Maybe this could be considered the "prequel" to Better Left Unsaid.
Well, thought Dudley Dursley as he sipped his coffee, The day has finally arrived. He wasn't sure how he felt about this day. For the last ten years or so, he spent most of his time split between being certain this day would never arrive and being certain that without a doubt, would. Even worse, when he was certain it would arrive, he was certain he didn't want it to. When his thoughts were that this day would never come, he found himself wishing it would. Now that the day had arrived, he wasn't sure how he should feel. He was a blank slate right now. Probably because I spent so many years speculating, I've just drained any emotional reaction right out of me, he thought.
"This is entirely your fault," said his wife Mary. "And you know it."
Her voice was cold, bitter, and accusing. Startled, he looked up, ready to protest, but then saw the glitter in her eyes that told him she was joking. "Wonderful," he said, trying to sound upset, but being unable to resist a smile. "Today of all days, you're trying to have one over on me."
"You need a laugh," she said, with a dismissive wave of her hands, then smiled warmly at him. "It's not like it's bad." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "We'll work this out. And who knows, this could very well be the best thing that ever happened to him."
He squeezed back. "I suppose you're-" he began, only to be interrupted by a thin boy wearing jeans and a t-shirt, bounding into the kitchen.
"G'morning Mum and Dad," the boy said, grinning. He had that look of utter joy and happiness that children often had when they knew it was their special day.
"Good morning, Harry." Mary stood up and greeted her son with a hug and a kiss. "Happy eleventh birthday!"
"Thanks!" The boy exclaimed, looking at the pile of packages that were piled on his chair. He started to say something, then stopped as he noticed a creature on the counter, drinking water from a small saucer. "Wow," he moved closer. His voice was filled with disbelief as he asked, "Mum, Dad, what's an owl doing in our kitchen?"
Dudley picked up the cream colored envelope that was sitting by his plate. "She was delivering a letter for you, actually." He offered the envelope to his son, who took it with an expression of awe on his face. "But before you open it, we have to talk."
Harry Dursley's fingers had been flipping the envelope around to where it was sealed, but he stopped obediently "Okay, what do we have to talk about?"
"I need to tell you more about your Uncle Harry," Dudley began "And about the school he attended when he was your age. The- the same school I think that you'll be attending next year."
Well, you have to figure it could happen. After all, Petunia and Lily were related.