Harry's Twin - Book One // Complete // Editing

Motorcycles Do Not Fly!

One of Uncle Vernon's favourite things to do is complain. People at work, Harry and I, the council, Harry and I, the bank, Harry and I, the weather and Harry and I are just a few of his favourite topics. While he's driving to the zoo, he's complaining to Aunt Petunia about things. This morning's subject is motorcycles. "Roaring along like maniacs, the little hoodlums," he rants, as one passes us.

"I had a dream about motorcycles," Harry states out of nowhere. "I think I've had it before. It was flying-"

"MOTORCYCLES DO NOT FLY," Vernon interrupts loudly, almost crashing into the car in front of him. He turns his head to face us. "Got it?" Dudley and Piers laugh loudly, so I accidentally kick their seats.

"Oh, sorry," I say, sarcastically, kicking their seat again. "My foot slipped! Oops!"

"I know they don't fly," Harry mumbles beside me. "It was just a dream." I pat him arm lightly in comfort, all the while pulling faces at the ogres in front of me.

If there's one thing the Dursley's hate more than our asking questions, it was my brother and I talking about things functioning in ways they shouldn't. Even dreams and cartoons - not that we get to watch many of them. They seem to think we'll get funny ideas.

The rest of the ride passes with little talking. Vernon complains some more and makes a comment on the sunny weather, Dudley makes an attempt to tell a joke or two about Harry - after making sure his parents weren't listening - and Harry and I every so often exchange a few words or glances.

We get to the zoo and Petunia suggests Dudley and his friend get an ice cream. Or in Harry and I's case, a cheap lemon flavoured ice block. And that was only because the lady in the van started to ask what Harry would like before Vernon and Petunia could hurry us away. Dudley and Piers wave their big chocolate ice creams in our face, but we couldn't care less. Harry and I wander over to the gorilla cage. One is sitting there, just scratching it's head. Harry turns to me with a grin on his face. "You know, that gorilla looks a lot like Dudley. If only it were blond."

This is the best morning that I've experienced in a long time, even with Dudley making rude comments and Aunt Petunia's subtle glares. It's around lunch time and our stupid cousin and his friend are getting bored of the animals. Harry begs me to stay a safe distance away from them, because it's otherwise likely that they will turn around and fall back on their favourite hobby - hitting him. They never get bored of that. We go to have lunch in the zoo's restaurant. Dudley throws a fit, as usual, this time because his dessert doesn't have enough ice cream on top. Vernon orders him another and begrudgingly gives the rejected one to Harry, muttering things about wasting food. Piers then decides his dessert isn't good enough either, so I get his discarded one. Somehow, I bet it's too good to be true. Not that that feeling stops me from shovelling the food into my mouth.

We move onto the reptile centre straight after lunch. It's cool and dark inside the centre. The enclosures are lit windows littered down the wall. Behind the glass lived many lizards and snakes, slithering and crawling among branches, leaves and stones. The tiny lizards instantly grab my attention, whereas all Dudley and Piers want to see is the huge, venomous cobras and bone-crushing pythons. Soon they find the biggest one - it could easily fit around Vernon's car twice.

The snake is asleep, but Dudley doesn't seem to think that that's good enough. He presses his nose right up to the glass, until his nostrils resemble a pig's. "Make it move," he whines at his father. Vernon taps the glass, but the snake didn't budge. "Again!" Dudley commands. Vernon raps the glass with his knuckles, but again, nothing. "This is boring," Dudley complains, and moves along to the next enclosure.

Harry and I move over to stand in front of the glass. I feel sorry for the snake. All it does is sit in it's enclosure. It has no company, unless you count the constant stream of people drumming their dirty fingers on the glass, the only reason to do so being to disturb it. It must be worse than living in my just-big-enough broom closet, with the only visitor being Aunt Petunia rapping on my door. I mean, at least I get to visit the rest of the house! And, unless the Dursley's want something, I'm mostly left well alone - not counting Harry, of course.