Chapter 3
"What do you want?" Violet answered her mobile phone, irritated. She wondered why her father thought she had nothing better to do.
It annoyed her that he chose to call her in the middle of a Saturday afternoon. She knew he got her this mobile, and was paying the bill for it, but still… Her classmates didn't need to be reminded that her father was a little different from most of their fathers. She didn't let him in on that secret, they were told to try and conceal the magical world from Muggles, her mother and stepfather insisted that meant Dudley. She was unsure if her father would believe that her world existed.
"Nothing," He answered politely. Dudley was more interested in her apps bill, what all was she getting lately. It wasn't much of a financial burden, and he didn't want them on the Winter's plan. "I was wondering if you needed money or something."
"I don't," She answered annoyed. "Sam put one hundred pounds in my account yesterday." And I'm sure the trolls converted it by now.
"Alright, I assumed you got the charger I sent you?" Dudley asked,
"Yeah, but I haven't had a chance to open it," Violet answered, unsure how her friends would react to whatever muggle objects her father thought she would need or if there was a plug in her common room.
"Alright, well when you have time," Dudley assured her. "So how are you doing?"
"I'm doing fine," She answered shortly. "Not much is going on really."
"Violet, Quidditch," Dudley heard a voice say in the background.
"What's Quidditch?" he asked as Petunia opened the door, not saying much, knowing Dudley was taking to his daughter.
"A new card game," Violet answered quickly. "Don't worry, it's not gambling."
"I made plans for you this summer. I plan to tell you about it in person," Dudley went on.
"What about what I want to do? " She asked sternly as Petunia put her hand out to speak to her granddaughter.
""I am with your grandmother. She would like to talk to you," Dudley said irritated.
"I have places to-" Violet rolled her eyes, as Petunia took the phone before she hung up.
"Hi, Villy dear, how's school going?" Petunia asked knowing full well that Violet was lying about the school she was attending. She wasn't as bothered about her granddaughter being a witch as she thought it would. Violet was of her own blood, she loved Violet no matter what and would die for her. There was a lot more that bothered Petunia.
It hurt Petunia that Violet had been lying about what she was and not telling her own father. Violet hurt her for the distrust. Petunia wondered if this was karma, a magical granddaughter ashamed of Petunia for being normal. How the foolish girl took advantage of family members who cared for her, and ignored those who loved her. Petunia learned that such a resource was in short supply the hard way. Violet had a lot more in common with her grandmother than she allowed herself to know.
"Good, Grandma," Violate answered, wondering what the lady wanted. She thought Petunia as rather boring, nothing was interesting about her. She found that a little too odd to be around. Last thing she wanted her companions to know was she had a boring Muggle grandmother. It embarrassed her to even talk to her on the phone. She knew that she had somewhat of a magical background and was far from the ordinary Muggle-born. She would prefer that people think she had no connections. Her father and his family would blow that cover.
"What's your favorite subject, dear?" Petunia asked, maybe finding a clue. Petunia debated on just telling her she knew.
She was silent for a moment, as if she was trying to think of something finally she stuttered out, "Biology."
"And who's the teacher?" Petunia demanded, knowing it wasn't a normal teacher.
"Professor Longbottom," Violet muttered.
"That's nice. What are you learning about?" Petunia asked her pleasantly, being polite as possible, not wanting to beg.
"Gardening," she answered, hesitant. "Listen, Grandmother, I've got to go," Violet then hung up.
"She's a witch," Petunia said straightly.
"I know," Dudley answered, speculating the same thing since she was a child. "How did you figure it out?"
"Remember when you and Anne where having problems, and I would babysit her while you tried to work things out with her?" Petunia asked, not wanting to think of her dreadful former daughter-in-law.
"Yes," Dudley answered. He and his ex-wife certainly put the girl through a lot growing up. It made him feel guilty just thinking about it. Maybe that was why she didn't want anything to do with him now.
"Well, remember when I grew a flower with her?" Petunia asked.
"Somewhat. You mentioned you and your grandmother did the same thing," Dudley said.
"She did so," Petunia said in three simple words, remembering her grandparents, Konstantin and Margaritka Ossupov, both refugees of the Russian Revolution. Margaritka didn't have a very good education. So instead of reading to her children, she would garden with them. Margaritka then did the same with her grandchildren when they came to visit. Petunia adored them, especially her Grandpa Konstantin. She loved listening to the stories of being a count, the years he spent in St. Petersburg and Moscow as a high rank military officer, and how his family was trusted by the Tsar himself. He even danced with the Romanov princesses.
Petunia never understood why she loved the former Russian count and the servant girl that escaped with him during the revolution so much. She used to say it was because her grandfather favored her over Lily. She remembered Lily's green eyes become even greener that Christmas Petunia was sixteen. Konstantin had a beautiful gold locket with a ruby chip. It was part of his mother's dowry. He chose Petunia to have it, she remembered him putting it around her neck and saying he wanted to pass it down to her. All the witch got from them that year was a garden kit.
Petunia still had that locket, remembering what her family once was, and how her ancestors were far from an ordinary family tree. They were nobility, descendants of Russian Tsars. She kept that locket away in a jewelry box and wore it on special occasions. Vernon thought it was ugly, so she never wore it except for then. She used to wear it every day as a teenager. She stopped after her grandfather died. She used it as her something old on her wedding, had it on her at Dudley's christening. When they fled to hide from Hogwarts, she made sure it was somewhere safe. When they fled Privet Drive, she kept it with her. She wanted it to be the something borrowed for Anne but her family said no. She wore it to her son's weddings, and at the christening of her grandchildren. It was the one thing she would grab if her flat was on fire. It was something that made her unique; the one thing that made her different from everyone else.
"Anyway, she showed me something that she could do, and well….When Harry comes, I think it would be necessary to have him see if your daughter is studying at his alma mater," Petunia suggested.
"I am aware that Anne is keeping the fact that our daughter being a witch from me," Dudley shook his head. "I am trying to get it out of her."
"I disagree," Petunia said to herself, aware that Dudley was still in love with that selfish woman. It would seem as though she and Harry had united in their high dislike for her. "I invited Harry to see if he could investigate."
"I thought you invited him to inform us of our family history." Dudley looked over. "Anyway, I shouldn't have to go to a relative to find out where my daughter is attending school."
"I really hate Anne," Petunia shook her head. So did Harry. He would have no problem believing Anne would do such a scheme.
"Anyway, what did you need fixed again?" Dudley asked coming into her flat, ignoring that comment.
"The radiator isn't working," Petunia explained. That was why she invited him over.
Dudley examined it for about twenty minutes. "It needs to be tightened. Where are your wrenches and screws?" he asked.
"I don't have any," she answered.
"I will run to the hardware store and be back on time," Dudley said making a list of other things his mother would need. Petunia couldn't help but to be reminded by Dudley's behavior as being like her father's: not offering to sit down and eat or complimenting the place, but making sure everything was in right condition. She remembered how her father would come over with his disappearing blond hair, invading Privet Drive, and forcing Vernon to hold the flash light while he checked the sink and the wiring of the house at least twenty times before dinner. She didn't know much about James and Lily's home, but she was sure they were the only people in their world that had a middle age normal person come to do repairs just for the sake of pleasing him. She still had the amusing picture in her mind of James Potter, a wizard, being dragged to the hardware store with a long list written by Harry Evans of what they 'needed'.
Vernon was offended when they bought a new car and her father insisted on looking under the hood and doing his own work.
"Well, if you insist," Petunia nodded as Dudley made his list and left. She had to prepare for Harry to come. She had a list of what Lily had with her: her father's medal, and Margaritka's memoirs that Lily asked her to record. Her sister followed her grandmother's wishes and didn't translate them until she died. Petunia was too young and foolish to ask for the English copy.
Now Petunia wished she had. The woman had a relatively sad life. She had Konstantin's memoirs, he wanted to give them Petunia. It left many holes in what Petunia knew about her grandmother's life. She was raised in the same house as her grandfather, but in entirely different world. She researched enough to know that poverty was prevalent among Russian peasants, but what could have caused them to sell their own child at seven. Lily said that it had the answers and it has to do with her world. Petunia denied knowing the secret because of that.
Petunia got out the boxes; mainly of photo albums of her childhood, pictures of her parents, and other family members. She truly didn't know where to start. She opened one album and found some old love letters between her mother and father before and during the war. Some of them were missing from the time of November 1940 to July 1941. Neither Iris nor Harry ever figured out what happened to them. It was still a mystery today. The others were in Godric's Hallow.
Petunia then came across another box, almost scared to touch it. It was given to her by the Magical Law Enforcement Restitutions Department in the mid-eighties. Vernon was at work and the boys were in school when the wizard came. She feared he was there to take Harry away. She didn't know why, but she remembered her mind coming up with hundreds of reasons for him to not take Harry from her. She had only let him in because she was scared of what he would do if she denied him.
The man explained that the magical world had wrongfully confiscated the box from Iris Ossupov and were going to take advantage of the fact that her surviving daughter knew of their existence. Petunia was tempted to point out the dreams and hopes a woman has for her child to live a long life can't be replaced, much less fit in a box, but instead Petunia listened to him out of fear. He then gave her the box and said he realized that there was a wizard in the family that will acquire the magic to use it. When he did he would be able to connect the dots and tell her. She never saw the man again.
Petunia hid it from Vernon knowing he would want to destroy it. It had something to do with her mother; she wanted to keep it safe. Yet, Petunia was too afraid to touch it- not to mention open it. Her mother wasn't a witch. Why would the magical world have a debt to pay to her? She was already gone when Lily died. Petunia sat it on the table, scared to open it, determined that Harry and Ginny weren't leaving without it.
~X~
"Daddy, where are we going?" Lily asked, as the car landed on a dirt road and they soon drove on the normal Muggle route.
"We are going to see your great-aunt," Ginny answered, as she looked towards Harry, who was still unsure about this visit.
"If she shows one side of rudeness, we're leaving," Harry informed her, as Ginny shook her head.
"She seemed sincere in the letter. She probably just wants to pass on your family history, just like she said." Ginny shrugged.
"But why did she wait until now, this is the same woman who wouldn't even tell me about my parents not much less the rest of my family," Harry mumbled to his wife softly, so Lily wouldn't hear.
"She's most likely changed her mind," Ginny suggested. "You two did sort of unite against one enemy."
"Anne Fisher," Harry agreed, thinking of the heartless bitch that his cousin once married. Harry never got to know her that much, he didn't know how they met, or what attracted her to him. Harry met her once, when she was Dudley's girlfriend but it was brief. Harry was invited to the wedding but didn't attend. Harry could tell that Anne was good for him, she got him to a normal weight and inspired him to become a lawyer. Harry was shocked when Anne threwDudley out of the house. It was shocking considering Dudley's father just died, and she was divorcing him for another man.
"She is something else," Ginny agreed as Harry turned the road heading into Weymouth, the Dorsey town Petunia chose to relocate to after Vernon's death. She rented a flat until some cottage she owned was repaired. Harry didn't pay much attention to it. He only wondered who gave her the cottage she inherited.
"I could ask the question Ron thought I should ask," Harry suggested still wondering about that topic.
"'Do we have baldness in the family?' is not a respectful family question." Ginny pointed out.
"But it's something I would really like to know. That gene normally comes from the mother's side." Harry reminded her in a joking manner. Harry then drove into the retirement community.
"Who's the one who went through his parent's old photo album making list of his Evans relatives," Ginny asked, "evaluating them through description."
"Well, there are some people I've been wondering about," Harry admitted. The letter already revealed one of them. Such as the tall, blonde hair man with green eyes that stood next to his mother before she was married. Harry knew he was a Muggle, due to the fact that he didn't move in less a witch or wizard in the picture touched him. He seemed so strong, yet coughed nonstop. That man had to be his grandfather, Harry Evans.
Another was a skinny feeble woman in her seventies, that seemed to be skin wrapped bones with pale ghost-like complexion and grey shaded hair. She did move, yet he was told that she was his great- grandmother a long time ago. That one always confused him. If this elderly woman was his mother's grandmother, then she would be a Muggle and shouldn't be moving. There was also a chubby brunette woman, and a stalky middle aged man in a black suit wearing a strange green tie.
"Alright, here it is." Harry parked the car and they got out. Harry went to the back seat and let Lily out.
"They are all the same. How are we going to know which one is which?" Ginny said staring at the white building with green doors.
"It's that one," Harry said, pointing to a small porch with a growing phlox. He knew this was only temporary; he was just as surprised as Dudley to learn she owned an ocean front cottage that was in dire need of repairs. Neither of the two knew how she inherited it, or how long she had it, but Harry had no problem in wishing her the best of luck in restoring it. He had no obligation to help this woman.
"How do you know this is it?" Ginny asked.
"The one with the phlox flower pot on the door. The woman is obsessed with gardening-always has been," Harry answered as he went to knock on the door. Petunia came out. She was rather different from when she was younger. She had actually aged well. She aged well though she still had a horse-like face with large teeth and dark pointy pale eyes, had gained a couple of wrinkles, and her blonde hair also had a touch of white; yet she still looked like the same woman that had somewhat raised him.
"Petunia," Harry greeted politely. "I believe you met my wife, Ginny, and this is our daughter Lily." He had sent her a card announcing the birth of each of his children. James and Albus's announcements went without response. She did send money and a card when Lily was born. That was also when they started getting Christmas cards from her as well. Ginny came to a theory that being free of Vernon Dursley's influence had allowed Petunia to keep in contact with her blood relatives without feeling ashamed of them.
Harry thought it may because they reached common ground in their hatred for Anne Dursley (who later went back to Anne Fisher and now it's whatever her new husband's name may be). Harry didn't care if he ran into the woman again for the rest of his life. Petunia must have seen his value when that mole started growing on Anne's chin afterwards.
"Oh." She stared at the girl for a short minute. "She looks like my mother. Please come in."
They came into the flat. It was a rather unusual place for them, with a dark green rug and bright white walls with family pictures and strange paintings throughout the place. He noticed Lily staring at the pictures, wondering why they weren't moving. They were Muggle pictures, which stood still like stone. So solid in their posture with the clear emotions frozen in time were the members of his mother's family.
"Would you like some tea?" Petunia asked.
"Yes, that would be lovely," Ginny answered politely as Petunia went to the kitchen connected with the living room.
"Do you need any help?" Harry asked her. She shook her head.
"No, I'm fine, thank you," she said, lighting the stove placing a kettle on it. Petunia sat down with the two, as Lily just stared at her.
"How old are you?" Petunia asked the girl.
"Nine," Lily answered.
"That is a rather lovely age, would you like to color?" She asked, as she brought out a Muggle paint-by-number kit for her. Lily shrugged and accepted the gift. Petunia then laid out newspaper on the living room floor for Lily to get started.
Shortly after that the kettle whistled. Petunia quickly attended to it and came out of the kitchen when Dudley walked in with the packages he'd picked up. As soon as they greeted each other, he got some things fixed and was able to sit down and talk.
"So how's work?" Harry asked Dudley, as Petunia went back into the kitchen to get some sort of baked goods.
"Fine, I was able to make a plea bargain with the junior client, so we won't have to go to court," Dudley answered. That required a lot of secret dealings with the client. Dudley was determined to keep this child out of more trouble.
"What did he do?" Ginny asked.
"He stole a car and wrecked it," Dudley answered, casually. Being a lawyer it was a very small case in his line of work. "He's a good kid, just not from a good home." The child did need a strong role model in life; someone needed to give him a break. He'd been in and out of juvenile since he was thirteen, been in and out of foster care since he was seven. He was born addicted to drugs and was raised by a woman who was high most of his life, beating him frequently. The kid needed a break.
"So that's an excuse to break the law?" Harry blurted out.
"No, but there's no reason a sixteen-year-old should be locked up," Dudley answered as Petunia listened. It was rather strange how they both became involved with the law. Harry was some kind of head of a wizard police force and Dudley was the one who defended people in his world, much to his father's disapproval. Dudley helped the delinquents and the accused get second chances in life.
"How does the car owner feel about this plea bargain?" Harry asked. He didn't go easy on any dark witch or wizard; he didn't put up with excuse for breaking magical laws and had no problem with cracking down hard on them when their case was presented. He wanted to round up his or her accomplices and ship them to Azkaban.
"After much convincing and a little help from the insurance company, I got him to agree," Dudley answered. "How's work going for you?"
"Usual," Harry answered as Ginny shook her head. Harry didn't like explaining his world to Dudley and Petunia. They both had a hard time following along. "Anyway, when are we going to get to why we came here?"
"Your family history," Petunia answered, coming out with a rather large photo album.
"Yes, you said you wanted to talk about your father," Ginny looked over to her as Petunia sat down with some old things neither Harry nor Dudley had ever seen before.
"Yes," Petunia answered. She closed her eyes wondering what could she say about the man who been her father, the grandfather to the two men in the room. She took out his earliest photo. It was a small wrinkled picture of Harry Evans, at the age of ten, with his brother Anthony, who was eight. The two boys stood next to each other, both scared out of their minds. They were clutching hands in their uniforms on their way to Wool's Orphanage.
"Do you mind me asking why you never told me that I was named after him?" Harry asked. That part was still a shock. Ginny stared at her, wanting an answer as well. They understood why she didn't tell him about being a wizard, but this was up with the lie of his parents' death.
"There were a lot of things I didn't tell you that I should have," Petunia snapped, wondering how long she would have to live with regret over the way she treated Harry. Petunia wondered if he knew that there were days that she could hardly look at herself in the mirror for how heartless she was towards her sister's son. She didn't expect him to forgive her, Petunia could barely forgive herself. She distanced him in fear of a curse, and as a result she put herself under the curse through that fear. "But let me make it up to you by telling you the things that you don't know already, things that she would have wanted you to know." Petunia sighed to herself.
"Things that Lily would've told you, that I am very knowledgeable in." Harry fell silent. Petunia had actually said his mother's name. She now had both him and his wife's ears.
Dudley was shocked that she had admitted that Harry's upbringing was wrong. He once got into an argument with his father during his undergrad when he described his family as dysfunctional. It is better than other words to describe people who put children in closets to sleep. It disgusted him the way his parents used him and spoiled him just to oppress Harry. He would never understand his father's hatred for Harry, as Vernon never understood why Dudley thought of himself as in debt to Harry. Being a father alone, Dudley couldn't understand how a man could hate a child that much.
From his line of work, Dudley was glad Harry grew up to be normal. He had seen firsthand what that kind of treatment does to a person. He'd met a lot of adults who grew up as children that weren't fortunate enough to be accepted by a magical school, and found other ways out. His father hated that Dudley chose to deal with 'those people' as he called them. That was the Dursley family legacy: sons disappointing their fathers.
"Well, why don't you start?" Ginny asked.
Petunia sat and was silent for a long time. "Your mother, the family historian, wrote about our father to give you her perspective," she explained as she looked at Harry. "I'm not her, so I am going to have to give you my version." She closed her eyes and opened them, thinking of what she could say about the man that came from the scared little boy in the picture.
~X~
"My father was born in 1926 London, at a time when the sun never set upon the British Empire. When I was a child, I wished my father was born in the part of London that was considered the center of the world. Surely the glories of the British Empire would have been taken in on him at his first breath.
Harry Evans, however, was completely unaware of the wealth in London or even Great Brittan had at the time of his childhood. He wasn't born into that part of London, that England wasn't his world. My grandmother, Colleen, was disowned for carrying him without a husband. He was born on the streets and forgotten by her family. Colleen gave birth to him in the dark alleys after months of being force to live as a beggar woman. She would've gone to a hospital but it was still common for the baby to be taken from unwed mothers, so she took her chances to keep my father.
Colleen Moore was in no doubt a brave woman and she found a job at a textile factory. It was hard for an unwed mother to find a sitter. Like most of the woman at that time, she took her baby to work. My father spent his early months in a basket below a sewing machine, breathing the fumes of the factory. He was born for factory life and never escaped it, no matter how hard he tried.
The early memoirs of Harry Evans were not of green fields or the playful gardens; his childhood wasn't filled with games and happy memories. Worries were always part of his life and fear was instilled in him early. He was an honest man, so I know this part about him was true. The way he would push my sister and me to do our best proved that he was from a home that lacking in opportunities. He worked for us to get out of the London ghettos.
Harry Evans lived in a flat shanty building with a leaky roof. It was an oven in the summer and a freezer in the winter. He grew up with home being a small dark place and the stench of garbage was everywhere.
Bare cabinets were the norm. In his early world, hunger was a common thing and rags were what people wore. He ate food cooked over an open fire of burnt trash, often raided from the trash of restaurants. In some cases their friends would share the leftovers the rich gave to their maid after a dinner party. It didn't matter to him; to a child with a hungry belly anything looks appealing. He eventually learned to ignore his growling stomach at school and would often focus his attention from his growling stomach to take care of his younger brother, Anthony.
Harry told us tales of playing cricket barefoot on the streets, sometimes watching out for the broken glass or the needles of drug users. He witnessed women selling themselves in order to support their families, some of them being the mothers of his school mates.
Colleen didn't do that. She would rather work in a mill for much less than sell herself for a profitable gain. She had her dignity and she was determined to help her deadbeat husband and children survive their hardships. Colleen would take them to a school were some children had to sit on the floor, and make them stay in the windowless buildings with frustrated men and women that barely remembered their names. There were many graduates who couldn't even read. Colleen wouldn't let her boys be one of them; they would not be a statistic. She wanted them to have better. She would make them learn despite no one else caring if they did. When they were tucked into their cots on the floor, she told her sons to count their blessings. It was in knowing her blessings that helped Colleen go to the mill each day. He would always say that one's greatest blessings are the reasons for one's survival and making it out of his childhood misery.
My father mentioned his poverty only a few times. It was normally when we were ungrateful. There was no sense in dwelling on it, when he'd already made his way out of there. This made him the toughest man I have ever known, my husband or brother-in-law couldn't hold a candle to him, my sister would agree with me on that. He had a soul of steal, but a heart perfect for raising two girls.
He learned to be grateful despite how bad things may seem. An impoverished childhood is a survival of the will. Those who find something to look forward to are better at making it than the hopeless. So when my grandmother was killed, my father was able to find it grateful to have his little brother and the determination that his daughters would never go through what he did. That was what created him.
Though we had little growing up, my father was strangely optimistic. When my sister complained about having to wear my old clothes, he would tell her she should be happy to have clothes. When I complained about rain hitting the roof, he would say at least we had a roof to hide from it. My father made sure we never forget how lucky we were to have what he provided for us. I never understood his hardness, or what made him so tough. Yet, I think he wanted it that way. He wanted my sister and me to never go through what he survived.
~X~
Petunia sat, staring at her son and nephew. Neither of the two men had interrupted the entire time she spoke of her father. Petunia didn't expect to bring up Lily, she just did. She was part of her life and her past, Petunia learned to accept it. That was what shocked them.
They looked again at the picture of Harry and Anthony Evans in their uniforms at Wools Orphanage. She handed the picture to them. "Dudley, did you bring it?"
"Bring what?" Harry asked.
"A woman from the historical society called the office. There is a memorial being set up in Suffolk for our grandfather," Dudley explained. "They don't know your address, so I'll forward it to you." Harry and Ginny nodded towards him, both surprised to hear it, but both wanting to know about it.
"What did he do there?" Harry asked.
"Something with the Second World War," Dudley answered.
"The family historian was able to get the full story from him. She wrote it down in a journal and placed it with the letters. The medal is with it." Petunia answered. "I still have some family artifacts, the rest your mother took."
"Like what?" Dudley asked interested.
"I have the necklace my grandfather gave me." Petunia explained holding it from her neck.
"The one from Russia?" Ginny asked. Harry knew that much about his mother's family history. Remus pointed that out to him when he asked about the bony, white-haired Muggle woman. Harry was told that she was his mother's grandmother, she was from Russia.
"Yes," Petunia answered, and then looked directly at Harry. "My grandfather wrote me a letter with his story. I will show it to you later. Your great-grandmother wrote a letter to Lily. She saved it along with the rest of our family history."
"What are you saying?" Harry asked.
"Your mother took the medal given to my father after the Second World War, the letters he and my mother exchanged at that time, and the letter my grandmother wrote to her on her wedding and preserved them," Petunia explained; "as well as some pictures and articles on the strike that took place at the factory he worked."
"So they are in Godric's Hollow?" Harry asked, wondering if they would have survived in those ruins.
"Yes, that is where they lived," Petunia explained.
'So that's why I'm included' Harry thought to himself. She just wanted him to get her family artifacts to keep for herself.
"That's all I am going to tell you for the day," Petunia sighed. "I do have this for you." She went and got the box placing it directly between Harry and Ginny.
"What is it?" Ginny asked, noticing a cloud of dust flying from it.
"Take it," Petunia answered. "It's yours."
"Thanks?" Harry questioned, staring at it wondering how he should pick it up without dust flying all over him.
"So, what time can you make it next Saturday?" Petunia asked.
"Oh, we can't," Ginny said.
"Why not?" Petunia asked.
"My in-laws are moving," Harry answered. "We plan to help them."
"They are moving to a resort in Dover, beach front, and a lot smaller," Ginny answered. Now that her father had finally retired, they decided to sell the Burrow and move to a smaller place with easier up-keep. Her mother had been complaining about how empty and big the Burrow was for years.
"I can't make it either, Vernon wants to go on a camping trip," Dudley explained. His son was the outdoors type. He liked to explore and observed rocks, climb trees, care for animals and enjoyed nature. London was a burden on him, not that Annie and Sam noticed. Annie thought he should be happy with all the money his stepfather provided. Sam didn't pay attention to anything besides his mobile. Dudley, of course, was more than happy to fulfill his son's need of outdoor adventure.
"Alright, the following weekend?" Petunia asked.
"Fine, we can make it," Harry promised her. Everyone was going to the Burrow next weekend, except for maybe Ron and Hermione. He didn't know if Mrs. Granger had another appointment or not. He heard they were going to take her to a specialist at the Women's Health Center in Dublin but Harry didn't know for sure.
"See you in a couple weeks then," Petunia said, nodding to them as they nodded back.