A/N: I wrote this a few years ago- my one and only HP fanfic. It was an idea that just wouldn't go away- a character study of Petunia, about whom my perspective changed after reading "Deathly Hallows." I was intrigued by the idea that Petunia had always secretly wanted to be part of the wizarding world, that she made attempts to remain in her sister's life (sending the vase for Christmas) even after Lily had married and had a son of her own.
I wanted to explore why Petunia, who was extremely maternal (in her own, spoil-my-child rotten way), would have eventually treated Harry so brutally, and I posited that something else must have happened to make her loathe his presence. Lastly, I felt that while Petunia may have outwardly despised Harry, I also felt that part of her couldn't help but love him because he came to her as a *baby*. And that means that Petunia must have been the one who changed his diapers, fed him in a high chair, kept him from sticking his fingers in light sockets, watched his first steps, heard his first words. There's no way she could have completely ignored him at such an age, even if she had wanted to. He would have died, otherwise. Babies that are never touched often grow up with attachment problems. And since Harry didn't grow up with any of these, and was in fact a highly empathetic person, I have to wonder if Petunia didn't show him some affection early in his life, perhaps when no one was looking and before Harry was old enough to be aware of it.
Either way, I thought she deserved a second look- this sister and mother who never fit in, and wanted to much to belong.
"Unwanted"
Harry/Petunia
K+
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters; also, this is a bit of a fanwank regarding who was alive in Harry's family when his parents were killed, but hey- that's what fanfic is for. *g*
Summary: Harry's first days with the Dursleys
Petunia Dursley looked down at the child lying in her son's second crib and closed her eyes. She could hardly believe that only a week ago, she was safe in a world where wizards did not enter, where her little family dwelled. But also a world where Lily was still alive.
"She's dead, Vernon," she'd gasped to her husband, the letter, strangely written on parchment, trembling in her hand. And tears had fallen unexpectedly down her cheeks. Vernon had watched her carefully, as if afraid to touch her. And why shouldn't he, knowing as he did that her sister was abnormal, a freak, as she'd always called her. But at that moment, Petunia hadn't been able think of her hatred of Lily, the favored daughter who had always brought her parents such pride and joy. All she could remember was the little girl with flaming red hair who had laughed and played with her, had always loved her, had once been her best friend. She'd looked down at the small bundle, and had seen Lily's eyes looking back at her, a smile on his face. Lily's eyes, pleading with her to love her son, this child whom she had died to protect.
"At least.." Vernon had said, shuffling uneasily from foot to foot, "At least they went quickly."
She'd looked at him, horrified, and had run from the room, weeping at last for the sister she had tried so hard to hate, and had flung herself on the bed she shared with her husband. She no longer cared if Vernon knew her true feelings. She'd spent years putting up her nose, stiffening her bottom lip, and sniffing loudly whenever her sister was mentioned, either by her parents, her husband, or anyone from their old neighborhood. Vernon, she knew, was terrified of the world to which Lily belonged, and she had always been careful to let him know how much she agreed with him, that such a world was dangerous, unnatural- even sinful. But he didn't know of the letters that Petunia sent when she was feeling lonely, missing that bright, laughing red-haired girl from her youth, the one person who had always been on her side. He didn't know of the wedding present she'd sent when Lily had married that awful Potter man, who had firmly, finally taken Lily away from the normal world where Petunia was trapped, alone. He didn't know of the birthday cards, Christmas presents. He didn't know that the vase that stood in their living room was one of a set, and that she'd sent the other one to Lily just last Christmas, her secret shameful way of uniting the pair that had been divided.
Lying on the bed, wiping her cheeks, Petunia had thought of how Lily had been so pleased with the gift, had praised Petunia for finding it, even though some part of Petunia suspected that she was just being polite. But because Lily had smiled, it had made her smile, too, despite herself. With a jolt, she'd realized the vase, like everything else in Lily's house, must have been blown to bits. The vase was shattered, like Lily's body, like Petunia's safe, suburban life with all its secrets. Fresh tears had sprung to her eyes and it wasn't until she'd heard a familiar sound that her head had whipped up from the pillow, her ears prickling.
Lily's son was crying with her.
It was a sound to which her mother's ears were sensitive, having heard them from her own precious son for the past year. It was something special between them, she'd always felt, the way that she could hear the tiniest whimper from her little boy, from anywhere in the house, even though Vernon often couldn't hear it at all. And just as she knew the sound of Dudley's voice, she'd recognized the distinct cry of Lily's child.
She'd risen from the bed almost mechanically and had walked slowly back towards Dudley's second bedroom, opening the door and peering in. Vernon had no longer been there, and she guessed that her outburst had so unnerved him that he'd gone downstairs to make himself some tea and bury his head in order forms for his drill company. Harry had been left completely alone.
Gingerly, she'd walked up to the wailing bundle and had unwrapped the heavy blankets wrapped around him. At her touch, his crying had instantly stopped, and his almond-shaped eyes, green and trusting, looked up at her. She stared at him for a long time, and then scooped him up, clutching him to her. "Lily," she'd whispered, "Oh, Lily!" Harry had clung back, his little fists clutched around her neck, as though he understood. Just as Lily used to do.
The next morning, she had made the difficult call to her parents to tell them of Lily's death, and Harry's survival. Apart from the grief that she still felt for her sister, she hadn't been able to pretend that it didn't hurt at the unparallelled despair of her parents. Some part of her had wondered if they would have grieved for her the way they did for Lily. As her mother and father wept on the phone, they had told Petunia that she and Vernon needn't worry. That they would take care of Harry. They would come collect him the next morning.
It was exactly what Vernon would have wanted, she knew. But, to her utter amazement, she realized it wasn't what she wanted. And it wasn't what would keep Lily's son safe.
Suddenly, she thought of the letter. If Dumbledore was telling the truth, and she had no reason to believe he would lie about something so serious, it was Petunia herself who would be Harry's savior. While Harry lived with her, no harm could come to him. She, simple, untalented Petunia Evans, unwanted and rejected by the wizarding world, now had the ability to stop the most powerful dark wizards on the planet. She remembered what Dumbeldore had written, and the years of hurt, of being second-best, had been wiped out by that one sentence:
You are the wizarding world's best hope, Petunia.
It was a heady responsibility, to be the salvation of a world that had never wanted her. And, without warning, she'd found herself fighting to keep him. She'd told her parents about Dumbledore's letter, had sworn that it was her responsibility alone.
"But, love, you're not Harry's only relative," Petunia's mother had protested. "Why does it necessarily have to be you?"
Petunia had drawn herself up as she clutched at the phone, "Maybe Dumbledore thinks there's something special about me, after all," she'd said, and had been amazed at how much saying it out loud had meant to her. Perhaps it was merely because, as Lily's sister, she was closer to sharing Lily's blood than each parent alone would have. Perhaps it was because Petunia's parents were growing older and not able to take care of a baby the way a young mother would already know how to do. But whatever the reason, it had been sanctioned by Albus Dumbledore, whom Petunia's parents had practically worshiped since Lily had first received the letter that had changed their family forever.
He had finally chosen Petunia. And perhaps her parents would, at last, not think her so unremarkable, after all.
So she had fought for Harry, against Vernon (who thought it the perfect solution that Harry go with Petunia's parents), against her family, against the years of protest that she wanted nothing to do with the wizarding world. She had fought for this small bundle of dark hair and green eyes, and won.
Even the little scar on his forehead seemed to signal the bond between them- that they had both suffered the loss of Lily Evans, but were bound together because of her.
And as the week went on, Petunia had found herself breathing more evenly whenever she held her sister's son. It was the strangest thing. She felt incomparable joy when she looked at Dudley, with his blonde curls and his determined little mouth. But it was different with Harry. Where Dudley made her feel proud, Harry... he somehow made her feel at peace, as if the uneasy peace between she and her sister had finally been mended. She would be able to love him openly the way she had wanted to love Lily.
She remembered Vernon watching, as she fed a jar of strained peas to their nephew, while Dudley alternately shoveled pieces of buttered toast into his mouth, or threw them at his father. Harry, meanwhile, ate quietly, smiling as Petunia brought the spoon up to his lips and gugrling happily at her.
"Bit odd," Vernon had commented, frowning over his newspaper, "for a baby to eat so quietly."
"Nonsense," Petunia had replied, disagreeing with her husband for the first time in their married life. "He's just happy being fed, that's all."
Vernon had looked at her with surprise, and even a little concern, before shrugging and going back to his reading.
With a nod of satisfaction, Petunia had taken one of Dudley's old bibs that had been carefully draped around Harry's small shoulders and wiped his plump cheeks with it. She's swept him from the highchair and carried him upstairs to change his diaper. As she'd poured talculm on his little body, inhaling the sweet, baby scent of him, she'd found herself humming. Lily had once told her that she had a beautiful singing voice, she remembered. How odd that she had not sung out loud for nearly twenty years. In fact, she'd realized that she had stopped singing around the same time that Lily had left to go to Hogwarts, had left Petunia.
But as Petunia had massaged the tiny limbs of her nephew, song had poured out of her once again. Harry had cooed back at her and she'd found herself smiling at him, when the doorbell had rung. Absently, she picked him up, freshly diapered and gurgling, and he looked so happy that she rubbed his little nose against hers, laughing softly.
"Petunia?" Vernon called, almost hesitantly, from downstairs, and something in the back of her brain sent a warning bell. But Harry was still laughing, and she dismissed it. She tucked the small head into her shoulder and was about to carry him to the playpen downstairs where Dudley was watching T.V. through the bars. Almost out of habit, she peered through the curtains of the bedroom window, and that was when she saw the police car in their driveway.
"Don't tell me they went quickly!" Petunia had wailed at her husband, tears coursing down her face. "Don't you dare tell me that, Vernon!"
His large, beefy face had looked frightened, and hurt, "I wasn't going to!" he'd protested, his hands spread helplessly as though he didn't know what to do with them. He'd crept towards her tentatively, as she sobbed into the chair in their spotless living room. Petunia had fought the impulse to turn over every chair in the room, to spray dust everywhere, to knock over everything until the house was in as much pain as her heart. Her parents, gone! Killed in the street with nearly a dozen other people in what the idiotic police thought was a gas explosion. But she knew the truth. Dumbledore had sent another letter moments after the grim-faced policemen had left. It had been a wizard named Sirius Black, the same handsome, dark-haired man who had posed in Lily's wedding photo. He had turned traitor and had taken his revenge on Harry's mere survival by going after Lily's parents, cruelly killing everyone on the street along with them in one fell swoop.
And Dumbledore, worst of all, had bloody known. He must have known that Petunia's parents were in danger, that wizards incapable of human feeling would come after Lily's defenseless mother and father to wreak their revenge. So he'd put Harry with Petunia, not because he believed in her, but because he could use her. She could see it all, now. Who among them would have ever imagined that Dumbledore would leave precious Harry Potter with his plain, suburban Muggle aunt, the one who had so determinedly ignored the existence of wizards. Surely, Harry would be left with the people who had produced the talented, beautiful Lily Evans, and the people who had embraced their younger daughter's magical world. Dumbledore had played well, had hidden Harry where no one would have thought to look for him, leading her parents to the slaughter and uncaring of the horror he would inflict on the little girl he had rejected so many years ago.
It was wizards! Wizards, again, taking and taking from Petunia, her family, her joy, her hope for redemption. It was Lily who had killed them, for ever entering the wizarding world and laughing as she cast spells, while Petunia was left to pay the price.
Petunia had writhed on the chair as her grief curdled into hatred for all that wizards had stolen from her. She felt Vernon lay a heavy hand on her shoulder but she shoved it off, and it wasn't until she caught sight of the vase on the coffee table, the one that was half of the pair she'd sent to Lily, that she snapped out of the chair, picked up the vase and smashed it against the wall.
In the other room, she'd heard Dudley let out a cry of fear, and when she'd looked up, she'd seen Vernon staring at her with wide, nervous eyes.
"P-Petunia, dear," he'd begun, but she'd held up a hand to silence him.
"I'll be fine," she'd snapped, and had strode out the room, not towards her son, who was crying tremulously in the next room, but towards the stairs.
Now she was standing above him, as he lay in the second crib, and Petunia opened her eyes. He hadn't cried at all, she noticed. He hadn't even cried when she'd smashed the vase moments ago, her hatred for Lily, for Dumbledore, for all wizards exploding out of her. He didn't seem to register that her heart had finally broken. What a fool she'd been to think that he had understood.
He was just as Vernon said. Unnatural.
She felt her eyes narrowing as she looked down at him. Tomorrow, she would move him from this room, so close to her own. Perhaps the cupboard downstairs, which had a large dresser inside. Its drawers would be more than ample for a baby, one she suddenly noticed, was small and scrawny for his age. So unlike Dudley, her perfect, normal child.
Harry smiled up at her but Petunia frowned. He truly had nowhere else to go, she knew that now, but he would go as far as possible within this house that was keeping him alive. Petunia took one last long, hard look at her nephew, who was unaware that he was sleeping in his nice, soft crib for the last time.
She would keep her end of the bargain. She would keep him alive, but no more. She would not love him. She would not be made a fool of again.
He looked up at her and for just a moment she faltered.
If only he didn't have her eyes.
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and turned her back on him, heading out the door so that she could prepare lunch for Dudley, who was still shrieking downstairs.
- The End-