"Up! Get up! Now!"

Lorene woke with a start. Her aunt rapped on the trapdoor again.

"Up!" she screeched. Lorene heard her walking down, under the stairs, some more screeching and rapping, footsteps walking towards the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the tabletop.

Her aunt was back underneath the trapdoor.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"O-of course, Aunt Petunia," said Lorene.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Lorene swung open the trapdoor and climbed down, before heading into the direction of the kitchen.

"It's Dudley's birthday?" the voice of her brother drifted up to her.

"What did you just say?" she heard her aunt snap by the stairs.

"Nothing, nothing,"

Dudley's birthday — how could Harry have forgotten? It was the most recent discussion in the house. Lorene started looking for an outfit to wear. She was given better clothes then her brother - Aunt Petunia had once said that she had to look presentable to get a rich boyfriend. She found a loose sweater, a pair of jeans ( /outfit-preview/563704) and slipped them on before climbing down the ladder, throwing a glance at a spider she named Lydia.

When Lorene went down the hall, she wandered straight into the kitchen. The elegant table was almost hidden beneath all of Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Lorene, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise — unless of course, it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favourite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn't often catch him. Lorene's brother didn't look like it, but he was very fast.

Harry looked smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old, bleached clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. He had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. Lorene, however, was short, skinny and willowy. To make up for it, she had her own clothes. She had a heart-shaped face, wavy red hair that went below her hips, and green eyes, though hers was more of a forest-green than the emerald of Harry. Lorene had a straight body shape, and she also wore glasses, though hers was aviator-style, and rimmed with a silver-ish alloy.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Lorene was turning over the bacon and putting in the coffee pot, while Harry was attempting to fry the eggs.

"Comb your hair!" he barked at Lorene, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of her newspaper and shouted that Lorene needed a haircut. However, Aunt Petunia would always argue back, saying the old excuse. She needs it to get a rich boyfriend.

Lorene was frying the eggs Harry had burnt by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a chubby pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel — Harry often said to Lorene that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

Lorene put the plates of egg and bacon on the remaining tablespace, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. She also set the jugs of orange juice and the coffee pot next to Uncle Vernon. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-five," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's three less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under ther big one from Mummy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-six then," said Dudley, going red very quickly in the face.

Lorene looked up and whispered a quick be right back before slipping up to the attic and snatching her present, which was wrapped in a colourful ballon-styled wrap. She slipped back into the kitchen and whispered: "That's thirty-seven, Dudley."

Dudley was still getting more red and everyone could sense a tantrum coming.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally, he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty… thirty…"

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel, which happened to be Lorene's. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Lorene, Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap Lorene's homemade lavender candle, the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction, forgetting about Lorene.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. He had told Lor he hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."

The Dursleys often spoke about Harry, and occasionally Lorene like this, as though they weren't there — or rather, as though they were something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about her - what's-her-name, your friend — Yvonne?"

"You could just leave me here," Harry put in hopefully.

TBC…

AN: Thank you for reading this, if you are! I'm not very good at writing these things, but I try. Do tell me if I can improve, please.