Without pause, another owl burst into the tower. Such a sight was hardly unusual
on this particular night.
Sean continued tidying his gift boxes as his Magic Hand Mirror flared to life.
The busy badger icon ceased its baking and was replaced by a familiar face.
"Sean..." It was Justin's voice, and his eyes looked suspiciously red.
"Good evening," Sean said.
"Happy birthday," Justin replied.
Before he could say another word, the image of Ron—who usually had two chicken
legs stuffed in his mouth—vanished, replaced by an excited, red-haired wizard.
"Sean, I have to say... ah, everyone's here! Sean, it's brilliant news! Happy
birthday!" Ron's face was pressed so close to the mirror he seed to be trying
to climb through the glass.
"Just in ti—twelve-o-two. Am I the first...?" Next ca Harry. Seeing the
whole group gathered, he was startled for a mont before launching into an
excited chatter with the rest of them.
It was destined to be a wondrous night. Sean watched as Neville and Hermione
joined the call, and he popped a cherry into his mouth. It was sweet.
This was the first ti Sean had ever had a birthday party. Although wizards
were always eager to invite him to nearly every gathering in the magical world,
Sean had never attended a single one. Most of the ti, the pursuit of magic
held an unshakeable priority in his heart.
But today was different. Professor McGonagall had forbidden him from stepping a
single foot out of the estate.
Fred and George had managed to snatch the job of "waiters" from the other
wizards. Clutching self-made clipboards, they were busy directing guests to
their assigned seats with practiced authority. Under a tree not far away, a
group of waiters in white robes and a band in golden jackets sat resting,
occasionally handing out party favors to the passing crowd.
In the center of the garden stood a massive circular table, laden with food so
abundant it rivaled a Hogwarts feast. Sean could see giant hollowed-out pumpkins
steaming with sweet, hot juice. Bees and butterflies drifted lazily over the
grass and through the tangled hedgerows.
On this day, the crowd in Sean's eyes lost its sharp edges; the world beca a
series of soft, shimring silhouettes. Detail gave way to a gentle, certain
blur. Ti flowed on in places Sean did not see.
July thirty-first.
Sean, cradling his copy of Dreams and Gods, set the book down. He turned his
gaze toward the distance. At Privet Drive in London, his magical sensors had
detected the presence of several unusual wizards.
"Will," Sean called.
"At your command, Master." A small Pukwudgie appeared out of thin air.
"To London," Sean said.
Will placed a hand on Sean's arm, and both vanished instantly. When they
reappeared, the stone floors of Hogwarts had been replaced by a smooth asphalt
road. The brass number "4" on the gate of Privet Drive caught the afternoon sun.
Sean turned his attention toward the house. Inside, there was a boy with a
lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.
"Have you got that? Potter. Marge knows nothing of your... abnormalities, and I
will not have any—any funny business while she is here. You will behave
yourself, do you understand?" Uncle Vernon said, his nerves visibly frayed.
"Yes," Harry agreed without hesitation.
Although Aunt Marge's arrival was easily the worst birthday present he had ever
received, he had agreed to the terms. He had to get that Hogsade permission
form signed—they had a deal. He tried to imagine Marge's face, wondering if she
had changed at all since he last saw her.
Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister. Despite having no blood relation to Harry,
he had always been forced to call her "Aunt." She lived in the country in a
house with a large garden where she bred bulldogs. She didn't visit Privet Drive
often, as she hated leaving her "precious sub-standard beasts," but every visit
had left a terrifying impression on Harry.
At Dudley's fifth birthday party, Aunt Marge had whacked Harry across the shins
with her walking stick to stop him from beating Dudley at musical statues. Years
later, she had appeared at Christmas and given Dudley a high-tech robot, while
Harry received a box of dog biscuits. The last ti, a year before Harry went to
Hogwarts, Harry had accidentally stepped on the paw of her favorite dog, Ripper.
The dog had chased Harry out into the garden and up a tree, and Marge hadn't
called it off until well after midnight. Even today, Dudley laughed until he
cried whenever he rembered it.
She was a thoroughly heartless, wretched woman. Even Justin had once described
her as "vile."
A mont later, the sound of gravel crunching reached the house as Uncle
Vernon's car pulled into the driveway. Doors slamd, and heavy footsteps
crunched up the garden path.
"Go on then," Aunt Petunia whispered to Harry. She walked to the door first,
with Harry trailing behind her. To be honest, it was a strange perspective; as
Harry instinctively tried to hide behind Petunia's shadow, he actually felt a
flicker of safety.
The door opened to reveal Aunt Marge. She looked remarkably like Uncle Vernon:
large, beefy, with a purple face and even a hint of a mustache. She carried a
massive suitcase in one hand and clutched an ill-tempered old bulldog in the
other.
"Where's my Diddy-kins?" Marge bood. "Where's my nephew?"
Dudley waddled into the hall, his blond hair plastered flat against his fat
head, a bow tie nearly swallowed by the multiple folds of his chin. Marge
thudded her suitcase aside, grabbed Dudley in a bone-crushing hug, and planted a
wet kiss on his cheek.
The bulldog glared at Harry. Feeling a chill crawl up his spine, Harry tucked
his head down. The tactic worked; his view was blocked by Aunt Petunia's legs.
Unable to see the vicious dog, Harry's fear receded.
Soon, they were drinking. Although Aunt Marge feigned as if Harry didn't
exist—likely due to so prior warning from Vernon—the mont the conversation
started, she couldn't resist comparing him to Dudley. Her greatest joy seed to
be buying Dudley expensive gifts while glaring at Harry, daring him to ask why
he hadn't received anything. She also delighted in dropping snide remarks about
why Harry had turned out so "worthless."
"Don't bla yourself for how the boy's turned out, Vernon," she said, her face
flushed red with wine. "If there's sothing rotten on the inside, there's
nothing anyone can do about it."
Harry forced himself to concentrate on his food, but his hands were shaking and
a hot tide of rage was rising in his face. Rember the form, he told himself.
Think of Hogsade. Don't say anything. Don't get up...
"It's a basic rule of heredity," she continued. "You see it all the ti with
dogs. If there's sothing wrong with the bitch, there'll be sothing wrong
with the pup—"
Harry's face was burning, and his eyes were shot through with blood. He couldn't
stop the trembling. Think of Hogsade—
"Marge..." "Marge!"
Two voices rang out simultaneously in the room. But they were drowned out by a
deafening sound from the front door.
The door had sohow swung wide open. Inside the dining room, Aunt Marge began
to swell like a giant balloon. Her red face expanded, her small eyes bulged, and
her lips stretched so tight she couldn't speak. Then, buttons began to pop off
her jacket, snapping against the walls like bullets. She continued to inflate;
her belt snapped, and her fingers swelled until they looked like thick sausages.
"Marge!" Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia scread in unison.
Aunt Marge's body rose from her chair, drifting toward the ceiling.
"You can't do this! Magic is forbidden for students outside of school!" Uncle
Vernon bellowed in terror.
"This isn't a student's wand. It's Grandpa Marcus's."
The voice snapped Harry out of his rage. He looked toward the door. Standing
there with a calm, slight smile was Sean Green.
☆☆☆
-> SUPPORT WITH POWER STONE
-> FOR EVERY 200 PS = BOUNS CHAPTER
☆☆☆
-> 30 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> spat-reon.co-m/c/Inkshaper
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you
User Comments
0 comments from readers