A/N: I changed a few small things in chapter one, but no plot stuff, just grammar and spelling, so it's been reloaded.
Disclaimer: If JKR wants it, she can have it, I have no money.
Don't Wake the Muggles: Chapter 2
6:00 a.m.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Bee—
Vernon's large hand hit the snooze with a crash, sending the clock skittering across the bedside table and onto the floor. Rolling over with a groan, he stopped when he felt a small form between him and his wife. Glancing down in surprise, he groggily recalled the events of the night before with dismay. He wasn't to be given time to dwell on them however, because the alarm had woken the baby and Petunia as well. Opening bright green eyes under a jagged cut that was probably sore this morning, Harry looked for a familiar face and found none.
"Good morning." Petunia rasped, just as Harry's lip began to tremble. Confused, the child looked for the source of the voice that sounded like, yet unlike his mother's. His inevitable cries were temporarily forestalled, but Petunia couldn't have looked anything less like her sister. She released the breath she'd been holding when his heartbroken wails filled the air. It was going to be a long day.
Snoring like a small mountain, Dudley had slept through everything; the visitors, the alarm, and Harry. Petunia had purchased a booster seat for him a few weeks ago to replace his highchair, and now she put both into use, dragging the seat out of storage and wrestling him into it while Vernon settled a forlorn Harry into the highchair. Turning to his wife, he asked, "You'll be all right?"
Seeing a stranger in his highchair, Dudley screamed, "Mine!" angrily. Petunia smiled tiredly.
"Yes. Go shower, I'll be fine." Kissing her on the cheek, Vernon went upstairs, leaving her alone in their kitchen with two very unhappy children.
Turning to her son she said in what she hoped was a firm tone. "Dudley, we have to share." Dudley stared at her for a moment, puzzled by the new word, then resumed his screaming. She tried a different tactic. "Highchairs are for babies, Dudley. You're a big boy." No luck. Standing, she straightened her shoulders. She was not going to plead with her son. Getting out the breakfast things, she began singing,
"Hush little baby, don't say a word.
Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird…"
Cereal for Dudley and a bottle of formula for Harry. Mollified by the food sweetened with a touch of sugar, Dudley quieted, allowing her to concentrate on her nephew, whose crying had ceased while she sang. He was examining the bottle as though he'd never seen one before. Recalling the curiosity of Lily's friends about all things Muggle, it occurred to her that maybe Harry hadn't. A vision entered her mind of her sister, at the age of five, cradling a doll with hair as red as her own, and singing,
"Hush little baby.."
This was followed by memory, the year before Lily had gotten her letter, singing a duet at Christmas, her soprano in perfect harmony with Lily's rich alto.
"More!" She'd been gone too long, and Dudley was demanding attention. Rescuing his bowl before it spilled, she began a song that she had only heard in her head for many years, her mind filling in Lily's part.
"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,
Jack Frost nipping at your nose."
Reaching out, she tapped Harry's nose with her finger, causing him to squeal with glee. Picking up the bottle, she held it for him, thankful that he was still at the stage where he wanted to put everything in his mouth.
"Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow,
will find it hard to sleep tonight."
She yawned. "I certainly won't." she thought, twisting to look at the clock, "I'm exhausted, and it's only…"
Vernon was standing in the doorway watching her, his hair still damp from the shower. She knew she was blushing. She never sang in front of him. "Grub's on the stove," she said, pointing, hoping he wouldn't see her distress. Why had she let her guard down? "A few midnight visitors and you act as though the world has been set on its ear." she thought, cursing herself mentally. Vernon blinked and brought the food to the table, frowning. "What?" she asked, nervous, but it came out sharper than she'd intended.
"I don't think I've heard you sing before." He replied. She shrugged.
"I haven't really sung since I was a child." Hoping he wouldn't make the connection, she changed the subject. "I need you to pick up some nappies for Harry tonight. I've only a few that fit him." If Vernon noticed the abrupt change, he said nothing of it, instead promising to purchase the requested diapers.
The owl arrived while she was finishing the breakfast dishes. Vernon had left for work a few minutes ago, cautiously edging open the door and peering around for curious neighbors before dashing to his car. Petunia heard its door slam and turned to face her son and nephew, drying her hands on a towel. Dudley was twisting in his booster seat and insisting, "Out, out" while Harry sucked on his fist again, watching everything with big eyes. Suddenly he crowed,
"Owl!" and for a second Petunia thought he had joined Dudley in shouting, "Out!" but then Harry waved at someone behind her. Perched on the windowsill and pecking the glass was a miniature owl about the size of her fist. She was puzzled for a bit before remembering that such birds carried letters. Hastily she opened the window to let it in, hoping her neighbors hadn't seen. Too late she noticed Mrs. Next Door's curtains flutter and knew she was in for it. The tiny owl hopped onto her pristine counter, fluttering its wings excitedly and stuck out its leg to be relieved of its burden. She'd seen Lily receive many such letters but had never gotten one herself. She'd pretended the birds were frightening or disgusting, or both, but now she untied her letter with trembling fingers. The owl pecked her softly to get her attention and she stared at it for a moment before understanding it wanted to be fed. "Lily always fed the owls something," she reflected, rummaging in her bread box. "Toast! That's what it was." Bread would have to do. While the owl ripped the piece to shreds with razor-sharp talons, she bribed Dudley into quiet with a biscuit and began to read.
Dear Mrs. Petunia Dursley
I hope this missive finds you and yours well. It was unfortunate that our meeting occurred at such a late hour, as I am certain you have many questions. While I desire to address them personally, the events surrounding the death of your late sister and her husband have thrown the wizarding world into an uproar and require my immediate attention. I have established a contact near your home to whom you might direct your questions. Should you indeed wish to meet her, you must send your affirmative using this owl to a Mrs. Arabella Figg stating the time and place. I believe she will prove to be an invaluable ally for you in the coming days. You are to be commended, my dear; the challenge you have taken on is a difficult one and an enormous responsibility.
As per your request, the spell holding Dudley's magical talent at bay has been removed. Undoubtedly you remember from your own childhood the events perpetrated by untrained magic and have some idea what to expect. You must know that many wizarding families encourage such things, but find them often inconvenient, especially around uninformed Muggles. Wandless magic is a phenomenon exhibited only by the very powerful, the very desperate, or the very young. Discouraged during childhood, this talent can become slightly blocked by a willing individual, no matter what age the choice is made, or why.
I have placed Arabella in charge of funeral arrangements for your sister. The Potters were much loved by many and the mourners are expected to be quite large in number. The ceremony has been set for two days hence, just outside of Godric's Hollow. If you should contact her, Arabella would more than appreciate your input regarding the arrangements. I must confess that she may be unfamiliar with Muggle customs.
Yours Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Petunia's first reaction upon finishing the letter was to be indignant. Lily, buried in Wizard fashion! "But she chose that life," a voice reminded her, "as you chose yours." She sighed. If she wanted things done right, she would have to see to them herself. And if that middle paragraph wasn't a warning, she didn't know what was. Send your affirmative using this owl to a Mrs. Arabella Figg. She considered the small owl, who had finished the bread in record time and gone to sleep with its head under its wing. She could meet this person, she supposed, but… She straightened her shoulders. She had made her decision last night. She was not going to be afraid. She refused to be afraid. Searching a drawer for paper, she carefully penned her reply in neat, precise script.
Dear Mrs. Figg,
I would be pleased to make your acquaintance. I will be home all day today and would welcome the company.
Yours,
Petunia
It wasn't quite true, she was nervous and wasn't ready for her neighbors to see one of these wizarding folk strolling up her front walk, but she was less ready to enter the residence of one, or take two small children into an unknown area of town.
She folded the paper small and gave it to the owl, who clamped it in its beak and flew out the window. Scarcely five minutes had passed before it returned, bearing another message, which said only:
I will come at 9:00.
Nine o'clock! She wasn't ready! Her nervousness was quickly replaced with anxiety, and she scrambled to prepare herself, the two boys, and her home for her visitor's arrival. Before she knew it, the door bell was ringing and she still hadn't found Dudley's baby things for Harry.
Peering through the small window in the door prior to opening it, Petunia sighed in relief. A perfectly mundane-looking woman stood on her doorstep, not a hint of magic about her. She was elderly, which surprised Petunia, who was expecting someone far younger.
"Are you Mrs. Figg?" she asked uncertainly when she'd got the door open, fighting a squirming Harry all the way.
"I am." She answered. "You must be Petunia. I hope this isn't too early."
"No, no. Please come in," she invited, and led the way to the sitting room where Dudley was parked in front of the television, oblivious to all else.