Dursley family

How do you think the Malfoys and Dursleys would act if they met?

I think the Dursleys would be torn between viewing them as fancy and upper class while also viewing them as freaks.

As for the Malfoys, they'd probably view the Dursleys as a prime example of how they view most Muggles.

This is how many presents Dudley gets every year

Instead of hating him and treating him like a pest, what if they treated him like family. I know this wouldn't canonically happen w/ how much the Dursleys hate magic, but say they didn't want Dudley to be an only child, so they welcomed Harry as a kind of "parting gift" (to put it lightly) from Dudley's aunt & uncle so they treat Harry like a kind of friend/family while still hating Magic?

I hope that makes sense but just trying to see a possible alternate outcome w/ the Dursley's.

Also off topic but could this be a fan fic, theory, or something else.

While Harry cutting Vernon off, denouncing him as stupid, lecturing him about all he's been told before and yelling in his face was pretty awesome, I feel Harry should have punched him in the face too!

Like, when Vernon keeps complaining, even after admitting Harry's right, about his job and Dudley's future, Harry should have snapped and socked his so-called uncle right in the face for being THAT stupid and uncooperative right before yelling that Voldemort and the Dementors would kill him.

After all the physical violence he endured at the Dursleys' hands, he deserved to hit at least one of them.

Why was it Dumbledores decision where Harry was raised? Surely there's some part of the Ministry that should have been handling who and where Harry would be raised. Isn't it odd that the local school HeadMaster gets to make that call??

1. Bellatrix LeStrange

2. Dolores Umbridge

3. Tom Riddle

4. Lucius Malfoy

5. Vernon Dursley

6. Petunia Dursley

7. Marge Dursley

8. Dudley Dursley

9. Gilderoy Lockhart

10. Quirnus Quirrel

11. Severus Snape

12. Electo Carrow

13. Amicus Carrow

14. Barty Crouch Jr

15. Gellert Grindelwald

16. Vincent Crabbe

17. Gregory Goyle

Who was in the right and who was in the wrong? Based on this story below, I think much of the wrong seemed to be coming unsurprisingly from Vernon and I probably would have knocked him to the ground if I was in James's shoes. Give me your opinions!

• The first meeting between Lily, her boyfriend James Potter, and the engaged couple, went badly, and the relationship nose-dived from there. James was amused by Vernon, and made the mistake of showing it. Vernon tried to patronise James, asking what car he drove. James described his racing broom. Vernon supposed out loud that wizards had to live on unemployment benefit. James explained about Gringotts, and the fortune his parents had saved there, in solid gold. Vernon could not tell whether he was being made fun of or not, and grew angry. The evening ended with Vernon and Petunia storming out of the restaurant, while Lily burst into tears and James (a little ashamed of himself) promised to make things up with Vernon at the earliest opportunity. This never happened. Petunia did not want Lily as a bridesmaid, because she was tired of being overshadowed; Lily was hurt. Vernon refused to speak to James at the reception, but described him, within James’ earshot, as ‘some kind of amateur magician’.

Previous Chapter:

https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003804769

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@SaphireStark @Missy Clara Oswald

Chapter Two: The Dursleys Departing

(This chapter, like the first, couldn't have to many changes, however I have made myself giddy over the changes I have in the next chapter and the one after that, so I look forward to them being read.)

The sound of the front door slamming echoed up the stair and a voice yelled, 'Oi, You!'

Sixteen years of being addressed thus left Harry in no doubt whom his uncle was calling; nevertheless, he did not immediately respond. He was still gazing at the mirror fragment in which, for a split second, he had thought he say Dumbledore’s eye.

It was not until his uncle bellowed, 'BOY!' that Harry got slowly to his feet and headed for the bedroom door, pausing to add the piece of broken mirror to the rucksack filled with things he would be taking with him.

'You took your time!' roared Vernon Dursley when Harry appeared at the top of the stairs. 'Get down here, I want a word!'

Harry strolled downstairs, his hands deep in his jeans pockets. When he reached the living room he found all three Dursleys. They were dressed for traveling: Uncle Vernon in a fawn zip-up jacket, Aunt Petunia in a neat salmon-colored coat, and Dudley, Harry’s large, blond, muscular cousin, in his leather jacket.

'Yes?' asked Harry.

'Sit down!' said Uncle Vernon. Harry raised his eyebrows. 'Please!' added Uncle Vernon, wincing slightly as though the word was sharp in his throat.

Harry sat. He thought he knew what was coming. His uncle began to pace up and down, Aunt Petunia and Dudley following his movements with anxious expressions. Finally, his large purple face crumpled with concentration, Uncle Vernon stopped in front of Harry and spoke.

'I’ve changed my mind,' he said.

'What a surprise,' said Harry.

'Don’t you talk in that tone—' began Aunt Petunia in a shrill voice, but Vern Dursley waved her down.

'It’s all a lot of claptrap,' said Uncle Vernon, glaring at Harry with piggy little eyes. 'I’ve decided I don’t believe a word of it. We’re staying put, we’re not going anywhere.'

Harry looked up at his uncle and felt a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Vernon Dursley had been changing his mind every twenty-four hours for the past four weeks, packing and unpacking ad repacking the car with every change of heart. Harry’s favorite moment had been the one when Uncle Vernon, unaware that Dudley had added his dumbbells to his case since the last time it had been unpacked, had attempted to hoist it back into the boot and collapsed with roars of pain and much swearing.

'According to you,' Vernon Dursley said now, resuming his pacing up and down the living room, 'we—Petunia, Dudley, and I—are in danger. From—from—'

'Some of ‘my lot,’ right,' said Harry.

'Well, I don’t believe it,' repeated Uncle Vernon, coming to a halt in front of Harry again. 'I was awake half the night thinking it’s over, and I believe it’s a plot to get the house.'

'The house?' repeated Harry. 'What house?'

'This house!' shrieked Uncle Vernon, the vein in his forehead starting to pulse. 'Our house! House prices are skyrocketing around here! You want us out of the way and then you’re going to do a bit of hocus-pocus and before we know it the deeds will be in your name and—'

'Are you out of your mind?' demanded Harry. 'A plot to get this house? Are you actually as stupid as you look?'

'Don’t you dare—!' squealed Aunt Petunia, but again, Vernon waved her down: Slights on his personal appearance were, it seemed, as nothing to the danger he has spotted.

'Just so you know,' said Harry, 'I’ve already got a house, my godfather left me one, and even if I didn't I still have my families home in Cotswolds. So why would I want this one? All the happy memories?'

There was silence. Harry thought he had rather impressed his uncle with this argument.

'You claim,' said Uncle Vernon, starting to pace yet again, 'that this Lord Thing—'

'—Voldemort,' said Harry impatiently, 'and we’ve been through this about a hundred times already. This isn’t a claim, it’s fact, Dumbledore told you last year, and Remus, and Kingsley—'

Vernon Dursley hunched his shoulders angrily, and Harry guessed that his uncle was attempting to ward of recollections of the unannounced visit, a few days into Harry’s summer holidays, of two fully grown wizards. The arrival on the doorstep of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Harry's sole remaining guardian Remus Lupin had come as a most unpleasant shock to the Dursleys. Harry had to admit, however, that as witches and wizards had multiple times demolished half of the living room, their appearance could not have been expected to delight Uncle Vernon.

'—they explained it all as well,' Harry pressed on remorselessly. 'Once I’m seventeen, the protective charm that keeps me safe will break, and that exposes you as well as me. The Order is sure Voldemort will target you, whether to torture you to try and find out where I am, or because he thinks by holding you hostage I’d come and try to rescue you.'

Uncle Vernon’s and Harry’s eyes met. Harry was sure that in that instant they were both wondering the same thing. Then Uncle Vernon walked on and Harry resumed, 'You’ve got to go into hiding and the Order wants to help. You’re being offered serious protection, the best there is.'

Uncle Vernon said nothing, but continued to pace up and down. Outside the sun hung low over the privet hedges. The next-door neighbor’s lawn mower stalled again.

'I thought there was a Ministry of Magic?' asked Vernon Dursley abruptly.

'There is,' said Harry, surprised that his uncle remembered that detail.

'Well, then, why can’t they protect us? It seems to me that, as innocent victims, guilty of nothing more than harboring a marked man, we ought to qualify for government protection!'

Harry laughed; he could not stop himself. It was so typical of his uncle to put his hopes in the establishment, even within this world that he despised and mistrusted.

'You heard what Remus and Kingsley said,' Harry replied. 'We think the Ministry has been infiltrated.'

Uncle Vernon stroke to the fireplace and back, breathing so heavily that his great black mustache tippled, his face still purple with concentration.

'All right,' he said, stopping in front of Harry yet again. 'All right, let’s say, for the sake of argument, we accept this protection. I still don’t see why we can’t have that Kingsley bloke.'

Harry managed not to roll his eyes, but with difficulty. This question has also been addressed half a dozen times.

'As I’ve told you,' he said through gritted teeth. 'Kingsley is protecting the Mug—I mean, your Prime Minister.'

'Exactly—he’s the best!' said Uncle Vernon, pointing at the blank television screen. The Dursleys had spotted Kingsley on the news, walking along discreetly behind the Muggle Prime Minister as he visited a hospital. This, and the fact that Kingsley had mastered the knack of dressing like a Muggle, not to mention a certain reassuring something in his slow, deep voice, had caused the Dursleys to take to Kingsley in a way that they had certainly not done with any other wizard, although it was true that they had never seen him with his earring in.

'Well, he’s taken,' said Harry. 'But Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle are more than up to the job—'

'If we’d even seen CVs...' began Uncle Vernon, but Harry lost patience.

Getting to his feet, he advanced on his uncle, now pointing at the TV set himself.

'These accidents aren’t accidents—the crashes and explosions and derailments and whatever else has happened since we last watched the new. People are disappearing and dying and he’s behind it—Voldemort. I’ve told you this over and over again, he kills Muggles for fun. Even the fogs—they’re caused by dementors, and if you can’t remember what they are, ask your son!'

Dudley’s hands jerked upward to cover his mouth. With his parents’ and Harry’s eyes upon him, he slowly lowered them again and asked, 'There are...more of them?'

'More?' laughed Harry. 'More than the two that attacked us, you mean? Of course there are, there are hundreds, maybe thousands by this time, seeing as they feed of fear and despair—'

'All right, all right,' blustered Vernon Dursley. 'You’ve made your point—'

'I hope so,' said Harry, 'because once I’m seventeen, all of them—Death Eaters, dementors, maybe even Inferi—which means dead bodies enchanted by a Dark Wizard—will be able to find you and will certainly attack you. If you want to continue living, I think you’ll agree you need help.'

Aunt Petunia was looking at Uncle Vernon; Dudley was staring at Harry. Finally Uncle Vernon blurted out, 'But what about my work? What about Dudley’s school? I don’t suppose those things matter to a bunch of lay-about wizards—'

'Don’t you understand?' shouted Harry. 'They will torture and kill you like they did my parents!'

'Dad,' said Dudley in a loud voice, 'Dad—I’m going with these Order people.'

'Dudley,' said Harry, 'for the first time in your life, you’re talking sense.'

He knew that the battle was won. If Dudley was frightened enough to accept the Order’s help, his parents would accompany him: There could be no question of being separated from their Duddykins. Harry glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece.

'They’ll be here in about five minutes,' he said, and when none of the Dursleys replied, he left the room. The prospect of parting—probably forever—from his aunt, uncle, and cousin was one that he was able to contemplate quite cheerfully, but there was nevertheless a certain awkwardness in the air. What did you say to one another at the end of sixteen years’ solid dislike?

Back in his bedroom, Harry fiddled aimlessly with his rucksack, then poked a couple of owl nuts through the bars of Hedwig’s cage. They fell with dull thuds to the bottom, where she ignored them.

'We’re leaving soon, really soon,' Harry told her. 'And then you’ll be able to fly again.'

The doorbell rang. Harry hesitated, then headed back out of his room and downstairs. It was too much to expect Hestia and Dedalus to cope with the Dursleys on their own.

'Harry Potter!' squeaked an excited voice, the moment Harry had opened the door, a small man in a mauve top hat was sweeping him a deep bow. 'An honour, as ever!'

'Thanks, Dedalus,' said Harry, bestowing a small and embarrassed smile upon the dark-haired Hestia. Harry realized with a shock that he hadn’t seen either since his godfather Sirius’ funeral, her hadn’t realized it had been that long. 'It’s really good of you to do this...They’re through here, my aunt and uncle and cousin...'

'Good day to you, Harry Potter’s relatives!' said Dedalus happily, striding into the living room. The Dursleys did not look at all happy to be addressed thus; Harry half expected another change of mind. Dudley shrank nearer to his mother at the sight of the witch and wizard.

'I see you are packed and ready. Excellent! The plan, as Harry has told you, is a simple one,' said Dedalus, pulling an immense pocket watch out of his waistcoat and examining it. 'We shall be leaving before Harry does. Due to the danger of using magic in your house—Harry being still underage, it could provide the Ministry with an excuse to arrest him—we shall be driving, say, ten miles or so, before Disapparating to the safe location we have picked out for you. You know how to drive, I take it?' he asked Uncle Vernon politely.

'Know how to—? Of course I ruddy well know how to drive!' spluttered Uncle Vernon.

'Very clever of you, sir, very clever. I personally would be utterly bamboozled by all those buttons and knobs,' said Dedalus. He was clearly under the impression that he was flattering Vernon Dursley, who was visibly losing confidence in the plan with every word Dedalus spoke.

'Can’t even drive,' he muttered under his breath, his mustache rippling indignantly, but fortunately neither Dedalus or Hestia seemed to hear him.

'You, Harry,' Dedalus continued, 'will wait here for your guard. There has been a little change in the arrangements—'

'What d’you mean?' said Harry at once. 'I thought Mad-Eye was going to come and take me by Side-Along-Apparition?'

'Can’t do it,' said Hestia tersely. 'Mad-Eye will explain.'

The Dursleys, who had listened to all of this with looks of utter incomprehension on their faces, jumped as a loud voice screeched, 'Hurry up!' Harry looked all around the room before realizing that the voice had issued from Dedalus’s pocket watch.

'Quite right, we’re operating to a very tight schedule,' said Dedalus, nodding at his watch and tucking it back into his waist-coat. 'We are attempting to time your departure from the house with your family’s Disapparition, Harry: thus, the charm breaks as the moment you all head for safety.' He turned to the Dursleys. 'Well, are we all packed and ready to go?'

None of them answered him. Uncle Vernon was still staring, appalled, at the bulge in Dedalus’s waistcoat pocket.

'Perhaps we should wait outside in the hall, Dedalus,' murmured Hestia. She clearly felt that it would be tactless for them to remain in the room while Harry and the Dursleys exchanged loving, possibly tearful farewells.

'There’s no need,' Harry muttered, but Uncle Vernon made any further explanation unnecessary by saying loudly, 'Well, this is good-bye, then, boy.'

He swung his right arm upward to shake Harry’s hand, but at the last moment seemed unable to face it, and merely closed his fist and began swinging it backward and forward like a metronome.

'Ready, Diddy?' asked Aunt Petunia, fussily checking the clasp of her handbag so as to avoid looking at Harry altogether.

Dudley did not answer, but stood there with his mouth slightly ajar, reminding Harry a little of the giant, Grawp.

'Come along, then,' said Uncle Vernon.

He had already reached the living room door when Dudley mumbled, 'I don’t understand.'

'What don’t you understand, popkin?' asked Aunt Petunia, looking up at her son.

Dudley raised a large, hamlike hand to point at Harry.

'If its dangerous for him in his world, why isn’t he coming with us?'

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia froze where they stood, staring at Dudley as though he had just expressed a desire to become a ballerina.

'What?' said Uncle Vernon loudly.

'Why isn’t he coming too?' asked Dudley.

'Well, he—he doesn’t want to,' said Uncle Vernon, turning to glare at Harry and asking, 'You don’t want to, do you?'

'Not in the slightest,' said Harry.

'There you are,' Uncle Vernon told Dudley. 'Now come on, we’re off.'

He marched out of the room. They heard the front door open, but Dudley did not move and after a few faltering steps Aunt Petunia stopped too.

'What now?' barked Uncle Vernon, reappearing in the doorway.

It seems that Dudley was struggling with concepts too difficult to put into words. After sever moments of apparently painful internal struggle he said, 'But where’s he going to go?'

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other. It was clear that Dudley was frightening them. Hestia Jones broke the silence.

'But...surely you know where your nephew is going?' she asked, looking bewildered.

'Certainly we know,' said Vernon Dursley. 'He’s off with some of your lot, isn’t he, maybe to his pansy guardian's cottage? Right, Dudley, let’s get in the car, you heard the man, we’re in a hurry,'

Again, Vernon Dursley marched as far as the front door, but Dudley did not follow.

'Off with some of our lot?'

Hestia looked outraged. Harry had met this attitude before. Witches and wizards seems stunned that his closest living relatives took so little interest in the famous Harry Potter.

‘It’s fine,’ Harry assured her. ‘It doesn’t matter, honestly.’

'Doesn’t matter?' repeated Hestia, her voice rising ominously.

'Don’t these people realize what you’ve been through? What dangers you are in? The unique position you hold in the hearts of the anti-Voldemort movement?'

'Er—no, they don’t,' said Harry. 'They think I’m a waste of space actually, but I’m used to—'

'I don’t think you’re a waste of space.'

If Harry had not seen Dudley’s lips move, he might not have believed it. As it was, he stared at Dudley for several seconds before accepting that it must have been his cousin who had spoken for one thing. Dudley had turned red. Harry was embarrassed and astonished himself.

'Well...er...thanks, Dudley.'

Again, Dudley appeared to grapple with thoughts too unwieldy for expression before mumbling, 'You saved my life.'

'Not really,' said Harry. 'It was your soul the dementor would have taken...'

He looked curiously at his cousin. They had had virtually no contact during this summer or last, as Harry had come back to Privet Drive so briefly and kept to his room so much. It now dawned on Harry, however, that the cup of cold tea on which he had trodden that morning might not have been a booby trap at all. Although rather touched, he was nevertheless quite relieved that Dudley appeared to have exhausted his ability to express his feelings. After opening his mouth once or twice more, Dudley subsided into scarlet-faced silence.

Aunt Petunia burst into tears. Hestia Jones gave her an approving look that changed to outrage as Aunt Petunia ran forward and embraced Dudley rather than Harry.

'S–so sweet, Dudders...' she sobbed into his massive chest. 'S–such a lovely b–boy...s–saying thank you...'

'But he hasn’t said thank you at all!' said Hestia indignantly. 'He only said he didn’t think Harry was a waste of space!'

'Yeah, but coming from Dudley that’s like "I love you,"' said Harry, torn between annoyance and a desire to laugh as Aunt Petunia continued to clutch at Dudley as if he had just saved Harry from a burning building.

'Are we going or not?' roared Uncle Vernon, reappearing yet again at the living room door. 'I though we were on a tight schedule!'

'Yes—yes, we are,' said Dedalus Diggle, who had been watching these exchanges with an air of bemusement and now seemed to pull himself together. 'We really must be off, Harry—'

He tripped forward and wrung Harry’s hand with both of his own.

'—good luck. I hope we meet again. The hopes of the Wizarding world rest upon your shoulders.'

'Oh,' said Harry, 'right. Thanks.'

‘Farewell, Harry,’ said Hestia, also clasping his hand. ‘Our thoughts go with you.’

‘I hope everything’s okay,’ said Harry with a glance toward Aunt Petunia and Dudley.

‘Oh, I’m sure we shall end up the best of chums,’ said Diggle lightly, waving his hat as he left the room. Hestia followed him.

Dudley gently released himself from his mother’s clutches and walked toward Harry, who had to repress an urge to threaten him with magic. Then Dudley held out his large, pink hand.

‘Blimey, Dudley,’ said Harry over Aunt Petunia’s renewed sobs, ‘did the dementors pull a new personality out from deep within you?’

‘Dunno,’ muttered Dudley. ‘See you, Harry.’

‘Yeah…’ said Harry, taking Dudley’s hand and shaking it. ‘Maybe. Take care, Big D.’

Dudley nearly smiled, then lumbered from the room. Harry heard his heavy footfalls on the graveled drive, and then a car door slammed.

Aunt Petunia, whose face had been buried in her handkerchief, looked around at the sound. She did not seem to have expected to find herself alone with Harry. Hastily stowing her wet handkerchief into her pocket, she said, ‘Well—goodbye,’ and marched toward the door without looking at him.

‘Goodbye,’ said Harry.

She stopped and looked back. For a moment Harry had the strangest feeling that she wanted to say something to him. She gave him an odd, tremulous look and seemed to teeter on the edge of speech, but then, with a little jerk of her head, she bustled out of the room after her husband and son.

You can remember precisely the first time she brought him home.

Vernon was there, of course. He'd seen the youngest Evans daughter only through pictures and heard of her only through your clipped explanations. You have no doubt, pictures or not, that he was surprised when she stepped in the door. Your family looked normal, typical and ordinary; the girl at the doorway with the bright red hair and the vibrant green eyes did not.

Initially, it was to be the nice dinner that your parents always threw when Lily arrived home from school. It was a time for catching up, they said, a time for Lily to share her exciting life of magic and wonder and adventure and for you, Petunia, to recount your dull drum events - minor scandals, half-interesting teachers and less-than-remarkable friends.

It was also the dinner at which you planned to announce your engagement. Even amidst Lily's tales of graduation and wonder and magic, they had to care about your engagement. Surely nothing she said could top that. You were the oldest, you were getting married, and they would damn well care.

And then, when Lily walked in, he was behind her.

It was the first time Lily had ever brought a boy home, and you remembered distinctly your instant dislike for the way he poked his head around the doorway and donned that forsaken subtle smile.

She introduced him as James Potter, he smiled and shook your hand, and you knew, instantly, that Lily had outdone you yet again.

Your parents liked Vernon plenty. He was nice, he had a job, was reliable, and he was normal. You figured they'd be happy enough to have him a part of the family. They liked him.

But instantaneously, they loved James.

Of course they did – he had his charming smiles, his charismatic presence, his perfectly-timed jokes and a sense of life about him. He sat at the table next to your sister and as you looked around, you saw the difference. You were family, by blood, but now, seven years after she'd first left, you were scarcely recognizable. She and that boy were so reckless, so young, so naïve and so passionate – you and Vernon were so cautious, so simple, so normal and so safe.

They were the freaks, you knew that. When you looked at your parents, you saw your future. Your parents had been like you. They had been nothing out of the ordinary, and neither would you. Lily was the oddball, the misfit, the fluke accident – and they loved her for it.

You never announced your engagement that night. The dinner was spent listening to Lily and James recount tales of school and chaos and their many misadventures, while you and Vernon were expected to sit quietly and listen.

You could tell by his disinterested grunts and the dark looks he occasionally sent across the table at Lily's counterpart that Vernon was jealous. He had been involved with you for over three years, now, and not once had your parents ever warmed up to him in the way they were warming up to the boy who'd been here not three hours. Who were these people? He was engaged to Petunia Evans and he'd never met them before. How were they – wild, rambunctious, untamed, unhindered – possibly related to you, perfectly plain Petunia? Vernon loved normalcy almost as much as you did and these people were not normal.

He hated them, but then again, you hated them more.

You saw the change this boy brought about in your sister. She was the way she had been before, when she was a young girl, animated and rambunctious and full of laughter, love and life. She wasn't the quiet, studious girl she had suddenly become in her teen years – all of the sudden, Daddy's little inferno was back, with all the liveliness that you'd almost forgotten she had.

Maybe that was why your parents loved him so much.

Maybe that was why they cried at her wedding but not at yours. Maybe that was why, after your ceremony, they'd walked over to Vernon and given him a clap on the back and a smile, when after Lily's ceremony they swooped down on James, crying, Mum kissing him on the cheek and Dad welcoming him to the family.

Maybe you didn't cry at their funeral because of that, because Lily Evans meant more to them than Petunia Evans, and because Lily Potter was still their daughter while Petunia Dursley never had been. Maybe that's why at their funeral you'd been so blank, emotionless and apathetic while Lily, perfectly invincible girl that she was, had collapsed into her husband's arms, sobbing.

Maybe that's why you never went to Lily's funeral at all. You're sure she had one, and, knowing Lily, quite a spectacular one. After all, she and that boy were twisted celebrities of war, icons and names to fuel the propaganda bonfire, and it only makes sense that their death be marked with a bang.

You think you knew, somehow, it would be like this, from that instant she brought him home.

And maybe, you think, that's what makes you hate her son so much. You see so much of them in him – the boyish charm of his father that won your parents in an instant the way Vernon never did, the strong-hearted determination his mother had that inevitably lead to her death. In him, you can see a spark, a drive, a fire that, as much as you search for it and as much as you wish it were there, you know resides in neither you or Dudley.

You know who would be the favorite grandchild if your parents were still alive.

And you know that like his parents he's running out of time. You know that, just like them, he'll be lucky to make it to twenty. But that's what they get – all of them – for being so damn wonderful.

The candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long, and the Potters had always been blazing.

You just wish, sometimes, that the Dursleys glowed a little brighter.

Harry - Honestly, when I first saw him I was thinking he gave off those 'hated child' vibes 😔 He was a good character though it definitely took a few movies and some character development for me to take him more seriously

Hagrid - A hairy man. That's all I have to say.

Any of the dursley's - I hated them. Just as any normal person would. Although, I grew the tiniest bit of respect for Dudley in the deleted scene when he said to Harry, "I don't think you're a waste of space."

Ron - I honestly found him to be one of my first favorite characters! We had really similar personalities which probably is why I liked him so much, but I must add that Ron looked adorable in the first movie ✨

Hermione - Ok.. I'll probably get attacked for this but I honestly didn't like Hermione at first 🥲 I wasn't a big fan of how she was going on about how smart she was in the movies. I know she wasn't being narcissistic or was bragging but it was a bit annoying at first.

Snape - A man who is still suffering his childhood trauma and decided to not give up yet on the emo aesthetic. (💀)

Neville - Honestly, I don't really remember my first opinion on Neville. Though I did think for QUITE a while that his name was pronounced 'neh-veel' 😭

[END OF PART 1]