Chapter 2: A letter for Harry.
"What if I fall?"
"But oh, my dear, what if you fly?"
Daddy had been cross, so cross with Harry that he'd sent him to his sorry excuse for a bedroom with no meals or chance to explain himself. Darling felt absolutely horrid. He was scrawny enough, and such punishments were already far too common for him when he deserved none of it. Sure, he was odd, and strange things happened around him, but what right did that give Daddy to punish him so? He was just a boy, just a little boy no older than Dudley or herself, not ill-willed or horrid in any way.
Darling would've gladly taken his punishment for herself. She could go a night without supper or dinner. She tried it once, skipped a few meals just to see how it felt, just to feel the surface of Harry's pain. To see how long she could go, and in a way punish herself for her lack of ability to do anything for him.
It went on for a few days before she put herself in the hospital. It was, admittedly, very silly and uncharacteristic for her with the maturity she possessed, but at the end of the day she was still a child herself. Just a little smarter, a little wiser than most her age.
That night, after the crazy day the Dursleys had, she snuck a sandwich and a stash of biscuits to Harry; left them outside his door very quietly with a box of juice. Poor substitutes for a proper meal, but those were all she could manage without getting too suspicious. And Harry, well-meaning and sweet, had almost blown it the next day when he kept looking at her like she'd grown a third head, trying to figure out if she had been the one to leave him food.
Darling had awkwardly avoided him for the most part of the day, where everyone could see them. Everyone else chalked it off to trauma, pinning the blame of the zoo incident on poor Harry. She wasn't sure how to help, so keeping quiet and remaining normal enough to please the rest of her family had been her best option.
They grounded him for the longest time.
In the following days to come from that disastrous, birthday-trip-to-the-zoo gone wrong, Darling was honestly at quite a loss. Anyone would be, given the situation.
First, the string of mysterious letters and pretty feathers that Daddy and Mummy were absolutely livid with. Who were they from, and how did the sender have so many owls to spare?
Why was Harry not allowed to touch them? Why were they disposed of, shredded or burnt as soon as they were found?
Those were Harry's letters. She knew, from the moment Daddy ripped them from her cousin's grasp and forbid him from beating them. The word freak surfaced a lot as of late as well, a harsh name they only ever used when they were reminded of something the children weren't privy to. Darling didn't know what, but she was fairly sure they were hiding something. Something big, something that might just empower Harry Potter and free him from her family's twelve-years old tyranny. Or at least, give him hope in this sad, sorry circumstance he'd been forced to live and grow up in.
Darling finally had a chance to start making it up to Harry, to work on that decade's worth debt of apologies she and the rest of her kin owe to the boy. She owed this to her Aunt Lily and Uncle James Potter, his parents who surely loved him but had not been able to live long enough to show that. She owed this, to the little boy she used to play with, wonder-eyed and precious with a smile she had not seen in years. To her first, dearest friend, after her distanced brother.
Daddy had been prepared, however. Getting to the mail hadn't been an easy task, especially when Dudley caught on to what she was up to. Exposed her he did, and now Mummy was aware too, but Darling had been lucky enough that their father believed her when she admitted (lied) about being curious. Nothing you should concern yourself with, poppet.
Except it was, because this was unwarranted injustice towards her cousin. She had been sitting idle for far too long, and it was time to do something for him. This was easy enough a task that she ought to accomplish.
And it was. Her bedroom had windows, and as soon as she decided on opening them just a little, letters appeared in a neat pile the very next day. She left treats for the owls, adorable creatures that she spent hours looking at, mesmerised by the patterns on their feathers. She'd never seen so many up close before. Getting it to Harry was the challenge. She couldn't slide it to him in homework or books without arousing suspicion, for she was supposedly the smarter of the twins and had never pushed homework onto Harry like Dudley used to, until his grades began paying the price for it. Meanwhile, Harry's improved thanks to the extra practice.
She could slip it under the door, leave it there for him to find, but firstly, there was a risk of either of her parents or Dudley somehow coming across it. Bad luck seemed to strike at the most unexpected of times, and she wouldn't want to get Harry in trouble.
Admittedly, the brunette was also hoping for a chance to speak with her cousin. A proper conversation that she'd been hoping for for years on end, granted by this slim window of opportunity. She just wanted her cousin back, wanted Harry back. Dudley had shut her out, and she didn't see any chance of him letting her back in anytime soon. Mummy–Mummy was– well..
Daddy loved her, that she did not question, but there was something she wanted that none of her direct family could give. Acknowledgement, understanding. They were of a different frequency, and it was so, so tiring and lonely to simply co-exist alongside loved ones instead of truly being a family. Darling had never felt like she belonged, no matter what she did. Perhaps it was simply due to the onset of puberty, these thoughts and insecurities of hers, but it felt like her identity had always been unclear to her. From childhood to pre-adolescence, this untangible darkness has always followed her, trailing after the child like a phantom, a shadow.
Harry was her last shot at feeing human, at having an anchor. It sounded selfish, and she supposed it was. Did she truly love him, care for him, as a cousin should, or was she merely using him to satisfy her own needs?
Regardless, tonight, she would act. Before this week was over, Harry would get his letter. He deserved that, at least. A small bit of consolation in the crapout draw the lottery of life had given him.
Darling tip-toed down the stairs in the dead of the night, confident that Dudley was deeply asleep with the way he snored, her father's own joining his in a horrible symphony that she was sure her mother plugged her own ears in order to sleep through. Once safely downstairs, she hurried over to his door, lavender nightgown brushing at and tickling her ankles. "Harry," whispered Darling, light taps on his rickety door meant to catch his attention. "Harry, it's me, Darling. Open up."
It opened with a light click, and shocking green eyes peered out, curious and uncertain. She immediately handed him the letter, and it took him a moment to realise what it was. A smile lit his face, but it was quickly followed by a confused frown, thick brows pulling together as figurative gears whirred in his head.
"This is mine," he stated, disbelieving. In all his years of being alive, no one outside this family and their circle of friends knew of his existence. Harry didn't have any friends or living relatives that cared enough to write to him, or knew of his existence under the tiny cupboard in Privet Drive.
"Yours, Harry. All yours. Read it." Encouraged his cousin, unreadable emotion glittering in bright green eyes not unlike his own. They were like little cats, come out to play when everyone had gone to bed, eyes twinkling like stars in the dark blanket of night.
His letter.
The letter that he wasted no time in opening.
Words, ink on parchment, greeted him.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry blinked. Once. Twice. His mouth opened and closed in mimicry of a goldfish, and Darling smiles at the sight. Harry was so silly sometimes.
"What does it mean, they await my owl?"
She peered over at his letter, and now it was her turn to frown. Was this some sort of horrible prank that Dudley's goons were pulling? A school for witchcraft and wizardry? Order of Merlin? There were no such orders in Britain. And what was a Mugwump?
Harry was being bullied at school. She knew that, had known since ages ago. This strange letter was fishy. Harry had been having strange dreams as of late. Perhaps Dudley had squealed of them to his friends, made a joke or five at Harry's expense. But why go through all the trouble of so many owls? This was far too elaborate of a prank, and she highly doubted any of them could pull it off regardless of their wits, or lack thereof, combined.
"Have you met someone, Harry? Outside the house. Outside school." She knew he'd been spending whatever time he could away from the Dursley home. Not that she could blame him.
"No. No one wants to be around me, and I don't go talking to strangers."
She almost winced. 'I want to be around you, Harry.'
"Did you apply for a club of sorts? A school? How do they know to find you? That you live in a cupboard under the stairs?"
"N-No. I didn't do anything, I swear." Stammered the boy, hands held up in surrender. Darling inwardly cursed. "Sorry, Harry. I'm not mad." She said, hand raising and dropping in a split-second struggle to decide between comforting him and not. The latter had obviously been her decision. He nodded, eyeing her warily with his chin tilted down. Sometimes, Darling realised, she could be so insensitive.
She sighed, running a hand through her chocolate curls. "Do you want to write back?"
"How?"
She paused. Owl. It was practically an owlery upstairs, on the roof. Surely they could take the letter back? Was that why they were outside, waiting serenely like stone golemns in the first place? For Harry's reply?
"Write. You know how to write letters, don't you? A reply, like we learnt in school."
He did. "Will we use the owls outside?" Darling puffed out her chest proudly. "Smart boy. Pen your reply, and hand it to me. They're outside my window too."
"You're helping me?" He asked, surprise in his voice. Darling Dursley, helping Harry Potter? He wasn't pigheaded like her male counterpart—he knew Darling had been the one leaving him snacks when they refused him his meals, that the one nagging at Dudley not to stomp down the stairs every morning was her, but never had he expected any direct involvement. She could get in so much trouble for this, could lose Uncle Vernon's favour towards her. Handing Harry Potter his letter, talking to him in the dead of night.
"It's the right thing to do."
Oh. Of course. Harry swallowed, and quickly went to search for pen and paper. "Quickly now, Harry," she urged, and he penned down his name, hand hovering above the page as he contemplated what to write.
"What do I write? Do I accept?" He looked towards Darling, who looked equally as unsure.
"Uhm." This was risky. The people behind this could be criminals for all they knew. Child kidnappers, bad people that Harry had someone caught the eyes of.
Yet what if magic was real? What if all their childhood fantasies and stories were true? Harry's oddity would be explained, all those moments of strange happenings and unexplainable mishaps finally accounted for. It would explain the snake tank incident, and the times where glass and lightbulbs suddenly shattered, when things suddenly went South with no clear reason.
"Well," she started, trying to come up with a good enough reason to convince. "They already know where we live," she murmured, meant only for herself. "Do you believe this, Harry?"
Harry paused. He was indescribably happy to have received a letter, his first letter, from people he hadn't known, from a school that sounded far from believable. What if this was all a hoax?
"Do you believe in magic?"
What if this was all a lie? His hopes would've been raised for nothing.
Darling bit at her lip. Harry was so eager, so starved of hope and anything good in life. Was the world really so cruel, to deny him again? This could be his chance at freedom. A better life. If Hogwarts existed, she prayed it did, he could have a place to belong to. They could help this poor boy who deserved so much better.
She broke the silence. "I think I believe in magic, Harry."
Hopeful eyes looked towards her, growing brighter by the minute. "You do?"
She smiled, uneasy churning in her guts. She didn't. She lied, as she always did. But this was for Harry's sake. A little dream she could entertain, try to keep up, for as long as possible, if only so he would keep that look in his eyes a little longer.
"I do," Darling agreed firmly, "And I do believe, Harry James Potter, that you're a wizard."
Harry Potter smiled, smiled at Darling, like he hadn't in years.
The owls took the letter, sealed into an envelope Darling managed to find, and the spam mail stopped coming. Mummy and Daddy had been absolutely delighted to find all the owls gone, vanished overnight, and Harry and Darling kept what they had done a secret. Life went on, and the little lantern that carried Harry's rekindled hope flickered on steadily, wavering ever so slightly every now and then.
Then Harry's eleventh Birthday approached, but in his anticipation for a reply even he forgot about it. It had never been a memorable enough occasion at the Dursley's anyways. Only Darling remembered, and even then she dared not bring it up in the day when the Dursley's might hear make his day extra unpleasant, or ruin the sacredness of it.
Each year, Darling gave him a little gift, left outside his door in the dead of night. Sometimes, they were books, or stationery, sometimes even candy or little trinkets or toys she saved up for. Nothing fancy or too big and eye-catching, of course, god knew how attentive Dudley could be when it came to Harry. This year, she'd saved up enough for a good scarf. Green, like Harry's eyes. Simple, unprinted, but enough to keep Harry warm.
Dudley also did not like green, so there was that. From his skewed sense of fashion no doubt inherited from their parents, he and them would likely find the green scarf a horrendous piece. It wasn't anything fancy or trendy, but she felt it suited him just find. Simple and elegant. She just hoped they paid no attention to it, and that if they did they'd believe her lie about it being from the cupboard. An old, unvalued gift that Dudley hadn't wanted and left up there for the moths that they could afford to spare on Harry.
It had been folded up nicely, sitting under her bed in a nice little package. Night fell, and brought with it a storm, thundery showers that Dudley and Daddy still managed to sleep through. Only Harry and Darling remained awake, one restless and unable to sleep, the other waiting to present a gift.
Darling had only set one foot outside her room when the doorbell rang, followed by heavy knocking that surely woke the entire house up. She cursed in a most unrefined manner, and made a run for her own room, parcel sliding under her bed again as she slid back under the covers. Next door, she heard the adults stiring, heavy thumps on wooden floors as they tumbled out of bed and plodded in the halls, down the stairs and to the door.
She heard Dudley's door swing open as well, and petulant shouting that may as well have woken the entire neighbourhood. It was a good thing there was that storm outside.
Sliding out of bed (again), she hurried out as well, taking care to look as if she'd been rudely awoken herself. Darling glided down the stairs with a lazy grip on the banisters, eyes narrowed on purpose to look as if they were still in the midst of opening.
Daddy answered the door, yelled at whoever was outside, then stumbled back as it swung open to reveal a giant, bearded man that had Dudley and Mummy cowering back in fear.
"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey..." He grumbled, beady black beetles for eyes roaming the room in search of something.
"Am lookin' fer Harry Potter. Go' his reply. Gla' yer lettin' him atten' Hogwarts, Dumbledore was worrie' ye woul'n't," The man said, and Darling immediately recognised the names Dumbledore and Hogwarts from the letter.
"HE WILL DO NO SUCH THING! WE DID NOT ALLOW THIS!"
Harry's cupboard door swung open, earning him a yell from the man of the house to get back in. One look at the hairy giant and he froze, eyes wide in both poorly hidden awe and fear.
"An' here's Harry!" remarked the giant. His fierce, shadowy face stretched upwards in a big, goofy smile, and Darling suddenly found him far less intimidating than his looks presented him. He stepped in, to most of the Dursley's dismay and against Daddy's protests, sitting himself on a couch that seemed to strain under his great weight.
"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the stranger. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yet mom's eyes."
He knew Aunt Lily and Uncle James?
Daddy made a funny rasping noise, and demanded that the uninvited houseguest leave at once. "Fetch me my gun," he told mummy, who hurriedly disappeared and left Dudley alone. Dudley hurried to the nearest human wall available; Darling.
She sighed.
"Anyway, Harry," began the giant, gesturing for Harry to come over, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here - I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right." He produced a flattened box, and Harry opened it to reveal what looked like cake. Mildly squashed, but the words on it were clear as day. Green icing spelled out the words he wanted to hear most, on this special day meant to celebrate his entering the world, surrounded by loved ones that Harry did not have.
Happy Birthday Harry.
Harry looked up at the giant, at a loss for words.
"Who are you?"
The behemoth of a man gave a deep chuckle. "True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts." Petunia Dursley returned with the gun. Darling stared warily at the weapon Daddy held, safety turned off and ready to shoot at any moment.
"Daddy," she warned.
"Quiet, Darling. This man is dangerous," was her answer, but she was not having it. "No, Daddy, that gun is lethal. If he wanted to hurt us he would've already. He's here for Harry," she said, and Hagrid hummed in agreement.
"See, tha' lass is smar', got brain' unlike yeh lot. Sure yer family?" He sneered. Daddy sputtered at the insult. "They're my family, Hagrid, sir." She said, not quite approving of his unkind words. You could be low, or you could be polite and a better person.
"I'll get you tea," she said, to Mummy and Daddy's horror. Dudley just stared, because the absurdity of the situation and his sister's nonchalance didn't seem to make sense at all, in his opinion. Frankly, none of this made sense to her either, but Darling was Darling, and her mind moved quicker than most did. At present, she had decided that this was far beyond her control, and he seemed nice enough, going so far as to get Harry a cake even.
"... Thank yeh, lass. Darling, was i'?" She nodded, flitting off to the kitchen.
Yelling ensued as soon as she did, and the night became fairly chaotic. When all was said and done, the Dursleys emerged unvictorious in their argument against the friendly, intimidating giant.
Darling was upset, to be honest, that Hagrid has given her brother a tail, even if he did deserve it. It was funny, but also a little worrying considering it was magic, and none of them were the least bit familiar with it. Dudley could've been permanently cursed, hexed or whatever it was, and Hagrid had offered no explanation for it, leaving abruptly with Harry before Darling could get any more questions in.
But Harry's sad, sad story preoccupied her thoughts more than the prospect of a pig-tailed (literally) brother. A boy who had everything and lost it all, turned over to relatives who were meant to look after him until he was old enough to reclaim his status as the Son of Lily and James Potter. They had died wrongfully, murdered by a force of evil that only Harry had somehow survived. And the more Hagrid spoke, the more her heart ached for the relatives she never got to know, for their son who was innocent in all of this and deserved a pair of good, loving parents, not this sorry excuse for relatives that had been thrust upon him.
And that evil was still out there.
Darling followed Hagrid to the door as her parents screamed and fussed over Dudley's new tail upstairs. "That was mean," she said, stopping the giant in his tracks. He turned around to look at her, a little grumpy, but she could see the apology in his eyes, and his gaze softened as he looked at her. "Sorreh, lass. Los' me temper. It'll wear off by 'morrow, promise." He said. "Now off ta' bed, Darlin'. Harry tuh. It's late, and yeh growing tot' need yeh good nigh's res'."
She frowned. There were many questions she needed answered, many things she had to know.
"Tell us more, about Lily and James." Harry hurried up to her side at this, at the names of his parents that he only knew from mentions. Not even pictures remained of them.
Hagrid paused.
"Lily an' James. Good people, oh, poor folks. Deserve' nunnah tha'. They loved yeh, Harry. So much. Yer dad was good and brave, yuh look jus' like 'im, did ah mention tha'?" He said, tears welling up in his eyes. The giant seemed so human now, just like the rest of them, mourning for people dear to him. Settled a hand on both their shoulders.
"Lily was a good woman, kind and spirited and the smartest witch o' 'er time. Yer eyes are jus' like 'ers." He paused again, staring intently at Darling. She fidgeted, under his scrutinising gaze.
"Yer definitely Lily's niece," he finally said, and she indicated her confusion with a curious tilt of her head.
"Yer almos' a spittin' image o' when she was 'bout yer age."
