Chapter 3 November 5, 1994

Petunia Dursley nee Evans knows that she is not a genuinely kind woman towards people. She has never really understood why one should waste kindness on when the action doesn't give anything back. So, she lavishes what little kindness she does have on her husband and son because they, at least, give something back, even if it isn't halfway of what she gives them.
The boy who has the same eyes as her long dead sister treads carefully around the kitchen. Petunia can feel his unease. She supposes it should bother her, but it doesn't, and she can't bring herself to feel anything for the child that she never wanted to have any kind of relation to. Does it make her a bad person? She doesn't think so. One should have a choice in raising children. And still, here she is raising one she never chose herself. She has done her share.
"I have called Stonewall, they are willing to let you sit in on their exams in January, and will send you a study package. I will not have time to help you with that, so you'll have to make do yourself," she tells him as he starts filling the dishwasher.
"Yes, aunt Petunia."

#

Emma Granger re-checks the list she has made. Get Hermione into a school and make sure she can keep up. Check in on Harry Potter and see if he needs help, provide if possible. Discuss with Daniel about moving the heck away from England, then hear what Hermione has to say. Consider new jobs in another profession if moving becomes a thing.

#

Lord Voldemort walks along the street and wonders how anyone can live like this, in houses that has no soul. Not that he himself has much of that, but still. A home should stand out, show power, light up with the soul of the persons who live there. Muggles truly are worthless. He reaches the house he has been searching for, walks up a little stone lane lined with bushes, scoffs at the now dead roses and knocks three times on the door, a mundane action, but discretion is everything today. The woman who opens bears no resemble to her dead sister.
"Good afternoon. Do I have the pleasure of speaking to Petunia Dursley?" he says and makes his voice low and pleasant.
"Good afternoon. Yes, I am Petunia Dursley."
She gives him a searching look, and Voldemort realizes that she is trying to see if she knows him.
"Wonderful. I do hope I am not interrupting too much, but I really need to have a few words with you if you have the time. My name is Tom, Tom Gaunt."
The false last name is a safety hatch, in case the boy has babbled. Voldemort doesn't think so, but one can never know.
"Of course. Please come in, Mr Gaunt, and tell me what it is you need."
The fake pleasantness that this woman gives of is disgusting, but he is a wizard with a scheming schedule, and so Voldemort suppresses any visible disgust and follows the muggle inside the house and into a kitchen. The boy is there.
"Boy, go to you room!"
"Yes, aunt Pet-"
The boys has turned around whilst speaking, and now his green eyes are wide and his face pale. Voldemort tilts his head a little. Smiles. The boy backs up against the counter.
"Aunt Petunia, what have you done?" the teenager whispers. The blonde woman snarls at him.
"Do not talk back, go to your room!"
Voldemort casts his spell silently, and the muggle falls to the floor.
"Hello, Harry Potter."
The boy stares, still pale and shaky. And then he does something Voldemort has not foreseen. He snaps.
"Oh my freacking hecking god, do you never stop? I gave up my magic, I left the magical world, I'm a fucking squib, and you still come after me? And what the fuck is up with your looks? Jesus! What the fucking fuck do you want this time?"
"My, my, Harry. Such temper. Are you sure it's wise to blow up against me, your better?"
"Oh shut up. I'm not a threat to you, can't you just leave me the fuck alone?" snarls the boy.
"Possibly," Voldemort says calmly, and the teen blinks.
"What?"
"I might leave you to live this… life… if you let me check something."
"And what fuck does that mean? God you sound like a pervert!" the boy is back to snapping, and Voldemort sighs, swirls his wand and quickly and without any sound binds to boy to a wooden chair by the table. Green eyes glare at him, and Voldemort is sure of one thing; if Harry Potter had any active magic left, there would be a burst of accidental magic right about now. But nothing happens, of course, since squibs cannot produce any such bursts.
"Now, Harry, this will take just a moment, so be a good boy and stay still."
Another spell and the boy freezes. Voldemort twirls his wand and sends his magic to scout for what he wishes to be certain off. Before – if – he leaves the boy, he must know. His magic return with a confirmation of what he up until this moment only has suspected. Relieved, Voldemort takes two steps back and bows towards his now former enemy and threat.
"You are no longer of any importance to me. You will be released when I am gone from this… home. Goodbye, Harry Potter."

#

Hermione has always had a gut feeling when things are not fully correct or good. Now, as her mother drives towards Little Whining and number four Privet Drive, Hermione's gut is a twisting nest of worry. Her mother turns around a corner, drive straight and then turns left, and Hermione sees a sign that say Privet Drive and sits up straighter and looks at the passing houses.
"Number four, right?" her mother asks.
"Yes," Hermione confirms and sees number twenty and eighteen pass on her side.
"Must be further down," her mother mumbles, more to herself than to Hermione, and Hermione silently agrees. Numbers fly past. There.
"Stop," Hermione says, but she doesn't need to because her mother has already seen the house and is slowing down and the killing the engine. They step out and Hermione tries to walk calmly up the little stone lane to the house. No one answers when Hermione knocks, and after three minutes she throws caution to the wind and tries the door handle. The door swings open.
"Wait," her mother says and passes Hermione to go in first. Tapping a foot in annoyance, Hermione waits.
"Hermione!"
Her mother has the doctor voice. The calm one that hides urgency. Hermione hurries inside and closes the door behind her so no one passing on the street will come snooping. She follows the soft sound of her mother's voice and ends up in a kitchen. Her mother is kneeling beside a body on the floor. Hermione registers this and then sees Harry, who just gets up from a chair and looks as if he has been stunned – but how is that even a possibility? – and then he rushes to a phone on the wall, pauses and looks to Hermione's mother.
"Do I need to call 911, Mrs Granger?"
"Best do it, son. Do you know what say?"
"Yes," Harry says, and he sounds perfectly calm. Hermione kneels beside her mother.
"She looks like she's been stunned my magic, Harry does too, but only he is not anymore," she tells her mother softly, and Emma Granger merely nods.
"We'll have to do some lying, then."
"… yes, she just fell, I don't know what happened. My friend and her mother just came here, they're helping her, but she's completely knocked out… yes… I don't know that, sorry… I don't know that either, ma'am… yes, at number four, Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey, ma'am… yes, we'll stay here… on the phone? Okay, sure… no I don't think so… Mrs Granger do we need to do CPR?" Harry rambles in a steady stream and ruffles his hair.
"Give me the phone, Harry."
Hermione watches as they switch places and hear her mother talk very fast, sees her nodding, humming, talking some more.
"… yes, absolutely, thank you."
She gives the phone to Harry, turn to Hermione.
"Go outside and flag down the ambulance."
Hermione goes outside, waits in the cold sunshine as a light cover of snow starts to make everything white.

#

Vernon Dursley parks hastily, dashes out of the car and into the hospital Emergency Wing. He has to wait in a queue, and no one seems to get that his wife is in emergency care, and then take a lift up too the fifth floor and walk into a waiting room where he sees the boy – who surely is behind this – and two other people her vaguely recognizes.
"Boy! What did you do?" Vernon hisses as quietly as he can.
"He made sure your wife got here in time, that's what he did," says the woman with the very ugly brown hair.
"And just who are you?" Vernon mutters at her, not liking that a stranger is making his life her business.
"Emma Granger. Emergency nurse and mother to Hermione, a classmate of your wife's nephew."
"Emergency nurse, eh? What are you doing in the waiting room instead of helping people, huh?"
"I am not working today, if you must now, Mr Dursley. Nurses have off days as well. Now, as for what Harry did, like I said, he made sure your wife got here in time. Nothing more and nothing less. And if you lay one single finger on him, I will make sure you don't see your wife for many, many months. Child abuse makes for a very long time in jail, you know."
The blasted woman says all this as if she is his superior, and Vernon wants to place a well-made fist into her face and break the soft little knowing smile on her lips. But he is in a public space, so he takes a deep breath and stalks away from the disgusting bitch and her witch kid, sits down in a corner and waits. Sooner or later, he will have time to give that little freak kid what he deserves.

#

Dudley Dursley is not amused at all. The strange family that is to care for him while mother is in the hospital and his father is in jail for hitting Dudley's creepy cousin in that same hospital – why was his father that stupid anyway? – doesn't let him do anything. No TV, no games, no computer. No sweet, no extra food. He has screamed, he has tried to hit their children to make them fear him. He is locked in a room with a window that can't be opened enough for him to climb down and run away. Life isn't fair.