Petunia Evans, now Dursley (and didn’t that thought make her smile) was an early riser. She had to be, with a husband and one-year-old son, both of whom ate a healthy amount of food. To prepare it all so her husband could have a proper meal before he went off to his wonderfully normal job, took quite an amount of work.
When he came home, nattering on about oddballs and crazies in the streets celebrating Halloween a day late, she dismissed it, turning the topic away towards the much safer, and quite frankly, much more interesting topic of how terrible Mrs Smith, she thought their names were, of Number 3 was at controlling that daughter of hers. Grass stains on her knees? It was utterly unbecoming.
She didn’t dismiss it when she opened the door the next morning as the sun peeked over the horizon, still mostly dark out. However, it was light enough for her to see the small bundle that was lying next to her milk bottles. She picked up the letter attached, and read. And then she spat venom, at both her dead sister and the strange, disgusting world she belonged to, that her son, who now lay on her doorstep, belonged to, and then was grateful the neighbourhood around her still slumbered.
She ignored the single tear running down her face.
She picked up the basket of her sister’s boy (and really, these people thought it fine to leave a baby out on a porch in the November cold?) and after some debate, hurried him over to Number 3 of Privet Drive. The Smiths would know how to deal with a situation like this, odd people that they were, letting their daughter run amok like some sort of hooligan. She sniffed haughtily as she hustled back into the warmth of her own home, barely remembering to pick up the milk bottles.
The gossip of a young babe being left on the not-Smiths, but Greens’s porch spread around the neighbourhood that afternoon and Petunia caught wind of it when she was out tending to her (in her opinion) prize-winning roses.
“Have you heard?” Mrs Allen of Number 5 asked, peeping her head over the fence. What was her first name again? “A baby was dropped off at Number 3’s porch sometime last night.”
Petunia pretended to be suitably shocked, even abandoning her flowers to come over. “No!” She exclaimed as one would expect her to do, before immediately prodding. “In the November cold? Who would do a thing like that?”
Mrs Allen shrugged. “Someone desperate, I suppose. I heard he was still wrapped up in his baby blanket, Harry, it said his name was. They’ve contacted the police, but so far, it sounds like the baby is either an orphan or abandoned.” Petunia pondered the words. It was expected that the Greens had contacted the police, but in her panic, she hadn’t realised that Harry, son of Lily, whatever her married name was, nee Evans, could be traced to her.
“Goodness.” She said instead. “Isn’t that something? What do the Greens think about all this?”
“From what I’ve heard, it sounds like they’re all rather enthralled with him. Mrs Green was horrified to find a baby out with the milk bottles of course, and Mr Green immediately contacted the police, stayed as long as he could, poor dear, but work, you know how it is.” Petunia nodded and wondered if she could persuade Vernon that there weren’t enough good schools near here for Dudley or that they should move closer to his job. Yes, that last one might work. “Their daughter, Abigail, I believe her name is, is convinced that she has a new baby brother.” She tittered and Petunia mimicked her.
“I suppose no one has gotten around to informing her that most babies do not appear on porches.” Petunia mused idly, a small smile on her face.
Dudley cried inside, and Petunia had never been more grateful for an out. She made her apologies to Mrs Allen and hurried inside to soothe her darling Dudders.
*******************
Harry, whatever his last name was first, became Harrison Green of Number 3 Privet Drive after a month of finagling. Petunia had sent over many casseroles in support. She would not be outdone by the other women of Privet Drive and reluctantly updated Vernon who, for once, was more than willing to hear about 'this ghastly business’ before he devolved into the nitty-gritty of precisely how his day was. Just her luck.
She’d slowly been convincing him that his commute to Grunnings was much too long, he had to leave so early, and he got home so late, and didn’t he want to see their precious Dudders grow up? It was slow going, but she was sure that she could sway him to see that they needed to move. They couldn’t stay here after all. She wouldn’t have her Dudley near that freakishness.
They moved after two years, much to her frustration. It had been much harder to convince him than she had first thought.
By then, Harrison was toddling after his older sister as fast as he could go, their bright laughter filling up the Greens’s backyard. For a moment, Petunia saw a completely different pair, two girls instead of one boy and one girl, one with bright red hair and one with blonde.
She turned back to her packing.
She heard nothing of the freakish world her sister chose to inhabit until July of 1991 when the daily post slipped in the slot, and on top was a letter for a Harry Potter. So that was her sister’s last name. She immediately flagged down the postman, who thankfully was only a few doors down, who promised to send it back with a note that it had been sent to the wrong place.
“What was that, Pet?” Vernon questioned, tucking a napkin into his collar.
“Oh, just someone who got their addresses mixed up.” She scoffed because that was a perfectly normal thing to be fussed about before she went back to mothering over Dudley. His birthday was soon, she thought idly. Did he have enough presents?
When the letters started flooding in, she took matters into her own hands and went to the post office, a scathing letter to Hogwash in hand, informing them that no Harry Potter lived with them, that he had never lived with them, and would they leave her and her family alone.
Vernon and Dudley just seemed relieved when the constant flood of letters stopped.
She was home alone washing dishes when the doorbell chimed, Vernon at work, and Dudley on a playdate. She dried her hands off with a dish towel, peeked out the peephole, and saw a garishly dressed man on her stoop.
She debated on whether or not to let him in but ultimately to confront him. She didn’t want the neighbours talking.
She swung open the door. “What.”
“Not the most polite greeting, Mrs Dursley.” The coot admonished her, a twinkle in his blasted blue eyes.
“I believe I told you to stop bothering my family.” She snapped, the dismissal clear, but this man evidently had no brain cells and let himself into her house! Didn’t he know the deep cleaning she would have to do after this? She glared at him, arms crossed. “Leave now.”
The man chuckled. “I only wish to check up on the wellbeing of your nephew, Mrs Dursley. Surely you appreciate that.” As far as Petunia was concerned, she didn’t have a nephew, and told him so, and that blasted twinkle in his eyes vanished. “Surely, my dear-“
“Call me dear one more time, and I’ll call the police.” She threatened, having inched her way around the room so she was standing by the telephone. “Get out of my house, and leave me and my family alone. I don’t know any Pooters, or whatever the name is, and I don’t have a nephew.” She glared at him, hand clutching the telephone, ready to call. “Now, leave.”
He disappeared with a crack, and she nearly sagged to the floor in relief. Thank God no one else had been home to witness that.
**************
Carolyn Green had two children, one girl, now thirteen, and one boy, now eleven. She loved both dearly, even though she had carried only one in her womb. She and her husband had discussed it at length when little Harrison first appeared on their porch; they hadn’t wanted another child initially. Abigail, of course, had been convinced that this was how little siblings came about.
However, they quickly grew attached to little Harry, or Harrison as they had compromised on. Henry had wanted to change his name completely, but she felt that changing it so completely would dishonour his birth parents. So Harrison, Harry for short, it was.
Abigail ended up being somewhat correct, leaving Carolyn with a very smug toddler on her hands, not that she minded much.
So when an odd man dressed in colour-blinding garb showed up asking about Harrison and claiming to be a representative of the Hogwash School of-, and Carolyn didn’t hear the rest of the ridiculously long title, she was too busy slamming the door in the crazy man’s face and dialling 999.
They picked up in a moment, and Carolyn relayed the entire story, frantically trying to recall if Harrison was out in the garden with Abigail or up in his room with his books.
“Get away from him!”
Well, that answered one question. Carolyn dropped the phone, hissing out a curse, wishing desperately that it was a weekend so Henry was home, picking up a rolling pin as she ran.
She sprinted out the door, eyes automatically fixing on her children and throwing herself bodily in front of them, quite possibly breaking the wrist of the bastard who had laid hands on her son and been even closer to her daughter.
“Get away from my children and get off my property!” She hissed, brandishing her rolling pin, feeling two pairs of too-tiny hands clutch her skirts in fear. The colourful bastard only looked slightly amused, though he was still cradling his wrist close to his chest.
“Mrs…Green, was it?” He asked, blue eyes twinkling. Carolyn hated him on the spot. Trespassing, scaring her children, scaring her son! This she would not forgive.
If his left wrist hadn’t broken before, she definitely broke the right one.
“The cops are on their way.” She snapped out, still clutching her rolling pin while the man in front of her had turned significantly paler due to the pain. “Leave, and do not return.”
“I would if I could, Mrs Green, but unfortunately, young Harry Potter here-“
“Harrison Green!” Her son growled out from behind her, and when the bastard’s eyes snapped to her baby, she brandished the rolling pin again. He didn’t have a gun, but he was still dangerous. And she’d be damned if he did anything to her babies.
“My name is Albus Dumbledore, I am the headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” The old loon explained as if they were the insane ones.
“You’re a loon, that’s what you are!” Her eldest retorted, on the same wavelength as her mother, and Carolyn really had to educate them both on time and place. Riling up someone dangerous was not a good idea, period. “You hurt my brother!”
“Your brother,” The loony bastard raised an eyebrow as if just because Harrison was adopted made him any less a Green. “Needs to attend Hogwarts to harness his magick, lest it fester and turn into something horrible.” He turned to Harrison, and Carolyn shifted slightly to better block her son, whom the possible pedophile had clearly set his sights on. “I knew your parents, Harry, before they died.” As the one who had been Harrison’s second known word (Mama), right after Abby, Carolyn felt violently offended by that. He had been her son since Henry had found him on their doorstep, and he would be her son for the rest of time, death be damned.
“My parents are alive and well, thank you!” Her boy countered, and the garishly-dressed bastard’s lips thinned.
Sirens broke the silence, and the frightened mother almost sobbed in relief, the loony peacock glaring at her. She glared right back, unmoving from her stance, refusing to let this loon anywhere near her children.
He turned and vanished into thin air with a pop. Carolyn was mystified by this but hurried her children out to where the police were, fussing over them.
The neighbours came out as if summoned, but the mother could care less, frankly. Once her children were swamped in a shared shock blanket and Harry’s arm that was slowly revealing bruising was being looked at (and there went any regret about breaking that ass’s wrist), she gave her statement, refusing to go more than a foot from her babies.
Henry showed up in a panic, once she was able to phone him, having ditched work. He too, fussed over Harry, praising Abigail for her bravery in the same breath. Carolyn honestly never loved her husband more than when he let her collapse in his arms, to hide her face from the fact that her baby, or god forbid, both her babies, could have been lost that day, and she could have never known the truth. Henry did not mention the wet spot on his shirt, and she loved him all the more for it.
The leading officer recommended they stay with family, or in a hotel that night until they were able to ‘detain the suspect’. With three witnesses for trespassing, and two witnesses for possible child endangerment, they would be able to charge him, they just had to find him, he assured her.
They packed their bags and moved to her mother's place in London for the foreseeable future. It was a tight squeeze, but everyone, excluding Harrison, who fell into a snit about everyone making such a big deal about ‘nothing’, believed it was worth it. ‘Well,’ Carolyn thought to herself as she packed her son’s things while he sulked. ‘He is eleven’.
It was two days before they were followed, and this time it was her mother, Evelyn Jones, who brought hell down upon the stranger who had somehow entered their home.
This time, it was a sallow, greasy-looking man. A mother and a knife-throwing champion, he was immediately attacked with the steak knives that Carolyn’s mother while Abigail, who had been helping (read: eating all the bits of 'extra food' her grandmother was sneaking her) dialled 999. Carolyn and Harrison had been out at the time, picking up dessert, and Henry at work.
The police showed up within minutes, and arrested the man, much to everyone’s relief, and Henry gave the dour man a tongue lashing when he spat out what a ‘vile creature’ their son was, and if her mother hadn’t been holding her back, Carolyn would have throttled the greasy bastard.
They packed up again, this time with her mother in tow, and went to Henry’s parents’s old vacation home in the States that they had left him when they passed.
It was half a month before they were found, and Abigail was the one to scream “Stranger Danger’, before rightfully kicking the crazy loon (how did he track them again?) in the genitals, grabbing Harrison, and sprinting into a crowd, their parents hot on their heels.
If Carolyn wasn’t losing her hair from stress, she would be very proud of the women in her family. As it was, she was going to lose her mind. And soon.
It was the American officer they talked to that finally cleared the matter up, once their restraining order had finally gone through. It wasn’t much, since they didn’t know who was trying to abduct Harrison, but it was something.
“Did you say Albus Dumbledore?” He looked curious, and Henry latched onto that immediately.
“Do you know him?”
The poor officer looked mildly bewildered by their fanatic looks, but Carolyn didn’t care. She would have answers.
“Has your son ever done anything peculiar or strange, something you can’t explain?”
Her husband’s eyes widened, and his head swiveled towards her. “Teddy bear.” She bit her lip.
“You were sleep-deprived and your brain came up with a ridiculous dream.” She reasoned hesitantly, ignoring the fact that the teddy bear had been right where he said it would be. And that Harrison’s teacher’s hair had turned blue when she was being rude to her during a parent-teacher meeting. And that he had somehow gotten on the roof when being chased by Pier Polkniss. And when Abigail was being bullied, that Malcom brat’s voice apparently turned into pig squeaks…
She glanced back at Officer….Hughes, whose hands were crossed, seemingly awaiting their response patiently. When their piercing gazes turned to him, he explained.
Hogwarts was real, Loony-dore wasn’t as crazy as she thought (if you asked her, he still belonged in a psych ward), and while he didn’t know why he was targeting her son specifically, magick was indeed very real.
When it came out that her son’s birth name was Harry, Officer Hughes asked if he had a lightning scar on his forehead and when confirmed, he nodded as if this explained many things. Then it was revealed that her baby was famous for defeating a Dark Lord, at a spry one-year experience of life. She almost laughed at him until she realised he was serious.
Carolyn slumped back in her chair at that, Henry mimicking her. “So what do we do?” Officer Hughes’s answering smile unnerved her.
“There is a lovely American school you can send him to, with numerous locations.” He remarked innocently, procuring a pamphlet as if from nowhere. “Still a boarding school, but if you explain the circumstances, I am certain the Headmistress would let you stay on the grounds. This is, unfortunately, not the first time muggle-borns have fled Europe because of Hogwarts; they don’t know when to stop.”
So, Harrison went to Ilvermorny, Henry changed his job to one on the Southern California Ilvermorny grounds where he could keep a close eye on their son and Carolyn reentered the workforce to keep in touch with their ‘Muggle’ roots, as Officer Hughes would have phrased it. Abigail, thankfully, wasn’t too displeased about abruptly leaving their home in Surrey, she hadn’t had too many friends there. If Carolyn was honest, none of those friendships were going to last anyway and she took to the new American curriculum like a fish to water. Her mother had only half-believed Officer Hughes, or Thomas, as he became the more often he visited, but her fine china floating in the air before their eyes was a very difficult thing to ignore.
Harrison was sorted into Thunderbird, which they all congratulated him on. None of them, Hogwarts alumnus Thomas included, didn't quite understand what it meant, but they were pleased as punch for him nevertheless.
When a serial murderer, specifically the one who was responsible for the death of Harrison’s birth parents, broke out of Azkaban, the Green and Jones (plus one Hughes) family moved permanently under the Fidelus Charm, with Thomas as their Secret Keeper.
No one was surprised when Britain began to go to shit around the time Harrison was fourteen. Unfortunately, it was also when the attempted kidnappings Harrison, and subsequently Abigail, had been experiencing took a sudden rise, and to say their parents, grandmother, and sort-of uncle have a problem with it was putting it lightly. They seriously considered pulling Abigail out of school and tutoring her, but she was sixteen and stubborn and refused adamantly. Her grandmother tried to push, but Carolyn shook her head at her and accepted the fact that her heart would be in her throat every day. Harrison made her swear to floo-call him when she got home, which she agreed to easily enough.
Evelyn merely shook her head and muttered under her breath about stubborn teenagers.
The Blood War reached its peak around when Harrison came of age, and even though both her children were quite grown up now if you asked them, they were still her babies, and she would gouge out whoever’s eyes she needed to if they thought they could take them from her.
One very crazy woman got in a lucky shot, a spell of green, when they had gotten too complacent, had dared to venture out for groceries, and Henry shot her with the gun he’d begun carrying on him in return. She does not get up.
Harrison thankfully woke, “A non-fatal spell,” Henry breathed out in relief, and neither parent let him out of their sight, especially when Thomas informed them that the spell was fatal and should have killed him. Abigail even skipped her sorority dance to scold and coddle her baby brother in equal measure. The police rule it as self-defence, a fact that becomes alarmingly clear when they pull up the crazed woman’s rap sheet and see how many deaths she’s been involved in.
The Blood War in Britain ended shortly after, not that the Greens are paying much notice to it, more concerned with Abigail’s graduation and the fact that Harry is deciding on what he wants to do with his life.
The rest of their life was blessedly peaceful, with Harrison and Abigail both marrying and bringing two and three children, respectively, into their disjointed family. Abigail was a police officer, like her Uncle Thomas, while Harrison opted to be a teacher. Not the most quiet of careers, but the family of five (now twelve) like their life, and that’s good enough for them.