Vernon Dursley had finished packing his belongings including those he'd acquired during the year he had been away while The Boy was off dealing with that Moldyshorts fellow, and had stepped out his door to freely breathe the air of his (mostly) white middle-class suburban neighborhood when he suddenly felt his mood sinking towards the hellishly hot core of the earth. On any other day, this would have been because his freakish and completely unwanted nephew was making his way towards the house. Today, it was because of the elderly couple that were climbing out of the battered and rather ancient Land Rover that had pulled up to the front of his family's home.
He had feared that this day would come since he and his sister Marge had completely cut ties in 1973. While Petunia had feared that people would learn about her sister up until the day that The Boy had been dropped on their doorstep, and feared that people would learn what her sister really was every day afterward, he feared that people would learn about the couple who were now making their way up the garden path behind the Freak, his parents.
The elder Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were as unDursleyish as it was possible for a Dursley to be without being magical to boot. It was bad enough that his mother was actually American, and, well...the term for it used to be "Quadroon", but both of his parents had been hippies long before the term hippie had been coined, and had dragged their children on all of their globe trotting crusades, from Civil Rights protests in America, to helping starving children in Asia.
While it was true that he had attended Smeltings, he hadn't gone to his alma mater until he was nearly fifteen, and he and his sister had finally put their foot down and moved in with their grandfather rather than be dragged off to help hand out vaccines in Africa. Before then, his education had been somewhat spotty and in several languages he now pretended not to know unless he absolutely needed them for work. His most memorable school year before the peace and stability of Smeltings and his Grandfather's solidly British views had been the one in the American South far below the Mason-Dixon line where he'd had the crap beaten out of him for trying to "Pass himself off as white". Back then, if you had even one non-white member in your family tree...
Before he could recover from his shock at the sight of his parents whom he hadn't seen in over twenty-five years as up until now they had respected his wish of absolutely no contact and chase the elder Mr. and Mrs. Dursley away, his wife who had spent their entire marriage believing his grandfather was his father and his precious blond son who fortunately took after him and Petunia rather than his wayward grandparents had stepped outside the house to grab another load of their belongings from the car.
"Honey, who are they?" Petunia asked as she looked between her husband and the elderly couple making their way to the door, quite likely noticing that A) he recognized them, and B) he resembled them.
"They're..." Vernon started when he finally found his voice.
"They're leaving." He finished firmly showing that he was perfectly willing to chase the man who sired him and the woman who gave birth to him, both of whom he refused to acknowledge as his parents, back to their car and out of his nice and normal neighborhood before they completely ruined his life...Again.
"Now son, I know for a fact that we raised you with better manners than that." his father who was dressed like a man several decades his junior in jeans, sneakers, and an atrocious, brighly colored jumper said. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your family. We came all this way to check up on you after you completely vanished off the face of the earth for an entire year."
"We dropped everything the moment we heard that you went missing, and had everyone out looking for you for the last six months, including that odd chap who claims he's a wizard. The least you could do is let us make sure that you're alright." his mother said.
"Son?" Petunia asked weakly.
"Yes, son. Though our little Martin would love to deny it, we're his parents." his mother said.
"I think you've got the wrong house. My husband's name is Vernon." Petunia said firmly, providing him with the opening he needed to get rid of his parents without his wife and son realizing that they were really related. He was about to start chivvying them toward their Land Rover when his father spoke up.
"We know full well what we named our children before father got ahold of them and brainwashed them into taking "Respectable British names". Our little Martin and our little Susan had so much potential before father got his hands on them. Now look, our Martin sells drills, and our Susan who could have gone on to greater things breeds bulldogs of all things." his father said, making a disgusted face at the thought of the great man who had sent him to a real school and had gotten his job at Grunnings where he made his way up the corporate ladder, and at the respectable lives he and his sister led.
"Martin and Susan are normal names." The Boy piped up from where he'd been standing out of the way, completely unnoticed due to the arrival of his parents, calling Petunia and Dudley's attention to him.
"We named them after Dr. King and Susan B. Anthony, both of whom Will's father hated since their ideals didn't fit within his narrow world view." his mother replied.
"Wasn't that whole American Civil Rights Movement thing just getting off the ground when Uncle Vern..er, Uncle Martin was born?" The Boy asked.
"Dr. King was a distant relative of mine on my mother's side of the family." his mother replied. "My husband and I met him shortly before the bus boycott and were quite moved by his views."
"Ah, I see." The Boy said. There was a definite sparkle of amusement in The Boy's eyes as he no doubt recalled every last one of the remarks about black hooligans and every last word he'd used to describe "people of color" in front of the child as he was growing up.
Dudley and Petunia got what his mother had been saying well after The Boy did. Petunia went into shock, and sat down on the porch steps. Hard.
"...My grandma's black?" Dudley finally said hesitantly once he was reasonably certain he'd processed what his grandmother had been saying.
"Only a quarter." he and his mother said at the same time, but in differing tones. For his mother, it had been mere fact, as the sky being blue was fact, for him, the fact that his mother was only a quarter, making him only an eighth, and therefore seven eighths white had been something he'd hung onto.
"My grandma's black?" Dudley said again, apparently still hung up on that little factish thing.
It was at that point that The Boy who had been watching the entire situation as if it were live entertainment put on for his own amusement started laughing.