The Sister's Story

Chapter Four

The years passed. Harry had always been kept in the cupboard. Vernon and I had tried to keep him as downtrodden as possible, and to discourage all thoughts of anything abnormal from his mind, but no good. We got notices from his school, saying that he had somehow managed to turn his teacher's wig blue, saying that he had completely changed the colour of the classroom walls to scarlet and gold in the space of a few seconds, and all sorts of other ridiculous things.

Harry differed with Dudley in every way possible. Dudley was spirited. He knew what he wanted, and he made damn sure he got what he wanted. Vernon and I were both proud of this trait of Dudley's. "He won't take any nonsense from anybody, our Dudders won't. No one will ever take advantage of him! Now that one..." Vernon glared at Harry.

I must say I agreed. It was obvious Harry hated all three of us, but he did what he was told. At times, I would catch a rebellious glint in his eyes, but he always slouched away and obeyed my instructions. Dudley was often amused by this, and always enjoyed it when I told Harry off. Whenever he spoke to Harry about it, however, I noticed disgustedly that Harry never spoke up for himself. He just ignored my darling Dudders. Really, the rudeness! I found it very difficult to like that boy.

* * *

The day soon came, as I'd always known it would. However, instead of the dreaded owl, the letter caught me by complete surprise. Delivered innocuously by a postman together with all the other bills and postcards of the day, Vernon and I would probably have not noticed it at all. Of course, my darling Dudley was as observant as usual, and perceived at once that that boy had a letter. Thankfully he informed me and Vernon at once about the fact, and we were able to prevent the contents of the letter from reaching his eyes.

Vernon was horrified when he first saw the letter, and at first I didn't even know why he was stuttering so much. Very unbecoming, really. But then I noticed the green ink on the letter, forming an address which no normal hand could have written:

Mr H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

After that, how could I fail to be also horrified? They knew where he slept!

I remember the next few days as a whirl of confusion. No matter what Vernon and I tried, those letters kept coming and coming through all kinds of ways. They even came rolled up in the eggs! Vernon tried to telephone the dairy company, but they didn't provide any kind of explanation. We both began to fear the power of those people more and more. Who knew what they were capable of?

Vernon decided that we would have to move away. After all, if they didn't know where we were, they could hardly send us letters, could they? I had to admit that his argument sounded logical, but I remembered how the things which Lily could do were all but logical. I tried pointing out to Vernon that their kind did not do things as we did, and had special powers, but Vernon refused to listen.

In the end we ended up traveling all over the country, until Vernon decided to settle on a small island in the middle of nowhere. Dudley had been complaining all day about the various television programs he was missing, and I couldn't help feeling sorry for him. After all, it wasn't his fault we had to resort to this moving all about the place. In fact, I came to the conclusion that it was all thatPotter boy's fault. After all, if not for the fact that these letters were coming, we wouldn't be reduced to this undignified running around. Everything, I reflected, was really that Potter boy's fault. His and the fault of people of her kind.

We were all settled on that hut in the middle of nowhere, with hardly any supplies whatsoever. There were no appropriate sleeping facilities, and Vernon, Dudley and I had to make do with sleeping on a moth-eaten sofa. The boy, of course, slept on the floor. Quite good enough for him.

We were interrupted most rudely in the middle of the night, and all three of us screamed when we saw the huge figure standing in the doorway. The...thing...had to be at least eight feet tall! Of course, when he introduced himself as being one of them it all made sense. Those abnormal people weren't even human!

Vernon tried as hard as he could to stop the monster from disclosing the boy's background, but it was no use. Both he and I cowered in the background as the Potter boy learnt of his abnormality. A surprise came when he suddenly turned to me, fury in his eyes, demanding why I had never told him before.

I surprised even myself with my vociferous answer. My emotions about my sister,suppressed and buried deep inside me for many years, now burst out all at once. I ranted and raved until the giant interrupted with his story about the Dark wizard who killed my sister and her husband. Suddenly I was taken back again to that early Wednesday morning when I had first read that letter: ...The murder of Lily and James Potter was committed by a very powerful Dark wizard...

Very bravely, Vernon still persisted. The giant, however, ignored Vernon's protests (which, I might add, were for the boy's own good), and then, for no reason at all, suddenly shot out his pink umbrella and actually performed his powers on my son! He transformed my sweet Dudley, who now had a tail! The things those creatures did! I was too terrified to do anything, and I think Vernon felt the same. We barricaded ourselves in another room, and spent the rest of the night in constant fear.

So the giant came, bringing havoc.

So the giant went, taking away the boy.

He would definitely be starting at that school now, and when the day came, Vernon took him to the station. He didn't have a choice, really. I knew that Vernon was secretly afraid that the giant would come back if the boy did not arrive at his school. I, too, was very reluctant to see the boy go.

Despite Vernon's and my best efforts, we were unable to prevent him from going. The ungrateful little brat, who didn't even know what we had tried to do for him! I could see him going exactly the same way as my sister, unknowingly becoming part of their world, becoming one of them, and ultimately, dying under their hands. Vernon and I, however, had tried our best to prevent him from this fate, and if he insisted on foolhardily entering that world, well, it was hardly our fault.

Two years passed. The boy had never come home for Easter or Christmas holidays, something for which I was eternally grateful. I suppose he knew that he would not get any kind of welcome, and I daresay he was probably happier in his world. Well, let him be. He probably would not have much longer there anyway, before he was killed by one of them or another. Vernon had tried to stop him going back, but to no avail. Some friends of his with the same abnormal abilities came up and rescued him. After that particular incident, we didn't try to stop him going back anymore.

It was in the summer of his second year that another event occurred which took me, once again, to the past. One day on the news, a report was made of someone called Sirius Black, who had escaped from a prison. I knew that name. Lily had often spoken of a Sirius Black when she came back in the holidays. A certain Sirius Black had also visited our house multiple times. And now he had escaped from prison. It did not surprise me, really, that a friend of hers had been in prison. The news report merely confirmed my belief that people of that world were all criminals one way or another, and did not know the meaning of the word respectable.

After the boy's third year, he came back with stories of how Sirius Black was his godfather. I could now see the boy ending up like his mother - Black was a dangerous criminal! Although I felt no positive emotions for the boy, he was still my sister's son, and I would hate to lose him the same way.

Over the various years, I wanted to approach the boy many times. The feeling was particularly strong after I stumbled inadvertently into a photograph album which had fallen out of his school trunk as I was trying to lock it in the cupboard. I had at first dropped the album in shock when I saw the moving photographs, but in that brief glance I had seen enough. Two of my most basic emotions came into play - fear of her world, and at the same time longing for...I don't even know what. In the end I shoved the album back into the boy's trunk. That one look, however, was enough to cause an aching sadness in me. I tried to ignore it and suppress it, but I found that I was no longer as successful at doing that as I had been before.

That night, I found myself unable to get to sleep. It had been one brief second, but the image of her laughing face, framed by her long red hair, kept flashing before my eyes. Involuntarily, I found my mind going through all the times I had spent with Lily before the fateful letter had come. Her charm, her vitality, and her cheerful features kept speeding through my brain. After awhile, I was shocked to feel a dampness on my face

For the first time since her death, I consciously let myself break down. Lily - I had lost Lily to the evilness of her world. And I knew that her son would end up the same way. At least you should try to save him from the same fate. But then I thought of Lily, and her stubbornness and refusal to listen to me. The boy was also stubborn, and talking to him would probably be no good whatsoever. I felt the old bitterness for my sister surfacing through, and I decided to say nothing. My attitude towards him remained the same.

* * *

It was sometime after the boy's sixth year started that it began.

I had been gradually beginning to feel weak in various parts of my body, and one day I had trouble pronouncing my words. I still remember what I was doing that particular day. I had been doing my weekly vacuuming of the carpets, when I suddenly felt a very strong migraine. I had been experiencing headaches for the last year or so, but they were not particularly painful, and I had dismissed them as nothing. Vernon, however, saw me suddenly swaying on the spot with a hand pressed to my forehead, and he insisted on me going to a doctor for a check up. "The neighbours have been talking, Petunia. They've remarked to me how you've seemed to be ill. You have to go to a doctor. We can't let them gossip about you any longer."

Rather unwillingly, I went. I thought of the whole incident as a waste of time. I would go, the doctor would say there was nothing wrong with me, and honestly, why did Vernon have to be so fussy? So what if the neighbours had been talking? After all, it was really none of their business how well or ill I was. After my initial annoyance with Vernon had passed, however, I reflected that perhaps he was right. I knew how rumours could grow, and both of us had to be very careful of our reputation in the neighbourhood. The story about us having a nephew who was a bit weak in the head had leaked out, somehow, and I really didn't want to imagine what everyone would say if it got out that I, too, was developing some kind of illness. Perhaps it would be better if I went to a doctor and could squash these rumours before they got too out of hand.

Once I arrived, I gave the doctor a list of details about what had been happening recently. He was quite startled when I mentioned my recent headaches, and my difficulties with speech, vision, and hearing. "And you say you've also been experiencing a feeling of weakness in your arms and calves? Do they just feel tired, or can you sometimes not feel them at all?"

I replied rather reluctantly that yes, sometimes I had trouble moving because of the loss of sensation in my legs. He hesitated, and said that he would have to examine my eyes to see if he could find out what was causing my problems with vision.

After the examination, he became noticeably more nervous. "Mrs Dursley, you seem to have some swelling at the back of your eye, which could be the cause of your double vision at times."

I was puzzled, and to tell the truth, rather impatient. "So should I go to an optician to get some glasses or something? Would that correct my vision?"

"Well, you see, Mrs Dursley...the swelling in the eyes could be a symptom of...ah...various other diseases. Combined with your other symptoms - the headaches, the loss of sensation in your legs, as well as your problems with speech and hearing, it could be possible that...well, it would be hard to say right now, but these symptoms could all be part of a larger picture."

I did not like what I was hearing, and I liked even less the way the doctor would look at me, and then suddenly glance away. What was he not telling me?

"Mrs Dursley, in order to find out the exact causes of these symptoms, it may be necessary to have an X-ray taken. There are excellent X-ray facilities in a centre nearby, and if you don't mind, we could head over there now. Do you have any urgent appointments?"

I replied rather shortly that no, I didn't, and that no, I wouldn't mind having a few X-rays taken. After they were done, the doctor looked at them, and hmmed for a bit.

"Well? What's wrong with me?" I was definite that he was holding something back now.

"Perhaps...perhaps you should sit down first, Mrs Dursley."

I sat, a heaviness settling in my stomach.

"It's - it's - never easy to say this, Mrs Dursley, but I'm afraid that - that - from these X-rays it seems as though you have a tumour in your brain. Together with your other symptoms, I'd say it's pretty certain that you have a malignant brain tumour."

I could say nothing. Waves of icy horror were washing over me, paralysing my senses.

"I'd - I'd recommend going to see a neurologist, Mrs Dursley. I'm no expert at these matters, and it may be worth going to see a specialist to get some treatment, if possible."

"Treatment?' The word came out as a hoarse whisper. "Does that mean that...that...I won't...?"

The doctor knew what I meant, even though I could not force myself to enunciate the words. 'Well, as I said, I'm no expert, so I can't really comment. I really would urge you to make an appointment with a neurologist. The sooner the better.You say you've been experiencing these headaches and feelings of weaknesses for a long time already?"

"A few months at least. I - I didn't really think they mattered...I thought they were - were normal for someone my age..."

The doctor then said something else, but I didn't hear. A malignant brain tumour. I had a malignant brain tumour. The phrase kept drumming through my head, and I was barely conscious of the fact that the doctor was now asking another question. Eventually, his words managed to penetrate through the numbness.

"Is there anybody I could contact? A relative, maybe?"

"I - my husband - I'll give you his telephone number -"

I do not remember much of what happened next. Somehow, Vernon had got me back home. When I recovered, we made an appointment with a neurologist recommended by the doctor, and both of us went. The neurologist, after looking at the X-rays and hearing of my symptoms, did a couple more tests. When he came back, I could see from his face that he was going to confirm what the doctor had told me. I could have received an award for my prophesying skills.

"Is there any...treatment? Will I..." As before, I found that I could not say the words. And exactly as before, the specialist knew what I meant.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Dursley, but I'm afraid that it will be very difficult to remove the tumour without damaging the brain. It's grown too big, you see. Perhaps if it was discovered earlier, then there would be hope, but as it is...I'm afraid there's very little chance of a successful removal of the tumour."

I had somehow suspected, known, that this would be the answer, but the confirmation just made the whole situation seem more real and solid to me. So I would die. It did not occur to me to ask how long I had to live - after all, if I would die shortly, what did a few days matter? It was Vernon who asked that question.

The answer was 'quite possibly a couple of months'. It was also recommended that I stay in a hospital to prevent any sudden seizures claiming my life. I can't say that I rather enjoyed that prospect - the idea of lying in a bed day after day knowing I would die was somehow more frightening than dying immediately. But in all human beings there exists some kind of natural instinct to live, no matter what, and I soon found myself settled in a hospital, complete with the knowledge that I had only weeks to live. Well, Lily, I'll soon be joining you. For all the differences between you and me, we'll now end up in exactly the same situation.

To be continued in an epilogue...