Disclaimer: I make no claim to the rights of any characters that are owned by J.K. Rowling or Warner Bros., and make no money from this venture. This work is purely for entertainment purposes.

— CHAPTER ONE —

Everything Changes

Harry Potter looked up at the man looming over him. He was a very old man, judging by the long, silvery-grey beard and the almost equally long and silvery-grey hair. He wore golden, half-moon spectacles and Harry could somehow tell that he had a smile on his aged face despite the fact that his mouth, and the rest of his face for that matter, was obscured somehow, as though he almost didn't have a face at all. The man then suddenly turned around to leave and Harry felt the urge to call him back, but he found himself unable to do so. When the man was out of Harry's vision, he heard the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle roaring to life, its wheels squealing on the gravel as it quickly drove off into the distance.

Then, as was usual in dreams such as these, Harry saw a flash of green light that engulfed the entirety of his vision, felt a terrifying sense of impending doom and heard a strange, high-pitched, cruel laugh which made him shiver, even in his dream state.

Harry woke with a start, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. He found that he had become wrapped up in the dust covered sheets on which he slept and struggled to extricate himself from them. This was the third time in a week that he had woken up in this manner, and from the exact same dream as well. There had been no differences whatsoever with the dreams. Even the end result was always the same. He always awoke suddenly, sweating, breathing quickly and scared of something that he couldn't quite comprehend or understand.

What is with this dream? Harry thought exasperatedly as he rubbed the lightning bolt scar on his forehead that had, as it always did after that particular dream, started to prickle. The bed on which he slept creaked softly as he sat up and looked around the tiny room, if you could even call it that. Harry slowly, and with shaking hands, put his black, round-rimmed glasses on. He could feel the tape on the bridge of his nose at first, but soon ignored it, as he had learned to do. It was extremely dark in the room, but then again, it always was as he didn't have a window and no light could get through the closed grate on the door.

Harry's bedroom was the cupboard under the stairs, and had been since he could remember. His aunt and uncle made him sleep there because they didn't like him in the slightest; a statement which Harry felt was a rather large understatement. Harry knew full well that, while they would never openly say it, they quietly encouraged Dudley, their son and Harry's cousin, to torment Harry wherever possible. It was very rarely that they did anything to him, but they always managed to look the other way whenever Dudley did something.

To say that Harry and Dudley were not treated equally was another rather large understatement. Harry's aunt and uncle saw their son as nothing short of an angel and believed that he could do no wrong. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to do something wrong by breathing, though Harry had never worked out just what it was that he was doing wrong.

Harry heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall above him, the sounds of which were amplified given his position directly beneath them. He gathered from the speed and intensity of the footsteps that it could only be his cousin. When the footsteps reached the middle of the stairs, they stopped abruptly. Harry then heard, and felt, his rather large cousin jumping up and down on the stairs, causing dirt and dust to fall from the roof of the cupboard, onto Harry's head and his bed. The only thing that made this bearable to Harry was that he knew that jumping on the stairs would cause his cousin to lose his breath. While he was coughing and spluttering, he heard a laugh from the stairs above him. Harry then attempted to pull on his socks when there was a sudden rapping at the door to the cupboard.

"Get up! Now!" Aunt Petunia screeched at him, as she did every morning, usually awakening him. She rapped a few more times on the small grate for good measure. "Hurry up!"

Harry was used to this type of treatment. It was almost like a morning ritual for Petunia Dursley. This 'ritual' of hers also seemed to include craning her neck to look into the neighbours' yards, puttering around the kitchen worried about what people think of her and tending to her husband and child's every whim, both of whom were too large to do much for themselves. Due to the apparent stress that she dealt with every day, Aunt Petunia was very skinny. At least, she was when compared to other members of her family besides Harry, who seemed to be entirely too skinny. Aunt Petunia seemed to take immaculate care of herself, particularly her blonde hair. Aunt Petunia truly believed that she was better than everybody else, though Harry knew that to be an outright lie. Not that anyone would ever believe him.

When Harry opened the door to the cupboard, he heard his cousin laughing again and saw him running. Harry was swiftly pushed back into the cupboard, with the door slammed shut once more. Harry groaned, but otherwise remained silent, knowing what would happen if he ever complained. He got up once again and entered the kitchen where he saw his cousin already sitting down to his 'hearty' breakfast of sausages and bacon wrapped in pancakes.

Dudley Dursley was a very large eleven-year-old with a mop of blonde hair that sat upon his head rather than grew from it. Everything about Dudley seemed cruel, right down to his strangely cold blue eyes. It seemed, to Harry, that Dudley's chair should have been made bigger for him. Harry had always had a strong dislike for Dudley, due to the fact that he always found time to make Harry miserable. More often than not, Dudley did not do this alone. Usually, Dudley's best friend Piers Polkiss joined him to help make Harry into their very own personal punching bag.

Seated next to Dudley at the table was a man who looked to be the size of a small whale. Vernon Dursley, the undisputed head of the household, had black hair but, unlike his nephew, he kept his hair neatly parted and never looked at all the least bit scruffy. Uncle Vernon seemed to have no discernable neck, however he did have a thick black moustache, which was his defining feature. It was always a sight to see Uncle Vernon get angry because his face would turn a deep purple and Harry had always found the look rather humorous even though he was nearly always the one on the receiving end of the anger.

Harry quickly got to work, cooking breakfast for himself, although he couldn't think that making toast and having only a light spread of butter on it was actually cooking. Harry counted himself lucky that Dudley and Uncle Vernon had already been fed, otherwise he would have been forced to make their breakfast for them as well. He had just put the bread into the toaster when he heard Aunt Petunia behind him.

"Don't burn it!" she barked at him. She didn't trust Harry in the slightest despite that he had used a toaster hundreds of times in his short life.

"I won't Aunt Petunia," Harry replied for what had to be the millionth time. It was all he could say to her warnings as it was all she really wanted from him. Anything more and she would yell at him. Anything less and she would yell at him. Yelling seemed to be fun for her, though Harry thought the stress would be bad, not that he really cared all that much about his aunt's stress levels.

"You had better not. That toaster is virtually brand new and you wouldn't want to be the one to ruin it now would you?" she asked him matter-of-factly, not really expecting an answer at all. Harry turned to look at her and saw she was glaring at him as if she wanted him dead.That look again, Harry thought feeling rather annoyed. During the whole exchange Uncle Vernon and Dudley never once looked in his direction, focusing all of their efforts on attempting to see the television from where they were sitting. In their defence, they appeared to be succeeding.

Harry ate quickly and left to go back to his cupboard to be alone and think. He thought about many things during the long days at Number 4, Privet Drive. On this particular day his thoughts lingered on his dreams for a particularly long time. Harry had experienced dreams like the one that had awoken him for as long as he could remember, but he could not make sense of them. They always seemed to be hiding something from him.

In one of the rare moments that he let his mind wander, it occurred to him that his birthday was just two weeks away and that he would turn eleven. It really didn't seem like a big deal to him, as it never did, because the Dursleys only ever acknowledged it with really poor gifts. I wonder what it will be this year? Dog food? A piece of paper? A tissue? Harry thought bitterly to himself. He never liked his birthday at all. At least no more than any other day. It was just another day to him, just as it was for the Dursleys.

The rest of the day went by completely uneventfully as Harry stayed out of sight and the others forgot he even existed. The following day, after Aunt Petunia had woken him up with a start, he made breakfast for himself and, much to his dismay, Uncle Vernon and Dudley as well. It didn't go down well at all with complaining from the other two about a lot of supposed 'problems' with Harry's meal. "The toast is too dry – Did you even cook this bacon? – Is this an egg? Tastes more like paper to me." Harry bore these comments because he knew that they would eat it all, regardless. Ungrateful gits.

After breakfast Harry decided to go outside and lay on the grass in the backyard for a while, which he soon figured out was a very stupid idea. After about ten minutes of relaxation, he felt a hard blow to his ribs and laughter coming from above him. He stood up slowly, groaning and clutching at his ribs as he felt the anger rise within him and his pulse quicken as he looked at Dudley's pig-like face. Dudley kept laughing but was able to get in a sentence.

"Aw...did that kick hurt little Harry's side did it?" Dudley asked mockingly with a large, evil smile on his face before breaking out in laughter again and then when he finally stopped laughing he looked Harry directly in the eyes and threw a punch aimed at Harry's stomach. Harry clutched at his stomach and felt himself fall backwards and to the ground. His pulse became even faster.

Harry looked up at his cousin with anger burning in his emerald green eyes. Then, right before his very eyes, all of Dudley's clothes disappeared except for his underwear. It took a moment for Dudley to register what had happened before he ran into the house crying, or at least pretending to, while Harry was unable to control his laughter. It was hurting his ribs but it was more than worth it to see the look on Dudley's face. He didn't know what had happened to Dudley and, in the moment, he didn't care. As his laughter died down his eyes sparkled more than they had in many previous weeks.

When he finally stopped laughing he was shocked to see a very purple Uncle Vernon actually run out of the house and towards Harry, who was now leaning against a tree in the backyard. Harry knew that this was not going to end well at all. When Uncle Vernon reached Harry he grabbed the scruff of his collar and pushed him up against the tree, almost crushing Harry's throat in the process.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?" Uncle Vernon roared at Harry with a horrible gleam in his blue eyes which Harry knew all too well.

"I didn't do anything to him. What did he do to me? Oh, I don't know. Kicked me in the ribs and then punched me in the stomach," Harry replied with a very hollow sound in his voice as if he were ready to finally explode after nearly ten years with these people.

"Don't take that tone with me, boy," Uncle Vernon spat, speaking much quieter than when he had first spoken to Harry. He let go of Harry's collar and slapped him hard across the face which left Harry with a red, hand shaped mark on his cheek. He grabbed hold of Harry's collar once again while he said, "And you know damn well you did something! My boy ran inside with only his undergarments on and I am damn sure you had something to do with it!"

"I didn't do anything at all. I swear. One minute his clothes were there and the next they were gone. I certainly wasn't going to undress him. Why would I?" Harry asked his uncle, his former courage disappearing under a wave of hurt and fright.

"Because you're a damn freak! You are only living under my roof because your worthless, good-for-nothing parents got themselves killed! And while you -" Uncle Vernon stopped suddenly and let go of Harry's collar slowly, his eyes widening almost comically. He looked as if his brain was actually formulating an idea, something which didn't happen very often. He then grabbed Harry's arm roughly and dragged him inside. Harry was surprised his shoulder didn't get dislocated at the force his uncle was pulling him.

When they got to the stairs he opened the cupboard door roughly and threw Harry in there, slammed the door and locked it from the outside. Harry wondered why he didn't say anything to him at all. Normally after being thrown into his 'room' he got a short, but very loud, lecture and a punishment length for whatever he had supposedly done wrong.

Over the years Harry had gotten in trouble for a lot of things that he didn't do but his aunt and uncle were absolutely sure that he had done. One time he got in trouble because he climbed a tree to get away from Dudley and Piers, but in reality he did no such thing. He just seemed toappear in the tree. He didn't know how he did it, nor did he care at the time.

That got him a week in the cupboard.

Another time, his least favourite teacher had sent a letter home saying that Harry had caused her hair to change colour. Apparently she said that he "hid paint somewhere in the room and somehow managed to paint my hair a couple of times". Harry had done no such thing.

This was two weeks.

He seemed to always be in trouble about his hair. His black hair seemed to never be flat, no matter how hard he or Aunt Petunia tried. And after every haircut he looked the same. It always somehow grew back to the way that it had been previously almost instantly, no matter how short it was cut.

Each failed haircut earned him a week in the cupboard.

During his musings, Harry started to hear some loud arguing upstairs. He knew from the muffled voices that it was Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon even though he could only vaguely make out some of what they were saying. He heard Uncle Vernon say, "We don't want him here, why not there?" to which he heard no replies until he heard Uncle Vernon say something else a minute or so later. "It isn't going away like we planned, Petunia. It's still happening. Maybe it can't be eradicated." Harry no longer thought the conversation was about him but listened anyway. What else could he do, stuck in the cupboard under the stairs like he was?

He heard Aunt Petunia say, "But that would mean that he would be like her." It almost sounded like Aunt Petunia was talking about one of her soap operas. Probably someone getting a brain transplant or something stupid like that Harry thought, remembering that from one time he had seen an episode of a show Aunt Petunia liked.

It was a few minutes before he heard anything else and when he did it was Uncle Vernon. "So when will we tell him? What do we tell Dudley?" This made Harry's interest grow a bit more.

"We tell him right now," Petunia replied firmly but with a slight hint of anxiousness in her voice. "And we tell Dudley as well. We shouldn't keep him out of the loop." That seemed to be the end of their conversation and less than five minutes later the latch to his door was being unlocked quickly and Harry was wondering what was going on. Uncle Vernon led him by the arm to the sitting room where Dudley was watching television. He hadn't heard even the slightest bit of his parents' argument.

"Dudley, turn that television off!" Uncle Vernon snapped at his son. Dudley began to protest, and loudly too, but Uncle Vernon cut him off by waving his fat hand in a 'stop' motion. "This is very important and your mother and I believe that you should be involved in this conversation because you live under the same roof as him." Uncle Vernon said calmly as he pointed one very large, sausage-like finger in Harry's general direction.

"Oh," Dudley then looked amazingly happy. "Are we finally getting rid of him?" he asked his father joyfully and incredulously as if all his Christmases had come at once. Harry had no doubt that would not be true. Despite how much they seemed to loathe him, they would never do that. Harry just wasn't that lucky. But he could always dream.

"Well ..." Uncle Vernon started slowly as both Harry and Dudley's jaws dropped at the thought of where they thought the sentence was going. "In a way, yes. But it is not a permanent change. Just for ... most of the year," A million things were going through Harry's head. What did Uncle Vernon mean? Why most of the year and not all of the year?Harry thought to himself anxiously.

This was beginning to sound a lot like boarding school which Harry would, no doubt, love compared to Number 4, Privet Drive. Harry saw Aunt Petunia enter the room out of the corner of his eye. He was also able to notice her pursed lips. What is going on? Harry wondered, thinking about pinching himself to see if what he was experiencing was actually just a cruel dream.

"Vernon dear, how about we start at the beginning?" Aunt Petunia asked her husband while Harry marvelled at how she could sound calm yet anxious at the same time. "With how Harry came here." Harry's jaw dropped again along with Dudley's. Aunt Petunia had addressed Harry by his own name. For the first time that Harry could remember. This was definitely something huge.

"Uh ... yes ... of course Petunia dear," Uncle Vernon said obviously rattled as well by his wife's use of Harry's name. "Now you both know that ... uh ... Harry ... was dropped off here almost ten years ago. And you know the story of how Harry's parents, Lily and James, died."

Another first. Harry had never known his parents' names before. Lily and James Potter. Those names seemed right somehow. Like they completed something within him.

"Yeah," Dudley said with a smirk directed at Harry, "They had a car crash and were both killed. But he survived." Anger began to rise within Harry again but he only clenched his fists and left it at that. No point angering his aunt and uncle. He could actually get to leave and he didn't want to ruin that. Uncle Vernon looked slightly uncomfortable at what Dudley had said and shifted in his seat.

"Um ... yes that is what we have said in the past ... but ... we, uh, weren't entirely telling the truth." The anger was rising again as Uncle Vernon looked at him and said. "They were not killed in a car crash. We, well, didn't like the way they were killed so we ... made it up." That was it.

"You made it up?" Harry asked incredulously. "You tell me one thing,one thing, about my parents and it's a lie?!"

Strangely, Uncle Vernon didn't look to be getting angry at all, obviously feeling a little guilt at what he and Aunt Petunia had done. This was something which Harry had never seen in him at all. He tried to talk but couldn't so Aunt Petunia picked up where he left off.

"We tried to keep it that way because we didn't like my sister. More to the point we didn't like her type. See she was ... different. As was your father." Aunt Petunia seemed to be talking directly to Harry at this point, completely ignoring Dudley. Harry was still very angry but seeing his aunt and uncle act this way calmed him down, albeit very slightly. They seemed genuinely ashamed and regretful of what they had done. That gave Harry at least a little bit of satisfaction. As he began to calm down it was Dudley's turn to lose it.

"You lied?!" he yelled, surprising both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Dudley seemed to calm himself a little after that. "I always believed you and dad to be the most honest people I knew. You always tell people what you think and never hold back. But now I find out you've been lying, even if it is to Harry." At the mention of Harry's name Dudley sent a quick smirk towards him as his mother looked at the same patch of floor his father was looking at.

Harry realised what was happening. Dudley wasn't worried about his mother and father lying to him. He just didn't want Harry to know the truth about his parents! This was the lowest Dudley had ever sunk. Dudley continued.

"And you think its fine by me that you go around lying all of the time? No!" At this, Dudley stood up, turned and stormed out of the room quickly followed by Petunia. As a door slammed shut in the distance Uncle Vernon looked Harry directly in the eye.

"We will continue the conversation later. I think it best for Dudley to know as well as you so we can deal with it. So until he comes out of his room just ... go and wait in your cupboard." This was the nicest that Uncle Vernon had ever been to Harry. He almost seemed like an actual uncle and not an evil mastermind trying to destroy Harry's life. Uncle Vernon left the room and hurried up the stairs to try to convince Dudley to leave his room.

Harry wasn't far behind him going to his cupboard and laying on his bed, his thoughts swimming in his head. Leaving Privet Drive? Boarding school? No car crash? Didn't like the way they were killed? What did they think this was? A book that they could rewrite to suit what they preferred? This was Harry's life and he was only now realising that there was something more to his existence than just being a little boy under the stairs. It was obviously something big. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia never acted the way Harry saw them act then. At least not towards him.

Harry tried to work out what this conversation was leading to but he ultimately concluded that he shouldn't try and build it up in his mind because he was probably going to be disappointed. But despite what he told himself, Harry couldn't help but hope. Hope was the only thing he had left after nearly ten years with the Dursleys.

Harry left his cupboard when Aunt Petunia announced dinner was ready but when he got there Dudley was still noticeably missing. Still sulking in his room no doubt, Harry thought to himself. Selfish, lying prat.

The three of them ate dinner in near silence as there was now even more awkwardness between Harry and his aunt and uncle. When he was finished his dinner, Harry got up and started to wash his plate.

"Leave it," Aunt Petunia said quietly. Harry was confused, but just left the plate and his utensils in the sink and moved into his cupboard where he remained until morning.

Harry did not get much sleep after the events of the previous day. He was still thinking about what was going on in Number 4 Privet Drive. There was an eerie silence throughout the house. No Dudley jumping on stairs. No Aunt Petunia banging on doors. No Uncle Vernon ranting about whatever came to his mind. Just silence. Harry got changed and left his strangely unlocked cupboard and went to the kitchen. No one was there. That was a surprise given Dudley and Uncle Vernon's love of food. Harry glanced at the clock and found that it was about breakfast time. Harry went into the sitting room where he found them all talking very quietly and he caught the end of the discussion.

"So you will be willing to listen to us if we do those things for you, Duddykins?" Aunt Petunia asked in a sickeningly sweet voice that sounded like she was talking to a one-year-old. Harry saw Dudley nod, tear streaks staining his overly large face, and look to where Harry had just walked in. Uncle Vernon noticed him as well.

"Ah, good. I was wondering where you were. We will be having the conversation tonight if all goes well. Dudley has agreed to listen to what Petunia and I have to say if we take him to an amusement park today," Uncle Vernon told Harry almost pleasantly. "But you cannot come with us. That's part of the deal. Dudley wants to take Piers and he doesn't want you there."

Dudley shot Harry a smirk and Harry wondered to himself why they needed to include Dudley in a conversation about him. It has nothing to do with Dudley. But since it needed to happen, Harry decided to just agree with everything.

"Okay Uncle Vernon. Where am I going to stay today, then?" he asked in a flat tone knowing full well where he was staying.

"We were thinking Mrs Figg would take you," Aunt Petunia said almost happily. Harry didn't hate Mrs Figg. She was certainly better than his own family. It was just her house in general. It always smelt like cabbage and there were cats everywhere. Harry was not exactly a cat person. He liked dogs more. Big black, shaggy dogs were his favourite.

Within the half-hour he was at Mrs Figg's house watching the Dursleys drive away. Oh well, Harry thought, at least I'm treated well by Mrs Figg. Mrs Figg was a small, thin, frail looking woman who always wore old looking clothes except when it was raining and she would wear a bright yellow raincoat that she had received as a gift a few years earlier. She liked cats very much and had owned hundreds over her long life and liked to show them to Harry whenever she could.

This visit however, Mrs Figg seemed even more delighted than usual to have Harry's company and seemed very excited about Harry's upcoming eleventh birthday. Even more so than Harry was, not that that was a particularly hard feat to accomplish.

"So, you turn eleven in a few days?" Mrs Figg asked Harry with a very broad smile which seemed to make her look years younger.

"Yeah. I do. On the thirty –" Harry started before being interrupted by Mrs Figg.

"Thirty-first of July," Mrs Figg said quietly and almost with a hint of awe in her voice. Harry wondered how she knew his birthday as he had never told her before and he was certain the Dursleys wouldn't have because they barely acknowledged it as it was.

"How did you know that Mrs Figg? I don't remember telling you," Harry asked curiously. He watched as it looked like Mrs Figg bit her tongue.

"Your aunt and uncle told me," said Mrs Figg quickly, nervously stroking the orange coloured cat on her lap. "Besides, I look after you a lot so why wouldn't I know?" Harry really couldn't argue with that but still felt that she wasn't telling him something.

"Fair enough," Harry replied with a suspicious glint in his emerald green eyes. Mrs Figg began talking again to cover the tension.

"Anyway, what I was getting at is that I made you something." She got up after sitting the cat on the couch next to her and left for the kitchen where Harry heard her run into something. He began to stand to go and see if she was alright but at that moment she walked back into the room with a platter in her hands with a large chocolate cake on it. If Harry was standing he might have fainted. Never in his life had he ever been given a cake for his birthday, or at all really. The Dursleys would never do it and no one else knew. He could feel tears coming to his eyes but he forced them down as he looked at the smiling Mrs Figg put the cake on the coffee table between them and begin to cut into it. She handed Harry a slice which Harry took happily.

"Thank you," Harry replied in a whisper to Mrs Figg after being given the rather generous slice of cake. Harry was shocked that anyone could treat him so well, and so nicely. She smiled as he began to eat and savour every bite. It was wonderful. It was not often that he got to eat cake but he really enjoyed it when he did, especially this time though because he knew it was for him and no one else.

As they ate, Mrs Figg talked to Harry about a lot of things but mainly her late husband who had died about twelve years prior. It was the best conversation Harry had ever had with an adult in his entire life up to that point because she wasn't a teacher or a member of the Dursley family. She was someone who seemed to want to talk to him.

It was perhaps four hours later when he heard the Dursleys pull up outside Mrs Figg's house and Harry's heart skipped a beat. The conversation is going to happen soon, Harry thought with a mixture of dread, anxiety and happiness. There was a loud knock on the door and Harry heard Aunt Petunia's high, shrill voice.

"Arabella!" That's an interesting name, Harry thought. "Harry can come now! We're running a tad bit late." Aunt Petunia never liked to be off schedule because her life revolved around order. If even one thing was out of place, it became her duty to correct that error.

Arabella Figg looked at Harry with a look of sadness. Harry realised she must have to go back to being lonely again and he felt a pang of sadness at the thought of this poor old woman alone.

"Time to go Harry. I hope you can come and stay again. If you liked the cake, I will make you another when you come over next. You look underfed," Mrs Figg told him with a slight smile.

"I really did enjoy it. Thank you, Mrs Figg." With that, Harry opened the front door and walked to the car, got in and listened to Dudley taunt him about missing the amusement park. Harry was on the verge of telling him about the cake but he thought he had better stay on his aunt and uncle's good side.

He and Dudley were both ushered into the living room and Aunt Petunia motioned to two recliners for them to sit in. Not a word had been said by her or her husband since leaving Mrs Figg's house. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia sat on the sofa opposite the two boys, but both sat close to the edge. Uncle Vernon looked like he was having trouble working out what to say first. It was five minutes before Uncle Vernon decided what to say. He sighed and looked directly at Harry, right into his emerald green eyes with his beady blue eyes. Harry's pulse hadn't slowed since sitting down and his stomach was churning.

"Harry," said Uncle Vernon somewhat reluctantly and with a hint of venom in his voice. "Your Aunt Petunia and I, as you know, haven't been truthful to you and we feel now is the time for you to know. For our sake as much as yours." Ah, thought Harry, there is something in it for you. Figures. There was a long, awkward pause while Uncle Vernon swallowed and motioned for Aunt Petunia to talk and she nodded. Taking more time still she looked torn. Harry looked at a strangely silent Dudley who was admiring a toy he had picked up at the theme park. He looked back at Aunt Petunia expectantly when she finally sighed, almost seeming to gag as she got the courage to tell him.

"Harry. You are a ... wizard."