Chapter 4 — The Question No One Wanted to Ask
When I woke the next morning, sunlight was spilling across the curtains in soft bands of gold. Dudley was already awake, holding one of his toy soldiers over Harry's cot like a general inspecting his troops.
Harry blinked up at him with that calm, steady gaze babies sometimes have — as if he already knew the world was far too loud and had decided to wait it out — then reached up, trying to grab the soldier.
Dudley grinned. "He likes me, Arthur!"
"Well," I said, stretching, "that makes one of us."
He giggled, proud of himself — not catching the joke but happy anyway. I tousled his hair, dragged myself out of bed, and began the morning routine.
I freshened up, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and pulled on clean clothes. I'd taken to doing a few stretches by the window every morning — small things that made my body feel sharper, stronger.
Down on the street, a milkman's van rattled past, and the postman waved at Number Three's cat as it sauntered by. Just another normal day on Privet Drive.
Only this house had a wizard sleeping in the next room — freshly orphaned.
I gave the boys a quick glance when Mum came to take Harry, and Dudley toddled off after them. After finishing my stretches, I followed the smell of toast downstairs.
---
Mum was in the kitchen, humming faintly as she made tea. She only hummed when she was trying not to think about something. Dad sat behind his newspaper, pretending to read while sneaking cautious glances toward the baby carrier beside the table.
Harry was sleeping again, peacefully, his little hand curled like a comma on his blanket.
I buttered my toast, trying for an innocent tone. "Mum?"
"Yes, dear?"
"What happens when people die?"
The spoon she was holding slipped into the sink with a clang. Dad coughed into his tea. That was not the kind of question they were ready for before breakfast.
"I mean," I added quickly, "everyone has funerals, right? Even if they're not churchy?"
"Yes, of course," Mum said carefully. "Why are you asking?"
I shrugged. "I was just thinking about Aunt Lily and Uncle James. Has anyone… you know… done their funeral?"
Dad lowered the paper, eyes narrowing. "That's none of our business, Arthur."
"But someone has to do it," I said, blinking innocently. "Otherwise they'll just be lying there. That's horrid, isn't it?"
Mum frowned. "Arthur Dursley!"
"Well, it's true," I insisted. "Don't people have to register the deaths? Someone has to handle the papers, the burial — all that. You said the government keeps track of everyone."
Dad cleared his throat. "Registrars do that, yes. There's paperwork, and then a service. Then a burial or cremation. It's all handled properly."
"And if no one claims them?"
"The council takes care of it," Mum said quickly.
I looked at Harry, one tiny fist curled around the edge of his blanket, sleeping so quietly. "That doesn't seem right," I said softly. "He should get to see them once, shouldn't he? One last time before they're gone forever."
The room went still. Even the ticking clock seemed to pause.
Mum set her spoon down slowly. "That's not for little boys like you to worry about."
"Maybe not," I said, "but you're her sister. She was the only one left from your family. Wouldn't you want to say goodbye?"
Her shoulders stiffened. "That world has brought nothing but trouble."
"Still," I said gently, "trouble doesn't mean you stop caring. If Dudley—"
Her head snapped toward me. "Arthur Dursley, that's quite enough."
"I'm just saying," I added quickly, "if Dudley ever blew up a chemistry set, you'd still love him, wouldn't you? And I would like to say goodbye."
Dad gave a short laugh. "Science doesn't blow people up."
"It depends on who's holding the matches," I replied solemnly — thinking of the mushrooms from '45.
Even Mum's lips twitched at that. I counted that as progress.
---
After breakfast, I helped clear the table and then spent most of the morning entertaining Dudley while Mum hung laundry. Harry joined us for playtime — well, mostly watched while Dudley tried to teach him how to stack blocks and accidentally invented demolition.
When the tower fell for the fifth time, I sighed. "Congratulations, Dud. You've taught him chaos."
"I like him," Dudley declared proudly.
"Terrifying," I muttered, though secretly, I was relieved. Dudley liking Harry was a good sign.
The Dursleys' actions in the stories about Harry had always seemed excessive — but if one thought about ordinary people living unknowingly with a Horcrux, one that could even tempt the strongest wizard of the century, then many things could be explained.
Whenever I looked at Harry's scar, a strange feeling stirred inside me — a faint prickle, like standing near something foul. As though the air itself held its breath.
Maybe the Horcrux's darkness hadn't touched us yet. But I would have to take care of it — sooner rather than later.
---
Mum was folding clothes when I found her again that afternoon. Her eyes were distant, somewhere between worry and guilt.
"Mum," I said quietly, "do you think Aunt Lily's… somewhere? Not in a magic way — just… somewhere?"
She froze mid-fold. "I don't know, Arthur."
"She was your sister," I said gently. "You could go see her. Just once. Say goodbye."
Her hands trembled around a blue jumper. "There's no way to contact them — her kind of people."
"Mum," I said softly, steering the conversation, "do you think there's anyone we could ask? About Aunt Lily and James, I mean. You said you don't know their kind of people, but maybe there's someone from before — when you both were just girls?"
She stopped folding again. "There was someone," she said slowly, as if recalling something from another life. "A boy from the neighbourhood. He did strange little things. Always hanging around Lily. He could… do things."
"Magic things?"
She nodded. "Severus — his name was Severus Snape. He lived down by Spinner's End. Always had that greasy hair and those odd eyes. I told her not to play with him."
Her voice softened without meaning to. "He was the one who first told her she was special."
"Do you think he'd still be around?"
"I've no idea." She looked uncertain. "He might have been one of them."
"Well," I said, "if he knew her, he might know what happened. Maybe he could tell us where she's buried."
Mum pressed her lips together. For the first time, she didn't dismiss the idea outright.
---
After lunch, Dudley decided we were playing 'feed the baby,' which mostly involved waving biscuits dangerously close to Harry's mouth.
"No, Dudley," I said, intercepting his hand. "He can't chew yet. Or duck."
"But he likes biscuits!"
"He likes breathing better."
Harry laughed — an actual laugh — and Dudley beamed like he'd just won a medal.
Mum, watching from the doorway, sighed. "You're rather good with them, Arthur."
"Practice," I said proudly. "I've been training him since he could walk."
"You're not even five."
"Exactly."
That earned a reluctant smile from her.
The evening came with the smell of shepherd's pie and the sound of Dad's car pulling into the drive. The day had softened Mum's mood, though I could still see something unspoken behind her eyes.
Dinner was quiet — the kind of quiet where everyone's thinking about something but no one wants to say it first.
Finally, I asked, "Dad, what happens to people's houses and money when they die? Who keeps it safe?"
He frowned. "Banks, lawyers, solicitors — sometimes family. Why?"
"So what happens to Harry's parents' things? Do they just… sit there?"
Dad sighed. "Probably. But we're not getting mixed up in any of that, Arthur."
"I just thought," I continued, "when Harry grows up, if all his parents' things are gone, he'll think we didn't care."
Dad blinked. "Care?"
"Well, we've got him now," I pointed out. "He might ask questions one day. Best to have answers ready. Imagine him at ten, or twenty, asking, 'Uncle Vernon, where's my house?' and you saying, 'Oh, we left it to the pigeons.' That'd sound terrible."
Dad blinked again, then huffed out a laugh. "You've an odd way of thinking, son."
"I get it from you."
Mum coughed to hide her own laughter.
"But he'll ask one day," I said. "When he's older. He'll want to know where he came from."
Dad opened his mouth to argue, but then shut it again.
Mum looked down at Harry in her arms, his eyes half-open, and her expression softened. "He will want answers one day," she murmured.
"That's all I'm saying," I said. "We should know what to tell him."
Dad sighed, rubbing his chin. "You make it sound easy."
"It is," I said cheerfully. "We just find out what happened, go to the funeral, and make sure he's remembered. Easy-peasy."
He gave me a look that was half-pride, half-dread. "You're going to be trouble when you're older."
"Promise?"
Mum continued softly, "It wouldn't hurt to… ask. Just to know what happened."
Dad stared at her like she'd grown another head. "But Petunia…"
"Not with them, Vernon. There was that boy — Severus. Our neighbour. If he's still around, he should know."
Dad grumbled something about "strange folk" and "bad ideas," but I saw the shift happen. He didn't forbid it. That was good enough for now.
---
Later that night, when Dudley and Harry slept soundly, the house had gone quiet. I sat beside the cot and whispered, "Don't worry, Harry. We'll find them. You should get to say goodbye."
He stirred slightly, his fingers curling tighter around the blanket.
For a moment, the room felt warmer — like someone, somewhere, had heard.
I smiled and went to bed quietly. Adults might have thought they were the sensible ones, but sometimes it took a child to ask the question no one else dared to.
And tomorrow, Mum and Dad would go looking for answers.
That, at least, felt like a start.
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End of Chapter 4 — The Question No One Wanted to Ask