"There, there, ickle Diddy-ums," she soothed as the boy realized that his mother's attention was no longer completely focused on him, and was throwing a massive tantrum, kicking whatever part of his mother he could reach, and pounding her chest with his fists.

The man at the door didn't look like he had anything to do with lawn care, Petunia realized with disappointment. The lawn care men were middle-aged, jovial, portly, and ruddy in the face. This visitor was a very young man, no more than twenty, and he had that underfed, gangly look of a youth whose strength and agility had not yet caught up with his growth. He was gaunt and unsmiling, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His black hair was long and greasy, she noted with distaste, and his nose was too large for a thin, pale face. His black eyes bored into hers, and she looked down after a moment, offended. The arrogance of this stranger, to stare at her so brazenly ... hang on ... what was he wearing?

At first glance, she thought maybe he was an undertaker, dressed as he was all in black, together with his sombre mien. But this was no suit he was wearing. It was sort of a cape, as if he were one of those freaky artists from London, or ...

"You're Lily's sister." He said it softly as a statement, not a question, continuing to stare steadily at her. "You look nothing like her."

Petunia tried unsuccessfully to peer around him to see if any of the neighbours were out. Though whether anybody had seen him or not, she definitely had to get him out of sight as quickly as possible.

"Get in," she hissed. "And close the door."

He complied, sweeping in almost soundlessly despite a slightly jerky gait, and closed the door without seeming to touch it.

She regarded him warily. She didn't want to invite him in, but he didn't look like he was just going to go away, and it wouldn't do for the neighbours to see one of her sister's people standing at her front door. Dudley had gone silent when he first saw the stranger, as if struck dumb by terror, and now he resumed his screaming and struggling.

"What do you want?" she asked abruptly.

"Right," he said, and started fumbling in the pockets of his clothing. "I just need to use the ... erm ..."

"What's going on?!" shouted Vernon from upstairs, and he came running down, glaring at the stranger.

"Vernon. You're home," sputtered Petunia.

"Of course I'm home. It's Saturday," he replied, exasperated.

"Then why didn't you..." she started to say, then she saw the newspaper in his hand, and realized he had been in the toilet. She gestured to the stranger, her hand trembling slightly. "This is one of Lily's friends from school," she said nervously, and watched as Vernon's face turned purple.

"Your lot are not allowed in this house!" shouted Vernon over Dudley's wails. "Leave at once, sir."

"And your lot are not allowed in mine," the stranger replied silkily. "Only we are able do something about it." Suddenly, he was holding a thin wooden stick. Vernon couldn't see where it came from. The stranger smirked widely, revealing discoloured, crooked teeth, and beckoned to Vernon. "Go ahead. Make me leave."

Petunia hastily put Dudley down and walked over to stand between the two men. Howling, Dudley toddled over and clung to his mother's leg. To Vernon, who had gone ashen, she said, "Their laws don't let him do magic in front of us. Or to us, for that matter."

She turned warily back to the stranger, who was still holding up his hands. They were now empty, but quite filthy, and a nasty burn on the side of his left thumb looked infected. A little self-consciously he tucked the wounded hand into his pocket and rubbed his eyes with the other.

He started to speak, and she interrupted him. "But why are you here?"

"Not allowed to do magic in front of us, is he?" snarled Vernon. He went around his trembling wife, walked boldly at the stranger, and pushed the younger man's shoulders aggressively.

He was shorter than Vernon, and half his weight if he were lucky, but it was Vernon who suddenly levitated and flew backwards, hitting the wall hard enough to make a dent with his head. Dudley stopped screaming and stared in astonishment at his father lying in a dazed heap at the base of the wall.

Petunia shrieked and ran to her husband, who was already starting to sit up. Blessed as he was with the inordinately thick skull of the Dursleys, he was largely unhurt, and struggled to his feet with the assistance of his wife. Both Dursleys examined the damaged wall and looked fearfully back at their visitor.

The young man's eyes flashed. "I'm allowed to defend myself." He continued to glare challengingly at the couple, but his stance relaxed slightly as the Dursleys continued to just stand there, and he looked weary. He spoke again, softly this time, but with great urgency. "I cannot think of any place I would rather be less than in a Muggle house, but this is an emergency, and you are wasting time."

"Dear," said Petunia, "If we listen to him, maybe he'll go. And if we just talk to him, maybe he won't attack us ... what is your name?"

He leaned wearily against the front door. "The less you know about me, the better."

Meanwhile, Vernon was gathering up his courage to reach full volume. "LEAVE THIS HOUSE AT ONCE OR I'M CALLING THE POLICE!"

"The ... police?" The visitor's brow furrowed. "Ah, yes. Law enforcement." He smirked. "Aurors couldn't catch me, but the Muggle police will, I am sure." He glared back at Vernon defiantly, folding his arms. "But how am I breaking any laws if your wife invited me in?"

Vernon spun to face his wife. "You invited the freak inside?" he demanded.

"Well, I couldn't leave him standing in the garden for all the neighbours to see..."

"Freak?!" The visitor interjected, though he seemed more bemused than insulted. "Well, I'm often called worse things by people who know me better." He sighed and took a step towards Vernon, who backed away even further. "Look, I'm very tired, and Lily is in danger. I just need to use the ... telephone." He said the last word carefully, pronouncing each syllable separately.

"There's a telephone box on the corner," snarled Vernon.

"Yes ... right ..." The visitor reached inside his clothing and pulled out a handful of coins, brandishing them a bit sheepishly. "Trouble is, I mixed up your money and my money." He jiggled his hand slightly, shifting the coins about. "I haven't slept in two or three days, maybe. And I've never had cause to use a ... telephone ... in my life. I think I put a Galleon into ... into ... that slot where one puts the money in instead of one of these things ... is this a pound?" He raised his hand up and inclined his head to scrutinize the money more closely, his large nose almost touching the coins. "Damned ugly, your money. Though that's fitting, I suppose. You spend it on ugly things for your drab lives. So anyway, the ... machine ... jammed. I tapped it with my wand, and all the Muggle money came out, but the Galleon is still stuck. The Ministry is going to have to send ..." he stopped and glared at Petunia's feet.

Dudley, clinging to his mother's legs, had started up again, and was screaming loud enough to set off car alarms.

The visitor took out his thin wooden stick. "A simple Silencing Charm is completely harmless, and would wear off in no ..."

Petunia screamed, "DON'T YOU DARE!!" She scooped up Dudley and ran upstairs.

The visitor put the stick away and rubbed his eyes wearily, turning to address Vernon. "Your sister-in-law and her eternally lamentable husband have attracted the attention of ... well, let's just say, a very dangerous person." He made an expression of distaste. "I'll be saving James, too, in the bargain. But there's no avoiding it."

Through clenched teeth, Vernon said, "As far as we're concerned, they're no family members of ours. So we help you, and get this ... very dangerous person coming after us? I don't think so. There's more than one telephone box in England. Try another."

The visitor shook his head. "I can't afford to waste any more time, and you are the only Muggles I know of. None of my other friends were Muggle-born. Any risk is assumed by me, you understand? He will come after me, not you, if he finds out. You are in no danger because he considers you beneath contempt. So do I, actually." He sneered at Vernon. "But I don't let my poor opinion of you cloud my judgement. You are beneath him, so he overlooks you. And I can use the telephone with impunity. It would never occur to the ... to this person that a Muggle device could be used to thwart his intentions. I have the number right here." He waved a ragged bit of stiff, yellowish paper.

Vernon looked at the paper in the visitor's hand as if it were a slimy dead thing. "My wife invited you in. I am cancelling that invitation. You may exit from the back door, and out through the garden gate. After that, you are off my property, and I don't care what you do, as long as it doesn't involve us. This way, through the kitchen." Vernon stepped sideways past the visitor, giving him as wide a berth as possible, through the kitchen door.

The visitor said softly, "They are your family, whether you like them or not. You don't get to choose your relatives. I ought to know." He followed Vernon with apparent docility, until they reached the kitchen. Abruptly, he stopped.

"This is the kitchen?" he asked.

Annoyed, Vernon turned to face him. "Yes, this is the kitchen." He regarded the man's skinny frame. "Looking at you, I can see how it might be unfamiliar."

A broad grin spread across the man's thin face. Puzzled and a little suspicious, Vernon decided to grin back, not noticing what was in the man's hand.

He said something in another language and gestured aggressively at Vernon. Vernon felt his body turn numb and rigid, and he fell over like a tree, rattling the dishes in the cupboards.

"Vernon?" The visitor heard Petunia call from upstairs. She came rushing into the kitchen and shrieked when she saw Vernon rigid on the floor.

"Why did you attack him again? You know we can't hurt you!!" And she fell to her knees next to the prostrate form of her husband, sobbing inconsolably.