"Breaking news this morning with nationwide reports of fatalities connected with the new Nervegear technology, that hit shelves in early November. The sole title, Sword Art Online launched late last night and was meant to be introducing the market to the first VRMMORPG of its type. Sources have confirmed that the headsets are electrocuting players when their avatar dies in-game, or when the headsets are removed.

The prime minister has released a statement that this is deliberate programming to insight death, but motive is still unclear. It has been advised that if you are waking up to the broadcast and know someone using a Nervegear that you do not - do not - take the device off. The technology is said to automatically short-circuit the player's brain. I repeat: do not take the Nervegear off."

Petunia Dursley woke up to a slightly less than average day, her faithful husband snoring beside her with an almost perfect day of lounging ahead of her. "Slightly less" and "almost perfect" due to one smear on her lovely, normal life. Her nephew had returned to their home earlier this year and everything had changed since he had burdened their single spare bedroom, bringing the unnatural back into a house he should never have been brought to.

When the freaks had taken the boy, Petunia had been sure that she'd never see him again; that'd he'd leave her life much the same way he'd entered it. Without warning or invitation, and disturbing every normalcy that Petunia had managed to create int he meantime. It was very much like Lily's lot, to care so little about a world they didn't otherwise bother with.

Those freaks couldn't help but destroy everything they touched. They couldn't seem to help themselves. The boy - Harry, hadn't meant anything to them, if he had they wouldn't have left him with her. They would have left him with one of his godfathers, or found him another home that wanted him, that could bare to look at him.

And every year after the boy got his Hogwarts letter, Petunia watched as they burdened her sister's boy more and more until they decided to take him. With barely a word to the "family" they had left him to to look after and deal with, they took him into conflict and terror. But Petunia knew their ways through the loss of a sister she'd cut out and tried to move on from.

Petunia had lost her parents during that first war, when their neighbourhood had been blown-up by those monsters while she was out. The incident had been blamed on extremists by the BBC, and they had been right, they had just gotten the breed wrong.

The boy returned to a house Petunia had still been trying to make into a home after being forced to move. He'd looked like hell, and Petunia's first thought was: What have they done? When the boy had stood up and walked and couldn't walk with any sense of efficiency, her stomach her coiled with age-old anger and a righteous sense of validation.

Validation grown from watching her sister and nephew both being introduced into a world she'd never been good enough for, eyes full with nothing but wonder until the other shoe dropped. Until the freaks' showed themselves for what they were underneath the draw of being so much more special than perfectly normal people.

They'd killed Lily without a second thought. Petunia mused often after getting Harry back that he'd have probably been better off. She heard him screaming at night, saw how he walked around like a ghost, watched his far away expression as he relived everything he had had to do. Petunia didn't know what the boy had done for them; what the freaks had made him do but she could guess.

The boy was quiet, turned passive like the fire that burnt in his chest, bright and ardent had been frozen. Now, it was like looking at his reflection, inverted and dull. Harry - he wasn't the child that had been thrust into her life.

One of the nights he had woken up, startled awake from terrors Petunia didn't know, she'd followed him downstairs. Slid silently out of bed, wrapped her nightdress around herself and crept into the kitchen where Harry had pulled out a chair, a glass of water stood solidly on the table. It wasn't unusual for the boy to disturb her sleep but she usually huffed, muttered unkind words under her breath and turned over to try and resettle herself.

Petunia couldn't explain why she hadn't just followed routine. Lord knows the boy expected little from her. She flicked the kitchen light off, watching as the boy winced as it turned on, hundred-mile gaze flickering from the glass to her. He looked through Petunia more times than not, but he'd at least react to Dudder's with some form of civilisation.

'It's three in the morning,' she muttered quietly. Dudley's sleep was all over the place because he had important things to be doing, but she didn't want to wake up the rest of the house if not.

'I know.' Harry nods, uncurling his hands from the glass. 'I'm sorry to wake you.'

Petunia blinks at the unexpected response. 'Can't sleep, boy?'

Harry's lips coil into unkind. 'It's been awhile since I've been able to.'

Hardly a surprise, Petunia thought. He'd been able to sleep like the dead, before; it'd always come to him easily that they'd have to make all sorts of racket to get him up and moving. A few years of that school - of those people? and whatever they'd instilled in this boy was lost, along with his peace of mind and whatever shred of normalcy they had given him.

Nothing left of this boy now. Of that boy, the boy who Petunia had watched for sixteen years and could no longer recognise. Couldn't see the little boy in this - wizard; in the shadows under his eyes or the uneven length of his hair. She couldn't see it in the paleness of his skin or the scars that littered his body.

'It's early, Aunt Petunia,' Harry said. He didn't address them often, more times than not he'd talk around having to say their names, that's if he spoke at all. He was quiet. Petunia half wished he'd never left but most of her - most of her wished he'd never come back.

Petunia inclines her head as she stares at him. 'How tired are you?'

Harry blinks at her in bafflement before his face smoothes over and he shrugs at her. 'Wouldn't know.'

Petunia swallows down her outrage, her demands for respect. They are barely family and although he was once again in their house, it didn't seem to matter. Mainly, Petunia just wanted looking at him to be a little easier. 'How's that?'

Harry huffs, as if amused. 'Get used to something enough and you can't remember what it was like to be any different.'

Petunia swallows and it tastes bitter on her tongue. This was her son, Petunia's nephew; named after their grandfather, Harrison who'd fought in the war and came out of it with half his hand missing. Grandmother Daphne had been a nurse, treated soldiers which was where they'd met. They never got over it; there was always a glimmer of it, like they'd left part of themselves behind even though they'd lived.

And here, generations later, Petunia saw Grandfather Harrison's fatigue and Grandmother Daphne's vacancy. She saw that, here, now. Maybe Lily should have known better, however much they'd loved their grandparents; she should have wanted better for him.

Instead, here they were. Lily was dead and Harry was broken.

'Think that's normal do you?'

'I know that nothing about me is normal.' It's harsher, more expected of him but there's a lack of care to it that made it less accusing.

'When was the last time you could walk with any sense of grace?' Petunia asks cuttingly, wanting to poke to garner some type of relation. For all the pieces the boy was in, he could handle her sharp edges. There was nothing weak about Lily's son which was really, part of the problem. It gave people expectations.

'Caught a Severing Charm to the leg while I was duelling Voldemort,' Harry replies without any sort of filter. He wasn't the type to censor himself, never had been. He'd bite out the truth even if he'd end up swallowing blood. 'They were too busy shipping me off to heal me properly. I suppose it's too late now.'

'Don't they have doctors?' Petunia asks as her eyes narrow on their own accord in disgust.

'Healers,' Harry corrects as he reaches out for the glass. The tremble in his hands is much too obvious. 'Not many were there. I suppose they had other patients.'

Petunia sneers. 'I suppose they don't have the Hippocratic Oath there.'

Harry's face morphs into a grim expression. 'Guess not.'

Petunia looked at her nephew, her five-foot-something, sixteen-year-old nephew and bit down everything Lily would have wanted to say. Her sister got herself killed and left this boy, abandoned him to a world that was quick to throw him away. Harry was all their's now and maybe that's why he behaved like he wasn't truly here, because soon enough they'd take him back. When they wanted something else from him.

He knew that now, maybe he'd always known that.

'Don't stay down here too long,' Petunia says instead as she turns the light back off and goes back to bed. Back to her husband and the bed their share, back in the warm.

/line break because "horizontal line" refuses me/

"Confirmed deaths have already reached the hundreds, tens of which being UK citizens. The Prime Minister is in talks with Japan later today, to discuss measures that are being taken against this act of terrorism. Emperor Hisahito is said to be releasing a statement after the UN conference, however reports say that he is devastated by the news."

/line break because "horizontal line" refuses me/

Dudder's had told her that they would be probably sleeping in and not to disturb them; they'd get up later on their own. Petunia didn't have much of a problem with that though the boy should pull his own weight if he was going to be staying with them. (It made her uncomfortable, occasionally, having to watch Harry hobble around like a cripple.)

Having him return brought up a lot of questions with the neighbours who'd known - vaguely that Petunia had lost most of her family to terrorist attacks. 'Homeless again,' Petunia had stated without an ounce of regret. 'I think he was shacking up with this girl he got pregnant before she found out about his criminal record. From the sounds of things she kicked out and I couldn't very well leave him out in the streets, what would my sister say if she were still here?'

An embarrassment but many of the women she'd befriended at church had been sympathetic. It wasn't like they knew about him, his violence, his breed and how he probably fucks the wrong type. No one but a few knew and that was fine by Petunia, having had the shock of her life at seeing him back with them, in their knew home which had never been touched by freaks before.

Life went on though and there things to do, breakfast to make. Sighing, she slipped out of bed like a good, respectable wife midsts her husbands thunderous snores. She picked up her makeup bag as she left to carry it with her to the bathroom which had been moved from the medicine cabinet to her dressing table once the boy moved back. A precaution against any more freakishness on his part.

Once Petunia had taken care of herself and her face was on, she crept past both her husband and her son to the staircase. She made her way to the kitchen, akin sure to keep the door open so that the smell of her cooking could stir the household awake.

Petunia immediately began opening packets as soon as the lights were on and she had her hob full of frying pans. Three plastic packets of bacon, two cartons of eggs, a couple of tins of baked beans, another three packets of sausages and so on. Her boys deserved a proper English feast despite how her Dudder's had cut back.

He was so thin now! Much too thin for his big bones. Vernon was a proper man with a filled out figure though most restaurants struggled to fill him; notorious as they were for their small potions. Absolutely ridiculous, but then she wasn't surprised clothing stores were positively discriminatory. Even Marks and Spencer's let them down with only going up to a XXL in the very basic of shirts and trousers.

They were civilised though, were the boy wasn't. Some times Petunia would see him wearing something that they had given him when he was twelve; her Dudder's hand-me-downs and it was a disgrace. Even clothing she didn't recognise, newer clothing could hardly be worn in refined company. His hair was outrageously long; reaching his shoulders and he walked with a limp! It was disgusting!

If Petunia didn't know that the boy had been given a taste of his own medicine in that war of his, she would have suspected him to be - well. Good people should hardly think it. Out of sight, out of mind but she'd likely have suspected him to be a dirty, little faggot. Trying to be more feminine to turn men to unholy practices.

She caught one whiff of any of that and she didn't care what she'd said or who came knocking down her door. Petunia would not have such immoral behaviour going on in her house, especially not around her Dudder's. What if he caught it?

Petunia had just been plating up when her husband's footsteps echoed down the stairwell, greeting long before he did as his slow descent allowed her time to deliver his food to the head of the table and our the kettle for some morning tea. No more coffee in this house, they were trying to be healthy.

Just as Vernon was fitting through the doorframe, Petunia turned the kitchen television on so that he could view it from the counter. 'Morning, dear,' she greeted as she went to the fridge and pulled out the tub of low calorie yogurt. She dolloped a few small spoonfuls out and added granola to the mix.

She joined her husband with her bowl and spoon, who was already tucking into his food with a youthful vigour, forkfuls at a time. 'Put on the news, love,' he asked of her. 'I want to hear how the stocks are doing.'

Such a man of the day, was Vernon. Happily, Petunia flickered through the channels and just noticed the "Breaking News" banner when the doorbell rang. She glanced at her husband in surprise but he was already immersed in the screen, so she got up to see how would be calling on them so early.

It was only just a few minutes past six, who could it possibly be? The postman; lazy blight that she was, didn't get to their street until gone nine and the milkman wasn't due to deliver today. It…it couldn't be one of those freaks, could it? The boy had all but promised that they wouldn't be bothered.

Petunia got to the door and opened the door aggressively, prepared to scream bloody murder but instead of robes and breads and freakishness, she got one of their hard-working policemen, one of those iPad in hands, flanked by two paramedics and another in a suit, looking harried and tired.

She blinked as her mind caught up with this reality.

'Is this the Dursley residence, please?' the policeman asked quickly, closet to the door with the barest glance down to his clipboard.

'Yes, how may I help you?' she responded, calming from her initial fury.

'Does a - Dudley Dursley live here?' he continued with a thin expression.

'Yes,' Petunia replied curiously, wondering what sort of mistake this was. They hadn't called the emergency services but they had the right information which made this doubly strange.

The man in a suit shifted. 'And a Harry James Potter?'

Petunia's stomach tightened. So this had something to do with the freak did it? No one should know that he was here, he certainly hadn't been up onto any paperwork. 'Temporarily,' she answered reluctantly. 'His parents were killed drunk driving but we don't have guardianship.'

The man in a suit gave her a look she didn't much appreciate but said nothing. 'But he lives here?'

'At the moment,' Petunia agreed reluctantly.

'Well, then,' the man says in a rush and suddenly Petunia notices his American accent. A yankee outside her house! Why she never! 'We have some bad news, may we come in?'

Petunia was about just about to let them in, despite her confusion when she heard Vernon's scream of rage which erupted from the kitchen. His kitchen sounds to scrap across their new flooring and something smashed not long after.

Without a thought to spare, the policeman was thrusting the iPad into the man's startled hands, who almost dropped it in the rush. The policeman barged rudely past and disappeared down the hallway were her Vernon was just emerging from the kitchen door.

'Please, ma'am,' the man says before she can can follow were there seems to be a situation occurring as the policeman tries to get Vernon back into the kitchen. 'While Officer Philips handles your husband, we need you to stay calm.'

'I am calm,' Petunia snaps. 'But that officer is manhandling my husband!'

'He's been on a twenty-four hour shift dealing with a very difficult situation. I can tell you haven't had the chance to see the news but -'

Vernon gets pepper sprayed and she's about to go to his side when the man restrains her. 'Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to remain with me while Officer Philips calms your husband down.'

'Get your hands off me this instance!' Petunia demands in outrage.

'Ma'am!' the man snaps. Something about his voice startles her still. 'I am Zachary Roche, from the Embassy and I need you to listen to me.'

Petunia sneers. 'And why should I listen to you?'

The man - Roche, his face hardens and his grip on her tightens. 'Cuz this has to do with ya boys, Ma'am,' he responds with some steel.

'Boy,' she corrects with a hiss.

Roche's eyes narrow. 'I am not so selective.'

'I do not care what -'

'This is a matter of life and death, Missus Dursley!' Roche shouts and Petunia feels herself freeze. 'I'm sure you know what a Nerve-Gear is. Unfortunately, there is a problem with the machinery and people have already died. This situation is dire, do yer understand that?'

'…yes,' Petunia responds timidly.

Roche nods and after a moment of staring, slowly lets her go. Her arm is red but she sudden;y has a lot less focus for it. He takes a breath. 'Has anyone disturbed your son or nephew since they put the Nerve-Gear on?'

Petunia swallows. 'No.'

'And there's no one else in the household who would have, or are able to interrupt the program?' Petunia shakes her head. 'Any power cuts?'

Roche breathes out and monitors for the paramedics to enter. They do without word and head for the stairs. 'Georgia and Ian are going to go check on them. Once their stats have been secured and we reconnect their Nerve-Gears to their equipment, we will rush them to the nearest hospital to keep them stable.'

'I don't understand,' Petunia sobs, feeling shaky.

Roche nods and his eyes arm briefly. 'We'll be able to talk betteh once things oh'settled.' That wasn't very helpful. 'They'll be fine. I'm 'ere tah 'elp with it.'

'Who sent you?' Petunia asks, trying and failing to control the trembling in her limbs.

'We've been up all night,' he says which wasn't really an answer. 'Emergency services 'ave been workin' 'ard to reach everyone effected but…magicals require advisement. I wasn't lyin', I'm from the Embassy.'

'Magicals?' Petunia breathes as she takes a step back. 'You're with the freaks! How're you connected with our embassy?'

Roche frowns at her and his lips are set into an aggressive line. 'Yer find that…freaks are connected with the English government as much as the Ministry. Yer think yer Queen don't know 'bout us?'

'Her…Majesty?' Petunia repeats numbly as she holds her chest, stiff in shock.

The paramedics call from upstairs and then they are carrying her son down on a stretcher, that contraption on his head. Roche leads her outside, out of the way so that they are able to get out of the front door without incident. 'Me an' Officer Philips can give ya a ride tah the hospital once he be finished with yer husband, yeah?'

'…yes.'

Con/Textual Vomit: This is a great big chapter of buildup for stuff and what's gonna happen in the case of the SAO players. I originally had part of this as a snapbit in what was chapter 2 but I wanted to work on it and expand it into it's own thing.

(Uploaded: 18/03/18)

OZ