Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything else that may be referenced.
Vernon's Tale
Ahhh… Hhhh. Ahhh… Hhhh.
Vernon Dursley lay still, the covers pulled to his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic breathing of his wife. Not wanting to awaken her, he slowly slid out of bed and quickly pulled on his dressing gown and slippers.
It had been hard, these last few months. The boy's going had been his undoing; crumbled his resolve like never before. Vernon scarcely slowed has he half ran half crept through the house and out into his back garden, adrenaline pumping as he thought of his destination.
Fingers trembling, he unlocked his shed with the key from the flowerbed and entered, taking care to close the door behind him and draw the flowery curtains over the small window, before pulling the light cord and illuminating the room.
He practically flew to the pile of boxes in the corner and rummaged through them, emerging almost instantly, clutching a shoebox labelled VERNON. Setting it down on the small table above the rack that housed his drills, he pulled of the lid and sighed; his memories surging as he looked at its contents.
A school tie rested atop the pile, a rather faded affair of green and silver, though its crest gleamed as though polished. Carefully, Vernon removed it and laid it aside as he delved deeper into the undetectable extension charm.
A well-thumbed copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, a Gobstone set, his textbooks, robes, and straight 'E' results from both OWLs and NEWTs. With some difficulty he extracted his cauldron and Cleansweep Three. He continued to search through his belongings, pausing only to reflect on an old photograph.
It was him at seventeen, on the last day of his seventh year standing with his friends on the bank of the Black Lake. Howard Avery Jr, himself, Lucius Malfoy, Albert Mcnair, and Rodolphus Lestrange, arms through around each other, smirking at the camera, held, he remembered, by Bella; Rodolphus's girlfriend.
He had often wondered why a group of Purebloods of the highest class had allowed him, a Muggleborn into their mist. He had asked that day, and they had laughed, saying he was in Slytherin and that spoke for itself. He wondered where they were now, what they were doing, if they remembered him.
They had been on the brink of joining the Death Eaters, he remembered. He was to go into hiding, of sorts: become a Muggle for his own protection. Lucius had recommended it, saying it was for the best and he would owl him when it was safe to return to the wizarding world. Sadly, that day was never to come. That was evident from the moment he saw Evans, standing with her arms around James Potter in her family's living room. Or rather, Petunia's face as she looked at them. Revulsion.
He had known Evans and Potter at Hogwarts. At the first opportunity they had pulled him aside and asked him what in Merlin's name he was doing, pretending to be a Muggle. Potter had used rather more colourful language, and Evans had threatened him. Nevertheless, they listened as he told them of his intending to marry Petunia and return to his accustomed life after Lucius had owled him. Evans had pointed out he could not have both. He replied he realised that, and spent the evening silent, turning things over in his mind.
In the end, he chose Petunia and packed his magical possessions carefully into the shoebox, and cast one final spell. His wand remained by his side however, day and night disguised as a tie and dressing gown belt in turn; changing colour in tie form each day so it appeared he wore the ones Petunia bought him. Lucius's owl came in due course, but he never plucked up the courage to tell Petunia the truth, and return to the wizarding world. He loved her, he loved Dudley, despite his disappointment at his being a Squib, and was willing to sacrifice his happiness for them. Still, a jealously surged through him as he looked at Harry, and part of him lived in the hope that one day, he would be able to tell Petunia the truth, that she would still love him, and he would be able to reassume the life, the identity, of which he often dreamed.
A/N: Please review! :)