Chapter 167: Vernon and Petunia
Number 4, Privet Drive.
The Dursley family.
Mr. Vernon Dursley, home from a day at Grunnings, a large, beefy man, heaved himself out of the car. The tires seemed to visibly reinflate under the lightened load. Even his thick, walrus-like mustache couldn't hide the exceptionally nasty look on his face today.
Not even the sight of his precious son, Dudley, waddling out to greet him could smooth his furrowed brow.
But having two such large-tonnage individuals parked at the entrance made the doorway seem unacceptably crowded. It simply wasn't respectable. Thus, the large one and the small one paused for only a moment before lumbering inside.
Petunia's thin, horse-faced figure emerged, her nerves clearly frayed. "Is... is he coming back soon?"
Vernon grunted. "If he does come back, it'll be the same as always. No questions. He's not to be seen outside his room, except for meals—"
"We are a respectable, normal family, thank you very much!" he huffed. "We will not have any of that... that abnormality mixing with our lives!"
He spoke in a low voice, but this was the conclusion he had reached after a full day of stewing in his office on the ninth floor, his back to the window. All day at work, his mind had been plagued by images of someone discovering that freak, Harry, and the Dursleys becoming the talk of the neighborhood—an abnormal, improper family.
The very thought was enough to make his blood boil.
Seeing his wife's terrified expression, he suppressed his own unease and tried to comfort her. "It'll be fine, Petunia. If worse comes to worst, we'll just lock him in his bedroom!"
He didn't blame his wife for this. If he'd had a sister like that... well, he wouldn't have been able to accept it either.
Just as the family of three was huddling together for mutual comfort, the doorbell rang.
In an instant, the atmosphere in the room changed. It was as if that unnamable, scar-headed fiend was about to emerge from the depths of hell and bring an unspeakable trauma upon their home. As if opening the door would unleash a fiery hell, an endless darkness from which there was no return.
The bell rang again, a stiff, mechanical sound, like the cry of a strangled man.
It took Vernon a long moment to realize his doorbell was just rusty.
He could faintly hear voices outside the door.
"Are Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia not home? Surely they're not hiding from me!"
Vernon recognized that voice. It was him.
"Your aunt, uncle, and cousin are all home," a second voice said, one Vernon had never heard before. "They're about five meters behind this door. They just... probably don't want to let you in."
The natural confidence and casual authority in this new voice made Vernon feel that even the Chairman of Grunnings couldn't compare. How could that be?! They were just... freaks!
He steeled himself and went to open the door.
He was fully prepared to see cloaks and bizarre, freakish clothes.
Instead, two people stood on the mat, both dressed in sharp, well-tailored suits. They looked like elite professionals.
He looked closer. The smaller of the "elites" was him! The other was a teenager, perhaps fifteen or sixteen. His face still held a trace of youth, but his eyes were filled with a devil-may-care confidence and a sharp, penetrating intelligence.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vernon Dursley. My name is Ryan Welles. I'm one of Harry's professors."
Ryan produced a bottle of wine—seemingly from thin air—a 'Three Choirs' red from Gloucestershire. He held it out, the 1980 label facing Vernon.
"Well, I...!" This familiar social ritual immediately put Vernon at ease. This was a realm he understood. He took the expensive-looking bottle with both hands and carefully passed it to his wife. Petunia, holding a bottle of wine far nicer than anything they would ever buy for themselves, scurried over to the liquor cabinet and placed it in the most prominent position.
Harry, following Ryan into the house, realized for the first time that his aunt and uncle were capable of speaking normally to people—not just politely, as they had been under Hagrid's massive presence, but just... normal interaction.
"Mr. Dursley, let's skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point," Ryan said, sitting down on the sofa and cutting off the small talk Vernon was about to attempt.
"Yes, yes, of course," Vernon nodded quickly. The sofa groaned under his weight.
Ryan took out a square, rectangular paper package and slid it across the coffee table. The package, which looked quite heavy, glided over the glass tabletop as if it were weightless, making no sound at all.
Perfectly normal.
He watched as Vernon took the package with a confused look and tore it open. "I'm here today to make everyone happy," Ryan said. "My student, Harry Potter, has requested to remain at Hogwarts year-round. After consideration, the Headmaster and his professors have unanimously agreed to this request."
"Before I came," Ryan continued, "I looked up the local cost of living and inquired about the average expense of raising a child for eleven years. This is a tenfold reimbursement for that amount. Please, count it."
Just as Ryan finished speaking, Vernon got the package open. The scent of ink and fresh banknotes dazzled him.
But Petunia shrieked. "What is the meaning of this! Harry is my nephew! We raised him! Are you trying to... to insult us with money!"
Vernon, staring at the thick wad of pounds, felt that Ryan was an extremely persuasive young man. He was already persuaded. He wholeheartedly agreed to Harry never appearing in front of them again. He pulled Petunia down and began whispering urgently in her ear.
"Mrs. Dursley—Petunia Evans, is it?" Ryan said with a small, knowing laugh. "How could this be an insult? Harry grew up here for many years. This is merely a token of gratitude."
His gaze drifted meaningfully to Dudley—plump and well-fed—and then to Harry, who had only reached a normal, thin body weight after half a year at Hogwarts. "One of the two children in this room was indeed raised with great care. The other... forgive my bluntness... his 'upbringing' seems to have been more about 'basic survival.'"
Petunia's eyes bulged. Her long neck stiffened. "I don't agree! I am his aunt! For his own safety... I do not approve of this!"
~~~
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