Chapter Text
Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Privet Drive were proud to say that they were normal. In fact, even if they were not to try at being extremely normal they would still be the absolute paragon of normal-ness. So, when a swaddled babe appeared on their doorstep after an absolutely odd and gloomy Tuesday evening, they did as any normal and sane family would do. They called a Family Meeting.
Now, a Dursley Family Meeting is not just any family meeting. There were procedures to be followed, proper etiquette to practice. So, Petunia tried to calm a screaming Dudley on her hip that Wednesday morning as Vernon Dursley - the man of the house, thank you very much - went to the kitchen and punched in the number for his grand-uncle, Major Frederick Dursley.
Major Frederick Dursley was the eldest man in the Dursley family at the ripe age of 85. Where Vernon’s grandfather, with every ounce of respect due to George Dursley, began to lose it at the end, Frederick Dursley remained as sharp as he was at 25. So when Major Frederick Dursley answered the phone to a panicked Vernon and wailing Dudley, he was well aware that something was amiss.
Major Frederick Dursley was American, this was a man who found a British accent to be extremely unserious. When Vernon’s speech quickly devolved into gibbering, Major Dursley stated loudly: “Calm down, boy, and tell me slowly what is going on.”
And so Vernon read to Major Dursley the envelope which had been tucked into a young Harry Potter’s blanket.
“Petunia and I will not, cannot, take in a random child! The questions that might be raised and - and the harm to our family’s reputation if people were to think Harry is some lovechild of Petunia or I.”
Major Dursley hummed, “and you can find no paperwork of a will or estate from either Lily or James Potter?”
“Nothing!”
There was a beat of silence as Major Dursley began to consider what would be proper for such a strange situation. Putting the boy up for adoption or into the foster system was not an option, if the boy was related to the Dursleys, even just legally, a Dursley must take him in. However, Major Dursley believed that neither Petunia nor Vernon had it in their hearts to give another child a healthy, or adequate, amount of love. Someone needed to take the boy in, but who?
“Let me discuss this matter with your grand uncle."
A ten minute phone call between Major Frederick Dursley and Vernon Dursley at 9 AM GMT, which is 5 AM ET for those on the right continent, led to a very long telephone chain between the eldest men of the Dursley family: from Major Frederick Dursley to Major Dursley’s younger brother, Lieutenant Colonel John Dursley; Lieutenant Colonel John Dursley to Vernon’s father, Walter Dursley; Walter Dursley to his American cousin, Samuel Dursley; and finally Samuel Dursley to Vernon’s youngest American cousin, Colonel Michael Dursley.
After a tense hour filled with Dudley’s cries and anxious glances from a distressed Petunia,Vernon felt relief when the kitchen telephone rang. He sprung at the telephone and held it tightly to his cheek, “hello?”
“Vernon, it’s Michael. My wife and I plan to fly into London in three days.”
“You’ll take the boy?”
A moment passed as Vernon could hear quiet and tense discussion on the other line.
“My wife and I plan to see if Harry is compatible with little Chris.”
Vernon let out a deep breath and sagged into a kitchen chair, a horrid creaking from its thin wooden back eked out. Colonel Michael Dursley was a stern man who had grown tall and lean. Where Vernon perhaps gained weight, husky as he liked to call it, Michael somehow became more broad. The last time Vernon had seen Michael…well, he hadn’t yet married Petunia.
“Well, uh, did grand-uncle tell you about his -”
“Yes, Vernon. Grand-uncle did tell me about his parents. I think we would better spend our time researching how to legally transfer guardianship of Harry to us.”
It was fate. A particularly stubborn ray of sun found its way through the gloom of that Wednesday morning as Vernon felt a wave of relief, as strong and refreshing as the tide, roll through him.
“Michael, I - I… thank you.”
Vernon heard a heavy sigh over the line: “Don’t thank me quite yet, Chris is a very particular boy and it’s important to see if they could do well together.”
“Even so, Petunia and I are deeply grateful.”
At some point whilst he was discussing matters with Michael, Dudley must have fallen asleep; Vernon started at Petunia’s hand on his shoulder. He turned to her and gave her a reassuring smile.
“-and so, weather permitting, we’ll take the boys to a park to really interact. A nice, neutral ground would do Chris and Dudley well.”
“Oh - of course! As always, Michael, you seem to account for everything.”
Michael hummed and said softly, “Vernon, is Petunia okay? I mean, I know that taking care of an extra mouth is a lot but… it was her sister, after all.”
Vernon turned to look back at Petunia. She seemed a bit weathered. Her hair, almost always neatly coiffed, seemed to stick out of a messy bun at odd angles. Her brows were set and furrowed, despite the smile she gave him. As awful as it might seem, he hadn’t thought of her and her grief. He had focused his energy on resolving this… situation.
“Aside from the boy, we haven’t had much time to discuss her passing. They weren’t close, their family isn’t like ours.”
A beat of silence.
“In that case, I may leave you to it. I’ll reach out to some of my colleagues and see if they have any idea on the legalities of this.”
“Michael, I apprec-”
“Vernon - there's no need to thank me. Take care of yourself and your family, we’ll be there soon.”
The line cut and a monotonous dial tone rang out against his ear. He set the phone in its receiver with a gentle click and turned to Petunia. She carried a sleeping Dudley on her hip, a large babe, and was puttering around the kitchen despite it all.
He rose from his chair and stood, reaching out his arms. She stiffly walked in and he enclosed her and Dudley in a gentle embrace. After a few moments, Petunia began to sniff and he felt the fabric of his shoulder grow damp. Vernon murmured in the crook of her neck, “I’m sorry, ‘tunia.”
And for the first time since his arrival, the two heard the boy laid in Dudley’s large crib in the other room start to whimper. Vernon stepped back, breaking the embrace, and set his hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll tend to the boy, why don’t you set Dudley down in the crib and take a break.”
The following three days passed much like the boy’s arrival, in a whirlwind and in an absolutely odd fashion. Strange people seemed to be congregating through the town of Little Whinging and London at large, dressed in a fashion two decades too old. At any hour Vernon could spot at least one owl wheeling overhead. He knew it was ridiculous to blame these abnormalities sheerly on the presence of one child but… with the peculiar folk Petunia’s sister ran with, he couldn’t get the suspicion out of his mind.
By the time Colonel Michael Dursley and his retinue arrived at the house in their blue rental car and modern clothes, Vernon almost felt the urge to cry. He opened the front door as Petunia fussed with Harry and Dudley’s little shirts. They had spent the last two days getting the boy a set of proper clothes, tending to the sore cut on his forehead. He thought Harry finally looked like a proper little lad.
Michael had not changed much since Vernon saw him last. He was a tall, broad man. Athletic with blond hair slightly graying at the temples. When he clambered out of the rental car and grinned at him, Vernon felt like a boy himself again. Laughing and with gusto, the two men embraced. He heard the car door shut and saw Michael’s wife, Rebecca, lift a large babe from its car seat. Rebecca Dursley was a pretty brunette with blue eyes, short and petite. Carrying the large boy on her hip, he could already see the Dursley in young Charlie.
“Welcome! Welcome, please come in. ‘tunia has set up quite the spread, I hope you’re hungry.”
Michael clapped Vernon on the shoulder and Rebecca gave him a gentle hug, “I’m so glad to finally meet you, I’ve heard wild tales of your adventures as boys.”
Vernon grinned at Petunia, now standing at the door with a wide smile, “I hope not too wild, don’t want to scare the wife away.”
Petunia shushed him as Michael and Rebecca laughed. Charlie, with messy blond curls, let out a peal of laughter as well. Rebecca ran a hand over his head and walked to Petunia, giving her a small hug as well. The two shared quiet words that Vernon could not quite make out but Petunia seemed to grow a teary eyed.
The two women walked into the living room and Rebecca’s soft gasp could be heard from the driveway. Michael gave Vernon another clasp on the shoulder, supportive and grounding, “well, let’s see the boy.”
They had dressed Harry in a dark green shirt, better to bring out his eyes Petunia had told him, and tamed his swirl of black hair. Despite the tender cut on his forehead, the boy was happily cooing at Petunia and Rebecca who had knelt down to better inspect him. Dudley stamped his clenched fists on the floor, unwilling to be left out of the fun, and Petunia left Harry to Rebecca and Charlie.
Though the boy had been through much, he still seemed a stout lad. Rebecca placed Charlie next to Harry, the larger babe almost eclipsing the smaller from Vernon’s view, but there was no missing Charlie grabbing at Harry’s hand who happily babbled at him in return. Rebecca turned to Michael with an expression Vernon couldn’t read. Michael seemed to grow misty eyed himself and nodded curtly to himself, “he seems healthy, you’ve done a great job considering the circ*mstances.”
Vernon turned from Rebecca to Michael, “the boy is calm and, well, less loud than little Dudley is.”
Michael looked at the child in question and watched him babble and play with Petunia’s nicely curled hair to her obvious reluctance.
“The Dursleys are not an unobtrusive bunch.”
Vernon let out a bark of laughter, “no, not one person could say we are.”
Michael faced Vernon, his brows set in a grim way, “you heard about Charlie’s birth, yes?”
Vernon thought of a call some time ago with his father, Walter, and hearing of the tragedy of losing one twin during childbirth. It was enough to make him hold Dudley tight to his chest that evening.
“Yes, and I would never assume that Harry would - “
“Rebecca has been grieving. In a way, I believe Charlie has been grieving too.”
Michael looked at Rebecca who knelt in front of the boys. The two held onto each other, Chris falling asleep as Harry cooed at Rebecca. Michael had a perplexing expression, one that Vernon couldn’t quite grasp. He harrumphed and slid his thumbs into his front pockets, “well, the boys seem to like each other alright - at least for right now. How long do you and Rebecca plan to stay?”
Michael was quiet for a long moment, observing his wife and his child interact with Harry.
“I took two weeks off of work, Becca took a month. If we were to - if we bond with Harry, I’d say about two weeks here in Little Whinging. Maybe a week or two of Rebecca somewhere in London.”
Vernon nodded and looked to Petunia who had a soft look on her face, watching the three on the floor, “you are more than welcome to stay in the guest room for the next few days, should you need. We’ve a queen bed and two cribs which were too small for our growing Dudley.”
Michael blinked a few times and a jovial smile returned to his face, "we’d be grateful, I promise to not tell Petunia about our time in Stamford Bridge.”
Vernon sputtered, “you’d never.”
“Oh, I would if you didn’t have such a beautiful home.”
Petunia, torn between being flattered at the compliment or fascinated by the prospect of a tale of Vernon as a boy, announced: “Well, the food will spoil if we don’t get to it. Why don’t we all take a rest and have a chat.”
Rebecca stood from the ground, a sleeping Chris on one hip and a happy Harry on the other.
“I know I would love a drink, if you were to have some lemonade.”
