When Vernon walked toward the cupboard under the stairs, he looked like a man heading for the gallows. He raised his hand to knock, hesitated for a long mont, then tapped gently on the door with the tips of his fingers.
Michael turned to Petunia, frowning faintly. "Why is he knocking on the cupboard?"
Petunia opened her mouth, but no words ca out. How could she explain that a child lived there? What excuse could possibly justify it—when their house was two stories tall, with more than enough spare rooms, yet they had kept a boy in nothing but a cramped cupboard to sleep in?
Michael saw the look on her face and said nothing more. He was only playing his part—just acting, as Maverick had already told him everything he needed to know long before they arrived.
A mont later, the cupboard door creaked open.
Harry stood there, blinking in the light. He looked up at Vernon with a puzzled frown. Usually, Vernon would bang on the door and shout his na. But today, there had been no shouting, no stomping, only a quiet knock. Vernon looked like he had seen a ghost.
Harry's eyes flicked past him, toward the kitchen. And then he saw a familiar man sitting beside the Pri Minister. His face lit up at once.
"Professor!"
He broke into a run and dashed into the living room. "Professor, you're really here!"
At the sound of that word—Professor—Petunia and Vernon froze. Their eyes widened, and their pupils shrank. There was only one kind of professor Harry Potter would speak of.
A wizard.
That young man in the living room—he must be one of them. But what was a wizard doing with the Pri Minister of Britain?
Maverick smiled at Harry and nodded. "Of course I ca. I told you I would co." He then gestured toward the empty chair beside him. "Sit, Harry."
Harry obeyed at once.
Just as Harry sat down, Petunia snapped out of her stunned state. She glanced between Harry and Maverick, then hesitantly asked, "A-Are you… one of them?"
Maverick ignored her for the mont and turned to Vernon, who still stood frozen by the cupboard door. "Mr. Dursley," he said, gesturing with his hand. "Co and sit..."
Vernon shook his head, nodding frantically as he stumbled over to the chair and sat down looking like he might faint.
Maverick took a mont glanncing between the two of them as he stared them down. "If by 'one of them' you an a wizard, then yes—I am. I'm also Harry's professor at Hogwarts."
The couple had very little respect—given their ignorance—towards wizards, so as soon as Maverick confird it, they quickly turned to Michael. "Mr. Pri Minister," Vernon asked, "what is really going on? Do you know about... people like him?"
Michael did not answer right away. Instead, he first reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a thick envelope, placed it on the table in front of them, and then began to speak.
"First of all," he glanced between them, "the existence of magic, witches, and wizards is no secret to the governnts of the world. Every country has its magical counterpart, and we work together. There are treaties. Laws. Mutual protection. And those laws apply to everyone—magical or non-magical."
He tapped the envelope once with his finger. "Which brings to the reason we're here today."
He looked directly at them. "The magical governnt has raised a concerning complaint—that a non-magical family has been mistreating a wizard child. This," he gestured to Harry, "child, Harry Potter."
The couple's faces drained of all color, their mouths falling open in shock.
"We have received evidence," Michael continued. "Records of your actions—neglect, isolation, physical and emotional abuse, denial of proper care. All of it." He nodded toward the envelope. "You'll find the records inside."
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Maverick flicked his finger, stopping him. An invisible nudge pressed gently against his chest, and Harry understood. Not yet.
Michael continued, "What you may not know is that Harry Potter is not just any ordinary wizard. He is the heir to an ancient noble house, a family with a seat in the magical governnt's Parliant. Because of this, his case was brought to the highest levels—the Minister for Magic himself is involved."
He crossed his arms and leaned back. "And because the Minister of Magic is involved with a case against non-magicals, now I am involved." He glanced at the envelope again, then back at the couple, who sat frozen, perhaps still processing everything.
"I've seen the evidence they gave," he continued, shaking his head and frowning at them. "To be honest, I'm disgusted. Especially you." He pointed at Petunia. "Isn't this child your sister's only son?"
Michael didn't wait for an answer and pressed on. "You've been happily accepting seven thousand pounds every month to take care of him, and yet I don't see any sign of you actually caring for him. Seven thousand pounds... that's not a small sum of money to take care of one child."
Vernon's lips trembled. Petunia clutched her skirt tightly in her lap. It was all true, and they couldn't refute it. They couldn't give any excuse because they have indeed been consuming all the money sent to them to care for Harry.
"You have two choices now," Michael said. "The first is to be tried in a joint magical and non-magical court. If found guilty... and believe , you will be found guilty, given the evidence against you... you will have to spend a long ti in a magical prison. As for your son, Dudley... he will be placed in the care of the state."
Both Vernon and Petunia shot to their feet, faces twisted in terror. Then they dropped to their knees with twin thuds.
"No—please—" Petunia sobbed.
"We didn't an—!"
"We were just—!"
"Be quiet," Michael said sharply, raising a hand. The room fell still.
Maverick, watching from the sidelines, raised an eyebrow. It seed his old man could have chosen a career in acting.
"Your second choice is this..." Michael said coldly. "You apologize to this child for everything you've done to him all these years. You take responsibility. From this mont forward, you treat him like your own— with respect and decency. I don't care if you give him love. Honestly, I don't believe you can—"
"We can, sir. We can!" they both cried out in unison, their voices trembling.
"Quiet!" Michael snapped.
"As I was saying…" He took a mont before continuing. "You take care of him like your own until he turns 17, the age a magical is considered an adult, and then the child can decide for himself what he will do—whether to forgive you or press charges."
He paused, letting the couple understand.
"If you can promise that—if you truly an it—I will do everything in my power to keep you out of prison. Temporarily."
He leaned back slightly. "If not, the law will take its course. I will see to it."
The silence that followed was heavy for the Dursleys. Petunia's eyes filled with tears again. She turned her face to Harry, her mouth trembling.
Vernon bowed his head low. "We… we were wrong," he muttered, voice rough. "We've been wrong for years."
"We'll change," Petunia said, almost in a whisper. "We'll do better. We'll… We'll make it right."
Michael gave no reply, only looked at them both with a gaze that said he would be watching.
They stayed kneeling, their shoulders hunched and heads lowered. There was no dignity left in either of them—only sha, and sothing that might have been the start of reflection.
Looking at their pitiful behavior, Maverick finally turned to Harry and gave him a small nod, allowing him to speak. His voice was firm but gentle, loud enough for the Dursleys to hear every word.
"Listen, Harry. You've heard everything the Pri Minister said. Now it's up to you. If you choose to press charges, no one can bla you—and I'll make sure you're placed in better care."
He paused before continuing. "You can also choose to forgive them. That decision too, is yours alone… so take your ti, and tell us what you've decided."
Harry sat quietly, thoughtful. His eyes moved between the two people who had mistreated him for as long as he could rember. But Harry was still a child—and not the kind to hold onto bitterness. As he looked into their tear-streaked faces, sothing in him softened. He could see they were truly sorry.
But he needed to hear it from them.
He stood up from his seat and looked down at his aunt and uncle, still kneeling.
"Aunt Petunia... Uncle Vernon... can you... can you promise not to shout at anymore? Not to make do all the chores—?"
"We promise!" they both cried out at once, cutting him off.
"Let the boy speak!" Michael said sharply. Then, turning to Harry, his voice softened. "Go on, kid. Say what you need to."
Harry nodded, then looked back at the couple. "I… I don't really know what else to say," he mumbled, hesitating. "I just want you to treat like you treat Dudley… Aunt, Uncle. That's all I want. And if you do… I promise I won't let them punish you."
Petunia and Vernon's eyes welled up even more. Perhaps it was the way Harry looked at them—with that pleading, childlike expression. All he was asking for… was a little kindness. And it broke sothing inside them. Guilt slamd into their chests like a wave. The mories of every cruel word, every ignored need, ca rushing back like a storm.
They didn't answer. They just wept.
And Harry couldn't take it. He got up and ran toward them, stopping just a step away, uncertain.
Maverick let out a sigh. He had expected this outco—ninety percent sure, in fact. The boy was simply too gentle. And it might co back to hurt him one day.
Then again, maybe it was just his age. If Harry were a few years older, things might have gone differently. Maverick didn't know. What mattered was the now.
Harry stood frozen in front of them. It seed he had run on instinct. No matter how cruel they had been, they were the only ones who had ever looked after him, however poorly. If he had any sense of family buried deep inside, it ca from them. And that, more than anything, had shaped his decision.
"Uncle Vernon… Aunt Petunia…" he said softly. "Please… get up. I choose to forgive you. I choose to forgive you."
Petunia couldn't hold herself back any longer. She reached for Harry and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. In that mont, her mind drifted back to her childhood, to mories of Lily—before everything had gone wrong. She had once loved her sister with all her heart.
And deep down, she had always known it was her own jealousy that had poisoned that love. She just never wanted to admit it. But now… now she did.
She saw Lily in Harry—in his eyes, his face, his voice. And for the first ti in years, she rembered what it felt like to love her sister.
She clung to him, crying on his shoulder, whispering Lily's na over and over in her heart, begging for forgiveness—for everything.
Harry didn't know what to do. He had never been held like this before. But he didn't dislike it. He didn't even realize that he, too, was crying, his arms slowly rising to return the embrace.
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