Chapter II: Snakes and Letters
The family had settled for cereal in the end, following the 'Full English Disaster of '91,' as Laurel herself had dubbed it. It was infinitely-more difficult to burn cornflakes.
If Dudley had minded about the lack of a hot breakfast on his birthday he didn't say anything, likely too excited about his presents and trip to the zoo.
The three Dursleys and their niece had all made their way to the car, though not without a rather paranoid Vernon repeatedly checking all the locks. They'd had a burglar the previous year and, though the intruder hadn't taken anything, having run off at the sound of the alarm, it had left the four of them somewhat shaken and the adult male of Number Four now entered 'Panic Mode' every time he left the house.
As Vernon drove them all to the zoo, the young girl relayed her dream from the night before, about a flying motorcycle and how she felt as though she were riding it herself.
The senior Dursleys became anxious at the tale, but, so engrossed in her daydream-of-her-night-dream, Laurel didn't notice. Dudley hadn't noticed either, for he was reading his new football annual his cousin had given him for his birthday. Precisely why he was doing this was a mystery, as he suffered with travel sickness on the best of days and it was often worsened if he focused on something for too long.
"Could a motorbike fly?" the girl asked her relatives. "I mean, planes manage to stay up, don't they? And Elliott flew across the moon on a pushbike with E.T." While the girl was thinking aloud, Petunia and Vernon exchanged a worried glance at a set of traffic lights. "And witches can fly, but they've got magic powers anyway. A witch can fly on a broomstick or travel in a big pink bubble if she really wants to. And fairies have wings and wands. It's a shame magic doesn't exist," Laurel smiled, sadly.
An awkward silence followed and remained unbroken until they had arrived at the zoo.
"Where would you like to go first, Duddy?" Petunia asked, glad of the conversation following her niece's uncomfortable talk of magic.
"Snakes," he announced, almost immediately. "I'd love to see the snakes, Mum."
Petunia had grown somewhat uncomfortable at this. She'd never been particularly fond of snakes; especially not since one of her cousin's children in Wales had let his pet snake run free through the house and wrapped itself around her ankle. Despite her discomfort, however, she was hardly likely to deny Dudley what he wanted and the four of them soon found their way to the Reptile House.
Dudley's eyes rested on a sleeping boa constrictor behind a large glass cage. "She's massive!" he exclaimed.
"She's magnificent," Laurel smiled.
"I reckon she could crush Dad's car," the boy added.
"I think she's gorgeous," his cousin replied, dreamily. "Hello, beautiful," she smiled, talking to the snake. "I'm Laurel." She never noticed the shock register on the faces of her family.
Almost as if she had heard the human girl-child, the serpent raised its head to study her. "Are you talking to me?" it replied.
It was Laurel's turn to stand in shock. "You can understand me?"
"Of course, child. You're speaking to me, aren't you?" she snake responded, rhetorically.
"I rather suppose I am," Laurel said. "Do you have a name?"
"My Keeper calls me Aspen."
"Aspen?" Laurel repeated, thoughtfully. "That's a nice name. How long have you been here, Aspen?"
"Too long." If it were possible for the snake to roll its eyes, Laurel might have sworn she saw it happen. "I long for freedom."
"Well, I can understand that," Laurel said. "I wouldn't want to be stuck behind a glass pane all my life with strange people staring at me every day."
"Look around you, girlie; I think you'll find it's happening."
That snapped Laurel from her action and she turned to look to her aunt, uncle and cousin. They were no longer at her side and neither was Laurel speaking to the snake through the glass. In fact, she was behind the glass herself. The three Dursleys were paler than ghosts, and several other visitors were staring open-mouthed at the girl and the snake, likely gobsmacked that she had yet to be eaten.
"You're not like other humans, Laurel," Aspen informed. "You can do things they can only dream of. How else do you think you got in this cage?"
Laurel paused, slowly bringing her eyes back to the snake. "I willed it to happen?"
"Oh, yes," the snake nodded. "You put yourself in my shoes — a fair feat, considering I've not a leg to stand on. And it's not the first time something like this has happened, is it?" As the girl thought back to all the strange things that had happened in her life, Aspen spoke once more. "I leave you now, girl-child. One day I will break free but you must live your destiny. This world is not yours; the Other is. Goodbye, Miss."
With that, Laurel felt herself crash to the floor, sprawled on her back. Looking up at the petrified faces of her relatives, tears met her eyes.
"What the bloody 'ell was that?" a stranger asked, eyes trained on the girl.
Many of those who had stopped to look were more disgusted than anything and looked at Laurel with varying degrees of disdain.
Scrambling to her feet, she made a run for it, Petunia hot on her heels, as Vernon went to sit on the nearest bench and Dudley remained standing exactly where he was, completely baffled.
A short while later, the four had gone for something to eat. The senior Dursleys tried to project an air of normalcy, but it was evident to passersby that there was precious little that was normal about the raven-haired girl with the green eyes.
A waiter sat a large sundae glass of profiteroles, ice cream, fudge, chocolate sauce and marshmallows (with, of course, a cherry on the top) in front of the teary-eyed girl, who had scarcely spoken a word since her conversation with the snake. It didn't do a great deal to improve her mood; in fact, it served only to further sadden her.
"Go on, Lolly," Vernon encouraged, using his nickname for her, "tuck in before it gets warm."
Placing her hand on Vernon's arm, a sign that it wasn't the best time for him to speak, Petunia stood, leading her niece away from the table.
"You're not a bad child, Laurel," she said, once parted from the crowd.
"I didn't mean to do it," the girl defended. "I don't know how it happened, Aunt Petunia. Honestly!"
Holding her hand up, Laurel was silenced by her aunt. "I believe you," she sighed. "There's something I must tell you, but now is neither the time nor the place. When we get back home, perhaps."
"I've ruined Dudley's birthday," she said, sadly.
"On the contrary, he seems more excited than anything, Laurel," Petunia replied, recalling her son's words to her husband about how interesting the exchange was to watch. "Come on," she sighed, leading the child back to the table. "Don't worry about it. Finish your sundae and enjoy the rest of the day."
Rather reluctantly, Laurel did.
"Open the door, would you, Lolly?" Vernon smiled, handing his niece the house keys, as he went to get the day's purchases from the boot of the car. "Help your mother, would you, Dud?"
Dudley wasted no time in helping a somewhat-stuck Petunia out of the front-passenger seat. They had bought a fair bit that day, having gone on a shopping trip after the zoo and, with so many bags, the family was almost buried alive; more so Petunia than the other three, carrier bags piled up around her feet and on her knee.
Pushing the front door open, Laurel grabbed the post off the doormat, setting it, and the keys, down by the hall telephone and going to help her relatives.
By the time all was indoors and put away, Laurel remembered the post and took it to her Uncle who had flopped on the couch.
"There's a postcard from Aunt Marge," she informed, handing it to her uncle, along with a small handful of bills. Her eyes then fell on a letter which was unlike the others. Handwritten on some sort of thick off-white paper, she read her name. "Miss L. A. Evans."
"You've got a letter?" That caught Dudley's attention soon enough, as he eagerly left his seat and read it over his cousin's shoulder. "Well, that's specific," he said. "Mum, Dad, Lolly's got a letter. Who'd be writing to you?" he asked curiously.
Dudley hadn't yet registered his father's face turning pale, as he shakily left his armchair and exited the room.
"I don't know," Laurel said, shaking her head. Turning the yellowish envelope over she saw a crest of sorts and a red wax seal. It looked as though it were from another century. "Dudley, can you read that?" she asked, squinting at the crest.
After a short spell of scrutiny, Dudley announced, "Hogwarts? Hogwarts? So pigs have acne now?"
Vernon had re-entered the living room, his wife in tow. Both were pale and Petunia looked quite sick. As Laurel examined her aunt's face it was evident that Petunia knew what this was about.
"This was what I had to tell you," she sighed, mournful eyes looking straight into the green orbs belonging to her niece. "Sit."
Rather shakily, Petunia took a seat on the couch, as Laurel followed suit. Vernon had returned to his armchair, more than glad to sit down before he fell down and a rather confused Dudley plonked himself on the arm of his father's chair, despite what he'd always been told about 'lounging around in such a manner.'
"We haven't been completely honest with you, Laurel," the woman said, an undeniable expression of guilt plastered all over her face. "It wasn't a car crash that killed your parents." She stopped, hanging her head in shame and grief. "There's no easy way to tell you."
Tears had met Laurel's eyes for the second time that day. They'd lied to her all those years but surely had to have a good reason for it so kept quiet.
"Lolly," Vernon said, looking at his niece. The man looked as though he wanted to throw up thinking about their dishonesty. "Lolly, they were—" he trailed off. There was no easy way to say it.
"— murdered," Petunia managed to finish, voice trembling.
To say Laurel hadn't had much of a reaction was an understatement. To tell the truth, she was more shocked than anything; not so much for the lie she'd been told (which, when she thought about it, it was probably kinder than the truth that had just been announced) but for the fact that someone had set out to kill them.
Questioning why might not be the best of ideas, for how could she expect two perfectly normal people to understand the motive of someone who had far different values to themselves? How could they see the reasoning behind a seemingly-senseless homicide?
"Oh," was all the girl could manage before an incredibly-awkward silence befell the room.
"I'm sorry, Laurel. I'm so sorry," came the abrupt voice of Aunt Petunia, as the woman grabbed hold of her niece, clinging so tightly as though afraid she might lose her, sobbing onto the child's shoulder.
"I'm sure you had your reasons," came the mature response from the teary child, as she welcomed the affection.
Dudley was aghast at the revelation. He may not have known his own and aunt and uncle but were they such terrible people that they deserved to die at the hands of another?
The large man sitting in the armchair, face pale, spoke. "I don't know what you were doing with that snake today, Lolly, but that was something your kind can do."
"M-my kind?" she repeated, cautiously, from her aunt's arms.
"Yes," came his simple response, as his son turned to look at him. "Laurel, you are a witch."
"Well, that's not very nice, Dad," Dudley said, rather offended that a man could call a family member such a name.
"It isn't necessarily a bad thing, darling; don't get me wrong," he said, his soft blue eyes looking directly into the emeralds belonging to the girl before him. "Your mother was a witch too, and your father was a wizard. They could do magic." Sighing heavily, he continued. "I regret to say we weren't quite so kind to them while they were alive, but I'd hope raising you would be a satisfactory apology to them." His eyes then fell on his distraught wife, who slowly pulled away from her niece.
"It's my fault," she said, tears streaming from her eyes, as she ran her finger through the girl's raven curls. "But you're my second chance, Laurel Anne. I hope I never fail you."
It was a lot for the girl to take in, but it was hardly difficult for her to understand.
"Magic exists," she whispered, almost inaudibly. Despite what she'd said earlier in the day, the truth was unfolding in front of her.
"What was that, darling?" Petunia sniffled, caressing Laurel's cheek with her hand.
The girl shook her head in response. "Did my Mum go to this school?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.
Somewhat taken aback by the girl's question, considering the melancholy tone of the living room atmosphere, Petunia snapped herself back into the present; away from her feelings of guilt and despair.
"She did," she managed to smile. "She'd come home every summer and Christmas. She'd do little tricks — turning teacups into rats; that kind of thing. The full capacity of magical ability is beyond my knowledge, but I know it's capable of—" she trailed off. It was best not to divulge magic's capabilities; at least not yet, as she found herself looking away from the young witch in front of her.
At no liberty to say anything, for fear of upsetting her aunt further, Laurel focused her attention on the figure of the man in the armchair. Vernon didn't have much to say, before following Petunia, who had fled the lounge bawling her eyes out, leaving only the two children in the room.
"Well, I never," Dudley said, almost disbelievingly. Like his cousin, he, too, had always believed magic to be fictional. "A witch."
