Disclaimer: Obviously, Archer and Harry Potter aren't mine. If they were I wouldn't be writing crappy fanfiction. So there you go.

4 Privet Drive

Malory Archer was willing to say after reading her mission statement that Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four Privet Drive, were the most boring couple in existence, thank you very much. They were the last people anyone would expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious because they just didn't know how to remove the large stick stuck up their asses.

With baby Abbiejean in a stroller and her servant Woodhouse in tow, Malory stood in front of the Dursley's front door. Sneering she said, "Ugh this place reeks of peasant." Holding a handkerchief to her face she stepped back. "Woodhouse, knock on the door. I don't want to get infected by the taint of lower-middle class suburbia. I might become obsessed with soccer and ugly minivans."

Woodhouse went to the door and turned the knob. A sharp click confirmed it was locked.

"What fresh incompetence is this? Can't you even open a door!"

"Madam the door appears to be locked," said Woodhouse. Sighing he poked the small button to ring the doorbell.

Vernon Dursley growled out from behind the door. "Oh no. We're not talking to another stranger with a baby. The last time that happened we got stuck with the kid. Go away, your kind isn't welcome here!"

Malory's lips formed a thin line of disapproval. "My kind?" Her voice was low and soft. "…hand me my purse."

As she grabbed her purse from Woodhouse, Vernon puffed up behind the door. "Yes your kind, now go away. There is no post on Sundays so whatever you're here for, we're not interested!"

Muttering harshly to herself, items rattled about as she pawed through her purse. She pulled out a white plastic mass. "I have 4kg of C4 open the door or lose it."

A rough cough came from Woodhouse. "Wouldn't it be safer to just shoot the door hinges?"

"And have shrapnel and ricocheting bullets flying around near little A.J., what am I a monster?"

As Petunia Dursley opened the door, her voice was high pitched and tight. "You can't do that, this door is handcrafted mahogany. I'll call the police!"

Rolling her eyes, Malory put the C4 back in her purse. "Pshh you really think I didn't cut the phone wires before coming in." With a dismissive hand wave, she strolled past Petunia into the house. Woodhouse followed as he pushed A.J.'s stroller.

With a sigh, Malory handed her purse back to Woodhouse. "Landline phones and that dress, you two are the worst case of trapped in the 90s I have ever seen."

Placing her hands on her hips, Petunia asked, "Do you even know what year it is?"

"Not a damn clue," said Malory as she entered the living room. Looking around she frowned, the stripped wallpaper was the tackiest she'd ever seen and the drapes were the color of vomit. "But I'm sure I'm in the era of plot convenience. Whenever the hell I am it better be after the invention of alcohol. Get to it chop chop!"

With a forced smile, Petunia nodded like a proper hostess and the stormed off stomping her way into the kitchen.

Blowing his cheeks out with a huff, Vernon's red face resembled a squeeling pig. "We're not serving a stranger in our own house. For that matter, you don't even look like you eat."

"I eat, for example, this morning I had coffee and pills. The breakfast of champions," said Malory, taking a seat on the Dursley's living room couch.

Petunia placed a cup and saucer in front of Malory. "Have some tea."

Raising the cup to her lips, Malory took a sip and said, "Woodhouse, I just drank leaf juice. Are you happy now?"

"I am completely miserable, madam."

A pudgy boy walked into the living room. "I don't think I've seen you before. You own me years of birthday and Chrismas presents!"

"Who are you?" asked Malory.

"Dudley."

"Now there's a parental vote of confidence. That sounds like the name you'd give a bumbling Canadian Mountie."

Towering over them both, Vernon wrapped an arm over Dudley's shoulder. "Don't speak that way to my son. Dudley is a lovely name, nice and normal." His mustache twitched as he sneered. "Now, what will it take to get you out of my house?"

"I came here to get you to sign some paperwork on one of your children." said Malory with a snap of her fingers Woodhouse produced the documents from her purse.

Snatching the offered bundle, Vernon scrambled to pull his reading glasses out of his coat's breast pocket. "We can't just sign off on legal papers without reading them."

"My financial adviser told me the same thing. We laughed and laughed. Then I fired him." Malory's eyes narrowed as she paused. "Immolation takes longer than you'd expect."

Vernon jabbed the paper stack at Malory, using it to point. "This is about Harry, isn't it? It's always that little weirdo with you people."

"Yes, and if the stars align to form the alphabet, we just might be able to get through this without me shooting anybody."

Letting out a harsh breath, Vernon gestured with the papers towards the front door. "Look we did as the last set of weirdos asked and moved him out of the broom closet so leave us alone."

"You keep your child in a broom closet?" Malory cackled with glee. "That's brilliant, why didn't I think of it before. I gave Sterling an entire mansion and all he turned out to be was a vain, selfish, lying, and quite possibly alcoholic man-whore."

Vernon snorted as he thumbed through the thick stack of paper. His eyebrows shot into his hairline as he said, "These are adoption papers! Is this legal?"

"Perfectly. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and I worked out a very flexible arrangement. So, if you don't want to end up as a bloody milkshake... I suggest you sign."

Flinching at her tone, Vernon pulled a pen out of his pocket and signed all the forms. "Ugh, Petunia dear, welcome to the funeral."

"Who died?" asked Petunia, her mouth twisted into a thin frown.

"Just my dignity."

Loudly clearing his throat Whoodhouse said, "Perhaps the young masters will become friends."

Rubbing her temples Malory tried to fight the inevitable headache that came from thinking of her son. "Sterling certainly does still act like a child." She hummed thoughtfully. "He did make a friend... once. I believe I told them to go play Hot Potato."

Eyeing Malory's purse, Vernon huffed in contempt and asked, "What did you give them a grenade?"

Malory gasped. "I wouldn't hand my precious baby a live grenade it was a normal potato."

Woodhouse tilted his head in confusion. "But the explosion..."

"Was to be expected. They were playing in a minefield after all." Malory stood up from the couch. "Let's go, Woodhouse. It's time I go pick up my sons from school."

Closing Theme Plays