Hexad

Harry Potter and The Bleak World - Chapter one

Ik the title may seem a little dramatic but yes

Harry Potter And The Bleak World. That is the name of the first book.
And this is the first chapter! 

Chapter one of this spectacular book-in-a-book, The Boy Who Lived.

Very unoriginal, ik. 
I do not own Harry Potter. This is an AU.

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The Dursleys, number four on Privet Drive, were a small family of three. A mother, a father, and a son. And they were perfectly normal. They were the last people you'd expect to see in relation to anything weird, and the last to be seen anywhere near anything weird, very simply because they refused to tolerate any of the nonsense. Mr Dursley was a fine, working man. He was always presented as a large man, with very little neck, a large mustache, and quite usually, a tight-looking suit. Mrs Dursley was a thin woman, with charming blonde hair, and she was often craning over a fence due to her long neck. Twice the amount of neck anyone usually had, she had. The youngest Dursley, their little son, Dudley. To them, there was no finer boy in the world, though many would beg to differ. 

They were the most normal on the street. But they too had a secret they hadn't wanted anyone to know. Dare it be said, their deepest fear. 

The Potters. 

Mrs Dursley's sister was Mrs Potter, though they had no reason to meet, and nearly a decade since they had any reason to get along. Mrs Dursley took it the way any woman would. She pretended she had no sister, no Mrs Potter, no Mr Potter, and no idea who the Potters even were.

Mr and Mrs Dursley knew the Potters had a little family of their own, and a small child, just a month or so apart from their own sweetie in age, was all they knew past that. This, they used as another excuse to not have to meet the Potters. They didn't want their baby Dudley mixing in with it. They didn't know what trouble that baby could be! For anyone to insist they even meet was absurd. 

One grey Tuesday morning, the Dursleys woke as they always did. To the cries of small baby Dudley, wanting his breakfast. Mrs Dursley found it a fine morning. Infact; Today was a great day. Nothing about the colourless skies made the day worse or better, and it made all the sense in the world that no odd or mysterious thing aught to happen. Mr Dursley picked out his best tie-- the most boring but the most expensive-- and Mrs Dursley tried to peek through the open curtains into those of her neighbours while she wrangled Dudley into his high chair.

The morning was so fine, that not a single one of them noticed the owl fly past the window. By the time it was half-past eight, Mr Dursley headed out to work. It was a dashing day in the making for him; That was, until a tabby cat looking to have been reading a map caught the side of his eye. He turned around, full force, and rubbed his eyes when he saw the cat had no map at all, but was rather simply sitting there. No map anywhere to be seen.

What had he been thinking? Maybe just a trick of the light, he told himself. He stared at the cat, and it stared back. He went to his car, and drove up the road. The whole time, he watched in the mirror as the cat read the sign that said Privet Drive-- no, not reading it. Staring at it. Cats can't read. Mr Dursley gave his head a slight slap and shook his whole body two times over for good measure. He clearly wasn't fully awake. While he sat in the morning traffic, ignoring the senseless music of the radio, he thought of the large order of drills he had been hoping to get today. For a little bit, that was all he thought. 

That is, until, crossing the street, right as he was the first car in the line, there were a number of people dressed in cloaks. He couldn't stand the "trends" these days; All these young people wearing ridiculous clothing! No sense at all, of style nor in general. Mr Dursley nearly jumped out of his car when he saw what looked to be more of an elderly man in a cloak the colour of emeralds, but convinced himself that all these people were in some new neighbourhood group. He'd ask Mrs Dursley about it later; She was always hooked on the latest news and trends.

When he finally reached the building of Grunnings, he took no time to, as he always did, go to his office and do his work. Though today had begun a good day, after lunch, he told his secretary to not disturb him whatsoever. Why? Because he could've sworn he heard three people speaking of the Potters in the little bakery when he took his lunch break. If he remembered correctly. 

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard..." 

"And yes, their son, Harry--" 

His blood ran cold at the thought, but he got another thought. One much more calming.

Potter wasn't an uncommon name. And neither was Harry. He didn't even know if the Potters' boy was named Harry. Harold, or Harrison, he could've sworn. Or maybe they had a daughter named something similar. It had been months since the Potters called about their little baby, and he nor Mrs Dursley didn't listen anyway. But he still felt displeasure at not knowing.  

He nearly called Mrs Dursley to ask, but he decided against it. She hated any mention of the Potters, as did he. Hell, if he had a sister like that, he'd... 

Nevermind.

But think of this; On Mr Dursley's way home, he had been called a muggle, whatever that meant! The nerve of people these days! And when he arrived home, that same tabby cat sat still on the curb. The same markings around it's eyes. "Shoo!" Mr Dursley loudly said, waving his hand at the small cat. Rather than moving, he just got a stern look. Did cats normally act like this? He collected his thoughts, and walked inside. He was very simply determined to not say a word to his wife.

Mrs Dursley, however, had a delightful day. Over dinner, she chattered cheerily about how the neighbors were having behavioral problems with their little daughter, and how Dudley learned a new word— "Won't!"— while Mr Dursley tried to act as cordial as possible. When the tyke went to bed, he listened to the last report of the day; "Bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls hace been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." Mr Dursley stopped listening as Mrs Dursley walked in with two cups of tea. He almost twitched. 

He had to say something to her. He cleared his throat. "Er— Petunia, dear— you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?" 

As per expectation, Mrs Dursley had a look of angered shock. "No!" She spat sharply. "Why?!"

 "Funny stuff on the news.. Owls, shooting stars.. And there were a lot of funny-looking people in the streets.." Mr Dursley mumbled. "So?" Snapped his wife. "Well, I just thought... maybe it had something to.. Do with her crowd." 

Mrs Dursley sipped her tea with tight lips and her eyes squinted. Would he dare tell her he had heard the name "Potter?" He decided he'd rather not. He brought up, as casually as possible; "They had a child, didn't they? He'd be about Dudley's age now, hm?" 

"I suppose so, but I don't quite care." She replied stiffly. 

"What was his name, Howard or Harrison or that?" He asked. Mrs Dursley scoffed. "They always called that little baby Harry. Nasty common name, I say." 

"Oh yes," Mr Dursley replied.  "Yes, I quite agree. Horrid name for a wretched brat in the making."

He hadn't brought it up again for the rest of the night.

When they had gone to bed, Mr Dursley saw out the window something that shocked him; That same cat. As if it was waiting. 

He shook the thought away, and went to sleep. 

Little did the Dursleys know, the next morning when Mrs Dursley would go out to leave the milk bottles, she'd see a small baby laying arest on their doorstep. Little did they know, at this very moment, all over the country, people met in secret, holding up wine and champagne glasses, saying in quiet voices..

"To Harry Potter— the boy who lived!"

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Yet another revision! Hope this one's a bit more pleasing to read.