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Harry Potter and the Black King	By : Phoenixstrike Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 10586 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Harry Potter and all characters and situations are created and owned by JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros. No money is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter List
- 10
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- 12
A/N this is the halfway point of this story, and, as such, this is a Dursley-centred fic, having a look at their life since they left Privet Drive. Harry and Draco will be back in the next chapter!

Chapter eleven: Interlude: Despairing Dursleys

When the Order of the Phoenix decided that Hestia Jones was to play a lead role in the protection and welfare of Harry Potter’s muggle relatives her overwhelming emotion was one of pride. Surely if anyone, besides The Boy Who Lived himself, deserved the protection of the Order it was the family who had provided a loving home and cared for Harry as their own child for the past sixteen years? Hestia Jones considered it an honour to be playing a part in ensuring their safety.

On the evening of the twenty seventh of July, however, Hestia, along with Dedalus Diggle, witnessed a very different version of events from that they had pictured in their minds. Instead of the grief-ridden Dursleys, frightened for the welfare of their beloved nephew and heartbroken at the prospect of being separated from him indefinitely they expected to find, they stumbled upon a very indifferent obese man who resembled a cross between a walrus and a beetroot (if his skin tone was anything to judge by), a large boy who seemed to be one bludger short of a Quidditch set and a very fussy and uptight woman who was staring at Harry Potter like she was wishing he would just disappear.

Hestia witnessed the farewell Harry shared with his muggle relatives, an awkward exchange of brief, insincere goodbyes between him and the two adults, whilst the boy offered some form of reconciliation to Harry, although she did not believe it to be enough. Hestia began to wonder in that moment whether Harry had received the upbringing she had always believed he had.

When Harry himself didn’t seem concerned or distressed by the Dursleys’ departure, Hestia formed a plan. So convinced she had been of the Dursleys’ love for their nephew that she had secured a magnificent five bedroom detached house complete with garage, two-acre garden and upstairs sun terrace for the family to live in, in the upmarket area of Didsbury in Manchester. She had arranged for the family to receive a brand new top-of the range BMW as their new car. And she had acquired a place at a local fee-paying independent school for Dudley, a job working in a very smart office for Vernon, complete with a good salary, and arranged courses and activities for Petunia to take part in to acquaint herself with her neighbours, make friends and settle in. No more than Harry Potter’s relatives deserved, she had believed.

Hestia no longer believed this family deserved any such luxuries. From what she had observed in the short time she was in Privet Drive, including Harry’s indifference to them and the lack of any affection for him from the Dursleys, she gathered that they had never treated Harry well. She was, frankly, outraged. As she sat in the back of Vernon Dursley’s car, the Dudley boy sandwiched between herself and Dedalus, she frankly couldn’t imagine three worse muggles to bring up a magical child.

When Vernon Dursley stopped the car for petrol, Hestia discreetly sent a patronus to those in the Order who weren’t currently involved in moving Harry, who, fully agreeing with Ms. Jones, managed to rearrange in less than two hours the living arrangements for the family, cancel the car, organise employment for Vernon Dursley in a less prominent position and enrolled Dudley at a local college instead of his exclusive and expensive independent school, before relaying the new address to her in a communication device similar to Hermione’s DA coins. It’s a wonder what magic can achieve.

*****

“What the Ruddy Hell is this? I’m not moving in here” Vernon barked as he pulled up outside a high-rise block of flats with graffiti-covered walls in one of the more deprived areas of Manchester late that night. The whole area just screamed unsafe- there was the broken remains of a glass beer bottle on the floor, and what looked like a blood trail leading from the largest shard to the flat’s entrance. The corner shop at the end of the street was boarded up and had metal bars across it, whilst someone had sprayed, ‘United are fuckers, the sky blues rule Manchester’ in six feet high, bright blue letters on the wall. A pile of vomit laid in the doorway, and some vile racial and homophobic slurs graffitied onto the opposite wall. The entire scene was completed with a huge pile of dog mess about three feet from where Vernon had parked the car. Vernon’s narrowed eyes surveyed the scene with extreme loathing. “You think, I mean, did your lot actually assume that I would move my family into this hole?”

“Mr Dursley” Hestia began, with a forced patience to her voice. “The Order of the Phoenix is paying for your protection. We’re in the middle of a war in our world, Sir. There are simply not the funds available to fund a more comfortable lifestyle for your family at this present time.” The lie came easily to her; Dumbledore had, in fact, left his Gringotts vaults to the Order, for use in the war with Voldemort and it left the Order of the Phoenix financially very comfortable.

“Then I will fund this myself. I certainly don’t need hand-outs from a bunch of-”

“Vernon!” Petunia gasped. “The car windows are open and there is a group of people not twenty feet away. Lower your voice!”

“No doubt they’re all on drugs anyway so think they see… wizards every night” Vernon replied, flinching as he spat out the word ‘wizard’. “look at them, bunch of layabouts. All baseball caps and tracksuits. Bet none of them have done an honest day’s work in their lives! And addicts to boot! I shall not have Dudley mixing with people like that. I am going to a hotel.”

“Mr Dursley” Hestia repeated. “As you have been informed, your bank accounts and assets have been temporarily frozen by undercover wizards working at your muggle bank, in order to protect them and you. We have to keep you anonymous. That means moving to a large city with a big population, new names, new transport, and basically a completely new life. Besides which, this is the property that has had all the protection we can throw at it added. There are wards and charms on your flat that will allow only you, and to those you grant permission, to enter. Go elsewhere and the Death Eaters could arrive on your doorstep anytime they like.”

That did it. Petunia Dursley paled and her lips thinned, Dudley let out a whimper of despair, and Vernon growled, but their retort was lost. With a satisfied smile, Hestia opened the car door and stepped out towards the building’s entrance, leaving Vernon to retrieve all the luggage from the car’s boot.

“What floor of this ruddy thing are we on?” he asked waspishly.

“I believe it’s the twelfth floor, Mr Dursley” Hestia replied, voice deadpanned and calm but with a mischievous sparkle to her hazel eyes which looked almost like cat’s-eyes in the pale light of the waning moon . “So I do hope the lifts are in good order here.” Vernon grunted as his thick neck snapped up and he began counting twelve floors up, his mouth moving silently almost in disbelief and his puce-coloured face acquiring a dangerous crimson to its cheeks that lead Hestia to briefly consider the welfare of the man’s heart.

*****

The inside of the flat was small, but relatively clean and comfortable, if in desperate need of modernising. There was an entrance hall with a worn carpet and fading wallpaper that had a slight smell of stale tobacco lingering to it. The master bedroom had a double bed and a wardrobe crammed in, with very little room for anything else. The walls had garish pink roses repeated across the wallpaper, with a lasting smell of cats embedded in the small rug by the door. Dudley’s room was even smaller; a small lumpy bed was wedged in the corner of the magnolia-painted room and the carpet a dull grey. A simple writing desk and chair was wedged in below the window and a tiny chest of drawers completed the furniture. Hestia smiled as she heard Dudley’s wail of anguish as he surveyed the room.

Aunt Petunia looked close to a stroke when she saw the kitchen. It was clean but basic; the cheap plastic work surfaces were stained and worn. The cupboards were hung unevenly on the walls and there was no dishwasher. The surfaces looked like they were once white but now resembled a dirty cream colour from years of use. It was equipped with working, but outdated appliances. Petunia gave a large, melodramatic sniff and turned her head away, as one would to avoid witnessing a horrific accident.

The living room was again simple- two worn armchairs, one small sofa. All in some scratchy material. A threadbare rug covered the brown carpet and the walls were covered in some kind of chocolate and orange swirl-patterned wallpaper. Vernon said little, but Hestia believed she could actually see the pulse in his temple throbbing in disbelief that this was his new home.

“Right, we’ll leave you to, um, settle in then” Dedalus said, barely containing a grin. He and Hestia quickly checked the wards and, satisfied with the security on the property, wished the Dursleys a goodnight and promised to return in the morning with the details about their transport and Vernon’s job.

And if they react half as delightfully to that as they have this flat, then I am one step closer in seeking atonement for Harry, Hestia thought happily. Besides, this really was quite fun. As the lift reached the ground floor an idea struck Hestia and she performed a quick charm on the lift shaft, before exiting the building and stepping into the warm July night. As she and Dedalus Disapparated from the deserted street, she allowed herself a chuckle, and thought she would sleep very easily that night.

*****

Vernon Dursley’s first day at his new job was unsuccessful, to say the least. Already furious that his ‘brand new vehicle’ turned out to be a pushbike, his next unpleasant surprise was to discover his job was as a porter in the rather upmarket Lowry Hotel. He had to wear a ridiculous and ill-fitting uniform which was hot and itchy on his back, and by the third set of suitcases he had dragged to the fifth floor that morning he was out of breath and his back drenched in sweat. He was still outside his last clients’ room when he heard the woman say to her husband, ‘what a disgusting, sweaty man. Pass me a towel darling, I need to wipe the suitcase handles’ and the man give a haughty laugh in response.

His day didn’t improve, and nor did his week, or the remainder of July and the whole of August. The only good thing was he was losing a lot of weight. He spent all day- and sometimes night, depending on the shifts- hauling heavy luggage around, then when he cycled home he had to walk up to his flat as the lift would inevitably be out of order. He cursed under his breath as he ascended the hundreds of stairs, before clutching his chest and panting furiously at the top of the stairwell. Something just didn’t seem right about that; the lifts always worked for Petunia, and even Dudley. Bloody Freaks had something to do with that, that Hestia woman has done this one purpose, mark my words he thought. He may just have been right.

*****

The First of September was no laughing matter for Dudley, either. Never academically gifted, it was merely his father’s bank account that was keeping him in Smelting’s sixth form; now enrolled in state education with only a handful of low GCSE passes and nothing above a D grade he found himself unable to complete his final year of study. Instead he embarked on a course in car mechanics, much to his father’s chagrin; manual labour wasn’t a suitable career for his offspring. Dudley had sharply reminded him of his own current employment and Vernon had removed the portable television from Dudley’s miniscule bedroom and thrown it down the rubbish chute as punishment for backchat. Even Vernon had admitted that was a stupid thing to do later that evening.

And so here Dudley was, small fish in a big pond, walking through the doors of The Manchester College on his first day. He was already half an hour late, having got completely lost from the bus stop, and called a ‘soft southern Nancy boy’ by some nasty little teenager who followed him from the bus, blowing spit-soaked balls of paper from the hollow case of a biro at him for the entire journey on foot. He had endured a lecture from the very disappointed college Head, preaching to Dudley on the importance of timekeeping, before being led to the mechanics department.

Instantly he got a bad vibe from the mechanics teacher, Mr Tunnicliffe. He looked over at Dudley through slightly oil-smudged glasses, hair slick with car grease, and sneered.

“So good of you to join us, Mr. Dursley” he drawled, looking at his watch dramatically whilst the rest of the class laughed. “I guess punctuality isn’t important to privately-educated folk used to buying their way out of trouble. You will not be late again, or you risk being thrown out my class. Take your seat and take out your notebook.”

He then returned to the complex explanation of an internal combustion engine that went right over Dudley’s head. To his horror he found his eyes prickling; the last time he had cried was two years ago after Harry had rescued him from those Demented thingies. Harry. Dudley admitted to himself, somewhat shamefully, that Harry hadn’t crossed his mind once since his family had moved into the flat. They had parted on fair terms but Dudley knew they’d never fully make up. He just hoped that wherever Harry was, and what he was doing, he was happy and, more importantly, safe.

As the weeks passed Dudley’s course didn’t become any easier. To his immense disappointment and embarrassment he found himself failing the course spectacularly; the subject of car mechanics neither interested him nor seemed to make any sense. He found himself longing to be back at Smeltings with Piers; of course, he was failing his A levels spectacularly too, but that didn’t matter so much when he had his friends with him. Here he was an outcast, a freak. He sat alone in class. He sat alone at lunch. He sat alone on the bus journey home, avoiding the jeers and taunts from his classmates. He sat in the uncomfortable scratchy armchair in the ugly dingy living room of his crappy flat in the evenings watching TV then he crawled into his lumpy bed in his pokey room for sleep, before the whole sorry cycle repeated itself in the morning. He was completely and utterly miserable. Dudley just wanted to go home.

*****

Petunia Dursley almost fainted the first time she laid eyes on the kitchen of where she was expected to live for the next God-knows how long. She felt her stomach give a physical jolt of revulsion as she surveyed the scene before her. Despite the fact the family hadn’t arrived at the flat until well after midnight, as soon as Hestia and Dedalus left she foraged in the coffee-stained cupboards until she found a pair of Marigolds, a cloth and a bottle of bleach. She fruitlessly scrubbed her kitchen until her arms ached with fatigue. It had made no difference. It was almost as if the stains had been spelled on… no, thoughts like that won’t do, she rebuked herself angrily.

Petunia had bought the strongest cleaners available over the coming weeks, yet nothing shifted the stains. Her bony hands were dry and cracked from scrubbing the flat from top to bottom and, whilst it now had a pleasant lemon fragrance, the stains hadn’t shifted. Her back hurt from lugging the laundry to the laundrette half a mile from their flat. She missed her perfectly neat garden, filled with sweet-smelling summer roses, hyacinths and lavender, as well as her vegetable patch. She despaired when she saw her garden in her mind’s eye in its current state- overgrown with weeds, parched and browning from lack of watering.

Having finally given up on her Stain Purging Mission around mid- September, Petunia decided to try and get out of her monstrosity of a flat as much as possible. A lovely autumnal walk in a nearby park in late October was abruptly ruined, however, when a passing flock of birds all decided, almost in unison, to defecate on her, much to the amusement of a small child and her mother who were feeding the ducks nearby. Humiliated and covered in bird shit, Petunia practically ran the mile back to the flat, hurtled herself up the numerous staircases (the lifts were genuinely broken this time) and into her dingy bathroom. She stripped and turned on the shower, where she stood under the pathetic dribble of lukewarm water for forty minutes, crying softly.

*****

As Christmas rolled around, the entire family was dejected and frustrated; their once proud appearance broken. Although the Order was paying the rent and bills on the flat, Vernon’s meagre wage as a porter had not brought in much in the way of disposable income. Dudley bit back a sob on Christmas morning when he saw only four small-ish gifts crudely wrapped under the tiny plastic badly decorated Christmas tree.

Petunia was busying herself in the kitchen preparing Christmas dinner when she heard a tapping on the window. Being twelve floors up she was totally unprepared for this and promptly dropped the saucepan of frozen peas she was just putting on to boil, sending them all over the kitchen floor. She crossed to the window, opened it, and cursed as the tawny owl flew in, with what appeared to be a Christmas card in its beak. She took the envelope from the owl without glancing at its face, and the owl turned and promptly flew back out the window, pausing only to do on her work surfaces what the flock of pigeons had done on her a couple of months previously.

“Vernon!” She called through to the living room. “Come here! That lot have sent us one of those owls!” She heard Vernon swear loudly, and grunt as he got out of the chair. Five months of physical work had improved his body immensely and he had shed nearly four stone. Unfortunately his temper had not improved along with this physical change. His face appeared round the kitchen door, red and ugly, his right eye twitching.

“What do those ruddy freaks want now?” he barked at his wife. Petunia opened the envelope, which had been sealed with wax, and removed a muggle Christmas card with slightly trembling fingers. It had a picture of a snowman dancing with a small boy and girl, with ‘Have a Magical Christmas!’ written across the top in red glitter. Vernon gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes.

Petunia opened the card and gave a small yelp in surprise as a few photos fell to the ground. She bent down to retrieve them, then she and Vernon stared at them, confused. One was of a beautiful and obviously expensive house, another of a brand new BMW that Vernon would secretly prefer over sex with his wife, and various other pictures, ranging from the outside of a private school to a huge, perfectly maintained garden. Looking like they had both received a Confundus charm apiece, they simultaneously read the inscription in the card.

Merry Christmas to the Dursley family!

We hope you enjoyed the images we sent with this card. A muggle-born member of the Order wants you to know that this was kind of a ‘let’s take a look at what you could have won’ situation. You see, this was to all be yours. The house, the car, the idyllic, luxurious lifestyle. Then, of course, we realised how you had been treating Harry Potter these past sixteen years. So we rearranged everything to give you something that you all deserved.

Was it really so much to take in a small orphaned boy? To show him some kindness, compassion? Neglect is a form of child abuse. It is no thanks to you that Harry Potter has grown up understanding love, goodness and loyalty. And we are fiercely loyal to him in return.

You gave that boy ten years of unbearable suffering, and many miserable summers since then. Sixteen years’ worth of mistreatment. You have only had five months of this. You will pay for every last cruel thing you ever did to that boy. This is just the beginning.

Wishing you Glad Tidings of the Yuletide,

The Order of the Phoenix

Petunia closed her eyes and leant against the owl-shit covered surface for support whilst Vernon bunched the card up in his fists. She thought that once Harry finished doing whatever he was off doing then this nightmare would all be over and they could return home to their old life. It appears she was very, very wrong. It was only just commencing.
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Harry Potter and the Black King