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The doorbell chimed. Petunia jumped at the sound, half expecting their guest not to show up. She had spent the morning cleaning the house completely, and thoroughly, to ensure that her prestigious guests would not find fault in her home. Vernon had managed to set up the stereo system to look presentable even though, much to his frustration, it still did not work.
The doorbell chimed again, and the two adults looked at each other, expecting each other to get the door. Vernon still wasn’t presentable, as he was fumbling with his tie, and Petunia still had rubber gloves on her hands. Their nephew stepped out of his cupboard looking disheveled, as he had been rudely awakened that morning by his cousin lighting matches between his toes. He had been ordered to stay in his cupboard until the guest arrived, and he was to comb his hair back and he was to wear some of Dudley’s old church clothes. He had been sternly warned that there was to be no funny business and he was to be polite to the guest, or else. He had been sorely tempted to rip holes in the knees of his slacks, but then again he did not want to find out what the “Or Else” was, and submissively behaved himself that morning the best way that he could, by staying out of the way.
“Get the door, boy,” Vernon hissed at him while Petunia ran off to the kitchen to dispose of her gloves.
The boy answered the door, and standing on the porch was a husband and wife, and a sullen looking boy, who appeared to be about his age. The woman smiled absently at the boy, not sure who he was. Mrs. Dursley had never mentioned another son, nor had she seen him around school. Harry did not welcome the guest in, nor did the guest give a sign of wanting to be let in. The three just stared dumbly at each other.
“Don’t be silly, Harry, let our company in,” said Petunia from behind him, and with a quick nudge from her hip, she pushed Harry out of the way and held open the door. She welcomed her guests in with a sweep of her arms. They stepped into the living room, where Vernon Dursley greeted the husband with a booming voice.

“You must be, Mister Malfoy. Vernon Dursley, at your service,” he said and held out a meaty hand. Mister Malfoy did not take his hand, but instead he looked around the house with a disapproving look.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” he said with an important air. Vernon stood there awkwardly for a second, not quite sure what to do next. Then he realized that they probably had not come just to stand around not saying anything.

“How rude of me, please, make yourselves comfortable,” Vernon gestured to the sofa and chairs, which the guests sat down on, rather stiffly. “Petunia, dear, go get Dudley, I am sure this young man did not come here to sit around all day.” He said and gave the boy a smile. The boy gave him a look of contempt, displeased that he had been singled out by this sausage of a man.
It was Mrs. Malfoy who spoke first. She had set out today determined to make they day go well. But her hopes were crumbling.
“Petunia didn’t mention anything about having another son.” She said in a conversational tone. Vernon looked over at the boy who was not his son, sitting comfortably in an armchair. He was displeased and a little bit embarrassed as the boy’s hair was messy, as per usual. The boy couldn’t do anything right. He supposed he’d just have to punish him afterwards, and put it out of his mind.

“Oh, him. He’s our nephew, Harry. Took him in when he was just a baby. He was orphaned. Parents died in a car crash. So, Mister Malfoy, what do you do for a living?” Vernon replied trying to steer the conversation away from Harry. But Mr. Malfoy did not answer, for he was far more interested in the nephew, Harry

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