Chapter 120. Petunia Dursley
Perhaps it was because the Dursleys thought Adrian Wesson was a decent man, or perhaps it was because the wand in his hand was glowing red.
Petunia invited Wesson into the sitting room.
She never would have imagined that one day she would invite a wizard into her home.
The whole scene felt, frankly, ironic.
"You really are Harry's professor?" Petunia asked in a small voice, as if she could scarcely believe it.
Wesson nodded, a gentle smile flickering in his dark eyes.
"I am a professor at Hogwarts, so of course I'm Harry's professor," he said, idly rubbing his wand with his thumb. "But in truth, 'mentor and pupil' might be a more fitting way to describe our relationship."
"Then… Professor Wesson," Petunia stammered, "you… you've come to us because of what, exactly?"
Wesson noticed her gaze fixed on his wand, so he deliberately slowed his movements.
Setting his teacup back on its saucer, he looked to Petunia and said mildly, "There's no need to be nervous, madam. I'm only here to take Harry out—he still hasn't finished today's training."
At that, Vernon sprang to his feet, his chair scraping a shrill line across the floorboards.
"He's upstairs and he's grounded. You can't take him," he bellowed. "Don't think you can threaten us with that stick of yours—that won't work! I'm not afraid of you!"
Vernon suddenly wheeled round and, from Merlin knew where, whipped out a gleaming double-barrelled shotgun. The black muzzles pointed straight at Wesson. "Get out of my house!"
Wesson did not even lift an eyebrow. He twirled his wand lazily between his fingers, and a soft red light streaked from the tip, striking the shotgun in Vernon's hands with unerring accuracy.
Vernon felt a sudden lightness. When he came back to himself, the shotgun in his grip had become a rose, dewy beads clinging to its petals.
"Th–this…" Vernon stared, stupefied, at the bouquet in his hands, the fat on his face trembling.
"I didn't come here to threaten you," Wesson said with a shrug. "But that little toy is better set aside."
For a moment, the sitting room fell silent.
At last, Wesson let out a slow sigh. "Very well, then. We can make a trade."
"What kind of trade?" Vernon demanded, watching Wesson warily. The rose in his fist was crushed out of shape, a few petals drifting to the carpet.
"Quite a simple one." Wesson folded his arms and turned his gaze to Petunia. "I'm taking Harry with me, but he'll still stay here with you at night—you know the reason why, Mrs Dursley. And in exchange, I can give you a very large sum of money. Let me think… how about five hundred thousand pounds?"
He spoke the astronomical figure as if it were nothing at all.
The sitting room plunged into a peculiar hush. Vernon's mouth dropped wide enough to fit an orange.
Someone would pay that much for Harry!?
Petunia, however, only grew paler.
She stood up abruptly and said, firm as a nail, "Leave, Mr Wesson. We are Harry's guardians. You cannot take him away."
Vernon stared at his wife as if seeing her for the first time.
But to support her, he could only turn a vicious look on Wesson and add, "Trafficking in people is illegal!"
Wesson blinked. How had this turned into a matter of human trafficking?
He wasn't trying to buy Harry.
Still, the fact that even five hundred thousand pounds couldn't sway the pair in front of him made Wesson look at them with a measure of respect.
By rights, given how they loathed Harry, letting Wesson take him ought to have been a blessing.
With a faint smile, Wesson looked at Petunia. "Then… madam, what would it take for me to take Harry out?"
Petunia drew a deep breath. Her fingers twisted together tightly; her eyes flickered.
In the end, avoiding Wesson's probing gaze, she said, "You may take Harry during the day, but we won't take your money."
Hearing this, Wesson narrowed his eyes, quick to notice the complexity in Petunia's expression.
But he was not a machine for reading emotion; he had no idea what she was thinking just now.
Vernon's round face flushed scarlet. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but finally only gave a heavy snort.
He had no idea why his wife was refusing such a fortune, but if this inexplicable man would take the boy away during the day, that was no skin off his nose.
As far as he was concerned, keeping Harry around was nothing but a waste of time. If not for Petunia, he would have thrown the boy out long ago.
"I'll respect your decision," Wesson said, rising to his feet and offering a neat half-bow. "From tomorrow, then, nine o'clock in the morning until seven in the evening, Harry will be studying with me. I'll see that he returns on time."
Then Wesson looked to Petunia. "Ah—right. May I go up and see Harry?"
Petunia nodded stiffly. "He's in the room on the second floor, left-hand side."
As Wesson's figure disappeared up the stairs, Vernon collapsed back onto the sofa and stared at his wife in bewilderment. "That was five hundred thousand pounds! Enough to move us to a posh neighbourhood, buy a big house, and send Dudley to the best private school!"
Petunia forced a smile and lowered her voice. "We can't take things from those freaks, Vernon. Who knows what they might have done to the money? For all we know, those notes would turn into poisonous snakes."
Vernon's face cleared. "You're right, dear! Brilliant!"
He wiped the cold sweat from his brow. "Those monsters excel at that sort of cheap trickery."
In truth, Petunia simply felt that if she took Adrian Wesson's five hundred thousand pounds…
She would certainly lose something.
Meanwhile, upstairs in Dudley's second bedroom.
The door had been locked. Bars had been bolted to the window. A cat flap had been fitted to the bedroom door.
Harry lay on the bed with nothing to do, letting his thoughts wander.
He'd had a growth spurt lately; if he were still living in his old cupboard under the stairs, he might soon not even fit lying down…
If only he could do wandless magic. Wesson had demonstrated that advanced method once—just a wave of the hand, and magic would come.
Even if the Ministry of Magic detected spellwork here, his wand wouldn't hold a trace of it.
He could cast an Unlocking Charm on the door, slip out while the Dursleys weren't watching, and go to Wesson for help.
And Gulu—if he hadn't left Gulu with Wesson for safekeeping, Gulu could have got him out as well.
Just then—
"Alohomora!"
A familiar voice sounded from beyond the door.
A moment later came the click of the lock.
Harry sprang up from the bed at once. In the quiet room, the turning of the handle sounded especially clear.
The door eased open, and Adrian Wesson's tall figure filled the doorway.
"Good afternoon, Harry," Wesson tapped lightly on the open door, smiling. "I hope you've had a decent rest these few days. We've still got a lot of training to finish."
Harry's eyes lit up at once.
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