Inspired by a story I read recently wherein the Dursley's give Harry to the Queen as a baby. A silly little piece.
No-one can force love and no-one should force a couple to raise a child they don't want, or involve them in a war against their will.
.
.
After four failed attempts at leaving the child at Great Ormond Street Children's Hospital, the local firehouse, the local church, and a daycare under a false name, and three increasingly angry Howlers, Petunia and Vernon were at an impasse.
"I won't do it Vernon. My nephew or not, no law obliges us to and no man in a pointy hat can make us."
Vernon nodded. "Yes pet, but what now?"
The child in the basket gurgled.
"Honestly, the way he speaks to us- what would he do if we just smothered it?" Vernon said indignantly, even as he bent down to tuck the blanket round the baby properly.
Petunia shrieked.
"Vernon! I don't want to raise him but I'm not going to drown him like a kitten either."
"I just meant- he can't honestly think he can force us to adopt a child and raise it like our own AND love him the same as Dudders?"
"You can't force love" Petunia agreed.
"Maybe if he wasn't a-a-a You Know What- and if those horrible letters hadn't been quite so clear about the terrible danger he's in from that lot-" Vernon continued, then shook his head brusquely.
"This is getting us nowhere. We need to dump him back with his own lot, the freaks in long dresses."
Petunia agreed, and pondered on the subject for several hours as she went about her day. Vernon left for work, and by the time he came home she'd had another idea.
The next place they left him took Petunia nearly a full day to find. She'd been there, five or six times, with her parents to get Lily's school things.
"It's a pub, apparently, and you go out the back, and through a wall and into some place they called diagonally. Maybe because the streets aren't straight."
Vernon peered around. To he and his wife, there was nothing unusual about Charing Cross Road- he and Petunia were standing across the road from a bookstore, and a closing down Blockbuster Video. In between the two shops was an alleyway so narrow Vernon rather doubted he'd be able to fit down it.
Then he took a closer look at the people around him. Whilst folk in business suits, teenagers in jeans and all around decent, normal folk certainly dominated, some of the pedestrians were a little unusual. Here and there, were young folks dressed like it was still the Victorian era, and older folks in garish colors. Some of them looked like they'd stepped off a theatre stage. Like that family there, the blondes in their black dresses, both man and wife.
"You're sure it's here?"
Petunia nodded firmly, bending down to grab the basket that contained her sleeping nephew. A note of her own nestled beside him, written on plain notepaper in black pen.
Looking both ways, she crossed the road, and, waiting for a lull in both foot and road traffic, leant against a telephone box.
The boy slept on.
Dear Wizards:
This is a magic child that Albus Dumbledore is attempting to foist onto us. We will not take him. He is your responsibility now.
I don't feel right about leaving a baby in a basket at a pub, but if it's good enough for Albus Dumbledore then it's surely good enough for us!
-Two Normal People.
Albus leaned back in his chair. The charms were indicating that whilst Harry wasn't currently at Privet Drive, he was still in the custody of Petunia and Vernon Dursley.
The old wizard sighed. He'd not expected them to be so recalcitrant to their duty towards their nephew, but perhaps they were finally warming up to hi-
The alarm went off.
Harry James Potter had just left their custody...right outside the Leaky Cauldron. Trainee Aurors Shacklebolt and Patil were becoming increasingly reluctant to return Harry to his relatives and Dumbledore stood, grabbing a cloak from a hook by the door.
He'd have to go himself, this time.
.
"Lucius, darling, there's a baby in this basket."
