dursley [h. g.]

•• dursley •• || the boy who lived

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were not the kind of parents that one would expect at first glance. Vernon Dursley was a large man with a walrus mustache and an opinion he didn't care to hide. Petunia Dursley was a thin woman who appeared rather meek at first glance, with thin blonde hair and a rather horsey face, but she was a fierce gossip-monger, despite being a very private woman. Their two children, Dudley and Kendra, who had been born fraternal twins, both knew who the favorite of the family was. Dudley had captured his parents hearts from the moment he was born, and they both doted on him with unrelenting fever. Kendra never captured their hearts in the same way. She had always been too frail or too quiet for her family, though she was by no means a bad child. But there was nothing odd about the Dursley's, other than perhaps their normality.

Until, of course, one looked inside of their lives. The Dursley's had taken in their nephew after his parents had died in a tragedy at only age one. Despite their blood relation, the Dursleys never quite treated Harry Potter as one of their own. He slept in a closet under the stairs for a better part of ten years, his clothes were all hand-me-downs from Dudley, they treated him more as a pest than as a nephew. Dudley would beat Harry up more than any other child at their primary school. And it didn't help that Harry constantly found himself in trouble.

Kendra and Harry got on quite well, though Kendra only did it behind her parents backs. There was something they understood about each other, neither of them fitting in with their families. Both of them shared odd experiences that couldn't be explained by logic- which bothered Kendra to a point of insanity.

It had first occurred when Kendra accidentally pulled one of her mother's daffodils in the front yard- in her panic, she had watched a new one spring up from the earth and grow into an identical flower. She had been at the park, swinging by herself as her brother was off with his gang of friends when it seemed as if the wind began to push her just as she was feeling sad that there was no one else there. She was terrified to tell her parents about it; she had seen their reactions to Harry's incidents.

At last, the 23 of June rolled around- her eleventh birthday. While Dudley pounded down the stairs, Kendra tiptoed down them, not wanting to rain any more dust on the poor boy under the stairs any more. She saw him emerge just as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Happy birthday, Kendra," Harry said, shaking the dust from his hair.

"Thanks, Harry," Kendra smiled. They walked into the lurched together before Harry was dragged off to "make breakfast".

"Dudley, go get the mail," her father demanded.

"I'll get it," Kendra interjected, standing and nearly bolting for the hall. She found a few post cards and a thick, parchment envelope with a wax seal, addressed to her. She glanced back at the kitchen, deciding to tuck the letter away safely in her bedroom before bringing the others to her father. Vernon surveyed the letters for a moment, throwing them all away before turning to Harry.

"Hurry up, boy, bring me my coffee!" He hissed, turning back to his newspaper. Harry hurriedly set down a black cup of coffee in front of his uncle. Kendra's mother wrenched her attention away from Dudley to look at her daughter.

"How are you feeling, darling?" Petunia asked, her sharp eyes surveying her daughter. Kendra's cheeks flushed. She glanced at the sparkling tile floor rather than look her mother in the face.

"Fine," she mumbled, picking at the fraying edge of the tablecloth.

"No new symptoms?" Petunia asked, stroking Dudley's hair. Kendra shook her head, her gaze dancing upwards to bore a hole into the ceiling. "That's good. Don't let your disease get in the way of your birthday." It was almost a warning, the way that her mother spoke to her. No one knew that Kendra had an auto-immune disease other than the doctor who had diagnosed her and the family of five that lived in Number 4 Privet Drive. If any of the neighbors found out, it would have been a stain on the facade life that Vernon and Petunia strived to live.