Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter...Come on guys, this is a given...JKR is more than likely not going to write fan fiction of her own stories...That's our job!

Author Note: Hi guys! Thanks for reading. This is my first ever fan fiction, so I hope you like it. I'm going to do something a little different than most first-time authors, and ask that you NOT be gentle with me. I need to know what I do wrong, so that I can fix it. If you don't like the story, tell me! If I move too fast or too slow, tell me! Flames will, of course, be extinguished...but constructive criticism is good for everyone!

I am in need of a beta or two, and perhaps a Brit picker so I can get terminology correct. I'm born and raised in the United States, and I think we're ass-backwards here.

These first few chapters are going to be pretty short, because lets face it: I'm a novice writer at best. As I get better and better, the chapters will get longer and longer. Updates are going to be erratic at best; just whenever I happen to be able to write and update. Sorry! Real life has a pretty good strangle hold on me, and demands constant attention.

On with the story!

The group of houses that make up Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey all look alike. Immaculate front lawns - all trimmed by the same company - and perfect short white-picket fences surrounding those same lawns. The houses themselves were all built the same, and are mostly inhabited by those that work for the various big plants on the outskirts of town. The only real difference would be the colors of the houses. Some houses get more sun on certain sides than others, and therefore fade faster.

The morning of November 1, 1981 was crisp and clear. The trees were almost all leaf-less, the once-green lawns now colored yellow and hibernating for the Winter. The temperature was of a respectable coat-necessary degree. There was no snow yet, but the weatherman had forecast some for the next weekend.

The occupants of all the houses were getting ready for the day. Chimney's were belching smoke from roaring warm fires in the fireplaces, and if you looked in the kitchen windows, you would see many housewives cooking breakfast for their husbands and children.

One particular house, Number Four Privet Drive, is of interest to us. This was the house owned by Vernon and Petunia Dursley. They were a respectable couple around the neighborhood, always throwing parties of some sort for the neighbors. Vernon works at Grunnings Drill Firm, and has for the last ten years. He is a heavy-set man, but doesn't look like the type to mess with. Big beefy hands and a thick neck did that to a man. Petunia is a gossiper, and is darn good at it too! She is skinny, and has a long neck. If one was to be honest with themselves, they would say she looks rather horse-ish. They have a baby boy, Dudley, who looks remarkably like a beach ball. He is one year old, and currently banging his fat fists against his highchair tray. Every time his fists would hit the tray, his double chin would wiggle a bit.

On this certain morning, Petunia was making breakfast, and needed to get the milk from the front porch where the milkman always left it for them. She opened the door, looked down to grab the milk, and screamed.

"VERNON!"

Vernon came rushing down the stairs...well, as much as a big man like himself could rush...to see what all the noise was. His footsteps thundered down the stairs, and he called to his wife. It sounded more like a mix between a grumble and a growl than anything else. "Yes dear? What's all this racket about? And what's burning?"

Instead of answering, Petunia only points out the door to the front porch. Vernon moves up next to his wife in the entryway, and looks down. There, on the doorstep of their respectable home, is a bundle of blankets. Peeking out of the blankets just slightly is a little pink hand clutching an envelope of some sort. Vernon steps a bit closer and looks up and down the street, thinking perhaps the person was still around.

Petunia finally manages to stutter out, her voice kind of screechy, "W-wh-what a-are we t-t-to do?"

The sudden noise behind him, makes Vernon start slightly and almost trip out the door. He turns to face his wife.

"I'm not sure Pet...It is awfully cold outside though, we should bring it in."

Petunia steps forward around her husband and bends down to pick up the bundle of blankets. She carefully carries the bundle into their living room and places it on the couch. The Dursley's living room is of average size with a nice couch, easy chair, and television along the walls. The mantle of the fireplace is lined with pictures of the three Dursleys in various combinations, poses, and places. A coffee table is positioned close enough to the couch so an adult of regular height would be able to put their feet up. Of course, to do so would be thought rude by both adults of the house.

Vernon waddles into the room and plops himself down in his favorite chair, the easy chair that just happens to be positioned in front of the television. As he does this, Petunia has already taken the letter from the small hand, and looked at who it is addressed to. Seeing it addressed to Vernon and her, she slowly turns it back over and breaks the wax seal. 'Wax? Who uses wax to seal their letters anymore these days?' Petunia thinks to herself while sniffing disdainfully.

As Vernon watches her read the letter, her face gradually goes pale and eventually loses all color. Her eyes are as big as saucers, and they fly across the page as she rereads the letter for a second time. She looks up and slowly passes the letter to Vernon.

But when Vernon himself reads the letter through, his face cycles through various colors, starting at a rosy read, and finally settling for a puce color. His eyes are narrowed and he looks to be working himself up into a rant of epic proportions. Before anyone can think, he bursts.

"WE WILL NOT BE--"

Petunia quickly cuts him off. "Vernon!" she hisses, "Don't wake it up! And don't scare Duddy-dikums! We don't want any crying children!"

Vernon stares at the bundle of blankets for a moment before calming himself slightly, though not enough to lose his shade of puce. "We will not be taking him in! I will not have a...a...FREAK! in this house! What about the financial responsibility of raising another child? Can we even afford to do it? I won't have it Petunia! I wont!"

Petunia by now has regained some of her color, and to those that looked close enough, you could see a glint of stubbornness in her eyes. This definitely meant trouble for her wonderful husband. "Vernon, I know what you think of my," she pauses to sniff disdainfully again, "sister and her husband. But what if the roles were reversed? What if our Duddy were set on their doorstep? I think we should take him in. Maybe we can make him normal, even."

Vernon looks to be in shock at his wife contradicting him. She's never done that! As he reprocesses what his wife said, the middle part hits him. 'What if the roles were reversed. We would surely hope they would take our Duddy in.' he thinks to himself.

After a pregnant pause, Vernon's color returns to normal and he speaks softly to his wife. "Alright Pet. We'll take him in. But if he gets to be too much trouble, or if his...unnaturalness...looks to be influencing our Dudley, he's out of here. We'll drop him on the doorstep of some orphanage."

"Thank you Vernon. I'm sure we can make it work out. And I'm sure he can be normal. Now, you need to be off to work. Don't want to be late!" Petunia stops for a second before adding, "Vernon! I've burned breakfast! What will you do for breakfast? Not enough time for me to fix something else." She trails off and continues mumbling to herself as she shuffles off to the kitchen to bin the now ruined breakfast.

Vernon calls after her, "I'll pick something up on my way to work Pet. Don't worry. I'll see you after work."

After Vernon leaves, Petunia sets up Dudley's old crib in their guest room and puts the sleeping baby into it. She settles down in Vernon's chair and rests for a moment while Dudley plays nearby. While resting, her thoughts keep returning to the small child in the bundle of blankets she found on her doorstep this morning. His raven black hair reminds her forcefully of the man her sister married after she graduated from that...unnatural...school of hers. In fact, the only differences between the two are age and the oddly shaped lightning-bolt scar that adorns the other-wise smooth forehead. For the little bit of time that the he was awake, the vivid emerald green eyes of the small baby boy bring back flashes of the same emerald green eyes that her sister had. And those flashes bring her back to her childhood where she spent hours upon hours playing with that very same sister before she got her invitation to that school.

Petunia is snapped out of her thoughts when a small cry, the first one she's heard from the other baby in the house since finding him. This baby is certainly quiet so far. Much quieter than her own Duddy. 'Hopefully that will help keep Vernon happy.' Petunia thinks. She gets up from Vernon's chair and goes up the stairs to the guest room.

This turns out to be the only rest she gets for the remainder of the day, as she has to keep pulling Dudley off the other child. Little does she know how ineffective she is, and that she'll have to keep pulling Dudley away for the next five years...