Hello, guys! I think this will just be the start of a few tales on our favorite Harry Potter family, the Dursleys! Yep, these fics are going to be packed with Dursley enmity and forgiveness, with a touch of Hogwarts. Enjoy!

Petunia Dursley had never been to a wedding. They'd gotten an invitation from Lily- but Vernon had urged her not to accept and so they'd never gone.So Petunia didn't know how one should conduct themselves at such a celebration. Even if she did, it wouldn't have been of much use now- not when the wedding she was attending was a wizard one.

She stared up at the façade of the Burrow, and felt a deep-down urge to race in with a broom and dustpan and put the place to rights. Why, it was only a gust of wind away from toppling like a card castle! The top floor was held up by sticks over the bottom part. Three chimneys poked out from the roof, all of which spewing clouds of white smoke. Shingles were toppling off the roofs, and the brick was grey and weathered with age. Frogs croaked in a little pond to the side. A knobbly-headed creature glared at her through a patch of grass in the garden, almost as if it objected to her intruding on its territory. Then, a blonde haired, blue eyed boy leapt at it, and the thing scurried away with the child hot on its trail, behind a giant gnarled tree.

Shuddering, Petunia walked up to the door, and, after giving a final pat-down to her dress of the day- a powder pink blouse and a white pencil skirt coupled with a pair of earrings Vernon had gotten her for her 44th birthday- and adjusting her hair- she'd gone for the new style that the hairdresser had assured her was splendid on her and perfect for a wedding- she knocked on the door and waited. A few moments later, the door was answered by a red-haired man. He was wearing the usual suit and tie tuxedo that people favoured at weddings, and looking rather uncomfortable in it. Petunia noticed that he had a hole where his left ear should be.

"You must be Petunia Dursley." He said. There was a distasteful tone to his voice. Petunia grimaced. Had he already heard about how they'd treated Harry? She nodded curtly and stepped in.

The inside was, according to her, just as much of a pigsty as the outside. The man looking unhappily at her was enough to stop her from exclaiming in horror, but how messy and unkempt it was! The kitchen counter was cluttered with jams, sauces, and spices. There was a large bay window there- what a place to put a bay window- that looked out upon rolling green fields. Stained towels hung from hooks in the kitchen, and cupboards lined the walls, each filled with a variety of foods. A table was in the center, with mismatched chairs around it and plates by every one. A huge brick fireplace took pride of place in the room.

The living room was equally as bad. The armchair by the lamp and in front of the bookcase was thrown over with a red cloth, as if it was torn or stained. Books crammed the tables, shelves, even floor. All had peculiar names like Dragon Pox and How to Spot It, or Hogwarts: A History, or a Guide to Transfiguration. Trinkets were everywhere. A small model of a dragon. A vase bursting with bloom. An inkpot that was furry. Pictures and photos lined the walls. Childish, crayon scribbles. A moving picture of a family in Egypt.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" commented the man. Even though he probably guessed that she found it revolting, he was probably teasing her.

Petunia politely nodded.

"Do you know where the bride is?" she asked.

"You mean Ginny?" he pointed up the twisting, spiraling staircase. "Second door to the right, first landing."

Petunia progressed up the stairs, narrow as they were. The first landing had a diminutive little plant in a pot on a table. She knocked.

"Come in!" came a yell from inside. She nudged the door open.

A red haired girl was sitting on a stool. She was clearly the bride, as she was wearing a white gown with elaborate ruffles all over. Another woman with blonde hair- probably the mother of the boy in the garden- was bent over her, carefully arranging the thick red locks into an intricate hairstyle.

"Hello." Petunia smiled.

"Hello." replied Ginny frostily. She'd heard of it too.

"You look wonderful." Petnuia complimented.

"Thanks." Ginny blushed. "Mum made it on her sowing machine. We had to get it out of the attic real quick so the ghoul doesn't start making those growls and grunts. Its always in bad mood after that, and when the ghoul's in a bad mood, we usually get really loud thumps on the ceiling."

'The ghoul?" Petunia blurted.

"Oh, he's harmless really. Just walks around in there all day. Doesn't do nothing to us. He's like our family pet."

"Could you please no move, Ginny?" came a muffled voice from the woman behind her. "Zis is a very delicate 'airstyle and it would help if you didn't move while I'm fixing eet."

"Okay, Fleur." And so Ginny sat silent still for five minutes while Fleur wrestled with her hair, finally managing to pull it into a acceptable braid around her head.

"Look, Ginny. Zat looks splendid on you." Fleur sounded delighted with her handiwork.

Ginny got up and felt the braid. "It's lovely, Fleur." She praised, even though Petunia could see her mutter under her breath that it would probably unravel in no time "Thank you ever so much."

She turned to Petunia now. "You should probably wait for a while. It will take a while before everything is sorted." She gave a smile that didn't seem to reach her eyes.

Petunia grumbled internally as she shut the door behind her. The nerve of that girl to dismiss her like that! Though it was probably justified by her treatment of Harry when the boy was little.

She wandered around the home, which was bigger than it appeared on the outside. The garden was what touched a sore spot with her. Long grass grew in the garden. Gnarled trees were home to birds and lizards that scurried along the twisted bark. Peculiar and colourful flowers grew everywhere and vines twisted along the walls. And those little green things were gnomes- WHAT? She'd though gnomes to be jolly, white bearded, red-capped little men- that were the wizard equivalent of garden parasites.

Soon, guests started arriving. They milled around, chatting and laughing to each other. There was a solemn looking man with a deep voice and a gold stud in his ear. She remembered Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle. The former had a beaming smile on her face, while the latter was dressed in a black top and suit. A man with a lime-green bowler hat perched on his head also totted in, two rather larger and more menacing people at his side.

The wedding soon began. She was ushered to her seat by Ginny's ginger haired brothers, all wearing tuxedos. Primly perching on her golden chair, she peered around. The marquee was rather big, bigger than it seemed(that appeared to be a recurring theme with most wizard residences). Chairs were set out in orderly rows, a long aisle carpeted in red running through the middle. Harry stood there, in a pressed suit. Petunia gasped at seeing her nephew for the first time in eight years. He'd aged and seemed more weared out than anyone should at such a young age, though his eyes shone in happiness for the day.

Petunia noted the absence of a vicar for the ceremony. Maybe a wizard thing?

Piano music played. Everyone silenced the chatter for the ceremony. A few moments later, two identical little girls skipped along the aisle. They were wearing matching baby blue dresses, and carried baskets filled with flower petals, which they sprinkled around them as they went. A red-haired girl, Ginny, followed in their wake, in her spectacular dress and her elaborate hairdo, which, surprisingly, had not loosened. Harry's eyes took on a dreamy quality when Ginny entered.

She gracefully glided to the pulpit, giving small smiles to the onlookers in the seats. Harry beamed at her.

He then took a deep breath. "Ginny, I have loved you from the moment I saw you snogging Dean Thomas in sixth year. It was not your beauty, but the humour that I liked most. I hope that we can stay together for a very, very VERY long time." He smiled. Ron was seen silently retching in his seat.

It was a tad shorter than most other personalized vows she'd seen, but it was heartfelt and raw, and not sugarcoated like most others were.

Tears shone in Ginny's eyes. "Harry, the first time I saw you, it was at Kings Cross Station. I was not yet at school, and you were a nervous young wizard with large specs and an owl. Then I saw you in first year. You were here, in the kitchen, and I was looking for my jumper. That time, you were Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, not Harry, the friend from school. I then realized still liked you when McLaggen smacked you in the head with his beater bat." Cue laughter from the crowd. "You broke up with me for 'my safety' during the war, when I was literally stealing swords and fighting Death Eaters at Hogwarts. I hope you never do that again, or I WILL fire my Bat-Bogey Hex at you. I WILL do it."

Harry looked slightly afraid. He nodded.

A greying though evidently formerly ginger man appeared out of thin air at the pulpit. Harry and Ginny jumped back, startled.

"Sorry I was late." The man panted. "There was a case of a spell gone wrong at Platform 9¾. Everyone who was there had their ears turned bright pink." There was a howl of laughter from one of Ginny's brothers.

"Anyway," the man continued, "I'm here now, and I can do the final vows."

"Do you, Harry James Potter, take Ginevra Molly Weasley, as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do." said Harry in a gruff tone.

"And do you, Ginevra Molly Weasley, take Harry James Potter as your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

"In that case, I now pronounce you husband and wife." The man beamed as he stepped back, allowing the newlyweds to kiss.

Petunia was surprised to find that she was dabbing tears from her eyes. These two had a love that was much stronger than anything she'd experienced, even when the infatuation period with Vernon had been nowhere close to ending.

Everyone stood up and clapped for the pair. Petunia too got up, and rather feebly put her hands together for them. Then the red haired man who'd played the part of vicar earlier cleared his throat rather loudly.

He swished his wand in a single, fluid motion. With a loud pop, all the chairs in the room disappeared, inciting a small squeal from few, including Petunia. Three long tables popped out of nowhere, with red cushioned dining chairs to match. Plates were in front of every chair, a fork on one side and a spoon on the other. Harry and Ginny sat down at the two chairs at the head of the middle table, beckoning some people to join them. Little place cards were on the back of the seats, names scrawled on every one.

Petunia found herself settling down at the middle table, evidently the family table. The retinue of redheads also made themselves comfy here, as well as Fleur and another woman with deep brown hair and eyes. Probably a wife. Other guests sat at the opposite table.

She looked around. It was clear that it was dinner time, but where was the food?

A girl with bushy brown hair and brown eyes saw her confusion. "Just wait till everyone's seated." She whispered.

All had sat down and no scraping of chairs could be heard. Petunia was still bemused.

Then, with a surreal pop, the food appeared! Platters of fresh bread and butter and colourful, leafy salads. Tureens of bubbling soup and trays of mouthwatering grilled chicken legs. Racks of frosted cupcakes and chocolate chip cookies. And the crowning glory on the middle table, a three tier, elaborate, white wedding cake. Sugar flowers in bright shades curled down the three layers, and two tiny marzipan figures stood on the top. But… they were moving. The roses and lilies were rustling as if in a breeze, and the figurines were twirling and waltzing and gliding around, even venturing onto the lower parts for their dance.

"Why don't you cut the cake now, dears." Molly Weasley spoke up, coming towards them with a large knife. "Be careful not to slice those little people."

Harry was careful, avoiding the marzipan couple as they moved, managing to cut a clean slice. Everyone clapped as he tipped it into his new wife's mouth, chuckling as the girl pronounced it 'better than any cake I've had in my existence.'

Loud chews sounded the air as the guests, hungry after a long ceremony, dug into their plates with relish, filling their bowls with soup and piling up on the chicken. Petunia herself ate more than she had in the last week, unable to resist the happy moans and tantalizing food as she nibbled her lettuce. The soup was pumpkin soup, a strange delicacy that she'd never tried, preferring the world of the safe and easy tomato soup for her family. The redhead beside her bit loudly into a piece of chicken, spraying spittle everywhere as he dove back into his plate, and Petunia recoiled slightly, edging her utensils away from this man.

The brown haired woman shook her head. "Sorry. That's my husband, Ron. He's being positively revolting, isn't he?" she apologized, reaching over Petunia to smack Ron on the arm.

"Oi!" Ron rubbed his arm. "Why'd you do that!"

"You're disgusting this good lady with your horrid table manners!" Hermione called back. Ron, grumbling, went back to his food, chewing a teeny bit more subtly.

"He's a pig, isn't he?" the woman turned back to her. "He was exactly that bad at Hogwarts, and he hasn't changed eight years later. I guess he didn't do that in front of Mrs. Weasley, or he'd have gotten a good smacking."

"O-oh." Was all Petunia could stutter out.

Hermione eyed her curiously." You're Harry's aunt?"

"Er, yes." Petunia hung her head, waiting for the fury that would direct towards her in three, two one….

"You treated Harry real bad, didn't you?" her fae had reddened by now. She turned back to her friend on the other side. Petunia could sense that an entire pot of anger was under there, but as this was a wedding, it wouldn't be seemly to imitate a volcano in front of that many guests

At exactly 9:00 pm, all the chairs disappeared. Luckily, Petunia had gotten up by then to deposit her grimy plate in the sink by the counter. The unfortunate ones who were enjoying a loll in the chairs were sadly dumped on the floor with loud ouches and groans.

"Dedalus! You were supposed to tell them to get up before!" muttered Harry under his breath.

"Oops!" mumbled the aforementioned wizard.

A mere moment later, the scene changed. The three tables disappeared, along with stained plates and used spoons. A large space cleared in the middle with tables on the outside. Four chairs set around each one. A peculiar machine was in the back, with a large, steel grey box supported by network of pipes and a tap. An amber liquid was being pumped through these pipes, and froth was visible through the plastic.

People plopped themselves down on the cushy armchairs, thankful to sit after that thump onto the hard wooden floor.

Petunia found herself wedged next to Hestia Jones, a rather wrinkled lady in a feathered hat and a one of Ginny's brothers, whom she remembered from the fireplace break in- how she remembered that event with abject dread- as Ron.

"You're Petunia Dursley, aren't you?" asked Hestia, turning to the aforementioned woman.

"Indeed."

"I daresay you remember me. This here is Aunt Muriel, quite a dreaded figure of the Weasley family, and that man over there in the suit is Ron."

"My wife appears to have deserted me, though." Ron gave a lopsided grin. "There, I see her. Probably talking intellectual talk with them from the Ministry."

"What was that, Hestia?" croaked Muriel. "Just because I'm over a hundred old doesn't mean I've lost my sense of hearing."

"Nothing, Muriel, nothing at all."

"That's a good thing." She peered at Petunia through small round spectacles perched on the tip of her beaky nose. "Who's this then?"

"This is Petunia Dursley." Hestia introduced. "She's Harry's aunt."

"His aunt? I didn't know the boy had an aunt." Muriel looked surprised. "Anyhow, you're certainly decked out better than Harry. I've told him a million times to comb his hair. Does the little imp listen? No!"

"Thank you." Petunia replied stiffly to this compliment to her fashion sense.

"Does anyone want Butterbeer?" Ron jumped in, before the conversation took a turn towards a topic which he had and would never have much aptitude in- fashion.

"Thanks, Ron. I'd love some." Hestia smiled graciously at him as he bumbled off to get them some mugs of Butterbeer.

"What's that?" Petunia asked, more by way of small talk than genuine interest.

"It's positively lovely. Warm and fuzzy and buttery. Much better than that Firewhisky Charlie loves. I don't know how he can even drink that stuff; it burns your throat so." Hestia answered. "I hope Ron has the foresight to get one for us all. You'll definitely love it."

"Oh." Was all Petunia could say. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, as all three couldn't think of any good conversation.

Then Ron came back with the Butterbeer. Thankfully he brought four glasses, all somehow not splashing to the ground the way he held them.

Petunia took a delicate sip of the drink. It was nice, the perfect thing to have on a cold October night like this. Despite being nowhere close to winter and getting little snow even then, Britain was rather chilly even in summer, at least at nighttime anyway. The amber liquid frothed down your throat, and warmed it splendidly.

"Ahhhh." That was Ron, who'd taken a long, deep gulp of his Butterbeer, the mug of which appeared to be larger than the rest.

"Stop making those sounds when eating, Ronald!" snapped Muriel, setting down her cup to glare at the man over his mug.

"I know, right. He was a perfect menace at Hogwarts. I don't mean he slopped food everywhere or anything, but he ate more than I'd ever see a child eat in my life." Hermione leaned over the little group, her sleek plait hanging over a shoulder.

"Hermione? Haven't you learned to not interrupt?" waspishly said Muriel. Hermione, wisely sensing conflict, sped away as fast as her purple slippers would allow.

"She should have learned, though. She was a right bookworm."

"That girlie ain't got no colour nor strength. She was cooped up in the library at school, and shuts herself in the Ministry now." Aunt Muriel sniffed.

"Careful, Aunt Muriel. That bookishness saved us all from death at the hands of Devil's Snare in first year." Ron said.

"Devil's Snare? Whatever were you doing to get caught in Devil's Snare?"

"Getting the Philosopher's Stone."

"Nicholas Flamel's creation, isn't it? I suppose that's why he croaked at such an old age." said Muriel condescendingly.

"Why were you getting the Philosopher's Stone, though?" Hestia asked.

"Well, Harry clocked that the Stone was in a underground room, so we rushed there, all wands firing. We got stuck in Devil's Snare but Hermione with superb knowledge got us out, then there was a flying key room where Harry with great flying skills got the right key, then a giant chess where I got knocked out, then a potion room -Hermione told me that, I wasn't there- where Harry, being the noble prat that he is, drank the right potion and went in alone to fight You-Know-Who." Ron said the words You-Know-Who in a hushed whisper. "Oh, and there was a troll somewhere."

"Right." Hestia said faintly.

"Soooo….." Ron asked, drawing out the O.

"Ronald, can't you stop from rumpling your suit? Don't lean on the table!"

It was 9 pm. Petunia, being the forgetful woman she was, had not gotten a coat as the afternoon had been rather balmy. Apparently Past Petunia had not factored in the night. Shivering slightly, she headed onto the road. When calling a taxi, she'd made sure that it had stopped no less than half a mile away from the toppling over house, so the drier wouldn't assume that she, an upstanding member of clean society, hobnobbed with such folks as that lived in this horrid place. Now she was regretting her decision as she now had to trek through what seemed like miles of muddy moor and heather to the place where the taxi was waiting for her. Plus, it was freezing cold. \

The headlights of the car shone in the distance. Hopes rising, she sprinted faster than she'd ever sprinted before towards it.

"You've taken an awful long time." The driver said, peering into the back, gum in mouth.

Petunia didn't reply.

The car bounced along to Surrey. The moor drifted by and went to the familiar boxy houses of Little Whinging. Privet Drive came into view, and then Number 4. She could see Vernon's large form pacing the lit window. He was probably now thinking that she'd been abducted by the wizards.

"50 pounds, please." The gum was back in the mouth.

Petunia got out, grumbling about the extortionate prices these days.

"Petunia!" Vernon exclaimed as he opened the door. "How much did the man charge?"

Of course. This was the default whenever she climbed out of a taxi. "50 pounds."

"WHAT? THAT'S RIDICULOUS! WHEN DUDDERS WAS LITTLE THEY CHARGED 30 FOR A TEN MILE JOURNEY!"

"Don't worry, Vernon. We have enough cash for that."

Vernon followed his wife as she calmly strode into the living room onto the sofa, face red and mind irate.

"How was it?"

"Perfectly fine." Was the answer.