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Harrry Rotter has lost her Marbles: chapter four
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I wrote this story, this skit, for a bit of fun, that's all, but so many of you emailed me. saying
how much you liked it, i just HAD to publish it. Happy reading. from the crazy-mad writer.
Arrrgh!!!
Next morning, Harry, knocking softly on Box’s bedroom door, whispered, “Box, are you awake?”
“Hmm, what is it?” he mumbled sleepily.
“I said, are you awake?”
“What time is it?” Box asked, rubbing his eyes.
“It’s half past six.”
“Half past six, are you sure?” Box asked, unwilling to believe that even she would consider
awakening him at so early an hour. Reaching for his glasses on the bedside locker, and then
grabbing hold of his watch, Box gazed sleepily onto its face, to see if it really was that early.
Staring in disbelief he saw that it was indeed six thirty.
“Yes, I am sure,” said Harry, slightly louder. “Now are you getting up or do I have to send off for
that lizard?”
Jumping out of bed, putting on his dressing gown and slippers, Box unbolted the door. Bang,
bang, bang the bolts slid back from their nighttime position. The door, creaking slowly open,
revealed the sleepy face of Box, Harry’s tall and whimpishly thin cousin.
“What’s the problem,” he asked, yawning and scratching his head.
“There’s no problem,” she replied casually. “We have to get started.”
“But it’s Sunday,” he protested, “and I always have a lie in on Sundays.”
“Not anymore, you don’t,” she said. “At least not until our work has been done.”
“But we have to buy supplies,” he protested once again, “and the electrical shop isn’t open until
tomorrow…”
But it was useless him complaining, he was simply wasting his time trying to put Harry off, she
wanted to get started and nothing would dissuade her from it, absolutely nothing. And then, he
thought, she really might have that lizard stashed somewhere nearby, mightn’t she? So agreeing,
he said, “All right, but I want some breakfast first.”
Okay, I’ll see you downstairs,” Harry replied, and with that she dashed off down the stairs.
Scratching his head, Box wondered what he had done to deserve a cousin such as Harry.
“Here you are,” said Harry, pointing to a plate on the table, when Box finally arrived in the
kitchen.
“What’s that?” he asked, sitting down and inspecting the plate with some interest.
“A fry-up, of course,” she replied, pushing it closer. “That’ll keep you going…”
Box was puzzled, for there was no smell of cooking in the kitchen – none at all, but he said
nothing, he knew better than to ask her such ‘Muddling’ questions.
“And keep the noise down,” Harry warned. “We don’t want to be waking up the old cronies.”
Old cronies? Oh, you mean mum and dad,” he said with a laugh. “Y’know, I used to call them
that, a while back.”
“You did?”
“Yep, it’s a funny old world, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” Harry replied, as she thought of all the other Muddles in Dorsley Drive, and all of
them probably at stupid as each other.
When he had finished eating his breakfast, and it was a surprisingly good fry-up, Box asked what
was first on the agenda…
“Secrecy,” Harry replied, again in a whisper.
“Pardon?”
“I said secrecy is the first thing on the agenda,” she repeated. “You must keep everything we do
secret from your parents!”
Box gulped. “Everything?” You see, up until then he had no secrets hidden from them.
“Yes, everything,” she insisted. “And not just them, but everyone. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, I suppose so – but it won’t be easy.”
Harry, however, ignored this comment.
“Where are we going?” Box asked, following Harry out the front door.
“Somewhere private…”
Harry walked, Box followed.
After buying a pen and a notepad from the local newsagents, Harry led the short distance to the
park. After climbing over the locked gates, Harry chose a spot on the grass where they could sit.
“Sit down,” she ordered.
“Here?”
"Yes.”
"It might still be damp…”
“SIT!”
Obeying her, Box sat down upon the grass, and then he watched as his troublesome cousin
scribbled her thoughts down into the notepad. It took her a while to do this, a good while. Bored,
waiting for her to finish, Box nonchalantly watched the sparrows scurrying ever closer, hoping
for a handout of some food scraps they might have.
When Harry was finally finished recording her thoughts down into the little notepad, she handed it
to Box, and said, “Take a look and tell me what you think of it.”
Box studied the notes with interest – all two pages of them. Then turning to a new page, without
saying anything about her notes, he asked for the pen. Harry gave it to him. Writing feverously,
Box recorded his own thoughts and ideas into the little notepad, filling page after page with ever
more complex ideas. Every now and again he would pause for a moment to refer back to his
cousin’s scribbles, and then start off again as he worked his way through to the final design. When
he was finally finished, Box had filled fifteen pages with notes, and another two with a list of the
materials that he would need for the task.
“Here,” he said, returning the notepad to Harry. “Now you take as look…”
Harry studied the plans, saying nothing. And when she had seen enough, she said, “It might as
well be in double-dutch for all that it means to me, but I trust you, cousin, so let’s get on with it.”
Box grinned; he loved a challenge and this was most certainly a challenge. The grin suddenly
disappearing from his face, Box looked terribly worried.
“What’s wrong?” said Harry, confused by his change of emotions.
“Money!” he replied.
“Money – what about money?” Harry asked.
“We need some – loads of it,” Box groaned. “That lot will cost us a bomb.”
“Leave the matter of money to me,” Harry replied calmly. “You just concentrate on getting the
work done.”
Next day, Monday, Harry and Box set off early for town and the electrical supplier located
therein.
“I can’t imagine what has gotten into those two,” said Mrs. Privet, pulling back the curtain,
watching Harry and Box step up to the bus. “One day they are mortal enemies and the next they
are bosom buddies.”
Sitting at the kitchen table, studying the remains of his son’s fried breakfast, Mr. Privet asked,
“Any more where this lot came from?”
Town was busy. Harry hated town. There were far too many Muddles in them for her liking.
“Which way?” she asked, narrowly avoiding a youth speeding past on a motor scooter.
“This way,” said Box, pointing up the hill.
It was a long walk up that hill, to where the best electrical supplier in town happened to be
located, and unaccustomed to such walking Harry’s legs soon began to ache. “Why couldn’t they
have built their shop at the bottom of the hill?” she complained. Then remembering that it was
Muddles she was talking about, she laughed, saying, “No, don’t bother answering that.”
As they stepped into the old shop, the bell over the door jingled signaling their arrival. An ancient
man standing behind a dusty old counter studied them over the top of his equally as dusty
spectacle lenses.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I certainly hope so,” said Harry.
“Box handed the man their list of requirements.
“Hmm,” he said as he made his way through the long list, “a most unusual mixture of items…
What is it you that said you were making?”
“We didn’t,” Harry snapped.
“We’re making a transmitter,” Box lied, thinking this approach better than his cousin’s
confrontational one.
“A transmitter, you say,” said the man, pushing his grimy glasses up to the top of
his head. Harry wondered how he had ever managed to see through them at all.
“Yes, “explained Box, “but it’s only an experiment, nothing big, you know…”
“You really need a licence, you do know that?”
“We do, but it’s only an experiment for school, and a temporary one at that.”
Hmm,” said the man, taking out his order book that he began writing into, “In that case I suppose
it’s all right.” When he had the copied Box’s list, he stepped through a doorway leading to the
rear of the shop and then he disappeared from sight.
Relieved that they were getting their supplies, Box turned away from the counter and studied the
electrical advertising posters sticky taped to the walls. Harry stared out the window, bored.
After waiting for a good twenty minutes, they heard the sound of footsteps signaling the return of
the old man. Puffing and panting he emerged through the doorway carrying two cardboard boxes,
one under each arm, loaded with electrical items that he plonked down heavily on the counter. A
cloud of fine dust rose high into the still air. Harry coughed.
“There you are,” he said, “everything you were wanting. Some of these things were hidden way
back, hadn’t sold any of them for years. Thought I never would. Just goes to show, doesn’t it?”
“Thanks,” said Box. “How much do we owe you?”
“I have the bill in here somewhere,” he said, rummaging about in one of the boxes. “Ah, here it
is.” He handed it to Box who almost fainted when he saw how much it amounted to.
Snatching the bill, Harry said, “Give that to me.” She quickly inspected it, and then without
flinching as much as an eyelid took out a small purse from her shoulder bag and searched for the
money. “There you are,” she said, offering three golden coins to the man, “and you can keep the
change.”
Inspecting the coins, he said, “Are you sure? These are worth an awful lot more!”
Without saying another word, Harry opened the door and instructed Box to carry the boxes.
Grabbing hold of them, and struggling under their weight, he followed her out from the shop,
asking, “Where did you get those coins from?”
Harry Potter? No, silly, it's Harry ROTTER
© Gerrard T Wilson 2008
