The unfortunately named town of Little Whinging was a satellite town off of the bustling metropolis of London. The majority of its inhabitants were new families, who worked in London but could not afford the prices there. So every morning, starting at 5:30 am and ending as late as nine, a procession of nearly new cars would lumber down the motorway and return in the evenings.

Vernon Dursley had been one of those majorities when he and his new wife Petunia had moved out to Privet Drive. A rather large blonde man with a carefully groomed moustache and brown hair, he'd been a desk jockey for Grunnings, barely hoping for a raise, and unable to afford a flat for them in the city. His equally blonde haired, blue eyed wife Petunia had been disappointed that they wouldn't be living the glamorous life she'd first imagined, but had settled into their neat little cookie cutter house eventually. So much so, in fact, that they were still living there happily after he'd been promoted to CEO of the entire company.

So Mr and Mrs Dursley were a perfectly happy, perfectly respectable couple living at Number Four. Vernon would drive to work every day in a well kept blue Morris Marina, and Petunia would visit with Lorna Polkiss from Number Six. Lorna was rather more voluptuous than Petunia, with dark brown hair and pale blue eyes. She was currently expecting, and other than her comments about whether or not Petunia would be expecting soon too, she was rather good company.

Lorna's husband was dark haired, wiry, and an investor, and often travelled out of country. In deference to his wife, Mr. Polkiss would bring back confectionaries and souvenirs. At four in the afternoon, Petunia would return home and clan the whole house, top to bottom, and begin dinner. By the time Vernon returned home at six, a roast would be resting on the table next to mashed potatoes and whichever other vegetables Petunia had chosen for the day.

In December of Nineteen Eighty, Vernon took his wife out to London for their Three Year Anniversary. Three weeks later, the Dursleys began preparing for their child to arrive sometime in September. They bought diapers and toys and mobiles and as many little booties and caps as they could get their hands on. Petunia's visits to Number Six became more and more bearable as time went on, Mrs. Polkiss being entirely willing to share as much advice as Petunia could take in.

"It's almost like what I imagine having a younger sister would be like." Lorna remarked to her husband on one of the rare occasions he was home. "I've always wanted a sister. Do you think our children will be like siblings?"

Mr. Polkiss kissed his wife on the cheek fondly. "I've no doubt about it, dear. The two of you are as thick as thieves, and I must say I'm rather fond of Dursley myself. The man definitely knows what he's doing with that company of his. Not to mention his car."

By July, Mr. Polkiss had halted his travels, doing business from London or from home as much as possible. His caution was rewarded when little Piers Polkiss, weighing in at a mere 1500 grams (or 3 pounds 3 ounces), was born prematurely at 35 weeks on August first.

"It's my hypertension that caused it." Lorna explained several weeks later, after finally bringing her son home from the hospital. "You don't have any problems like that, petunia dear, so you won't have to worry."

"But little Piers is fine now, isn't he?" Petunia asked.

Mrs. Polkiss smiled, "The doctors say he's fine. A little anaemic, but that's to be expected. We're hoping he'll grow out of it eventually."

Visits to Number Six slowly became fewer as Petunia's stomach grew rounder, and little Piers' lungs got bigger. As September began looming ever closer, both Vernon and Petunia became more anxious about their child's birth.

"I hope that he's not early." Petunia whispered, looking out the window at Number Six. The Polkiss' were once again preparing to take their son to a doctor.

Vernon harrumphed around his paper. "Dursley's have never had a problem with that. Why, my sister Marge was almost two months late. Biggest baby the town had seen. Our son will grow up big and healthy. Don't you worry, Pet."

Despite his words, both Dursleys watched the calendar with concern. Little Piers' anaemia had not gotten better, and he had developed a rather yellowish skin tone in the last week. It was very obvious to all the neighbours that Something Was Wrong. Poor Lorna looked on the verge of tears most of the time, and Mr. Polkiss was barely even going into the office anymore. It was a good thing that he was such and excellent investor, or the Polkiss' might have been out on the street.

It was late evening of September the fifth when Petunia went into labour. Vernon carefully bundled her into the Marina and drove to London. After roughly six hours of labour, Dudley Dursley was born into the world at a healthy 8 pounds 16 ounces.

The newly expanded Dursley family returned home, Vernon glowing with fatherly pride, Petunia exhausted and lovely, with little Dudley asleep in the bassinet. A single blonde curl rested on his forehead, and his cheeks were a healthy pink colour. As they pulled into the driveway, across the street ' mint green Ford Escort sat across from them.

The next morning, Vernon Dursley pecked his wife on the cheek and drove to work. Petunia carefully placed Dudley into a stroller and walked over to Number Six.

Lorna opened the door with a welcoming smile. "Petunia dear! Come in, come in!"

Petunia carefully manoeuvred the stroller through the doorway and into the sitting room.

"Lorna, how have you been? And how is little Piers?"

The two ladies sat down at the table together. A fresh set of rather oriental looking candies was laid out in the dish.

"Oh Piers is doing well. He was a little bit jaundiced but the doctors cleared that right up. And who's this darling little one you've brought?"

Petunia lifted Dudley up and placed him into the other woman's arms. "Dudley. It's Vernon's grandfather's name. He died in the war so Vernon never got to meet him."

"So Piers Polkiss and Dudley Dursley, hmm? Sounds like characters in a storybook!"

Lorna laughed and gently rocked the sleeping baby.

"He looks just like Vernon, doesn't he?" Petunia smiled taking a candy from the tray.

"Oh yes, but I daresay he'll end up looking like you as he grows. My mother always used to say 'If he looks like the dad, he'll turnout like the mum.' And vice versa, I suppose."

Petunia nodded at the advice. Just at that moment both Dudley and Piers opened their eyes and simultaneously decided to scream.

The first month of motherhood for Petunia was rather difficult. Lorna's advice was invaluable, but dealing with a rather fussy newborn was a trying experience regardless. Ten PM, One am, and Three am wake up calls to feed and change her new son were not something the new mother was prepared for. Nor was she particularly prepared for changing diapers.

In the end, Lorna proved herself a godsend. From assuring her that the rather odd colours were normal, which creams would cure diaper rash, to cures for cradle cap and colic.

"Thank you so much for all your help, I must have made quite a nuisance of myself." Petunia murmured one afternoon while both children were napping in Piers' crib.

"Not at all, I'm just glad to help." Lorna sipped at her tea.

The two women sat in comfortable silence. In the distance, someone's car backfired, sounding almost like a gunshot.

Petunia frowned, "Mr. Thompkins ought to see what's wrong with that car of his, it's been going off every couple of days."

"I'm certain he would if Mrs. Thompkins would leave him money to do so. I've never seen a woman with such... eccentric taste in hats." Lorna sneered out the window in the direction of Number Eleven.

Petunia nodded. The woman insisted on the most gaudy colours imaginable, dripping with feathers and gemstones.

"I'm fairly certain it's all costume jewellery too, I've never seen real stones that big."

Lorna smiled, "I wouldn't be surprised. She wants everyone to think she's some big fashion icon, but it's all just so tacky. She's like a little peacock!"

The women giggled to themselves. Through the curtains, they could see Mrs. Thopmkins striding down the street with a bright red hat trailing two foot long eagle feathers.

"I wonder if she's noticed Ms. Figg's cats are following her?" Petunia asked airily.

Sure enough, a rather chubby, one eyed ginger tom cat was stealthily tracking Mrs. Thompkins. Its large green eye was fixed on the feathers trailing from her hat.

Lorna giggled, "It probably thinks she's a big turkey!"

"No no, a peacock!"

The two women erupted into laughter again. They felt no qualms about laughing over the rather snobbish lady. Everyone who talked to her walked away feeling miffed and condescended to, as Mrs. Thompkins tended to speak to people as if they were particularly slow children.

As they watched, the tom crouched down, getting ready to pounce. They watched with bated breath. Would it actually?

The fat cat leapt high into the air and snagged the longer of the two feathers sticking out, ripping it right out of her gaudy red hat. The two women burst into laughter as the angry woman turned around, the motion making the other feather float silently to the ground. She screeched in rage as the cat bounded away surprisingly quickly, its prize clamped firmly between its jaws.

"So how is she, Arabella?"

The old maid turned in surprise at the voice. Just entering her little house was a tall man with tousled, dark hair and large spectacles covering hazel eyes. A burn scar streak up the side of his face, giving him a rather dangerous looking countenance despite the concerned expression on his face. Perhaps the most strange thing about him was the deep leather robes he wore, like something from a hundred years ago.

"James Potter, you scared me half to death!" Arabella sighed, dropping a knife from her sleeve onto the table between them.

A short pudgy woman with flyaway hair that was mostly grey now, but had once been brown and a rather flowery patterned dress, Arabella Figg did not cut the most intimidating figure. Regardless, the man across from her winced sheepishly.

"Sorry, 'Bells, I didn't realize you didn't hear me Apparate in."

Figg snorted in a rather unladylike fashion, "As if I could tell it was you with the way Gerome Thompkins' car is acting up!"

James flushed, and ran his fingers through his hair, "Err, right. Thompkins car is definitely acting up. That's the brown one right behind your back door, right?"

Arabella rolled her eyes at the man's rather pathetic acting. "How in Morgana's name did you ever manage to get away with any of those pranks of yours at school?"

"Well, Remus has the world's best poker face, you know? And everyone trusts him because he was the responsible one, right?" James pulled out a chair, checking for any furry bodies in the way.

Arabella pulled out a tin of biscuits and put it on the table. "And lucky for you that he is, or you'd be missing an eye to match that little burn on your face."

"Yeff, Deffineffy! Remuff if briwian!" James exclaimed through a mouthful of crumbs.

The older woman huffed in amusement. "Well, at least there's one set of braincells between the four of you. As for Petunia? She's doing better. The baby's delivered, healthy as a hippogriff, and she's finally gone back to see that friend of hers. So you can tell your wife to stop worrying. The two of you have enough on your plates."

"It's funny that you think I can tell Lily-flower to do anything." James grinned and reached for another handful of biscuits. "But it'll be nice to be able to tell her. Shame Petunia doesn't want anything to do with our side, it'd be easier to keep her safe."

Arabella frowned sternly at him, "And that's the last one for you, mister freedom fighter. Wouldn't want you getting too fat, they'll be able to curse your belly where it sticks out of your robes!"

Ignoring James' wide soulful eyes, she continued, "And don't you blame that women for not taking you up on your offer. It's scary enough being a squib and knowing what the dangers are, being a muggle would be terrifying. They have no way of knowing what anyone is capable of, no way of defending themselves, and no way of telling who's shouting a curse and who's summoning a shield. Besides, in a quiet neighbourhood like this, they're about as safe as can be. If the fighting ever gets here, we'll have much bigger problems than just one family."

"Aww, Bells, can't you drop the wet blanket act ever? I'm not blaming anyone, and I know what's at stake. I just don't want my Lily-flower to lose anyone else."

Arabella glared at him, "If you don't want her losing anyone else, then take better care of yourself first. Or do you want your son growing up without his father? That curse almost took your head off, and it's not the first time. You've faced off against You-Know-Who in person, and lived. They'll be targeting you especially.'

"Alright, alright. I guess I'll go home then. Once this is all over, come and see him. He should get know his great-auntie, even if she is a big drippy old blanket." James grinned, pushing himself up from the table, dodging a fat one eyed cat with a feather in its mouth.

Arabella scowled at him and waved him out the door. "Call me whatever you want, just make sure I don't see your name in the next Prophet under the obituaries."

James waved a hand at her and spun on his heel, disappearing with a loud crack.

"That boy is going to be the death of me one day. Hopefully his son takes after the mother instead." She muttered to herself.

The fat tom cat hopped up onto the table and dropped the feather in front of her. "Now Agallocha, wherever did you find such a thing?"

"Mrrr."