A/N: Well, this is definitely bunches longer than the first two! :D As promised, the elder Dursleys make a journey to Diagon Alley. Fear not - this isn't the only alley chapter. Their trip will be continued in chapter four (if you want it to be!).
In response to certain reviews:
Silver45 is half right... ;)
Whiteling - I'll manage to make someone quiver before the end xD
And a huge THANK YOU SO MUCH to all of the reviewers.
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all related bits are not mine. The beginning of the chapter is taken from Sorcerer's Stone, and what you recognize is not mine.
Enjoy.

Mr. Vernon J. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, used to be able to proudly to say that he was perfectly normal, thank you very much, and that he was the last sort of person you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because he just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a vast, hefty man with hardly any visible neck, although he did have a very large mustache. He looked imposing and slow, but in reality was quite lithe and moved silently. Mrs. Petunia A. Dursley was petite and blonde and, when seen near her husband, seemed to have nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which those who disliked her said came in very useful 'as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors'. Never mind the fact that she did so only in order to try and catch who was behind the cruel rumours about her family.

The two Dursleys certainly made a strange couple, and to be quite honest, they both appeared rather unattractive when seen in close proximity to one another. Vernon dwarfed his tiny wife, and what muscle and grace he had paled in comparison to hers. Similarly, the immense size of her husband made Petunia seem scrawny, bony, and rather horsey. No one looking at them apart would believe them to be the same people; Vernon appeared to glide soundlessly and give an aura of someone who could protect you, while Petunia seemed blonde, elfin, and shy in the most endearing, feminine way. They were not nearly as socially oblivious as one might think, and they knew what was said about them. But in spite of all else that they might be, they loved one another and would not let this bother them.

They also had a rather large son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere. He possessed the best of both of them; Petunia's soft features, Vernon's strength, and the ability from both of them to let cruelty bounce off of his (admittedly rather bountiful) thick skin. They had always believed they were raising him well, and were rather proud of them; now, however, they could only hope he was strong enough to endure whatever may be happening to him, for they had not the slightest idea where he might be.

Yes, you might say that the Dursleys had everything they wanted. But they also currently had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it and cause their dear son excessive pain.

It was the day after the session in which Petunia had somewhat unwillingly admitted to her husband that, should she have chosen, she could have been a witch like her sister. The two of them were currently hovering near the entrance to The Leaky Cauldron, and therefore the entrance to Diagon Alley. Of course, terrified for their son, they would have been hovering in said area much sooner, if not for Petunia's unfortunate fainting spells that had plagued her on and off since. Having finally recovered and having put off the dreaded trip for as long as they deemed safely possible, the couple was now preparing to enter a world they often overjoyed in pretending did not exist.

"Pet, dear, are you quite sure this is the spot? After all, it has been rather some time," Vernon whispered cautiously and nearly inaudibly into Petunia's left ear.

The entrance to the bar was old and dilapidated. The window frames were rotting away, and the glass they held was dark with what appeared to be centuries of grit and grime. Only the dark stones appeared to be still mostly intact; every other aspect of the bar, from the rusted sign to the molded door, looked as though it was just barely holding itself together. Petunia could just vaguely make out a sign on the front stating that the building was condemned, but it was faint, as if not really there. She found out that when she thought of where she was headed, she could not see the sign as well.

Vernon, as it turned out, could see the sign no matter what, and informed her that half the roof was missing and that the old bar was badly charred. Petunia glanced up; the roof was rotted, yes, but intact, and she could make out no sign of a fire in the ancient building. There was no arguing that it was ancient and falling apart; it should already be a pile of dirt. But was Vernon perhaps right? Was she sp desperate to believe that there was a way in, a way to save her dear Dudley, that she was hallucinating? Was she in the wrong spot? Or worse, perhaps… had Dudley died or been kidnapped, leading her to insanity? She began to doubt herself more than she ever had before in her life, and she watched as the area around the building darkened. She was crazy. She looked up – when had the roof fallen in? Lily would –

Lily. Her sister, who was dead by the hands of a wizard. Whom she had loved and who had loved her. Petunia knew, in that moment, that's she was not losing her fragile grasp on reality. She had known of this world for years. It was real, Lily was real. Dudley and the threat, all real. And then it came to her - there was only one thing that could be keeping it together: magic.

"I'm sure," she whispered back, though not nearly so overly cautious. She was a mite surprised that she had sounded so calm and confident in her assessment.

With that statement, lacking of any doubt, the building solidified in her mind. Suddenly, it became fifty years younger; it was still old, still rather dirty, but no longer looked as though it might collapse if one breathed on it. Petunia finally made sense of their different views - of course, as a full on Muggle, Vernon was incapable of seeing the entrance to this small branch of the Wizarding World. But Lily Evans had told her sister about the place some years ago, and despite the feud that came later, Petunia had never forgotten. She could see clearly what must be done, and she also remembered that without a wand, she would be just as useful as her husband in accessing the area. No, it was time to swallow her pride and ask one of…them.

Petunia approached a rather old and dusty looking man at the bar, whom was wiping the counter with a rag. Suspiciously enough, the rag seemed dry as a bone and rather filthy, while the counter itself gleamed, pristine, after each pass. Petunia was fairly sure that the rag was hiding a wand. She walked boldly up to the man, managing to hide the slight tremors in her knees; Vernon meekly followed behind her.

"Excuse me, sir…" she began.

"Eh?" the barman glanced up and gave her a once over, barely sparing a glance at the man behind her. "Name's Tom, I'm the barman here at The Leaky Cauldron. How can I be helping you today, mum?"

"I'm looking to enter…ah..Diagon Alley," she told him, lowering her voice a bit at the end.

Tom glared at her suspiciously for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth between her and Vernon. "And why might you be needing assistance? Folks your age normally just go on through, and you sure don't look too foreign…"

"Our niece attends Hogwarts," Petunia began. She and Vernon both agreed to stay as anonymous as possible, and mentioning a nephew at Hogwarts staying with them for any reason was a danger. "She's been staying with us for the past few months as her parents work through a divorce. Thing is, we're Muggles, and not too well versed in your world… Anyway, she seems to have forgotten quite a few items for school—"

"—figures, shouldn't have let her go off shopping with her silly little friends and no adults," Vernon butted in on cue, making sure to seem gruff but fondly remembering the incident.

Petunia smiled at him and hoped like hell she looked surer of this than she felt. "Yes, well, can you blame her for wanting to get away from adults for a while, Wendell? But anyway, she sent us a letter asking for us to pick some things up for her, and so we were hoping you could help us."

Tom considered the two of them for a moment, and Vernon vaguely noted that he bunched the rag up, probably gripping that stick of his tighter. The man was becoming a bit too interested; he was suspicious of their story. If they were caught, he would likely use that stick on them and do only God knew what. Vernon tried not to look like he was about to donate liquid to the floor for mopping. He sensed rather than saw Petunia stiffen and knew that she saw what was under the rag. Her smile began to falter ever so slightly.

Tom coughed lightly before saying "never did like hearin' about a kid's family having troubles… Course, I'm sure she told you she could get her supplies in Hogsmeade herself?"

"Oh?" Petunia raised her eyebrows in surprise. 'Think, you bloody idiot! Think! The boy mentioned Hogsmeade, mentioned he wanted to go…but we said no. He blew up Marge! Poor Dudley, he was just a baby at the time, just thirteen…ah, wait, that's it!'

"I'd hope not," Petunia said, acting mildly surprised and slightly put out. "Ben always told me that there was an age limit! She's only just a second year, I was under the impression she didn't get to go yet. I have to say, I won't be too happy with her sending us all this way for nothing.."

"Ben, eh?"

"My older brother."

"Ah, Muggleborn, I assume."

Vernon suddenly stepped in front of Petunia and visibly bristled. "Now you listen here, I may not know as much as you about what's going on in my niece's world, but I do understand that you lot have some cockamamie idea that parentage makes my family lower class! And if you're insinuating what you seem to be, I certainly have no problem with shoving that rag—"

"Now, now, I'm certainly no blood purist, Wendell!" Tom said quickly. "I was just going on the assumption that your brother in law must be a Muggleborn wizard, as it's much more common than your wife being a Squib born to a magical family."

"Very well, then…" Vernon trailed off, giving the barman a calmer but still slightly ruffled stare.

"And anyway, he's right, she can't go until her third year… Hate to cause the poor thing trouble… Ah…Well then, things being what they are, I'm sure I can get you in. Just a mo', let me get Crystal to watch the counter…" Tom offered. "OI, CRYSTAL!"

Crystal, apparently the female version of Dudley, if Dudley ever ate his father, and then dyed his hair bright green, ambled up to the bar, flashing a lazy grin. She was in her twenties and yet still clearly appeared to be in the midst of teenage rebellion. Her shirt, black and red, advertised for "Evisceration Nation", and Petunia hoped it was just some strange wizarding band. If not, she did not want to meet this girl again.

"What the hell do you want, you bloody wanker?" Crystal teased, brown eyes flashing mischievously as she pulled out a rag of her own which Vernon definitely noticed. 'Another freak, another wand… why did the scary one have to be armed, as well?'

"A racing broom, more rain, a rare African Mimbulus Mimbiltonia Fernucula for my kitchen table, world peace, dress robes that don't strangle me…." Tom muttered, faking a glare at her that did not quite hide his fondness.

"All right, all right!" She said, laughing. "I'll watch the pub for you. Now go away and shut up, old man!" As she smiled at their retreating forms, Petunia could have sworn the large girl shrank a bit and her hair lightened from an emerald to a spring green. Were her eyes blue under all that gaudy make-up? Odd, she could have sworn they were brown.

Diagon Alley was, quite possibly, the eighth wonder of the world. Petunia couldn't recall if she had ever been before; she likely had not, because her fight with Lily had begun long before the school shopping, and she was certain she would have remembered a place like this. Yes, if Petunia had come here, she would have definitely rescinded her decision to not attend Hogwarts.

It was nearly too much to take in. Right to her left was a sign advertising "Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions". Across from that she saw Flourish & Blotts, a pretentiously lettered sign that led her to believe she might find books there. There were also signs for an apothecary, a pet shop, ice cream, antiques… the list went on and on. Every building positively glowed with color and joy. There were children running around, dragging their parents after them and squealing with joy. Down from the clothing store, she saw a large crowd of young boys and their fathers huddled around a window – they appeared to be admiring a broom of some sort. Vernon was unwittingly smiling as he looked around while standing next to her.

The air smelled of cotton candy, fruit pies, firewood, and the smoke that comes from a firework. All in all, it was the best thing she had ever smelled, and by the way Vernon kept taking in deep breaths and sighing contentedly, she was willing to bet that he'd agree with her. A feeling was building within Petunia, a strong feeling she couldn't quite put a name on, as she wasn't sure she had ever felt anything like this before. Tom prodded her arm gently and their group moved slightly to the left to allow a young couple and small blonde girl by; they appeared to be exiting. Petunia caught the look on the girl's face: pure joy and amazement. Her eyes, while not quite as vivid, were green enough to remind Petunia uncomfortably of Lily Evans.

"Mummy, when can we come back?" The little girl asked, now looking back with wide eyes. The mother, dark haired with gentle gray eyes, smiled and scooped her up gently, planting a large kiss on the top of her head. The burning sensation within Petunia grew brighter.

"Very soon, Primrose, sweetie. A few years, when you turn eleven, you'll get to come here all the time."

"Really?" Primrose was nearly squealing in joy. "It's so pretty, Mummy! Everything looks like colors and happy and giant candies and love!"

Her father chuckled slightly and slung an arm around his wife and child, who both nestled into him, subconsciously seeking his warmth and protection. As they passed through to The Leaky Cauldron, Petunia was just able to catch the end of their conversation.

"You realize she'll be dragging us here every other weekend now, Kat?" The husband asked, gently, trying his hardest not to sound overjoyed about it.

The woman laughed, and Primrose joined in just because she could; it was the best sound Petunia had ever heard. "Don't I know it, Pete. Don't I know it."

Petunia glanced over at Vernon and saw that he, too, was staring at the couple with a warm smile on his face. Little Primrose had said it perfectly, if perhaps not in a very sophisticated manner: Diagon Alley was amazing, and looked like colors and happy and love. It was heaven on earth to the little girl who had just experienced it for the first time, just as it was to the Dursleys, despite their hatred of the magical world. One could not simply experience this and remain as hard-hearted afterward…

But it was more than that for Petunia; from the moment she walked in, she had felt something, but not known what it was. She had mistaken it at first as disgust, then fear, then confusion. But none of those emotions gave her a warm, burning, melancholy feeling deep within her chest.

"So," Tom said, pulling Petunia out of her thoughts, "that'll be the bank down that way, you can transfer some of your pounds into Galleons and the like. Madame Malkin's is down to the left, apothecary is across from Ollivanders, and the chaps in the blue robes with a silver star on the left breast can help you find your way if you get lost. So good luck to you!"

"Thank you," Petunia said gratefully, glancing around the magical world around her. Vernon simply stuttered a small bit; he was still entranced with the color, the smell, the overall atmosphere of the alley. He glanced back only at the sound of bricks scraping together – the wall between the magical and Muggle world was closing between them and the barman.

"I hope you find what you are looking for," Tom said to them cheerily. It seemed that watching them watch the little girl and her family had dissolved the last of his mistrust.

"I think I already have," Petunia whispered, only half aware of what she was saying. The sensation within her reached its peak, and finally she recognized it: a feeling of joy, of welcome, of finally coming home after a long day. A loving caress from the very place she was meant to be. It was a feeling of belonging to something, completely and freely, without any reservations. It was as if the alley and everyone in it was reaching out to envelope her in a hug and say "welcome home, dear."

"Yes, I do, too," the barman replied with a knowing smile as the last few bricks concealed him from view.

There was a pause; for a long moment, Petunia and Vernon simply wandered forward with slow (yet not unsure) steps, drinking in the alley with any and all senses. The very air radiated magic; what they once and feared and hated held them no ill will – it was glad Petunia was back, and glad that the man she had chosen to love was behind her wholeheartedly.

After several minutes of wandering aimlessly and dodging the large but cheery groups of shoppers, the Dursleys stopped off to the side of a building and took a good long look at one another.

"Bloody hell," Petunia said as she let out a shaky breath. "I didn't think we'd make it through that. Vernon, you were brilliant!"

"Not at all," he told her, in awe of both Diagon Alley and his small wife. "Not nearly so much as you were. But really, dear? 'Wendell'? Ugh…"

"Sorry," she replied, trying to seem contrite. "I admit, I forgot to think of names beforehand, and it just flowed well."

"Whatever you say, Prudence, dear."

"Now that's just cruel," she growled playfully. "Come on, on to the bank."

They walked down the alley hand in hand, trying with all of their might to seem more confident than they really were; once they passed the doors of the bank, noting that the sign said "Gringotts", the both let out deep breaths and seemed to deflate a bit. At least the bank was relatively empty and they no longer had to pretend they were someone else.

Well, empty save some rather squashed, angry, unattractive looking little creatures which Petunia recalled were goblins, which she whispered to Vernon nervously as they approached the desk.

"How may I…help you?" One asked her, speaking oddly.

"I, erm… I..that is to say, we…we need to convert some Muggle money…"

"Ah, very…well. How. Much?"

Vernon simply handed over a rather large envelope filled to bursting point.

"I…see? That's…ten thousand. Galleons. Then. Here, you are?"

"Er…thank you, ah…" Petunia snuck a quick glance at the nameplate on his desk. "Markwole."

"You're."

Vernon coughed uncomfortably and looked like he was about to pose a question to his wife, but she silenced him with a sharp look and a sharped jab from her elbow.

"Welcome!" Markwole half-shouted suddenly. "Have-a-nice!...day?"

Petunia gathered up the sack of gold coins, realizing belatedly that they seemed to have gotten quite a lot of money, and walked out the front doors after steeling herself once more. Vernon dutifully followed after her, rubbing his left arm and looking a bit petulant.

Once a safe distance from the bank and away from any lingering magical folk, he dared ask her, "what the hell was that about? I didn't know they couldn't speak properly! I could hardly follow a thing that he…it? She? ….I could hardly follow a thing that the teller said!"

"Well, I only ever heard about them once before, when that nasty boy was telling my sister about them, and he never mentioned that they spoke like that! But no matter, I suppose. We got what we came for, and at least that one didn't ask too many questions like the barman!"

"True, true. So, ah…" at this, Vernon looked distinctly uncomfortable, if it were even possible for him to look more uncomfortable than he had since this whole horrid business had started. "What are we to do next, then?"

"Well… to do anything really, I need… well," she paused and looked him nervously. "I need a wand, Vernon, like the….like the boy has."

Vernon blinked in surprise, paled, and thought it over for a moment.

"Bloody hell."

"Ollivanders… Makers of fine wands since 382…B.C.?" Vernon questioned his wife almost desperately as they stood outside the shop.

"Oh," Petunia clearly hadn't been expecting that at all. "I suppose… I suppose this has been going on for a while then. Shall we just get it done with, do you think?"

"Might as well… ruddy, bloody…" Vernon's mumbling trailed off as they walked inside and a little bell tinkled somewhere, alerting the owner of their presence.

"Well, hello," a voice came suddenly from right behind the couple, causing them to jump and stumble. Its owner was a wizened old man, shorter than both of them, with strange reflective glasses and gleaming eyes. "I am Mr. Ollivander. And you are Wendell and Prudence Olivier. And you're here to pick up supplies for your niece, daughter to your brother. Who is currently undergoing a divorce."

Petunia Dursley was a very strong woman. She had sat by and watched as her sister turned small animals into teapots. She watched that Snape boy burn flies with his wand. She had seen Vernon beat her nephew within an inch of his life, seen her son kill millions of children in his games, and watched as a small little girl lay dying on the side of the road after her drunken brother crashed into Petunia's car. She had been cheated on, stood up, slapped, and betrayed. She had seen and experienced many things in life; she had even received a letter giving excruciating detail about her sister and her brother-in-law being captured and tortured by means both Muggle and magical by the dark wizard who eventually killed them both. But until this moment, Petunia felt she hadn't known true shock and disbelief.

"How did you-"

"But," Ollivander continued as if he had not noticed her plight or heard her begin to speak. "That does not explain why you are here, in my wand shop, with the intent to purchase a wand when your twelve-year-old niece already has one."

"What I am looking for," Petunia said carefully, purposefully not looking over at her husband, "is a magical wand for myself. You might say that I'm not from the area. I would like to keep this private – I don't know who told you all of those things, but I do know that you don't believe them one bit."

"That, I do not, fair lady." Ollivander said, looking her over without the least bit of suspicion. "You aren't from here, you aren't who you say, and you need a wand. Just you. Not him."

"No," she said softly. "Not him."

"Way I see it, I let you look, one picks you, you pay and leave… no questions asked. I can certainly respect the need for privacy. One has to, when one's been around as long as I have."

"As long as— You...you mean," Vernon stuttered, turning lightly pink when Ollivanders head suddenly whipped around and he unwillingly met the man's creepy stare. "You mean to say that you're the one on the sign out there, the same one?"

"That I am," Ollivander told him softly. "Shall we then?"

Petunia took the dusty wooden box that he handed to her and glanced at it with trepidation. "And I just pick it up, that's all?"

"Aye. You'll know when it's right, you can always tell when one picks you."

"All right…"

And Petunia lifted the first wand out of the box, stroking it gently with her free hand. It was nice, she supposed. Dark red wood and a gleaming polish. It felt comfortable in her hand, which she had not expected. But then, she had also not expected to be in Diagon Alley holding a stick. Ollivander suddenly grabbed it away from her, causing her to startle.

"No, no, no. This one's no good! Here!" He thrust another box at her, already open, and she picked up the dusty and slightly crooked looking wand.

Nothing.

And so it continued for another two boxes, until she lifted a ramrod straight wand with a gray base out of its box and promptly dropped in in surprise, screaming as a large stream of water was issued from the tip, turning to ice as it fell.

"Almost," Ollivander said. "But not quite. Wait here, I need one from the back."

The strange old wizard ambled away, and Petunia turned towards Vernon, terrified to see the look on his face from witnessing his first concrete evidence that his wife was, in fact, a witch. She was very surprised then, to see him smiling reassuringly at her as he moved in for a large hug.

"I'm… I'm proud." He told her softly. "Sounds as if I've gone mad, I'm sure. But I am. Proud of you, I mean. And hell, a little barmy, too."

"I thought you'd be angry, or…or..disgusted with me."

"I couldn't, Pet! Not after what we saw earlier, not after seeing the look on your face. We've been married twenty years and I've not once seen you look that happy, look like you felt that safe. How could I hate that? And then I felt it, too. I felt okay here, I felt like as long as I was with you, I belonged. I always knew I belonged by your side, of course, but I didn't think that'd apply here. Half figured I'd be kicked out the door the second I walked in, actually. Thought they'd see what I was. But I just felt..reassured."

"I'm glad," Petunia told him, tearing up a bit. "I hate to say it, in a way, but… I regretted lying to Lily more than I ever had in my life. When we walked in, I felt all of what you described. I felt… like I was home. I felt like I was seeing her again after all of this time."

"Maybe you were," he told her seriously. "One thing I've learned since this whole bloody mess started: it's all possible. And now that we're here, doing this, I feel like we have a chance to save him."

"Vernon, I—"

"Here it is!" Ollivander exclaimed as he walked back into the front room He was carrying a single box, dustier than any of the others, slightly squashed as though it had been at the bottom of a very large, very heavy pile. He opened it up and a single butterfly flew out. He chuckled and blew the dust off of the wand inside.

Petunia took the box uncertainly, glancing in at what she was sure would be a filthy mess. But the wand was polished and gleaming like those before it had been. She lifted it up in her right hand and felt the hairs on the back of her neck and arms raise; it was suddenly very warm in the shop, and she thought she smelled vanilla. She admired the wand in her hand, thinking it was prettier than the prior ones. She ran one finger up and down the length of it, tapped the tip, inspected the base. It was then that she realized the discarded wand boxes from before were floating around her in a spiral.

"I think we have it then," Ollivander said with a smile. "Maple and unicorn hair, eleven inches, flexible. That'll be seven galleons."

"Erm… how do I…?" Petunia asked, slightly awed as the boxes continued to float around her.

"Concentrate on them falling," he told her.

She did, but instead of falling roughly to the floor of the shop, the floated, nearly danced, over to the counter and stacked themselves.

"Impressive," he told her.

"I… I suppose so?" Petunia couldn't help but smile slightly as she walked toward the register. "Seven…erm? What, now?"

"Galleons," he told her. "That'll be the big, gold ones."

"Right…"

Petunia paid him, Vernon thanked him, and the couple headed for the door. Ollivander walked them to it, saying that it was his pleasure, really, and to come again if they ever needed to. Petunia stopped, ignoring that Vernon was holding the door open for her like a perfect gentleman, and took a long look at Ollivander.

"You said earlier that we would know when I had the right one," she stated cautiously. "You said 'you can always tell when one picks you'. What did you mean?"

Ollivander smiled at her and tilted his head; the sun streaming in through the open door caught his glasses and the lenses both reflected, temporarily blinding Petunia as she edged toward the door.

"It's quite simple, really," the shop owner said, advancing so that Petunia had to follow Vernon out. "The wand chooses the witch or wizard. Not the other way around. It knows who it's best matched to."

He grasped the door handle and began to shut it behind them; they both turned to wish him a good day, and before the door covered the last half of his face, he said, "A lot of things work out like that here. I wish you the best of luck, Petunia Dursley."

A/N: And so, there you have it! It felt a lot longer when I was writing and editing it, so I'm sorry if it sort of fell short of expectations... As you can see, there was no note from the mysterious kidnapper here... don't worry, he or she will be back soon, and boy are they PISSED OFF about something! But I felt that, at least this once, the Dursleys deserved to enjoy themselves. I hope you liked the little girl and her parents, as well as the scene where Petunia feels like she's home! Points to anyone who knows what I was alluding to with the family... :)
More soon, you guys, and thanks so much for sticking with me.

Lots of love,
~skittynina