The Forgotten Twin

Chapter 2

Delilah grabbed her Hogsmeade form and followed Harry down to breakfast the next morning to find the three Dursleys sitting around the kitchen table. They were watching a brand-new television, a welcome-home-present for Dudley, proving how they spoiled him endlessly. Dudley had spent most of the summer in the kitchen, eating continually while watching the screen and making his five chins wobble.

Delilah sat between Harry and Aunt Petunia. Far from wishing them a happy birthday, none of the Dursleys made any sign that they had noticed Delilah and Harry enter the room. Delilah was far too used to this to care. She helped herself to a piece of toast and looked up at the reporter on the television, who was halfway through a report on an escaped convict:

"... The public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hot line has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately."

"No need to tell us he's no good," snorted Uncle Vernon, who was a large, beefy man with very little neck and a lot of mustache, staring over the top of his newspaper at the prisoner. "Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!"

He shot a nasty look at Harry, whose hair always had annoyed him. Compared to the man on the television, however, whose gaunt face was surrounded by a matted, elbow-length tangle, Harry was very well groomed.

The reporter had reappeared.

"The Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries will announce today —"

"Hang on!" barked Uncle Vernon, staring furiously at the reporter. "You didn't tell us where that maniac's escaped from! What use is that? The lunatic could be coming up the street right now!"

Aunt Petunia, who was bony and horse-faced, whipped around and peered intently out of the kitchen window. She would simply love to be the one to call the hotline number. She was the most nosy woman Delilah knew and spent most of her life spying on the boring, law-abiding neighbors.

"When will they learn," said Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his large purple fist, "that hanging's the only way to deal with these people?"

"Very true," said Aunt Petunia, who was still squinting into the next door's runner beans.

Uncle Vernon drained his teacup, glanced at his watch, and added, "I'd better be off in a minute, Petunia. Marge's train gets in at ten."

Delilah spat out the tea she had been drinking.

"What? That b— Aunt Marge is coming here?" Delilah angrily exclaimed. Dudley scooted back from her, he was still terrified of her from all those years ago, probably more so now that he knew she was a witch. She pushed the memory away.

Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister. Even though she was not a blood relative of Delilah, she had been forced to call her "Aunt" all her life. Aunt Marge lived in the country, in a house with a large garden, where she bred bulldogs. She didn't often stay at Privet Drive, luckily, because she couldn't bear to leave her precious dogs, the only things she cared about. Still, each of her visits were completely and utterly horrible.

At Dudley's fifth birthday party, Aunt Marge had whacked Harry and Delilah so that Dudley would win at musical statues. A few years later during Christmas, she had given Dudley a computerized robot and Harry and Delilah a box of dog biscuits. On her last visit, the year before Delilah had started at Hogwarts, Delilah had 'accidentally' trodden on the trail of her favorite dog. Ripper had tried to chase her but she stood him down, so instead he chased Harry up a tree. Aunt Marge had refused to call him off until after midnight. The memory of this incident still brought tears of laughter to Dudley's eyes.