Author's Note: This may have taken a lot longer than I expected that it would, but it was never on the abandoned stories list. Only if the icon is the pink Marrissa cover does it get to that point. I may take a while, and muse may move around to many stories, but eventually it gets there. My November week off finally allowed the muse to handle the two scenes that were holding this back.
In this chapter you're going to be getting some different views of various characters, one of which had some changes way in the past due to their interaction with younger Dursleys that didn't exist in canon. I hope you like what has become of them, and I look forward to discussing them with you in response to reviews.
I was a little short on some betas this week, so if you find something that needs correction, please send either a private message or an email to stephen at trekiverse dot us.
Chapter Seven Aurors
The journey from the Lake District to Number Four Privet Drive was not the most pleasant one for Marjorie Eileen Dursley. At one time her travels would have begun with her brother Vernon picking her up along with a select dog or two. That no longer happened, and Marge understood why. With his eight children (counting his nephew Harry), and apparently another on the way, there simply wasn't a way to get away.
Marge was proud of her brother and his large family. At one time, she'd dreamed of having a large family of her own. Sadly that was no longer possible, thanks to, well she still occasionally needed to see a therapist about it. Still, she liked to see her nieces and nephews. It was a bit of a shame that none of them liked dogs like she did. They were great big protectors of their owners that were sometimes absolutely essential.
It was probably her fault, at least with Bradley. She hadn't realized just how aggressive Ripper was. After Ripper's attack on Bradley, she'd regretfully made the decision to put the dog to sleep. Ripper hadn't had any offspring, but his dam had several. There was certain something wrong with that dam, and it had ended up in the pups. She'd alerted the people that she'd sold the others from Ripper's litter of his over aggressiveness, and it had come back that pretty much every one of them had instances of such attacks.
At one time Marge would have used more course language to refer to the issue with Ripper, perhaps referring to his dam as a bitch, which she did contend was a perfectly good reference in the field, but she was on her way to Strychth Station and family, finally, so moderating her language, even in thoughts, was a good idea. For once she'd avoided the tube, but only because she had decided to visit her old friend Melody in Bassingstroke the night before. Even then she had to change at Clapham Junction for Raynes Park where the Whinging Branch Line broke off.
The Whinging Branch Line had some of the worst rolling stock in the whole country, in Marge's opinion. Even the old stock that had been running in the Lake District when she'd moved up that way had been better than the Sprinter that she was currently on. That being said, it was not a long run, and she'd be leaving via Whinging Central off to Effington, on a fortunately altered service that would allow her to conclude her autumn vacation in Penzance where she'd be meeting some friends from her boarding school days who knew that she'd need company around this time of year. After all, they'd been there for her in her sixth year when it had happened.
As usual, when the train took the curve past Maiden Manor on to the Whinging Branch Line, it seemed like he was taking it to fast to Marge. They were not scheduled to stop at Titter, a sometimes scheduled and sometimes request stop, but the horn blew as they approached, and from her position next to the window, she could see that there was a nun on the platform with her arm out, making her intent clear. It was just her luck for the day.
When Marge finally did arrive at Stychth, she alighted to discover that she was being met not by Vernon, or Petunia, who given her condition Marge hadn't expected, but by Lily and Bradley. Bradley was pulling the wagon she'd gotten for him for his fourth birthday, a Radio Flyer Town and Country that she'd bought from America. She remembered how wide his eyes had been when he opened the box up. "Good Afternoon, Bradley, Lily. I see you brought appropriate transportation for my suitcases."
"Yes, Aunt Marge," Bradley said. "Mum suggested it, after Dad got called into work."
Marge ruffled Bradley's blond hair, so much like his father's had been when he was little. She still remembered how light it had been. "Well, I think both of them will fit, and it is a bit of a walk from the station to Privet Drive."
"I walk twice as far to get to school now," Bradley said.
"Maybe, but I don't think either of us want to carry my suitcases that far," Marge replied. Then turning to Lily she said, "And how is my red-headed-step niece?"
Lily giggled at the nickname that Marge had given her. "Good, now that I'm in charge."
"Oh, so your mother is delegating things to you now that Dudley and Harry are away at school," Marge said. "It must make you feel quite grown up."
"A bit, but I miss Harry and Dudley," Lily replied. "They're much better big brothers than I am as a big sister."
"Hey! You got Dennis and his menaces to stop going after me," Bradley said. "Dudley and Harry never managed that."
Marge was well aware that the second child of the next door neighbors to the Dursley's, the Creevey's second son she thought, was the leader of a group that tormented her nephew and nieces. The way that boy had egged on his dog, Gnasher, to hassle the younger children of Privet Drive had long irked her as a breeder of dogs.
"Well, maybe," Lily said. "Though that does remind me, can you talk to Mister and Misses Creevey about raising dogs. I think Colin is doing it right with Ruff, but Dennis and Gnasher, well, I remember what you said."
"I think I can find some time to do that," Marge said, putting her arm around her niece. "Now, tell me, is your father still drinking that awful coffee in the morning?"
"No, Mum cut him off," Lily said, "Though I bet he's just getting it on his way to work, or at work. Mister G. seems to really like coffee."
VBDF
Petunia Dursley found the atmosphere of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to be strangely reassuring. It reminded her a bit of the setting of those police procedurals that Vernon had recently taken to watching. The "Overkill" theme to The Bill suddenly played in Petunia's mind. The room was an array of desks, some of which had old manual typewriters on them that seemed to be responding to the aurors' dictation, though one man a couple desks back from where they were sitting was actually typing with his. There was a certain smell to the room, of old paper and staleness, with just a hint of disinfectant, as well. All and all, it felt familiar, even with the paper airplanes going from station to station making impossible motions for something that normally glided to a stop.
She was not quite sure how she was going to handle leaving three of her daughters while she attended the question of the other. Her own questioning, that she had no problem. Lily and Violet could easily handle Iris and Primrose. It was just when either of them were alone with her youngest daughters that she was quite worried. By long experience, she knew that Iris and Primrose were prone to going in opposite directions at a moment's notice.
Something about the typing auror caught Petunia's attention, and was changing her feel of the room as aurors entered and exited. She wasn't sure what it was, but there was this feeling that he wasn't quite right, perhaps dangerous in some way. Petunia focused on his desk, pulling Primrose to her lap. She read the plaque on the desk. Senior Auror Everild Tripe.
Petunia wondered if the auror lived up to his name. Probably. The desk had a stack of folders on it, and Tripe paused every once in a while to look at something in one of those folders, usually not one of the ones at the top. Something about the man triggered her
Primrose escaped her lap, something that she was expecting to happen. Her youngest daughter wasn't exactly know for staying still. She escaped to the left, towards where Tripe was sitting at his desk, and suddenly the man's arm went up, and his other hand clasped over it.
"Primrose," Petunia called. "Sit beside Lily." Then she quickly scanned the bull pin. She spotted the black auror who'd been called to the Burrow. "Auror Shacklebolt!"
Shacklebolt came over to Petunia. "Ah, Madame Dursley. I'd heard you were coming in today."
"Yes, but unfortunately my daughters are a bit antsy today," Petunia said, looking into Shacklebolt's eyes. "Like fire ants have gotten in their pants." Her head jerked slightly towards Tripe. "Perhaps you might know something help with that."
"Well, I see," Shacklebolt said. "In that case, I see that Aurors Sink and Fawcett are in. Lily, can you see Auror Sink?"
"Can you take your sister Primrose over there?" Shacklebolt asked. "He's known for having some little puzzles to lend to young girls like your sister."
"I see him," Lily said, as Shacklebolt pulled out his wand. "Come on little Prim. I know how much you like puzzles."
"Puzzles!" Primrose cried out, and practically pulled her sister towards Auror Sink, right past Auror Tripe, just close enough that his sleeve caught fire, right where a dark mark would be.
"Stupify!" Shacklebolt said, and Auror Tripe collapsed right on to his flaming left forearm. "Mrs. Dursley, my apologies, but may I borrow a couple of your daughters? It seems that there are few aurors whose loyalty to the Ministry and the Queen should be checked again."
"Given what the late so-called Dark Lord did to my sister, Auror Shacklebolt, I am quite willing to let Lily and Violet take a walk through the aurors," Petunia said. "Though I ask that you give Lily a good primer on being an Auror. She's recently acquired her Uncle James's journal, and has some questions."
VBDF
Bradley looked over his shoulder as he entered the back garden of Number Four, making sure nothing was following him as he opened and closed the gate. Being right next to the Creevey's, it was really too easy for either Ruff or Gnasher to sneak up and into the back garden. His mum would kill him if either of them got back there and messed with her prized roses and lilies. He was still looking over his shoulder a bit when he cleared the corner of the house, stepping off of the slate path that Mister Stone had installed for them.
"You're afraid of dogs, Bradley," Aunt Marge said, causing Bradley to jump a bit. Aunt Marge was sitting on a lounge chair on the patio next to the dining room's conservatory extension.
"Ruff isn't bad," Bradley said, trying to deny it. He'd been afraid of them since he was a toddler and he'd been attacked by one of Marge's dog's after it had lost Harry's scent. Harry had been very apologetic at the fact that his escape had allowed the dog to bite Bradley.
"You've got a right to be afraid," Marge acknowledged. "If I'd known what Ripper was gone to do that day, I would have put him to sleep earlier. As it was, I had to prevent myself from using unethical methods to kill that dog. I've made sure that none of his get have bred since. That kind of aggressive behavior among family is not acceptable for a family pet."
"Really?" Bradley replied.
"Yes, and I think I'm going to need to talk to the family next door," Marge said. "The older boy and his dog seem to be doing everything right, but the next child and his dog ... that dog is being guided towards behavior that will have it put to sleep."
"Gnasher is a terror," Bradley said. "He's always nipping at me, trying to trip me, and he's even ripped my new jeans."
"I definitely will be stopping by number six," Marge stated. "It's alright for a dog to be protective to it's family, but aggressive behavior, no. I've been breeding bulldogs for decades, and I know how dogs should behave. I'm not always perfect, of course, and a dog will react if pushed beyond the limits of its breed. Most often, it's the owners, not the dog that's the problem. And I have to say that boy is a menace who shouldn't have a pet."
Bradley could only nod his agreement. He'd never had anyone put it that way before, but now that he thought of it, the two Creevey dogs were reflections on the two boys who owned them. Colin was boisterous, always cheerful, too cheerful if you asked Mister McGreevey, always getting into anything. It was nearly impossible to not smile in Colin's presence. Dennis, on the other hand, was mischievous, always getting into trouble. If there was some way to add chaos into the street, Dennis would do it. You did not tell Dennis that something couldn't happen, because Dennis would see it as a challenge, and you never, ever wanted to be around him when he was bored.
"Now, Bradley, or do you prefer to be called Brad now?" Marge asked.
"Brad," Brad confirmed.
"I remember when Vernon decided to just go by Vern when he turned nine.," Marge reminisced. "He thought it was more grown up and sounded better. I disagreed. I did agree that being called Vernie was just not right for anyone over the age of five. Brad sounds a lot better than Bradley, unlike Vern over Vernon. So, Brad, I haven't really got to know you, out of all your siblings. That's really a shame. I do, however, know that you have a liking for Iru-Bru." Marge reached down and opened the basket next to her chair. "Have a can, I won't tell your mother, and tell me about yourself."
Brad wasn't usually allowed carbonated beverages. They were an unnecessary expense, and the sugar rush was not good for him, according to his mother. He wasn't going to pass up the Iru-Bru, though. So, he took the can from his aunt, opened it, and took a seat on one of the iron stools that in the summer had his mother's house plants on them. "Okay, Aunt Marge."
VBDF
"Mister Potter, I am Auror Sink, and this is my partner, Auror Fawcett, we're here to talk to you about two incidents, you are not under investigation for any crime, we are merely here to get some details about the incident and develop an understanding as to how the protection that your mother has endowed to you and your Dursley cousins," Auror Sink began. "This is Unspeakable Kitchener, who will be attempting to translate your descriptions into known magical effects. Professor Sprout, I'd like to thank you for sitting in as loc-parental."
It wasn't the first time that Harry had heard of Aurors Sink and Fawcett. Lily seemed to be quite enamored of them in her last couple letters. Though Shacklebolt had drawn more of that, as he'd apparently discussed one of the cases in their father's case book with her. It had been a fascinating tale about a wizard whose hat had been charmed to collect certain small objects, or so Lily had said. She wanted him to hear the tale from Shacklebolt himself.
"Now, Mister Potter, it was my understanding that while this was not the first time you had been to Diagon Alley, it was the first time you'd gone without a disguise of some sort. For the record, can you tell me the reasoning behind this?"
"It actually wasn't the first time, my Aunt Petunia said that she'd taken me before my third birthday, and had dealt with a bit of a crowd when a patron of Flourish and Blotts spotted my scar. I don't really remember it, but it made an impression with Aunt Petunia. She was in her first trimester with Bradley at the time, and apparently there was some sort of magical reaction that Madam Villanelle still references whenever Bradley gets a book. Ever since then, my aunt makes me wear a hat far down enough to cover my scar.
"This time, since I was going for Hogwarts equipment, I asked if I could go without the hat, so any of my fellow first years I met wouldn't see me hiding who I was. Aunt Petunia agreed, as did Uncle Vernon."
"I have a description of what you wore, a Chesley jersey and faded blue jeans, is that correct, and was their anything special about the jerseys?"
"Yes. Nothing special, it's what most of the boys in the family wear on outings, anytime we go somewhere special outside of Little Whinging."
"Little Whinging would be the town you live in?" Auror Sink asked.
"Yes."
"Quill, obscure 'Little Whinging' from the transcript for witness safety. Now, I'm told you entered the Leaky Cauldron around half passed nine, can you describe you initial impressions."
"Well, it first was just like any other time that we'd gone to Diagon, save that this time everyone but Uncle Vernon was there. He was putting long hours at Grunnings after his latest promotion, fixing his former boss's boss's messes, two weeks before. I was paired up with Bradley, who as usual was not holding my hand like he was supposed to. Tom waved from the bar, like he always does for anyone passing through. It seemed normal, to me, at least until that gust of wind came through from the Alley."
"How would you describe that gust of wind," the Unspeakable asked.
"It was a rather warm wind, but it was Summer," Harry said. "It also seemed to be right at the top of my head. It didn't ruffle Bradley's hair at all."
"I see," the Unspeakable replied, writing something down.
"Now, what happened when you were spotted?" Sink prompted.
"Well, it seemed like everyone came over, and they didn't want to give me any room. They practically pushed Lily into my back, and someone knocked Primrose over."
"Whilmeana Cobble, I hope she followed my suggestion and wrote an apology letter," Auror Fawcett said.
"Lily shouted right next to my right ear for everyone to back off, but no one did until Hagrid told everyone to do so. He kind of powered his way through the crowd and pushed everyone aside making room around me. Lily was finally able to move to my side instead of being pressed against my back. I could see my younger cousins in the gaps that people backing off were making, and I figured they'd get through the crowd before long. He introduced himself, and then noticed Professor Quirell, just as Noel and Iris got through the crowd.
"I told Hagrid that I was going to Gringotts and school shopping, just as the crowd seemed to part for Professor Quirell. It was about that time that Primrose came up beside Hagrid, on the opposite side from Quirell. Her eyes were still tearing, and Dudley wasn't far behind her.
"Hagrid introduced him as my future Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, and Quirell said something like I didn't need it. It was about then that Bradley stumbled around the professor, causing him to step forward.
"Aunt Petunia's always been about politeness, so I offered my hand and introduced myself saying, 'Harry Potter, I look forward to coming to Hogwarts and your class.' I was just about to touch his hand when he jerked his back as if he was burned. That's when I noticed that Violet had completed a circle of everyone but Dudley around Quirell."
"Would you say that the children in your family were equidistant around the Professor?" Unspeakable Kitchener asked.
Harry paused for a moment, trying to bring the day back into his mind more fully. Recalling where each of his siblings, they were more that than cousins, were positioned, he tried to figure out the angles of the six siblings from him. "Roughly, I think so. I can't be entirely sure."
"And did you spot any sparks, or anything that might have signaled what was going to happen?" the Unspeakable asked.
"Not really. The first sign was his hand jerking back and it couldn't be even a second later that I started to smell that putrid smell of burning flesh. Then I saw that tendril of smoke from his right hand. The smoke started coming out of every opening in his robe, and he made that cry for his Master to save him. Then he collapsed into a pile of ash and robes, as black wraith, at first I thought it was just the smoke, but it stayed together, hovering about my eye level.
"It said 'Curse you Potter!" and threatened revenge, before heading towards me, but it couldn't get close to me, and curved up to the ceiling. That was the last I saw of it."
"I see," the Unspeakable said. "I believe I can now determine the cause of the demise of Professor Quirell. In my expert opinion, I believe we are dealing with the exorcism of a shade possessing the professor, caused by an enhanced love protection, probably laid by Lily Potter on the night of You-Know-Who's attack on the Potter family. I believe it is focused on protecting Mr. Potter and his family from You-Know-Who and his minions, known as Death Eaters or Knights of Walpurgis. Further study of Death Eaters who have encountered the Potter/Dursley family will be necessary."
"You might want to contact Draco Malfoy's father," Harry said. "Draco's really worried about what happened when he ran into my family in Diagon Alley. Apparently the burn isn't healing so well. And well, Draco's my friend, and he shouldn't have to worry."
"We're already in contact with Lucius Malfoy's healers, as well as Augustus Rookwood, now that he's out of that muggle burn hospital. Peter Pettigrew, well he's a special case."
VBDF
As Roger took his cello out of its case, he felt a bit off. He didn't feel like he quite fit into Hufflepuff, yet. Roger had to admit to a bit of homesickness. He missed being able to listen and play music. The Malone family was a very musically inclined household, where it was not uncommon for someone to pick up one of the many instruments in the house and start playing. Often, siblings, parents, cousins, or even Grandfather Malone would pick up an instrument and join it.
Roger Malone was a classically trained cellist, something he was quite proud of. That meant, however, that he needed regular practice to keep it up, and at the moment he was practicing a few rather difficult pieces in the common area of the First Year dorms. He'd decided to practice in his alcove, on the theory that if someone didn't want to hear him, they could close the door.
At least that was his plan, before Neville stopped him in the middle of his second piece. "Can you play a few waltzes?" he asked. "Susan wants to dance."
"Waltzes? Well, if you like Shastakovich, yes," Roger said. "I need to practice of a Cello Solo arrangement of his Waltz Number Two. My teacher wants me to play it until I do it a dozen times in a row without error."
"It's what, three and a half-minutes long? That gives use plenty of time to dance, and hand off to others.
"Three fifty," Roger said. "And I usually end up getting to an hour before I manage to do that."
"Not a problem," Susan said. "Fay and I love to dance ... and I'm sure someone will cut in for Neville at some point. Come out to the common hall, and play, Roger."
Susan practically pulled Roger out into the area between the alcoves. The desks had been pushed to the wall, but Fay helpfully had placed Roger's chair under good light. He took a good deep breath, centered himself and began to play. His eyes were closed the though the first dozen or so bars as he took the difficult solo arrangement. He'd played all three parts on a Trio arrangement, and the cello part of a string quartet (two violins, a viola, and cello) but the solo version had to do the who thing, and that made things complicated.
As he opened his eyes, Susan was waltzing with Neville, and Draco had just bowed to Fay, before taking up her into his arms and joining the dance. Roger lost himself to the music, playing it over and over, only vaguely aware of his fellow first-year male Hufflepuff cutting in to exchange while allowing the girls to get the long dances that they wanted. As he got though the third repetition, he lost himself in the music, only cataloging the few mistakes he made, mistakes that he knew that the dancers would not notice as long he kept a consistent tempo.
The tune flowed through him, the melancholy melody and its strong beat enmeshing itself into his very being. Each note, each bar, each line, each repetition, baked the music of the composer into his soul. Shostakovich had been one of Roger's favorite composers since he'd heard his Thirteenth Symphony, often called Babi Yar. Something about that piece, about a massacre of Jews in a ravine near Kiev had stuck him. He wasn't sure what, but since then, he'd sought out to learn as much as he could of the composer's work. Unfortunately there were not a lot of cello pieces by the composer on his ability range.
That didn't stop him from playing the piece, until he finally completed that twelfth consecutive correct complete composition. Only as he ended did he realize that there were more than first years in the room. Both Fifth Year Prefects, had stepped into the first year dorms, as had several third and fourth years, second year was probably still in Double Potions, and a couple of seventh years had joined Susan and Fay on the dance floor. There was a moment's silence, before applause suddenly started.
Gabriel Truman stepped over, his viola in hand. "Do you know the string quartet cello part of that?" he asked. Roger nodded. Gabriel raised his viola to his neck, as his sister Gabrielle and a third-year, Fiona raised their violins. "One, two, three."
And the piece picked up one more time, this time a bit less difficult as the piece was split in fourths, but also a lot richer, as the four stringed instruments merged together. Still a bit melancholy, now it also rose triumph. As the piece reached it's mid-point, souring from side to side, the dorm filled with dancing couples now, Roger felt at home at Hogwarts for the first time.