The Dursleys
When my aunt made the left onto Privet Drive, I felt a gut instinct that something wasn't right. By the time she had pulled into her driveway at number five, I knew that something horrible was happening at that exact instant.
I clutched my stomach and a look of absolute disgust crossed my face. "Sweet, what's wrong?" my aunt said worriedly as she glanced at me after she turned the engine off. "Too much excitement for one day, I suppose."
I shook my head violently. I felt like I was going to throw up! After a few seconds however, the feeling had passed. I cautiously popped the door open and climbed out. What could have gone wrong?
I shut the door to the car and got my packages from the trunk. My aunt's arms were full of boxes and bags, and so were mine. I was also carrying a new ashwood cage with ivy twined around the bars. My new owl, which I had yet to name, fluttered around and hooted indignantly as I tilted her cage to fit in the crook of my elbow.
Suddenly, a low, swanky silver Cadillac screeched into the driveway next door. With a sinking heart, I realized that that must be one of Aunt Kella's awful, horrible neighbors. As she tried to find the right key to open the front door, I stared as a lumbering, enormously overweight man pulled himself from the car. He was singing some song about a huge drill sale, and he appeared very happy. A large, beefy, pink hand slammed the car door after grabbing a briefcase. His eyes traveled around the neighborhood, finally coming to rest on me. His face drained of color. His squinty, watery blue eyes widened. The appearance would have been funny if it hadn't been directed at me.
"Is that an o--, ow--, owl?" he finally managed, in a high-pitched, scared voice.
"Yeah," I said. "So?"
"You're one of them," he whispered in frightened voice. "Stay away from my family! Never, ever come here! Go away!" he shouted this in a deeper, more commanding voice. Then he raced into his house, slamming the door behind him.
I walked up to the front door and closed it behind me. My aunt had set the packages she was carrying in the front hall, so I set mine down carefully and went in search of her. I found her upstairs in her bedroom. She had four large, full bags and two gigantic boxes that she had set on her bed.
"What's all that?" I asked, gesturing with one hand towards the pile. She was admiring a set of pale green robes. They were silky looking and tied in the front with a thick, rope belt that had gold tassels on the end. The green brought out her eyes.
She laughed and blushed slightly. "I decided to pick up a few things for myself," she answered. "I haven't been to Diagon Alley in such a long time. It's almost like I've slipped away from the wizarding world, even though I subscribe to the Daily Prophet and work at a Witches' Aid Society. I was so excited to see all the stores and the friendly people again."
I smiled softly. "I think those robes will look fantastic on you, Aunt Kella," I said truthfully. "I came up here to ask you about something, though. Do you know your neighbors well?"
"Yes, of course," she answered, as she hung up the new set of robes in her closet. It was small, but with a slight tap of her wand and a softly mumbled charm, she had bewitched it to hold as many clothes as she put in it without looking crammed.
"What about the ones at number four, Privet Drive?" I asked hesitantly. It seemed that even mentioning them may destroy the lighthearted, happily exhausted mood.
It did. Well, at least diminished it. "Oh, you must be talking about the Dursleys," she said in a bitter voice. Her eyes had squinted and her jaw began to twitch. "The biggest Muggles I have ever come in contact with. Why?"
I told her what had happened. She bit her lip, a puzzled look surfacing on her intelligent face. "Huh. I wonder how he knew. I'm positive he couldn't have a relation that is even semi-wizard. I hate to say it, but I need to find out and write a letter to the Ministry of Magic," she informed me. "Muggles are not supposed to even have an inkling that witches and wizards exist. It could be very dangerous."
An idea began to form in my head. "Listen, I can be very discreet at times. How about I put on a polite, good-girl type attitude, worm my way into their house with my wand, hidden, of course, trick my way into getting treated for dinner, get information out of them, and then put Memory Charms on the whole household?"
My aunt looked at me, a mixture of admiration, pride, and hesitant fright showing in her eyes. "You know I would never let you do that," she started. I tried to interrupt her, but she held up a hand to silence me. "under normal circumstances. But under these circumstances, I find that a very good idea indeed."
I smiled. This was going to be so much fun! I had been such a prankster back at my old school, and I'd never gotten caught. I prided myself on how careful I always was and how thoroughly I planned everything out. And with Aunt Kella helping, everything would go much better.
We spent the rest of the afternoon planning and plotting. It was decided that I would go over with a lemon pie as a peace offering, flashing my best smile. I would be dressed up just the way people like the Dursleys want: plaid, pleated skirt down to my knees, in dull colors, black tights, polished maryjane's, a starchy white, long-sleeve blouse, a dull-colored sweater vest to match my skirt, my hair in a French braid. Then I would turn on the charm, my special quality. The ability to befriend almost anything on Earth. In case that didn't work, I would secretly use my wand, which would be tucked into my skirt, under my vest, to put a Charming Spell on them. I would get invited in for dinner, and, while helping the husband's wife bring in the food, I would sprinkle Bogweed onto the dishes. Bogweed is an invisible herb that makes it possible for any witch or wizard to ask any question at all to a Muggle, and that Muggle would always answer the truth. The only catch is that witches and wizards are free from its power and can see and taste it. Muggles can't, so I figured that I would be pretty safe, considering that the Dursley family wouldn't be hiding a wizard or witch on their premises. After they had spilled, I would excuse myself, saying that I must be going, and cast a quick Memory Charm on them.
Around 6:00, I fetched the lemon pie from the counter where it had been cooling and checked once more to see if the Bogweed was securely hidden in my necklace. See, I was wearing a huge locket, kind of tacky looking, under my shirt. It was long, so the Dursley's probably wouldn't see it. Inside the picture compartment I had placed a small bag of Bogweed. I would have to work incredibly fast to get it out of my necklace and onto all the plates before dinner started. That was the only tricky thing, seemingly, about the entire operation, and really, seeing as how I had nimble enough fingers, I could probably use them to my advantage.
I slipped the finishing touch onto my outfit, a tasteful leather coat (the only thing I would actually wear as part of an outfit later), and kissed Aunt Kella good bye. "Wish me good luck," I whispered. "I might need it."
"Of course, sweet, I wish you all the good luck in the world. Do you have everything?" she asked. I nodded.
'Everything' also included my tape recorder, which was tucked into a hidden pocket inside my coat. After I was sure everyone had eaten the Bogweed, I would retrieve the recorder and play it during my questions and their answers. Since Muggles are so effected by Bogweed, they wouldn't think to question me about it.
I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and walked over to number four. I knocked confidently on the door. From within the depths of the house, I heard a loud grumbling and then a scraping of chairs. A high, twittering voice. Loud, heavy footsteps, stomping down the hallway. A face appeared in the window in the door. It was the man I'd seen earlier.
"Go away! I told you, stay away from my family! I will not be bothered with your kind!" he shouted. But his head stayed in the window, eyeing me wearily.
I widened my eyes innocently. "Whatever are you talking about? Please, if I'm to be you're new neighbor, I feel we should get to know each other better. I've baked you a gift I hope you'll enjoy."
The head disappeared and the locks clicked on the other side of the door. Finally, it opened. The large man stood in the doorway, taking it up completely. Now he had removed his suit jacket, but didn't look much better. The buttons on his dress shirt seemed ready to pop off and speed at me like a bullet. A thought flashed through my mind that I should prepare to duck in case this actually happened. Behind him stood what could only have been his son. He looked just like his father, except he had about an inch on a neck, whereas the older version didn't, and straw-colored locks. His shiny blond hair lay flat against his skull, and it struck me again how pig-like he truly seemed. Next to him, stood what must have been the mother and wife. She was tall and thin, with a long, bobbing neck like a giraffe, nervous eyes and hands, and wispy blond hair.
"What's that?" the boy, who appeared to be my age, asked, his dime size eyes glued to the tangy-smelling yellow dessert I held firmly in my hands.
Well, duh, I thought to myself, but I answered him sweetly, "Why, this is a lemon pie. Straight from my Grandma's secret recipe book of fabulous home cooking. She's such a sweet old dear, and the best cook I've seen in my life." This was going to be easy. I could tell exactly what people like this wanted.
The man cleared his throat and drew his eyes away from the pie. "Exactly what do you want, girl?"
"I wanted to apologize for the mishap earlier. I brought this in case your wonderful family would like a treat tonight. I'm sure it would taste terrific with a scoop or so of vanilla icecream. And, well, I wanted to explain the owl, in case it threw you off. See, it belongs to my aunt, who works at the zoo. She had to bring it home because it has a broken wing. She made me carry it in. Personally I hate the wild beasts," I forced out these words, along with a disgusted frown. It wasn't my best performance, but they bought it.
The tall, thin women that had, up until now, just bobbed around in the background, pushed her way forward. She beamed at me. "Honey, take off your coat! We were just sitting down to dinner. Please join us?" she asked happily. I smiled back, a smile of victory.
As I entered the house, a skinny boy with messy black hair and taped black glasses that were resting halfway down his nose bounded down the stairs. When he saw me, he stopped midjump, his hand frozen on the banister. His brilliant emerald green eyes widened. "I didn't know we were having company, Uncle Vernon. Honest. I'm sorry," his voice was solid, but a hint of fright shook beneath the calm exterior.
Vernon Dursley shook a finger at the kid on the stairway. After a bit of scrutinizing, he seemed to be my age also. "Boy, you aren't supposed to act like that whether or not we have company. Now you take --er, what's your name, girl?" he turned and glanced at me.
"Opal, sir. Opal Harris." A second later, I wished I had given a fake name, but all I could do was hope he didn't already know who Opal Harris really was.
"Take Opal's coat. Now!" he thundered, his ruddy cheeks shaking violently.
I slipped out of it, and handed it to the boy. He hung it up in the hall closet.
"I'm sorry, dear. Let me introduce you to everyone," the women said. "I'm Petunia Dursley, this is my husband, Vernon, and this is are ittle wittle Duddy-do, Dudley." She wrapped her arm proudly around her son.
I cleared my throat and glanced at the unknown, bespectacled boy, now standing in the shadows. Petunia glanced at me and then followed my gaze. "Oh. Him. He's our, uhh, other son. Jeremy."
I noticed how her voice and eyes both seemed to go flat when she talked of Jeremy. I didn't see what was wrong with him. He looked a lot nicer than any of the other Dursleys, especially Dudley. But there was something about him that seemed familiar. And he certainly didn't look like the rest of them.
"Well," said Mr. Dursley. "Let's proceed to the kitchen."
We all tromped to the kitchen in single file: Vernon, Dudley, Petunia, me, Jeremy. When I entered the room, I realized that it must have been the most lived-in part of the house. The hardwood floor beneath my shoes was worn from many shuffling feet, and the large TV that sat on the counter was positioned at just the right angle so that everyone at the table could see it. The only thing that seemed out of place was the dark-paneled cupboard with about seven heavy, thick chained locks sitting in the corner. Somehow, I didn't think it wise to ask what was in it.
"Would you like me to help you get the food, Petunia?" I asked in my most polite voice. I knew she would jump at the suggestion.
"Sure!" she beamed at me. "Such a polite, helpful thing you are, dear! If you wouldn't mind grabbing the mashed potatoes and the fried chicken..." Then she plopped into a chair and rested her chin in her hands.
I turned to face the counter. This way, my back was to the table. As fast as I could, I whipped the necklace out from underneath my shirt, cracked it open, and sprinkled the contents of the plastic bag into the mashed potatoes. It quickly sank into the fluffy whiteness, and some disappeared below the surface just like I'd hoped it would.
There was a lot of mashed potatoes. And fried chicken. And corn on the cob, green beans, tuna casserole, lamb stew, banana nut bread, and egg salad. My eyes widened at the spread as I set down the last two platters. With all the food, there was hardly any room left for our plates!
As I slipped into my seat, I caught Jeremy's eye. He glanced at the mashed potatoes and gave me a meaningful stare. I almost choked. What?! How could he know about the Bogweed? Could he see it? Maybe he'd just seen me put something into the food. I quickly glanced around the table. No one else appeared to notice the neon green light shining from the mushy white vegetable. In fact, no one was even looking at me or the mysterious boy. They were all shoveling food into their mouths and onto their plates.
Dudley was busily alternating slurping the stew, forking salad into his mouth, and munching corn. Vernon was gnawing on a chicken leg and gulping a milkshake he poured himself from a large pitcher. Petunia was daintily chewing a piece of bread and nibbling on a forkful of potatoes. It was enough to make me sick. I helped myself to a piece of chicken, a glass of water, a small bowlful of stew, and a helping of casserole. I wasn't feeling too hungry.
The food was good. I wouldn't have minded having a dinner like that once a week or so, but not every night. I couldn't help going back for seconds. It was the conversation that really got to me. Vernon was one, long, never-ending complaint of his company, Grunnings, and Petunia could think of nothing better to do but gossip about the neighbors down the street and gush over Dudley. Dudley, the greedy, selfish person he was, basked in it, and never passed up a chance to ask for something. Jeremy seemed to be the only sane person there, but seeing as how the rest of the family didn't like him, I didn't talk or look across the table very often. He had only nibbled the potatoes, and then gulped some water down, like he was trying to rid his mouth of a horrible aftertaste. My stomach started to sink. Was he a wizard? For the remainder of the meal, I sat, politely answering questions, and smiling in the right spots.
When every last morsel of food was gone (I'd stopped eating about thirty minutes earlier), Petunia stood up and began to clear the plates. I jumped up to help her, and then brought in the desserts. There seemed to be as many desserts as there had been food! Along with my lemon pie, there were M&M cookies the size of my hand, a chocolate cake, a chiffon pie, rice pudding, and a gallon of Ben & Jerry's Wavy Gravy.
As everyone helped themselves, I stood up and asked were the bathroom was. Then I dashed out to the hallway, grabbed the recorder from my coat pocket, and raced back into the kitchen. I pressed the record button and stood silently in the doorway.
I spoke loudly and clearly, so everyone could hear me. "Where does Dudley attend school?"
Vernon swiveled his head in my direction. "Smeltings," he answered in a dull monotone.
"What about Jeremy?" I asked.
"Who's Jeremy? No one named Jeremy lives here," Petunia spoke up.
I glanced at the boy with the messy black hair and my eyes widened. "Who are you?" I whispered, training my eyes on him.
He stood up, knocking the chair over and grabbed at something behind him. Before he could get a good grip on whatever it was, I panicked, throwing my hands up, gripping my wand tightly. "Stationakious!" I shouted.
I'd frozen the room. No one moved or breathed. I'd turned everyone motionless. But it only worked for five minutes.
I dashed to Jeremy's side, and lifted the tail of his shirt up. His hand was tightly gripped around a long, smooth stick of wood. As I pried his fingers up, I realized what it was. A wand.