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Chapter Text

The morning had started so routinely. Just the way any morning should, in Vernon Dursley's humble opinion. He'd woken up just past nine (as it was a Sunday, and not a work day). And since it was such a regular day, he knew before even opening his eyes, his wife, Petunia, had gotten up at least an hour - if not three - ahead of him to go see and care for their infant son, Dudley.

He could remember as he rose out of bed the sound of his son's happy squeals coming from downstairs. Having smiled at the thought of his excellent specimen of a boy, Vernon went through the rest of his routine; washing his face, combing his hair, and brushing his teeth before putting on a fresh change of clothes and going to see his wife and child in the kitchen.

Walking into the homely kitchen, the man went over and pecked a kiss on his wife's blond head. "Morning, Pet," he greeted.

"Hello, darling," Petunia returned as she turned around to smile at him.

Small eyes darting around, he asked, "Where's breakfast? It's Sunday and we always have sausage and eggs."

"Yes, yes," his wife agreed. "I just...I've just had a bit of a headache this morning, is all," she explained. "I've been waiting to see if a bit of tea would help it along - we didn't have any panadol, you see."

Frowning, Vernon had put on his most sympathetic look as he wrapped an arm around his wife's middle and rubbed her stomach. "I'm sorry, Pet, you could have woken me earlier, if we were out, I would have gotten some...I'd do anything for you and our little one."

"How sweet," Petunia cooed. "But don't trouble yourself, Vernon. Let me just go get cleaned up and I'll pop over to the shop to get some myself. You don't mind washing up Dudley, do you?"

Casting his son, whose face was covered in some kind of orange goo, a wary look, he asked, "That doesn't stain, does it?"

"Of course not!" his wife exclaimed with some amusement. "You don't think I'd want him ruining my clothes either, do you, dear?"

Chuckling at her sound logic, Vernon nodded and went over to the sink to get a rag and said, "Hurry along, now, I'm quite eager for those eggs."

"Yes, dear."

Taking to the task with a bumbling efficiency, after about fifteen minutes, Vernon stood back and puffed out his chest with some mild pride. His son, while grumpy looking with his blond locks matted wetly to his head, was clean. Returning to the tap, the man wrung out the rag and hung it to dry between the two sides of the sink and then went back to collect his son from the highchair.

Bouncing the baby, he grinned, "There ya are, m'boy. You're all clean!"

"Dadada," Dudley muttered unhappily as he squirmed to cling to his father's collar.

Grinning fondly at his son, Vernon was struck by a sudden realization. His wife had not come back down the stairs at any point while cleaning up their son. Yes, women always took longer to "clean up", but Petunia was usually quite speedy about it - especially when it was just for a quick trip to the pharmacy and back.

Going to the steps, he called, "Dear?"

No answer.

Frowning, Vernon continued to bounce his son, though, much slower and in a fairly absent way, as he took the steps one by one and called twice more "Pet? Darling?"

When there was no reply again, he went to their bedroom and when he found it devoid of his wife but saw the adjoining bathroom door closed, Vernon bustled in. "Petunia?" he half-shouted at the door. When there was nothing but silence on the other side, he started knocking. Just like his shout, that received no answer either.

Grabbing the handle, he twisted it and felt relief when he realized his wife hadn't locked it. But that relief quickly turned to horror at what he found on the other side.

On the ground, in nothing more than a slip, was his pretty wife sprawled out, her face smeared with blood.

"PETUNIA!" he hollered, causing his son to begin bawling instantly. "Oh, oh," he panted, looking between his son and wife. Finally, Vernon went and put his son down on the floor outside the room and closed the bathroom door again. "You stay right there, Dudley," he told his son. "Stay in the bedroom while your Dad calls an ambulance, alright?"

Hurrying to the hall, he grabbed the phone from the side table it rested on and pushed nine three times in rapid repetition and waited with all the patience of a gnat as it rang once, twi

"Hello, what's your emergency?"

Vernon couldn't have been more unhelpful if he tried in telling the dispatcher what he needed to know.

-v-v-v-

"A brain aneurism?" he repeated desolate.

Sympathetically, the doctor who'd pronounced his wife and unborn child dead at the hospital nodded. "Yes, sometimes these things happen, you see, and - I'm just very sorry, sir."

Eyeing the young, scrawny man, Vernon demanded, "Are you sure you did everything you could for my Pet?"

"Yes, we followed every procedure to a 'T', Mister Dursley. Now, is there anyone I can get a nurse to call for you? A sibling or parent, perhaps? This isn't the place for your son, wouldn't you agree?" he inquired, looking pointedly at Dudley, who was snoozing against his side.

Still distrusting of the doctor, but finding himself agreeing that a hospital wasn't the place for his boy, the man nodded. "There's my sister, Marge..."

And it was as he gave his sister's phone number that Vernon was struck with a sudden and terrible realization. His normal, proper life was over. Without Petunia, he was a widower and his son motherless even a new wife and mother for Dudley wouldn't fix the fact the first woman he ever cared for was dead.

Lip quivering, he didn't object to the nurse who came by and suggested that she take his son for a stroll. Alone then, Vernon didn't stop himself from crying.

It was far from manly, but damn it, his wife was dead!

-v-v-v-v-v-

A loud knock resounded from the front door.

Upstairs cooing at her nephew as he played with his rubber ducky, Marge Dursley turned her head toward the open doorway of the bathroom. "How strange..." she murmured, "For me to hear it all the way upstairs." Shrugging the oddity off, Marge tickled her nephew below the chin and asked the baby, "Did you like your second Halloween, Neffy-poo?"

Dudley smiled and babbled, "Aun', duck! Aun' duck!" holding up his toy for her to see.

Another knock floated up the stairs.

Sighing, Marge threw down the flannel she'd been sudsing up to wash Dudley. "Vernon! Can you get that, please? I'm bathing my Neffy Poo!" Marge hollered.

Downstairs, Vernon began to grumble. "If it's some salesman, I'm slamming the door in his face! It's not proper for one to be knocking at doors so late!"

Putting his paper aside, he ambled over to the front door and opened it. There was no one. "Hello?" he called. No one replied and feeling his face heat up at the thought of this being some late-night Halloween prank, Vernon readied himself to start shouting when a quiet rustling sound caught his attention.

Looking down, Vernon blinked. It was a baby. Frowning deeply, the man wondered about the person who had left it there. This wasn't some old-time novel, just leaving a baby on a doorstep was asking for trouble. Peering around in the darkness, Vernon sighed in annoyance when he could spy no one hiding in the shadows or behind bushes. Looking once more at the baby, he decided it was best he brought it into the house.

If nothing else, he could call the police in the morning. Reaching down, he picked up the child up from the basket it was settled in. A gust of October came through swiftly, causing the blankets the baby had been laid in to flutter as well as knock loose a piece of paper from the folds. Watching the paper blow away, Vernon considered putting the baby back down and running after it.

In the end, he decided against it. It was probably just some bloody excuse for why the child's bitch of a mother abandoned it on his doorstep. Vernon knew if it was such an excuse, it wouldn't help the child any as they grew up. Chances were, even if the mother waxed poetic about how out of luck she was or incapable of caring for her child right now, she wouldn't ever be coming back. It'd be better if the baby didn't hold onto such an impossible hope as its mother's return.

Stepping into his home and closing the door, Vernon stared at the child for a long moment. Something was familiar about the baby - a boy, if his blue sleeper was anything to go by. He looked sort of like-

Juggling the child into one arm he murmured, "That birth announcement!"

The baby with his black hair and chubby cheeks reminded him very much of that birth announcement Pet's sister had sent her a little over a year ago. He remembered it quite vividly as he recalled handing it to her when it'd come in the mail. Vernon had asked if she planned to write back and see about setting up a meeting between their boys. After all, with their Dudley and her sister's baby so close in age, they could have grown up as good mates.

Petunia had snapped at him that she had no plans to and had thrown the announcement in the box under their bed that she kept all things from her sister in.

Vernon had left it well enough alone after that.

But now...

Stomping up the stairs, he ignored his sister's call of, "Who was it, Vernon?" And went straight to his bedroom. Setting the sleeping baby on the bed he made sure he wasn't going to roll off and pulled out the box.

It was a simple one, the type of box usually used to keep mementos in. Pulling off the lid, he shifted through a little bit of the papers and trinkets. When he found what he'd been looking for, he made a noise of pleasure.

Placing the photo in his line of vision along with the baby, Vernon nodded. Yes, this did look like the same baby. The baby was just a little older and a little less pink. But, the black hair and cheeks were just as they'd been a whole year ago. However...he pushed back the boy's fringe. There was an angry red wound on the baby's forehead.

"Looks a little like a lightning bolt..." he muttered.

How odd.

The quiet sound of footsteps on the carpet alerted Vernon a moment later that he wasn't alone. Spinning around, he looked to see Marge with his son in her arms. "Who was it, Vern?"

"I'm not sure, actually, but they left us a...surprise," he concluded with a derisive snort.

Marge followed his gaze. "A baby?" she muttered.

"Not just any baby, either, but Petunia's sister's baby-" he looked to the announcement, "Harry."

Jogging Dudley, the strong-jawed woman asked, "What are you going to do with him?"

Vernon shrugged as he ran a hand over the boy's head. What was he going to do? Evidently, the bad crew Petunia said her sister ran with had led to her abandoning her son. Or, maybe, she and her husband were dead and their group had decided to drop the baby off here because they didn't want him.

That made him frown. He didn't really want Harry either. But...Thinking of the second child he lost along with his Pet, Vernon wondered if he couldn't raise him as such. Harry could be his second son and surely Petunia would have approved of that? Family was family in the end. No matter how shameful his circumstances were, Harry was her nephew and Vernon couldn't help but think she'd want to keep Harry and raise him just because of that.

Maybe, with the guiding hand Vernon could provide, the boy would grow up to be somebody halfway decent - unlike his mother.

"I'm keeping him, I suppose. Petunia wouldn't have let him go into the system and he is Dudley's cousin. Family should stay with family." Musingly, Vernon played with his mustache. "It's no wonder Pet always backed out on us meeting her sister at the last minute. Look what her sister or maybe, her sister's friends did with the poor lad - leaving him on my doorstep! What if you hadn't heard the knocking? He could have died of exposure!"

Marge's face twisted with displeasure. "You plan to keep him?" she hissed.

"Yes," Vernon replied in confusion. "It's as I said, Marge, he's family."

Putting Dudley down and ignoring how he whined to be picked back up, the burly woman crossed her arms. "I've come to help you with Dudley as a favor, Vernon. He's my nephew and I wanted to help both of you out and make things easier. I did not sign up to be the caretaker of your waspish wife's nephew as well!" she told him angrily.

Vernon, who loved his wife even now, could not stand his sister insulting Petunia. "Do you have no respect for my wife? For the dead? I can't believe you, Marge! Insulting her!"

The woman turned her nose up in a superior manner as she said in a prim, righteous voice, "I haven't said anything that wasn't true."

"Petunia was a sweet woman and she loved both myself and our son, if anyone is waspish, it's you!" he countered.

Eyes flashing, Marge snapped, "Very mature, Vernon!"

"No, don't start taking the high ground on me now and acting like I'm the one who began this all! Marge, if you don't want to be here, you don't have to! I never asked! I just accepted your offer to stay after the funeral for Dudley. I thought it would be good for him to have a familiar person around in place of his mother. If you don't want to treat Harry as what he is - family - you can leave!"

Nostrils flaring, Marge shouted, "I will! Goodbye, Vernon! Have a nice life!" And without another word, Marge Dursley turned around and stalked out of the bedroom, leaving a crying Dudley, sleeping Harry, and shocked Vernon behind.

Sighing heavily, he went and picked up his son. Holding him close, he then moved to take a seat next to the stirring Harry on the bed. Petting Dudley's feathery locks, he did his best to soothe his crying son as he ran a hand down Harry's cheek.

"You're already trouble," he grumbled to his nephew. "...But that doesn't matter, you're staying. It's what Petunia would have done, I'm sure," he muttered as Dudley's wails died down into sniffles.

Pulling Dudley off of him, he laid the toddler beside his smaller cousin. His son gave a tired cry, reaching for Vernon. Making a low shushing noise, he began to gently rub the toddler's stomach until he nodded off beside Harry.

Hearing the front door slam a moment later, Vernon buried his face in his hands.

"I'm going to have to hire a nanny," he told himself.

While Vernon wasn't happy about the idea of a stranger caring for his son and Pet's nephew, he knew he had little choice. It wasn't like Marge was going to take proper care of Harry. In fact, he wouldn't put it past her to try and find a way to get rid of him. He might come home one day to find out she'd left him at the market or a department store - anything to get rid of what she obviously thought was rubbish and a burden on him and their family.

Looking over the sleeping boys one more time, Vernon took a deep breath and looked skyward. "Help me, Pet," he begged.

Vernon picked up his nephew and sighed gravely. He knew already that the baby was going to give him trouble, but it's for his late wife that'll he keep the runty thing around.

Chapter Text

It didn't take Vernon very long to realize something about Harry was...different. Usually, he was able to brush it off. After all, not all children were alike (or so he'd been told, anyway,) and Harry had spent his first year of life in bad company. Who knew what kind of scarring that must have left on him?

But sometimes...it was very hard to explain the things that just seemed to happen as if by magic around him. A toy that was out of reach suddenly being in the toddler's grip. Extra peaches on his plate after Vernon specifically told him no more (Dudley needed them, not him). The lights flickering during a tantrum. Vernon didn't know what to make of it and it made him fretful of what would happen with the Nanny he was to hire.

What if these odd occurrences scared them off? Vernon couldn't be looking for a new one every weekend.

Thankfully, his fears were quickly put to rest. The nanny he found, Peggy Whitmore, a tiny troll of a woman nearing her sixties, didn't care about the strange incidents that happened around Harry. She simply believed there was a reason for everything and had decided quite early, Harry just needed to be kept on a short leash.

As time went on, and his son and nephew became two, three, four, five, six often times, Vernon would come home from work to find Harry sitting in a corner with his nose to the wall.

When he would ask Peggy what had happened, she usually told him Harry was in the corner for lying. Vernon rarely asked what he'd been lying about, simply more disappointed his efforts to turn the child into an upstanding citizen were failing.

Badness had to be in the genes, Vernon figured.

(But Petunia was so perfect).

Every now and again, Dudley would get the same treatment. Though, his reason for being in the corner often had to do with him saying mean things to either Peggy or Harry. Occasionally for hitting Harry or some other child they had played with at the nearby park.

While Vernon didn't really see a problem with the later, as boys would be boys, he never said anything. Peggy was a good nanny and he figured she'd do a better job instilling a sense of right and wrong than he ever could on his own. And that was just how things were. Peggy took care of his boys during the day and Vernon had them during the evenings and weekends.

However, despite the fact Harry and Dudley were literally night and day of one another and rarely got along for any extended interval of time, when Vernon had them, he insisted they do everything they could together. He had them clean their rooms together, take bathes together, watch the telly together and have their bedtime story together in his bedroom.

It might not have bonded them together as the son of Petunia and nephew of Petunia as he hoped, but it meant that things were easier for him. As they'd always been together, and were so young they didn't realize they could be separate, where one was the other would be also.

So, one rainy Saturday afternoon, when Vernon noticed that things had been far too quiet upstairs for much too long, Vernon didn't even have to bother with the idea that Harry might have found himself in the cupboard under the stairs and Dudley somewhere in the attic. Vernon knew, without an ounce of doubt in his giant soul, that they were both somewhere upstairs in the bedrooms.

Most likely in his bedroom, since they were so silent.

Instead of yelling up to them as he often did, Vernon decided to get up from his chair and paper to investigate. Climbing the stairs one at a time, he muttered half-annoyed, half-curious, "What could those boys be up to?"

Walking into his bedroom, it didn't take very long for Vernon to find out. The boys were huddled at the foot of his bed. Dudley's fair head and Harry's dark one bent so close their locks mingled. It was like a clash between night and day. They were whispering to one another, passing papers and what looked to be pictures between them.

Cocking his head, Vernon tried to figure out what photos and papers they could be looking at. What had he kept so close to the bed? So close to the floor?

Vernon had never, but Petunia had.

Those were his wife's things the boys were looking at. For a moment, Vernon wanted to scream at them; push them away and scold them for touching such precious things with their dirty fingers. But, despite how he could feel the vein in his forehead beginning to throb, Vernon didn't. Instead, he swallowed back his anger and counted to ten.

After all, it was just him and the boys here today. If he went too far in his fury, there would be no one to stop him.

"...Wish I knew what the letter said," Harry murmured to Dudley. "I think it's from my mummy. There's a big 'L' at the end and Uncle Vernon says her name was Lily."

Taking it back, Dudley said, "Maybe next summer we can find the box again. We should be able to read by then, don't you think? I don't think Dad will get rid of the box or move it between now and then."

Dropping the letter into the box, Dudley picked up the lid and was about to put it back on the box when Harry cried in a hiss, "Wait!"

Reaching in, he snatched out two photos and hugged them close before bobbing his head at his cousin. "Okay," he said.

Putting the lid on, Dudley shoved the box back beneath the bed skirt and asked Harry, "Don't you think Dad will notice they're missing?"

"Nuh-huh," Harry replied. "The box was all dusty, remember? I don't think he's opened it in forever."

Harry was right, Vernon was surprised to note. How such a little boy could deduct something like that, he didn't know. Maybe he had a bit of Petunia's neatness in him? She always picked up on dirt and grime he would have never noticed. A spec of mud on his work shoes, a finger print on the glass of the coffee table.

"Oh," Dudley replied simply. "Which pictures did you take?" he asked.

Taking a hurried step back into the hall when he saw his nephew's head begin to turn, Vernon watched from behind the shadows of the door-jamb as the foundling child gave his cousin a shy smile.

"I took the one of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's wedding day - for you. I thought you might like to keep it, 'cause you thought she was so pretty in it," he whispered as he let the photo pass from his fingers into the reverent ones of his son.

Bringing the picture close to him, Dudley returned the smile with a bashful blush. "Thanks, Harry," he whispered.

Stepping away from the doorway, Vernon headed for the stairs once more. This was a private moment between the two and he had witnessed enough as it was.

Taking his seat back in his chair, once he was in his living room again, the man idly picked up his paper and thought warmly of the boy, once baby, he had taken into his home.

Harry might be more a failure than a success, but it couldn't be denied that some of his Pet's goodness was there. It only needed the right scenario to bring it out.

-v-v-v-v-v-

Coming through the front door, Vernon dipped his head in greeting to Misses Whitmore when he saw her descending the staircase with an empty basket.

"'lo, Misses Whitmore," he said.

The burly little woman smiled. "Mister Dursley, hello," she returned. "After I put this basket away, I'll be heading off. The roast just has another ten minutes to go before you and the boys can eat."

A pleasant feeling overtook Vernon as he went forward and offered his open hands to the woman. "Let me do that, Misses Whitmore. You've done more than enough for us," he told her.

And she really had done more than enough. The woman had taken up doing many of the domestic tasks around his home over the past seven years. He'd never asked for them to be done, but once she started to see that he was hopeless at it, she'd begun to do them simply because she wanted to make things easier for a widower like him.

Vernon appreciated it greatly and didn't know what he'd do once he sent the boys off to Smeltings.

The woman put the basket in his hand and gave his forearm a kind pat as she passed him. "What a dear you are," she complimented.

Following after her as she put on her coat, Vernon asked, "How were the boys this afternoon? Did they behave?"

"Yes, the boys were very good today," Misses Whitmore told the man as she fixed her coat's collar. "Dudley talked a great deal to me about the goal he made playing footie during gym class." Heading for the door, the woman put a hand to her chin as she remarked, "Harry was quiet, but he gets that way some days."

"What are the lads doing now?" Vernon asked as the woman stepped through the open doorway.

"Oh, Dudley is getting his homework done so he can watch the telly after dinner and Harry is upstairs."

"Thank you again, Misses Whitmore."

The woman smiled and headed for her car parked in the street. "See you tomorrow, Mister Dursley."

Nodding as he closed the door, Vernon turned and headed for the laundry room to put away the laundry basket.

-v-v-v-v-v-

Finished with ladling the stew into three bowls for himself and the boys, Vernon turned toward the kitchen table and frowned when he saw only Dudley waiting for him.

"Where's your cousin, Dudley? Didn't I tell you to get him?"

Nodding as he reached for his glass of milk, his son smiled. "I did, Dad! But he wouldn't open his room's door." Furrowing his fair brows until a dimple formed above the bridge of his nose, the round-faced boy remarked, "He said he wasn't hungry."

Vernon found himself raising an eyebrow as he set the bowls down and took his seat at the head of the table. "Oh?" he murmured. Harry could get finicky about eating sometimes, but he'd never begged off saying he wasn't hungry before.

Distantly, the man recalled how his late wife would do the same when she was upset.

Was Harry the same in that regard he wondered?

He supposed it didn't matter. Harry wasn't his wife, he was his nephew - and a child at that. If Harry wanted to be surly, he could be left to it. He'd figure out it didn't get him anything in the end when he had to deal with an empty stomach when he went to bed tonight.

"Well, I guess that's just his loss," he told his son. "So, how was your day at school, Dudley?"

Face lighting up as he began to prattle off all the things that had happened during his day. Leaning in and listening avidly as Dudley spoke, Vernon laughed several times at what his son told him and asked a number of questions.

This was nice. Usually he didn't have the chance to talk so freely with Dudley. With Harry around, Vernon had to make sure he did his best to never show outward favor for his son. It wouldn't do to give Harry a complex on top of the one that was already there thanks to him being an orphan.

For the rest of the evening, Vernon had the most pleasant time he'd had in a long time. It was just him and Dudley and they had a grand time watching Dudley's favorite shows on the telly and talking about the shows that Vernon had watched as a lad and how they compared.

When it came time to send his son off to bed, Vernon wondered if there wouldn't be a way to have more quality time like this with Dudley ever. He'd need to find a way to get rid of Harry for the evening, he knew.

Maybe he could see if the boy had any mates he'd like to have a sleepover with. Harry didn't seem to have too many friends, (unlike Dudley) but he did talk about other children occasionally.

Giving his son a hug outside the boy's bedroom, Vernon said, "Goodnight, lad."

"Night, Dad," Dudley replied with a toothy grin before walking into his room and shutting his door behind him.

Turning around, Vernon was about to go to his own room when he saw a sliver of light shining out from beneath Harry's door. Feeling the vein in his forehead begin to pop out, Vernon let out an annoyed sigh as he stalked toward the bedroom door. Not only was the boy sulking, he was waisting energy? Who on earth did Harry think he was?

Grabbing the door handle, he gave it a hard yank. "You open this door right now, Harry!" he commanded.

A beat passed.

Just as he was going to start shouting his anger, the door unlocked and swung open.

Vernon just stared.

Harry stared back, his chin scraped and mottled purple and blue.

Anger falling away to some degree, Vernon asked, "What happened to you, lad?"

The little boy's lip began to quiver as his unearthly green eyes glassed over with tears.

Sighing, Vernon put a hand on his nephew's shoulder and said, "Why don't we go take a seat on your bed?"

Sniffling into his too-long sleeve, Harry nodded and allowed Vernon to lead him over to his bed. Sitting down beside one another, Vernon made the careful move of taking his nephew's head in his hands and rotating it to get a good look at the injury. "Is it just your chin that's hurt, lad? Is there anything wrong with teeth or anything?" he inquired.

"No, Uncle Vernon," Harry mumbled.

The man breathed a sigh of relief. The yearly hassle that came with getting Harry's eyes checked and new glasses was enough to go through, adding in a trip to the dentist so shortly after his trip to the optometrist would really be an inconvenience for Vernon.

"Well, that's good to hear," he said. "Now, how about you tell me what happened? How did Misses Whitmore not notice this?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know why she didn't. I was hoping all the way home she wouldn't and when she didn't...I decided to stay in my room."

Vernon frowned. It wasn't like Misses Whitmore to miss something like this. She was a shrewd woman and was very good at noticing when something was off. Was this just another instance of Harry's oddness? Vernon had to wonder.

"You still haven't told me what happened, Harry," he told the boy reproachfully.

Harry bit his lip and tucked his hands into his lap. "You won't be happy if I do, Uncle Vernon."

"I'm already unhappy, Harry. What if you'd chipped a tooth? Or even worse, lost one? I distinctly recall Dudley knocked out your last baby one in that fight you two had in July," he reminded him in a grumble. "So, why don't you just tell me? I won't be angry with you."

Green eyes very large, the boy looked up and whispered, "Promise?"

Vernon found himself speechless for a moment as he blinked back a sudden urge to tear up. There was just something about the way Harry was looking at him that brought his dear Pet to mind. Maybe it was the sheer hope and relief that was shimmering in his gaze. Petunia had looked the same when he told her he'd love her for forever.

"Yes, Harry," he whispered.

Relaxing marginally, the boy nodded as he looked away. "It was Dudley, Uncle Vernon. We were playing footie in gym class and I was going to get a goal, but he shoved me out of the way and stole it! It wasn't fair! Nobody even noticed 'cause they were cheering for Dudley!"

Little hands coming to cover his mouth, Harry mumbled into them, "No one cared."

Vernon didn't know what to say to his nephew. While he sympathized to some degree, and felt annoyed with Dudley for being so rough with Harry after being constantly reminded since the incident in July that he was too big to be so physical with his cousin, he just wanted to tell the boy that it was just how the sport was. In football, people got hurt. He also wanted to point out that's how life worked too, the bigger, stronger, fiercer men were always going to steal what rightfully belonged to little, weak, meek men. It was a tough world and you had to be ready to get up and fight for what was yours - not just roll over and take it (as he suspected Harry had done once his goal was stolen).

"I'm sorry, lad," he settled on. "I'll remind Dudley in the morning to be more careful with smaller children, because he really should have been more gentle, but..." he trailed off. Putting one hand on Harry's head, he stretched out the other and grasped at air. "But there's something you just have to understand, Harry, that's just how the game - life - works. The strong take from weak. If you hadn't just laid there after he shoved you and got up and fought, you might have been able to get your goal back - or taken one from him later."

Harry frowned. "But we were on the same team, Uncle Vernon. It wasn't right."

"By taking it though, everyone cheered for him, right? Would he have gotten that if he hadn't? No. That's what Dudley wanted and he got it, didn't he? Look, there's nothing to be done about it now. Next - Next time this happens or something, get up and take it back. Do you understand, Harry?" he questioned, giving the boy a strained smile.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry whispered as he pulled away and began to tug at his blankets.

Getting up, Vernon helped his nephew under his blankets and said, "Goodnight, Harry."

Back turned to him, the boy mumbled, "G'night Uncle Vernon."

Walking toward the door, Vernon cast a glance back. His nephew's tiny form was little more than a bump beneath his covers. He was so slim. Just like his aunt.

Shaking his head, Vernon opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall. Closing the door behind him, he just leaned against it for a time.

For some reason, he felt like he'd failed Harry. Though, he couldn't put his finger on why.

He'd explained how life was, that was all. All parents (or, guardians, rather,) had to at some point. Now had seemed as good a time as any to him...

'Was that what Harry needed from you there, though?' a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Vernon honestly didn't know.

Chapter Text

"Harry, come on, lad, hurry now! It's time for a picture of you all!" Nanny Whitmore called to Harry.

Anxiously, the boy played with the winter hat upon his head. He knew she was going to make him take it off since it was not only summer, but a family picture for Dudley's ninth birthday. Giving the hem of the hat an especially hard tug, he complained, "I don't want to! Dudley always takes up the whole picture, anyway!"

"Harry!" both Nanny Whitmore and Uncle Vernon scolded.

Stubbornly, he shook his head.

Face taking on that familiar purple hue it often did when he was angry, Uncle Vernon rose up from his spot behind Dudley and snapped, "If you don't come here this instance, boy, I'll lock you in the cupboard under the stairs!"

It was just an idle threat. Uncle Vernon wouldn't really do that, Harry knew (though, if he did, he was pretty sure Nanny Whitmore would let him out once he'd gone to work).

"No!" he said with a scowl.

Coming around the table, Uncle Vernon grabbed his arm in a vice-grip as he started back for where Dudley was waiting impatiently among all his presents. Reaching for the pompom of his hat, the man growled, "And take this bloody thing off!"

"But I hate my hair-"

It was too late, the hat was gone.

However, unlike he'd expected, his head was not cold. No, the bangs he'd lost just a couple days ago were back and everyone around him, Uncle Vernon, Dudley and even unflappable Nanny Whitmore were wearing expressions of sheer shock.

"How...?" Uncle Vernon murmured as he gave Harry's hair a bit of a tug. "I - real - how?"

Harry was just as at a loss to explain as his uncle. Running his fingers through his locks, he gave a back and forth toss of his head. "I-I dunno, Uncle Vernon. My hair wasn't this long when I put the hat on..."

"It's magic!" Dudley proclaimed with awe.

Uncle Vernon's head whipping around to look at Harry's cousin, he bellowed, "There's no such thing as magic!"

Dudley shrank back in his seat as Nanny Whitmore came to put a comforting hand upon the large boy's shoulder. "Mister Dursley's right, lad," she whispered.

Hat still in hand as he crouched down to Harry's level, the man demanded of him, "What did you do Harry? What did you use on your head to make your hair sprout back like this?"

Lip trembling, Harry began to quake. "N-Nothing, Uncle Vernon! I didn't put anything on my head!"

"Harry, I'm not mad. I just want to know. It might not be safe!" the man explained with that hard edge he always had to his voice when he was losing patience.

Tears already slipping down his cheeks, Harry whispered, "I didn't put anything on my head besides the hat. It's like Dudley said, it came back like magic."

"There's no such thing as magic!" he roared into the boy's face, spit splattering on the lenses of his glasses.

Ears hot and ringing warnings, Harry, resolute, whispered, "But it had to be."

Fat fingers wrapping around his upper arm, Uncle Vernon stood up, and all but dragging Harry from the room, took him into the hall and opened the cupboard beneath the stairs.

Eyes going large in alarm, Harry twined his fingers into his uncle's sleeve as he pleaded, "Don't Uncle Vernon, please!"

The man ignored him. Ripping him from his sleeve, he shoved Harry into the darkness and closed the door.

Voice caught in his throat, Harry couldn't even scream. Instead, he threw all his measly weight against the door and pounded on it as if he were trapped within a coffin instead of a closet.

But who knew? Maybe it would become one.

After a few moments, when his voice came back, Harry began to cry, "Uncle Vernon! Uncle Vernon! Please, I'm sorry! Let me out! Let me out!"

No one came, though.

Eventually, feeling very much abandoned, Harry stopped in his screaming and pounding and just collapsed boneless beside the door.

He was going to die here and there was nothing to be done about it.

So, while waiting for his end, he concluded the best way to meet it would be while asleep. Closing his eyes, he drifted into slumber with little trouble. Pounding and screaming had done quite a nice job of wearing him out, it seemed.

-v-v-v-

"Harry? Oh, Harry! Are you alright my sweet?" a voice that sounded suspiciously like that of Nanny Whitmore's asked Harry as he came to be cradled against a woman's warm body.

(What a shame, he'd been hoping he'd finally get to meet his Mother again.)

Blinking his eyes to help them grow accustom to the light of day once more, Harry turned his head against the woman's thick neck and asked, "Where's Uncle Vernon and Dudley?"

"I'm here," a tinny voice so much unlike his cousin's, but still his said.

Fingers running through his hair, Nanny Whitmore told Harry, "You're Uncle went to work ten minutes ago. I wanted to wait just a little bit incase he might have forgotten something and saw me taking you out so soon."

"Oh," Harry replied. "Nanny Whitmore?" he inquired.

"Yes, Harry?" she asked right back.

"Is Uncle Vernon going to make you lock me back in the closet when he comes home for lunch?"

"No!" she exclaimed in abhor. "If he even suggests such a thing I'll be calling the police! He never should have to start with! If I hadn't feared both your and Dudley's well being earlier, I would have never let him!"

Feeling quite relieved at what his Nanny was promising him, Harry came to wrap his arms around her in a hug as he mumbled, "I love you, Nanny Whitmore."

She tensed beneath his hold. But, then, Harry was sharing his hug with Dudley as the woman rocked with them. "I love you boys too," she whispered into their hair, kissing them each as a mother (or aunt) may have. "So much..."

Later, when Uncle Vernon came home, he said nothing about Harry being out of the closet. Nor did he apologize about the morning's incident. Too fearful of what might happen if it were brought up again so soon, Harry, Dudley and Nanny Whitmore said nothing either.

But even if it was not mentioned, Harry knew he was sorry. The brand new bike, scooter and pogo stick he got for his birthday a month later were more than enough to tell him so. Never before and never again would he get such a large, expensive array of gifts.

-v-v-v-v-v-

"Mister Dursley! Mister Dursley! Come quickly!" Missis Whitmore shrilled.

Looking up from his paper, Vernon glanced between the surprised expressions of his son and nephew. None of them had ever heard Missis Whitmore shriek before. Getting up from the table, Vernon called, "Just a moment, Missis Whitmore!"

And just as he'd promised, a moment later he was in the kitchen.

"What is it, Missis Whitmore?" he asked, studying her pale, shocked face.

She lifted a shaky hand to point at the window. "Look!"

Vernon's mouth dropped open. Behind the closed glass was an owl. And the owl had a letter clutched in its beak.

"What...?" he whispered.

He felt his son brush up against his side.

"Dad? What's with the owl?" he asked.

Vernon looked between his son and the bird. "I can't say I know," he answered.

Another beat passed before Dudley called back, "Harry! Come look! There's an owl with a letter at the window!"

Moments later, Harry bounced into the room. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "How odd..."

"Should we do something about it, Dad? It looks like it's glaring at us," Dudley remarked.

Vernon hesitated. Should he? What if it were rabid? When the owl gave a shrill hoot, the man realized he didn't have much of a choice. Sighing, he told the boys, "Go to the other room. I'll take care of this."

Reluctantly, Harry and Dudley left.

"You too, Missis Whitmore. Keep my boys safe," he told the shaky woman.

Giving him a relieved smile, she hurried out and left Vernon to deal with the strange owl.

After a moment of hesitation, he went to the window. Vernon then lifted it just enough to give the owl a chance to shove the letter threw the crack. And when it pushed the letter through, Vernon snatched up as he said, "Thanks! Bye now!" and closed the window back up.

Turning the letter over in his hands, he realized it was for his nephew. "Harry!" he called. He should have know, he mused. Harry always had something strange going on about him and today would be no different.

The boy's shaggy mop appeared in the doorway. "Yes, Uncle Vernon?" he asked.

"This is for you," he said, holding the letter out to Harry.

A frown puckering his lips, Harry approached and took the letter from him. Opening it, he read aloud:

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-

"What?" Vernon sputtered, feeling his face begin to heat up. "Is this some kind of joke?"

It had to be, he thought. A school named Hogwarts was just preposterous! Only a child could think of such a thing! Turning an accusatory eye on his nephew, he wondered if this wasn't Harry's doing. He was such a strange lad, who's to say he hadn't trained the owl to hold a letter at the window?

Harry frantically shook his head, seeming to have picked up on what Vernon was thinking. "No, no," he refuted, "look, Uncle Vernon!"

And Look Vernon did. Reading the letter several times over, he glanced between his nephew and it and decided this was just too elaborately done to have been written by an eleven-year-old boy whose penmanship was little better than chicken scratch. Finally, Vernon said, "You write them back this instant Harry and let them know I want some answers. There's no way in hell I'm letting this go uninvestigated."

The boy nodded, scrambling for a pencil and piece of paper.

Looking toward the window, Vernon gave a gasp when he saw that the owl was still there. It was watching them, beady eyes far too intelligent for it to be a regular old owl. He hated it.

"Okay, Uncle Vernon! I wrote them that you want to speak to someone!" Harry exclaimed, eyes bright with excitement.

Tipping his head toward the window, he said, "Why don't you slide it beneath there? The owl must be waiting for your response."

Flashing him a grin, Harry did not hesitate to do so.

Once the letter was in the bird's beak, it was off. Watching it disappear from view with his nephew, Vernon told him, "Even after they explain everything, I'm not necessarily going to let you go there."

Harry's smile ran away from his face. "Oh," he whispered glumly.

"Are you that surprised?" Vernon asked miffed. "What kind of looney would I have to be to just let my Pet's nephew go off to a school I know nothing about when I could send you to my own alma mater that I know to be safe and good?" he posed to Harry, hoping this would help the boy understand his hesitancy.

"That - that makes sense..." Harry relented.

Putting a hand on Harry's shoulder as he lead him back toward the dining room, Vernon agreed, "Yes, it does. What's best for you matters very much to me." Giving Harry a bit of a smile, even though all he wanted to was scowl, he suggested, "Why don't we just finish opening your presents, hm?"

"Okay, Uncle Vernon..."

-v-v-v-

Twitching restlessly as he watched Harry and Dudley ride their bikes up and down the street, Vernon wished he hadn't decided against going to work today. Yes, that odd letter had made him nervous and he wanted to be here for the reply, but he'd feel so much better if he had something to do.

"Mister Dursley?" Missis Whitmore called.

Looking away from the window, he saw the woman staring at him with a worried expression. "Yes?" he asked.

"That...owl. Is that why you decided to stay home today?" she questioned.

Vernon saw no point in lying. "Yes," he answered. "It had a strange letter with it and I'm waiting to see what kind of reply we get."

"You asked for Harry to come to the kitchen," she pointed out.

He nodded. "The letter was for him."

"Ah," Missis Whitmore replied. "That's..."

"Not so odd, now, is it?" Vernon snorted.

Missis Whitmore sighed. "No, not as much," she answered.

Moments later, Harry and Dudley came trotting up the driveway with an older woman between them. Tensing at the sight, Vernon told Missis Whitmore, "Please get something for tea together, I have a feeling she's the answer to our reply."

"Yes, Mister Dursley," she said as she headed for the kitchen.

-v-v-v-

A short while later, after saying goodbye to his son and Missis Whitmore - whom he'd asked to take Dudley out to the toy store - Vernon took a seat on the sofa beside his scrawny nephew. He then turned a glare on the woman who'd introduced herself as Minerva McGonagall. Watching her take a sip of tea, he frowned and demanded, "What's the big idea sending a letter with an owl? Don't you know that's the best way to give a person a heart attack?"

"That's the way wizards and witches do things Mister Dursley. Hasn't your wife explained such basic things to you?" she questioned, looking a little disapproving.

Vernon felt his heart give a pang. What was this woman playing at? It was in all the school records for his son and nephew that his wife was dead.

"She's dead," he answered. "Has been just a little less than ten years now."

"Dead? But that woman in your home the night we left Harry..." Missis McGonagall whispered, face ashen and a furrow of confusion between her brows.

Vernon had to think about it a moment, but he did know who she was talking about - even if he didn't like what that meant. This woman had been spying on his home! But that couldn't be addressed right now, he knew.

"That was my sister, Marge," he answered. "She left after I decided to keep Harry," he explained.

A pitying look came to the woman's gaze as she picked up her cup of tea. "I'm sorry to hear that," she murmured in condolence.

The man shrugged. "Yes, well," he blustered. "Now, what I would like to know is how Harry came to find himself on my doorstep."

"Didn't you read the letter that came with Harry?" Missis McGonagall questioned.

Vernon shook his head. "Blew away," he replied.

"Then what have you been telling Harry all this time?"

"About what?" he asked, confused.

Her face pulled into an annoyed expression. "About what happened to his parents!" she exclaimed in exasperation.

"I've been telling him my best guest, given what my Pet told me about her sister, that she or her husband abandoned him here when they couldn't care for him anymore."

Looking horrified, the woman glanced between Vernon and his nephew. "That's the farthest thing from the truth," she declared. "James and Lily would have never done such a thing. Harry was left here after they were killed by a despicable wizard." Then, shifting to face Vernon's nephew fully, she told him, face fierce, "They loved you, Harry,"

"I...you knew them well, then?" Harry inquired in a small, hopeful voice.

Missis McGonagall nodded. "I was their Head of House at Hogwarts. Both were two of the bravest, brightest people I ever knew," she said to Harry.

This drew a smile from Harry. "Yeah?"

Clearing his throat, Vernon broke in, "About this school, Hogwarts. It teaches one how to be a witch or wizard, correct? And if yes, what kind of poppycock is that? Everyone knows magic is not real!"

A smirk came to the woman's lips as she drew out a long, thin stick and jabbed it at the teapot - only for said teapot to become a clock. Gasping, Vernon grabbed at his chest as Harry let out an appreciative noise.

"Not poppycock anymore, is it?" she inquired, looking far too pleased with herself.

Vernon didn't want to believe it, but it'd reshaped itself before his very eyes like nothing else he'd ever seen. So, if magic was real...well, that explained Harry's strangeness, didn't it? Maybe it was a good thing there was a school for odd little boys like him, then. Vernon had been becoming more and more apprehensive about sending Harry off to Smeltings, fearing what his nephew's association with his name would do for the Dursley reputation there.

But he couldn't look like he was giving in too easily to sending Harry there. That wouldn't do for the lad as Harry would think Vernon was glad to be rid of him. That wasn't quite it at all, and Vernon didn't want his nephew to come away from this talk today with that impression.

So, putting on his most dubious expression he asked, "Is this a good school by your kind's standards?"

"The best in all of Britain," the old woman declared proudly. "And Harry would be getting the very best education possible for a wizard like himself if he were to attend Hogwarts."

Nodding at this, the man looked between his nephew and the woman. While he was sure this was the best route for Harry, he couldn't be the one making all the decisions anymore. Harry was eleven. He had the right to choose if he wanted to be a - a wizard or something ordinary and respectable like a postman or pansy-librarian.

So, drawing his nephew's stare, he made sure his expression was grave as he told the lad, "Harry, since this is your future, I suppose it's up to you to decide. Do you want to go to Hogwarts, or would you rather go to Smeltings like Dudley?"

Harry, green eyes wide, bit his lip. "Whatever you think's best, Uncle Vernon," he mumbled. "I just want you to be proud of me - like you are of Dudley."

Vernon didn't know what to say to that. He'd never thought Harry cared so greatly about his opinion. After all, he was just his uncle - not his father. He'd always done his best to make it clear to his nephew that he'd taken him in all those years ago in memory of his Pet and unborn child. It had always been about duty. Nothing more, nothing less.

Somehow, it seemed he'd failed to impress that upon the boy over the last ten years. Vernon might have cared enough to try and raise him right, but never enough to feel any of the real, parental emotions and concerns he did with Dudley. Sometimes, Vernon had tried, simply because it felt wrong not to love his nephew like he did his son after caring for him for so many years. It was always in those moments of fear, however, that he'd remember that Harry once had a father. A bad one, maybe, but if Harry's father had been capable of love, he must have loved Harry more than he ever possibly could.

It was thanks to this idea that Vernon could forgive himself for his lack of feelings for the lad. Even if he were to somehow find the reserves to love the lad, he'd never love him as much as his father did and so, it was okay. As long as he did the right thing and raised him to be a respectable member of society, Vernon would have done his job as his guardian and that was good enough for him.

Eventually, he explained slowly, "Harry, this isn't about making me proud, This is about you. But if you really need my opinion...I've always thought you'd grow up to be something bookish and pansy-like, like a school teacher or librarian. Now, if you want to go to this...school, you should. It's probably full of boys and girls just like you, I'll even bet my shorts you'll fit in better there than you will at Smeltings with Dudley. Maybe you'll even become something greater than a sissy teacher that way."

Shoulders slumped in a defeated position by the end of Vernon's speech, Harry sighed. "If you think it's best..." he trailed off.

"I do," Vernon assured. "It's always been bloody obvious to me you never fit here, maybe there will suit you more."

Nodding, Harry turned to the woman watching them with a severe frown and said, "I'd like to go to Hogwarts, please, ma'am."

"Excellent choice, Mister Potter," she praised, frown disappearing only to be replaced with a small smile. "I look forward to seeing you in our halls - and if I'm ever so lucky, my house."

"Like my mum and dad?" Harry inquired softly.

Eyes warm, the older woman dipped her head in agreement. "Yes, just like them."

Lips curving upward, Harry said, "I'd like that too, ma'am."

Flashing one last grin, the woman then reached for one of the brochures she'd set on the table and opened it, beginning to explain how they were to go about getting Harry's supplies for school.

Vernon, however, couldn't help his drifting thoughts.

He was relieved to hear Harry's parents hadn't abandoned him all those years ago (which meant they weren't the total derelicts he believed them to be), but it brought to light so many questions he'd never thought he'd have to ask himself. If magic was real, why had Petunia never said anything? Why had she hidden the fact her sister was a witch and Lily's husband a wizard? Did she think he'd have her committed? Truth be told, he probably would have tried to, but if she'd had such awesome proof like Missis McGonagall, he'd have believed her.

Vernon would have believed in her as he believed in her about everything she told him. He would have expected Harry's strangeness when he landed on his doorstep and he would have already formulated a plan as how to handle it.

But, instead, his wife had left him blindsided and it was only now, nearly ten years after her death that he was being given the whole story.

Even now, though, Vernon knew he was missing things. Just who was this vile wizard who had killed Harry's parents? Why had Harry been brought to him, a normal man, ignorant of magic, when it would have been better for Harry to grow up around other odd people who would have known how to deal with him and his tricks?

Watching the woman as she preformed a slight of hand for his nephew, Vernon had a million questions posed on his tongue, but knew this was not the time to ask them.

He couldn't ask these things in front of Harry. He was just a boy and didn't deserve to have all his innocence sullied in one day by a single, frank conversation between two adults.

So, instead, tuning back in, Vernon decided he would ask for her address when it came time to leave and he would being to converse with Missis McGonagall over letters.

Yes, he would do that. Not only would he get the full story that way, but he'd have an open line of communication with someone within Hogwarts to ensure they were raising his nephew to become the respectable man Vernon always hoped for him to become.

Chapter Text

"Are you sure you don't want to come with, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked as he finished packing away the allowance he'd given him for his school supplies in his pocket.

Vernon shook his head. "I have work, as you know," he reminded the boy. "You just listen to Missis McGongall, you understand?"

The boy bit his lip. "…You took off time to take Dudley shopping," he said petulantly.

Vernon felt his head begin to throb as he glanced to the woman who was to accompany Harry on his shopping trip. He didn't like being made out to be a poor uncle in front of his nephew's future professor. Knowing that his face was turning red with his anger, he reminded himself to count to ten before saying, "That's because I couldn't expect Nanny Whitmore to know where the best places to shop for the things Smeltings's requires, could I, Harry?"

Harry looked to his toes.

Taking his silence as agreement, Vernon gave a forced chuckled before reaching out to give the boy's hair a tousle. "You'll be fine without me, lad."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry whispered. His eyes had the same glossiness Petunia's used to hold when she was disappointed, Vernon noticed. Shifting his own gaze away to ease the guilt now building in his heart, he met Missis's McGonagall's stare - only to find it judging.

Resisting the urge to bare his teeth and demand who she thought she was, to look at him as she did, Vernon said through a false grin, "Thank you for taking Harry school shopping. I wouldn't have had the faintest idea where to begin with that list."

"You're welcome," the woman replied crisply. "Let us leave, Harry. If we go now, we'll have to deal with less crowds today."

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry consented.

Seeing them off, Vernon watched the pair walk down the street and disappear around a corner. Sighing once he was sure he was alone, he whispered, "Thank heavens."

"Magic still upsets you, does it?" Missis Whitmore, from somewhere in the living room, asked.

Wincing as he turned to face her, Vernon was relieved in part to see that she was not looking at him, but in the process of straightening the pillows Petunia had long ago chosen for their sofa. "I…Well, yes."

Shifting then, the woman sent him a sympathetic smile as she moved on to re-stacking Dudley and Harry's comics on the coffee table. "I feel a bit badly, these days," she admitted. "All these years I just thought Harry was a stubborn, mischievous boy who didn't know when to tell the truth…"

"You're not one who went mental and locked him in a closet when he did some of that accidental stuff," Vernon huffed.

Missis Whitmore stood up and gave him a long look. Unlike McGonagall's judging stare, however, there was something truly warm and motherly about it. "It was a bad decision, Mister Dursley, but I've been with your family so long that I know you've done Harry more good than harm."

Vernon sighed. "You're too kind, Missis Whitmore," he said.

Bustling past on her way to the laundry room, she declared, "Nothing I said wasn't true."

Chuckling as she disappeared from view, Vernon thought of the sad eyes Harry had given him before he left. Just the thought of them made him feel more poorly than Missis McGonagall's disapproving had.

At this point, Vernon hoped, by the time Harry came home, his exciting day would help him forget that Vernon had hurt him once again.

-v-v-v-v-v-

After Harry brought home all his odd and, sometimes, worrisome school supplies (including an owl!), the rest of Harry and Dudley's last summer before boarding school went quickly.

Vernon took more time off from work than he ever had before, attempting to get in as much quality time with the boys before they changed for the worst with the beginnings of puberty. To appease his guilty conscience, Vernon even spent a single day out with just Harry.

The lad had smiled the entire time they were together.

And now, here Vernon was, saying his final goodbye to his nephew.

"Behave yourself while you're there, Harry," he told the boy.

Green eyes solemn, Harry nodded. "Yes, sir," he agreed.

Scuffing his feet, Vernon asked, "So, did Missis McGonagall tell you how to get to this Platform nine and three quarters?"

The boy's face flickered with a smirk. "Yes, she told me," he answered.

"Ah, good, good…"

Harry shifted, letting go of his trolley he asked, "Uncle Vernon?"

"Yes?" Vernon replied.

"Are you…You'll miss me, right? As well as Dudley and Nanny Whitmore?" Harry questioned, face anxious and wringing his hands like Petunia did each time she waited to find out if she was pregnant.

Vernon frowned, not sure why this was an issue now. "Why are you asking? It's a rather dumb question," he said. Vernon meant it too, after all, shouldn't it be obvious he'd miss them? All parents (or uncles) missed their children (or nephews) when they left home. "Anyway, you don't have to worry too much, okay, lad? Nanny Whitmore will be coming by once a week to clean the house. I promise I'll be fine. You just have a good time at school, do well, and stay out of trouble."

Shoulders having slumped and gaze now on the ground, Harry replied, "Yes, sir."

Giving the boy's shoulder a pat he told Harry, "Off you go."

Nodding once, the lad re-gripped his trolley and went to find his platform. Watching Harry disappear into the throngs of commuters, Vernon felt both relieved and guilty. He was happy that Harry and his troublesome nature was no longer his problem, but he felt badly about thinking such a thing about the boy. This was his Petunia's nephew. The boy he'd raised from a baby. Surely, after all these years, his first thoughts upon seeing him off should have been similar to the ones he'd had for Dudley?

Shouldn't he be going through the same myriad of loss, pride and joy?

Not this - this explosion of relief, joy and shame?

-v-v-v-

Very early the next morning, as Vernon came down to his kitchen for the first time in ten years without having to wake the boys first, he noticed an owl sitting at the window. Nearly leaping across the room in his haste to get to it, Vernon opened the letter and snatched it from its beak.

"Next time wait in the bloody tree or something! What must the neighbors think of this!"

The snowy creature only gave a displeased twitter. Obviously it didn't like being scolded. Opening up the letter, Vernon skimmed the contents and felt his stomach drop when he saw that Harry had been sorted into the house of his parents.

Gryffindor, the home of the brave, daring and noble.

God, wasn't this just awful news? The home of the daring? Harry would always be in trouble with a place that endorsed something like that! Looking to the owl, he told it, "Go on, go home. I'll send him a letter through the proper means."

As if to get him back for his earlier chiding, the bird gave a shrill shriek before setting off for flight. Wincing as he rubbed at his ringing ears, Vernon hoped that the neighbors didn't realize that terrible noise had come from his home.

The last thing he wanted to deal with was suspicious looks and questions.

Setting Harry's letter aside on the counter, Vernon went about getting ready for work and when he realized he had half an hour to spare upon finishing, he took the time to crack open a novel for the first time in years. It was amazing and Vernon began to ponder what else he'd have time for now that the boys were gone.

Vernon remembered, when he was younger, before Petunia had died, he used to go out once a week to a Pub with his coworkers and share a pint And before he'd met Pet, Vernon had once in a while liked to go out with friends to bowling alleys for a game. Maybe, with all this spare time, he'd have to start doing those things again.

If only to have something to do beside whittle his fingers in the comfort of his childless home.

A while later, when Vernon left for work, Harry's letter was still in the back of his mind. However, by the time he came home, it was long forgotten when he saw he'd gotten a letter from Dudley in the post.

It wouldn't be until a week later, when he found Harry's note beneath the water bill, that he remembered Harry had written him. Overwhelmed with shame at having forgotten all about his nephew's letter, Vernon took several more days to write Harry - the mortification of having forgotten inhibited from writing the lad a coherent reply.

By the time he sent it off, Vernon hoped that Harry would be able to forgive him.

When Vernon didn't get a reply until almost Halloween, he knew no one was to blame but himself.

-v-v-v-v-v-

Seated across from each other at the kitchen table, there was silence as Vernon and Dudley ate their breakfast. It was quite pleasant, Vernon thought. He'd grown used to the quiet since his boys left at the beginning of the school year and this slight change in routine, with his son across from him, munching softly on his toast was an experience he'd not soon forget.

However, the silence was broken abruptly when Dudley inquired, "Dad?"

Looking up from the paper he was reading, he sent his son a smile. "Yes, Dudley?"

Blue eyes a mixture of uncertainty and determination, he asked, "When are we picking Harry up from the station? Christmas day is tomorrow."

Vernon shook his head and did his best to ignore the way his gut twisted with guilt. "We aren't," he answered. "Harry decided to stay at his magic school for the holidays."

Dudley was quiet. His fine brows creating a canyon above the bridge of his nose as he thought about what he wanted to do next.

Vernon felt his heart stutter at the sight. He begged with all the higher powers that be for Dudley to ask no more more questions, but the higher powers had never been kind to him before, so when Dudley opened his mouth, Vernon was not surprised.

"Why, Dad? You're supposed to be with family for Christmas," he said.

Vernon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose he's enjoying himself there and just doesn't want it to end," he explained to Dudley, even though he doubted that was the truth. "I remember, when your mother and I went on our Honeymoon, we were just a week away from Easter. Instead of coming home to celebrate with your Aunt Marge and my parents, we extended our trip. We were liking it too much by the seaside to want to go home just then."

Slowly, Dudley nodded. "That makes sense," he relented.

Shaking out his paper so it stood straight once more, Vernon made the decisive decision to end the conversation. "Good, now, eat up. We have to go get our Christmas tree still!"

And after a moment, his son did.

There was no more talk about Harry that holiday break. His Christmas presents sat unopened beneath the Christmas tree until Vernon was forced to throw out the spruce. At that point, Harry's presents were moved to the cupboard under the stairs. And there, they would stay.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Much like Harry himself.

-v-v-v-v-v-

Just a few days before the end of Dudley and Harry's first year at Smeltings and Hogwarts respectively, Vernon received a letter. In it, absolutely horrifying events were described. Worst of all, though, was the part that alluded to the fact Harry could have died if not for Hogwarts's Headmaster's prompt finding of Harry.

Mind flashing back to that day, all those years ago, where he found his Pet bloody, pale and unconscious upon the tile floors of their bathroom, Vernon began to shake.

He'd almost lost him, just like he'd lost her.

Immediately Vernon wrote back, requesting to visit his nephew right away. Not too long later, Missis McGonagall, the woman that had taken Harry shopping for school, nearly a year ago appeared at his front door.

"Hello, Mister Dursley," she greeted.

Vernon, face grim only dipped his head in return.

Sighing in an almost sympathetic manner, she remarked, "I suppose you wish to see Harry through the quickest means possible?"

"That would be ideal, yes," Vernon replied.

"Very well, but I must warn you, the method we wizards and witches travel by can rather…disorienting," the older woman said to him.

Vernon waved off the judgement. "Fine, I don't care. I just want to see my nephew."

"Give me your hand," she commanded.

Doing so, a minute later, he was overwhelmed by the sensation of his stomach being pulled out through his nose as the world twisted and blackened altogether.

-v-v-v-

"Ugh," Vernon grunted as he tried to spit out the foul taste of vomit from his mouth.

Giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze, the old woman Missis McGonagall had brought him to, tutted, "You poor dear."

Pulling away from her touch, Vernon met her gaze and asked, "Where's my nephew?"

She pointed beyond the curtain of the impromptu cubicle he'd found himself in. "Just a few beds over. He's resting at the moment-"

Getting up on unsteady feet, Vernon pushed aside the curtains and headed straight over to his nephew. Pausing at the foot of Harry's bed, he stared at the boy.

Harry had grown some, he noticed easily. However, even though Harry looked older than he had when he'd seen him off at the beginning of the school year, Vernon was struck by just how young he still was. Harry wasn't even twelve. In just less than nine months he'd had his innocence about the good and evil in the world fractured and almost died (yet again).

"Harry…" he whispered.

The child didn't stir. Walking around, he took a seat on the edge of his nephew's bed and brushed back his bangs. "Oh lad…" he sighed.

He'd failed this boy so, so much.

Vernon had first let his letters lag, then, he'd failed to start up a line of communications with Harry's head of house like he'd told himself he would. Finally, when Harry said he wished to spend the holidays at this school, he didn't fight him. Vernon let his nephew spend more time here than he should have.

Harry had always been mischief prone and, now, it'd lead him into not just the usual boyhood trouble, but right into a life or death situation.

Under his hand, Vernon's nephew stirred. Blinking green eyes a moment later, he mumbled, "Uncle Vernon?"

"Yes, lad," he replied.

Lips pursing in a frown, Harry asked, "What're you doin' here?"

"I heard about the little situation you got yourself in," he explained.

Gaze shifting away and Harry said, "Oh."

"It's a bit more than just 'oh', wouldn't you say?" Vernon asked his nephew through clenched teeth.

Harry blinked up at him, surprise and something close to hope in his stare. "You mean, you care? " he questioned.

Vernon, flabbergasted, couldn't find anything to say for a moment. Finally, he burst out, "Yes! I do care! God, what would your aunt think if I let the fact you nearly died pass by without mention? She'd have a conniption!"

Eyes dimming as he began to look around, Harry asked him, "What are you going to do, Uncle Vernon?"

"I-" but he stopped. What could Vernon do? He could pull him from Hogwarts, he supposed. But Missis McGonagall had made it very clear, when explaining magic and wizards and things to him, last summer that without the proper education, Harry's magic would probably become a danger to those around him.

To Vernon. To Dudley.

Vernon didn't know the first thing about how the magical world worked beyond his nephew's school and just the very thought of learning about it seemed daunting. Impossible, even.

Harry, face marred with a frown, demanded, "Well?"

"You will be getting no birthday presents this year," Vernon blurted thoughtlessly.

The boy didn't look very cowed at all. Upset by this, he grumbled, "You could at least look a little unhappy about that, Harry!"

His nephew gave a sheepish smile. "Actually, Uncle Vernon, I wasn't really planning to be home for my birthday…I was hoping you'd let me go stay with the Weasleys about July. It'd make things easier, you know? You wouldn't have to worry about taking me to get my school supplies or about owls and other magical things all summer."

Vernon could only stare at his nephew.

When had Harry become so mature? When had he realized he was a burden to Vernon?

"That's very…thoughtful of you, Harry," he finally said.

The boy perked up at this. "You're…okay with that? You don't mind if I spend most of the summer with the Weasleys? Even though you haven't ever met them or anything?"

He could only give his anxious-looking nephew a helpless smile. "From the way you're speaking, I'm not sure I have much of a choice at this point, Harry. It seems like you've gotten it all planned already and you brought up a number of good points for why you should be able to stay with them. You've…grown up a lot this year, haven't you Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose," he replied, sounding neither happy or proud.

Givings his nephew's knee a squeeze, he said, "You finish resting up now, Harry. I'll be at the station to get you in a few days."

Nodding as he shifted onto his side, Harry mumbled, "Thanks for coming, Uncle Vernon."

"It's what Pet would have wanted, I bet," he answered.

Walking over to the Matron of the Infirmary and Missis McGonagall then, he told them, "I'm ready to go."

Missis McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "You don't wish to speak with the Headmaster?"

Vernon shook his head. "Harry's alright," he said. "Besides, I doubt I can blame any one of you - even if I wanted to. Harry's always had a penchant for trouble. The best I can ask is you keep a better eye on him next year and I'm sure you, and the Headmaster, know this already."

Miffed expressions on their countenances, the two older women only nodded at him before Missis McGonagall was offering him an arm to leave.

Looking back once more to his nephew, Vernon sent the squinted green eyes watching him a strained smile.

In response, the boy lifted a hand in goodbye.

Vernon did the same, knowing this one would not be nearly as long as their last.

Soon, Harry would be home again - even if it was only to be for a little while.

Chapter Text

On his way to drop off Dudley's laundry in his bedroom, Vernon paused when he heard the boys chattering away in Harry's room. Looking in through the cracked door, he saw his son bend down to rummage through Harry's trunk as the boy finished filling his pet owl's water dish.

"Hey! Is this the stuff you have to wear for that sport you play at school?" Dudley asked as he pulled out of Harry's school trunk what appeared to be shoulder pads.

Vernon's nephew nodded as he came over to take the gear from Dudley. "Yeah," he answered.

Elbowing his way into the room then, Vernon set aside the laundry basket and began to look at the other pieces of Harry's sports gear that lay still lay in the trunk. Staring at the equipment, he tried to remember if Harry had told him about being a part of a sports team. Vaguely, he could recall something about Harry mentioning a time or two playing a game that involved brooms and flying spheres.

"You made a sports team?" Vernon asked his nephew as he turned around.

The boy turned away and reached into his owl's cage, beginning to pet its white feathers.

Dudley, however, had no qualms about gushing about what Harry must have told him. "Yeah, Dad! He impressed some professors with his skills flying a broom during flying class one day and was offered a spot on his house's team! He's the first first year in forever to make the team!"

Vernon blinked at Harry. His scrawny nephew made a sports team where you had to wear gear like this? "What do you do on your sports team, Harry?" he asked the boy.

"I'm the seeker," Harry answered. "I'm supposed to try and capture the snitch and stuff. You have to be fast and I am."

Nodding as he heard this, Vernon flashed him a bit of a smile, still miffed about the fact his nephew hadn't told him he was on the team. "That's good," he praised. "Sports are good for lads - they teach discipline."

Harry perked up at this. "Really? It's good I'm playing a magic sport?" he asked.

Vernon nodded.

A smile beginning at the corner of his lips, Harry told Vernon, "Professor McGonagall said my dad was good at Quidditch and flying too."

"Oh?" Vernon replied, surprised at this sudden, almost giddy offering of information.

Smile blinding now, Harry said, "Yeah."

While he knew he should be happy that Harry was feeling a connection with his father, he couldn't help himself when he said, "Don't try and become too much like him, lad."

"Why?" the boy demanded, smile gone and frown now marring his face.

Vernon sighed. "Being exactly like your father would probably end up with you dead too," he explained with some reluctance.

"Who should I be like then, Uncle Vernon? My mum ended up dead too."

Looking into his nephew's hurt, angry green eyes all Vernon could think was he'd made a mess of things yet again.

Putting a hand on his cousin's arm, Dudley began, "Harry…Dad didn't mean-"

"-Like Petunia. Petunia was smart and shrewd and she always could tell when something strange was going on. She also always had for plan fixing it," Vernon cut in over his son. Then, giving Dudley a long look, he told the boy, "You could due with being more like her too, son." Gaze wandering away from the boys, Vernon whispered, more to himself than anything, "We all could."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied.

Nodding, Vernon patted both boy's heads. "Good," he said before leaving the boys alone once more.

Vernon would never know it, but Harry would take his words to heart.

He'd never know that his nephew would practice these skills with hyper-vigilance and that it would be thanks to him that the diary that found its way into Ginny Weasley cauldron would end up in a certain blond Slytherin's school books instead.

All the same, Harry would find his way into the Chamber of Secrets. All the same, Vernon would be visiting Hogwarts for a second time.

He would begin to wonder if his yearly visit wasn't destined to become some kind of tradition.

-v-v-v-v-v-

While Vernon's defining event of the year for 1993 may have looked like it was going to be his second visit to Hogwarts, he would find only a few months later, in actuality, it was his run-in with recently divorced Loraine Adams nee Temple, an old friend of his sister's.

Vernon had just finished dropping Harry off at the station and it was on his way out that he bumped into Loraine. She'd been ahead of him, walking with her hand in her purse, when she stopped abruptly.

"Ah! Watch where-" Vernon had begun, angry. Who just stopped in the middle of a train terminal, after all? However, all those hostile feelings evaporated the moment she looked up.

He recognized her immediately. "Loraine?" he asked.

Blinking up at him with surprised brown eyes, she exclaimed, "My! You're Vernon Dursley, aren't you? Marge's brother!"

"That's right," he answered, a bit uncomfortable with the mention of his sister. He hadn't seen Marge in almost nine years now. Her blatant hate for Harry had been too poisonous to allow around the boys.

Loraine was smiling at him now and it caused Vernon's eyes gravitated to the gap between her front teeth. He remembered, how when he was a boy, he'd thought the imperfection was sort of cute. "Who would think I'd run into you here of all places!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, it is a surprise," he agreed. Reaching out for her hand, he said warmly, "A happy one."

Looking down at their hands, Loraine gave it a squeeze before taking it back to rifle through her purse. A moment later, she pulled out a pen and a little notebook decorated with sparkles and stickers. Noticing how he frowned at it, she laughed. "My daughter made me a box-worth of customized mini-journals when she was ten. She's fifteen now, but I forgot about them until recently when I…moved."

"I see," Vernon replied, understanding there was much more to the move than her simply changing houses or flats.

Loraine scribbled down something on one of the pages of the journal and teared it out. "That's my address and phone number. Call me some time. I'd love to catch up!"

Taking the paper, Vernon thanked her and tucked it away in his pocket.

Still smiling, Loraine said, "I wish I could chat now, but I have to be at work in an hour! I hope I will see you soon, Vernon!" and with that, she was off.

Watching her disappear into the throngs, Vernon was already thinking of the best cafe in Little Whinging he could take her to.

-v-v-v-v-v-

When Christmas rolled around, Vernon insisted Harry come home for the first time ever for the holidays. Harry seemed a bit surprised by Vernon's demand, but agreed without any seeming ill-will in his return letter. Dudley, of course, needed no prompting to come home and had instead written about all the things he wanted them to do together when Vernon told him Harry would be home this Christmas.

Wiping his hands down his pant legs, Vernon said, "I'm nervous."

Missis Whitmore smiled at him as she took the fruitcake she had made out of the oven. "It'll be fine in the end, Mister Dursley, you'll see," she said comfortingly.

Getting up, he took the cake from her and said, "You really are too kind, Missis Whitmore."

Rubbing her hands, she replied, "Maybe in another year you'll be living together, hm? I'm not getting any younger and my arthritis is only getting worse with each passing day. I just don't think I'll be able to keep up working here much longer, though, I'd hate to leave you in the lurch."

"Maybe," Vernon conceded. "Loraine and I have been talking, after all. But Missis Whitmore…Even if you do decide to quit, I'd hope you'd still come by for tea once in a while. I've grown quite fond of your company."

Giving his arm a squeeze, she said, "So have I. Now, why don't you go get the boys while I finish cleaning up here?"

Nodding, Vernon finished his cup of tea before heading off.

-v-v-v-

"What's your news, Dad?" Dudley asked as they piled into the car.

Gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles began to pale, Vernon said through a false smile, "Let's wait until we get home to discuss that, okay?"

Watching his son and nephew share a look through the rearview mirror, Vernon closed his eyes a moment, hoping that the boys wouldn't ask any questions.

"Uncle Vernon…" Harry said, sounding both nervous and hesitant.

He sighed. "Yes, Harry?"

"This…This isn't bad news, is it?" he asked.

Vernon looked back at the boys, feeling gobsmacked by the question. "No!" he sputtered. "It's good - I think."

"You think?" Dudley pressed, a frown on his round face.

Turning back around, Vernon corrected himself. "It is good," he told the boys. Finger going to the key waiting in the ignition, Vernon shook his head. It was probably best he get the conversation out of the way now, rather than later.

"Boys," he began, "I have some news."

"Good news," Harry mumbled.

Sending the twelve-year-old a narrow-eyed stare, he dipped his head in agreement. "Good news," he concurred, "I've met a very kind lady and we are thinking about moving in together this summer."

Both boys just stared at him, their young faces showing every one of the emotions this statement evoked in them. They both started with shock, however, while Harry's mellowed into something not quite disgruntled, Dudley's took on a truly furious expression.

"What about Mum?" he cried. "Have you just forgotten all about her? That's her home too, you know!"

"Your mother's dead, Dudley," Vernon reminded him in a strangled tone.

Tears beading in the corners of his eyes, he yelled back, "That doesn't matter! It's still her home!"

Sending a helpless look to his nephew, Vernon attempted to find the right words to tell Dudley that his mother wouldn't mind sharing their home. That his mother would be happy knowing he'd found someone, that he'd found someone to be a true mother to Dudley. Missis Whitmore may have been a wonderful, caring nanny, but she never could have loved Dudley as much as Petunia. She, a childless woman, could never have given him the things mothers seemed to instinctively.

Glaring at him with almost hateful eyes, Harry reached over and wrapped an arm around his cousin. "It's okay, Dudley," he soothed. "Even if this lady comes to live at our house, it'll never be hers."

Watching as Harry comforted his son, Vernon knew he'd have to sell his home on Privet Drive. He'd have to buy a new one, a home where he and his boys could become a real family with Loraine and her daughter.

The thought of giving up the home he and Petunia had started their lives in was heartbreaking, but Vernon just didn't know how else he was going to fix this one.

"Let's go home," he said after a long moment.

Starting the car, Vernon began to drive.

(He did his best to ignore the way his son sniffled and the sound of Harry's soft voice promising him all kinds of things that he could never fulfill. It was disconcerting how much it reminded him of the late nights where Petunia would do the same with an equally upset, but infant Dudley).

-v-v-v-v-v-

"Vernon, I don't know if this will work."

"What do you mean?"

"Your son has made it quite clear he thinks I'm some kind of villain and your nephew just glares."

"They'll come around."

"Are you sure about that? Or are you just hoping?"

"Look, this if a first for them, okay? They've…They don't know what it's like to see me dating."

"…Alright."

"Really?"

"Yes, love."

"You're a beautiful woman, you know that?"

"I think you've said that before…"

"I love you Loraine."

"I love you too, Vernon.

-v-v-v-v-v-

Staring long and hard at his nephew, Vernon could only sigh. "How do you get in so much serious trouble, Harry?" he demanded.

The boy just stared at his toes.

"This letter your professor sent me sounds almost fantastical, Harry! I just don't understand how a twelve-year-old boy does all this!" he shouted at his nephew as he waved around the letter.

Jaw set mulishly, Harry declared, "I just do."

"You want to know something, Harry? I don't know what to do with you."

Glaring at him, the boy said, "There's nothing to do. This is just how I am!"

"Well, you better change that, Harry. I can't have this. I can't have a nephew who's going to risk life and limb every damn year while he's at school. What will I tell Dudley and Missis Whitmore when you come home in a casket? They love you and it would just kill them if you died."

Jumping to his feet, Harry yelled, "I bet you'd be glad if I was dead! Then I wouldn't be a burden anymore!"

Vernon threw down the letter, fed up and fearing that Harry actually did know his deepest feelings about him. "You are being absolutely ridiculous, Harry," he growled. "I want you to go upstairs to your room and don't come down until you're feeling reasonable."

Harry barked a laugh before walking toward the stairs.

Watching the boy stomp up the steps, Vernon held back a groan and dropped his face into his hands. A few moments later, he felt thin fingers brush against the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry, love," Loraine whispered.

Lifting his head up, he grimaced at his fiancee. "It didn't sound too pretty, did it?" he asked.

"He's just being a teenager," she soothed. "I can't tell you how awful the rows I used to get into with Samantha were. I'd yell, she'd scream, I'd threaten, she'd cry…"

"How'd you get past that?" Vernon questioned.

Loraine sat down beside him, weaving her fingers into his. Lips puckered thoughtfully, she gave one of her curly brown locks a tug and said, "You know, it seems so simple now. One day, I think I just told her I was tired of our fighting and asked her why we always had to. She didn't have a real reason and we just stopped. After that, whenever things between us got heated again, one of us would stop and ask if we were really fighting about anything important."

Smiling at him, Loraine said to Vernon, "Usually we weren't. When we were, though, we'd start thinking of solutions instead of yelling after we identified the problem."

"I don't know if that will work with Harry and I," Vernon replied after a pause. Their fights were always over the trouble Harry got into. Whenever Vernon tried to figure out why he was causing so much trouble, Harry never had an answer.

Giving his cheek a kiss, Loraine remarked, "From what little I've seen, it just looks like Harry's testing you. He's seeing if there's a point where you'll just throw in the rag. I'm not surprised, I have to say. He is your nephew, not your son. Poor Harry has probably feared for some time that one day you'd just give up when he proved to be too much of a bother."

Vernon pulled back.

"You got all that from watching what, two or three fights between us?" he demanded.

Loraine shook her head. "It's more than just the fights, Vernon. Have you ever seen the way he looks at you sometimes? It's so like he's so…scared. Sometimes, I wonder if Harry thinks you'll turn on him. Dudley never looks that way. Even when I know he's angry with you, there's never any fear."

"Harry's scared," Vernon murmured, "Harry's scared."

Resting her head on his shoulder, Loraine agreed, "Yes, scared."

As he sat there, Vernon began to think of all the ways he could manipulate Harry into behaving with this fear of his. Then, because he knew if he did something like that it wouldn't be only Harry who couldn't forgive him, he forgot it all in favor of thinking ways to show Harry he didn't have to fear Vernon disowning him.

His ideas were much fewer with the second option, but Vernon hoped it would be worth it.

-v-v-v-v-v-

Shortly into Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts, he received a letter from his nephew. Reading and re-reading it, he came to shake his head.

Pencil between her lips and crossword laid out in front of her, Loraine raised an eyebrow in question.

Putting the letter down, Vernon sighed. "It's-It's-" he stopped in frustration, too upset to form the right words.

She pulled the pencil from her lips and set it aside. Reaching across the table next, Loraine laid her baby-blue painted nails on Harry's letter and asked gently, "May I see?"

Vernon nodded. She knew about Harry's magic school - he had to tell her. It didn't seem right to let her move in with him and keep such an intimate part of his and his boys' lives secret. Taking the letter, she read it. Then, just like Vernon, read it a second time.

"…He's been entered in some kind of tournament meant for older students? Is this even safe for Harry?" Loraine questioned.

He shrugged. "Who knows," he answered.

"You should write his Headmaster," Loraine said. "This seems wrong. If children his age aren't even supposed to enter, why are they letting him participate?"

Vernon looked at her for a long moment. "Do you think that will do anything? I'm not a wizard or anything, hell, I'm not even his father."

"Of course it will, Vernon! You're as good as his father! If you don't want him involved in this tournament they have to listen to you! If they don't, pull him from Hogwarts. You can send him to Smeltings for the rest of the year and we can begin to look into alternative magic schools for him in the meantime," Loraine argued.

Beginning to nod, Vernon said with great hesitancy, "I'll give it a go."

"Good," Loraine replied. Satisfied that things were resolved, she picked up her pencil and began to work on her crossword once more.

Staring at Harry's letter, Vernon came to feel with a stomach-dropping intensity that things would not be nearly as straightforward as Loraine made it out to be. No, he was sure that his letter to the Headmaster would only be the beginning.

Chapter Text

"You wanted to see me sir?"

Vernon looked behind his high-backed armchair at the question, not quite sure the voice was actually that of his nephew's. However, when he saw the familiar skinny boy with untamable hair and big, round glasses he relaxed. It was just time and puberty that had changed his voice, he realized with relief; it wasn't a rouse to get him out of Hogwarts.

Harry's gaze went to Vernon almost immediately. "Uncle Vernon?" he mumbled questioningly.

Before he could even nod, Headmaster Dumbledore gestured to the seat adjacent to Vernon's own. "Yes, my boy. Come sit," he said

Casting a furtive glance his way, Harry walked forward and took a seat.

"Lemon drop?" Headmaster Dumbledore offered.

Mutely shaking his head in answer, Harry said nothing and fidgeted in his seat for a moment. Then, he asked, almost petulantly, "Why's Uncle Vernon here? I haven't done anything new."

"You're not here because you're in trouble, Harry," Dumbledore told Vernon's nephew in a soothing voice. "I just have a few questions."

"What are they?" Harry asked in a tired voice. "Is this about how my name ended up in the Goblet again? Because I don't know."

"No, it's not about that. We've moved passed questioning you about that, my boy," Dumbledore assured. "What I want to know right now is if you asked your Uncle to pull you from Hogwarts?"

Harry blinked in astonishment. "Pull me from Hogwarts? I'd never do that!" he proclaimed, sounding truly disgusted by the idea.

Vernon sighed. Oh, his nephew was going to hate him once he heard what Vernon wanted to do in protest of allowing such a young boy to participate in a dangerous tournament like the sound of this one.

"The letter your uncle sent me about wanting to do so gave me the impression it wasn't entirely his idea," Dumbledore explained to Harry as he pushed his shoulders back to sit tall in his chair.

Harry scowled and looked Vernon's way. There was a light in his young eyes that made Vernon feel quite daft, as if he'd done something utterly stupid by sending Harry's Headmaster his ultimatum of pulling Harry from Hogwarts if Dumbledore failed to remove Harry from the tournament.

Sighing, Vernon admitted reluctantly, "It…It wasn't entirely my idea. My fiancée, Loraine, she suggested it. This…event doesn't feel like something my nephew should be participating in, given the fact it's made for young men and women who are seventeen. I didn't know how else to respond to Harry's letter-"

"-I wasn't asking you to do anything about it! I was informing you about about the tournament! I've already been told I can't drop out! I'm contracted to do it - if I want to or not!" Harry hissed from his spot.

"You don't even want to do this?" Vernon demanded in concern.

Harry pursed his lips and looked away.

Eyes moving between them in an assessing manner, Dumbledore brought his hands together in a grand gesture and asked, "Just how much as Harry told you about the tournament, Mister Dursley?"

Vernon shrugged. "That it's meant for seventeen-year-olds, but his name was pulled from the goblet nonetheless. Harry said it could be dangerous, from what he understood, and told me he didn't mean to be entered in the contest…I figured this was just another one of Harry's dangerous stunts. Like the one last year where he helped that murderer escape."

"Sirius isn't a murderer! He was framed!" Harry shouted, up on his feet now.

Vernon couldn't help himself from yelling back, "He's not been exonerated of those murders, has he though? No, he hasn't! I won't believe he's anything but a bloody murderer until I have more than just your word and his!"

"I hate you!" Harry cried, his feet set in an angry stance that was strangely familiar. Looking down at his own feet, Vernon understood why almost immediately. The boy's body was set in a way that was identical to his own.

It seemed the lad had been picking a thing or two up from him over the years. Like a…Like a son would. The thought made Vernon queasy. All these years, he'd been telling and telling himself Harry was just his nephew, that he shouldn't bother to care for him as much as he did Dudley because he'd never be able to love Harry as freely as James had, and would have continued to do so, if he hadn't been murdered.

Now, though, Vernon saw that it didn't matter if he loved the boy as much or more than James Potter had, or would have. Harry was his. Harry was more like him than he'd ever be like James simply because it'd been Vernon's example he'd learned from all these years.

Harry was stubborn, Harry was not going to back down in a fight like this one. Vernon wouldn't, so why would the boy who'd watched him fight battles like this behave any differently? Dudley sure wouldn't.

Shaking his head wearily, all anger gone, Vernon sat back down and said, "I'm not going to fight you about this now, Harry. What I want to know is why we can't break this contract? Why does my fourteen-year-old nephew have to participate in something he didn't sign up for?"

"Magic has a way of binding things," Dumbledore explained slowly. "Decisions have much more weight in this world. Even if he's not the one who signed himself up for it, the decision has been made now and if he were to try and break it, he'd be risking any number of things. His magic, his health, his mind…even his life could be reaped as compensation for breaking his end of the bargain.

"If I recall correctly, during the last Triwizard Tournament where a contestant attempted to get out of the competition, she lost her voice for it. That's the last thing any of us want for Harry. He just has to try Mister Dursley, not win."

Vernon didn't know what to say. What could he say? There was absolutely nothing he could do for his nephew. The poor boy would have to participate if he wanted to continue to be whole and well.

Looking toward his nephew, he said to him, "I'm sorry, Harry."

"At least someone is," Harry muttered, not looking at Vernon or Dumbledore.

Vernon wanted to ask what he meant, but not now. Not in front of this old man who was watching them with eyes far too keen. So, sighing, Vernon got up and put a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "I'll be writing you, alright Harry? I want to be kept up to date."

"Yessir," the boy agreed dully.

Holding back the urge to sigh once more, he looked to Headmaster Dumbledore and said, "I think it's time I head home."

Nodding in agreement, Dumbledore smiled. "I will call for Professor McGongall to take you home."

"Thanks," Vernon replied. "Harry? Lad? Can I get a proper goodbye?"

Harry glanced up, brow furrowed. Vernon knew Harry understood what he meant, even if he looked confused. This used to be his way of getting a goodbye hug out of Dudley in the mornings before he left for work when they were little. Rarely, Vernon had ever asked for the same from Harry - always just expecting he'd know the request was extended to him as well.

Thankfully, Harry always had. Now, though, their was no Dudley, just him and his nephew. Vernon had to ask him if he wanted to leave this school feeling like he'd done something at all for this boy - even if it was just offering a bit of comfort in the face of his new obstacle.

Lips flickering into a smile, Harry got up. "Sure, Uncle Vernon."

Extending his arms, Vernon took his nephew in a strong embrace, holding on just long enough to let Harry know he was there for him. Vernon hadn't ever done that before, he thought.

It felt right, however. Maybe this would be the turning point of his and Harry's relationship - like Loraine's question for Samantha during that argument had been.

When Harry pulled back, green eyes so much softer than they'd been in years, Vernon whispered, "Now, don't forget about the letter I'll be sending."

"I won't, Uncle Vernon," Harry promised.

A moment later, Missis McGonagall appeared, beckoning Vernon to her so she may guide him back home. Vernon didn't look back, but he knew Harry's gaze followed him out of the Headmaster's office.

Maybe, this horrible, horrible turn of events had been good for something after all, Vernon thought. Harry would be at risk this whole year (again), but maybe Vernon would know more about what was happening with him at Hogwarts than he ever had before. Maybe Vernon could stop the lad from doing something truly stupid or guide him in the right direction with some gentle words (which likely would come from Loraine, but Harry wouldn't have to know).

And for a while, Vernon was right. Things did go quite well for the rest of the school year, Vernon was kept up to date on the trials his nephew went through, made suggestions where he could and encouraged him to the best of his abilities when his ignorance of magic left him with little else to offer.

Vernon even started to think that he and Harry were getting on better than they ever had before. He even began to believe they were going to have a great summer, one where he, Harry and Dudley and Lorraine and her daughter would finally come together and become the family he and Lorraine had been hoping they would become since they moved in together.

All of Vernon's hopes were dashed, though, with the news of Cedric Diggory's murder.

-v-v-v-v-v-

When Vernon had met Loraine's daughter, he hadn't quite known what to think.

She was darker than her mother in complexion, eyes and hair and at first, he'd wondered if she wasn't adopted. Vernon had no strong opinions on adoption, but if it was the case, he wished Loraine would have told him in advanced because he was quite sure he had to be making a poor impression on the teenager with his wide-eyed stare.

But, then, the girl smiled and revealed a gap between her front teeth that was all Loraine.

Next, she'd given Vernon her hand and said in a voice nearly identical to her own mother's sweet as honey tone, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Vernon."

Vernon had fallen in love with the young woman almost instantly. He'd never said anything about it, simply because it'd always seemed so pointless to voice it until he and Loraine had started going out, but Vernon had always wanted a daughter. A little girl to spoil with kisses and hugs he'd never dare give a son, a pretty daughter that would bat her lashes when she wanted things and chatter on and on about anything and everything that interested her when they were alone together.

Upon welcoming Samantha into his home, Vernon had felt his wish had finally been granted.

Samantha didn't need hugs and kisses from him, nor did she ask for things, but she talked. At first, it was mostly about the year she spent abroad in America, but then she moved onto her ambitions for the future (she wanted to be a nurse), and about her deepest passion - watercolor painting.

Mostly, she painted fruit and vegetables. But when he asked if she thought she could paint a nice picture of a cottage for him, she did so and presented it to him as a gift for his birthday.

Vernon had been very touched by the thoughtful gift and hung it above the mantle of the fireplace in response.

As time went on, Vernon's fondness for Samantha only grew and grew. By the time Dudley and Harry came home from their fourth year, he considered her a daughter and felt things for Samantha that Vernon knew he never had for Harry.

The guilt that weighed his heart at that only became heavier upon seeing the haunted look in his nephew's eyes after picking him up at King's Cross.

Vernon thought he should have had something to say to Harry, after all, he'd made it through Petunia's death, hadn't he? He knew what it was like to lose someone. But…

Harry had seen the boy murdered, Petunia's own rather violent death paled in comparison. The best Vernon felt he could offer Harry was a pat on the back and the consolation of, "A quiet summer will do you well, I think."

His nephew said nothing to that and the whole car ride home from the station refused to speak. Instead, he spent the time with his fingers clenched in his pant legs staring determinedly forward. When they arrived home, he hurried out of the car and took himself and his school things straight to his room - shutting the door behind him firmly.

"Gone up already, has he?" Loraine questioned as she came to join Vernon by the front door.

Vernon nodded. "Can't really blame him," he said. "I remember after Pet died I refused to leave me bed for almost a week after the funeral. It just felt too hard to deal with anything beyond my own thoughts."

"This…other student and Harry, were they close?" Loraine questioned.

Vernon shrugged. "He talked about him some in his letters," he answered, "seemed to think he was a nice enough fellow." Then, wrapping an arm around Loraine, he remarked, "I think it's more to do with the fact the lad was murdered in front of him that it's gotten to him so hard. Can you just imagine that? Seeing someone die like that? It was bad enough finding poor Petunia on the bathroom floor more dead than alive…"

"I'm sorry," Loraine said, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek. "I just feel so awful about everything and there's nothing I can do for Harry or you."

Capturing her lips in his for a long, sad kiss, Vernon whispered, "You being here is enough. I love you."

"I love you too, Vernon."

-v-v-v-

A few days after Harry's return, the boy fell asleep on the sofa in the living room one afternoon. Vernon knew he should have probably sent him off to his room to rest, but he'd seen the way his nephew had been shambling around the house with heavy-lidded eyes. The poor boy wasn't getting nearly enough sleep as it was and to wake him seemed almost cruel.

So, he let him alone.

That would be his biggest mistake with Harry in a long, long time.

Samantha coming home from a friend's place just in time to say goodbye to himself and Loraine as they headed out for supper with Dudley, declined their invitation in favor of a quiet night in.

The young woman didn't even notice Harry right away, assuming that he was in his room (as he usually was). Padding around the house, she made herself comfortable by changing clothes and starting the kettle on the stove before sitting down at the kitchen table to start taking stock of her painting supplies and what she needed to buy.

As the kettle began to whistle, Harry had made himself known in the living room by giving a shout. Jumping to her feet, Samantha went to the other room. Peering over the back of the sofa, she saw Harry writhing and muttering furiously. Out of concern, the teenager had reached out and taken Harry's hand.

Upon being touched, Harry's magic lashed out and electrocuted Samantha.

Thankfully, Harry woke at the way Samantha's grip turned rigid. Seeing what had happened, Vernon's nephew jumped to get to the phone and called for an ambulance.

Later, the doctors would say it was his quick actions that saved Samantha's life. However, unlike her life, Samantha's right hand could not be saved. It'd been burned to a charred mess in the accident and as the Doctors had explained again and again to Vernon in his oh so enraged state, nothing could have saved it.

Out of everyone, it was Harry who took the news the worst.

"It's my fault," he said. "I'm so sorry, Lorraine. I-I don't know what else to say, but I'm sorry."

Loraine, Vernon knew, was scared. He'd told her before magic was a strange and rather dangerous thing, but this was the first time she'd seen the truth of his warnings. Thankfully, though, unlike Harry, she did not blame the boy for what happened. "It's okay, lovely," she replied. "I know it was all an accident…"

This, however, didn't appease Harry in the slightest. He didn't want to be forgiven. He wanted to be punished. However, neither Loraine or Vernon was going to do that to Harry. It wouldn't be right.

Appearing to have realized this, Harry took it upon himself to find a way to punish himself.

A little while after coming home from the hospital for the night, Harry had approached Loraine and Vernon in the kitchen where they were talking over tea and said, "I think…I think I'll go stay with the Weasley for the rest of the summer. If I…have more accidental magic, at least they'll be able to protect themselves from it - not like you lot."

Vernon wanted to tell him no. He wanted to say that Harry was his nephew and that a bit of bad magic wasn't going to turn him off enough to agree to such drastic measures, but…

He'd burned off Samantha's hand. He'd taken away a painter's ability to pain. Samantha had been right-handed and now she was going to have to re-learn her all her skills with her left hand. It'd be years before she could paint him another cottage just as pretty as the one that he'd hung so proudly above his and Loraine's mantle.

What if it happened again? What if it was Dudley in Samantha's position? What if…What if next time someone died?

Could Vernon live with himself? Could he live with knowing that he could have prevented it by letting his nephew go stay with people who were magic like him and knew how to deal with it when it was out of control?

Vernon didn't think so.

So, even as Lorraine looked ready to protest Harry's decision, say something about how family's supposed to be there for each other, Vernon put on a tight smile and told his nephew, "If that's what you think is best for yourself right now, you may. Perhaps you'll be up for coming home for Christmass Hols, though?"

Harry smiled back, but it was wobbly and his eyes looked a little misty. Vernon thought it was because, maybe, even now, Harry wished he'd told him no. Wished that Vernon had insisted he stay home and be there for Samantha's recovery and to spend time with all of them as a family.

But that wasn't the kind of man Vernon was. He liked to give his boys space, he liked to let his nephew make his own decisions since no matter how much Harry may have become his over the years, he wasn't his son. Hell, he wasn't even normal like Vernon. Harry belonged to a whole world and people that Vernon would never know, would never be able to involve himself with.

From the moment Harry had landed on his doorstep, Vernon realized he had been preparing himself for losing Harry. Five, ten years ago he would have said it was because his wife's death had shaken his long-held belief that life was permanent (despite all things that spoke to the contrary). Now, though, he wondered if he hadn't always just known.

Vernon almost believed some part of him had understood from the moment he took his nephew in his arms, that Harry was a different breed. A true changeling-like child that he would lose so much sooner than he would Dudley to those who'd left him behind on his doorstep.

Beckoning Harry to him, Vernon brought his nephew close to him for a parting embrace. As the boy hugged him back, Vernon sensed this would be the last time he would get to hold his nephew in a long time.

Chapter Text

Upon entering his home's dining room, Vernon stopped. At the table, Samantha had out her watercolors and a stretch of canvas resting on the table-easel he bought her last Christmas. She was using her stump of an arm as a balance while her other hand worked slowly at its task of painting what looked to be an apple. It was one part painful and two parts beautiful to watch. While Vernon still felt his heart ache at the setback she was facing, he took pride in the fact it did not deter her from learning with her other hand to do all that she could do before the incident.

Though…

"Perhaps I could write Harry about what wizards and witches do when they lose limbs. Maybe they have a magic hand that could replace your missing one."

The young woman startled, her paintbrush running jaggedly across the canvas. Sighing, she fell back in the dining chair she was seated in. Flopping her head over the back of the chair, she stared at Vernon in upside down contemplation. When her silence began to drag on, Vernon remarked, "Harry's a bit famous there, you see. If you wanted their help, muggle or no, they wouldn't deny you."

"No thank you," she said. "I've had enough of magic for now–possibly for forever." Rearranging herself so she was looking at Vernon properly, she told him, "I don't blame Harry for losing control. From the way you describe it, it's an extension of himself. It's just more dangerous than a flailing limb. But I don't want any more part of it. I don't think I even want to see Harry again anytime soon. It's all too fresh on my mind."

Turning away, she busied herself with cleaning up her supplies as she said, "In fact, to make everything easier, I was thinking I'd go visit Dad in Leicester for Hols. Harry should be able to celebrate with you and Dudley."

Feeling a preemptive sense of loss at her words, Vernon blurted, "You don't have to spend all of it there. Harry's not even planning to come home."

Samantha's dark eyes clouded with doubt and confusion. "Really?" she asked. "Why's that? He loves you all, doesn't he?"

"Of course he does," Vernon replied. "It's just easier for him to spend Hols at his school."

An uncertain smile coming to her lips, the young woman said, "Well, that's good to know. I wasn't looking forward to not being here on Christmas Eve. One away from Mum was enough for me."

Vernon nodded. "Your mother told me she missed you very much when you were abroad too. I quote, 'It's not Christmas without Sam's tone-deaf carols.'"

This drew a laugh from Samantha. "And it's not Christmas without Mum cursing up a storm while she looks for the presents she hid all over the house at the last minute."

Joining the young woman in her chuckling, Vernon couldn't help the part of him that began to think of how he was going to word his next letter to his nephew. Or how he was going to suggest another Christmas at Hogwarts was good idea to Harry.

(Especially since he'd been writing almost non-stop about how excited he was to finally learn how to skateboard from Dudley).

-v-v-v-v-v-

–It's up to you, of course. But we would be very happy if you came home for the summer. Loraine and I have been planning for us all to go to Italy for a week-long holiday. Now have a happ-

"Dad?" Dudley called.

Vernon glanced up from his letter to Harry. Smiling at his troubled-looking son, Vernon gesture to the seat across the table. "What's on your mind, lad? Come and tell me."

Dudley's frowning did not lessen, but he nodded. Taking the empty seat, as suggested, Dudley asked, "Dad, is Harry coming home for Christmas? Or ever again?"

Vernon felt a cold sweat breakout on the nape of his neck. Forcing a shaky smile to his lips, Vernon said, "Harry chose to spend the Christmas with his friend's family, the Weasleys."

Dudley's shoulders drooped. "Why?" he demanded. "We were writing about doing all kinds of things when we came home from school until midway last month. Then he wouldn't make any more plans with me or comment on what we were already going to do. He never even told me he was going to the Weasleys!"

"I'm sorry, son," Vernon apologized. He knew this was his fault. If this was the start of a rift between his son and Pet's nephew, it was all his fault. The guilt was awful, but Samantha's constant singing from the other room reminded him why he had persuaded Harry to not come home for Christmas. As much as he cared about Harry, it was Samantha and Loraine who he loved more. For both of their happinesses, Harry's absence had to be endured.

Dudley scowled. "Why are you apologizing? It's him who's ruined everything. Sometimes I think he loves that stupid magic stuff more than us! We're family, though! We loved him and cared about him for years before magic ever came into the picture!" he complained.

Sighing, Vernon leaned back in his chair and turned his face skyward. "I can't be sure, but I did mention that Samantha wished to be with her mother on Christmas last month. Perhaps he still feels guilty about ruining her arm and didn't want to come home perchance he had to see her."

"Samantha will always be around. You and Loraine are married. Is Harry ever going to come home again?" Dudley asked, despondent and eyes glassy.

Vernon rubbed his forehead to ease the ache that was beginning behind his temple. "Of course he will," Vernon assured without being sure at all.

"I wish I could see him. It's stupid and girly, but letters just aren't the same as getting to talk to him."

Eyes falling to his letter, Vernon suggested, "I could write Harry and ask if it would be possible for the Weasleys to host you for a day."

Dudley's face brightened immediately. "Really? Do you think they would, Dad? That would just be so brilliant!"

Smiling wanly at the teenager, Vernon said, "They just might."

Dudley got up from his chair and came around the table to hug him. Vernon clung to his son in response. It'd been such a long time since Dudley last embraced him without prompting. To think, it was all because Vernon was going to write his nephew to see if Dudley could visit Harry in his magic world.

"Thanks again, Dad," he said.

Waving the boy off, Vernon told him, "Go help Loraine with whatever needs to be done while I finish this letter for Harry."

Smiling, Dudley nodded agreeably before disappearing once more into the drawing room.

Pen poised on the paper again, Vernon stared at it for a long time. He wondered if he should tell Harry that he had to come home for the summer–if only for Dudley's sake. Though, it was probably best he didn't. If Dudley really wanted his cousin home that badly, he would do more than enough begging and whining for both of them. Certain in this belief, Vernon finished his letter with asking Harry if the Weasleys would be agreeable to picking up Dudley some day next week for a visit so the two may catch up.

Once finished, Vernon put the letter in an envelope and waisted no time in giving it to the owl that periodically hung around in the trees behind their home.

Less than a few hours later, he had a reply from Harry. Dudley was invited to Boxing Day at the Weasleys and even more than that, he was welcome to spend the night. As for his response to Vernon's invitation to a week in Italy?

I'm sorry Uncle Vernon, but I already have made arrangements with my godfather Sirius for the summer. I would hate to break them.

Vernon didn't begrudge his nephew in the least, though. He did however wish that he had mentioned it would have made Dudley happy if he went on Holiday with them. It might have not changed Harry's response, but Vernon would feel like he had tried harder to bring the lad home.

Of course, everything changed once more with Sirius's death.

-v-v-v-v-

Staring sidelong at his nephew in the passenger seat, Vernon frowned. While he'd expected more sulky, depressed behavior from the boy, given the recent death of his godfather, the outright silence between them was unsettling. Harry had, from time to time, brooded while growing up, but there was something different to it now. Instead of the usual hunched shoulders and bowed head, Harry sat up straight, mouth formed into a pout as she stared straight out his window.

It was like he was looking for something, Vernon thought. What that was, though, he didn't know.

Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, he asked Harry, "You alright there, lad?"

Harry's gaze shifted to him. It was critical. "Yes, why do you ask?" he returned.

Vernon shook his head. "I just–" he sighed. "Never mind."

The boy stared at him for another moment. Then, nodding, returned his gaze to the world outside. Focusing his own stare on the road in front of him, Vernon only hoped Harry snapped out of this strange state he was in soon.

-v-v-v-

Closing the front door behind him, Vernon watched Harry as he all but jogged up the stairs to his room. After he disappeared, Vernon continued to just stare at the empty hall. That wasn't Harry, he was sure. He knew his nephew and everything about it had been…off. Harry just didn't behave right. Well, he knew someone who was grieving could become someone completely different from their usual self, but Harry was nothing like he was after Cedric's death.

No, now Harry was contained. Cold. So unlike himself in any state.

"Dudley!" he called.

The blond appeared a moment later, glass of milk in hand. "Yes, Dad?" he asked.

"Do wizards have a way to change their appearances? Disguise themselves so they look like another person?"

Dudley frowned. "I think they do. Harry said something about a potion once you could take to look exactly like another person. Why?"

"Because he could tell I wasn't Harry," a voice from the top of the stairs said.

They both turn their heads and gasped at the teenager at the top of their stairs. That wasn't Harry. It was a complete stranger. The teenager came down the stairs slowly, face grim, but hands nervously toying with the hems of his sleeves. "I'm Draco Malfoy," he told them. "My sincerest apologies about all of this. But it was necessary. I'm on the run, you see. Things have gotten quite awful back home and my family is aligned with the man who murdered Harry's parents. He wants me to take his filthy mark–like my father did. But I won't do it. I know what kind of monster he is.

"So, to avoid taking it, I spoke with Harry to see if he knew anyone who could help me run away. If anyone would know someone, I was sure it was him. He's the light's hero, after all. But, in the end, we decided this was the best option. No one will expect it. Draco Malfoy running to the muggle world? To stay with Harry Potter's relatives no less? It's downright insane!"

After several minutes of just gawking and trying to figure out a coherent reply, Vernon finally stammered, "I–You–How long are you planning to stay?"

Draco looked to his feet. "I can pay you back, if you let me stay here. I don't have much money now, but my family's rich. My mother will give me the money to pay you. Even if Father disowns me for what I've done today."

"Let's go to the living room to wait," Vernon said. "Loraine will want to have this all told to her when she gets home from seeing her daughter off to her father's."

Draco smiled in relief. "Thank you, sir."

Vernon just nodded.

-v-v-v-

"This is mad," Loraine whispered.

Draco laughed. "War is always mad," he replied.

Vernon raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He hadn't realized his nephew's world was in a full-blown war now.

"And Harry? Where is he right now? Can we write him to ask questions about you and this…arrangement he's made?" Loraine asked.

The boy fiddled with his teacup. "He should be at the Weasleys. He's going to lay low there for a week or two before letting people know he's staying there as a guest. That way, no one will pay you all that much mind since they'll know Harry's not here. I wouldn't write about this if I were you, though. You can't be sure someone besides him will read the letter. He did give me this to give to you."

With that said, Draco pulled a piece of folded paper from a pocket and handed it to Vernon.

Huddling close together, him and Loraine each take hold of one of the letter's corners as they read. Vernon wanted to sigh at the shoddy apology his nephew began his letter with.

Dear Uncle Vernon and Loraine,

I'm sorry. I know what Draco and I are doing isn't fair to you and perhaps even dangerous. But I couldn't think of a better way to help him. So please hide him. For all of your safety you should to move homes (abroad would be the very best honestly. But I know that might be too much to ask). Enroll Dudley somewhere beside Smeltings as a cautionary measure. You could send Draco wherever you send Dudley too if you like. I'm sure he'll agree to it.

I don't know if I'll make it back to you all before you move, but don't worry about leaving a forwarding address. I'll find you when it's safe. Don't worry.

Thanks again Uncle Vernon and Loraine.

From Harry

Vernon set the letter down. Staring at the wall, he gathered his thoughts. However, before he could voice them, Loraine's pursed lips parted. "We'll have to get another ticket for Italy. Before that, however, we'll need to change your appearance a little. Your name too, I think," she remarked.

Vernon frowned, quite annoyed she was going to go along with this so easily. The boys had lied to them. They had given no forewarning and now Harry was just expecting them to take Draco in without complaint? It was preposterous! At the very least, he should have gotten to yell at Draco some for his and Harry's idiocy, he thought.

Unlike himself, Dudley appeared just as accepting of the news as Loraine. Vernon wondered if Harry had given him forewarning. But that seemed terribly risky, given the lengths these boys had gone to have Draco arrive here safely today. Thoughtfully, Dudley hummed. "A name…Let's see, what about Drago? No, too alike to Draco. Drake? Drew?" he offered.

Looking Dudley's way, Draco said, "Drake isn't bad. It's similar enough it won't be hard to learn, but different too."

"Yes, you're right, Drake is the closest we can get to Draco without it being too obvious," Loraine agreed. "Now, I think we'll have to work a little ah, what's the word? Moogle? No, Muggle. We will have to work some Muggle-magic and change your appearance a tad. I think you could be a believable ginger. What do you think?" Loraine asked.

Draco crinkled his nose in obvious distaste, but agreed with his wife's assessment. "You're right, I could probably look like a natural ginger."

Nodding in satisfaction, Loraine waved toward the hall. "You're welcome to rifle through Harry's dresser for some clothes to wear until we can buy you things you like. The two of you are about the same size."

Draco smiled shyly. "Thank you, Ma'am," he said. "I promise, when this is all over, I'll be able to pay you all back tenfold what I owe you.

Loraine reached out and touched Draco's cheek far more tenderly than she ever had Dudley's or Harry's. "You don't worry about any of that, lovely. We're doing this because we'd hate to see anything happen to a boy like you."

Vernon didn't know if he agreed. He was quite sure this was the same boy that had been nothing but a bully to Harry his first couple years at Hogwarts. Even if he'd stopped bothering Harry for the most part, Vernon did not doubt that he'd found a replacement child to pick on. It was part of the malicious natures of boys like him. Vernon had been that way growing up, and so had Dudley to a lesser extent before Missis Whitmore corrected that vicious behavior.

"Even so," Draco murmured. "I'd like to, someday."

Vernon's wife beamed at the boy before pulling away. Then, looking sharply to Vernon's son, she said, "Dudley, get your shoes on, you're coming with me."

"Why? What do you need me for? You won't be buying that much, will you?"

Loraine sighed. "Dudley, I'm going to want your opinion for some of the things I want to pick up. I can't very well take Draco as he is and I know, wizard or no, you'll have a better idea on what our male, teenage guest will like more than myself."

With no rebuttle to her argument, Dudley began to grumble under his breath as he headed for the closet where they kept the shoes. Following after Dudley to get her purse and shoes for herself, Loraine asked, "Dudley, where would you like to stop first? The pharmacy or department store?"

"I don't care, whichever will be faster," his son replied.

The conversation went on for another few minutes, filling the air with noise and distraction. Until, abruptly, Draco and Vernon were plunged into tense silence when Dudley slammed the front door behind him and Loraine, cutting off their chatter mid-stream. For a moment, Vernon did nothing. He just continued to stare at the wall in front of him, sweat from his palms still seeping through the fabric of his pants. When he could no longer take it, he turned toward Draco.

"Harry's going to be in trouble again soon, isn't he?" he asked, resigned, but still so afraid. Oh, this was far from the end of things, Vernon knew. Harry had suggested they move, possibly, if they could, abroad. Whatever was going on in that magic world of his was about to start affecting them in normal-land soon.

Their family even quicker simply because Harry was his nephew and Draco was a fugitive he'd been told to hide.

Draco snorted into his hand. Moving to face Vernon directly, he wore a smile that was more a grimace. "With all due respect, sir, but as long as I've known Harry, he's always been in trouble."

"Yeah," Vernon said.

There was nothing else he could say. The lad wasn't wrong, after all.

Chapter Text

Draco turned out to be a far from perfect house guest. Upon becoming a ginger, he lost all manners and was sulky and waspish for several days after, obviously not happy about the change. Vernon didn't blame him for that, so much as he blamed Harry for inflicting him and the rest of their family with Draco's sour presence. He knew it was wrong to fault Harry for helping someone out of a hard spot, but even so, could not help the resentment he felt.

It made Vernon recall how it had been Harry once foisted on him. At the time, though, Harry felt more like a consolation gift for his dead wife and child rather than an unwanted burden. Harry was lucky Vernon had felt like that, otherwise he probably would have had Marge drop Harry off at a police station or hospital and never gave him a second thought. Unluckily for Vernon now, he couldn't do such a thing to Draco. Loraine would never stand for it.

Loraine wouldn't stand for much of anything that was less than polite or kind. Except from Draco, it seemed. Draco had been allowed to sneer and scoff and insult them without check. Vernon didn't understand why they were letting him anymore than he did the strange, tender looks she gave the boy when he said something terribly ignorant and insulting. Even just this morning Loraine had smiled at Draco after he said how "brilliant" muggles were to be able to create airplanes with their limited intelligence. Vernon knew, from sharing a look with his son and stepdaughter, he wasn't the only one insulted by the jab at their unmagical natures.

The kids now gone, exploring the stores and restaurants near their hotel, Vernon turned to where Lorain was busy unpacking their things into a wardrobe and said, "We can't let him keep talking like that."

Fingering a dress of Samantha's before putting it on a hanger in the closet, Loraine remarked, "You know, he reminds me a lot of myself before I got to know Allen."

Vernon furrowed his brow and murmured, "Oh?"

Smiling as she closed the wardrobe, Loraine walked over to the window that overlooked the street in front of the hotel. "My father was a horrible xenophobe. Not in public, of course, but behind the doors of our home he was always cursing out foreigners. It didn't matter if they were Irish or Bangladeshi, he thought they were all ruining our country. Stealing jobs, bringing crime to our streets, etcetera, etcetera. I believed everything he said. I was a girl, what did I know? I trusted him."

"But that changed," Vernon said, recalling what Loraine had told him about her first husband, how he'd been born in the West Indies.

Hand still resting on the windowsill as she turned to face Vernon, Loraine nodded. "Yes, but that wasn't until Allen and his parents moved into the home across the street from my family when I was fourteen. My father almost had a heart attack from that one. Being a silly girl, though, I decided to watch Allen and follow him around. I can't remember why I decided that was a good idea, maybe I was just curious or excited at the prospect of them doing things my father always said they did.

"Allen noticed, of course. I think he was amused by it at first. When Allen finally got me to tell him why I was following him around and learned it was because I was a little twit with racist notions I know his pride took a bit of hit. Allen told me later, after we married, that at first he though I was following him around because I liked him and was too shy to be the first one to talk. To say the least, once he knew the truth, he avoided me at all costs for a couple days. Then, don't ask me why, Allen decided he was going to change my opinion of him and all foreigners by teaching me all about himself and his family." Bringing a finger to her mouth, she gnawed on her nail thoughtfully before she said, "I was skeptical at first.

"However, once I just let go of what I thought I knew in favor of taking in what he trying to show me, it all became so much fun. I started to love the music he had introduced me to and I couldn't get enough of trying all the vast dishes that made up his people's food. Later, Allen introduced me to his cousins. Talking about makeup and boys with the girl ones was just a brilliant experience, because it taught me they truly weren't any different from my English-born self."

Vernon didn't remember any of this. He knew for a fact Loraine had lived on the same street as him and his sister growing up, but he didn't remember Allen or his family. Though, given that both of Loraine and Allen were older by a few years, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Vernon had been more concerned with his own friends and playing rugby at the time.

"I'm guessing this is how you fell in love with him?" Vernon asked.

"Yes," Loraine said. "By the time I was sixteen, I was sneaking out almost every night to see him. Then I got pregnant and when I told my father, he threatened to kill Allen if he saw him. I made the decision then to leave home and move in with Allen's aunt and uncle across town. He joined me not long after. My father, as you can probably guess, disowned me. My mother had to give her old wedding dress to her sister so that she could send it to me for my wedding."

Vernon felt his heart give a pang. "Have you seen your parents since?" he asked. His mother and father were dead and before now, Loraine had spoken little of her own. Vernon had assumed they were dead too.

"Not since my mother's funeral ten years ago," she said. "Samantha didn't know them, so I left her home with Allen and went by myself. My father spat at me. I haven't been back home since."

"I'm sorry," Vernon whispered, approaching to take her in his arms.

She sighed into his neck and wrapped her arms around him. "Thank you," she mumbled into his chest.

Rocking with her for a while, Vernon didn't say anything. When he saw the kids coming toward the hotel's entrance, he remarked, "I think we can show Draco just how wrong he is about us normal folk by the end of this holiday, don't you?"

Looking up at him with tears in her eyes, Loraine grinned. "Yes, I think we can."

-v-v-v-v-v-

"So, how do you like your gelato?" Samantha asked.

A moment later, Draco said, "It's good, but wizard ice cream is still better."

"Dudley Dursley!" Loraine yelped.

Looking up from his dish of strawberry sorbet, Vernon's mouth dropped open. At the kid's table, Draco sat stunned between Samantha and Dudley, pink, half-melted gelato dripping down his face and a plastic dish still sitting on his head like a hat. Glancing to Dudley, Vernon saw his son was wearing a smug smile while Samantha on Draco's right continued to eat her shaved ice with a smirk.

"Oh, Mum, he deserved it. Drake always says that magic stuff is better. It's annoying."

"Annoying or not, that's not appropriate! Oh, Drake, let me go buy some water from inside, just wait a minute…"

Vernon laid a hand down on his wife's arm. "No, Loraine," he said. "Dudley, since you dumped it on his head, I want you to go buy the water with your money."

"Dad!"

"Go, Dudley!" he snapped.

Glowering at him, the teenager got up, grumbling what was surely an obscenity beneath his breath. Watching Dudley go back into the cafe, Vernon returned his stare to Draco upon seeing his son begin to talk to the man behind the counter.

Picking up one of the napkins in front of him, Vernon held it out to Draco. "Here," he said.

Blinking at him as he took the offered towels, Draco mumbled, "Thank you."

"I hope you learned your lesson," Vernon replied as he picked up his spoon again.

Beneath the table, he felt Loraine's nails pinch into his thigh. "Vernon…" she hissed.

He ignored her. Samantha and Dudley weren't wrong about Draco always downplaying muggle things and now, after such a visceral reaction from his son, Draco would likely be much more mindful of what he let spill out of his mouth.

"Here, Drake," Dudley said in a sulky tone as he handed the other boy a water bottle. "I'm sorry."

Opening the bottle, Draco smiled hesitantly up at Dudley. "It's fine, I guess I was kind of being an-"

"An arse. You were being a real arse," Samantha proclaimed.

Draco frowned at her, but nodded nonetheless.

Taking his seat again, Dudley laughed. "Don't worry about it, we're good now."

Leaning over, Vernon whispered into Loraine's ear, "See? They can work things out if you let them."

"I–I suppose you're right," she replied.

Taking another bite of his sorbet, Vernon felt only satisfaction.

-v-v-v-v-v-

Standing in the doorway of the living room, Vernon stared at Draco as he fiddled with the remote of the telly, obviously trying to change the channel, but failing to. It was almost amusing how after nearly a whole summer in their normal world he'd yet to master the thing. Some days, Vernon was rather glad for it, because it meant the boy had to find other ways to amuse himself and he could have the telly to himself.

Amusement fading after a time, Vernon reminded himself he had a purpose for coming to see Draco. Samantha was out with friends and Loraine had gone to take Dudley to see the doctor about a cough he'd had since they returned from Italy a week ago. Now that they were alone, he had the perfect opportunity to finally ask Draco the things that he had, until now, been too afraid to.

Stepping into the room, he told the boy, "I know you and Harry weren't mates at Hogwarts Draco. I'm betting Dudley does too. The two of them wrote more than Harry and I ever did."

Draco shifted uneasily. These days, he was more comfortable going by Drake, even in the safety of the flat that they were now subletting from a friend of Loraine's while they were abroad in China for business. He looked at Vernon out of the corner of his eye. The boy turned off the telly and said, "Yes, that's true."

"I know you were the one being a bully to him too."

Frowning, Draco crossed his legs and arms and grumbled, "Why are you bringing this up now? I've been living with you for almost the whole summer now, surely this is a mute point?"

Taking a seat on the other end of the sofa, Vernon shook his head. "It's not mute. I want to know why, it's just it didn't seem right to bring it up earlier. Loraine wanted you to become comfortable with us, since neither you or Harry had any idea how long you would be staying with us. Letting on we knew more about your relationship with Harry than what you told us seemed counterproductive."

Lips pressed thin as he glared at him, Draco said, "Harry didn't seem to have a very good relationship with you either, you know. It was pretty obvious when he told me that, and I quote, 'Oh, he'll probably be glad it's not actually me who's come home when he finds out.'"

Vernon sighed and pressed his thumb to the bridge of his nose. "How about we share, hm? I'll tell you a little about how things are with Harry and I and you tell me about yourself and Harry."

Draco nodded. "That sounds agreeable."

"I suppose you expect me to start?"

"Yes."

Vernon bit back the urge to tear into the boy for the lack of respect in his reply. Months after taking him in, the boy's total disregard for authority figures had yet to improve. Being too hard on Draco about obeying himself and Loraine, though, just lead to a lot of heated rows that never got anywhere. Vernon had learned to pick his battles with Draco and his lack of respect right now would have to be let go in favor of understanding why.

"When I took Harry in after his parents were killed, it was out of a sense of duty to my late wife. I didn't fall in love with him like I had with Dudley right away. This made me feel guilty and I was always telling myself it was okay, I wasn't Harry's father, just his uncle. I did eventually come to love him, of course, how could I not? By that time, though, he was already on his way out of my life again and into your damn world.

"Then…I don't know, I let him decide if he wanted to go to Hogwarts or not and after that I just didn't feel like I had a right to tell him what to do anymore. Then there was Loraine and Samantha–who I fell in love with so damn quickly–and things just fell apart even more. After Harry hurt Samantha by accident, he left and I didn't stop him. I was afraid of what else could happen and so was Harry, I think. Last Christmas, I convinced him to not come home at all. I could bear the thought of his absence more than I could Samantha's by that point.

"I must sound like an awful man by now. I loved my first wife so much, but when it comes to her nephew, who I can see so much of her in, I treat him like he's not really family at all."

Draco's expression wasn't hard, however, when Vernon looked at him. It seemed almost sympathetic. "It seems neither of us got off on a very good foot with Harry," he said. Foot jiggling as he let his gaze focus on something behind Vernon, Draco told him, "I met him while shopping in Diagon Alley. Things weren't too bad then, I guess. It was on the train ride to Hogwarts when I extended a hand of friendship and had it declined that I started being nasty to him and his mates. I understand why he did now, of course.

"I was acting like a little prat then, talking about stuff I didn't know anything about. It's thanks to you and your family, actually, that I've actually started to realize how daft I've been. Did you know that a lot of wizards and witches of my standing in the magical world are taught you muggles are all a bunch of simpletons and vermin that we should avoid or exterminate at all cost? It's remarkable how wrong we are.

"Things changed during our second year at Hogwarts, however. I got mixed up with this journal that held a piece of the Dark Lord's soul and the things it made me do…I still don't like to think about it. Harry saved me, though. After that, I couldn't really hate him like I used to. He saved my life and as awful as it seemed to me then, I owed him. Merlin, I still owe him. I hate it. Him too, sometimes."

Meeting Vernon's gaze, he swore, "But I trust Harry. He's disgustingly selfless, he saved me despite the fact I was an arse to him for our first and second years and then he willingly helped me outagain a couple months ago when I told him I was about to become a pawn of the Lord's for a second time."

"He's really the hero your world thinks he is, isn't he?" Vernon asked in little more than a whisper.

Draco sighed. "Yes," he said. "He's a damn hero through and through."

Silence falling between them, Vernon wondered just where Harry learned to be so brave, so giving. It wasn't from him, he was sure. That wasn't what he'd taught the boys when they were little. Vernon was of the opinion the world was a place where the strong beat the weak and to learn to do without when something couldn't be had. None of his life lessons taught a selfless outlook. Perhaps it was an innate trait gifted to him from his parents? They had both died trying to protect Harry all those years ago.

Yes, that had to be it.

-v-v-v-v-v-

"Are we sure this is the best idea? I know I said I wanted to continue to get an education, even if it's a muggle one, but…" Draco trailed off as he fussed with the jacket of his new uniform.

Dudley clapped a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll be here with you. I know with my history grades I won't be able to help you much if you're having trouble with that, but there are tutors who are here to make sure you pass."

"It's better, Drake, that you go," Loraine told the boy as she stepped forward to push Draco's freshly dyed bangs out of his eyes. "No one is sure how long you'll be with us. If things drag on long enough you have to start looking at universities, you'll be glad you went to Deighton with Dudley.

Pouting at her, Draco said, "You're always far too sensible."

"It comes with being a mother, I'm afraid," Loraine teased as she moved on to Dudley. Giving his tie a little tug, she sighed when it became misshapen. She undid it and began it again. "Dudley, you would think you'd know how to do a tie by now. Smeltings's had one as part of their uniform too."

Meeting Vernon's eyes, Dudley rolled his eyes, indicating what he thought about Loraine's chastisement. "Yes, I'm sorry. I guess I was more concerned about English papers and French Exams than my tie being perfect."

Pulling back, she wagged her finger in his face and warned, "If you're cheeky like that toward your new professors, I promise you'll end up with detention in no time. I have been told that Deighton is very demanding in that regard. Students are expected to be courteous to staff and fellow students alike."

Which was exactly why they chose it over Samantha's old alma mater. The boys (especially Draco) needed to learn how to be respectful toward all of their peers and professors–not just the ones they liked or felt threatened by.

"Yes, Ma'am," Dudley said as he shared a look with Draco that spoke of amusement.

It made Vernon's heart pang, reminding him of how once it was Harry who Dudley shared those easy glances with. Briefly, he wondered if Harry was getting ready to go back to Hogwarts today as well. If he and that Weasley boy he was mates with were sharing a similar, brotherly smile that Draco and Dudley now were.

"We'll see you two at Christmas," Loraine said as she took a step back from the duo.

Reaching for her, Vernon pulled her to his side. She was a solid comfort, grounding him in the reality in front of him rather than the imaginary train station where his nephew and the Weasleys were saying their farewells. "Goodbye, Dudley, Drake," he concluded.

Grinning, the two wasted no time in getting away. "Bye Dad!" Dudley shouted as he and Draco went to join the other pairs and groups milling around Deighton's lawn.

Vernon raised an eyebrow at Loraine when he saw their were tears gathering in her eyes. "We've said goodbye to our children before, Loraine," he reminded her.

"I know," she said. "It's just…Drake. We've come so far with him, he doesn't sneer at us anymore and has stopped those backhanded compliments too. Can you imagine what he'll do for his home when he goes back to it? What he'll have to teach his peers? It's from watching him grow that I wish I'd tried to make Dad come around and accept Allen and Samantha when I was a girl."

"You're father wasn't young when you left and he's only older now, Loraine," Vernon told her gently as he began to guide them back to his car. "When you left all those years ago, it was for the safety of your daughter's father, just like you've told me time and time again. Your dad was stubborn then and probably even more so now."

Climbing into their car, she sighed. "I know," she said. "Drake was like I used to be when he came to us; young and in need of having his world widened. Not grown and stuck in his ways. Even so…I can't help but wish I could have changed how things went between me and my father. You understand that, don't you love?"

Gripping the steering wheel tightly with one hand as he put the key in the ignition, Vernon didn't let himself look at his wife as he said, "I do understand."

He understood all too well. Harry was his Loraine's father, the one he wished he could have done everything differently by.

Chapter Text

"See you tomorrow, Vernon," Henry Shepard, one of his coworkers, called as Vernon passed by his desk.

Sending a brief smile Henry's way, he nodded. "Bright and early," he said.

Laughing, the other man turned away, returning to his previous activity of stapling papers together. Vernon couldn't be sure, but he thought they might be for tomorrow's meeting on the quarter budget. Henry must be planning to propose something noteworthy, Vernon thought. He usually brought little to budget meetings–like most of them. Budget Meetings usually didn't have much discussion, they were were more often than not held just to inform employees if they were meeting expectations or if they were going to need to make cuts in the coming months.

Still wondering just what Henry would be sharing tomorrow as he stepped out into the evening's cool air, Vernon paid little attention to his surroundings as he headed for his car. However, that didn't last long. From the corner of his eye he couldn't help but notice not one, not two, but three shadowed figures flitting in and out of his peripheral vision. It only took him a few more seconds to realize that these figures were following him. Tightening his hold on his briefcase, Vernon felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.

Who were these people following him? Thugs? Or… He stamped down the urge to shiver. If they knew he knew they were there, he was sure he'd be a deadman in less than a minute from now. As his car came into view, Vernon began to debate walking past it and walking out of the parking lot altogether. Perhaps he could go around the corner to the relatively busy commercial street he knew to lay there. It had a pub that was fairly popular with the businesses in the area and it was quite likely there would be a few blokes hanging out around the front of the establishment smoking.

However, Vernon squashed down that thought as soon as it was finished. He didn't want to risk getting innocents mixed up in whatever this was. Reaching his car, Vernon held his shoulders tensely as his hand dived into his pocket for his keys. Not even having to pretend to fumble with them moments later, Vernon let them fall from his fingers as he dropped to the asphalt and rolled beneath his car. He bit back a hiss at the pinching pain his too-large body went through as he wormed his way toward the middle of the under carriage. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw lights of all hues flash in his direction. Then, he watched the lights stop and over the pounding of blood in his ears, he heard people start shouting.

Giving a startled cry as his car was levitated off him, he wasted no time in rolling up on to his knees, then to his feet, and running. Vernon knew, from letters with Harry, that wizard wands were more than just tools for them, but weapons too. Beginning to run in a weaving pattern, he prayed and prayed that none of the green lights zooming past him would hit his open back.

Another parked car coming up, Vernon made the split-second decision to jump behind it. It wouldn't save him, Vernon was sure, but it would give him a second to look back through the car's windows as he changed his path.

Looking back through the glass, he was surprised to see that the shadow people shooting the lights weren't aiming at him anymore, but at other people shooting lights.

Afraid that there could be more shadow-people looking for him, he glanced to around before making what he hoped wouldn't be a deadly decision when he could see no people beyond the ones fighting a few yards away. Crouching down, Vernon watched the battle.

A few more lights shot from the non-shadow people's wands and by luck or, perhaps, skill, they ended up hitting two of the four shadow-people. The other two hurried in gathering up their fallen comrades before vanishing. Now standing up straight, Vernon almost made the daft decision to step out from behind the safety of the car. But, then, he realized just because the non-shadow wizards chased the ones shooting at him off didn't mean they were safe to reveal himself to.

Keeping his feet planted where they were, Vernon watched as the non-shadow people re-grouped and finally, separated. Eyes bulging when he realized that one was coming his way, Vernon ducked back down and began to crawl away from the car as quickly as he could. However, he ended up not being fast enough as a vaguely amused voice called, "Excuse me? Vernon Dursley?"

Freezing, Vernon did not move for a full minute. Finally, though, he pushed himself to his feet and turned around. A mousey man in worn-out wizard robes smiled at him. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Wearily, Vernon nodded. "I'm alive," he said.

This made the man's lips lilt in amusement. "I can see that," he said. "But are you injured?"

He shrugged. "Nothing too bad," he said. "I'll be fine."

Shaking his head, the man remarked in a vaguely amused lilt, "Now I see where Harry gets his avoidance tactics from. You have to badger a straight answer out of him as well."

Vernon raised an eyebrow. "You know Harry?"

The mousey man nodded. "I was a Professor of his for a year and I was a friend his parents," he told Vernon.

Wracking his brain for names of adults Harry spoke about at length in his letters he said, "You're… You're that Professor Lupin he wrote home about now and again during his third year, aren't you?"

Lupin's faint smile grew into a grin. "Yes, I'm Remus Lupin."

Nodding, Vernon asked, "Why were those shadow-people waiting for me?"

Smile running away from his face, Lupin told Vernon, "I think they were looking for a way to get to Harry. Dumbledore is dead, you see, and now Harry is Enemy Number One of our world."

Vernon's heart gave a frightened thud. Harry's trouble in his world only seemed to grow worse with time. It'd started with that incident with the stone in his first year, escalated to rescuing a convict, reached a crescendo with the deaths of a fellow student and that same convict and now he'd gone and taken the cake by becoming the magic world's Most Wanted.

Upset, he snapped, "Enemy Number One? How can that be? Harry's not even seventeen!"

Lupin gave a helpless shrug. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding truly sympathetic, but at a loss as what to say to make it better.

"You should be," Vernon grumbled. Feeling his face heat up in his anger, he growled, "You're people should have said Harry's life was going to end up at risk again and again when you came to tell us about that damn magic school of yours!"

Lupin's lips thinned. "I don't know if it's fair to blame Dumbledore and the professors of Hogwarts for all of what has transpired over the past six years, even if they made some mistakes in hindsight, they aren't seers," he argued. "Even so, I understand where you're coming from. I don't like what's happened to Harry anymore than you do."

"Hmph, well, I'm glad someone of your kind is willing to admit they messed things up with my nephew," Vernon replied, feeling he could say no more. Lupin certainly knew how to be diplomatic while disagreeing with someone, he thought.

Seeing that Vernon had no more to say about Harry, he looked down and reached into his pocket. Lupin then pulled out several letters and a little pouch. "These are for you and your family. The one on top is yours. There are a couple of letters for your son, and one for, ah, someone called D? The pouch is D's too."

Taking the items, Vernon flipped through them and nodded. "Thank you, I know who D is." Pocketing the letters and pouch, he promised, "I'll make sure Dudley and D get them."

Dipping his chin in acknowledgement, Lupin asked, "Do you still live on Privet Drive?"

Eyeing him sharply, Vernon said, "We moved after last summer."

"Does anyone live there now?"

Shaking his head, Vernon told Lupin, "No. We thought about renting it out, but my wife and I agreed it wasn't a good idea because… Well, I guess, because we always thought if the wizards who were after Harry came to find us, that's where they'd go." Looking mournfully to his office, Vernon remarked, "I guess I have to quit my job, aye? I can't go back if this will happen again. I have Loraine and the kids to think about."

Lupin offered a contrite smile. "I hate to agree, but, yes, that would be a good idea," he replied. "Why don't I escort you home, Mister Dursely? For your safety."

Vernon sighed. "If it's for my safety…" Gesturing toward his car, he said, "Let's go. We'll take my car back to my flat."

-v-v-v-

Stepping into his home, he turned around and gave Lupin his hand. "Thank you," he said.

The man's eyes brightened as he took it. "You're welcome, Mister Dursley. It's the least I could do, after all you've done for Harry," he replied.

Vernon nodded. "Talks about me, does he?" he asked, a little surprised that Harry told people about himself (in a favorable light, for that matter).

"Yes," Lupin said. "He says you've always been very supportive of his decisions."

"Really?" Vernon murmured. He knew he'd rarely argued with the choices Harry made since he went off to Hogwarts, but to call Vernon not dissenting his decisions supportive seemed a bit of a leap. Perhaps Harry simply chose to put a positive spin on Vernon's lack of input by calling it so? Yes, that had to be the case. Harry did have a way of twisting things into a more favorable light when he didn't want to upset anyone. "Well, that's nice of him to say."

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "It's not true?" he questioned.

Vernon shrugged. "Sometimes, I think Harry sugar-coats the truth."

Lupin's eyes lost some of their kind glow and flickered gold. He said, quietly, almost hostilely, "Harry's not one to lie."

Resisting the urge to back down, Vernon only raised his chin higher. "I didn't say he did," Vernon countered.

The mousey man, who no longer seemed so mousey, looked as if he was about to argue, when, from behind, Loraine called, "Vernon? Why are you still at the door?"

"That's my wife," he told Lupin. Putting out his hand for one last shake, he told him, "Once again, thank you and goodbye."

Taking it, he gave it a firm squeeze. "Goodbye, Mister Dursley," he said.

Shutting the door, Vernon looked behind himself to see Loraine watching with tired eyes. "Was that a wizard?" she asked.

He knew he couldn't lie to her, even if it he wanted to. "Yes," Vernon replied.

Crossing her arms, she sighed. "Do we have to move again?"

Vernon was about to say no, but, then, nodded. "To be safe," he told her. "They knew where I worked, I don't think it'd be hard for them to find us here."

"I'm getting really tired of this, Vernon," she groused.

Walking over, Vernon tried to take her into his arms, but she stepped out of his reach. "I'm sorry," he pleaded. "You know I never knew any of this was going to happen. I didn't even know Harry was magic until he was eleven."

Loraine rubbed the heal of her hand across her forehead. "I know," she said. "I know, I know!"

"What do you want me to do, Loraine? Do you want a divorce? I'll do anything that will make you happy, but even if we go separate ways, you and Samantha will likely be no safer than you are now."

"I just want this to be over," she warbled, covering her mouth to stifle a whimper.

Resisting the urge to hug her, Vernon stuffed his hands in his pocket and said, "I do too, Loraine. I do too."

Tears in her eyes, she looked at him; expression not just upset, but utterly distraught. "Sometimes, I regret marrying you. It's awful of me to say that, I know, but I can't hold it in any longer. Sometimes, Vernon Dursley, I regret marrying you. "

Vernon laughed. He should be angry, offended. He ought to yell, "Well, then, you can just leave, you ungrateful bint!" But he doesn't. Instead, he reaches out for her once more. This time, Loraine doesn't reject his hands on her arms and even lets her pull her close. In little more than a whisper, he tells her, "It's no more awful than me wishing I listened to my sister and dumped Harry off at some hospital all those years ago."

Her eyes were watery, but searching as she stared at him. Suddenly, she canted forward and buried her face into his shoulder, sobbing as she clung to him. Swaying with her, Vernon thought of the boys. He used to do this with them, he remembered. After Pet died, he used to stand and rock Dudley when he would wake up in the night and scream for his mum. Vernon hadn't been able to give Dudley Petunia, but he'd been able to give him his shoulder to sob his little heart out on.

When Harry came into his life, he'd done the same for him. He let the boy cry for his mummy and daddy, beg and plead for them to come, while moving to and fro with him. While letting the toddler get snot all over his front. It was all he could give the boy at the time. It had never felt like it was enough.

Nothing Vernon did ever felt like enough. Not for Pet, Not for Dudley, Samantha or Loraine and especially not for Harry. He always seemed to be failing those closest to him one way or another.

When finished with her crying, Loraine pulled away a little and laid her head sideways on his shoulder. "We're horrible people, aren't we?" she asked.

Vernon felt his heart constrict. Maybe he was, but Loraine was wonderful. She was supportive and accepting almost to a fault and the amount of patience she had! It would put any saint to shame. Kissing the crown of her head, he mumbled, "Shh… You can't think that, okay? Loraine, you're brilliant. You've given me so much and taught me so much more. When I said for better, for worse when I married you, I meant it. I'm invested in this marriage as long as you are."

Slipping out of his arms, she reached up and took his face in her hands. The expression she wore was one of determination and resolve. "One more move," she whispered. "I'll give us one more move."

Vernon could read between the lines, he knew what she was promising wasn't just another move, but another attempt to make this situation work. To make them work.

Bringing Loraine's hand to his mouth, Vernon kissed her knuckles. "Thank you," he said. Using her hand to bring her even closer, he kissed her chapped lips and repeated, softer, gratefully, "Thank you."

-v-v-v-v-v-

Two days later, when Vernon was in the middle of moving the books from their bookshelf into boxes, a knock came at the front door. Throwing down the paperbacks he'd been trying to fit between a few hardbacks down, he grumbled, "Who could that be?"

Opening the door, he was confronted by a brunet, who, at first glance, was a stranger. But, then, the young man pushed back his bangs and revealed far too familiar green eyes. Gasping, Vernon wasted no time in dragging the young man in. Slamming the door shut behind them, he hissed, "What are you doing here!"

"Sorry, but Remus tipped me off that you looked to be moving."

Vernon's brow furrowed. "He's watching our flat?" he asked.

"Sort of. The Order's keeping an eye on your home for now," Harry explained as he took a seat on the couch still waiting to be moved into a truck in the living room.

"I wish they'd tell us they're watching. Maybe then I wouldn't have had to tell Loraine we needed to move. She's not happy about another one in such a short amount of time, you know."

Harry gave an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon. They're watching you guys as a favor to me and probably just haven't felt it was important to say anything. Order members might be more progressive and accepting as a whole, but a lot of them do think of you all as just Muggles."

"What's that supposed to mean? Do they think we're all idiots?"

"No! They just… Look, that's not why I'm here. Have you sent D and Dudley their letters yet?" Harry demanded.

Vernon scowled, wanting to chide Harry for speaking so disrespectfully. But he doesn't. Harry's at war and probably doesn't have time for a scolding on manners. "I sent them in the post yesterday," he told his nephew.

Harry relaxed, nodding. "Thank you, Uncle Vernon."

"Hmph, it wasn't any trouble," he replied. "Say, where are you staying right now, Harry? Are you with the Weasleys again? Dudley and D should be home from visiting their friend just in time to finish with the move this weekend. Perhaps we could all come visit you, or the boys could, anyway. Loraine and Samantha are a little leery of your people's traveling methods."

The boy shook his head. "I wish they could come visit, Uncle Vernon," he said. "But I'm a little busy. Hermione, Ron, and me are going to go hunt for these things called Horcruxes. We need to destroy them so we can defeat Voldemort."

Vernon frowned. "Is it safe for you three to be running around like that? Lupin told me you're Enemy Number One of your world."

Harry took his glasses off and rubbed at them with the edge of his shirt. "Not terribly safe," he admitted. "But what else can we do?"

"What indeed," Vernon muttered. "Is this something you have to do, like that Tournament a few years back?"

His nephew shook his head. "Not quite, but I'm not about to trust just about anyone with doing what Hermione, Ron, and I are about to."

"Why not?" Vernon demanded. "Is your world so far gone that no one else is safe to trust?"

Harry's jaw clenched. "You don't get it," he said. "You never get anything. This is my job, okay? I'm not just going to hand it over to someone else because I'm now called Enemy Number One."

"You're so reckless!"

His nephew shot up from the couch. "And you pretend you care about me!" he shouted.

Vernon stilled, staring up at the angry, heaving young man. "I do care about you," he whispered. "You're Pet's nephew and Dudley's cousin."

Harry deflated a little. "Maybe, but not as much as you care about Dudley. I'm not a son to you."

"I've tried to love you like a son," Vernon argued. "I know I've missed the mark time and again, but surely you realize it wasn't because of lack of trying?"

"I don't know, Uncle Vernon, when should I have? When I was six and you took Dudley to the zoo for his birthday and for mine, you just had Nanny Whitmore take me to the pet shop for a fish? When I was ten and you sent me to bed without dinner for a week for pushing Dudley off his bike when only a month later he pushed me down the stairs and all he had to suffer was no pudding that day? How about when you suggested maybe I should stay at Hogwarts that Christmas Hols after I burnt off Samantha's hand because I make her nervous? It wasn't like she didn't have a father who would have loved to have her for the few days I wanted to be home and see Dudley!" Harry ranted, hands waving and face flushed.

Vernon winced. He was at a loss as what to say.

"Well, Uncle Vernon? Answer me!" the young man roared.

Once again, Vernon could only stare at his nephew, pleading for him to understand how sorry he was for making Harry feel like a lesser while also trying to impress upon him how Vernon hadn't always realized just how unfair he was.

Making a derisive noise, as if he'd expected no less, Harry sneered, "I thought so."

Then, reaching into his pocket, Harry pulled out a pocket watch. Popping it open, he showed Vernon a clock with only one hand. On the hand was a picture of Harry. Where numbers should have been on the clock's face were what looked to be destinations. Currently, Harry's face pointed at one that read "Home".

"What's this?" he asked.

Harry said, "It's a clock that will tell you where I am. If I die, I'll fall off."

Taking it, Vernon pocketed it. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Uncle Vernon, if I do die, I think you, Dudley, Loraine, Samantha and D leave England as fast as you can. It still might not save you in the end, but at least you'll have better odds of surviving Voldemort's world-wide take over outside of Britain," Harry explained.

Carefully clipping the chain to the belt-loop of his pants, Vernon slipped the magic watch in his pocket. "I'll check it often," he promised. "And Harry? Good luck with your Whorcrutch hunt."

A faint smile came to his nephew's lips. "Thanks, Uncle Vernon."

Leaning over, Vernon wrapped his arms around his nephew and whispered, "Stay safe and I hope this war your world's having will finish soon."

Hugging him back, Harry mumbled into his shoulder, "So do I."

Chapter Text

Traveling down the hall toward his and Drake's maths class, Dudley ventured a glance toward the windows. It was May now and from Dudley's experience that meant he could finally go outside without a jacket again. Yes, they were only two days in, and it'd been a miserable first two days with the near constant rain, but perhaps it'd cleared up since breakfast. Maybe there was even some sunshine to bask in. After the last couple of weeks of unusually heavy rain, Dudley was ready for some fresh air. Maybe he would even play a game of football with some classmates if he got the chance.

When Dudley turned his head, instead of seeing the sky outside, he found his gaze landing on a couple. It was his roommate, Rodney Fletcher and his girlfriend, Brenda Ashland. Watching the two smile at one another as they leaned in to share a kiss, he felt his face heat up as he averted his eyes in both embarrassment and jealousy.

Rodney was a nice enough bloke. He'd shown Drake and Dudley the ropes of Deighton with nary a complaint their first week at school and remained a casual mate to eat lunch alongside and resource for homework and the like, but that was all he was. These days, because of Harry's war, Dudley wasn't very comfortable making serious friends. With the way things were, Dudley knew it was likely he and his family would be moving again any day now. Maybe they would even relocate abroad. Dad had been scoping out a house in America the last time they talked.

But Dudley supposed he should count himself lucky still. He had Drake, who, for all intents and purposes, was his cousin now (though, Dudley would still prefer Harry at his side any day) and wasn't going to leave him any time soon. Glancing once to his "cousin", Dudley curled his lips into a grimace.

There were new dark smudges beneath Drake's eyes. Dudley wondered what his friend was worrying about now. Had he spent half the night up listening to his wizard radio again? Perhaps he had heard something about his parents or old friends? Maybe about Harry? Though, it was more likely the first two. Whenever there was news about Harry, Drake always shared it with Dudley.

Drake knew Dudley worried just as much about his cousin as Drake worried about his mother, after all.

Abruptly, Drake froze. Startled into stopping himself, Dudley asked, "What's wrong?"

Gray eyes wide and awed, Drake reached into his pocket and pulled out a little coin. After staring at it for a long moment, he re-pocketed it and reached into his other pants pocket and pulled out what looked to be a collectible trading card of some kind. Turning his head, he gave Dudley a grin that was part elated and part vicious. "It's time!" he said, eyes wild.

"Time for what?" Dudley asked.

Shaking his head, Drake just repeated, "It's time!" Then, all jubilance gone, he told Dudley, "I'm sorry, but I have to go. Call Vernon."

And with that, Drake disappeared in a whirling motion that drew several students' attentions.

Frowning in his direction, Rodney asked, "Wasn't Drake beside you?"

Dumbfounded, Dudley said, "He was, but he's gone now."

"Gone here?" Brenda asked, frowning.

Dudley couldn't find it in himself to lie. Shrugging his shoulders, hands facing up and outward, he answered, "I don't know."

-v-v-v-v-v-

"Dad, Drake disappeared."

"What do you mean?"

"We were walking to maths when he said, 'It's time' and vanished."

"Time for what?"

"I don't know!"

"Drake wouldn't just disappear for something that's not important, right? What could have made him do that vanishing thing wizards do?"

"…Harry. Dad, check the watch! What if he's dead? Oh God, Dad!"

"Calm down, Dudley. Just give me a minute. Loraine! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Loraine! Get the emergency suitcase! Harry's hand has fallen off the watch! Oh, Harry…"

"Harry's…? He… How…"

"Harry, my boy. I should have never let h-him…"

"D-Dad? Dad, please tell me what's happening!"

"Dudley? This is Loraine. I took the phone from your dad. Harry's… His hand fell off the pocket watch. Your dad explained what that means, right?"

"Y-Yes…"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I wish we could be there with you right now. I know this is very, very hard for you – for all of us – but can you hang in there for me and your dad? We should be at Deighton's in a little over an hour if we leave in the next few minutes."

"I can m-manage. Can I… Can I talk to Dad really quick?"

"Yes, one second…"

"What is it, Dudley?"

"In case… In case something happens, I want to say, I love you, Dad."

"I-I love you too, son."

-v-v-v-v-v-

Leaning on the frame of the open doorway to Samantha's bedroom, Vernon kept his stepdaughter's phone pressed firmly to his ear as scratchy pop jingles played on the other side of the line. He had been on hold with the airline for almost twenty minutes now. Frustration building on top of his grief, Vernon attempted to release some of his many pent up emotions by tapping his foot while distracting himself by focusing on his wife as she attempted to pack a duffel bag for Samantha.

However, when Loraine went to put a pair of shorts in the bag, Samantha, face set into an expression of vexation, dropped the box of mementos she was going through to rip them away from her mother.

"Stop!" she snapped. "I don't need those!"

"Yes you do," Loraine said. "Florida is hot this time of year I hear."

The young woman rolled her eyes and nudged her mother aside as she put a pair of pictures in one of the duffel's pockets. "No, Mum, I don't!" she argued. "I'm just going to go across town and stay with Justin for a couple of weeks. We've become quite serious this year and he won't mind."

Tightening his grip on the phone, Vernon held his breath in fear of how Loraine was going to take her daughter's decision. Vernon had known since before their move last year that Samantha had no plans to follow them to America if things took another ugly turn. They'd talked about it once after her mother had nodded off following a movie night at their place.

Vernon couldn't say he was happy about her decision to stay in England, especially now with… with Harry dead ('Don't focus on that, Vernon, you have Loraine and Dudley to protect still!'), but he had come to respect her choice after seeing that she weighed the risks. If she understood what could happen by staying in Harlow and still wanted to, Vernon had no right to force her along to Florida.

Their world was probably going to end either way, he figured. Part of Vernon even envied Samantha for being strong enough to stay here in England where her death would be much more certain and swifter than his, Loraine and Dudley's. Vernon himself was not a very brave man, however, and he would rather run and live another day with death hanging over his head than to just die.

Loraine didn't feel quite the same yet, as she was still holding onto the delusion that in America they would finally be safe and could live in peace. Vernon knew she would realize the wasn't the case soon enough and part of him mourned for that day because he was sure it would be the last time his wife ever smiled.

"But Samantha," Loraine pleaded in a warbling tone. "You could die if you stay!"

Carefully avoiding her mother's eyes as she maneuvered around her to return to her wardrobe, Samantha said, "I could die in America too. At least if it happens here I know Dad will make sure I'm buried next to Grandma."

"Samantha!" Loraine choked, her horror at the very thought clear in the way she said her daughter's name.

A shirt clutched tightly in her fist as she turned to face her mother, Samantha said, "I'm not afraid to die, Mum. After you… After you almost die, the fear kind of goes away. I don't want to die, but I'm okay with the possibility now. I want to stay here, with my friends, with Justin. I'd hate to be so far from Dad and Grandpa too. I'd rather die in a place I love and with people who care near me rather than in a strange place where no one knows me."

"Love, you'd have us," Loraine whispered. However, when she saw this had no affect on Samantha's determined expression, Loraine looked to Vernon. Her eyes big, wet, and begging, she asked, "Don't you have something to say about this? Surely you don't think this is a wise decision after everything that has happened either, Vernon!"

Vernon licked his lips, prepared to break his wife's heart, when Dudley suddenly appeared at Vernon's side, a huge grin on his face and tear stains on his cheek.

"Dad! Dad! Drake's back!" he cried.

Nearly dropping the phone in his hand, Vernon sputtered, "W-What?"

"He's back! He says they won! The light won! They won!"

Letting Samantha's phone fall from his fingers, Vernon gave a laugh. They weren't going to die! They were safe! Grabbing his son, Vernon embraced him tightly before moving onto Loraine and Samantha. When Draco appeared a few moments later in the doorway, he swept the dirty young man into a hug too. But, when he had hugged them all, he started to look for–

Vernon's joy left him in an instant. "This is–" he stopped. A bitter smile on his lips, he said, "It's great. No, this is amazing. I just wish… Well, I guess he died a hero's death didn't he? Your people are probably mourning for him too. Harry, your savior, dead before he could see the peace he brought your people."

Draco frowned at Vernon. "Harry dead? What? No, he's not dead. I mean, I think they're saying he died for a little bit, but he's alive now," he told him.

Vernon had to take a seat. Flopping down on Samantha's bed, Vernon ran a hand through his thinning hair and just stared at Draco. "He's… He's alive? Our Harry, he's alive? But the hand–"

"Like I said," Draco cut in, "They're saying he died for a little bit, but he's alive now."

Vernon began to laugh. He laughed until tears fell from his eyes. Finally, when he was in control of himself again, he asked Draco, "Did you see him? He's not… Harry's not laid up in a hospital bed somewhere, is he?"

Draco smiled. "No, he's fine. Battered like a lot of us, but he when I saw him, he was talking to Granger and Weasley. He waved at me, when he saw me. He was even the one who asked me to make sure you were all fine and to tell you it's over."

"Thank you, Drake… Draco," Loraine said, reaching over to give the teenager's cheek a kiss.

Nodding, Draco said, "It's the least I could do, after, well, everything. I promise, when things settle down, I'll have my mother pay you back."

Vernon shook his head. "You don't have to pay us back for anything, Draco," Vernon told the boy. "You're as good as family now."

Gaping at him, Draco sputtered, "But I – You – I owe you."

"By telling us Harry's alive, you've given us the greatest gift we could ever wish for," Loraine proclaimed, grinning.

Vernon found he agreed as he favored Draco with a smile. "Loraine's right. Here we were trying to hold back our grief so we could get away and you come, tell us we don't have to leave our home and not just that, but Harry, our nephew and cousin is alive. Draco, no amount of money will ever be equal to what you've just given us."

Draco still frowned, obviously doubting what Vernon said, but he nodded, allowing the argument to drop.

Hesitantly, Dudley asked, "Did Harry say when he'd come by?"

"No," Draco replied. "But I can let him know you want to see him when I go back to Hogwarts in a while?" he offered.

Dudley nodded. "Please," he said.

Putting a hand on Draco's shoulder, Vernon felt the compulsion to add, "Let Harry know, though, he doesn't have to rush back. We'll be okay for a bit if he wants to take some time to rest or get things squared away in your world first."

"I will," Draco promised.

Clapping her hands together then, Loraine took charge and said, "Okay, everyone, scoot to the kitchen. Draco looks like he could use something to eat and I'm sure there are things he needs to tell us about as well? I know I have a few questions about what happens now if not."

Smiling at Loraine, Vernon reached for her hand and gave it a kiss. "Thank you, love, for always being on top of things."

Eyes warm, she beamed a gaped-tooth grin at Vernon before herding them all out of Samantha's bedroom and toward the tiny kitchen of the young woman's flat.

-v-v-v-v-v-

Harry didn't come home the day of the battle. Nor did he come home the day after, or the day after that. By the time Harry's war was a week done, Vernon had to, much to Dudley's protest, send him back to Deighton to finish out the school year.

"This isn't fair! I deserve to be here to welcome Harry home just like you and Loraine!" Dudley had cried.

In reply, Vernon said (quite cruelly, he realized now), "Life isn't fair. When does anyone deserve anything?"

Dudley had looked so shocked for a moment, as it was so rare for Vernon to deny his son anything when it could be helped, before his face settled into a steely coldness. "Fine then," he'd hissed. "Remember that when you're dying and all you want is to see is me or your grandchild one last time."

Vernon knew (hoped) Dudley didn't mean it and that he was just angry. Dudley was young still, despite everything. He didn't realize yet the world couldn't stop for just one person – no matter how much they may wish it to. When (and if) Harry came home, it wouldn't be hard to give Deighton a call so that the two could talk to one another. Or, if by the time Harry came home Dudley was too, they could trade tales and laughter right in the living room.

Jostled from his thoughts by Loraine's shifting head, Vernon smiled down at her when he saw she was staring up with sleepy eyes.

"Hello," he whispered.

Sitting up, she ran a hand through her bangs and gave a quiet little sigh. "I'm sorry, I fell asleep on you during the movie, didn't I?" she asked.

Vernon chuckled. "You did," he said, "I don't mind. It's sweet when you fall asleep like that."

"Sweet? Half the time I end up drooling on your shirt," Loraine mumbled.

Leaning over, Vernon gave his wife's cheek a kiss. "It dries, dear."

Loraine gave a quiet laugh. "Thanks," she said. "I think, though, I'll head off to bed. Are you coming?"

He held up the book he'd been pretending to read since the movie the two of them were watching went to the end credits. "When I'm done with the chapter," Vernon promised.

"It must be a difficult read, you've been on that chapter for almost a week," Loraine remarked with a smile that was a little too knowing.

He knew she was giving him the chance to talk to her about Dudley, Harry too, if he wanted. Vernon, though, wanted to speak of neither boy. It felt like bad luck to him to just say their names aloud these days, it always lead to worry-lines and shouting. After so much worrying and fighting, Vernon was happier to keep his son and nephew to his private thoughts.

"Savoring it," he said, after a long moment.

Nodding, Loraine lifted her hand in parting before padding toward their bedroom.

When Vernon was certain that there was no chance that she would come back, he dropped the book on the sofa and tipped his head back. Giving a deep sigh, he brought a hand to his forehead and began to massage his aching temple. What was he going to do when Dudley came home on Friday? Would his son expect an apology from him? Vernon wasn't sure he owed the boy one, no matter what Loraine said.

He had told his son the truth. It was a harshly worded truth, but one nonetheless and to apologize for it felt like saying it wasn't true.

"What am I going to do?" he mumbled to himself.

"About what?"

Vernon jumped up from the sofa, scrabbling for the self-defense spray he kept on him at all times now. When he turned, can poised at ready, Vernon gasped. "Harry!" he exclaimed.

The young man's lips quirked upward. "Hello, Uncle Vernon," he replied.

"What are you doing here?" Vernon asked.

The smile disappeared altogether from Harry's face. "I came to see you," he said. "Unless you didn't want me to?"

"No! No! Of course I want to see you… We all want to see you. Dudley, Loraine, Samantha and myself."

Harry gave a disbelieving snort. "Yes, I'm sure Samantha and Loraine are dying to see me."

"They are. They love you, Harry," Vernon said.

The young man raised an eyebrow. "Really? After… After what I did."

"They don't blame you for that," Vernon assured.

Harry again, gave a small, almost mocking laugh. "Sure they don't," he sneered.

Vernon tiredly ran a hand through his hair. "Fine, don't believe me. Ask them over brunch tomorrow. We're all going out for Loraine's birthday."

Eyebrows shooting to his hairline, Harry asked, "You're inviting me to brunch tomorrow?"

"Why wouldn't I? You're my nephew and part of our family. I'm also guessing you don't have a big science test tomorrow? From what Draco told us, that school of yours, Hogwarts, is pretty beat up from your war and classes for the rest of the year are cancelled."

Frowning deeply, Harry shook his head. "This doesn't make sense," he said.

"What doesn't make sense?" Vernon questioned, confused.

Harry pointed at Vernon. "You don't! My hand fell off that watch I gave you, but you aren't yelling at me for being dead or for making you think I was! It's like you don't care!"

"Of course I care!"

"You sure have a strange way of showing it!"

Vernon threw his hands up. "What do you want me to do, Harry? Yell at you! Because I can do that! I can yell at you until I'm blue in the face, but it won't change anything, now will it? No!" he shouted.

His face bright red and shoulders tensed into rigid points, Harry exploded, "IF YOU DID, AT LEAST I WOULD KNOW YOU LOVED ME EVEN A LITTLE!"

Vernon staggered back like he'd been shoved, rather than screamed at. Clutching at his chest, Vernon just stared at his nephew as his heart twisted with a familiar feeling of pain and loss.

"After all this time, you still don't think I love you?" Vernon whispered.

Harry crossed his arms. "I asked you before, Uncle Vernon, when should I have figured it out? When you gave Dudley everything he asked for, but not me? When you told Dudley he was strong, clever and meant for big things while telling me to stop being so mousey, sullen and that you expected me to become nothing more than a librarian?

"How about every time we came home from school, Uncle Vernon? Do you even realize what you do when you see Dudley? You smile and it makes you look ten years younger. Do you know what would happen when you saw me? That smile always, always fell and you'd look like you aged a decade right in front of me."

Struggling to get out an answer over the lump in his throat, Vernon rubbed a harsh hand across his eyes as he finally choked, "When I thought you – you died, all the air left my lungs. I felt like I couldn't breath. The last time I felt like that was when your Aunt Petunia passed away. Harry, I loved your aunt. God, sometimes I don't think I even love Loraine as much as I loved her.

"I feel so guilty about that too, because Loraine is such an amazing woman and she deserves all the love I can give her and more. She helped keep me steady through that mess of a war and sacrificed so much more than I could have ever expected her to. The only thing, Harry, I feel more guilty about than what I put Loraine through is what I did to you."

When Vernon took a moment to pause for breath, he searched Harry's face for any hint to what his nephew was feeling. However, he found nothing. Harry's lips were still pressed thin in silent judgment and his eyes were just as hard as they were when Vernon began his speech. Licking his lips, Vernon composed the last of his apology with great care, hoping it would prove to Harry just how sorry he was for the bad blood that lay between them.

"When I took you in, I didn't think of you as a blessing. Not really, I see now. To me, you seemed as if you were a repayment for the wife and unborn child I lost. As something I deserved, I suppose. Then, I tried to raise you like Dudley. Like you two were identical twins rather than the two individuals you are. I told you to be tough when you just wanted someone to hold you. I made unfair judgements about your character without even really knowing who you are. I asked things of you that I never should have.

"I expected you to just see that I was trying to do my best by you when even I was doubting how good a father I was being. I'm sorry, Harry. So, so sorry that all I ever did was fail you. But, even though I can lay no claim, I'm proud of the man you've become despite everything. If I could, I would go back and do things differently. But I can't. The best I can give you now is my sincerest apologies and hope that we can salvage something from this disaster of a relationship and use it as a basis for a better one."

Harry just stared at Vernon, face hard.

Vernon was about to say please, but then thought better of it. It would be too much like begging and Vernon feared Harry would find the act disingenuous and not accept his apology or offer for a better future.

Finally Harry opened his mouth, but just as quickly, he shut it. Turning away swiftly, the young man asked in a tone that wavered toward a whimper, "You're proud of me?"

"Yes, Harry, yes," Vernon whispered, daring to take a step toward his nephew.

Back still to him, Harry began to shake as he bit out through repressed sobs, "But – You – Why?"

"Because I know what you've done. I know what you gave up to do it and I realize that lesser men, me, for example, would have given up or died a long time ago if they were in your shoes. I'm proud of the fact you never gave up, that you were strong enough to withstand all that was thrown at you, and, most of all, I'm proud of how you've proven me wrong time and time again."

Spinning around, Harry wrapped his arms around Vernon and began to cry outright. Gently, Vernon extracted an arm out of the embrace so that he could lay it on his nephew's back.

"Hush, Harry, hush," he whispered. "It's okay. Now, there's one last thing I want you to know. No matter what you decide, I'm proud of you and I always will be."

At his promise, Vernon swore he could feel the last of the tension leave Harry, but even so, he had to remind himself that it meant nothing. Harry could still decide he was done with Vernon, done with the pain Vernon put him through and… and Vernon would just have to accept that.

No matter how much it would hurt.

Finally, when Harry's sobs tapered off, he let go of Vernon. Harry's red, puffy face inscrutable, Vernon had to hold his breath; hope for the best and fear for the worst in the same heart beat. Finally, face breaking into a tentative smile, Harry asked, "What time is brunch tomorrow?"

Chapter Text

Laughing at a riddle Teddy had shared, Vernon reached for his tea and took a sip. An afternoon spent in the company of someone under the age of twenty was truly a treat, he mused. Now that Samantha, her husband, and children had moved abroad, Vernon and Loraine only saw them only during Christmas these days. As for Dudley, he was quite busy making a name for himself as an investment banker and not at all focused on finding a wife, let alone having a child. Despite this, Vernon was proud of him. When Dudley did start looking for a wife, Vernon knew he'd have no trouble giving her and their child the best.

Casting a pensive glance to his nephew, Vernon thought about how terribly kind it was of Harry to invite him over for Sunday tea with him and his godson. Perhaps Draco had stopped by earlier in the week and mentioned Vernon would like to see Harry? The two worked in entirely different departments in the Wizard Ministry, but Harry mentioned once that their jobs, on occasion, did overlap. Vernon knew Harry was very busy getting ready for the birth of his first child and for the last month or so, he hadn't felt right pestering Harry for a visit. With or without Teddy there.

Draco, though, rarely had the same reservations about bothering Harry. That, Vernon was very glad for. After almost seven years since the end of Harry's war, Vernon still hadn't quite found a happy medium of interest in Harry's life. He was certain he closer these days, but sometimes he feared he was still too hands-off. Without Draco to remind Harry and himself now and again to call or visit, they'd probably be no better off than they had been during Harry's school years.

When the chuckles from Teddy's riddle died away, Vernon snapped his fingers upon remembering a joke he heard. With a grin, Vernon said, "I have good one! It's perfect for a little wizard like yourself, Teddy!"

Hair going through a dizzying array of colors, the boy leaned in close and asked, "What is it?"

Smirking, Vernon said, "Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Who."

"Who Who?" Teddy asked, leaning forward in anticipation of the punchline.

"Who Who? Are you an owl?"

Little hands flying to his mouth, Teddy gave a giggle-snort and kicked his feet in glee. Smiling, Vernon thought back with fondness to the days where he could make Dudley and Harry laugh with a simple Knock Knock Joke. It was a long, long time ago now, but Vernon could still recall the way Harry's skinny shoulders used to shake with his silent giggles as Dudley guffawed beside him, loud and unashamed.

Looking once more to his nephew beside Teddy, Vernon realized that while Harry's shoulders might not shake anymore, his eyes still twinkled with quiet mirth. He probably didn't find the joke all that funny, but Teddy's enjoyment was contagious. Just as all young children's happiness was.

Pushing his mug toward Harry suddenly, Teddy asked, "Can I have more tea, Harry?"

"More tea what, Teddy?" Harry prompted, hands seated firmly on his knees, waiting for the right answer.

The boy puffed out his cheeks in annoyance, but nonetheless said, "Please can I have more tea?"

Harry, beaming, nodded. Picking up the white porcelain teapot, he gave a little sigh. "It seems we are out of tea," he said. "I'll be back in a moment with more." Then, wagging a half-joking, half-serious finger in his Godson's face, he told Teddy, "Be good."

Watching his nephew leave the room, Vernon looked back to the boy upon his nephew disappearing from the doorway. He was startled when he saw that the boy's vibrant blue hair had dulled to gray.

"Ah, what's wrong?" he asked, wondering what had brought on Teddy's sudden personification of melancholy.

Worrying his lip, Teddy didn't say immediately, just glanced backwards, as if afraid someone (Harry, most likely) would be there watching. Finally, he said, "The baby's gonna be born really soon."

"Yes, the baby is," Vernon replied. "That's why Ginny and your Grandma Molly went shopping today."

Little chin tucked into his chest, Teddy whispered, "I'm scared Harry and Ginny won't want to see me anymore when they have a baby that's theirs."

"Oh, Teddy, they'll want you still," Vernon assured the boy. "They love you."

Looking up sharply, Teddy asked, "Will they love me as much as the baby?"

Vernon felt his face heat up. This was going down a familiar path and he was afraid. What if he said the wrong thing? He had a history of doing that. "…Teddy, you know Harry's not my son, right?"

"Yes."

Nodding, Vernon asked, "And you know I love him just as much as I love Dudley?"

"Uh-huh."

"So, don't you think Harry will love you just as much as his baby? If I can love him and Dudley the same, he should be able to love you two the same, right?" Vernon said, hoping his gentle persuasion would work.

Teddy's hair lost its gray hue. "I – I didn't think of that," he admitted.

Vernon reached over to give the boy's knee a squeeze. "That's okay, it's hard to remember things when you're worried."

Smiling a little, Teddy said, "Thank you, Uncle Vernon."

"It's no trouble."

"What's no trouble?" Harry asked, walking in with a new pot of tea and a plate of what Vernon believed were something called "Pumpkin Pasties".

Sitting up straight, Vernon flashed his nephew a smile. "Tying his shoelace, it came undone," he lied.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "But you learned to tie them last year, didn't you, Ted?"

Playing along, Teddy pouted. "But it kept coming undone and undone. Uncle Vernon tied it extra tight for me so it won't happen again!"

"I see," Harry replied amused. Putting down the tray with the tea and pastries, Harry said, "I don't think Ginny and Molly will be back in time for lunch, so I thought we could snack on some pasties in the meantime…"

-v-v-v-

As he pulled on his jacket in preparation for walking out into the wet evening, Vernon turned away from his nephew's coat closet to tell Harry, "Earlier, Teddy told me he was worried you wouldn't love him as much as you'll love your baby."

The young man gave Vernon a sharp look. "Of course I will love them the same," he said.

Vernon nodded. "I know, I know," he soothed. "But you might want to reassure him. It wouldn't do for him to think, well, you know," he said, gesturing to Harry.

"Think he's second best?" Harry replied, tone edging on bitter.

Vernon winced, but dipped his chin in agreement. "Yes," he answered.

"I'll make sure he doesn't," Harry promised. Then, stepping forward, Harry wrapped his arms around Vernon. "Thanks, Uncle Vernon, for letting me know," he mumbled into his shoulder.

Patting the young man's back, Vernon said, "You're welcome. I'd be a poor father if I let you make the same mistakes as I did."

Pulling back, Harry promised, "I'll see you next week for Dudley's birthday, okay?"

Vernon nodded, smiling, before he walked out Harry's front door and toward his car. Looking to the gray-blue evening sky, Vernon thought, 'That didn't go too badly. Perhaps in another six years he won't sound bitter when we talk about his childhood anymore…'