Mr. Dursley was careful not to wake his sleeping wife as he pulled on his standard clothing for the day: brown coat and pants, white shirt, navy tie. He looked at himself in the mirror, and barely recognized his visage. He was, honestly, quite a bit better looking. His hair was darker and fuller without a bit of gray, and his face had been thinned considerably. Vernon could even see a good quantity of neck that he hadn’t been able to see in the past twenty years.



Yet he could not shake off the feeling that this was wrong- the smooth-shaven face, the eyes that had turned from brown to blue- because it had been done by magic. Disgusting, unnatural-



But was it really? Vernon ran one hand through his raven locks and looked back at his wife. He would never have admitted it to anyone at all, but Petunia Dursley was as much improved as Vernon had been. There were no wrinkles disrupting her visage, and she had lost the vaguely horse-ish look she had acquired over the years.



Then he took into account the other ways that living with the wizard and witch down the hall had changed their lives. The tiny kitchen of the apartment they had taken residence in was clean with a flick of a wand, and their food always emerged from the oven steaming and delicious. The Dursleys never went without. Nearly anything they needed emerged from thin air, from the tip of the magic-workers’ wands…



Although he did have to acknowledge that without magic, they wouldn’t be in this tiny apartment in the first place. They would be in their own home on Privet Drive, with their well-watered lawn and Dudley attending boxing matches at Smelting’s. The incident a few weeks ago where the apartment spontaneously burst into flames had been extremely annoying. If that Potter boy had never been dropped on their doorstep…



Then Petunia sat up in bed, and Vernon looked at her chin-length blond hair and appraised the lack of wrinkles and sagging, he decided that yes, he did quite like magic.



Vernon made his way down the steps that led outside and gave the dewy air an appreciative whiff, clutching his briefcase in his hands. With his new looks, he got a lot more respect, and nods from neighbours. People seemed to be especially happy today. Perhaps it was because the mist that had settled into every nook and cranny of Great Britain had finally seemed to dissipate. Indeed, it was rather nice to be able to see your car from your doorstep. And what a nice car it was! Vernon took a moment to appraise the shiny, cherry-red exterior before slipping into the leather interior.



Mr. Dursley inserted his key and began the car, a sense of happiness washing over him as it slipped smoothly down the street. Ah, money couldn’t buy this, but magic could!



He slammed on the brakes. What…? Could that have been? No, no, he was just imagining things. Hallucinations brought on by his newfound appreciation for magic. Owls did not fly around in broad daylight, and so far from a city- preposterous!



Preposterous it may have been, but Vernon Dursley saw no less than six owls flying around as he drove his expensive car into the inner city.



“Mmpfh,” he grunted at one, as he saw a group of excited teenagers pointing at it. The owl looked at him with one bright, curious eye, and flew away. He supposed he could ignore owls. They were only birds.



PHEEEEEEEWFWOAR!



An enormous firework had been lit off behind him. He whirled around, watching the red-and-gold sparks as they covered half the sky in the shape of a gigantic P. It truly was the most enormous firework he had ever seen, and although it must have been set off a mile away, he still feared for his life as the gigantic firework began rushing to the ground. Other people had noticed too, and were screaming, running into buildings-



But it disappeared as quickly as it had been set off. People were emerging, cautiously, and then began to laugh, and it was then that Vernon noticed what they were wearing. Great giggling groups of them, standing together in cloaks in vibrant hues that almost hurt Vernon’s eyes. One was blue and glittered with gold sparks, another was violet and had white stripes that seemed to move.



“Outrageous,” Mr. Dursley murmured, reaching up to tug on his mustache and then remembered that he lacked one. “Absolutely outrageous…”



One of the strangely cloaked civilians, a woman in a lime-green cape, caught him staring and rushed forward as her companions looked on. She grasped his hand in his and pumped it up and down, then leapt forward to hug him. She was gone as quickly as the firework, melting back into her group, who also disappeared.



“It cannot be,” he said to himself, “Again…” He remembered an incident nearly eighteen years ago with a weird sort of jolt in his stomach. What could be going on this time?



If there was anything that Vernon Dursley did not like- aside from slow cars, warm beer and vegetables- it was being left out of the loop. Steeling his nerves, he approached the nearest group of the cloaked people.



They stopped laughing and chattering immediately, staring at him apprehensively. He noticed a few of them reaching into their pockets, so he asked, “You’re wizards, eh?”



They stared at him. “Are you…?”



“No, no, of course not!” Vernon said quickly. Yes, he had grown to appreciate magic, but to consort with these people was unimaginable. “I know of them, though.”



The tallest, who seemed to be the leader, stepped forward with a broad grin on his face. “Then you should be rejoicing too, my good sir! For You-Know-Who has fallen again, and this time he shall not return!”



Vernon did some quick thinking, which was something he very rarely did. He equated the ‘P’ in the sky with the other happenings, and replied, “It wouldn’t have anything to do with… Harry… Potter… would it?”



“Harry Potter?!” said a short witch. “It has everything to do with Harry Potter! He is our hero, he has saved us!”



“Really, then?” Vernon said, raising his eyebrows. He felt an odd sort of swelling within, like a little man was sitting in his stomach and blowing a balloon. “Harry Potter, eh… Harry Potter…” He turned and walked away.



Well, the boy had done something right. Something worthwhile. Something… something grand, now that he thought about it, and thought of all the things Voldemort had done, of which his wizard guardians had informed him… something grand indeed. It wouldn’t do well to dwell on it, and he ought to go to work.



He worked all day, getting his papers in on time and only taking a five-minute water break instead of his usual ten. He lingered near the windows, gazing down at the jubilant party going on down below his office, and followed the path of yet another owl tracing through the sky. Twice he caught another ‘P’ blooming over the sky of London, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards each time.



At six o’ clock on the dot Vernon left the office, swinging his briefcase and walking with a slight, almost unnoticeable bounce in his step. So engaged was he with hiding his uncontrollable bounce, that he did not notice that he knocked over a small man in a purple cloak and top hat.



“Sorry, sorry,” Vernon said off handedly, his eye on an owl that had found its way through the door.



“Do not be sorry today, sir!” squeaked the tiny man, who scrambled upwards and pumped his hand enthusiastically. “Today is a day of rejoicing, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-But-Who-Gives-a-Damn-If-We-Name-Him-Anymore has finally fallen at the hands of Harry Potter!”



Vernon looked down at him in surprise. “Harry Potter, you say? Quite proud of the boy! He’s my nephew, you know!”