Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures-Chapter 1541: Harry’s Summer Vacation

Harry sighed and carefully searched for other fragments of the mirror in the trunk, but nothing more remained except powdered glass, which clung to the deepest layer of debris like glittering grit.

As he felt around, Harry was suddenly seized by a wave of irritation. Impatiently, he flipped the entire trunk over and dumped everything out.

Then, he stared blankly at the empty trunk and the pile of junk on the floor for a long time, and fell weakly on the bed.

‘I’ll clean it up tomorrow, they won’t come to pick me up so early.’

In a daze, Harry’s thoughts drifted far and wide.

Just like the dreams he had been having at night recently, sometimes he thought of Sirius, sometimes of Dumbledore, and sometimes of Snape.

Ever since he’d read that interview with Rita Skeeter in the paper last week, his mind had been in turmoil. Random phrases from Rita’s article echoed in his head: An entire chapter to the whole Potter-Dumbledore relationship … It’s been called unhealthy, even sinister. … He dabbled in the Dark Arts himself in his youth … I’ve had access to a source most journalists would swap their wands for …

“Lies!” Harry bellowed, his voice echoing through the empty house. Rita Skeeter’s slanderous accusations against Dumbledore were infuriating, but Harry had to recognize that he didn’t really know much about Dumbledore’s past. He had to admit that he had barely known him at all.

Never once had he imagined Dumbledore’s childhood or youth; it was as though he had sprung into being as Harry had known him, venerable and silver-haired and old.

The idea of a teenage Dumbledore was simply odd, like trying to imagine a stupid Hermione or a friendly Blast-Ended Skrewt.

He had never thought to ask Dumbledore about his past. No doubt it would have felt strange, impertinent even, but after all, it had been common knowledge that Dumbledore had taken part in that legendary duel with Grindelwald, and Harry had not thought to ask Dumbledore what that had been like, nor about any of his other famous achievements.

No, nothing!

They had always discussed Harry, Harry’s past, Harry’s future, Harry’s plans … and it seemed to Harry now, despite the fact that his future was so dangerous and so uncertain, that he had missed irreplaceable opportunities when he had failed to ask Dumbledore more about himself, even though the only personal question he had ever asked his headmaster was also the only one he suspected that Dumbledore had not answered honestly:

“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”

“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks.”

Harry pondered for a few minutes and covered his face with the pillow.

This time, he seemed to have fallen asleep, but it didn’t last long. The sound of the front door slamming echoed up the stairs and a voice yelled, “Oi! You!”

Sixteen years of being addressed thus left Harry in no doubt whom his uncle was calling; nevertheless, he did not immediately respond.

It was not until his uncle bellowed, “BOY!” that Harry got slowly to his feet and headed for the bedroom door.

“You took your 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 jeans pockets. When he reached the living room he found all three Dursleys.

They were dressed for traveling: Uncle Vernon in a fawn zip-up jacket, Aunt Petunia in a neat salmon-colored coat, 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 thought he knew what was coming.

His uncle began to pace up and down, Aunt Petunia and Dudley following his movements 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 that Dudley had added his dumbbells to his case since the last time it had been unpacked, had attempted to hoist it back into the boot and collapsed with roars of pain and much swearing.

“According to you and your godfather,” 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 in 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. Aha! That’s it, isn’t it? You and that unemployed godfather of yours — you’re both after our house. I see it all clearly now…”

Harry was stunned for a second, but he was not angry. Instead, he felt that his uncle was simply too stupid, hopelessly stupid.

If he wanted, the gold in Sirius’s vault could buy dozens of houses like this one, not to mention the Black family’s property.

And they thought they were being asked to leave just for this shabby old house? Ridiculous!

“Are you out of your mind?” demanded Harry with a sigh. “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, my godfather already has a house, his family’s ancestral home, and possibly more than one, and I’ll be living with him from now on,” said Harry patiently. “So why would I want this one? All the happy memories from the past sixteen years?”

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