The Price of Never Knowing

The Dursleys have never been particular favorites of mine and this was fun. It was written for Response to Challenge #180: The Beginning of the End Challenge at Thirty-Minute HP Fic. It took me 35 mins with a short break.


The Price of Never Knowing


Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Therefore, the missives that had arrived by owl for the last few days were only acknowledged long enough to toss in the fireplace. It had been years since mail had arrived in such an unconventional manner and Vernon Dursley wasn't about to let the insanity of his wife's family intrude on his orderly life again. There had been nothing in the news, either papers or broadcasts, to indicate there was anything amiss. Vernon had been inclined to pay attention since Sirius Black escaped and wreaked havoc on his quiet little existence. Any and all obligations to her sister's son had ended when he'd come of age and disappeared from their lives. Dudley had regained the use of his second bedroom and all was right with the world again.

Three more letters had arrived during the day according to Petunia and had been dispatched accordingly, so when Vernon sat down in his chair after dinner he was fairly confident no more would be arriving. Glancing up from the telly when his son waddled into the room, Vernon frowned when he saw another of the pale cream envelopes clutched in a meaty fist and assumed Dudley was heading for the fireplace.

"Good idea," the elder Dursley said as his attention returned to the program. "There's a bit of a chill in the air tonight and a fire will be just the thing."

Consternation crossed Dudley's face for a moment and he wondered if he'd made a huge error. He'd always wanted to open one of the letters that came for Harry, but he'd never been allowed and had taken this opportunity.

"Father?"

The slight note of trepidation in Dudley's voice made Vernon narrow his eyes and concentrate harder on the telly. He was telling himself that Dudley hadn't just raised his other hand and didn't have a sheet of that stupid parchment his nephew had insisted on using as paper.

"Father?"

Slightly louder this time and Vernon slowly turned his head to glare at his son. The glare was nearly Dudley's undoing, but he knew his father loved him and would forgive him anything or his mother would never let her husband hear the end of it.

"It's an invitation."

"No, it isn't. It's a bloody figment of your imagination that should have been in the fire by now!" Vernon thundered from the chair as his face turned a beet red.

Dudley pouted and stamped one foot.

"But there's a feast after. It says so! With puddings and cakes and all sorts of..."

Dudley's voice trailed off as his father rose and snatched the parchment and envelope from his hands. Marching over to the fire, Vernon tore them in twos and threes before watching them curl and turn to ash. An idea - a rare event in this particular brain - caused a cramp which quickly turned into a headache.

"Dudley, do you recall the tale of Hansel and Gretel?" Vernon asked with a snarl while turning to look at his son. Dudley's mouth opened and closed a few times while his eyes widened.

"They wouldn't!"

"They mostly certainly would," Vernon bellowed while taking two steps toward his son. More lies came readily to his tongue in desperation.

"Why do you think I've tried so hard to keep them out of our lives? Your mother doesn't know. I've tried to shield the true facts about her dear sister and the rest of those freaks from her for years, but you're old enough now to know."

Dudley nodded, gulped and stared at his hands. The hands that opened the envelope.

"I need to go wash my hands in case..."

The rest of the sentence was lost in a forlorn wail as he presented his pudgy posterior to his father and ran out of the room. Giving a sigh of relief, Vernon walked back over to the chair he'd vacated earlier and it aired its own complaints as his weight plopped down again.

An invitation? What could he possibly be inviting us to?

He knew he couldn't ask Dudley was it had been for and curiosity had been stirred enough that Vernon vowed to at least open the next envelope. His curiosity would never be satisfied as there would be no more missives sent by owl to number four, Privet Drive. It would burn and turn up in his thoughts at the most inconvenient times, souring his stomach and making his already testy nature that much worse. Petunia would fret and try to tempt his appetite back with a few of the tasty morsels he'd always loved.

Once or twice, during the remaining span of his life, Vernon was tempted to try and contact his absent nephew, but couldn't lower his pride enough to do so. On his deathbed, years later, he would try to ask Dudley what the invitation had been for. Dudley would pale and run from the room. So it was, one Vernon Dursley died with a curse on his lips because his thoughts centered around the one person he'd despised from the day he'd been born.

Harry bloody Potter.

---

Far away, in a much happier household, Harry closed a desk drawer and stood. Crossing to some pictures of his mother and father he picked up one that showed the three of them.

"I made the overtures, Mum, and kept at it until at least one was opened. She was your sister and her blood protected me for a long time so I owed them that much at least. If they come - fine. If they don't - it's fine too."