As soon as Petunia looked at the device that simulated the effect of a Dementor on people, she began to howl like a beluga, claiming that Harry was responsible for all the misfortunes of the respectable Dursley family. It took two hours of explanations about the situation, school life, half a bottle of brandy from Vernon's supplies, and a hastily brewed Calming Potion before the tall, thin woman stopped resembling a furious harpy.
Then she learned that wizards from both sides were not required for a magical contract. Therefore, when they took Harry Potter, their orphaned wizard nephew, into their home — so as not to suffer magical backlash, the fruits of which they were now reaping — they were supposed to replace his parents, not obey the orders of a stranger who had no connection whatsoever to the family, even if that stranger was Albus Dumbledore himself.
Contributing to the strengthening of the backlash effect, besides the connection shared between Harry and his relatives — Petunia and Dudley directly and Vernon indirectly — was that monstrous construction in the garage. It had to be removed immediately or, at the very least, its influence reduced — ideally to zero.
Meanwhile, the device continued to operate. Along the cord, clumps moved in measured motions — dark ones toward Aunt Petunia, light ones away from her. Perhaps it was for the best that she could not see them, otherwise she would have thrown another hysterical fit — heaven forbid.
"So you're saying that destroying this apparatus will be accompanied by an explosion?" the woman clarified, looking at her nephew in disbelief. "But that will create far too many problems! The police, the insurance companies, Dumbledore... And I've grown attached to this house. It's the first home Vernon and I ever had."
The woman burst into tears, imagining the madness of moving to a new residence, insane wizards sticking their long noses into the affairs of the family...
Harry paced for a while in front of the wall containing the device, unsure how to comfort his unfortunate aunt. Then he slowly wandered outside to take another look at the dome.
Petunia hesitantly followed him, uncertain whether to believe or disbelieve her nephew's insane conspiracy theories. She was suddenly overwhelmed by a thirst for revenge, and a fragile sprout of hope began to grow in her heart as she looked at Lily's son, who had suddenly matured before her eyes.
If Harry managed to take revenge on those who deserved it in that insane place proudly called by its inhabitants the Wizarding World of Magic and Sorcery, she could leave this life with quiet satisfaction, regretting nothing.
The boy stared into the gray cloud-covered sky with an unreadable expression and, without turning around to the woman who had approached from behind, quietly, almost to himself, said:
"Yes, I'm sure that Dumbledore is the one we should fear most of all, and that we must protect the house and ourselves by any means necessary. Dumbledore said before the end of the school year that because of my mother's self-sacrifice, a blood protection had formed over the house, but I can't see it. I only see remnants of Muggle-repelling charms and a bunch of other equally unpleasant spells that caused electronics in the house to burn out quickly, but there's nothing unusual here. He wasted his breath talking about shields impenetrable to Voldemort and the Death Eaters — they don't exist."
The two stood in silence, pondering the boy's words. Petunia both believed and did not believe that a ragged twelve-year-old could speak so freely about such advanced magic, and she doubted he had the strength to carry out such a serious undertaking — protecting the family.
And would he even want to?
Harry doubted as well, but unlike his aunt, he had a trump card up his sleeve that he needed to inform her about so she would not start screaming across the neighborhood.
That trump card was called Dinky.
"And if we put up such shields, won't the old man realize that things are different with us?" Petunia whispered, as though afraid someone might hear her from Hogwarts.
"We'll work with blood, Auntie, and the Ministry of Magic along with all its restrictions can burn with blue flames," her green-eyed nephew replied cheerfully and recklessly, and the two looked into each other's eyes and burst into laughter. "Wake Dudders up. He needs to be prepared — he's needed too. Uncle Vernon will also have to be included in the circle."
With a spring in her step, Petunia headed back to the house, feeling truly young again for the first time in a very long while at the age of thirty-three.
That evening, when Vernon Dursley returned from work, he immediately sensed a change in the atmosphere of his home.
The family photographs had returned to their rightful places and, while changing into comfortable clothes in front of the mirror, Vernon was able to compare his real appearance with the one captured in the photos, and it frightened him pale.
The difference was enormous, and not in favor of his current appearance. And it was not only him — he could have accepted that — but seeing how much worse his wife and son had become struck him right in the heart.
That damned freak!
Because of that abnormal nephew, his well-groomed beauty Petunia had turned into who-knows-what, and his plump little son from the photographs was unrecognizable as the whale he had become today, damn it!
Filling himself with indignation directed toward his wife's nephew, the heavyset patriarch entered the kitchen to have dinner, but the scene of family interaction he saw inside the room drove him nearly into a rage.
Potter, that offspring of damned bastards, was calmly sitting at the table with his son and stuffing his face with the lawful dinner of the Dursley family.
The fact that Dudley was doing the same did not bother Vernon. What truly disturbed and angered him was that the freak was making himself at home in the kitchen.
Meanwhile, Petunia paid no attention to this outrage. She did not react at all and merely stared at the boy with huge tearful eyes.
Upon seeing her husband, Petunia jumped up from the table and rushed to greet him, not hiding her impatience and making it obvious that she had been waiting for him.
"Potter," Vernon barked, "what are you doing here?"
"An aperitif, dear? Would you like one?" his wife suddenly cut in between them, and seeing the plea in her eyes, he did not dare continue making a scene and softened his tone.
"All right, Peti, I won't refuse an aperitif. I very much need one," he replied and, grumbling unhappily, sat down in his custom-made chair.
Potter's large green eyes followed his aunt's actions, noticing how she added ice to the glass, then whiskey, soda, and several drops of the Calming Potion that he had brewed earlier on the kitchen stove.
After downing the drink in one gulp, Vernon began devouring food, reminding the dark-haired boy of his classmate Ron Weasley with his enthusiasm.
Imagining the redhead shoveling food, piling every dish imaginable onto his plate and stuffing it into his mouth with both hands, Harry smirked slightly.
After waiting some time for her husband to eat and for the Calming Potion to take effect on his fiery choleric nature, Petunia cleared her throat and cautiously began from afar:
"Dear, today I sent Harry to clean the garage. Afterwards, of course, I checked his work — everything was in order, but..."
Vernon shifted his attention from his meal to his wife sitting opposite him, expecting unpleasant news.
"What has the brat done this time?" he asked after wiping his lips with a napkin.
Petunia waved her hand, preventing her husband from continuing his line of thought about her nephew.
"No, no, nothing, dear! But he found something in the wall that I think is very dangerous." Her voice suddenly became conspiratorial. "It looks like a bomb, Vernon. And above the house there is..." she lowered her voice almost to a whisper, "...a magical dome that was supposed to protect all of us, but it wasn't doing that."
The mustached man froze with his mouth open. The color slowly drained from his usually rosy face, his eyes bulged, and he stared at the skinny dark-haired boy sitting across from him.
Cousin Dudley tensed up, eagerly awaiting developments, his gaze jumping from one person to another so as not to miss anything.
"You're responsible for all of this, brat!" Vernon suddenly roared. "You and all your abnormal friends who shoved you onto us so that we, ordinary respectable people, would have to clean up all your mess!"
Petunia opened her mouth to object, but her nephew's cold fingers rested on her hand, and she met the warning look in his green eyes.
She desperately clutched those fingers and, pressing her lips together, remained silent.
It was Harry who answered her husband. From this day onward, he suddenly seemed competent and responsible to her.
"I deeply regret, Uncle Vernon, that my presence in your family has added extra problems to your own. But none of that is my fault. I am only a child, your closest relative, a complete orphan. I did not decide where I would live during my childhood, so there is no reason to be angry with me. I am what I am.
"But I am your nephew, your son's brother. Whether you like it or not, I am connected to you by blood. I wouldn't be surprised if I share some magical inheritance as well..."
"Be quiet," Vernon sighed, deflating.
"Silence will not resolve our contradictions. Ignoring problems does not make them disappear," Harry replied.
"What are you proposing?" the grown man retreated from his position.
"First, let's go take a look in the garage. Someone installed a Schwartz apparatus there, whose containers are connected by four umbilical cords. Three of them are connected to you. The fourth is connected to someone unknown and, to answer your next question in advance, this apparatus works similarly to a Dementor — a dark creature that guards the wizard prison. It sucks all the happy memories out of a person and replaces them with anger, hatred, and more hatred.
"In short, because of the presence of this machine in the garage, you can barely tolerate me, neglect your responsibilities, and just look at what's happened. Have you looked in the mirror? Have you seen Dudley's diploma?"
"You're a real freak," Vernon exclaimed at such an explanation.
"Uncle, don't throw words around carelessly. I am not a freak. I possess something beyond ordinary humans — I am a wizard. For now I am still a child, but I am growing. The time will come when I learn to control my power, and then you will appreciate having good relations with me. But until then, I ask that we take a look at that thing in the garage, and afterwards you'll hear my plan."
Pulling at his mustache, Vernon stared at the spinning contraption on the glass vessels and, for the first time, found himself unable to say anything.
Suddenly, with a precise strike of his right fist, miraculously avoiding contact with the apparatus, the glass containers, and even the umbilical cords, he punched the back wall of the recess, and the entire structure detached and fell behind the garage.
Dudley, surprisingly nimble for his bulky frame, rushed outside and, circling around the building, peered through the openings.
"Dad, Mom," he called to his parents in an excited whisper, thrilled by the secrecy of the event. "It was some kind of door. I'll bring it."
"Peti," said Vernon in a firm voice, still stunned by the discovery, "you and the boy are right. There is some serious conspiracy unfolding here, and we need to think this through. Let's go back into the house and you can tell me about the plan."
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