Harry Rotter

by Gerrard Wllson

know that I was horrid, and I have no excuse for it, none at all. But I have changed – really. Is there any hope that we can be friends again?”

  Taking her time to reply, looking him up and down, while mulling it over, Miocene eventually came to a decision, and she said, “Perhaps…”

  “Perhaps?”

  “Perhaps, when I have had the time to see how you behave,” she said. “Respect must be earned.”

  Smiling happily, Wan said, “I will prove to you that I mean it! I will earn that respect! You will see!”

  “Good, now anyone for breakfast?” she asked.

  Home Again

  Much later, when all the fires had been put out, and things were beginning to return to a semblance of order, with Lord Catchyfoe and friends taking over the work needed to reconstruct Hagswords, with the teachers happy to go along with it, and with the children, the pupils who had been caught up in the middle of it all, heading home for an unexpected holiday, Harry said, “Well, old cousin, I think it’s about time we were getting you home?”

  Home, in all the excitement Box had forgotten about home – and his beleaguered parents. “Do you think they will be any better?” he asked.

  Opening her shoulder bag, Harry took out her magical carpet, and carefully unfolding it upon the ground, she sat cross-legged upon it, and said, “Get on, and we’ll go see.”

  Tears welling in her eyes, Miocene, the girl mystic, the girl who had developed so much (and in so short a time), who had taken to Box, asked, “Will you be back?”

  The carpet rising slowly from the ground, Box asked, “Will we, Harry?”

  “You never did tell us how you learned fly, Miocene,” said Harry, “And I did say I wanted that top job at Hagswords… So who knows?”

  “Harry! You can’t really mean it!” said Box, in alarm.

  “Nah,” she laughed, “I’d be bored to tears.” Then she said, “Would you like us to return, Miocene?”

  “Yes, yes, of course!” she replied, her voice rising with the growing distance between them. “I will explain everything, especially how I learned to fly – and so quickly.”

  Waving, Box watched Miocene as she grew smaller and smaller, until she had disappeared into the distance.

  Although it was a long journey, going home, flying so high on that magical carpet, Box enjoyed it immensely. And he never even complained when they landed at the railway station to show their tickets to the inspector, before taking off again on the same moth-eaten old carpet. It was Harry’s world, and although he had a good insight into some of its workings, he knew there was still so much that he had no understanding of, and might never. But he accepted this, and he had even grown to like his troublesome girl cousin, warts and all.

  Harry guided the magical carpet to a smooth landing, coming to a halt beneath the privacy and shelter of the walnut tree in the Privet’s front garden, so different from her first, crude attempt at controlling it only a few days earlier. It seemed such a long time ago. The tree was still in full flower; the birds were singing away happily, the sky was so blue – the world was a peace. Why, even the front door had been repaired, a white PVC door having replaced the old, brown wooden affair.

  Carefully folding her carpet, Harry returned it to the safety of her bag. “It’s awfully quiet,” she whispered.

  “It’s a quite neighbourhood,” Box replied. “Always was.” Leading the way around to the back of the house, Box found another PVC door confronting him. “White PVC doors must be ‘in’,” he remarked. His eyes scouring the back garden saw nothing out of the ordinary; they saw the washing hanging on the line, a neatly cut lawn, and all the flowerbeds carefully attended to. Everything appeared quite normal. And that troubled Box; it troubled him deeply.

  “What’s wrong?” Harry asked. “I thought you said everything was okay?”

  “I said everything appeared normal,” Box reiterated.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Were my parents acting anyway near normal when we left – and in so great a hurry?”

  Harry sniffed, and she said, “About as normal as any Muddling adults that I have had the misfortune to meet.”

  “HARRY!”

  “Oh, all right,” she gave in. “They were acting as mad as two hatters – Are you happy now?”

  Feeling vindicated, Box said, “Thank you.” Then turning his attention to the back door, he tried the handle. It moved. The door was unlocked. Gently pushing, Box watched it inched slowly open. “I have a strange feeling,” he whispered, “that we are about to see how they mad really are.” Pushing the door fully open, Box braced himself, to see two crazy mad parents standing before him. But he didn’t see anyone; there was no one in the impeccably tidy kitchen. Tearing through to the other rooms, Box found them as equally devoid of life, and also as tidy. His heart beating fast, pounding, fearing the worst, Box dashed up the stairs two steps at a time, but the next floor was also as devoid of life. Scratching his head, he said, “Where on earth can they be? And the last thing I expected to see, Harry, considering the precarious state of mind they were in, was such tidiness!”

  “Perhaps they’ve gone out for a drive in that car of his,” Harry suggested.

  “What day is it?”

  “It’s Wednesday,” she replied.

  “Nah, dad never drives on Wednesdays, he says too many midweek nutters are on the roads, on Wednesdays.”

  “Are you having me on?” she asked, thinking not even his father could be that weird.

  Box nodded a ‘yes’.

  Heading downstairs Box made his way through to the kitchen, and with nothing better to do (well, at least for the moment) he put on the kettle and began preparing some tea and biscuits. “A nice cup of tea will make things look better,” he murmured. “That’s what mum always says, a good cup of tea can make anything look better.” Giving him a curious look, Harry was seeing more and more of Box’s parent’s characteristics in her Muddling cousin.

  “Here, take this, Harry,” said Box offering her a mug of tea.

  “I don’t usually drink tea,” she protested, though vaguely.

  Taking a mouthful of the wonderful imbibe, Box sat in his favourite armchair. Resting deep into it, he said, “Ah, I feel better already.”

  Harry, taking a sip of the tea, made a face and discreetly placed her mug upon the coffee table in front of her.

  Seeing this, Box asked, “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing,” she lied, “just not very thirsty.”

  Taking a bite from his biscuit, then a huge mouthful of tea, Box swallowed it like it was nectar from the gods.

  “What was that?” Harry asked, thinking she heard something, a noise outside in the garden.

  “What was what?”

  “I’m not sure…”

  Taking another huge mouthful of tea, Box was fast approaching its end. “If you’re not going to finish that,” he said, pointing to the abandoned mug. “Would you mind if I had it?”

  Giving him another strange look, Harry said, “Be my guest.” Then shaking her head in wonderment, she added, “I don’t know where you put it all – you’re as thin as a rake.”

  Taking the mug, Box, trying to justify his actions, said, “I think it’s all in the metabolism. I reckon mine must be pretty fast.”

  “Fast metabolism, perhaps, but still a Muddlingly slow brain,” Harry murmured in reply. Unhearing, Box began drinking the tea. Then she heard it again, Harry heard the same noise outside in the garden, and this time it she was sure of it. “Close the curtains,” she whispered.

  “Close the curtains? I won’t be able to see my tea!” Box protested, the wonderful imbibe having done it job perfectly in relaxing him.

  “I said CLOSE THEM!” Harry hissed.

  Thus admonished, Box obediently closed the curtains. “What’s all the fuss about?” he asked, taking another mouthful of tea, and enjoying it immensely.

  “Will you ever put that down, and concentrate?”


  “Sorry,” he whispered, abandoning the mug to the table. “Do you think it might be Holdavort?” he asked. Harry made no reply. “Well?” he whispered again. “Do you think it could be him?”

  “I sealed the gates – it can’t be him,” she replied, though not so convincing as to put his mind at ease.

  Cautiously poking his head through a chink in the curtains, Box stared out onto the garden. Everything looked fine, the very same as before, everything except for two people, two strangely familiar people skulking in the shadows beneath the old horse chestnut tree…

  “Come on,” he said, turning the handle and opening the door. “Come and see what you heard.”

  Following closely, but having no idea what he was leading her to, Harry felt decidedly jumpy. “Don’t say a word,” she warned, withdrawing her wand and waving it.

  “Put that away,” Box ordered. “You won’t need it.”

  Although she stopped waving her wand, Harry refused to put it away. Grumbling something about her not knowing when to stop, Box stooped beneath a low hanging branch and entered the shady domain under the old tree.

  “Holly, its Harry and Box!” said Box’s father, a radiant smile beaming out from his face. Holly, however, bending down, concentrating on something on the ground, never heard. Poking her in the back, Mr Privet repeated himself, though much louder this time, “Holly,” he said. “It’s Harry and Box. They’ve returned!” Looking up, seeing her beloved son, her only son, Mrs Privet dropped what she was doing, and screaming with excitement ran over to greet him.

  “Where have you been?” she asked. “Then