Chapter 2 — The Boy in the House
Arthur woke a couple of hours later to faint sunlight spilling across his room. For a moment, he didn't move — just listened. The air felt unusually still, heavy with something new.
Then came a muffled voice from downstairs — his mother's, shaky and uncertain.
He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and muttered, "Right. Morning after remembering my past life and getting a home delivery. Perfectly ordinary."
Harry Potter was here.
He slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Dudley, who was drooling into his pillow and clutching his stuffed bear like treasure. Tiptoeing to the top of the stairs, Arthur gripped the banister and peered down.
His mother stood in her nightgown, holding a baby close to her chest. Her face was pale, her lips trembling. Beside her, Vernon Dursley looked ready to explode.
"Who leaves a baby at someone's door?!" Vernon thundered.
Arthur descended one step at a time, feigning innocent curiosity. "Mum? Who's that?"
Petunia's eyes flicked up to her eldest son. Her face softened at once. "Arthur, darling… it's your cousin. Your Aunt Lily's boy."
The name Lily landed in the air like a whisper from the past. Even Vernon fell silent.
Though he'd prepared himself for this moment, hearing it aloud struck Arthur differently. Harry Potter. The baby who survived the impossible.
Arthur stepped down slowly, pretending confusion though his mind was spinning. "Aunt Lily's? But… she's—"
"Gone," Petunia said quietly, her voice trembling on the word. "They're both gone. And now…" She looked down at the baby again. "…this is all that's left."
Vernon grunted. "Her kind, leaving him on our step like a—like a cursed parcel. What are we supposed to do, Petunia?"
She didn't answer at first. She was staring down at the child, fingers tracing the edge of the blanket as if afraid it might vanish. For a moment, all her sharp edges softened into something fragile and human.
Arthur stepped closer. "Mum… does he look like Aunt Lily?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her fingers brushed the baby's cheek; her breath caught.
"Yes," she whispered. "He does. Her eyes… oh, Lily always had those bright eyes. I used to braid her hair and tell her she looked like a fairy."
Arthur saw it — the guilt, the grief, the what-ifs of a woman who'd cut ties with her only sister and now had no chance to mend them.
"You used to braid her hair?" he asked softly.
Petunia blinked, caught off guard. "Yes. When we were little girls. Before she…" She trailed off, but didn't continue.
That simple line, soft and trembling, was the first honest thing she'd said about Lily in years.
Vernon groaned, glaring at them both. "Now, hold on. We can't just keep him! What will the neighbors say? What if he starts doing—doing things?"
Petunia turned to him. "But he has no one left, Vernon. And where would we even send him?"
Arthur, feigning innocence, added, "But he's just a baby, Dad. He can't even do anything yet."
He glanced between them and said gently, "If Aunt Lily trusted you, Mum, maybe she wanted him to be safe here. Maybe it's what she'd want."
The line was deliberate — a small nudge toward empathy, wrapped in childish innocence.
Petunia's shoulders trembled. "Safe," she repeated softly. "Lily's boy… safe."
Vernon cleared his throat loudly, looking ready to argue again, but even he wasn't heartless enough. "Fine," he muttered. "We can't send him back now, can we? But mark my words, Petunia — we'll raise him properly. None of that funny business."
Arthur, keeping his tone light, tilted his head and grinned. "Does this mean I've got another brother?"
Vernon blinked, thrown off by the remark. Petunia laughed — a small, startled sound. "Well, I suppose that's one way to think of it."
Dudley chose that moment to waddle in, hair sticking up, dragging his blanket behind him. "Brother?" he mumbled sleepily. "New toy?"
Arthur snorted. "Not a toy, Dud. A baby."
Dudley frowned in that deep, confused toddler way — then broke into a grin. "Baby!" he cheered, clapping his hands. "Mine!"
Petunia pressed a hand to her mouth to hide a laugh. "Oh, Dudders, no, not yours. He's your cousin. Harry."
Dudley blinked. "He play?"
Arthur chuckled. "Not yet. But he will."
Petunia smiled faintly, brushing Harry's hair back. "You boys will all grow up together. Just like Lily and I did."
For a moment, the kitchen was quiet except for Harry's tiny breaths. Even Vernon, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, looked more uncertain than angry.
By breakfast, the household had half-settled into the strangeness. Harry was asleep in a spare crib. Petunia had cleaned and fed him with the quiet efficiency of someone too busy to cry. Vernon buried himself in the morning paper, muttering about "government drop-offs" before leaving for work.
Dudley sat on Arthur's lap, trying to feed cereal to a teddy bear. Arthur spent most of the day with his little brothers — Dudley running in circles, Harry watching everything with wide green eyes.
At one point, Arthur placed a soft toy between the two babies. Dudley poked it, Harry reached for it, and the two started giggling for no reason at all. The sound filled the room like sunlight — pure, unfiltered joy.
Arthur laughed too — the kind of laugh that belonged to both the five-year-old and the man who'd seen too much. "You two are going to bring a lot of trouble," he said fondly. "And I'll probably be blamed for all of it, won't I?"
He noticed Petunia watching Harry, her eyes distant — full of old memories and new guilt. For a moment, she wasn't the sharp, controlled woman Arthur knew; she was just a sister again, remembering laughter by a riverbank and a freckled redhead running beside her.
When she caught him looking, she managed a brittle smile. "He'll need proper care, Arthur. You'll have to help look after him. He's your cousin, after all."
He nodded solemnly. "Of course, Mum." Then, after a beat, he grinned. "Does this mean I'm promoted to big brother twice over?"
She laughed — a short, genuine sound that startled even her. "Don't get cheeky."
Arthur hid his grin behind a sip of milk.
By evening, Harry was tucked into a cot beside Dudley's, both babies sleeping soundly. Petunia lingered at the doorway, eyes misty but calm.
Arthur stood beside her. "He looks happy," he said.
"He does," she whispered. "So did Lily, when she was small."
Arthur hesitated, then added, "I think she'd be glad you took him in."
Petunia didn't answer, but she reached out and rested a hand lightly on his shoulder — a rare gesture of warmth — before turning away.
Arthur stayed a while longer, watching the two boys breathe in unison.
"Two brothers," he murmured. "And a promise to keep."
He smiled faintly and lay down in his own bed. For all his worries, this moment felt right. Lily's child wasn't alone. Petunia's heart wasn't entirely closed. Outside, the streetlights flickered to life, and Number Four felt almost peaceful.
He whispered to the ceiling, "Start with small steps, Arthur."
And then, as sleep finally claimed him, he smiled. "Welcome home, Harry," he murmured. "You're not alone anymore."
End of Chapter 2 — The Boy in the House