The Potter Twins and the Deathly Hallows {7}

2. Something's Gotta Give

"Someone please come wake me up from the shadow of my doubt. Wake me up, I'm falling" - Something's Gotta Give, All Time Low

The sound of the front door slamming echoes up the stairs and voice yells, "Oi! You two!"

Sixteen years of being addressed as such leaves Harry and I in no doubt of whom our uncle is calling, nevertheless, we do not respond. We're still gazing at the mirror fragment in which we have just seen Dumbledore's eye. It's not until our uncle bellow, "BOY! GIRL!" that we get slowly to our feet and head for the bedroom door, pausing to add the mirror shard to the rucksack filled with things we're taking with us. 

"You took your time!" roars Uncle Vernon when we appear at the top of the stairs.  "Get down here, I wand a word!"

We stroll downstairs, and Harry and I exchange an eye roll. When we reach the living room, we find all three Dursleys dressed for travelling. Uncle Vernon is in a fawn zip-up jacket, Aunt Petunia in a neat salmon coloured coat, and Dudley in his leather jacket. 

"Yes?" Harry asks. 

"Sit down!" says Uncle Vernon. I raise my eyebrows. "Please!" he adds, wincing slightly as though the word is sharp in his throat. 

We sit. I'm pretty certain I know what this is about. Our uncle begins to pace up and down, Aunt Petunia and Dudley following his movements with anxious expressions. Finally, his large purple face crumples with concentration, and he stops in front of us. 

"I've changed my mind," he says. 

"What a surprise," says Harry, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from sniggering. 

"Don't you take that tone --" begins Aunt Petunia in a shrill voice, but Uncle Vernon waves her down. 

"It's all a lot of claptrap," he says, glaring at us. "I've decided I don't believe a word of it. We're staying put, we're not going anywhere."

I look up at our uncle and feel a mixture of exasperation and amusement. He's been changing his mind every twenty-four hours for the past four weeks, packing and unpacking the car with every change of heart. Our favourite moment has been the one when Uncle Vernon, unaware that Dudley had added his dumbbells to his case since the last time it was unpacked, had attempted to hoist it back into the boot and collapsed with roars of pain and much swearing. 

"According to you," says Uncle Vernon, resuming his pacing, "we -- Petunia, Dudley, and I -- are in danger. From -- from --"

"Some of 'our lot,' right."

"Well I don't believe it," repeats Uncle Vernon, coming to a halt once more. "I was awake half the night thinking it all over, and I believe it's a plot to get the house."

"The house?" I repeat. "What house?"

"This house!" Uncle Vernon shrieks, the vein in his forehead starting to pulse. "Our house! House prices are skyrocketing around here! You wand us out of the way and then you're going to do a bit of hocus-pocus and before we knot it the deeds will be in your names and --"

"Are you actually out of your mind?" Harry demands, and I don't know whether to laugh or shout at him. "A plot to get this house? Are you actually as stupid as you look?"

"Don't you dare --!" squeals Aunt Petunia, but again Uncle Vernon waves her down. 

"Why would we want your house? All the happy memories?" I continue, arching my eyebrow. "Do you think that one day I want to settle down at Privet Drive, and keep a couple of kids in the cupboard under the stairs?"

There is silence. I think that I've rather impressed our uncle with this argument. 

"You claim," says Uncle Vernon, pacing yet again, "that this Lord Thing --"