Chapter 606: Harry's New Neighbor
Chapter 606: Harry's New Neighbor
"Look at his name!" Uncle Vernon snorted, "Tom? His parents must have been lazy. I bet there are a million Toms in Britain, everywhere you go—Tom at your office, Tom at the supermarket, Tom on the football team, and even Tom on the street..."
He muttered under his breath, as if to mask the increasingly bland taste of his food.
This helped Harry, who had just dropped his fork, leaving a stain on the clean tablecloth. Aunt Petunia, who was about to give him a disapproving look, was distracted. Harry quickly picked up the fork, determined to leave as soon as the meal was over.
The news anchor continued dutifully—
"... the original hotline will be closed..." Uncle Vernon began to voice his opinion intensely, "What about the photo? What does he look like? And the reward!" he roared, clearly upset at missing out on a potential windfall.
"He's already been caught", Harry pointed out dryly.
He thought that if Uncle Vernon knew the significance of that name, his reaction would be different. No, he didn't even need to know that the name once belonged to Voldemort. Just knowing that Tom Riddle was a Dark Wizard with no moral compass, the leader of a criminal gang, would be enough to terrify the blustering Uncle Vernon.
"Don't you tell me!" Uncle Vernon shouted at Harry.
"No hotline", Aunt Petunia suddenly said, as always, keenly attuned to secrets and gossip.
"What?" Uncle Vernon asked, taken aback.
"No hotline. I haven't seen... it wasn't mentioned on TV, and", Aunt Petunia frowned, "I've never heard that name before."
Harry understood her perfectly. She wouldn't let a juicy piece of gossip slip by, and a murderer was a particularly exciting topic. If she could use it to comment on the current state of law and order, she would be the star of the neighborhood's afternoon tea.
Harry watched the news anchor, interpreting the situation differently. Perhaps it was a signal from the wizards to their fellow wizards hiding in the Muggle community: the war was over. He applauded the person who came up with the idea, because the name 'Voldemort' shouldn't appear in Muggle television programs. Using 'Tom Riddle' was much safer, especially since Rita Skeeter's continuous reporting had made Voldemort's name from his youth a well-known secret.
Lost in thought, Harry didn't notice when the table fell silent, and both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were staring at him.
Harry was confused, not knowing what he had done to upset them, but the TV news provided the answer—
"... ornithologists speculate that the unusual behavior of owls may be related to changes in the Earth's magnetic field. This is not the first time such occurrences have been reported, dating back at least fifteen years..."
Aunt Petunia gasped, and Uncle Vernon's small eyes bulged, his fork bending in his grip.
"I'm done", Harry said quickly, putting down his utensils and standing up from his chair.
"Don't you think you're going anywhere, boy! We need an explanation!" Uncle Vernon shouted.
"There's nothing—"
"There is!" Dudley suddenly interjected, his small eyes, inherited from his father, glaring at Harry. He pointed at Harry with his fat hand, which was still holding a fork.
"His room, there are always flapping sounds and bird calls at night."
"That's an owl!"
"Of course it's your doing—"
Harry was inwardly angry. "Alright", he tried to remain calm, "something big has happened in the wizarding world. Voldemort has fallen", he pointed at the TV, "that's who they were talking about, Tom Riddle, his name from school."
Without waiting for their reaction, Harry ran up the stairs in two strides.
Maybe he should tell them, Harry thought as he pushed open his bedroom door. But he had been so busy lately, he hadn't had time to think about it. Besides, what good would it do? Would they truly be happy?
The bedroom was a mess, with things scattered everywhere, leaving little room to move.
If Aunt Petunia saw this, she would scream, but she hadn't been in here for a long time. If possible, she avoided mentioning Harry's name. So, Harry felt justified in leaving his room in disarray. He glanced out the window; Sirius had been coming home very late recently.
Of course, his godfather was happily chasing down rogue Dark Wizards with his old partner. How could he have time for Harry? Harry thought gloomily, wondering when Sirius would realize he was getting in the way of Remus and Tonks...
Hedwig was pecking at her cage. Harry bent down and opened the cage door. Hedwig came out, spread her wings, and flew into the dark night like a ghost. He moved the cage and picked up a small box from the floor.
Inside were several unfolded letters, neatly stacked in chronological order. The top one was from Hermione, sent yesterday.
Harry sat down in his chair and started reading from the middle. He was already familiar with the content.
"... we went to Norway, and the weather is mostly warm. The salmon here is delicious. I didn't dare go into the water; the waves were too big, and I was worried I'd accidentally use magic. If you ever visit, make sure to bring toiletries and a thick coat. The weather can get chilly if it rains..."
"Did your friend write you a letter?"
Harry jerked his head up to see Dudley's fat body blocking the doorway. Dudley seemed to be trying to point at the letter in Harry's hand with his chin, but all he managed to do was make his three chins more prominent and obscure his already small eyes.
"It's none of your business."
Harry said angrily as he strode past the owl cage, the stack of books, his Hogwarts robes, and old clothes, heading to the door to close it. A strange feeling flashed through him; Dudley used to avoid this room as much as his parents did.
But Dudley put a hand on the door, and Harry's hand froze on the doorknob. He realized his cousin had been practicing boxing, and his large frame wasn't entirely fat—though it might take Dudley a lifetime to reveal the muscles underneath.
Harry glared, suppressing the urge to threaten him with magic. If Dudley suddenly lost his mind and wanted to revisit his elementary school hobbies, Harry was at a clear physical disadvantage.
Then, Dudley bent down—his left hand still firmly on the door, the effort of bending making his bulk even more cumbersome—and picked up a stack of parchment. "The Secrets of the Patronus—by Harry Potter. You're planning to write a book? Like Gilderoy Lockhart?"
"Give it back!" Harry said angrily. "I'm nothing like that fraud! Wait—how did you know—"
He stared at Dudley, completely shocked.
He had no idea when Dudley had become involved in his life in the other world. It felt like someone he had lived with for over a decade, like the Dursleys or Mrs. Figg, suddenly confessing they were a wizard...
It was absurd. There must be a reason, and it likely had something to do with him. A flash of insight hit Harry, and he suddenly remembered something. He strode to the wardrobe, knocking over a few quills and ink bottles along the way, but he didn't notice. He yanked open the closet, tossed aside some dirty clothes, and reached into a deeper, missing-panel drawer—only to find it empty.
"You took my book?" Harry said through gritted teeth, a mix of anger and a sense of privacy being violated. Long-suppressed emotions burst forth. He thought back to his childhood: he never had a decent toy, only Dudley's leftovers. He had to hide from Dudley; if Dudley saw, there were only two outcomes: either he would cry to Aunt Petunia to get the toy back, even if it meant throwing it away, or he would snatch it from Harry and crush it underfoot.
The only consolation was that Dudley never entered the cupboard under the stairs where Harry used to live, as he couldn't fit in by the time he was six, allowing Harry to hoard a few broken toys like a house-elf.
By the time Harry realized it, his wand was already in his hand, pointed at Dudley's neck. The tip glowed with a threatening red light, and Dudley's face was filled with fear. His neck stretched back, and his fat toes tiptoed, making him look like a terrible ballet dancer.
"Don't—You can't—use magic—outside school—"
"I don't care!" Harry hissed, "I don't care, do you understand?" He seriously considered casting a hex, remembering a spell from the Half-Blood Prince's textbook that would make Dudley's toenails grow uncontrollably, but thinking of Snape only made him feel worse.
"You never dared to come in here before. I should have known... You've been acting strange this summer." Harry took a deep breath. "So, you stole my book, Lockhart's... and that comic set... You think you know magic now, don't you? Tell me, what do you plan to do this time?"
Dudley seemed to be struggling for breath, his face turning red. His hand tried to push away the wand, but a few sparks from the wand made him freeze in terror.
Harry calmed down a bit.
He stepped back two paces, pulling the wand from Dudley's second chin and pointing it at the floor. His first thought was that Dudley would tell on him, but then he realized this might not be so bad. Harry looked at the messy room; he could pack his things and move to the house Sirius had rented that night.
Now that Voldemort had been captured, Harry didn't feel he was in danger anymore, so the protective charm losing its effect didn't seem like a significant loss. The thought took root in Harry's mind and quickly grew into a towering tree.
Dudley finally reacted.
He slowly put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a few banknotes. Harry's eyes widened; for a moment, he thought he had discovered Dudley's true purpose—showing off how much pocket money he had. But Harry quickly realized something else. He looked at Dudley, who was struggling to speak, and a strange feeling washed over him.
"I—buy—money—"
"You want to buy something from me? What?"
Dudley opened his mouth, his face turning red, seemingly losing his ability to speak.
"Zzz—zzz—"
"Buzzing Bees Candy?"
"And—and Pepper—"
"Pepper Imps?"
"Dudley—Dudley—your favorite TV show is starting—"
Aunt Petunia’s shout from the living room broke the silence between the two. Dudley quickly backed out, as if Harry were chasing him with a curse. He stood at the doorway, still visibly shaken, and called down the stairs, "I know—I’m coming down right away."
Then he turned around, seemingly regaining enough courage from his mother, and stared at Harry’s forehead intently.
"Is it true what the comic books say? They mentioned you, the famous Potter?"
"Yes, the famous Potter", Harry repeated dryly.
Dudley vanished from sight. The stairs groaned under his weight, and Harry stood there for a few seconds before walking over and slamming the door shut. He locked it nervously and sat back down in his chair, staring blankly at the messy room.
He remembered Dudley hadn’t returned the book or left any money, so he was just putting on a show? Harry thought with a hint of cynicism. Dudley was certainly a shrewd businessman, showing promise of inheriting his father’s position.
He imagined what a middle-aged Dudley would look like—essentially a carbon copy of Uncle Vernon, only larger and with fatter fingers. He had heard Dudley was playing baseball, but Harry had no faith in Dudley’s potential achievements. This was in stark contrast to Aunt Petunia’s views, and one of them had to be wrong.
Harry stood up and picked up the parchment from the floor. The overturned ink bottle had ruined the first few pages, but Harry wasn’t too concerned; he had nearly memorized the content. This was his book, and it might be published someday. Harry was incredibly patient, carefully weighing every word.
Speaking of which, Harry hadn’t really considered the issue of publication.
Maybe he should ask Professor Hup? But he quickly dismissed the idea. He didn’t particularly want to contact Professor Hup or Headmaster Dumbledore right now. He had heard the full prophecy from Sirius Black and knew his destiny: one must die at the hands of the other, as both cannot live while the other survives, and only one can live on...
For a moment, a strong hope ignited in Harry’s heart. If one could survive, it should be him, right? Because Voldemort had been captured. Clearly, Sirius Black thought so too, and when Harry asked, Sirius readily told him.
But Harry knew more. He was a Horcrux, a part of Voldemort’s life.
Sirius Black didn’t know about the Horcrux; he had been kept out of the truth. Harry had confirmed this repeatedly, and he found a sense of kinship in Sirius’s exclusion, which caused a slight waver in his own fate. Perhaps Headmaster Dumbledore was also working to find a way to ensure his survival?
Harry didn’t dare ask, as he was already prepared to face his destiny without being discouraged again. He could only wait. If they—Professor Hup or Headmaster Dumbledore—discovered a solution, they would certainly inform him.
Ruffling sounds.
An owl flew in through the window. Harry thought it was Hedwig, but it was another brownish owl. It disdainfully circled the room, barely finding a place to perch on the windowsill, and lifted its right leg.
Harry walked over and removed the square, large envelope.
When he saw the Ministry of Magic emblem and the Wizarding Examinations Authority’s mark, he was momentarily stunned.
He had completely forgotten about his O.W.L. results.
Meanwhile, several events were unfolding almost simultaneously—
Felix was leaving his orphanage friend’s house; Dumbledore, after a busy day, received a message in a foreign country: Gellert Grindelwald had mysteriously vanished, suspected to have escaped from prison; and an unexpected visitor had arrived at Privet Drive, renting a house nearby.
"Sir, are you planning to stay long?"
"Unfortunately, I have other commitments. I’ll be here for about a month. After that, I’ll visit a few people—old friends and some pen pals I’ve never met... Speaking of which, this pen pal of mine is quite witty and creative. The main purpose of my trip is to meet him in person..."
The landlord, swayed by the high rent, made no objections.
"By the way... the Dursleys live nearby, right?"
"Yes, are you related to them?" the landlord asked curiously. "They’ve never mentioned you."
"No", Grindelwald said softly. He looked much better, his cheeks still gaunt but no longer skeletal. He was dressed in well-tailored clothes, looking like an old-fashioned gentleman.
He smiled politely and said, "I just often hear this pen pal mention the name of the child in this family—he’s a school teacher, and to be honest, I’m about to get tired of hearing it."
"You mean Dudley Dursley?"
"The other one", Grindelwald said casually, "I believe his name is Harry Potter."
(End of Chapter)
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