Hey everyone,
I will admit, there is one thing about this chapter that made me have a bit of trouble writing this chapter and that was something suggested by Molly Weasley in the last chapter; the renaming of the kidnapped kids from the present. It took me a good couple of weeks just to think of the future names, let alone the present ones.
However, this chapter, while addressing the whole rescue of the 9 kids as well as the reactions of everyone important to the info written within the file, will it not just yet address their new names as the kids will probably be too busy reuniting with their families, discovering where they actually come from and other stuff.
Now, there is one thing I need to apologize for. One of the kids is actually descendent of a family whose daughter I have great fondness for – and I have not even included her in a single chapter all story, which is downright stupid seeing the progression of bonds that has been going on ever since the arrival of the future kids.
Also, there is one other thing I should address before this story starts. In the chapter that brought Rosie to Hogwarts she mentions that the kids are on Camp, yet for the sake of this chapter we are just going to believe that the camp – due to certain reasons – had to close early, making it so that the kids returned the day before.
That all clear, good,

Venquine1990


Chapter 16
The Kids And The Bullies

David's POV

Just like when we believed ourselves to be stuck in traffic only to find our car nearing the Hogwarts mountains do we now suddenly find ourselves nearing Surrey when we had been heading to a busy highroad just minutes ago and this time I know exactly how this happened as Hedwig had landed at the front of our car just minutes ago.
"Those owls are used for long distance travel so I'm guessing it combined its own travel and location magic with the power of our car to get us here faster." I mutter to my wife and Emily nods before Hedwig again takes off, her talons not even leaving any marks on the front as she then starts to lead us to the proper streets.
"Do you think she will be able to lead us to all of the kidnapped kids?" Emily then asks and I answer: "Sure, she has probably been around their future selves so she should know enough about them to know their original addresses. I just wonder how others will think when they see us following her to these addresses."

Yet while I say this, do I not really care all that much as most of them are either kidnap conspirators or people who will probably not appreciate the amazing things that can be accomplished with magic and just looking at my wife do I know that she feels the same way as her face turns hard as stone with a look of determination.
Then suddenly, after getting off another highroad, riding past a small, dusty looking playground and passing a tunnel made for bikers and pedestrians, does Hedwig start to circle the street we ride into and this makes me and my wife share a look before I move the car into a small parking spot before taking a look around.
The street that is around me is amazingly enough almost identical to how it looked in my vision and other than a few new flowers, some new drapes in a couple of windows and one house having been given a paintjob sometime recently, do I feel as if I am stepping back into my vision as I get out and lock my car.

"This is – this is just – just beyond detrimental to any kid living here. I – I cannot believe that anyone would think of raising a kid here. It's – it's just a surefire way to make whoever grows up here grow to be either broken by the need to live up to reputations or to get overly arrogant by actually doing so. This is just – just a bully-builder street."
And while I feel amused at the title my wife gave this street and what it does to kids growing up here, do I say: "It sure does make it hard for kids to grow up with any imagination, that's for sure. A good way to make people miss out on potential forms of accidental magic, simply because they don't expect wizards to live here."
My wife nods and I share a look with her, both of us determined to use our savings of the last two decades for the next year or so, to just close our practice for the same year and to organize all kinds of trips to movie theatres, regular theatres, parks, theme parks, swimming pools and other things we're sure the kids have missed out on.
"We have the money, now to get the kids." Emily says and I nod at her before noticing how Hedwig is flying circles over one of the houses on the far end of the street and just by looking at it, do I recognize it for the house of my vision and with renewed determination, do I head over to where the owl is; resolved to get my daughter.

Yet just before I can reach the house, does a front door somewhere else suddenly sound slamming against a wall, making me look back at where I came from and to my confusion do I see someone who could really benefit from a three year health program and diet storm over to the same house as I with a look of pure rage on his face.
"You filthy, overgrown pigeon! Why are you here? You have no right to be here! You and that freak of an owner of yours – ahhhh!" The man shouts as Hedwig actually dives from her flight and grazes his cheek with the tips of the feathers at the end of her left wing before flying back up again, giving an owlishly furious glare at the man.
"You rotten, no-good –." By now I have had pretty much enough of this strange situation and I say: "Hedwig, stay at our destination. We'll handle this." The owl hoots at this and with one last glare at the fat man, does she then fly away again. The man himself, after determining that he is actually uninjured, actually turns to me.

"And who exactly are you, huh? You don't look like those usual bunch of no-good freaks. What are you even doing here? I know –." The man tries to rant, but then my wife glares at him and says: "If you want answers, you might want to consider giving us time to actually answer your question instead of grossing us out with saliva."
And while this seems to shock the man does he also turn red and I say: "We are Emily and David Granger. Our daughter is friends with a boy who lives in this neighborhood and we recently discovered that we actually also have a son who got kidnapped and our memory of him stolen from us when he was still young.
We discovered that he was taken here after being kidnapped and that he is one of a group of nine kids who all – together with their parents – underwent the same fate. However, because we grew up in – let's say – our place, did we feel it best for my wife and me to go and pick up said kidnapped kids, while the other parents spread the news."

I tell the man with the same voice I usually use for the more influential clients that come to our practice, like those who actually created and hold shares in our practice as well as the supplies we use and the companies that produce them, yet the man still seems to take offense to something I say as he gets redder with the minute.
"Your memory stolen? Your kid kidnapped? Our place? You're not like me! You're just a bunch of filthy, no-good –.""Dentists." Emily interrupts him, shocking him and she goes on: "We are dentists and we have as much of that imagination creation power as you do, good sir. You might not know it, but even we can have kids like that.
Even your wife can have a kid like that." She then ends with a vengeful smile before I suddenly realize something and ask: "Vernon Dursley, am I right? Guardian of one Harry Potter?" And while the name alone seems to infuriate the man, does he still give a stiff nod, making me look him up and down before I ask him:

"How on earth can a boy that kind, helpful, brave, caring and well-mannered – become who he is as a person when you're his guardian – at best." The man has wide eyes and he asks: "What did you just say?" To which I roll my eyes and say: "You heard me. How could a boy with his character be like him – when raised by – well, you?"
"Are you insulting me? I never even asked for the little freak! I never wanted him! If it were up to me –.""You know what, forget it. I lost care. Harry has his parents back –." I try, but the man shouts: "THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE! THOSE FREAKS ARE DEAD! THEY'RE DEAD AND GOT EXACTLY WHAT THEY DESERVED!"

Yet this is the totally wrong thing to say and makes me very happy with the fact that, at young age, I joined Hermione in several self-defense classes and I dash for the man, stopping two steps in front of him and raising my leg with such strength I hit the man right between the legs, my foot feeling a large piece of bone breaking.
The man himself shouts out in pain, yet his bulk makes him unable to even reach between his legs as they give out from under him under the pain and when he falls, do I grab his hair and use it to keep him from the ground as I pull it hard, making the man whimper in further pain and while raging at him, do I hiss:
"Listen closely, you overly-weighted useless living bit of scum. My father was in the military and he died the same kind of dead as Lily and James did. They died a hero's death and if there is one thing I will never accept it's someone speaking bad of the dead, especially dead heroes. So keep your opinion to yourself, got it?"

The man whimpers, but then I look up and say: "I wouldn't do that if I were you." And a scared yelp sounds behind me before I release my hold on the man's hair and turn a furious glare at a boy who is Harry's age and who is almost just as fat – if not fatter – as his father and who has more lower chins than his old man.
The boy has a large rock in his pudgy hand, yet the hand is held above his head with a shocked look on his face, his arm ready to throw the weapon at what used to be the back of my head and I glare at the boy as I say: "Attacking an unsuspecting target, you really have no honor whatsoever, do you, you little brat?"
This angers the boy, but then I look behind him and my anger rises a notch as I see a group of his friends, who are just as large, thick and fat in size as him and who are holding two kids between them, one of them having a rat-like face and holding the arms of a boy who I recognize thanks to my vision behind his back.

I step away from the fat walrus of a man and walk over to the shocked boy and his group of bullies as I look from him to the boy holding my son as I say: "I would like to request you to release my son at once, young man." Shocking the whole group and making the boy in question looking at me with teary, hopeful eyes.
This makes me replace my stern face with a caring smile for just a moment before the fattest of them – the one with the rock – sneers and says: "We don't have your son. We're just here teaching a bunch of no-good frea –." Yet before he can continue, do I push him off his feet by slamming my flat hand against his chest with power.
The boy squeals in shock at getting hit, loses his balance and falls on his ass before the rock that fell from his tumbling hand hits him on the shoulder, making him cry out before he looks up with eyes that are filled with clearly fake tears of pain and asks: "Who – who – sniff – who are you? You're – you're mean! You – you can't be!"

Yet I roll my eyes at the boy's acting and say: "Who am I? I'm the father of a girl who will soon grow into being a very beautiful girl and who knows he will probably have to protect her against selfish, arrogant jerks and bullies – who are by the way probably much better at acting to be hurt than you are currently trying, you little twit."
This shocks the boy out of his acting and while he rubs the place where the rock hit him on the shoulder and while I know just fine that his father is trying to get back on his feet, do I look up at the shocked group of teens behind him and say: "Now, prove you actually have some civility within you – and – let – those – kids – go."
And just by the emphasis I put at the end of my order, do the group of boys let go off their victims before I suddenly pull in my elbow and use it to stop the grunting bastard behind me by hitting him with great strength right in the stomach, making the man grunt in pain and retake his place on his knees with his hands on the mark.

"Well, at least now I know where you got your arrogance from, boy. You obviously inherited, unfortunately. I guess the only other thing that can be said here is this. It's a good thing that my daughter decided to befriend your cousin and not you – cause she obviously chose the better one of the two options here."
And while this seems to mentally shock the boy into stopping his whining and whimpering, does a female voice then ask: "Wait, you know Harry?" And when I look up, do I see the other victims of the group of bullies. A set of twins, my own son, a girl with oak brown hair that is strung together and a boy who looks 2 years younger.
I smile at the group and nod as my wife says: "We do. We just came from Hogwarts and were told that, like us, there were several others who have had their memories of your kidnapping restored. We're even here on the requests of your actual parents to pick you up and take you there so you can reunite with them."

The group looks shocked and then one of the twins asks: "You mean –." And then the other asks: "All of us?" And his brother goes on: "Our friends included?" My wife nods and I say: "Yes, all nine of you. Harry is also there and he discovered all of this – well, there is the Stature of Secrecy, so I think we better discuss this there."
The kids nod and then my boy walks over, his arms crossed and his hands rubbing opposite arms as a sign that his arms had been pulled at a painful angle before he looks from me to my wife and says: "You – you asked Pierce to let me go. You – you called me your son, but – but I – I look nothing like either of you."
At this I smile and then pull out my wallet before showing him a picture of my own mother, the boy's eyes widening as he sees her piercing silver-colored hair and I say: "You are my son, kid, because you have your grandma's hair. Trust me, the power gave me a vision and it showed me you first and your friends later at the end."
"And if that doesn't convince you, I know you are my son. Like they say, a mother just knows." Emily then says and this seems to convince the boy as he gets teary eyed and I happily pull the boy in my arms as I send a silent message to my wife, the woman nodding before she says: "Show me where the others are living, will you?"

But then the girl looks reluctant and says: "They're not home. Our camp dropped us off near the play ground and we got ambushed by these stupid bullies. The others ran and – we don't know where they are. Though, I'm guessing they're at Aunt Rosie's, seeing as how there is something about her place that these here avoid."
At this my wife nods and while part of me suddenly wonders how my car is supposed to house eleven passengers, do I just pull my son to stand beside me as I shrug it off and say: "Just lead us there." Yet when we arrive, do we get another shock as the whole group is sitting on the front porch of the house looking dismayed.
They look up at hearing us arriving, their eyes widening when they see me holding my son and then the girl asks: "What's going on?" And the eldest of the group, who has brownish black hair and silver brown eyes says: "Aunt Rosie's not here. According to her neighbor she left two days ago. Wait, how did you escape those bullies?"

And my son says: "These Muggles helped. They say they got visions that told them about us and that we have people with Harry waiting for us. I'm guessing Aunt Rosie's there too, seeing Harry's there." The eldest nods and then I ask: "Do any of you have anything of value at where you grew up?" Yet shaking heads are my answer.
This makes me really feel for these kids and also even more determined to organize all kinds of things with them and their actual parents and I say: "Okay then, grab your camp bags and – stay here. I'll get my car and then we can head for Hogwarts." The kids look a little hesitant, but then the girl speaks up with a smile and says:
"Don't worry, these two are awesome. Mr. – ehm – well, he actually took out both Dudley and Vernon and scared the others enough to let us go." This seems to appease the group and ten minutes later, do I get a new reason to get angry as I actually see said father and son having recovered and who are currently demolishing my car.

Sighing and shaking my head at their idiotic behavior, do I pull my cell phone from the bag I had taken with me when leaving the practice and dial the emergency number while keeping my distance from the two grinning lunatics and while part of me wonders why the other residents aren't stopping them, do I hear a voice ask:
"911 emergency, how can I help you?" To which I answer: "My name is David Granger and I would like to report a case of severe violation of another's property. I am currently at Privet Drive, Surrey, was told to pick up some kids for a private school and now 2 people, one Vernon and Dudley Dursley, are vandalizing my car."
"Copy that, sir. We will send the report to the Surrey Department and will send you a replacement vehicle. How many kids were you told to pick up?" And while this makes me raise my eyebrow with the wondering thought of if this was destiny helping me with my problem, do I answer: "Nine kids, thank you."
"Copy that, sir. The police will be with you in ten minutes or less." At this I give a sound of approval and then hang up the call, sighing and leaning against a pole as I watch how the two – by now – laughing jerks are breaking apart and denting all that their fists and feet can reach on the car I bought 2 months before marrying Emily.

And indeed, seven minutes after watching this pathetic display and just when the two seem to finally get tired and start leaning on my dented, broken vehicle, do I hear the first signs of the police coming over and while I look behind me for a short second, do I then focus back on my target, feeling stupid over how this doesn't face them.
The police car alongside a large van that has seats for ten to twelve people drive into the street and instantly move, the police car parking itself behind the violated vehicle – which finally makes the two notice the roaring sirens and what they could mean – while the van moves to park itself next to the pole I was leaning against.

"Is something the matter, officer?" Dursley then tries, yet his sweaty, panting form makes the two officers who step out of the car share a look that I know makes them pity the simple-minded fool and then the one on the passenger seat asks: "Depends. Would you care to explain why you are leaning on a clearly demolished vehicle?"
To which I can't help but comply: "My demolished vehicle." And for the first time in almost ten minutes do the two seem to notice me, making me pull out my cell phone again with a smile on my face that silently asks: "Do you really think you could get away with this?" Making the two of them whiten greatly as they see me.
"Sir – officer – you – you have to understand. This – this is all –." Yet the officers seem unwilling to hear the man out as they move over, push the two of them to face them with their backs and then cuff them both as the one cuffing Vernon says: "This is all something I am sure you and your son can explain to us – down at the station."

And while again the boy starts getting ready to do some fake-crying, do I then say: "Careful, Dursley senior has the tendency to attack from the back and Dursley junior is a worthless actor when it comes to fake guilt and pain. I experienced it myself when I first came here to pick up the kids. Also, thanks for the van."
This makes the boy instantly stop, which makes the officer holding him take notice of what he almost tried and while said officer shakes her head with a look of disappointment, does Dursley start to shout: "You filthy worthless bastard! I don't deserve any of this! I didn't do anything wrong! You should have never –."
"Ah, show some responsibility for your actions, will you?" The officer holding him then snaps, shocking the man into silence before he pushes the man into the backseat of his car and after the officer who drove the van has taken my full testimony and tells me off for using violence in anger, do they all leave in the police car.

Yet when I arrive back at where my wife and the kids are waiting, are her eyes wide and I lean out the window – glad I had a part-time job and a license as a truck driver before I married her and joined her in dentistry – as I say: "Those idiots decided to release their anger at my actions on my car. I got them arrested by the cops."
"They got arrested?" One of the twins asks and the other says: "They never get arrested." And they chorus: "They always talk themselves out." To this I shrug and say: "Well, I guess that because this report came from an outsider and that they were found while still violating my car that they won't be able to do so this time."
This makes the twins and many of the others smile widely and then I ask: "So, who's ready for a ride to the most magical school ever seen?" And while pressing a button that allows for the side door to open, am I only a second earlier than the youngest of the group as he is the first of the whole gang to pile into their seats.
My wife then takes a seat at the passenger's seat beside me and while Hedwig again starts flying over the top front of the van in circles, do I smile at her and say: "Seeing our future plans, remind me to go and buy a van like this." My wife nods and with Hedwig using her magic for a 3rd time, do we arrive at Hogwarts 10 minutes later.


WOW!
That became WAY longer than I had planned, yet I felt I had to do something. I couldn't get those kids, make things go better and better for the whole team involved – and not at least punish one of those responsible for the hardships Harry and the Gang went through. Trust me, Pettigrew's partners will soon be dealt with.
Now, like I said in the AN at the front. There is one family who, like the Weasleys and the Grangers, had their kid kidnapped, yet whose daughter I have left out of the story so far and for which I feel really stupid, yet the reason I didn't add her mother to Mother's United is this; the mother died four years ago.
You know who I mean,

Venquine1990