Disclaimer / I don't own anything.
I'M BACK WOO! Guys, I'm so so so sorry that I haven't updated in what seems like forever. But like I promised, this story will continue. You might know that I've been working on my other story, HP New Generation, so that unfortunately is my excuse. I am going to try and work on both now, so there isn't a significant wait between updates.
Anyway, welcome to Isobel's second year at Hogwarts.
CHAMBER OF SECRETS!
Chapter 1
Isobel's POV
Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast. Vernon had been woken in the early hours of the morning by Hedwig's loud hooting in Harry and I's room.
"Third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you can't control that owl, it'll have to go!"
Harry tried, yet again, to explain.
"She's bored," he said. "She's used to flying around outside. If I could just let her out at night–"
"Do I look stupid?" snarled Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy moustache.
I resisted the urge to announce that he very much did.
"I know what'll happen if that owl's let out."
He looked at Petunia, a dark expression on his face.
Harry tried to argue back, but his words were drowned by a long, loud belch from Dudley.
"I want more bacon."
"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said Petunia, turning misty-eyed. "We must build you up while we've got the chance… I don't like the sound of that school food…"
"Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smelting's," said Vernon heartily. "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?"
Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry.
"Pass the frying pan."
"You've forgotten the magic word," said Harry irritably.
The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; Petunia gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; Vernon jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples. I did my best to stifle a laugh, and I saw amusement on Harry's face, but it disappeared quickly.
"I meant please'!" said Harry quickly. "I didn't mean–"
"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU TWO," thundered Vernon, spraying spit over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE M'WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"
"But I–"
"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" roared Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.
"I just–"
"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!"
I watched Harry stare from purple-faced Vernon to pale Petunia, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.
"All right," said Harry, "all right…"
Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros, and watching Harry closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes.
Ever since we had come home for the summer holidays, Vernon had been treating us like a bomb that might go off at any moment. And if the Dursleys were unhappy to have us back for the holidays, it was nothing to how we felt.
We missed Hogwarts so much it was like having a constant stomach-ache. We missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, our classes (though perhaps not Snape). We missed the mail arriving by owl and eating banquets in the Great Hall. I missed sleeping in my four-poster bed in the tower dormitory and visiting the gamekeeper, Hagrid, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds. We especially missed Quidditch.
All our spell books, our wands, robes, cauldrons, and broomsticks had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs by Vernon the instant we had come 'home.'
The Dursley's didn't care if we lost our spots on the Quidditch team because we hadn't practised all summer. I tried not to think of the punishments we would get for not having our homework done. Vernon had even padlocked Hedwig inside her cage to stop her from carrying messages to anyone in the wizarding world. Luckily, Amber had escaped in time and would roam around the neighbourhood during the day. At night, the ginger tabby cat would find her way into our room and curl up beside me on my bed.
At Hogwarts, Harry and I were famous, not that we liked it too much, and the wizard school was brilliant. But now the school year was over, we were back with the Dursleys for the summer, being treated like dogs that had rolled in something smelly.
The Dursleys hadn't even remembered that today happened to be our twelfth birthday. Of course, our hopes hadn't been high; they'd never given us a real present, let alone a cake – but to ignore it completely…
At that moment, Vernon cleared his throat importantly and said, "Now, as we all know, today is a very important day."
Harry and I exchanged a look, hardly daring to believe it.
"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career," said Vernon.
We went back to our toast. Of course, Vernon was talking about the stupid dinner party. He'd been talking of nothing else for two weeks. Some wealthy builder and his wife were coming to dinner, and Vernon was hoping to get a large order from him (Vernon's company made drills).
"I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said Vernon. "We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be -?"
"In the lounge," said Petunia promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."
"Good, good. And Dudley?"
"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. "May I take your coats, Mr and Mrs Mason?"
"They'll love him!" cried Petunia rapturously.
"Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry and me. "And you?"
"We'll be in our bedroom, making no noise and pretending we're not there," said Harry tonelessly.
"Exactly," said Vernon nastily. "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen–"
"I'll announce dinner," said Petunia.
"And, Dudley, you'll say–"
"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs Mason?" said Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.
"My perfect little gentleman!" sniffed Petunia.
"And you?" said Vernon viciously to us.
"We'll be in our room, making no noise and pretending we're not there," I repeated dully.
"Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"
"Vernon tells me you're a wonderful golfer, Mr Mason… Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs Mason…"
"Perfect… Dudley?"
"How about – 'We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr Mason, and I wrote about you .'"
This was too much for both Petunia and Harry and I. Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son, while Harry ducked under the table so they wouldn't see him laughing. I had to cover my mouth to stop a snort.
"And you two?"
I could see Harry fighting to keep his face straight as he emerged.
"We'll be in our room, making no noise and pretending we're not there," he said.
"Too right, you will," said Vernon forcefully. "The Masons don't know anything about you two, and it's going to stay that way. When dinner's over, you take Mrs Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten. be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time tomorrow."
I couldn't feel too excited about this. I didn't think the Dursleys would like us any better in Majorca than they did on Privet Drive.
"Right – I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you," he snarled at Harry and me. "You stay out of your aunt's way while she's cleaning."
We left through the back door. It was a brilliant sunny day. We crossed the lawn, slumped down on the garden bench, and shared a look.
"Happy birthday to us… happy birthday to us…" I sang dully.
No cards, no presents, and we would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. Harry gazed miserably into the hedge. I could see a turmoil of emotions cross his face, and I knew what he was thinking.
We had never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more even than playing Quidditch, we missed our best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They, however, didn't seem to be missing us at all. Neither of them had written to us all summer, even though Ron had said he was going to ask us to come and stay.
Countless times, Harry had been on the point of unlocking Hedwig's cage by magic and sending her to Ron and Hermione with a letter, but it wasn't worth the risk. Underage wizards weren't allowed to use magic outside of school. We hadn't told the Dursleys this; we knew it was only their terror that one of us might turn them all into dung beetles that stopped them from locking us in the cupboard under the stairs with our wands and broomsticks.
For the first couple of weeks back, Harry had enjoyed muttering nonsense words under his breath and watching Dudley tearing out of the room as fast as his fat legs would carry him. I would watch in amusement as a look of satisfaction crossed Harry's face. But the long silence from Ron and Hermione had made us feel so cut off from the magical world that even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal – and now Ron and Hermione had forgotten our birthday.
What wouldn't I give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any witch or wizard? I'd almost be glad of a sight of Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream.
Not that our whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the very end of the last term, Harry had come face-to-face with none other than Lord Voldemort himself. Voldemort might be a ruin of his former self, but he was still terrifying, still cunning, still determined to regain power. Harry had slipped through Voldemort's clutches for a second time, but it had been a narrow escape, and even now, weeks later, Harry kept waking in the night, drenched in a cold sweat. Several nights in a row I would have to remind him that we were safe and Voldemort was gone…for now.
Just then, Harry suddenly sat bolt upright on the garden bench. He had been staring absent-mindedly into the hedge – but something had obviously surprised him. Harry jumped to his feet just as a jeering voice floated across the lawn.
"I know what day it is," sang Dudley, waddling toward us.
"What?" said Harry, not taking his eyes off the spot in the hedge.
"I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to us.
"Well done," I said. "So you've finally learned the days of the week."
"Today's your birthday," sneered Dudley. "How come you haven't got any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that freak place?"
"Better not let your mum hear you talking about our school," said Harry coolly.
Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat bottom.
"Why're you staring at the hedge?" he said suspiciously.
"I'm trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire," said Harry.
Dudley stumbled backwards at once, a look of panic on his fat face. I forced a smirk away.
"You c-can't – Dad told you you're not to do m-magic – he said he'll chuck you out of the house – and you haven't got anywhere else to go – you haven't got any friends to take you–"
"Jiggery pokery!" said Harry in a fierce voice. "Hocus pocus – squiggly wiggly – "
"MUUUUUUM!" howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed back toward the house. "MUUUUM! He's doing you know what!"
I grinned at Harry, and he finally looked away from the hedge. Before I could ask what had gotten his attention, Petunia yelled out for us to come inside. The grins slipped from both our face. We paid dearly for the moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor the hedge was in any way hurt, Petunia knew Harry hadn't really done magic, but he still had to duck as she aimed a heavy blow at his head with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave us work to do, with the promise we wouldn't eat again until we'd finished.
While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice cream, Harry cleaned the windows, I washed the car, Harry mowed the lawn, I trimmed the flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses, and Harry repainted the garden bench. As the sun blazed overhead, burning the back of my neck. I knew what Harry would be thinking. I was thinking the same thing. He shouldn't have risen to Dudley's bait, but Dudley had said the very thing we had been thinking ourselves… maybe we didn't have any friends at Hogwarts.
It was half-past seven in the evening when at last, exhausted, I heard Petunia calling us.
"Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!"
We moved gladly into the shade of the gleaming kitchen. On top of the fridge stood tonight's pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A loin of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.
"Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!" snapped Petunia, pointing to four slices of bread and two lumps of cheese on the kitchen table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress.
We washed our hands and scoffed down our pitiful supper. The moment we had finished, Petunia whisked away our plates. "Upstairs! Hurry!"
As we passed the door to the living room, I caught a glimpse of Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jackets. We had only just reached the upstairs landing when the doorbell rang, and Vernon's furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs.
"Remember – one sound–"
We crossed to our bedroom on tiptoes, slipped inside, closed the door, and Harry turned to collapse on his bed. The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.
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