Harry Potter and the Heir of Gryffindor

Chapter Eleven: The Christmas Presents

Christmas morning in the Dursley household was. . . strange. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, of course, said nothing to Harry at all. Dudley, however, was speaking quite freely, unwrapping his cornucopia of presents as though he were on autopilot, not bothering to oooh or aahhhh over any of them.

"Oh yeah Mum, it was a lovely party. Lots of friends from Sophie's school were there. Mrs. Banbury is still looking horrible--"

"Oh it must be the weather--"

"-- and of course she wanted me to tell you hello. We had a good time, didn't we Harry?"

Harry didn't want Dudley to include him in the conversation, but nodded anyway. Dudley's hands paused over a small, badly wrapped gift. He looked up at Harry and Harry blushed. If there was one person who could have done without another present, it was Dudley Dursley. But that morning something inside of Harry compelled him to search through what meager possessions he'd brought with him and give Dudley a present. Harry hoped, that if Dudley really had changed, he would understand that this gift which was being given out of pure goodness of heart, was worth infinitely more than his parents' gifts that were really given only because it was expected.

Dudley slowly unwrapped the silver paper and stared for a long time at the contents of the box. It was the quill he had purchased in Hogsmeade that he'd first intended to give Sophie-- but given the changing circumstances, he wanted to see what Dudley would make of receiving such a gift.

Dudley held the long, delicate, gold and deep violet quill in his hand. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were staring at it, mouths open: it really was a beautiful quill.

Finally, Dudley spoke. "Harry. . . you realize I won't be able to make heads or tails of it. I've terrible penmanship."

"Then you can just keep it on your desk, if you like."

"You," said Vernon. "You gave Dudley that!"

"Of all the preposterous things!" Petunia shrieked. "What will Dudley do with a quill? You didn't get it from any of your stores, did you? If so, Dudley will be giving it right back--"

"Like hell, I will! This is better than any of those crap presents you've been giving me."

The Dursleys shrieked. Harry beamed: Dudley had changed.

"Dudders! We spend good money on those! Look, it's play station2 and--"

"I already have that, you know mum. And what the bleeding hell am I supposed to do with this?" he said, holding up a flashlight wrapped in a red bow. "A flashlight? I mean, are the two of you that flipping mental? What the hell do I care? This is the best present I've had in years," he said holding up the quill. "And it's not because it's anything cool or trendy or expensive--"

Actually, it was, thought Harry. . .

"--it's because he gave it to me because he wanted to. You two just give me presents because you know bloody well I'll raise Cain if you don't."

"Dudley Dursley! Don't talk to your mother that way--"

"And you should talk?" said Dudley. "After the way you talk to Harry? How can you have the gall to lecture me on my manners when you've been flipping Adolf Hitler to him his whole life." Dudley stood up, his face twisted in anger. "Come on Harry, let's go for a walk. Get out of this place before I really loose my temper!"

Petunia and Vernon were staring at Harry, murder in their eyes, and Harry simply followed his cousin, the both of them grabbing their coats of the coat rack and walking out into the frigid December air.

It was very quiet between them for the longest time. Finally, after they had rounded off Privet Drive onto Martin Close, Harry said, "Thank you for all that back there."

"Oh that? Please. It's nothing those old fogies don't know already." Dudley dug into his pocket and pulled out a carton of cigarettes. "Ciggie?"

Harry shook his head and they kept walking.

"Hey, thanks for the quill. It's wicked." He let out a puff of smoke that lingered in the air thickly. "Sorry I didn't get you anything."

That's twice in the past two days that Dudley Dursley has apologized!

"Don't mention it."

His cigarette butt glowed red as he took another puff. "I try so hard to piss Mum and Dad off, you know? To have them yell or slam me down or do something to show that they understand I'm not their little eleven year old bundle of joy. I'm really their fifteen-year-old troublemaking ass. But. . . they really don't care. I could probably blow up all of London, and Mum would still pinch my cheeks and tell me I was just absolutely bloody perfect. The psychopath."

Harry smiled. "I seem to have no trouble pissing them off."

"Well they have to take it out one someone, I suppose." He shook his head. "Wish they'd just croak, the both of 'em."

"Ah, you don't mean that."

"Don't I?"

"No," said Harry seriously. "I mean it. Remember-- my parents are dead. I wouldn't want that for anyone. Even if your parents are the Dursleys." He paused. "Maybe a couple broken bones, a long term illness even-- but not immediate death, no. Never."

Dudley laughed. "Pub?" he asked as they crossed the High street. Harry nodded, and the two ducked inside the tiny, comfortable pub, taking shelter from the bitter cold. They were the only patrons (except for a man slumped over the bar) and they sat at the hard wood chairs, ordering a coke each.

"Blech," said Dudley, cringing as he drank his. "I'd give anything for a butterbeer right now. So. . ." he said slowly. "Speaking of. . . all that."

"All what?"

"Your parents. You know what I've always wondered is. . . where did you get that scar from. I know that somehow it's tied in with your parents. I mean, I know that they were killed by someone, some kind of crazy lunatic, I've caught bits and pieces over the years, but . . I've never heard the real story about it. I mean, hell Harry, it's flipping unreal, that scar."

"You really want to know?"

"Absolutely."

So, taking a sip from his drink, he leaned forward in his chair and told him. Everything. About the student named Tom Riddle who became Lord Voldemort. About his parents being forced into hiding and his mother giving her life for his. He explained how that spell had made Harry impenetrable by Voldemort's death curse, giving him only the scar on his forehead. He told him in detail about Voldemort's painful, half existence, living as a parasite, drinking unicorn blood-- and then he related the nightmare of last year when Voldemort returned to full power. He described the horror of watching Cedric die. And then of course, he gave the story of Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.

Dudley had nearly finished his pack of cigarettes by the time Harry had finished.

"H-Harry. . ." he whispered. "My God. It doesn't sound possible. It sounds like . . . like a movie or a book or something."

"Believe me, it's no book. It's my life."

"And this whole area has been protected from Dark Wizards our whole life? That should make you feel relieved! Knowing that Vandermart can't just barge in and take you."

"Yeah. . . but up until this past week, there was nothing I hated more than coming here."

Dudley kept his stare on his cousin-a flicker in his blue eyes. "I. . . had no idea. I dunno what I thought you did at your school, but. . . Jesus, Harry!" And then he smiled. "That old scum Vandermart-- shown up three times by a kid in school! Ha! Some all powerful wizard he is, eh Harry?"

Harry smiled slightly, but there was no way he could make Dudley understand just how powerful Voldemort really was.

They finally started on their jaunt back home, Harry listening quietly as Dudley rambled on and on about school, how much a waste of time he thought it to be, and everything else in the world that really ticked him off.

"Wow Dudley, is there anything in the world you do like?" asked Harry as they rounded onto Privet drive once more.

"Yeah," he said in a much more softer tone. "And she's standin' right there."

Harry looked up to see Sophie walking towards them briskly, her face bright red from the cold, smile wide.

"Hey you two! Where have you been all day? We've got presents for you, you know!" She linked both her arms through theirs and walked them towards number three. "And I want to thank you both-- I adored your presents. Harry, the writing journal was absolutely beautiful. And Dudley," she wiggled her fingers, showing off a simple, small silver band. "It's a gorgeous ring, really. You've good taste, you know."

Harry couldn't see him, but he was sure Dudley was turning pink. Inside the house, Imelda was busy setting down cups of tea on the coffee table, a tray of shortbread awaiting them.

"Merry Christmas boys," came that soft voice that just seemed to make Harry's heart break into pieces.

"Merry Christmas Mrs. Banbury," said Dudley respectfully.

She greeted him with a hug and then to Harry, she embraced him-- once again letting her fingers play with his hair as she had the night before. Harry wasn't particularly comfortable with this and found himself letting him free from her hug, still smiling.

"Please, help yourself to the biscuits, you three. We called earlier, but you'd left-- where have you been?"

"Oh, out and about," said Harry. "Just talking."

"Ah. How wonderful to see you two are so close. It's such an important thing-- family. Not a day goes by that I don't think of my own dear sister . . ." her voice trailed off and Sophie stared at her expectantly. Harry well remembered Sophie telling him that Imelda rarely ever mentioned her late sister, and when she did it was an extremely awkward thing.

Dudley was apparently ignorant of this and asked, innocently, "Really? What was she like?"

Imelda was quiet. "I admit-- I never truly knew her." And then she looked over her shoulder. "Roger?"

Roger appeared, carrying four gift-wrapped boxes and handing them over to the boys. "Merry Christmas."

They both let out a surprised cry and gave each other a fiendish smile before ripping open the wrappings.

"Easy, there!" Sophie was laughing.

Dudley was holding a shirt with the Liverpool Football club logo on it, and a matching cap.

"Actually I need this! All my other shirts are a bit too baggy, really-- this looks just right."

Harry, however, was in a state of shock. Sophie had gift-wrapped a very top of the line broomstick slip cover to keep his Firebolt inside of specifically-- the lined cover even had the Firebolt insignia on it. But it was Imelda's gift that had left him speechless: a gold ring. Not just any gold ring-- but one that looked as thought it were a wedding band. Yes. . . he was certain it was a wedding band. And he was almost certain of whose it was . . .

"Yes Harry," Imelda said almost as if she were reading his thoughts, "it was your mother's wedding ring."

"My mothers'," he whispered, holding it up in his trembling hands. "B-but how d-did you ever--"

"I've been with the ministry for many years. There is, in the department of special investigations, a sort of vault, if you will. Every piece of evidence in every case we have investigated is tagged and marked and kept under lock and key. Of course, the Lily and James Potter case is amongst the many. I have been fighting, ever since I moved here, to convince Fudge that this should rightly belong to you, and at long last he agreed."

Dudley and Sophie's eyes were focused on him, but Harry was only vaguely aware of them. He was staring at the lightweight piece of gold in his palm, transfixed.

"Her fingers were so tiny," he breathed, his vision blurring with the tears forming his eyes. He felt his chest tighten up and he clenched his fists, holding the ring firmly in his grasp. He closed his eyes, willing the tears not to come, but a single tear had found its way out and was falling down his cheek alone.

No, this is too much to take . . .

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I. . . I 'm sorry Mrs. Banbury, I don't mean to be rude, but . . . I have to go." He stood up, not making eye contact with any of them. He bolted for the door, barely hearing Dudley calling after him 'Hey! Wait up!' He ran to number four, dashed upstairs and threw himself on the bed.

And he let the rest of the tears come-- silent, yet plentiful just the same. He stared at the ring-- his mothers ring-- something she had once worn . . . something she'd been wearing when Voldemort had murdered her . . . something that was amongst her most cherished possessions. . . and now he had it.

*

Dudley had been even more understanding than Harry would have ever thought to give him credit for: he never brought up the ring with Harry. All he did, after Harry had finally let himself out of his room again, was say "All right?" Harry had nodded, and that had been the end of it. And that was exactly what Harry had wanted.

The Christmas holidays were ending, and soon Harry was packing up his suitcase to head back to Hogwarts. Only this time it was different. He didn't want to stay at Privet Drive, yet he couldn't quiet the nagging feeling that he was going to . . . miss Dudley Dursley. It was a new emotion-- this affection for his cousin-- and it was a confusing one. He wasn't sure how to deal with it, and on the morning of his departure, he didn't know what to say to Dudley.

Fortunately, he didn't have to. Dudley had a way of saying exactly what they both were feeling without having to come right out with it.

"Bloody lucky bastard, you are. Gettin' out of this deathtrap. Don't reckon they'd let me in with you, eh?"

Harry snickered and picked up his suitcase, walking towards where Dudley stood in his doorway.

"Erm, no, don't reckon they would." Harry paused-- just six months ago Dudley would have thought such talk completely absurd, and now there he stood saying it! "Dudley-- you know, this is kind of--"

"I know," said Dudley, obviously feeling just as awkward about this new. . . stage of their relationship. "And remember? We agreed, you and I, that talking is good."

"Yeah," he said nodding. "Talking is good." He paused. "Er. . . did we agree that writing was good as well?"

Dudley laughed. "Mum and Dad would fly into a spastic rage if I started receiving letters from you. So . . . in that case, yes. Writing is good as well!"

They both laughed just as Aunt Petunia appeared, her face cold and eyes pure venom. "Let's get going, then, I've things to do today."

She disappeared down the stairs and Dudley stuck his tongue out at her.

Harry shook his head. "Have fun," he said as he slowly left to follow her.

Dudley nodded. "Right. And by the way, while you're at school you might want look into contacts or something-- get rid of those bloody ridiculous glasses--"

"I like these bloody ridiculous glasses, thank you."

They smiled at each other and held their stare. Finally, Harry simply punched his shoulder playfully and then headed down the stairs after his Aunt.

***

Ron and Hermione couldn't believe any of what Harry told them. The New and Improved Dudley Dursley just didn't seem possible to any of them. Harry of course understood their skepticism, and after so many years of complete brutality, Harry was still admittedly a bit skeptical. However he was welcome to a shot at some sort of friendship with him-- and that fortnight at Privet Drive had been a fantastic start.

The time bonding with Dudley, if that is the right word, was great-- but Harry was most definitely ever so happy to be back at Hogwarts. To be home. Harry felt as though it had been years since he'd seen Sirius, and was bursting with anticipation to see him again the next day in class, as he was with Hagrid as well-- yes, even Professor McGonagall.

Walking into their first class the next day, Potions, Harry felt on top of the world being back into the swing of things again. That is until he head a voice say "Good Morning, Class," that was most definitely not Professor Warwick's.

Harry spun around in his seat to find Professor Snape gliding towards the front of the classroom, his old scowl firmly in place and menacing voice still as chilling as ever. The rest of the class held similar confused countenances-- even the Slytherins. It was most definitely a rude awakening: expecting to see the stunning Professor Warwick in her gorgeous robes, and instead being met with stern faced, ill humored Snape.

Harry's mouth was agape in surprise. Professor Snape must have been aware of the cumulative shock of the classroom because before diving into the lesson he decided to furnish them with an explanation. "Professor Warwick was called away most unexpectedly during the Christmas Holidays due to personal matters, and though I was not slated to return until Spring, I was of course most willing to take the reigns once more. I do hope everyone enjoyed their holiday as we are now back to work. I see Professor Warwick did cover most of the material, however it does appear there will still be some catching up we will need to do. At this point I would suggest you allot yourselves an extra hour of potions homework every night so that we may catch up to where we need to be."

Harry saw Ron and Hermione's faces fall, as indeed the rest of the classes had at the news. A double whammy: The return of Snape and extra potions homework. Harry managed to not loose any points from Gryffindor during that first lesson, which was a relief to him considering Snape's usual compulsion to do so. Perhaps if he just kept extra quiet in class, the two of them could have a relatively peaceful term. There was even a glimmer of hope in Harry that, given the miraculous change in Dudley, perhaps the same could happen with Snape! After all, last year Dumbledore had said that they were all on the same side now, right?

Right! Walking into Potions the next day, Harry was feeling decidedly more confident about Snape's return. He even went so far as to give Snape a smile and amicable nod as he took his seat. Snape had merely stared at him and then returned his attention to his lesson plan. The minute the rest of the class had assembled, Snape wasted no time in proving to Harry just how wrong he was.

"Mr. Potter, since you seem to be in a particularly cheerful disposition this morning, I thought perhaps you might share with us by way of reminder what the basic points of the Garvarian Theory are since we will be building upon this basic theory in the next lesson."

Harry blinked. "The G-Garvarian Theory? Actually, Professor Warwick didn't cover that. We didn't get that far."

"Of course you didn't, however it was covered in the homework I assigned last night, that is of course provided you actually did your homework last night."

"But Sir, I thought that you said we had until Friday to read those chapters--"

"Miss Granger, of course you read the assigned chapters, did you not?"

"Y-yes, but it wasn't--"

"Then would you please provide the answer for the rest of the class as Mr. Potter seems inept to do so."

Hermione blinked and gave Harry a sympathetic look. "The Garvarian Theory, developed by the 4th century Balkan sorcerer Ulysees P. Garvarian is the still controversial belief that all potions regardless of their complexity have their true greatness weighted by the "y" variable, time, in the standard potions formula a + b x y = x."

Harry was grimacing on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"He's baaaaack," said Ron good naturedly, knowing that how fuming mad Harry was.

Harry shook his head. "Whatever. I'm not gonna loose sleep over the fact that he's still as much a jerk as he's always been."

The sight of Sirius provided an immediate relief to Harry. Professor Grave gave a quick, inconspicuous wink over his glasses to Harry as he found his seat, which somehow made Harry smile, even though he certainly hadn't felt like it.

"For the next month," said Professor Gray, "this class, your history of Magic class and your Potions class will all be focusing on a special curriculum that is geared at preparing you for your upcoming class trip. You might want to take notes on this, as we'll be talking about nothing else for the next four weeks of your life! As you have probably memorized by now, the class trip will be making three stops: New Orleans, The Bermuda Triangle and The Caledonian Forest. Therefore, we will be focusing on learning about dark arts activity and history in these three places-- your history class will be focusing on the magical history of these places, and your potions class will be focusing on potions composed of ingredients found only in these places. All of course, a reminder that this trip isn't going to be a leisure one, contrary to popular belief . . ." he smiled at the class, "although it will come close, I promise you."

The class eventually dismissed and, as Harry had hoped, Professor Gray called out, "Mr. Potter, might I have a word with you?"

They waited until the class was empty and then embraced each other heartily. Sirius took off his glasses and beamed at him.

"So glad you're back, my boy. You must tell me all about your holiday with the Dursleys. I can only imagine the horrible nightmare it must have been."

"Oh Sirius, you will never believe what's happened!" He took a seat on the edge of Sirius' desk. "My cousin Dudley? He's . . . he's a completely different person! I know this sounds crazy, but . . . he's changed! He's always been downright violent if ever I mentioned Hogwarts or anything to do with our kind and all of a sudden he started asking me questions! And . . . being nice to me! Defending me in front of my Aunt and Uncle!"

Sirius' eyes were wide. "But . . . why?"

"Well," said Harry eagerly, "as it turns out, he's in love with the girl next door! For the past three months he'd been undergoing this massive shift in character to become the sort of person she'd like! You wouldn't even recognize him Sirius, he's lost weight and doesn't wear that horrible frown on his face all because of this girl. A girl who just so happens to be a witch!"

"No!"

"Yes! He found out quite by accident and that was all it took to sober him up, I suppose! He realized that he was head over heels in love with one of our kind! So when I came to visit his attitude was quite different!"

Sirius' face was alight with intrigue. "Who's the girl? Do I know her family?"

"Er--probably! Sophie Banbury-Imelda Banbury's daughter? She works for the Ministry."

"Oh yes," said Sirius in a drawn out voice, "Imelda Banbury's daughter? Isn't she a Muggle?"

"No. She's a witch-- she actually takes classes here via correspondence. "

"Of all people for Dudley to fall for-- Imelda Banbury's daughter." Sirius shook his head, still looking thoughtful. "Tell me--how is Imelda these days?"

"Oh, all right I suppose . . . dunno, she's been acting really depressed lately. She looks like she's under a lot of stress . . . she's just so different. Sophie says it has to do with everything going on at the Ministry."

"I should think so," said Sirius, "especially because it was the Lestranges who escaped."

"Sorry? Why does that especially matter?"

"What, she never told you who her sister is? Her sister is Delphine Lestrange."

Harry's mouth fell. "What? But I thought her sister was . . . dead."

"Can you blame her for saying so? When Delphine fell in love with that no-good Marcus Lestrange we all feared the worst. It was such a disgrace to the Arlington's-- that's Imelda's family name." His voice grew quiet. "Besides, anyone in Azkaban is as good as dead. . . you have no idea, Harry."

"So . . . with Delphine Lestrange freed from Azkaban . . . " Harry shook his head. "Oh my goodness, poor Imelda. No wonder she looks like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders. Sophie never told me about any of that-"

"Sophie probably doesn't know," said Sirius plainly. And then there was a twinkle in his eye. "And you sure seem to know an awful lot about this Sophie girl . . ." he leaned close to his Godson. "Are you sure that maybe you and Dudley don't have something else in common? Namely, this intriguing girl next door?"

Harry laughed at the accusation. "Oh Sirius, you don't know what you're talking about. Sophie is a friend, that's all! She's . . . she's like a sister, really!"

Sirius didn't argue, but kept the same grin. Inside Harry was in a panic:

He'd just said precisely what Ron had said about Hermione.