Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, it belongs to JKR
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Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blond and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.
It was for these reasons exactly that they were the perfect family to take charge of their very young, recently orphaned nephew, Harry. Or they would have been, except that they did not want him.
You see, Mrs. Petunia Dursley, née Evans, had not particularly liked her sister. Mrs. Petunia Dursley was perfectly normal, and Lily had certainly not been. This in itself would not have been a problem, if Mr. and Mrs. Evans didn't delight in the oddball nature of their younger daughter. Petunia was hurt, especially when no one would entertain her thoughts that her sister was down a bad road, and took her sister going to boarding school was a blessing, allowing them to drift apart naturally and ensuring her sister was in her proper place in Petunia's neat and ordered world.
Mr. Vernon Dursley was less accepting than his wife. He had not formed a good impression of Lily on the rare occasions they had met, and as Petunia assured him that Lily's husband was positively unruly, he was happier not thinking about them. However, Vernon prided himself on the ability to reach conclusions quickly, and two nutters who married very young and had a son suspiciously quickly, lived an isolated life with no employment to speak of and yet were apparently quite busy and fairly well off… well, let us say Vernon could see a number of future hospital visits and developmental issues for the child, and Petunia was all too happy to agree.
Imagine then, their surprise when Petunia received a letter from her sister asking that if anything happened to her, they would take the boy. Vernon surmised they had become involved in a gang or some such. Petunia could only think her own son and the opportunities he would miss if they took charge of such a child.
And so they had decided before Vernon left for work that morning that if the child were ever in need of care, it should be left to the professionals.
Dumbledore was interrupted in his morning routine by a soft pop from his office. He made his way in and greeted the house elf prostrate on his rug. "Do you have news for me?" He could not remember who this elf had been sent to gather intelligence from, as they all looked fairly alike and tended to organise themselves in shifts. The elf nodded and raised itself to its full, though unimpressive, height. "The muggles will not take the Potter child. They have decided to only care for their own child." Dumbledore leaned forward and steepled his hands on the desk in front of him. "Very well, thank you. Please cease surveillance." The elf bowed and disappeared.
Dumbledore had not realised that Lily had already asked her sister to take her son. While family would no doubt be safer than some others, the muggle world would not be a good hiding place if Voldemort came to ultimate power. No matter, he could always organise alternatives if the time came. In any case, he saw no reason that his fidelius charm would fail. Frank and Alice were far more likely and had volunteered to keep working through the crisis. If the prophesy were to come to pass, he did not believe it would be Harry in danger.
He went about his preparations for the day, checking the reports from Filch and the previous night's teacher patrols. He was just beginning to refill the various sweet jars he had secreted around his quarters when another pop interrupted him. In a single look, Dumbledore took in the haggard and distraught appearance of junior auror and newly acquired Order of the Phoenix member Kingsley Shacklebolt and decided a tragedy had occurred. He summoned enough lemon drops to refill the small bowl on his desk and gestured for the man to sit.
Kingsley shook his head, obviously impatient to relay his news. Dumbledore nodded and sat himself. "What has happened, Kingsley?"
"It's the Longbottoms sir; we found them early this morning. This was the soonest I could get away. They've been hurt sir; they're in St Mungo's. Madam Longbottom has asked for you to see them."
Dumbledore nodded, and asked the portraits in his office to advise the professors of his sudden and temporary departure. He then turned on the spot and strode through the apparition room of St Mungo's hospital toward the reception. Immediately he was joined by a young mediwitch who advised him that he was looking for the intensive care ward on the fourth floor before hurrying off to oversee incoming patients. Dumbledore made his way quickly to the specified ward, knowing Frank and Alice may not have long to wait.
He was greeted at the door to the ward by Augusta Longbottom, looking older and more tired than he had ever seen her. "Dumbledore," she choked out, her eyes and voice full of grief and anger. "Please, tell me you can do something for my children." Dumbledore took her hand. "Show me what is wrong; I will do what I can." Augusta nodded and led him into the ward. She hesitated at a drawn set of curtains before pulling them aside slightly to allow Dumbledore entry. He did not miss the fact that they were pulled hastily back into place, nor that Augusta didn't follow him inside. What he saw before him was shocking.
He had expected blood, curse residue, the smell of burnt flesh and exposed innards. He saw none of that. Instead, he could hardly reconcile the people in front of him with the bright, confident young aurors he knew the couple to be. Frank could easily be mistaken for comatose if his eyes had not been open, and Alice was shrieking and kicking. They were held against the frames of their beds by magical restraints, the purpose of which was made clear by the impossibly large bubble of snot from Frank's nose and the sparks emitted from Alice's mouth as she struggled. He reached out to Frank to feel out the damage left by the curse.
"I'd rather you didn't do that just yet." A mediwizard interrupted, entering the enclosed area. "We have evidence that this is due to prolonged exposure to the cruciatus curse, you will need mental shields up before going anywhere near them. In any case, I have to try the standard measures first and then both you and Madam Longbottom will need to sign a waiver." Albus stepped back. "Of course."
The mediwizard performed a number of charms on the pair that Albus recognised as being designed for sleep, nerve repair and improved nutrient absorption. He then placed them in a body bind and set up monitoring spells for vitals and intracranial pressure.
The mediwizard turned to Albus. "Sir, if you would bring Madam Longbottom through?" Albus nodded and the mediwizard turned back to his spells, scribbling notes on a chart. Albus left the curtained enclosure and approached Augusta. She was staring out into the hall, eyes clouded. Albus touched her on the shoulder and she drew in a sharp breath. "The mediwizard would like to see you, my dear." Augusta nodded, her lips set in a grim line, and they made their way back toward the incapacitated aurors.
They had hardly made it through the curtains before the mediwizard began talking to Augusta about a sort of a sugar test to see if the younger Longbottoms' brains were awake. Albus thoroughly approved of this method, as he found offering sweets to be a wonderful way to gauge behaviour and imagined this must be much the same internally. He nodded his approval when Augusta looked to him, and resolved to learn as much as he could about this method.
To Albus' disappointment, the sugar test was not likely to be helpful to him. The mediwizard spelled a sugary solution into each of the Longbottoms and performed a complicated spell to detect the sugar in the brain. After about an hour of looking at small patches of glowing charm, the mediwizard concluded that both aurors had suffered extensive brain damage and they would be looking at a long recovery process. His official recommendation was to keep them in magical sleep for two weeks to allow them to heal before reassessing and treating further. Albus agreed with him and Augusta was eventually convinced to go home and rest herself, knowing her children were in capable hands.
Albus apparated back to his office and summoned a house elf to bring him tea. The Longbottom boy was unmarked and his parents out of action. That made the possibility of him being the one to fulfill the prophecy less likely. It was time to start making new plans.
The sixth of August dawned bright and hot. Mrs. Dursley chattered happily at her husband and son while she fed them and saw Mr. Dursley off to work. Then she took her son outside to do some gardening before the light rain expected around lunchtime. Pruning done, she stopped him from eating next door's roses and put him down for a nap.
She was in the middle of a good gossip when the house suddenly went dark. She went to the windows and saw that the sky was covered in cloud and the streetlamps had come on. She turned on the lights and went back to chatting with her friend. A few minutes later, the storm burst. Rain fell hard on the roof and Petunia's phone line was unusable. Luckily, her Dudders didn't scream to let her know he was awake. She rushed around checking the windows and closing the curtains, and then set herself to making lunch. Having eaten her food, cooled some soft veges and cut up some sausages for her baby boy; she popped upstairs to get him from his cot. He wasn't there. He had escaped before though, tricky boy, and could usually be found in the spare room. He wasn't there either. She checked the whole house, no sign of him. By now the rain was flooding the street, but she checked the front lawn and back thoroughly. No sign of her precious Dudley.
Outside, the rain continued to fall, water levels rising dangerously for a residential street. Thunder crashed and lightning flashed overhead, occasionally snaking down to touch a house. A wizard deposited his stunned and immobilised charge in a particularly impressive puddle. Task complete, he cancelled his spells and spun on his heel. His departure was mistaken for just another strike of lightning in a record storm.
Vernon arrived home later than usual, due to the extra traffic created by a convoy of emergency vehicles and displaced homeowners. He was surprised by the amount of damage he saw on the way, but confident that their home would be alright. Goodness knew he paid enough to keep it up to the highest code, even trusting an Irishman's perspective on rain-proofing. He was much perturbed then, to see policemen and an ambulance in front of number four. He parked up the street as his own driveway was blocked, and made his way to his front door. A policeman stopped him before he could step onto the lawn, but let him pass with a funny look when Vernon explained that he lived there.
Thoroughly disquieted, he wiped his shoes on the doormat and bustled into the living room. His wife sat on the couch, head in her hands and sobbing. He hastened to her side and sat next to her, legs touching, waiting for her to calm enough to tell him what had happened. After a few minutes he became aware that something was missing, and went to check on Dudley. The boy wasn't in his room. Neither had he been in the living room with Petunia. And for that matter, why were there policemen outside?
Vernon roared and charged out to door toward a policeman who appeared to be in charge. "WHERE IS MY SON?" He demanded. The policeman gestured for him to follow and walked toward the ambulance. Vernon caught sight of a small figure draped on a stretcher. He stopped, blood draining from his face. The policeman he had been following stopped too, and turned to him. "Mr. Dursley, I'm afraid there was an accident. Your son wandered outside during the storm and…" "NO!" The policeman stopped, affronted. "I'm terribly sorry, but-" His voice was cut off as Vernon swung and caught him in the face with. "MY SON ISN'T DEAD!" Vernon dropped to his knees. "He can't be dead."
Dumbledore chuckled softly at the reports he was getting from Arabella Figg. The muggles were devastated. If it came to pass that they were needed, he was certain they would be far more receptive now. And if not, the family were practically a poster for anti-muggle sentiment, the loss of one hardly meant a thing in terms of the greater good.
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Author's note: the following is an extract from The Independent regarding August 6th, 1981 in Surrey: "The cumulonimbus clouds that bring thunderstorms can reach a height of 16 kilometres (almost 10 miles). If they are one of the thicker variety (sic) they can block out most, and occasionally all, of the sun's light. On 6 August 1981, one that was eight miles high filled the sky over east Surrey and transformed a summer's day into pitch-black darkness. Street lights came on automatically, and, when the storm burst, there were extensive floods with 16 buildings struck by lightning. This degree of darkness in the middle of the day is very rare, but not unprecedented…" This seemed too good of an opportunity to pass up!