Chapter 10 — The Day Before Ten
The summer of 1987 had arrived with a kind of lazy brilliance — the sort of morning warmth that makes lawns hum with bees and the neighbours' washing lines look like bunting. Tomorrow would be my tenth birthday, though I sometimes felt much older than that. Perhaps it came from being reborn, or perhaps from living in a house that had seen far more oddity than it ever planned to.
I'd finished primary school a year early — a fact Mum still mentioned at every possible opportunity, usually in the same breath as, "Of course, he reads books far above his age." I'd taken to smiling politely at that.
Sitting on the garden step, I found myself thinking back over the past six years. Quite a collection of surprises, really.
Breaking the news about my magic to Mum and Dad had been... dramatic, to put it mildly. I still remembered the look on Dad's face — the colour draining away faster than the beer from his glass. "Magic?" he'd said, in the same tone most people reserve for "tax audit" or "root canal."
Mum, on the other hand, had gone through all five stages of emotional reaction in under two minutes. Shock, disbelief, happiness, tears, and finally a strange kind of peace. She'd said, "It's as if a little piece of what I lost has come back. " I think she meant Lily, "and also fulfilled my childhood regret."
Dad had taken longer to come around. For a few weeks he treated me as though I might accidentally turn him into a frog at breakfast. But time — and my refusal to do anything remotely amphibian — helped. These days, he mostly just grumbled about "keeping the weird stuff under wraps," which, coming from Vernon Dursley, was practically a blessing.
I hadn't told them everything, of course. They knew about my ability to feel what animals felt — that strange, quiet understanding that linked their emotions to mine. But I hadn't said how powerful it had become. Six years of practice had made it almost second nature. Now, a glance was enough. The neighbour's dog wanted a biscuit. A pigeon passing overhead was annoyed about the wind. Brigid, our ginger cat, mostly wanted everyone to know she ran the household.
She'd grown comfortably plump over the years and took to sleeping on the sofa like an empress expecting tribute. She still shared the same wordless connection with me, though these days it was mostly about food preferences and complaints about Dudley and Harry pulling her tail.
Ah, Harry.
His magic had started showing itself early, just as it had in the books I remembered from... before. Small things — floating toys, sudden bursts of light, and once, the memorable incident where his blanket refused to let him nap alone. Each time, I'd been there to smooth things over before Mum and Dad could panic. I'd told them Harry was normal. It was me who was just a bit different. After all, accidental magic was the common and normal thing. Me controlling it perfectly was abnormal.
The real shock came when I suggested that Dudley might also have a touch of it. That was the day Dad nearly dropped his briefcase on his foot.
"You mean to tell me," he'd sputtered, "that both of you — both my sons — might turn out like them?"
Mum had looked positively delighted. "Wouldn't that be something!" she'd said, in a tone that made me suspect she was picturing a house full of magical grandchildren one day.
As for Dudley, he'd only grinned and said, "Does that mean I can make sweets appear out of thin air?"
"Not yet," I told him. "You've got to survive my teaching first."
Dudley too had his awakening last winter, when he felt too cold and wished for warmth. Instead his blanket caught fire. Fortunately, I was there to handle it.
Mum had cried again — happy tears this time — and Dad had turned the colour of beetroot.
Somehow, over the years, we'd found our rhythm — Dudley, Harry, and I. I'd become the unofficial big brother, referee, and part-time philosopher of Number Four. Harry looked up to me with wide-eyed trust, and Dudley, for all his boisterousness, treated me with the kind of respect usually reserved for someone who could turn him into a toad. Which, to be fair, I technically could — though I never would.
Now, sitting on that warm July morning, I could feel how much had changed. The Dursleys weren't quite the same family that once slammed doors at the mention of magic. We weren't exactly magical, either — not yet — but something in the house had softened. Less fear. More curiosity. Maybe even acceptance.
I tilted my head as Brigid hopped onto the wall beside me. Happy? I thought at her.
A slow blink. Contentment, then mild annoyance — she wanted breakfast. Typical.
I smiled and scratched behind her ear. "You'll get your tuna soon enough, Your Majesty."
But my mind wasn't on the cat anymore. Tomorrow I'd be ten. One step closer to the day the letter would come — the day everything would truly begin. And before that day, I had some things left to do.
It was time to meet a certain man I'd met years before. Someone who might help me with my plan.
The sun rose slowly as I made my way down the narrow streets of the unfamiliar town again. This time I was alone.
Spinner's End was as bleak as I remembered from last time. Narrow brick houses, peeling paint, and the faint, lingering scent of smoke.
I found the door — number 12 — and hesitated for a heartbeat.
Then I knocked.
End of Chapter 10 — The Day Before Ten
-- Congratulations to Indian Women Cricket Team for winning their first ever World Cup. Hard Luck South Africa Women Team but you played well. Appreciations for your efforts. And also for all the participanting teams.--