Normality Is Perfection

Normality Is Perfection

It was a warm Sunday morning. The sunlight shone down faintly, casting dappled shadows across the perfect lawns of Privet Drive. Brightly coloured pansies in flower beds outlined the houses perfectly, following the straight gravel paths up to the smooth polished front doors.

The entire street seemed to follow an eerie code of uniformity. Not one of the square houses was without a perfectly mowed front lawn, several assortments of neat, little flowers standing proudly in the soil, and a perfect silence resting over it. A sparrow hidden away in a tree singing its heart out joyously completed the picture.

It was the same every morning. Except this. There was one thing different, one small difference that would change the lives of three inhabitants forever. On the doorstep of number four was a brown wicker basket. A white blanket covering it moved slightly as something stirred within.

Mrs. Petunia Dursley opened her front door, tired and bleary-eyed and clutching four empty milk bottles. Untidy brown hair framed a face that bore a slight horse-like appearance, fluffy pink slippers warmed her feet, and a pale pink night-gown covered her bony figure. Stifling a yawn, Petunia surveyed her perfect front garden, or more to the point, her perfectly normal front garden. She smiled satisfactorily to herself, subconsciously ran her free hand through her hair to neaten it, and looked down to place the empty milk bottles.

To her surprise, Petunia found herself looking into a basket - and quite a filthy basket too - that most certainly was not hers. Shock quickly turned to horror as Mrs. Dursley realised that she was staring into the face of her worthless sister's little brat. She stared for a few moments then threw her head back and screamed. How could this be happening to her? Lily knew how she and Vernon felt about... their kind. What could have possibly possessed her to do this?

Fortunately, Petunia was screaming loudly enough to cover the sound of the smashing milk bottles as she dropped them, narrowly missing the basket - a miss she would later regret. The baby boy awoke with a start, looked into the screaming and somewhat distorted face of his Aunt, and began to scream along with her, wailing and thrashing his tiny fists before his face.

A large beefy man with little or no neck (it was often hard to tell), and a rather large moustache came running out in a brown bathrobe. He quickly took in the scene and let out a strangled yelp. He grabbed his wife around the waist, pulled her in and slammed the door behind them.

"Vernon! Vernon, get rid of it! Get rid of it!" Petunia screamed. Her husband quickly hushed her, but it was too late. Their year old son had begun to howl upstairs - even from downstairs they could hear the bars of his crib vibrating as he kicked them.

Choosing to ignore him, Vernon turned back to Petunia. "What have they done? I thought it was perfectly clear we didn't want... why would they give us... we have to think of our son, what are we...?"

"What do we do Vernon?" Petunia sobbed hysterically into his shoulder, having to bend slightly as she was a good few inches taller than he was. Vernon Dursley looked at the front door, which slightly muffled the wails coming from the porch, and then looked up the stairs to where his son was screaming louder, infuriated at being ignored.

"We leave him," he muttered.

"What?" Mrs. Dursley breathed, perplexed.

"Leave him, no one will know! I won't tell anyone, you won't tell anyone, so who's to know? Just leave him, just... just... just shut him up... and then... and then leave him."

Petunia gaped at him for a moment, and then began muttering distractedly, "the neighbours will have heard him... got to think of Dudley but... no, no can't leave him outside, everyone will see. They'll know."

"No Petunia! We'll call the orphanage! We can't have one inside the house. We'll call the - NO PETUNIA! WE'LL CALL THE ORPHANAGE! STOP IT! ST-!"

But it was too late, Petunia had flung the door open and Vernon quickly stuffed his fist into his mouth to stifle his cries, and he watched her, wide-eyed, his pupils contracted in fear. She glanced around quickly and was mortified to see the curtain of Mrs. Figg's house shudder as she pulled her curious face away from it.

"Petunia!" Vernon hissed through his fist behind her. She quickly bent, scooped up the basket, and strode inside hurriedly. Vernon pushed the door shut again and glowered at her, his moustache bristling, but Petunia paid no attention to him. She strode straight past into the kitchen and slammed the basket onto the table. The baby cried harder, and still their son wailed from upstairs.

"OH FOR GODS SAKE!" Petunia shouted. The baby in the basket stopped screaming immediately, but cried louder, and the wails from upstairs subsided for a moment in surprise, but then continued, just as noisy as before. "Vernon - get - Dudley," she said between clenched teeth. Quickly, her husband dashed upstairs and Dudley's wails ceased.

Breathing deeply, Petunia turned to look at the basket.

"So you're my nephew are you?" she whispered furiously, not wanting Vernon to hear, "well what the hell are you doing here? What's that worthless sister of mine gone and done now? We won't have it. Vernon and I will not have your kind in our house! We won't!"

At that moment, Mr. Dursley came staggering down the stairs and into the kitchen holding a large, rather pink-faced baby.

"Can't you shut that thing up?" he puffed, as he strapped Dudley into his highchair. Straightening, he came to stand beside his wife and at last, he looked at the baby, sneering. "What's his name?" he said after a moment.

"Harry," Petunia replied, pulling a face and then she made her way to her son and began smoothing his thick blond hair lovingly. "Nasty common name." She paused, "I won't have him Vernon, I won't, he can just go back to that good-for-nothing sister of mine, and the sooner the better as far as I'm concerned."

Vernon nodded in understanding. "Well of course. I don't suppose you have her phone number do you? These people do have phones don't they?"

"Shh Vernon!" Petunia moaned, glancing worriedly in the general direction of Mrs. Figg's house. "I don't know if they have phones OK? I don't know. She's never given me a number, but considering... oh Vernon, I don't know."

Dudley leant forward slightly to see inside the basket. He and Harry looked at each other, and then, with wide-eyed curiosity, Dudley lifted a hand and poked the strange child. Harry burst into tears again. Finding this fascinating, Dudley tried again. Vernon and Petunia looked at the children briefly, and then stepped into the corner together, as if scared their neighbours were listening at the window.

"Well then... we'll just have to call the orphanage. If that was their sick idea of a joke, then we can play one on them. When they come back for their son (wouldn't be surprised if it was a ruddy week from now knowing their kind), they'll just have to go to the children's home to get him!"

Petunia hesitated for a moment, and then, "OK then, get the phone book, I'll get Duddikins some breakfast. Would you like some tea and toast?"

Vernon nodded and left the room whilst Petunia strode over to the bread-bin, pulled out a few pieces and placed them in the toaster. She wasn't focused though. Her head was buzzing and she kept throwing furtive glances towards Harry. Her nephew. Her year-old nephew who she hadn't even ever seen before. That wasn't a shame though. She had in fact hoped to keep it that way.

The Dursleys' prided themselves on being normal - perfectly normal - more normal in fact than people who didn't have terrible secrets to hide. In fact, as far as the Dursleys' belief that normality was perfection went, they were pretty much perfect... as perfect as it was possible to be at any rate. They had one perfect little boy and led perfectly ordinary - normal - perfect lives. With the small exception of That Secret. That Secret was the reason they hadn't spoken to her sister Lily or her good-for-nothing husband James for so many years. It was the reason why they had never seen their nephew before. It was also the very reason why they didn't want to.

She jumped as the toast popped up and quickly turned to place it on a plate. She filled the kettle with water and turned it on, becoming lost in though once more.

Petunia stood by the boiling kettle, watching Dudley prod Harry at irregular intervals. She couldn't possibly subject her little angel to that... that boy! It was unheard of! It wasn't normal! Poor Dudley, what would it be like for the poor dear to live with Harry? Even living with him for a week would probably scar her darling Duddikins for life. No. No, he would definitely have to go.

She was brought violently back to earth as the kettle began to whistle loudly behind her. Mrs. Dursley added three tea bags to the boiled water (she had a feeling they would need it strong today), and carried it all to the small square table. Pushing the basket out of the way, she served Dudley with a piece of extra jammy toast, then turned to Harry.

"Can't you shut up? And don't you think you're getting any of this food, you're out of here as soon as possible, you can eat at the orphanage... or at your mother's, it's all the same to me, but wherever you are, it won't be here!"

She sat down stubbornly beside Dudley who was slurping at his miniature toast triangles, and looked to the doorway, where Vernon had just entered, clutching a large Yellow Pages.

"Right-o," he said as he sat down heavily opposite his wife and opened the Yellow Pages to a random page, "so we want 'O'. F... I... J... L... N... P... O! Office furniture... oil brokers... Petunia, can you please make him stop crying?"

Petunia scowled at Vernon, but got up none the less and looked into the basket, where Harry was crying exhaustedly. She sighed and picked him up roughly, then began strolling round the kitchen with him impatiently. His cries turned to sobs, and eventually his sobs became weak hiccups.

"What's this?" Petunia said suddenly, frowning.

"Shh! It's ringing," Vernon cried, waving a large hand at her.

Petunia walked back to the table and put the one-year-old down. She then looked closely at his fist and her suspicions were confirmed. Harry was tightly clutching an envelope, addressed in burning red. Curious, she pried open his hand and freed the envelope from his tiny fingers.

"Mrs. Petunia Dursley," Petunia read quietly to herself. She stared at the envelope for a moment - what if it held some magic trick to get revenge for all the insults and snide comments? How could she be so sure? But then... It might explain about the child, and despite her anger and surprise, she could not deny that she was more than a little curious to know why her sister had simply abandoned her baby.

"Ah, yes hello, is this the Chilterns Resource Centre? Right, good, well this is Mr. Vernon Dursley, I'm calling in regard to my nephew..."

Curiosity overcame anger, and Petunia found herself tearing the envelope open and pulling out a piece of oddly textured paper. It was rather heavy and... ah yes. She remembered all too clearly. It was parchment. The same sort that Lily used to bring home during the summer to do her homework for that freak school. Petunia's eyes narrowed at the memory and she seriously considered just throwing the letter away.

But no. She would read it and deny ever doing so. Hurriedly, she shook the parchment open and began to read.

"Oh my..." she breathed. She had finished reading, yet continued to stare at the parchment. She was shocked - she hadn't expected to be in the least upset when this happened, and was true to her beliefs, but... oh dear... that meant that... "Vernon hang up the phone!" she cried, suddenly realising what was happening.

Vernon, who had finished explaining what had happened had begun discussing dates to meet just as Petunia wailed at him to stop.

"What?" he gasped - this couldn't be right, Petunia wanted that little brat out as much as he did.

"I said hang up the phone Vernon, Harry's not going anywhere."

Shocked and furious, Vernon spat a hurried, "no, sorry, changed our mind," into the phone, and threw it back onto the hook.

"Well?" he questioned threateningly, "is there something I should know or are you just going to stand there with that paper in your hands?"

"You don't know what this is - do you?" Mrs. Dursley replied, her voice trembling. Her husband shook his head roughly. "It's a letter to us about them."

Vernon didn't need to question who 'them' was, he knew full well that she meant her sister and her useless toe-rag of a husband. Petunia cast Harry a worried look, and then continued.

"Listen to this Vernon: Dear Mrs. Dursley. I deeply regret to inform you that your sister and her husband are dead. Lord Voldemort, who you have doubtless heard of from various witches and wizards, murdered them. I feel I must let you know how cared for and loved Lily and James were in the wizarding world - they will be sorely missed.
Lily died to save Harry, Petunia - it is an old magic and not well known, but her sacrifice left a lingering protection on the boy. When Voldemort attempted to murder Harry, the curse was reflected onto him - for now, he is gone. That does not however make Harry safe - Voldemort's minions are still free I am afraid, and I predict they will be after him. I will not go into the finer points of the magic, but Harry can still be protected if his mother's blood is where he calls home. Naturally, this has led us to you, and despite differences you and Lilly may have had in the past, I fear I must insist that you take Harry into your care.
I apologise for any inconvenience, but this matter is of utmost importance. I have given some voluntary wizards the job of watching over the house - just in case. Raise him as you would your own, and if he has enough talent, he will be invited to learn at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when he is of age.
Keep him safe.

Sincerely yours,

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts."

A silence followed in which Dudley munched hungrily on a third piece of toast he had taken from the stack unnoticed, and Harry sat on the table, playing with his toes.

And for the first time since they had taken Harry, they looked at him. Petunia and Vernon Dursley properly looked at him. They saw a thin, fresh, and almost lightning shaped wound on his forehead, only just visible beneath the thick black hair that stood in messy curls on his head. His skin was fair and peachy and he had a small button nose. What Petunia found most startling were his eyes. They were green with brown flecks in them. Just like her sister. How could she keep this child? How could she even look at him when his eyes looked just like her worthless sister's? Vernon interrupted her train of thoughts.

"Looks like James doesn't he?" His tone was no longer overcome with fury; indeed, he sounded as though he was trying to mask his surprise. He sounded softer - more sober. Petunia knew that he understood the situation, and she knew that he was awed by it.

"Yes," she replied. "His eyes though... they're Lily's eyes."

There was a pause.

"Petunia, do you seriously mean to keep the boy?"

"Yes Vernon, I do. This... what's his name? Dumbledore, he says that..."

"I know what he said Petunia, but... what about Dudley? How can we let Dudley grow up with one of those around the house? You said yourself how terrible it was growing up with Lily coming home with frogspawn in her pockets - turning everything into rats! He's bound to take after her, that Potter was just the same."

Petunia hesitated - she really did love Dudley (who was now struggling with his glass of orange juice), and didn't want him subjected to a wizard in the house, but... "No Vernon, we have to. Don't look at me like that darling, I don't want him here, you know that. But he said he has them watching us."

Vernon struggled to remember. Petunia passed him the parchment and he scanned it quickly. "Well... yes, well... I don't think... hmm... maybe if we just..."

Petunia sighed, "No Vernon, there's no way out of it. At least when he's old enough to go to that freak-school we won't have to see him apart from summer."

"NO!" Vernon swelled and his face became a blotchy purple surprisingly fast, "I WILL NOT HAVE HIM GOING AND LEARNING HOW TO CAST RUDDY SPELLS MORE ACCURATELY! I WON'T HAVE IT PETUNIA! IT'S DANGEROUS! HE IS NOT GOING TO THAT SCHOOL!"

"Shh Vernon, please!" Petunia moaned, "fine! Fine. Maybe... maybe we'll be able to squash it out of him or something."

"Is that possible?"

"I don't know, but just don't shout anymore, you'll scare Dudley. And the neighbours will hear."

"That's another thing! How the hell are we going to keep him here without the neighbours knowing? They'll ask awkward questions Petunia."

"We can say he was left in our care after they died of... oh I don't know... a car crash. Something like that, we'll work on it. But either way Vernon, the boy's staying. That's the end of the matter!"

Vernon scowled, but no matter how hard he racked his brains, he could not think of any more points to bring up and admitted to defeat sulkily.

"Where's he going to stay? I'll be damned if he shares a room with Dudley," he muttered, sipping at his cold tea and inspecting the one remaining piece of toast with disdain.

Petunia at last sat down beside him. "I don't know dear, we'll figure something out."

Vernon grunted, "he can stay in the cupboard under the stairs. He'll be small enough for it till he's at least seven, then he can move to another room. If we still have him," he added under his breath.

Petunia nodded comfortably. So they would keep him. Like they had a choice! That Dumblydoor may have sounded polite in the letter, but it sounded like a threat to her. So they were being watched were they? That just meant they would have to be as careful as they could to stop any confrontations, and continue to act perfectly normal so as to keep suspicions down. They had to be perfect, and normality of course, was perfection.