A/N: New chapter. I forgot about this story long ago, but I just got an email from telling me someone named dragonelfe just subscribed to the story. Well, since I have an audience, it'd be a shame to keep them waiting another four years wouldn't it? Anyway, I've decided to finish what I started and continue this story. For my own enjoyment if anything else.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to their respective copywrite holders and I make no claim upon anything other than my own original ideas.

Chapter Two

Mr. Dursley was having a fine day. He had just recieved his long awaited promotion at Grunnings, with a 15% pay rise, and recieved dispensation to hire his very own secretary. Immediately after he'd recieved the news that morning, he'd phoned Petunia who was taking Dudley shopping for his school things. She'd been delighted; the only other husband on Privet Drive with his own secretary was Mr. Lewis of Number Seven. His wife, Fiona Lewis (who Petunia secretely despised and enjoyed spying on), had never let her forget the fact during their weekly get togethers. And the pay rise! Why, they'd be able to finally afford that summer house in Majorca they'd been eyeing. The Lewis' certainly didn't have a summer house in Majorca.

The promotion, along with Petunia's happy response over the phone put Vernon in such a good mood that he didn't even yell at Parks when that simpleton didn't ready the quarterly accounts report in time for his big meeting with management. Parks did eventually arrive with the report just as Vernon was about to enter the boardroom. "Ah, thank you Parks, a little earlier next time, eh?" he'd said magnanimously, leaving a confused and relieved Parks behind.

Later that afternoon, making his way slowly through the London traffic, Vernon was idly wondering how he'd celebrate his promotion. He wa ruminating over a new set of golf clubs when the radio briefly pulled him out of his thoughts.

"So Richard, what's your opinion on the mass UFO sightings in Scotland?" said the amused sounding radio host.

"UFO's? In Scotland? Someone must've spiked their water supply," said Richard.

The first presenter laughed, "Certainly seems like it, eh? Some are even saying they saw a flying dragon!"

"A dragon? They've probably been watching too much cartoons. I've never heard of anything more ridiculous! What next? Leprechauns in Ireland?"

Vernon's eyes narrowed as the radio presenters laughed. As he did whenever he heard something strange and unnatural, his thoughts turned to the boy and his lot. The one who'd darkened their doorstep ten years ago, bringing all that freakishness to their perfectly respectable home. The gall of those people, to expect them to raise that little freak in their own house alongside their little Dudley. Who knows how the boys abnormality would affect Dudley's development? Vernon was not a religious man, but he thanked all the higher powers everyday that Petunia had agreed with him and refused to take in the boy. Vernon had happily complied with her wishes and dumped the boy in an orphanage the very morning he'd showed up on their doorstep.

He shook his head to banish such thoughts. No need to dwell on the past, not with things looking so well for him and his family. Dudley was due to start Smeltings, Vernon's old alma mater, that September. Vernon couldn't be more proud than when he first saw Dudley in his Smeltings uniform. The boy was cut from the very same cloth as his old man, and would gow up to be a fine, upstanding gentleman. Vernon was even thinking of enrolling Dudley in boxing lessons. He had been a keen boxer himself in his younger years, and thought it a manly, character building activity. Yes, Dudley would be a fine boxer. He had the sturdy physique of his father; all he needed was a little training and he'd be dominating the ring in no time.

As Vernon parked his car in the driveway he amused himself by trying to guess how Petunia would reward him for his promotion. Petunia always loved to celebrate Vernons workplace acheivements and Vernon was sure that she'd have something special planned for tonight. As he fumbled for his keys, Vernon tried to recall the last time he'd opened front door himself. Petunia usually greeted him at the door as soon as she heard his car in the driveway. He also noticed that all the curtains were drawn despite the fact that it was a lovely day outside. He dismissed these thoughts as he went inside, "Petunia, I'm ho – why are all the lights turned off? Pet?"

In the kitchen he found an ashen faced Petunia. There was an unopened bottle of champagne sitting in a bowl of ice by the counter, next to two wine glasses and a purple gift-wrapped present. Vernon paused by the doorway when Petunia looked up at him.

"Pet, what's wrong?" He noticed that she was clutching a thick looking envelope made of some type of parchment in her hand.

"V-vernon."

"Where's Dudley?"

"I sent him to the Polkisses for the afternoon."

"Why? Pet, what's going on?"

Petunia's made a face. "Vernon, it's them," she spat, waving the letter.

A feeling of dread started to wash over him.

"Who?"

"Who do you think, Vernon? It's them. The freaks."

Vernon dropped his suitcase, "What do they want?" he asked, almost yelling.

"They think we have him ... they think that the boy still lives here," she shoved the parchment in Vernons hands. Vernon immediately dropped the letter as if burned. He quickly bent down and picked it up again. On the front, in green spidery script it said:

Harry Potter

St. Mary's Orphanage

4 Privet Drive Surrey, Little Whinging

"I've read the letter, Vernon. They're coming to pick him up next week. They're coming to take him to that freak school." Petunia was breathing heavily. Vernon walked up to her and embraced her, trying to calm her down while simultaneously trying to stop himself from panicking.

"Do they even know he isn't here?" he asked.

"The letter has the name of the orphanage we sent him to on it, but it's addressed to us," she said.

Vernon thought about it. The freaks must have an automated process for sending out letters, since any person would surely notice that there was no orphanage at No. 4. Unfortunately that also meant that they'd be here on Tuesday, demanding to see the boy. Threatening his family with their freakishness. Vernon thought back to that November morning ten years ago. He still remembered that letter that Dumbledorf freak had left with the boy; while not overtly threatening, there was a clear subtext. This boy is special to us. Take care of him ... or else. Vernon still occasionally had nightmares of an army of freaks descending on his doorstep. Just the thought of it made Vernons blood boil. How dare they? How dare they come into his house and demand things of him and his family that they had no right demanding? After all thsese years, why couldn't they leave his family alone? Why couldn't they raise that freak themselves, instead of polluting their perfectly normal lives with their abnormality? Vernon made up his mind. He walked over to the kitchen counter and uncorked the Champaigne bottle, pouring a generous amount into one of the glasses.

"Petunia, go pick up Dudley from the Polkisses. I'll start packing."