Hogwarts: Proficiency Panel

Chapter 484 485: Aunt Marge

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 seemed to be trying

to climb through the glass.

"Just in time—twelve-o-two. Am I the first...?" Next came Harry. Seeing the

whole group gathered, he was startled for a moment 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 time 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 time, 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 became a

series of soft, shimmering silhouettes. Detail gave way to a gentle, certain

blur. Time 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 Hogsmeade 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 time, 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 remembered it.

She was a thoroughly heartless, wretched woman. Even Justin had once described

her as "vile."

A moment later, the sound of gravel crunching reached the house as Uncle

Vernon's car pulled into the driveway. Doors slammed, 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 boomed. "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 some prior warning from Vernon—the moment the conversation

started, she couldn't resist comparing him to Dudley. Her greatest joy seemed 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 blame yourself for how the boy's turned out, Vernon," she said, her face

flushed red with wine. "If there's something 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. Remember the form, he told himself.

Think of Hogsmeade. Don't say anything. Don't get up...

"It's a basic rule of heredity," she continued. "You see it all the time with

dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something 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 Hogsmeade—

"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 somehow 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 screamed 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.

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