Vernon Dursley liked to say his family was perfectly normal, thank you very much.
It was quite a shock when an old man in a robe came asking for his wife, more confusing still that he was here to inform her about the death of her sister.
"Petunia!" He called through the house. "It's one of them!" With the knowledge of what news was expected, he momentarily considered calling out a "Good news!" to excite her, but declined the opportunity for two reasons. Firstly, Petunia would hardly wish to seem indecorous, no matter who was the visitor, and he reasonably decided that revealing his expectation of her delight at the Potter woman's death would not be the height of decorum.
More importantly, when wizards came by, it was never really good news.
Albus Dumbledore, as he introduced himself, entered quietly as the lady of the house set to making tea, possibly out of habit. For a moment it impressed him, the way she treated even an unwanted guest, and he showed the robed figure to the sitting room, switching off the television.
"It is with a heavy heart I must inform you of the murder of your sister last night. A dark wizard, the worst in many years, ended her life after killing her husband and from what we understand she stood in front of the crib of her infant son as she died." If the older man expected this to elicit some sort of response, Vernon expected he would be disappointed. All the same, it seemed the moment to say something.
"I see."
"She was a brave witch to her final hour, and while I understand you are no longer close, there are things that remain to be arranged." The cogs in Vernon Dursley's skull turned rapidly, piecing together the wizard's most likely purpose in entering his domicile.
"You're here to drop off the kid, then, is that it? Some sort of next of kin regulation? You know, sir, I may have not made it quite clear the way I-"
"I am afraid I can do nothing of the sort. Regrettably, the yet unrecognized heroism of James and Lilly Potter was in an ultimately futile effort. Neither her son nor his killer survived the night, both would be discovered within moments by a very sad man who may have ended his life had I not taken him to intensive care at Saint Mungo's. It is my belief that some protective magic reflected the killing curse back upon its caster, who in turn possessed some cursed talisman enabling him to hold on long enough to set the little home ablaze. Harry Potter died painfully, his small corpse almost entirely unrecognizable." Dumbledore momentarily looked around the room, drawing what appeared to be a lemon drop from his coat and eating it without ceremony. There was no doubt in Vernon's mind that the old man had not expected him to understand any of what he had just said, except possibly enough to rouse some guilt.
"If you expect-" the wizard simply raised a hand, which stopped him from talking entirely.
"My apologies. It appears my presence here has been a disturbance in your quiet happiness, sequestered from my world and its affairs. You will, to my disappointment, not be able to raise the Potter boy as your own, his life and suffering have already ended. I hope you are as happy as his parents, as somewhere they are already reunited with him, as whatever world lies beyond welcomes a small family too good for this one. In their short lives they made many friends, became two of the best students to ever attend my school, and fought bravely to their dying breaths." The robed man rose, more quickly than Vernon might have thought possible. "I shall waste no more of your time in living the best lives you can." He rose and drew a wooden instrument from his robes.
"Yes, fine, and if you, ever, find a need to contact us again-"
"I shall not hesitate to send an owl. You may find it a great wonder how many I can send when I mean to." The wizard disappeared, taking the tea with him. From the looks of the sugar, he had added a considerable amount at some point or another.
"Might have gone worse, I suppose." he said, looking to his wife, who had not once broken her silence. While he usually lead discussions, Vernon had expected some input. The two of them had long since agreed that they had had enough of wizards, magic, and Petunia's side of the family, dead or otherwise. At the same time- his wife was a sensitive soul, prone to crying occasionally and it occurred to him she might actually be in some momentary mourning.
"I... I didn't always hate her." she said softly. "As girls we got along fine. It was when she got that.. that cursed letter and that despicable boy arrived." He imagined an owl with a larger than life letter in its beak and a small James Potter. That was when things changed. "Did you hear how that man was talking down to us like that?" Vernon had not noticed it. He supposed the man had a voice that could make anything sound like a kindness. "The boy- Severus, he would do it all the time. He told my sister she deserved better."
"Severus? Probably thought he was what she deserved. Mad little fool, what the bloody hell kind of name is that anyway? Then again, if your sister was convinced, why not let her run off to whatever it was he would have done." It occurred to him he would not have said as such had it been his sister, normal or otherwise. "Look, darling- whatever she was, she is no more. She and her damnable husband are out of our hair for good."
"I suppose so. Would it trouble you too greatly if we were to go to the funeral?" she asked, almost entirely out of the blue.
"I'll have to think about it." Vernon answered diplomatically. "Someone will have to watch Dudley, can't leave him alone more than a Canadian summer or he'll wake the dead with his screaming. Stout little voice. Beginning to grow on me." Petunia seemed to collect herself somewhat.
"Thank you, Verny, you've been a wonderful sport about all these recent developments. It may be they neglect to invite me; it would hardly be the first time, so we'll have all the more time with our perfect son in that case. All the same, if they do send an invitation, it would be my duty to go, and I would feel better to have you with me."
"Of course, sweetums."
It was settled in Vernon's mind that there was absolutely no cause for concern. He looked through the mail in the morning, most calls went to his work phone, and he had every confidence wizards had as little idea of how to use computers as he did. The machines would never replace good old common sense, however hard they seemed to be trying.
The following day there was a particularly odd missive with green text in the letterbox. Briefly looking it over, he decided against opening it, as it doubtlessly came from one of their sort. If anything, it only confirmed what he had been thinking. Stuffing it in his breast pocket, he forgot about it and went about his day at the electric tool sales department.
"Nothing to worry about, thank you very much." he muttered to himself delightedly.
At home things took an unexpected turn.
He found Petunia as always in the sitting room, but the normality ended there.
"Dearest, it appears we have received the invitation." She began, handing him a cup of tea. He was glad he had not been drinking it because he might have spit it out. There was a degree of oddity he had been willing to accept for his lovely wife in light of the circumstances, and it seemed to simply have been exceeded by leaps and bounds. The wizarding world seemed averse to taking normality into account, and he would suffer it no longer.
All the same, a question remained.
They sent another copy?
He could hardly check his pocket for a letter without arousing suspicion and decided to put it off. No, what was he thinking, of course it was another copy- then again, you never knew with these wizards.
"Sweetums, I'm beginning to think better of it. Suppose they turn you into a newt."
"That would be simply dreadful!" Petunia responded, her expression one of abject shock. "What kind of mother could I be as a newt? I don't suppose there's a parenting book on the subject?" Well that was easier than I thought.
"Really, we're without a recourse against them. Don't answer to laws like sensible people- it's better just to leave them in the madhouse they've made."
All went well for the next three hours or so, at least as far as Vernon could tell. Then a pile of letters appeared under the slot.
"What in damnation- they're all the same- and at this hour? Why? What's the damn point? It's only been a day, hasn't it?" All at once a hundred mad notions flooded his mind, each less likely than the last. "Did they expect some sort of response? Do they know if it's been opened or not? But then Petunia opening it would have done it- they could be here- invisible- somewhere in the house and we wouldn't know a thing- or they could be in our minds."
Vernon Dursley decided he had already had quite enough of magic, thank you very much.
Boarding up the slot was easy enough- what raised concern was when they came through windows he could have sworn he had already shut. They did not follow him to work, no, he had some idea they wanted to keep their whole damnable operation secret- probably knew what kind of hellfire awaited them if any decent people got wind of their sort. He amused himself with ideas of the Americans and the Russians fighting over the last wizard, presumably for testing purposes. It had already occurred to him to reveal their secrets, but in some bardic irony it would be he who would be thrown into the madhouse. There was a near certainty of those men being in government- it was the only way to explain the new tax bill, as near as he and Petunia could figure. Either way, they had to have something to do if a normal man were to expose them- and whatever it was it would be far from ideal.
Arriving at home he could hardly be bothered to check the letterbox, he had every expectation it was stuffed with those same damnable missives. Vernon had considered leaving late with a couple of mates, but it was his duty to return to the loony bin that the old wizard had made of his house- he could hardly let his wife suffer it alone.
"Vernon, I can't take it anymore." Petunia cried as he entered, hanging his hat. Looking around, it appeared the walls had been quite literally papered with letters. The text on each page had switched to red.
"Who the hell has the time to write all these bloody letters?!" He shouted, opening the refrigerator to see a dozen or so more spill out. He had never expected the wizard to be reasonable, but the pace of the escalation raised questions. Checking a copy he had found set at each of the three places at the table, it was apparent that the date was soon- present, even.
"The funeral's tonight, dearest- I've cleared the calendar- can you believe their nerve, they wrote 'read letter' on every day before this one!"
"Tonight? That means it's our last day of these damnable things!" Vernon shouted excitedly, his mood brightening as the cogs turned rapidly. "What could that loony old man possibly do in the next few hours before he runs out of a reason to continue?"
"Dearest, this one says they've already moved the date and won't hesitate to do it again." In response he exploded, tearing letters to shreds, in his fit of rage unable to discern its direction.
"Sweetums, this isn't your fault." He said quickly and quietly, noticing her fingers go up to an eye. "You just happen to be related to a witch- a dead one, anyway."
"I know, I know, I just can't help but feel like they're putting all this on you because of me."
"Well- not to worry- we go, they see us, and we leave at the earliest opportunity."
It was settled, more or less.
They were dressed professionally. The driving instructions were surprisingly easy to understand, as though whoever had written them had driven a car before, which was, as he understood it, a decidedly uncommon practice among their sort. A parking spot was available in the little village out in West Country, and the drive was shorter than expected, or at least it seemed that way. Vernon nearly noted it seemed they were walking into a trap, but decided not to upset his wife further.
They found the gathered wizards rather easily, though as he looked around the signs in the little town, it was clear this was one of their places.
"Suppose they had to live somewhere. Isn't this around where your sister lived?"
"I believe so... it seems I can't quite remember." she responded as she clung to him, the chill of the air apparent. "I might have been over when their son was born... or near then."
The service started quietly, statues being carved out of hewn stone by magic. Vernon's head was on a swivel trying to process all that was going on, but Petunia stared straight ahead. He expected she did not notice when the old wizard from before looked their way and smiled, whatever the reason was. Out of place in the crowd of robed figures, he supposed the old loon was just happy he had successfully coerced the two of them into going. Vernon had not expected to see anyone he recognized, but over his shoulder he spotted Arabella Figg, the cat lady from a few properties over. Suppose a few of them have to be hiding in plain sight.
Albus Dumbledore introduced himself before speaking, this time with only the two names, the rest of which Mr. Dursley had been entirely unable to remember. In his line of work, it was really only the last name that mattered, except on a sales call.
"Friends, allow me to express my gratitude that you have all arrived. Many of us are relieved, many mournful, still others remain in shock from all that has come to pass. Linger not on these sentiments, I implore you. Be relieved in the death of our greatest fear of Lord Voldemort, find comfort in knowing that no more noble lives will so suddenly and cruelly be taken from us, but never allow complacency to take hold. In our mourning we are at our most human, and not one among us can be faulted our tears, but we are at our most divine in our celebration of their short lives. James and Lilly Potter were exceptional students, devoted friends, and brave soldiers in a war they never wanted, hero and heroine to the very end. Their son was a boy we never had the chance of knowing- out of necessity they spent his infancy in hiding, and I expect few if any of us have even seen him. I know he brought them great joy, and for that reason, his life is something for which we should be thankful, though it was the shortest of them all." Vernon noticed a rectangular article in the end of the old wizard's sleeve. It had become partially visible only as his arm moved. Though he knew not from whence the notion came, it seemed to him Dumbledore had received a letter of his own.
The speech paused as the magical stonework was completed behind them, a representation of the Potter family with three headstones. His frustration at having been essentially forced to attend the funeral evaporated, or at least it was replaced with shame.
"This lesson that Harry Potter teaches us is one I never teach at my school, and for that I express my gratitude. Our lives, dear friends, are means each to their own ends, not ends in themselves. Disasters like these show us the horror of losing such valuable lives in mere moments, despite having done all we could to protect them, every magical arrangement I could make I made it and like Death himself Voldemort came all the same. We fear losing our lives early, but if we live in fear we can expect to lose them later, without ever having used them. With his short life the boy who died accomplished much, intentionally or otherwise. In this war I have asked more of people than I ever wanted, enough that by rights they should have refused. And yet, what I must ask here is that we all live as the Potters did. Never fear an early grave, and use what little life you have to the best purpose you can." There was a sonorous applause to the conclusion of the address, though for some reason Vernon thought the old man's voice was becoming shaky toward the end, as though he was forcing the words out. Seemed like a meaningful lesson for him- long life, to be sure. No idea what he's so ashamed of having done with it.
As they started the car, Vernon Dursley's shame seemed to lift in an odd sort of sympathy.
They left without ceremony or further regard.
