Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or associated copyrights. They are owned by JK Rowling. This story is for entertainment purposes only, not profit.
The Muggle
By TigerofRobare
Chapter One
After that first hectic week in Little Whinging—involving some bizzare miscommunications, tripping over a large number of cats owned by an elderly lady next door, and the usual flurry of activity that accompanied moving—Colt Bowie was able to do some observing and make adjustments to his new enviroment. Observation was key, his father was always reminding him. The first thing he observed was that England in late June was not as bad as travelers' tales made it out to be. In fact, the weather was degrees better than his previous life in Massachusetts.
The second thing Colt observed was that the people who lived across the street were the stupidest and most hypocritical he had ever seen. The parents—a big, beefy man with no neck and a tall, thin, bony woman—spoiled their son, a behemoth of a teen-age boy with apparently no desire whatsoever to either sire children or live to the age of thirty and a criminal streak utterly ignored by the parents.
After that home-sickness set in. Colt suddenly grasped on an intuitive level that he would only rarely see his friends again, that he would probably never see his beloved Red Sox play at Fenway again. And because why? Because his father had to accept a professorship at some stupid medical school.
During his bout with homesickness the neighbors across the street—the Dursleys—invited the Bowies to a welcome-to-the-neighborhood party of sorts. Colt's parents were both atired in conservative work clothes, as was Mr Dursley and his son Dudley while Mrs Dursley was wearing the ugliest summer dress any of the Bowies had ever seen. Colt, however, had little use for formality and wore a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts.
He could tell the Dursleys were displeased with his choice of attire by the shadow of disapproval that passed over their faces for a fraction of a second. They like conformity, Colt observed.
After a good meal and a fine dessert consummed mostly by Dudley Mr Vernon bid the Bowies adieu with a warning. "My nephew is returning home in a few days, Mr Bowie. Be wary of him. He's not quite normal."
"Not normal?" said Dad, "How?"
"He's not right in the head, you see," Mrs Dursley added.
"He sees things that aren't there," Dudley interjected. Mr Dursley glarded daggers at him, as though he had said too much.
"I'm a rather talented neurosurgeon," Dad said. "If you'd like I could examine your nephew free of charge."
"I don't think surgery will fix things," Mrs Dursley said. "It's genetic—my sister had it too, poor thing."
Colt almost laughed. The sorrow in her voice was too good. Why isn't she an actress?
"Because of his—er—abnormality, my nephew Harry is the terror of the neighborhood," Mr Dursley said. He adressed Colt, "Watch out for him."
Good-nights were exchanged and later, in the privacy of their own home, Dad asked Colt: "What did you notice?"
"They're lieing, obviously," Colt said half-heartedly, "and Dudley is the terror here."
After the conversation Colt went to bed. With a new mystery the home-sickness was lifting. Harry—abnormal—hallucinations. His mind took in all the information he knew of "Harry." It was good to be occupied.