AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm back! And with a somewhat longer Interlude than the previous ones. A true chapter should be coming soon. As always, I hope you enjoy all of this nonsense, and don't hesitate to review, even if it's not for a compliment! Feedback is any artist's bread and butter!

Summer Interlude III: Return to Privet Drive

It was the thirteenth of July, and Petunia Dursley was enjoying a nice afternoon of reading magazines and generally lazing about. Her darling Vernon had finally succeeded — as she knew he would — in trapping the Freak's infernal reptile inside a basket, and so the boy could once again take care of the cooking and household chores, giving her ample free time.

With Harry upstairs, doing the laundry, she wasn't even scared to answer the door when she heard a knock. Perhaps it was Mrs Figg, come to chat about her delightful cat. Or the milkman. Or an encyclopedia salesman. At any rate, someone refreshingly normal.

She put on her friendliest smile and opened the door.

It was a young girl.

This wasn't entirely to Petunia's liking, because Petunia had no idea why a young girl would be visiting her. An unexpected young girl visitor was odd. Not freakish, thankfully, no — but odd.

Still, she seemed normal enough, although she badly needed a hairbrush. She wore a nice blue dress, stood in a very proper fashion; she was neither ugly nor too attractive.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Dursley. I'm sorry to bother you…"

Oh, look how sweetly she smiled. There was probably a very innocent, very normal reason she had—

"…but I am here about your nephew Harry."

—oh.

"My… nephew…?" she said through clenched teeth. "What nephew?"

"Harry. Harry James Potter."

"Oh!" she forced a smile. "…That nephew. Of course. …How… how do you know him?"

"We go to school together," the girl answered. "In fact, I'm surprised he didn't mention me. I'm one of his best friends. My name is Hermione Granger."

Oh, now that was just brilliant. Another freak, right on her own doorstep! At least she didn't look freakish, hair aside. If she could only prevent her from acting freakish, perhaps the neighbors wouldn't suspect anything.

"…I see," she said in a low voice. "Er, do come in."

"Why thank you!" the girl-freak said, and she obligingly followed her into the parlor.

"Alright," Petunia said harshly once the door was closed and they were both inside. "What do you freak want with the Freak?!"

"You know," the girl observed nonchalantly, and she was sitting down in Vernon's armchair, how dare she, "you really shouldn't call both Harry and I 'freaks'. In cases such as, well, this sentence, it rather obscures the meaning, don't you think?"

"…What?"

"What I mean is, if you really must insult our unusual quality, then you could find specific monikers for both of us. Use synonyms and metaphors. You used to be a secretary, as I recall — surely you know your way with words."

"Wh… whu…"

"For instance, you might call me a heathen or a Lilith, whereas you would refer to Harry as an abomnation or a mutant. Naturally, if you're willing, something more offensive could be unearthed, but we are both well-educated, polite people, are we not?"

"STOP BEING FREAKISH, FREAK!" Petunia burst out. "WHAT DO THE FREAKING FREAKS WANT WITH US NOW!?"

"You see, this is precisely what I was talking about. Oh well. My point is, you should stop acting like Harry is your personal manservant. He is, in fact, your underage ward, which is a completely different thing. Again, if you have to make him work as a servant and housekeeper, then by law, you must pay him a fitting wage. Although you would then run afoul of British law in another way, inasmuch as it forbids—"

Petunia Dursley's day had gone from quiet and pleasant to an utter nightmare in seconds. Here was this freak who didn't even have the decency to nod meekly when it was put back in its place — who didn't even argue — instead that girl was… was… well, really, Petunia had no idea what she was doing, but it was horribly abnormal for a teenage girl to do.

"WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT."

"Mrs Dursley, do you consider yourself a housewife?" the impertinent girl asked out of the blue.

"A perfectly normal housewife, yes," she said with offended pride, "which is more than you can ever hope to be."

"You will agree that normal housewives are known for their outstanding housekeeping?"

"Of course," she said, perplexed. "I was reading this month's issue of Outstanding Housekeeping when you—"

"Well then, what sort of normal housewife are you to be lazing about, and letting a boy do your housework? Do you realize how abnormal, indeed how freakish, you are being as a housewife?"

"I—"

"Also, what normal guardians ever made their wards do all the housework, hm? I am not asking you to love him, or care for him in any meaningful manner; I do realize that is quite beyond you; but what you have been doing borders on illegal. As does keeping a blue krait in a locked waste basket, for the record."

"But— but— he's a freak!"

"I suppose you would consider a mentally dis — I mean a lunatic — to be a freak as well?"

"I… well, yes, of course–"

"In that case, you really should keep in mind that much as one might dislike them, harassing the mentally disturbed is absolutely not normal. Mentally disturbed people are put into asylums and left alone, not worked about like beasts of burden."

"But nobody knows!"

"They could know very quickly, if I set my mind to it."

"I don't believe you!"

"How sure are you?"

Petunia was at a loss for words.

"I'm not asking much. Just do your own cleaning and cooking yourself and don't bother Harry. He can entertain himself and make himself quiet. We have put a spell of invisibility on his owl, if it worries you; that's how he contacted me, for the record; he won't threaten your reputation."

"But… but…"

"If you don't do this normal decent thing, I will personally hypnotize all your neighbors into thinking they saw you dancing about the garden with green makeup. In your underwear."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Why wouldn't I? As you've so eloquently said yourself, I'm a freak. I'm the leader of the freaks, as it happens."

"Their leader is a little girl?! They must be crazy!"

"Oh, quite crazy, yes. But really now. Will you do it?"

"I— I—" she stammered, reluctant to admit defeat — "but you'd have to convince Vernon, and Dudley, as well, I can't—"

"Oh, I've already talked to both of them."

"What? When?!"

"Just now."

With perfect timing, just as the girl walked up the stairs (presumably to tell the boy the 'good news'), Vernon and Dudley burst out of their office and kitchen, respectively.

"YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED!" the two male Dursleys said in unison.

Petunia swallowed nervously.

…Oh dear.

Fainting wasn't too unusual, was it?

"Okay, Hermione, but how did you talk to all of them at once?!"

"Hint: it begins with a T, it breaks the laws of physics, and I wear it around my neck."