The Boys Who Lived | The Philosopher's Stone | (Hermione X Male Reader)

Chapter 1: The Boys Who Lived

The Dursleys, who resided at number four Privet Drive, were pleased to declare that they were absolutely normal. They just didn't hold with such crap, therefore they were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything unusual or mysterious.

Mr. Dursley was the director of Grunnings, a company that produced drills. Although he didn't have much of a neck, he was a huge, burly man with a massive moustache. Mrs. Dursley was blonde, skinny, and had about twice as long a neck as is typical. This was particularly helpful because she spent a lot of time peering over garden fences to observe her neighbours. There was no nicer youngster anywhere, according to the Dursleys, than their little son Dudley.

The Dursleys had everything they desired, but they also held a secret, which they feared would be found out. They didn't believe they could handle it if the Potters were discovered. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but the two of them hadn't spoken in a while. In fact, Mrs. Dursley claimed she didn't have a sister because her sibling and her selfish husband were the furthest thing from the Dursleys. The Dursleys trembled as they imagined what the neighbourhood would think if the Potters showed up. While they had never met them, the Dursleys were aware that the Potters also had two young sons. They didn't want Dudley to associate with children like them, which was another strong reason for keeping the Potters away.

Nothing about the overcast sky outside when Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dismal, grey Tuesday where our story begins suggested that odd and unexplained things would soon start happening all throughout the nation. When Mrs. Dursley dragged a wailing Dudley into his high chair, Mr. Dursley hummed as he chose his most uninteresting tie for work.

They were all unaware of a huge tawny owl flying by the window. At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, kissed Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and attempted to kiss Dudley goodbye but was unsuccessful due to Dudley's current temper tantrum and cereal-throwing at the walls. Mr. Dursley laughed as he walked out of the home, "Little tyke." He entered his vehicle and pulled away from number four.

He initially became aware of something odd when he saw a cat reading a map on the street corner. Mr. Dursley momentarily failed to comprehend what he had just saw before jerking his head around to take another look. On the corner of Privet Drive, a tabby cat was there, but no map was to be found. What could he have been thinking? It had to be a lighting illusion. Mr. Dursley looked at the cat while blinking profusely. It returned his gaze. Mr. Dursley watched the cat in his rearview mirror as he travelled up the road and turned the bend. It was now reading the Privet Drive sign. No, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read road signs or maps. Mr. Dursley gave himself a gentle shake and decided to forget about the cat. He had only one idea as he approached town: a sizable order of drills he hoped to receive that day.

Yet something else on the outskirts of the town made him forget about drills. He couldn't help noting that there seemed to be a lot of oddly dressed people as he sat in the typical morning traffic jam. Cloaked individuals. Mr. Dursley hated people who wore outrageous outfits. He assumed that this was some ridiculous new trend amongst young people. He tapped the driving wheel with his fingers and looked over at a group of these oddballs who were standing not far away. They were exuberantly whispering to one another. The fact that some of them weren't young at all infuriated Mr. Dursley; after all, the man in the emerald-green cloak had to be older than he was. The fool he is! But Mr. Dursley soon realised that this was probably just some dumb prank because it was clear that the people involved were raising money for something. In a short while, the traffic cleared, and Mr. Dursley, who had been thinking about drills again, arrived in the Grunnings car park.

In his ninth-floor office, Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window. He could have found it more difficult to focus on the drills that morning if he hadn't. People in the street below him did witness the owls flying overhead in broad daylight; they pointed and watched with gaping mouths as owl after owl raced by. Nevertheless, he failed to notice them. Even at night, the majority of them had never seen an owl. Yet Mr. Dursley had a very ordinary morning free of owls. Five separate people received his yells. He shouted a little more and made a few crucial phone calls. Until lunchtime, when he decided to stretch his legs and walk across the street to the bakery and get himself a bun, he was in a pretty good mood.