Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
A/N: Okay, I have no idea where this came from. I swear, I'm working on my other fanfics, and I hope to publish them soon, so don't worry. Yes, I am planning a sequel to Run Away, and I'm about half done writing a sort of teaser which I plan to release February 14th.
Petunia was not a brave person.
Strange, how she'd never quite realized that until recently.
Petunia had been in the living room with Vernon, watching television, when they heard the sound of something smashing in the kitchen.
Vernon stood and left the room, his face purple with rage, and she turned her eyes to the program, not wanting to know what her husband would do.
She could not tune out the sounds, and thanked her lucky stars Dudley was at a friend's house.
Harry's voice, coming through the thin walls, pleading it was an accident, then the sound of Vernon knocking him to the floor, and the sharp gasp Harry gave, followed by
silence. She frowned, getting up.
As she entered the Kitchen, Vernon muttered, "Stupid freak, knocking himself out like that. Can't believe we ever kept you." He aimed a kick at the boy's side.
"Vernon?" She asked. "What happened?"
"Stupid brat knocked over a vase, is what. Insolent little... He'll pay for that when he wakes up."
"No, no. Just now, what happened?" Petunia pressed, not sure why it mattered to her.
"Hit his head on the corner," Vernon motioned at the granite countertop. "Hope he gets a headache," He added, sneering at the child.
Petunia opened her mouth, but Harry groaned, stirring, and she shut it again.
"Get up, boy!" Vernon barked. Harry's eyes opened, looking oddly unfocused, and he turned over, but made no move to get up. "I said get up!"
"Nearly," Harry said suddenly, as if replying to someone. Vernon stepped forward to hit him, but Petunia grabbed his arm.
They stood watching for a while, as Harry groaned and began moving around, as if looking for something that wasn't there. Apparently, he found it, for he went through the
motions of putting socks on his feet.
Petunia had gone pale, but Vernon just stared stupidly at his nephew. Harry was on his feet now, shuffling around and running into things.
"You could just leave me here," He murmured, looking straight through them. Then, "I won't blow up the house."
"Vernon," Petunia whispered. "I think he's got brain damage."
"Nonsense," He huffed, waving her off. "It'll wear off, I'm sure." Petunia didn't think so, but she stayed silent as Harry's face suddenly lit up.
"I'm not going to do anything, honestly..." Harry said, as if agreeing with her. That hope was dashed when he added, "I had a dream about a motorcycle. It was flying."
She sighed, sitting down. Vernon seemed to find this all very funny, laughing as her poor nephew said, rather defensively, "I know they don't. It was only a dream."
Vernon had not yet tired of his new form of entertainment a few hours later, though Harry hadn't spoken more than a few words since mentioning a flying motorcycle, and Petunia
was about to leave the room when he spoke, at first mumbling as if thinking aloud, then speaking up.
"...Worse than having a cupboard for a bedroom... Poor snake, people drumming on the glass all day... Least I get to visit the rest of the house..." Petunia stopped, listening.
"I know. It must be really annoying." Harry paused. "Where do you come from, anyway?" Another pause. "Was it nice there? Oh, I see. So you've never been to Brazil?"
Suddenly, Harry gasped, falling sideways as if he'd been pushed. Luckily, he landed softly, though he was holding his ribs.
He was silent for a long time after that, though he did stand up and move around a lot. Then he shrank back, suddenly fearful. "I didn't do it! Uncle Vernon, please, I-" He gasped, apparently in pain, then continued. "I-I didn't! It disappeared! The glass, I don't know what happened!"
Petunia watched for a moment as Harry broke into tears, then she turned abruptly and left the room.
Contrary to Vernon's belief, Harry did not soon go back to normal, and it was Dudley's new favorite activity to watch his cousin wander around talking to people that weren't there.
Today, Vernon had taken Dudley off for a week-long visit to his sister Marge's house, leaving Petunia to watch Harry.
He stooped to pick something off the ground, and by the way his fingers moved, Petunia knew he must think he was holding the day's mail. At first, he seemed disinterested in it as he wandered toward her, but stopped short, staring at something.
She felt bad for him, realizing he must have gotten a letter, as she took in the confusion and hope on his face. Harry had never, ever had a letter. If he had, it likely would have been taken away from him.
And indeed, his face suddenly turned to an odd mixture of rage and resignation as he snatched at the air. He must have missed, for he furiously ground out, "That's mine!" He continued to snatch at the air, moving around as he did. "I want to read it, as it's mine."
Petunia sighed. "I'm sorry Harry, he won't give it to you." She knew very well that he must be seeing her husband holding the letter up.
Without warning, he shouted, "I WANT MY LETTER!" Petunia jumped, then waited for him to continue.
He did not, however, and was silent until evening, when he suddenly enquired, "Where is my letter? Who's writing to me?" Apparently his answers were unsatisfactory, for his next words were angry.
"It was not a mistake. It had my cupboard on it." He paused, eyes widening. "Why?"
He murmured a bit, asking why he was moving into Dudley's second bedroom, as if thinking aloud, but said no more until the next day, and then it was nothing new. Muttering occasionally to himself, responding to Vernon, Dudley, and herself, and demanding he be given his letters.
Apparently, it had been duplicated and sent multiple times, as Petunia heard him wondering about it.
This continued for a few more days, and Petunia found herself hard pressed not to laugh as he described to himself imaginary Vernon's apparent insanity.
It was not funny, of course, that Harry was in this state, but the idea of her husband boarding up the house from the inside and singing 'Tiptoe Through the Tulips' as he did so was rather ludicrous. Harry had quite the imagination.
A day later, Harry began shaking, and Petunia found herself very worried as he muttered about a soft patch of floor and a ragged blanket. She'd gathered that he believed he was currently in some sort of run down shack on an islet somewhere, with a storm raging outside.
She put a blanket around him, though he didn't seem to feel it. She watched as he traced something on the floor with his finger. A cake, with eleven candles. She realized, belatedly, that it had indeed been his birthday the day he hit his head on the counter.
"Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday, to me..." He sang quietly, blowing on the floor where he'd drawn his candles. Petunia had to blink back her tears as he turned towards what must have been a clock and counted down to 'midnight.'
Just as she was reaching out to give him a tentative hug, he sat bolt upright, staring at something. She drew back in surprise as he stood, looking up at something.
Harry reached out, an odd expression on his face, and accepted something. He stared at it for a moment, then looked up again. "Who are you?"
Petunia watched, a little confused, as Harry began making as if he were eating sausages. "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are," He said, swallowing. Harry paused. "Er, no." He quickly added, "Sorry."
He waited a moment, then crinkled his brow. "All what?" A moment later, he said indignantly, "I know some things. I can, you know, do maths and stuff."
Now he looked confused again. "What world?" A minute later, his eyes grew wide in shock. "What? My- My mum and dad weren't famous, were they?"
Petunia frowned. No, his parents had not been famous. They had been in the government, some confidential, highly dangerous job they never spoke of. They had died in a car crash.
"Kept what from me?" Harry asked excitedly. Then, after a moment of silence, he asked incredulously, "I'm a what?"
Petunia would have loved dearly to hear the other side of his conversations, really. This was very confusing.
Harry reached out and took what was possibly a letter, as he shook his hand, then began scanning the air. After a long moment, he asked, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"
He seemed as puzzled as she was, at first, then Harry watched something in amazement and seemed to understand.
A few moments passed in which he turned his head this way and that, listening to some conversation, then he asked, "A what?" Then he nodded as it was explained to him.
All of a sudden, he stiffened, looking both hurt and angry. "You knew?" He demanded. "You knew I'm a- A wizard?"
Petunia almost fell over in shock. A wizard? It was clear to her then that this- This insanity would not disappear by itself, if at all, and she had to leave the room.
She picked up the phone in the hall and dialled the hospital. She could still hear him babbling to himself. An hour later, they came and took Harry away, and finally, she sat down and let herself cry.
Now, seven years later, Petunia stood outside the long-term ward of that same hospital, wondering if she was brave enough to enter.
After several long moments of hesitation, she finally decided she was, and pushed through the door.