Relative Happiness

Petunia Dursley's morning was wrapped in a gray shroud and not even the bright September sunshine could pierce her gloom. Today, Dudley, her precious, beautiful, light-of-her-life son started school. Petunia sniffed back the threatening tears. He was perfect. His blond hair, carefully slicked back so that the school cap would sit perfectly, shone in the morning sun. The little blue blazer with its gold crest on the left breast fit her Duddykins beautifully and the knickerbockers showed his ruddy knees to perfection. The school tie and the very white shirt made him look just like his father. She was torn between beaming and wanting to grab him up in a consuming hug.

"There's my fine young man!" Vernon bellowed, setting his huge hand firmly down upon Dudley's shoulder.

Petunia swallowed hard and tried to beam. How alike the two were! Her two men! She lifted her head higher and forced a smile. Her baby! Her joy!

"Now, love, we need to leave soon. Mustn't arrive late. Bad impression and all that." Vernon flicked a nonexistent bit of dust off of Dudley's cap. "Paid a fortune for this opportunity. Mustn't start off badly."

Petunia flinched when her husband mentioned "fortune." Indeed, the Runneymeade St George’s Preparatory School (known as RSGP by the right people, of course) was costing them a fortune, probably more than they could afford, but introducing Dudley to the right people. Well, that more than made up for it. Her sweetums hobnobbing with the very best of Surrey! She smoothed her skirt over her narrow hips and flashed a too-big smile at her men. It would all be worth it! Her Duddydinkums would impress everyone with his wit and charm. As if reading her mind, Dudley stuck a chubby finger into his ear and wildly grubbed into its depth. Petunia's smile faltered, just for an instant, and then Dudley stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Now, sweetums," she cooed, "stand up straight. You're ever so handsome when you do. You look just like your father." She gazed up at Vernon, whose eyes were also dangerously full.

"Time to go," Vernon said, his voice thick but strong. He tapped Dudley on the shoulder and pointed towards the door.

Petunia grabbed up her handbag and, almost as an afterthought, called over her shoulder, "You'd better come, too." She didn't bother to turn around to see if the scrawny, dark-haired little boy followed.

As a treat, Dudley sat in the front with Vernon. Petunia spent the entire drive comparing the two. Her smile, although fragile, grew with each mile. Her Dudley was the image of her dear Vernon! How lucky she was! She managed to keep that thought until they pulled through the iron gates of Runneymeade St George’s Preparatory School.

Vernon drove slowly up the long circular drive. The grounds were composed of acres of manicured lawns carefully enclosed by precisely pruned hedges. As they neared the main building, yellow and blue flowers, planted in exact blocks, bordered the drive. "School colors," Vernon observed and nodded at Dudley's tie. The colors in the stripes matched the flowers.

Petunia stifled a nervous laugh while she smoothed her skirt again. Everything looked splendid! She peered through the window at the Edwardian stone buildings and marveled that her son, her Dudley, was going to be a part of it. He'd do well here, she thought, meet all the right people, make important contacts for the future. He might even be invited over for a birthday party of the heir of a dukedom! Her Dudley!

"Blast!" Vernon growled. Expensive cars were parked along the curb and blocking the road. Vernon grumbled and just managed to not sound the horn. Petunia whimpered when his hand stopped just short. It wouldn't do to look common in this rarified crowd. The place was a veritable car park of Jaguars, Mercedes, and other expensive cars. More than one young man was being escorted by what looked to be a butler or some other servant. Petunia's breath caught at the thought: servants! The money no longer mattered. Her Dudley was going to mingle with the very best of the area.

"Aunt Petunia?"

She'd heard the voice so often that ignoring it was easy. Petunia opened her handbag and pulled out a handkerchief. Mustn't look as though she was about to cry. A quick dab at her eyes and she was ready. She reached to open the door, but Vernon caught her.

"Now, now, love. Let the boy do it himself." He turned towards Dudley, who had slid down in his seat until all Petunia could no longer see him at all. She craned her long neck until she could see the top of his navy cap and his pink knees. "Dudley," Vernon said in a stern tone, "I just want you to understand how proud we are of you. This is a great opportunity." Vernon cleared his throat several times. "You're representing our family here. I expect that you'll fit in quite well." He looked as though he had more to say but couldn't quite find the right way to phrase it. In a thick voice, he added, "Make us proud, son."

"I don't want to go!" Dudley squalled. "I want to stay home with mummy. Why do I have to go? He doesn't have to go." Dudley struggled onto his knees in the front seat and turned around to point. "He gets to stay with mummy. I want to stay, too!"

Petunia gradually became aware of the little boy seated next to her during an awkward silence. Stupid child, she thought, glaring at her seatmate. I wish he were the one who was going and not my Duddydinkins.

The little boy smiled at her. He was all green eyes and dark hair, hardly enough of a child to be noticed.

"I get to stay with Aunt Petunia!" he crowed and threw his arms around her.

"Harry," Petunia said, unwrapping him and pushing him back, "you should tell Dudley how excited you are for him."

Harry wiped his nose on the back of his hand before replying. "Hope you have fun. Can I play with your cars?"

"Mummy! Don't let him touch any of my toys!" Dudley lunged over the car seat. It wasn't clear whether he was trying to throttle Harry or cling to Petunia before Vernon caught him.

"Now, Dudley, your mum and I are paying a lot of money for this school." Vernon glanced around, trying to see if anyone was listening. Cars pulled around them as the drive began emptying out. A man clad in an adult's version of the Plantagenet uniform had appeared. Vernon's face reddened. "Look, son, school is about to start. You're the first of the Dursleys who's had such an opportunity." The uniformed man put a whistle to his lips and blew three short blasts. Vernon grabbed up a small satchel and pressed it into Dudley's hands. "Now, off with you! Your mum will come to get you this afternoon."

Dudley stuck his lip out and began to turn a dangerous shade of red. Petunia's lip trembled, half in unshed tears that her four-year-old baby would leave her and half in embarrassment. "Now, sweetums, if you're very good, mummy will make you an extra dessert."

At the offer of a bribe, Dudley's lip withdrew to its normal place. "I want an extra piece of pie with ice cream!"

"Of course, dear."

Vernon got out of the car and walked around it until he could open the passenger door. The uniformed man gave one last sharp blast on his whistle before he wheeled around and marched into the school. Dudley, struggling with his little satchel, tried to imitate him. That was too much. Petunia gave in and sobbed all the way back home.

It was an awful day. Hours dragged by. Petunia cleaned until the already clean house sparkled. When there was no more to clean, she baked Dudley's favorite apple tart and obsessively checked the freezer to make certain that her Duddeydinkum's favorite ice cream was there. Losing her baby so soon, the thought bludgeoned her every second. He had looked so brave, marching away to his first day of classes! It was all she could do to keep from crying again as she straightened all of the photos of her baby that adorned every wall, table and mantelpiece in the house. It was a great opportunity.... Vernon was so proud that the Runneymeade St George’s Preparatory School had accepted their baby. Only the best of the best attended the nursery school. The thought puffed her up with enough pride that she could make it though another hour, but then she'd find herself staring at the clock again, wondering if it was too soon to leave.

And then there was him, that annoying albatross that her sister had hung her with. When the house was too clean, every photograph of her sweet baby was adjusted and readjusted, the tart was baked and the ice cream checked until even she knew that all was ready, he became her newest fixation. Off in a corner of the lounge, he sat there, in the place her baby should be, playing. What an irksome child! Too skinny, too dark, too.... Petunia had to stop herself. It was done and she and Vernon were to pay for her sister Lily's stupidity. Silly creature, getting involved with those people! At least he didn't look like her. Petunia screwed her mouth into a tight pinch. No, there was hardly anything about him that was Lily. Lily hadn't been cursed with that unruly mop of dark hair. Maybe that child wasn't any relation to her at all. He certainly wasn't her Dudley! And then that annoying other child turned towards her and smiled. No, he was definitely Lily's son. Where else would he have gotten those green eyes? And that smile? Petunia's heart softened just a bit. That child, that Harry, he wasn't nearly the glory that her baby, her Dudley was, but one couldn't just turn away from one's duties, could one?

Petunia let a small smile escape before she clipped it back. It wasn't fair that he was still at home and her baby was working hard to make the right connections for the future. That was it, she thought. Dudley was working for the family. Lily's child could work, too. "Harry, it's time you began earning your keep."

At two-thirty, she took Harry to get her baby. It wasn't a long drive, but every moment felt like a century to Petunia. It didn't help that Harry spent the entire drive singing to himself. When she glanced in the rearview mirror to see him, he would smile at her and wave. His hair, which was always an untidy mess, was worse than ever. Little bits of grass were stuck into it and he had found a bright yellow dandelion that he'd wound behind his ear. It had been rather cute then, but now Petunia hoped no one else would see it. At least no one from the Runneymeade St George’s Preparatory School. She had to admit that he'd worked as hard as any four-year-old could be expected. She'd shown him how to pull grass out of the flowerbeds and he'd taken to it with a will.

The long curving drive of RSGP was already parked full. Expensively dressed women stood at the foot of the steps. Petunia felt shabby and began nervously patting at her hair while she waited. It wouldn't do, she thought. Tomorrow, she would make certain to dress better. She could see an aristocratic-looking woman sniff and turn away. The pearl necklace that Vernon had given her for her birthday! Petunia fumbled clumsily at her neckline. A pearl necklace would definitely help.

And then the sun came out. Her Dudley, her precious baby, was there. The man with the whistle was there, too, standing a bit behind her dearest. Petunia waved. The man with the whistle bounced forward on his toes and, looking down at her Dudley, said something. Dudley flinched, nodded and then raced towards her. It was all Petunia could do not to run to greet him, but that would never do.

"Well, Dudders, what did you learn today?" Vernon had scarcely closed the front door, pecked Petunia on the cheek and ruffled Dudley's hair before he asked.

"This!" Dudley blew a loud and very wet raspberry.

Petunia's brow knit into a tight "V." That was hardly what she'd expected, but Vernon laughed. "Well done, lad! There's a fine boy!" he boomed. "Anything else?"

Dudley blew another raspberry. "We sang a few songs." He looked reproachfully at Petunia. "I didn't know any of them, mummy. We're all supposed to know them."

Petunia felt mortified. She'd failed her baby! "What songs, dearest?"

"Don't worry, Dudders. You'll know them all tomorrow. I'm sure of it." Vernon yawned and rubbed his stomach. "Now, love, it's Monday and Monday means egg and chops."

Still wondering what songs she'd failed to teach her dearest boy, Petunia dutifully trooped into the kitchen.

Cruelly, morning came and her sweetums had to leave again. This morning, Vernon kissed her on the cheek, cuffed their dearest on the shoulder, telling him to make them all proud, and left her to take their son to school. Dudley waited until Vernon's car rounded the corner.

"Mummy?" Dudley batted his eyes and gave his best smile.

"Yes, sweetums?" His little round face looked just like a baby angel. Petunia crouched down next to him, just to be closer. "What can mummy do for you? Would you like another egg or some more toast?"

"Toast!"

Petunia rose and automatically turned to return to the kitchen before she realized that it hadn't been Dudley who'd made the request. How could she have confused the voice of that child with her own? "What can mummy do for you, Dudley?" She made certain to say Dudley's name loudly, just to make certain everyone knew whom she was talking to.

"I don't want to go to the school today? Can't we go to the zoo instead?"

"Don't you want to wear your lovely uniform?" Petunia placed a hand on Dudley's shoulder and steered him to where his blazer hung. "Now, put that on and smile for mummy!" Dudley glowered, looking more like his father than ever. He did, however, shrug on the blazer. "Look, mummy dressed up just for you!" She pirouetted stiffly to show off her best dress, the one she wore to church twice a year and to Important Functions. She'd even added the lovely pearl necklace her Vernon had given her. Dudley's face didn't change. If anything, he looked unhappier. "If you smile, mummy will put extra marmalade on your toast," she wheedled. Dudley managed a toothy grin that lasted through two helpings of toast, a brisk dusting off of his uniform and the brushing of his hair. His happy face faded as she adjusted his tie and disappeared when she set the school cap on his bright blond hair. He dragged his feet all the way to the car, scuffing the once-shiny black shoes.

Petunia drove slowly, not wanting to let go of her child. Dudley slouched lower and lower in the seat next to her until he almost sat on the floor when she parked the car.

"Can't I stay?" Dudley's watery blue eyes were brimming.

It was all Petunia could do to be strong enough to smile at him. "Now, Diddykins, you know you must go." Dudley poked his head up enough to peer out the window. The crowd of children thinned noticeably and the man with the whistle had appeared.

"I'm not ready," Dudley mumbled.

"Why aren't you, sweetest?" Petunia asked, one eye on the whistle man.

"I don't know the song." Dudley pulled his chubby knees up to his chest and rocked back, looking miserable. "I'm supposed to know the song for today." Two cars down, a mother was singing to her child. Petunia couldn't hear the words, but the song involved clapping and then stomping. The two laughed and then the mother kissed her little boy who left, skipping. Dudley's shoulders slumped and his lip began to tremble. "It's your fault."

"What's my fault, dear?"

"You were supposed to sing it with me. Now, I'll get a mark." Sensing he'd struck a nerve, Dudley announced, "We have to sing the happy song. If I don't know it, how can I be happy?"

Not happy? Petunia's eyes widened as her hand raised to her throat. Her fingers found the lovely pearls that Vernon had given her and she began to play with them. "What song is that?"

"The happy song," Harry volunteered, suddenly appearing over the car seat. "You know, Aunt Petunia, the 'if you're happy and you know it' song." Harry leaned further, teetering back and forth over the seat. "It's easy!" As he swung back and forth, he sang, "If you're happy and you know it...."

"Gerroff!" Dudley swung a little pink fist into his cousin who, instead of crying, fell back into the backseat, laughing. "Mummy!" Dudley squealed. "Make him stop! He's making fun of me!"

Before Petunia could do anything, the whistle man shrilled out three blasts and Dudley, his face bright red, flung open the car door and ran up the stairs as fast as his chubby little legs could go.

The happy song. Petunia brooded about the happy song all the way back home. She wasn't certain she knew all of the words. She knew it was a children's song and that she probably had known it at one time, but the words escaped her. While she did her shopping, she tried to put together what she could of the lyrics. Surely, Harry couldn't know it. All round the supermarket, Harry had helped push the trolley, banging it occasionally into a display. He sang to himself the entire time, but Petunia had long ago learned how to tune him out. He was just Harry, the albatross, the burden she had been dealt. It wasn't until they got home that she realized he was singing.

He sang so very quietly that all she could hear was, "If you're happy." Every now and again, he'd leap into the air, little legs running and then clap his hands twice. Petunia stood by the kitchen table and pretended to busy herself with her groceries. There was more than one verse, although the words sounded very similar. Apparently, the clapping was replaced with some sort of foot movement and then it all became very complicated with clapping and the foot motions. Harry sang and danced, all very quietly and always almost out of sight. Petunia began to wonder what else he did when she wasn't watching him.

Her Dudley waited for her at the top of the stairs. Next to him was the whistle man, who had a hand on her Dudley's collar. Petunia screeched to a stop, worried that her child had been hurt. Dudley's little blue eyes were red. He rubbed his nose with his blazer's sleeve, leaving a thick silver streak to dry there. Her sweetums, who had left the house looking perfect, was disheveled. As Petunia strode up the stairs, she saw that Dudley's shirt had come untucked. The shirttail hung over his knickerbockers and his adorable blue and gold striped tie was askew. The jaunty blue cap was nowhere to be seen. When she got within ten feet, her baby broke loose of the whistleman's grasp and raced down the stairs to fall sobbing into her arms. Petunia swept him up and carried him down to the car. The whistle man was saying something, but all she heard was her child's sobs.

"I don't want to go!" Dudley wailed. He threw his jacket across the room and looked about to cry.

Vernon put down his newspaper. "Not everyone gets accepted to the Runneymeade St George’s Preparatory School. It's a great honor." With that, he picked up his fourth slice of toast, spread heavily with marmalade, and disappeared back behind the paper.

"Why don't you want to go, sweetums?" Petunia asked. She picked up the blazer and began to dust it off. The elbows were already scuffed and one of the buttons looked a bit loose. One of the cuffs had a dusting of gray on it. Turning towards Dudley, she patted at the gray until it disappeared.

"You know," Dudley said, dropping his voice. He wouldn't meet his mother's eyes. Instead, he snatched up a slice of toast and crammed it into his mouth. He took his seat and put his entire concentration into chewing.

Petunia stared down at him, completely lost. Her poor dear! Whatever was wrong? How could he not be happy? She had to make him happy.

"It's that song, isn't it?" she asked.

Dudley's face changed colors. It went from white to red to white, all so quickly that Petunia thought he was about to faint. "Song. Yeah. It's the song." His little eyes darted quickly from the scuffed jacket his mother held to the wall that his father's paper provided. "I still can't sing it proper like." He grabbed up another slice of toast and took a large bite. Through bits of crumbs and bright blobs of marmalade, he mumbled, "Can't go back without knowing the song. They'll give me a mark."

A mark. Petunia looked at Vernon, or rather at Vernon's paper. Vernon would be horrified if their baby didn't have the very best. Maybe she could arrange for Dudley to stay home, just for the day, and they'd learn that infernal song together. It would be lovely. Just her and her wonderful son. They'd spend the day singing and laughing. It would be lovely. Yes, that was just it.

Petunia pulled out a chair and was about to sit when Vernon set down his paper, glanced at the clock and, reaching out to hold her hand briefly, said, "Tell you what, love. I have to drop something off at a client this morning. Why don't I take the boy today?" Vernon's face plumped in a grin before he folded up his paper. "Come on now. Mustn't keep the school waiting." He ruffled Dudley's hair, missing the horrified look on his son's face.

That dratted song. The thought raced around Petunia's head all day. Her dear son, marked for life, because of a stupid song. It made her so angry that she scrubbed the entire kitchen, hall and the loos twice all before lunch. It wasn't fair! Her Dudley deserved the best of everything! As she wiped down the counter, giving the pristine surface yet another go, she glanced up at the clock. It was almost noon and noon was when she always lunched and listened to the radio. She switched on the radio, letting Radio 2 fill the kitchen with familiar music. As if drawn by the sound, Harry hopped in. Very quietly, almost out of her sight, he bobbed and swayed to the music. It was hardly what Petunia would call music one could dance to, but the little boy enjoyed it. Funny, but she'd never seen her Dudley enjoy music like that. Mechanically, she began making sandwiches. Precisely at noon, the music ended, replaced by the new read in a dead monotone. With the horrors of the world made bland as background, she sliced each sandwich into quarters. Harry, bored by the lack of music, began to sing to himself and, just when Petunia was about to turn towards the table, she saw him clap his hands.

"Harry."

Harry froze and backed up half a step. "Yes, Aunt Petunia." He put his hands behind his back and squirmed while he tried to stand still.

"Do you know that song, the song that Dudley needs to learn? The happy song?" Warily, as if afraid of startling him into silence, Petunia set down the two plates with their carefully sectioned contents. She daren't turn away to get something to drink. Harry looked as though he would disappear. She realized then that Harry often disappeared for hours and wouldn't be seen or heard until he was expected.

Looking down, Harry nodded.

"Could you teach it to me?"

It was really the stupidest of songs, Petunia groused to herself. The same lyrics repeated with silly clapping, stomping or cheering. It hadn't taken that long to get the gist of it, but the last repetition, the one where everything was put together, well, that took a bit longer. Her teacher had sung the words so quietly at first that she'd had a very difficult time getting it all down. Harry had mumbled the song and clapped and stomped his feet so quietly that she wasn't certain what he was doing. In the midst of the second go-around, the phone had rung. It was nothing really, but when she returned, she had found Harry with his nose pressed against the window. It was a beautiful day. On a day like this, she would have like to have taken her Dudley to the park.

"How about it then? Would you like to go to the play park?" Petunia watched as Harry's whole face lit up. Usually, whenever she took Dudley to the park, she would leave Harry behind. It was only when the park was a stopover in her schedule that she would take both boys. "All right then, we'll go."

Just when the little boy was about to cheer, Petunia raised a finger to stop him. "I'll make a bargain with you. We'll go to the park, but you need to teach me the song."

"But, Aunt Petunia," Harry protested.

"You must teach me the words and all of the clapping bits. Do you understand?"

Green eyes swallowing his entire face, Harry nodded.

There was hardly a soul at the play park. A few old women sat gossiping on a bench near the gate while two young mothers watched their children doze in their prams. The swings were empty so Petunia settled into one. Harry jumped into the other and pumped his legs as hard as he could. In ever-growing arcs, the swing sailed higher. Petunia grasped her swing's chains, letting it twist back and forth, until she couldn't stand it. She matched him soon, her long legs reaching for the sky, her back arching in the sun. The wind pulled at her hair until the tangles of her years fell free behind her. There was nothing except now and now was enough.

Minutes, hours, it was hard to say, Petunia let her momentum die until her feet dragged in the sand to a stop. Harry stopped his swing, too, laughing. He turned to her, still laughing, and jumped off the swing. "Ready, Aunt Petunia?"

Before Petunia could respond, he began to sing: "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands!" He pounded his little hands together and then grinned up at her. A bit slowly, Petunia echoed him. They worked their way through clapping to stomping and then cheering. The three together ended with them both crumpled on the grass, almost out of breath with laughter. They managed to sing the whole song on the teeter-totter and then again while walking down the path to the car park.

"Brava! Brava!" Someone applauded. Petunia, still smiling, turned to see an old man lean out of a kiosk. The kiosk was brightly colored, plastered with adverts for different ice lollies and sweets. Her throat felt dry and Dudley always demanded a few of the sweets. Today, in his honor, she wanted one, too.

"Two, please," she said. "You pick what you want, Harry."

For a moment, Harry just stood there. His eyes scanned the choices. "Are you sure?" he asked in a very small voice.

"Do you like chocolate, boy?" the old man asked. "How about lemon?" He busied himself with sorting through the freezer while Petunia tried to ignore a brief stab of guilt. Had she ever bought Harry a sweet at the park before? The ice cream that the old man put into Harry's hand looked large enough for four, but hadn't Dudley eaten two last time? She carefully counted out coins while Harry slurped his treat.

They stood in the car park until they finished their ice cream. Harry's face was blotched with chocolate and spattered with vanilla ice cream. Petunia, in a rare fit of maternal concern, reached into her handbag to pull out a package of Quickies to clean his face when she saw a little boy run by. Frozen in place, she saw another little boy and two girls.

"Dudley!" Without another word, she grabbed at Harry's hand and hauled him back to the car. The drive should have taken at least twenty minutes, but Petunia managed it in twelve. It would have taken less, but she wasn't brave enough to take on the lorry at the roundabout. She arrived at the Runneymeade St George’s Preparatory School almost a half an hour late. Dudley stood at the foot of the steps, shirt untucked, tie stuffed into his blazer pocket, one knee skinned while the other one was bleeding, holding a piece of paper.

"Sweetums!" Petunia rolled down the window. "Mummy is so sorry she's late. Come here, Diddy dinkums!" Her smile faded when Dudley raised his red eyes to hers. He shuffled the remaining few feet and got into the car. Reluctantly, he handed her the sweaty piece of paper.

At first, Petunia was too nervous to unfold it, but Dudley's silence worried her. With the car's idling engine the only sound, she opened it and promptly let out a shriek.

When Vernon arrived home, he liked to keep to a certain schedule: kiss Petunia, ruffle Dudley's hair, spend no more than fifteen minute talking about his day, five or six minutes talking about Petunia and Dudley's day, a drink, dinner and an evening of telly. He wasn't a man who liked change. It had been hard enough to rearrange his schedule to accommodate Dudley's new school, so being met by a crying wife and a hysterical child ruined his day.

Petunia's hand trembled when she passed the note to Vernon. It couldn't be true. None of it could be!

Eyes moving slowly, backing up to reread every sentence twice, Vernon's night transformed from bad to shattering. Just to be certain, he read the whole thing again before finally walking into the lounge and sitting down. "Expelled? How could they expel him? He's barely four!"

"You saw it. They claimed that he was caught fighting. That he wasn't able to keep up with his class. That he, he...." Petunia couldn't handle it any longer. She broke down into loud sobbing and her face wrinkled into red lines that guided her tears to the tip of her nose.

Vernon sat staring. For a long time, all he did was stare. Petunia's sobs rose, fell, rose briefly and then ended in sync with Vernon's sigh. "What's this about not keeping up with your class?"

Dudley shrugged and promptly stuffed a finger into his ear.

"It was that song, wasn't it?" Petunia sniffed, feeling as though she finally understood something. "Mummy's ready to help you with it, sweetums. I know it."

"It's a stupid song." Dudley removed his finger from his ear and transferred it to his nose. He dug something out and wiped it on his knickerbockers. Petunia winced.

"Come give it a try, dear." She began fidgeting with her necklace, clearing her throat. "Come on now. If you're happy and you know it...." she began, her voice a tight squeak.

From the corner of the room, Harry piped up and continued, "Clap your hands!" He smacked his hands together twice, loudly, and sang out, "If you're happy," before realizing that Vernon was glaring at him. Immediately, he looked at the floor, trying to be invisible again, but his little body swayed in time to the song that he was clearly still hearing.

There was an awkward silence while Vernon looked from Harry to Dudley. "Come on, then. Have a go at it. Your turn, Dudley."

"If you're happy," Dudley caterwauled, completely off-key. "Duh, duh, duh." He made a bright pink fist and hit the tabletop three times in an unmatched beat. Vernon's face darkened. Petunia blanched. Harry looked up and, humming the tune, clapped twice.

"You!" Vernon pointed at a now-shaking Harry. "Get to your cupboard! I don't want to see you or hear you! Do you understand!" he roared as Harry raced away. "Stupid child! Who does he think he is?" Vernon's face grew beet-red and his great beefy hands slammed down onto the table, shaking everything on it. He didn't say anything else for a long time. It was well past his time for a drink and dinnertime should be beginning soon.

"Fighting, eh?" He carefully folded the note into a tight square, running his finger over each side then he picked it up loosely and tapped it hollowly against the tabletop. "The Dursleys have always been fighters." He leaned over and tentatively ruffled Dudley's hair.

Petunia exhaled slowly, feeling relieved for some reason she couldn't identify. Maybe everything would work out all right.

"My father was expelled from Smeltings, you know?" Vernon nodded towards Dudley, who brightened a bit. "I got in trouble myself for a few bouts of fisticuffs now and again." Vernon put the note down and stared at it, clearly trying to salvage something. "Well, if you beat an earl's son, probably not for the best. No, not for the best." He picked the paper up, unfolded it, reread it and then folded it again. "We Dursleys have always been fighters." It sounded as though he was convincing himself.

Everything would be fine. Petunia could tell by the way Vernon was talking that it would be. The whole day ruined by that stupid note. Thinking to get rid of it before it caught Vernon's eye again, she snatched it from the table and, without meaning to, unfolded it and read it again.

Dear Mr and Mrs Dursley,

We regret to inform you that we feel that your son, Dudley, is not Runneymeade St George’s Preparatory School material. He has been found bullying the three-year-olds and has been caught fighting twice. His manners are abysmal and, quite frankly, we feel that his intellect is more suited to one of the local nurseries.

You will have the fees for this term refunded; however, the Runneymeade St George’s Preparatory School will retain both the admission and acceptance monies.

Yours sincerely,

A W R Braithwaite MBE, PhD, MA (Oxon),

Headmaster

His intellect! Petunia crumpled the note into a tight ball and hid it in her apron pocket. It was that song! That stupid, stupid song! Just as she thought she wouldn't be able to stand it a moment longer without screaming, she heard Vernon laugh and then Dudley joined in, too. In a portrait of Dudley as a charming infant, she saw their reflected faces. They were both smiling and Vernon had produced a huge chocolate bar that he was sharing with their angel. It was all going to be just fine.

She straightened her narrow shoulders and decided it was time to make dinner. Pity she hadn't time to change out of her nice clothes, the ones she'd been silly enough to wear to impress the other mothers at RSGP. Still, it was nice to be able to wear Vernon's necklace. Smiling, she touched the strand and, without really thinking about it, began to hum the song she'd spent the entire day learning. As she passed the cupboard, she heard it.

"If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands!" Harry didn't just sing it quietly to her; he bellowed it at the top of his lungs. Behind her, she heard Vernon slam his hands onto the table and Dudley yell. Petunia's hand closed on her necklace, breaking the cord. Pearls spattered onto the hardwood floor, bright white spots dancing madly, clapping in time to Harry's song.