Divergence Points, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: Much to my surprise, my lawyers inform me I don't own Harry Potter. It seems J.K. Rowling filed for the copyright before I could get to it. I'll probably get my chance in another fifty years or so.

Author's Note: This is a collection of one-shots, not unlike my other series, "Wait, What?" However, these are not about incongruous moments so much as incongruous elements, those aspects of the story that could have pushed the series far afield of Rowling's intended plot.

Divergence Points
By Publicola

The Royal Wizard

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of Number Four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They lived in a narrow suburban lot in the small suburban neighborhood towards the northern end of Surrey. They kept a small pristine lawn in the front, and a small pristine garden in the back. Petunia got along very well with the other ladies of the Little Whinging Neighborhood Association.

Vernon worked at a company called Grunnings, which made drills. His job wasn't to make the drills, though. His job was to shout at the people who did. Every morning he puffed with pride as he entered his office, past the name plate with his name and the word "DIRECTOR" in big embossed letters.

They had one son, Dudley, and they doted on the dear boy as much as any other happy family. Why, just the other day they'd invited the Polkiss family over to celebrate Dudley's first-and-a-half birthday.

Naturally the Dursleys couldn't be completely unexceptional. For instance, Vernon was rather beefy, with hardly any neck, while Petunia was fairly thin, with a neck twice the usual height. But between the two of them, they were perfectly average.

Like most other families in England, the Dursleys attended services on Christmas and Easter at the nearest Church of England, and forgot the homily by the time they returned home. And on the Spring Bank Holiday in May the Dursleys would cram themselves in the car and drive south for a day at Brighton Beach, like most other families in England.

But there was one last thing. Just like most other families in England, the Dursley family held one thing above all, one thing that defined them as truly and properly English. You see, Vernon and Petunia Dursley dearly loved their Queen.

The morning of November 2nd, Vernon woke from dissatisfying fitful sleep. He'd had a scare the day before, and could barely sleep for worry. Cats reading maps, owls flying in broad daylight, shooting stars, odd people in cloaks hugging him in the streets… oh, the humanity! Vernon relaxed into his mattress, thanking his stars that nothing had come of his odd premonition that somehow his family would be involved in this mess.

He nudged Petunia awake and rolled out of bed, ready for his morning routine. Bathrobe and slippers, downstairs for breakfast. Back up the stairs to brush, shave and shower. Dress in a hurry, suit with dull tie, briefcase and car keys and kiss to the wife.

Vernon chuckled to watch Petunia divide her time between fussing with Dudley's high chair, and Dudley fussing with her. He turned. "Have a good day, dear."

He opened the door.

A few seconds passed.

He closed the door. "Tunie?" He croaked in an oddly strangled voice.

"Yes, dear?"

"Did you have a chance to grab the morning paper?"

"Not yet, dear. What's the matter?"

"Could you come to get it now?"

"Vernon?"

"There's… there's something you ought to see."

"Just a second."

At last Petunia got Dudley situated in his chair, and came to the front door, wiping her hands on her skirt. "Oh dear, that stain will take some doing. Now," she said as she arrived, "what's the matter with the paper?"

"Just…" Vernon motioned at her to open the door.

She did.

A few seconds passed.

She closed the door.

"Vernon?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Is that… a child?"

"I'm afraid it looks that way, dear."

"Oh. Oh dear. How irregular."

She opened the door, but didn't step outside, preferring instead to scrutinize the package from a distance. It appeared to be a bundle of blankets, with only the face of a young child visible, silently smiling up at them.

"Oh dear. Think we should take it in?"

"I suppose we must."

"Yes. What will the neighbors think?" Petunia lifted the blankets very gingerly, keeping the unknown infant as far from her as possible.

They placed the blankets on an end table.

"Oh dear oh dear. What should we do now?"

A thought struck Vernon. It was a very rare occurrence, and Vernon wondered if it would leave a bruise. "Shall I call the bobbies?"

"Oh! Yes, yes, do."

Twenty minutes later, Petunia had just calmed Dudley down for the third time when three rapid knocks came from the front door, and two bobbies were promptly led inside.

"So let me get this straight: you just… found the child? Outside your front door, with only a blanket against the night air for who knows how long?"

"Yes, yes. We had no idea what to do with it, and…"

"Well, I should say not. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, would you be willing to come to the station to fill out a report?"

The beefy man looked oddly sheepish, "Ah… actually, I really must be off. This has made me late for work, you see. Very busy man, very busy job. But Petunia can certainly help you gentlemen, I'm sure. I mean, she was the one who found it, after all." He gave his wife a significant look.

"…Yes? Yes, I mean, of course. I was just… putting out the milk bottles, you see. That's when I saw him."

The two bobbies didn't fail to notice the interplay. "Hmm. As you say. Anyway, we should be off. We'll be bringing him –" he lifted the enwrapped baby – "along with us. Frank?"

The first officer left while the second gave them directions to the station. "We'll expect to see you in the next half-hour then." He said before he too departed.

A few minutes later, Vernon pecked his wife on the cheek and left for work for the day.

That evening, Petunia filled him in on what she'd learned. "They found a letter in the blankets, but I don't know what it said. Elaine told me – you know her, lives on Magnolia? She works at the front desk – Elaine told me they're not even sure if it was a missing child, or an orphan."

Vernon had been considering the question for most of the day. "You don't think it might have been your sister's kid, do you? I mean, there was all that oddness yesterday, then the child this morning. I did hear someone say something about the Potters being dead."

"Oh Vernon, surely you see how far-fetched that is? There must be a thousand Potters in England. What are the odds that the ones who died were the very ones… well, the very ones we know of, at least."

He grumbled a bit, before tossing onto his other side. "Too much oddness about these days, I say."

"Yes dear."

The next morning, Vernon broke once more into his useful routine. Down for food, up to clean, dress to bore and out the door.

He stared.

He closed the door, took a deep breath in, and took a deep breath out.

He opened the door.

There was a bundle of blankets. Again. This time the letter was pretty obvious to see.

"Petunia?" All this strangled yelling was proved bad for his throat.

"Yes dear?"

"It's back."

"What's back, dear?"

"The child. The child from yesterday. We have another bloody child sitting outside our front door!"

"Vernon! What have I told you about using that kind of language around—wait, what did you just say?"

"I said!" He caught himself. "I said, we have another child outside our front door." Vernon wanted to cuss mightily, but the specter of Petunia's wrath kept his voice in check.

She came down the hall, before stopping beside him. "Oh dear."

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley looked at the child wrapped in blankets.

"Well, we'd best bring him inside again."

"I'll ring up the station." Vernon contributed.

A few minutes later, even Petunia's wrath couldn't tame the mighty tongue. "What do you mean, you have no bloody record? My wife spent an hour at the station filling out a very detailed report about the missing child that appeared on our doorstep, and you mean to tell me not only do you not remember it, you don't even have the bloody child?"

Petunia paled.

Dudley giggled. "Bloody!"

Petunia regained a bit of color. "Vernon!" She warned.

Vernon paled. "Right." He mouthed 'sorry' to his wife, before turning back to the receiver. "What do you mean, I should watch my tone? You should watch yours, ma'am!" He spat into the phone. "What I don't figure is how bloo—how unbelievably incompetent you have to be to lose a missing child from your own police station, I just—" He paused, and stared at the phone in disbelief. "Well, great. That's just great. She just bloody hung up on me."

"Bloody!"

"Vernon!"

Vernon cringed. "Sorry."

Petunia looked at him unthinkingly for a moment. "Well. The only thing I can think of, would be that the child is… one of them. This is how they work, you know. They can make you forget anything."

Vernon looked at her with horror. "You mean… Elaine honestly didn't remember it? They didn't just lose the records, they lost the memory of even visiting here?"

Petunia nodded absently.

Vernon tried to keep from cussing. He really did. "Bloo—Holy he—dammit!" He failed.

Petunia could hardly blame him. "I think… I think we should have a look at that letter."

So they lifted it out, opened an end, and let the letter inside fall to the table. Vernon couldn't help but notice the rough texture of envelope with disdain. How predictable. Of course they'd use parchment.. Why couldn't they just be normal?

Petunia,

It is with deep regret that I must inform you that your sister Lily is dead. She and her husband, James Potter, were at home when they were struck down by the hands of the Dark Lord Voldemort, who then turned his wand on their child Harry. What happened is unclear, but what is clear is that Harry survived, and Voldemort was struck down himself.

For his defeat of the Dark Lord, Harry James Potter is now one of the most recognized names in magical England. When you tell him of his family, you must keep his fame from him, so that it doesn't turn his head before he can understand.

The Potter home was mostly destroyed during the attack, and Voldemort had many allies who might wish harm on young Harry and anyone related to him. I believe therefore, that you may find yourself in danger. However, I believe that it was your sister's sacrifice that protected Harry from the Killing Curse. I have taken the liberty of extending those protections over your house. By taking Harry into your home, you shall both be protected, until the midnight hour before Harry's seventeenth birthday.

Under no circumstances are you to give Harry up to an orphanage. Nor are you to move away from the protections at your current address. Where you to do so, the consequences would be dire for your entire family.

I shall contact you again at an opportune time.

I am, yours most sincerely,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Order of Merlin (First Class)
Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot
Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Petunia stared at the letter dumbly.

"Vernon, it… it says we have to keep him. It says we're in danger, and that only by taking him in will we be safe."

"Where?' Vernon replied gruffly. He grabbed the letter and skimmed it quickly. Finishing, he threw it on the table. "Well, bollocks to that!"

"Bollocks!" Dudley giggled.

"Vernon!"

"Fine, fine." He grumbled. "You don't honestly say you believe this… garbage, do you?"

Petunia looked at him with wide eyes. "But… I mean, of course, don't you?"

"Of course not. I can spot a con job a mile off, and this is one of the finest I've seen. This Dumblewimble chap, he's clearly exaggerating the danger to make us take the boy in. And you see that: 'I'll contact you again at an opportune time.' Hogwash, I say. Of course he doesn't mean it; of course he won't keep us informed. Otherwise, don't you think he'd have rung bell and talked to us like a normal civilized person would?"

Now his hackles were raised and it was Petunia's turn to calm him down. "No, no, you're right. So what do we do?"

Vernon thought quickly. "Well, the police are out of the question, since these odd types are obviously expecting that. I say we contact a fostering agency." He chuckled. "Really, 'no orphanages,' he says. What a lark. There haven't been orphanages for nearly a decade now."

Petunia was already flipping through the phone book. "Ooh, I got it. Barnado's has a 'Short Breaks Service' over in Morden. 'Bout 45 minutes away, but less than 20 from Grunnings. We'll call ahead. If you drop me off, I'll be able to catch the bus home with Dudley."

The next morning, Vernon Dursley stretched before rising from the bed. At least they wouldn't have to deal with that… oddity anymore. Petunia had told him the fine people at Barnardo's were already taking care of the child. Of course they'd kept the letter for themselves – it would't have been taken seriously anyway, and nearly of the Dursleys wanted to be associated in any way with such things.

Down the stairs, food, up the stairs, shower, clothes on, tuck in the tie, out the door and….

He closed the door.

"Petunia! It's back!"

She bustled over to him. "Oh dear, this again. I really thought we had a good thing yesterday. I suppose I should check if they still remember us, or if they think we kidnapped the missing child we brought in."

She returned to the kitchen to use the phone.

For his part, Vernon was still a bit shell-shocked that the swaddled child has somehow returned. His keen eye caught another detail: there was another envelope among the blankets.

He lifted it out, tore it open, and read.

Petunia,

I know you read my last note, so I suppose your only excuse is that you forget the most cogent part: under no circumstances are you to let Harry Potter leave your care, for only with Harry under your roof will the protections for him and yourself be activated.. I repeat, the consequences would be dire for you and your family if this is not the case.

Yours sincerely,

Vernon snorted at the signature. "Longer than the rest of the letter, that is." He paused in thought. "Well, he's a persistent chap, I'll give him that. But we aren't out of tricks yet."

He hid the letter with the original before Petunia got off the phone. No point in worrying her.

At last Petunia came back. "Same story. No records, no memory." She descended gracefully into a chair, before slumping further down. "What do we do now? What can we do?"

Vernon was already working on that problem.

A minute later, a thought struck him. This one was even more violent than the last. "I know what to do."

The next morning, Vernon Dursley awoke and stretched, content that this morning there wouldn't be a child waiting on his doorstep.

Vernon frowned. He wasn't a superstitious fellow by any means, but he was dealing with magic folk, and he wondered if he might not have just jinxed himself.

Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, he went about his daily routine, though he did hold his breath as he walked down the front hall, wondering what he'd find outside.

Strangely, he was not at all surprised. "Petunia!"

She hurried over. "It's back?"

"Of course." He snorted. "Bloody predictable."

She frowned. "But I just don't understand it. I mean, we gave the child to Ms. Upcott herself, and we saw her bring the Vicar into the loop as well. I just… I don't understand. I mean, it's St. John Egham's! Surely even wizards should have some sense of propriety about these things – I mean, they are British, after all. How could they take the child away from the Church of England?"

The two Dursleys continued looking at the child.

Then Petunia cocked her head. "Is that another envelope?"

Vernon had a sinking feeling somewhere deep in his gut.

Petunia snatched the letter and brought it inside to open. "Bring the child too." She reminded Vernon.

She opened the envelope and tilted it to let the letter fall out. It didn't fall out.

It flew.

Also, it was red.

The Howler wasn't very loud, but it was very surprising and very forceful. Their bones rattled as they listened.

PETUNIA,

I AM SEVERELY DISPLEASED. I ENTRUSTED THE CHILD TO YOUR CARE, AND YOU FAILED ME. I KNOW YOU HAVE READ BOTH MY LETTERS TO YOU. NOW REMEMBER MY LAST. HARRY JAMES POTTER IS NOT TO LEAVE YOUR CARE UNTIL HIS SEVENTEENTH BIRTHDAY, OR THE CONSEQUENCES MAY BE DEADLY. DO NOT TEMPT FATE ANY MORE THAN YOU ALREADY HAVE. YOU HAVE NO MORE EXCUSES FOR FAILURE; THIS IS MY LAST WARNING.

YOURS SINCERELY,

ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIAN…

As the Howler continued to enunciate every word of Dumbledore's overlong signature, Vernon and Petunia shared a look.

Ten minutes later, they sat at the kitchen table, having cleaned the scraps of paper from their living room floor and straightened the various items that had shifted by the force of the Howler.

Vernon grunted, deep in thought. "Well, we know this Dimblewood fellow has no respect at all for any of our British traditions. Not for the coppers, not for child services, not for the Church." Then a thought struck him, the third in as many days. No wonder his brain hurt so much. "But… you know one tradition he wouldn't dare defy?"

Petunia shook her head, very eager now that Vernon had yet another plan to rid them of their unwanted nephew.

Vernon smiled triumphantly. On a face like his, it vaguely resembled indigestion. "The Queen."

Petunia rocked back in her chair for a moment, before smiling very slightly.

"Don't you see? If these wizards are really as old-fashioned as their use of parchment would indicate, they probably still owe their allegiance to the Monarchy. How does it go? 'By the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith.' The Queen is officially sovereign over everyone within these lands, no matter their status. For us, her rule is in name only, but for them, it might be as effective as back in the days of the Tudors!"

Petunia was beginning to get excited. "Oh, if that's true than I bet she knows about the magical world too. We can give her the letters to deal with!"

Vernon sighed contentedly: no more oddities interfering with his perfectly normal life. That, right there, that was the dream.

But then he frowned. "But… how could we do it? How do we get the child to her? I mean, we can't very well show up and demand an audience, now, could we?" He asked himself skeptically.

Petunia thought for a few minutes before coming up with an idea of her own. "Ooh! Windsor castle is only 15 minutes away, and I know they offer daily tours. I doubt I'll get close to the Queen, but I can certainly drop off Harry where they'll find him."

Vernon thought for a second, then shook his head. "No, they'd have surveillance, and then you'd probably get in trouble. I'd say you should sneak away from the main group, then when you get caught, ask to speak privately with the Head of Security. He'd probably know who's in charge of defending them against magical folk, don't you think? And he'd know who'd be able to talk care of the kid as well."

Petunia smiled brilliantly. On a face like hers… actually, it wasn't too bad at all.

Three days later, Vernon rolled out of bed with a smile. Harry had to stay inside for the few days it had taken to make the arrangements, but Petunia had pulled it off, and the boy was now gone. Vernon felt like he really ought to celebrate, but was too busy going through his morning routine preparing for work.

Down to eat, up to brush; water down, water off; dress, tie, shoes, and briefcase. A peck on the cheek, and a walk to the door.

Vernon paused, hand on the doorknob.

He took a deep breath, and opened.

A few seconds passed. "Petunia!"

His wife came running. "Oh, no, it can't be, don't tell me the boy's back!"

Vernon smiled softly. "All right, then I won't."

Petunia arrived at his side, staring with unseeing eyes to the step outside their front door.

"Vernon?"

"Yes, love?"

"You're seeing this too?"

"Of course, love."

"The boy… the boy's gone."

"Yes, love."

"We're free."

"Yes, love. Yes we are."

The last thing Vernon saw, as he backed out of the driveway and pulled down the street, was his wife standing framed by the doorway, a brilliant smile etched on her face. And Vernon knew when he returned that night, the very same smile would be waiting for him to come through the door.

A/N: The Harry Potter books are pretty clear that the magical world is old-fashioned. So I always wondered: if that's the case, why it'd be portrayed as a democracy, instead of an pureblood aristocracy or some sort of monarchy. After all, that's how England was originally (and to this day officially) structured. The Queen 'forms' the government, or rather allows the new Prime Minister to form one in her name, even though she's cut out of the decision-making process herself. I could see the same thing happening in the Wizarding World, not because the office is powerless (it just makes sense to have magical oaths to ensure allegiance to the Crown) but because the office-holder is (being non-magical, she couldn't execute any of the penalty clauses).

The other element that inspired this was the realization that, for all of the Dursley's 'normalness,' they never even mention the Royal Family, which I'm led to understand is a semi-big deal in the United Kingdom. So I figure, what if the Dursleys really did love their Queen? More to the point, what if they felt that she could fix this unwanted addition to their household?

I've read a few 'royal!Harry' fics, but those always seem to have more to do with Harry going to Gringotts and discovering that he's the long-lost heir of various noble lines, inherits oodles of money (a technical term used by goblins for 'a million million galleons') and taking control of the Wizarding World. This last part drives me nuts. If you're a wealthy pureblood used to running everything your own way, how would you respond to an inexperienced monarch who holds a title without the power to back it up? Of course you'll rebel, and that's the point. Instead of automatically equating "royal!Harry" with "super!Harry," make him fight for it.

A/N 2: And that concludes the first of many 'Divergence Point' one-shots, and my first post for NaNoWriMo 2012. Please read, review, and follow. I have about 15 other ideas rattling around for this collection, as well as another 50 for my "Wait, What?" series. That's not the mention the rest of my "I, Sorting Hat" story, or the five more chapter I have outlined for "Gilding the Son of Lily." So now I'm just trying to decide where to focus what little free time I have, to do justice to as many projects as possible. Let me know what you think.