I do not own Harry Potter. Direct quotes from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix will be in bold.
Owlmania
Wand hanging loosely between her trembling fingers, Charlie stared in complete bafflement at her neighbour. "Wait, you know?"
"Of course I know!" Mrs. Figg snapped, eyes darting about anxiously. "I've known all my life about the wizarding world."
"But…wait…so, you're a witch?"
"Please, I've never been able to produce a single spark from a wand, let alone actually use one. I'm a Squib, and I'll be totally useless if those nasty Dementors come back." Mrs. Figg hurried over to Dudley's side and shook him firmly. "Get up, you stupid boy!"
"I got him." Charlie bent down and, with a great amount of effort, hauled Dudley to his feet. Her large cousin sagged against her, eyes staring unseeingly forward. "Alright, guess I'm the crutch."
They started down the street, the soft glow of the streetlamps lighting their way. "How did you know where we were?" Charlie asked, adjusting her weight to balance Dudley's limp body as she stumbled along.
"I sent Mr. Tibbles to watch over Mundungus Fletcher." Mrs. Figg scowled softly. "That idiot. He was supposed to keep an eye on you. I told him not to leave. But of course he does, and look what nearly happened! All because he wanted to buy some stolen cauldrons!"
"Keeping an eye on me?" Charlie echoed.
"Well, you didn't think you'd be left unsupervised, with You-Know-Who out there, did you? Dumbledore's been sending people to keep an eye on you throughout the summer. Why, I've been watching you since you arrived at the Dursleys all those years ago! That's why I've had you round for tea so often-though I'm sorry I haven't been enjoyable company. I knew the Dursleys wouldn't want you over if you were having fun."
I guess I wasn't as far from the wizarding world as I thought. "Don't worry about it," she replied.
Just as they reached Privet Drive, there was another crack and a short, unshaven man appeared in front of them. Charlie started at his sudden arrival and blinked at him. "Mundungus Fletcher, I presume?"
"That's me, darlin'. What's goin' on?"
"I'll tell you what's going on!" Mrs. Figg snarled, taking her grocery bag and smacking the man repeatedly with it. "You left your post and Charlotte got attacked by Dementors!"
Mundungus hastily scrambled back a few steps. "Dementors?" he repeated, stunned. "They came here?"
"Yes! And now you get to inform Dumbledore of what's just happened!" Mrs. Figg held her bag up threateningly. "As well as where you were when you were supposed to be watching over Charlotte!"
Mundungus held up his hands in surrender to placate the woman, eyeing the cat food filled bag warily. "Alright, alright. I'm gone!"
He Disapparated, and they started down the street again. When they reached the Dursley household, Mrs. Figg patted Charlie on the shoulder. "Dumbledore will take care of everything. I better get home, in case he tries to contact me. Stay inside!"
She scurried off down the street, leaving Charlie to stare after her. "Mrs. Figg…is a Squib. She's been watching me all my life." She looked at her cousin, who was slumped sideways. His face was a nasty shade of green. "Don't you puke on my shoes!"
She hastily set him down so that he could vomit in the neatly trimmed grass. Dudley did so, hacking up until there was nothing left to expel. "Feel better?"
He shook his head. Charlie sighed. "No, I didn't think so."
She helped him to the door and rang the doorbell. She could see Petunia's frame through the frosted glass, and the door cracked open. "Duddikins!" she exclaimed. "How was-?"
Dudley leaned over and vomited again without warning-all over Charlie's sneakers. The girl held back a sigh and flinched against her aunt's horrified scream.
"Duddy! What's wrong? Vernon!"
Charlie let go of her cousin so that her aunt could help him into the house. She kicked off her soiled sneakers, tossed them across the yard, and shuffled inside with socked feet. She crept for the stairs, hoping that Petunia and Vernon would assume Dudley was coming down with the flu.
"Are you sick, Dudley?" Vernon's voice drifted from the kitchen. "Did Mrs. Polkiss give you some funny food?"
"Her."
A deadly silence ensued. Charlie froze, one foot on the first stair, tensing for the outburst that was about to occur. She knew that there was no hope for escape-her aunt and uncle knew exactly who her cousin was referring to. Might as well pack up now, she thought bitterly.
"GIRL! GET IN HERE!"
Groaning, the raven-haired girl slumped for the kitchen. "How am I going to explain this one?" she muttered to herself. Her aunt and uncle couldn't stand to hear the word magic, let alone anything remotely associated with it.
She entered the kitchen and slowly lowered herself into a chair across from her relatives. Dudley had his head against the table, face turned to the side so that he was facing the window. Petunia hovered over him, hands fluttering anxiously and eyes alternating between concern (when she looked at her son) and fury (when she looked at her niece).
"What did you do to him?" Vernon snarled from his place beside Dudley, his chair creaking under his weight.
"Nothing!" Charlie exclaimed. "It wasn't me!"
"Well, if you didn't do this, who did?" Vernon sneered.
Of course he wouldn't consider another magical being at play. As far as he was concerned, she was the only being capable of magic in all of Little Whinging. Before she could attempt to explain the happenings of the night, a large feathery creature shot through the open kitchen window and dropped a letter onto the table.
"No owls!" Vernon boomed, the painful memory of having swarms of them descend upon his house four years ago rather fresh in his mind. "There will be no owls around this house ever again!"
Once the screech owl swooped out of the house, he stormed over and slammed the window shut.
"What's that?" Petunia asked sharply, eyeing the envelope with great suspicion, her hands rubbing soothing circles into Dudley's back.
"Probably my death sentence," said Charlie bitterly, dragging the official-looking envelope towards her. Ignoring her uncle's hopeful expression, she tore off the seal and took out the parchment. She had to read the words multiple times in order to get the message, as her brain didn't seem to want to focus.
"Well?" Vernon demanded.
Charlie leaned back in her chair and rubbed her forehead. She could feel the beginnings of a headache. "I'm expelled," she said flatly.
"That means you used it!" Vernon said triumphantly, pointing an accusing finger at her.
Charlie threw her hands in the air. "Yes, okay! I used it." It took a lot of effort not to whip out her wand and start swinging it. "But I did it to save Dudley's life! You're welcome!"
She ignored their indigent outbursts and played with the edges of her expulsion letter. It stated that a Ministry of Magic official would be visiting her residence to destroy her wand. This was not ideal. She kind of needed it to defend herself against a sociopath Dark wizard and his psychotic followers.
She supposed she could run away, but she knew it would be foolish. Where would she go? There was no place to hide. The Ministry would find her-if Voldemort didn't get to her first.
Smack!
Jolting up at the sound, her emerald gaze darted about for the source of the noise. She relaxed upon seeing an owl pressed against the glass, a scrap piece of parchment clutched in its beak. Vernon shot a savage glare at the girl, who rolled her eyes in annoyance. "There's kind of a situation happening, okay? There's going to be more owls-"she ignored his yelp of protest-"-and it's not my fault!"
Well…if Voldemort was the one who sent the Dementors, then it was kind of her fault…for being the Girl-Who-Lived and all.
She yanked open the window and took the piece of parchment from the owl, who flew dazedly off. She unfurled the message and read it quickly. It was from Arthur Weasley, who instructed her to stay at her aunt and uncle's and not to relinquish her wand. Dumbledore was at the Ministry, sorting things out.
Because I can hold off a Ministry official without getting arrested on the spot. I don't think anyone likes me anymore, thanks to Skeeter and Fudge.
Rita Skeeter was a journalist she had met last year during the Triwizard Tournament. She did anything for a story, and the stories she wrote were never based on facts or evidence. Charlie ended up offending her, and Skeeter wrote a smear campaign as revenge. Then there was Fudge, who was Minister of Magic. He refused to believe Voldemort was back and was paranoid that Dumbledore was out to get his job, and that she was his accomplice.
It was all very messed up. But such was her life.
"Who sent that?" Vernon asked sharply.
Charlie sagged back into her chair. "That one was from Arthur Weasley. He's the father of Ron, and he's the one who came to pick me up last year for the Quidditch World Cup. He works at the Ministry of Magic."
Vernon was floored. "People like you are in government?!"
Charlie rolled her eyes. "Our own separate magical government, yes."
"You said you were expelled for doing it. I'm going to ask one more time." Vernon loomed over his niece. "What did you do to my son?"
"I told you, nothing!"
"Dark," Dudley suddenly muttered, his head sliding slightly on the wood of the table as he moved. "So dark. So cold. Heard things. Heard voices in head."
Vernon and Petunia exchanged nervous glances. Having a niece who was a witch was bad enough, but their beloved son hearing voices in his head? That was almost as worse as being able to turn a button into a rabbit.
"What did you hear, darling?" Petunia asked cautiously, gripping Dudley's hand with her own.
But Dudley only shuddered, as if what he had heard was too horrible to speak of. Charlie felt a rush of sympathy-she knew first-hand how horrible the Dementors could be, what they could make a person recollect. Though she didn't know what a spoiled, privileged boy like Dudley could have experienced in his life that was traumatic. She had grown up with him, after all.
"So then what happened?" Vernon asked in a soft voice, as if afraid to know the answer.
Dudley patted his large chest with a shaking hand, but did not say anything. But Charlie knew exactly what he meant. "He felt as if he would never be happy again," she supplied.
He nodded weakly in confirmation.
Vernon blustered for a moment, vein in his forehead throbbing and the ends of his mustache flapping up as he breathed heavily. "So you cursed my son, is that it? Made him feel as if he's doomed to a life of misery?"
"No!" Charlie groaned, resting the urge to hit her head off of the wooden table. "It was Dementors!"
"Demen-what?" Vernon snapped.
"Dementors," she repeated.
"What in the bloody hell are Dementors?"
"They guard Azkaban, the wizard prison," answered Petunia.
A stunned silence followed her words, and Petunia's eyes grew wide with horror as she realized what she had just said. Vernon gaped at his wife, and Charlie stared with astonished emerald eyes. First she learned Mrs. Figg is a Squib and now her aunt just offered a piece of knowledge about the wizarding world.
"How'd you know that?" she finally asked.
Petunia swallowed nervously. "I heard her and that horrible boy discussing them a long time ago," she muttered.
For a moment, Charlie thought she was referring to her mother and father. But out of all the names her aunt had called James Potter, horrible had never been one of them, oddly enough. A soft frown curled across her face, and she wondered just how many magical folk her aunt had encountered in her life.
"So…these Dementy-things are real, then?" Vernon asked carefully, almost fearfully.
"As real as you and I," said Charlie.
Before her uncle could respond, another owl flew through the still-open window. It dropped off another Ministry envelope before flying back out. Scowling, Vernon stormed over and slammed the window shut once more. "Damn owls," he snarled.
Charlie tore the envelope open and read the second Ministry-sent letter. Vernon tapped his foot impatiently. "What's the verdict?" he demanded.
"I haven't gotten one yet." She tossed the parchment to the side, a bubble of relief expanding in her chest. "I have to go to a hearing. They'll determine whether or not I'm expelled." She rested her chin against the palm of her hand. "Anything else we need to discuss or can I go?"
"There's plenty more to discuss!" Vernon said frostily. "I want to know what happened to my son!"
"I told you, the Dementors attacked us when we were walking home, down Wisteria Walk."
"But what do they do?"
"It's just as Dudley said. They suck all the happiness out of you," she said in exasperation. "It was trying to give him a Kiss."
"A what?" Vernon cried, his face twisted up like he'd just sucked on a lemon.
"A Kiss. It's the term given for when Dementors suck out a person's soul," explained Charlie.
Petunia gave a shrill shriek and jerked Dudley upright in his chair. "Did they get your soul?!" she wailed, pressing a hand against his chest, as if she would be able to feel it.
"You'd know if they did," said Charlie, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
A sudden clanking noise came from the living room, and soon after the fourth owl of the night flew into the kitchen, having entered the house from the fireplace. "I am ruddy tired of all these blasted owls!" Vernon howled, face as purplish as it had ever gotten.
Hoping that this letter was from Dumbledore, Charlie took the parchment and the owl flew off. Eagerly she opened it, and was more disappointed than she should have been when she noticed that it was from Sirius. It was only another reminder for her to stay put.
Oh, what? Not even the slightest congratulations for successfully defending myself against two Dementors? Charlie thought in annoyance. They spend the whole summer keeping me in the dark and when something does happen, I still get nothing! Nothing but sharp warnings with disapproving undertones.
"I will not have a peck of owls shooting in and out of house!" Vernon snapped.
"You mean a pack of owls, and I can't help it." Charlie irritably tore Sirius' note into pieces.
"Let me get something straight. Dementoids attacked Dudley, but you got expelled for doing it. So what is it that you did?" Vernon asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"I cast a Patronus Charm," she explained. "It's the only thing that'll make them go away."
"Why are they here?" Vernon demanded.
Charlie shrugged, though she had a hunch. "I really don't know."
He studied her intently for a moment. "It's got something to do with you," he growled. "I just know it! Everything abnormal that happens around here is because of you. You're the only you-know-what for miles!"
"Alright," she said heavily. She was tired and her head hurt and she just wanted to go to bed. "It might have something to do with me. I think Lord Voldemort sent them."
It was nice, being able to talk of Voldemort without hearing fearful squeaks or seeing fierce cringes. Her relatives did not show the slightest tremor of hearing the Dark Lord's name. Vernon scrunched his face up in thought. "Is he the one who killed your parents?"
Charlie nodded, not bothered with his insensitivity. "That's him."
How strange, though, to speak of the world her relatives avoided like the plague. They wanted details, and she was giving them. The two lives she lived, the two worlds she lived in, had moulded into one in this moment.
Petunia stared at her niece with an odd expression. "He's back?" she whispered.
Charlie looked at her aunt, and suddenly felt grateful that she was her mother's sister. She could speak of Voldemort, and Petunia would understand exactly what that meant, would have an idea of what would come. "He's back," she confirmed heavily. "I saw it myself, a month ago."
Petunia gripped Dudley tightly, and Vernon looked between them for a moment. "So this Voldyfellow is back, then?"
She managed not to laugh out loud, and could only imagine what Voldemort would think if he knew he was being referred to in such a disrespectful manner.
…actually, that wasn't something she wanted to imagine at all.
"Yeah."
"And he sent Dismembers to get you?"
"Seems like it."
Vernon stood still for a moment, mustache flapping as he thought. "There's only one thing to do, then. Get out of this house!"
Charlie stared with wide eyes. "Huh?"
"Get out! I should have done this years ago! Owls flying all over the place, weird things happening, flying cars and exploding deserts, freaks tumbling out of my fireplace-I've had it! You will not endanger my wife and son!"
While her uncle had often threatened to kick her out over the years, she never took him seriously until this moment. And she couldn't blame him.
Voldemort was dangerous. He would stop at nothing to get to her. He would kill his way to her. No matter how screwed up their relationship was, she would not allow the Dursleys to fall for her sake, never mind what Mr. Weasley or Sirius told her to do.
But before she could get out of her chair and go pack, a fifth owl flew from the living room, causing Vernon to let out a strangled string of curses. Charlie watched as the owl dropped a scarlet envelope in front of her aunt and took off.
Petunia stared at it with wide eyes. "It's a Howler," Charlie said hurriedly. "If you don't open it, it's going to explode open itself."
But her aunt refused to touch it. The envelope exploded open a few seconds later, and a deep voice echoed in the small kitchen. "Remember my last, Petunia."
The envelope turned to ash, and Petunia buried her head in her hands. Vernon eyed his wife in concern. "Petunia, dear?"
"She stays," came her muffled voice. Lifting her head, Petunia said with a bit more force, "the girl stays."
Dudley stared at his mother with wide eyes. Vernon blinked. "But Petunia-"
"She's staying here," Petunia snapped, getting to her feet. "If we throw her out, the neighbours will talk. We've had the girl for fifteen years. They'll notice her disappearance. We have to keep her." She turned to Charlie. "Get to bed. You'll be staying in the house from now on."
Nodding slowly, the girl rose. She had many questions to ask, but knew that this was not the time. "Thank you," she said softly before scampering off to her bedroom.
She knew she would encounter many more weird situations during this year and the next two years at Hogwarts.
But nothing would ever be as weird as the conversation she just had with her aunt, uncle and cousin in a spotless, gleaming kitchen this warm August night.
