A Very Dursley Lockdown

Chapter 4: Death of a Dursley

31 August 1997

Hestia and Dedalus often switched who guarded the Dursleys in the day and who took night shift. Dudley hadn't determined a pattern yet, and Vernon often made comments about how neither of them must need to work a real job.

Everyone except Dedalus was happier when Hestia had the night shift. Dudley's middle finger now sported a callus from all the essays he'd had to write when she was on day shift. Dedalus had put a stop to the cupboard punishment - mostly - although Vernon still had to sleep in his at night. Hestia was still angry at Vernon, and Dedalus seemed to believe that Muggles just loved sleeping in odd places. The snores from the cupboard bounced off the wooden walls, and Dudley suspected his mother might be sleeping better now.

On his days, Dedalus brought them the newspapers every morning and then read through The Daily Prophet himself. At the start of their time together, he'd whistled and popped about the kitchen brewing up tea, but now he was a mopey wreck who dropped into chairs and stared out the window. Most days now, like today, he'd barely make it through the Prophet before tossing it aside and dropping his head onto his arms for a good sob.

He raised his tear-stained face from the table and mentioned how nice his own table had been, before it had been burned. "It's still sinking in, you know - how I've lost my dear old house forever."

Dudley passed the sobbing wizard a cup of tea and avoided looking at him.

Dedalus picked up the teacup, took a sip, and then choked on another sob. "This cup with the orange flowers - I had a set just like it, but with purple nifflers." He took out a violet handkerchief and blew into it. "And hundreds of hankies, just like this one, all burnt to ash!" He sniffed. "Of course, your poor home is invaded - but you'll get yours back someday! You'll see! When Harry Potter - bless him - finally sets things to rights, you'll get to move back in, whereas I - I'll have nowhere! And nothing!" His sobs turned to wails.

Vernon rolled his eyes and picked up one of the other newspapers. He dropped it with a start. "Petunia! Look at this!"

She peered over her mixing bowl, where she was blending eggs together with a fork. She'd refused the complicated whisks that Dedalus had attempted to conjure on the second day of what she called their confinement.

Her husband held up one newspaper front page, then another.

Petunia gasped and dropped her fork. She didn't even notice when the handle sank under the frothy yolks. She crossed the kitchen, in a daze, and started reading the newspaper without even sitting down. The minutes passed in silence.

Dudley, who still did not enjoy reading the newspapers, cast a longing eye at the bowl of eggs.

Then, Petunia's mood changed from shock to rage. She crunched a corner of the newspaper in one hand, and leapt on the slouched Dedalus, whacking him over and over the head. "YOU!" she cried. "YOU DID THIS! I KNOW IT!"

Dedalus raised a hand to fend her off, and she started back, gasped, and then collapsed to the floor, sobbing. Vernon crouched down on the floor to comfort her. He glared up at the wizard.

Dudley picked up the crumpled newspaper. "Di's dead?" He was bewildered.

Death didn't seem to apply to people like her. Death seemed off-limits, somehow, for celebrities.

Vernon helped Petunia into a chair and started yelling at Dedalus, who was also reading the paper now. "Car accident, is it? A LIKELY STORY!" Dedalus offered a handkerchief to Petunia and patted her back. She flinched away.

Disturbed, Dudley poured the eggs into a pan. Dedalus had already lit the magic fire that Petunia was, in her words, forced to use to keep us from starving. He stared at the bubbling omelet, and the hysterical voices of his family washed over him. He tried turning the omelet. It broke and stuck in several places, the egg mix running in ribbons all over the pan, and the cheese bits burning as they hit the bare metal. He scraped the omelet chunks onto some plates and brought them to the table. They were mangled, fit for the bin. But there weren't any more eggs for another try, so they'd have to make do with these.