Nowhere Near Normal: Act I
This fic will be a homage/affectionate parody of a musical I'm rapidly becoming obsessed with: "Next to Normal." It's better if you have read "Dudley Dursley's Sassy Gay Friend," another one of my fine fics. This was originally just going to comprise a chapter of DDSGF, but the idea grew into a full-on fic. It will probably end up being four chapters or so. Since it's taking on a musical, there will be song parodies of the "Next to Normal" soundtrack. Whenever I write a parody, I will include the link to a Youtube video playing the original song, so you have the same tune in your head. Should be fun! I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
Summary: Petunia seeks therapy. With the strange secrets she's carrying around, the results are not as universally positive as one might expect. Companion fic to "Dudley Dursley's Sassy Gay Friend." Based on the musical, "Next to Normal."
Well, it finally happened. The boy had finally driven her mad. Petunia Dursley sat in an overstuffed green armchair in a freezing cold waiting room, awaiting her first therapy session with a psychiatrist named Dr. Madden. Petunia tried to fight the feeling that the man's surname was not a good omen. So what if he had a funny name? "Potter" had to be the most normal surname in the world, and anyone with half a brain could sense the boy's strangeness, even if they couldn't know the full story.
"The doctor will see you now," the young receptionist told Petunia, interrupting her musings. Petunia nodded stiffly.
"I'll see you in an hour, dear," said Vernon as Petunia stood up and followed the receptionist.
Petunia's compulsive cleaning had gotten out of hand, and her doctor felt that she would benefit from anti-anxiety medication. However, she refused to take "crazy people pills." She wasn't crazy. Eventually, everyone reached a compromise. She would find a specialist who would help her "talk things through" without the pills, and her doctor and the specialist would evaluate her progress.
Judging by the last few hours, none of them seemed to be making much progress.
She shook hands with Dr. Madden, a rather handsome, well-built young man who for some reason made Petunia think of a rock star in a lab coat. "Let's start by getting to know each other," Dr. Madden had said quietly, confidently. "Psychotherapy and medication work best in tandem, but we can try the first alone, see how far we get. Now," he continued all-business. "I'd like you to tell me what makes you happy."
Well, that was an easy question. "My son," Petunia answered immediately. "Dudley. He's eleven years old and the most handsome little boy in the world. He got accepted into Smeltings, you know, his father's alma-mater. So smart and growing up so fast. He's an angel, he really is."
"You have another child living in your house, don't you? A nephew? Does he make you happy as well?"
Petunia's face darkened. "Not in the slightest," she said through clenched teeth.
"Would you like to talk about him?"
"About my nephew?"
"Tell me about him. What's he like? Why does he upset you?"
Petunia thought back to the latest incident in a decade-long string of annoyances caused by that dreadfully abnormal boy.
Ten year-old Harry had had it. This was saying something, as it usually took a lot to get the sassy, happy-go-lucky youth. As usual, the people who got him were none other than his dear aunt and uncle, Tuna and Vermin. Those two idiots seemed to be on a lifelong mission to get him, even when he hadn't done anything to deserve getting got. And yet, somehow, he always turned into the designated villain at Number Four Privet Drive, the one who both adults insisted had gotten them. Unfortunately, even though he's the one who's clearly gotten got, he had no glock to get, forcing him to avenge his pride in a slightly less homicidal fashion.
This time, his lovely guardians had let loose their endless font of criticism because they managed to discover that Dudley was dating Mandy, the girl their son had been nursing a crush on forever. They weren't mad about this development, of course. They were never mad at anythingtheir precious Dinky-Diddydums did. It was just that now that their son was officially "going out with" a girl, Fat-Man and the Bony-Bellied Strumpet seemed to feel that Dudley's age was the perfect age for a young man to get his first girlfriend. This was in accordance with "Dudley's Law," which had run the household since the day Dudley was born. Now, Dudley didn't make up this rule, obviously, but, like most things at Number Four Privet Drive, this one revolved around him.
Dudley's Law stated that anything Precious Baby Dinky-Dum did was absolutely perfect, beyond reproach, while any variance was cause for reform school and/or the death penalty. They would like to give both of these things to Harry of course, which caused Harry's imagination to run wild with visions of a reform school for zombies taught by vampires, but that was neither here nor there.
Following this precedent, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia instantly formed the opinion that there was something dreadfully wrong with their nephew (not that this was new) because he was apparently unable to attract the opposite sex (well, the reason behind the contempt was a novelty, at least).
Although Harry was accustomed to criticism from his aunt and uncle, this particular rebuke tried his patience in a way no words from his guardians ever had. "Unfit to attract a mate?" "Repels women?!" "Too short?!" And to think these same people used to be convinced Harry was "corrupting innocent, perfectly normal young women" whenever he went off to play with his girlfriends. He just couldn't win.
Unless, of course, he cheated.
Harry cackled evilly as he set his new plan into motion. Then, he realized how cliche (not to mention crazy) he sounded, walking down the street while rubbing his hands together and laughing maniacally, at which point he stuck his hands in his pockets, whistled innocently, and attempted to walk inconspicuously, despite his sparkly tropical outfit shimmering in the summer sun. None of the nosy neighbors who happened to see Harry James Potter sashaying down the lane would ever suspect that the strange but seemingly non-threatening youth had a nefarious scheme up his billowy sleeve.
It was time his dear guardians learned the truth. They had long ago forfeited their right to something subtle and low-key. His homophobic, social-climbing guardians were about to see their nephew fly out of the closet in a stream of rainbows and sparkly unicorns.
He was not at all self-conscious about officially coming out of the closet through a lavish musical number. Everyone knew he was gay. Everyone, that is, except his determinedly oblivious aunt and his Broadway-bashing uncle. His guardians were the ones who stood to suffer. And, oh, how they deserved to suffer.
The only good thing about being forced to hear his uncle's booming complaints and his aunt's sharp criticisms over the years was that Harry knew all the most effective ways to get on their nerves. With a little bit of creativity, he could drive them both crazy in a matter of minutes.
Laughing evilly, Harry implemented step one of his plan. He made his way to the Polkiss' garage, where his former crush, Puck Polkiss, could usually be found. Today was no expectation. Usually, the teenager was either tinkering on his father's beat-up old car in the hopes of making it drivable by the time he was old enough to get his license or playing his guitar.
This time he was doing the latter while sitting cross-legged on the filthy garage floor. "Hey, Polkiss," Harry gave his customary greeting, but without the fluttering of eyelashes, the coy smile, or the longing sigh.
Puck looked up and grinned at the younger boy. "How's it going, Hare-Bear?" he asked, using the nickname he had invented when Harry was little. For the first time, the affectionate moniker did not cause Harry to giggle and blush. Instead he crouched down to Puck's level and met the older boy's eyes.
"I have a proposition for you," Harry told him seriously.
"Harry..." Puck sighed. "I thought we made it clear that we're just friends..."
"Not that kind of proposition, you stupid bitch!" Harry said quickly. "I've been over you for ages,ever since I took a good, close look at Aaron Tveit. He is absolutely yummy. If he were my schizophrenic hallucination, I would never take my meds..." Harry smiled dreamily. "Catch me I'm falling, Catch me I'm falling, Falling for Aaron Tveit, Catch me I'm falling, Please hear me calling, Catch me- oh, God, it's too late!" Harry sang melodiously.
"So, what was your proposition about?" Puck asked, before Harry could stage a full impromptu musical in the Polkiss garage, using the magic of song to inform the world about the gloriousness (and sexiness) of a handsome young celebrity. Again. This week. Although, this Aaron Tveit guy must really be something if he distracted Harry from his Brad Pitt obsession so quickly.
"I wanted you and the rest of Feeling Electric to play a gig," Harry responded, interrupting Puck's musing. "I'll pay your usual fee, plus a little extra. And dinner will be on the house!"
Puck's eyes lit up. While he had great faith in the talent of the band he had formed two years ago, 'Feeling Electric' was a little too... raw... to get many opportunities to shine in the determinedly mainstream neighborhood of Little Whinging. "Where's the gig?" he asked.
"My house," said Harry, with a strangely evil grin on his face. Then, he raised an eyebrow, genuinely puzzled. "Where else would it be? I mean, I just told you dinner's on the house. That sure as heck isn't going to do you any good if I had you playing at that tawdry gay bar in London. Even though that place could sure use a real rockstar instead of the tired old queens they have playing the music right now. I tell you, it is a waste of fantabulous interior decoration if you're just going to let anyone who can grip a trombone play in a string band in front of a bunch of sassy gay drunks."
Puck looked surprised. Not by the fact that Harry had been to a gay bar located all the way in London- much like a Family Guy cutaway, Harry's antics seemed to put the boy in the most random situations, and Harry's talent for trouble was undeterred by things like curfews, age restrictions, and the laws of physics- but because, aside from ooohingand aahingover Dudley's childish doodles, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were not at all inclined to support the arts.
"It's going to be a surprise for Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon," Harry explained before Puck could inquire further.
Puck didn't think the Dursley parents were the type to like surprises and said as much.
Time to play the little brother card. Harry shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, widened his green eyes, and gazed up through his lashes at the taller boy. "But good music's always given the prior generation a good, sharp shock. Look at rock and roll, punk, rap, and the conversion of these once moving pieces of music for a cheesy television commercial. All these things rile people up and shake them out of the status quo. Things are sucking at home right now- and not in a good way. Trust me, my lovely family needs this- whether they know it or not."
"So how will singing a song help your situation?"
"Puck, Puck, Puck, have I taught you nothing? Singing and dancing can solve all of your problems as long as your choreography doesn't suck!"
"Right," said Puck, who wasn't about to have this argument with the flamboyant youth again. "So, what song do you want us to sing?"
"It's an original song. I wrote it myself." The young boy beamed with pride as he handed Puck the lyrics.
Puck raised an eyebrow as he looked them over. "So your aunt and uncle don't know that you're..."
"Nope, but they'll find out soon enough. I think they were just in denial all this time. I mean, look at me!" Harry added, twirling Tangy, the ever-present sparkly orange scarf around his finger. "I am freaking fabulous!"
Puck gave the lyrics another glance. They were very creative, and the score was undeniably awesome. Perhaps this was the fresh tune that Feeling Electric had been looking for. And they would be helping out a friend...
"We'll do it!" Puck decided.
Harry squealed and clapped his hands. Then, an idea struck him. "Hey! Maybe you could get Nick- you know, the Angelface to your Tyler Durden- to sing this to his parents!"
"No, that's not going to happen anytime soon," Puck replied. "Nick plans to stay in the closet and come out in the most awesome way possible whenever we're alone together. It works for both of us."
Harry shrugged. Oh, well, that was their business. He had a dance routine to practice and a three-course meal (consisting largely of sausages and MiO) to prepare and set out on the roof of the Dursleys' house. "Be at my house at eight," he instructed Puck before skipping away, giddy with excitement.
Feeling Electric was right on time. Puck, his secret boyfriend Nick, and three of their friends from high school (Dave, Dave, and Dave), came with guitars and a drum set in tow.
"You can set up in the living room. My aunt and uncle should be coming home from the Suburban Homeowners of Immense Talent Convention in about half an hour, and my cousin's at a sleepover with your brother. Piers and Dudley wanted me to join them, but I was not in the mood to spend all night talking about muscle cars. Now muscles, on the other hand... mmmmm..." Harry trailed off.
"Shit Convention?" asked Puck, puzzled. "That's a real thing?"
"No," said Harry, breaking out of his reverie and smirking. "Thank God for that. Uncle Vernon was planning to show off his walrus imitation. To be fair, it's spot-on. But his act does last an hour. I just can't bring myself to appreciate the arts thatmuch."
"Why would your aunt and uncle want to attend, let alone participate in, an amusingly-named talent show if they don't appreciate the arts?" one of the interchangeable Daves wondered.
"Because Uncle Vernon's a huge, self-important show-off," said Harry. "So, when he found a flyer about the S.H.I.T. Convention in the mail this morning, he was so excited at the opportunity to dress up as a walrus and do whatever it is walruses do- he seems to think that they yodel, for some reason- while a crowd of people gazes at him in awe that he didn't even question why he was receiving mail on a Sunday morning. He may have been more insufferable than usual, rehearsing his act for hours on end, but at least it gets my aunt and uncle out of the house long enough for you guys to set up." Puck didn't even question the fact that Harry clearly had so much confidence that everyone would go along with his plan that he began putting it into motion before consulting Puck. Things always seemed to work out for the happy-go-lucky youth one way or another, against all odds and laws of physics.
Before long, Harry heard the garage door open and Uncle Vernon's BMW pull in. "What a waste that was," Uncle Vernon complained as he and Aunt Petunia walked through the door between the garage and the kitchen. "We come all that way only to see a hastily-posted sign saying that the S.H.I.T. Convention was cancelled! Written with a pink gel pen, no less!"
"Well, I'm sure you'll wow the crowds next year," Aunt Petunia said soothingly. They still hadn't noticed the group of teenage boys hanging out in the living room with their nephew.
Both adults jumped when Puck Polkiss gave his customary introduction to the band. "This is 'Feeling Electric,' here to up the dose," he said into the microphone.
Before either Petunia or Vernon had a chance to do anything, music from four guitarists and a drum player filled the house. Immediately, Harry jumped on the coffee table and began to gyrate to the catchy beat.
(A/N: parody of "I'm Alive." Original song can be found here- just remove the spaces- www. youtube watch ? v = FGuBrJn-5oE)
"I'm more girly than French Barbie,"
Harry sang, while jumping up and performing the splits in midair.
"So, about as girly as French Ken?" Uncle Vernon mumbled dryly.
"And I'm your worst fear- you'll find it in me,"
he continued as he landed back on the table, then leaped off, covering a surprisingly large distance so that he landed inches away from where his aunt and uncle stood, rooted to the spot. He glared at them, managing to appear threatening despite his shimmery outfit. Like a Twilight vampire ready for battle, every sparkle seemed to glimmer with rage. Laugh all you want, but people have died and been gruesomely devoured that way. However, Harry made way too many sausage jokes on a daily basis to be willing to dwell on the ramifications of going all Jeffrey Dahmer on Uncle Vernon, so he merely continued to sing.
"Out is in,"
"Out is in!
I am more than 'Poofy,' more than 'Faggy,'
I am homo-sexy!
I'm glowing!
I'm PWNing!"
Judging by the look on the faces of his aunt and uncle, Harry was most assuredly PWNing them. He was pretty damn sure he was glowing as well... although not pregnant, obviously.
"When I appear, it's
Very clear
That I prefer a sausage to a fish taco!"
Harry continued, actually whipping off Tangy the Sparkly Orange Scarf and using it as a ribbon dancer.
"'Cause I'm gay! I'm gay, not straight or bi,"
he clarified.
"You condemn, but there's fear behind your eyes,"
he said accusingly, pointing at Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.
"And I want you to love me, it's no surprise,"
he confessed, wrapping his arms around his chest as if giving himself a big ol' hug.
"I'm gay, so gay.
I'm gay!"
he reiterated, before going on to the next verse.
"I am flaming, hot as fire
Like Tyler Durden, I'm your deepest desire."
Harry had been particularly proud of that line, even if it didn't make any sense to lame people like his aunt and uncle.
"I like boys!
I love boys!
I'm their wish, their dream come true,
I'm the Conservative nightmare, too!"
he sang, dancing around his purple-faced, Daily Mail-reading uncle and using Tangy to whip the man's ass. He hadn't hit him that hard. Nonetheless, Uncle Vernon grabbed his buttocks and squealed like a piglet that just got its tail yanked by a frisky chubby chaser... who liked baby animals in a creepy and not-at-all platonic way.
"I've shown you!
I've PWN'd you!
And though you raised me,
You can't change me!
I'm the pissed-off homo who knows you too well!"
Petunia blanched as Harry pointed at her.
"I'm gay, I'm gay, I'm so very gay!
And I'm telling the truth today!"
Well, telling the truth to his aunt and uncle, at least. To everybody else, the truth was already plainly obvious.
"I won't deny, but can't tell you why
I'm gay, so gay.
I'm gay!
I'm right behind you!"
At this point, he materialized, as if by magic, behind his uncle and gave the beefy man a big ol' hug. Harry snickered as Uncle Vernon let out a bellow of rage and fear. Even at the best of times, his bigoted uncle did not like the idea of a gay man standing behind him, muchless embracing him. That went double for his "freaky" nephew.
"You say 'Man up,'
But I say 'Screw you!'"
Harry added, paraphrasing how most of his conversations with Uncle Vernon usually went whenever the rather pompous man could be bothered to acknowledge him.
"You can try to deny,
You know that I won't comply!
But if you won't love me,
I'll rise above you all!"
Harry sang triumphantly. He was telling the truth. He didn't need the Dursleys' acceptance.
"Oh, ho, oh
Whoa, Whoa.
No, no, no!
I'm gay, I'm gay, not straight or bi!
If you climb on my back, then we both can fly!"
Might as well throw in a little more sexual innuendo to annoy his uncle even further. Judging by the way his uncle's forehead vein was throbbing, Harry had achieved his objective.
"If you try to deny, it won't go away,
I'm gay, so gay!
I'm gay!
Yeah, yeah!
I'm gay!
I'm gay!
I'm gay!
I'm gay!"
Harry and "Feeling Electric" finished their song. Uncle Vernon approached Harry angrily, and Harry quickly gestured the band out. The gig successful, "Feeling Electric" reconvened on the roof of Number Four, where Harry, as promised, set out dinner.
"Ah, flashback humor," Dr. Madden muttered dryly as the scene changed from the Dursleys' house to the office where he and Petunia continued their appointment.
"What?" asked Petunia, confused.
"Nothing," said Dr. Madden hurriedly. "How long have you been caring for your nephew?"
"Nearly ten years," said Petunia. "Ever since his worthless mother and father..." she trailed off.
"Yes?" asked Dr. Madden.
Petunia looked at Dr. Madden's calm, attentive expression. She took a deep breath.
It was as though a dam had burst. Things she had not said, even let herself think of, in years. Dr. Madden simply listened silently as Petunia poured it all out.
"It's more serious than I thought," Dr. Madden said later to Vernon. They were sitting in Dr. Madden's office, both looking very grim. "She's created this world of magic and learning shenanigans and is convinced it's all real. Yet, she seems strongly opposed to this world, so something in her mind is fighting the delusion. Or perhaps it represents something she is opposed to. She recounted being excluded from this 'Magical world' as a child, so it could also reflect her insecurity."
"You... you think she's having hallucinations?" said Vernon, shocked. Whatever he had been expecting, this was not it.
"Well... is her nephew a real, living, breathing child? Is he actually living in your home?" Dr. Madden asked.
"Yes, of course," said Vernon. Despite our wishes to the contrary,he added in the privacy of his mind.
"Then she doesn't seem to be hallucinating. On a concrete level, everything she's hearing and seeing seems to exist in reality. Her nephew can be seen and heard by other people. But the way in which she interprets his words and actions is not grounded in reality. It is grounded in her delusion- her fixed, false belief," Dr. Madden explained. "Of course, I could be wrong. It may turn out that she is hallucinating all of the strange things she attributes to her nephew. Either way, we are dealing with delusions that not only distance Petunia from her nephew, but also have the potential to put both of them in danger."
"What delusions?" Vernon asked.
"She believes her nephew is supernatural, magical. That he can make impossible things occur, can break the laws of physics. Considering her antagonism, I would even go so far as to say she sees her nephew as... demonic."
Well, the boy was demonic, there was no doubt about that. "And there's no way any of what she's saying could be true?" Vernon asked weakly. "Maybe just... misinterpreted?"
Dr. Madden looked at him seriously. "Mr. Dursley, do you believe in magic?"
Well, when he put it like that...
Everything he knew of the strange magical world, he had learned from Petunia. From the confession in that fish-and-chip shop that her sister Lily was a Witch to every complaint about "That Potter Boy" and his good-for-nothing parents, Petunia had been his one source of information concerning the paranormal. He had never wanted to learn more. Now, it looked like his determined ignorance on the matter was not a smart move. He should have taken her to a doctor sooner. They could have fixed this. Now, he had allowed it to go on for years.
But wait a minute! Vernon himself had met Lily Potter and her worthless husband What's-His-Name, along with a host of others he and Petunia later pretended they didn't know, all of whom believed in this magical world. Either it was the biggest, most elaborate, most well-thought-out prank in the history of the world, or this had to be some sort of cult. Petunia had been lucky to escape. She was perfectly normal, after all. She had merely been reporting
"Can she be cured?" Vernon asked.
"With medication and continued therapy, we can control it." Vernon opened his mouth, but Dr. Madden held up a hand. "In this case, medication is crucial. She's been nursing the delusion- and the anger that comes with it- for ten years, maybe longer. For the safety of the children under her care, it is essential that she be put on a medication regimen."
Vernon thought of news stories with crazy women, convinced their children were possessed by demons drowning them in the bathtub. He couldn't let that happen to his family. Not even to Potter.
Uncle Vernon had called for a family meeting, causing Harry to wonder how "Fifties Sitcom" the Dursleys could get. Harry and Dudley sat next to each other on the couch. As usual, Uncle Vernon ignored Harry and addressed Dudley.
"Dudley, your mother is currently seeing a doctor and taking medicine," said Vernon seriously.
"Oh... okay," said Dudley. "Is she sick?"
"Well, she's taking medicine to help her cope with stress," Vernon explained.
"Why does she need medicine for that?" Dudley asked.
"Well..." How do you explain to an eleven year-old that their mother was driven 'round the bend? Vernon settled with, "because sometimes her life gets rather stressful..." and here he shot a glance at Harry for the first time since their meeting started. "And her brain's kind of wired differently, so stress bothers her more than it would bother other people." Normal people,he almost said, but he stopped himself just in time. Petunia is normal!
"But why is her brain wired differently?" Dudley asked, confused. "Is it because she's a girl?"
"Um, well, that's part of it..." Vernon hedged.
"But I know lots of girls who get stressed out, and they don't need to take medicine. They just complain about a 'Time of the Month,'" said Dudley. "Why does mummy need to take meds?"
"It's... well... it's stress, you see. Just a lot of stress..." Vernon trailed off. "I need to be getting to work. Just remember that your mother's going to be tired from the medicine, so try not to make too much noise." He added the last bit while glaring at Harry before hurrying out the door.
"What did you do to mummy?" Dudley asked Harry after Vernon had left.
"Me? I didn't do anything to her!" Harry protested. "All I did was sing about my flaming homosexuality! Your dad heard it too, and he didn't have to be put on meds!"
"She was fine before you pulled that stunt, and now she has to take crazy-people medicine!" Dudley pointed out. "You did this to her!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
In no time at all, both boys were rolling around on the living room floor, Dudley using Tangy to strangle his cousin, and Harry kicking Dudley in the Sausage Factory.
"Stop that fighting!" roared Aunt Petunia from upstairs, too tired to investigate the commotion but having a pretty good idea of what was causing it.
The boys instantly broke apart, but continued glaring at one another. "This is your fault," said Dudley.
"No, it's not!" Harry shot back. He was angry enough to forgo his usual sassy, gay dialogue and instead went for brutal honesty. "You sound like your fat-ass father, blaming everything on me!" Well, Vernon Dursley might consider the "fat-ass" comment coming from another male to be sassy and gay, but Harry wasn't a chubby-chaser. So there!
"That's because it is your fault!" Dudley said, as loudly as possible without disturbing his mother. They weren't in Harry's seemingly soundproofed cupboard, after all. It struck Dudley that he never wanted to visit Harry's cupboard under the stairs again. Spending too much time with Harry could drive him crazy as well, assuming it hadn't already.
Harry maturely stuck out his tongue, and Dudley responded in kind before stomping up the stairs to his bedroom.
"Shut up!" roared Aunt Petunia, hearing the bangs resulting from a slightly chubby youth stomping up the stairs.
Petunia Dursley had a wonderful relationship with irony. For all of her adult life, she had been desperate to pretend that magic didn't exist. Now, it turned out that magic really didn't exist, and she was the abnormal one.
Nobody else had any reason to pretend they didn't know about magic for the same reason Petunia herself had no reason to pretend not to notice her gray hairs. Petunia's blond hair was perfect, so there were no grays to stress over. Likewise, everyone else was blessed with perfectly normal lives, so they had no reason to go around pretending that magic, or the delusion of magic, did not make up an unpleasant part of their existence.
Petunia had been taking the medications for two weeks. She still felt groggy from the blasted things, but Dr. Madden insisted she take them "for the children's safety." She hated the pills, but she would do anything for her Duddy-kins.
Speaking of whom...
Petunia gazed out an upstairs window, watching as Dudley and his little girlfriend Mandy leaned up against a tree in the yard. Their lips met. Was this their first kiss? There was a time when Petunia would know the answer to that, along with every detail of her darling son's relationship. Now, though, she was so busy with therapy and dealing with the side effects from the blasted meds that she hadn't even had the chance to have Mandy over for dinner like she had planned.
"Are you spying on your own son?" Her nephew was standing behind her. Strange, she hadn't even heard him coming.
Since beginning therapy and her attempts to rid herself of the "delusions" of her nephew being magical, Petunia had reached an uneasy truce with the boy. She could interact with him without an argument, but she still maintained that there was something abnormalabout him, even if this whole "magic" thing wasn't real after all. During one of her sessions, Petunia had asked Dr. Madden how the boy managed to do some of the annoying things he did like pop into a room without her noticing or
This conversation wouldn't be so bad. It was on her favorite subject, after all. "Can you believe he has a girlfriend?" Petunia asked, getting misty-eyed.
"Yeah, sure," said the boy disinterestedly. Normally, he would have pointed out that he was the one to set up the happy couple, but he and Dudley were still fighting.
"Do you think they're in love?" Petunia asked suddenly. Well, that was unexpected. Despite his endless supply of fabulous relationship advice, Harry was really the wrong person to ask about love. It was also surprising that Aunt Petunia had spoken to him this long without offering a rebuke or sending him off to do chores.
"Who knows?" Harry asked rhetorically. "They're young; they're horny." Petunia didn't catch the sarcasm. She also missed the rolling of her nephew's green eyes. Harry wasn't in the mood for sappy romantic stuff, not when it involved his cousin.
Petunia watched her nephew stroll away to do God-knows-what, leaving her alone to watch the happy couple.
A/N: Next song is to the tune of "I Miss the Mountains." Audio of the original song can be found here: www. youtube watch ? v = Rt09n4O-OrE (As usual, just remove the spaces.)
"There was a time when I felt bolder,"Petunia sang.
"Was a time the happy housewife would be me
Now my son is growing older
Now I know he needs me there to share
I'm nowhere,"she realized suddenly.
"All these pills, this dead eyed fear,"she continued gloomily, taking out the various packages of her many pills.
Petunia rushed to a nearby wastebasket and opened the first container. She crouched by the trash can for a moment, contemplating her sudden, crazy decision.
"Seems they've taken all my cheer
Now my son runs free and fast
Seems his childhood days are past
But, I miss my baby
I miss flying kites
Playing with him every day,
A story every night"
Petunia reminisced as she put her plan into action. She slowly poured the first container of pills into the garbage. The adrenaline from her daring decision quickened her movements. She hurriedly dumped the next three containers before she could change her mind.
Content that she was finally getting her life back on track, she continued to sing:
"I miss my baby
The day he first said "No!"
All the snuggles, all the cuddles
How can I let him go?
Playing in the snow
Always having fun
I miss my baby
I miss my son."
"Children make you crazy,"Petunia sang, thinking of the Potter boy.
"Alone, it's safe and sound
My mind is somewhere hazy
My feet are on the ground
Everything is balanced here
And on an even keel
Everything is normal."
There was that irony again. Not so long ago, she would have killed for a perfectly normal, well-ordered, logical world. But not at the expense of her only son.
"Nothing's real.
Nothing's real!
And I miss my baby.
I miss that dimply smile.
All the playing, all the laughter.
My perfect angel-child.
Back when I could be
A mother and a wife.
I miss my baby.
I, I miss my baby.
I miss my life.
I miss my life."
Petunia ended her song as she dumped the last of the hated medication into the wastebasket. She stood up, trash can clutched in her hand. She felt light-headed.
"Are you sure about this, Aunt Petunia?" It was her nephew, standing behind her again, this time sipping a glass of that hideously fruity water-flavoring gunk he was always raving about. Petunia vowed she would have to go completely nuts before she ever deigned to drink that garbage.
"Do you think it's a bad idea?" Petunia asked. She could have slapped herself. What was she doing asking her nephew, of all people? But then she reasoned that if Potter thought that it was crazy, the idea must surely be too insane to carry out. Petunia had half a mind to not go through with it.
"I think it's a great idea," said Harry. "I think you're brave."
Whatever response Petunia was expecting, it wasn't that. For some reason, she felt heartened by the praise, even if it was from Potter. The boy took the bag from her and walked off to the bathroom. A few seconds later, Petunia heard the toilet flush. "Don't tell your uncle!" she called, not that she thought there was a chance of Vernon and Potter interacting long enough for Potter to snitch on her, even if her nephew had been so inclined.
Petunia grinned wildly, an insane smile, yet her first real smile in weeks. Things were finally getting back to normal.