Chapter One: A Perfectly Ordinary Homecoming
It was an ordinary, if not too ordinary, morning that spread about the muted, suburban landscape of Little Whinging. The sky, solid and gray, bowed like curtains as bulging cumulous swelled with rain. Every few minutes, a cloud here and there would lazily dribble a small spattering of water, not enough to bother with an umbrella or delay usual business. Not that the streets were especially alive. On a given block, perhaps one cafe had rolled up its bars and begun to churn out the faint scent of coffee grounds and pastries. It was Sunday after all, and presently one elderly couple had wandered into one such shop, and only out of weekly routine.
They set themselves on the cushioned sheets near the large glass pane at the front of the cafe. The owner, a casual Spanish man somewhere between thirty and middle-age, prepared the usual order; Lemon and mint tea, cooled a little ("I'm not here to spend hours waiting for this cauldron to cool Mister!") a generous portion of heavy cream, two sugar cubes (brown) and one piece of toast (crispy, not brown) with a layer of margarine and citrus marmalade was brought to the petit and proper wife. For the partner, a dark roast with sugar (no cream) accompanied by a bowl of porridge latticed with honey and cinnamon. Setting the meal between the women, a sharp crack punctuated the serene thoughts of the three individuals, startling the owner to pour quite an excess of cream into the more particular customer's tea. The woman took the cup without complaint however, visibly captivated on the object rolling (if that's how you would describe it) down the street.
The vehicle was antique and defaced with a bright, but densely pastel, coat of blue paint. It was the movement that was most startling though; as if with every lurch and bump, the whole contraption seemed to readily disconnect. The wheel axels sprang from their sockets, the side doors shifting unnaturally up and down. Yet at just the second one would believe the parts would collapse, the entire vehicle would spring together by some unknown attraction. And so the elastic would move along, jolting at an occasional gunshot emitted by its incorrectly bent muffler, puttering past the coffee shop window towards a boring aggregate of residential dwellings. "They'll wake the entire place!" gasped the small woman, adding, " And don't you get so liberal with this sweetener mister! I've had these chompers for 78 years and I have no plans of rotting them now!" gesturing to her creamy drink. Apologizing, the owner set the water for another cup as she promptly lapsed into quieter mutterings with her companion about a certain neighbor's reckless child, the State's election, the status of her favorite plum tree (blooming like never before!) and other complaints and muses that fill a perfectly ordinary life.
Harry Potter gripped the worn wheel of the faithful Ford Anglica and fixed his eyes on the road ahead, partially to keep the roaming vehicle within the painted lines, mostly to avoid the incredulous glare of his wife.
"You said Ron fixed this thing, Harry."
"He did Gin, the spell makes it impossible for it to fall apart."
"Fixed, Harry " she repeated.
"Well that sounded pretty fixed to me," Another loud crack. Harry winced, "Well I suppose it could sound better."
Ginny scowled and turned her attention to the back seat, examining her uncharacteristically quiet children. They looked back at her, a wiley grin, a mop of brilliant red hair, and a pair of green eyes magnified by spectacles.
"Tell me again why we can't just Floo to Uncle Dudley's house, Mum?" Lily concentrated intensely on an unnatural space open and close between the door and the frame of the car.
"Because your Aunt Camilla hates the mess and their children have a fit every time we appear. I think Preston may be allergic, why he was absolutely puffy for hours after we came for Christmas."
"And tell me again why we don't want to do that Mum?" Albus had been rather solemnly staring through the windshield until this moment, and now grinned softly at his brother's quip.
Harry turned to eye his eldest son, "Now James," but his expression, too, matched his middle child.
"Harry there," Lily pointed as Harry sharply veered into a driveway leading up to a rightly square house of an egg-white tone.
Harry never really had an intention of visiting number four Privet Drive after that fateful night before his seventeenth birthday. However, after the events of that following May, the Durselys had returned to their old, unsold dwelling in a heartbeat. The year had not been kind to Mr. Dursely, nor his wife and son. On several occasions, the family had been hastily forced to abandon their new homes during the wee hours of the morning for "precautionary measures" against "imminent enemy threats." Vernon Dursely was not the man to usually give in to such intimidation though Petunia, his wife, seemed to know a bit more of what these "threats" entailed and her blanched, shaky reaction to these sudden relocations always persuaded Vernon to follow without much question.
Dedalus Diggle remained a constant and vigilant companion to the Durselys during their travels into hiding. As a skilled auror, he could detect the slightest presence of Dark magic or the wizards practicing it like Dudley could find the one sugar-coated strawberry on a platter of fresh fruit. More than once, the Durselys were safely whisked away from any wizards who wished them harm due to Diggle's alertness and on the rare occasion that dark forces initially eluded him, his superior wand use- in particular a dangerously accurate Reductor Curse- never failed to keep the family's heads on their shoulders. If anyone was in debt to this wizard's talents, it would be the Dursely trio.
Unfortunately, Vernon Dursely never saw Dedalus as talented. Rather, he noticed the odd way this man would mismatch his muggle clothing or how he would be caught every so often talking into the embers of a fire or the simply ridiculous news he would share with the family about escaped dragons from goblin-run banks and increasing activity in known giant communities across Britain. It didn't help that every relocation Diggle brought the family to was in a community where a few wizarding families resided. "It adds to the protection," Dedalus would explain when Vernon and Petunia would spot a cluster of oddly dressed individuals who lived down the street, "and perhaps you'll benefit from the exposure- the absurdity as you call it."
Nevertheless, after almost a year of total absurdity, Dedalus had come to inform the Durselys that, if they so ever wished, they were free to come out of hiding and return to their old house on Privet Drive. The wizard had also added, "Of course, you are more than welcome to continue your residence here…" though whether that last invitation ever made it to Vernon's ears as he bowled up the staircase to his half un-emptied suitcase remained unknown. So, a mere two days after the wizarding world had begun to celebrate the fall of the darkest wizard in memory, Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley had finished squeezing their belongings through the front door of their abandoned home and promptly slouched on the couch, unaware of anything unordinary that might be going on.
And so, fifteen years after that not-so-final farewell, Harry turned into the driveway of Number Four to meet his grown cousin and celebrate his second daughter's birthday. Opening the car door, he hesitated for a moment, wildly thinking of why he was returning to the place he had so longed to leave as a child. Although he knew it was illogical, Harry always had the fleeting fear that he might not be allowed to leave the house when he wanted and his stomach would twist into the familiar feeling he had felt during the summers of his school years.
A flurry of bright red hair whipped past Harry and quickly rounded the hood of the Ford, "Pockets out!" She accosted James, discreetly scanning her wan about his person. "What's in your shoe?" She bent to protract a 'Weasleys Wizard Wheezes' ever bubbling bubble gum tuck near James' ankle. "My goodness James, they have braces!"
"Who said I was gonna share?" James laughed as Ginny finished her (less intensive) search of Albus and Lily. He hung his arm around his brother and Albus felt a small parcel drop into his front pocket. He looked up at James, who whispered, "For later," and winked. Albus gulped, less enthusiastic about the idea of pranking the Dursley children.
Ginny, never knowing the sentimentality that Harry held this house in, had already crossed the small path leading up to the porch. She paused with her finger on the doorbell before looking back at the rest of her family who stood unmoving on the walkway. Her three children, James, Albus, and Lily all waited behind their father. Even James was secretly hoping Harry would change his mind about coming, hoping that they wouldn't have to visit for yet another year.
"Well come on! They're expecting us you know and standing there is not going to make them come out," Ginny tapped her foot on the porch, striking an impressive reflection of her mother and eyed each of her children sternly. As her eyes traveled to her husband though, her gaze softened and she turned once more to ring the doorbell.
At the sound of several feet pounding down the stairs, Harry gave a jerk, as if coming out of a trance, and strode quickly to his wife's side. James gave a sidelong glance towards Albus, but only found Lily by his side, the eager look of possibly returning home fading fast with each of her father's footsteps. Behind him a soft click of the car door was followed by the even softer footsteps of his younger brother. "Forgot my book," Albus explained, a brightly colored cover held in his hands.
James snorted, "I thought you already read that book," and flicked the cover with his finger. To the ordinary eye (and this neighborhood was as ordinary and ordinary goes) this gesture seemed perfectly harmless. However, James was not an ordinary boy and that had not been an ordinary book. As Harry and Ginny were greeted by a now full grown Dudley, the three adults all turned towards a sudden squawking noise to find Albus frantically calming his flapping bird book with James and Lily doubled over with laughter. The children looked up at the adults as Albus hissed to his brother," You always do that at the wrong time!"
"P-Perhaps we could leave that p-particular book in the c-car for the t-time being," Dudley nervously eyed the now settled book chirping contently in Albus' arms. Harry's cousin was easily the most massive thing on the front porch, with an extensive build of both muscle and fat. He reached a towering height above the average man with a thick neck that seamlessly flowed into broad shoulders and led to a, once fit, but now slightly pouched belly. One would think not much could give a man like this a fright yet Dudley was afraid of quite a number of things that didn't fit into his ordinary world. A flapping, squawking book was one of those things. But, seeing the boy's face fall, he added quickly, "We have more books here. You're welcome to read them."
"Okay," Albus turned to placed the book back in the car.
Ginny turned to Dudley, apologetically, "Sorry for that, I told them to bring normal things…"
Dudley, who was still following Albus, turned distractedly toward her, "He reads a lot, the little one doesn't he? Always brings a book when he comes."
"Yes, Al's our little reader," Ginny smiled, glad the situation hadn't ruffled her cousin-in-law too much.
"Reading's a good thing for kids," Dudley continued, "Quiet…" the bird book suddenly gave one last screech before Albus shut the door. Harry, who had been removed until now, suddenly laughed and even Dudley gave a smirk as his last comment died on his lips.
"Trust me, Dud," Harry said as his cousin led him into the house, "Nothing is quiet around wherever we are. Not with James and Al so close to each other."
"Oh yeah, I know," replied Dudley, nodding wisely, "Even without the- you know- it's still a rarity to get peace here. But the birthday girl isn't in at the moment, so we'll have about an hour of relative peace."
The interior of the house had changed since the Dursleys initial return. Upon viewing the inner design without knowledge of the residents, one might conjecture that an older widow may be the occupant, perhaps accompanied by a few cats to accentuate the interior with a fittingly stale smell. In reality, Dudley's wife's strong 'Coconut and Amber' Cologne sufficed. The woman appeared from the kitchen to acknowledge the visitors. Camille Marcella Dursley had a favorable enough visage and perhaps, if freely framed with her naturally curly locks, would even be considered pleasant to look at. But Camille was tidy and exact down the finest details of appearance- her unruly strands were meticulously straightened and tugged into a small bun near the nape of her neck. So tightly was is tied that she appeared to stretch her lineaments into a more severe countenance; her eyebrows, finely drawn and filled, never seemed to come completely to rest, her eyes widened to an effect of being hawkish, and her lips pulled out like a stringy taffy.
"Ah my dear!" exclaimed Dudley, "They're back! A little bigger and none the more tame, so they'll do even more damage!" The statement was mostly in jest, but the taffy drooped slightly, puckering into a pout.
"Don't touch anything unless you're clean." Camille studied the Potter children. They waited as her eyes fell on James' unkempt hair, Albus' slightly bent glasses, the small scuffs on Lily's knees from climbing earlier that morning. Meanwhile, a horridly obtuse boy of around 13 years came smashing into the kitchen. Although the child naturally held quite a bit of mass, it was apparent that a particular reaction was causing some extra expansion. Dispensing air in a rising panic, he traipsed around the counters and chairs, leaving obvious chocolate smudges at every grip.
"Mummy!" he labored, voice rising to a dangerous apex. Camille immediately swooped down upon her son, examining his fingers and smudged linen shirt.
"What? What have you gotten into? I...Oh," She suddenly turned accusingly toward her guests, " Well I suppose we will no longer be sending those chocolates along your way then." She stomped into a side pantry and returned with a hastily opened chocolate box, three quarters empty. "But of course you would like pistachio!"
James grinned and looked up at his paleing father, whose favorite treat happened to be the flavor of Preston's allergy. "Ah, well that was a nice thought Camille,ah..." Harry's apology seemed to convince Camille that the current situation was to be blamed on the Potters. Preston had calmed down enough and was nursing on his chubby fingers, struggling against his mother as she insisted he stop consuming the tainted sweets. He suddenly caught the eye of James and, only now realizing his embarrassment, broke into another wail. "Oh come now pumpkin, lets get you dressed in something new," His mother pushed through James and Ginny as she led the boy upstairs, "Those stains will need to come out quickly! Oh Penny, please show your cousins where they may play outside."
The second Dursley child descended, smiling coyly at Harry and Ginny. "Hello Auntie and Uncle! Shall we go to the patio? Why the garden is just blooming at the moment!" Her voice lilted unnaturally as a result of excessive practice of the lines. Penny Dursley was more composed than her brother, neat and particular like her mother, however possessed a hurricane of a temper when either neatness or politeness were threatened. Even now, as James smirked at her haughty delivery, the coloring of her cheeks darkened. Not wanting to cause a second commotion, both Harry and Dudley made to quell the situation.
"Ah sweetie how very proper of you! Why I'm sure our guests would love for you to give them a tour!" Dudely crooned as Harry enthusiastically nodded pointedly nudging James.
"Right then, follow me!" The storm on Penny's cheeks subsided and she pivoted and continued out the back door at a brisk pace.
As they made their way to the back of the house, only Albus looked back to see his father lagging behind, walking almost lethargically through the hall. And only Albus saw Harry pause for a second, certainly unaware of his son's eyes on him, and almost absentmindedly brush his hand against a cupboard door beneath the stairs.
