VIII. The Headmasters' Ultimatum

The Dursleys had just finished a miserable orange, bran cereal, and tomato juice breakfast when the doorbell rang. Vernon opened the front door to discover two people he didn't recognise standing on the porch: a stocky man with dark red hair and sharp blue eyes wearing a charcoal suit, and a severe-looking black-haired woman in an emerald green blazer and skirt with square-rimmed spectacles and sensible shoes.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Mr. Dursley?" the stocky man asked.

"Yes, that's right."

"Good mornin' t'ye. I'm Miles Houlihan, headmaster at Smeltin's. I believe we've spoken before?"

"Ah, yes, Mr. Houlihan. Pleasure to meet you. Do come in, do come in."

A moment later, Vernon and Petunia were sitting with Miles Houlihan and the woman, to whom they had not been introduced. Dudley had been excused, to his relief, and was upstairs pretending not to listen.

"So, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?" Vernon asked.

Houlihan looked solemn. "Mr. Dursley, I'm sorry t' say this isnae a social call. I'm here t' talk t'ye about Dudley an' his future at Smeltin's."

Vernon became slightly less cheerful. "Oh?"

"Mr. Dursley, I'm sure ye know that we're all a bit...concerned about Dudley. His grades are a disgrace, his discipline record is one o' th' worst we've seen in years, an' ye dunnae need t' be told again about his weight problem. Frankly, Mr. Dursley, it's an embarrassment t' th' school havin' a boy like Dudley enrolled."

Vernon felt his blood pressure rising. Any pretense of good cheer was long gone from his face, and his moustache twitched. "What, precisely, are you saying, Mr. Houlihan?"

"I'm sayin', Mr. Dursley, that yer boy's had his last chance at Smeltin's, an' blew it, an' I'm afraid I've nae choice but t' expel 'im."

The room was deathly quiet for a long while. Vernon and Petunia glanced at one another, then at Houlihan, then at the stern woman next to him.

"I see," Vernon rumbled.

"Unless."

This was from the bespectacled woman, and her voice was no less harsh than her appearance.

"Unless?" Vernon asked, schooling his expression so as not to appear too eager to grasp any lifeline offered him.

"Mr. Dursley, allow me t' introduce ye...this is Professor Minerva McGonagall, from—"

The Dursleys' reaction to the name startled Mr. Houlihan. "YOU!" Vernon roared, face purpling, eyes hard as flints. "You're from that—that—FREAK SCHOOL!"

Professor McGonagall returned Vernon's furious stare with a calm, cool-as-ice gaze. "If you are referring to Hogwarts, Mr. Dursley, then yes, I am."

"Ah, then ye already know about Hogwarts," Mr. Houlihan said, trying to restore order.

"Oh, we know about it alright," Petunia snapped. "What are you playing at, bringing one of THEM into our house?"

"This is an outrage! To think—"

"BE SILENT!" Professor McGonagall snapped. The Dursleys instantly went silent, eyes wide, faces white, and sat stiffly, watching the stern witch apprehensively. There was no sign of a wand, but after having paid a small fortune to remove a magically-grown pig tail from Dudley's backside a few years prior, they weren't taking any chances.

"Now then," Mr. Houlihan said once order had been restored, "As I was sayin'...as it stands now, Dudley's t'be expelled from Smeltin's. He's a disgrace, an' frankly, I dunnae think even a state school would take 'im. Not with his record.

"However, just recently, I was approached by Professor McGonagall here on behalf o' Headmaster Dumbledore o' Hogwarts. Came as a shock t'me t' find out there was a school o' magic right under our noses, but I'm an open-minded bloke.

"So, she comes in, an' tells me who she is an' where she's from, an' proves what she's sayin' is true, an' says her headmaster is openin' up an exchange program, as...well, I'll let her tell it."

"A hundred years ago," Progessor McGonagall began, "Hogwarts accepted a non-magical exchange student from one of the more established Muggle schools of the time. It's not a common practise, as our kind normally keep secluded from the Muggle world, but it's done from time to time in hopes of fostering understanding between Muggles and wizards.

"Professor Dumbledore has decided that it's time to revive the exchange, and asked me to recruit a student from Smeltings to attend Hogwarts."

Vernon's eyes narrowed. "I know where this is going, and I can tell you right now, the answer is no."

"Come now, Mr. Dursley, surely ye can hear us out," Mr. Houlihan said.

"I'll not have Dudley at the mercy of THOSE people!" Vernon hissed.

"For your information, I'd much rather not have your son at Hogwarts either," Professor McGonagall said harshly, "but my hands are tied. Professor Dumbledore himself is keen on taking the boy."

"Mr. Dursley," Mr. Houlihan spoke up, "Let me explain yer situation t'ye. If ye can keep an open mind about all this, then it's just for a year, an' if th' report from Hogwarts' headmaster is favourable, next year we'll let Dudley back t' Smeltin's with a clean slate." He fixed Vernon with a piercing stare. "If, on th' other hand, ye'd see yer son kicked out o' school, ye're riskin' more than ye've t' gain. His records...well, there's not many schools that'd take 'im, an' I figger ye'd have th' divvil uvva time gettin' 'im in somewheres else." He paused. "Exceptin' maybe St. Brutus'..."

"And, of course, there are other considerations," McGonagall said. "Pray, Mr. Dursley, exactly where did your nephew sleep for the first ten years he was in your care?"

Vernon turned a funny green colour. Petunia's skin became pale as chalk, her lips drawn back from her horsey teeth.

"Nephew?" Mr. Houlihan asked, raising an eyebrow. "I dinnae know ye had a nephew, Dursley."

"Oh, they don't speak of him much, Mr. Houlihan," Professor McGonagall said. "Their nephew is a wizard, after all. He attends Hogwarts. In fact, he's to be a prefect this term."

"A prefect, y'say?" Mr. Houlihan chuckled. "Sounds like a boy t'be mighty proud of, Mr. Dursley."

Vernon grumbled something unpleasant-sounding.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dursley. I dinnae quite catch that."

"If Dudley takes a year to spend...there...how's he supposed to catch up on normal lessons for the next year at Smeltings?"

"Ye neednae worry about that," Houlihan replied. "He's nae exactly learnin' anythin' as it is. Exceptin' how t' beat th' divvil out o' his schoolmates."

"And I suppose this...exchange program will come at a terrible expense," Vernon rumbled.

"I believe the fee for tuition, supplies, and incidentals worked out to half the yearly tuition at Smeltings, did it not, Miles?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"About that, aye," Mr. Houlihan nodded.

Vernon sat stiffly, a rainbow of unusual colours clouding his face, a vein pulsing in his forehead. His moustache twitched horribly, and his beady eyes darted about the room as though seeking some escape from this predicament.

"We'll need time to think it over," he said at length.

Houlihan nodded. "Very well. You do that, we'll be waitin'. Good day t'ye."

Mr. Houlihan and Professor McGonagall left, and Vernon and Petunia Dursley sat in stony silence for a long time.

* * * * *

That afternoon, during tea, a most unwelcome visitor appeared out of thin air right in the Dursleys' kitchen.

Petunia screamed, Vernon turned beet-purple with rage, and Dudley whimpered as their very worst idea of a wizard simply popped into view by the kitchen table, clad in pumpkin-coloured robes, a scarlet cloak with runes embroidered around the edges in gold, a midnight blue hat, and more silver hair and beard than any of the Dursleys thought should be allowed. He smiled at them, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly. "Just in time for tea, I see."

"YOU—" Vernon bellowed, nearly choking to death on his own horrible voice. "I'll not have your kind coming and going as you please! Who the hell ARE you, and what is your business here?"

If the old wizard was offended at all by Vernon's manner, he didn't show it. He merely smiled more broadly and bowed, his beard scraping the floor as he did so. "My apologies. Albus Dumbledore, at your service."

The Dursleys suddenly became very, very white, and very, very quiet.

Professor Dumbledore calmly sat at the table, and produced a package from his cloak. "Terribly rude of me to come to tea without announcing myself. Luckily, I have come prepared." He opened his parcel, revealing a box of rather delicious-looking tea biscuits. He glanced up and around at the Dursleys. "It is teatime, is it not?"

There are forces in the universe which no mortal can ever hope to understand. One such force acted upon the Dursleys at that moment, and they sat down to the table with the headmaster of Hogwarts, Petunia pouring the tea and being careful to pass Dumbledore his cup first.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said as he carefully sipped his tea, and had a biscuit. "Do try these, they're quite good."

"Shan't eat anything a wizard brings to the table," Vernon rumbled, though it was much quieter than his usual rumble. "Your kind can't even be trusted with food."

"Ah, of course. The little incident with the Weasley twins and a rather mischevious toffee last year." Professor Dumbledore set his cup down. "I can assure you that no ill shall come to you from these biscuits. They are quite ordinary, and I have no reason to wish any misfortune upon you."

Carefully, as though reaching into a nest of vipers, each of the Dursleys took one of the wizard's biscuits and ate them. After a moment, they were satisfied no harm would come to them, but they did not move to take a second, nor thank Professor Dumbledore. (Dudley, however, snuck three more into his pocket when nobody was watching.)

For his part, Dumbledore seemed unaffronted by their lack of manners as he continued to drink his tea. He glanced up over his glasses and casually began, "I've come, of course, because of the proposal made to you earlier by Mr. Houlihan and Professor McGonagall."

"Yes, about that," Vernon said shakily. "Pray, Dumbledore, what is there for a normal boy to do at your school? I imagine there can't be much use in a boy like Dudley walking about waving a wand and saying funny words."

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "Quite true, quite true. There are, however, some subjects taught at Hogwarts which a non-magical person can learn quite readily. Herbology, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, Astronomy...Dudley would be given plenty to do, and plenty to think about." He turned to Dudley, who was watching the conversation as though it were a tennis match. "I daresay you'll rather enjoy some of what Hogwarts has to offer."

"Assuming we're insane enough to let him go," Vernon said gruffly. He glanced from Dudley, to Petunia, then finally at Dumbledore. "I suppose you've made bloody well certain there's no other choice, though, haven't you?"

"My dear Mr. Dursley, there are always choices," Professor Dumbledore said. "In the morning, we choose what socks to wear, whether to put marmalade or butter on our toast at breakfast. We choose what books to read, what time to retire for the night." He glanced at Dudley. "We sometimes even choose which people we'll hit during the day, and what classes to fall asleep in, don't we?"

Dudley swallowed nervously. Vernon became rather purple again.

"Now, see here, Dumbledore—"

"Again, nobody is forcing you to do anything you do not wish to do, Vernon," the old wizard interrupted in a calm voice. "There are always choices. However, if I may be so bold, the best choice right now is for you to accept that which has been laid before you." He smiled, his eyes twinkling. "The last of your kind to attend Hogwarts went on to become Prime Minister. If our school is good enough for a Prime Minister, certainly it should be good enough for your son, should it not?"

He stood, then, and smoothed his robes and beard. "I thank you for the excellent tea, Petunia. You may keep the rest of the biscuits." He looked at Dudley. "You'll find a packed trunk in your room, with a train ticket and a letter on top. I'm sure you know the routine by now...first of September, King's Cross, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Good day."

And just as suddenly as he had appeared, Albus Dumbledore vanished.