Harry Potter and the Awkward Date
STORY DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction. All characters, story lines, background elements, fancy cars and jewelry, unmarked bills in twenties and fifties, and additional extraneous items appearing in this story belong to J.K. Rowling, her publishers, and her solicitors. The writer of this story is not making any money off this, I'm not even making any money off the stuff I've got published on my own. I am poor so any attempt to sue me will be costly and futile. So there.
Chapter One: The Seven Lock Box
Summer mornings usually don't start with rain pattering on the windows, but this morning did. It stirred the young, shaggy haired youth from his cramped bed, kicking away the rumpled sweat-soaked sheets before he tipped himself over onto the floor. Groaning, the boy stretched himself up onto his feet, attempting a great yawn but ending up with a slight hiccup noise instead. After tapping an empty birdcage near the window he looked out past the watery splashes against the glass to take a good look at Privet Drive, the road that passed his uncle Vernon's house.
Harry Potter blinked, forgetting once again his glasses, and slipped them on before taking another look down the street. He spotted Mrs. Figg's umbrella in the distance, taking another early morning walk even in this bad weather. If there were any other watchers keeping an eye out, Harry couldn't see them but he was sure they had to be there.
It had been a week since he had returned from his wizarding school of Hogwarts, another year of learning and another year of danger passed away. Harry already hated being back, not because of the dreadful way Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia treat him nearly every minute, but because once again he had been cooped up in this place, this room, waiting for any word or sign that it would be safe for someone like him to even take a walk in the rain.
Harry Potter was a more unusual boy than most, in fact unique in any world. He was rare enough in the world of normal people (Muggles as they were known) for being a wizard, capable of casting spells and jinxes and what have you with a wave of a specially crafted wand. But even in the wizarding world he was special, and it had a lot to do with that lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, the one left there by a Dark Lord wizard who had cheated death and was eagerly waiting to deal out death to anyone, Wizard or Muggle, who got in his way.
Thankfully Harry noted that scar wasn't hurting this morning nor any of the previous mornings since his return to 4 Privet Drive. Usually when the scar hurt it meant Lord Voldemort, the most deadly Dark Wizard in ages, was dishing out punishment to his followers, self-styled Death Eaters, or to any poor unsuspecting soul who got ensnared in any of his traps. Thankfully, most of the Death Eaters, especially Lucius Malfoy, had been recently captured during a nasty confrontation with Aurors and special members of the Order of the Phoenix at the Ministry of Magic; so Voldemort had too few followers to torment over such a grand failure. The lack of pain also meant the Dark Lord (whom everyone else wanted to call 'You-Know-Who' as though saying his name might summon him or bring some other misfortune) hadn't yet tempted or tortured anyone into serving his cause, which he may undoubtedly do once he schemes a new plot to destroy his enemies.
Harry sat back down on the bed, sighing and taking a moment to not think. Instead that was all he could do. He thought about the letters he sent with his pet owl Hedwig to Headmaster Dumbledore, to his friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and to Remus Lupin, the last surviving true friend of Harry's deceased father. He had sent requests to Ron and Hermione to see if they could visit him somehow or at best keep in better communication with him than the last summer he was stuck here. He had sent letters to Dumbledore and Lupin, as they were members of the Order of the Phoenix, to see if it was possible somehow to leave the safety of Uncle Vernon's house, which had fallen under a magic protection thanks to Aunt Petunia's (reluctant, no doubt) accepting to take Harry in just after his parents' tragic deaths at Voldemort's hands.
He started banging his head gently against the wall he was leaning against, bored, frustrated, and burdened. The boredom and frustration, he was used to that, but the burden, well it had been there before but never this heavy on his mind...
"NO BANGING!" yelled a deep, rumbling volcanic voice from downstairs. His Uncle Vernon was already up, apparently, this being a workday and him rushing off to his job at Grunnings that meant shouting at subordinates and threatening buyers owing payments. Harry stopped, simply leaning his head against the wall. A part of Harry's mind whispered, oh go ahead and keep banging against the wall, go ahead, anger him up, get into a yelling match with your uncle like you always do...
"I'm tired," Harry whispered to himself. "I'm tired of fighting. I don't care anymore."
Your loss, whispered the voice, you could at least feel angry because at least you'll feel SOMETHING...
Harry sighed and thought about slipping back under the bedsheet still dangling precariously off the side of the mattress. He reached out to pull it back over him when there was a startled screech by his aunt, a clattering of fallen chinaware, and an unwanted "What the bloody!" by his uncle.
Harry sat there for a few moments, realizing something had happened, most likely an owl post just arriving. Uncle Vernon didn't care much for owls. To him, they brought only bad news and bad reminders that he had a nasty, unwanted bit of wizardry under his roof. Harry noticed the thundering footsteps coming up the stairs to the living quarters of the house, and waited for the bedroom door to be slammed open to reveal a mustached, oversized bull of a human glaring at him.
"Downstairs," growled Uncle Vernon. "NOW."
Wrapping the bedsheet about him, Harry wordlessly entered the hallway and headed down the stairs. He picked up the deep snoring sound of cousin Dudley, so he was at least thankful that he wouldn't be present to add to Harry's long-awaited chewing out. He had never gone this long without Vernon complaining about him in some fashion or another, so Dudley apparently fell out of habit of waiting for such moments.
When Harry made it to Aunt Petunia's usually immaculate kitchen, he quickly noticed why the adults were startled: it had to be the largest owl Harry had ever seen standing on the table. Hedwig may have been impressive in size, but this one had to be a head taller with twice the wingspan. Harry could also see why such a large bird would be making a delivery: the owl stood impressively upon a large wooden box covered with about seven thick metal locks.
Harry took a seat facing the owl, opposite from his aunt, who either disapproved of her nephew coming down dressed shabbily in a bedsheet or disapproved of yet another shock for the day. Something like this was bound to cut into her spying on the neighbors, especially since the Greetlebucks down the street were currently repainting their interiors and had their curtains down for the coming weekend.
"Well?" Uncle Vernon finally asked, once his neck had deflated down to where his voice could work properly.
"Well, it's a parcel, isn't it?" Harry answered quietly, wondering what it might be.
"I bloody well know it's a parcel! I would wish those, those people of yours would at least use the regular means of delivery!"
Harry smiled a bit, the most he had done in days. "They tried that once, you weren't too thrilled with that either."
Vernon could very well shout loud enough for the Greetlebucks to deal with shattered windows at that moment, but he controlled himself. He wasn't about to let the whole world know the kind of embarrassment he had brought upon his family. He took a breath, and then stated his commands. "Well, then, open the box and get rid of the bloody bird why don't you?"
As if the owl understood him, the bird calmly lifted one leg at Harry and hooted. He spotted the scroll draped above the claw and quickly removed the note. When he saw the owl keeping its foot up, Harry took a moment, puzzled. Then he remembered, some owls do this for a living. "If it's payment you want, I don't have any wizard money on me now, but I do have some of Hedwig's food if you can accept it."
The owl hooted pleasantly at that.
"All right then. In my bedroom upstairs. The door should be open."
The owl nodded, spread its wings and flapped hard, lifting itself up and gliding remarkably gracefully around the living room, building up momentum to swing itself up the staircase. Harry heard some fluttering noises, then a quick loud yell from someone being horrifically woken by a large bird. "No, no," Harry shouted in the direction of upstairs. "The other door."
Aunt Petunia looked like she could faint, but instead stood quickly and rushed up the stairs to check on her darling son. Vernon glared viciously at Harry, rethinking his policy on loud yelling at this point.
Harry knew not to stare back at his uncle when he got into one of those moods, and quickly returned his attention to the note. He unfolded the paper and glanced at the writing.
YOU KNOW HOW TO OPEN IT. JUST SAY THE MAGIC WORDS. AM
AM. Alastor Moody, Harry nodded to himself. He had sent a box, and fearing like always it could be intercepted by Voldemort's Death Eaters, he was setting up precautions so that only Harry could open it. Magic words, he hummed for a moment. "All right," he finally muttered before bringing his voice up to normal levels. "Constant Vigilance!"
Vernon stared incredulously at his nephew, then at the box that didn't open.
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Harry tried yelling, much in the way that the false Mad-Eye did two years earlier, hoping that was a common phrase in Moody's workings.
"Mad," Vernon muttered as the box remained closed. "The whole lot of you."
Harry seemed puzzled. He thought back, to when he met the real Mad-Eye nearly a year ago in this house. "Elementary wand safety! Eye in a glass! Oddment! Tweek! Oh, why couldn't you like candy the way Dumbledore does?" He was getting desperate at that point.
"Would you prefer I get the fireaxe and open it properly?" Vernon said in a sarcastically sweet voice, noting full and complete insanity in his nephew's ravings.
"Oh, no," Harry closed his eyes, realizing what the words might be. "Blown buttock?"
Before Uncle Vernon could grab the box and take it to the aforementioned fireaxe for disposal, a loud CLICK was heard and a lockbolt on the front of the box slid to the right. Harry pushed at the lid, and to his delight lifted it open to find...
"Why couldn't this madman friend of yours send you this note on the bloody owl's leg in the first place?" Vernon growled as Harry picked up a second piece of paper. It read:
IT WAS TONKS IDEA. THINKS RIDDLE'S CROWD WOULD NEVER THINK I WOULD STOOP SO LOW TO SAY IT. SPEAKING OF TONKS, NEXT LOCK IS HERS. AM
Harry sighed, knowing this one already. He closed the lid down and said the next magic word. "Wotcher!"
There was a slight clicking noise but that was it. He repeated the sigh and tried again. "Wotcher, Harry!"
A second lockbolt, this time on the right side of the box from Harry, slid open. Harry lifted the lid and found a block of chocolate atop a third note. It read:
HELLO HARRY. THIS ONE'S MINE. RL
Harry recognized the handwriting right away: Lupin, his favorite Dark Arts teacher and last surviving true friend of Harry's parents. Harry shut the box closed and stated, "Moony."
The box stayed shut. Too obvious, Harry thought. If Voldemort's remaining Death Eaters, the ones not caught at the Ministry less than a month ago, had intercepted the box then Wormtail would know it. Harry shouted "Expecto Patronum!" That didn't do anything so he thought on it a little more. "Riddikulus!"
CLICK. He couldn't see the lockbolt but it had to be on the other side of the box. Harry lifted the lid to find the next clue.
It wasn't so much a clue as it was a wooly knitted green hat with gold and maroon stripes along the rim, perfectly useless in summertime but clearly meant for future use. A note fell out as he picked it up, reading:
HELLO, HARRY. OH, WHO CARES ABOUT SECRET WORDS, IF THEY'VE GOTTEN THIS FAR IN BREAKING INTO IT WHY BOTHER? HARRY, JUST SAY 'OPEN'. OH, AND I DO HOPE YOU LIKE THE HAT. MRS. WEASLEY.
Harry giggled a bit, noting the hat would have been a dead giveaway that this was Ron's mother. With a smile still on his face he once again closed the box and then muttered, "Open."
CLICK. "Finally," Vernon muttered as well, "One of them showed some reason to it."
He picked up a handful of Daily Prophet newspapers, topped off by a small note written in familiar handwriting. It read:
AH, WELL THAT'S THE MISSUS FOR YOU. SENSIBLE REALLY, WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT. I'VE SENT ALONG SOME WORD, RON MENTIONED YOU FELT OUT OF THE LOOP LAST SUMMER. NEXT WORD TO UNLOCK SHOULD BE EASY TO GUESS, KNOWING ME. BAD HABITS AND ALL THAT. A. WEASLEY.
Harry chuckled as he closed the lid. "Plugs."
Nothing happened, so he took another moment to think it over. "Fellytone."
CLICK. Harry lifted the lid again, finding just a simple note reading:
ME AGAIN. CAN'T UNDERSTAND WHY THEY'RE SENDING YOU ALL THIS USELESS STUFF. NEED MORE PROTECTIVE DEVICES IF YOU ASK ME. I'M NOT ABOUT TO SEND YOU ANY OF MINE THOUGH. JUST TO MAKE SURE THOSE SCUMMY DEATH EATERS DON'T TAKE ANY OF MINE. YOU'LL UNDERSTAND. LAST ONE IS DUMBLEDORE. CAREFUL WITH IT. AM
Harry closed the lid one more time. Having a pretty good idea what it was, he said, "Lemon drop!"
Nothing happened. He sighed, thinking on it some more. "Oh, that's it."
"What's that?" Vernon asked, and suddenly made a face realizing he had gotten drawn into this madness in his kitchen.
"Warm socks," Harry stated, and waited with a big grin on his face as the last CLICK sounded on the last lockbolt. He turned and lifted the lid, reaching in to pull out an oddly shaped metal plate, not so much circular or rectangular or any other kind of polygonal shape that Harry could identify. If he tried identifying the shape he realized the metal had shifted into another nearly similar shape. At least he think it changed. And yet even held in his hands it didn't feel like it was moving or changing in any way.
He double-checked the box and spotted a good-sized parchment folded twice. Pulling it out, he unfolded it and read:
DEAR HARRY, I UNDERSTAND YOUR FEELINGS ABOUT BEING STUCK IN ONE PLACE, WITH THE WHOLE WORLD ABOUT YOU MOVING AND THINGS TO BE DONE. I HAVE THOUGHT HARD REGARDING OUR LAST DISCUSSION AND I REALIZE THE NECESSITY OF GIVING YOU SOME FREEDOM, WHILE STILL ENSURING YOUR PROTECTION. WE HAVE DONE SOME WORK, AND WITH A LOT OF EFFORT I MIGHT ADD, ON THIS AMULET OF SORTS HOPEFULLY NOW IN YOUR HANDS. IT, ALONG WITH THE WORDS ON THIS PARCHMENT, IS MEANT FOR YOU ALONE. AS LONG AS YOU WEAR THIS TALISMAN, CHARMED MUCH LIKE THE UNPLOTTABLE SPELLS PLACED ON HOGWARTS, AS WELL AS BEARING FORMS OF PROTECTION AGAINST PARALYSING SPELLS, YOU WILL HAVE SOME SAFETY. MINISTER FUDGE AND HIS OFFICES HAVE BEEN APPRAISED OF THIS AND THE USE OF THIS MAGICAL DEVICE WILL NOT REFLECT UPON YOUR REMAINING A STUDENT AT HOGWARTS. PLEASE REMEMBER TO AVOID DIRECTLY USING YOUR WAND AMONG THE POPULACE, AND IF CONFRONTED FLEE AS BEST YOU CAN. ANY FOLLOWER OF VOLDEMORT FOOLISH ENOUGH TO ATTACK YOU IN PUBLIC WILL BE CAUGHT BY AURORS NOW WAITING TO ACT UPON THE SLIGHTEST SIGN. I ASSURE YOU AND YOUR FAMILY THERE THAT YOU WILL REMAIN SAFE.
P.S. PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU'VE GOTTEN EVERYTHING OUT OF THE BOX. YOU CAN OPEN IT ONE LAST TIME BEFORE CLOSING IT FOR GOOD.
SIGNED, A. DUMBLEDORE (with additional titles and whatnot)
Harry smiled at the flourish, or lack of it, at the end of Dumbledore's name: the headmaster of Hogwarts had never really cared for titles, and for some reason Harry found that a comforting thought. He glanced again at the plate, noting it looked like twenty layers of triangles atop one another before shifting immediately, before checking that the box lid had been closed before lifting it open again. He took a good long look inside, felt about with one hand to check the dark corners of the interior, and satisfied it was empty he proceeded to close the box for what seemed to be the last time.
Which it was. The box immediately changed, practically exploding into a bouquet of flowers resting within a rather nicely formed crystal vase. In the midst of the flowers Harry spotted a small card that read "With thanks to the Dursleys for watching Harry Potter. Signed, A. Dumbledore."
Harry turned to the sudden thudding sound behind him, noting that the shock of witnessing the transformation had knocked Uncle Vernon back against the wall. "Blast it," he gasped, acting as though he was suffering a heart attack. "I hate it. Your kind, I swear your kind has no right to do that sort of thing!"
Harry suddenly felt the need to defend Dumbledore, not even realizing he was starting a yelling match with his uncle. "He was being nice to you! Why can't you ever see that in other people? Especially him!"
Vernon raised his finger, preparing to give his nephew a five-hour lecture on how and why wizards are the worst sort of people, and to hell with going to work now, this needed to be said. Thankfully for all concerned, Aunt Petunia had rushed into the room, having heard her husband's falling against the wall, poor scared Dudley in tow behind her, when she spotted the vase now decorating her kitchen. "What happened? Flowers?"
"No!" gasped Uncle Vernon. "Your nephew's ruddy useless mad friends!"
Having dealt for years with pig tails on her son, and floating cakes and a ballooning sister-in-law, not to mention an exploding artificial fireplace, as well as confronting the very existence of Dementors hurting Dudley, Petunia actually seemed quite pleased to see something this nice from a wizard for a change. That was until she saw her husband's perplexed look on his face wondering just whose bloody side of the argument she was on. She quickly turned at Harry with a scolding, angered look. "And now I suppose all your freakish friends are going to fill up my house and home with filthy useless plants! We don't need that sort of thing piling up in here like junk!"
STORY DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction. All characters, story lines, background elements, fancy cars and jewelry, unmarked bills in twenties and fifties, and additional extraneous items appearing in this story belong to J.K. Rowling, her publishers, and her solicitors. The writer of this story is not making any money off this, I'm not even making any money off the stuff I've got published on my own. I am poor so any attempt to sue me will be costly and futile. So there.
Chapter One: The Seven Lock Box
Summer mornings usually don't start with rain pattering on the windows, but this morning did. It stirred the young, shaggy haired youth from his cramped bed, kicking away the rumpled sweat-soaked sheets before he tipped himself over onto the floor. Groaning, the boy stretched himself up onto his feet, attempting a great yawn but ending up with a slight hiccup noise instead. After tapping an empty birdcage near the window he looked out past the watery splashes against the glass to take a good look at Privet Drive, the road that passed his uncle Vernon's house.
Harry Potter blinked, forgetting once again his glasses, and slipped them on before taking another look down the street. He spotted Mrs. Figg's umbrella in the distance, taking another early morning walk even in this bad weather. If there were any other watchers keeping an eye out, Harry couldn't see them but he was sure they had to be there.
It had been a week since he had returned from his wizarding school of Hogwarts, another year of learning and another year of danger passed away. Harry already hated being back, not because of the dreadful way Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia treat him nearly every minute, but because once again he had been cooped up in this place, this room, waiting for any word or sign that it would be safe for someone like him to even take a walk in the rain.
Harry Potter was a more unusual boy than most, in fact unique in any world. He was rare enough in the world of normal people (Muggles as they were known) for being a wizard, capable of casting spells and jinxes and what have you with a wave of a specially crafted wand. But even in the wizarding world he was special, and it had a lot to do with that lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, the one left there by a Dark Lord wizard who had cheated death and was eagerly waiting to deal out death to anyone, Wizard or Muggle, who got in his way.
Thankfully Harry noted that scar wasn't hurting this morning nor any of the previous mornings since his return to 4 Privet Drive. Usually when the scar hurt it meant Lord Voldemort, the most deadly Dark Wizard in ages, was dishing out punishment to his followers, self-styled Death Eaters, or to any poor unsuspecting soul who got ensnared in any of his traps. Thankfully, most of the Death Eaters, especially Lucius Malfoy, had been recently captured during a nasty confrontation with Aurors and special members of the Order of the Phoenix at the Ministry of Magic; so Voldemort had too few followers to torment over such a grand failure. The lack of pain also meant the Dark Lord (whom everyone else wanted to call 'You-Know-Who' as though saying his name might summon him or bring some other misfortune) hadn't yet tempted or tortured anyone into serving his cause, which he may undoubtedly do once he schemes a new plot to destroy his enemies.
Harry sat back down on the bed, sighing and taking a moment to not think. Instead that was all he could do. He thought about the letters he sent with his pet owl Hedwig to Headmaster Dumbledore, to his friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and to Remus Lupin, the last surviving true friend of Harry's deceased father. He had sent requests to Ron and Hermione to see if they could visit him somehow or at best keep in better communication with him than the last summer he was stuck here. He had sent letters to Dumbledore and Lupin, as they were members of the Order of the Phoenix, to see if it was possible somehow to leave the safety of Uncle Vernon's house, which had fallen under a magic protection thanks to Aunt Petunia's (reluctant, no doubt) accepting to take Harry in just after his parents' tragic deaths at Voldemort's hands.
He started banging his head gently against the wall he was leaning against, bored, frustrated, and burdened. The boredom and frustration, he was used to that, but the burden, well it had been there before but never this heavy on his mind...
"NO BANGING!" yelled a deep, rumbling volcanic voice from downstairs. His Uncle Vernon was already up, apparently, this being a workday and him rushing off to his job at Grunnings that meant shouting at subordinates and threatening buyers owing payments. Harry stopped, simply leaning his head against the wall. A part of Harry's mind whispered, oh go ahead and keep banging against the wall, go ahead, anger him up, get into a yelling match with your uncle like you always do...
"I'm tired," Harry whispered to himself. "I'm tired of fighting. I don't care anymore."
Your loss, whispered the voice, you could at least feel angry because at least you'll feel SOMETHING...
Harry sighed and thought about slipping back under the bedsheet still dangling precariously off the side of the mattress. He reached out to pull it back over him when there was a startled screech by his aunt, a clattering of fallen chinaware, and an unwanted "What the bloody!" by his uncle.
Harry sat there for a few moments, realizing something had happened, most likely an owl post just arriving. Uncle Vernon didn't care much for owls. To him, they brought only bad news and bad reminders that he had a nasty, unwanted bit of wizardry under his roof. Harry noticed the thundering footsteps coming up the stairs to the living quarters of the house, and waited for the bedroom door to be slammed open to reveal a mustached, oversized bull of a human glaring at him.
"Downstairs," growled Uncle Vernon. "NOW."
Wrapping the bedsheet about him, Harry wordlessly entered the hallway and headed down the stairs. He picked up the deep snoring sound of cousin Dudley, so he was at least thankful that he wouldn't be present to add to Harry's long-awaited chewing out. He had never gone this long without Vernon complaining about him in some fashion or another, so Dudley apparently fell out of habit of waiting for such moments.
When Harry made it to Aunt Petunia's usually immaculate kitchen, he quickly noticed why the adults were startled: it had to be the largest owl Harry had ever seen standing on the table. Hedwig may have been impressive in size, but this one had to be a head taller with twice the wingspan. Harry could also see why such a large bird would be making a delivery: the owl stood impressively upon a large wooden box covered with about seven thick metal locks.
Harry took a seat facing the owl, opposite from his aunt, who either disapproved of her nephew coming down dressed shabbily in a bedsheet or disapproved of yet another shock for the day. Something like this was bound to cut into her spying on the neighbors, especially since the Greetlebucks down the street were currently repainting their interiors and had their curtains down for the coming weekend.
"Well?" Uncle Vernon finally asked, once his neck had deflated down to where his voice could work properly.
"Well, it's a parcel, isn't it?" Harry answered quietly, wondering what it might be.
"I bloody well know it's a parcel! I would wish those, those people of yours would at least use the regular means of delivery!"
Harry smiled a bit, the most he had done in days. "They tried that once, you weren't too thrilled with that either."
Vernon could very well shout loud enough for the Greetlebucks to deal with shattered windows at that moment, but he controlled himself. He wasn't about to let the whole world know the kind of embarrassment he had brought upon his family. He took a breath, and then stated his commands. "Well, then, open the box and get rid of the bloody bird why don't you?"
As if the owl understood him, the bird calmly lifted one leg at Harry and hooted. He spotted the scroll draped above the claw and quickly removed the note. When he saw the owl keeping its foot up, Harry took a moment, puzzled. Then he remembered, some owls do this for a living. "If it's payment you want, I don't have any wizard money on me now, but I do have some of Hedwig's food if you can accept it."
The owl hooted pleasantly at that.
"All right then. In my bedroom upstairs. The door should be open."
The owl nodded, spread its wings and flapped hard, lifting itself up and gliding remarkably gracefully around the living room, building up momentum to swing itself up the staircase. Harry heard some fluttering noises, then a quick loud yell from someone being horrifically woken by a large bird. "No, no," Harry shouted in the direction of upstairs. "The other door."
Aunt Petunia looked like she could faint, but instead stood quickly and rushed up the stairs to check on her darling son. Vernon glared viciously at Harry, rethinking his policy on loud yelling at this point.
Harry knew not to stare back at his uncle when he got into one of those moods, and quickly returned his attention to the note. He unfolded the paper and glanced at the writing.
YOU KNOW HOW TO OPEN IT. JUST SAY THE MAGIC WORDS. AM
AM. Alastor Moody, Harry nodded to himself. He had sent a box, and fearing like always it could be intercepted by Voldemort's Death Eaters, he was setting up precautions so that only Harry could open it. Magic words, he hummed for a moment. "All right," he finally muttered before bringing his voice up to normal levels. "Constant Vigilance!"
Vernon stared incredulously at his nephew, then at the box that didn't open.
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Harry tried yelling, much in the way that the false Mad-Eye did two years earlier, hoping that was a common phrase in Moody's workings.
"Mad," Vernon muttered as the box remained closed. "The whole lot of you."
Harry seemed puzzled. He thought back, to when he met the real Mad-Eye nearly a year ago in this house. "Elementary wand safety! Eye in a glass! Oddment! Tweek! Oh, why couldn't you like candy the way Dumbledore does?" He was getting desperate at that point.
"Would you prefer I get the fireaxe and open it properly?" Vernon said in a sarcastically sweet voice, noting full and complete insanity in his nephew's ravings.
"Oh, no," Harry closed his eyes, realizing what the words might be. "Blown buttock?"
Before Uncle Vernon could grab the box and take it to the aforementioned fireaxe for disposal, a loud CLICK was heard and a lockbolt on the front of the box slid to the right. Harry pushed at the lid, and to his delight lifted it open to find...
"Why couldn't this madman friend of yours send you this note on the bloody owl's leg in the first place?" Vernon growled as Harry picked up a second piece of paper. It read:
IT WAS TONKS IDEA. THINKS RIDDLE'S CROWD WOULD NEVER THINK I WOULD STOOP SO LOW TO SAY IT. SPEAKING OF TONKS, NEXT LOCK IS HERS. AM
Harry sighed, knowing this one already. He closed the lid down and said the next magic word. "Wotcher!"
There was a slight clicking noise but that was it. He repeated the sigh and tried again. "Wotcher, Harry!"
A second lockbolt, this time on the right side of the box from Harry, slid open. Harry lifted the lid and found a block of chocolate atop a third note. It read:
HELLO HARRY. THIS ONE'S MINE. RL
Harry recognized the handwriting right away: Lupin, his favorite Dark Arts teacher and last surviving true friend of Harry's parents. Harry shut the box closed and stated, "Moony."
The box stayed shut. Too obvious, Harry thought. If Voldemort's remaining Death Eaters, the ones not caught at the Ministry less than a month ago, had intercepted the box then Wormtail would know it. Harry shouted "Expecto Patronum!" That didn't do anything so he thought on it a little more. "Riddikulus!"
CLICK. He couldn't see the lockbolt but it had to be on the other side of the box. Harry lifted the lid to find the next clue.
It wasn't so much a clue as it was a wooly knitted green hat with gold and maroon stripes along the rim, perfectly useless in summertime but clearly meant for future use. A note fell out as he picked it up, reading:
HELLO, HARRY. OH, WHO CARES ABOUT SECRET WORDS, IF THEY'VE GOTTEN THIS FAR IN BREAKING INTO IT WHY BOTHER? HARRY, JUST SAY 'OPEN'. OH, AND I DO HOPE YOU LIKE THE HAT. MRS. WEASLEY.
Harry giggled a bit, noting the hat would have been a dead giveaway that this was Ron's mother. With a smile still on his face he once again closed the box and then muttered, "Open."
CLICK. "Finally," Vernon muttered as well, "One of them showed some reason to it."
He picked up a handful of Daily Prophet newspapers, topped off by a small note written in familiar handwriting. It read:
AH, WELL THAT'S THE MISSUS FOR YOU. SENSIBLE REALLY, WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT. I'VE SENT ALONG SOME WORD, RON MENTIONED YOU FELT OUT OF THE LOOP LAST SUMMER. NEXT WORD TO UNLOCK SHOULD BE EASY TO GUESS, KNOWING ME. BAD HABITS AND ALL THAT. A. WEASLEY.
Harry chuckled as he closed the lid. "Plugs."
Nothing happened, so he took another moment to think it over. "Fellytone."
CLICK. Harry lifted the lid again, finding just a simple note reading:
ME AGAIN. CAN'T UNDERSTAND WHY THEY'RE SENDING YOU ALL THIS USELESS STUFF. NEED MORE PROTECTIVE DEVICES IF YOU ASK ME. I'M NOT ABOUT TO SEND YOU ANY OF MINE THOUGH. JUST TO MAKE SURE THOSE SCUMMY DEATH EATERS DON'T TAKE ANY OF MINE. YOU'LL UNDERSTAND. LAST ONE IS DUMBLEDORE. CAREFUL WITH IT. AM
Harry closed the lid one more time. Having a pretty good idea what it was, he said, "Lemon drop!"
Nothing happened. He sighed, thinking on it some more. "Oh, that's it."
"What's that?" Vernon asked, and suddenly made a face realizing he had gotten drawn into this madness in his kitchen.
"Warm socks," Harry stated, and waited with a big grin on his face as the last CLICK sounded on the last lockbolt. He turned and lifted the lid, reaching in to pull out an oddly shaped metal plate, not so much circular or rectangular or any other kind of polygonal shape that Harry could identify. If he tried identifying the shape he realized the metal had shifted into another nearly similar shape. At least he think it changed. And yet even held in his hands it didn't feel like it was moving or changing in any way.
He double-checked the box and spotted a good-sized parchment folded twice. Pulling it out, he unfolded it and read:
DEAR HARRY, I UNDERSTAND YOUR FEELINGS ABOUT BEING STUCK IN ONE PLACE, WITH THE WHOLE WORLD ABOUT YOU MOVING AND THINGS TO BE DONE. I HAVE THOUGHT HARD REGARDING OUR LAST DISCUSSION AND I REALIZE THE NECESSITY OF GIVING YOU SOME FREEDOM, WHILE STILL ENSURING YOUR PROTECTION. WE HAVE DONE SOME WORK, AND WITH A LOT OF EFFORT I MIGHT ADD, ON THIS AMULET OF SORTS HOPEFULLY NOW IN YOUR HANDS. IT, ALONG WITH THE WORDS ON THIS PARCHMENT, IS MEANT FOR YOU ALONE. AS LONG AS YOU WEAR THIS TALISMAN, CHARMED MUCH LIKE THE UNPLOTTABLE SPELLS PLACED ON HOGWARTS, AS WELL AS BEARING FORMS OF PROTECTION AGAINST PARALYSING SPELLS, YOU WILL HAVE SOME SAFETY. MINISTER FUDGE AND HIS OFFICES HAVE BEEN APPRAISED OF THIS AND THE USE OF THIS MAGICAL DEVICE WILL NOT REFLECT UPON YOUR REMAINING A STUDENT AT HOGWARTS. PLEASE REMEMBER TO AVOID DIRECTLY USING YOUR WAND AMONG THE POPULACE, AND IF CONFRONTED FLEE AS BEST YOU CAN. ANY FOLLOWER OF VOLDEMORT FOOLISH ENOUGH TO ATTACK YOU IN PUBLIC WILL BE CAUGHT BY AURORS NOW WAITING TO ACT UPON THE SLIGHTEST SIGN. I ASSURE YOU AND YOUR FAMILY THERE THAT YOU WILL REMAIN SAFE.
P.S. PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU'VE GOTTEN EVERYTHING OUT OF THE BOX. YOU CAN OPEN IT ONE LAST TIME BEFORE CLOSING IT FOR GOOD.
SIGNED, A. DUMBLEDORE (with additional titles and whatnot)
Harry smiled at the flourish, or lack of it, at the end of Dumbledore's name: the headmaster of Hogwarts had never really cared for titles, and for some reason Harry found that a comforting thought. He glanced again at the plate, noting it looked like twenty layers of triangles atop one another before shifting immediately, before checking that the box lid had been closed before lifting it open again. He took a good long look inside, felt about with one hand to check the dark corners of the interior, and satisfied it was empty he proceeded to close the box for what seemed to be the last time.
Which it was. The box immediately changed, practically exploding into a bouquet of flowers resting within a rather nicely formed crystal vase. In the midst of the flowers Harry spotted a small card that read "With thanks to the Dursleys for watching Harry Potter. Signed, A. Dumbledore."
Harry turned to the sudden thudding sound behind him, noting that the shock of witnessing the transformation had knocked Uncle Vernon back against the wall. "Blast it," he gasped, acting as though he was suffering a heart attack. "I hate it. Your kind, I swear your kind has no right to do that sort of thing!"
Harry suddenly felt the need to defend Dumbledore, not even realizing he was starting a yelling match with his uncle. "He was being nice to you! Why can't you ever see that in other people? Especially him!"
Vernon raised his finger, preparing to give his nephew a five-hour lecture on how and why wizards are the worst sort of people, and to hell with going to work now, this needed to be said. Thankfully for all concerned, Aunt Petunia had rushed into the room, having heard her husband's falling against the wall, poor scared Dudley in tow behind her, when she spotted the vase now decorating her kitchen. "What happened? Flowers?"
"No!" gasped Uncle Vernon. "Your nephew's ruddy useless mad friends!"
Having dealt for years with pig tails on her son, and floating cakes and a ballooning sister-in-law, not to mention an exploding artificial fireplace, as well as confronting the very existence of Dementors hurting Dudley, Petunia actually seemed quite pleased to see something this nice from a wizard for a change. That was until she saw her husband's perplexed look on his face wondering just whose bloody side of the argument she was on. She quickly turned at Harry with a scolding, angered look. "And now I suppose all your freakish friends are going to fill up my house and home with filthy useless plants! We don't need that sort of thing piling up in here like junk!"