Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine.
A.N.: Thanks for the reviews. Not all my posts will be this quick, but I will attempt to keep them fairly regular. More reviews = faster postings, though. Chapters will get longer as I go on, but for now I'm just trying to get back into the swing of writing for fun.
Katzztar: Don't worry, I have plans for Sirius.
April Dawn Irene: I hadn't even realized I'd done that. Thanks for pointing it out. Such bloopers evidence my need for a beta.
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Stephanie sighed as she waited for the coffee to finish perking, closing her eyes and hoping that the head ache, complements of last night's Halloween celebration, would soon fade and thanking Merlin that it was a Sunday. She smiled as Marshall drowsily stumbled into the kitchen, holding his head in his hands. While it was true that as a witch, Stephanie could probably whip up a hangover cure (or rather should have done before the party last night); however, unlike Lily and Severus potions had never been her forte. Additionally, such a cure would not have worked for Marshall as potions draw on ones own innate magic to work and Stephanie felt that if her husband were suffering then it was the least she could do to suffer with him. Therefore it was understandable that she did not initially recognize the odd sight of owls flying during daylight hours as the precursor of the event she had been both anticipating and dreading.
Once half the pot of coffee had been consumed both Stephanie and Marshall set forth to put the finishing touches on their remaining paperwork. This week would be their last at the US Embassy, Brittan. Next week they were heading home to America for six weeks before taking up their post at the US Embassy in Japan. Stephanie had decided that, if Petunia Dursley had not contacted her by weeks end, she would simply look the woman up herself and leave her contact information.
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By Tuesday night, Stephanie was wondering if she shouldn't search out Petunia Dursley sooner rather than later. Owls had been spotted in droves during the day all week, even the news reporters were beginning to comment on this unusual phenomena. Stephanie, having an inkling of what this obvious breach of the Statute of Secrecy could mean, had slipped into the Leaky Cauldron that afternoon intending to purchase a copy of the Daily Prophet to see what all the commotion was about. She needn't have bothered. The interior of the bar was a jovial atmosphere, and patrons were discussing the events of the previous weekend, loudly.
o 0 o
"Three cheers for Parry Hotter!" one man in the back corner of the bar slurred. Although it obviously was not the first time this particular toast had been made, the surrounding wizards and witches all cheered raucously and raised their glasses.
Stephanie sidled up to the bar, ordered a butterbeer and pulled out her dusty Slytherin tendencies. Allowing the drunken wizards to fade into so much white noise, she focused her attention on a quiet, sober conversation taking place behind her.
"...be-named is really gone?"
"That's what they're saying. Strongest wizard in the world, my arse." The second speaker scoffed, "Beaten by a child still in nappies."
"What's to happen to the child?"
Just then a group of wizards came tumbling into the bar, loudly singing bawdy songs about the triumph of the "Boy-who-Lived" and breaking Stephanie's concentration. No matter, she had the answers that she needed. If Petunia Dursley had not contacted her by noon tomorrow, she would take matters into her own hands. If Stephanie had stayed for five more minutes, she would have heard those same wizards discussing "that vile Sirius Black" and how he had betrayed his best friend to his death. Unfortunately, she did not and would not be made aware of this "fact" for several years to come.
Wednesday, November 4, 1981, started out like any other day for one Petunia Dursley. She got up before the rest of the family and headed into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, set the tea kettle to boiling and went to retrieve the newspaper from the front gate where the lazy paperboy always left it. Petunia opened the front door and jumped back with a suppressed shriek. There, on her front porch, was a moses basket. Inside that moses basket was a pale blue blanket, the corner embroidered with a stylized "HP", a tuft of black hair erupting from one end and a suspicious looking letter written on what Petunia recognized as parchment similar to that of Lily's letter from a few weeks prior. The handwriting, however, was not that of her sister.
Remembering the ominous tone of Lily's letter, Petunia skirted around the edge of the basket, making sure not to touch it and hurried out to retrieve the day's newspaper. She returned to the kitchen, set the paper at Vernon's place at the table and swiftly headed upstairs. She needed to get that child away from her house quickly and quietly.
"Vernon." Petunia whispered.
Vernon grunted and looked blearily up at his wife, Petunia took this as acknowledgement.
"Vernon, the kettle's on, but we've run out of bacon. I'm off to the store. I will be back shortly."
Vernon grunted again and Petunia left the room, snagging the car keys as she went. Silently hoping that none of the neighbors had seen the abomination on her doorstep.
Petunia grabbed a short length of rope out of the garage and pulled the car out to the curb. She had no idea what exactly those freaks considered a "threshold" but she was not going to voluntarily set that child down anywhere on her property, nephew or no. Quickly returning to her front porch, Petunia carefully threaded the rope through the handles of the moses basket, ensuring that no part of her body came into contact with any part of the child or his carrier and, holding it as far away from her as possible, set the basket in the back seat of the car.
Petunia pulled into the local petrol station and up to the car-side pay phone and dialed.
"United States Embassy, how may I direct your call?"
"I need to speak to a Stephanie Grey," Petunia said, with a small moue of disgust.
"One moment please, I'll see if she is available," the insufferably American voice on the other end of the line intoned. There was a soft click and Petunia was relegated to listening to sickeningly tinkling music for some minutes.
Just as Petunia was ready to throw the phone, thinking she was being ignored, there was another soft click and a voice came on the line, "This is Stephanie Grey, how may I help you?"
Petunia huffed, "This is Petunia Dursley, I have something for you and I would appreciate it if you would come collect it post haste."
Stephanie sat up straighter, finally the woman had contacted her. "Mrs. Dursley, where do you want me to meet and when?"
"The car park of the Anglican Church in Little Whinging, Surrey. How long will it take you to get here?" Petunia snapped, glancing at the car park across the street.
"I can be there in five minutes Mrs. Dursley."
Petunia shuddered at the reminder of the unnaturalness of the world that had taken her sister's life. It should be a half hours drive, in good traffic, to get to London's center. "Fine, be quick about it." Petunia snarled, and dropped the phone into it's cradle.
In London, Stephanie rushed into her husband's office, "It's time, I'm going to pick him up and heading home. I'll be back around lunch." Marshall nodded and she turned and virtually sprinted from the building. Petunia Dursley had not sounded like the kind of person that she wanted to leave her new son with for any length of time.
With a snap, Stephanie materialized at the end of an alley two blocks from the church Mrs. Dursley had mentioned and swiftly made her way to the expensive looking car idling in the lot.
Mrs. Dursley stepped out of the car and opened the back door, a put upon expression on her face. "There he is, I haven't touched him or the basket. Who knows what kinds of hocus pocus your kind put on it, and I won't have it soiling me. Take him and go."
Stephanie stepped up to the car cast a silent finite, and reached in, withdrawing the moses basket and sleeping child. "Mrs. Dursley, I thank you for giving him to me. Your sister left something in my care for you," Stephanie reached into her purse and pulled out the credit card that Lily had sent her. "This card has a substantial amount of money on it. It is to allow you and your family to relocate. There is enough on here to purchase and furnish a new home quite comfortably," Stephanie paused, and seeing the hungry look on Mrs. Dursley's face, continued, "there are spells on this card that can tell if it has been used for its intended purpose, and if it is not the funds will be reclaimed, with interest" (although there were no such spells in existence.) "You are instructed to leave, taking only those things that cannot be replaced with you. The wizarding world, quite obviously knows where you live and, if you value your magic-free life, you will comply with you sister's last bequest." Stephanie finished, thinking—and rightfully so—that the thought that a wizard could just show up on her doorstep would be enough to induce Mrs. Dursley into taking her family and relocating.
Mrs. Dursley held out her hand, "I wonder exactly how much my sister felt was 'enough' to uproot my family's entire life?" she said snidely.
Stephanie raised an eyebrow, "500,000 pounds." Mrs. Dursley choked, "Is that sufficient?"
Mrs. Dursley recovered herself and snatched the credit card, "It will do. Goodbye." With that, Mrs. Dursley jumped into her car and took off, leaving Stephanie and Harry standing in the car park of the church.
Stephanie reached into the moses basket and pulled out the baby, who had yet to stir despite the commotion around him. Sleepy emerald eyes opened and looked into serene sea green ones. "Hello, Harry. I'm Stephanie and I'm going to take you to my home now, OK?" Stephanie wasn't sure how linguistically developed Harry was, but decided that he was old enough to understand her.
"Home?" Harry said. He then promptly stuck his thumb into his mouth and fell back asleep on her shoulder.
Stephanie smiled at him, glanced around to make sure she was not witnessed, levitated the letter that was in the basket into a conjured clear plastic bag and banished the basket. She then walked around to the far side of the church, checked for muggle presence and with a snap, Harry Potter left Little Whinging for good.