Preface: A Very Unusual Occurrence
The Dursleys were a very normal family. Mr. Dudley Dursley worked as a drill salesman, and Mrs Emily Dursley worked as a professional money spender, housewife, and mother. Two of which were very noble professions indeed. They were a fairly well-to-do family, especially seeing as Mr. Dudley Dursley co-owned the drill company with his father now, and the business had been running very, very smoothly for the last few years. Together, Dudley and Emily Dursley had two young children. Their eldest, Holly Dursley, who was just recently four years old, and their youngest, Sidney Dursley, who was only just two. Both children were light haired and rotund like their father, and dark-eyed and tall like their mother.
The Dursleys did very normal things. On Saturday mornings they would go shopping, and Saturday afternoons they would go to the pictures to watch a film, or stay in and watch a film or play cards (after young Sidney had gone to bed, he couldn't even hold the cards, just as yet) and sometimes they would share stories of their weeks.
Every other Sunday morning the Dursleys would leave Number Fourteen Wildwood Road and drive the short distance to Number Four Privet Drive, to see Dudley's parents, or the longer drive to Number Eighty-Two Berk Road, Oxford, to visit Emily's parents.
And on Sundays, they would have Sunday Lunch.
This Sunday, Sunday the Fourteenth of November, was no different.
"Where are my keys, Emily?" Dudley Dursley demanded, pacing up and down the hallway, turning on his abruptly whenever he reached either end of the hall, tripping over his daughter several times.
"On the key rack, dear." Emily sighed, trying to balance her increasingly heavy son on a slim hip and hold the hand of her daughter at the same time, as well as carrying a changing bag and a handbag.
"So they are. Come on, then, what are you waiting for?"
"You, dear." said Emily, rushing to the car to strap her children in.
"Later than usual, eh, Dudley?" Vernon Dursley asked, as his son and extended family poured in through the door.
"Key trouble," Dudley said, stoically, moving on to embrace his mother.
"Ah, Holly, growing by the day! And Sidney, he's going to be just like you were! Perfect children for a perfect son!" Petunia Dursley cried, untying her apron and leading her son into the kitchen.
Soon, the kitchen was busy with food, eating, merriment and bad jokes. Holly teased her younger brother, Vernon and Dudley spoke drills and Petunia and Emily discussed the latest brand of cleaning polish, and whether the risk of allergic reaction was worth that fresh smell that lasted days.
The Sunday went on like usual, until, during washing-up time, Sidney started crying. Dudley Dursley rushed his son into his wife, who was helping to dry the dishes.
"He won't stop." complained the child's father.
Emily sighed and tutted but cooed at her son until he stopped grizzling. She balanced him on the kitchen counter and played with the two-year olds toes.
"Oh dear!" Petunia cried, as a wet and soapy dish slipped out of her hands. Like a bolt of lightening, Emily shot across the kitchen, leaving in her son balancing, and caught the dish before it could smash on the floor.
"Well done, dear." Petunia smiled, and Emily replaced the plate and turned just in time to see her son topple of the edge of the counter. He fell much faster than the plate, and Emily was in such a shock she was glued to her spot.
"Sidney!" she had cried.
But something very unusual occurred.
Inches before he could hit the kitchen tiles face first, he stopped, midair he stopped, as though the rules of gravity did not apply to him, as though he was suspended in time. Emily's mouth gaped open and Petunia fainted.
The toddler giggled, reached out his chubby arms to touch the ground, lowered himself, stood up toddled away into the living room.