Chapter IV: A Quiet Interlude

Two mostly uneventful years passed. Sirius and Aletha married on Christmas Eve of that year, and the following October, Aletha gave birth to Meghan Lily Black. Life slowly began to steady down into some semblance of normality, until something took place that to his dying day, Sirius couldn’t quite believe.

His mother wrote to him.

Dear Sirius,

Much as it galls me to admit it, I believe I was wrong to condemn you for your choice to fight for Dumbledore’s side. I don’t approve of your reasons for doing so; Voldemort represented every value I hold dear to my heart. But he was not the victor, and so it seems to me that we should make our peace. If nothing else, I respect your ability to back the winning side.

Mother.

Dear Mother, he replied,

I’m flattered. And for the record, I joined the Light side not because we were the guaranteed winners, but because I believed in what they were fighting for.

However, I’m perfectly happy for us to maintain reasonably civil relations, but I warn you now; I am married to a muggleborn woman, with whom I have a daughter, and you are to treat them with respect. If you don’t then all bets are off.

Sirius.

Not surprisingly, that was the last they heard of the matter.

Petunia huddled miserably in her seat, cradling Dudley with one arm and clinging to the strap of an overnight bag with the other.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re now approaching Charing Cross station, where this service will terminate. Change at Charing Cross for all onward journeys, please.”

Petunia threw the bag over her shoulder and got up, but a shadow loomed over her. “You must think I’m a complete prat,” Vernon snarled, slurring his words a bit. “Did you really think I’d let you go that easily? Now we’re going to get on the first train home, where we’re going to continue our discussion, and you aren’t going to say anything between then and now. You don’t want a scene, now, do you?”

“I’m not going back,” she said firmly. “We’re finished, Vernon. Now leave me alone.”

Vernon backhanded her across the face. “Now you listen to me, bitch!” he roared.

He didn’t see the man getting out of his seat until it was too late. An immensely strong arm grabbed his own and twisted it hard behind his back, whilst another hand grabbed his shirt collar and forced him against the side of the compartment. “That was not a very nice thing to do,” an unfamiliar voice snarled. “It wasn’t a very sensible thing to do either.”

“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?” Vernon demanded, attempting to wrestle free. The stranger slammed his face into the window, hard, and fastened something over his wrist. “My name is Detective Sergeant Reynard Brown, of the Flying Squad. And you are under arrest for assault, threatening behaviour and being drunk and disorderly in a public place. You don’t have to say anything,” Brown continued, applying the handcuffs to Vernon’s other wrist, “but anything you do say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You’re entitled to a lawyer, if you can’t afford one then one will be provided for you. Do you understand your rights?”

“Go to hell, you Cockney twat!”

“Look, sunshine,” Reynard snarled. “The only other person in this carriage is the woman you just took a swing for. You think she’s going to tell a court you didn’t resist arrest? Now shut your face before I confiscate your teeth as evidence!”

“I want your badge number!” Vernon yelled. “This is police brutality!”

“Bollocks it is, mate; I’m just shouting at you. But if you want to try police brutality then it’s no skin off my dick, so if I get any more lip out of you there’ll be hell to pay, is that quite clear?”

Vernon glared, but subsided. Brown shoved him firmly into a seat, and went to Petunia. “You alright, madam?”

“Yes, it’s just a bruise. What are you going to do with him?”

“He’ll spend the night in a cell, and we’ll charge him first thing in the morning. You’ll need to give a statement, but that won’t take long. There’s a couple of bunks in the station if you need somewhere to stay for the night, and we’ll have someone take a look at that eye.”

“Oh, it’s nothing much,” she replied. “Listen, I’m not sure if I can make a statement. Not to you, at least. There’s… Oh, how do I explain this? There are things going on that I can’t talk about, at least not to anyone who doesn’t already know. You wouldn’t believe me even if I tried.”

Reynard thought very carefully. “Did you, or one of your relatives, go to a… special school?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, my sister. Why?”

“I might know her. I went to the same place.” He winked.

Vernon was ushered off the train, with Petunia following warily. Reynard kept a firm grip on Vernon’s collar and pulled a small walkie-talkie out of his jacket pocket. “Merlin Oscar, this is Merlin Seven. I just had a domestic break out on the train, and I need transport for one offender and… Oh, hell. I’ll need a car seat for a two year-old as well, over.”

“Copy that, Merlin Seven. I think someone’s got one in the back of their car; I’ll get the lads to take it over in the van. Have you got your own car handy, over?”

“Yeah, it’s in the long-stay car park. I’ll meet the van outside the main entrance. Merlin Seven out.” Reynard turned to Petunia. “You can wait by the ticket office if you like.”

“No, I’ll stay with you. At least he’s in handcuffs.”

Two constables of the British Transport Police were passing through the ticket hall as the procession arrived, and walked over to them. “Need any help, sir?” asked the older of the pair.

“Help me!” Vernon yelled. “He’s not a cop, I’m being kidnapped!”

“R-i-i-i-i-ght. Can I see your badge, please, sir?” Reynard handed over his warrant card. “Thought so. Sorry, sir; just had to check.” The constable gave Vernon an amused look. “Nice try, mate. Do you want me to go and find one of the overnight staff, sir? I reckon this lady could probably use a cup of tea up in the staffroom.”

“That’d be great, yeah.”

A cleaner with the keys was located, and Petunia was taken to the station mess-room and provided with a mug of steaming tea whilst the BTP officers kept an eye on Vernon.

“It was when Dudley turned out magic,” she explained. “He thought it was wrong, unnatural. We fought over it, bitterly, and then he started drinking…”

“That much never changes,” Reynard growled quietly. “Did it start turning physical recently?”

“Not really, no, though it never went beyond a slap until tonight. Dudley did something or other, I didn’t see what, and it was all I could do to stop Vernon hitting him… so he hit me instead. When he went out I threw some things into a bag and ran to the station, but he must have realised where I’d gone and overtaken the train.”

“We can check that,” Reynard replied. “Maybe we can get him another couple of years for drunken driving. Now, is there anyone you want to contact? A relative, or even a friend?”

“No, there’s nobody. My parents died years ago in a car accident, and my sister… well, you probably know about that. As for friends, most of mine were back in Surrey. If I thought I could rely on any of them I wouldn’t be in London.”

“I see. Well, we’ve got a few rooms at the station; not terribly luxurious but they’re okay. I can probably square it with the guv’nor, but if not there’s a Travelodge not far away.”

Petunia had been expecting Scotland Yard, but instead they drove into the underground car-park of a small office building on the edge of an industrial estate in Ilford. The van was the only liveried police vehicle in the car park, most of the remaining space being occupied by civilian vehicles. Petunia supposed that some or all of them were unmarked police cars.

They walked up a short flight of stairs to what had once probably been Reception. “Evening, Ray,” said the pretty Chinese woman at the desk. “This the domestic?”

“Yeah. Is the guv’nor around?”

“He’s in his office, but he says she’s welcome to kip here if she wants.”

“Great. Can you get her sorted while I book this git in?”

“Oi!” Vernon complained. “Look, you don’t understand. That child… there’s something wrong with him! He’s-”

“Got untrained magical potential. We know all about that,” replied one of the uniformed officers.

“What? You freaks can’t do this-!”

He was propelled firmly out of the room. “Twat,” the desk officer said feelingly. “Okay then, Mrs…”

“Evans. Miss Petunia Evans. This is Dudley.”

“Hi. I’m DC Michelle Grey. I’m about to go on my meal break, so do you fancy something to eat? The canteen’s not bad.”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Petunia replied, realising how hungry she was.

“Okay. Do you want me to take him for a minute?” She stood up, displaying a noticeably protruding midriff, and cradled Dudley. “Hello, little chap. Blimey, you are a sturdy lad, aren’t you?”

“Makings of a fine rugby player,” Petunia agreed, cheering up noticeably. “So how far along are you?”

“Ten weeks, but with twins, and I’ve already got a girl about Dudley’s age.”

The canteen proved to be of reasonable quality, which Michelle laughingly attributed to the fact that the boss had to eat there. The boss, to Petunia’s surprise, being Michelle’s husband-to-be. “At heart, he can be quite old-fashioned,” she admitted. “We’ve been seeing each other for two years, since not long after Natalie was born.” Petunia raised an eyebrow. “If you must know, Tilly’s father told me outright that I could choose between a baby and him, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Oh. I’m… sorry.”

“Don’t be; it was a bit of a relief, really.”

They were deep into the theory and practice of child-rearing when someone Petunia had definitely not been expecting to see strode into the room.

“Oh, God… I know you. You’re the idiot who decided to climb the steeple and hang his boxers from the weathercock at Lily’s wedding. Why are you wearing Robin Hood’s urban camoflauge fatigues?”

“That was not a very nice thing to say about the official uniform of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Sirius replied somewhat stiffly. “Which isn’t to say you’re wrong,” he added with a reluctant grin.

* * *

Narcissa stretched luxuriously, giggling as Severus trailed kisses down her neck. “I know this is an incredibly silly situation in which to be asking this,” he murmured, “but would you consider marrying me?”

She gasped. “That’s the best offer I’ve had all year!” she laughed, kissing him thoroughly. “But there’s two conditions.”

“Within reason, my dear, I will consent to anything.” However smitten he might be with her, Severus was still an eminently practical man.

Narcissa turned briefly serious. “First, you promise me that you will treat Draco as you would your own son.”

“But of course. Indeed, given our… history together, I’ve always vaguely wondered…”

“I honestly wouldn’t know, Russ.”

“Then let’s leave it like that. And the second condition?”

“You let me do something about your hair!”

* * *

The years rolled on. Harry grew up happy and healthy, away from as much of the fame and hero-worship as his godparents could manage. He was in regular contact with his aunt and cousin, and came to be firm friends with Dudley.

Petunia remained wary of magic, but slowly overcame her fear and lingering jealousy. A solid friendship with one Molly Weasley helped go a long way towards thawing her attitude. No more was heard of Vernon after the divorce proceedings were finalised, least of all via the Child Support Agency, but Petunia used her considerable reserves of fortitude and willpower to manage quite comfortably without his help.

“Actually,” Sirius once remarked, “Petunia the hard-up single parent looks ten years younger and a damn sight happier than Petunia the respectable middle-class wife and mother.”

Meanwhile, Narcissa Malfoy waited until exactly three days after the second anniversary of her husband’s funeral before marrying Severus Snape, rightly judging that attempting to maintain an image of respectable mourning would fool absolutely nobody. Her contemporaries pretended outrage, but one or two of the brighter ones conceded -to each other, and rather quietly- that Lucius had received about as much filial affection as he deserved.

The DMLE’s embryonic Special Taskforce became the subject of intense public interest as soon as its formation was announced. In a statement to the press soon afterwards, Rufus Scringemour claimed that it had been formed as a result of the Department’s poor performance in dealing with crimes involving non-magical weapons and tactics, particularly the activities of the paramilitary organisation responsible for the murder of various prominent Death Eaters.

This was broadly true. However, the fact that the core of the Special Taskforce’s manpower was drawn from that very same organisation was carefully omitted from the official record. The very brief biography of Detective Chief Inspector Edward Grey that appeared in The Quibbler described him as a muggleborn alumnus of the Vancouver Academy of Magic who had chosen muggle law-enforcement rather than the Aurors. Any questions about his extended family, or his wife and three daughters, were politely but firmly met with ‘No comment.’

Strangely, even Rita Skeeter seemed content to leave it at that.