Wot In The Harri Potter?

2 - The Captor

"Hogwarts dear?" she trills, placing an arm around me. "Got the lot here - another student being fitted up just now, in fact."

Without waiting for an answer, she guides me to the back of a shop where a boy with a pale, pointed face and white-blond hair is standing on a footstall, admiring himself in a mirror.

His hair is so bright, I have to blink twice.

He turns to me, piercing grey eyes looking me up and down. I brace myself, waiting for the insults on my appearance, but they never come.

"Hullo," he drawls. "Hogwarts too?"

I nod shyly as I step up on the footstall next to him. I want to say something smart or witty, but I find myself utterly speechless.

This, however, does not seem to deter him.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," says the boy in a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

This boy is strongly reminding me of Dudley, and it makes me smile.

"Have you got your own broom?" The boy went on.

"No," I say quietly, silently cursing myself as I try but fail to think of something more to say.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," I say again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"I do - Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," I say, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," I say, wishing I can say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" The boy says suddenly, nodding towards the front window. Hagrid is standing there, grinning at me and pointing at a can of lager in his hand to show he can't come in.

"That's Hagrid," I say, pleased to know something the boy doesn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," says the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"Yeah, I guess," I shrug. "He's the gamekeeper."

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage - lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"That doesn't surprise me," I agree. "He ditched me just now to find a drink."

"Oh," says the boy, his eyebrows rising slightly. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead." I shrug.

The boy looks slightly taken aback, but then quickly recovers himself. "Oh, sorry," he says. And then, as an after thought adds, "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean."

I look at him properly this time, trying to decipher what is going on his head. Is he nice or mean? "Oh, okay. It's just that I really don't they should let the other sort in, do you?"

I have no idea what he means, but I have the strangest desire to make this boy - who reminds me so much of Dudley - to like me so I just nod my head, hoping this is the right answer.

"They're just not the same, are they?" He continues. "They've never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before I can answer, Madam Malkin - who has been busily fitting my robes - says, "That's you done, my dear." And I, sorry to have to end this conversation, hop down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," the boy drawls.

I offer him a smile which he returns almost immediately, although I cannot tell if it's genuine or whether he's imagining beating me up.

*****

Hagrid takes me to a pub and proceeds to tell me more about the wizarding world, his words slurring by the pint.

"Yer- yer gotta understand Ha-(hic)-arri. Dumbly is a good man, he jus' wanna yer ter 'av a good life."

Good life my arse. I am getting angrier by the minute, wondering why I have been lied to for so long. And I'm not going to lie, this Dumbledore sounds like a shit.

But I smile and nod, because at the end of the day this whole thing means I get to escape the Dursleys.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ARE TAKING ME BACK?!" I bellow as Hagrid explains it's time for me to go 'home' to Privet Drive.

"They're still yer guardians," Hagrid chuckles nervously, rubbing a hand to the back of his neck. "An' school don't start till the firs' of September."

So, like the embarrassment my life has always been, I find myself back on the doorstep of my aunt and uncle's begging them to let me stay for a couple more weeks.

Interestingly, instead of forcing me to sleep back in the cupboard, they offer me the spare bedroom they always keep in royal condition in case the queen ever happens to pop by for an impromptu sleepover.

In the middle of the night, Dudley creeps into my room to see me.

"Hey," I whisper, patting a space on the bed for him to sit. A bed, can you imagine? What a luxury!

However, Dudley just hovers, his face going red. "I, uh- would rather not, Harri," he explains quietly, pointing to his backside. "Still got that tail "

"Oh, I'm sorry," I offer, sitting up to locate my glasses on my bedside table. "Still, maybe one day I can magic it off for you... once I learn how."

For a moment, Dudley looks almost petrified. "No!" He says quickly. "Dad says he's going to book the world's second best surgeon to remove it."

We share a smile, which is rather a sad one. "So, when do you leave, for this, uh- school?" He asks.

"September first," I feel a warm glow just thinking about it, and suddenly I want to tell Dudley everything. "Oh, Dudley, you wouldn't believe it - I've even got my own wand! I mean, it looks like a mouldy old twig, but when I hold it, I can feel its power. And everyone I've met so far seems really friendly - although there was this boy who is starting Hogwarts too, but he seemed a little... I don't know..." I trailed off, not being able to quite find the words to describe the strange encounter with the white-blond haired boy.

Dudley's expression hardens. "Don't let 'em push you about, Harri," he says determinedly, his eyes sparking. "Find the strongest to survive, that's what you've gotta do, don't bother with the weak. Promise me, Harri."

It is not a question, but an order. I quickly nod, reassuring my cousin. "I promise, Dudley. I'll choose my friends wisely."

Survival of the fittest. I understood.

*****