The Dursleys Departing
The sound of the front door slamming echoed up the stairs and a voice roared,
“Oh! You!”
Sixteen years of being addressed thus left Harry in no doubt when his uncle was
calling, nevertheless, he did not immediately respond. He was still at the narrow fragment
in which, for a split second, he had thought he saw Dumbledore’s eye. It was not until his
uncle bellowed, “BOY!” that Harry got slowly out of bed and headed for the bedroom
door, pausing to add the piece of broken mirror to the rucksack filled with things he
would be taking with him.
“You took you time!” roared Vernon Dursley when Harry appeared at the top of
the stairs, “Get down here. I want a word!”
Harry strolled downstairs, his hands deep in his pants pockets. When he searched
the living room he found all three Dursleys. They were dressed for packing; Uncle
Vernon in an old ripped-up jacket and Dudley, Harry’s, large, blond, muscular cousin, in
his leather jacket.
“Yes?” asked Harry.
“Sit down!” said Uncle Vernon. Harry raised his eyebrows. “Please!” added
Uncle Vernon, wincing slightly as though the word was sharp in his throat.
Harry sat. He though he knew what was coming. His uncle began to pace up and down,
Aunt Petunia and Dudley, following his movement with anxious expressions. Finally, his
large purple face crumpled with concentration. Uncle Vernon stopped in front of Harry
and spoke.
"I've changed my mind,” he said.
"What a surprise," said Harry.
"Don't you take that tone—" began Aunt Petunia in a shrill voice, but Vernon
Dursley waved her down
"It's all a lot of claptrap,” said Uncle Vernon, glaring at Harry with piggy little
eyes. "I've decided I don't believe a word of it. We’re staying put, we’re not going
anywhere.”
Harry looked up at his uncle and felt a mixture of exasperation and amusement.
Vernon Dursley had been changing his mind every twenty four hours for the past four
weeks, packing and unpacking and repacking the car with every change of heart. Harry’s
favorite moment had been the one when Uncle Vernon, unaware the Dudley had added
his dumbbells to his case since the last time it been repacked, had attempted to hoist it
back into the boot and collapsed with a yelp of pain and much swearing.
“According to you,” Vernon Dursley said, now resuming his pacing up and down
the living room, “we – Petunia, Dudley, and I – are in danger. From – from –“
“Some of ‘my lot’ right?” said Harry
“Well I don’t believe it,” repeated Uncle Vernon, coming to a halt in front of
Harry again. "I was awake half the night thinking it all over, and I believe it's a plot to get
the house."
"The house?" repeated Harry. "What house?"
"This house!" shrieked Uncle Vernon, the vein his forehead starting to pulse.
"Our house! House prices are skyrocketing around here! You want us out of the way and
then you're going to do a bit of hocus pocus and before we know it the deeds will be in
your name and –"
“Are you out of your mind?" demanded Harry. "A plot to get this house? Are you
actually as stupid as you look?"
"Don't you dare --!" squealed Aunt Petunia, but again Vernon waved her
down. Slights on his personal appearance were it seemed as nothing to the danger he had
spotted.
"Just in case you've forgotten," said Harry, "I've already got a house my godfather
left me one. So why would I want this one? All the happy memories?"
There was silence. Harry thought he had rather impressed his uncle with this
argument.
"You claim," said Uncle Vernon, starting to pace yet again, "that this Lord Thing
–"
"—Voldemort," said Harry impatiently, "and we've been through this about a
hundred times already. This isn't a claim, it's fact. Dumbledore told you last year, and
Kingsley and Mr. Weasley –"
Vernon Dursley hunched his shoulders angrily, and Harry guessed that his uncle
was attempting to ward off recollections of the unannounced visit, a few days into Harry's
summer holidays, of two fully grown wizards. The arrival on the doorstep of Kingsley
Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley had come as a most unpleasant shock to the Dursleys.
Harry had to admit, however that as Mr. Weasley had once demolished half of the living
room, his reappearance could not have been expected to delight Uncle Vernon.
"—Kingsley and Mr. Weasley explained it all as well," Harry pressed on
remorselessly, "Once I'm seventeen, the protective charm that keeps me safe will break,
and that exposes you as well as me. The Order is sure Voldemort will target you,
whether to torture you to try and find out where I am, or because he thinks by holding
you hostage I'd come and try to rescue you."
Uncle Vernon's and Harry's eyes met. Harry was sure that in that instant they were
both wondering the same thing. Then Uncle Vernon walked on and Harry resumed,
"You've got to go into hiding and the Order wants to help. You're being offered serious
protection, the best there is."
Uncle Vernon said nothing but continued to pace up and down. Outside the sun
hung low over the privet hedges. The next door neighbor's lawn mower stalled again.
"I thought there was a Ministry of Magic?" asked Vernon Dursley abruptly.
"There is," said Harry, surprised.
"Well, then, why can't they protect us? It seems to me that, as innocent victims, guilty of
nothing more than harboring a marked man, we ought to qualify for government
protection!"
Harry laughed; he could not help himself. It was so very typical of his uncle to put
his hopes in the establishment, even within this world that he despised and mistrusted.
"You heard what Mr. Weasley and Kingsley said," Harry replied.
"We think the Ministry has been infiltrated."
Uncle Vernon strode back to the fireplace and back breathing so strongly that his
great black mustache rippled his face still purple with concentration.
"All right," he said. Stopping in front of Harry get again. "All right, let's say for
the sake of argument we accept this protection. I still don't see why we can't have that
Kingsley bloke."
Harry managed not to roll his eyes, but with difficulty. This question had also
been addressed half a dozen times.
"As I've told you," he said through gritted teeth, "Kingsley is protecting the Mug
– I mean, your Prime Minister."
"Exactly – he's the best!" said Uncle Vernon, pointing at the blank television
screen. The Dursleys had spotted Kingsley on the news, walking along the Muggle Prime
Minister as he visited a hospital. This, and the fact that Kingsley had mastered the knack
of dressing like a Muggle, not to mention a certain reassuring something in his slow, deep
voice, had caused the Dursleys to take to Kingsley in a way that they had certainly not
done with any other wizard, although it was true that they had never seen him with
earring in.
"Well, he's taken,” said Harry. "But Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle are more
than up to the job –"
"If we'd even seen CVs…" began Uncle Vernon, but Harry lost patience. Getting
to his feet, he advanced on his uncle, not pointing at the TV set himself.
"These accidents aren't accidents – the crashed and explosions and derailments
and whatever else has happened since we last watched the news. People are disappearing
and dying and he's behind it – Voldemort. I've told you this over and over again, he kills
Muggles for fun. Even the fogs – they're caused by dementors, and if you can't remember
what they are, ask your son!"
Dudley's hands jerked upward to tower his mouth. With his parents' and Harry's
eyes upon him, he slowly lowered them again and asked, "There are… more of them?"
"More?" laughed Harry. "More than the two that attacked us, you mean? Of course there
are hundreds, maybe thousands by this time, seeing as they feed off fear and despair—"
"All right, all right blustered," blustered Vernon Dursley. "You've made your
point –"
"I hope so," said Harry, "because once I'm seventeen, all of them – Death Eaters,
elementors, maybe even Inferi – which means dead bodies enchanted by a Dark wizard –
will be able to find you and will certainly attack you. And if you remember the last time
you tried to outrun wizards, I think you'll agree you need help."
There was a brief silence in which the distant echo of Hagrid smashing down a
wooden front door seemed to reverberate through the intervening years. Aunt Petunia
was looking at Uncle Vernon; Dudley was staring at Harry. Finally Uncle Vernon
blurted out, "But what about my work? What about Dudley's school? I don't suppose
those things matter to a bunch of layabout wizards –"
"Don't you understand?" shouted Harry. "They will torture and kill you like they
did my parents!"
"Dad," said Dudley in a loud voice, "Dad – I'm going with these Order people."
"Dudley," said Harry, "for the first time in your life, you're talking sense."
He knew the battle was won. If Dudley was frightened enough to accept the Order's help,
his parents would accompany him. There could be no question of being separated from
their Duddykins. Harry glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece.
"They'll be here in about five minutes, he said, and when one of the Dursleys
replied, he left the room. The prospect of parting—probably forever – from his aunt,
uncle, and cousin was one that he was able to contemplate quite cheerfully but there was
nevertheless a certain awkwardness in the air. What did you say to one another at the end
of sixteen years' solid dislike?
Back in his bedroom, Harry fiddled aimlessly with his rucksack then poked a
couple of owl nuts through the bats of Hedwig's cage. They fell with dull thuds to the
bottom where she ignored them.
"We're leaving soon, really soon," Harry told her. "And then you'll be able to fly
again."
The doorbell rang. Harry hesitated, then headed back out of his room and
downstairs. It was too much to expect Hestia and Dedalus to cope with the Dursleys on
their own.
"Harry Potter!" squeaked an excited voice, the moment Harry had opened the
door; a small man in a mauve top hat that was sweeping him a deep bow. "An honor as
ever!"
"Thanks, Dedalus," said Harry, bestowing a small and embarrassed smile upon
the dark haired Hestia. "It's really good of you to do this… They're through here, my aunt
and uncle and cousin…"
"Good day to you, Harry Potter's relatives!" said Dedalus happily striding into the
living room. The Dursleys did not look at all happy to be addressed thus; Harry half
expected another change of mind. Dudley shrank neared to his mother at the sight of the
witch and wizard.
"I see you are packed and ready. Excellent! The plan, as Harry has told you, is a
simple one," said Dedalus, pulling an immense pocket watch out of his waistcoat and
examining it. "We shall be leaving before Harry does. Due to the danger of using magic
in your house –Harry being still underage it could provide the Ministry with an excuse to
arrest him – we shall be driving, say, ten miles or so before Disapparating to the safe
location we have picked out for you. You know how to drive, I take it?" He asked Uncle
Vernon politely.
"Know how to –? Of course I ruddy well know how to drive!" spluttered Uncle
Vernon.
"Very clever of you, sir, very clever. I personally would be utterly bamboozled by
all those buttons and knobs," said Dedalus. He was clearly under the impression that he
was flattering Vernon Dursley, who was visibly losing confidence in the plan with every
word Dedalus spoke.
"Can't even drive," he muttered under his breath, his mustache rippling
indignantly, but fortunately neither Dedalus nor Hestia seemed to hear him.
"You, Harry," Dedalus continued, "will wait here for your guard. There has been
a little change in the arrangements –"
“What d'you mean?" said Harry at once. "I thought Mad-Eye was going to come
and take me by Side Along-Apparition?"
"Can't do it," said Hestia tersely, "Mad-Eye will explain."
The Dursleys, who had listened to all of this with looks of utter incomprehension
on their faces, jumped as a loud voice screeched, "Hurry up!" Harry looked all around the
room before realizing the voice had issued from Dedalus's pocket watch.
"Quite right, were operating to a very tight schedule," said Dedalus nodding at his
watch and tucking it back into his waist coat. "We are attempting to time your departure
from the house with your family's Disapparition, Harry thus the charm breaks the
moment you all head for safety." He turned to the Dursleys, "Well, are we all packed and
ready to go?"
None of them answered him. Uncle Vernon was still staring appalled at the bulge
in Dedalus's waistcoat pocket.
"Perhaps we should wait outside in the hall, Dedalus," murmured Hestia. She
clearly felt that it would be tactless for them to remain the room while Harry and the
Dursleys exchanged loving, possibly tearful farewells.
"There's no need," Harry muttered, but Uncle Vernon made any further
explanation unnecessary by saying loudly,
"Well, this is good-bye then boy."
He swung his right arm upward to shake Harry's hand, but at the last moment
seemed unable to face it, and merely closed his fist and began swinging it backward and
forward like a metronome.
"Ready, Duddy?" asked Petunia, fussily checking the clasp of her handbag so as
to avoid looking at Harry altogether.
Dudley did not answer but stood there with his mouth slightly ajar, reminding
Harry a little of the giant, Grawp.
"Come along, then," said Uncle Vernon.
He had already reached the living room door when Dudley mumbled, "I don't
understand."
"What don't you understand, popkin?" asked Petunia looking up at her son.
Dudley raised a large, hamlike hand to point at Harry.
"Why isn't he coming with us?
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia froze when they stood staring at Dudley as
though he had just expressed a desire to become a ballerina.
"What?" said Uncle Vernon loudly.
"Why isn't he coming too?" asked Dudley.
"Well, he—doesn't want to," said Uncle Vernon, turning to glare at Harry and
adding, "You don't want to, do you?"
"Not in the slightest," said Harry.
"There you are," Uncle Vernon told Dudley. "Now come on we're off."
He marched out of the room. They heard the front door open, but Dudley did not
move and after a few faltering steps Aunt Petunia stopped too.
"What now?" barked Uncle Vernon, reappearing in the doorway.
It seemed that Dudley was struggling with concepts too difficult to put into words.
After several moments of apparently painful internal struggle he said, "But where's he
going to go?"
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other. It was clear that Dudley
was frightening them. Hestia Jones broke the silence.
"But… surely you know where your nephew is going?" she asked looking
bewildered.
"Certainly we know," said Vernon Dursley. "He's off with some of your lot, isn't
he? Right, Dudley, let's get in the car, you heard the man, we're in a hurry.
Again, Vernon Dursley marched as far as the front door, but Dudley did not
follow.
"Off with some of our lot?"
Hestia looked outraged. Harry had met this attitude before Witches and wizards
seemed stunned that his closed living relatives took so little interest in the famous Harry
Potter.
"It's fine," Harry assured her. "It doesn't matter, honestly."
"Doesn't matter?" repeated Hestia, her voice rising considerably.
"Don't these people realize what you've been through? What danger you are in?
The unique position you hold in the hearts of the anti Voldemort movement?"
"Er –no, they don't," said Harry. "They think I'm a waste of space, actually but I'm
used to –"
"I don't think you're a waste of space"
If Harry had not seen Dudley's lips move, he might not have believed it. As it was,
he stared at Dudley for several seconds before accepting that it must have been his cousin
who had spoken; for one thing, Dudley had turned red. Harry was embarrassed and
astonished himself.
"Well... er… thanks, Dudley."
Again, Dudley appeared to grapple with thoughts too unwieldy for expression
before mumbling, "You saved my life,"
"Not really," said Harry. "It was your soul the dementor would have taken…"
He looked curiously at his cousin. They had had virtually no contact during this
summer or last, as Harry had come back to Privet Drive so briefly and kept to his room so
much. It now dawned on Harry, however, that the cup of cold tea on which he had
trodden that morning might not have been a booby trap at all. Although rather touched he
was nevertheless quite relieved that Dudley appeared to have exhausted his ability to
express his feelings. After opening his mouth once or twice more, Dudley subsided into
scarlet-faced silence.
Aunt Petunia burst into tears. Hestia Jones gave her an approving look that
changed to outrage as Aunt Petunia ran forward and embraced Dudley rather than Harry.
"S-so sweet, Dudders…" she sobbed into his massive chest. "S-such a lovely b-boy… ssaying
thank you…"
"But he hasn't said thank you at all!" said Hestia indignantly. "He only said he
didn't think Harry was a waste of space!"
"Yea but coming from Dudley that's like 'I love you,'" said Harry, torn between
annoyance and a desire to laugh as Aunt Petunia continued to clutch at Dudley as if he
had just saved Harry from a burning building.
"Are we going or not?" roared Uncle Vernon, reappearing yet again at the living
room door. "I thought we were on a tight schedule!"
"Yes –yes, we are," said Dedalus Diggle, who had been watching these exchanged
with an air of bemusement and now seemed to pull himself together. "We really must be
off. Harry –"
He tripped forward and wrung Harry's hand with both of his own.
"—good luck. I hope we meet again. The hopes of the Wizarding world rest upon
your shoulders."
"Oh," said Harry, "right. Thanks."
"Farwell, Harry," said Hestia also clasping his hand. "Our thoughts go with you."
"I hope everything's okay," said Harry with a glance toward Aunt Petunia and
Dudley.
"Oh I'm sure we shall end up the best of chums," said Diggle slightly, waving his
hat as he left the room. Hestia followed him.
Dudley gently released himself from his mother's clutches and walked toward
Harry who had to repress an urge to threaten him with magic. Then Dudley held out his
large, pink hand.
"Blimey, Dudley," said Harry over Aunt Petunia's renewed sobs, "did the
dementors blow a different personality into you?"
"Dunno," muttered Dudley, "See you, Harry."
"Yea …" said Harry, raking Dudley's hand and shaking it. "Maybe. Take care,
Big D."
Dudley nearly smiled. They lumbered from the room. Harry heard his heavy
footfalls on the graveled drive, and then a car door slammed.
Aunt Petunia whose face had been buried in her handkerchief looked around at
the sound. She did not seem to have expected to find herself alone with Harry. Hastily
stowing her wet handkerchief into her pocket, she said, "Well – good-bye" and marched
towards the door without looking at him.
"Good-bye" said Harry.
She stopped and looked back. For a moment Harry had the strangest feeling that
she wanted to say something to him; She gave him an odd, tremulous look and seemed to
teeter on the edge of speech, but then, with a little of her head, she hustled out of the
room after he husband and son.