The sun blazed overhead, making the pavement almost unbearable to touch. Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead as he dipped a sponge into a bucket of soapy water.
In front of him stood Mr. Reynolds' car, covered in dust and streaks from a half-hearted previous wash.
It had all started with an overheard conversation.
Mrs. Reynolds had been complaining about her husband's failed attempt to clean the car properly. Water spots, missed patches of dirt, and smeared wax—it was a mess.
Harry had seen an opportunity.
"I could wash it for you, ma'am," he had offered. "Properly, so there won't be streaks."
She had raised an eyebrow. "You know how to do that?"
"I read about it," he replied simply.
She had agreed, more out of curiosity than anything else. And now, here he was.
Harry worked methodically, using everything he had learned.
From Vernon's mind, he had absorbed basic car maintenance knowledge—though his uncle barely applied it. From Petunia's occasional lectures about "doing things properly," he had learned the importance of efficiency. And from the Library of Arcane Truths, he had refined everything with perfected cleaning techniques.
Most people made three major mistakes when washing a car:
1. Using the wrong soap, which left residue.
2. Not rinsing properly, leading to water spots.
3. Waxing unevenly, causing ugly smudges instead of a smooth finish.
Harry corrected all of these.
He worked in careful, even motions, making sure no soap dried before being rinsed. He dried the car with a soft cloth instead of letting it air dry, preventing water stains. And finally, he applied the wax with smooth, circular motions, ensuring an even coat.
By the time he stepped back, the car gleamed.
Just as he was finishing, Mr. Reynolds stepped outside. He froze mid-step, staring at the car with a surprised expression.
"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, running a hand along the polished surface. "That's better than when I take it to the car wash."
Mrs. Reynolds joined him, nodding in approval. "Harry, that's wonderful work. Would you like something to drink?"
"Yes, please. Thank you."
She returned with a cold glass of lemonade, which he accepted gratefully.
As he drank, Mr. Reynolds chuckled. "You know, if you ever want to do this for a bit of pocket money, I bet a few neighbors wouldn't mind paying you."
Harry blinked. Pocket money? He hadn't expected that.
Originally, he had only planned to build goodwill and improve his skills, but if this could become a steady arrangement… that opened new possibilities.
Petunia wouldn't like it—she hated anything that made him seem competent—but Vernon might tolerate it if he saw it as "earning his keep."
This was a risk worth taking.
He set down his empty glass and gave a small, polite smile. "I'd be happy to help anytime, sir."