Chapter 485: Maggie

Without stopping for a moment.

An owl flew into the tower again.

Such an owl was not particularly unusual this night.

Wizard Sean was arranging gift boxes.

The magical hand mirror lit up naturally.

The busy badger stopped baking its dessert and revealed a face.

“Wizard Sean…”

It was Jia Jia Siting’s voice; his eyes were slightly red.

“Good evening.”

Wizard Sean said.

“Happy birthday.”

Jia Jia Siting said.

Before he could finish, Ron, mouth stuffed with two chicken legs, vanished, transforming into an excited red-haired wizard.

“Wizard Sean, I need to say… ah, everyone’s here… Wizard Sean, I’m so glad to hear this news—happy birthday!”

Ron’s face was about to squeeze out of the screen.

“Just in time, twelve oh two—will I be the first…?”

Then came Harry; seeing everyone there, he was startled at first, then excitedly began chatting with them all.

This was destined to be a magical night.

Wizard Sean watched as Neville and Hermione joined the conversation, then ate a cherry.

Hmm, it was sweet.

…

This was Wizard Sean’s first party.

Although wizards were eager to invite him to nearly every party, Wizard Sean had never attended any.

For the most part, magic held an unshakable place in his heart.

But today was different—Professor McGonagall forbade him to step outside the villa.

Fred and George had snatched the role of waiters from other wizards; they held handmade charts, guiding guests to their proper seats.

Beneath a nearby tree, a group of waiters in white robes and a band in golden jackets sat, handing out party gifts to passersby.

In the center of the garden stood a large round table.

The food upon it was so abundant it resembled the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

Wizard Sean could see giant pumpkins filled with steaming, sweet pumpkin juice.

In the garden, bees and butterflies lazily fluttered among the grass and hedges.

That day, the crowd blurred into indistinct shapes in Wizard Sean’s eyes; the world felt like a hazy tenderness.

Thus, vagueness became certainty, and time flowed somewhere Wizard Sean could not see.

July thirty-first.

Wizard Sean put down his book, *Dream Stories*.

He gazed into the distance; his magical creation had detected certain unusual wizards on Privet Drive in London.

“Will.”

Wizard Sean said.

“As you command.”

A small goblin appeared from nowhere.

“To London.”

Wizard Sean said.

Will placed his hand on Wizard Sean’s arm; both vanished in the same instant.

When they reappeared, the stone floor of Hogwarts Castle had become asphalt pavement.

The brass plaque of Number Four, Privet Drive gleamed in the sunlight.

Wizard Sean turned his gaze toward the villa.

There, a boy with a scar on his forehead stood.

“Remember, Potter? Maggie knows nothing of your oddities—I don’t want anything—anything strange—to happen while she’s here.

At least behave yourself for now, understood?”

Uncle Vernon said, tense.

“Okay.”

Harry answered without hesitation.

Though Aunt Maggie’s arrival was the worst birthday gift he’d ever received, he still agreed.

He had to go to Hogsmeade—with his friends; they’d made a deal.

He imagined Aunt Maggie’s appearance, wondering if she might have changed at all.

Aunt Maggie was Vernon’s sister.

Though she had no blood relation to Harry, Harry had always been forced to call her “Aunt.”

She lived in a countryside house with a large garden, raising many bull terriers.

She rarely stayed on Privet Drive, as she couldn’t bear to leave her beloved dogs, but each visit left Harry with a terrifying impression—still vivid to this day.

At Dudley’s fifth birthday party, Aunt Maggie struck Harry’s shin hard with her cane to prevent him from winning the musical statues game against Dudley.

Years later, she appeared at Christmas, bringing Dudley a computer-controlled robot, but giving Harry a box of dog biscuits.

The last time was the year before Harry went to Hogwarts, when Harry accidentally stepped on the paw of her beloved dog, Lip.

Harry fled outside, climbed a tree, and Aunt Maggie didn’t call the dog back until past midnight.

Even today, Dudley still laughed until tears streamed down his face when he remembered it.

She was a thoroughly heartless, vile creature.

Even Jia Jia Siting had said so.

In an instant, the crunch of gravel came from outside; Uncle Vernon’s car slowly turned into the driveway, doors slammed shut, and footsteps approached along the garden path.

“Come on.”

Aunt Petunia whispered to Harry.

She walked ahead to the door; Harry followed behind her.

To be honest, it was a strange angle.

When Harry unconsciously hid himself behind Aunt Petunia’s body, he felt a faint sense of comfort.

The door opened, and there stood Aunt Maggie.

She looked just like Uncle Vernon—tall, broad, stout, with a purplish-red face and even a small mustache.

One hand carried a massive suitcase; the other hugged a grumpy old bull terrier.

“Where’s my Dudders?”

Aunt Maggie bellowed.

“Where’s my good nephew?”

Dudley waddled into the hallway, his golden hair flattened against his fat head, a bow tie nearly hidden beneath his many chins.

Aunt Maggie shoved the suitcase aside, then wrapped one arm tightly around Dudley and planted a loud kiss on his cheek.

The grumpy bull terrier stared at Harry; Harry felt a chill run down his spine and shrank back.

It worked—his view was blocked by Aunt Petunia’s legs; he could no longer see the vicious dog, and his fear lessened greatly.

Soon they began drinking; Aunt Maggie pretended not to see Harry, as if someone had given her instructions.

But whenever conversation turned, she loved comparing Harry to Dudley, taking great pleasure in buying Dudley expensive gifts while glaring fiercely at Harry, as if testing whether he’d dare ask why he got nothing.

She often implied, through innuendo, why Harry had become such a worthless person.

“Vernon, don’t blame yourself for how this child turned out.”

She said, face flushed.

“If the core is rotten, nothing can fix it.”

Harry forced himself to focus on eating, but his hands trembled uncontrollably, heat burning up his face.

Don’t forget the permission slip, he told himself. Think of Hogsmeade.

Say nothing. Don’t stand up…

“It’s a basic law of heredity,”

she said,

“often seen in dogs. If the mother is flawed, the puppies will be no better—”

Harry’s face burned crimson, his eyes streaked with blood.

He couldn’t stop shaking.

Think of Hogsmeade—

“Maggie…”

“Maggie!”

Two voices rang out at once.

But none of those sounds could match the deafening noise coming from the door.

The door had somehow opened, and Aunt Marge swelled up like a balloon.

Her red, broad face spread out, her small eyes bulged outward, her lips stretched wide and tight, leaving her speechless.

Then several buttons on her dress popped off, thudding against the wall—she kept inflating like a giant balloon, her belly bursting the belt of her dress, each finger swollen like a sausage filled with air...

“Marge!”

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia shouted in unison.

Aunt Marge’s body rose from the chair and floated toward the ceiling.

“You can’t do this! Magic is forbidden for underage wizards outside of school!”

Uncle Vernon cried in fear.

“My wand is my grandfather’s.”

The voice pulled Harry back from rage and confusion into reality; he turned to the door, where Wizard Sean Green was smiling faintly.