Being Petunia Dursley

I turned and picked up the letter from the nightstand. I studied it as I turned it around in my fingers. It was a strange letter. The envelope was made out of what looked like yellowed parchment. On the front, Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley was written in green ink. I opened it with my perfectly manicured nails (Thank you very much, sir) and pulled out a sheet of parchment. I opened it slowly and read the contents.

*

Another bottle of perfume soared out of the window, followed by the sound of my screams. I didn't feel better this time. I couldn't believe it. I had to take care of Harry. There was no way I could get around it, now. Why me? Why was it always me? All I ever wanted was a normal life. To have a normal sister and a normal childhood that would grow into a normal womanhood with a normal family. Instead I get...my life. How depressing. I sat back down on my bed. It was depressing. My anger packed his bags and left. His cousin depression came in to stay next. I sighed sadly as a tear rolled down my cheek. What luck. Quelle chance.

After a couple of hours of crying, being melancholy, and drowning in a salty sea of self-pity, I got up. I marched out of the room down the hall into the nursery and up to Vernon, who was changing the diaper that was on It (yes, that is what I will be calling him for a while).

I looked at my poor neglected Dudleykins, unattended and alone. I could see the pattern beginning at that moment. This boy would take away all the care and attention from my Dudley. Well I decided that I wouldn't have that happen. From that second on I would make sure my Dudley received more attention that It. Then it hit me. I had to take care of the child, but I didn't have to take care of it like one of my own.

"We're keeping the child," I said to Vernon. He started a bit, because I don't think he heard me coming. No one hardly ever hears me coming. I'm not a very big woman. In fact, I'm a very small woman. However, that doesn't really matter at this moment.

"What made you change your mind?" Vernon said, almost timidly. I suspect he was still quite shaken from my outbursts.

"The letter. I suggest you read it later so you can be caught up with the situation. However, he will not be in the nursery with my Dudley. In fact," I continued as inspiration came, "he will be staying in the cupboard underneath the staircase."

"Don't you think it is just a bit cruel-" Vernon began.

"Just read the letter," I cut in. "I'm sure you'll agree with me after you read what it says."

*

By the end of the day, the cupboard was cleared, dusted, and turned into a makeshift nursery. Vernon didn't like my treatment of the boy, but he changed his mind later on. However, there still was the fact that I had to take care of him. I didn't want to touch the boy. Vernon told me to deal with it ("Suck it up, woman."), and pretty soon things went back to normal. I told the girls at the neighborhood meeting that I had to baby-sit my sister's son for a while and that's why a baby was on my doorstep; soon the rumors died down and were forgotten. Then time marched on.