Chapter Text
For my wife. May we always push each other to try new things and look back at old things with new eyes.
••••••••••
Mrs. Penelope Dursley of Number 6, Magnolia Crescent, was proud to say that she was perfectly aware of the world around her, thank you very much. She kept a close eye on the various hazards in the world, such as microplastics, ultra processed foods, and screen time for children, and she just did not hold with such nonsense.
Her husband, Mr. Dudley Dursley, was the owner of a gymnasium called Dursley’s Ironworks, which worked hard to maintain a friendly and productive environment for all. He was a big, beefy man with a carefully shaven face and a confident smile that Penelope loved.
Penelope was slim, brunette, and had bright, cheerful eyes that never quite seemed to blink enough. She primarily saw to the household, but given the economy she also found work as a yoga teacher, a wellness vlogger, and a baby massage instructor.
The Dursleys had a young daughter named Amelia, and in their opinion there was no finer girl anywhere.
The Dursleys had everything they wanted, and shared much of their lives freely, but there was one topic that Penelope simply never saw fit to share. She simply could not imagine what anyone would ever want to know about the Potters.
Mr. Potter was Mr. Dursley’s cousin, though they only spoke on odd occasions and times of great need. He was a serious, tall man with dark hair and an ever present pair of glasses, and he worked for the ministry in some manner of law enforcement. For all that, he was the most boring individual Penelope had ever met, excepting, perhaps, his taciturn wife.
The Potters had three children, including a girl about the same age as Amelia. In spite of this, they had never seen fit to bring her over for a play date despite many inquiries from Penelope. Even on the rare events that the Potters saw fit to visit, they left their children in the care of their housekeeper, one Mr. Kreacher. Thinking that Harry might be simply overwhelmed by his work, Penelope had once cornered his wife Ginny and received nothing but evasion.
“Oh, that would be lovely but it would be very difficult to arrange.”
That had been the longest conversation Penelope ever had with Ginny, a perpetually uncomfortable seeming woman who, when pressed, revealed an utter lack of hobbies, career, online presence, or interests of any kind. Dudley claimed that she was a writer, but was unable to provide any additional information to allow Penelope to verify that claim.
When Penelope woke up on the dull grey Tuesday when our story starts, there was nothing to suggest that strange and mysterious revelations would be intruding on their happy life. Penelope hummed happily as she pulled on her organic cotton activewear and dragged Amelia out of bed for their morning run, a light two mile circuit
When they returned, fully primed for the rest of their day, Penelope pulled out the oatmeal she’d prepared overnight and they all sat at the table to eat together. Amelia attempted to slip her flip phone into her pocket while her mother was distracted, but she had nothing planned after school that day and thus had absolutely no need for it.
She had become awfully good at lockpicking recently; Penelope didn’t even know it was possible to pick a combination lock. Penelope had very mixed feelings about Amelia’s interest. It was a useful practical skill, and locksmith would be a dignified trade for a clear eyed young girl, but she really was going too far with it. She’d even smuggled away at least one of the padlocks, though she claimed that it simply vanished.
Penelope gave Dudley a peck on the lips and bicycled with Amelia to a friend’s home, where she would spend the day reading poetry and studying practical mathematics before going just outside town to enjoy nature with the rest of her home ed co-op.
Afterwards, she returned home where she worked very hard for several hours on producing and editing a thirty second video about making bone broth. Penelope knew that there were many videos about bone broth, but in her opinion the existing ones were wholly unsatisfactory.
It was around noon when bone broth was abruptly driven from Penelope’s mind. An owl landed right next to her kitchen window. Penelope scrambled to retrieve her phone from its stand so that she could document this auspicious occasion.
Penelope knew that, for whatever reason, owls were terribly fond of her back garden, and it was always a delight to see them there. She was particularly fond of a large, frequently appearing barn owl that she had named Galahad, and would often brag to her friends that she had an owl for a friend.
Galahad would often laze about the back garden bird bath for a time, then leave shortly after Dudley returned home. She sometimes teased him about scaring the poor thing off. Privately she suspected that Galahad was the only reason anyone followed her online, so she made sure to end each of her longer videos with clips of his exploits.
This time, a very self important looking screech owl instead stood upon her windowsill and glared at her. If she didn’t know better, she’d think it wanted to be allowed inside. It was quite impossible to return to her day with such an unusual observer, so instead Penelope enjoyed the opportunity to examine the creature up close. It was only then did she notice a bit of string around its foot.
The string trailed off of the windowsill, hanging down out of sight. She supposed this must be someone’s pet, or that it had a tag from some kind of lab study. That might explain why it wanted to come inside; it was a terribly hot day.
No matter how she craned her neck, she could not see what was hanging from its leg. After a few minutes of consultation with the internet, she confirmed that screech owls hardly ever attacked people unless they were very close to their roost. As this particular owl was a stranger to Penelope, that seemed unlikely. She very calmly, politely, and slowly stepped out the side door of her house and crept into the back garden to observe the owl from behind.
The bird in question stared directly at her from the moment that she rounded the corner, making her feel quite silly for sneaking. She still didn’t want to startle it, of course, so she didn’t make any sudden movements as she examined the other end of the string.
The owl was carrying an envelope, addressed in swooping emerald green letters, to Amelia Galadriel Dursley, Number 6 Magnolia Crescent, master bedroom. That struck Penelope as terribly odd. She didn’t exactly make a secret of her continuing decision to have the entire family cosleep in one room, but it was a strange thing to include in the address. Deciding to consult Dudley and the internet before making any rash decisions, Penelope slowly withdrew her head back around the corner.
The owl leapt from the windowsill and flew towards her. With all concern about sudden movement instantly rendered irrelevant, Penelope dashed for the door and closed it behind her. She felt quite irrational when she noticed that she’d locked the door in her panic.
How silly. Owls don’t use doors.
Penelope heard rather irritated hooting from outside, then silence. Perhaps a minute later, she heard a click from the front door mail slot.
In perfect silence, which Penelope insisted repeatedly to herself was entirely unnecessary, she approached the front door and found a single letter on the floor. It had a frayed bit of string, and an indentation that looked quite a lot like the tip of a beak dug into the thick parchment.
Penelope immediately sent a text to Dudley, along with a picture of the letter. She peeled it open after thirty seconds without a response. The first page was a surprise, and not precisely unwelcome, but seemed awfully presumptuous.
Dear Miss Dursley,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress
The whole letter was written on terribly thick parchment paper and delightfully written by hand. Was this some manner of prank? It had to be. Penelope was not the sort who would have gone her whole life ignorant of an institution specialized in magic. She was examining the second page of the letter, a charmingly bizarre student uniform, when her phone buzzed, revealing Dudley’s reply.
“Best not to open it. Set it aside and we can have a chat when I get home.”
Then, seconds later, a follow up.
“I need to talk to Harry.”
The first text, quite sensible, was more or less what Penelope had intended in the first place with one major deviation. It seemed like it would be a delightful subject for dinner conversation. The second, however, gave her pause.
Whyever would Dudley want to speak to Harry Potter about something like this? He was a decent enough fellow, even going so far as to loan Dudley a bit of money to help open the Ironworks, but he was a terribly mundane sort of man. Important, she assumed, to have a manservant in this day and age, not to mention three children and a wife with no visible occupation to speak of. Her mind was terribly preoccupied by the letter, and she was quite unable to return to her normal day.
What was it that Dudley had said he did? Law enforcement of some kind. Special criminals, Dudley had once mentioned. He’d gotten into the business because his own parents had been killed by some manner of serial killer.
Wouldn’t that mean Harry likely chose to pursue similarly extreme criminals, if that was his focus? It would also explain why he didn’t speak about his work in mixed company. It might even explain why Ginny worked so hard to avoid having a digital footprint. He was courting disaster, hunting deranged madmen in the shadows.
That poor woman! No wonder they were so private. What a sacrifice, to raise children in such an environment. To have no visible connections. Except… a cousin. One who had his own child.
Penelope immediately stood up and rushed into the kitchen where she washed her hands repeatedly and put on a medical mask. Then she gathered up the dome shaped top of the silver serving tray her mother in law had sent them a few years back, and placed it over the letter. Then for good measure she sealed it down with duct tape, and took a shower where she scrubbed herself red.
There probably hadn’t been anthrax, since that was a powder, but who knew what kind of toxins might have been in that letter!
Dudley came home early that day, and found a gloved and masked Penelope sitting on the front porch, hunting the internet for discussions of Hogwarts. She found many like minded folks who had the same question, and a precious few coy responses that provided hardly any information of substance. It was a school. Someone’s neighbor sent their child there and came back every winter and summer right as rain, but didn’t talk much about what happened there.
“Penny?” Dudley asked, in the tone one might use for a startled horse. “You all right, dear?”
“Are we safe?” She asked, tearing her eyes away from a decade old Reddit thread. “Should we go get Amelia?”
Dudley let out a heavy sigh and opened the door, gesturing for Penelope to follow him inside. He beheld the imprisoned letter with the same sort of tolerant resignation he normally reserved for the various new and interesting ways Penelope found to prepare kale.
“You opened it, didn’t you?” He said, “Yes, it’s just a letter from the school Harry and his lot go to. I’m sure you’ve noticed they’re a bit odd?”
“Well that’s not a very nice thing to say.” Penelope said, immediately leaping to the Potters’ defense. “They’re just very private.”
“Very, very private.” Dudley agreed. “I’ve kept a few secrets on their behalf, you see. Not mine to tell.”
Penelope frowned at Dudley. In her experience, he was very rarely so evasive.
“What are you getting at, Dudley?” Penelope said, eyes narrowing.
“I’d really prefer to let Harry explain it, honestly.” He said. “That’s why I called his work line just as quickly as I could.”
“What does this have to do with Amelia?” Penelope asked.
“Well, they’ve probably noticed that she’s a very special girl. They’re going to want to talk to us about her.” Dudley hedged. “I remember when Harry got his letter. Da went mental, didn’t want Harry to go.”
Penelope sniffed. That did sound just like Vernon. Then her mind caught up with the rest of what Dudley had said.
“Are you telling me they are going to try to take Amelia away?” She asked, shocked.
“No! Er… not exactly?” Dudley said. “Looking back I think it was supposed to be Harry’s choice. They got mad because Da tried to ignore them.”
Penelope leaned against the wall, taking deep, centering breaths. On the one hand personal choice and autonomy were of course among the highest values she held. On the other hand, her dear Amelia was a sweet, sensitive, gentle girl who was not at all ready to go to some secret boarding school in the highlands, and she certainly didn’t want her daughter to feel pressured.
“Dudley, please.” She said. “Tell me what you know about this school? Is it some kind of 007 training camp?”
“What?” Dudley said soothingly, “No, Penny, nothing like that… Harry had friends, he played sports, he always said they were the happiest days of his childhood.”
Penelope held onto those words like a raft in a raging storm, but before she could ask about visitation there was a polite knock on the front door. Dudley turned and peered through the peephole, then pulled back with a puzzled expression.
“It’s me, Dudley.” Harry shouted through the door. “I came straight from work and I didn’t want to alarm anyone by just popping in.”
Dudley let out a quiet “ah,” and opened the door, revealing absolutely no one.
“Afternoon, Dudley, Penny.” The empty air said.
A few seconds after Dudley closed the door, Harry’s head winked into existence, followed by the rest of his body. He pulled off a long, silvery garment and hung it on the coat rack delicately.
“So, how much have you gotten through so far.” He asked, turning to look at Mr. and especially Mrs. Dursley, “Ah. Not much.”
Penelope struggled to regain control of her jaw for several moments, and then for several more she put her thoughts in order. In the process, one of the more rascally ones escaped out of her mouth.
“Why are you wearing a robe?” Penelope heard herself ask.
“Well I get in trouble if I go into work in just my pants.” Harry said lightly, giving her a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring.
“Mate.” Dudley said reproachfully.
“Sorry.” Harry said. “I’m wearing a robe, because that is what wizards wear. I reckon you’ll be learning quite a lot about what wizards do soon.”
Penelope’s thoughts, which had only recently come to grips with Harry being a secret agent with access to experimental spy gadgets, were scattered once more to the wind.
“Harry is a wizard, Penny.” Dudley said. “Has been since he was about ten.”
“But that’s impossible!” Penelope said. “He works for the ministry! Wizards do not work for the ministry!”
“Actually quite a lot of us do.” Harry said. “Not all, of course, but it’s steady work.”
Penelope fell backwards into her chair, eyes wide, until she found something to focus on. Pain.
“Dudley!” She said, “You knew magic was real… and you didn’t tell me?”
Dudley was a big man, but in that moment he seemed to deflate until he was only a few inches tall. Harry stepped forward and put a hand on Dudley’s shoulder.
“Sorry, Penelope.” Harry said. “I asked him to stay quiet. I don’t mean to be rude, but since you share so much of your life on the… er… social mediums, I didn’t want to risk it unnecessarily. It’s a bit of a secret, you know.”
Penelope still felt distinctly betrayed, but knowing it hadn’t been Dudley’s idea went quite a way towards soothing her. She supposed that wizards must work quite hard indeed to stay out of the spotlight. It was positively outrageous that Harry would think her unable to keep a secret, however. She was excellent at keeping mum! There was, however, a far more important thing to address.
“So you think that Amelia might be able to become a wizard.” She asked. “And so they’re inviting her to this Hogwarts place?”
She looked over at the kitchen table, suddenly feeling quite silly about the wasted duct tape. She’d probably used altogether too much of it; it would be a devil to get back out.
“Well the word for girls is a witch, but yes and no.” Harry said, glancing at the dome she had crafted from most of a roll of duct tape. “It’s not that she could be one. She is one already, she just doesn’t know how to control it yet.”
“How do you know that?” Penelope demanded. “She’s a very special girl, of course, but I haven’t seen anything magical.”
Harry shrugged.
“It’s an automated system; to get a letter, a child needs to have already displayed magical abilities. Even in wizarding families it isn’t guaranteed.” Harry explained. “I figure that since Dudley is my cousin, they didn’t bother sending someone to talk to you like they would for a normal Muggle born. They thought it wouldn't be as big a surprise.”
“I have… so many questions.” Penelope said, still waiting for deep, centering breaths to calm her.
“I imagine you do.” Harry said. “I’m afraid Dudley will need to manage a lot of that until at least tomorrow evening. I’ve got to get home soon. The Holyhead Harpies are up against Puddlemere United, and Kreacher hates it when I leave him alone with the kids without warning him.”
“You’re just leaving?” Dudley asked, “Just like that?”
“I’ll be back when the kids are in bed, ok?” Harry said. “I’ll send Errol over with a letter for Amelia, send him back with a list of any questions you have so I can be ready.”
“Who is Errol?” Penelope asked.
“Galahad.” Dudley said shortly. “Wizards use owls for mail. Look, thanks for coming by, but really? Couldn’t you just… I dunno, bring the kids over?”
The two men looked at each other, each glancing at Penelope, shrugging, and otherwise carrying on the conversation with a sense of mutual silent exasperation.
“Alright, I’ll gather them up and come back in a couple hours, after dinner.” Harry said, “Hopefully it won’t overwhelm Amelia. It’s going to be a big day for her, isn’t it?”
After Harry left, Dudley and Penelope left to go pick up Amelia. They used the car for once, despite Penelope’s concerns about emissions, because Dudley had quite a lot to tell Penelope about away from prying ears. He seemed incredibly eager to clarify all manner of things to her about the Potters that he had kept deliberately vague in the past.
Penelope was fairly certain he was actually apologizing the only way he knew how. Dudley avoided doing things he regretted well enough for it to not be a problem, but he’d never quite gotten a handle on the word sorry. So instead, he tried to substitute every other word in the English language; luckily, what he had to say was legitimately fascinating.
“So you’re telling me that Galahad was always coming over just to bring you letters?” Penelope asked, “You just let me think he was just an unusually friendly owl!”
“He didn’t mind you taking pictures of him.” Dudley said with a shrug. “You have to admit, he was really laying it on thick in some of those clips you posted.”
Something clicked in Penelope’s head.
“The owl that brought the school letter seemed awfully intelligent.” She said, “He even used the mail slot.”
“Yeah, magical animals are like that.” Dudley said. “I know owls can read well enough to navigate and find someone with just the address written on a letter.”
“Galahad is a trained professional.” Penelope said, her voice faint with wonder. “Wait, is he employed by some wizard post office? Does he get paid? Was I insulting him by feeding him meal worms?”
“No, I think he’s just happy being the family pet, essentially.” Dudley said. “Mostly he lazes about the house and hunts mice, unless Harry needs to send a letter. I don’t know how smart he is outside of reading and navigation, and I certainly never saw him pass up on what you offered him.”
The rest of the trip was predominantly taken up by Penelope asking a barrage of questions about Owl intelligence, biology, rights, exercise needs, and history which Dudley proved entirely incapable of answering.
They parked, and took another half hour before they went in to fetch Amelia. They hadn’t technically called ahead, and a stray thought from Penelope had propelled them down a rabbit hole about extracurricular activities at Hogwarts.
“I’ve never seen it played, but I gather it’s a bit like football except everyone is flying on broomsticks.” Dudley explained, “So maybe it’s more like polo, actually? Anyway, that’s the big sport Harry played in school. Apparently there’s a big game tonight.”
“He left us to get home so he could watch footie?” Penelope asked in a voice that Dudley would never describe as a screech.
“No! I mean, I imagine he probably would like to listen to it, but that’s not why he had to go home.” Dudley explained. “Ginny is a sports writer for the Wizard version of BBC Sport. She had to work.”
“So she is a columnist?” Penelope said, “I always assumed she was just some tragic novelist haunting the corner of some coffee shop. Don’t tell her I said that.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Penny.” Dudley said.
Free time took up more than half of the school day during summer, so Amelia was in the middle of a kickabout at the local park when her parents finally tracked her down. Dudley elected not to point out that she would have been substantially easier to contact if she’d had her phone on her. It was an old argument, and one which was likely to be moot soon.
Amelia was rather tall for her age and in immaculate shape, so her team was deeply dissatisfied with her leaving early. She was also rather sharp, however, so when she saw both of her parents coming to pick her up together, she knew something was amiss. Her face fell even further when she saw the car.
“What happened?” She demanded, “Is Grandad in hospital again?”
“Oh no, nothing like that, dear.” Penelope reassured him. “He’s been doing much better once he got onto that diet and exercise routine your father worked out for him.”
Penelope shot Dudley a dirty look. He had quietly sworn under his breath at the mention of Vernon for whatever reason. Whatever Penelope’s personal feelings for the elder Dursleys, they plainly adored Amelia and she was sure they would be overjoyed to hear that she’d been accepted into an exclusive private school.
“We got a letter today, you see.” Dudley said, “It seems that the boarding school your uncle Harry went to when he was your age thinks you’d be a good fit. We thought it best to let you talk to Harry about it before we made any hasty decisions.”
“Grandpa said uncle Harry went to a correctional school.” Amelia said skeptically. “That doesn’t sound very nice. Besides, I thought I was going to be one of the first girls at Smeltings?”
Vernon had suggested that one actually. His exact words had been that “if they were going to ruin more than a century of tradition by letting girls in, they might as well have a few good ones.”
He’d seemed certain that without Amelia the entire first class of girls would be disrespectful brats there exclusively to prove that they could. In any event, her acceptance letter hadn’t actually arrived yet.
“Your grandfather said that because Hogwarts is a very special, secret school. People were far too polite to ask about Saint Brutus’s.” Dudley said, “Harry can probably explain it better, but no, it’s not a correctional facility.”
“It teaches magic.” Penelope explained. “Oh don’t look at me like that, Dudley. I didn’t find you being coy very helpful.”
“Magic?” Amelia said, “Really? Like what we did with those rocks?”
“Well I always did think the crystals responded to you better.” Penelope said. “There might be some of that, but I’m told they also fly on broomsticks and I just recently saw Harry turn invisible. Doesn’t that just sound marvelous?”
“Wait. What about my friends?” Amelia asked. “Will I be able to bring my phone?”
“Eh… probably not.” Dudley said. “Phones don’t really work well with magic. Harry has a special one at his office, but even that’s a bit new.”
“Oh.” Amelia said. “I don’t think I want to go then.”
“Of course we’ll consider all of your options.” Penelope said, “It would be a shame if you miss out on magic entirely, but perhaps we can get you a tutor. We’d need to choose one of your other extracurricular activities to drop.”
“Piano?” Amelia said hopefully.
“Oh, but you play so beautifully!” Penelope said.
“Keep your mind open, Amelia.” Dudley said. “It would be a whole new schedule and a whole new place. At least hear Harry out, eh?”
Amelia went very quiet and thoughtful at that, and remained so for the rest of the drive home. There, they walked into the front door of their terrace to find that they had company.
A slim red haired girl who had to be Lily Potter stood in the entryway, studying Penelope’s collection of thrifted animal figurines and family photos. She looked up at them and yelled.
“Da! They’re home!” She yelled at the house in general.
“Miss Potter!” A voice croaked, “You were to stay in the parlour!”
An old man, bald, wrinkled, stooped with age, less than one meter tall, and wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel joined them in the entryway.
“Hullo, Kreacher.” Dudley said nervously.
The pointy eared elder shot Dudley a dirty look and waddled back into the living room.
••••••••••
I make no promises that I’ll continue this or that I’ll continue it with any frequency, as it’s about the 4th thing I’m working on concurrently and was mostly made to make my wife smile. If I do continue this story though, I’ll post it here first.