The rest of the week passed uneventfully. I spent most of my time finishing off my homework, scowling at the particular nasty essay Snape, the Potions Master, had set. Mia and Luke helped as much as they could, which made it easier, but most of the time, Luke was busy at work at the Ministry, where he worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Mia's time was taken up by caring for a rather exhausting Rosie.

The one thing they both continuously made time for was asking me how I was doing each day. They seemed particularly cautious first thing in a morning, where I was often greeted as though I was about to explode. Neither of them seemed to elaborate on what was supposed to be wrong, so I pushed it to the back of my mind, responding each day with the usual 'fine' before settling to continue my homework.

I had, however, taken to meeting Harry in the park at least once a day when I took Chester and Snow for a walk. Nine times out of ten, we just sat and talked, but on the odd occasion I was too busy to leave the house, I found the tattoo on my arm tingled painfully until I was finally left with no other choice than to go and find him. It unsettled me to know just how little time I was afforded on my own, but I figured the sooner we got to Hogwarts, the easier that would be to handle. Plus, there was bound to be some book or other there that could explain what was happening.

The first time it became a serious problem was toward the end of the week. I'd spent the entire day looking after Rosie because Mia had been in bed with a migraine. She never slept for long because she didn't like leaving Rosie for too long, and she hated making me stay inside all day. Determined I could cope with it, I'd ordered her to bed and kept up a constant supply of tea and toast while I cared for Rosie.

"No, Rosie, you're not allowed my wand," I told her for the hundredth time when she tried to snatch it out of my back pocket. For some reason, I'd taken to keeping it with me at all times, a nervous habit I hadn't had since the Chamber of Secrets incident at school.

The little girl pouted at me and mumbled something that I gathered was supposed to be my name, as well as something that sounded oddly like 'please'. "No," I said sternly, shaking my head. "It's dangerous."

I could see the tears starting in her eyes, and couldn't help rolling my own. With no other idea of what to do, I scooped her out of her highchair, ignoring the pain that shot up my forearm as a result. It had been gradually getting more and more painfully since about three o'clock that afternoon, and now – at almost six thirty – it was driving me mad. I knew I could deal with it. It wasn't as though it was unbearable. But knowing I could stop it by walking a few minutes down the street was torture.

Still, I curled up in the armchair by the window and picked up Rosie's favourite book, The Tales of Beedle the Bard. She settled the moment I started reading to her, cuddling into my side and curling her fingers around my hair. Nyx cautiously leapt onto my lap too, keeping as much distance between her and Rosie as possible. The little girl tended to get excited when she saw the cat.

But before long, Rosie was sound asleep, and Nyx was perched on the windowsill, watching the outside world cautiously. With nothing better to do, I continued reading the book to myself, my left hand twitching in pain every now and then. Fortunately, just as I was wondering what time Luke was getting back, the front door opened and the man himself stepped inside with a heavy sigh.

As quickly and carefully as I could manage, I threw the book onto the sofa across the room and scooped Rosie into my arms. Luke had barely stepped through to the living room when I handed his daughter over to him. I could feel my cheeks flushing under a sudden heat, and, muttering something about needing air, I almost raced out of the house, bolting down the street and down onto Privet Drive.

Without thinking about it, I hammered on the door of Number Four, catching my breath quickly and straightening my expression. Even just being outside his house, I could feel the pain subsiding in my arm and I breathed a sigh of relief, shuffling awkwardly on the spot.

The door was pulled open by a skinny woman with a fake smile. She was about a half a foot taller than me, with a bony face and blonde hair neatly curled on the top of her head. She was dressed in a smart, yet remarkably ugly dress with an apron wrapped around her middle. I recognised her as Petunia Dursley, Harry's horrible Aunt. Her eyes scanned my appearance critically, hovering over my battered skinny jeans, worn combat boots and long-sleeved, baggy grey wool jumper.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a stern voice.

Before I could answer, a much larger woman appeared behind her, almost shoving her out of the way. The woman was so large, she almost blocked the entire door, and the seams of her blouse seemed ready to burst. I had to purse my lips tightly as her beady eyes scanned my expression.

"You must be here to see my Dudders!" she as good as roared.

I raised an eyebrow. "Erm, Dudders?"

"Dudley!" she exclaimed, as though this should have been obvious. I felt my eyes widen. "Good looking girl like yourself, why else would you be here?"

I cleared my throat. "Actually, I'm here to see Harry."

Petunia Dursley paled dramatically, but the larger woman almost had a heart attack. "That boy?" she as good as shrieked. "You need some sense knocked into you, girl!" I couldn't stop my hands twitching to my back pocket, where my wand was concealed by the back of my jumper.

"What's going on?" a man called through loudly. The huge woman reached out and grabbed my arm, hauling me into the house roughly and slamming the door behind us. Petunia looked like she was about to stop her, but then thought better of it.

We came to a halt in the dining room, where Harry's cousin Dudley and his Uncle Vernon were sat around the table. Vernon looked oddly like the large woman, with next to no neck and a thick moustache. Dudley was almost the same, with a thin coat of blonde hair on top of his head and several chins. His huge frame didn't even fit on the chair.

"Vernon, this young girl is looking for Potter," the woman – who by now I figured was Harry's Aunt Marge – told him. Vernon suddenly looked like he was about to faint. "Can you believe that? A beautiful young girl like this looking for . . . him?"

I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended. Vernon, on the other hand, obviously found my presence here incredibly offensive. "Probably issues with her father," he suggested weakly, pushing himself to his feet. "Best if we just leave them to it."

"Oh no," Marge scoffed, pressing a hand onto my shoulder until my knees gave way and I fell into the chair beside Dudley. The way the boy was gawping at me, pale-faced, made me queasy. "Is that true, girl? Do you have issues with your father?"

I stared at her, wondering why I suddenly wanted to laugh. "I, err, don't know my father," I admitted. "I'm adopted."

Marge threw her hands into the air like she'd just found the secrets to the universe, and I pursed my lips tightly to stop myself smirking as Vernon and Petunia exchanged nervous glances. "Of course, you were right Vernon. Luckily, it's nothing we can't sort out. Set another place at the table for dinner, Petunia. I'll set her straight."

I took a deep breath, shaking my head furiously. "Oh, I really should be getting-"

"Nonsense," Marge dismissed, sitting down Dudley's other side. The chair gave a resounding crack beneath her, but she ignored it. "You'll eat with us here, and by the end of dinner, you'll be wondering what you saw in the boy."

"Oh, I doubt that," I muttered under my breath, rubbing my forearm subconsciously. Dudley was still gawping at me, his tiny eyes wide with something that looked oddly like fear.

Though I knew Vernon and Petunia wanted nothing more than to kick me out of their house, Petunia obediently set another place at the dinner table before screeching for Harry to come down for food. The moment he stepped into the room, he went rigid, staring at me in shock.

"I tried to leave," I grimaced apologetically.

"It's fine," he rushed, a little too quickly. I turned away, wondering why my stomach was twisting nervously as he sat down on my other side. Marge frowned between the two of us as Petunia served dinner. Frankly, it looked awfully, but I ate it politely, taking tiny bites as Dudley wolfed his down like a rabid dog.

"So, girl," Marge started, gulping back a glass of wine in one swig and ignoring the disgusted looks I was shooting Dudley. "What's your name?"

Harry squirmed beside me, but I swallowed the bite of food I'd taken and answered carefully. "Artemis Williams."

"Artemis?" Marge scoffed. "What kind of name is that?"

"Greek, I think," I said sarcastically before I could stop myself, but it was lost of Marge anyway. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to be vaguely amused by my annoyance. I kicked him under the table.

"And how does a boy like him," she started, jerking her head toward Harry in disgust, "meet a girl like you?"

If Vernon had got any paler, he'd have collapsed. "I, err, live a few streets away," I answered, pushing my food around my plate. I highly doubted that anyone at the table wanted to hear the words 'Hogwarts' or 'magic'. "On Magnolia Crescent."

Petunia almost choked on her white wine. "Williams?" she breathed, wide eyed. "You're Mia Williams's daughter?"

Harry gawped at his Aunt, and I felt myself shuffle on the spot. "You know her, Petunia?" Marge asked, oblivious to everyone else's discomfort. Petunia nodded, dropping her gaze. "Nice people, I take it? What does this Mia do, Artemis?"

She said my name like it was a joke, and my fists clenched around my knife and fork tightly. "She's unemployed," I told her through my teeth. "She stays at home looking after my baby sister, Rosie."

Marge frowned, scanning my expression. "And your father?"

"Luke," I corrected with a scowl that made Harry elbowed me sharply in the side. "And he . . . works in Law Enforcement." Technically, I didn't lie. She didn't need to know he worked in the Ministry of Magic.

"Now there's a hard-working family," Marge declared proudly. "Decent, hard-working people. But you said you've never met your real parents?"

I hesitated, glancing sideways Harry. He was scowling down at his plate, stabbing his food a little harder than necessary. "Erm, no, I haven't," I replied honestly.

"And I suppose you want to?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Good," Marge declared, and my eyes narrowed. "Happy with the family you got, ey? It's people like my brother here and your family that are the backbone of society."

"Um," I scoffed, flicking my gaze toward Vernon.

"Now, his family," Marge started, once again jerking her head toward Harry. I watched him go rigid and my lips pursed. "What was it you said his father did, Vernon? Unemployed, wasn't he?" Vernon gulped, glancing at Harry as he nodded slowly. "And I suppose you're proud of him, are you, Potter? Good for nothing, lazy, scrounging-"

"He was not!" Harry yelled, banging his hands onto the table as he pushed himself up to his feet. Even I jumped out of my skin, my hand automatically reaching back for my wand.

Marge's eyes narrowed at him. "Don't be stupid, boy," she snapped. "He was a good for nothing scrounger and left you as a burden to your hard-wor-"

She cut off suddenly, her face reddening in anger. Harry was still glowering, but the look of panic in Marge's eyes made me double-take. "Erm, Harry?" I started slowly, pushing myself to my feet and trying to pull him away from the table. He didn't budge.

But Marge was still going red, and it was awhile before I could tell what was happening. Her stomach was expanding rapidly, straining an already strained blouse, and a necklace of pearls was a few seconds away from snapping entirely. Her face was growing too, and her sausage fingers were now so large, she had to splay her fingers.

In a matter of seconds, she was leaving the chair, literally floating to the ceiling. Vernon was yelling, Petunia was screaming, and Dudley was trying to shovel as much food as he could into his mouth before the now blown-up Marge could knock it off the table.

Without a word, Harry whipped around and bolted into the corridor. I stared after him for a second, glanced back Marge, then raced after him and took the stairs two at a time. Having never been in Harry's house before, I had to follow the sound of furious footsteps to find Harry's bedroom, a small back room crammed with a small desk, bed and wardrobe.

"Erm, Harry?" I started cautiously. He ignored me, gathering as much of his things as he could and stuffing them inside his trunk. "Going somewhere?"

"Don't bother saying anything," he warned, dragging his trunk after him as he passed me. Sighing heavily, I spun around and followed him silently, skipping down the stairs as Vernon burst into the hallway.

"FIX HER!" he yelled, pointing back toward the dining room.

"Out of my way," Harry warned, kicking his trunk open and taking out his wand. I opened my mouth to say something, but cut off at the look on his face. Pursing my lips, I followed him through the door, just as Vernon's hand reached out and clamped around my forearm. I yelped in surprise, staggering on the spot.

"One of you is going through to that dining room and fixing her!" he screamed at me, and before I could answer, Harry had dragged me behind him, his wand pointed straight between Vernon's eyes.

"Don't ever touch her again," he snarled through his teeth, and I felt my jaw drop in surprise. Vernon was staring at the tip of Harry's wand, shaking on the spot. Clearing my throat, I reached out and pushed Harry's arm down gently.

"Maybe blowing your Aunt up is enough for one night," I muttered weakly. His jaw locked, but he snatched up my hand and pulled me away from the house, starting down Privet Drive.