The Other Potter. Book Four.

Chapter One

“One person is Uncle Vernon.” Harry sighed.

We strutted into the other room and I smiled brightly at them all.

“How you doing?” they remained silent. Once again I impersonated someone. “We’re doing fine, Darling! How are you?” they looked at me like I was a lunatic. “I’m good thanks, really good!”

“And this is my sister, Willow.” Harry concluded.

“We’re not all crazy.” I said sitting down. “It’s just me.”

I looked down and realised I was wearing a pretty sun dress and shoes that I was going to marry. I’m always marrying my shoes. I should probably be diagnosed with shoe-a-love-a-phobia. That is stupid. Willow, shut up.

“L-l-llama.” I said randomly.

“Aunt Petuinia, you’re related to that too.” Harry said referring to me.

I need a new word.

Zebra.

Zama.

LLORSE!

What?

I don’t know.

“They’re late!” Mr. Dursley Snarled at us.

 “I know,” said Harry. “Maybe - er - the traffic’s bad, or something.”

“I’m not late. I wasn’t even invited though...” I trailed off and Harry and I went to wait on the stairs.

Ten past five… then a quarter past five…I was starting to feel anxious now. At half past, Harry and I heard Mr and Mrs Dursley conversing in terse mutters in the living room. 

“No consideration at all.”

 “We might’ve had an engagement.” 

“Maybe they think they’ll get invited to dinner if they’re late.” 

“Well, they most certainly won’t be,” said Mr Dursley and I heard him stand up and start pacing the living room. “They’ll take the boy, random girl, and go, there’ll be no hanging around. That’s if they’re coming at all. Probably mistaken the day. I daresay their kind don’t set much store by punctuality. Either that or they drive some tin-pot car that’s broken d- AAAAAAARRRRRGH!”

Harry and I jumped up. From the other side of the living room door came the sounds of the three Dursleys scrambling, panic-stricken, across the room. Next moment Dudley came flying into the hall, looking terrified. 

“What happened?” said Harry. “What’s the matter?”  But Dudley didn’t seem able to speak. Hands still clamped over his buttocks, he waddled as fast as he could into the kitchen. I snorted with laughter.

We hurried into the living room. Loud bangings and scrapings were coming from behind the Dursleys’ boarded-up fireplace, which had a fake coal fire plugged in front of it. 

“What is it?” gasped Mrs Dursley, who had backed into the wall and was staring, terrified, toward the fire. “What is it, Vernon?” 

But we were left in doubt barely a second longer. Voices could be heard from inside the blocked fireplace.  “Ouch! Fred, no - go back, go back, there’s been some kind of mistake – tell George not to - OUCH! George, no, there’s no room, go back quickly and tell Ron-” 

“Maybe Harry can hear us, Dad - maybe he’ll be able to let us out-” There was a loud hammering of fists on the boards behind the electric fire.  “Harry? Harry, can you hear us?”