The front door opened just as Hazel made it to the kitchen. Aunt Petunia stood waiting for her in a lovely cocktail dress. No brown velvet in sight.

"There you are," She hissed as Dudley asked for the Mason's coats in the hall in the same simpering voice as at breakfast, "Hurry up!"

Hazel picked up the tray of drinks and hurried into the living room.

Mr Mason was tall, thin, and balding with a dour expression while Mrs Mason was short with a stern look. They looked like they'd never smiled in their lives. Maybe that's what a life of drills did to you.

"Welcome to our home, Mr and Mrs Mason," Aunt Petunia said as though she were addressing the Queen. Was she going to curtsy as well? "Would you like a drink?"

Hazel held up the tray obligingly. Mr Mason took both drinks with a curt 'thank you' and sat on the sofa beside his wife. They didn't seem impressed by the room.

Please don't spill anything on the sofa...

"Well," Uncle Vernon cleared his throat, "Some weather we've been having…"

The conversation faded into the background as Hazel stood by the kitchen and tapped the tray, just another piece of the furniture as far as the Dursleys were concerned. A piece of vile, brown furniture. Maybe Harry didn't have it so bad after all. At least he could read a book, or stroke Hedwig. She was stuck here until the Masons went home, trapped in a world of weather and drills and golf and whatever else Uncle Vernon found interesting. She caught a glimpse of Aunt Petunia's vast pudding on top of the fridge. At least she could sneak some of that up to Harry later, assuming Dudley didn't devour the entire thing.

Uncle Vernon coughed loudly and that brought her back into the room. Everyone was staring at her. Her breath quickened and a little colour came to her cheeks.

"Sorry?" She asked.

"Mrs Mason would like another sherry," Uncle Vernon repeated. His voice was pleasant but, out of sight of the Masons, his eyes were narrowed threateningly.

"Oh! Sorry."

By the time she had refilled it, Uncle Vernon was in the middle of a joke.

"And then," he wheezed with laughter, "The American hits his first shot into the water, and the Japanese golfer says…"

It wasn't going very well. Mrs Mason was listening disdainfully while Mr Mason had raised a warning eyebrow. Uncle Vernon hadn't noticed because he was laughing too much at his own joke, encouraged by Aunt Petunia's high, false laugh. If they weren't enjoying this, then it was going to be a long night. This was Uncle Vernon's best joke by far. It was all downhill after this.

"And then the Japanese golfer hits his shot, and he sinks it, first time! And he turns to the American golfer and he says…"

Thump! Thump!

The banging drowned out Uncle Vernon's words. Aunt Petunia stopped laughing abruptly and all eyes went up to the ceiling just in time to hear it again.

Thump! Thump!

That was coming from their room. Hazel's mouth went dry. What was Harry doing up there? He was supposed to be pretending he didn't exist, not learning to play the drums!

"Ah," Uncle Vernon had gone pale. He was thinking very quickly, "Dudley's television. He must have left it on, the little tyke. I'll just go turn it off."

Dudley looked at him stupidly and very unhelpfully.

An awkward quiet was left in her uncle's wake. Aunt Petunia cleared her throat.

"Vernon tells me you're a wonderful golfer, Mr Mason..." She said.

"I play," He said cooly, "Occasionally."

Why did Uncle Vernon want to do business with this man again? Maybe he was just saving himself for all the talk about drills. She couldn't hear anything from upstairs. Was Harry okay?

"We had to report in school about our heroes, Mr Mason," Dudley said. Hazel looked at him in horror. Surely, he wasn't about to say what she thought he was. Even Dudley couldn't be that stupid.

"And I wrote it about you."

Nope, he was. Hazel closed her eyes, but it didn't help with the embarrassment. Mr Mason didn't know what to say. What was anyone supposed to say after that?

She had never been happier to see her Uncle return, a little too red-faced for walking up a flight of stairs to turn off a TV. He had definitely been shouting at Harry. What had gotten into him? He was annoyed sure but even he had to know this night wasn't worth wrecking, not if he valued his neck where it was.

Maybe it was because he knew he was going back to Hogwarts. Maybe he knew he had nothing to lose.

She did though.

"That's the television switched off now," He said as he took his seat beside Aunt Petunia, "So, Mr Mason, have you been on any holidays recently?"

And so Hazel fell back into a stupor, stirring only occasionally to refill the drinks. How could people talk for so long about absolutely nothing? She glanced at the clock and her heart sank. How could it be so early! It felt like they'd been here for days! Holding the tray wasn't helping with her already sore shoulders and her feet were starting to hurt.

They hadn't even started talking about the drills yet.

She stirred at she heard her name.

"Yes, Hazel. Our niece," Uncle Vernon was saying.

"What age is she?" Mrs Mason asked without looking at her.

Uncle Vernon froze. He had definitely forgotten.

"Eleven, Mrs Mason," she said hurriedly.

"School age then. You'll be sending her to Saint Matilda's, I presume?"

Hazel fought back a snort. Saint Matilda's was the incredibly posh and incredibly expensive school at the edge of town. The girls who went there ended up as CEOs and politicians. There was more chance of the Dursleys sending her to mars.

Uncle Vernon took a moment before answering, "We would love to, of course, but she's a little slow for Saint Matilda's unfortunately. She doesn't have her cousin's brains. No, we'll be sending her to the local comprehensive, won't we, Hazel?"

That was very unfair, her grades were much better than Dudley's. Not that it was difficult. She was sure Mrs Figg's cats would do better at maths than her cousin. No, she was going to Stonewall High, where pupils learned essential life skills like how to steal car radios and the best place to get dodgy cigarettes. That was her future.

Meanwhile, Harry was going back to Hogwarts, back to learn magic, to play quidditch, to enjoy his life. She was happy for him, she knew she was, but the jealousy raged when she thought of the next five years. Uncle Vernon had always said she was lucky to even be going there. Maybe she was. Maybe that really was the best she could do.

Splat!

Hazel jumped violently as Aunt Petunia screamed. Mr Mason and Uncle Vernon had both leapt to their feet and rushed into the kitchen.

Aunt Petunia's massive, elaborately decorated pudding was lying across the kitchen floor, half-way up the cabinet doors and all over the table. A few drops were even sticking to the ceiling. Standing in the middle of it all, covered from head-to-foot in meringue and cream, was Harry. He looked between them all from behind his desserty mask. He seemed completely incapable of speaking.

"Ah," Uncle Vernon had gone purple, and his words were coming out as if he had been punched in the stomach, "This is our nephew. Harry. We kept him upstairs…bit disturbed…doesn't like people…"

"I see," Mr Mason said in his coldest voice yet. He glanced at his wife and she nodded towards the door.

Hazel's stomach lurched painfully; all thoughts of Stonewall gone. She had to do something! Harry's punishment if this fell through would be the stuff of nightmares, worse than any talk about drills.

"Mr Mason!" Mr Mason gave her a hard stare and her confidence wilted. No, she was doing this for Harry, "I'm very sorry about my brother. Can I get you another drink? I'm sure I can have this cleaned up in time for dinner."

He gave it a long moment's thought, "Very well. I'll take a juice please.."

Thank god. Uncle Vernon steered the Masons back into the lounge as she grabbed the mop and bucket.
"What are you doing?" She hissed at Harry, "You trying to make this your last birthday?"

Harry just stared back.

There came a piercing scream from the lounge.

Hazel and Harry both ran in, just in time to see Mrs Mason throwing open the front door as if she were on fire and a large barn owl swooping around the ceiling. It dropped a letter on Uncle Vernon's lap before leaving through the open window.

"My wife," Mr Mason said in a dangerous whisper. It was amazing how even someone so large as Uncle Vernon could seem so small beside him, "Is ornithophobic."

"Oh dear," Uncle Vernon had gone ghostly white, "That's…very painful."

"It means she is afraid of birds, you fool," Mr Mason snapped and Uncle Vernon flinched, "I don't know what sort of madhouse you run here Dursley but rest assured, it will be a cold day in hell before I do business with Grunings again. I'll see myself out."

He slammed the front door as he left and the whole house rattled.

Uncle Vernon tore open the letter and read it. The vein in his temple looked like it was trying to escape. His face was the deepest colour that Hazel had ever seen it. This was not good.

She dared not breath too loudly, but her uncle was watching Harry with a look she'd never seen outside of crime shows.

"Read it," He hissed.

With trembling hands, Harry took the letter and read,
"Dear Mr Potter,

We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offence under section 13 of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic"

Oh no.

Harry gulped.

"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to magic outside of school," he said with a mad gleam in his eyes, "Forgot all about it. Slipped you mind, I dare say."

Harry looked petrified.

"Well, I have news for you boy. I'm locking you up! You're never going back to that school! And if you try to magic your way out, they'll expel you!" Uncle Vernon laughed such a mad laugh that Hazel backed away automatically. He grabbed Harry and dragged him upstairs by the arm, leaving the rest of the family stunned in the living room.

It was long past midnight by the time she was finished cleaning, because the pudding had found its way into every possible spot of the room, including behind the fridge somehow. When she tried to go to bed though, everything aching like she'd just run a marathon, Uncle Vernon blocked her on the stairs.

"You're sleeping down here," He said.

"But,"

"Don't!" He hissed like a cobra. Hazel was instantly quiet, "Test me, girl! Sofa. Bed."

He slammed the door behind her, and the house shook again. Hazel tried to get comfortable on the sofa with just her coat for a duvet. All her pyjamas were upstairs, so she was stuck in the pinching, itchy cake-covered dress, on a sofa that dipped in the middle, thanks to her cousin's massive rear.

What on earth had Harry been thinking? Why had he even come downstairs? Was he that hungry that he'd thought he could sneak something before the Dursleys noticed? He had to know she would sneak him up something later, just like all those years that he slept under the stairs. Had he forgotten over the past year?

Maybe Uncle Vernon would calm down in the morning. Maybe a good night's sleep would help him see things a little more clearly.

How stupid could she be?

She woke at the crack of dawn to an aching back and a whirring drill. Uncle Vernon was on a ladder outside their bedroom, fitting bars to the window so it looked like a prison. He then added a cat flap to the door. She didn't see Harry all day and any time she went near the stairs, Uncle Vernon growled at her like a bear with a cold.

She didn't get near him until that evening, when the Dursleys had finished their dinner and gone into the living room to watch television. Hazel was left to wash the mountain of dishes as usual but for once, she didn't mind. She finished them as quickly as possible and snuck out into the hallway. The Dursleys were engrossed in a gameshow so loud that she could sneak up with her half-eaten dinner. It was a good thing they didn't watch too many quiet shows, or this would have been way harder.

Hazel sat with her back against the door of the bedroom she was locked out off and listened to Harry's story between his mouthfuls of lasagne.

"A house elf?" She whispered through the door, "What was a house elf doing here?"

"He wanted to stop me going back to Hogwarts. He said there's going to be terrible things happening this year."

"Do they do that often?"

"I don't know, I've never met one before!"

"And he thinks you'll not be allowed back now?"

"He's right. I'll be collecting a pension before Uncle Vernon lets me out."

"He's not that cross, really."

"Are you joking?"

"Okay, he is. Won't Hogwarts notice if you don't turn up though?"

"That's my only chance. As long as I don't starve first."

"We'll just have to make sure you don't then."

"Be careful, Hazel. Don't get on his bad side, not when he's in this mood."

"I'll be fine," Though her stomach jangled with fear, "Besides, I can't let poor Hedwig starve just because you annoyed a house elf."

"It wasn't my fault! He just ran off and did it, I couldn't stop him!"

"Did he at least give you your letters back? That way you'll have something to read."

"Not helping."

"Speaking of help, I think you saved Aunt Petunia really. I tried it a bit of the pudding while I was cleaning up. It wasn't sweet enough."

Harry laughed, "Only you would say that about a mountain of cream. I guess there's no holiday home in Majorca?"

"Probably for the best, can you imagine Uncle Vernon in speedos?"

Harry half-laughed, half-groaned through the door. At least she could still cheer him up a little.

The credits song of the gameshow came up the stairs,

"I need to go," she said as he pushed the cleared plate back through the flap, "But I'll be back when I can."

"You're amazing," There was a small chirp from in the room, "Hedwig thinks so too."

"As long as Hedwig's happy," She gave the door a gentle knock, "Hang in there. You'll be out soon."

'Soon' wasn't going to be the next day. Uncle Vernon must have really wanted those speedos because he was still stomping around the house like a gorilla with a headache. He wasn't even enjoying his favourite pastime, complaining about young people on television. Another night on the couch hadn't done Hazel's back much good either. If this became a long-term thing then then she was going to Stonewall High bent over like old Mrs Figg. At least she had been able to change into a top and jeans after they'd come out of the wash. She had no idea what Aunt Petunia had done with the dress. Hopefully she'd thrown it in the deepest darkest pit of Little Whinging.

It wasn't until that evening that she got another chance to visit Harry.

Dinner had been a chicken and mushroom pie the size of a bicycle wheel and she had hoped there would be leftovers. That was like hoping for the Easter Bunny to appear. Dudley had demolished it, just like he did any food that wasn't green or healthy. She had managed to save most of her portion at least. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had gone into the lounge to watch the news ("Typical government! Couldn't trust them to run a bath!") and Dudley had waddled up to his room to blow up some aliens on his computer. That would be him until dawn.

"What have I missed?" Harry asked through a mouth full of pie. Her stomach rumbled as he ate.

"Dudley got a new stick for Smeltings."

"Another one?"

"He broke the old one over some boy's head last year. He was teasing him apparently."

"I bet he was."

"And Aunt Petunia got my uniform for Stonewall High."

"You got a new uniform?"

"As if. She got it in a charity shop. It looks like the girl before me washed it in a blender."

"You'll not be wearing it anyway, Hazel."

"You reckon I shouldn't bother going to school at all? I could be like those orphans in the old films, selling matchsticks on the corner."

"You're going to Hogwarts."

"Unless I sneak into your trunk, I'm not. And seeing as it's locked under the stairs, I guess that idea's out."

"But Hagrid said you would."

"Maybe he was wrong, maybe he got me confused with someone else. It won't be so bad, I'm sure. I'll be in the same class as Anabelle Smithwick, the one who keyed her dad's car. I'm sure we'll have loads to talk about."

"If I can get into Hogwarts then you can too!

"You're famous though. Hagrid said it last year, your name's been down since the day you were born."

"Your name was down too!"

"Then why no letter? Why no giant kicking down the front door?"

"If Dobby could stop my letters, then he can stop yours too. He probably doesn't want you going to Hogwarts either."

"Why should he be any different-"

"Ah ha."

Hazel's insides turned to ice. Uncle Vernon was standing at the top of the stairs with a horrible smile. His face was a deep red, his eyes gleamed with malevolence.

"I knew you were helping him," he said menacingly as he advanced on her, "Thought you'd sneak him up some food, eh? Thought you'd ignore your uncle's orders."

Hazel's mind was frozen in panic.

"Well," Uncle Vernon drew the word out, "I think someone needs put in her place."

She cried out as he grabbed the sleeve of her top and pulled.

"Hey!" Harry banged furiously on the door and Hedwig screeched loudly, "Don't hurt her!"

Hazel was no match for her uncle as he dragged her down the stairs. He opened the cupboard under the stairs and threw her inside. The door slammed with a deafening bang and the bolt clicked closed.

"This will teach you a lesson!" Uncle Vernon stomped away.

The cupboard was pitch black. The air was stale, musty, and full of dust. Hazel could hear her breath; fast and shallow. She was shivering fiercely but it had nothing to do with being cold. She wrapped her arms around her legs and placed her forehead against her knees.