-IV-
March 23, 1982 (Tuesday)
My little Dudleykins is really coming along! His favorite words are now 'Ugly!', 'Freak!' and 'Bad!'. He shouts them whenever he sees Lily's get now. He even said 'You Gremlin!' a few times. Soon he'll be speaking whole sentences. It's so wonderful.
But why three, no, four words for him? He only has two for me: 'Food!' and 'More!' (he means 'Mom', I'm sure of it! But it sounds like 'More!'). What's so interesting about the horrid gremlin? He shouldn't pay so much attention to him. It's not the way it's supposed to be. I shouldn't feel envy. My Diddy loves me. I know he does.
Vernon isn't helping. The sutpid man's been teaching Dudleykins to play ball with the freak. I mean, using the freak. Dudleykins doesn't want to do anything else now. Just throw the ball on the Freak. Throw the ball, throw the ball. That's the only thing that interests him now, except at mealtimes when it's throw the food. He doesn't like to sit on my lap for long or be cuddled much anymore. He starts squirming as soon as I pick him up and as soon as I put him down again off he toddles to the cupboard babbling about 'Freak!' and 'Score!'. And I can't refuse my little popkin. I give in and drag the gremlin out of the cupboard for him and let him throw the ball some more. Why couldn't he just stay in the cupboard like he was supposed to? I hate him. I hate him so much.
Vernon, surprise surprise, is in heaven. He says our boy has 'all the markings of a great rugby player'. He sits by Dudleykins on the floor every night to demonstrate for him 'how to throw the ball good and proper'. Of course it's me that has to scurry back and forth with the ball for them every time they don't manage to score 'a perfect back-bounce'. Bah!
xxx
I wanted to add, I'm getting worried about Vern. He's been muttering to himself and shuffling papers late at night after he thinks I fell asleep. I noticed it last week when I went to the loo. He won't say what he's about.
The rash on his leg spread over his whole calf and he won't stop scratching it, fool man. I'm taking precautions. Our Dudsey is at such a young and susceptible age. I make Vern wash his hands thoroughly before they play together.
March 29, 1982 (Monday)
I decided to go along with my Diddy and join his game. I won't be sidelined. I went to the toy store and bought a whole bunch of rubber balls in all the colors of the rainbow. And for the Gremlin, an ugly yellow onesie with targets painted front and back. He seemed to be glad to get something new, the stupid Freak. And I threw the balls on the gremlin. For hours. Is it wrong to feel so good about it? I'm practically giddy. It's those eyes of his. Those damn bead-bright green eyes. Every time I hurled the ball at his twisted, snotty face I could see my sister peeping at me through those eyes of his and I just had to hurt her. Not so superior now, are you, Lils?
Anyway, Dudleykins was brimming with delight so I won't feel guilty about this. Whatever my Diddy desires, he will get.
April 2, 1982 (Friday)
My poor Diddykins has the chickenpox! He won't stay in bed though. He made such a tantrum. I don't think he's in pain so at least there's that.
I'm worried about Vern as well. Remember that pimple he had at Christmas? Well he has more of them now, a few of them on his face and the rash on his leg spread to his hands and nose. It's all red and swollen now. Didn't I warn him not to scratch? He won't see the doctor, though. Says it's nothing and will go away by itself. I feel a little itchy myself. He better not have infected me with anything.
April 13, 1982 (Tuesday)
I finally took Vern to the doctor. He is to avoid scratching himself (as I told him all along!) He also wrote us a prescription for three ointments which we are to rub three times a day for the next month. Vern was none too pleased. Said it was just a rash. Again. He is so thick-headed, sometimes.
Duddykins on the other hand looks much better. The blisters are all but gone and the scars are hardly noticeable. Bed-rest and chicken soup did the trick. Mum knows best, Dudsy!
Speaking of, Diddley's birthday party is still a while away but preparations must begin. I have so many ideas for gifts and events, my hands are just itching to get started. My little darling needs to have all his little friends at his party but can we bring them here? What if the freak gets noticed? Or worse, starts with the freakishness while they're here? He's such a bother. Everything we do must be catered to his special needs! Maybe we can have the party in the yard or better yet, in the park. The weather will be good in June so it's feasible.
Party Ideas:
1. Hire a clown
2. Make big, shiny 'Happy Birthday' placards
3. Create a 2-theme
4. Make an impressive cake. The neighbours must be made envious.
5. Buy my popkin lots and lots of gifts to make him especially happy
6. Should tell the other mums what to give in advance so we're coordinated. I will be giving Didsey the best gifts, of course, Mrs. Polkiss will get the next best for him. Her scrawny little boy is Dudsey's age and will make an acceptable best friend for my baby. He's a follower, I can tell.
7. Maybe I should give a 'consolation gift' to the freak on the occasion. He must learn that Dudley's birthday is an important date. How about a little toy mop and dust-shovel? With more to do with his hands he'll have less time for freakishness and it will help ease him into his appropriate role in the household.
May 9, 1982 (Sunday)
Out of the blue, Vernon announces over dinner last night, that we need to conserve money and cut our expenditures. Is he trying to economize our baby's big birthday?! Maybe I did plan big for our boy but the plans are already made and the invitations hand-delivered to all our acquaintances, relatives, his workmates and our neighbours. We simply cannot renege on it now. We mustn't! I was preparing to give him a what-for when the freak had to start crying and, on cue, Vernon started yelling. He's got a point, actually. Neither the State nor his sort are giving us any pecuniary compensation for taking care of him. But he became so worked up I worried he'll scare dudsey with his yelling and crass language (he wasn't. My clever popkin was too busy raiding his dad's plate and throwing his own food everywhere to pay attention.) Vernon didn't notice and went on venting. He didn't calm down until he threw the freak in the cupboard.
When I finally interrogated my husband about the outburst he only mumbled incoherently and blushed like an errant kid. Really, blushing, Vern? Finally he told me to forget about it. Said the little freak got him mad the way he constantly leeches us off and sets a bad example for our boy with his lazy, freaky attitudes. He's hiding something, I'm sure of it!
Could he have problems at work? He's been ignoring the doctor's orders, fool man, and now he looks worse than ever. Vernon doesn't understand how important appearance is. Especially in his line of work. Customers need to wooed with a handsome visage as well as confident arguments and a good set of clothes. With the swelling and the oozing sores (he's still scratch scratch scratching them!) everywhere he looks a sight.
I'm setting my foot down. He will not leave the house from now on without his gloves and cricket hat. At least I don't think the neighbours noticed anything yet.
May 24, 1982 (Monday)
They know! They know about Harry Potter. What do I do? This is so awkward.
Mrs Harrison started asking questions about 'your nephew, Harry Potter' when I met her in the grocery store today. I put her off with vague nothings and distracted her with the new pictures of Diddy and talk about the preparations for the big birthday party. So the old biddy is thrown off the scent. For now. How did the news get out? And who else knows? If Mrs Harrson knows, soon they'll all know. I knew we couldn't keep him a secret forever but I hoped we had a few more years. I have to think. Damn the brat. I have to make this right.
On the other hand, with the truth finally out about the freak's existence, I can invite people into our house. I can have a few of the other mothers over for tea. I can bring Piers, Mrs. Polkiss' son, to our house for play-dates with Duds and not just meet them in the park. She started to turn cold after so many refusals. Now that can change. I'm sure Mrs. Polkiss will be ever so thankful to gain my son's friendship for hers.
What is Dudsey's possible friend like? Piers Polkiss is a bit scrawny. He doesn't have my little popkin's rosy cheeks. He's older by two months but weighs less than my Dudsey and has this shrill high-pitched voice. But Dudley seems to like him and he should have playmates as he grows up. So Piers and his mum will be properly cultivated but first, the Harry Potter situation must be resolved. I have some ideas.
May 27, 1982 (Thursday)
I've finally finished redecorating Dudleykins' room to fool the neighbors. Vern wouldn't stop complaining about the extra work and costs but he did help. Sneaking the cradle into the house without anyone noticing was the biggest hurdle. We had to break it apart and bring it in, piecemeal. Now the neighbors can inspect 'the kids' room' to their hearts' content when they come over for tea. The house is ready.
That aside, we have a new neighbor. She moved into that empty house in Wisteria Walk a couple of days ago apparently. Her name is Mrs Figg. I tried to invite her for the get together as well but she ignored me completely. The way she stared about I suspect there's something wrong with her sight and hearing. Well, she's a pitiful old maid and no great loss. I could see cats lounging everywhere in her house. At least I wouldn't have to worry about her shedding cat hair on my sofa now.
May 30, 1982 (Sunday)
Damn it all to hell. The nerve of them! And her. I'd strangle her right now if she was still here.
It all started so well. They cooed over my little Diddy, as well they should. I put him in his peach outfit with the cute yellow socks and bonnet. When I explained about the other baby over tea and crumpets, they were duly impressed with my largesse in taking in my no-good sister and her wastrel husband's get despite his naughtiness and bad breeding but for some reason, the moment I presented him to them, they changed their tune and wouldn't stop fawning over the freak, no matter what I said. Maybe if I invite them again I can explain things better? Surely they'll realize their foolishness? The whole thing is bizarre. They couldn't really like him for himself, could they? That's preposterous. No. Not just preposterous. It's unnatural. He must have done something to them! That must be it. That's the only possible explanation. I'll pinch it out of him quick enough. The nerve!
But that's not all. There's worse! Much worse. When I offered to have her son over for the play-date, Mrs. Polkiss hemmed and hummed and wouldn't give me a straight answer. But I insisted. My ears still burn at her words. The damn shrew finally gave some excuse about infections and 'protecting her boy'. How dare she. My house is clean. It's pristine! And my boy is perfect! Not like her pock-marked excuse of a son.
It's all Vernon's fault. All. His. Fault. He's done it now. What can I do?! It's intolerable! I'll not have our family disparaged so. I won't!
June 2, 1982 (Wednesday)
Hanging the laundry on the clothesline in the yard every day isn't working. Forcing Vernon to thickly lave all the ointments on himself isn't having much of an affect either. It was probably too late to ameliorate his condition after all this time, but I hoped the biddies'd notice he's getting treatment. Either they didn't or they weren't impressed.
Today, when I went out for groceries, Mrs Crawley asked me how poor Harry was. She offered to have him over, said they'd all be happy to! Said they were concerned for our kids' health. That it would be no trouble, for as long as needed, Dudley too! 'Poor Harry' indeed! I wanted to strangle her. The lot of them. It must be a spell. It must be. It's unnatural. How I hate the freaks!
June 7, 1982 (Tuesday)
There were more kids waiting for my damn husband this morning. They chased him to the car and hooted at him. They called him 'Fly-bait', 'Sore-face', 'Puss-puss', even 'Carnie-Freak'! They tried to throw stones at the car as he drove away. I chased them away with a broom. They called me 'The Dursley Witch' as they fled!
June 19, 1982 (Friday)
Vernon cried on my lap after he got back from work. It all came out. A horrid trickle, an obscene mishmash of secrets, heavily slathered in self-pity. Secrets he'd had no business keeping, some of them for months! He lost his job. The fool's got into an argument with Mr Miller, his boss, about being overlooked for a promotion yet again and decided, in his great wisdom, to give him a 'knocker.' They'd been itching to dismiss him since he 'developed this damned skin condition.' Apparently, the company didn't want a sickly-looking guy representing their merchandise, surprise surprise. If that's not bad enough, he now tells me our bank account is deeply in the red. It seems my fool husband decided after the pickpocket incident back in January to do some investing. (What sort of 'investing' Vernon left vague.) He borrowed money from his sister too, to shore him over. She'll be no help this time, it seems. Now not only are we completely broke, if we don't come up with 120,000 quids in the next two weeks, our house will be seized by debt collectors to pay the debts. We'll be evicted. He used our house as collateral!
I couldn't take any more of this. I dumped him off me and told him to get out of my sight. He slinked into his study and I haven't seen him since. I went to Duds' second room and looked at all the gifts and party paraphernalia piled there. Even if I returned all of them I couldn't come close to that sum. What should I do? I wanted cry as I sat here writing all this down but my eyes are dry.
What did I ever do to deserve this?
June 20, 1982 (Saturday)
Vernon appeared from the study late mid-morning looking all disheveled and defeated. He hardly showed any appetite. He puttered about the house all day, only smiling when Duds asked for his attention. He played with him a bit. He's not completely ruined.
xxx
It's him. All of it! How didn't I guess it? I need to write this down. I'm seething with rage!
After I put Dudsey to bed, Vern was still downstairs clenching and unclenching his fat fists. I glared at him and he quickly looked away. His stare landed on the cupboard door and with a roar he was at it, kicking it repeatedly with all his might. The horrid gremlin started wailing, which only made Vern kick and yell all the harder. I just stood and watched, indifferent to the whole affair, but then! Vern's arms became first hairier and then furry. He stared at them uncomprehendingly but I understood. Lily's little demon was hexing us all along with sickness and disfigurements! He's the reason for our ruin. All of it. His fault. I could see comprehension slowly seep into Vern's eyes. His shoulders stooped and he shuffled away, completely defeated. There was no more fight left in him.
I can't take my eyes off the little cupboard door. What to do? What to do?
xxx
Long after everyone else has fallen asleep, I sat in my chair and waited. At last, I went to the cupboard and crawled in. I needed to lay my hands on him. I needed to make him suffer for all he did to us. To me. He and his mother. I didn't care what he did to me. He already twisted my husband and even my little baby. I wouldn't leave them. They were victims, just like me, of the hateful freaks! I started pinching him, cursing him, scratching him. He was quick to retaliate. Turning my fingernails and toenails into claws, long and green was one thing. But then hoards of horrid little spiders jumped from the ceiling into my hair and on my face. They stung and stung me! I fled from the little hellhole. I ran to the shower. There were no hot waters. It took me long, shivery hours to be sure I got all the spiders off. I hate spiders! The horrid gremlin has spiders now.
.
.
.
October 6, 1982 (Wednesday)
They gave me the boot. The cleaning company fired me. Too freaky for their tastes, they said. I could wring their heads off. How many more insults can I take? Me, not good enough to be a janitor?! Vern thinks he can get a new temp job as nightwatchman in a Storage company. I'm not getting my hopes up. No one wants us working for them. Just because we look 'funny.' If one more person suggests I join the carnies, I'll scratch her bloody!
There's still no answer from Dumbledore. He's ignoring our plight. Probably having a good laugh, the bastard, diddling that wand of his, thinking what worse horrors he'll bring on us if we dare do anything to 'little Harry Potter' or try to abandon him. I remember his letter. Last time we went to a doctor, he just wanted to study us. Said we'll help medical science. There's no cure for us Dursleys in the Health System. Even being nice to the gremlin didn't undo the damage he's already wreaked. We'll always look like this.
October 17, 1982 (Sunday)
The landlord rattled our door and threatened to throw us out if we don't pay the rent soon. I got enough from the cleaning company to pay for the month if we don't spend on anything else. But my Duds really wanted to have the Wooly Rabbit on the display at Hamleys. I can't deny him his basic needs! I'm apart from him so much of the time now and if he gets bored he might disregard me and try to play with the real freak again. Why would he want to fraternize with that thing? Can't he feel the wrongness in him? I told him time after time to keep away from the monster but my poor popkin gets so bored, all alone in the apartment, even with the telly left on for him.
.
.
.
March 2, 1983 (Thursday)
These carnies are not so bad. They readily accepted us after hearing our (slightly edited) story of travails and gave us this caravan. It's not big, but at least we don't have to worry about being thrown out. We don't have to live from day to day. We can think of the future. Of Dudley. We'll have to pay it off with our earnings as 'The Savage Wart-Man of the Sewers and his mate the Lynx Witch.' It sounds better than the usual insults we get in the streets, right?
Author's Notes:
Thanks for the reviews sh777, alix33, akasanta, HeartGlow and DarkViolet7258.
This is the last Petunia (or Vernon) chapter. From here on out this will be Harry's story. There will be a time-jump to let Harry grow into self-coherence.
When Harry was thrown into his cupboard, Minerva's blessing saved him. The floor was magically softened and absorbed the impact harmlessly. Don't worry, despite everything they did to him, Harry will not be scarred, maimed or addled and have very dim recollections of these trying times.
A caravan is a trailer in case you're confused.
The carnies are not insensitive to Vernon Dursley impressive CV. They acknowledged his expertise in plumbing in the title they gave him.
DarkViolet7258 – here you go.
Katzztar – the spider did come to Harry's rescue and saved him from his aunt when she turned murderous, as you can see. I'm undecided on whether this blessing will continue to hold now that they moved out of their old house.
akasanta – Now the stage is set for Harry's reformed childhood. Harry will grow and be shaped into who he will become among carnies. I wanted Harry and the Dursley household to be transplanted to somewhere completely different. A place the Dursleys would never go to on their own.
HeartGlow – I guess some clarifications about the blessings and curses are in order:
I didn't want the disfigurement curse to be over-powerful or too arbitrary. It took into consideration forethought, malice and repeated patterns. So Vernon got the worst of it while Dudley was only minorly affected. And over time it had a cumulative effect.
As for why they didn't fall head over heels in love with little Harry, mainly I didn't want to change the Dursleys into something they're not. The Dursleys remain the Dursleys. Fearful of trying to harm Harry now but not full of hugs and rainbows. From an in-story perspective, maybe Hugh and Cree didn't want Harry to get his affections from the likes of them and didn't include them in the charm or maybe Dumbledore protected them from mind-magics (he should have.)
Their mouths did fill with the taste of muck but they didn't understand what they were tasting. (It made the hex easier. It only needed to change what they tasted, not transport substances between their mouths and the nearest swamp.) The empty dishes did the trick anyway so the desirable effect was achieved