Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name. "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son - he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"

"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

The truth was that Mr. Dursley was very worried indeed, despite his silence. Though he had never met young Harry, he had met his parents, and in a private conversation that his wife was, quite thankfully, unaware of, he had been taken aside by the slightly younger James for a short conference that would surely change his life.

…

Vernon sipped at his tea aggressively, if that was at all possible, and glared at the young man in front of him. He knew that he was one of those kind that his wife had told him about, but she had never mentioned the unsettling feeling that he seemed to experience whenever one of them was nearby. It was worse than a stomach ache, but not as bad as his ulcer. It was a constant thing, almost as if to warn his body that something dangerous was near, he felt.

The young man glanced up, a smile halfway on his face before he noticed the mood of his observer. He seemed confused before his eyes seemed to widen in alarm. He quickly leaned toward his fiancee' and whispered a word in her ear before rising.

"Vernon! Care to help me with the- ah, the dishes?" His eyes flicking back and forth anxiously as he motioned to the kitchen.

The feeling multiplied, almost as if an alarm was going off. Regardless, he stood. Now was the perfect time to tell that freak just exactly what he and his instincts thought of his- his freakishness. He climbed to his feet, noticing the rapidly increasing struggle as his weight increased. He had taken to stress-eating after encounters with his soon-to-be inlaws, and with the wedding approaching, and their meetings becoming more and more frequent, it was beginning to show.

As he entered the small kitchen of the young couple's new London flat, he saw that the dishes were, in fact, cleaning themselves. "What's this all about, Potter?" He hissed.

The raven-haired man raised his hands in surrender. "No need to panic, Vern."

"Don't call me that!" He hissed back, an automatic response to the well-tread argument.

"Er-right. Sorry. Let's cut right to the point here. You feel it, don't you? The uneasiness, when you're around my kind?"

Vernon nearly choked on his own saliva, and visibly paled, suddenly nervous. Was this some sort of execution?! Potter nearly sagged in relief, which wasn't at all what he had expected of him.

"Phew! And here I thought you just hated my guts for being a wizard! That feeling is perfectly normal around mugg- er, mundane folk like yourself. It's a reaction to the magical aura we put out. It...interferes with normal emotion for those who aren't used to it."

He paused in his tirade to pull a small chain from his pocket. It was a small, black, almost glass-like prism that hung from a thin gold chain. It seemed at once to both absorb and put off light. It captured his attention completely until the wizard began to speak again.

"This is pure obsidian. Normally, it wouldn't do much except look pretty and maybe block a bout of accidental magic or two, if you were lucky, but this is wizard-mined. Since it's first contact besides the surrounding stone was with a wizard, it changes- essentially becoming a...buffer of sorts to the aura we put off. Left unchecked, it would've altered your personality, even warped your mind. This should fix it completely, if my hunch is right."

Vernon looked at the shining stone with suspicion. He knew the kind of person Potter was. He half expected it to turn him in to a bloody chicken. Reaching out a shaking hand, he grasped the thin chain, immediately feeling a cold rush up his spine.

James Potter smirked, his usual cocky grin now back in place. "Told you so."

…

He had worn the small stone every day since, and had, on more than one occasion, counted himself lucky for having it. Who knows how much he would weigh now, otherwise!

As he and Mrs. Dursley got ready for bed, he turned the thoughts over and over in his head. There were too many coincidences for this to be something that didn't involve the Potters. He felt his pulse quicken and he felt his stomach drop to his feet as the small black stone began to heat up. It became almost unbearably hot before it occurred to him that it might be more than mere heartburn. He began to rummage through his nightstand, throwing various random objects out of the way, quickly disrupting the pristine, almost sterile order that his wife kept their abode in. He ignored her complaints that were, very quickly, rising in pitch.

"Vernon, what do you think you're doing?"

He turned, pausing his search even in his desperation.

"Woman, shut the Hell up for once in your god-damned miserable life!"

He went back to searching, before finally finding the mirror that had not seen use in almost a year. He nearly yelled out the name of the one he sought.

"James, answer this bloody contraption!"

Nothing.

He kept trying.

…

Sirius Black had never been described as a rational person. He was often prone to partake in reckless ideas without much forethought, and on more than one occasion, spent an extended amount of time in St. Mungo's due to that fact. However, as he sped across the sky on his newly enchanted motorbike, he was completely focussed. He had felt his stomach drop, and instinctively knew that something was wrong. He had left his flat without another word to his date of the month. The fact that he suddenly knew the location of his best friend after almost a year of complete ignorance could only mean one thing. Voldemort had found them.

…

James Potter woke to a buzzing. As he tried to clear the fog from his mind, he fumbled for his glasses, haphazardly pushing them in place. His nightstand vibrated, and soon, a voice came through.

"-this stupid contraption already! It's hard enough trying to talk to this stupid mirror without- oh give it a rest you nag! Just answer me damn it all!"

That got his attention, and soon, he was more awake than Remus on his fifth pot of coffee. He activated the mirror with the practiced gesture and password.

"Vernon? It's nearly eleven, is everything alright over there?"

"No, everything is not all-bloody-right! I was getting ready for bed when that stupid rock started getting hotter than a ripping skillet, my stomach drops to my feet, and my heart starts racing faster than Black chasing after a pair of twins! Would someone tell me what the fuck is going on?"

James Potter leapt out of bed at that, and dressed as quickly as he could without falling on his face. Holding the mirror in one hand as he stumbled for his pants, his mind began to work. "That's probably the vassal clause. It's a long story, Vern, but that's basically magic calling you to battle. I'll explain when I can, but you need to take advantage of the boost you'll be getting. Your senses will get bolstered, so don't let that throw you. Increased sight, hearing, stuff like that. The short of it is that it's made so that you can properly serve your 'lord' in battle. Think medieval times. The semantics aren't really important. Use that to your advantage. Since it's obvious that the secret is out, that means that that dark lord I told you about-"

"Doldesnort or some such nonsense, right?"

"Er, yeah, him. He could be coming for you and Petunia as well. Remember Peter?"

There was a brief pause on the other side of the mirror. "The rat-looking wimp? The lightweight? What about him?"

Despite the situation, James Potter couldn't help but chuckle, though even Vernon, dull as he sometimes was, could tell that there was no humor in it.. "Yeah. He's the one who betrayed us. You see him? You run."

He was building momentum now, quickly transfiguring dummies of himself and Lily before moving to make sure that his wife was fully aware of the situation. He was about to walk across the hall to the nursery when the door he was leaning to open was flung wide, releasing a red-headed missile.

"I heard everything. Harry's safe in his crib. Noise cancellation wards on every surface, and a stabilization charm on everything not spelled to the floor."

She really did think of everything.

"You do realize that this plan is absolutely insane."

It wasn't a question.

Flashing his most charming grin, James Potter shrugged. "And your point is what, exactly? I've survived this long on just my good looks and skill. What's to say it won't work now? Maybe the tosser is secretly in to younger men."

"You're an idiot." She sighed. "I love you, but why is beyond me."

He knew that they were both hiding their true feelings.

"We'll be fine. All three of us. I promise."

…

As he strode along the sidewalk, the self-styled Lord Voldemort ran his pale hands over the equally pale wand of yew that he had had since he turned eleven. It was a constant presence, and though this would surely be an easy task, he took no small comfort in it. Snape had asked to be rewarded the mudblood of all things, and he had granted the request with a barely restrained eye-roll. He was incredibly predictable. His reverie was broken when a small child, most likely no older than seven, tugged on his cloak. "The indignity!" He thought, tightening his already white-knuckled grip on his weapon.

"Neat vampire costume mister!"

Stopping mid-stride, he turned, ripping his cloak loose from the insolent youth's grasp. His eyes, once a captivating shade of green so dark as to almost be black, now as red as the blood in his veins, narrowed dangerously. Half of the Killing Curse already silently cast, he paused. He was so close to his goal. He couldn't let his exuberance overshadow his plans. Everything had to go off perfectly. He would have to restrain himself. He didn't get to be the most feared dark wizard in nearly a century without being patient, after all.

Turning without another word, he resumed his trek to the small cottage in Godric's Hollow. It was going to be a very good day indeed.