It wasn't the first time an argument had broken out over breakfast at Number Four, Privet Drive.
Early that morning, a loud hooting from his niece and nephew's bedroom had woken Vernon Dursley. Now he sat at the breakfast table, glaring across at them.
"That's the third time this week!" he complained. "If you can't keep that owl under control, it'll have to go somewhere else!"
Harry tried to explain himself yet again.
"She gets bored. She's used to flying around outside. If I could just let her out, even if it's only at night…"
"Do I look like an idiot?" Uncle Vernon growled, bits of fried egg clinging to his bushy moustache. "I know exactly what would happen if that owl got out."
He exchanged a dark look with his wife, Petunia.
Harry wanted to argue further, but Dudley, the Dursleys' son, drowned out his words with a tremendous, prolonged belch.
"I want more bacon!"
"There's more in the frying pan, darling," Aunt Petunia said, turning her attention to her hulking son. "We need to keep you well fed while we can… I don't like the look of the food they serve at school…"
"Don't be ridiculous, Petunia. I never went hungry at Smeltings," Uncle Vernon said emphatically. "Dudley gets enough to eat, don't you, son?"
Dudley was so fat that his backside spilled over both sides of the chair. He grimaced and turned towards Helena.
"Pass me the frying pan."
"You forgot the magic word," Helena replied irritably.
The effect those simple words had on the family was extraordinary.
Dudley gave a strangled yelp and fell off his chair with a tremendous crash that seemed to shake the entire kitchen. Aunt Petunia let out a feeble scream and clapped both hands over her mouth. Uncle Vernon shot to his feet, the veins in his temples throbbing.
"I meant 'please'!" Helena said immediately. "I didn't mean—"
"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," Uncle Vernon roared, spraying spittle across the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE M-WORD IN THIS HOUSE?"
"But I…"
"HOW DARE YOU FRIGHTEN DUDLEY!" Uncle Vernon shouted furiously, slamming his fist against the table.
"She only—" Harry began.
"I WARNED YOU! UNDER THIS ROOF, I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY!"
Helena lowered her eyes.
The sight of her uncle's flushed face and her aunt's pale, strained expression as she struggled to pull Dudley off the floor was already far too familiar.
"All right," Helena murmured. "All right…"
Uncle Vernon dropped back into his chair, huffing like an overworked rhinoceros. From the corners of his small, piercing eyes, he continued to keep a close watch on Helena and Harry.
Ever since the two of them had returned home for the summer holidays, Uncle Vernon had treated them as though they were bombs waiting to explode.
Because they weren't normal children.
Harry was a wizard, and Helena was a witch.
They had just completed their first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the Dursleys hated having to put up with them during the summer.
The feeling was entirely mutual.
Being away from Hogwarts felt like having a constant ache in the pit of her stomach.
Helena missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts; the lessons; the owls carrying letters through the halls; the feasts in the Great Hall; sleeping in her four-poster bed in the dormitory; visiting Hagrid…
And, in Harry's case, Quidditch.
The moment they had arrived at Privet Drive, the Dursleys had stripped them of every trace of magic.
Their wands, books, and robes had been locked away in the cupboard beneath the stairs. Even Hedwig, Harry's owl, had been imprisoned in her cage.
After all, why should the Dursleys care if Helena returned to school without having done her homework?
Or if Harry lost his place on the Gryffindor Quidditch team because he hadn't been able to practise all summer?
The Dursleys were Muggles, after all—the term wizards used for people without a single drop of magical blood in their veins.
And to them, having a wizard or witch in the family was a source of utter shame.
A loud clearing of the throat suddenly broke the silence, dragging Helena back to reality.
Uncle Vernon sat a little straighter.
"Well," he announced pompously, "as we all know, today is a very important day."
Helena noticed the faint spark of hope that appeared in Harry's eyes.
"Our birthday?" he ventured, summoning all the courage he could manage without daring to look up.
"Today, I could close the most important deal of my career," Vernon said, completely ignoring his nephew.
Helena clenched her teeth.
Of course.
It was ridiculous to think they might actually celebrate their birthday.
In fact, she had a sneaking suspicion Uncle Vernon had chosen this particular date on purpose, simply to annoy them.
And, as always, she and Harry would probably spend the entire day cleaning the house from top to bottom while the Dursleys celebrated their "big day."
Aquí tienes la continuación traducida, manteniendo el tono de fanfic de Harry Potter, con un inglés natural y fluido, y reforzando ligeramente la sensación de aislamiento de Helena antes del giro final.
Helena turned her attention back to her food.
Uncle Vernon hadn't talked about anything except tonight's dinner for the past fortnight. A wealthy builder and his wife were coming over, and Uncle Vernon was hoping to land an enormous order. His company manufactured drills.
"I think we should go over everything one more time," Uncle Vernon said. "We'll need to be in position by eight o'clock sharp. Petunia, you'll be…"
"In the sitting room," Aunt Petunia answered at once, "waiting to welcome them into our home."
"Good, good. And Dudley?"
"I'll be waiting to open the door."
Dudley flashed a stupid grin.
"May I take your coats, Mr and Mrs Mason?"
"Oh, they'll think he's adorable!" Aunt Petunia gushed.
"Excellent, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said. He then turned towards Helena and Harry. "And you two?"
"I'll stay in my bedroom—" Harry began, only to stop.
"—and keep quiet so they don't realise we're here," Helena finished.
"Exactly," Uncle Vernon said coldly.
"I'll show them into the sitting room, introduce you, Petunia, and offer them something to drink. At eight fifteen…"
"I'll announce that dinner is ready," Aunt Petunia said.
"And you, Dudley, will say…"
"May I escort you to the dining room, Mrs Mason?" Dudley said, extending his thick arm towards an imaginary woman.
"My perfect little gentleman!" Aunt Petunia sighed dreamily.
"And?" Uncle Vernon demanded, turning his attention back to the twins.
"We'll stay in our bedroom and keep quiet so they don't realise we're here," Helena and Harry recited together.
"Perfect," Vernon muttered, his moustache twitching with irritation.
He particularly disliked it when the twins acted in perfect unison.
"The Masons know nothing about you, and that's how it's going to stay. After dinner, Petunia, you'll take Mrs Mason into the sitting room for coffee. I'll deal with Mr Mason and the drills. If everything goes according to plan, we'll have the contract signed before ten, and tomorrow we'll be booking that flat in Majorca."
Petunia nodded enthusiastically, already imagining herself basking beneath the Mediterranean sun, far away from Number Four, Privet Drive.
"I'll be going into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and myself," Vernon announced, adjusting his tie importantly. "And you"—he jabbed a pudgy finger towards Helena—"will help your aunt with the cleaning. I don't want to see a speck of dust in this house when the Masons arrive."
He then turned towards Harry.
For a moment, his face twisted into an expression of disgust, as though the mere sight of the boy offended him.
"As for you…"
He paused deliberately, making sure every word sank in.
"Stay out of sight. I don't want your presence getting in the way."
Harry merely gave Helena a resigned look before heading out into the garden.
With little choice, Helena followed Aunt Petunia, already certain that several hours of cleaning lay ahead before the house was polished to perfection.
It was officially a terrible birthday.
Not a single letter. Not a present. Not even a kind word.
Just work, indifference, and the obligation to pretend she didn't exist.
For a moment, Helena had thought birthdays like this were behind her.
Clearly, she'd been wrong.
She felt alone.
Truly alone.
Lucian and Cassandra had promised to write to her during the summer. Cassandra had even invited her to stay at her house.
At first, Helena had been genuinely excited.
But as the weeks passed and the silence continued, that excitement had slowly faded. Sadness had given way to a faint, persistent resentment.
Harry hadn't heard from his friends either.
More than once, they had considered sneaking Hedwig out of her cage and sending letters themselves, but they knew it wasn't worth the risk. Underage witches and wizards weren't allowed to perform magic outside school.
They certainly hadn't told the Dursleys that.
It was their uncle's irrational—but remarkably useful—fear of them being turned into dung beetles that kept the twins out of the cupboard beneath the stairs.
During the first few weeks, they had amused themselves by making strange noises and whispering supposed curses under their breath, just to watch Dudley flee in terror.
But even that had lost its charm with time.
The silence from the magical world isolated them so completely that even tormenting Dudley couldn't cheer them up anymore.
And now, to make matters worse, everyone had forgotten their birthday.
What Helena wouldn't have given for a simple letter from Hogwarts.
A message.
Anything.
Just some sign that the magical world was still there.
Even a nasty note from Draco Malfoy would have been welcome, if only to reassure her that everything they had experienced hadn't been some elaborate dream.
It wasn't as though everything at Hogwarts had been happiness and sunshine.
Near the end of the school year, Harry had faced Lord Voldemort.
Even as a mere shadow of what he had once been, Voldemort was still terrifying—cunning, ruthless, and dangerously determined to reclaim his power.
Harry had escaped once again.
But only barely.
Even weeks later, Helena still sometimes woke in the middle of the night with the sound of her brother's screams echoing in her head.
A door slammed somewhere downstairs.
Dudley had abandoned his breakfast and gone out into the garden, probably looking for Harry so he could annoy him.
Fortunately, Harry knew how to defend himself.
And, as expected, it wasn't long before Dudley came running back inside, shrieking that Harry had done "that" to him.
"You know what I mean!"
Harry paid dearly for it.
Since neither Dudley nor the garden had suffered any damage, Petunia knew there had been no real magic involved. Even so, she punished him with more chores, threatening to withhold his dinner if he didn't finish them.
While Dudley whined in front of the television and stuffed his face with ice cream, the twins cleaned the house from top to bottom.
Helena was lucky enough to remain indoors, away from the blazing sun, while Harry washed the windows, mowed the lawn, cleaned the car, and even repainted the garden bench.
Helena vacuumed, swept, mopped, dusted every ornament in sight, polished mirrors and picture frames…
And when she finally finished, her aunt sent her outside as well.
Helena had never liked that sort of work.
The heat was suffocating, and she hated the feeling of dirt beneath her fingernails, but she couldn't afford to refuse.
Finally, at around half past seven, Aunt Petunia's shrill voice broke the silence.
"You can come inside now!"
The twins dragged themselves into the kitchen, grateful for the cool shade.
On top of the refrigerator sat the evening's pudding, gleaming beneath a mountain of whipped cream and crystallised violets.
The sight alone made Helena's stomach twist with anger.
She knew she wouldn't get to taste even a spoonful of it.
"Quickly, eat! The Masons could arrive at any moment!" Aunt Petunia urged, pointing towards two miserable plates of bread and cheese.
Harry and Helena washed their hands and devoured their meagre dinner in silence.
The moment they finished, Petunia snatched the plates away.
"Upstairs! Now!"
As they climbed the stairs, they caught sight of Dudley and Vernon dressed in their finest clothes.
They had barely reached the landing when the doorbell rang.
Vernon's red face appeared at the bottom of the staircase, accompanied by the usual warning.
"Remember: not a sound."
The twins tiptoed to their bedroom, closed the door behind them, and collapsed onto their shared bed.
Only this time…
Someone was already sitting on it, waiting for them.