Stay - Theodore Nott

Do I look Stupid?

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive.

Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his niece and nephews room. "Third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you can't control that owl, it'll have to go!"

Harry tried, yet again, to explain. "She's bored," he said. "She's used to flying around outside. If I could just let her out at night —"

"Do I look stupid?" snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy moustache.

"I really don't think you want us to answer that honestly," Kirra mumbled under her breath as she poured herself a glass of milk in the kitchen. "wouldn't want to crush that ego of yours."

"I know what'll happen if that owl's let out." He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia. Harry tried to argue back but his words were drowned by a long, loud belch from the Dursleys' son, Dudley.

"I want more bacon." Dudley whined and Kirra couldn't help but roll her eyes as she took a sip of her milk; of course he wanted more bacon. She had to refrain from making a joke about the tail that Hagrid had ever so kindly given Dudley last year

"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia, turning misty eyes on her son. "We must build you up while we've got the chance. . . . I don't like the sound of that school food. . . ."

"Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings," said Uncle Vernon heartily. "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?" Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Kirra who was still in the kitchen, sipping on her milk and twiddling with the silver necklace that she had gotten from an unknown person for Christmas.

"Pass the frying pan."

"You've forgotten the magic word," said Harry irritably from the other side of the room and Kirra sighed, already knowing what was about to happen. The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; Mrs. Dursley gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; Mr. Dursley jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples. "I meant 'please'!" said Harry quickly. "I didn't mean —"

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," thundered his uncle, spraying spit over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE 'M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"

"But I —" Harry pleaded while Kirra passed the frying pan over to Dudley

"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" roared Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.

"I just —"

"I WARNED YOU AND YOUR SISTER! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!" Harry and Kirra both stared from their purple-faced uncle to their pale aunt, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.

"All right," said Harry, "all right . . ."

Uncle Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros and watching Harry closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes and then looking over at Kirra and doing the same thing.

Ever since the twins had come home for the summer holidays, Uncle Vernon had been treating them like a bomb that might go off at any moment, because Harry Potter and Kirra Potter were not a normal boy or girl.

As a matter of fact, they were as not normal as it is possible to be. Harry Potter was a wizard and Kirra Potter was a witch — a wizard and witch fresh from their first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if the Dursleys were unhappy to have them back for the holidays, it was nothing to how Harry and Kirra felt.