon hadn't been right behind him. Hermione had slapped Draco Malfoy once, but Emily had thrown a proper punch, aged just seven. Dudley had deserved what he'd gotten, and Harry thought it did him good to be on the receiving end of a punch for once instead of the one administering it. In fact, he had actually stopped tormenting people completely for a while after that - a very little while. But he had never tried to get at Emily again. He had still talked about her behind her back, but fell silent at once if she walked into the room.

* * * * * * *

Harry spent most of the day in his room, away from Aunt Marge. He could hear Uncle Vernon going over meticulous plans for the evening in a voice the man surely knew would carry up the stairs to Harry. Aunt Petunia was rushing around the house, cleaning, cooking, tidying up. Next to anyone finding out that Harry was a wizard, her worst nightmare would be anyone finding even a speck of dust or dirt in her house. Harry could imagine her banging her head against the wall in punishment like Dobby. Every now and then Aunt Marge's voice would float up the stairs, saying things like, "I see the boy's still not lifting a finger to help."

Oh, and she is? Harry thought scathingly.

Normally, Harry never joined in any of Uncle Vernon's dinner parties. He'd just sit up in his room or in his cupboard and keep quiet so the guests wouldn't know he was there. But Dennis Parker already knew about him, and since he'd taken a liking to him, he would be disappointed if Harry wasn't there. So Harry had to go down and sit through the dinner whether he liked it or not.

As the day wore on, Harry found himself just lying flat out on his back, starting up at the white artex ceiling, falling once again through the bottomless pit of clinical depression he'd been inhabiting for the past few weeks. Harry could almost see the blackness around him. The bright sunlight outside seemed to die at the window and didn't reach him where he lay. The singing of the birds seemed annoying rather than cheerful. And the sounds of the television downstairs made him want to run down and put his foot through the bloody thing. After a while, though, he stopped noticing these things and fell into a kind of trance, just staring up at the ceiling, not really seeing it at all. All he could think about was Sirius. He kept reliving that day over and over, thinking about every little thing he could have done to prevent it, how stupid he'd been to believe the dream and Kreacher's lies, wondering why he hadn't listened to Hermione when she said she had a feeling there was something wrong, and how on earth he had forgotten about the mirror! If he'd just remembered that, he would have found out that Sirius was okay and none of it would have happened.

By the time Aunt Petunia's voice came up the stairs, telling him to get dressed and come down to meet their guests, Harry was once again seriously contemplating burying his face in the pillow.

Glad of something to distract him for a while, he crawled out of bed, slumped over to the wardrobe and began looking for something to wear that wasn't a robe, torn, patched, frayed, unwashed or four sizes too big for him. The last one proved to be impossible, since the only thing he had that wasn't a hand-me-down from Dudley were the robes. Still, did it really hurt to hope that something had magically appeared out of thin air?

Finally settling on the only pair of trousers he had that weren't jeans, and a white school shirt that Dudley had worn when he was twelve, Harry looked briefly in the mirror, decided he didn't have the strength to make any kind of attempt on his hair, and went downstairs.

"Tuck your shirt in, boy!" were Aunt Marge's first words when she saw him. "And for God's sake, do something about your hair!"

Harry ignored her on the latter, but grudgingly tucked his shirt in.

Presently, there came the sound of car tyres on the gravel driveway.

"That's either the Parkers or Marge's taxi," said Uncle Vernon, appearing at the top of the stairs. "Well, don't just stand there like a hat stand, boy, have a look."

Harry wanted to say have a look yourself, but did as he was told anyway. Please say it's the cab, he thought miserably as he pulled back the net curtain at the hall window and looked out. His heart sank even lower.

"It's the Parkers," he said tonelessly.

"Perfect! You'll get to meet them after all, then, Marge."

Well, yip-dee-doo, thought Harry sarcastically. Aunt Marge and Emily Parker in the house at the same time. Lady Luck must be crying on me..

Within seconds, all four Dursleys were gathered in the hall, smoothing and straightening their clothes and, in Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge's case, their moustache.

"Get the door, boy," growled Uncle Vernon. He was starting to return to his normal attitude towards Harry in the chaos of getting ready. Emily hadn't even stepped into the house yet and she was already sending out bad vibes.

Resigned to the worst, Harry opened the front door.

A man stood on the threshold. He was round in build, like Uncle Vernon, but unlike Uncle Vernon it had the effect of making him look like Father Christmas rather than a boulder. He was wearing a light coloured suit and a Simpsons tie. His thin hair was slicked back to cover as much of his head as possible. There was a jovial, friendly look about his face that warmed Harry and lifted his spirits for the first time in so long.

The man opened his arms wide.

"Vernon, old chap! Wonderful to see you again! Absolutely wonderful!"

"Dennis."

Dennis Parker shook hands with Uncle Vernon and then turned to Aunt Petunia and kissed her on the cheek.

"Lovely as always, Petunia, lovely as always." (Harry knew he didn't mean it.) "And Dudley! Look at you! You're almost as big as your father!"

Harry assumed Mr Parker meant height-wise, because width-wise Dudley was actually twice as big as his father.

Then Mr Parker turned to Harry, and his expression became more sincere.

"Harry, Harry, Harry. What did I tell you, eh?"

Harry grinned. He knew nobody else in the room knew what Mr Parker was talking about. The last time they had met, Harry had confessed to him how much he hated being smaller than the other boys in his year. It made it so much easier for them to push him around. Mr Parker had reassured him, saying that he'd catch up soon enough, and he had been right (in height at least. Harry was still quite skinny, though he had improved in the last year or two).

"This is my sister, Marge," Uncle Vernon said loudly, as though he didn't want Harry getting any attention, especially good attention.

Mr Parker took Aunt Marge's hand in both of his.

"Delighted to meet you, madam, absolutely delighted! Always wanted to meet you! Vernon told me all about you of course, and I can assure you none of it was exaggerated!"

Harry almost laughed. If he remembered correctly, Uncle Vernon had told Mr Parker that Aunt Marge looked a lot like him. Which was true, of course, (except for the fact that she was actually quite a bit thinner than the last time Harry had seen her - Uncle Vernon had confessed that the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad had deflated her more than was necessary, not realising the size she was supposed to be) but only Uncle Vernon saw it as a compliment, and Harry was sure Mr Parker didn't mean it in the way he intended Aunt Marge to take it. But that was Dennis Parker. He never lied, just twisted the truth a little.

"Likewise, I'm sure," said Aunt Marge, sounding flattered. It made Harry want to vomit.

"Vernon, Petunia, you remember my wife, Joanne and our daughter, Emily?"

Everyone's attention now turned to the two women who had followed Mr Parker into the house. One of them, of course, was Emily. The music from Psycho rang in Harry's head, though he smiled inwardly. When he'd last seen her, Emily had had hair down to just below her shoulders. She'd hated it but her mother wouldn't let her have it cut. So Emily used to wear hats all the time and tuck it underneath to hide it. Now, though, it was short like a boy's and stuck up on top so that it was messy in a deliberate way. Well that was one problem solved, but Harry wondered how she was coping with other girlie features adolecence had brought her.

She was wearing a trouser suit with the buttons of her jacket done up as though to hide her chest. She didn't even so much as look at Harry.

Mrs Parker, however, looked pretty much the same as she had always done. She had shoulder-length chestnut hair and a pleasant smile.

Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley all greeted them both, and Mrs Parker said hello to Harry too. He saw Aunt Marge scowl.

The formalities now over, Uncle Vernon led them into the dining room.

It was very difficult to be miserable with Mr Parker in the room, even with Aunt Marge there. Actually, she paid Harry almost no attention whatsoever, which was a miracle. None of the Dursleys did. Mr Parker did, though.

"Smeltings must be a great place if it's worthy of our Dudley. What about you, Harry, do you go there, too?"

Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he saw Mrs Parker glance almost scathingly at her husband. Next moment, he was sure he had imagined it, there was no mistaking the almost amused expression on Emily's face.

"No... I, er..."

"He goes to Stonewall High," interupted Uncle Vernon.

Harry almost sighed with relief. He had been sure for a moment that Uncle Vernon would say St Brutus's. He didn't think he'd be able to stand the look that would pass over Emily's face if she heard that.

"Oh, really? How come?"

"Harry preferred to stay at home rather than live in. Didn't you, Harry?"

"Oh, yeah," said Harry, smiling, but he was barely listening. He was trying to read the look on Emily's face. It was an almost knowing expression. A smile curled on her lips as she looked at him, her eyes narrowed in a semi-smug fashion. Harry could have sworn they darted to Aunt Marge. An odd sense of unease crept into Harry's stomach that he couldn't explain.

At that moment, there was a welcome distraction in the form of more car tyres outside.

"Ah, that'll be my taxi," said Aunt Marge, standing up. Everybody else did the same.

Harry was thoroughly relieved to see her go, and he hoped he wouldn't be seeing her again any time soon. As soon as she had left, Aunt Petunia disappeared off to the kitchen, returning five minutes later to announce that dinner was served.

Uncle Vernon led them all into the living room and they took their seats.. Uncle Vernon sat at the head of the table as usual, with Aunt Petunia, Dudley and Harry on one side and Mr Parker, Mrs Parker and Emily on the other.. It was a good job Harry and Aunt Petunia were so thin or they wouldn't have fit alongside Dudley. Much to his displeasure, Harry found himself opposite Emily, but luckily she seemed to have decided once again to ignore him.

As they began the first of three courses, Uncle Vernon started a new conversation with Mr Parker about the new house, which led onto Uncle Vernon's company, Grunnings, which then led onto the current stock market, all of which was intermingled with small talk about the weather and other such things. It was extremely dull.

With nothing to distract them, Harry's thoughts turned once again to the unavoidable subject of Sirius and his heart dropped several notches. Uncle Vernon and Mr Parker's voices faded into the background, and Harry found he'd lost his appetite. His food just got pushed around his plate, uneaten.

By desert, Harry was starting to slip back into the black hole of despair, with nothing to hold on to. He tried to concentrate on the conversation going on ( "...fifty pense a minute just to talk to a voice recording...") but it just depressed him even more.

It was just so mind-numbingly ordinary around here. He needed something to distract him. Something unexpected, something unusual, just... something! Anything!

At that precise moment, something small hit the back of Harry's head.

"Ouch!"

There was a shriek from Aunt Petunia as the thing bounced off him, somersalted right over his head and skidded along the table, sending glasses and food flying, then took to the air. Several people darted forwards to try and catch the upset wine. The thing did a 'u' turn around both Emily and Mrs Parker's heads and flew right at Dudley's face. Eyes widening in shock, Dudley leaned back to avoid it and both he and the chair fell over backwards and hit the floor with a thud that sent two more glasses over. Aunt Petunia lunged to catch them and accidently upset the wine bottle, which knocked over the candle. The wine-soaked tablecloth promptly caught fire and Mr Parker had to put it out with his coat. And all the while Aunt Petunia was shrieking, Uncle Vernon was apologising over and over again and the thing that had done all the damage was zooming round and round the lamp shade, twittering madly.

"WILL SOMEONE CATCH THAT OWL?!" thundered Uncle Vernon.

Harry stood on his chair and managed to catch Pigwidgeon in his outstretched hand. Getting back down, Harry surveyed the damage. Mr Parker was inspecting his singed coat, Mrs Parker was trying to dry wine off her skirt and Aunt Petunia was trying to heave Dudley off the floor, without much sucess.. Everyone was staring at Harry. There was a tense moment, and then...

Emily started to laugh. Everyone turned to stare at her now. She seemed completely indifferent to the looks she was being given. She just sat there and laughed. Then Mr Parker started to laugh too, and then Mrs Parker. The Dursleys joined in a bit too, though Harry could tell they were not in the least bit amused.

"Daft bird," chortled Uncle Vernon, his colouring cheeks giving away his true feelings. "Fancy flying in through the window like that, eh?"

He sent Harry a glare that said quite plainly that Harry would pay for this later. But Harry didn't care. That one ten second time frame had been more interesting than the whole of the rest of the summer put together. He made a mental note to tell Ron about it. Nevertheless, he sent Pigwidgeon back put of the dinign room window and shut it behind him.

It was only as he sat back down, and the laughter began to settle down, that he noticed the letter lying on the floor next to his chair.

To be continued...