Forever Abnormal
By: ChoCedric
Vernon Dursley hadn't had any inkling that this day would be unlike any other. He awoke when his alarm went off, just like normal. He showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, and dressed, just like normal. He kissed his wife and son goodbye as he left for work, just like normal.
His first half of the workday was normal, too. He did what he was supposed to do, said what he was supposed to say, and was happy in the knowledge that he was earning enough to keep his family comfortable. All normal things, in Vernon Dursley's opinion. Completely and perfectly normal.
And no matter what he did, he absolutely refused to let his mind wander to a few days' time, when the thing that could make his world tilt off of its axis would come home for the summer. No, he would not let himself think about that. Those thoughts were off-limits.
But everything began to change when he left work to go on his lunch break. Not far from Grunnings, there was a restaurant where he liked to go. The food was excellent, and it always felt comforting to eat. Feeling that this was just the right day to go there, he walked out of his office, out of the building, and down the street.
But halfway to the restaurant, he saw a sight that stopped him in his tracks. A group of people were huddled together, and they looked positively unnatural. They had strange robes on, and were speaking in hushed tones.
Immediately, Vernon flashed back to almost eleven years ago, when this had happened before. Oh yes, he'd seen these freaky people huddled in the street before. But something was extremely different about this occasion. Instead of those people jumping up and down, looking triumphant, today they looked as though their world had ended. Some of them even had tears streaming down their faces.
Every instinct in Vernon shouted for him to keep going, to not pay any attention to those freaks, to go on with his day and eat his lunch like a normal human being. But he was curious despite himself. What could they be talking about? What in Heaven's name had them so upset? Those people could fix anything with their unnaturalness, why did they look like they were all ready to give up?
Before he could process what he was doing, he walked closer to the group, close enough that he could make out what they were saying.
"This is a truly terrible day, Priscilla, I know that as well as you do," said a tall, bald man. "Not only because of the death of Harry Potter, but what might happen to Albus Dumbledore."
"I still can't believe it ... Harry Potter ..." a woman to his right, who Vernon imagined to be Priscilla, sobbed. "Dead! I thought this was over, I thought You-Know-Who was gone, I thought he could never bother the world again! And now ... Harry Potter ... this can't be happening!" She buried her face in her hands, her entire body shaking.
And Vernon Dursley, who had lost all control of what he was doing by now, was beside them in two long strides. "What did you say?" he demanded loudly. "Did you say Harry Potter?"
"Yes!" wailed Priscilla. "Didn't you hear already? It's all over the papers! Harry Potter is dead! He tried to save the Philosopher's Stone! He even succeeded, but ... but ..." She choked on her breath. "He got really ill from the magic he used, and didn't survive the night! We are doomed, I tell you! Doomed!" She put her face back in her hands, continuing to sob.
Vernon's jaw hung open in disbelief. The only thing he could understand out of that entire diatribe was that Harry Potter was dead. The Philosopher's Stone, Harry being ill because of magic ... he didn't understand any of that. But ... Harry Potter was dead ... unbelievable. He simply couldn't get his mind around it.
"Priscilla, you shouldn't have said any of that," said the bald man, laying a hand on the woman's shoulder. "He doesn't look like he gets it. He's not one of us, look at how he's dressed. You just broke the Statute of Secrecy."
"Who cares about the Statute of Secrecy now?" Priscilla howled. "Harry Potter is dead!"
Vernon stood there for a long time, his mouth agape. He didn't know how long it was for, but he was simply rooted to the spot. Then, his mind and senses suddenly snapping back on, he realized where he was and what he was doing. He took one last look at the bald man, the weeping woman, and the others in the group who were watching. They're all barking mad, he finally decided. Completely and utterly barking mad. I'm just going to go on with my day and pretend this never happened. They're just freaks, the whole lot of them. Freaks.
But as he ate in the restaurant, walked back up the street to Grunnings, and continued on with his workday, he couldn't fight the feeling that things had changed forever. People at his office kept demanding to know if he was all right, and he realized he must be acting differently, even though he tried not to. Harry Potter is dead. Harry Potter is dead. The words kept repeating themselves in his mind, but every time they did, another voice kept saying: Impossible, that's impossible, those freaks don't know what they're talking about.
But little was he to know, that as he pulled his car into the driveway of his home, that all hell was about to break loose, and Vernon Dursley's picture of normality would be forever shattered.
xxx
Meanwhile, Petunia Dursley stood in her kitchen at Number 4, Privet Drive, making a cup of tea. Vernon was at work, and Dudley was currently in the living room watching television. She felt content and relaxed as she looked around the spotless room.
Summer was coming' it was plain to see that by how much warmer the weather was getting. Also, Dudley had just finished his first year at Smeltings, and Petunia was glad to have him home, so she could pile all her love and affection onto him.
There was something, though, that was almost ruining Petunia's contentment, but she continuously tried to push it away. In five days' time, that something would be returning to her house for the summer. Every time she thought of it, the dread mounted in her stomach.
Harry Potter, her cursed sister's son, was scheduled to return after his first year at that awful school, the school which had turned her sister into a caricature of how she remembered her. The girl who had loved to play dolls with her, dress up in beautiful dresses and twirl around in front of her, had been stolen, replaced by someone who only cared about magic and the new freak friends she had made. The wizarding world had snatched Lily from under Petunia's nose and changed her completely.
And then, it had killed her. She'd married a disgusting, unnatural freak by the name of Potter, got involved with some dangerous, psychotic dark wizard, and gotten herself killed. And now, every time Petunia looked at Harry, it was a constant reminder of the sister she had lost, and the man and world she'd lost her to.
And, Petunia thought bitterly, what kind of barbaric person leaves a baby on a doorstep with a letter and demands for you to take care of him with hardly any explanation? All the letter had said was some jibberish about blood wards, and about how it was essential that Petunia take care of him.
Petunia had been just about ready to disregard the whole thing, to go with Vernon and drop the boy off at the nearest orphanage, when he opened his eyes.
They were emerald green.
And from then on, the boy had stayed. Petunia couldn't explain why she had given in; it was just that when the boy had looked at her for the first time, she'd sworn it was Lily giving her that stare, that stare that always made Petunia do whatever Lily wanted when they were children. And since then, she'd grown angry every time she saw him look her way the fury and resentment was huge. How could she have been such a fool as to give into those eyes?
Stop thinking about it, Petunia, her mind hissed at her. Enjoy these next five days, and just don't think about it.
So, with a great effort, she cast those treacherous thoughts away and brought her cup of tea over to the table. She sat down in her chair and began to drink it, relishing the warmth that flooded her body.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door. Petunia immediately put her tea down and left the kitchen to investigate. Who could be at the door? She wasn't expecting anyone, was she? Maybe it was one of Dudley's friends, she thought hopefully. But for a reason unbeknownst to her, a feeling of foreboding crept into her consciousness.
Before she knew it, she had arrived at the door, and she opened it quickly. And there, standing on her doorstep, was a woman that Petunia knew, the instant she looked at her, was "one of their lot". She could tell by the way she was dressed. The expression on her face was one of complete fatigue.
"Petunia Dursley," she said in a Scottish accent. "I need to speak with you immediately."
It was then that Petunia seemed to move into autopilot mode. She beckoned the woman inside, and they went into the living room, where Dudley was still watching television.
The instant the boy saw who was with his mother, he blurted out, "Mum, what are you doing? Why have you let this freak into our house?"
"I would watch your manners, young man," the woman said coldly. At these words Dudley seemed to shrink into the couch, and he wrapped his hands protectively over his behind. He had not forgotten what had occurred last summer.
"It's okay, Diddy," Petunia said in a would-be reassuring voice. "Everything's okay."
There was a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, and then the witch began to speak.
"My name is Minerva McGonagall," she said, and her voice sounded monotonous and detached. "I am the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"What's happened?" Petunia demanded, looking Minerva up and down. "Something's happened to my nephew, hasn't it? What's he done? What trouble has he landed himself in?"
Minerva sighed wearily as she looked Petunia right in the eyes. Then slowly, as if every word was costing her a great effort, she began her tale.
And Petunia listened, because there was nothing else for her to do. She listened to Minerva tell of the Philosopher's Stone and how her nephew, along with two friends, had tried to save it. She told of the altercation the night before, and how Albus Dumbledore found him fighting Quirrell.
Then, she got to the part of the story where Harry had arrived at the hospital wing, and after this, she couldn't go on. But Petunia, the color draining from her face, could guess the rest.
"He's dead," she whispered, her entire world jarring to a halt. "You said he was really ill, and the school nurse was taking care of him. But he ... he didn't make it, did he? You wouldn't be here otherwise."
Minerva, trying but failing to keep her face stoic, slowly nodded her head.
And it was at this point that Petunia lost it. She gave Minerva the longest, most furious glare she could, and her voice rose into a shrill shriek as she screeched, "I was right! I was right! I knew he should never have gone to that school! You killed him, just like you killed my sister! You're no-good freaks, every single last one of you! I didn't want ANYTHING, ANYTHING, to do with your lot! You forced that boy on us, dragged him off to that freak school, and now he's dead! And I wish you were too! All of you unnatural hoodlums can go kill each other for all I care!" Breathing heavily, she collapsed onto the couch, her world tilting and spinning.
Before Minerva could open her mouth to form a reply, the door opened, and in stepped Vernon. He took one look at his wife hyperventilating on the couch, his son with his mouth wide open in undisguised shock, and the strange witch, and simply said, "It's true, isn't it? The boy's dead."
Petunia turned to her husband with wide eyes, still gasping for breath. "How did you ... how did you know?" she spluttered.
"Heard people talking about it in the street," grunted Vernon. "What did he do to himself?"
Petunia opened and closed her mouth, but nothing came out. She looked back and forth between her son, Minerva, and Vernon, and didn't know what to say. Her mind was racing; the last link to her sister was dead. And once again, it was all the wizards' fault.
Suddenly, Dudley spoke up, his face still full of shock. "Can ... can I have my second bedroom back now?" he asked slowly.
And Minerva snapped. She wheeled around to face Dudley, the most grotesque look of fury on her face. "How dare you," she growled. "How dare you. You just found out your cousin is dead, and all you are worried about is your bedroom? I have never met such a selfish person in my life. I am leaving. I will contact you," she said as she glowered at Petunia and Vernon, "To tell you of the funeral arrangements, but I sincerely doubt you will make the effort to show up. I hope to Merlin that everything you did to that child, everything you put him through, will remain on your conscience for the rest of your lives."
And with one last look, she walked out of the living room. The next sound the family heard was the front door slamming.
For the next little while, all three Dursleys were silent, trying to process the last few minutes.
Finally, Vernon walked over to Petunia and patted her on the shoulder in a manner which she knew was meant to be reassuring. "Never mind, Petunia," he said gruffly. "Maybe now, things can go back to normal. Those freaks will never bother us again."
But even as he said this, Petunia knew that Vernon knew that the world didn't work that way. Things would never be normal again.
And Petunia also knew that Minerva's last words to her would haunt her for years to come: "I hope to Merlin that everything you did to that child, everything you put him through, will remain on your conscience for the rest of your lives."