Chapter 3: Hopes and Dreams

The girl known to most of the world as Helen Dursley sat on her bed and thought about life.

All her teachers, and even the headmistress when she went to the woman's office to say goodbye, had asked her the same question: Where was she going to school next year? And she had given them all the same answer: She didn't know yet, but she would in a few weeks.

It was entirely true. She didn't know, for sure, if she would be accepted into the school that was her heart's desire. But she had an awfully good idea.

She slid off the bed and reached underneath it. This bedroom had once belonged to her dad – her real dad – and he had told her an important and extremely useful secret about it. She used it practically every day.

As far as Helen could tell, there were only two differences between herself and the boy who had once moved into this very room, carrying all his possessions in his arms. She was the blood daughter of the family of the house, rather than a nephew (or, in her case, niece). And she knew what the letters that had been so mysterious to him contained.

Other than that, their cases were practically identical. Both of them were utterly unlike the rest of the family, both in looks and in temperament. Both of them dreamed of something else, something more, something better.

And both of them had an escape coming, though only she knew it.

"13 July." She said the date aloud. It had an almost magical ring to it.

Appropriate, considering her hopes for the day.

She pulled out the cloth bag she had been groping for. Inside were some of her most prized possessions. The robes her mum had sewn for her. The sweater her grandmum had knitted. The joke snacks from two of her favorite uncles (which she had used a few times to get out of truly horrendous tests in school, and once, memorably, to scare Chester almost out of his wits by turning herself momentarily into a bird). The red and gold pennant, embroidered with a roaring lion. And the photograph of the people she considered her real family.

Her dad and mum, arms around each other. Her black-haired, teasing older brother, who had turned 12 in January. The red-haired, green-eyed sister born one day before herself, who looked enough like Helen that she, and not Chester, could have been Helen's birth twin. The three littler brothers, aged 9, 7, and 5, and the baby sister, just 4 and adorable. She remembered the feel of little Mary Jane's hand in hers, and the trusting eyes in the round face, and the small voice – "Helen, will you come back again soon? Very soon?"

The people in the photograph were waving up at her. Helen grinned and waved back, knowing that they couldn't see her, but it didn't matter. She'd go to Mrs. Figg's tomorrow, and after they had their tea together, they would go on to the Marauders' Den like they always did, and her family would all be there.

Her mum would be baking something, and her dad might be home from work already, or if he wasn't, he'd be there soon. Jamie and Evan and Ceddie would be chasing each other around on their toy broomsticks, and Mary Jane would come running, and so would Ruby, and they would twirl around in their witch-sister dance, and then Sirius would levitate Mary Jane out of their hands, and she and Ruby would have to tackle him and steal his wand...

It never seemed to change very much. Sometimes the cousins would be there – enormous numbers of red-haired boy cousins who looked very much alike to strangers, but whom Helen could tell apart perfectly, and the slightly less numerous girl cousins, some with red manes, but others with brown curls, or silver-blond locks, or long black tresses, or cornrows.

Her favorite cousins were Brian and Minnie, brother and sister, and children of her parents' two best friends (one of whom was her mother's brother). Red-headed Minnie was just Ruby and Helen's age, and brunet Brian was a year older, already at school and very proud of himself. He and Sirius were inseparable and utterly unpredictable, and their fathers, both Aurors, had already had to threaten to confiscate their wands once this summer.

If the cousins were at the Den, then the aunts and uncles would be as well, and aunts and uncles meant presents and mock duels and impromptu games of Quidditch... and then there were the grandparents, and people the age of grandparents, and that meant stories and more stories, and usually ones that made everyone under the age of 20 laugh and everyone over it but under the storyteller's own age cringe.

She wondered if her parents had ever realized why she went to Mrs. Figg's house. She knew perfectly well that they didn't know about Mrs. Figg's special place in the world, or her connections, or they would have stopped her from going long ago. But she couldn't help wondering. Didn't they ever wonder? Didn't they ever stop to think why their little daughter, at five years old, had taken such a shine to an elderly neighbor?

Maybe they didn't. Maybe they were just grateful it kept her out of the house. She knew they were happier without her there. She was happiest when she wasn't there as well. So what she and her family were planning to do would make everyone happier.

She hoped.