SOLSTICE

007

THE VANISHING GLASS

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their 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-colored 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 boy lived in the house, too. Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. His 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.

Many winced and covered their ears at hearing that shrill voice.

Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. 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.

"You've got amazing memory, Mr. Potter." Moody said to Harry.

His aunt was back outside the door.
"Are you up yet?" she demanded.
"Nearly," said Harry.
"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.
"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.
"Nothing, nothing..."

There was a brief, stunned silence.
"THEY MADE YOU COOK?" James and Fleamont exclaimed in unison.

Lily watched in shock as her sister's actions unfolded. Though they didn't share a particularly close bond, she had never fathomed Petunia would treat her own nephew this way, driven by nothing more than sheer jealousy.

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.

As these words echoed from the book, a chorus of anger and indignation erupted from those in the Great Hall.

Euphemia Potter, her demeanor composed but her eyes reflecting deep concern, broke the silence with a question. "Was there truly no other space within their dwelling?" Her inquiry hung in the air like a well-crafted spell, compelling all eyes to turn towards the young heir, Harry, who stood before them.

Harry, though reluctant, chose to address the query with measured words. "Their house has four rooms. One for my uncle and aunt, two for Dudley, and a guest room."

Upon hearing this, James Potter's outburst was impassioned and filled with parental fury. "Two rooms for that insipid Dudley, and they couldn't spare one for you in all these years?"

Alban Burke, his voice resonating with a tone of calculated indignation, added another layer to the mounting doubts. "Moreover, isn't it perplexing that neither Professor McGonagall nor Professor Dumbledore, despite being well aware of the Dursleys' 'horrible' disposition and the absence of any other family from Harry's life, ever saw fit to check on him in a decade?"