Basilisk Eyes

Chapter 24: Clown barf

Knowing that he only had to make it through Saturday and Sunday with Dudley made Harry almost giddy until he remembered that he had to make it through Saturday and Sunday with Dudley. He tuned the radio to the BBC news station and listened to the stories while he worked his way through ironing the stacks of serviettes. While he was listening, he felt like he was escaping being Harry for a while and it was nice.

Also, listening to stories about children in Rwanda who were forced to become soldiers and kill people when they were younger than he was kind of helped put everything in perspective. Some of them had lost their legs or arms in the war (and... he imagined... their eyesight, though the story didn't say that specifically). It occurred to him that many of them must be orphans like him. All because some people thought that they were more human than others... it made him think of wixen and their pureblood nonsense. He was lost in thought when a wisp of smoke grazed his nose. He jerked the iron up and felt the serviette that he'd been ironing with his fingertips.

"Ow!" he shouted and stuck his burned fingertips in his mouth. He was pretty sure there were scorch marks and holes in the serviette, but he didn't want to investigate further.

"Oh, no!" he started panicking. He was tempted to throw the burnt serviette in the bin, but knew that Aunt Petunia would count the serviettes and he'd be hit with whatever was nearest. He turned off the radio because he couldn't think while they kept talking.

He twirled around for a little bit—dashing from side to side as he tried to figure out what he could do to fix the burnt serviette until he got dizzy and disoriented and almost fell down, then he focused on breathing until he was calm.

"Okay. It's a burnt serviette, not the end of the world," he told himself sternly. He really didn't want to show up at training with more bruises.

He put his hands on his hips as he calmed down and touched his pocket.

My staff!

He took out the collapsed staff and touched it to the serviette and said "Reparo serviette" hoping that it would work even though he didn't know the magic word for serviette. He felt it. It was cool again, not burning hot and he couldn't feel any holes or difference in the cloth from the other serviettes.

Maybe it worked!

He put the serviette in the middle of the stack and kept ironing, but didn't turn the radio back on, afraid that he'd drift away again.

Finally, at half past 9, he'd put away all the serviettes, the ironing board, and iron away and climbed upstairs to bed. The Dursleys weren't home yet and he was glad.

He put on his pajamas and climbed into bed, leaving the window open just in case Hedwig came back in the middle of the night.

It's not outside the realm of possibility.

[break]

Harry knew something was up by the way Aunt Petunia was pounding up the staircase early the next morning. She flung open his bedroom door and stomped over to his bed where she was flapping something in his face and demanding to know, "What is this, boy? Just what do you think this is?"

Harry cowered down into his sheets, trying to get his face out of the range of the cloth that she was slapping him with.

"I don't know," Harry ventured. "Could you tell me... please?"

"Just what do you think you're up to? You think this is a funny prank? Do you?" she shrieked, continuing to flail him with the cloth. "All I want is for everything to be perfect when Dudders comes home from school... but you just have to go and ruin everything... "