Petunia Dursley's Sassy Gay Husband
Summary: This is an idea I've had for a while. Petunia and Vernon's marriage isn't the unholy unity of two stale, normal-obsessed individuals as it is portrayed in canon. Instead, it is a marriage of convenience, a sharing of assets, hearts, and a home (if not bodies) of the homosexual Vernon and his best friend Petunia. Harry is dropped off at the doorstep of two very different foster parents, who nevertheless maintain some level of propriety. He's sassy, he's gay, but he's still Vernon Dursley.
If you enjoy this, be sure to check out my increasingly popular fic "Dudley Dursley's Sassy Gay Friend," which plays with the idea of Harry being flamboyantly gay and the cousins sharing a friendship/bromance. Harry's more stereotypically gay in that story than Vernon is in this one. There's humor in both stories, but DDSGF is definitely goofier.
Our story begins with, of all things, a sausage. No, that's not a euphemism for anything. The sausage in question is a rather tasty battered sausage sold in a local fish-and-chip joint where two best friends and co-workers, Vernon Dursley and Petunia Evans, had stopped one fateful day years ago, partly to get out of the rain and partly to enjoy said sausage.
Petunia and Vernon had met approximately two years ago at Grunnings where they both worked, he as a junior executive, she as an accountant. They ordered their respective sausage and sat down at a booth to enjoy their succulent treat. At this point, Vernon had been promoted to the position of Assistant Director, and Petunia was a slightly more highly-paid accountant. They considered one another their best friends, the person they would trust with anything. Today, each had independently, without knowledge of the other's intentions, planned to tell the other their deepest, darkest secret. After they had each taken one bite of their respective sausage, chewed slowly, and swallowed, they simultaneously decided to let the cat out of the bag.
"Petunia, I..." Vernon began, just as Petunia said "Vernon, I..."
"You go first," each said politely at the same time, partly out of good manners and partly to delay the uncomfortable moment when they would reveal their own secret.
"No, you," they both answered one another, again at the same time.
Finally, Vernon bit the bullet, but not before taking another quick, strengthening bite of his sausage and washing it down with a sip of cola. "Petunia, I'm gay," said Vernon.
Petunia arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, I figured," she said. "I mean you didn't try to hit on my sister in all the time I've known you. I thought it was either this or you were a eunuch."
Vernon let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, completely floored by Petunia's reaction. "You don't mind?" he asked.
"Why on Earth would I mind?" asked Petunia dismissively. "You're sassy enough to give me great fashion advice and cutting edge cattiness to people we don't like but man enough to not be a walking stereotype. You're always willing to lift something for me without worrying about breaking a nail, yet you're always around when I need a friend to get a mani-pedi with. One might say that you're secure in your homosexuality."
"Well, not exactly. You're the only person I've ever told, and honestly, I plan to keep it that way," Vernon admitted.
"I won't tell a soul," Petunia promised. "I need to tell you something as well. My family already knows this, because, well, it would be impossible for them not to know. But I don't want anyone else to figure it out."
Vernon nodded for her to continue, and she took a deep, calming breath. "My sister Lily is a Witch," she said.
"Don't you think that's a bit harsh, dear?" Vernon asked tentatively.
"No, let me finish. She's literally a Witch. You know, magic wand, broomstick, black cat... well, she doesn't have a black cat, but she can do Magic."
"Can you?" Vernon asked.
"Of course not, Vernon! What do you take me for?" asked Petunia, scandalized.
"I meant no offense," said Vernon holding up a hand. "But if you can't do Magic, why should this affect our friendship? We're best friends, after all."
"Oh, Vernon!" Petunia squealed joyously, leaning over to where he sat beside her and embracing him with such enthusiasm that he dropped his battered sausage.
A/N: According to the Harry Potter Wiki, Word of God states that this was how the conversation went when Petunia told Vernon about Lily being a Witch. It was between a recently engaged Petunia and Vernon and took place in the fish and chip shop where they had stopped for battered sausage. After her confession, Vernon solemnly told Petunia that he would never hold the fact that she had a freak for a sister against her. (And despite all his flaws in canon, he never did. True love shows up in the most unexpected places...) Anyway, the conversation ended with Petunia "embracing Vernon so violently that he dropped his battered sausage" ;) ;) ;)
The friendship continued to grow. Neither of them found a romantic partner suited to them, what with Vernon's closeted homosexuality and Petunia's icy, sarcastic exterior, which only Vernon and Petunia's best girlfriend Yvonne seemed able to get past. However, they reached the point where they became roommates, for the sake of financial convenience, and platonic life partners from having been together so often for so long.
When Vernon's mother began pestering her son to settle down with a woman, Vernon approached Petunia about becoming his beard. "You don't have to," he assured her. "Just, well... you've met my mother." Petunia understood. Vernon's mother, Elaine Dursley, was a pushy woman with very firm ideas about propriety who always thought she knew what was best for everybody. Much like herself, Petunia was willing to admit, if only to herself. Except, of course, Petunia did actually know what was best for everybody, while Elaine Dursley was just an old-fashioned, meddling busybody. Nevertheless, Petunia knew that she would make the best beard for Vernon, so she dutifully accompanied him to have dinner with his family.
She met Vernon's elder sister Marjorie, a large woman with a loud voice and a strong resemblance to her brother. When she was first introduced to "the happy couple" by her beaming mother, Marge took in Petunia holding Vernon's elbow, betraying not a hint of nervousness. She took in her younger brother, smiling affectionately at Petunia. Marge winked. Only Petunia caught it. The blond woman's mask seemed to slip slightly as she smiled in obvious relief while Marge came forward to shake her hand.
Marge bred bulldogs, and she loved her job. She loved each and every one of the twelve dogs she looked after and the "grandchildren" that resulted from the careful breeding of her bulldogs. She also loved Colonel Fubster, a retired military man who lived next door to her and sometimes helped her out with the dogs. While Marge's business had been kind to her, affording her a more-than-decent living, and the dogs constantly smothered their "Mummy" with affection, Colonel Fubster did not return Marge's feelings.
Marge wept about it for a while, and, in the privacy of her own home, alone except for her favorite dog, Ripper, declared herself heartbroken. Ripper growled sympathetically. After a few phone calls with Vernon, in which her younger brother cheerfully insulted the Colonel, Marge began to feel better. The ever-expanding business took her mind off things, and the rejected romantic advances did not affect Fubster's commendable work ethic. Life went on.
Of course, her mother, being her mother, had to meddle.
Life had gone on most splendidly for Vernon and Petunia. Vernon was promoted to Director, and Petunia got another pay raise. They had lived together for years now, and Vernon's mother began to grow distraught over the lack of wedding bells. When she dropped not-so-subtle hints to Vernon and Petunia, they were able to explain it away by claiming that they wanted to focus on their careers.
Vernon's mother had told him privately that when a woman wants to "focus on her career," it's because she's trying to fill a husband-shaped hole in her life. That ploy, his mother had warned, never worked. "Woman of a certain age need a husband and child to feel fulfilled, Vernon," his mother lectured. "Haven't you ever heard of 'biological clocks,' dear?"
The conversation led to an argument which resulted in a two-week period of stony silence between mother and son. Vernon eventually relented and continued speaking with his mother. He would not budge on the marriage issue, though. In order to keep the peace, the subject was dropped, though the Dursley matron never gave up hope that she would one day see Petunia radient in a wedding dress, standing beside her son, the diamond ring of Vernon's deceased grandmother on her finger.
Despite the utter ridiculousness of a marriage between himself and Petunia, his mother's lecture had given Vernon pause. Not the nonsense about Petunia's biological clock or her substituting her career for a family. Vernon knew for a fact that she loved her job, loved the logic and reason numbers gave her, loved the quiet, loved the normalcy that, thanks to her special, unique snowflake of a sister, she could never find growing up. Still, there was no doubt that married couples were more respectable in the eyes of the law than two people "shacking up." Currently, they each paid half the expenses for a car and a house which was in both of their names, spent almost all of their free time together, and shared everything but a bed. They were all but married already. Yet, despite this, Vernon knew the relationship between himself and Petunia would never be seen as "legitimate" like those of married couples. He and Petunia had considered this beforehand and decided that the pros outweighed the cons.
Still, he remembered when his father had gotten into that automobile accident which had resulted in his hospitalization. When he was admitted to the hospital, visitors were restricted to family only. The elder Mr. Dursley's wife and two children were in the room with him when he coded. An intense moment... could have been an hour passed as doctors and nurses worked desperately to save the patient as Vernon and Marge clung to their mother, both giving and seeking comfort. Elaine Dursley became a widow that night, but she could take a small amount of comfort in the fact that her last words to her husband had been "I love you."
Should the same thing happen to either himself or Petunia, they would not be able to give one another the same comfort. The more he thought about it, the more Vernon wanted Petunia to be part of his family. He brought it up rather casually one day as they were digging into one of Petunia's exquisite desserts. They always were rather blunt with one another. Petunia had been surprised, but had, as always, carefully weighed the advantages and disadvantages. They discussed it at length for several weeks before coming to the conclusion that a marriage certificate would change nothing, except to make things slightly more convenient. New acquaintances mistook them for a couple anyway. Might as well simplify things.
Although he didn't have to, Vernon did the thing properly. He got down on one knee and proposed to her in his mother's sitting room- neither of them could stand the idea of doing something so vulgar as proposing marriage in a public place in front of gawking spectators. They had a respectable ceremony, which Petunia's parents- overjoyed at seeing their normally closed-off daughter so happy- foot the bill for. Vernon's mother got her wish as her son said "I do," and slipped his grandmother's- her mother's- ring on the finger of his blushing bride, and the two lovebirds shared a chaste kiss.
Now that the happy couple was honeymooning in Paris, a city they both secretly wanted to see (Vernon's mother remembered the books about "The City of Love" which he kept stashed under his bed when he was a child. He still had no idea she knew about them.), Elaine felt that her elder, soon-to-be-an-old-maid daughter was long overdue for some advice.
"I just want you to be as happy as Vernon is with his new bride, dearest," Elaine had said.
"I am happy, mother," Marge pointed out.
"With bulldogs! You need human companionship, Marjorie."
"Colonel Fubster's right next door if I want a cup of tea and a chat," said Marge, knowing precisely what her mother meant but wishing to delay the inevitable argument.
"I'm talking about marriage, dear. You need a man to support you... or rather help support you, if you still insist on keeping that bulldog business after you're married," Elaine added quickly as Marge opened her mouth to protest.
"Mother, I don't need a husband! Despite what Vernon and Petunia may be doing or how things were done in your day, I'm perfectly happy with my life as it is right now!"
Marge stormed out before the famous Dursley temper could get the best of her and drove, rather recklessly, back to her peaceful home in the country. Elaine watched her go, remembering how it had gone with Vernon. Let them get mad, then mull it over. She'll have a man, whether he was Colonel Fubster or someone else. Just give it a week.
Two days later, she had a Myocardial Infarction- a heart attack. She had been feeling tired and rather nauseated all day, but she pushed through in order to get the house clean. Vernon and Petunia were coming back from their honeymoon that day and would be stopping at her house on their way to their own. She saw them coming up the drive and hurried out to greet them. Just as she raised a hand to wave, she collapsed.
The couple hurried out of the car. Vernon administered CPR as Petunia called for an ambulance. By the time Marge was contacted, and she made the five-hour drive to the hospital, the worst had already happened. Their mother had died. She and Vernon had become orphans.
Vernon made funeral arrangements as Marge spent the next few days in numb shock. At the funeral, Vernon sat between his sister and his wife, the two most important women in his life now that his mother was gone. He held Petunia's hand and put his arm around Marge's shoulders. All at once, Marge began to sob uncontrollably, crying for the first time since she found out about her mother's passing. It had finally sunk in. Her mother was gone, and she didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. The last time she spoke to her mum was during an argument before storming out of the house. Now, she would never get a chance to reconcile, to tell her mum how much she loved her.
"I guess it's just you and me now," she murmurred to Vernon when she could trust herself to speak without blubbering. True, they had distant relatives who were in town for the funeral, and Petunia had married into the family. But Vernon was the only one left of her immediate family, the one who shared her childhood memories, who knew her all her life.
"Yeah," Vernon said huskily, as if he was holding back a sob. "Yeah."
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Number Four Privet Drive appeared, at first glance to be perfectly normal. In fact, they would be proud of any description as such, since this was exactly what they were aiming for, despite carefully-hidden evidence to the contrary. Any casual acquaintance would know that Vernon Dursley was a well-to-do director of Grunnings, a company which made drills and that Petunia managed a new, but steadily growing, culinary business from home. She had been growing bored with her accountant job for quite a while now; it just didn't present enough of a challenge, and she had hit the salary cap.
She had thrown herself into learning to cook from a young age, having the idea that this was something a woman ought to know. Now, she found a way for her talent to pay off without having to serve hideous people at some fast-food restaurant. Selling edible arrangements of her delicious homemade treats from the comfort of her own home had been a slow business at first, but it eventually spread. Petunia was nothing if not meticulous, and her perfectly-arranged desserts grew popular among small children with a sweet-tooth, wealthy old spinsters hosting elaborate parties, and every confection craver in between.
Two up-and-coming businesspeople, happily married and sharing a nice house in a nice neighborhood. All perfectly normal. That day, they were expecting a visit from Vernon's sister Marge, who also appeared perfectly normal, but a bit of a tomboy, what with her devotion to bulldogs of all things and no desire for a husband. Still, like her sister-in-law and her brother, she was hard-working and responsible, the sort of person who would belong in the highly conservative neighborhood of Privet Drive.
The main reason for inviting his sister over was that Vernon planned to tell her a secret. A secret that would make him look significantly less normal than he appeared to strangers and acquaintances. And, if that went over well (or at least without a Dursley-on-Dursley brawl), he could tell her another secret he had been hiding for a while.
Marge took a train, and Vernon picked her up from the station while Petunia made last-minute additions to her latest batch of treats before sending them out. The house was spotless, and a pot of tea was made by the time Vernon, Marge, and Ripper came in from the rain. Petunia took their coats, and they all retired to the lounge. Small-talk, reminiscing, and family jokes carried the conversation for a while before the three lapsed into silence.
Vernon cleared his throat, a touch nervous, though he tried not to show it. His wife and sister politely did not comment on Vernon's subtle nerves. He wouldn't want anyone to think he was anything less than unflappable.
"Marge, I have something important to tell you," he began.
"What is it, Vernon?" Marge asked calmly, leaning forward attentively.
"Well, I've had this hobby for some time now. I enjoy it, and, even better, I've managed to turn it into a rather profitable second job."
"Oh?" Marge was not expecting to hear that.
"Yes. I've managed to start my own fashion design company, and it's been going strong for three years now. A large department store chain recently agreed to pick up my designs."
Marge gaped. Vernon took heart from the lack of anger on her shocked face and continued.
"So, now, whenever you go to Debanhams, you'll see high-quality designs from Marjorie-Petunia," Vernon continued proudly.
"Vernon, you named a clothing company after us?" Marge asked shocked, gesturing to herself and Petunia.
"Of course," said Vernon. "You two are the most important people in my life. I would never have made it this far without you two."
"Now we're immortalized!" joked Petunia.
"Vernon, that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you! I guess the fashion designer thing isn't that much of a shock, considering..." Marge broke off, looking awkward.
"Considering, what?" asked Vernon.
"Er... nothing," said Marge.
An awkward silence followed. "I'm gay, Marge," said Vernon, coming out for the second time in his life.
"Well, obviously," said Marge, rolling her eyes.
Petunia never figured out how Marge always knew.
Petunia screamed when she saw the baby on the doorstep. Well, why wouldn't she? She had just found a child sleeping on her doorstep when she had simply gone out to put out the empty milk bottles. Who knows how long he was there or whether he had caught hypothermia from the rain last night. Sometimes, the only thing one could do was scream.
Of course, the fact that it was her sister's child said a lot about why the people responsible for the child seemed to know nothing about child protection agencies or proper foster care procedures. Still, it was a child, a child left out in the cold. Petunia wrapped the blanket more tightly around the infant and brought him into the house.
Vernon, awoken by Petunia's scream, rushed downstairs to find his platonic life partner sitting on the couch, holding a baby as she read a letter.
"Stork come to visit?" he asked.
"It's my sister's son," said Petunia. "My... nephew." That was the first time she had ever referred to Harry Potter as such, though she had been aware of his existence since his conception. To her, James Potter was not "my brother-in-law," but "my sister's husband." Up until that point, Harry was not "my nephew," but "my sister's demon-child."
Surprisingly, there appeared to be nothing demonic about the one year-old currently dozing in her arms. If she thought of him as having Vernon's dark hair rather than James' dark hair, he could be tolerable, even. She supposed she could imagine the green eyes as having come from some distant relative they never see, rather than from her freakish sister. Petunia surveyed the baby. Although she was happy with her marriage to Vernon, she was aware that this could be her only chance at motherhood. She held the child closer. A son of her own. The magic people promised that they would stay away until the boy turned eleven. Then they would take him away to that school Lily went to. Well, she would be his mother. They can't take an eleven year-old away from his mother without her say-so. And she would be saying a lot if she ever saw those freaks again.
"His name is Harry Potter," Petunia continued. "Nasty, common name, don't you agree?"
Vernon nodded dutifully. Even gay men know when they were supposed to agree with their wives.
"Vernon," Petunia said seriously. "This letter says we have to take him in. For his safety and our own."
"Why can't your sister and... her husband take care of him?" Vernon asked.
"They died." There, she said it out loud for the first time. "One of their kind killed them and blew up the house. Sort of a... magical terrorist. This Voldie-fellow tried to kill Harry but got blown up. All of their kind are no doubt still celebrating while we get landed with a child!"
Vernon remembered seeing oddly dressed people in cloaks on his way to work yesterday. He had assumed these people were collecting for something, and had offered some friendly fashion advice. Appearance being nine-tenths of the law, he figured a strategic wardrobe change would result in higher donations. The group had not been receptive. He wondered what on Earth a "Muggle" was. Ah, well, you can lead a horse to water...
Vernon took a closer look at the baby. He at least appeared to be normal, except for a lightning-shaped cut on his forehead, which the letter explained was the result of the madman's murder attempt. He had Petunia's bone structure. "We can keep him," said Vernon. "We can raise him away from all that nonsense. No matter what quirks he has, if he has a normal childhood, he'll turn out basically normal," said Vernon, speaking from experience.
Vernon took the day off work, and Marge was informed of the situation. They managed to purchase the essentials- a crib, a high chair, blankets, diapers, and food- and arrived home to set everything up. They had just set up the crib and put the baby down for a nap when Marge hurried in, bearing gifts and shouting, "Where's my neffy-poo?"
Catching sight of the sleeping baby, Marge said, "He looks like you, Vernon," while running her fingers through the baby's coarse dark hair.
The three adults talked seriously until the baby woke up hungry. Petunia fed him as Vernon and Marge continued talking.
"If they'll be looking for Harry Potter, just change his name. Neither of you two seem very fond of his birth name, anyway," Marge pointed out reasonably.
"I'm not sure that will work, Marge," said Petunia. "They have all sorts of tricks for finding people who don't want to be found."
"But it might give us a legal advantage," said Vernon slowly. "Especially if he takes the last name 'Dursley.' That would be undeniable proof that he is our child, not theirs."
"I'm not sure if it'll keep them away, but a name-change would be good," said Petunia thoughtfully. "He doesn't look like a 'Harry.' What about 'Vernon?' 'Vernon Dursley, Jr.' I rather like the sound of that."
"'Junior' makes me think of stock car racers and footballers, not anyone respectable," said Vernon. "And besides, there can only be one Vernon Dursley."
"Maybe 'Vernon' as a middle name, instead of using 'James?'" suggested Marge.
"And for a first name... he looks like..." the baby giggled, green eyes shining with happiness. "Well, he looks like an 'Angel'" she admitted.
There was a pause. Then, "Angel Vernon Dursley. I like it," said Vernon.
"A miracle child we'd never thought we'd have," said Petunia, misty-eyed.
"I'd never thought I'd be an aunt," said Marge. "Ever since Vernon was five and he..."
"You swore you'd never talk about that!" yelled Vernon, blushing slightly.
The adults roared with laughter, and the baby joined in, clapping his hands, simply happy that everyone around him was happy. Petunia finished feeding the newly-christened Angel Dursley as the brother and sister continued their mock-fight, their argument constantly interrupted by loud roars of laughter from both of them.
Petunia brought the infant to the couch and settled him on her lap as Marge remembered that she brought toys for the newest addition to the Dursley clan. With one last punch to Vernon's shoulder, the woman hurried off to grab the brightly-colored packages and settled next to the mother and son. The baby examined each of his new toys, fascinated, as Vernon sat on Petunia's other side. Petunia smothered the boy with kisses as Ripper, the loud but not-at-all scary bulldog, licked the infant's bare feet, causing the boy to giggle still more loudly. He had a full belly, everybody was happy, and he had weird but friendly people seeing to his every need. Yes, Angel could get used to this.