"So, you're telling me all I've got to do is— tie a letter to this owl's leg and he'll find you without an address?" asked Dudley Dursley for what felt like the millionth time. "I don't get it, how is that even possible?"

His sister, Arabella, only laughed and ruffled her brother's neat blonde hair until it stuck about his head like a spiky halo.

"You'll get used to it," she said kindly, "the more you write to us, the more it'll get easier."

"But won't I look weird with an owl flying to my window? What do I say when someone asks about it?"

"Just act like dumb and steer the conversation to something else," said Lyla as she walked into the kitchen, "I'm sure it won't be hard to pull off considering— Oh! Good morning mummy!"

Petunia Dursley stood by the stove and shot her daughter a dangerous look before returning her attention to breakfast. Dudley only scowled at the comment and turned his attention to their mother.

"I want more bacon," he said loudly.

"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said Petunia, turning over some sizzling bacon. We must build you up while we've got the chance… I don't like the sound of that school food…"

"Nonsense, Petunia," said Vernon Dursley as he walked into the bustling kitchen. "I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings," he said heartily, "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?"

"Pass the frying pan," Dudley said, turning a glinting gaze on Arabella.

"You've forgotten the magic word," she said irritably, not appreciating her brother at that

The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Arabella grimaced and looked away, while Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; their mother gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth, while their father jumped to his feet.

"I meant 'please!" she said quickly. "You know I didn't mean—"

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," thundered their father, spraying spit over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE 'M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE? How DARE you threaten your brother! How many times must we—"

"I was just asking Dudley to be more polite!" shouted Lyla with a roll of her eyes. "Can I not tell off my own brother now?"

Their father sat back down, breathing heavily like a winded rhinoceros, and watched his red-haired daughter closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes.

Ever since returning home for the summer holidays, he'd acted very careful around them, treating them a bit like a bomb that might go off at any moment. Vernon Dursley, to say the least, appeared to struggle greatly with the idea that there were abnormal people who occupied the very normal world he lived in. Their mother and brother had adjusted to the idea rather quickly, while their father, not so much. He would sometimes pretend that he had forgotten all about the magical school his two daughters attended.

Lyla believed this to be a transition of sorts, as it must have taken a great deal of strength to admit his own daughters fit into the abnormal category.

Lyla and Arabella were witches— fresh from their first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Happy to be home in familiar and comfortable surroundings, both sisters often missed, as in Privet Drive, as the two were constantly tiptoeing around their father and his strong disposition to anything magic-related. The constant yearning to be back on the castle grounds felt like a stomach ache that would not dissipate.

At that moment, their father was clearing his throat.

"Now, as we all know, today is a very important day. This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career. I think we should go over the schedule, yes? Yes. We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be—"

"I'll be in the lounge," said their mother promptly, "waiting to welcome our guests graciously into our home."

"Right, and Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door," he said, putting on a rather horrible smile. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

"They'll absolutely adore him," sighed their mother with misty eyes.

Arabella and Lyla both had to bite their bottom lips hard to keep from giggling madly.

"Yes! Perfect," their father said, beaming wildly. "And you two will be…?"

"We'll be in the living room looking like pretty little dolls," said Lyla, smiling angelically. "And we'll give them a curt bow before complimenting them on their looks."

"And nothing funny," murmured Dudley.

"We'll sit down then and you'll engage in conversation," added Arabella with a serious expression. "We'll only intervene in said conversations when we deem worthy."

"Perfect!" cried their mother, eyes filling with tears.

Their father nodded.

"Petunia, after introductions have been made, you will pour our guests drinks. At eight-fifteen—"

"I shall announce dinner," their mother said.

"And, Dudley, you'll say—"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?" chirped Dudley, offering his thick arm to an invisible woman.

"My perfect little gentleman!" sniffed their mother.

"And you, Lyla dear?"

"Offer to guide Mrs. Mason into the dining room."

"Don't forget to add some compliments throughout dinner," their mother suggested quickly. "Vernon, darling, any ideas?"

Their father's eyes gleamed.

"Brilliant, Petunia! Brilliant! Why don't you girls compliment what Mrs. Mason wears and how elegant she is, while Petunia will compliment Mr. Mason's golfing skills and business logic."

"How about we— we tell them 'we had to write an essay about our heroes and we wrote about the Mason's."

All the siblings sniggered at that, but it was lost to their mother's tears as she flung her arms around her three children.

"Girls?"

"Oh, come on," said Arabella with a charming smile. "We're going to charm the pants off of the Mason's."

"Very well," said their father, chest swelling with pride. "Tonight is the night you almost shine at your fullest! Now go and clean your rooms, all of you! Nothing funny insight."

All the Dursley children nodded and headed up the stairs, Dudley going to clean his ocean of a mess while the sisters did their best to shove spellbooks, parchment, and quills under their bed. As they cleared their floor, both sisters were unable to feel a jab of pain.

Despite promising letters over the summer, none of their friends appeared to have obliged. No letters of well-being, or even the slightest check-up. Not even birthday cards had been sent.

Countless times Lyla had been tempted to unlock Merlin or Nicolas's cages (done by their father who refused to have owls swooping about Privet Drive) by magic and sending letters of plea to her wizarding friends, but she knew it wasn't worth the risk. Underage wizards and witches weren't allowed to use magic outside of school, which the Dursley family was well aware of.

After cleaning their rooms to the best of their abilities, all three Dursley children wondered about the neighborhood, counting down the hours until the Mason's arrived. They strolled down to the neighborhood park and sat down heavily.

"Ugh," grumbled Arabella. "I'm going to have to wear a dress, aren't I?"

"Oh, you're going to look so pretty," said Lyla cheerfully. "You look so beautiful in that lilac purple dress mum got you last year."

Arabella only huffed.

"If anyone's going to look ridiculous, it's going to be me," said Dudley sadly, gazing down at his big round body. "Dad's going to stuff me into a suit, isn't he?"

They all laughed at that.

Before anything else could be said, however, Dudley let out a strangled scream and fell backward, his face drained of color.

"What?" said Lyla, gazing frantically and scanning the deserted area. "Dudley, what on earth—"

And then Arabella bolted upright, squinting furiously at a set of bushes that faced them.

"Hey!" she called, slowly creeping forward. "Who's there? Come on out if you've got something to say!"

Nothing responded, and the bush looked very ordinary.

"It was staring back," whispered their brother breathily. "The bush was— was staring back!"

Lyla rushed over and stuck her hands into the greenery, coming up with nothing but air.

"Huh," muttered Arabella. "I definitely saw eyes— big tennis ball-sized ones…"

"Best not mention this to dad or mum," said Lyla smartly. "Maybe it was— maybe it was our imagination or something…"

"Come on, let's head back," said Dudley worriedly.

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