It was midnight before Harry stared at the notepad. "Well," he said, "I can't think of anything else." He yawned and looked around at the rest of his family, the only family he'd ever known, to see if they had anything else to add. "Not sure if all these cons are cons, or all these pros are pros, but I'm done in." He rubbed his scar again.
"Right," Vernon also yawned, "bed, then. Glad tomorrow's Saturday." They'd celebrated Harry's birthday on the Friday before, as it fell on Wednesday, and Vernon had to work all week. There were plans for a kids-only party the next night; Vernon had already given Harry and Dudley money for pizza and video games with their closest friends. "We can finish the talk over breakfast, and you can make your decision later."
Later… later, Petunia laid next to Vernon in bed and whispered, "I'm so worried about him, Vernon."
"I know, Pet'," Vernon whispered back, "but he has to make this decision. We can't keep him in a bloody cupboard or something all his life." He yawned; Petunia was too tired to scold him for swearing.
"What do you think he'll choose?" she asked.
"I don't know."
After a few moments, she asked, "What do you want him to choose?"
Vernon lay silent long enough that Petunia thought he'd fallen asleep. Then he cleared his throat and said, "I'd rather he stayed here, with us, where it's safe, and the most danger he has is getting yelled at by old Carlson for having the audacity to be young and have fun." He chuckled weakly at his own joke. "But… we don't have the right to hold back an entire world from him, if that's what he decides to go with. And…"
"And?" she prompted.
"It might be a good thing for him. It opens up far more opportunities for him, being able to live there or live here. He'd get out of Little Whinging for a few years, meet other people who can do the sorts of things he can do."
"Lord, his hair," Petunia murmured. She recalled the time she'd taken Harry for a haircut, and it had grown back by the time they got home. A few more attempts proved that keeping it cut short enough to be generally acceptable in school would be a true money sink, so Petunia took some lessons and trimmed it herself. Eventually, it had settled down and quit growing quite as fast and wild, but she still took care of his hair, and Dudley's, herself.
"His hair," Vernon agreed, "and his scar, and everything else." He sighed, yawned again, and murmured, "I don't want him to be in danger. But I also don't want him to feel out of place among… non-witches."
"Muggles," Petunia said, "they call us 'muggles.'"
"Muggles, then," Vernon said. "Go to sleep, Pet'. There will be more time to talk about things in the morning." Another yawn, then, "later today, I mean…"