The Vanishing Glass

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their niece on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mrs. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets — but Darby Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blonde girl riding her first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with her mother, being hugged and kissed by her father. The room held no sign at all that another girl lived in the house, too.

Yet Harriet Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Her Uncle Peter was awake and it was his shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry woke with a start. Her uncle rapped on the door again.

"Up!" he screeched. Harry heard him walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. She rolled onto her back and tried to remember the dream she had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. She had a funny feeling she'd had the same dream before.

Her uncle was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" he demanded.

"Nearly," said Harry.

"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 Darby's birthday."

Harry groaned.

"What did you say?" her uncle snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing…"

Darby's birthday — how could she have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. She found a pair under her bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where she slept.

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

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for her age. She looked even smaller and skinnier than she really was because all she had to wear were old clothes of Darby's, and Darby was about four times bigger than she was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. She wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Darby had punched her on the nose. The only thing Harry liked about her own appearance was a very thin scar on her forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. She had had it as long as she could remember, and the first question she could ever remember asking his Uncle Peter was how she had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," he had said. "And don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions — that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Aunt Vera entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" she barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Aunt Vera looked over the top of her newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the girls in her class put together, but it made no difference, her hair simply grew that way — all over the place.

Harry was frying eggs by the time Darby arrived in the kitchen with her father. Darby looked a lot like Aunt Vera. She had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on her thick, fat head. Uncle Peter often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel — Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Darby, meanwhile, was counting her presents. Her face fell.

"Thirty-six," she said, looking up at her mother and father. "That's two less than last year." "Darling, you haven't counted Uncle Mark's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Darby, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Darby tantrum coming on, began wolfing down her bacon as fast as possible in case Darby turned the table over.

Uncle Peter obviously scented danger, too, because he 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?" Darby thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally she said slowly, "So I'll have thirty… thirty…"

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Uncle Peter.

"Oh." Darby sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Aunt Vera chuckled.

"Little tyke wants her money's worth, just like her mother. 'Atta girl, Darby!" She ruffled Darby's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Uncle Peter went to answer it while Harry and Aunt Vera watched Darby unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. She was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Uncle Peter came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vera," he said. "Mr. Figg's broken his leg. He can't take her." He jerked his head in Harriet's direction.

Darby's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's heart gave a leap. Every year on Darby's birthday, her parents took her and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harriet was left behind with Mr. Figg, a mad old man who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mr. Figg made her look at photographs of all the cats he'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Uncle Peter, looking furiously at Harry as though she'd planned this. Harry knew she ought to feel sorry that Mr. Figg had broken his leg, but it wasn't easy when she reminded herself it would be a whole year before she had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mrs. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Mark," Aunt Vera suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vera, he hates the girl."

The Dursleys often spoke about Harriet like this, as though she wasn't there — or rather, as though she was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-his-name, your friend — Yves?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Uncle Peter.

"You could just leave me here," Harry put in hopefully (she'd be able to watch what she wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Darby's computer).

Uncle Peter looked as though he'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" he snarled.

"I won't blow up the house," said Harriet, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take her to the zoo," said Uncle Peter slowly, "… and leave her in the car…"

"That car's new, she's not sitting in it alone…"

Darby began to cry loudly. In fact, she wasn't really crying — it had been years since she'd really cried — but she knew that if she screwed up her face and wailed, her father would give her anything she wanted.

"Dinky Darbydums, don't cry, Daddy won't let her spoil your special day!" he cried, flinging his arms around her.

"I… don't… want… her… t-t-to come!" Darby yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "She always sp-spoils everything!" She shot Harriet a nasty grin through the gap in her father's arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang — "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Uncle Peter frantically — and a moment later, Darby's best friend, Petra Polkiss, walked in with her father. Petra was a scrawny girl with a face like a rat. She was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Darby hit them. Darby stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe her luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Petra and Darby, on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. Her aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with her, but before they'd left, Aunt had taken Harriet aside.

"I'm warning you," she had said, putting her large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, girl — any funny business, anything at all — and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly…"

But Aunt Vera didn't believe her. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Dursleys she didn't make them happen.

Once, Uncle Peter, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though she hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut her hair so short she was almost bald except for her bangs, which he left "to hide that horrible scar." Darby had laughed herself silly at Harriet, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where she was already laughed at for her baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, she had gotten up to find her hair exactly as it had been before Uncle Peter had sheared it off. She had been given a week in her cupboard for this, even though she had tried to explain that she couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Uncle Peter had been trying to force her into a revolting old sweater of Darby's (brown with orange puff balls). The harder he tried to pull it over her head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Harriet. Uncle Peter had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to her great relief, Harry wasn't punished.

On the other hand, she'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Darby's gang had been chasing her as usual when, as much to Harry's surprise as anyone else's, there she was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry's headmaster telling them Harriet had been climbing school buildings. But all she'd tried to do (as he shouted at Aunt Vera through the locked door of her cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught her in mid-jump.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Darby and Petra to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, her cupboard, or Mr. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While she drove, Aunt Vera complained to Uncle Peter. She liked to complain about things: people at work, Harriet, the council, Harriet, the bank, and Harriet were just a few of her favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

"… roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," she said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."

Aunt Vera nearly crashed into the car in front. She turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, her face like a gigantic beet with a mole: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Darby and Petra sniggered.

"I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."

But she wished she hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than her asking questions, it was her talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon — they seemed to think she might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Darby and Petra large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry what she wanted before they could hurry her away, they bought her a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Darby, except that it wasn't blonde.

Harriet had the best morning she'd had in a long time. She was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Darby and Petra, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting her. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Darby had a tantrum because her knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Aunt Vera bought her another one and Harry was allowed to finish the first.

Harry felt, afterward, that she should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Darby and Petra wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Darby quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Aunt Vera's car and crushed it into a trash can — but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Darby stood with her nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," she whined at her mother. Aunt Vera tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Darby ordered. Aunt Vera rapped the glass smartly with her knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Darby moaned. She shuffled away.

Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. She wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself — no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Uncle Peter hammering on the door to wake you up; at least she got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harriet's.

It winked.

Harry stared. Then she looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't. She looked back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Aunt Vera and Darby, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly:

"I get that all the time."

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though she wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?"

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see — so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump.

"DARBY! MRS. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Darby came waddling toward them as fast as she could.

"Out of the way, you," she said, punching Harriet in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened — one second, Petra and Darby were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come… Thanksss, amigo."

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," she kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director herself made Uncle Peter a cup of strong, sweet tea while she apologized over and over again. Petra and Darby could only gibber. As far as Harriet had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Aunt Vera's car, Darby was telling them how it had nearly bitten off her leg, while Petra was swearing it had tried to squeeze her to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Petra calming down enough to say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?"

Aunt Vera waited until Petra was safely out of the house before starting on Harriet. She was so angry she could hardly speak. She managed to say, "Go — cupboard — stay — no meals," before she collapsed into a chair, and Uncle Peter had to run and get her a large brandy.

Harry lay in her dark cupboard much later, wishing she had a watch. She didn't know what time it was, and she couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, she couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

She'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as she could remember, ever since she'd been a baby and her parents had died in that car crash. She couldn't remember being in the car when her parents had died. Sometimes, when she strained her memory during long hours in her cupboard, she came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on her forehead. This, she supposed, was the crash, though she couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. She couldn't remember her parents at all. Her aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course she was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When she had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take her away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were her only family. Yet sometimes she thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know her. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny woman in a violet top hat had bowed to her once while out shopping with Uncle Peter and Darby. After asking Harriet furiously if she knew the man, Uncle Peter had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old man dressed all in green had waved merrily at her once on a bus. A bald woman in a very long purple coat had actually shaken her hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harriet tried to get a closer look.

At school, Harry had no one. Everybody knew that Darby's gang hated that odd Harry Potter in her baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Darby's gang.