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Mister and Mrs Dursley of Number 4 Privet Drive were proud to say they were very normal, thank you very much.
At least, that was what everyone thought.
Because really, who would believe that under the perfectly manicured lawn Mr. Dursley saw to every Saturday on his day off from his 9 to 5 there was a cellar filled with bags of the finest cocaine on this side of the pond.
And who would believe that under the frilly apron Mrs. Dursley was known to don when she was making the baked goods she often donated the church fundraisers there was a loaded gun hidden easily in its holster.
Who could ever possibly hope to guess that the lovely little boy the couple endlessly dotted on would one day grow up to inherent the title of boss to one of the most feared mafia families in the area.
After all, sometimes danger looked perfectly normal. And sometimes it looked like a little boy left on their doorstep.
Maybe Petunia had just been acting out as a child when she ran after the boy in a leather jacket who had been smoking since he was old enough to successfully nick cigarettes from the corner store.
Her sister went off into her little world that was plenty full of danger at the end of every summer, she couldn’t understand why her parents were so mad at her for seeking her own.
Whether she had been acting out in the beginning or not, she quickly found herself in love with both the boy and his strange world. There was something so inherently romantic, in her mind, about the time he taught her how to shoot a gun, or the first time they shared a cigarette.
Of course, she didn’t pick up the habit up. That was something the men could do all well and good, but it would make her seem dirty, and Petunia was just starting to realize how much she loved everyone thinking she was a perfect little Catholic girl when she and her new boyfriend went out every weekend to spray paint walls and throw rocks through windows.
It was fun, in the beginning, but as they got older she realized it was more than fun for Vernon. It was his life, and rather than get berated by his parents for it as she surely would be if they found out, it seemed to be expected of him.
They were still dating after three years, and they were juniors when Vernon’s parents decided to have a talk with her. They explained that if she was going to stay with Vernon, she had to understand that this wasn’t a silly game to him. One day, it was expected of him to be doing far worse than vandalizing the storefront of the man who refused to sell him a beer. She heard the word mafia for the first time that day. And as she looked at the two adults in front of her, the man with what could have been a kind face had it not been for the deadly look in his eyes and a scar on his left cheek and his wife with perfectly curled hair and modest but noticeable makeup surrounded by an air of danger, she realized. She wanted to be a part of this world.
She fell so deep into this world she hardly noticed that her sister constantly seemed so, so worried. There were days when her younger sister, who she had once adored with every bone in her body would suddenly burst into tears while looking at her family, muggles with no way to defend themselves against the brewing war they barely knew of and Petunia took almost no mind.
She barely noticed her mother getting sicker by the day until her father had been driving her frantically to the hospital after she just wouldn’t stop coughing up blood. They crashed on the way. Lilly had been in her world, something about school supplies, and Petunia was home alone, still staring at the blood of her mother on her hands from where she had tried to hug her before her father tore out the doorway carrying her. She had stayed that way for hours until the phone rang and broke her from her trance. Instead of her father’s voice telling her her mother was going to be okay, she had gotten a police officer telling her she lost two parents.
Lilly left for school and she stayed with Vernon family while they bought their own house together. They had a baby boy, and they put the mafia on hold for a few years while they settled. Then, Petunia lost a sister, but there was no phone call this time.
Just a letter, tucked into the basket of a little boy shivering from October chill in the early hours of the morning.
And in that moment, instead of seeing the last wicked reminder of the world that had gotten her sister killed and had prevented her from being there for everything over the years, she saw potential.
The potential of the tragedy of a family who took in an orphaned nephew, and was always thought of as saints in the community. The potential of a scapegoat should their family be caught at something less than pleasant. But mostly, the potential of a cherubic young face with bright green eyes and messy black hair. Because if she had learned anything from joining Vernon’s family, it was that no one expected the pretty ones to be doing wrong, and there was no doubt that this boy would be pretty.
The magic would be a challenge, but Petunia loved a good challenge. It could even be an asset, if used correctly, right along with Vernon’s ability to shoot any target and Petunia’s ability to make any rumors sprout, no matter how wild, if it was needed.
Yes, they could use this boy alright. In what way, only time would be able to tell, but he would be useful, that was certain.
“Harry? Wake up, Dudley’s going to open his birthday presents before breakfast!” The combined sound of his aunt’s voice and her insistent knocking on his door pulled Harry from the rather odd dream he had been having, and he reluctantly got out of bed and opened the door.
His aunt was standing there, foot tapping impatiently and giving him a look.
The look held no hatred, but there wasn’t really any affection in it either. It was just the blank look you gave someone when you didn’t really have any emotions for them. Harry knew he was treated fairly well in comparison to how his aunt and uncle could have treated him, after all, he had his own room and three meals a day, but it was sometimes rather obvious that they only saw him for a tool rather than a human being or a nephew.
Sometimes, he thought they even gave Dudley that look. Maybe it was just him projecting to feel a little less alone, or maybe Dudley thought they saw him that way as well. It was easier to tell when you were the one getting the look, but it wasn’t exactly something they talked about together. Whether their mafia member guardians actually liked them or not.
“Do you want me to make breakfast today?” He asked, ignoring the look with years of practice. It got less creepy over time.
“No, your uncle is taking care of it, but I need you to sweep the floor after the meal. Dudley is having friends over.”
“Friends or allies?” That was a fun game they played sometimes in this family, of whether the word friend meant someone you get along with or someone who would help you slit someone’s throat and throw the body in the harbor. It went about 50/50 but most of the time their allies were just the kids of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Dursley’s allies, or as Harry liked to call them, assholes.
“Friends. And we’re going to the zoo with one of them afterwards as a birthday outing.” Harry opened his mouth to say something, but his Aunt predicted it. “And before you ask, Mrs. Fig broke her leg, so you can’t just stay at her house. Try to get along, okay?”
“As long as it’s not Piers I’m okay.”
Of course it was Piers.
Harry, for the most part, got along with Dudley’s friends. He much preferred his own, but all in all they weren’t bad. But something about Piers….
Well, let’s just say it made him want to put the lessons his aunt and uncle have been giving him to use.
He constantly looked down on him because his was an orphan, to say nothing of the dark skin tone that spoke of having someone from India in his recent parentage. Pier’s was a bit of a bully, but he was one of the first friends Dudley ever made for himself, so Petunia and Vernon could never be heard to say an ill word about him. That of course, doesn't mean they didn’t talk about him. Just that no one heard what they had to say about his rather boorish way of getting what he wanted. If Harry had been able to hear those words though, he would certainly agree.
He lacked any sort of finesse that would really guarantee him whatever he wanted, and rather just simply bullied his way into tiring people out so they would give it to him. It meant he had no real allies, besides maybe Dudley who was beginning to think maybe he had made a bad choice in friends, but certainly had a lot of enemies. So sure, he may be king of the playground for now, but one day when truly needed something he couldn’t get by sheer force he would know what all that bullying got him.
The lesson of being a puppet master rather than a bully had been one that was much harder to ingrain in Dudley than it had been for Harry, but it was a lesson he learned none-the-less.
So while there may have been a world where Dudley didn’t roll his eyes in exasperation and pull his friend away from the poor snake he had been annoying, that didn’t matter. Because in this world a rather bored Harry, rather than a lonely one, decided to speak to said snake.
He was equally as surprised as he would have been in any world when it spoke back.
This must be one of my “special abilities Harry thought as he asked the snake it’s time, which was apparently something that there was no English word for that roughly translated to “young brown scale.” His Aunt and Uncle would probably be pleased that he may have found another useful skill, but he realized when he saw Pier’s looking his way that maybe talking to a snake in public wasn’t the best idea.
“Were you just talking to that snake?” Piers exclaimed and Harry mentally rolled his eyes. Really, no idea how to refrain from making a scene.
“Really Piers the heat must be getting to you,” he replied much more quietly. “I was clearing my throat.”
His Aunt and Uncle sent him a look, half curious, half disapproving, all warning, and he nodded slightly.
“These bloody heat waves make people imagine things, you should drink some water when you get home.” This was said in a much less accusatory voice than before, and his guardians turned away to continue listening to Dudley’s rant on some reptile he thought was cool.
The rest of the trip passed with little fanfare.
“So, were you really talking to that snake earlier?” Dudley’s voice later that day brought Harry’s attention away from his book, and he looked up to see his cousin in the doorway to his bedroom.
“Yeah, I think so, but to me it just sounded like English. Maybe if I can find some garden snakes I can try it again and you can tell me if it sounds weird.”
“Sure, I guess. Mum and Dad will probably find a million uses for this one.”
“They've probably already made a list,” he snorted. “Happy birthday Dud.”
“Thanks Harry. Good night.”
“Night.”
A week passed. Harry found an adder in the garden and practiced what the snake told him was a language called parseltongue. This one also had a non English name, but it also had a rough translation. It was apparently called “yellow rabbit slayer” for whatever reason. He was, of course, banned from practicing this ability in public, just like all the other odd ones that had popped up over the years, but his aunt and uncle seemed rather pleased at how useful it could be. Afterall, people will talk freely around a snake, because who would ever suspect it to be capable of telling someone all that they had heard.
The morning it all changed started like any other.
“Get the mail Harry.” Uncle Vernon commanded. Harry looked up from his scrambled eggs.
“Why don’t you ever make Dudley get the mail?”
“Because he takes the rubbish out. Unless you want to switch chores?”
“Alright, alright, I’ll get the mail.”
“Thought so.”
Harry sighed and walked to the front door and collected the pile of envelopes sitting in front of the mail flap. Mindlessly he started slipping through them. Bills, bills, oh that one looked like a threat, more bills, a letter for him, junk ma- Wait. He never got mail.
Harry flipped the letter back and forth. It was a plain white envelope except for the red seal with an ‘H’ stamped on it, and the address written in the top right hand corner. There wasn’t even a stamp. Weird.
What was weirder though was the address.
Mr. Harry J. Potter
Number 4 Privet Drive
The smallest bedroom, top of the staircase
He didn’t think he would have a stalker so soon.
“You checking for letter bombs out there?” Uncle Vernon laughed, but knowing him it was probably a serious question.
“No bombs,” Harry said, walking back into the kitchen. “But what kind of looks like a threat. I think there’s some blood on it. Also, I think I may have a stalker?” He held the letter up for a moment before throwing it on the table on top of the stack of the rest of the mail. Vernon and Petunia shared uneasy glances.
“Pet, are you sure we should tell him?” Vernon asked after what seemed like an eternity of silent communication.
“What choice do we have?” She snapped before taking a deep breath. “Harry, Dudley clean up your plates and then we need to have a little conversation.”
“Wait, am I adopted?” Dudley asked. “Wait, no, is Harry adopted?”
“Of course I’m adopted you idiot, I’m your cousin.” Harry sighed as he scraped his plate in the rubbish bin.
“Oh yeah.”
“Okay well,” Vernon nervously rubbed his hands together after the boys sat down. “I’ll let your aunt handle this, since she knows more about it than I do.” Vernon was directing this towards Harry and he was starting to worry that maybe he really did have some sort of pissed off mob boss stalking him or the like.
“Harry, do you know how we told you your parents died in a car crash?” Petunia began.
“Yeah?” Harry asked, confused. “What does that have to do with me getting letters?”
“Please,” she answered, holding up a hand. “Just bear with me to the end. Well, we weren’t entirely honest with you.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“You parents, well, they were actually murdered.”
“ What!” Oh great, so no his parent’s murderer was probably out to finish the job with him. Perfect.
“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you before, but it’s not exactly a cut and dry murder case. You see, your parents weren’t like Vernon and I. They were… different.
"Your mother got a letter inviting her to a boarding school for people with abilities like yours about a week after she turned eleven. While she was there, she met the person who would become your father. And that,” his aunt said, gesturing to the letter still laying innocently on the dinning table. "Is more than likely your acceptance letter."
“There’s a boarding school for people like me? You always made it sound like I was the only one!”
“Actually, Harry, there’s a whole community of people like you. And there’s a word for it too. Harry… you’re a wizard.”
“I’m a what?”
“Just open the letter, it should hopefully explain some things.”
Harry carefully broke the seal with his nail and began reading, feeling his eyes grow larger with every passing word.
“I… I can’t believe it.”
“Well, believe it,” his uncle said gruffly. “No way out of it now that they sent you the letter.”
“So I’m actually going to be going to this school?” He asked incredulously. Yesterday, he had been planning on attending the local public school with his cousin, but now he was finding out that he was going to be shipped off to a boarding school in Scotland for nine months where he would learn how to perform magic? It was too much to believe.
“They won’t take no for an answer,” Petunia said. “Now, if I remember correctly they included a supply list, yes?” Harry simply nodded, too lost for words to answer. “I believe I remember the way to the shopping district that the Professor showed us when she brought Lilly her letter. We might as well go today since we have nothing else planned. Go get ready, we’ll leave in an hour.”
Harry and Dudley scrambled out of the kitchen, knowing a dismissal when they heard one. Harry however, refrained from going up the stairs for a few moments as he saw his Aunt put her head in her arms in what almost seemed to be dejection, and speak in a hushed whisper to her husband.
“I know we knew this was going to happen once he started showing the signs, but I just hoped they wouldn’t want him,” she moaned. “How are we supposed to look like a normal family with one of our wards going of a boarding school and the other going to the local school?”
“Maybe we can find a boarding school to send Dudley to as well?” His uncle suggested.
“You know we can’t let him get that far behind on his training. Maybe we can say a recently discovered relative on his father’s side wishes to have partial custody?” Petunia asked.
“Yes… yes that could work,” Vernon agreed. “We can say we decided to let them have the school year while we keep him for the summer. We’ll have to work out the details later. For now, we have to make sure that if that boy is going to be a wizard, he’s at least going to be a damn good one. This will be good. He’ll learn how to control those abilities, and we’ll be able to use them to help the family. We’ll make the best of it.” Vernon was reassuring himself as much as his wife, and this is when Harry decided to slink up the stairs as quietly as possible. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the way his aunt and uncle talked about using him for his abilities, but he supposed it was no different from how it had always been.
He also supposed he would have to have a talk with Dudley about touching his things while he was gone.
One thing was for certain though. Hogwarts was definitely going to be a hell of an adventure.
It was only after he had finished getting ready and he was making his way towards his uncle’s car that he realized he had never asked what his parent’s murder had to do with being wizards.