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Petunia Dursley screeched like one of the stuck drills and came running into the house speaking gibberish

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Petunia Dursley screeched like one of the stuck drills and came running into the house speaking gibberish.

"That-That-I Won't! I refuse!" She mumbled wringing her hands.

"Pet," Vernon slowly pulled her hand towards him instead, "Sit down.Breathe." He made her sit next to him on the couch. He patted her back as she, gasping and red with anger or fear, told him about the basket outside. A basket with a child.

"What are we going to do, Vernon. What do we do!" She thrust a crumpled up letter in his hand and continued chewing on her nails, a habit he was sure she'd gotten rid of. He cast a careless glance over the letter.

"It's alright, Sweat Pea. I'll go take care of it.", and with that, he went to see why the 'thing' had made her so hysterical.

He clutched the letter in his hand, the carelessly read words seemed to repeat over and over in his head. Images of how a child of one of them might look took over his mind as he approached the door, maybe they had horns when they were younger or something weird- his thoughts came to a halt and the frown on his face faded as his eyes fell on the child. He so wasn't prepared to see big blue eyes looking at him with interest.

The child was sitting up in the basket, her one hand was clutching her blanket and the other rubbing her eye as she looked at him.

He could feel his breath and heartbeat slow down with every step he took. Panic gave away to wonder. ' Too lovely for a freak.' The unwelcome thought popped up in his mind.

It was a little girl. If he remembered right, she was just a few months younger than his Dudley. Her soft umber curls were framing her face as big blue eyes clouded with sleep looked at him. It seemed like she was analyzing him before a small sleepy smile formed on her pink lips.

Vernon Dursley was not what you would call a 'kind man' but looking at the little girl who had just been abandoned by her parents, even he felt pity. He picked her up and had to push away the feeling of something as she put her head on his shoulder yawning.

10 minutes later, he sat on the sofa with his head in his hands. His wife was, once again, repeating her tantrum about her sister and how 'the freak should have gone to the orphanage. What are we going to do with her!'.

The baby was sleeping next to him, still holding onto her blanket like it was a lifeline. Someone, her mother most likely, had done embroidery on the blanket writing the name Aria potter. He tried very hard but couldn't relate her to the freaks his wife used to tell him about. How could anyone look at her sweet, slightly chubby, face and see the monster that his wife believed her to be?

Maybe this child was different?

The thought gave him some comfort. He could tell the girl would turn out to be quite beautiful and he always did want a lovely daughter to show off. Maybe she wasn't like those freaks? After all he, himself was different from his late good for nothing poor father. His thoughts slowly led towards a scenario that he was sure his wife wouldn't like.

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