See I was born a restless child
And I could hear the world outside calling me
And they saw trouble in my eyes
The were quick to recognise the devil in me
Chapter 1: An Introduction and the Day the Letters Came
"Good luck, Harry and Heather Potter."
There was a soft swish, and the man who had spoken was gone, leaving two very precious bundles on the doorstep of the place they would be forced to call home for the next nine years, eight months, and twenty days.
A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive under the inky blackness of the suburban sky. Every house looked alike, every hedge was neatly trimmed, and all the lawns were neatly accented with flowers and trees. It was the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen.
Harry Potter rolled over inside his blanket. Heather Potter squirmed, her sleeping body fighting the tightness of the swaddling, trying to move around a bit, before giving up and relaxing once more. Neither woke.
Two small hands closed on the letter in between them, fingers clumsily falling over each other in a subconscious attempt to hold hands as they had once done in their mother's womb. Together, they began to dream the same dream; of their first birthday in July, when their father had given them each miniature broomsticks, which they zoomed around on a few feet above the ground, giggling and squealing while their laughing parents chased after them.
Still they slept on, not knowing they were special, not knowing they were famous, not knowing they would be woken in a few hours time by their aunt's scream as she went to put out the milk bottles, nor that they would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by their cousin Dudley.
They couldn't know that at this very moment people meeting in secret all over the country were raising their glasses and saying in hushed voices, "To Harry and Heather Potter – the children who lived!"
Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their niece and nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number 4 that rested on the Dursley's front door, and crept in their living room, which was almost the same as it had been on the night when Harry and Heather were placed on the stoop. Only the photos on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been a lot of pictures of what appeared to be a large pink beach ball wearing different coloured hats, but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at a fair, playing a computer game with his father, and being hugged and kissed by his mother. There was one family portrait for every year Dudley had been alive – eleven at the moment, with a grinning Dudley, beaming Petunia, and smirking Vernon in each one, all dressed in complementary outfits.
There were no pictures of the two other children who lived in the house.
The room held no indication that there were, in fact, a pair of children named Harry and Heather Potter living in the home. The tidy, put-together living room did not indicate that horrible things happened in that house. The sparkling kitchen did not reveal that two of the home's occupants went without food more often than not. The clean and well stocked bathrooms didn't show that strange things that seemed almost like magic happened in that ordinary home. The wallpapered hallways, polished staircase, and organised closets told nothing of what had happened to the sister and brother-in-law of Petunia Dursley.
And lastly, the four bedrooms – of which only two were occupied – did nothing to indicate to the casual observer that things were very wrong in this home, and yet they were.
Indeed, Albus Dumbledore had not examined all angles when he placed the children named Harry James and Heather Calla Potter in the care of this family, for not even the man who coined the phrase "For the Greater Good" could allow this sort of treatment towards any children, let alone the ones that the Wizarding World called 'The Children Who Lived'.
….Could he?
-Life with the Dursleys: A Summary-
On Dudley:
Dudley's only consistent exercise was hitting things.
Their cousin had been encouraged from an early age to do as he wished to Harry and Heather. He would kick them, punch them, chase them, and encourage his friends to do the same. Dudley threatened anyone at their primary school who even tried to be friendly with them, and most seemed to agree that it wasn't worth the effort.
Dudley and his gang liked to break Harry's glasses, lift up Heather's skirts and say nasty things, rip their school bags, force them up high places and then push them off, and take their jackets away in the wintertime – and these were only their favourite activities.
The twins had both broken many bones, but had only been allowed to go to a hospital for a few of them, and the doctors always seemed to believe Aunt Petunia's speeches about what troublemaking daredevils they were.
Sometimes, during the twins' longer punishments, Dudley would take to eating and drinking near their cupboard, chewing and slurping loudly as he did so. He also took pleasure in making sure both bathrooms were occupied when the twins were let out twice a day to do their business.
Harry and Heather couldn't wait for the day that they could give their cousin a taste of his own medicine. They had fought back once, and only once, because the punishment for Dudley's bleeding lip and scant bruises was worse than anything he and his gang had ever done. In fact, they had to stay home from school for two weeks 'with the flu' to recover enough for no one to become suspicious when they went back.
However, one day they would make sure Dudley got what was coming to him.
On Petunia:
Nothing pleased Petunia.
They could cook breakfast and do all the chores perfectly, and it wouldn't matter. If they moved one toe wrong, however, they would find themselves slapped, hit, and/or thrown in their cupboard without meals.
Mostly, though, Petunia liked to pretend they didn't exist. Unless she was ordering them to do something or punishing them for one incident or another, she ignored them completely, her eyes passing over them in a room as if they were ghosts or pieces of furniture.
Petunia Dursley was the first to suggest that the twins move into the cupboard. They had been sleeping in the living room, first in Dudley's old crib, and then in his old playpen for a time. That way, they were far enough from their aunt and uncle not to disturb them in the night. However it soon became clear that even the playpen was too small for the growing four-year-olds (little did the Dursleys know that they had learned how to sneak out of their cages long ago to find food in the kitchen at night), and when Vernon grudgingly suggested Dudley's second bedroom or the guest room, Petunia turned her nose up and replied that both were far too good for them. Soon after, the cupboard under the stairs was emptied, a large cot was bought, and Harry and Heather were moved it.
Petunia was also the one to tell them where their similar scars came from; both of the twins had wounds in the rough shape of lightning bolts on their faces. Heather's went from her hairline on the left side of her face down over that eyebrow and nearly to her eyelid. Harry's was on the right side, and smaller, closer to the middle of his face. While his was still red as if newly healed, Heather's was a raised flesh-coloured ridge of tough skin like scar tissue typically was. According to their aunt, they had received these scars in the car accident that killed their parents.
Harry and Heather could no longer count how many times they had begged their aunt to tell them their mother and father's names, but she refused. As punishment when they asked, she would often sit them down and tell them about their parents and what horrible, nasty, drunken freaks they were.
Harry and Heather eventually learned not to ask.
It was a cold day in March, just months before our story truly begins, when Harry and Heather happened to overhear their aunt and uncle talking….
"…want them going off to that place like those freaks."
"Perhaps they're not that much like their parents, dear. Maybe we don't have a thing to worry about!"
"Bullshit," their uncle spat, "They're the spitting image of James and Lily Potter."
The rest of the conversation hadn't mattered to the twins, for their eyes locked and they beamed at one another, going back to their cupboard happily for the night and no longer caring about the empty bellies they had been up to sneak food for.
On Vernon:
I won't go into much detail. In fact, I'll just give you the bare facts.
They were four the first time it happened.
Petunia had gone to Dudley's school conference while Dudley himself was at a friend's house for the night. Vernon kept barking at Harry to bring him more scotch – not unusual – but this time Petunia wasn't there, and so Uncle Vernon didn't feel the need to limit himself. Slowly but surely, his demands became kinder and kinder. Harry and Heather had looked at each other, confused, but slowly started to relax, thinking that, perhaps, they had done something right this time. Or that, at least, it would be a good night.
And then he invited Harry to sit in his lap (which none of the Dursleys ever did; hugs, kisses, and the like were banned for the Potters, because the Dursleys despised touching the twins, unless it could hurt them, and made no secret of it), and after that night nothing was ever the same again.
-The Day the Letters Came-
It was a cooler-than-average Wednesday in mid July that seemed, at first, completely ordinary. The wind whipped the trees around and blew away the grass that Mr. Number 8 was trimming. Many mothers throughout the neighbourhood thought this was the perfect day to go out to the park with their young ones – it wasn't as oppressively hot as usual, and the wind and lack of humidity made it quite comfortable outside.
Mrs. Dursley of Number Four had promised to take her son Dudley to the park later that day as well, after his pleading and nagging all morning, so that he could ride the racing bike he had gotten recently for his birthday (he wasn't allowed to ride it on their street anymore, due to having knocked down their elderly neighbour, Miss Figg, while she was out with a broken leg on her crutches; this was one of the rare times when Dudley was not allowed to do something). Petunia had even grudgingly said that her niece and nephew would be allowed to come along as well ("What harm can it do, I suppose…but you two had better be on your best behaviour." she had sighed), so everyone knew she must have been in an exceptional mood.
Harry and Heather Potter had even been allowed to have a small plate of food to share…toast, eggs, bangers, mushrooms, tomatoes, bacon – the works, and made by their aunt this time, rather than them, because (as Uncle Vernon had said this morning), "I don't want those nasty brats screwing up the food today. I have a big meeting at noon, you know, and I want something that's decent. We'll probably miss lunch, so it has to be more filling than usual."
(Harry and Heather had never 'screwed up' any of their relative's food before, and Vernon's meals were always extremely filling, as evidenced by his rotund figure, but that was beside the point).
It retrospect, they should have known it was too good to last.
While Dudley utilised his new cane (he was attending his father's old school come the fall – Smelting's – and every young boy there carried a long stick, which they used to hit each other when the teachers weren't looking) as a fork and Vernon and Petunia talked about the neighbours and Vernon's co-workers, Harry and Heather traded food across their plate. Mushrooms to Heather, bangers to Harry, bacon to Heather, tomatoes to Harry.
The fragile peace was interrupted by the click of the mail flap and Vernon's voice shouting, "One of you had better get the mail!"
Harry and Heather shared a look, then stood up together and left the kitchen. They didn't like to be apart around the Dursleys if they could help it; luckily they usually could.
As they were walking down the hall to the front door, Heather poked Harry in the arm to get his attention, then mimed stuffing fistfuls of food in her mouth like their cousin did. Harry had to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing aloud. They weren't out of earshot yet. In turn, he put a finger over his lip to mimic a moustache and puffed out his stomach as much as he could, pretending to be their uncle. Heather nearly turned blue from holding her breath.
The Dursley family looked completely different from the two Potter children, which Harry and Heather secretly loved. This way, whenever they were all out together (which, in itself, was pretty rare), people seemed to group them separately, as if Harry and Heather were apart from their relatives and therefore not responsible for their often horribly rude and disgusting behaviour.
Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley all had white skin with pinkish undertones. Vernon was a very fat man with no neck to speak of, and black hair with a matching moustache – all properly groomed, of course. Petunia was a thin woman with twice the usual amount of neck (useful for spying on the neighbours), neat blonde hair always done in the latest and most popular "suburban housewife" styles, blue eyes, and a beak-like nose. Dudley took after his father in size, but had his mother's watery blue eyes and blonde hair that lay flat on his fat head. Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a little angel. Harry and Heather said he looked like a pig in a wig.
As different as they looked from their family, Harry and Heather looked very much like each other.
Besides the fact that they shared the similar lightning-bolt shaped scars on their foreheads, they were both also very thin and bony, with darker, more olive-toned skin than their relatives. They both had messy black hair, but Heather's was very long and curly while Harry's was short and stuck up all over, especially in the back. Heather had grey eyes, while Harry had bright green, and Harry wore glasses but Heather did not. They both had the same medium-sized noses (slightly crooked from all the times they had been broken), thick eyebrows, and full lips. Heather's face was diamond-shaped, and Harry's was rectangular.
They shared several other traits as well, in fact it often seemed as if they shared a brain. If one moved, the other moved as well. If one decided it was time to run, the other would too. They were almost like one cohesive unit, the way they acted simultaneously or in response to the other, even when they couldn't see one another (which was rare; as I said, they preferred not to be separated, especially around the Dursleys). And when they touched anywhere skin-to-skin, they could hear each other's thoughts.
Their aunt and uncle knew nothing of this, of course. The twins weren't stupid enough to tell them. It would just further cement the idea in the Dursleys minds that they were freaks.
It was more than just their telepathy, though. Harry and Heather were similar in ways that went bone-deep, that were integral parts of who they were (a few of these similarities they didn't even know about yet, and wouldn't for some time).
They were both brave, though often foolhardy – as witnessed by all on the day they decided to fight back against Dudley – and fast, though they may not look it. They both liked to learn and were very bright, though Harry hated going to school and Heather hated having homework assignments. Both of them were friendly and kind to those who deserved it, yet sneaky and probably too wise for their age, a wisdom born of learning life's early lessons with no adult guidance, of learning, indeed, to protect themselves from adults, in whatever ways they could. They were strong mentally, of course – how else could they survive such horrible abuse and neglect (even if the twins didn't know that that was what was happening to them all the time) with only one another to lean on? – and they were strong physically, even if they were both small for their ages – like the time they somehow threw Uncle Vernon across the room when he tried to –
"Look!" Heather suddenly whispered, pointing at the welcome matt. Four letters sat there, and Harry picked them up, looking for what caught his sister's eye. One was a brown envelope that looked like a bill, then there was a postcard that appeared to be from Vernon's sister Marge, and two letters for the twins –
"Wait," Harry said, "Do those say…our names?"
"Yeah!" Heather said, kneeling down and grabbing the two letters, leaving the others on the mat. "Look – Miss H Potter, the cupboard under the stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey!"
"But…how could anyone actually know where we sleep?" Harry asked, taking his letter and looking it over. The address was written in an elegant, thin script, with emerald green ink. There was neither a stamp nor a return address. As one, the twins flipped their letters over and saw that the backs were held down by a purple wax seal with a letter 'H' inside a crest stamped onto it. The envelopes, they noted, were not normal paper, but a type of heavy, yellowish parchment.
Harry and Heather looked at each other, then began to open the letters.
However, before they could even pull them out of the envelopes, they were interrupted by a loud yell.
"DAD! MUM! THEY'RE MESSING WITH THE MAIL!"
The twins both jumped and quickly made to stuff their letters into their pockets, but Vernon came bounding into the hall and ran at them faster than any man his size should have been able to. He grabbed the letters out of the hands, sneering and wheezing at the same time.
"What do you two worthless freaks think you're doing?" he snarled, grabbing the rest of the mail from the mat. "How dare you open our mail!"
"They're not yours!" Heather said. "Those two are for Harry and me!"
Uncle Vernon's sneer faded. Petunia peeked into the hall curiously.
"You?" snorted Vernon, thumbing through the mail to their letters, "Who would be writing to…" he gasped, and the twins saw his face change from red to green faster than a traffic light. "P-p-p-Petunia!"
Their aunt rushed over to them and grabbed the letters out of their uncle's fat hands. She looked at the address, gasped, then shakily pulled a letter out. Both she and Vernon read a bit of it at the same time, while the twins tried desperately to grab them and Dudley wandered curiously down the hall.
"Vernon – oh my goodness…Vernon!" Their aunt looked like she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a sort of choking sound.
"Hey, I want to see those letters!" Dudley demanded, whacking his father on the leg with his Smelting's stick.
"No, we want them." Harry said, glaring at Dudley. "As they're ours."
"Go to your rooms, the lot of you." Vernon said croakily, stuffing the letters in his back pocket.
No one moved.
"Give us our letters!" said Heather.
"Let me see them!" cried Dudley.
"OUT!" Vernon yelled, grabbing Dudley by his shirt and heaving him towards the staircase. Next second, he was grabbing Harry and Heather by the backs of their necks and squeezing to get them moving. He shoved them into their cupboard and slammed the door, locking it from the outside.
However, for once, the twins got lucky. Their uncle had forgotten to close the vent in the door.
Quickly they sat up, scooting to the door and looking out through the slats in the brass opening.
"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice. It appeared that she was leaning against the wall for support, though the twins could only see part of her back. Judging by the shadows in the hall, Vernon was pacing in front of her. "Look at the addresses – how could they possibly know where they sleep? Goodness, y–you don't think they're watching the house?"
"Watching – spying – might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.
"But what should we do, Vernon? Perhaps we write back? Tell them we don't want–"
"No," said Uncle Vernon after a minute. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer….yes, that's best…, we won't do anything…"
"But–"
"I'm not having that in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took the brats in we'd stamp out all that dangerous nonsense?"
That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before: he visited the twins in their cupboard.
"Where're our letters?" demanded Harry the moment he had squeezed himself through the door.
"Who's writing to us?" Heather said quickly. The twins had never wanted something so badly in their lives as to know what was in those letters.
"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I've burned them."
"It was not a mistake," Harry said angrily. The twins hated being treated like they were stupid.
"It had our cupboard on it!" Heather cried. The Dursleys never did anything remotely kind for them – was it so much to just ask for the mail that was addressed to them? Who could it really harm?
"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon. The twins winced slightly, while a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked rather painful.
"Er – yes, Harry, Heather – about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking…you're really getting a bit big for it…we think it might be n…nice if you two just moved into Dudley's second bedroom."
"Why?" Harry asked curiously. The twins started to feel a bit excited at the idea, but it wasn't like the Dursleys to be nice, especially Petunia, who had wanted them in the cupboard in the first place.
"Don't ask questions!" snapped their uncle, ruining that illusion. "Just take all this stuff upstairs, now."
The Dursley house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Vernon's sister, Marge, who was horrible and hated the twins almost more than the Dursleys did), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took the Potters one trip upstairs to move everything they owned from the cupboard.
Petunia moved most of Dudley's things to the guest room or the attic. There was only one bed, one closet, and one dresser in the room, but of course Harry and Heather didn't have many clothes as it was, and they were used to sharing a small cot; having a double-sized bed to share was a luxury.
"Yesterday, I would have given two day's food to be up here." Heather said sadly as they both lay by the window.
"Me too." Harry agreed, cleaning his glasses on his stained shirt. "Now I just wish we had those letters."
The next morning at breakfast, Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, been sick on purpose, whacked his father with his Smelting's stick, thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and kicked his mother, but he still didn't have his second bedroom back. Heather was thinking about this time yesterday and wishing they had opened the letters faster in the hall, or just stuffed them in their cupboard. Harry was pushing his eggs around, not feeling hungry but trying to make himself eat – the twins couldn't really rely on meals at Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.
When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to the twins for some reason, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting's stick all the way down the hall. After a moment he shouted, "There're more! Mr. H. Potter the right side of the bed, the smallest bedroom, Miss H. Potter, the –"
With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt up from his seat and ran down the hall with the twins right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letters from him, which was made more difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon from behind around the neck and Heather had his feet. After a minute of confused fighting in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting's stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, both letters clutched in his meaty hand.
"Go to your cupboard – I mean, your – your bedroom," he wheezed to the twins. "Dudley – go – j–just go."
"They know we've moved from the cupboard," Heather said.
"And they know we didn't get the first letter," added Harry. "So that means they'll try again, right?"
"They have to," agreed Heather quickly, hope in her voice. "They won't give up easily, I bet, whoever they are."
"We have to help them this time," said Harry, sitting down on the bed. "But what could we do?"
They both thought for a moment. Heather was pacing the room. This was one of the many advantages to finally having a room; in their cupboard, they could barely sit up straight, much less move around.
"I've got it!" Harry suddenly exclaimed with a grin.
The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Heather turned it off quickly and they got dressed silently. They mustn't wake the Dursleys – that was the most important part of the plan. They quickly stole downstairs without turning on any lights, both skilfully avoiding the creaky step.
Harry and Heather were going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for Number Four first. They already had a story ready for him as to why they were doing so. Both of their hearts hammered as they crept across the dark hall toward the front door –
"AAAAARRRRRGGHHH!"
Heather leapt into the air; she'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat – something alive!
Lights clicked on upstairs, and to the twin's horror, they realized that Heather had stepped on Uncle Vernon. The man had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly trying to make sure they wouldn't do exactly what they'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry and Heather for half an hour, then told them to go make some tea. They shuffled miserably off to the kitchen and by the time they got back, Petunia and Dudley had come downstairs, now dressed, and the mail had been delivered right into Uncle Vernon's lap. They could see at least a dozen letters addressed in green ink.
Before they could say a word, Uncle Vernon began tearing the letters into pieces.
However, at that moment Heather saw something that Harry's poor eyesight and cheap glasses wouldn't let him spot from this far away.
One word: Wizard.
Heather gasped. Instinctively, she reached for Harry's arm. Ever since they had been little, they had been able to communicate with each other this way – in their minds. They only had to be touching, and they could do it.
Heather showed Harry what she had seen. The one word.
Wizard.
Time seemed to stop as the children turned to look at each other. Dudley seemed to freeze where he was sitting on the stairs, tapping the rungs with his Smelting's stick. Petunia appeared to stop mid-sip, her teacup held delicately to her lips and her eyes on Vernon, who looked stalled in tearing the tenth letter apart.
Or maybe things just looked this way to Harry and Heather because so many things suddenly made sense.
They were getting letters from someone who knew exactly where they slept. The person had known they hadn't been able to read the first ones. Their aunt and uncle's horrified expressions became clear. Their references to the twins 'being like their freak parents' made sense now. And all the strange things the twins seemed to be able to do – talking to the snakes in the back garden, making their hair grow back after bad hair cuts, turning their teacher's wig blue, ending up on the top of the school roof, throwing Uncle Vernon across the room the sixth time he had touched them…
It all added up.
One word.
Wizard.
As one, the children stuck out their right hands. Time was now moving normally again, and the two remaining letters flew from Uncle Vernon's lap into Harry's and Heather's hands.
Vernon froze. Dudley screamed. Petunia gave a little gasp of horror. The twins ignored them all, and opened their letters.
This is what they saw, in the same script and green ink as the envelope:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr or Miss Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September first. We await your owl by no later than July thirty-first.
Yours sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall
Deputy headmistress
The twins didn't even pause as they turned to the next page. The Dursleys were all still frozen in place.
Uniform:
Three Sets of Plain Work Robes (Black)
One Plain Pointed Hat (Black) for day wear
One Pair of Protective Gloves (dragon hide or similar)
One Winter Cloak (Black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all students' clothes should carry name-tags at all times.
Course Books:
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Droughts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self– Protection by Quentin Tremble
Other Equipment:
1 wand
1 cauldron (Pewter, Standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a rat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
Slowly, they lowered their letters. Dudley had migrated from the staircase and was cowering behind Petunia.
"So this is it." Harry finally said, looking at the Dursleys. "This is what you didn't want us to know. We're wizards."
Petunia shrieked. Dudley gaped. Vernon started to stand, looking ready to say something.
"No." Heather said, quietly but firmly. Vernon froze in place, and seemed unable to move either fully up or back down.
"This is why you've hated us our whole lives," Heather continued, "Because we're wizards. That's why we were always doing those strange things. We always thought it couldn't be our faults, but it was us."
"And I bet that's why you hated our parents," said Harry. "I bet they were wizards too, weren't they?"
Neither Vernon nor Petunia answered. Dudley seemed to be crying.
"WEREN'T THEY?" Harry yelled, and Petunia jumped and gave a weak nod.
"You tried to keep these from us – to stop us from knowing who we are, and that there are more out there like us," Heather stated, flatly at first, but her voice began to rise quickly as she continued: "You thought that if you hurt us enough, treated us badly enough, you could stop us from being who we're supposed to be!"
Vernon's petrifaction seemed to wear off, because he suddenly stood completely upright and made for the twins.
"Look, you disgusting freaks, I –"
"Stop talking!" Harry cried. Heather's hand flew out, and Uncle Vernon flew backwards into the door, leaving a dent, just as he had when the twins were five. Petunia and Dudley both screamed, and Harry held his hand out towards them without even thinking about it. They were both immediately silenced, and looked plainly terrified as they tried in vain to yell, backed against the wall together. The twins advanced on Uncle Vernon.
"You hurt us, and starved us, and locked us in a closet, and…and…" Heather couldn't find a word for the other things their uncle had done to them. She did not yet know the word 'rape' or 'molest', though she would one day. However, their uncle obviously knew what she meant, for he grew paler and paler the more she spoke.
Harry picked up, "And called us freaks since we were babies, all because we could do this!"
He willed all the pictures on the stairwell to break, and the glass shattered, spraying shards all over the stairs and parts of the downstairs hall. Dudley screamed again, the silence worn off, and was now sobbing loudly, as was Petunia. Their uncle looked like he would pass out at any moment.
"But for all we know, you three are the freaks!" yelled Heather. "You and everyone like you! Who's to say that wizards and witches didn't come first, and that you're wrong?"
"So here's what's going to happen," said Harry, quietly now, but this only served to terrify the Dursleys more. "We are going to go out and find an owl. You three are going to clean all this up and make yourselves – and us – breakfast."
"We are going to write to Hogwarts and ask them where we buy our school things," continued Heather, just as quietly. They were still touching each other's arms, planning together in their heads. "And how we are to pay for it all. Once we get a reply, you will take us to wherever we need to go. After that, we don't want to see you ever again."
"We'll find someone else to live while school isn't in session," Harry said. "I'm sure there's somewhere we can find a decent enough job washing dishes or something, and a place to live. Obviously we can protect ourselves."
The twins paused to smile widely at each other. The Dursleys all flinched.
"Russia in the winter would be better than here." Heather added. "But before all that, Aunt Petunia," Petunia flinched again as the twins turned to her, "You are going to tell us how our parents really died."
Together, they had both silently realised that the car crash story had been just that – a story. To be honest, it had been in the backs of their minds for quite a while.
Petunia's mouth moved a few times before sound came out, and this time it wasn't because of the twins' magic.
"I-I-I I have a letter…" she stammered uncertainly.
"Go get it," said Harry resolutely, and Petunia nodded, nearly running up the stairs. Dudley, without his mother to shield him, whimpered and backed as far away from the twins as he could, sliding with his back along the wall until he hit a picture frame with the back of his head and shrieked in terror.
Seconds later, Petunia appeared. In her hand was another parchment envelope, but this time only her name was on the front. Heather took it, and Petunia dashed over to Dudley once more.
Together, the twins read the words written in curly, magenta script:
Dear Mrs. Dursley,
As you probably know, these two children are your niece and nephew. Their parents have tragically been killed by the dark wizard Voldemort. The children, however, survived, and one of them seems to have destroyed the Dark Lord – perhaps for good.
Since their mother's love for them protected them, I have placed them in your care, as you share the same blood as Lily Potter. Your presence with the children will protect them as their mother's did until they are of age. I'm sure you and your family can find it in your hearts to care for the children, and I'm certain they will be very kind and well-behaved.
Now, about their future education at Hogwarts. I am not certain as to how much you know about our world, so I will try to cover all necessary things. Their letters should come in the summer of their eleventh year. They have a very large sum of money stored in the wizard bank, Gringotts, that can be accessed any time by the key in this envelope, or, if need be, by a small blood sample.
However, I am sure you will not need any of this until their education starts, but it is there if necessary. Now, the entrance to Diagon Alley, where Gringotts is located and where they may get all their school supplies, is located behind a pub called the Leaky Cauldron. It sits in between a book shop and a record shop on Charring Cross Road in London. The Leaky Cauldron isn't easily noticed by non-wizards, so the children will have to lead you in.
But in any case, I'm sure you'll all do very well. We'll see you in ten years.
Thank you and condolences,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
"Our parents were killed by an evil wizard – Voldenmog?" Heather said in disbelief. It was like something from a fairy tale. Wait, actually that name didn't sound right; she re-read the letter quickly and saw that it was actually Voldemort – what an odd name. She was pretty sure it meant something about death in Latin or French, or perhaps both. Did all wizards have such odd names? Voldemort, Dumbledore, Minerva…
Harry had a different reaction. Or, rather, he had it sooner; Heather surly would have gotten there as well in due time.
"Our parents were murdered, and you couldn't be bothered to tell us?" He nearly roared at Petunia, who whimpered something like "sorry". Heather even jumped slightly, while Dudley was sobbing so hard he was liable to have an asthma attack and Vernon was a pale white they had never seen him turn before; generally when their uncle change colour with emotion, he went red, or, if very angry, purple.
Harry felt like he could have breathed fire – and perhaps he actual could, he thought wildly. Anything was possible now.
"SORRY?" he yelled, "YOU'RE SORRY?"
The windows began rattling in their frames. Dudley passed out cold against the wall, his eyes rolling back, sliding to the floor behind his mother. Vernon didn't even dare to breathe. Petunia was frozen in place.
Heather grabbed her brother's arm tighter. She spoke to him quickly, even though they tended to communicate in their heads using feelings and images and fleeting thoughts:
'Harry, I know you're upset. So am I. But this isn't even the worst thing they've done to us. Besides, now we're getting out of here, remember? Let's not explode the house just yet, okay? Maybe in a few years.'
Harry took a deep breath. The windows stopped shaking. He knew his sister was right; the only important thing right now was getting away – both for their safety and the Dursley's. He hated them all passionately, but he didn't want them dead. Or at least, he didn't think he did.
Harry calmed himself and he and Heather read the letter again, and noticed now that the man who had wrote it – Albus Dumbledore – was also the headmaster of Hogwarts. Why had a school headmaster been in charge of their future?
Oh – and they had a bank vault, left to them by their parents. They just needed the key…
The twins glanced inside the envelope, and there was indeed a small gold key. Harry pocketed it.
"That answers a few things," said Heather, "But we still need to ask them a couple of questions when we write our acceptance message."
"Right," agreed Harry, nodding and turning back to the Dursleys. Dudley was stirring a bit, and Vernon had stood up and gone to help Petunia try and revive him. The adults looked up, saw the twins looking at them, and gulped.
"Now," said Heather patiently, as though to a small child, "What did we say is going to happen?"
"Y-y-y-you're – you're going to go get an owl," said Petunia in a whisper, "And write to those frea–" she cut herself off at a dark look from the Potters, "I mean, the Hogwarts people, and we're going to…to straighten up and make some breakfast."
Harry and Heather nodded, then looked to Vernon to continue.
"Oh – r-right," he stammered, shaking a bit. "Then once you get an answer, we'll take you wherever you need to go, then – then you don't see us ever again, right?"
The twins nodded again.
"Also, you're going to keep acting like we live here," said Heather, "That man's letter makes it seem like we're here for our protection, which is bullshit, of course, but we don't want him trying to make us come back to live here."
"So if he sends you any letters, or stops by, you act like we're here, got it?" Harry finished. Vernon and Petunia nodded quickly.
"Good," said Heather. "Now get to work."
Immediately Petunia scrambled for the kitchen to get the dustbin and broom, and Vernon started hastily picking up the fallen pictures and salvageable frames. Dudley's eyelids began fluttering and he moaned, reaching to rub his head.
The twins looked at each other and smiled, Harry pocketing his Hogwarts letter and supply list along with Albus Dumbledore's letter, and Heather pocketing her letter and supply list, along with the tiny key for their vault. They grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from the living room. Heather's hand was almost on the doorknob when Harry stopped her.
"Can't we give them one more thing to clean up?" he asked hopefully, and Heather grinned.
Together, they thrust out their hands, palm up, and the front door flew off its hinges and fell down on the porch with a loud CRASH that made all three Dursleys scream. Grabbing each other's hands and nodding politely to the many watching neighbours, the Potter twins stepped out of Privet Drive in search of an owl.