Chapter Two

The Vanishing Glass

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 four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls.

Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-coloured bonnets — 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 the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that another child lived in the house, let alone two.

Yet Harry and Helena Potter were still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Their Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking toward the stairs and to the He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before. He looked over the other bed and his sister, the light of his life, and smiled.
Helena Rose Potter, was as always awake, she was always awake and dressed before him.

His aunt was back outside the door Harry hadn't heard her come up the stairs.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Yes Aunt," Helena called, she always did this got up first so that Harry could have time to wake up.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Harry groaned, and Helena rolled her eyes.

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing…" Harry and Helena chorused

Dudley's birthday — how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept until he and Helena turned five when they were to moved into the smallest bedroom, simply because they didn't fit in there anymore.

Harry watched as Helena walked out the door and knew that she had not forgotten Dudley's birthday, Helena whom he often called Rose, never forgot anything, she was scary smart.

When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise — unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favorite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn't often catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast. Dudley wasn't allowed to hit Helena, you don't hit girls. That was one of the few rules that Dudley was ever given.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning.

He had had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions— that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Helena also had a lightning bolt scar, wore round glasses and was also small, she like Harry had raven black hair and bright green eyes, but she knew that unlike Harry who resembled their father she was an image of their mother, save James's hair. Thick black and completely unruly. She kept it in a braid that ended just were her once white, now yellowed, blouse tucked in to her plaid skirt, frayed at the hem.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon and Helena was taking toast out of the toaster and staking it on a plate and reloading it.

"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting. About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way — all over the place.

Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel — Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room.

Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year." Harry and Helena locked eyes, they could read each other, and they didn't have to roll their eyes.

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over, he could see Helena doing the same.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty...thirty..."

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Helena, Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take them." She jerked her head in Harry's direction, Helena was already up and carrying dishes to the sink and running water to do the washing.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's heart gave a leap, Helena of course knew what was going to happen. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry and Helena were left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away.

Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made them look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned. Helena liked Mrs. Figg, she knew how to get her to do things, like how she had managed two years ago to talk Mrs. Figg into signing them up for a summer holiday programme. Aunt Petunia had liked having them out of the out of the house so much that she had signed them up for each summer past. The two of them learnt to swim been signed up for membership cards at the library, which they both made heavy use of. Not to mention the guitar, computer and art lessons.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again. He knew that if Helena could hear his thoughts, which he often thought she did, she would tell him off.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the two of them."

The Dursleys often spoke about the twins like this, as though they weren't there — or rather, as though they were something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend — Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave us here," Harry put in hopefully (he'd be able to watch what he wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer, and Helena could read in peace, she was always getting interrupted. He hated that more then not getting to watch what he wanted on T.V. ).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"I won't blow up the house," said Harry, but they weren't listening. Helena helped to control whatever power was inside of Harry. He knew that Helena had it inside her to; the two of them sometimes sat somewhere hidden and made things happen.

"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "…and leave them in the car.…"

"That car's new, they're not sitting in it alone.…"

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying — it had been years since he'd really cried — but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I…don't…want…them…t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "They always sp-spoil everything!" He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms; Helena was still doing the dishes.

Just then, the doorbell rang — "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically — and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car between Piers, Dudley and his sister, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with them, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, boy — any funny business, anything at all — and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas." The odd things that happened around him but they happened to Helena she just had more control.

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly…" he would keep hold of Helena's hand she would keep whatever it was in him under control.

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him. No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Dursleys he didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry, who spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and taped glasses. Worse was had been Helena crying while their Aunt hacked at his hair. Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off, He had been given a week in the cupboard under the stairs for this, even though he had tried to explain that he couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly. The cupboard under the stairs was at this point not his bedroom but his Aunt and Uncle still locked him in there when something they blamed him for happened.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force him into a revolting old sweater of Dudley's (brown with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn't punished.

On the other hand, he'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry's surprise as anyone else's, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry's headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he'd tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of the cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump.

Sometimes Helena made things happen just to take the heat off of her twin, the older of the two of them, but she never had accidents.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects.

This morning, it was motorcycles.

"…roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It was flying." Helena winced beside him. He realised why immediately, he should have said that.

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a moustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

"I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream." But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than their asking questions, it was their talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon — they seemed to think they might get dangerous ideas.

"They're afraid Harry" Helena would always tell him, and "It's not your fault, don't blame yourself."

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him and Helena away, they bought them both a cheap lemon ice pop each.

It wasn't bad, either, Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond. Harry whispered this observation to Helena who laughed in to his shoulder. Helena never told him off when he made fun of Dudley, she just laughed.

Harry had the best morning he'd had in a long time, he had heard Helena laugh a dozen times just this morning, his favorite sound in the world. They were careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting him. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his Knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry and Helena were allowed to finish the first.

Harry felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle

Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can — but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake; pulling his twin sister beside him. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself — no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It reminded Harry of when he and Helena shared the cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least they got to visit the rest of the house.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's, Helena watched with interest, keeping held of Harry's hand, she knew that she had to let Harry's magic brake free, so she slowly pulled back her hold on his magic.

It winked.

Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't save his Helena, of course. He looked back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly:

"I get that all the time."

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying." Helena watched her brother interact with the snake.

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?"

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see — so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind the Twins made both and the snake them jump. "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs caught by surprise, Harry let go of Helena's hand in an attempt to try to stop from pulling her down with him if failed, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor, and Helena fell with him. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened — one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits. Harry reached out and took Helena's hand again.

As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come.… Thanksss, amigo." Helena heard nothing but the cries of the fleeing patrons, and Dudley and Piers.

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. Helena sat quietly wishing that she could have stopped this from happening, but Harry needed to know that he could do this. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say,

"Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?" Helena flinched at the bullies words, Harry looked over at her, his eyes told her not to worry about him, that he could take what they both knew was coming.

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go — cupboard — stay — no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Harry lay in his dark cupboard much later, wishing he had a watch. He didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, Helena couldn't sneak down and steal food for him.

He and Helena had lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents had died in that car crash. He couldn't remember being in the car when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course he was forbidden to ask questions. But Helena, who remembered everything, would tell him things, the way that his father had called him Bambi, or how their mother had called her Blossom. There were no photographs of them in the house. But Harry doesn't need Helena to describe them, in his mind he sees an older Helena as his mother and an older of himself as his father.

When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were the only family that he and Helena had. Yet sometimes he thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him, both of them. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. After asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at Helena once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry tried to get a closer look. Helena smiles each time it happens and shakes her head, as though she understands but thinks them all fools.

At school, Harry had no one but Helena. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley's gang, and Helena, well Helena was a swot, in every one else opinion. Harry has always known that his twin was a genius; most people are not comfortable with genius.

Because Harry knew of Helena's genius he never questioned anything that she had ever said, so when Helena said that "It wouldn't always be this way" Harry believed her as always.