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Harry Potter and the Junior Year Abroad
How To Be Happy
By Ishtar
Chapter Two
How To Be Happy
Monday brought new questions, though not relating to the problem of Aunt Petunia and magic. Harry waited until Uncle Vernon had gone to work, and Aunt Petunia had gone to the garden centre to pick up some marigolds to stick into a corner of the garden that she regarded as needing some perking up, and then quickly tucked Dudley's TV back in the other room. Hopefully, that would be the end of it.
But, of course, it wasn't. As it got later in the morning and Aunt Petunia still wasn't back from the garden centre, which boded ill for the number of plants Harry would probably find himself installing this afternoon, Harry found himself with the luxury of some spare time to read yesterday's paper, Uncle Vernon having taken today's off with him. He found it interesting comparing what was in the Daily Prophet with what was in the Daily Mail, to which the Dursleys subscribed. There was virtually no overlap; as far as the Prophet was concerned, the Muggle world had no impact on the wizarding world, and vice versa. Muggles and wizards might as well live on two different planets. Also, while the Mail had extensive sections on what was happening abroad, the Prophet had at most a cursory article about some amusing thing happening overseas. It was almost as if the Prophet, and by extension the Ministry of Magic, for which it was the main mouthpiece, did not care to admit that anything outside of the British wizarding world existed. Harry had studied enough Muggle history during his years in the local school system, and remembered enough wizarding history from the interminable classes with the late Professor Binns, to understand why this was so, but he could not help but think it an unfortunate state of affairs. Sooner or later, one was bound to cross over the border into the realm of the other, and then there would be Hell to pay.
Fortunately, neither paper had any stories of the sort he would have expected if the Death Eaters were out and about and wreaking havoc in any numbers. Neither had he seen any evidence of anything untoward in his neighbourhood — after last year, he knew the signs to look for. He was quite well aware that he was being guarded constantly, but it was relatively easy to dismiss that, as the Order of the Phoenix was being remarkably discreet. Aside from Mrs. Figg, once he'd seen Kingsley Shacklebolt passing in the street, and he thought he'd seen Mad-Eye Moody disguised as a homeless person terrorizing pigeons in the park, but that was it. Tonks, of course, could be anybody he passed on the street, and he would never know. Not for the first time, he envied her her metamorphmagus abilities. He thought they were letting him see them just enough to be reassuring, while allowing him to pretend everything was normal the rest of the time, and for that he was grateful. He didn't want to imagine what life would have been like if he had been unable to leave the house at all for the entire summer. I'd probably have gone mad and been written about as "one of those loner types, quiet boy, never gave any trouble until he suddenly blew up the school …" It made him wonder, vaguely, about those other people who did blow up the school, and then he became aware of Dudley standing behind him and all thoughts of anything else suddenly flew out of his head.
"You put the telly back again," said Dudley.
Harry considered his answer for a moment, then decided to risk a candid reply. "I had to," replied Harry. "I appreciate what you did, but I don't think you really understand how much trouble it could lead to if I accepted a gift like that. If your father found out, he might throw me out entirely."
Dudley parked himself in one of the other living room chairs. "Would that be so bad? You go off in August every year … and you don't come back for Christmas or Easter break so you must go somewhere else then."
"No, I stay at school then."
Dudley blinked. "Really? It would never occur to me to do that. Isn't it all depressing then? Kind of Christmas Carol-ish?"
"No, there's always someone at the school. The staff live there, you see, and there's a big feast … and sometimes some of the other students stay, too."
Dudley was still digesting the idea of someone wanting to stay at school when they didn't have to. "Well, okay. So you've got someplace to be. I've never understood why you keep coming back here. I certainly wouldn't."
"I don't particularly want to, but I have to. I'm not sure I understand it all, but there was something about how my mother died — she sacrificed herself for me — and that protected me then. And there's something about living here — with Aunt Petunia and you — that keeps me protected."
"Didn't much last year, against those dementoid things."
"No, that's because those were sent by someone else. I'm protected against Voldemort — the one who murdered my parents — but there are others … it's all kind of hard to explain without sounding like a total egotistical git … but the end result of it is, I have to stay here at least part of the year in order to be protected all year. And if Uncle Vernon throws me out, that's the end of that. I could always go somewhere else, but I wouldn't be protected any more, and I'd be bringing the danger onto my friends and into my school. I don't want to do that." Harry shrugged. "It'll be for this summer, and next summer, and then I'll be done with school and an adult and I won't have to come back here. I figure I can handle anything you … your family throw at me until then. After I leave here next summer, you'll be out of my life and I'll be out of yours, and I think we'll all be much happier for it."
"Maybe, but that doesn't leave me much time to try to make up for what I've done. And that's important to me, Harry. I told you that, and I hope you believe me."
"I suppose I do. Otherwise, I wouldn't have told you half the things I have. The 'old' Dudley wouldn't have sat still for it, much less understood it."
"Maybe I can give you something else. I told you I've been working on this happiness thing, right?"
"Yeah. In therapy, I guess?"
Dudley snorted. "Not hardly. Mum and Dad wouldn't admit that anything was wrong with their 'Ickle Duddykins'. No, I found a group on my own … sort of an informal discussion group, where it doesn't matter that I'm underage. There's lectures and things, and sometimes we get together in small groups and just … talk. And we help each other feel better. Anyway, there's an introductory lecture being given tonight down at our old grade school. I thought — maybe — if you came with me tonight — well, if you got something out of it, it might make up a little bit for everything, and maybe you'd be able to trust the 'new Dudley' a little more."
Harry thought about it a little, and finally agreed. He was more than a little curious about the changes in Dudley, and the way Dudley had been totally nonspecific
about what went on at these meetings made him wonder if his cousin had maybe fallen into a 'New Age' group or a meditation cult or some such thing … This could be a very interesting evening. Dudley fished a battered paperback book out of his back pocket. "Here, this is a book by Dr. O'Dwyer, who leads the group. I hope you can read a little bit of it before tonight. I've read it myself, like, four times already."
Harry looked at the scuffed cover. How To Be Happy, by Dr. Peter O'Dwyer. A smiling moustachio'd face, presumably O'Dwyer's own, filled the lower half of the cover. "I'll take a look at it if I get a chance, but … oh, no. Your Mum's home, and I swear she just bought out the garden centre …"
0o0o0o0o0o0
By evening, Harry's back was sore, his neck was sunburned, and the knees of his jeans were irreparably stained green. He'd skipped dinner, feeling an urgent need to take a shower instead. He was now cool and clean, his hair wet enough that it was lying down and behaving itself for a change. Once it dried, it would be back to looking like a haystack in a high wind, of course, but at the moment he was presentable. Dudley was still eating when Harry slipped out the front door. While he was waiting at the park for Dudley, Harry thumbed through the book. It seemed to be fairly simple, standard stuff. Think good thoughts, be nice to other people, some stuff about affirmations and creative visualization that Uncle Vernon would consider "flaky" but that was actually fairly simple and effective … hmm, a chapter on herbal dietary supplements … Harry was just about to look into that when Dudley, finally finished with dessert, joined him and tossed him an apple. "Here, I grabbed this for you on the way out. There will be biscuits and punch at the lecture, too, so you can at least snack on something. Ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
The school was a short walk from home. Harry found himself noting all the hiding spaces that he had so carefully memorized during those years in an effort to get home without being ambushed by Dudley and his gang. Most of them were too small to accommodate him now, of course, and it had been several years since he had to use any of them, but he still felt a pang when he realized that the tree he used to scramble up in back of the dry cleaners had been cut down. Dudley was silent on their walk, and Harry had no clue as to what was going through his mind. As they approached the school, however, Dudley licked his lips, almost with anticipation, and broke into a trot down the last block. Even though he'd lost a lot of weight, he was still ungainly while running, and Harry suppressed a snicker.
There were a number of cars in the parking lot and bicycles chained to the rack in front of the school, and the lights of the lobby and auditorium were on. Dudley exchanged casual greetings with a few adults and other youths as they approached the building, and introduced Harry to a few of them. They all greeted him warmly, and shook hands and welcomed Harry, assuring him that he'd get a lot out of tonight's lecture. Harry was slightly disturbed by the identical smiles they all sported.
In the lobby of the school, tables were set up with plates of biscuits, old-fashioned seedcakes, and bowls of punch. Dudley headed towards them with an alacrity that denied that he'd just had a huge dinner, Harry in tow. People were clustered about the tables, but cheerfully made space for them. Dudley pressed biscuits and cakes and a glass of punch into Harry's hands, then claimed large portions for himself. He began wolfing down his portion even before they had moved away from the table. Harry nibbled at a seedcake. It was good, with a strong liquorice flavour, probably a lot of anise in it, he thought, but with a slightly bitter undertone. The bitter taste was even more marked in the punch, but it seemed to disappear after a sip or two. It reminded Harry of something … something vaguely medicinal, like the potions Madame Pomfrey used. He rolled the punch across his tongue, seeming to savour it. There it was, that tingle that you got with a well-made potion. It was dilute, otherwise even the sweet fruit punch flavour wouldn't be able to cover it, but it was there. On the other hand, there were the cookies and cakes … probably if you ate enough of them (and Dudley was definitely eating enough of them) you'd wind up getting a full dose of whatever potion it was … While Dudley wasn't looking, Harry quickly tucked the remainder of his seedcake into a napkin and pocketed it. It would be crumbs later on, but that wouldn't matter for his purposes. The punch he poured surreptitiously into the base of one of the potted plants in the lobby.
"Good, aren't they?" said Dudley, licking crumbs from his lips. "I don't know who bakes these; probably some little old lady somewhere with a secret family recipe. I'd buy 'em by the dozen if I knew where to get them. I think the lecture's going to start soon; finish your punch so we can find good seats." Dudley snagged a last biscuit from the table on his way into the auditorium, and quite a few other people did the same.
The auditorium was nowhere near full, but still was more crowded than Harry expected. He and Dudley settled down into seats in the fifth row as the lights came down. What followed was, to Harry, both puzzling and excruciatingly boring, but it seemed to hold Dudley fascinated. Several people came to the dais and spoke about how unhappy they'd been before discovering Dr. O'Dwyer's work and how he'd helped them. Finally the great man himself took the stage, and Dudley eagerly leaned forward, as did a number of the audience. Harry anticipated learning something new, but there was nothing new in the lecture. It was basically a rehash of what was in the book, maybe presented with a greater sophistication of language.
Harry sat back in his chair and allowed his eyes to unfocus slightly as he watched the man in the white suit stride back and forth across the stage, gesturing … his nose itched slightly and his head ached … and then he suddenly snapped back to full attention. The burn he felt in his nose told him some kind of incense was being burned nearby, probably in the air-conditioning system, and whatever it was was getting gradually more powerful. While he'd been watching, he suddenly realized that O'Dwyer's repetitive hand gestures were similar to those of a wizard. Harry watched his hands intently for a moment, imagining a wand held in those well-manicured fingers. Swish … flick … loop … loop … stick the hands in the pockets for a moment, pull out a handkerchief, mop brow … swish … flick … loop … loop … there was the pattern, but Harry was quite sure it was not a spell he knew. The incense was getting stronger. He couldn't remember a word O'Dwyer had spoken in the last few minutes.
Fortunately, Harry was seated at the end of the aisle; he made a break up the aisle with that crouching walk that people use when they don't want to distract other people in the theatre, but he was sure that by this point nobody would have noticed if he'd pranced up the aisle in a tutu. He slipped out of the auditorium into the lobby and breathed great gasps of clean air, untainted by the incense, and then went to the public washroom to wash his face with cold water and moisten his handkerchief. Returning to the auditorium, he sat all the way at the back and held the handkerchief over his nose and mouth, which cut down tremendously on the amount of incense smoke he was getting. Even so, he found it very hard to follow what O'Dwyer was saying now, especially as he seemed to be whispering occasional words that were not quite English … if Harry wanted to hear more, he would have to move up, but that would mean inhaling more of the incense. He stayed in the back.
An unguessable time later, the incense faded and O'Dwyer wrapped up his speech, announcing that he would be answering questions and signing books out in the lobby. Harry spotted Dudley coming up the aisle and slid in next to him; it seemed almost that Dudley didn't even know he hadn't been there the whole time.
"Wasn't that great, Harry? What a speaker he is! I get a little more out of it every time I hear him, you know?" Dudley was uplifted, almost exalted, and there was lightness in his step. Harry made non-committal noises as they made their way into the crowded lobby. O'Dwyer was holding court next to the potted tree that had been the recipient of Harry's punch; someone had removed the punch and snack trays and replaced them with stacks of books, and an attractive young lady was selling copies of O'Dwyer's books and bottles of some kind of capsules.
"What are those, Dudley?" asked Harry, as Dudley got in the queue that was forming in front of the table.
"Those are Dr. O'Dwyer's own brand of nutritional supplements, you know? Herbs and vitamins and stuff like that. Nothing harmful or anything, you can see what's in it right on the label. I've been taking them for a while, and they're really good for those times I start to feel all depressed. There's one for nighttime, that helps me sleep, too. Tell you what, I've got to buy myself some, I'm out, but do you want some? I know you don't have any pocket money so I'll spring for them. I know you get nightmares sometimes, I can hear you saying things in your sleep, so maybe the night formula will help. And how about a copy of the book, too? I'd like mine back 'cause I made notes on some of the pages, but you should have a copy too, and you can even get it signed."
"Wow, thanks." Harry tried to appear appropriately grateful and impressed as Dudley got to the front of the line and picked up a copy of the How to be Happy book and two bottles each of Dr. O'Dwyer's Cheer-Up and Sleep-Well herbal formulations, patents pending. Harry peered at the label on the Sleep-Well formula while Dudley steered him over to yet another queue, this one for book signings. Hops, mugwort, valerian, skullcap, passionflower … It's no surprise you'd sleep with this in your system, he thought. I wonder what else is in it that isn't on the label? Shortly they were at the head of the second queue. Dudley handed the dapperly clad O'Dwyer the new book he'd gotten for Harry. "Dr. O'Dwyer, this is my cousin Harry, I really want him to meet you, could you sign this book for him? You've done me so much good, I know you'll be able to help him, too …" and as Dudley babbled happily away, O'Dwyer's eyes lifted from the book he was signing to Harry's face, and recognition flashed as his eyes fell on the lightning-bolt scar on Harry's forehead. Harry kept his face calm and smiling, pretending that he had seen nothing whatsoever amiss this evening. O'Dwyer's answering smile was just as false.
"Of course, of course … Dudley, isn't it? I've been hearing good things about you from your group leader." Dudley preened, pleased to have been noticed and remembered. "And this is your cousin? I'll be happy to sign a book for him …" and he did so with a flourish reminiscent of Gilderoy Lockhart at his best. "If you boys want to stay for a few moments, I'd like to have a few words with you after I've dealt with this queue. You will do that for me, won't you, Dudley?" A flashing glance went to Dudley.
"We'll be glad to stay, sir," agreed Dudley eagerly. "You don't mind, do you, Harry?"
"Er, no, not at all. I'd like to talk with you, Dr. O'Dwyer. Your lecture was fascinating, absolutely fascinating." Harry's grin was fixed, he felt like his face was made of plastic, but O'Dwyer seemed to accept it and relaxed, smiling and nodding to the next person in the queue. Dudley and Harry waited nearby, Dudley still chattering away about how great it was that O'Dwyer had noticed them, while Harry smiled and agreed with him.
It took a while for O'Dwyer to get rid of his last admirer, and Dudley's conversation had run down, so Harry was pretending to be engrossed in the opening chapters of the book.
"Now then, boys, perhaps we can take a few moments before things close up. I'm really happy to meet you, young Harry, it's always good to meet family of my group members, and Dudley's told me a little about what's going on in the family, oh, don't worry, nothing personal, he's been very discreet," and there was a flash of anger on his face for just a second, almost as if to say, And if he'd told me enough to identify you beforehand, things would be different right this second, yes they would be … The lobby was almost empty now. "But I think we may be able to help you, I do believe we can … Imperio!" he spat. Harry felt the familiar floating sensation that he had first experienced when the fake Moody had cast the Imperius Curse on him two years ago. With the residual effect of the potion and incense still lingering, it would have been very easy indeed to slide into the welcoming mindlessness. He allowed his stance to become as relaxed as Dudley's, apparently eagerly waiting the next words from O'Dwyer.
"Well, that wasn't as hard as I thought," muttered O'Dwyer to himself. "Boy-Who-Lived or not, catch 'em by surprise with a good Imperius and they're putty in my hands. Harry! Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly, sir," replied Harry.
"Good. You seem to be a reasonable boy, I don't see any reason for you to attend any group sessions, do you?"
"No, sir."
"So if Dudley suggests you come to group or any more of my lectures, you won't, will you?"
"Of course not, sir."
"And you won't remember any of this conversation, will you?"
"Remember what, sir?"
"Good boy. As a matter of fact, it would probably be best if you didn't remember much at all about this evening. You went to the lecture with Dudley and it was perfectly boring, wasn't it? Not worth remembering at all." Harry murmured agreement. "Now, you'll go home with your cousin and go straight to bed, and when you wake up, you won't remember any of this ever happened. Finite Incantatem!" Harry and Dudley both blinked as if wakening from a deep trance, which was true in Dudley's case. Harry thought it entirely possible that it was Dudley who wouldn't remember a thing about this evening. O'Dwyer clapped them both on the shoulder and sent them off home, since it was late and he didn't want their family to be worried.
Walking home in the dark, Harry repeated the conversation over and over in his head, making sure he wouldn't forget a word of it. Dudley kept silent, still in his bemused state, and he wished Harry a good night and then went straight to bed. Harry was tempted by the thought of bed, but he stayed up much later, writing down everything he could remember of the night's experiences. It was quite a long scroll before he was done. He tiptoed down to the kitchen to get a plastic sandwich bag and a larger freezer bag with no one the wiser, and bagged up the crumbled seedcake and the two bottles of herbal capsules. Then he wrote a short note to Arthur Weasley, asking him to meet Harry at Mrs. Figg's house the next morning, and sent the note off with Hedwig. Then he finally collapsed into a well-earned sleep.