Here's chapter two, thanks for the great feedback on the first chapter.

(My sister has just come into the room, thoroughly upset because she seems to have misplaced her digestive biscuit. The ignorant girl is actually proposing that I stole it! - I admit, if I'd been aware our house actually HAD biscuits of some kind I would have been on them in an instant. My mother has decided a healthy house is happy one - how very mistaken she is. :p)

*And please not that Mrs Figg's three legged cat that was mentioned is actually representative of Mogger, the three legged, half a tailed cat, that recently passed away.*

Disclaimer: Nope. I didn't gain the ownership to Harry Potter over night - no idea why. Perhaps fate doesn't like me. I still stand that my friend and I should have at least some credit over the masterpiece. (Specifically Professor SNAAAPE!)

The Dursley's Troubled Life

Chapter Two:

Mrs Dursley had been having a bad day.

Perhaps it had been Mrs Figg's unusually large tomatoes that had been the start of it. Just this morning, when she'd passed Mrs Figg's habitually deplorable garden, she had spotted the ripe, bulging red fruits that outshone her collection by miles. Jealously had sparked instantly. Petunia had always prided herself on her tomatoes, 'the best in the area' - some said. And now, Mrs Figg - an old woman only really competent at babysitting Harry and petting her bizarrely large collection of cats (one of which she was sure had only had three legs) - had grown better ones.

The world was simply not just any more.

But it didn't stop there, that was only the first thing that had gone awry today. Shortly after the incident with the tomatoes, Mrs Dursley had found Harry not playing nicely with her Dear Dudders. There they'd been, Dudders and his friends sitting quite amiably on the wall and Harry (the little runt of a boy) was saying "I hate playing with you!"

Such manners, thought Petunia Dursley, were simply not acceptable from the boy. With a quick apology to Dudley and his friends, she had needed to pull Harry into the house by the ear, and promptly send him off to do chores as punishment. Cookies were later needed to placate Dudders, from what he had called 'A traumatic experience' involving a large dog that ate his ice-cream.

Later that day, her Dear Dudders had come back home, her sharp eyes (well trained at noticing things a far from craning to look into neighbour's gardens) had spotted him instantly through the kitchen window, and he'd been sprouting a large purple bruise on his right cheek.

Mrs Dursley had let out a wail of shock at this, instantly cooing her poor son. When Dudley had finally calmed down enough to eat some triple chocolate ice-cream (Petunia new such food was needed when one was distraught - and she'd never been one to deprive her growing boy) she had asked: "What happened Diddy Dudders Darling?" he had merely grunted and said that 'he didn't want to talk about it.'

Petunia Dursley had spent the rest of that afternoon trying to get some information out of Dudley, but he'd remained silent. Until Harry entered the kitchen, carrying the washing from upstairs. Dudley had scowled at the boy, and instantly Petunia's suspicions at who could have caused her son's discomfort rose.

"Harry!" She called to him in a shrill voice. He looked vaguely bored as he turned to her, though she couldn't see his expression full save his eyes (the rest was hidden behind what looked like Vernon's underwear) "What have you done to Dudley?"

Harry ignored her for a moment, stopping to place the dirty washing next to the machine before saying:

"I didn't do anything." He proceeded with a plethora of excuses, each implying that he couldn't have hurt Dudley when he'd been cleaning out the bathrooms and doing the washing.

"L-l-liar!" Dudley had wailed from the sofa, "H-he's lying again mummy!" Dudley had promptly burst into a bout of hysterical wails looking appropriately like a round bawling pig with blonde hair. Petunia saw Harry eyeing him with a mixture of ire and disgust laced on his features. She highly disapproved of him. He's just jealous of Dear Dudders, that's probably why he's hurt him. My poor Duddy-kins' good looks and fine build must have set the jealously in him off.

"What have I told you about lying, boy?!" Roared Vernon Dursley from the sofa, bent double in an attempt to pacify Dudley and seemingly torn between both calming his son and throttling the troublesome Harry. Petunia couldn't help but admire her husband at times like these; here was the fine strong man she'd married so many years ago.

"I wasn't lying!" Harry had shouted back indignantly, flushing slightly in vexation and ruining Petunia's brief memory of the past.

"Out of this room! Out!" Roared Vernon again, Harry had walked out; shoulders slumped and had retreated back to his cupboard under the stairs. The whole experience had been far too loud for Petunia's taste. She continually muttered to her husband about how obstreperous the unworthy child was becoming.

And now, she stood in the kitchen quite alone, her lips pursed as she idly washed up the uneaten cabbage soup (she'd have to have a word with Vernon about that later) she recollected the hectic events of the day. Deciding that each of them were adding up to a sign of portent.

This errant thought shocked Petunia. She'd never been the superstitious sort. Not until her sister's lot had started making an appearance in her life. The very thought of their lot sent multiple shivers down Petunia's spine. It didn't help that the boy was a constant reminder of them all. Especially with his recent tendencies to do… strange things. That and his ugly scar, forever embedded on his pallid forehead.

It was while she was mulling this all over, still laboriously scrubbing the dirt off numerous plates and contemplating how to dispose of the remnants if the cabbage soup - when it happened.

An almighty crack from behind made her spin on her heels, drop the bowl of soup into the washing up bowl, and scream. Her heart pounding tenfold, she waited (none too calmly) for the vat of lilac smoke to vanish. A nasty wave of reminiscence was washing over her - it was an unsettling feeling. Her fingernails danced a juddering staccato rhythm against the counter.

When the eerie billowing smoke finally dispersed, Petunia let out another terrible scream.

Because before her was the man she'd sworn to forget.

***

Vernon Dursley's POV:

Mr Dursley heard Petunia scream again.

"Uncle Vernon, I think Aunt Petunia needs help," Harry said after his Uncle's utter stillness and resolute staring had made him uncomfortable. Mr Dursley became steadily more angry at the boy's innocently helpful tone.

"I realise that." Mr Dursley replied through gritted teeth, still keeping a strong hold on the boy's thin arm, torn between a desire to interrogate him further and run to see what Petunia was making such a fuss about.

"Then why aren't you assisting her?" Harry asked in puzzled tone, with just a trace of derision. Mr Dursley scowled down at him.

"Do I look thick boy?" Snarled Mr Dursley, his normally protuberant eyes practically budging in his now scarlet face. "I know ruddy well that you were talking with someone in there, don't try to change the subject." The kitchen was sounding ominously quiet; he paused slightly before deciding his course of action. "We'll settle this in a minute." With that, Mr Dursley stomped from the room, leaving a very confused Harry massaging his arm in the hallway.

Mr Dursley's headache had definitely taken a turn for the worse. He barged into the kitchen, finding his wife, white faced, and staring fixedly at a point beyond his shoulder.

"H-he's here Vernon," She whispered thickly in a quivering voice. Mr Dursley was left baffled.

"Who's here Petunia?" He asked, trying to soften his voice down to what he hoped would be a soothing tone. He didn't succeed; his anger at the boy had not yet abated. (And with a low grumble from his sizeable stomach, clearly, his hunger hadn't either.)

Petunia Dursley didn't answer at first. She appeared to be lost in frenzied thought as her eyes continually flickered to the point beyond Mr Dursley's shoulder. He let out a low grunt, turning to see what she was staring at. Though all he could see was the archway separating the kitchen and dining room from the hallway.

Petunia didn't seem like she was capable at framing a coherent sentence by this point. Mr Dursley tried once more at his soothing tone, gruffly throwing an arm around his wife's shoulders, and leading her carefully towards a chair. "Now, now Petunia dear. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, probably just a trick of the light, eh?"

"V-Vernon," She whispered again, "he was here… he wants the boy…"

"Who was here Petunia?" Mr Dursley bit back the irritation that he was feeling.

"That… Bumblebore…"

Mr Dursley's blood ran cold.

***

As of yet we still don't know who was lurking in Harry's cupboard, eh? There will be more Harry involvement as this story develops. Though I have to admit I get a slightly odd satisfaction when writing the Dursley's. I think it might be all the pointless grumbling.

Yeah. Not dear Dumby. (I dressed up as that fellow when seeing the film) It's Bumblebore… (Ah ha, the mystery continues) all shall be explained next chapter. :p Thanks for the brilliant review response on the first chapter. If the same thing happens again the next chapter can be out twice as fast! Any questions; queries; pedantic grammar pickers; praise or constructive criticism is welcomed. Feedback would be brilliant!

Please review! ;)

Sincerely,

~Sneverus