Full summary: After dropping Harry off at King's Cross for his 5th year at Hogwarts, the Dursleys return home to find thatDudley has been kidnapped by an unknown witch or wizard. The notes start arriving, penned in blood red ink, giving painful clues as to what will happen ifVernon and Petunia can't find their son in time. Will Petunia embrace her magic to save the one she loves most? Can the Dursleys make it in the Wizarding World?

A/N: This idea has been bugging me for awhile now, and I just knew I had to do it. This will be my first chaptered fic on this account. To be honest, this idea is so obvious that I'm almost certain it's been done before; I'm just scared to look and see if there are others like this. If there are, I've never seen them and probably won't read one until AFTER this is complete.

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Series is not mine. But a certain, nameless someone is...

The letter that almost ruined the lives of Petunia and Vernon Dursley arrived on a sweltering yet cheery-looking September afternoon. The couple had just returned from dropping off their good-for-nothing nephew at King's Cross to go to his freak school; they had left their darling 15 year old son at home because he complained about having to miss one of his favourite television programs.

"It's Monday," he grumbled to his mother, starting up with some fake tears. "The Great Humberto's on today and I can't miss it again! You always make me do stuff for that- that freak!"

Several minutes of whining and 2 temper tantrums later, Dudley was happily seated in front of his kitchen television (he hated that long walk between the fridge and the telly in the living room!) and eating a fifth bowl of cereal. He waved absent-mindedly with his free hand as his parents and cousin left.

It was an uneventful trip, especially without Dudley around to tease Harry for everyone else's amusement. Because of their grim task of dealing with Potter and his freakishness, tempers were short and tensions were high – the heat did nothing to help. The day got hotter as it went on, and the air conditioner in the car wasn't quite doing the job after a few hours. Needless to say, Vernon and Petunia were glad to get home to their nice, cool air, comfortable chairs, and dear sweet son.

As they pulled into the drive, Petunia was happily talking about Mrs. Next-Door-Neighbour's problems with her sister, and Vernon was half-listening, half-thinking that he and his family would have a nice day at the pool to beat the heat. He turned the car off and began sweating even more profusely. They both hurried to get inside.

"Duddy, Mummy is home, sweetie!" Petunia yelled in a sing-songy manner. She stopped in the hall to breathe in the nice, icy air, and then moved as her husband came in behind her.

"Dudley?" Vernon called genially, stress of his nephew long forgotten as he cooled down. "Come on, son, and let's get ready for some fun now that we're rid of that scrawny miscreant!"

Both paused as they waited for the loud, thundering footsteps of their son. They didn't come. The house was almost completely silent, save for the sounds of a commercial drifting to the door from on of the televisions.

Petunia suddenly felt uneasy, though she didn't quite know why. She tensed, slowed her breathing, trying to be quiet and alert for any sound of movement in the house. She jumped when Vernon unexpectedly chuckled loudly.

"Must be watching television," he said cheerily. "Probably didn't hear us yet!"

Petunia shot him a grateful smile for his idea, and tried to relax as he took her hand and led her to the kitchen, half-dancing and looking at her the way he had when they first began dating. What with Harry around and Vernon being stressed from work, Petunia hadn't seen that look in a long while. She flushed in excitement. Perhaps Dudley could go swimming alone, and she and Vernon could stay home and–

She ran into him as he stopped unexpectedly in the kitchen doorway; she nearly knocked him over, despite the fact that he was nearly 5 times her size. He didn't seem to notice the bump, or that his wife was bounced off of him and nearly knocked to the floor. He simply stumbled a little, blinking frantically as in took in the scene before him.

The stool Dudley had been sitting on was knocked over and broken clean in half. The TV was cracked badly, but still working – it appeared that The Great Humberto Marathon was on…and that Dudley was nowhere near the show. The remote appeared to be missing. Many of Petunia's favourite fancy, exceptionally fragile dishes had been pulled out of the cabinets and were all over the floor…and yet none were broken or even chipped. It was almost as if someone had taken the time to gently set them down.

'Or they were destroyed and then someone repaired them with magi-' Petunia clapped a hand over her mouth hard enough to make her lip bleed. She didn't notice the pain or metallic taste because she was too upset at the thought that had quickly entered her mind. She had come so close to saying it, out loud…but no. That would make it seem real, make it almost…make sense. She couldn't have that.

"P-…Pet…" Vernon couldn't even form a coherent word. He was staring at the wreckage, at the TV and stool and dishes, madly wondering why someone had had a picnic on the kitchen floor and where the food had gone.

Petunia's feeling of unease returned tenfold, and her heart was screaming something that her mind couldn't decode; decoding this would be a bad thing, and she knew it. Decoding it would mean the unthinkable. And yet, she couldn't ignore it much longer, not when it involved her one and only, her love, her precious little…

"Dudley," she croaked out as if it pained her. "Vernon…where's Dudley?"

The ensuing search took about an hour.

Even with many years of their nephew's lot and freakishness, nothing could have prepared the Dursleys for strangeness of the letter awaiting them on the kitchen counter, propped up on Dudley's half-empty cereal bowl. It was very out-of-place and noticeable in Petunia's glistening white kitchen – it sat there, in an off-white and brownish envelope that looked somehow…dirty. It was addressed in bright red ink that, although it turned out to be quite dry, looked fresh and shiny.

'Just try not to think about how much it looks like fresh blood,' Vernon's mind whispered treacherously. 'And try not to wonder whose blood it is…'

Vernon had to stifle a whimper; he needed to stay strong for his wife, who was hyperventilating in the corner of the room as she brewed tea. 'Besides, it isn't blood, can't be blood, because after all this time, it hasn't changed colour – no…Focus on Petunia.' She hadn't spoken a full sentence in 20 minutes – not since they found the letter.

"How…how did we miss this the first time around?" Vernon had said as they ended their search for Dudley, ending up back in the kitchen. "It's dreadful and unseemly and so…so BRIGHT!"

Petunia swayed on her feet unsteadily and he had to catch her and lead her to a chair as she whispered to him,

"I looked over everything, Vernon. I would have seen that…that thing…before. I would have seen it before I saw the destroyed room. We didn't see it…because it wasn't there the first time…"

Such a normal thing, it was. So normal and plain that it seemed almost absurd that it could be ruining a day like this. Why fear a letter, after all? Letters are just letters, nothing scary about that. But all the same, they hadn't been able to touch it since they found it, much less open it. It was almost as if the Dursleys were hoping it would vanish if they didn't acknowledge it; that if neither of them came into physical contact with it, it wouldn't be real.

Yet here it was, addressed plainly so there could be no mistake:

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley

Kitchen

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Although it hadn't been moved, both of them had read the address on it so many times that they had it memorized. Something about it seemed uncomfortably familiar. Petunia and Vernon glanced at it again, at the same time, and then shared a look of shock and dawning realization, going pale at the same time.

"Vernon," Petunia said hesitantly, "you don't suppose –"

"NONSENSE!" Vernon practically screamed.

They both started and looked surprised at his volume; he took a deep breath before starting over.

"Nonsense… It…I admit that it does look like...the others…from how it's addressed. But, the writing isn't the same…" he trailed off, muttering to himself.

Indeed, the manner in which the letter was addressed was much like that of their nephew's letters from the school. But the handwriting was not the usual curly, loopy writing they had come to expect from the headmaster. Nor was it the strict and uptight style as the woman with the bun. This writing was more direct, cold, and somehow empty looking.

Petunia handed Vernon his cup of tea and sat down next to him, not even bothering to clear away the remains of Dudley's breakfast. Her normally spotless kitchen was still in ruins; her precious dishes had simply been moved to the counter. She didn't have the heart to put them away when her only son was missing.

She took a deep, steadying breath. "Vernon…they have Dudley…whoever 'they' are…We need to read it. He's already gone…how much worse could it be? Not knowing isn't an option anymore."

Vernon nodded in numb agreement, thinking that whatever it was, they would be able to handle it. Not much could be worse than having his boy kidnapped, after all.

How very wrong he was.

'My dearest Dursleys,' the letter read.

'You don't know me…but I know you. I know you both very well. As time passes, I'm sure we'll get to be very close friends…

For years, you have mistreated and abused your nephew for being special and different. For more years than that, you have shunned your magical roots. You abhor anything truly unique and amazing, and instead worship the mediocre and plain. I've known this for many years, and I can no longer watch from afar.

I want to play a game of sorts, Dursleys... Let's call it a mix of Hide and Seek and Keep Away. I'll hide your offspring, and try to keep away from you. Meanwhile, you can try to find us…before it's too late.

Right now, you are feeling helpless, lost, and panicked. Your precious son is missing, and you don't even know if he's alive, dead, or tortured to insanity. Let me set your minds somewhat at ease. Your worthless child is alive and sane…for now.

Ah, my dear Petunia… It's your time to shine. Vernon, of course, won't be of much use…magically. But physically, he could come in handy. Feel free to bring him along. Lily Evans wasn't the only one with special talents, Petunia. Can you embrace what you've rejected for over 30 years in order to save your child?

Some would call this iron; I call it comedy. Make your choice – you have until June 15th, only a few weeks before your nephew gets home. But, I suggest you find your son before then…Because every month, his condition will get worse.

If I know you at all (and I certainly do!) then you're most likely thinking about calling the police, or maybe even contacting Aurors, if you're scared enough. Don't bother. Muggles (other than yourselves) won't even be able to see the writing on my letters to you. As for witches and wizards, well…they'd just see a letter from your nephew…written about all of the things you've done to him. You can't really track me from a jail cell, now, can you?

No fear, Dursleys; you'll hear from me again soon.

I wish you the best.'

There was no signature at the bottom, just a small picture, crudely drawn, that neither Petunia nor Vernon could make heads or tails of.

A/N: And there you have the first chapter of what I (for now) call "Better Than Revenge". Better titles are welcome, and I'd love to have some help finding a good unisex name for the kidnapper (meaning it could be a guy or girl name, if you didn't know). All suggestions and reviews are welcome!

Thanks for reading, everyone! =D

~skittyninja