He came down the highway as he always did, the speedometer's needle hovering just above the actual limit. Cars that passed him were first pinpoints of light at the corners of his eyes and then amazing roaring streaks. Driving at night did not mean driving in darkness. The headlights, the reflectors on the road and the orderly highway lamps that created the yellowy shade of the universe gave him a sense that darkness was far at bay. This feeling he had, the anxiety he crammed into the back of his head and the forefront wonder of how the surroundings looked like a sepia-toned photograph had him thinking his journey was to a faraway place. Somewhere magical...
He'd save it for dinner.
Anxiety flowed to cover his half-dreaming and the sepia-tone washed out to become a drowsy beige. His pupils contracted and dilated. His thoughts raced. What to say what to say what to say. How to say it. He was minutely aware of the woman stirring in the seat beside him. He knew, in the way a driver will know about someone in the passenger seat, that she was not awake.
His thoughts kept racing as the lamplights washed over his car in stripes.
He was in a car he had bought. He smirked a bit at that.
His parents had fallen over themselves when he mentioned that he had purchased a 1962 Ashton Martin DB4 from a collector uptown. The protests and concerns for something so old being driven by someone so precious was a constant onslaught of jabber for a solid twenty minutes.
What were you thinking. How much did it cost. Did you think we wouldn't buy you something new. Do think you we don't love you.
Slowly it had trickled to less offensive comments.
What's the mileage. The cost. How does it handle. The maker. The dealer. Color. Do you like it. Really.
He didn't have to think hard to remember who had said what, and which remarks were said in unison.
And they hadn't asked what Riesa thought about it. He took a quick look at the woman in the passenger seat. They never asked about her. Casting sidelong glances he mulled over the relationship between his parents and his wife.
There wasn't one.
He felt his jaw clench in that odd way. His mouth puckered to the left he knew he looked like a stern gorilla. It was night, no one could see him anyway. Would they even care, the people he was passing on the highway? That a stern gorilla was driving a sports car?
He stifled a laugh, hoping the straggled puffs of breath wouldn't wake his wife. She was sleeping. He could see her closed lids with the striping light of the highwaylamps.
He felt his spine sinking into the back of his seat. She was the one who got him noticing the weird shade of the highway night in the first place. He had lived here much longer than her, and she pointed out something he had never seen. Something he had always been surrounded by.
Save it for dinner.
His soft smile tightened, stretched. He thought about what to say what to say what to say.
Stripes became slices and his smile stretched.
ccc
Walking, the waiter didn't have a body. The white shirt and black pants didn't encompass any flesh or tissue or personality. The quick shuffling of the pair behind him was white noise, dips of conversation from the nearby tables covered their tracks as they tried to find their place before the waiter. This pair had been in an Ashton Martin DB4, and then in a small huddle beside the restaurant's entrance. The woman's name was Riesa, and the man's was-
"Duddykins!"
Patrons of the restaraunt looked around their tables to see if a small toddler was underfoot. When they realized the woman was referring to the large muscular blonde man they turned their attention to their plates and minded their own business.
"Mum," uttered the man.
The waiter pulled out the chair across from Petunia Dursley. Riesa blithely slipped onto it and Petunia, in equal blithe, ignored the heck out of her.
"Dudley! How good it is to see you!" she said as she positioned herself to a diagonal. "I can't believe how long it's been, a day and a half since I've talked to you."
"Mum," Dudley repeated. "I've-We've got something to tell you and-"
"Oh I knew it. I knew this day was it." Petunia turned her whole self now to Riesa. "He's come to his senses now, my little boy has. He's wanting something normal to spend his time with and he's found a way out of whatever spell you've-"
"Mum."
"Duddy it's alright, you'll come with me and you'll recover nicely and take up with someone who isn't trash-"
"MOTHER."
Petunia's head gave a slight tilt. Her long neck, her long rubbery neck Dudley thought, gave an additional curve making her look like she was going to shape herself into a loop.
He breathed. Once. Twice.
"Laurel's going."
His mother's eyes shined. Hope.
"We," he annunciated this carefully, "Are sending her."
Petunia leaned forward. Slightly.
Dudley felt his chest catching. He knew what to say.
Riesa spoke with the same knowledge.
"To Hogwarts."
With the minimal sounding out of the short "H" Petunia was howling, falling back into her chair with palms pressing into her eyes.
"No." she said.
Patrons glanced at this trio, quickly looking away and quickly looking back.
"She's a smart kid mum and we've already kept her away for a year she needs this-"
"-nononononononono-"
"The owls weren't so bad 'til they were coming out from the flue-"
"NOnononononononononononnnNOOO-"
"Petunia," Riesa spoke. "We're taking her."
The old woman's arms dropped and her stare bore into Riesa.
"No."
"Yes." Dudley gave the word a clear, glorious escape from his mouth.
His mother's eyes slid to his. She was silent. And then-
"Nonononononono-"
Dudley stood, helped his wife from her chair.
"Nonononononononoononooooo-"
"Yes," he said again, with equal glory. Looking at Riesa with his hand cupped around her arm he said, "Our daughter is going."
Petunia was screeching now.
"My daughter is a witch!" he said over the noise. "And I love her! My wife is a witch and I love her!"
They left as Petunia closed her head within her arms, shaking.
A drunk man quietly remarked to nobody at the bar. "Yew know? I've been saying the same about me own for years, mate."