Disclaimer: The same disclaimer as before naturally still applies.

A/N: It seems being bedridden with a cold for Christmas was the cure for a writer's block which I'd almost given up hope of ever breaking through. So, without further ado, I give you 'Dinner at the Dursleys''. And I finally get to introduce you to Eddie.

Chapter Four:

Dinner at the Dursleys'

Miles away from the quiet Muggle suburbia of Privet Drive, Edmund Shreik was pacing back and forth beneath an open window. Even the most casual observer would probably deduce that the young man was nervous as he strode the narrow walk. Each time he reached the trellis rose at the far side of the window he plucked a petal, tore it neatly in two and let both halves fall to the ground before beginning the process all over again. The gravel at his feet was already strewn with tattered pink blossoms. They clung too to the black robes he wore, which were chosen for aesthetic rather than practical purposes. They were too heavy even for the early morning sun of an unusually inclement summer, and the boyish blond curls on his forehead were darkened and flattened with sweat. All in all, this morning Edmund was feeling far from relaxed.

He was beginning his short circuit for perhaps the hundredth time when a sudden sound at the window grabbed his attention. He looked up at once, and his eyes shone with near manic eagerness.

"Did you get it?" he asked in an agitated whisper.

A figure sprang clear of the window and revealed itself to be another young man of about Edmund's age, though taller and stockier in build. He held up a canvass bag and grinned. Edmund snatched it from him and looked inside then returned the smile.

"Well done, John! Everything is finally coming together."

"Are we really going to go through with this, Eddie?" the other asked.

"We haven't come this far to give up now!" was the emphatic reply.

"But the house has been sold already! That wasn't part of the plan."

"Helga and Soren have been watching the house. It's just some old Muggle couple. If they get in the way, we'll exterminate them. They're not important"

"I hope you're right about this."

"Trust me, my friend. When have I ever steered you wrong?"

Petunia Dursley carefully placed the final salad fork on the kitchen table and brushed an imaginary speck of dirt from the tablecloth. She had set out the best china. It always did to impress new neighbours - one never knew. She pursed her lips and frowned as she heard a tread on the stair; Harry would have to dine with them now that the McGonagalls had seen the boy. The thought put a dampener on Petunia's spirits and she was only slightly cheered up by the sudden remembrance that her dinner service was twice as expensive as Mrs. Smithson's two doors down.

Vernon Dursley entered the kitchen ruffling his newspaper. He was dressed in his most intimidating blue suit. The shirt was cut too tightly at the neck and an unseemly roll of flesh bulged over the collar.

"Where's Dudders?" he asked.

"He's out and about with his little friends," said his wife.

"Terrorising the neighbourhood, eh?" he laughed jovially. Nothing pleased Vernon Dursley more than the prospect of dominating a new audience, so tonight he was in a very good mood. All things considered, the Dursleys were looking forward to an enjoyable evening of posturing and posing, despite the unwelcome evil of having to have Harry at the table.

It was eight o'clock when the six of them sat down to dinner, some with more sanguine hopes for the evening than others. At first, they simply exchanged pleasantries about Petunia's soup and the unseasonable weather. Eventually however, Dursley turned the conversation to a more personal topic.

"So, Petunia tells me you were a school teacher, McGonagall" he said, addressing the question to Dumbledore.

"Headmaster," Albus corrected calmly, "At a small public school in Scotland"

Dursley nodded importantly.

"Public schools are the only way to go. That's why we sent Dudley to Smeltings. Can't let just any dunderheads in, right Dudders?"

But Dudley's soup required all his concentration, and so Vernon had to continue the conversation unaided.

"And what about you, Minerva?" he asked.

"Oh, Minerva gave up work once we got married," replied Albus, not allowing her time to speak "She stayed home and kept house"

Dumbledore seemed oblivious to the death glare McGonagall shot his way. Petunia was nodding approvingly. Harry quickly wiped his mouth with his napkin to cover a grin. Dursley continued talking to Dumbledore, hardly listening to the answer.

"Must be strange not working anymore. Can't imagine it m'self. Mind you, don't know how Grunnings would survive with out me - crowd of incompetents the lot of them," declared Vernon.

"Well, at his age, Albus just couldn't keep up with the students anymore," interjected McGonagall vindictively. "Poor thing" she added, for good measure.

"Of course not all young chaps are intelligent and well-behaved," agreed Dursley with a meaningful look at his nephew. "Ruffians, some of them"

Seeing this, Dumbledore gave Harry a conspiratorial wink. Vernon had applied himself to his main course and didn't notice.

"Have you any children, Minerva?" asked Petunia.

McGonagall was about to respond in the negative, but again Dumbledore beat her to it.

"Yes" he lied effortlessly. "Our son Aubrey is a barrister and our daughter Lydia just graduated from medical school. You can imagine how proud we are of them both."

Harry looked at each person around the table. Dumbledore looked perfectly sincere, apart, perhaps, from a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Vernon seemed a little deflated, having no way of trumping this. Petunia just sniffed in disapproval of young female doctors; but Professor McGonagall met Harry's gaze with such a look of helpless disbelief that he almost choked on his potatoes.

Dinner progressed far better than might have been expected. Dumbledore listened politely as Dursley waxed lyrical on business, the economy and the state of the country in general. His replies were easy and often entirely invented. McGonagall spoke less but managed to bite back more than one sarcastic reply to Petunia's simpering platitudes on motherhood and domestic life, and - despite her best intentions - she found herself listening with interest to the juicier local gossip. Between them, the two professors made sure to steer the conversation away from any possible mention of Harry and his faults.

Things went smoothly until dessert, when a sudden crash outside the window caused Petunia to jump in alarm, the trifle slipping from her fingers. Dudley, who had remarkably quick reflexes in certain situations, caught the dessert before it could come to any harm.

"What was it, Vernon?!" Petunia cried

Dursley rose from his seat and peered out into the gloom.

"Hmph! One of that Figg woman's blasted cats. Can't abide cats. Filthy, devious creatures, eh McGonagall?"

For a moment, Harry thought Professor McGonagall had turned to stone, so still she sat. The only indication of life was a nerve twitching in her cheek. But Dumbledore came to the rescue.

"Actually, I've always thought them rather elegant." He replied simply, and the topic was thankfully dropped, though a part of Harry couldn't help feeling that he'd been robbed of the best show of the evening.

It was almost eleven when the two Hogwarts professors made their goodbyes. Dusk had long since settled in on Privet Drive.

"Well, that was an exercise in misery!" declared Minerva as soon as she was sure she was out of earshot.

"It wasn't that bad was it? The food was good, and Harry seemed to enjoy himself. Besides, you managed to get through the night without speaking more than a dozen times."

"Well, 'If you can't say something nice…' was a favourite adage of my mother's. But don't think I've forgotten your teasing!" she warned, "And where, pray tell, did we acquire Aubrey and Linda?"

"Lydia." he corrected, "For shame, Minerva. Can't you remember your own daughter's name?"

McGonagall threw her hands up in exasperation and stalked away, ignoring the sharp pain in her lungs. Dumbledore hurried to catch up and placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"I'm sorry, Professor." he said sincerely, "It seemed amusing at the time."

It was impossible to stay angry with him when he looked at her like that. With a small smile, she relented, and sat on the wall for a moment to regain her breath. She was about to interrogate him further about their newly acquired family when realisation struck her and she looked about sadly.

"What's wrong, Minerva?" Albus asked in concern.

"Do you remember the last time we were here?" she asked, "I half expect Hagrid to show up on Sirius Black's motorcycle."

Perhaps it was the strange shadows cast by the moonlight, but Minerva, always so strong and fierce, looked suddenly vulnerable. Albus was seized with a feeling of protectiveness. Invented children were fun for teasing the Dursleys, but he knew that Minerva had some true feelings of a mother when she thought of each of the children whom she had taught and watched over through the years. He understood her feelings only too well. It was agonising to think of the promising young witches and wizards who had been, and who would be, cut down on both sides of a pointless war.

"Albus, I'm not sure I can go through this again," she whispered hoarsely.

"And yet we must" he replied softly. He sat beside her and pulled her close. They sat there some time in quiet thought. "Come." he said at last, "Allow me the honour of walking you home".

Side by side, they strolled along the footpath of the empty Muggle estate. It was with great reluctance that Dumbledore bid his deputy goodnight at the front door and apparated back to London that night.