Chapter Text
A small, dark-haired infant woke up in a pair of arms bonier than the arms he was used to. As he focused his eyes, he saw that the arms belonged to a blond woman with wide blue eyes. Further focus revealed a rather large man with a bushy mustache looking, well, glowering, over the woman's shoulder.
"Mama!" said the boy, telling the two strangers one of the few words he knew. Perhaps they knew where Mama went.
"He can't stay here, Petunia," said the man.
The boy, whose name was Harry, frowned. This conversation didn't seem to be bringing him closer to Mama. Time for Plan B. Harry began to cry loudly. "Hush, my sweet Dudley," cooed the woman, cuddling him comfortingly. Harry's sobs gradually quieted to sniffles. Despite the woman's boniness, her cuddles almost felt like Mama's.
"He's not Dudley. Dudley's dead," said the man harshly. "This note says the boy's name is 'Harry.'"
"Such a nasty, common name," said the woman in disgust. "Dudley is a much more distinguished name," she added, kissing Harry's forehead. "Isn't it my Duddy-kins?" the woman asked, looking directly into Harry's green eyes with a rather silly smile on her face.
"You can't be thinking of keeping him!" the man burst out.
"Why shouldn't we? The doctor said we can't have any more children. This is our only chance at having another Dudley," said the woman.
"He is NOT Dudley!" roared the man. "Stop calling him that!"
"Fine! I'll call him something else! But it can't be 'Harry.' That name is famous in... their world. He needs a distinguished name and to be raised like a perfectly normal little boy like Dudley would have been."
"I don't care what he's called. We can't have one of those freaks in our house!"
"What other choice do we have? You read the letter. They'll do terrible things to us if we don't keep him. You don't know those freaks like I do. They can cast a spell and make us forget we ever met, make us think we're mortal enemies! We've already lost Dudley. I don't want us to lose each other," Petunia sobbed.
"Fine," the man sighed. "He can stay. But we're raising him to be normal. And we're NOT calling him Dudley. That was to be our beloved son's name. Pick out whatever name you want, just not Dudley." He pecked the woman on the lips. "I'm going to work. Call if you need anything."
The woman returned the kiss and waved the man goodbye. Harry imitated her, even though he didn't particularly like the man. After all, waving bye-bye was only polite. Harry's small gesture caused the woman to hug him and cover him with kisses.
Harry relaxed into the woman's chest as he was carried to the kitchen. Harry observed the woman making scrambled eggs from his place in the woman's arms. Then, the woman sat him on her lap and spoon-fed him the scrambled eggs. Harry impatiently pushed the spoon away and finger-fed himself the eggs. This independence inspired yet more cooing, cuddles, and kisses. Harry cooed and babbled back, mouth full of the delicious eggs.
By the time breakfast was finished, the woman had started calling him "Benjamin" and "Baby Benji." While the boy knew his name was Harry and that he was most definitely not a baby, he was too sleepy to argue at the moment. Belly full, he relaxed into the woman's arms as she did the dishes. It wasn't the same as the way Mama did the dishes, but the sound of the running water and rhythmic scrubbing was soothing. Soon, the baby was fast asleep.
Petunia deposited her nephew in the crib, which was in the nursery that she and Vernon couldn't bring themselves to clear out, even though Dudley died in her womb months ago. She smiled lovingly as her new baby Benjamin cooed in his sleep.
Years passed, and Vernon scowled across the dinner table at the now-three-year-old boy, who had his face buried in Petunia’s apron- fake crying, no doubt! Vernon had never trusted the runt. It was unnatural, the way the boy could make toys fly across the room, make the telly explode when Vernon had the channel changed to the news rather than one of the boy’s insipid cartoons, make himself bounce off walls, not even noticing when he bumped his head against the ceiling. Vernon had endured the boy’s perpetual presence in the house for two years before the boy turned three and it was finally time to send him off to nursery school. Technically, the boy was only at nursery from 9 AM to 3 PM, and Vernon worked from nine to five, so Benjamin starting nursery really had no effect on how often he saw his nephew. But it was the principle of the thing! And now the boy had caused some sort of ruckus at school with his freakishness and Petunia and those blasted teachers were making noises about him “Not being ready” for nursery. No doubt the boy had acted out so he could stay home and be pampered and molly-coddled by Petunia all day! Vernon didn’t even want to know how the boy set the teacher’s clothes on fire and turn his messy black hair the same shade of golden blond as Petunia’s.
“I don’t care what some spoiled freak and a bunch of babysitters say!” said Vernon. “The boy is going back to Nursery tomorrow or I’m sending him to military school!” Vernon loathed the way Petunia always let the boy cling to her. She needed to cut the apron strings and let the boy toughen up.
Benjamin sobbed into Auntie Petunia’s chest. He hated nursery school. Auntie Petunia had pried him from her arms, then her skirt, then her ankles and set him down with some blocks. Benjamin happily passed his auntie blue blocks, which matched her blue dress, and gave himself the green blocks, which matched his green shirt. Together, they built “The Most Beautiful Castle in the World” (according to Auntie Petunia anyway). Benjamin allowed himself to relax. Nursery School may not be so bad. True, he was surrounded by lots of loud kids, but there were also lots of toys, even more than he had at home! Benjamin went off to explore the dress up area. He was only gone for a moment! But when he turned around, Auntie Petunia had disappeared!
Benjamin screamed in despair, looking fearfully around the crowded room. There was no sign of his Auntie! In fact, all the grown-ups were leaving! Benjamin rushed towards the classroom door to make his escape, still searching for his aunt, when a pair of arms grabbed him.
Benjamin kicked and screamed, desperately biting the arms that were holding him. This resulted in him being placed back on the ground, but now all the grown-ups except the mean lady who had been holding him had left the room, and the door was closed. Benjamin ran to the door and desperately jiggled the handle, but it was locked. The mean lady was back, pulling him away from the door. Benjamin let out a blood-curdling scream and the sleeves of the teacher’s cardigan spontaneously caught fire. The flames quickly spread to the rest of the teacher’s outfit, down to her skirt.
Shrieking in pain, the teacher dropped Benjamin and began rolling around the crowded, crying class to put out the flames. Instead of being doused, the flames spread throughout the classroom. The fire alarm went off, and a stern-looking man in a suit kicked the door open and sprayed a fire extinguisher everywhere.
Benjamin wasn’t sure what had caused the chaos, but, to his relief, Auntie Petunia picked him up shortly afterwards and promised Benjamin, the mean lady, and the stern man that Benjamin would not be returning. Benjamin clung to his auntie the rest of that afternoon, terrified that she would disappear again. His auntie hugged him, told him he has “Big Feelings,” whatever those were, and reassured him that she would always be there to take care of him.
There was lots of arguing, shouting, and sobbing when Uncle Vernon came home. Uncle Vernon demanded that Benjamin be re-enrolled in Nursery School, saying that it would build character. Benjamin began to cry. He wasn’t sure what building character entailed, but he knew that he wanted no part of it.
“See?! Listen to that crying! How can you say he’s a part of our family when he’s such a whiny little baby! He’s nothing like our family! Nothing like the child we should have had!”
At that moment, both Uncle Vernon and Auntie Petunia went silent. Benjamin, who had been sobbing into Auntie Petunia’s shoulder, looked up, confused. His uncle and aunt were staring, wide-eyed, at him. Auntie Petunia ran her fingers through Benjamin’s hair, eyes full of wonder. His locks didn’t pull and snarl up the way they usually did when confronted with a hairbrush, comb, or fingers carding through his hair.
“He changed his hair,” said Petunia. “It’s the same color as mine and looks exactly like my father’s. He looks exactly like an Evans.”
“He may no longer look like that rat-faced bastard your sister married, but he’s still a dangerous freak. Setting his teacher on fire-”
“He was frightened! He didn’t mean to!” Petunia defended him.
“Making toys and food float around the house-”
“Only when he wants something!” Petunia pointed out.
“And now changing his appearance, disguising himself-”
“He just wants to look like his mother’s family,” said Petunia.
“It’s not normal. It’s not right,” said Vernon firmly. “How can we keep him here if he’s this unstable? He could kill us in our sleep on a whim.”
“My Benjamin wouldn’t do that!” shrieked Aunt Petunia.
“Maybe he wouldn’t mean to,” Vernon allowed. “But you say that he didn’t mean to set his nursery teacher on fire. The damage is still done.”
“I can help him be normal. At least while he’s around others like us,” said Petunia, thinking quickly. “I have a plan,” she said reassuringly to both Vernon and Benjamin. And herself.