Harry Potter 'sTwin Brother

Chapter 16: Moments

September 1990 –

The sky over Privet Drive wore a calm shade of gold, autumn's quiet hand brushing over rooftops and lawns. Leaves rustled gently along the curb, and the air carried a crispness that hinted of the turning season.

In the backyard, laughter erupted like fireworks. Harry darted past a hedge with a stick in hand, Dudley barreling after him in full chase.

"That's cheating!" Harry called, grinning.

"I said I'm the captain!" Dudley huffed, trying to swing his stick like a sword.

"You said that yesterday!"

"Well, I'm still the captain!"

Their words sparked like harmless fire, but the tension—though mild—simmered just enough to start a squabble.

From the edge of the lawn, under the oak tree's long shade, Hardwin observed them calmly. Sitting cross-legged on the grass, his back straight and posture relaxed, he looked more like a young monk than a child of ten.

He didn't shout. He didn't interfere.

Instead, he stood slowly and walked over.

"Dudley," he said casually, "bet you can't do ten pushups and still win the next round."

Dudley paused mid-charge. "What?"

"You're strong, right? Let's see it."

"I am strong," Dudley declared, instantly dropping to the ground.

Hardwin nodded. "Good. Then after that, we'll do two rounds of squats."

Dudley groaned, but started anyway.

Harry grinned, flicking a look at Hardwin, who simply nodded. As always, Hardwin never shouted or forced. He nudged—redirected. His calmness was like invisible string, pulling things into balance without anyone noticing.

---

Evening Calm

Dinner was the same as always—mashed potatoes, boiled peas, a roast. Petunia moved quickly and mechanically, Vernon mumbled about something at work, and Dudley finished his plate fast before dashing to the telly.

Later, in their room, Hardwin rolled out the thin woven mat he'd been using since age seven. Harry flopped on his side.

"Do we have to do this again?" he asked.

Hardwin didn't answer immediately. He moved into a plank position, then flowed into cobra pose. His breathing was smooth, even, silent.

Finally, he said, "You don't have to. But it helps."

"How?"

Hardwin shifted into downward dog. "When your body is healthy, your mind becomes clear. I read it in a book once—a strong body protects a strong mind. And a strong mind stays calm in every situation."

Harry raised an eyebrow but slowly followed suit.

After a few stretches, Hardwin added, "And you… wear glasses. But you shouldn't always depend on them."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, curious.

Hardwin looked at him gently. "What if they break? What if you don't have them with you one day?"

Harry looked thoughtful. "Then I'd be half-blind."

"Exactly," Hardwin said. "So you must train your eyes too. Focus on small things. Blink slowly. Rub your palms and place them gently over your closed eyes—it calms them."

Harry stared for a moment. "You sound like someone's granddad."

Hardwin just smiled. "A quiet mind hears more than a loud mouth."

Harry snorted with laughter.

---

The Still Mind

Later, as Dudley snored in the next room, Harry and Hardwin sat on their beds, brushing off the last bits of dust from their knees.

"Why do you know so much stuff?" Harry asked.

"I read. I think. I try not to waste time."

"But it's still boring," Harry grumbled, flopping on his pillow.

Hardwin didn't argue. He just sat cross-legged on the bed, staring quietly at the dark ceiling.

> This world is loud, he thought.

So much noise, so much rush. But the old teachings I remember from before—from India—taught quiet. Balance. Inner strength. Yoga is not for stretching alone. It is discipline for the soul.

The streetlight outside flickered. Somewhere far off, an owl called once through the night air.

Hardwin closed his eyes.

Tomorrow would be another ordinary day.

But ordinary days were how strength was built, quietly, slowly—until something extraordinary arrived.

...

Here is Chapter 16: Scene 2 – A Sunday Outing, continuing from the September 1990 setting. This scene shows how Petunia has changed—not completely, but noticeably—thanks to the quiet success of her investments. Her treatment of the children is more balanced, less sharp. It also focuses on Hardwin's deep interest in knowledge, especially in books that hint at his long-term purpose. Sensory description and character emotion are woven in to create a warm, thoughtful moment.

---

Chapter 16: Scene 2 – A Sunday Outing

Privet Drive – Sunday Morning, September 1990

The Sunday sun beamed gently over the quiet row of houses. The breeze smelled faintly of trimmed grass and dry soil. A distant lawn mower buzzed, birds fluttered across the hedges, and somewhere a dog barked lazily into the stillness.

Inside No. 4, the clinking of plates and smell of toast and strawberry jam filled the breakfast table.

"Eat quickly," Petunia said, brushing a speck of dust from her blouse. "We're going out today. All of us."

Vernon looked up from his newspaper. "Out?"

"Yes, the shopping mall. Dudley needs new shoes."

Dudley's eyes lit up. "And maybe a new game?"

"We'll see," Petunia said smoothly.

Harry blinked. "Are we all going?"

"Yes, Harry. Even you. And Hardwin."

Hardwin paused mid-sip of his tea and looked up. He noticed it again—the tone. Petunia wasn't harsh anymore. Not warm, exactly, but... quieter. Softer at the edges. She hadn't yelled in months. She hadn't mocked Harry's hair or Hardwin's habits in a long while.

It had started around 1988—when she bought Vernon a new shaving kit "just because," gifted Dudley a bicycle, and handed each boy a new shirt wrapped in tissue.

When Vernon asked why, she only said, "I just felt like being prepared. It pays off."

Hardwin remembered that day clearly.

> She never spoke of stocks again.

But he saw the gleam in her eye. She had won, and she knew it.

---

At the Shopping Mall – Late Morning

The mall shimmered with the brightness of weekend crowds. The sound of escalators hummed. Children's footsteps echoed off clean tile floors. Storefronts flickered with bold lettering, mannequins posed behind glass.

Dudley tugged on Vernon's sleeve, dragging him toward the toy section.

Harry trailed behind, eyes wide at the rows of colorful game boxes.

Petunia stood watching, arms crossed but calm. She handed each boy a five-pound note.

Harry looked surprised. "Me too?"

"Yes, you too."

Hardwin took the note with a small nod. "Thank you."

Petunia didn't say anything, but her lips curved—barely.

"I'll be near the bookshop," Hardwin said.

No one questioned him.

---

Inside the Bookstore

The smell hit him first—ink and paper, fresh bindings, old wood shelves. Cool air floated above polished tile. His heart always beat a little differently in bookstores, as if some ancient part of him remembered this place like a temple.

He didn't browse idly. He knew what he wanted.

From the science section:

Advanced Plant Biology and Medicinal Herbs

British Fauna: Patterns, Diet, and Habitat

Fundamentals of Physics

Applied Chemistry: Formulas and Reactions

Human Biology: From Cells to Systems

Introduction to Medical Theory

Then, from a shelf tucked toward the back, he found it—

"Mind and Motion: Psychology, Meditation, and the Human Will."

He flipped through pages filled with diagrams of brainwaves, emotional triggers, the psychology of focus and healing.

> Yes, he thought. This is the bridge.

---

At the Checkout

The clerk raised an eyebrow as he stacked the heavy books.

"Bit advanced for someone your age," he said with a chuckle.

Hardwin met his gaze calmly. "I like to read ahead."

The man scanned the books one by one, shaking his head in mild disbelief.

Outside the shop window, Hardwin could see Harry and Dudley testing game controllers on a demo display. Laughter sparked in their faces.

---

Later – On the Ride Home

The car was warm. Petunia drove. Dudley was half-asleep in the back seat, holding a new action figure. Harry stared out the window, clutching a game box. Vernon grumbled something about mall prices.

Hardwin held his books in his lap like sacred treasures.

Petunia glanced at him through the rearview mirror.

"Why do you read so much?" she asked suddenly.

Hardwin answered without looking up. "Because every answer I need is somewhere. I just have to find it."

She didn't respond.

But her eyes stayed on him a little longer than usual.

---

Back Home – Quiet Evening

The boys disappeared into their rooms. Vernon turned on the telly. Petunia stood for a moment in the kitchen, quietly folding the receipt from the shopping trip.

Hardwin sat at his desk, one lamp glowing.

He opened the book on medicinal herbs first. His fingers traced the line of an illustrated Mandragora officinarum.

> The magical world won't teach this early. But the Earth already knows it.

He turned a page in the psychology book.

> Mind governs intention. Focus sharpens energy. Meditation steadies will. Even without spells, discipline is its own kind of magic.

He leaned back, stretching slowly, closing his eyes.

> This world has the answers. Even if they don't know they're magical yet.

A Taste of Home

Privet Drive – Early June 1991

The skies above Little Whinging had taken on the brightness of summer. Sunlight spilled over clean pavement and trimmed hedges. The morning air smelled of freshly cut grass, car polish, and faintly—faintly—something deeper drifting from No. 4's kitchen.

Inside, the aroma was unmistakable: warm ghee, toasted spices, turmeric, cumin, fresh ginger. It wove through the house like invisible thread—comforting, earthy, unfamiliar to some, but now a part of the home.

Hardwin stood at the stove, barefoot, sleeves rolled, gently patting out circles of soft dough into flat, thin rounds. One by one, he laid them onto the hot iron pan, where they sizzled and puffed, golden patches forming as the parathas cooked to perfection.

A small saucepan next to him bubbled gently with chana dal—lentils simmered with tomato, garlic, and a swirl of tamarind.

He moved with practiced ease, silent and focused. His fingers brushed flour from the edge of the counter. The wooden rolling pin moved like a dancer under his palms.

---

The Dining Table

Harry sat at the table with a spoon in hand, but by now he knew the truth: the spoon didn't do justice.

He picked up a warm paratha with his hand, scooped up some spiced potato, and took a bite. "Mmm."

Even Dudley, who three years ago would have sniffed and gagged at the sight of anything yellow or unfamiliar, now happily tore off pieces and dipped them in mint chutney.

"This is better than sausages," he muttered through a mouthful.

Petunia didn't say much either—but she always ate everything on her plate. Sometimes she added a squeeze of lemon. Sometimes she reached for more before the others finished.

Hardwin noticed it all. He never commented.

But it made him smile, inwardly.

> Food had done what words couldn't.

---

Vernon's Question

Vernon Dursley, ever skeptical, watched Hardwin from behind his newspaper as the boy sat cross-legged at the table, calmly eating with his right hand. His fingers moved skillfully, scooping small portions, folding warm bread like a natural extension of his body.

Finally, Vernon cleared his throat.

"Why are you eating with your hands?" he asked, not cruelly—just confused.

Hardwin looked up, unbothered. "It's how this kind of food is meant to be eaten."

Vernon blinked. "Meant to be?"

Hardwin nodded. "With soft breads and rice, it's easier. You feel the texture. You don't need to cut anything. And it cools better. In India, they believe it connects the body to the food. It's cleaner than it looks."

Harry listened, curious. Dudley paused, then glanced at his spoon, wondering if he should try.

Petunia looked down at her plate but said nothing.

> The answer had been calm, respectful, factual.

Just like everything else Hardwin said when he explained the strange truths of his world.

---

After Lunch

The plates were wiped clean. No food was wasted. Even Vernon muttered, "That dal wasn't half bad."

Harry helped dry the dishes. Dudley wandered off to watch cartoons. Petunia stood at the sink longer than usual, dabbing her hands with the towel, staring out the window into the warm, still afternoon.

Hardwin, back in his corner of the kitchen, cleaned his rolling board and spice tins, his movements precise. He stacked his pans neatly, wiping the last smear of ghee with a soft cloth.

---

In His Room

Later, in the quiet of his room, he sat cross-legged again—this time on his rug, surrounded by books.

A biology text lay open. Notes jotted in pencil. A small sketch of a root system.

A second book on medicinal herbs rested nearby, and beside it, a notebook filled with symbols, diagrams, and phrases written in a blend of Hindi, Sanskrit, and English.

> This world runs on logic and numbers, he thought. But behind it, there's something older.

The way spices interact with the body.

The way the mind sharpens with silence.

The way fingers can learn to feel energy through breath.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

> Let them eat with me. Let them learn slowly.

I don't need to change the world.

Just this house—for now—is enough.