Harry Potter and the Revolving Wall

The Potters

Mr. Dursley was enormously lucky his desk did not face the large window behind, otherwise he would have had a much more stressful morning. A phenomenon has no place in a Dursley life, and so he was lucky not to witness an event people rarely saw at night let alone in broad daylight. 

Owls, of every breed and colour were swooping through the sky, not an absurd amount, but extremely notable. At least five or six at a time could be spotted in one's peripheral vision from the street, and people were flabbergasted, pointing and taking pictures. Mr. Dursley completed an oblivious and rather successful morning himself, having shouted at many incompetents and began craving buns. He thought there was no reason not to reward himself with a trip to the bakery across the street for lunchtime, a perfectly acceptable thing to do.

The dress up people had completely escaped his mind- until he saw yet another group huddled up in front of his bakery. Irrational anger filled him once again, and he eyeballed them with all the disapproval a suburban man can muster. On his way out of the shop, doughnuts bagged and clutched in his meaty fist, he quite accidentally managed to catch a bit of what the weirdos were saying.

"The Potters, that's what I heard. Steven Cornfoot-"

"-yes, absurd. Their son, Harry-"

Cold dread filled Vernon Dursley and he went completely still. His greatest fear, worst secret- but no. It couldn't be. What was the possibility that those Potters are their Potters? Surely not, it's a common enough name for such unusual people. And Harry was even more common, and when he really thought about it, was that even the child's name? He couldn't be sure, it could've been Henry. Or Harold, maybe Hamish. He'd never even actually seen the boy. And he certainly didn't intend to. He didn't want to upset Mrs. Dursley over her nasty sister without due cause, and so he let the matter lie. He didn't blame his wife, if he'd had a sister like that...

But the uncomfortable brush with the anti-thesis of Dursleyness left Vernon rather worried the rest of the day, so when he pulled onto Privet Drive, he was in a very no-nonsense mood. A mood not too unsimiliar from his day-to-day mood but all the same a disturbance. So when he spotted that same wretched tabby from the street corner that morning he was understandably unfriendly. Pulling into his driveway, it sat on his garden wall, looking straight at his car it almost seemed. He was certain it was the same one. It had the same dark markings about the eyes.

"Shoo!" He said loudly, stepping out of the car. "Off with you!" The cat looked down at him, with very apparent disinterest. Feeling miffed he took a small stone from the walkway. He looked about discreetly for watching neighbours before chucking it at the damn cat. It missed by a good foot and the cat hadn't even moved, though now it seemed a bit more alert. Was that normal cat behaviour? Mr. Dursley wondered. He went inside.

His wife had a pleasant day at the very least. At dinner he heard all about Mrs. Next Door's problematic daughter, and how Dudley learned a new word ("Won't!"). After Dudley had been put down for bed, he went into the living room to catch the last of the evening news.

"And finally, bird watchers everywhere should have had a very eventful day. We've got reports from all across the country that the nation's owl population has been behaving extremely erratically. Although owls are normally hunting at night and hardly even seen in daylight, there have been hundreds-"

"-if not thousands, Jim-"

"-if not thousands, Carol, of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise today. Experts have already begun weighing in, and have yet to provide an answer for this change of sleeping pattern." The newscaster, Jim, grinned charmingly. "Most mysterious. Now over to Ted on weather. Ted , what do you have for me? Any more showers of owls for me tonight?"