DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER OR ITS CHARACTERS! IF I DID, HARRYMORT WOULD BE CANON AND GINNY WOULD BE DEAD!
The Dursleys prided themselves on being just as normal as any other family, so when Vernon Dursley – head of the household – opened his front door one night to find the baby of that freak on his doorstep, it was unacceptable.
The pudgy man's purple face reddened, to the extent that anyone would have thought he'd been out in the sun all day, with blistering rage towards those other freaks that must have delivered this abnormality to his doorstep.
Unacceptable.
"Vernon, darling, is someone at the door?" Petunia Dursley, Vernon's wife called from the living room softly, trying not to awaken their son, Dudley who had only just been put to bed after throwing an hour long tantrum for another bottle of milk, which Petunia quickly appeased to four times.
"No love… I just need to fill up the car for work in the morning….I completely forgot to before!"
Vernon didn't even wait for his wife to reply before shutting the door.
He stared down at the basket that the thing was in with cold eyes.
"I won't let your freakishness into my home!"
With this said, Vernon picked up the basket and held it at arm's length, as if the baby was contagious, and carelessly tossed it into the boot of the car, not caring if it suffocated or died. Actually that would be rather ideal…Vernon thought, a sick, gleeful look crossing over his face.
After driving for about half an hour, Vernon stopped the car on some run down, boarded up estate with a gloomy ginnel connecting the houses like a shadowed maze.
Perfect.
Vernon opened the boot of the car and looked at the freak and it was truly a freak then.
Emerald eyes, that seemed to glow in the darkness, peered back at him and his skin seemed to be as white as the moon in the sky. The freak had not cried the whole journey, nor did Vernon think he had ever cried before.
Vernon sneered at the creature before snatching the basket up and taking it deep into the ginnel where the freak would hopefully never be found, before driving away with a content sigh of relief.
Finally! The last time they would ever hear from them freaks again!
Somewhere in the distance, a woman screamed, though no one could hear her.
The cloaked, masked figures had her, and she knew it.
She knew it was her own fault. She shouldn't have hidden it from them, but she did.
Now, she had to pay.
As she breathed her last breath, the obvious leader of the group stepped forward and spoke in a smooth, polished voice: "Although our Lord has gone, he shall rise again and anyone who attempts to work against him shall perish!"
Then, suddenly, a man disappeared out of thin air! Then another and another and another…until only their leader was left.
He raised a delicate hand to swipe the silver mask away from his face.
The palest blonde hair cascaded down his curved back. His face was the definition of aristocracy and wealth, for his face was like porcelain and so defined that every single flawless detail could be seen. The man thumbed the silver snake's head on his cane, before making the woman's dead body vanish within scorching red flames with his cane.
Just as the man was about to disappear as well, he heard faint laughter somewhere close to him. Following the source of the noise out of curiosity, he was altogether shocked to find a baby, abandoned in a dark alley, laughing at seemingly nothing.
The man reached for the baby and for a split second, thought of killing him.
"Don't be so foolish, Lucius. You cannot murder a defenceless baby," the man, or Lucius muttered to himself.
Then, what should I do? Lucius thought to himself.
He could just walk away, leave the baby and pretend he never saw him, but that just didn't sit well with the man.
Yes, he had done some terrible things in his life, but he could not think of ever harming a child.
It was just wrong.
With that in mind, Lucius picked up the child and cradled him in his arms.
I hope Narcissa doesn't kill me for this… Lucius thought before disappearing, like the others had, with the baby boy in his arms - leaving the basket to sit empty under the moon's dim light.