Another summer's night had fallen upon the houses of Privet Drive, and the only sound to mar the stillness was the occasional rustling of the leaves as a warm breeze blew through the trees. It was an entirely ordinary night except, of course, for Harry Potter. As the almost seventeen-year-old wizard gazed out of his window, he could not help but feel that a part of his life was about to end, and another was about to begin. It was at once both a thrilling and a terrifying thought, yet Harry could not help but smile.
The alarm that he had set on his clock sounded suddenly, and Harry shut it off. He stared at the time for several long moments. Twelve midnight. It was now, officially, July thirty-first. Harry simply stood there, hardly daring to believe it, but of course it was true. He had come of age. He would be able to leave the Dursley's house forever. The smile on Harry's face widened and before he knew it, he was laughing out loud. The Dursleys and everything he had been though at their hands, would soon be nothing but a memory, and now that he was seventeen, the magic that Dumbledore had used to ensure his safety while in their home would cease.
At the thought of Dumbledore Harry's laughter died and he became aware, once more, of the empty space within him that Dumbledore had once occupied. Absently, he wiped away the few stray tears that had fallen and as he did so, his eyes fell upon the pages of parchment that sat upon his desk. They were the numerous letters that Hermione and Ron had written him, and he felt a swell of affection for his best friends as he remembered what they had said.
Just remember, Harry, you'll be seventeen before you know it, and you'll never have to deal with that bunch of gits again! Those were the bracing words of Ron.
I can't wait to see you again, Harry, we have a lot to talk about. Whatever happens, I know you'll be ok. Remember what I told you our first year? That night beneath the trap door? Friendship and bravery are the important things, Harry. That was one of Hermione's letters.
Harry crossed the room to his desk and picked up the letters, reading through them once more. As he did, the images of that night resurfaced. He remembered Hermione's words, and how they gave him new resolve. He remembered Quirrell, and the horror of seeing Voldemort. That was it, Harry thought as he stared down at the letters in his hands; that was when I knew we would always be friends. A soft knock on the door broke through Harry's thoughts.
"Come in," Harry said absently. It was Aunt Petunia. Harry looked up at her, surprised. He would have thought she'd been asleep long ago. Softly she closed the door behind her and, it seemed to Harry, meekly sat upon his bed. "Hi, Aunt Petunia", Harry said quietly. Aunt Petunia did not say anything for several long moments. Then, barely audible, she spoke.
"I suppose you'll be leaving soon."
"Well, my friend Ron invited me to stay at his house for a while. There's really no reason for me to stay here anymore", Harry said carefully. Aunt Petunia was strangely timid, and Harry was not sure where this conversation was going. Silence fell for some time, and it seemed Aunt Petunia was not going to speak again. Harry tried to make his voice as casual as possible when he spoke again. "It's pretty late, Aunt Petunia. How come you're not asleep?"
Aunt Petunia looked up at Harry, and Harry was shocked to see her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"I, um…I don't really know how to say this…"
"Just say it, Aunt Petunia," Harry said softly.
"I'm sorry." There was a long pause. " I'm sorry…there…I said it." Harry's eyebrows raised, but he said nothing. Aunt Petunia took a deep breath, and then continued. "I didn't like my sister for a long, long time. I think I was always a bit jealous of her. When she died, and you came to live with us, I think I saw a part of her in you, and I hated you for that."
"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked, now completely bewildered."Because…because you didn't deserve any of what we did…to you."
Harry looked at Aunt Petunia, and something cold seemed to spread through him."Yeah," Harry said, "I know. I was only a little kid and you were supposed to take care of me. I didn't ask to be left on your doorstep. I didn't ask for my own parents to die. I had no choice in that. But you…you had a choice. You could have realized that I was a baby who hadn't done anything wrong! Uncle Vernon didn't have any reason to care what happened to me, but you? I was…geez, I still am…your nephew. You could have cared. You didn't. Now you come here, when I'm about to leave and expect…what? That I'm suddenly going to forgive you?"
Aunt Petunia looked at Harry for a moment, but then her eyes dropped to the floor.
"I'm sorry, but I can't."
There was silence for some time, and neither Harry nor Aunt Petunia spoke. Slowly, Aunt Petunia stood and walked over to the door. Harry watched her, but then something Dumbledore had said to him compelled him to speak.
"Aunt Petunia." She turned and looked at Harry. "Even though you hated me, you still allowed me to stay here. If you hadn't, I probably would have been killed a long time ago. Thank you for that."
Aunt Petunia's eyes widened in surprise, but she simply nodded, then left. Suddenly a wave of exhaustion swept through Harry, and he flung himself on his bed and was quickly asleep. It was the last night he would ever spend in number four, Privet Drive.