Chapter Text
“Oh, excellent,” said the Death Eater as he looked around the sitting room of number 13, Privet Drive. For the purposes of secrecy, he was currently called Number 1. “Excellent,” Number 1 repeated. “It’s just what we are looking for.”
It wasn’t. Privately, he was horrified at the blandness of the Muggle house. Muggles lived like this? He tried to catch Death Eater Number 2’s eyes — from what little he’s been told, she’s a superior Legilimens — but she was staring at a small rectangular plate on the wall beside her. It had a pointy protrusion in its centre, and it was anyone’s guess what it was supposed to be. Or do.
The realtor was prattling away about three bedrooms upstairs, bathrooms, storage, furniture included, and Death Eater Number 1 was first bored and then annoyed until, finally, he realised he didn’t actually have to listen to any of it. “We’ll take it,” he said, interrupting her spiel about the sizeable backyard, perfect for children and a dog.
“Oh…” She blinked and turned pointedly to Number 2. “Have you decided?”
The fuck? Since when was the husband’s word not law anymore?
“Yes,” Number 2 said absently, shifting her attention from the Muggle oddity to the beige curtains. She twisted a bit of the fabric around her finger. “It’s… lovely.”
“It is!” the realtor agreed. “Well, if you’ve both decided. We can sign the forms in my office, and—“
“You can bring whatever we need to sign here,” Number 1 said in a voice that brooked no argument. “It is imperative that we move in as quick as possible, right”—shit, they had forgotten to think up new names— “Wife?”
Number 1 finally turned, to raise her eyebrows mockingly at him. “Yes, darling. By all means, let’s get this done the soonest; I have such plans!”
“What plans?” Number 1 asked the moment they were alone. Well, not the very moment. As soon as the door had closed behind the realtor, Number 2 had prodded the protrusion on the rectangular thing, and they found out it was a light switch. “What plans? You do realise these people probably have identical homes inside and out? We can’t change anything if we are to blend in.”
“Who’s to see? I, for one, am not living like this.” She took her wand out and transformed the bland beige wallpaper to a scenic ruby red sunset with flying swans, one of which turned mid flight to glare balefully at them.
“I don’t think their wallpaper moves,” Number 1 said, outwardly placid. They each had their strengths. He could maintain a calm facade in most any situation without breaking a sweat. Much more useful than mind reading.
He stared aghast at the ruined wall. Where had Number 2 come from? Some bloody magical commune? He’s heard of those. All alternative clothes and lifestyles. Why hadn’t he thought to check? Not that he would have had an option anyway, they were both voluntold, but it would have been good to know ahead of time that you were going to live in a zoo. At least she was easy on the eyes.
She waved her wand again to turn the sofas puce.
When he found his tongue, it was to say calmly, “Perhaps we should leave the changes for after she returned? I do not think Muggles are able to change their decor at will.”
“Don’t they?” She paused, midway to turning the ceiling light into a chandelier, to glance surprised at him. “Why not?”
Some particularly idiotic braincell sharing commune where everyone’s father was one guy they kept in the cellar?
“They don’t have magic, do they?”
“But they have…things… and cars, and they fly and they do other stuff—lights! How do they decorate, then?”
What? He should know?
“Just turn it back.”
“Oh, it’s too much effort. I’ll just alter her memories when she leaves—“
Outside, children shrieked, and they moved to the large windows that overlooked the street, both equally happy to shelve their very first marital disagreement for now.
The reason they were here was the six-year-old running down the road, followed short on his heels by three larger boys. For a moment it looked like play, and then:
“Get back here!” the fattest of the pursuing boys yelled, swinging a fist in the air. “Freak!” He swung and released a good sized rock and they watched it fly through the air to hit Harry Potter square between the shoulder blades. “Stop running!”
Harry wisely made no effort to stop. If anything, the rock just spurred him on, and his pursuers increased their shouts, their young voices shrill.
“What the hell,” Number 1 said and shook his wand out of his sleeve. Number 2 swung the window open to save the glass. Number 1’s stunner hit the fat boy upside the head, knocking him into the little group, and the boys tumbled in a messy, yowling, heap, scraping elbows and knees on the tarry Muggle road.
It was quite satisfying.
Number 1 might even feel better about the wallpaper.
Bloody hooligans. If anyone was going to kill Harry Potter, it was them. He’ll die when their Lord’s order came and not a moment before.
“Good aim.” Number 2 closed the window. “If anyone is going to torture that little brat, it will be our Lord. Have you decided on a name yet, Husband? I’m thinking Juniper for myself.”
Your upbringing will out, he supposed. “Philip. Like their Muggle King.”
“Hmm.” She waved her wand at the carpet and turned it a swirling, starry black under their feet. It stretched all the way upstairs. “Juniper and Philip King. I suppose I can live with that.”
“I didn’t mean Ki— On second thought, it will do. Do you think that’s wise?” he asked of the twinkling carpet. “Seems to me it might be a tripping hazard at night.” And any other time, really.
“It will hide the blood.”
“I suppose.” Or a scouring charm might work as well. He said nothing. His father, although a man's man, had always agreed on the unimportant female matters with his mother, and as far as he was aware they had a happy marriage. Perhaps it was time to take a leaf out of his book. “Tea?”
“Let’s.”
They moved to the kitchen and Juniper frowned. "I thought the Muggles had a queen."
“Nonsense. That’s bees.”