"People don't usually keep those as pets," she observes. "At least people who aren't witches or wizards. Was I meant to catch one? Were my parents a witch and a wizard, d'you know? I think your system wasn't set up very well for anyone who doesn't already know it."

Blink. "Doesn't already know it?" He strides over to the sofa where Dudley sits frozen with fear. "Budge up, yeh great lump."

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother.

Who's crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"No. I wasn't even sure the letter was real, at first, but I figured the fact that you knew I lived in the cupboard under the stairs was decent evidence. I let Uncle Vernon know about the second letter when it arrived, in case he knew something, and he promptly panicked and tried to escape them."

That breaks his silence spell. "What?!" And fueled by this: "I demand that you leave at once, sir! You are in private property and not welcome!"

"Uncle Vernon, do you really think he cares?"

He turns a smile at her then reaches over the back of the sofa, jerks the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bends it into a knot as easily as if it was made of rubber, and throws it into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon makes a noise like a mouse that's been trodded on.

He turns back to Dorea. "Yeh's grown, lass! You was only a baby last I saw yeh!"

"You met me when I was a baby?"

"Aye. I brought yeh ter these muggles' doorstep meself. Oh, an' before I forget—a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here—I mighta sat on it at some point, but it’ll taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulls a slightly squashed box.

"...Thank you," she says, slightly dubious, and accepts the box. She opens it.

It contains an enormous, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Dorea written on it in green icing.

...Are those tears? She should not be crying over this. It's just a cake.

...But she's never had a real birthday cake before, and--it's got her name on it.

"Thank you," she manages, more sincere this time.

He beams. "What about that tea then, eh?" he says, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

His eyes fall on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorts. He gets up from the couch and bends down over the fireplace; they can't see what he's doing but when he draws back a second later, there's a roaring fire there. It fills the whole damp hut with flickering light and Dorea can feel the warmth wash over her.

She beams at him.

Uncle Vernon honestly looks terrified almost out of his trousers. He's decided huddling close to his family in a half-defiant stance is the best he can do.

The giant sits back down on the sofa, which sags under his weight, and begins taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he takes a swig from before starting to make tea.

"So what's Hogwarts like? Where can I get the things the list said? ...Is there some kind of scholarship fund, there's no way the Dursleys will pay for it."

"Yeh'll see Hogwarts when yeh get there, but yeh can get yer things in Diagon Alley, o' course. An' Hogwarts is free, the Ministry of Magic pays fer it."

"Do they pay for the supplies, too?"

"No, but that part yeh can use yer money."

"My money?"

"Aye, the money yer parents left yeh."