Hello! I'm back! Sorry this took so long, but I've been awfully busy with everything else. Enjoy this one, and I hope that the next one is up faster than this was.
She saw him a few years later. The night was quiet, and she had just witnessed the Dursley's leaving, for some reason she never found out. It was a few weeks before her seventeenth birthday, and all was well that summer. A warm, pleasant summer that was spent walking around or in the library.
People emerged from the house doors of Harry's house, but they all looked different. A man taller than the others, one with a limp, so many others that were too far away to examine from her bedroom window. Then, from what she could tell, there were seven boys!
Seven, very identical, boys.
All dressed as the boy she once knew.
And she was stunned.
Of course she was stunned. It's not every day you see seven people who look the same, all in one place, all walking out to the street, all doing something that seemed out of the ordinary.
The man with the limp, a cane in his hand, looked up at the sky, his eyes searching for something she couldn't tell. Then his eyes paused on her bedroom window, as if he knew she was there, looking. One of his eyes, Maggie could see, was wildly turning around in its socket, but his other one was focused on her. He winked, and that was the last sight she remembered before darkness surrounded her.
When she woke, she rushed out to see what was outside, what lay in the street.
Nothing.
There were no signs of the seven boys and the man with the limp. Her bare feet touched the cold stone of her walkway, staring at the plain old street called Privet Drive.
It was pointless for her to think that there could be seven boys that all looked very much like Harry Potter, all dressed in the same clothes, all wearing the same glasses, could all be on Privet Drive.
Slowly, she picked up the daily paper and walked back inside, the thought that there was something boring into her back as she closed the wooden door with the number 10 etched nicely on the front.
With a tad bit of disappointment, she tossed the newspaper on the eating table in front of her father. "Why the long face, Maggie?" her father asked, grabbing the paper and beginning to read it.
"Nothing. Nothing at all," she replied.
"Are you ready for your birthday?"
"Yeah. I am." Her eyes moved from the oak table and the etchings that her fingers made to the window.
Maybe it was the thought of her birthday so near, or that her last wish almost came true, but she had a feeling that something would happen in the next year that was worth while.