It was morning. Harry appeared on the corner of Privet Drive and Magnolia Crescent. He wore well-made and well-fitted muggle clothes — jeans and t-shirt. Regular exercise, along with good diet and potions, had fixed most of the effects of seven years of malnutrition. He was now taller than average for a one-day-away-from-eleven-year-old.
He strolled up to number four and rang the doorbell.
He waited.
The door opened. It was Aunt Petunia, just how he remembered her from fourteen years ago.
"You!" she screeched and tried to slam the door.
Harry stuck his booted foot in the crack. "Ah ah ahh, Aunty. Not so fast."
She got ahold of her voice. "What are you doing back here?" she hissed.
He smiled the smile of an utter bastard. "I have a business proposition to discuss with you and Uncle."
"Business…? What does a little freak like you have that could interest us?"
"Maybe I should come in and we can talk about it, rather than right here on your doorstep where I'm sure all the neighbours will be very interested."
Petunia looked like she was swallowing a lemon, but did open the door and allow him in. "Where did you run away too? Do you have any idea how freaked— how… troubled we were when you disappeared?"
"Yes," Harry drawled. "I've no doubt you were sweating buckets about what would happen if the freaks who left me with you realised you'd lost me."
"That's not—"
"As far as where I've been. I think it's best that remains unknown for the moment. Oh, hello, Uncle."
Uncle Vernon rose from where he'd been sitting at the kitchen table. His face was rapidly turning red. His little piggy eyes bulged. Dudley wasn't anywhere to be seen. "Boy! You dare to show your miserable little face here? Do you have any idea what you put your Aunt and I through?" he yelled.
"I can imagine Uncle, which is why I'd like to give you a lot of money in compensation."
"You think we need anything… from…what do you mean?" His voice had turned from furious to just angry and curious.
"Well, you're always going on about what a burden I am, and how I'm ungrateful, so I thought I should do my bit to chip into the family coffers, so to speak. After all, you've been feeding and housing me for the last ten years. It's only right."
"What are you talking about, boy? You haven't lived here for—"
Harry opened his bag and slapped a large pile of taped twenty-pound notes onto the table.
Vernon's piggy little eyes widened even further. He reached for the pile and thumbed through it.
"Fifteen-thousand, Uncle." Harry reached into the bag again and slapped another pile down. "And another fifteen-thousand over the next seven years, or until I reach my majority as recognised by my fellow freaks, whichever comes first."
Vernon's face twisted into a greedy smile.
Harry summoned the first pile back from his uncle's hand.
Petunia gasped.
"But," he continued, "only if I've lived here for the last ten years."
Vernon's face turned red again, presumably torn between ranting about freakishness, and wanting to keep the money on the table. Eventually he calmed, sat down, and regarded Harry as though for the first time. "So, Boy. You want us to pretend you haven't been anywhere. Is that it?"
"That's it, Uncle. I'll also need to sleep here occasionally. But probably not too often."
"And where exactly is this money coming from? Freaks like you don't have well paying jobs."
Harry looked between his uncle and aunt, slightly perplexed. "Aunt Petunia, did you never visit Potter Manor?"
Petunia looked uncomfortable. "Once."
Uncle Vernon looked confused. "Pet?"
Petunia squirmed. "The Potters are… well, they're not quite as poor as I may have led you to believe. It's just…"—her voice hardened—"I don't want anything to do with them! Okay?"
Vernon leaned away from his ranting wife. "Okay, okay." He turned back to Harry. "So, this money comes from your freakish parents?"
"Good god, no. It's them I don't want knowing where I've been. They'd probably throw a fit and do a whole bunch of freakish things to you and your house."
Vernon's eyes bulged yet again. Harry wondered if the man practised in front of a mirror.
"Let's just say the money comes from a wealthy patron who has been taking care of me and who doesn't wish his name floated around all over the place."
"Mmmm." Vernon stroked his many chins.
Petunia bit her lower lip. "And are you going to go to that… that school?"
"Yes. My letter should be arriving tomorrow, and someone will probably turn up the day after to take me shopping. Then I'll be on my way again, and we won't see each other for another year."
Petunia looked torn. She shuffled her feet and twisted her apron. "Why?" she eventually asked.
"Mmmm?"
"I told Lily you were a freak. Every year, whenever you did something, I'd send her a letter saying you'd done something freakish. But she never listened. She always insisted you were normal. Now that you're going to that school, are they not going to take you back?"
"My parents knew very well that I wasn't a squib. That was just an excuse to send me away."
Aunt Petunia spluttered. "But. Why?"
"I don't fully know. They might have been tricked, or they might believe that throwing away your children like garbage is okay if it turns out they're a bit inconvenient."
Petunia's eyes narrowed. "The next time I see that red-headed, little miss perfect, double-dealing bitch—."
"—Feel free to make her feel as guilty as possible, but remember to keep my situation secret."
Petunia blinked. "Yes. Yes of course. Well then, er… Harry." She stood up. "Dudley's spare bedroom? You're getting a bit big for the cupboard." She had the grace to look sheepish.
Harry smiled, amazed things were going as well as they were. He hadn't even needed to use compulsion charms.
Vernon was busy counting the notes in the two piles.
"That sounds like an excellent idea."
.....
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