Chapter 2: Eleven Years Later
Dudley Dursley, for no apparent reason, was worried.
His plan, made with his wife eleven years ago, seemed to have worked. His daughter had seemed to exhibit unusual powers for a few years when she was very small, but he and his wife had made sure to punish her right away, and around the age of five, Helen had simply stopped. Almost overnight, she had transformed into a quiet, polite child, who nonetheless avoided her parents as much as she could.
Dudley and Marcie were only too happy to return the favor. As long as Helen wasn't making trouble, it was far easier to forget as much as they could that she existed. Chester, of course, had never given anyone a moment's worry. He was a chip off the old block, strong and healthy, always hungry, and extremely strong-willed, to the point of impressing his will physically on the smaller children in his class. He didn't bother his sister, though. The memories of his teddy bear snarling at him were enough to convince him to leave her alone.
As a matter of fact, no one bothered Helen. She went to school and did her work, then either came home and went immediately to her room, or went to the house of a rather dotty old lady who lived nearby, the one who had always watched Dudley's cousin for his parents when they were small. It was there that she spent most of her time, only coming home at night and sometimes not even then, telephoning over to ask if she could stay the night. Most nights she even had supper there.
It sometimes seemed odd to Dudley that the old lady didn't seem any older than she had when he was a boy, but he knew that children tend to see people as older than they are.
But eleven was a dangerous age. It was on his cousin's eleventh birthday, so long ago, that Dudley had been given a pig's tail by a black-bearded giant. His cousin had been given an acceptance letter to a school Dudley had never heard of, a school for witches and wizards, and had disappeared from his life for all but two months every summer of the next seven years, after which he had disappeared completely. That was the way Dudley liked it. But he couldn't forget that it was the eleventh birthday which was the dangerous one.
If only there was some way of knowing for sure if his daughter was, or was not, a witch...
She had, after all, been given to temper tantrums at the age of three. Dudley had heard it said that someone's screams could shatter glass, but his daughter had shattered not only glass, but dishes – every one in the house. He had carried her up the stairs, still screaming and kicking at him, practically thrown her into her room, and locked the door. She had shrieked in there for another few minutes and thrown things around, creating various slams and bangs, but then there had been an almost miraculous quiet, which had lasted the entire rest of the day. When Marcie had gone up to check on her, Helen had been peacefully asleep on her bed.
Similar things had continued occurring over the next two years, until suddenly, around her fifth birthday, Helen had turned sweet and reasonable all at once. The tantrums were no more, and she went to school and did her work and visited Mrs. Figg on the next block...
Mrs. Figg. Did that have something to do with it? Dudley recalled that Helen had become friends with Mrs. Figg around the time that she stopped throwing tantrums, but he might be mistaken. The woman had lived in their neighborhood for years, after all, she couldn't possibly be involved with anything strange...
Dudley sighed. There would be no way to tell for sure until 13 July. His children's eleventh birthday, only two weeks away now.
How he wished there had only been the one, the son, such a good boy, such a darling...
His reverie was interrupted by the sound of a closing door and footsteps. Too light to be Marcie or Chester, so that left only one person. "Hello, Helen."
"Good afternoon, Father." She always called him Father, or Sir, and Marcie Mother or Ma'am. Never Dad or Mum. Unnatural brat, Dudley thought, feeling the familiar annoyance begin. Doesn't even care about her own parents.
"How was your last day?"
"I enjoyed myself, sir. The teachers gave us all gifts and wished us good luck."
"Where's your report card?"
"Here it is, sir."
Dudley looked it over. As usual, the girl had scored well in everything it was possible to score well in. His lip curled in a sneer. Always currying favor with her teachers, she was, probably hoping to get special favors and special treatment. There'd be no more of that when she went off to Goldenrod Academy...
He handed the paper back to Helen. "Good enough, girl, good enough. Get along with you, now." It would be lovely to have her out of the house at last.
"Thank you, Father." Helen headed for the stairs.