Title: Background Music

Author: icecreamlova

Fandom: Harry Potter

Rating: T

Disclaimer: 'Harry Potter' and Petunia Dursley and all canon characters belong to J. K. Rowling, not me, but the OCs and the plot I consider to be mine.

Summary: Petunia Dursley is the most muggle of muggles, but her friends and family are not. Just because she wants to lead a boring life, it doesn't mean it was so, or even that it will be in the future.

- - - - -

Petunia Dursley could not help but wonder if she was making a big mistake.

Her family—all of her blood-related family still alive, at least—was seated on the kitchen table, her son looking bored and eager for food, her husband with his head thrust into the morning paper, while her nephew tapped his fingers impatiently. For the last one she spared a biting gaze, which he seemed to ignore, before she turned back to her work at making dinner. It had to be special, since it would be the last time the four of them dined together.

Not that she regretted it. Her fingers tightened around the frying pan, and a fresh wave of heat gnawed at her face before she relaxed. Judging the food to be done well enough, she emptied the contents into a platter and brought all the food across to the table, bringing four plates. Her nephew, that accursed freak, looked almost surprised and very suspicious of her motivation. He might well have. She'd changed the course of the meal.

It was Friday, and on Fridays they were supposed to have a bit of rice and fresh egg salad for dinner, with a side helping of fried fish, but it wasn't. Her husband, someone she loved but was not quite sure why exactly she felt that way, noticed.

"What's the special occasion, Petunia, dear?" Vernon Dursley asked inquisitively. He set the grey sheets down beside him, no doubt intent to read through it later that night as he always did. Petunia knew very well that, like a giant squid, he would only cling harder if it wasn't quite permitted. It was something she found comforting about him after years of being surrounded by her freaky sister, and then by an equally strange son.

She scowled to no one in particular, though she had the nagging feeling that Harry was taking the brunt of it. No matter. These sixteen years, all the prices—I was all his fault, and that could hardly have been denied. Scraping caught her sharp ears, exceptionally careful because her neighbour's words were all the more easy to hear if she was vigilant, but she did not glance up until after the platters had been distributed and she was settled in on a chair on her husband's left. The cutlery had been carefully set before-hand. Even if there was difference, the perfect standard could never waver. One drop of dust and the whole place would soon be filled with cobwebs.

One wiz—no, one freak, and the place would soon be crowded by the children.

She set a rather fake smile on her face, made all the more delightful because both she and Harry clearly knew it was not genuine. "Oh, just a little celebration that Harry is finally out in the world by himself. And a little good luck so he'll never have to return."

Her nephew looked like he wished to say something, but a sharp glare from Vernon deflected such a foolish notion. Oh, yes, her husband was both good and useful. After all, Harry Potter wouldn't be able to use magic for a while until he came of age.

The woman continued with a voice as falsely sweet as her smile was, "Of course, we probably won't take you in again, but I'm sure you won't need to return." She smoothed down her lacy apron which, without a single spatter of oil or stain, looked as if it had come right out of a housekeeping magazine rather than an hour in the kitchen. Magazines. Hm. She really needed to get a few more and see all angles of the new marriage and if it was good for the two actors.

A little more absentmindedly, her thoughts still half-on the lives of someone she could not even dream of touching or meeting: "After all, you'll be with your own kind then, and I'm sure that you'll do at least as well as . . . she . . . did back then. Then you'll meet someone as strange as you, and have a strange child who will certainly not come here!" She almost gasped when she noticed how her voice had grown in intensity and increasing loudness.

"Don't worry." Said Harry, and from the way he looked Petunia had a sneaking suspicious he was trying to keep his face neutral, although it was failing horribly, "I'll be sure not to bother you again with any business of my family. It will be a mutual pleasure to break off ties, I'm sure, aunt Petunia. There is no chance at all that anyone will connect you to me. There won't be any embarrassment involved."

Petunia almost wanted to ask 'for you or for me?' but she knew perfectly well that the words were mutual on either side. She wanted a normal life, and no nephew of hers would ruin it. And Vernon deserved it, after dealing with a brat all these years. At her request, no doubt. She would really need to remember to thank him properly by abiding even further to the laws of his house. Petunia smiled. It was perfect and spotless, all white and cream and beige that suited her, and her family, just fine. Except, once more, for Harry.

"You ungrateful—" Vernon began.

Harry blinked, while the woman almost smirked. It was doubly good. There was no way she'd let Dudley enter the word that Harry lived it. That her sister had lived in. The two had been separated so much that, apart from an unwelcome houseguest, a reminder of days long passed, there had been virtually no difference in the contact the two made when she died.

"Lets eat." She interrupted, soothing her husband with a smile.

For once she was grateful that her son ate so much that he didn't ask questions about the strange day.

Really—should she have changed the course, even for one day?

- - - - -

1

- - - - -

Petunia Evans looked at her baby sister with awe.

Lily was beautiful, with her green eyes and a stubble of red hair. Of course, Petunia wasn't much older either, but there was still something in her heart that made her look closely and admire her features, a protectiveness manifested although it was really the first time she'd met her sister. Little Lily was, after all, no more than a few hours old. Petunia had only been let in after she'd been washed, and her mother had found enough energy to stay propped up on a couple of pillows.

"Isn't she beautiful?" her mother asked, a smile gracing her face. Her mother, Rose, was beautiful, but even she could see the lines of weariness etched in the corner of her eyes. But there was a glow to Rose Evans as she looked at her daughter, eldest or youngest. Rich, auburn hair fell in curled locks to her shoulders, and Petunia knew from experience that it was as smooth as silk. She was too old to tug on the tresses now, of course; and she doubted she'd want to at the moment, it would pain her mother. And it was the same shade of red as Lily's.

Petunia touched her sister gently, carefully, feeling that the little girl might break if she so much as breathed too hard. "Very . . . nice, mummy. Sis . . . ter. Lily."

Rose seemed delighted at what Petunia was showing the baby. "Yes. Her name is Lily, love, and she is your baby sister."

"But what happened to my sister in your tummy?" Petunia persisted suddenly, eyes rising to meet Rose's brown ones. She couldn't understand what had happened to that noticeable bulge in her mother's stomach. After all, she didn't know much about birth, being so young herself.

Rose laughed once more, shaking her already-tangled red hair slightly. "This is the child. She just came out of my stomach."

"How?"

"You'll know when you're older." Rose promised.

There was some more chatter that Petunia couldn't recall, the most vivid of her memories being when she'd met her young sister for the first time. That part stayed clear even when the background details became fuzzier and fuzzier until she could think of nothing but blurs whenever she tried to remember the medication her mother was on, what lay beside the cushions; the pattern on the crisp white gown her mother wore. But her meeting was etched into her mind.

It wasn't long before the Evans decided to leave and return to their home. The family was rather ordinary, really, her father being a real-estate agent and her mother a librarian. Petunia herself was an average student, not too high and not too low, even though it was hard to tell when she was still so young and fresh. Of course, they had their distinguishing features. Her father, David, was rather wealthy and her mother was a learned woman in some subjects, and was occasionally called to give lectures in a nearby university.

But Petunia Evans still enjoyed the peace and quiet the family had. It was not as if they were exciting or anything. Petunia learnt from both her father and mother, and she had her own experiences outside school, but all and all she still preferred to curl up on the couch and watch TV.

She hoped that, even with the arrival of her baby sister, the peace and quiet would stay.

- - - - -

It was a few weeks after Lily had been born, and like that day the weather was nothing short of a blessing. That morning, before the sun rose, Petunia Evans woke up to a world caught in the breath between night and dawn, the sky only just beginning to light up. Being where she lived, she knew that the sun always woke up later than her, since she was one routine and it was not, especially if a passing storm decided to shower, so she pulled on clothes she hardly noticed—fiercely proud that she could accomplish that by herself, never mind the mismatched shoes and unbuttoned buttonholes—and stepped up to look at the window.

As all days there was a chill in the air, only dispelled when the sun rose, so Petunia wasn't too worried when she noticed frost on the windowsill. She merely clambered up and wiped at the windows with a little hand, noticing with childish delight when the frost began to melt where her fingers touched the glass. But it was cold, and she couldn't keep it up much longer, so she pushed her hands back into warm pockets and stared outside through the circular hold she'd made.

Her breath was heavy when she noticed the beauty of the day, which was shaping up to be a clear one. And then, frowning, she noticed the frost moving back with unnatural speed. Gently, with caution that made her Petunia, she pressed her hand to the window once more. But the frost only spread even further forwards, out from her hand with branching tendrils like the saplings outside, still the flush of new life and birth, too busy growing to look at anything else.

She flinched as something cold brushed her fingers, sending chills up and down her arm, and more down her spine though Petunia thought it was because she was scared. Scared. Petunia was rarely scared, if only because she obeyed her parents well enough for them to be satisfied, if not very happy. But they'd always been glad that she was their child, right?

Because her parents were everything to her. There were images of greyness and there was the sun and stars, but her world extended only so far as daddy's shoulders, and was only as warm as the hugs and kisses that her mother gave, gently, or passionately when Petunia became scared in the middle of the night and crept into her parent's room. Even her grandparents were nothing but images, albeit solid enough that Petunia knew there was something that existed between the two sets that she loved.

There was her baby sister too, a little child that Petunia loved already, even though she was slightly annoyed that her mother didn't spend quite as much time with her as before. Still, the small smiles Rose gave were more and enough, and there was the rippling of her sister's wild laughter, as beautiful as she thought her mother. Her family, everything, it was the world to her!

And suddenly the room seemed the warm up again, and her breathing slowed though she hadn't realised that she was panting, as if she'd been chasing after the teddy that her parents had given her on her last birthday while her mother teased her with it for fun. Petunia frowned, biting her lip with the innocence of childishness when the ice abruptly melted in wake of the rising sun.

She shivered reflexively, turning quickly away from the window to lie in a huddle of blankets on the bed, wondering why she'd suddenly doubted her parents. Petunia would remember for years to come the cold feeling that took over her and almost stopped her from remembering the warmth in the world.

- - - - -

Petunia awoke early in the morning; she shivered. The last time she'd awoken this time in the day, there'd been a blanket of despair over her outlook in life. This time she dared not look at the window, merely stayed in bundle underneath her coverings. It was like that her mother found her an hour later, half-asleep and yet too afraid and alert to fully drift into unconsciousness, until the girl merely lay there is her eyes open, staring at the ceiling with a huge scowl on her mouth.

"Petunia, dear, it's time to get up." Rose said, smiling sweetly in a vain attempt to calm her daughter. When the little girl glanced over with huge, terrified eyes, she merely swept the girl into her arms, where Petunia lay contently. Her mother was warm, and it was warmth she wanted very much, more than that new doll she'd seen through the shop window. She clung, not letting go even if it startled her mother somewhat at her intensity.

"Mummy." She whispered.

"What?" Rose asked immediately.

But her feeling had already been chased away. She merely shook her head and pointed at herself, not saying any more than she needed. When she really wanted something she either stayed silent or screeched when her mother wouldn't give it to her, but she'd been quiet recently. Petunia wasn't sure why. "I need to dress, mummy."

"Oh!" said Rose, her voice something akin to surprise. "Oh. Of course."

It didn't take long until the two were downstairs, Petunia staring at her bowl of porridge. Normally, she began eating straight away, quickly at that, but now she was thinking about things that, she would later realise, were too complicated for most children her age. Jealousy was utmost in her mind at the moment, although it was only a small flame in the back of the mind that was continually dosed by the smiles and gurgles Lily would admit to her blonde sister.

She wasn't given a chance to keep thinking, since a friend invited them over for a few hours, a place just outside their neighbourhood where the lawns were large and rolling and the grass always freshly cut to the extent of the front stretches always being full of dried hay; or wet, depending on the season. But Petunia, despite whatever passion she showed for flowers and their delicate petals, was bored with nothing to do.

For one, the friend didn't have any children her age, and neither were there any in the rather wealthy place they lived. For the next few hours, she could be found sitting on a small wicker chair outside, too tired to run around like a normal child would have. She'd always found the little things to be very pretty, those ordinary things that everybody seemed to miss: a flower slowly blooming, a mignonette that released a lovely perfume that made Petunia just a little bit too drowsy; the lazy way the clouds passed over the sky, adding so much to the effect that Petunia had to look down; and then, she would see the uncut grass.

The back garden, where she was currently settled down, was a square closed off by hedges too high for Petunia to see over, admitting only the vision of a tall, lemon tree from the next lawn down. The grass reached almost her ankles, although it wasn't saying much since Petunia was short, even though she could easily crane her neck to a considerable height. All she could see in any direction but up was green, with clover flowers hidden somewhere beneath, and a clump of the three-leaved types in a corner.

"Mummy," Petunia said slowly, suddenly, whirling around. Sure enough, her mother was standing on the back veranda, a sleeping Lily held gently in her arms, and again, Petunia felt that jolt of uncomfortably strong, negative feelings inside her. But then Lily yawned; Petunia turned away, trying not to be caught by the fascinating charm of her sister.

Rose responded, "Yes, darling?" in a way that made Petunia think that her mummy was happy and that, in turn, made a small smile stretch across her face.

"Nothing." She said, but the moment the words left her lips she felt something was wrong.

Out of experience she glanced around, and spotted something with a potato-like head running through the hedges, and she shrank back with a shriek that brought Rose immediately by her side.

"What was it, Petunia?" Rose asked quickly, looking in the direction that Petunia was staring.

"There was . . ." Petunia said in alarm, shrinking back against her mother, pointing a wobbly finger. "There was a little man there! With a head like a potato!"

Rose frowned. "I'm sure there isn't anything." She said. And then to Petunia, "Don't tell tales."

"But—"

At that point a small, chubby hand rose between the leave of the blankets Rose held, immediately turning Petunia's attention away from the bushes; she noticed that her mother was no longer facing her either, but looking at the young girl in her arms. Whose arm, incidentally, was pointing up.

Petunia followed the hand, and smiled in delight. It was a beautiful bird, so white that it might have passed to be a cloud. She tugged her mother's skirt. "What is that bird, mummy?"

"Hm?" said Rose. "Oh. That's an owl." She sounded puzzled.

But Petunia didn't quite realise it, and she chose to ignore how her mother in favour of staring back at the bush.

- - - - -

The Evans' were known around the neighbourhood as a nice, young family that had few to no problems, with a young daughter who was generally quiet and so back-ground noise that no one ever noticed her. Recently, however, there'd been wails from the house at all hours of the night, and it hadn't taken long for the neighbours to realise what had happened.

They'd seen the swell of the stomach. They'd seen the flush of happiness that carrying a child gave. Now all that was left was to see the precious baby—a few friends were privileged enough to know it was a girl called Lily—and admire her. So the family started making phone calls and orders, not telling either Petunia or David or Rose, and soon managed to grab hold of the grandparents, who all thought it was a great idea. The two sets secretly flew down.

Petunia was still frowning and thinking of the little man in the bush when she followed her mother home, a piece of Rose's skirt screwed up and held tightly in her hand.

"Come one, Petunia, dear, let go of mummy so she can get Lily out." Said Rose, turning and aiming a soft glare at her.

The elder sister nodded, and smiled sweetly at the semiconscious baby who was gently lifted up from the car. She followed her mother to the door, not letting go of her mother's skirt now though she still stared with curiosity at Lily. Had she been this little when she'd been born from mummy's tummy? She'd matched her hand with the baby's, and had been rather satisfied and yet surprised that it was so much bigger than the infant's. Lily was still considered an infant now, although her hair was visibly auburn now and her green eyes sparked with interest whenever she saw a person walking nearby, deciding to shriek with happiness whenever a family member held her.

Not Petunia though, but this was because Petunia had only recently begun school, and someone as young as she was certainly not fit to hold a baby.

The room was dark and quiet, and for Petunia, who hated the dark, it was terrifying.

"SURPRISE!"

Petunia immediately screamed and pushed her face into her mother's skirt, only peeking out when she realised that there were adults, and that they were laughing. But all her fear vanished when she realised that they were laughing at her. Now, she didn't mind laughter, but it being directed at her by everybody in the room was something else, and she could feel her voice beginning to tremble as both anger and humiliation got though.

"Stop—Granny!" Petunia started to whine, and then exclaimed when she saw her favourite grandmother. She ran to her and gave her a big hug, but then, suddenly, her granny let go and turned to look at someone else. Leaving the elder Evans sister to frown and bite her lip in a way which, although cute, was no match for Lily.

"Oh my, she's beautiful!"

"Such vivid green eyes, just like David's!"

"And she has your lovely hair, though it looks straight—"

"You should be proud—"

Petunia frowned and turned away from the chatter. When no one looked at her, she ran up to her room to escape the noise. It was hurting her ears. She refused to think it was hurting her heart.

- - - - -

"I'm Petunia Evans." She said, smiling at the redhead who'd just introduced herself shyly. She was the new student, but Petunia had found that they lived rather close together; almost close enough to be neighbours, but not quite. Petunia fell in step beside the girl, both on their ways home, who also flashed her own smile.

The girl held out a hand. "Laurel—"

"Figg." Petunia interrupted. "I heard today. So, do you like out school? I think the playground's pretty good."

"Hm." Said Laurel, face scrunching up in the classic style of hard thinking. It made Petunia giggle for some reason; Laurel followed soon, and the laugh lit up her face in a way that would make a whole room glow. Because Laurel was a rather pretty girl, with her big eyes and cute angel lips, and the way she looked up in from the corner of her eyes when she smiled. It was the best way to describe Laurel; pretty, pouty and a little chubby in a good way, with baby fat that lingered in her cheeks for a rosy glow, and sturdy legs that made Petunia think that she could probably run fast when she needed to. "It's nice."

Petunia could feel her face falling slightly. "Just nice?"

"Well, yes," said Laurel, her face evening out into a smile. "But that's just because my old school was . . . magical. It was really, really old-ish you know, with that colour that you know just comes from stones. Like—like those really pretty pebbles we saw at school today. But not as dark."

Petunia thought for a moment. She responded slowly, "I think I know what you mean. Was it like those really old books that a mummy has?"

Laurel echoed Petunia's thoughtful looked. "I don't live with my mother. She died a long time ago. I don't really remember what happened, but Aunty says that there was a flash of green light, and then she was dead. I don't know why aunty didn't die, though. Maybe it's like when you know something's going to hit you, and you know it will hurt."

"Who's your aunt?" asked the Evans, looking at her with curiosity. "I thought everyone lived with their parents."

"No." Laurel replied sadly. "My mummy died, but I know she was magical, like those little fairies we read about today. But she was bigger." After a moment, she visibly brightened. "But I like Aunty Arabella Figg, which is why I'm staying with her now."

The two of them had reached Petunia's gate, where they paused for a moment, both smiling cheekily at Petunia's mother, who'd offered to bring Laurel home when she heard where the young girl lived. They'd run in front of the woman the moment they were on the footpath, away from Lily, who was being wheeled in her pram, not protesting even when the sidewalk became a little bumpy. Lily had taken her first steps a few days ago, but no one pressed her to continue. It had been a brilliant day, and they'd been too excited to take the car home, even if Rose had brought it.

"Is she fun?" asked Petunia, grabbing onto Laurel's arm as she prepared to step on the neatly mown lawns. She scolded, "Don't do that," in a voice she thought sounded just like her mother, so she said no more.

"Very."

Petunia waited for Rose to catch up, and then smiled at Laurel. "See you tomorrow?"

"Of course."

- - - - -

She could feel that burning sensation she had whenever someone was spying on her once more.

It always began as an irregular tickling in the back of her head; strange, but not bad, and certainly not painful—yet. She would usually brush if off as those little urges everyone got at one time or another, especially those who were overly paranoid. She'd try to curb her curiosity, and turn away.

But it would never work, no matter how hard she tried.

Actually, such thoughts never ran through her head, as an older Petunia Evans—Dursley—would recall. She would merely be standing there, and then that funny feeling would begin until she whirled around and scanned from horizon to horizon, trying to spot whoever was gazing at her. More often than not it would be nothing more than her mother, or even her sister when she started walking and talking.

She concentrated, using her ears and craning her long neck to try and look in every direction. It was rather normal, the strange feeling everyone got when someone stared at them.

And then suddenly there was a squeal behind her as a bird flapped down towards her sister. She spun around in time to see it heading towards Lily, specifically towards the worm in her hand. Petunia didn't want to know why her one-year-old sister was holding one in the first place. But what surprised her most was what happened next:

Lily threw up her hands and shrieked, and flung the worm at the bird. Surprisingly, it hit; and the bird dropped the ground dead.

It was dead, and Petunia wondered why she wasn't more surprised. She would later wonder why she hadn't been afraid of something dying before her very eyes. But then, Lily had always been unusual—unusually cute, unusually pretty, unusually inquisitive, unusually clever, the list could go on and on. And she knew this.

But she wasn't the only one who'd seen what had happened.

That tickling sensation came back full force, so Petunia swivelled away from her sister to see a pair of incredulous eyes.

- - - - -

To be continued . . .

- - - - -