Disclaimer: Everything except for Violet, the Robe, and the Gloves belong to J.K. Rowling and Starkid Productions. Her story, Starkid's Scarf, my twist.
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number 4, Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They had a sixteen-month old son named Dudley who was spoiled beyond belief, Mr. Vernon Dursley worked at a small drill firm called Grunnings, and Mrs. Petunia Dursley craned her head out the window and watched and listened to the neighbourhood gossip. On a typical morning, Petunia fussed with Dudley as he screamed and threw his cereal everywhere. Petunia was chatting inanely about something Mrs. Smith did and Vernon kissed his wife goodbye, and ruffled Dudley's hair chortling "Little tyke!" as Dudley showed continuous use of his first word, "No!" On the way to work Vernon noticed strange people in cloaks whispering. On the way back from picking up a pastry, he heard the word "Potters" and froze. Wasn't that the name of Petunias sister? They had a son named Harold? Horace? Harry? Then he heard "…their son, Harry..." but he shook himself off. Nasty common names, they are. Could mean anyone.
At home that night, as he was watching the news, strange reports of owls everywhere and funny sparks were found all over the country. He couldn't ignore this and had to ask Petunia.
"Petunia, dear?"
"Yes?"
"Our nephew and niece, what're their names?"
"Harry and Violet. Why?"
"It's just I saw some people in funny clothes whispering about the Potters. I thought it might be something to do with... you know... her crowd."
"Well I don't see why it matters."
"No, no. Of course not. Don't know what I was thinking."