Harry Potter and the Hall of Justice

Chapter 2 Grateful Departure


Harry had spent another miserable summer at number four, Privet Drive. Although he had just turned seventeen, his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia gave him little more respect than the young boy of eleven who was whisked off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And Harry never doubted for a second, he would still be packed away in the cupboard under the stairs if it had just a few more feet of living space - - - such was their contempt for him.

As always, they never spoke to Harry in any way other than a condescending manner. As far as they Dursley’s were concerned, the one bright spot in their future was the realization that he would most probably be out of their lives forever when he soon left for his final year of school. This, of course, went double for Dudley, who had grown into a huge, obnoxious bully.

Most vexing to Harry was Dudley’s constant physical assaults against his person. Anytime Harry came within range of Dudley’s pudgy hands, he had to dodge slaps to his head or punches to his torso. Harry quickly learned to keep out of his reach and to always be alert as to his whereabouts, as Dudley took childish pleasure in sneaking up behind Harry and slapping him senseless.

“Boys will be boys,” Uncle Vernon had said after Dudley slapped Harry hard across his right ear. The pain was horrific, and it was two weeks before Harry could hear anything out of the ear.

“It’s just the eardrum,” Aunt Petunia had said. “You’ll be fine once it heals. If you wouldn’t harass Dudley, you disgusting little boy, he wouldn’t have to strike back in self-defense. You remind me so much of your mother. She was an agitator, too. You are turning out just as bad and undisciplined.”

If it were not for the prohibition against the use of magic by students attending Hogwarts when not on school grounds, Harry would have melted some of the lard on Dudley’s generous behind. In fact, Harry often fantasized how the tables would turn in his favor after his last year of school. His greatest delight, of course, would never be having to find out, as he had no desire to ever spend another hour in the Dursley’s home again.

Harry’s communications with Ron and Hermione during the summer had been infrequent, at best. Hermione had sent a letter about mid-summer saying that Ginny had stayed with her family for two weeks. “All she ever talks about is Harry this or Harry that,” Hermione had written. “The girl is smitten with you Harry. You would not believe some of the fantasies she has about you. She has a most active imagination.”

Ron had spent a month early in the summer with his brother Charlie in Romania. Not one to be long-winded in print, his letter told him very little of his adventures there, and he only mentioned seeing a dragon once. Ron was more excited about getting back to Hogwarts. “That’s a first,” Harry had thought. “Ron can’t wait to get back to Hogwarts? Never more than me, old friend.”

Harry’s thoughts often turned to Ginny. Late at night behind the safety and privacy of his bedroom door, he would undress her in his mind. These last years, Ginny had grown into a beautiful young witch - - - a real head-turner. Her red hair was striking but not nearly as striking as her green eyes*. Behind his closed eyelids, he would imagine lightly touching the smooth skin of her cheeks and leaning forward to kiss her full lips, wanting to taste her and imagining their mutual arousal. He wanted to hold her, to wrap his arms around her and squeeze her tight. But most of all, Harry wanted to love her, to be with her, to get to know her every thought, her every wish.

He had so wanted to write to Ginny during his summer holiday but he held back, wanting to keep the knowledge of his interest in her to himself until after they started the next semester at Hogwarts. Harry wasn’t all too sure how Ron would take the idea of him getting cozy with his little sister, either. However, since their second year of school, Ron and Hermione had constantly teased him about Ginny being infatuated with him.

The long summer days had dragged by much too slowly for Harry. At long last, he received a note from Ron reminding him of the yearly shopping trip to Diagon Alley his family would be making before the start of the school year. Ron asked him what day he wanted to be picked up, and suggested he stay the last week before school started with them. This was the grandest news Harry had had all summer, and he sent Hedwig off straightaway with a note telling Ron he was ready as soon as they could come for him.

The very next morning Hedwig returned with Ron’s reply. His dad would borrow a ministry car and come for him Friday afternoon, right after work. “That is perfect,” Harry thought. “It will get me out of this asylum once and for all.”

Harry waited until Thursday evening to inform the Dursley’s of his departure the next day. Uncle Vernon turned shades of red and violets but held his breath. Harry knew, of course, it was the matter of fact way he told them of his decision that almost set his uncle off. It was the first time Harry didn’t have to worry about breaking news gently or spending days trying to figure out how to word something to his advantage. Harry was now seventeen years old; he could care less what Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia thought of his decision. Never again would he need to seek their permission or take their condescending lectures while holding his tongue. Harry was beside himself with joy and had quickly but carefully packed away every small item that was his in the house.

The next morning, Dudley informed his mother that some things had gone missing out of his bedroom and he was certain Harry had secreted them away in his luggage. Aunt Petunia and Dudley went straight up to Harry’s room, which was always referred to as Dudley’s spare bedroom, and began undoing all of Harry’s careful packing. Dudley reached his pudgy fingers into Harry’s footlocker and began throwing things about, finally upending it and spreading everything onto the floor. He went straightaway to Harry’s backpack and upended its contents onto the bed and floor and threw the pack into the corner of the room.

All the while, Aunt Petunia was cursing Harry under her breath. “What a demon you are!” she shouted. “Absolutely a delinquent, no-count, common criminal! You are good for nothing, boy, and we will be damn glad to get rid of you at last! We have been so good to you! Treated you like our own family, we have! And for what? Are you the least bit appreciative of what we’ve provided for you? No, never!”

Dudley, after upending and kicking his things all over the room, slapped Harry hard across the top of his head several times and stomped out of his room. Aunt Petunia turned around at the door and screamed, “You better clean this mess up before your Uncle Vernon comes home! He would call the police this minute if he were here and saw this mess! You are headed straight into a life of crime, no doubt! Nothing but a common criminal!”

After she slammed the door, Harry dropped to the floor, leaning back into the mattress of the bed. He tightly closed his eyes against tears of sadness and rage, a strange mix of emotions he had bottled up inside him for so long. He hated the hate he felt. He hated the helplessness he had known for so many years living under this roof. Wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt, he went to work repacking his things.

That afternoon, Arthur Weasley arrived at the Dursleys within minutes of Uncle Vernon’s arrival. Harry was elated to see the father of his best friend and what his presence represented: his grateful departure. Mr. Weasley helped Harry carry his things to the car and was about to go back to say his goodbye to the Dursley’s when Harry climbed into the car.

“Are we ready to go, Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked, looking at him through the driver’s side window. Harry nodded. Mr. Weasley looked over the roof of the car towards the house and saw Vernon Dursley standing outside the door squinting at them. Weasley lifted a hand in goodbye and watched as Mr. Dursley quickly turned and slammed the door to his home.

“My, my,” Arthur Weasley said, looking over at Harry as he climbed behind the steering wheel of the car. “They do look to be in a foul mood, they surely do.”

“You’ve seen them at their very best, Mr. Weasley,” Harry replied. “I’m very thankful you’ve allowed me to stay with your family until school starts. You’ll never know how thankful.”

Arthur Weasley started the car and as he backed out of the Dursley’s driveway he noticed the slightest wisp of a tear in Harry’s eye. He drove away without saying another word. Arthur Weasley didn’t need any further explanation.