Disclaimer: See Chapter One. Short version, if you recognize it from someplace else, it's not mine.
"That was fucking weird," Pamela Isley observed the next morning. While Petunia robotically made breakfast thanks to the mind-controlling pheromones, Pamela had gone into the back yard to hide the parachutes they had left on the ground last night.
"That's suburbia, I tell ya," Harley called back. She was sipping on mediocre coffee while reading the newspaper. "It's like we're back in the eighties here."
"Suburban mania doesn't explain why the next door neighbor called me Vernon," she countered before pointing to the overweight man sitting comatose on the kitchen floor. "Acted exactly like I was him, even complimented me on losing weight."
"The fuck?" Harley questioned, putting the newspaper down. "They didn't realize you were, you know, female? And green? And not him? Or British?"
"Nothing," Pamela confirmed. "Didn't comment on that or anything else out of the ordinary."
"Did we land in Stepford?" Harley puzzled.
"No clue, but at least they aren't calling the cops on us."
The two began to munch on breakfast while absently feeding the two baby boys. After finishing the dishes, Vernon and Petunia stood quietly in the corner, out of sight and out of mind.
"It's official. We're in hell," Harley stormed into the house that afternoon. "Evidently, I'm the neighborhood nosy gossip, Petunia Dursley. Sally was asking me what news I had about the milkman's extra long delivery to the Jones' house."
"Who are the Jones?" Pamela asked, rocking Harry to sleep absently.
"I have no fuckin' clue," Harley grunted and picked up the drowsy Dudley. "When I told Sally that I was Harley Quinn, she asked me if that was a new nickname or a pseudonym for a book I was writing."
"If I had to guess, and this is just a guess, I'm thinking the magic Harry's letter mentioned is doing something."
"Well shit. This is terrible," Harley started before freezing in place for a moment.
She smiled.
"Oh no," Pamela began.
"This is great," Harley started again.
"Don't do this," Pamela pleaded.
"We can use this," Harley continued.
"And there you go," Pamela sighed in defeat.
"No, really, this can be good," Harley insisted. "We need a place to lay low, and this is perfect. No one will ever know we are here, they'll just assume we are those two losers over there."
"As much as it surprises me to say it, you actually have a point, Harley," Pamela conceded reluctantly. "You had your crazy look so I thought your idea would be, more, you know, crazy."
"Think about it, we can take over this town, and magic will make sure no one does anything against us," Harley continued.
"And we're back in crazytown," Pamela muttered to herself. "Harls, I love ya, but we can't rely on magic. If we are going to do this thing, we, and I mean you and me, we, we have to do it right. No more costumed capers, no more taking over the world or country or city, no more ego trips."
"Quit crime cold turkey?" Harley pouted. "But that's who we are."
"And it's what got us into this mess to begin with," Pamela insisted. "This isn't Gotham. If we want our crime fix, we gotta do it the regular way. Embezzle. Cheat on taxes. Hell, deal drugs, but not the low quality kind. Only the high end stuff the rich white douchebags buy. The worst we would get that way is a few months probation. We can't knock over any more diamond stores."
"Where's the fun and excitement in that?" Harley whined.
"Look at them, Harley," Pamela ordered, pointing to the two toddlers in their arms. "If we're going to take over the Dursleys lives, then we gotta do it right. For them."
"You know, based on the letter in Harry's crib, he has the makings of an origin story going."
"I don't like where this is going."
"Think about it. We raise this little guy right, and he would probably be able to take down the whole Justice League for us when he's older."
"Sure Harley, whatever you say."
"The perfect little sleeper agent. Tragic backstory, raised right by respectable parents, the good guys won't suspect he's planning on conquering the world until it's too late. We can train him to be unstoppable."
"Whatever you want, Harley."
"We need a babysitter," Harley Quinn, known to the neighborhood as Petunia Dursley, demanded as Pamela Isley, known to the neighborhood as Vernon Dursley and to Gotham as Poison Ivy, came home from work. They had been living in villain-retirement for five months so far, and the honeymoon phase had worn off.
"What did Harry do this time," Pamela sighed.
"Started floating the dishes in the air when I was making dinner," Harley complained.
"Lasagna again?" Pamela sniffed the air, recognizing the distinctive burnt smell. She put the Indian takeout she had picked up on the way home from Grunnings on the table.
"I'll get it right one of these days," Harley muttered.
"I'm sure you will, honey," Pamela encouraged, rubbing her back. "But until then, you need to keep the kitchen windows open for the cross breeze."
"Easy for you to say," Harley murmured. "All you do is go to work all day and then come home with take-out. I gotta keep the little brats alive."
"Do you think it's easy for me playing the part of the man?" Pamela shot back. "Do you know how many plants there are in that factory? Not a lot, I can tell you that. And the secretaries there are just beginning to think Vernon might actually have stopped molesting them since I started being him."
"I just wish we could switch, you stay home and I get out of the house," Harley slumped down into the kitchen chair and pulled one of the boxes of food towards her. "It's starting to feel like we're back in Arkham."
"Which brings us back to the whole babysitter thing," Pamela said softly, understanding.
"Yeah. Just one night out, you and me. We don't even got to rob anything, I just need some us time. Scope out a museum or fuck up a local drug kingpin or something. Anything to decompress."
"What if we call someone from Gotham to come over. I'm sure Clayface will love to act the part of a babysitter."
"He's busy," Harley shook her head, mouth half-full of food. "He got a gig as a stand-in for George Lopez while he undergoes some surgery."
"Just great. Where are we going to get a babysitter that can deal with Harry's fucking magic? He's always making stuff float when we try to put him to bed."
"Fuck," repeated Harry gleefully from floor. Dudley and Harry's toys were slowly moving around the two of them, animated. The two women ignored it, it wasn't the worst of the words he'd picked up from them.
"It's not like we can call Queen of Fables, since, you know, we killed her," Harley lamented without remorse.
"Enchantress is insane, Circe will turn them into puppies, Morgan Le Fey is in space," Pamela listed off. "Maybe we don't need a magical person, just someone who can handle them without, you know, eating them."
"That leaves out Frank," Harley pondered before laughing maniacally. "I got it. I know just who to get."