Author's Note:
This is a continuation/soft reboot of the time travel tale "Hair of the Grim" by Nightmare Sired Muse, with a bunch of changes. It also contains many concepts, lines and situations from the grab-bag that is "Odd Ideas" by Rorschach's Blot. Both are used with the permission of their original authors. The Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I do not own Harry Potter or anything else.
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Rated M for some violence, language, drug use and sexual references. Nothing explicit.
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Canon-compliant. HP&DH compliant (except the Epilogue). HP&CC compliant (except the conclusion). FB&WTFT compliant. Pottermore compliant (mostly).
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Fanfiction Recommedations of the Week: "Bungle in the Jungle" and "Turn me Loose" by jbern.
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Question of the Week: What's the most mortifying thing your parents have ever done in front of one of your friends?
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Chapter 15 – Holidays with Hippies
Two cats and one mouse, two women and one house, two dogs and one bone, will not agree to loan.
– Old German proverb
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It seemed somehow fitting that Petunia Evans, then Dursley, never left the nest her entire life.
Harry apparated to his old, familiar haunt of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey and was shocked by how small the place looked. His old house had assumed gargantuan dimensions in his memory and imagination, and seeing that he could now run clear around the entire property in less than five minutes was a real head-trip.
Petooooooooonia, come out come out wherever you are, called the Grim. Veeeeeeernon, we know you're out there, we can hear you breathing! No need to be shy, we won't hurt you. We just have some lovely little hexes for you to chew on for the next decade or eight ...
Prek! barked the owl. Prek!
That's not a human-call, the Grim said crossly. That's not even a turkey-call!
Prek! barked the owl.
How dare you! My grandmother was a saint, a saint! bellowed the Grim.
Prek!
Well, the same to you, buddy!
Can we get a move on? asked the Otter impatiently. It's getting dark, and I want to try Tom's lamb cutlet special that's on tonight.
In and out, Harry agreed with his faithful friend. Then we can get back to stuffing our gullets.
Now was the time to take down the final two foes and complete Project Revenge-On-This-Version-Of-The-Dursleys-Even-Though-They-Haven't-Done-Anything-To-Me-But-I'm-Still-Going-To-Make-Sure-That-They-Can't-Screw-Over-Any-Other-Child's-Life. Slipping in through the back door, which was still left unlocked (even in the 1970's it seemed), Harry stealthily made his way up the stairs.
Prek! barked the owl.
Oh yeah, well at least I'm not a feathered, lice-carrying vermin-farm, the Grim shot back.
Prek!
Pipe down in there! Harry ordered sternly. It's go time!
Reaching the second floor, he silently moved from room to room, checking each as he went. Nobody so far.
Mr and Mr Evans most likely reside in the master bedroom, the Otter said wisely. Your best bet would be in Dudley's old … new room.
Good idea, cheered Harry.
He quickly made his way towards the future bloated whale's bloating grounds.
And came face to face with a dripping wet Lily Evans, clad only in a fluffy white towel, who had just exited the bathroom.
In sync, their eyes widened comically.
Then hers narrowed. Dangerously.
"Pettigrew," she hissed with deadly venom. Suddenly her wand was in her hand and pointed between his eyes.
"Uh …" Harry was at a complete loss for words for this sort of situation. The only scantily-clad-or-less women he'd ever been around were Hermione, who was practically a sibling and couldn't care less about his proximity, or Ginny, who was usually trying to snag his full attention at the time. "… where were you keeping that wand?" he finally blurted out. Half a microsecond later he realised what a poor choice of words that was.
"Densaugeo!"
Flee! shrieked the Dormouse.
His rat-instincts spurring him on, he lurched to the right, hitting the wall and barely dodging the sick yellow light of the curse. Scuttling backwards, his foot hit a raised fold of carpet, tripping him over, and fortuitously allowing him to miss the next hex, a dark green mist. Falling onto his back, he crabwalked backwards at great speed until his neck hit the wall. The enraged 16-year old crimson tornado was already lining up her next shot.
"Castigo! Obstringere!"
Room to the left! instructed the Dormouse. Go now!
Harry rolled to the left, out of the corridor and into the adjoining room, dodging a curse that splashed ineffectively against the wall. Leaping to his feet, he desperately looked around for cover. A plethora of pink, red, and yellow curtains, sheets, pillows, carpet and paintings. A hundred stuffed animals of all shapes, sizes, colours and fluffiness stared back at him in grave silence. Nothing but an ordinary looking bedroom with nowhere to hide except the closet (far too obvious) and behind the bed (very little cover). Hearing his nemesis rushing up behind him, he made his split-second choice and dived behind the bed, narrowly missing yet another jinx. Pulling out one of his Veela-hair wands, he rapidly began spellcasting. The blankets and sheets on the bed raised up to form a vertical barrier and hardened. It wasn't a shield that would withstand her full barrage for long, but it would absorb several spells. Hopefully giving her enough time to cool down, or for him to talk her out of bloody murder and mayhem.
"Pettigrew you fiend! Come out here and face your punishment!" she bellowed in a very Pandora-like way. His blanket barrier shuddered under the impact of her hexes and then gave out, dissolving into tiny shreds that fluttered throughout the room like snowflakes in a snowglobe.
Fallen in the line of duty, the Grim said gravely. Flimsy barrier, your last stand will be forever remembered. Your noble and heroic sacrifice will not be in vain, for you have given us the chance to prepare our counterattack.
The dog solemnly saluted.
Harry finished the last swish of his wand and activated the animation spell.
Lily shrieked as every stuffed toy in her room came to life and leaped at her. Individually, their mass was negligible (being made of feathers and fur), but as a single, combined hammer-blow, it was enough to knock a five-foot-six 120-pound off-guard schoolgirl off her feet. "Ooof!"
One of the most useful features of the transfiguration and animation branches of magic is that it does not require the caster to maintain a line-of-sight with the target, the Lynx lectured, a look of serene satisfaction on his feline features.
Harry dared not look over the edge of the bed, but could hear the Queen of Hogwarts grunting and struggling with the implacable fluffy menaces as he readied his next set of spells.
"Get off me, Unicorn Jim! Don't think I won't end you, Mr Cuddles! Arrrgh!"
Lily had finally had enough. She cut through the chaos in her room by stomping her foot, raising a wave of magic (and feathers and stuffing) that emanated from her footfall and thundered silently outwards through the room, rattling the windows and lamps. The massed ranks fell silent and collapsed, as all the animation magic was cancelled in one burst. Lily rolled to her feet, ready to end this once and for all … and came face to face with a tornado of fabric.
Every unshredded sheet, blanket, pillow and stuffed toy in the room coalesced. The closet doors and dresser draws flew open, disgorging their content like colourful vomit to join the shape forming in the heart of the maelstrom. (The puking sound they made while doing it seemed unnecessary though.) The forming shape formed a shape of very recognisable shape to the redheaded witch.
The giant Snuggle-bunny glared at her. She glared right back.
It roared, sending shudders through the walls and floor.
"Come and get me!" she sneered back defiantly.
"Lily-flower, what's the meaning of all this hullabaloo?" came a deep, masculine voice.
"Nothing you need to worry about Dad, just some filthy pervert who decided to sneak in for a free show. I'll take care of the vermin."
"Hello Mr Evans," Harry squeaked, risking a peek over the top of the bed. "I'm Peter, one of Lily's friends from school. I dropped by to help her with something of great importance."
"Liar!" the girl sneered, her wand never wavering. "What could you possibly have to say that cannot be said through owl Post, or through our mirrors?"
"Something important," he insisted mulishly.
"So important that it required you to pay an up-close-and-personal visit to my shower – while I was in it?" she challenged. "Well, out with it! What's your grand excuse?"
That stumped him.
You can't tell her you came here to hex the bejeezus out of her sister; as far as she knows you've never met and haven't the slightest cause for animus, the Otter said sensibly.
I know, let's tell her that your newfound role as a Ministry DCI requires you to make detailed checks of the bathing practices of all your fellow female students! Serious business, that, very serious; it's necessary for the Ministry to keep proper up-to-date records, offered the Grim with a charming doggy smile. We can say that DCI stands for 'Delectabili Corporum Inspector', the 'Inspector of Delectable Bodies'!
You're not helping, you slavering chauvinist! huffed the Otter.
"Can I come out so we can talk about it without you cursing me?" he temporised.
"Why don't you come out and let me hex you a few times, then you spout whatever story you've made up," Lily countered.
"Uh, thanks but I'll pass."
"Too bad – in five seconds I'm transfiguring that bed into a hydra and setting it loose on you."
"Wards!"
"What?"
"I came to check your ward situation!" Harry was thinking desperately on the fly.
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said hastily, "that I, a mere student, was able to walk into your house straight off the street without using a scrap of magic. Imagine if I'd been a Death Eater coming to kill you and your family." She actually looked thoughtful at that. "This proves that this place desperately needs a proper set of wards erected to stop that situation from ever arising."
Further discussion came to a halt as Lily's father entered the room to discern the source of the trouble. He jumped in fright at the sight of the giant, fluffy creature made out of his daughter's entire wardrobe. "Far out!" he exclaimed.
He was a tall, stocky, slightly chubby and slightly balding man with long, greying hair tied back in a ponytail. Of greater surprise to Harry was his getup: multi-coloured dashiki and cream bell-bottom trousers. Bright cotton bangles adorned his wrists and neck.
"Sorry about the Snuggle-bunny," Harry apologised. "We ah … had a bit of a disagreement, and things got out of hand a little."
"No problem, brother," the man murmured, eyes fixed on the creature in starry wonder. "'Snuggle-bunny' you say? Off the hook! This is an example of 'magic' is it, Lily-flower?"
She reluctantly nodded.
"How zomba," he breathed. "She'd always confab about these things, you know, but she was never allowed to perform anything. To see it right before my peepers like this …" He reached out a tentative hand to the creature, and let it sniff him cautiously.
Lily's eyes widened in horror. "Oh no! The underage magic restrictions!" But her worst fears were realised as an owl flew in through the open window and dropped an official-looking letter, sealed with the great seal of the Ministry of Magic, on to her (now bare) bed. Giving a chastising 'prek!' to the company, the bird circled the room once, then was out through the window and back into the night once more.
"You! This is all your fault! I'm going to get thrown into Azkaban, or worse, expelled!" she accused Harry.
"You mean to tell me you haven't got your untraceable wands yet?" Harry demanded. "Come on Lils, you're falling behind the rest of the HA!"
"I've been busy," she snapped, suddenly on the defensive.
"Don't worry about the note," Harry said blithely. "I've been getting warnings like this for years, and the Ministry's never done anything about it."
Except for that one time you were dragged in front of the entire Wizengamot and tried as an adult, the Lynx reminded him.
I was a political prisoner! Harry protested hotly.
Whatever you say, the mighty feline responded, licking its paw.
In the meantime, the Snuggle-bunny had become comfortable with the new arrival, and allowed Lily's father to rub its muzzle. When he slipped his hand down to scratch it under its chin, it gave a pleased chuckle/growl/purr and its hind leg began thumping the ground rapidly, sending shudders through the structure of the house again.
"Easy for you to say – I'm a responsible person, not some recidivist troublemaker!" Lily snarked.
"Oh please," Harry snorted, finally coming out from his hiding place to join the others, "you're Lady Black now, remember. What are they gonna do, feed you to the Dementors? Never gonna happen, the Wizengamot would riot."
"What's this? Is The Man hassling you, baby? Tell me what's wrong and I'll have a thing or two to do to those jive-ass turkeys," Mr Evans said with sudden menace.
"Chill, Dad," Lily sighed. "It's just a warning. Nothing's going to happen to me."
"That's right," Harry added. "Lily's an important person in the magical world now; they won't dare to piss her off … er, pardon my French. And if they do go after her, well, they'll have ME to deal with!" Harry puffed out his chest confidently.
Mr Evans looked the boy over, approval sparkling in his eyes. "That's exactly the right sort of attitude I expect from my Lily-flower's squeeze," he said.
"Gah! Dad, he's NOT my squeeze! He's a moronic skeezy grueler that I can't seem to ditch!"
"You wound me, Lily-flower; such a cruel squeeze you are!" Harry gave his best Padfoot puppy-dog impression, and was gratified to see a twitch develop in her brow. Maybe it was petty of him, but he was still a little pissed at her trying to hurl that dreaded tooth-growing jinx at him earlier.
So many traumatic memories of that spell, the Otter shuddered.
"Lily, don't rag on your main man," Mr Evans said sternly, "we raised you to be a decent type."
"What's going on up there?" a female voice yelled up to them. "The whole crib is shaking like there's an earthquake."
"Nothing, Sparklepop," the man hollered down. "Lily is just entertaining a young stud in her shagpad!"
"Jump back!?" came the voice. An excited woman bounded into the room with the energy of a Labrador puppy. "Lily-flower, that's mondo-cool – I'm so proud of you! My baby's finally growing up into a big girl! I have to admit, I was starting to wonder if there might be something wrong with your equipment. Or if your bread was buttered on the other side."
"Muuuuuuuum!" Lily whined, flushed red in outrage at the suggestion. "I'm not into women, alright! Never have been, never will be!"
"Fooey, don't take on so," shushed her mother. "There's nothing wrong with liking foxy bunnies. I certainly had my share when I was your age. I particularly remember this blonde pair of Swedish twins who were backpacking across Britain … convinced them to crash in my crib for a whole week … meeeeyow!" She fanned herself dramatically.
Harry's brows were raising to the ceiling. "Please go on, Mrs Evans," he encouraged politely.
"Do it and die!" Lily stamped her foot in irritation – an action that would have come across as a lot more intimidating if she were not acting like a petulant toddler (and clad only in a towel) at the time.
"What your mother's saying," Mr Evans intervened to try to placate his fiery daughter, "is that you don't have to feel ashamed about having a youngblood over to jump your bones. Nobody here's going to judge you for it: sowing your wild oats doesn't make you easy, no fake. When I was growing up I was no pimp, but even I had all sorts of chicks dropping in to hang out in my bedroom; and your mother had her share of studs drop round to see her, too. And some stone-cold foxes – I'm not too hung up to admit that your Mum was far better at pulling stone foxes than me! Even for a long time after we married, it wasn't unusual for us to invite a fox or two to stay in our bed for a while, for a bit of good times."
"Aaargh! I don't need to hear this!" Lily was trying to hold up her wand, hold up her towel and hold her hands over her ears to block out the horrifying information, all at the same time.
"Mellow out, Lily-flower," her father said in concern. "The point is, our parents were total drags about everything, and we vowed not to make the same mistake with you and Tuney."
"I think Richard and I were even swinging the night you were conceived, Lily-flower," Mrs Evans mused, her pensive emerald eyes lost in the distance. "What a heavy key-party that was; it lasted three whole days! Or was it a rainbow-party? I forget. Do you remember, Richard?" she asked, completely oblivious to the sparks that were starting to crackle in her youngest child's hair. "Once you've been to a few dozen swingers' nights or key-parties or underwater orgies, they all start to blur together, you understand," she explained to an open-mouthed Harry.
"I am leaving to get changed now," Lily enunciated primly, ice chipping off every syllable. "If you don't wish to find out how it feels to be transfigured into a pile of flobberworms and left in the middle of the highway, then I suggest you abandon this topic of conversation immediately." Then she carefully negotiated her way around the giant animate apparel-rabbit and left with every shred of dignity she could muster.
Where's she going to get her clothes from, the Grim wondered, since they're all presently composing the body of that Snuggle-bunny?
The Evanses sighed.
"Are we such bad parents, man?" Richard asked Harry mournfully. "How did our babies grow up into such flat tires? I mean, they're both cubes, they're putting our whole family on the train to Squaresville, daddy!"
"Uh …" Not having children, Harry hadn't the faintest idea how to reassure the couple.
"So you're the Peter Pettigrew Lily keeps going on and on about in her letters, I presume?" came an unpleasantly familiar high-pitched nasal voice. Heart sinking, Harry turned to regard his quarry, the prey of his hunt tonight; a 20-year old Petunia Evans, she of the giraffe's-neck and horse's-face, stood in the hallway regarding him with a look of prim disdain. Her eyes widened on spotting the Snuggle-bunny, which had started to nibble on a bedpost; defiantly, she turned her back on the creature. "Can you get rid of that horrible … 'thing' at once?!" she demanded shrilly of Harry. "We want none of that sort of mischief in our good, proper home, thankyou very much."
"Now now, Tuney," her father said sternly. "I won't have you getting hung up on this. We love and respect all of the Cosmos's living creatures inside this pad. The Snuggle-bunny has just as much right to live its life unhassled as you do."
"That's what you say about the spiders outside my window," Petunia grumbled mutinously.
"Because it's true," Richard said, with an air of finality. "Now we'll hear no more of it, otherwise Mr Snuggle-bunny may have to live in your bedroom for a while, to teach you some respect for the other beings who accompany us on this eternal journey."
Petunia paled and fled.
Richard returned his attention to the beast, going over to stroke its soft chest (made of a cluster of stuffed teddy bears). It gave an appreciative snuffle, and nuzzled at his neck.
"Welcome to our humble pad; you must stay for dinner, young casanova," Mrs Evans declared, linking her arm with his.
"What … but, uh, don't you want to spend some family time with Lily?" he temporised. "You know, as a family?"
"We can do that at the same time," the woman said firmly. "You're the first pal Lily has ever brought in from her magical shack since that hot-tamale Mary MacDonald babe, and we simply must confab. You can tell me all the Morning Glories about the mischief my Lily-flower has been getting up to while she's so far away."
"Uh, well, you see, I'm supposed to be having dinner with an old friend of mine tonight, and it'd be ever so rude to back out on her at the last minute …"
"Call her on the blower and tell her to come too. We have gobs of grub and good vibes! More than enough to share around." She waggled a finger at him. "Any friend who wants to bogart you is not a true friend, you just remember that, no jivin'!"
"Um, when you say hot-tamale … and babe … and no bogarting," Harry asked slowly, "you don't mean … you and Mary …?"
Mrs Evans winked slyly, and led him implacably downstairs into the dining room, never once having noticed the enormous Snuggle-bunny which occupied the majority of the space of Lily's bedroom, and who was observing events with rapt attention. Except when Richard scratched it juuuust there. Oh yeah. Its hind leg began thumping again.
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Lily stormed up into the attic and quickly located one of her mother's less-outrageous dresses to wear. Locating a hand-mirror and a comb, she set about straightening out and taming her frazzled red hedge of a mane. Her hair always frizzed out crazily whenever she experienced strong emotion; she highly suspected it was an effect of subtle accidental magic charging the air around her, like a mystical van der Graaff generator. Finally satisfied with her appearance, she made her way calmly back to her room to find some underwear and jewellery to put on.
Opening the door, she came face to face with the Snuggle-bunny. "I need my underthings," she declared. It cocked its head and regarded her with a puzzled mien. "I'm serious," she raised her wand threateningly.
The creature gave a half-yelp half-purr, then coughed up a pile of bras and panties onto her head, rather like a cat hacks up a hairball.
"Thanks," she grumbled, dressing herself hurriedly. Grabbed her watch, necklace, earrings, bangles and ankle-bracelet. There! Now she was ready for anything. More specifically, now she was ready to throw the interloper out onto the street with extreme prejudice if he were suicidal enough to still be present in her home.
Skipping down the stairs three-at-a-time, she reached the kitchen. To find a rather stiff Petunia sitting stiffly at the counter and sipping a cup of tea very slowly and very deliberately.
"Petunia? What's going on?"
"Mum and Dad are giving them 'the skinny' on our family," her sister grit her teeth.
"Them?"
"Another freak showed up, some old friend of his. And they are both staying for dinner." Petunia said stiffly, in a tone one would normally reserve for explaining that all of their children had been arrested for football-rioting and one was going to let them cool their heels in the cooler for a few days to ensure they learned their lesson in full.
"Oh no," Lily groaned. "Mum didn't …"
"She did. And now she and that freak-woman are getting along like a house on fire."
Woman? Lily suddenly felt an irrational spike of jealousy. Was it Apolline? Or Pandora? Or some other harpy intruding in on Lily's home-turf, angling to get her claws into her … into Pettigrew?
Worse, the two of them were now ensconced in the dining room with her mortifying, insufferable, horribly-embarrassing hippie parents, who hadn't seemed to realise that the counterculture stopped being cool a good five years ago. Lily groaned to herself. This was exactly the reason she'd never brought her friends over to visit, not since that disastrous tea party that was her 10th birthday party; a tea party that somehow, inexplicably, turned into a totally-munga tea-and-toke party without anybody realising it. Well, not for the first five hours, anyway. What was it her schoolmates dubbed it? 'Freak-weed Friday'? Ugh. Getting her Hogwarts letter and being able to hide away in a sanctuary in the frozen depths of Scotland for nine months a year was quite the blessing.
With equal parts dread and territoriality in her footfalls, she entered the room. Same old dining room; mood lights on, strings of beads hanging over the doorways, giant dreamcatchers on the walls, red and blue lava lamps in the corners for additional illumination. Giant fireplace with mantle filled with Buddha statues, prayer bowls, Tibetan flags, star charts and crystal balls. Wind chimes hanging from the ceiling.
There they were: her father Richard in his long ponytail, colourful dashiki and cream bellbottoms; her mother Hyacinth in her standard hand-made tie-dyed t-shirt, long floral skirt, and insect-themed earrings; Pettigrew in his stupid muggle slacks and white Oxford shirt, smiling stupidly and looking stupidly down at a some stupid photographs her Dad was bragging about; and The Woman. She sighed an internal sigh of relief when she realised how monstrously ugly the other female was, some sort of human-amphibian hybrid, if one were to be uncharitable. (And Lily was feeling mighty uncharitable at the moment.) She was dressed in a businesswoman's sensible black pantsuit, pearl necklace, polished black shoes, blonde hair tied back in a tight bun. Looking every inch a muggle mover-and-shaker.
Hold the phone, photographs?! Ohnonononononono …
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"This is the family at the famous Isle of Wight Festival in August '70. You can see little Lily-flower dancing naked in the mud here," her father was explaining proudly, turning another page of the photo album. "It was the largest and most happenin' musical event of all time, even bigger than Woodstock! 700,000 cats gathered together, preaching and living peace, love and community. And here we are meeting Jimi Hendrix. The Man tried to stop us from going backstage, but Lily-flower was so adorable they were helpless to resist!"
Harry examined the photo. Richard and Hyacinth were standing next to a tall, shaggy-looking fellow in a baggy red outfit and holding a guitar. He had no idea who Jimi Hendrix was, but the couple sure seemed delighted to meet him, judging from their jazz-hands and the million-watt smiles they beamed into the camera. A 14-year old Petunia could be seen hiding in shame behind a sub-woofer in the background. Sprouting from the shaggy man's afro was a 10-year old Lily Evans – a mop of blazing red with eyes, wide toothy grin and gangly limbs attached – perched there like a baby bird in a nest.
"And this is us on the 'hippie trail' through Afghanistan and India in '68. Lily-flower was eight at the time. Here's us at the Maharishi's ashram. And here we are at the sacred Ganges River in Benares. You can see Lily playing naked on the ghats. And here's Lily dancing naked in the river. It was so difficult to convince my youngest to wear clothes, all the way up until she was 11 ... Then she overnight transformed into the most uptight square I've ever met! Been that way ever since, like she's somehow embarrassed about herself. I'm out to lunch." He shook his head in consternation. "That's why I'm so glad a juicer like you's in the cards, young Peter; you've already unwound her so much in one night! Keep up the righteous work and I'm confident my baby'll be back to wavy-gravy in no time flat!" Richard gave Harry a proud grin and manly clap on the shoulder.
"So tell me more about what she was like before age 11?" Harry inquired politely. This was his one chance to gather as much dirt as he could on the proper, upstanding, not-a-chink-in-her-armour Queen of Gryffindor, and by Merlin, he was going to grab onto it with both paws.
"Well, I tried to be as tolerant as the next cat about these things, but it's hard when you send your daughter to kindergarten in the morning and she leaves her uniform and underwear on the bus every time. Eventually the driver refused to keep returning them to me. And don't get me started on all those bring-your-sprog-to-work days –"
"Okay, I think that's enough looking through the photobooks!" Lily interrupted hastily, snatching the albums away and making off with them at lightspeed.
"Everything copacetic, petal?" her mother called at her retreating back. "You've been acting awfully zappy tonight; perhaps you're coming down with something?"
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It was certainly shaping up as an interesting evening (exactly how interesting, Harry and Hermione were as yet unaware). Lily had taken her parents to task for humiliating her so badly in front of her Housemate, the extent of which they couldn't possibly understand because they were so old and decrepit and out-of-touch with the magical and mundane worlds. Richard and Hyacinth rose to the challenge by demonstrating just how young and hip and with it they still were. Beginning by modelling Lily's Hogwarts school uniforms for everyone, just to show they could rock it. Both of them.
"It fits perfectly," Hyacinth purred, stretching this way and that. "I could drop in to Hogwarts today and no wiz would say boo. Look at me, I'm Glinda the Good Witch of the Groove!" True to her word, she started grooving to music that only she could hear. She seized a spatula from the washing-rack and mimed casting spells here and there as she twirled around.
"This skirt is a bit tight," Richard commented, having to suck in his gut to stay inside the much-smaller blouse and skirt ensemble. "And what's with all the greys and blacks? It's so flat, man. Can't we liven it up a tad?" He made do with placing a large pair of green shades on his eyes and an orange fedora on his head.
Petunia decided to call in reinforcements, and demanded that if Lily was going to have friends join her for dinner, then her boyfriend Vernon was coming too. Harry wholeheartedly supported the idea. If Muhammad can't get to the whale, then the whale could come to Muhammad.
Then we can complete our jihad! cheered the Grim.
"To the shag wag!" Richard announced.
It was tight squeeze for the two flower children, two time travellers, and two mortified squares to fit into the Ford, but eventually the mobile sardine-tin was on course, wending its way past the endless series of soul-crushing grey-brick officeblocks where Vernon Dursley worked. Harry had to hide his shock at the first sight of the 28-year old Vernon. The conservative business suit was to be expected, but not the trim figure and bulging muscles.
Seems our Vernon's not yet taking in triple the amount of calories needed to sustain a full-grown whale, the Grim smirked.
Nor the gigantic blond afro that the man sported with such evident pride.
Wow, your uncle's afro is far more impressive than that Hendrix fellow's, opined the Dormouse.
"Looking flash as a rat with a gold tooth, Vernon," complimented Richard. "You always were a son of the snappy threads, amirite? Now let's boogie!" He hit the accelerator.
If Harry's former/future uncle was in any way surprised by being picked up by a pair of adults in (female) school uniform, he did not show it, instead opting to shower his girlfriend (perched on his lap) with the totality of his attention. Petunia basked happily.
Hyacinth fiddled with the radio impatiently, finally settling on a station. 'Sympathy for the Devil' filled the car. "The Stones are stone-cold gas, you dig it?" she asked Hermione.
"I do," Hermione agreed, "I've heard their music here and there; my parents are big fans of them. And the Grateful Dead."
"Deadheads, eh? I think you're gonna fit in around here just fine, babe," the woman replied happily.
"Uh, thanks. So Richard, Peter tells me that you're a banker of some sort? How do you square that with your … beliefs?"
"You know it; unfortunately love, peace and brotherhood don't pay the bills, so I've gotta grit my teeth and grind away for The Man over in the City. But it's worth it to keep my three lovely chickies in bread."
"Vernon Dursley," the man introduced himself to Hermione. "You're … not one of them, are you?" he asked cautiously.
"Dolores Umbridge, but everyone calls me 'Hermione'," Hermione replied. At his bewildered look, she explained, "I've always hated the name Dolores, and I'm a big fan of Shakespeare, so …"
Dursley nodded. He could accept someone who appreciated proper English literature. Especially one who looked every inch the pinnacle of muggle respectability.
"And yes, I am 'one of them'," she continued primly. Vernon paled and tried to shift further away, which was impossible.
"Hermione works for the government, control and regulation of dangerous creatures," Harry added proudly.
"So you keep people safe from wild animals?" asked Petunia curiously. She'd never met a working professional woman before. And this one seemed to be so highly-placed in authority …
Hermione nodded decisively. "There are many dangerous things out there, and it's my job to make sure that they can't get loose and hurt 'decent folk'," a hint of sarcasm added to the last phrase.
A hint that went completely over Petunia's head. "Are you a clerk or secretary?" she asked.
"Certainly not. Though I do have a staff of clerks and secretaries under me."
Petunia was most impressed in spite of herself. Even if this woman was 'one of those people', she clearly had a good head on her shoulders. A true go-getter. No wasting away in typing pools or secretarial jobs or lunch lady runs!
The trouble began innocuously enough. Richard said something like, "Hyacinth, I feel a bit lightheaded. Maybe you should drive …"
Suddenly, there was a terrible keen that echoed all around them, and the sky was full with what looked like huge black bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around them, and voices from Harry's past were screaming in his mind.
"Holy Mordred! Dementors!" he hissed at Hermione, the pair brandishing wands swiftly. Lily felt the aura of despair a second later and followed suit.
"No Richard, it's your turn ..." Hyacinth trailed off.
The muggles looked around in confusion, weirded out by Harry, Hermione and Lily's reactions.
No point in mentioning these Dementors yet, Harry thought. Poor bastards will feel their effects soon enough.
"We need to get back home and indoors – NOW!" Hermione ordered. Harry wound down his window and poked his head outside, eyes scanning the skies, trying to get a bead on the loathsome creatures that wheeled and dived. They were hard to track against the black night sky.
"Expecto Patronem!" Prongs leaped out and trotted alongside the Ford, easily keeping up with the vehicle.
"What's going on?" asked Petunia in alarm. Her arms squeezed Vernon in a death grip.
"We're under attack!" Hermione snapped. "We have to find shelter before they hit – floor it!"
"Blow up the cheese, Richard!" Hyacinth ordered, and the shag wag roared and lurched forward, hitting 60 then 70 miles per hour. Richard weaved through the (fortunately empty) streets with consummate skill, houses and buildings blurred by, tires screeching in pain and protest at the abuse. Prongs was momentarily left behind, but swiftly increased his canter, pulling up alongside once more. With a mighty leap, he pounced onto the roof.
"What was that?" demanded Vernon, at the loud thump above their heads.
"A friend," Harry responded laconically. Then cursed loudly – for in Prongs' silvery shimmering light, he had caught sight of wizards in the sky, bearing down on the car on their brooms, black cloaks streaming behind them in a way Snape could only envy. "Death Munchers!"
Harry and Hermione leaned head and shoulders out of their respective windows and fired whichever area-wide distance spells they could think of. The pursuing wizards returned fire. Around the car flew flashes of light, all colours of the rainbow. Pockets of the bitumen exploded, huge chunk flying in all directions. Richard desperately swerved to avoid the potholes and the falling debris. Lily tore off her seatbelt and threw herself over Harry's lap so that she too could reach out of the window and unload at their enemies.
A sudden right turn, and Lily yelped as she started to roll off their laps. Harry seized her around the waist with one hand and dragged her up bodily to half-sit half-sprawl on top of him. "Guess now's the time to put all that HA training to the test, eh Lils?" he grunted. Together they leaned out of the car window once more and cast. Hermione ensured the Ford's path was unobstructed.
"Castigo! Cistem Apario!"
"Cero Ventus! Telum Conico! "
"Leviosa! Leviosa! Leviosa!" Hermione's wand danced, and the large wheelie-bins, bicycles, hot-dog stands and tires levitated into the air above the road, out of the Ford's way. Then hurled themselves at the oncoming broom-riders. The wizards scattered in all directions to avoid the barrage.
"Gotcha!" Harry finally managed to nail one of their airborne assailants, in a pure fluke of a shot (considering the distance and how fast both he and the Death Eaters were moving). He watched in satisfaction as the robed figure's broom dissolved into shards, and the man tumbled down into the ground. Well, into a plant nursery, to be more accurate.
"Hope you like eating manure, Man-Who-Fell-To-Earth!" Hermione jibed grimly.
"I LOVE David Bowie!" Hyacinth squealed.
"Me too!"
Hermione and Hyacinth shared a tight grin.
"Could you two maybe save bonding over some androgynous fop for a time when we're not in mortal peril?" snapped Lily, ignoring the affronted look the two women shot her.
"Where'd you learn to drive like this?" Vernon demanded, as they cleared another crossing and hit a hard left, back of the car fishtailing wildly.
"Hyacinth's sister's sugar daddy Onslow used to run a drag racing gig. Me and my brother Sheridan would hang out there every weekend back in our square days!" Richard finished the turn and hit the gas again.
Harry felt like he'd left most of his internal organs somewhere behind at the plant nursery.
"What's going on? I feel … so cold!" Petunia shivered in Vernon's arms.
"You remember those 'dangerous creatures' we were talking about earlier, Tuney?" said Lily. "Well, here are a bunch of 'em. You won't be able to see them though. But if one gets close to you, you'll definitely feel it, no fake!"
"When they approach, you feel a chill and it seems like every bad thing that ever happened to you's back again," Hermione elaborated. "They're basically despair squids."
"Despair, eh?" growled Richard. "We'll fix that – Hyancinth, find us some funky grooves to chase away those blues!"
Hyacinth quickly found an appropriate station and cranked the music way up.
The rather uncommon event of a Ford emblazoned with flower motifs tearing through the empty Surrey streets at high speed while blasting "Shake Your Booty" by KC and the Sunshine Band at full-bore, unsurprisingly attracted the attention of certain parties.
"It's the fuzz!" announced Richard, seeing the red and blue flashing lights of the pursuing squad car in his rear-view mirror.
"Don't stop!" ordered Hermione and Lily simultaneously.
But this quickly became a moot point. The lights of the police car flickered, the siren died, and the cruiser swerved, crashing into a fruit stand. The stationary vehicle disappeared into the distance behind them.
"Heavy," breathed Hyacinth in shock.
"Yeah, and we don't want the same thing happening to us," Hermione replied, patting her shoulder comfortingly.
They made excellent time, and before you could say 'Keep Calm And Tune In', the shag wag screeched to a halt in a wild doughnut around the Privet Drive. Richard re-started the stalled engine and powered into their garage, the automatic doors sliding shut.
"That was … off the hook …" panted Richard into the deafening silence.
"We made it," breathed Petunia in relief.
"Not hardly," said Harry grimly. "They'll be on us in a minute. We've got to prepare for a siege – Hermione, anti-transport wards are coming up!"
"I feel them too," Hermione agreed. "Anti-apparition, anti-portkey, anti-Floo. We're trapped like rats."
"Then it's time to fight like rats," Harry replied.
"Let's book then!" declared Hyacinth.
The Ford disgorged its contents into a disorganised tangle. Pulling each other upright, the party charged into the house.
Hermione cast her Patronus. "Go to the DMLE, summon the Aurors! Four Privet Drive, Surrey! Go!" The silver otter chittered and sped away.
"Prongs!" Harry called. The silver stag, who had leaped off the car's roof and followed the humans into the main house (invisible to the muggles), nickered attentively. "Go to Alastor Moody's house. Tell him Death Eaters have us pinned down in a muggle house, and to send the cavalry! Just follow the underage use of magic monitors, they must be lighting up like Christmas lights right now. Go!" And Prongs was off.
"We should call the fuzz!"
"They won't be any help," Harry told Hyacinth. "They'd just get themselves killed for no reason. Remember what happened to that police car back there? We've only got ourselves to rely on for now."
"I've got a couple of pokers and my divining rod in the back shed," stated Richard. "We'll show these jive-ass mothers what's what!"
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"Richard, Hyacinth, can you do something for me?" Harry threw them a clear bag that was filled with powder-blue cigarettes.
"What are these?" Hyacinth ably snagged the package out of the air.
Harry grinned. "The last of my stash. A magical substance we call Melancholia. As its name suggests, this stuff makes you feel all sad and depressed for hours ..."
"… so sad and depressed that these turkeys won't feel like brawling anymore …" Richard finished in realisation.
"Got it in one – they want to break out the despair-monsters? Well, two can play at that game! Can you shred the Melancholia and make it into balls I can throw?"
"Right on, boss! We'll mix these downers for you right quick!" Exuberantly throwing off his glasses and fedora, he quickly got to work shredding the cigarettes and their contents into a neat pile of blue powder on the table, grumbling with annoyance as Lily's Hogwarts blouse and robe impeded his movements. Finally, he'd had enough and tore the shirt open with one mighty pull, buttons ricocheting in all directions. Sighing with relief at his increased airflow, he grabbed a sheaf of cigarette paper and began wrapping the powder into makeshift doobie-balls.
Hyacinth dashed out of the room and quickly returned with the Evanses' own stash, a bag in each hand. She dropped onto the counter one bag of cannabis and another bag filled with an assortment of brightly coloured pellets. "These'll mellow those jokers out even more!"
"Good thinking, Sparklepop!"
"What's that?" their youngest daughter asked, bursting into the room.
"Our stash: wacky-backy and Lucy in the Sky," her mother replied absently, pouring out the bags' contents.
"What?! You two are unbelievable! You think NOW's a good time to get baked?" Lily demanded furiously.
"Don't take that tone with us, Lily-flower," her father said, as he and his wife ground the LSD tablets down to powder, chopped up the cannabis leaves, then mixed the results together thoroughly with the Melancholia, with the ease of long practice. "Just a little something to mellow out your magical friends out there."
"And the Lucy will hopefully bless them with the worst trips of their lives," added her mother.
Lily opened her mouth, but was interrupted by Umbridge's call. "Lily! I need you down here!" Frowning, she ran back out.
"Done, boss!" Richard announced, as the duo finished wrapping up the last of the bundles. Sure they were uneven and scrappy looking, but it wasn't like their enemies were going to be appreciating their aesthetic value anytime soon. "Here's your 'downer balls', good to go!"
"I prefer 'bummer balls'," his wife interjected.
"Throw them out onto the front lawn, and out onto the street; make sure they're nice and spread out," Harry ordered from the window, as he continued his furious transfigurations.
"You lot are really harshing my mellow!" Richard yelled defiantly at the dark shapes that were landing on the road. "I'll call you out – you wanna fight with me and my family? Then fight dese tears!" and began hurling 'downer balls' out of the window with all his strength.
"You ain't just a woofin'!" his wife agreed, throwing her own arsenal.
I am! woofed the Grim.
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Petunia found herself dragged along by the hand by the decisive Miss Umbridge, Vernon taking up the rear.
"There," Umbridge said, pointing her wand at the front door. "We need to shore up all the doors and ground floor windows." She waved her stick thingie around and muttered something under her breath which sounded a bit like the lyrics of a Beatles song. The door and windows glowed briefly with an eerie blue light. "I've done what I can, you and Vernon move whatever furniture you can in front of them. Every bit of thickness our barricade has, the better!" And then she was off to the back door.
Petunia found herself in awe at the cool and calm manner in which this woman took command of the situation. Hands trembling uncontrollably, she and her boyfriend got to work shifting tables and chairs against the door and windows as fast as they were able.
"Lily! I need you down here!" bellowed her hero. A moment later, her sister flew down the stairs and around to the back door.
"Here they come, Pet," declared Vernon, panting with the exertion. He wiped his brow nervously.
She looked out the small corner of window not obscured by furniture and saw about a dozen black-clad figures emerging out of the mist wafting around Privet Drive. They walked up to the house in a single, loose rank; confident, assured, their pointy-sticks raised threateningly. The fact that their faces and bodies were so obscured made them even more terrifying, vague shapes floating towards them, hungering to do unspeakable things to her. And above them, somewhere, hideous creatures were flying around in the sky, things that she couldn't even see, that she had to rely on her precious ever-so-special sister to tell her were there! The woman shivered in fear and loathing. All of a sudden, she could hear the voices of her sister and that rat-like boy from her freak-school upstairs. They cried out strange, arcane syllables, and the street erupted in flame.
With her own cry, Petunia spun away and shielded her eyes. She was vaguely aware that Miss Umbridge had returned, and was hustling her and Vernon up the stairs to join the others.
Outside, the Death Eaters (but one) deflected the volley of fireballs harmlessly off to their sides. However, it had achieved its true purpose, igniting the galaxy of 'bummer/downer balls' scattered all over the front lawn and street. Privet Drive began to fill with poisonous purple smoke.
They entered the master bedroom, where that Peter boy and Lily were standing at separate windows, fiercely waving their sticks and sending sparks of light down onto the street below. The boy even had two sticks in his hands that he used alternately. With a loud cry, a shining silver stag leaped from his stick and floated out into the sky and began dancing around through the clouds. Her parents were busily grabbing lamps, books, chairs, whatever they could lay their hands on, then rushing back to the windows to hurl them down on their besiegers.
"It worked!" Hyacinth cried in victory, seeing the putrid clouds of depression gather and sweep the Death Eaters into their embrace. "We got smoke on the water and fire in the sky, babe!"
"Rock on!" Richard agreed. They shared a triumphant snog.
Petunia couldn't restrain rolling her eyes in disgust. Ugh, gag me with a spoon! Could her parents possibly get any more lame? Every time she thought they'd hit the limit, they would break on through to the other side.
"Petunia, Vernon! Bring me more furniture! Whatever you can carry," ordered Umbridge.
"Yes Miss Umbridge!" she squeaked, scrambling away to grab a chair from her own room. Carrying it back into the master bedroom, she placed it down where the woman indicated. With another wave of her stick and incantation, the chair shuddered once, then morphed into a golden eagle! Petunia leaped backwards instinctively. The bird screamed viciously, then launched itself out of the window and down onto the Death Eaters.
"More!" demanded Dolores.
"Why are they after us?" Petunia wailed, dropping another chair in front of the witch. This one was transformed into a gigantic, hideous bat, which also flew out the window in a beeline to their attackers.
"They're terrorists, it's what they do," explained Umbridge. "Like with the Troubles over in Ireland. This lot are kinda like the magical equivalent of the IRA. Trying to kill people and overthrow the government and all that rot."
"Frankly, I'm surprised they haven't targeted your family sooner!" called Peter, eyes fixed firmly on the battle below.
"What do you mean!? What have we ever done to them?"
"Nothing – they're just evil bastards! Lily's pretty famous in our world; plenty of blood purists would be keen to take down the first muggleborn Head Girl of Hogwarts in history!"
So this was all Lily's fault! She should have known!
Petunia took a moment to compare the redheaded harpy who was slinging flashes of light and thunder to the older woman who was busily transfiguring yet another chair into some other horrible abomination to unleash upon their enemies. The conclusion was inescapable: Lily Evans was no more than a troublemaking pathetic excuse for a person, even by her own freakish standards. She certainly couldn't hold a candle to a real freak – er, witch, like Dolores 'Hermione' Umbridge.
In spite of the grimness of the situation – Ha! laughed the Grim, good one! – Harry couldn't help noticing the worshipful looks Petunia kept directing at his old friend. He shot Hermione a grin. "I think dear Aunt Petunia has a crush of someone," he teased in an undertone.
"Figures," Hermione grumbled, casting a surreptitious eye at the woman. "Dolores Umbridge is exactly the sort of person Petunia Dursley would look up to."
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"Let me down!" Vernon demanded.
"Pardon?" Harry spared a glance from his window to the afro'd businessman who was shifting about impatiently.
"You can … you know, get me down to the ground … out there," he waved his hand vaguely out the opposite window, through which they could see a group of Death Eaters massing at the back door of the house. The black-clad figures waved their wands as one, and all the wooden slats tore themselves off the nearby fences, piling themselves neatly into a bonfire at the front of the house. One of them started to cast Incendio.
"Shite, they're trying to burn out us!"
"Yes – which is why I need to get down there without the freaks seeing me."
Harry eyed him for a moment.
If he wants to help, no sense stopping him, said the Otter sagely. It is his family too, you know.
Point, Harry conceded.
"Come on!" Harry dragged the burly man down the hall to the small balcony overlooking the narrow footpath between Number Four and Number Two. "Hold still!" Vernon shut his eyes tightly and stood rigid as a pole as Harry carefully levitated him from the balcony down onto the footpath below. The man shivered visibly once his feet touched the ground, then took a deep, steadying breath and was off like a shot into the darkness.
Vernon fixed his eyes on the group igniting the shambolic pile of wood at the back door of the house as he snuck through the hedgerow. Taking stock of the situation, he nearly fainted in relief. For one thing, there couldn't be more than four of them. For another, they looked like a group of bumbling new recruits. The leaders had to be round the front fighting the rest of the defenders. Vernon wasn't sure if these freaks were intentionally targeting the Evanses or if they'd decided to go after the lone carload of people in the area on a lark, but by St George, he was going to make sure they didn't survive such a fatal mistake. He pulled a heavy pistol out of his belt, and concealed it behind his leg and approached the group at a fast walk.
"What do we have here?" One of the freaks noticed as Vernon came within a few feet. "Another vict–"
The man raised the revolver and put a bullet into the freak's throat, silencing him forever. Two of the other freaks stared down at their bleeding comrade with identical looks of shock, this wasn't the way things were supposed to happen, people weren't supposed to fight back, no one was supposed to get hurt – well, no-one of importance, anyway.
The third cloaked figure whipped his wand out and shot two quick curses, Vernon retaliated by showing once again that accuracy was more important than speed in a gunfight, by putting his next bullet in the man's chest.
"Oh glarpb–" Vernon's third bullet shattered the next freak's jaw and his fourth entered right below the left eye.
The last Death Eater raised his wand with a trembling hand and died as Vernon's fifth and final bullet entered the man's chest and shredded his heart. From start to finish, the fight had been over in less than six seconds.
"Bloody hell!"
Vernon spun to engage the man behind him.
"Wait! It's me, Peter!" The figure threw back his black hood to reveal it was in fact the short, pudgy kid who'd levitated him down to the ground two minutes prior.
Vernon shoved the pistol back into his belt and clenched his hands to stop their shaking. "Is help going to come soon?" he asked after he managed to suppress his stomach's desire to empty itself.
The boy squinted in thought. "Hard to say. Speaking from experience though, help never arrives until well after all the action's over."
"Fan-bloody-tastic."
"Indeed," Harry gave a vicious smirk. "On the other hand, it also means the gloves can come off. In defence of his home and family, anything a man does is nice and legal in our world."
Vernon felt a vicious smirk crawl haltingly across his own face. Maybe this freak-boy wasn't so bad after all.
"Will you two stop yapping and get a move on!" hissed another voice impatiently. The two men hurriedly raced to join Hermione, who was peeking around the corner of the house to firefight out front.
"Why are you two in those getups?" Vernon demanded, indicating the long black robes the two magic-users were sporting.
"Disguises of course," Hermione snapped. "Speaking of which," she twirled her wand and his favourite business-suit was melting away, and re-forming into an identical sinister black cloak.
"That was an anniversary present," he grumped.
"And whoever gave it to you can give you another one for the next anniversary," Hermione shot back. "That is, if you ever live to see it!"
That shut the great muggle up. Hermione waved her wand once more, casting the Bubble-Head Charm on the three of them.
"Now, if you're keen on reaching that milestone, you'll shut up and do what we say. And reload your pistol, for Morgana's sake!"
"To the max, daddy-o!" Harry agreed.
"Really getting into the colourful metaphors, aren't we?" Hermione smirked.
He shrugged. "My uncle was a huge 'Starsky and Hutch' fan."
"Really? I wouldn't've thought him the type."
"They threw freaky teens and black drug-pushers into prison. What wasn't there for him to like?"
"Right on," she conceded
"Oh no," Vernon groaned, "you're starting to sound like 'them' now."
His sourpussing was lost in the sound of tearing wood and shattering glass. The Snuggle-bunny leaped through Lily's bedroom window and dived from the second story into the ever-expanding cloud of thick, sickening smoke. Cries of terror and rage (and a few sobs of misery) emanated from within the dark mass. Two dark bodies were flung like ragdolls down the street. Another one was hurled into Number Three, smashing his way through Mrs Haberdeen's upper window.
"Now!" commanded Hermione, "while they're distracted!"
Throwing their black cowls over their heads, the trio trotted out from the side of Number Four in a wide arc to come up behind the Death Eaters and the choking clouds of despair. They dived behind the nearest parked car as a huge whoosh of flame exploded from within the clouds.
"Alas, poor Snuggle-bunny, I knew him well," lamented Harry.
"God save his soul," she replied piously.
"Yes; because nothing will save me from Lily once she realises her entire wardrobe's just gone up in flames," he said glumly.
"Hang on a tic," Vernon realised something. "If you two are out here, then who's up there sending down those freaky coloured lights?"
"That's not important right now," Hermione said dismissively. "What is important is that cloud of freaky-deaky despair is having an impact. Have you noticed their rate of spellfire has been decreasing over the past minute or two?"
"Yes, and the number of screams and moans and groans has been increasing."
"Which means now's the time. On my mark, unload everything you have into that mass; including bullets, Mr Dursley, capiche?" Hermione ordered.
Vernon nodded shakily, extracting his pistol and reloading as fast as his trembling hands would let him.
Harry took a deep breath, readying himself.
"Ready, boys? Good. On three. Three!"
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The house shuddered as the front door endured the pounding of a dozen Blasting Curses.
"Looks like the party's started downstairs" said Hermione.
Another shudder, and they could hear wood and brick shredding.
"We have to get down there and block them, or they'll get behind us."
Harry raced back into the room and took up his position beside Lily again.
"The two of us will cover you from up here!" the Head Girl growled. "You go ahead."
"Petunia, with me!" Hermione snapped, grabbing woman's hand (ignoring her blush) and dragging her downstairs. "The barricade looks like it's holding for now, but it likely won't withstand another couple of hits." They reached the kitchen and Hermione quickly turned on the stove. "Could you pass me that sauce pan?"
"This is no time for a snack!" Petunia barked, appalled.
"If you insist," Hermione agreed. "I'm still going to need that sauce pan."
"Fine," Petunia huffed. This was not going the way she'd thought it would. This was just ... odd.
"Where are the big kitchen knives?"
"To the left ... the other left ... the other left ... the other other left … right, that's the one."
Hermione found the biggest knife she could and laid it out on the counter next to the stove. "Thanks," taking the saucepan from the muggle woman. "Pass me a bottle of oil, please?" She took it and dumped it into the sauce pan. "It's missing a certain something, isn't it?" She scratched his chin. "Sugar, please." The witch dumped the sugar into the pan and stirred it into the hot oil. "Do you have an fungicide or insecticide near to hand? Powdered is preferable. "
Petunia scrabbled through the cupboards, finally locating the box of fungicide. "What do you need this for?" Petunia asked, coming to the conclusion that the woman might have a trick or two up his sleeve.
"The sulphur content," Hermione replied, looking over the list of chemicals on the side of the box. "Perfect." She dumped the entirety of the contents into the pan and stirred it in. "Now we're ready. That reminds me." Turning to face Petunia, she waved her wand several times.
Petunia could feel sensations of cold liquid washing over her flesh. She shivered. "What … what have you done to me?" she quavered.
"I just made you invisible. The only unfair advantage in a fight is the one you don't have." Her head perked up. "The wards are beginning to crack. Stay back," she commanded.
"What?"
"Don't get close to the Death Eaters, it would be bad," Hermione explained. She quickly cast a Speed Enhancement Charm onto herself. It wouldn't last long, a mere minute, but hopefully that was all she needed it for.
"Why do you ..." The girl was interrupted by the front door flying off its hinges, the furniture barricade shattering into a million wood chips.
"Aeolus!" A jet of scalding steam shot from the tip of Hermione's wand and filled the doorway. The cries of the first arrivals could be heard as any exposed skin was instantly scalded. The unexpected assault blunted their charge, the four men in black cloaks and white masks stumbled into each other and scattered across the room, rubbing their eyes desperately. The few seconds of pain and disorientation were all Hermione needed.
"Ready to die, mudblood scum?" the first Death Eater to recover screamed, a stream of drool dripping from the bottom of his mask.
Hermione tried and failed to think up something witty to say, choosing instead to let her actions speak for themselves. More specifically, the action of flinging the contents of a pot of hot oil, molten sugar and sulphur into the man's face. He howled in agony, flailing his limbs in a spastic manner not unlike the death throes of an Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest. Death Eater #2 got the pan hurled into his noggin and was distracted enough for Hermione to dash across the room, knife in hand. His hesitation got him four inches of steel in the kidney. Death Eater #3 got four himself as Hermione banished the knife into his throat at point-blank range. Death Eater #4, the first through the door (and thus the poor sod who'd taken the brunt of the super-hot steam), was still flailing blindly when his skull was caved in by a floating saucepan.
"Good job, Petunia," panted Hermione. Merlin, that speed charm took a lot out of one.
"Thanks," said The Invisible Girl weakly, dropping her pan on the floor next to Hermione's. "I can't believe I just did that …"
She was interrupted as the Snuggle-bunny hurled itself out of Lily's bedroom window and dropped down onto the remaining Death Eaters. She could only watch in stunned amazement at the mass of dark clouds, flashes of bright light spewing forth from it, more bolts of energy raining down from the defenders above, and several transfigured creatures (or what was left of them) snapping, biting and clawing at whoever was in reach.
Hermione hurriedly conjured a stone wall to replace the gaping gap that used to be the front door. She was almost finished, when the sound of a new volley outside reached her ears. "Down!" Abandoning her spell, she groped for Petunia's invisible hand, and threw the woman down to the ground, diving to follow her. The house shuddered once more, her newly-conjured stone wall shattered into pieces, and the two of them shielded their heads desperately.
Then all was quiet.
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"The … there's two of them now!" Petunia raised a trembling figure to point out the inexplicable and mind-bending fact that there were now two Peter Pettigrews standing in their living-room.
The two Pettigrews turned to each other and said together, "Wow, we're identical!"
"I dunno though, I think I'm still better-looking," said one, examining his reflection in the nearest mirror.
"The battle's over and done with," said Umbridge. "I saw the Aurors arrive and start mopping up. And I do mean that literally. Three of the bastards tried to disapparate away, but in their doped-up condition they goofed and splinched themselves all over Privet Drive." She grimaced. "It isn't pretty. I have to admit, Mr and Mrs Evans, your 'bummer balls' really saved our necks."
"'Downer balls'," Richard corrected.
"No, she had it a-okay the first time," Hyacinth contradicted.
"It doesn't matter what the stupid freakish things are called, this sort of thing shouldn't be happening to normal folk like us! None of it!" Petunia wailed.
"No, it shouldn't," one of the Peters agreed. "But we're not in Shouldntville anymore: welcome to Reality Check Tech; aka the School of Hard Knocks!"
"Fortunately for you," the other Peter explained, "we have a diploma from the School of Hard Knocks!"
"As well as a double-doctorate from the University of Life Experience," added the first Peter.
"Not to mention, three gold stars from the Kindergarten of Getting The Shite Kicked Out Of Us," the second Peter added. "Speaking of which …" he winced as the Queen of Hogwarts flounced into the room.
"Those sons of slime totally demolished my bedroom! If I ever get my hands on another Death Eater …" She clenched her fist threateningly. Turning to her parents, "Now that everything's over and done with, can you pleeeeease take off my school uniforms?! It's going to take a week of scourgifying to get rid of the smell of ganga and old-person sweat, I just know it. And since that damn bunny went out in a blaze of glory, they're now the only clothes I own in all the world."
"I'm happy to write you an unlimited Gringotts bank draft so you can replace everything in your bedroom. And all your clothes and stuff," one of the Peters offered.
"Since the Snuggle-bunny was entirely your doing, that seems like a fair offer, Peter …" her voice trailed off as she spotted the two Pettigrews. She gave them a hard look. "You're from the future," Lily said flatly. Her right hand unconsciously raised and gripped her shirt between her breasts.
"Guilty," one of them grinned.
"Or from the past," the other pointed out. "Gets hard to keep track after a while."
"Where is it?"
"Where's what?" Butter wouldn't melt in their mouths.
"You know. It," she growled.
"Oooh, that It." One of them fished out a time tuner from the back pocket of his black robe. He flourished it for a moment, gold and silver components sparkling in the mood lights, before tucking it away again.
"For crying out loud! Is everybody in the whole bloody UK playing around with time turners!?" Lily demanded of the heavens, hands raised dramatically towards the ceiling. "There happen to be anyone else around here who's toying with time turners?"
"Toying with Time Turners – that sounds like a great title for another of Lockhart's books," one Peter whispered to the other.
Lily whirled to face her family. "How 'bout you, Tuney? Or you, Mum? Got any top-secret illegal time machines hidden away somewhere? What about you, Dad? Hiding something in that afro of yours, Vernon? Anybody want to bloody come forward? Now's the time!"
There was a flash of red light, and Lily's eyes rolled into the back of her head. Her fall was invisibly arrested though, and her body floated over to settle on the nearest couch.
"I think that's enough histrionics for one evening," said a second Umbridge primly as she entered the room, wand brandished. "We have 15 Death Eater corpses out there, versus none on our side. That's a win no matter in who's book. DMLE crime-scene investigators are going over the battlefield and fixing the wreckage. Obliviators are inbound. I managed to convince them all that there's no need to come inside the house; 'interrogating a group of muggles, what possible scrap of useful information could they be expected to provide?'" she imitated Umbridge's trademark simpering cadence. "And since you're all immediate family of a muggleborn Hogwarts student, you won't be getting your memories erased."
Petunia felt her jaw drop. This woman had done what she had heretofore believed utterly impossible – she'd silenced Princess Lily while she was winding up into one of her titanic, tornadic, three-hour-ranting BF's! And so off-handedly, too! Was there anything Hermione Umbridge couldn't do?!
"What's the story on the Dementors?" the first Umbridge asked.
"Nobody knows. Thicknesse says all the Ministry ones are accounted for. Working theory is that they're a clutch of wild Dementors that the Death Eaters captured and set loose on us, to soften us up for the main attack. The Ministry will send people out to round them up and lock them away in Azkaban. Oh, when Lily wakes up, tell her that Pius will have the DMLE revoke that warning for underage magic she received earlier this evening. Clearest case of self-defence they've ever seen."
"Fun as this has all been, I think that's our cue to leave," said one of the Peters. Moving to the unconscious redhead on the couch, he grasped the golden chain around her neck and gently extracted her time turner. One of the Umbridges joined him and he slung the chain around both of them.
"One turn should do it, I think," offered the second Peter.
"Gotcha, my uglier twin. Cheerio!" And with that, the Pettigrew and Umbridge doppelgängers vanished with a whizz, a flash and a pop.
"… see you on the flip side," mumbled Richard weakly.
Unperturbed by the numb condition of his muggle associates, the remaining Peter strolled over to Lily, still sprawled out on the couch. Removing the time turner he'd shown them previously from his robe pocket once more, he slipped it around Lily's neck, tucking it firmly under her blouse.
"Now that everything's settled, I think it's time to put Miss Lily to bed; that's been more than enough excitement for one day, wouldn't you agree?" said Dolores, flicking her wand to levitate the unconscious girl to her bedroom. Hyacinth trotted off after them to supervise.
Harry turned to the remaining Evanses and Dursley. "I think our victory tonight entitles us to a bit of cheer. Feel like a wee dram?" he asked cheerfully. Taking the shaky nods as a yes, he walked over to the drinks cabinet and selected a scotch at random, bringing it to the table where Petunia was setting out glasses.
There was a long silence while the party sipped their drinks and tried to come to terms with the events of the evening. Hermione and Hyacinth returned, and wordlessly accepted glasses of their own.
"So," Vernon said slowly, nursing his scotch, "these jokers are some of the people you've been fighting?"
"Yes," Harry nodded.
"And you're gonna keep on fighting them?"
"Until every last one of them is gone," Hermione said firmly.
"You'll be killing more people?"
"Yes unfortunately," she said ruefully. "There's a war on. That's usually how it goes."
"More of your kind or normal folks?"
"Ours," Harry said. "The freakish sort."
"Wait right here," Vernon placed his glass onto the table and put his arm carefully around his girlfriend, leading Petunia out of the room.
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˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~ . ˂:3 )~~~~
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The couple returned around 20 minutes later, a small wooden box clutched in Vernon's hands. "Take a look at this, boy."
"What is it?" Harry asked, setting it onto the table and opening it cautiously. He recognised the heavy pistol that Vernon had used on the Death Eaters outside. It had been carefully cleaned and re-stored.
"It's the pistol my grandfather carried in the Great War," Vernon replied quietly. "And passed down to my father to fight in his War. Been all around the world."
"What," Harry looked down at the big revolver. "Why are you showing us this?"
"My father was an officer in the Army," Vernon ignored the question. "And did some important work with the Special Air Services after the War. He finally retired in the 1960's as a Major. He kept his old pistol and gave it to me before he passed away. I was going to give it to my son when he arrives ... never thought I'd be putting it to use myself."
"You mean …?"
"Pet and I have talked it through. We want in."
"Eh?!" Harry and Hermione shared a startled look. "Why?"
"Why? I've just been attacked by a group of freakish pyromaniac terrorists! I've had to watch my girlfriend cower in terror at things she can't even see! And you ask me why?" Vernon's eyes flashed dangerously. "There are freaks you people need to kill – we'll help you to do it."
"Er, while we appreciate the offer, I'm not sure if there's much that two people …"
"I have mates," Vernon cut him off. "People who'd be honoured to lift a fist to keep our streets safe and protect the decency of the little folk. Folk who are just trying to get by and live their lives without waving a wand to get around doing a bit of honest work." He began to tick off his fingers. "My rugby team; my cricket team; my football team; friends from the office; the local RSL ..."
Harry looked around helplessly. Richard and Hyacinth seemed worried but resigned. Petunia was mooning at an uncomfortable Hermione, with eyes shining like those of Wellington's boys after the victory at Waterloo.
"I can't abide the idea that those 'things' are running around loose. This sort of thing may be acceptable in Ireland, but this is England, by St George! This sort of thing is not acceptable here! You say you're going to kill some freaks then we'll help – just don't let any live that you could have killed, kill them all if you can. Don't show any mercy, don't let a single one survive that you could have killed! If it makes you feel any better, tell yourself that it ensures that they can never hurt another person again."
Harry looked to Hermione again for guidance.
"We're not going to win this war by using tickling charms and canary creams," she shrugged.
"Very well," Harry agreed. "Since I'm in school with Lily most of the time, it'll be up to Madame Umbridge here to coordinate your activities with those of our allies," he shot her an evil smirk. "Round up anyone you think is reliable. In the meantime, the first step is to get this house warded so those 'things' can't get in ever again. They're kind of like forcefields from those science fiction movies." He extracted a parchment and quill, quickly scribbling out a message and verifying it with his Black House Ring. "Mrs Evans, does Lily have an owl?"
"Hm?" the woman snapped out of her reverie. "Oh yes, let me show you."
"Thankyou. I'm going to mail my Account Manager immediately and arrange for his associates to ward this place to hell and back. You … ah … you all may want to be out of the house for the next week or two while they're doing it. You probably don't want to see what sort of 'freakish' things they'll be performing here." He looked back to Hyacinth. "Apolline mentioned that she gave Lily a portkey to her village in France so that your family could visit her. Did Lily say anything about that?"
"Oh yes," Hyacinth gestured towards the small white statue of a rearing three-headed horse with bat-wings sitting on the mantlepiece. "That far-out tchotchke."
"Then I strongly recommend you take her up on her offer."
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