Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and her publishers, not to me. I'm not making money off this.

Spoilers: All five HP novels.

PRELUDE—PLOTS AND COMPLICATIONS

IX: Harry, the Dursleys, and various other Muggles

Harry's warm feeling did not last long; the heavy pounding of feet on the stairs and a loud banging on the door rudely interrupted it.

"Boy! Get down here this minute! You have some explaining to do!!" yelled Vernon Dursley through the closed door.

Harry winced, but stood up and looked at Dumbledore, who took off the Silencing Charm. "Be there in a moment, Uncle Vernon," he replied.

"Now, I said!" The door burst open, and Vernon started in with the intention of grabbing Harry. He did not get that far; Remus Lupin was in front of Harry with his wand out faster than could be expected, considering he had been on the far side of the small table. Snape was also up with his wand out, but silently faded back into a corner behind the door; Vernon didn't even notice him. Dumbledore remained seated.

"Is there a problem, Dursley?" Lupin inquired mildly.

"A problem!! Yes, there's a problem, all right—the police are here, and they want to talk to the boy! Seems someone is accusing my Dudley of things he couldn't possibly have done, and they are here! IN MY HOUSE!!" He suddenly realized that he was facing an adult Wizard with a wand in his hand, and there was another one sitting down behind the first. He was so focused on Lupin, that he never even noticed the Transfigured furniture, nor Fawkes. "P-put that away—I'm not after you or your kind."

"I'm just making certain that you mean Harry no harm," Lupin continued, still mildly. "If all that is wanted is for him to talk to people, then there will be no problems. They don't even have to know we're here, but we'll be here if needed." He turned to Harry. "Are you all right with this?"

Harry could imagine quite a lot that the police might want to talk to Dudley about; but since he never went out himself, he had no idea what they could want with him. "Fine. I don't know what they want, but I'll talk to them." To Vernon, he said, "You don't have to drag me, you know; I'm coming."

Vernon huffed a little, and turned around to go out. Harry looked at him, then on impulse, drew out his wand and handed it to Remus, who took it with a raised eyebrow.

"I'd rather not have that on me, or I might get tempted. I've got you for backup, anyway, if there is real trouble." With that, Harry followed his uncle out the door and downstairs. Remus closed the door.

"A moment, Remus." This was from the Headmaster, who now had out his own wand. "Nos Visibilium. Nos Audibilium." The wall and part of the floor appeared to vanish, and a view of the downstairs replaced it. All three wizards could clearly see and hear all the people below. Snape winced.

"You were right, Remus. She is just as bad as Miranda was, and about half as bright. Maybe." He looked down at the view for a few seconds more. "And she's nothing whatever like Lily."

"Miranda?" Dumbledore inquired.

"Bulstrode, year above us, his House," supplied Lupin. "I was using her to give Severus an idea of Petunia, in voice at least."

"A fair enough one, if I recall. Now, Severus, I want you to Disillusion and slip down there quietly—I want Harry to have close support, and you're the one Mr. Dursley didn't notice. Remus, you and I will watch from here."

"What, you're not going down too?" asked Lupin.

"No. We will be available if needed, but this is Harry's problem to deal with at the moment. If we need to go down, we can appear as Muggles, and I would really prefer that Severus not be seen at all. In the wrong hands, the idea that he was ever here—and didn't tell someone—could be fatal to him. I prefer that using Obliviation be a last resort." The Headmaster smiled, and conjured up a bowl of popcorn. "Now, we watch the show." He took a handful and began to nibble on it.

"Besides," Snape added, with one of his trademark smirks, "Potter has said that he wants to be a Auror. Let us see if he has the ability to think on his feet, which is necessary in that profession, and how well he hides us from the Muggles. Aurors do have to work with Muggle police, and this will be a nice surprise field test." With that, he tapped his head with his wand and cast the Disillusionment Charm on himself; then silently slipped down the stairs to the living room, finding a convenient corner behind an armchair to see and hear from but not be noticed. He added a silent Notice-Me-Not Charm, leaned against the nearest wall, and waited, wincing slightly at the too many loud voices in a too-small space.

And there were quite a few voices, all talking at once: all three Dursleys; two uniformed constables, one of them hovering over Dudley, who was sitting on the other armchair and looking miserable; a plain-clothes officer; several adults who appeared to be neighbors of the Dursleys (although Mrs. Figg was not there) and two or three other teens. Finally, the plainclothesman stood up, and shouted, "Quiet!! The lot of you!! NOW!!" The other voices fell silent, and he turned to Vernon.

"This is the other boy who lives here?"

"Yes," Vernon replied.

The officer turned to Harry. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

Harry decided answering calmly and truthfully was a good start. "My name is Harry Potter, Sir, and I live here. You summoned me down here; who are you?"

"I am Carleton Markham, Detective-Constable for the village of Little Whinging. How old are you?"

"Fifteen, Sir; I will be sixteen at the end of July."

One of the constables whispered, "Fifteen? He looks more like he's twelve or thirteen!" No one responded to that, but several pairs of eyes—including the invisible Snape's—looked from one teen to the other.

"Why do you live here?" continued Markham.

"I am an orphan, Sir; my parents were killed when I was fifteen months old. Petunia Dursley is my mother's sister, and these, to the best of my knowledge, are my only living relatives."

"Where do you go to school?"

Harry didn't want to answer that one; to do so would make liars out of his aunt and uncle in front of their neighbors. He was saved by one of the neighbors. "He attends St. Brutus' Institute! Look at him, he's an obvious criminal!"

Markham turned to her. "Mrs. Polkiss, that may be what you have been told, for whatever reason. But I am, among other things, a probation officer for a number of the St. Brutus inmates, and visit there regularly. There is not only no one who matches his description there, but no one by the name of Potter, Harry or otherwise." He turned back to Harry. "Would you care to explain, Mr. Potter?"

Harry thought fast. Truth or lie, I'm done for. Let's start out with part of the truth. "I attend a very exclusive private boarding school in Scotland, Sir." Politeness couldn't hurt, either.

"Where in Scotland, and what school?"

"I prefer not to say in public, Sir."

"When is your school term?"

"First of September to the third Friday of June, Sir."

"And did you attend your school this year?"

"Yes, Sir." Harry decided this was getting a bit much. "May I ask what is going on, please?"

"You may. Mr. Dudley Dursley has been caught driving too fast in his father's car with not only several bottles of beer, but also three marijuana cigarettes; he refuses to tell where he obtained them, and claims they are not his. Several of his friends have also been caught with him; they insist that their source for both is one Harry Potter, whom they claim also regularly vandalizes the area and assaults children. Now, you are the only Harry Potter we have found, and frankly, I think there is more going on than it appears. Would you care to explain yourself?"

Bloody hell! "Sir, I do not know who is currently bullying children or vandalizing public or private property; nor do I know where marijuana is obtained. But I totally deny that I had anything to do with any of it whatsoever. And, if it happened while I was in school, then I could not have possibly done it." He took a deep breath, and continued. "If someone is claiming that a 'Harry Potter' is committing these acts, then all I can say is that either there are two of us of that name, or I am a victim of someone misusing and dishonoring my good name."

Dennis' mother burst out with, "What good name? Look at that scruff! No one like that—"

Markham interrupted the blustering woman. "Mrs. Hayward, be silent; I did not ask for commentary. I will ask the questions." He pounced on one of Harry's words. "You said 'currently'. Do you have knowledge of past violations, and if you did, why did you not speak to the Law?"

Harry sighed. No matter what he said, he would be in some kind of serious trouble; if the law didn't string him up, his relatives would. And he would bet his last Knut that the three Wizards upstairs were listening to every word. Then again, he reminded himself firmly, it could be worse. If I can face down the full Wizengamot or the Dark Lord, I can face one Muggle policeman; at least he isn't out to kill me. I can look at him, and ignore the neighbors. And I think this will explain my real home life to the Professors better than I ever could want to. "In the past, it was often Dudley, Piers Polkiss, and their friends Malcolm, Gordon and Dennis; you can ask Mark Evans, whose mother I see here, who the real neighborhood bullies are. As to why I never spoke up, I have been their victim many times as well myself; but there was no way for me to prove it, and there is no one here who will speak for me against anyone else." He inhaled slowly again, and continued. "But as to the marijuana—this is the first time I've heard about this."

"Indeed. Well, all of this should be solved shortly. P.C. Adams, if you would?" He went over to one of the constables and whispered to him; the constable then went outside. Markham turned back to Harry. Something was off about this boy: not bad, necessarily, but off. And the Dursleys were hiding something; that much he could tell.

"You said that you are fifteen, almost sixteen, correct?"

"Yes, Sir; I'm about a month younger than Dudley."

"And you have lived here in this house from the age of 15 months, until you went to boarding school, presumably at age eleven?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And you still live here, during holidays?"

"Summer holidays; winter and spring hols I usually spend at school or with friends."

"So you went to primary school here, along with your cousin?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Is there anyone else in the neighborhood who can verify that your name is indeed Harry Potter, and that you do indeed live here and have done so, as you say?"

That one was easy. "Other than all the people here? Yes, Sir, Mrs. Arabella Figg, two streets over on Wisteria Walk. She's been my minder since I was little."

Markham turned to the other constable. "Ring up this Mrs. Figg and have her brought here."

Mrs. Polkiss could no longer keep silent. "How can you stand there, a man of the Law, and listen to the lies from this---this hooligan about my Piers? If he and this boy used to fight, then there's a motive for this boy to get him into trouble!"

Markham was unmoved. "Mrs. Polkiss, as I told you and the others before: I will ask the questions; and if I think there is reason to take in anyone, I will decide whom, and upon what terms."

Mrs. Polkiss subsided with a glare at Harry. Markham continued. "Why are you going to an exclusive boarding school in Scotland, when your cousin does not?"

Uh-oh, now it gets dicey. "It was the one both my parents went to; they apparently signed me up when I was born, and prepaid the tuition and books for me, should I qualify. As for Dudley, his parents opted to send him to Smeltings; I understand that's my Uncle's old school."

"I see. Well—" The detective was interrupted by the arrival of the first constable, who brought in a trembling boy of about nine.

"Please, Sir, I didn't see anything, and I don't know anything!" the boy whimpered.

Markham turned and addressed the boy. "Mr. Donald Polkiss, correct? Younger brother of Piers Polkiss?"

"Yessir."

Markham turned and pointed to Harry. "Do you know this boy?"

"Yessir. That's Big D's—uh, Dudley's freak cousin Potter."

"Freak cousin?"

The boy was on a bit firmer ground here. All he had to do was agree with everything his big brother said, and he'd be safe. "Uh-huh, I mean Yessir. Everyone knows he's a freak--he dresses funny and he used to always let himself get pushed around and Dudley says he's a freak so no one can be with him 'cause he's weird." The boy ran out of air and stopped.

"And what do you know for a fact?" Markham pressed.

"Well, not much else, Sir; he's not really around much any more since he got sent to St. Brutus."

"St. Brutus, indeed. How do you know that?"

"Mum told me, didn't you, Mum?"

"I certainly did; Vernon and Petunia gave me fair warning about this boy. They took him in out of ordinary charity when his parents were killed in a car accident, no doubt driving drunk. If you believe his nonsense about a private boarding school, you aren't doing right by the citizens!" Mrs. Polkiss scowled at Harry, who was starting to slowly simmer: one of his temper triggers was hearing his parents slandered. He forcibly held his peace, though; now was not the time for an outburst.

In the corner, and upstairs, the listening Wizards were also simmering a little: they knew what lies those were, and how they would affect Harry. But they all three bided their time until they should be needed; Harry was doing well, so far.

Markham was about to ask another question when the door opened and the other constable came in with Mrs. Figg. "This is Mrs. Figg from Wisteria Walk."

"Please sit down, Madam." She did so, then looked at Harry.

"What is going on here?" she demanded of no one in particular.

"You are Mrs. Figg, resident on Wisteria Walk?"

"I am, and I want to know what all these people are doing here!"

"Just one simple question: is this boy Harry Potter, and does he live here?" He pointed at Harry.

"Yes, it is Harry Potter; I've known him since he was a toddler! And if you're here for him you have the wrong person; he's a good boy, very helpful, and my cats love him. And he defends the children against big bullies like Dudley and Piers and Gordon!"

"Actually, Mrs. Figg, the charges to be made are somewhat more serious, but thank you for your statement in his favor," Markham answered her gently. Eccentric little old ladies were nothing new to him. "You may go if you wish."

"I will not—he's a good boy and I will not have him slandered!" she retorted.

"Very well, then. If you wish to stay, then please sit down, and refrain from further comments until I ask for them." She did so.

One of the constables, who had made a circuit of the living room, said quietly to Markham, "Sir, something's off here. If that boy lives here, too, then why aren't there any snaps of him as well as their son?"

Meanwhile, Vernon was getting more and more nervous. He knew that the—freaks—upstairs would not wait forever for Harry, and he feared their interference. That they hadn't already come down to see what was going on with the boy didn't feel right. He could only hope that they wouldn't make worse what was already one of the worst Sundays of his life. As usual when nervous and frustrated, he went on the offensive.

"All right, Detective-Constable, you've determined that Potter is who we say he is. Now, can you tell me when you are going to clear everyone out of here and let Dudley alone?"

"As soon as one of my other officers gets here, we can clear up a few things." Markham turned toward the door. "Ah—there he is now." A third constable came in, towing another boy—a stranger a little older than Dudley and Harry. Behind him came a fourth, bringing in Dudley's friends Malcolm and Gordon; Dennis and Piers were already present.

"All right, now, Carmichael, you have agreed to tell the truth in exchange for leniency. Which one of these boys, if any, is the one you know as Harry Potter?"

Carmichael looked around the room and pointed at Dennis Hayward. "He is, Officer."

Pandemonium broke out: everyone started yelling, accusing and finger-pointing at once, until Markham yelled "SILENCE ALL!!" at the top of his rather large voice. All fell silent, and then he pointed at Dennis' mother. "You first."

Mrs. Hayward shrieked, "That's a lie!! You're in it with him!!"

"Noted," Markham replied. He pointed at Harry. "You, next."

Harry managed to keep his temper and reply calmly. "He's Dennis Hayward, and I am Harry Potter."

"How do you know him?"

"He's a friend of Dudley's; has been for years."

Markham turned to Carmichael. "And did any one of these boys buy, sell or furnish marijuana to or from you or anyone else?"

"Yes—the one who I was told was Harry Potter is the dealer. They dumped it in Dursley's car; he wouldn't buy, so this way only one of them would fall." Dudley looked horrified, then devastated at his friends' perfidy.

"And who is that boy?" Markham pointed to Harry.

"Dursley's cousin; he doesn't say much about him and I don't know his name, but the others think he's some kind of a dangerous lunatic."

In the corner, Snape's fingers lightly touched the wand in its sleeve holster. He longed to hex the entire lot of them with the Body-Bind and the Silencing Charm, and use Veritaserum on everyone; that many loud voices at close range were giving him yet another headache. Merlin, these supposedly adult Muggles were worse than First-Years--and Gryffindor First-Years, at that! He looked over at Harry. Odd; Potter is the only one who isn't shrieking with the rest. How in Merlin's name is he holding his temper? He didn't know that things were shortly to get worse--much worse.

The front door opened without a knock, and Marjorie Dursley, Vernon's sister, barged in. Seeing the mob scene there, she skidded to a halt and glared at all and sundry. "Vernon, what's going on? What has that boy done now?" she demanded.

"They think my Dudders is a criminal!" screeched Petunia. "He's been corrupted, and now...now they want to take him away..." She finally broke down and started crying loudly.

"Dudley? Impossible! He's a good boy! That Potter is far more likely." She glared at Harry. "See what you've done to your nice honest family: took you in, they did, gave you the food from their pantry and the clothes off Dudley's back, and this is how you repay them? With a police scandal?? I'll bet you're in it with your criminal Godfather, Sirius Black. Oh, yes, Vernon told me all about him..." Markham glared at her and cut her off; he apparently didn't notice Harry clenching his fists tightly as he fought not to lose it altogether. Not Sirius, Harry screamed inside. Not here, not now...

Snape did notice, and slipped his wand a little out of the sheath. Of all the things that creature had to mention, it was Black...and how do they know about him, anyway? I'm no Empath, and I can feel the boy trying not to blow up the room! He mentally debated whether to do a fast Calming Charm on Potter, or wait until they all started up again, Stun the lot, and let Dumbledore clean up the mess. He opted to wait; the Muggle Detective-Constable seemed to have some control over the situation.

"Silence! This is a police investigation! And who might you be, and what's your interest in this?"

"Marjorie Dursley; I'm Vernon's sister and Dudley's aunt." She turned to Dudley. "Don't you say anything, Dudley dear; I'll get you a good barrister as soon as I can."

"Oh, you will, will you? You're family, then? Sit down with the rest. I think I have enough to start with." Some of the parents began to protest, but he silenced them with a glare. Marge Dursley sat down.

Not a bad glare, thought Harry, although Snape is much better at it. Why did Aunt Marge have to show up now of all times? He resolutely forced down his reaction to her mentioning his Godfather; he could not afford a breakdown now, when his Professors were finally taking him seriously—and likely listening to everything going on.

When the room was silent again, Markham continued. "Now, there is one person I haven't heard from." He turned to Dudley. "You, Master Dursley: what really happened? And is your cousin involved?"

Dudley didn't answer that one yet. "Can I get protection?"

"From whom?"

"Anyone I talk about. I—I want to tell the truth, but I'm scared."

"If you tell the truth, you should not be scared. Now—start talking: either here, or at the station house. Pick one. I want to clear up some of this before I waste Crown and County funds prosecuting the wrong people."

Dudley took a deep breath, glanced at Harry, and plunged in. "We were just out riding. Piers had some beers, but I didn't know about the...the pot! I'm not into that; I can't afford to use anything while I'm in training. I'm a boxer, and I've got some chances at some titles! And they do drug testing, even on us juniors. They catch you, you're disqualified, and I've worked too hard for it!"

"And your cousin?"

"He had nothing to do with this. He just got back from his school a couple of weeks ago, and he isn't mates with anyone here. In fact, he's hardly been out of his room, let alone the house." Dudley gave Harry a miserable look; Harry managed a look of sympathy back. He knew the pain of shattered illusions.

"So, whose idea was it to use his name as an alias?"

"I don't know, Sir. It wasn't mine."

Detective-Constable Markham looked around the room: angry and upset parents, scared or defiant teens, and one odd-out who seemed about to burst with some internal misery—the Potter boy. However, some things were clear; he began to issue instructions. "Right, I think I see where this is going. Constables, take Masters Polkiss---both of them, I want to talk to the brother--Hayward, Scott, Graham and Dursley down to the station house; set up a hearing before the Magistrate as soon as possible. I know this is Sunday; deal with it. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, Miss Dursley, Mrs. Hayward, Mrs. Polkiss, and any other parents, you may follow them and accompany your sons. Mrs. Figg, and the rest of you, clear out of here and go home. You will be called if needed."

"We can't leave him here alone! What will happen to the house? And our dinner?" demanded Vernon.

Markham sighed. For an industrial executive, Dursley seemed to have all the brains of a lab rat, and a dead one at that; and there was something seriously off about how they were treating Potter. "I said you may follow them. You need not all three go. If you think the Potter boy needs a minder at fifteen, then one of you may stay. If I see fit to leave with him, I will lock the house."

Marge Dursley was not to be stopped. "Aren't you going to haul Potter in?"

"For what? I have seen no evidence that he is involved in this."

"For consorting with known criminals! Don't you know his Godfather is the mass-murderer Sirius Black? He's the one who's likely behind all this! Arrest the boy, and you'll get the man, mark my words." Marge threw a nasty smile at Harry, who froze in pain. "See, he's got the guilty look on him! A few weeks in the lockup—"

Markham interrupted her. "Then, if you please, Miss Dursley, go along to the station, and give your evidence. I will question the boy further here, and see if there is anything substantial to get from him. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, I suggest you do likewise, and eat dinner out tonight. I will see to it that the boy doesn't destroy the house. The rest of you—out of here!! All of you!!" They went—loudly chattering as they went. The involved parties headed to the station house; the non-involved parties couldn't wait to pass around the juiciest gossip Little Whinging had heard in years.