Disclaimer: not mine.
Author's note: This was written as the first part of a challenge at the Character Sketches forum, next up is Scorpius Malfoy. Please leave a review!
The difference between good and bad breeding
Marjorie Dursley often woke in the middle of the night from strange dreams.
She hated everything out of the ordinary, and strange dreams certainly fell under that category.
It was just simply preposterous to dream of growing as big as a hot air balloon and simply floating away over the country-side.
She was quite angry at herself for having such dreams, after waking one night from a particularly long blown-up journey across the Mediterranean Sea she decided she had had enough.
Stomping rather vivaciously down the stairs her purple face grew even purplier as scenes from the dream continued to flash before her eyes.
Taking a claming swig of brandy Marjorie lowered herself into her most comfortable chair and stared into the darkness of her living room.
She was going to get to the bottom of these ridiculous misconceptions; well-bred people such as herself never dreamt such strange and indecent things.
(indecent things came from people with inferior breeding)
The only person (if he could be called a person) of inferior breeding she knew was her poor brother's incurably criminal nephew, the one with the common name and the offensive hair and the drunkard good-for-nothing parents who couldn't even take the consideration to stay alive so they could bring up their own filth.
She didn't know how or why, but she knew that somehow he had a hand in her perpetually strange dreams.
Something in her head began to stir as she swallowed another large mouthful of brandy.
Yes, he must have had something to do with it.
She hadn't seen him for 7 years, no doubt he would be impregnating some harlot and be covered in violent tattoos.
Reaching for the telephone she dialed her brother's number.
To her great annoyance it rang quite a few times before a familiar voice answered at the other end.
"Er, hello?" Vernon asked thickly, his voice choked with sleep.
"Vernon! What is your godforsaken nephew's address?"
"Do you know what bleeding time it is Marge? And I don't know what you're talking about, I don't have a nephew." Vernon's tones were full of confusion and accusations.
"I don't care what the time is! And don't be so daft, that ungrateful criminal that use to live off your good money, that's who I'm talking about!" She barked down the phone, her eyes bulging with anger.
"But, why on earth would you want to see him?"
"That's none of your business, is it Vernon just give me his god-awful address!"
"It's somewhere in London, you're not going to drive all the way there now, are you?"
"Give me the address!"
-:-:-
Several hours later Marjorie Dursley arrived out of breath in her new range rover outside the dwelling of the most under-bred person she had ever met.
Buster gave a low growl from the passenger seat beside her.
"I know pumpkin, it's horrible her isn't it? Mumsie won't be long!"
Her eyes narrowed on the door of the said-person's house she walked forcefully up to it and knocked loudly, completely oblivious to the fact that it was after 4am in the morning and the sun had not yet risen.
(such disgraceful people probably never slept)
The door opened to reveal a slender red-headed woman with a simple white nightgown on, rubbing her eyes.
"Oh! You must be his harlot whore? Yes just by the look of you I can tell that you are of inferior breeding! Disgraceful!" She barked, her overweight face thrust dangerously close to the woman's, as if she was trying to see past her into the corridor beyond.
"Excuse me!! Who on earth are you?" the woman spoke, a red anger spreading into her freckled cheeks.
"Don't you use that tone with me young lady! I suppose you went to the same school as he did, did you! Humph! Incurably criminal, that's what they say!"
The young woman pulled a wooden stick from her pocket, her eyes fierce.
At that moment, a black haired young man with glasses and a unfathomable smile slipped an arm around the woman, pulling her gently aside.
"Why, Aunt Marge! It seems you've met my fiancé."