So beyond reading English aloud, Harry also began taking on small household tasks on his own — sweeping, tidying, cooking for Bernadette — bustling about like a diligent little house-elf.
As Bernadette's English improved by the day, Harry felt two things at once: happiness for her, and a quiet worry for himself. He was starting to realise that Mr. Vincent might soon have no need of his help at all — and when that happened… would I still have a reason to come?
Because of this, every evening when he got home, he would push himself to study late into the night — working through every word and phrase he hadn't understood that day, so he'd be able to help Mr. Vincent again tomorrow.
On the evening of the seventh day, Bernadette could manage a fluent conversation without effort. Noticing the look of quiet worry on Harry's face, she frowned slightly. "What's the matter? Has that boy — Dudley — been bothering you again?"
She had come to understand Harry's situation fairly well over these past few days. His parents had died when he was an infant, and so he had grown up in his aunt's home. But his aunt's family clearly despised him. Beyond providing the bare minimum to keep him alive, they subjected him to a constant stream of cruelty and contempt. It was this, she'd concluded, that had made him so quiet and so easily frightened.
It was almost exactly what Cattleya had been like as a small child, before Bernadette brought her home.
Back then, Bernadette had taken Cattleya in out of a kind of sympathy — but she hadn't given her a great deal of warmth or affection. Not intentionally. It was simply that she had no experience raising a child — she'd never even been in a relationship — so she'd largely treated Cattleya the way she would treat a subordinate.
She understood Cattleya's feelings toward her, and she knew Cattleya had always worked hard to hide them. Their dynamic had simply settled into what it was over the years, and she didn't know how to change it. So she had chosen to leave things as they were. But she would acknowledge this much: Cattleya was the person she trusted most in the world.
"No."
Harry shook his head and hesitated for a moment before saying quietly: "Mr. Vincent, with your English at the level it's at now, I don't think I can really help you anymore. So from here on… I won't come to bother you."
He bowed his head as he finished, so Bernadette wouldn't be able to see what was really going through his mind.
"Oh?"
Harry's attempt at concealment was never going to fool anyone. Bernadette said mildly: "So you've grown tired of coming here every day to read to me. Is that it?"
"No — no, that's not it!"
He denied it immediately and loudly, then quickly lowered his voice again. "I just thought — if I can't help you anymore, then me coming over every day would be… a bit inappropriate."
Bernadette gave a slight nod. "I see. So you've been treating teaching me English, and coming here for food, as a transaction?"
"Huh?"
Harry blinked, started to deny it — then stopped. But isn't that what you said it was in the beginning?
Looking at his flustered expression, Bernadette said, evenly: "Did you forget? I said, beyond English, I also wanted to exchange notes on magic with you."
Harry's eyes lit up briefly — then dimmed just as quickly. "But… I still don't know any magic. I can't help you with that either."
"Harry."
She set down the book she'd been holding. It was the first time she had stepped into his way of thinking like this. "Why do you always feel the need to be useful to someone? Do you think you're so capable that helping others is simply what you're supposed to do?"
"Of course not."
Harry shook his head quickly. "But if I can't…"
He didn't finish the sentence. What he left unsaid was: If I can't be useful — then I'm back to the way things were before. Back to not being able to feel that I matter at all.
Bernadette looked at him for a moment and said: "Remember this, Harry: a person's worth is never something that needs to be earned through other people. It is something defined by your own heart and your own actions."
Without waiting to see whether he understood, she continued: "Tomorrow, bring your Hogwarts Charms textbook over, and I'll—"
She stopped mid-sentence. Today was the last day of this exchange. She revised herself. "Never mind. Don't come around for the next week."
"…"
Harry's heart sank — but he bowed his head immediately and pressed hard against the sting behind his eyes. "Alright."
"Don't read into it. I'm only asking you not to come for seven days."
Harry looked up, startled.
"When you come next week, remember to bring your Charms textbook." Bernadette hesitated for a moment, a flash of memory — her father — passing through her mind. She reached out and flicked a finger lightly against his forehead. "And remember: do not, under any circumstances, come during this next week. Because…"
"Because there is a very wicked person who will be here, and he absolutely cannot know about you."
Yes. He cannot find out about that man.
Harry tensed immediately. "A wicked person? Will you be alright? Should I call the police? I — I actually know a wizard called Hagrid, and he's a good person. I could try to ask him to come and help—"
"That won't be necessary. That person and I have no quarrel, and there won't be any conflict. All you need to do is make sure he doesn't find out about you — that's the greatest help you could give me." She paused, and looked at Harry's green eyes. "Can I trust you in this, Harry?"
Harry sat up straight immediately and gave a firm nod. "You can!"
"Then — see you next week."
"See you next week, Mr. Vincent."
Harry stood, gave a small bow, and left quickly.
From a distance, he turned back and gave a wave. Bernadette gave a small nod back, and allowed herself a faint smile.
A little while later, she went back to the bedroom, set the video camera in position, pressed record, and began speaking into the lens with a perfectly blank expression: "Good evening, Vincent Moriarty. I hope that in the other world these past three days, you stayed in the castle, respected those 'unreasonable' rules of mine, and—"
She stopped herself and started over: "Well. I, for my part, have barely left this flat for the entire seven days, and have not done a single thing you prohibited…"
On the other side of things:
The moment Harry left the building, he couldn't keep the elation off his face. Brilliant! I can keep coming back to Mr. Vincent's place — and not only that, but we're going to exchange notes on magic!
Right. That was decided.
For the next week, I am going to study English and go through my Hogwarts textbooks properly. I can't actually have nothing to say when the time comes.
Just as he thought that, a round figure burst out from behind a hedge at the side of the road and shouted: "Got you now, haven't I, Harry?!"
Dudley.
His pudgy face was contorted with triumph and resentment. "I knew it! I knew you knew that man! He's just like you — a freak!"
Harry's voice rose immediately. "Mr. Vincent is not a freak!"
"Oh, so his name's Vincent? So you admitted it then, didn't you?"
Dudley jabbed a swollen-looking finger at Harry. "You're done for! I'm going to tell Mum and Dad everything — I'll have them throw you out! I'll have Dad call the police and have that man locked up!"
"You dare—!"
Harry's voice went sharp. His hair stirred without any wind. He stared at Dudley with an unblinking intensity that was all the more unsettling for how still the rest of him went — like a serpent fixed on a toad.
"!!!"
Dudley felt his chest clench. He took a half step back before he'd realised he'd moved, then scowled furiously to cover it. "Watch me dare!!"
He turned on his heel and set off at a quick waddle.
"Dudley!"
Harry ran after him, panicked.
To be continued…
