As the Sister of Harry Potter

It was the second of August, and hot as hell. Harry and I lay under the window at Number Four, listening to the news. Good thing we were both fairly skinny, because otherwise, we’d never have fit behind Aunt Petunia’s bushes. Harry was the one who had come up with the idea of hiding here, but getting glared at by the neighbors was often better than getting yelled at by Uncle Vernon. Looking scruffy in this neighborhood was something quite frowned upon, so with Harry and I both usually wearing baggy tee shirts and torn jeans, you can imagine the looks we got.

We had finished listening to the news and glanced at each other. I nodded and we silently crouched and began to exit from under the window.

BANG!

It came from under the Dursley’s car. A cat streaked out from under it, and I jumped to my feet, drawing my rosewood and dragon heartstring wand. I didn’t see anything as I spun a 360, but Harry had cracked his head on the window and was now being strangled by Uncle Vernon.

“Put – it – away!” he hissed as Harry brandished his wand.

“Let – go!” Harry choked out, and Vernon let go sharply, as if he was shocked. I pulled Harry away from our mad uncle and steadied him. We pocketed our wands as neighbors began peering out their windows.

“What did you do?” Uncle Vernon growled through clenched teeth.

“Nothing!” I insisted. Now Aunt Petunia was at the window.

“What were you doing under the window?”

“Listening to the news,” Harry said.

“Why?” Petunia snapped.

“Well, it changed every day you see,” Harry replied.

“Don’t you get smart with us!” said Uncle Vernon.

I dragged Harry away onto the sidewalk and up Privet Drive before he and our uncle got in another shouting match. We walked side by side down the street, listening to our sneakers hit the cement and the occasional car drive past. We finally reached the neighborhood park. Harry sat broodily on the one swing Dudley and his gang had not yet managed to break. I sat cross-legged on the grass beside the swing set. I closed my eyes and sighed. Nothing was going right this summer at all. We hadn’t had a single useful letter all summer from anyone, and only Ophilia, Ron and Hermione were the ones who had written. Ophilia was happily off in Italy with her family, and Ron and Hermione wouldn’t tell us anything that was going on.

But that wasn’t the only things on our minds. Besides being rather angry all the time, we both had nightmare nearly every night. Mine usually involved being covered in blood, Cedric and Harry bleeding to death, Voldemort, and the Death Eater I had killed in June, with his blood spraying all over my face. And from what Harry told me, he had perpetual dreams of a stone tunnel leading to a locked door. It was rather mysterious.

“Why Jennifer,” Harry asked me suddenly, teeth clenched, “why are we in the dark?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know Harry. There’s got to be a reason though.” Harry nodded gloomily.

We heard voices enter the park from the street.

“Nice left hook Big D!”

“Yeah, you sure showed him one!”

Dudley and his gang had entered the park and stood in front of the swing set.

“Beat up another ten-year-old?” Harry asked. And here we go again with the fight picking. We had both been so irritated lately quarreling had become almost routine.

“What’s it to you? This one deserved it,” retorted Dudley.

I stood. “Ah, very brave. So you’re a boxing ‘champion,’ but you need five mates behind you to take out a kid?”

Dudley narrowed his piggy eyes.

“So, you’re Big D now?” asked Harry, getting off the swing, standing by me, and looked at Dudley’s group all in turn. “I won’t tell your mummy. You’ll always be Diddy-kins to us though.”

“Shut your face,” said Dudley, balling his fists. One of this gang members snorted.

“You don’t tell Aunt Petunia to shut her face Diddums,” I pointed out.

He turned red in the face. “I’ll shut it for you.”

“That’s low, hitting a girl,” I said coolly, “lower than hitting a ten-year-old.”

Dudley glared. “At least I’m not scared of my pillow!”

I froze. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, I hear you screaming every night.” He put on a high voice. “Don’t kill Cedric! No, don’t! AHHH!” His gang grunted in laughter, and Dudley smirked. “Who’s Cedric, your boyfriend?” I narrowed my eyes and reached for my wand, but Harry grabbed my arm.

“As a matter of fact,” I growled, “he is.”

The group howled in laughter. The one I think was named Gordon said, “Who would date a hag like you?” I pulled back my left fist and punched him in the face. He howled stupidly as he clutched his nose, blood gushing between his fingers. The gang panicked and turned tails. Dudley followed them, looking disgusted.

When they were out of earshot and sight, Harry grinned at me.

“Nice punch.”

“Thanks, I’ve been sort of working on it.”

We left the park, seeing as it was pretty late and if we were home after Dudley, there was likely to be another row. At the alleyway between Winistera Walk and Privet Drive, Dudley appeared out of the shadows. He was angry-looking and stopped us in our tracks.

“What the hell was that about Potter?” he asked, addressing me furiously.

“I don’t play nicely Diddykins.”

“And stop using those names around my friends.”

“Your mum uses the names all the time,” Harry pointed out, “so why shouldn’t we?”

Dudley sneered. “At least I have a mother.”

Within seconds, both our wands were drawn and pointed at Dudley. His piggy eyes flashed between the two wand tips, as if he were trying to decide who’s was more of a threat.

“You can’t. Dad told me. You’ll get kicked out of that madhouse.”

“How do you know the rules haven’t changed?” Harry asked darkly.

“They haven’t.”

Harry laughed softly. I however, frowned.

‘This could get ugly,’ I thought. ‘I doubt Harry will fist-fight him… and even if he did, I don’t think Harry would win.’

I woke from my thoughts to extreme cold. The stars above us were snuffed out, and Dudley was sweating profusely.

“What are you doing? Cut it out!”

“I’m not doing anything!” Harry said, looking around.

“Cut it out!”

“Dudley, would you shut up?” I snapped, listening intently. Whether it was my imagination or not, I heard a faint rattling breath… I shoved them both down the alleyway.

“S-stop it!” Dudley practically sobbed.

“Dudley, shut up! I’m trying to l-” But Dudley clocked Harry in the head and ran down the alleyway.

“No, Dudley! You’re going right toward it!” I yelled, but before I knew it, the first Dementor was upon me.

Inadvertently, I dropped my wand. I had no idea where Harry went, only that the Dementor was coming straight at me. I tripped over something and fell face-first, further ripping the hole in my jean knee and sending a jolt of pain into my right wrist. I cried out, and the Dementor grabbed my shoulder, trying to turn me over so it could Kiss me… images flashed through my mind… being covered in blood after escaping Voldemort… watching my mother fall to the floor in a flash of green light… Lance pushing me over the banister of the Grand Staircase from the seventh floor…

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

The silvery stag caught the Dementor by its antlers and threw it off me. I came to my senses. Harry was fighting the Dementor, but the other one was coming close to Kissing Dudley. Scrambling to my feet, I snatched up my wand and ran to the second Dementor. I mustered every particle in my brain to picture Cedric’s face, smiling at me…

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” I yelled, and with a roar, my lion pounced on the Dementor. Slashing with huge paws and sharp claws, it drove the Dementor away.

Harry joined me, panting. “Did it Kiss him?”

“I don’t think so, he’s still moving, anyways.”

With poor timing, batty old Mrs. Figg walked down the alleyway to us. We hastened to stash our wands, but she hissed, “No, don’t put them away! There could be more of them!”

“Wha – What?” I stuttered.

“Get up,” said Mrs. Figg sharply, coming over and nudging Dudley with her foot. Harry tried to pocket his wand again, but she shrieked, “NO! What if they come back? Honestly… Dumbledore was worried something like this might happen…”

“You know Dumbledore?” I asked, wincing as I felt my wrist. It felt sprained, at the least, maybe fractured. Hopefully just sprained.

“Of course I do, who doesn’t?” she said impatiently, nudging Dudley again.

“We’ll get him,” Harry muttered. Heaving and staggering, we brought Dudley to his feet, but Dudley refused to stand on his own. It took both Harry and I to drag him out to Privet Drive and up the street.

“So you know—” HUFF “–Dumbledore? How? Are you a witch?”

“Of course not silly, I’m a Squib,” she said, glancing around franticly.

“And you never told us?” Harry asked, frustrated.

“Couldn’t. Dumbledore’s orders,” said Mrs. Figg, distressed. “Oh, I’m going to kill Mundungus!”

With a loud bang identical to the one from under Uncle Vernon’s car appeared a short, extremely untidy man with slightly blood-shot eyes and a strong smell of old cigars and Firewhiskey about him.

“You called Figgy?” Mrs. Figg struck him over the head with her shopping bag, which by the sound of it, was full of cat food. “Oi! Geroff you ol’ bat!”

“What did you mean by running off like that?”

“I ha’ some cauldron business to-”

“DEMENTORS, DUNG! You leave and they get attacked by Dementors!”

Mundungus looked flabbergasted.

“Someone shoul’ tell Dumbledore!”

“Yes, you’d better!” yelled Mrs. Figg, and Dung Disapperated before Figg could hit him again. We continued on half dragging Dudley until we reached Number Four’s lawn. “Stay in the house. I have to go home and wait for Dumbledore’s instructions.” And she shuffled down Privet Drive in her carpet slippers.

“Mrs. Figg, wait!” Harry called, but she didn’t look back, and Harry and I were left there in front of our aunt and uncles’ house, supporting someone bigger than the two of us put together, and more questions buzzing in our heads than Dumbledore probably did.