Arya Black and the Philosophers Stone

the vanishing glass

A.N. all writing just in bold is parseltongue. as much as i wish i owned Harry Potter i never will, no matter how many memory charms i do , it will not be mine *sigh* it all belongs to JK Rowling, not me.

The Vanishing Glass

Arya P.O.V.

Ten years had passed since the Dursleys woke up to find us on their doorstep. Ten long miserable years, but Privet Drive had hardly changed. The sun still rose to shine on gardens so neat you’d think they had been cut while being studied under a magnifying glass, lit up the shiny brass number four on their front door and crept in through lace curtains so white you would think they were brand new (thanks to me) to shine in their living room. One of the only signs that time had passed was the photos on the mantelpiece. Ten years ago there were lots of what looked like a large pink beach ball in different colored sweaters and bobble hats. Now, however, the photos showed a rather porky blonde boy riding (and breaking) his first bike, on the merry-go-round at the fair (but what you can’t see is the kid he punched so he could have that horse), being hugged and kissed by his mother (that photo always makes me laugh) and playing a video game with his father (Aunt Petunia had to stand on the opposite side of the room to get them both in the picture).

There was no sign that another boy and a girl lived there, but Harry and I were still there, asleep, but not for long. It was Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice that made the first sound of the day.

“Up. Get up. Now. Come and look after the bacon and eggs, and don’t you dare let them burn. I want everything perfect on Dudley’s birthday.”

We groaned in unison. Dudley’s birthday, how could we have forgotten? I sighed. I was having such a lovely dream once the first part was over. In it, there was a lot of confused yelling, flashes of green light and a burning pain on the back of my neck, then a big explosion. Then Harry and I were taken from a ruined house by a giant of a man with wild tangles of black hair and a kind smile and taken on a flying motorbike. We were then shown to two other people, a severe looking woman in green and a kind man with silvery hair and a silvery beard, both long enough to tuck into his belt. He wore half-moon spectacles and his nose looked like it had been broken at least twice. The wild man gave me a very whiskery kiss on the forehead and howled like a wounded dog, before the dream ended. I had the feeling that I’d had the same dream before.

When we were younger Harry and I had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming and taking us away, but apart from me being sent to live with an abusive man in his late fifties (he is the reason I have to wear long sleeves and long pants all the time) no-one came to claim us and the hope slowly faded from our minds. One time I got a piece of mail containing a beautiful bracelet in the shape of a snake. It’s back was a deep purple and coved in amethysts shaped and fitted like scales, it’s stomach was emeralds of deep forest  green and its eyes were a couple of deep blue sapphires. It had a tongue made of a single blood-red ruby, and when it cried (not often, but sometimes it would cry) the teardrops were diamonds, crystal clear and perfect. On the morning of my ninth birthday I put it on and it came to life. I called her Sashi and Harry and I would often send her around the house to find out things about what our Uncle and Aunt were saying or to steal food.

I heard footsteps coming down the hall that belonged to Aunt Petunia, and I groaned and covered my ears. After a couple of seconds I sat up and began my search for a pair of socks. Harry handed me a pair and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry and I were used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where we slept.

Harry had just finished serving up the bacon and I started cooking the eggs when Aunt Petunia and Dudley entered the room. Well, now that they’re all here, I suppose I should describe this not-so-happy family to you. Aunt Petunia was tall and blonde, with a horsey face and big teeth. She had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in handy as she spent most of her time craning it over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. Uncle Vernon was a very large, beefy man with a large pink face and small, watery blue eyes. He had hardly any neck, but he did have a rather impressive moustache. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon: a large, pink face, not muck neck, small watery blue eyes and thick blonde hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt petunia often said Dudley looked like a baby angel- harry often said Dudley looked like a pig in a wig. Whenever he said that, I told him to stop insulting pigs. Perhaps it had to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. The only thing he liked about his appearance was a thin lightning bolt shaped scar. I had one too, but it was in the shape of a howling wolf with bat-like wings on its back that were half open. The first question we could remember asking Aunt Petunia was how we got them. She told Harry that he got his in the car crash when his parents died. She told me that mine was a birth mark, and to not ask questions.