A\n: I'm going to toss these in every now and again, they're my way of letting you know how and why the world is changing around the quartet.
Petunia Dursley got up early, unlike any other day, before her alarm went off which proved to be surprisingly gratifying. She didn't warrant this as strange behaviour but was rather pleased with herself as she watched the arms of her bed side clock tick closer and closer to 6:05, waiting for it to go off so that her day could begin; she might be rising early but it would throw her entire schedule into disarray if she began her day any earlier and anarchy would ensue.
Like any other morning she went about her chores like a good normal wife would, on schedule: she made her sweet Vernon a full English breakfast to give him strength till brunch, making sure to make his bacon only the minimal amount crispy and to keep his sausages juicy, just the way he liked them; she'd then vacuumed the entire house twice and cleaned her home till it was as spotless as she liked it to be, ready to seat the queen for tea should she choose to join them; her next task was to tend to her garden, she had pruned the roses, re-potted her herbs and weeded the flower bed.
Her day had been normal, as days should be.
As she climbed the stairs she noticed that one creaked, the thirteenth one, but paid no mind as she would deal with that after her second shower; it wasn't normal for people to fester in the filth of the garden and the day's work, least of all a lady of as high a stature as herself. As she ran the shower scalding, as she enjoyed it, she felt herself do something odd; hum.
Petunia stepped into the shower bath combo of her en-suit bathroom and for the first time in the fifteen years she'd been living in her house, she slipped. She tangled herself in the shower curtain and fell into the tub, bumping her head on the faucet; darkness.
As she regained her composure a hooded figure walked ominously toward her, it stood before her and pulled back its hood, "Tough brake SJP, you're dead."
Petunia made sure her body was hidden from this strangely familiar man's salacious gaze as she eyed him moving to sit on the edge of the tub as hot washed over her, "You're… you're…" the words died in her throat.
"Death?" the man chuckled, "Yes."
"You're Stephen Fry," she heard her voice rise an octave as she said the name.
"Oh," he looked down at himself, "Most don't recognise me state side, good on you SJP."
"Who's SJP?"
"Don't try that one with me," the man got to his feet and frantically waved his hands about with rage, "I asked for a description this time so that you couldn't pretend to be someone else and your ticket expires; horse faced, blond, female, goes by Sarah Jessica Parker."
"I'm not Sarah Jessant- what's her name," her eyes grew wide, "I'm Petunia Hestia Dursley, formerly Evans."
The man produced a peculiar parchment from his cloak, "You're not on this year's list... oh, but do you know a Dudley Dursley?"
"Dudley?" her eyes grew wide as saucers, "What of him? That's my baby boy."
"He has a ticket to hell for later this year."
"This year?" Petunia heard herself shriek, "Hell? Not my Dudicans."
"Oh but he has committed the ultimate crime," Stephen Fry shrugged as his voice trailed off tiredly, "You all have actually, no greater crime than mistreating one's family."
~0~
When Petunia had woken from her odd dream the water had run cold, she dried herself off with a fresh outlook on the day; it was no longer an ordinary day but rather an extraordinary one, one where she would surpass all expectations. Petunia knew that her family may have committed the ultimate sin but if there was one thing she knew about sin, is that it goes away if you repented; she had absolutely no intention of going down the same way her parents had, she would reconcile her differences with her nephew even if it killed her. Her parents had never seen the error of their ways; treating her like less because she was normal but that had been their mistake and evidently she had almost made the same mistake.
Once dressed she had sat down at her antique secretary and pulled out her finest stationary to write a letter;
Dearest Harry,
I hope you are well and having a good time at that freak school of yours. I'm writing you to let you know that I forgive you for being strange, I know it isn't your fault and you didn't mean to do it- at least not on purpose. I realise now that your improper self-conduct is beyond my control, however I now realise that what is within my control is my reaction; I now know that I can change the way your strangeness makes me feel. I would like to grant you permission to be 'you' to your heart's content as I have decided not to let it upset me.
I was about the age you are now when your mother and I had our falling out, as you may believe that was quite some time ago and the anger has festered itself within my being but through sudden realisation I have come to see that it wouldn't be fair of me to blame you for your mother or even my mother's doing. I have been carrying this unpleasantness within myself as though it were my fault or perhaps my problem but truly it is evident that it is the wrong doing of others.
On a much more pleasant matter, Christmas, I naturally expect you to return and be on your best behaviour as I have a special treat in store for the entire family. Please write back with your reply.
With Love,
Aunt Petunia.
Petunia folded the letter and wrote a bitterly familiar address but the addressee was different this time, the hopefulness was the same though. She slipped into her coat, jumped into the station wagon and was off on an excursion to London; an unplanned excursion, had her brush with death spurred a strand spontaneity? It was hard to imagine life as anything but what it had been but she was now putting in place changes for the betterment of her family; what was the point of inside information if it didn't change anything? Lily, her husband and her son were all cut of the same odd fabric; that view would never change but for her family she would cast that aside, she would treat her nephew well and encourage her family to do the same as a charity, the absurdity of what he was would remain but the level at which she let it factor in her life would change.
As she entered the city streets she realised that she now had to rededicate herself to church; knowing there was a heaven and a hell meant that one now had the responsibility to behave in a manner consistent with the parameters set in place for a positive review at the end of the journey of life.
She parked her car alongside the curb in front of the shabby looking London pub, she could see the stencil of the witch leaning over her cauldron from the driver's seat. Petunia Dursley knew that the pub would be swarming with throngs of those strange folk but knew that all that she did was for Dudley, as a mother was there no greater duty than serving your children? She got out of the midrange estate vehicle and slapped a great smile on her face as she walked into the Leaky Cauldron; the atmosphere was thick with smoke but there still managed to have a jovial disposition about the place.
She walked up to the barkeep with her handbag under her arm and the letter in hand, "Hi, I'm Petunia Dursley. I'd like to send a letter to my nephew at Hogwarts, I was wondering if you could direct me." She didn't receive so much as a vacant stare from the man, "I need to get onto Diagon Alley so that I can visit the public owlery and send this letter."
She surprised herself with how well she remembered her parents' excursions to send things to Lily, they did exactly as she was doing now but they seemed to get a better response than the one she was currently receiving. She seemed to have hit a snag in her plan but then something that Lily had once mentioned was that the magic world was a secret and such as a normal person they couldn't tell her more.
"Look," she nearly placed her hand on the bar top but thought better of it at the sight of the grimy wood, "I know all about the wizarding world." She held out her letter, "I just want to send this to my nephew at Hogwarts."
"That there's addressed to Harry Potter," the man exclaimed dropping his glass in astonishment.
"Yes of course," Petunia was perplexed by the reaction, "that's my nephew's name. Do you know him? It would be awful if he visited a place like this." The man's face hardened, "not that this isn't a fine establishment but rather because he's so young."
"He came through here once," the man's eyes shone like she'd never seen anyone's eye do when speaking of someone she knew but rather as though recounting an encounter with Margaret Thatcher, "Do you think he might remember me?"
"I'm sure he would," Her patience was running thin, she wondered how everybody did this 'nice' thing for so long because it sure was tiresome, "I don't mean to be rude but can you help me?"
"Anything for a friend of Harry Potter's."
As the man led her into a small courtyard and opened the brick wall to Diagon Alley as she recalled seeing as a small child, she couldn't help but worry that the sudden revelation that his parent's had been murdered had driven her nephew to drink, how else would the barkeep know him so well? As she entered the Alley, she thanked the toothless man, making her way to the owlery she'd visited multiple times in her life but never of her own free will.
She managed to navigate the ally with a precision that made her look at home amongst the throngs of strangely dressed folks; maybe she and Lily were only as different as she had perceived them to be, not at all in reality.
Petunia came to the owlery and found there was a bit of line but those who were waiting to be served looked to ordinary not unlike herself. She joined the line behind a blond woman who looked to have filled from a recent pregnancy who was pushing a vintage stroller not that different from one she'd pushed Dudley only a few years ago, peering into the stroller she was greeted by plain and unhealthily small child with common brown hair.
"Aren't they so precious at that age?" Petunia was perplexed, was she expected to answer and make small talk? Stephen Fry Death hadn't mentioned other people, he had mentioned Harry explicitly but was she expected to be nice to this woman as well?
What harm might it do just once, "Yes, I remember my sweet Dudicans at that age but of course he's grown and away from home now."
"Are you sending that to him?" the woman gestured to the envelope she had clasped tightly in her hands and smiled sweetly, seemedly genuinely interested in the answer.
"No," Petunia tried not to look revolted by the idea of Dudley being a freak, "it's for my nephew, Harry Potter."
"Oh," her face lit up but not as brightly as that of the bar keep, "my son Kurt has a friend named Harry Potter, what are the chances?"
"What are the chances?" Petunia rolled her eyes, exhausted by the woman's cheery disposition.
"Carole Hudson," the woman extended a hand that Petunia reluctantly shook, "mother of two second years; Finn's in Hufflepuff and Kurt's in Slytherin, maybe someday little Harley will follow her older brothers off to Hogwarts."
"Harley?" Petunia felt herself take a liking to this stranger's child.
"Harley Drew," the woman smiled, "We let Kurt name her."
And just as Petunia felt herself growing somewhat interested in their conversation their individual turns came up and polite goodbyes were exchanged.
~0~
As Petunia laid in bed thinking about the day she'd just had; it was far from ordinary yet she was okay with that. She had begun the day just like any other with no intention of deviating from the norm but the circumstances had been beyond her control.
Petunia Hestia Dursley had slipped in the shower and it had turned he world upside down, her brush with Stephen Fry Death had not changed her beliefs of the world but rather her outlook on what it meant for her and her family.
Her nephew could be a freak if he likd but that didn't besmirch who she was or detract from it; it wasn't about whether she liked it but rather the fact that he was her sister's son and that meant so much more.
With her mind at ease, she drifted off to sleep.
Hope you liked this one, should I keep doing them or 86 the idea?