The Half Frog Prince

The Half-Frog Prince

Harry was sure that it was a sign of the apocalypse.

That Marge Dursley could find someone to marry her that wasn't blind and deaf must bode ill tidings. Her age, weight and demeanor were of no credit to her, but Harry suspected that her years of miserly living might play into the equation. Harry had once heard Dudley speak fondly of the day of Aunt Marge's passing and of the inheritance he expected to get.

Even so, Harry was surprised by the appearance of one Fabio Barzelletta at number four Privet drive shortly after the end of his sixth year at Hogwarts. The man was of medium height and middle age, as far as Harry could tell. He swaggered into the living room with a bottle of Chianti and smiles for every member of the Dursley family.

"Buona sera! I have been waiting to meet you for so long. Marge has done nothing but speak of your hospitality and her love of you!" His words were slightly accented, but flowed very smoothly despite the odd phrasing. Harry had supposed that he'd been living in England for some time, but the accent was a dead give away that he was not a native. Given Uncle Vernon's views on foreigners coming in and taking jobs away from good English workers, Harry had thought that the night might prove mildly entertaining. Alas, Vernon Dursley was won over by Fabio (the mere mention of the name made Harry think of the tawdry Muggle romance novels that Ginny insisted Hermione purchase for her over the holidays) and his résumé.

Harry's mind had drifted off to thoughts of the war and his own worries as the man had prattled on and on about his published works in medieval history. He gathered that this Fabio was some sort of professor, but he couldn't be sure. Aunt Marge had beamed at him throughout the meal, even ignoring her precious Ripper's insistent tugging at her pants leg. It was a disgusting display in Harry's mind, made only more painful by Marge's frequent attempts to slobber over Fabio's cheek after every course.

Dudley had hated the swarthy Italian man right from the start; again, Harry suspected that it all came back to the potential inheritance. This moderately rotund fiancé posed a direct threat to Dudley's fiscal happiness and Big D was not about to take it lying down.

When Harry had been ordered to clear the table, Dudley surprised all present by offering to help. Once they were alone and out of earshot, Dudley turned his piggish face to Harry and whispered, "Can't you, you know, do something about that git?"

Harry had been unable to keep the shock off his face. "What are you on about?"

"You know, you've been going to school for it for years now." Dudley's face screwed up in concentration. It had looked quite painful to Harry. "Can't you hex him, or whatever you call it?"

Unable to suppress a chuckle, Harry shook his head as he laughed. "Even if I wanted to, I can't. I'm not legally allowed to perform magic outside of Hogwarts until my seventeenth birthday. Plus, it's not exactly acceptable to perform hexes on anyone, let alone Muggles." Harry peeked around the corner, giving the man another appraisal. It was a bit like watching Gilderoy Lockhart, but without the handsome face to fall back on. He shook his head again as he turned back to Dudley. "I don't like him either, but you're on your own here. My wand hand is tied."

Dudley took this opportunity to sucker punch Harry in the stomach. Harry added it to the mental list he kept of reasons to turn Dudley over to the Death Eaters when they came a-knocking.

And so it was, that on the thirtieth of July, Harry's presence was required to attend the nuptials of Marjorie H. Dursley and Fabio P. Barzelletta. It wasn't that Aunt Marge wanted him there or that the Dursleys wanted to bring him. No, Harry Potter was there because of Lord Voldemort, and Harry was sure that the sadistic old bastard would enjoy the misery he was causing Harry if only he knew about it. Harry may be safe within the walls of the house at number four, but outside of the walls, his relations were easy marks for Death Eaters who were eager to impress their master. So Harry, and the hidden entourage of Order members that protected him, went to the wedding and the reception. As much as Harry hated all three of his only living relations, he had no desire to see them dead at the hands of Voldemort's minions.

It was a small affair, but lavish nonetheless. Harry spent most of the night watching his cousin's face turn more and more worrisome as Dudley mentally calculated the cost of every ounce of caviar and every bottle of wine. The Cruciatus curse would be less painful on the poor boy's mind. The most humorous moment of the event however, happened during the wedding ceremony itself. Aunt Marge had no bridal attendants but was instead flanked by twelve bulldogs, attired in tiny dresses or tuxedos as was appropriate to their gender. Ripper, the most ancient and beloved of her breeding stock, gave his approval of the marriage by humping the groom's leg while the vows were exchanged.

But throughout it all, Fabio said nothing and smiled sweetly at the taffeta clad Marge. So much fabric had been used to make her wedding dress, that Harry suspected there was now a shortage. Aside from himself and the Dursleys, the only other person on the bride's side had been the infamous Colonel Fubster, a dotty looking old man with a mustache that would have made Adolf Hitler proud. He came wearing his old Royal Navy uniform, which was obviously fitted to him in his younger days. Harry had no idea how the man could have done the buttons without using magic, and even then the prospect was dodgy.

The groom's side had several dozen relatives that waved and smiled at the Dursleys as they prattled on in Italian as well as a few professor-types that Harry supposed were colleagues of Fabio's. While refilling his dinner plate, Harry had over heard a few of them talking.

"Can you believe that he has found another old bat to marry? What's this, the fourth in a decade?" mused one as he picked through the bowl of exotic fruits.

"You have to admit that the fat, pretentious bastard has a keen sense of timing... If it weren't for the coroner's reports, one would think he was killing the hags himself..."

Harry raised an eyebrow at this, but could say or do nothing. Talking to Muggles wasn't allowed unless it was absolutely essential. Not that he feared his uncle's wrath as he had as a child, but with mere hours left until his magical freedom, he saw no point in pushing the issue. With all the sadness around him at school, he had some small hope that this bizarre event might bring happiness to Aunt Marge, whether she deserved it or not.

To his surprise, Harry found that he was almost enjoying himself as he listened to his cousin try to convince Aunt Petunia that Fabio's family had mafia connections.

"I'm telling you, Mum, that father of his looks like he's straight out of the 'Godfather' and 'Goodfellas'. I don't know if Auntie Marge knows what she's gotten herself into." Dudley put on his most concerned looking face. Harry thought he looked like a pig about to sneeze.

"Now, Diddy, behave yourself. I'm sure that Fabio's family is fine, despite their popish tendencies." Aunt Petunia then proceeded to use her hand to comb Dudley's hair back into its place. When she was done, she smiled happily and turned to look at Harry. As she scrutinized Harry's unruly black hair, her smile turned upside down. "Isn't there anything you can do about that?"

"Nope," replied Harry with a grin. He glanced down at his wristwatch and his heart gave a small leap: Only forty-five more minutes until his birthday. He wished that he was with Ron and Hermione, but consoled himself with the thought that he'd be leaving the Dursleys for the very last time in just a few more days. The Weasleys had invited him to spend the rest of the summer at the Burrow, but they were currently in France, working there to gather support for the Order. Ever since Bill, the eldest Weasley, had married Fleur Delacour, Dumbledore had had high hopes of drawing more of the Beauxbatons alumni to their side.

Harry turned his attention back to Dudley's vain attempts to bring his parents over to his side. "Dad, please, just listen a moment," he said in panicked tones. "This Fabio Fonzerelli git is just all wrong for Auntie Marge. He's a completely self-absorbed mafia-prat and I'm just sure that he doesn't have her best interest at heart!"

Uncle Vernon scoffed. "Really Dudders, show some respect. Barzelletta has more degrees than you can shake your Smeltings stick at. You'd do well to look up to him as a role model. He's the picture of decorum and just a real stand up bloke. This is the first marriage for both of them, let's do what we can to give them a happy send-off."

"Actually," said Harry, before he realized he was joining in on the conversation, "I heard some of his coworkers saying that this was his fourth marriage. I believe the exact words they used to describe his previous wives were 'old bats'... or was it hags?" It took all the willpower Harry had to keep the smirk off his face.

Aunt Petunia, ever keen for gossip, leaned forward and for the first time in years addressed Harry directly. "What happened to his other wives? Did he divorce them all?"

"No," replied Harry. "They said that they were all dead."

A look of triumph exploded onto Dudley's face. "I told you!" he exclaimed. "I said that he was mafia hit-man and that Auntie was in danger!"

Harry shook his head. "Said they all went naturally."

Dudley's face fell, but Uncle Vernon was turning a deeper and deeper shade of crimson. "If you're lying about this, boy, just to cause a scene, I'll throttle you so hard that you'll wish that that Duke Moldiewart thing would attack you."

"I'm not," said Harry simply. He was still enjoying the 'show' as it were, but a nagging doubt was starting to blossom in his mind. This was not going to end well.

Uncle Vernon clenched his fists tightly. "If that barbarian hurts my sister, I'll... I'll..." He slammed his balled fists onto the table, causing Aunt Petunia to jump in her seat.

Harry felt a double tap on his shoulder. He turned his head slightly to confirm that no one was there; the tap was the signal from the Order that they needed to speak with him. "Not now," he muttered under his breath, "I'll miss the best part."

The tap-tap came again, more insistent this time. Harry sighed and stood up. "You'll have to excuse me for a moment, I have an appointment with the ficus plant in that far corner." Ignoring the confused looks of his aunt and uncle, Harry proceeded post-haste to the ficus, which was out of earshot for the entire wedding party.

"Who is this?" Harry pretended to be studying the leaves of the potted plant. "And what's going on? Has there been an attack? Are Ron and Hermione alright?"

"Nothin' so terrible as that," came the familiar voice of Mundungus Fletcher, from underneath an invisibility cloak, "I just took over for Kingsley and noticed that one of the guests is a witch."

Harry turned around and surveyed the crowd. They all looked completely Muggle to him. "Are you sure?" Dung was a crook by trade, and had been known to be unreliable in the past. One incident had nearly cost Harry his life to a Dementor attack.

"'Course I am. See that old lady sitting on your left by the bar? The one that all them Italian folk keep kissing on the cheek? That's Donatella Zabini, matron of the darkest wizarding family to ever come out of sunny Italy. Had a few deals go bad with them a few years back..." Dung coughed harshly. "Wish I had my pipe, could sure use a bit of a smoke right now," he said wistfully. "Don't you worry none though, Harry. I told Kingsley right away and he's headed out for reinforcements. He thinks there are still some outstanding warrants for her arrest even on some illegal dragon egg charges. Going to be Aurors and memory charms flyin' all over this place in a few minutes." He gave Harry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Just wanted to give you a heads up." Although he couldn't see Dung, Harry felt something cross in front of him and he was sure that his guardian had returned to his post.

Harry hurried back to the Dursleys, unsure as to how he should tell them what was about to happen. His mind was full of questions - Was this a plan to attack him? Was Voldemort behind Fabio's interest in Aunt Marge or was it all a cosmic coincidence worthy of a Sybil Trelawney prediction? Harry just didn't know what to think, but he was glad that he'd smuggled his wand along for the ride.

Uncle Vernon was still bright red from his receding hairline to his tightly balled fists. Petunia was attempting to calm him down and Dudley was grinning from ear to ear. Harry took some comfort in the knowledge that what he was about to say would send his cousin running to the corner with his hands attempting to cover his voluminous arse.

"Er, listen, I don't want you to panic but we have a bit of a situation here." Three sets of eyes turned to him, and Harry cleared his throat to continue, "One of Fabio's guests is a witch and the Ministry of Magic is sending a team of Aur--policemen to take her in. They'll have people with them to do wipe the memories of everyone necessary, but it may get a bit messy." Harry sat back in his chair and waited.

As if on cue, Dudley whimpered, Petunia blanched and Uncle Vernon (amazingly) turned an even brighter shade of red as the news sunk in.

"It's that professor lady with the miss-matched shoes, isn't it?" asked Aunt Petunia with a frown. "I knew that she was abnormal."

"No, no... It's that lady we thought was his grandmother or something. The really old one in the floor-length purple dress." Harry nodded subtly in Donatella Zabini's direction. Slowly, the Dursleys turned to look at her, and then snapped their heads back quickly to their own table.

Uncle Vernon stood up and attempted to look noble. "I, I have to save Marge. This was supposed to be her special day and now... all this... she won't understand."

Harry made a grab for his uncle as he headed to the bride and groom's table, but Vernon pulled away even as Harry tried to explain again, "She won't remember, just like when I accidentally inflated her. It will be okay."

Aunt Petunia looked as if she were about to faint. "I was told that that woman was his great-aunt. Do you think they know that she's one of you?"

Harry thought about it for a second, trying to digest all the information he'd acquired that evening. "I reckon so, yeah. Maybe he comes from a squib line of the family or something."

"A squid?" Aunt Petunia looked horrified, as if she'd just been told that she owned the dirtiest house in all of Little Whinging. "What, like mermaids or something? Are they mutants too?"

If there hadn't been a pack of Aurors with their wands out ready to descend on them, Harry would have burst out laughing, as it was, he just shook his head. "No, a squib. It means that a non-magical person was born into a magical family." An image of Filch, the caretaker of Hogwarts, jumped into Harry's mind. "It's not a good thing, and people can be really cruel about it. Most squibs don't continue to live in my world because of the prejudice." He leaned across the table, his voice insistent this time, "If I tell you to get under the table, just do it. Don't ask anymore questions, okay?"

Aunt Petunia nodded mutely, terror creeping into her eyes. Beside her, Dudley choked back tears and spoke in stuttering bursts. "So, s-s-s-so does that mean t-t-t-that Fabio's other wives we-we-were d-d-d-d-done in by that o-o-old hag?"

The amazement of Dudley's deductive powers was evident on Harry's face for only a moment, for it was then that half a dozen Aurors apparated into the ballroom. Magic crackled in the air, and Donatella's walking stick, which she had been using all night to amble around the room, was instantly raised and firing curse after curse at the Aurors. A few other members of Fabio's family added their own hexes to the melee.

"Get down, now!" shouted Harry as he raced towards Uncle Vernon. He had to get his uncle to the floor as quickly as possible or else he'd be caught in the crossfire. Harry could see the horror on Fabio's face as the wedding party turned into a barroom brawl of magic. Behind the horror, Harry could see a growing look of defeat; Fabio must have realized that the jig was up, because he made a beeline for the nearest exit. Uncle Vernon turned direction swiftly in pursuit.

Harry glanced at his watch again - two minutes until his seventeenth birthday. Close enough, he thought and pulled out his wand. As he went to aim at Fabio, the man disappeared from Harry's sight. Uncle Vernon rounded on Harry, staring at his drawn wand. "Did you do something, boy?" he growled.

"No!" He wasn't about to tell his uncle that he'd been about to immobilize Barzelletta with a leg-locker curse. It would take too long to explain and he didn't expect Uncle Vernon to approve of it regardless of the circumstances.

A bolt of red light shot through the gap that separated them, and Harry took his uncle's momentary shock as an opportunity to pull them both to the floor. As the curses, hexes and jinxes flew about them, Harry noticed the oddest thing - a bulbous, warty toad was hopping frantically along the floor. Harry couldn't imagine how it had gotten in.

Once the smoke had cleared and the Zabini clan had been taken into custody, work began to memory charm all the Muggles. The Barzelletta Muggles would not have their memories cleared, but instead were being rounded up to be turned over to a division of MI-5 that dealt with Muggle-magical crossover cases. Talk abounded about the fate of Fabio's previous wives - Tonks had whispered to Harry that the Killing Curse looked like a natural death to Muggles - but the man himself was nowhere to be found.

Marjorie Dursley, who until an hour before had been a merry newlywed, had her memory altered to lead her to believe that Fabio had left her at the altar. It was better for all involved, really, said the Oblivator onsite. After the last Auror Disapparated, Harry wasn't so sure. He'd spent a good portion of his young life hating Aunt Marge, but the sight of huge ball of white taffeta in tears was almost more than he could bear.

A few days later, Harry passed by Dudley's room on the way to the loo and noticed something strange. A terrarium was seated on top of Dudley's desk, while Dudley himself was polishing the outer glass with great care and a look of supreme bliss on his face.

Harry peeked his head into the room. "What's that? I didn't know that your mum bought you another pet." Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for the creature, whatever it may be. Dudley's attention span was so short that it was likely doomed to a lonely existence.

"They didn't buy it for me. I found it." In a move that shocked Harry almost off his feet, his cousin then beckoned him into the room. "Come see him, it's bloody brilliant."

Harry walked carefully into the room, around the piles of Dudley's dirty clothes and discarded cans of soda and candy wrappers. He peered into the terrarium and shrugged. "It's just a toad."

Dudley beamed. "Look closer. Does it remind you of anyone?"

"Well, it kind of reminds me of a teacher I had back in my fifth year, but all toads do." Harry blinked and took another long look at the toad, who croaked loudly and with a slight accent. "Wait a second, is that?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Dudley. "I saw it happen at the wedding." Dudley pointed at the toad and gave a piggish squeal of delight. "That's my uncle, Fabio P. Barzelletta."

Harry laughed and shook his head. "We can't leave him like this. I'll have to take him with me when I leave."

Dudley frowned. "I knew you'd say that. But this is no more than what he deserves for what he did to my Auntie. Even you said that he was a slimeball."

"He is," agreed Harry, "but do you really want to spend the rest of your life catching crickets to feed to him?"

Dudley wrinkled his nose. "That's not what I wanted to do at all. A toad is a lame pet. I was planning on asking Mum to get me a python. I figure once you leave, I don't have to worry about the glass disappearing on its cage. I thought that Uncle Fabio would be a great first meal."

"That is both sick and twisted," said Harry with mild shock, though his own thoughts drifted back to his recurring fantasy of a certain albino ferret being fed to Buckbeak, the hippogriff, with just a twinge of guilt. "Give him here, then. I'll turn him over to the Aurors."

"What will they do to him that could be better than this?" asked Dudley. "It's as good as a prison. And if he really killed those old women, then death is all that he deserves, isn't it?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I reckon they'll put him in a jail of some kind. I don't want him to die though, and I don't think you do really either. Trust me when I say that you don't want someone's death on your conscience."

Dudley stared at his cousin for a long moment and nodded. There must have been something in Harry's face that spoke of the burden that The Boy Who Lived bore, because Dudley spoke not another word and handed the toad over to Harry.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was not impressed by what Dudley had been about to do, but Harry finally convinced him not to bring Dudley up on charges. Dudley was a child still, doing vindictive, childish things. However wrong it was, it had been stopped and at the end of the day, Dudley still got to enjoy his childhood. Harry looked to the year ahead, his final year at Hogwarts and his impending personal battle for life and death against Voldemort and for the first time in his life wished that he could be more like Dudley.