House: Slytherin

Category: Themed (the loss of, the finding of the need for, how we act when security is shattered)

Prompts: As he/she/name walked into their former childhood bedroom, [Sentence starter]

Characters: Harry Potter, Petunia Dursley

Word count: 4520 (Excluding Author's Note, but including entire Short Story and Title)

Summary: In the wake of the final battle, Harry Potter learns a valuable lesson from his Aunt about family, and what it means to stand by their side no matter what.

Rating: T

Author's Note: Originally, I was going to write about Tom Riddle. That was until this scene popped up and I to continue writing. As a huge fan of Harry Potter, I don't think I ever really understood Petunia's relationship with her sister, Lily. As an older sister myself, I found that this piece really resonated with me, deeper than I could have possibly imagined. You get to see a side of her that the books/movies only touched. This is completely AU (Alternative Universe). I revised the scene where Petunia talks to Harry. (In this version, Harry is still in his bedroom when she comes to talk to him). A scene was added before/after the infamous extended version to the movies. :) I didn't want to use the entire original piece, so I decided to reword it a little. Though, how do you reword a piece that's already perfect, lol?

Y'all have no idea how much I cried I started to write this. Nothing compared to how much I cried, however. I'm not entirely sure if I was supposed to use the sentence starter as the very first sentence, or that it could be used anywhere in the narrative. I owe a huge, HUGE thank you to my House. They were as supportive as anyone House could be and guided me through thick and thin. Even with my insecurities, they were always there to make sure I was okay. I don't know if this is allowed (smirks), but they're the best (Cough, cough). Thanks, girls!

-Carolare Scarletus

Into the Pendulum

As he walked into his former childhood bedroom, his gaze brought him to a singular object that stood out against the formidable gloom. The darkened room seemed to pay no mind to its presence; only when he finally found it in his heart to step in did the room surrender to his touch. It was riddled with marks and scrapes, having been handled without the utmost of care or consideration. Inside, if he had had the courage to open it the moment his heart bid him to, he would have found a motley of used books dating back to his very first encounter with the magical world. Souvenirs of conduct, a collage of everything that he stood for. Aside from the dust and several bottles of used up ink, the trunk held such sentimental value that it astounded him just how much he had lost.

Harry Potter was completely beside himself. The weight of the entire world had been placed upon his shoulders the second he learned of his fame, and yet, as he strolled through his former bedroom in search of something he knew he wouldn't find, he felt infinitely lighter. It was amidst the rubble that he was able to see clearly. The dominating structure, the healthy presumption to loyalty as he paid homage to the object with the strongest of respects. If it hadn't been for this object that he held in his hand, he wouldn't be here. Harry hadn't known then, but this fragile piece of an heirloom was astoundingly precious as it was mistreated.

It was a small piece of a broken mirror, and had he known its importance, he would have used it a long time ago. Instead, he left it to fade away, leaving the gifter to rot away in the spirit of his memory. Its jagged edges was all the reminder that he needed as he continued his search into the unknown.

With a delicate grip, Harry stood there, flipping the mirror over, finding the faces of the mirror as disturbing as the bluish, unrecognizable haze it reflected. It had been given to him by his Godfather, a man who died in front of him. One man of many who would risk their life for him, taken in a flurry of wicked laughter. He died for the hands of Bellatrix LeStrange, the maniac cousin to the Blacks. Sirius hadn't been the only one to die for him, and he wasn't going to be the last. When he looked into it, he could have sworn his eyes were playing tricks on. His bedroom hadn't a single item of blue, but the mirror wouldn't just make up such false reflections. So, he wondered. Had he imagined seeing the Headmaster's sparkling eyes in the glass? He couldn't really say what he saw was anything of the sort. Just that, he seen

, and he wondered prolifically what it could have been. He flipped the mirror again, but when it came back around in his palm, the flash of blue was gone, leaving him to think.

With a heavy sigh, Harry dropped onto the floor and ran his fingers through his unkempt hair.

To his immediate right, laying on his bed, was an article he had just finished reading. If it had been the work of a more respectable author, he would have questioned it; however, Rita Seeker had published the article, bashing the late Headmaster of Hogwarts with everything that she had. In a failed attempt to clear his mind, Harry had read the article but and before he was finished, he threw the Prophet onto his bed, swearing with a snarl as he marched around his room in the most destructive manner. He was the juggernaut built from hellfire. Although there was no physical damage, the mental damage was catastrophic.

He looked up from his lap, thinking of everyone who has given their lives to protect him. His father and mother and Godfather. Even the Headmaster of his school had died in honor of him. Now, in a vast nothingness that was his soul, his eyes met the silver lining at the top of the window. Harry tightened his grip on the mirror and swore.

Nothing could compare to the war outside his own body.

Neutrality seeped from the pores of the foundation of the house while the world became abundantly clear of the hell that was brewing within.

Harry stood up, looked at his bed, and then out the window, knowing what he would find.

It was as if the clouds themselves with their horribly dark tone were dementors waiting until the very moment that the seal of his protection was broken. As soon as it did, they would attack. They would be the ones to end all this madness, to storm the icy waters that was his battlefield and deliver him from all this evil. Little did they know, he was waiting for them. Like a single commander in the wake of their cries, Harry was looking out at the forbidding darkness as it gathered around his home, ceasing all perpetual movement. Listening to the soft call, he moved toward the window, looking down at the landscape as it stretched out before him. Sentinels of terror graced the heavens as his eyes searched for a way out. Harry had built up quite the wall to block out everything that Voldemort could possibly touch. It was during this instance that he felt the Headmaster's presence. Again, he looked at the mirror but only saw his own reflection glaring back at him. With a noncommittal glance, he backed away and retreated further into his fort.

In all his years, he hadn't known patronage until he was introduced to the world of magic. Condemned to be a loner all his life, Harry found support within the carters of his friends and the home that took him in. It wasn't him who was saving them from evil; it was them who were sacrificing their time and energy for the sake of his well-being, and that's what had tormented him all this time. He hadn't meant anyone to die for him. The sick thing about it was that it was out of his control, and even if he could reappraise them for their involvement, he couldn't. He was going to continue to watch them die.

Harry tightened his grip on the mirror, producing a sort of sting that he usually would have ignored hadn't it been for the small cut that issued from the movement. He winced, but other than that, he didn't move to stop the bleeding. It was astounding to him just how much comfort that came from reaping the benefits of injury. As there hadn't been a moment that he couldn't remember ever not being hurt, Harry took this with stride and looked up to find Hedwig nesting inside of her cage, safe. He supposed for a fleeting moment as he mended his injury that being bruised meant that he was alive.

"I won't go!" came his uncle's voice from downstairs once more. He and his aunt have been at odds ever since Harry told them about his plans. Instead of hearing his aunt's voice, he heard the voice of the supervisors in charge of their transportation. It was the last thing he expected to hear from his uncle's mouth which was saying a lot.

It was simple, really.

They were to be transported to a safehouse somewhere outside of the United Kingdom. (A location that Harry would never be allowed to know to its fullest extent). There, they would be kept under surveillance until this blasted war was over. The only one that took well to the idea was his aunt, whom, with all honesty, was the last person Harry expected to agree to such an arrangement. His uncle on the other hand seemed to disagree, and from what he could hear through the muffled barrier of his bedroom door, their transporters were trying desperately to reassure him of the importance of their farewell.

As they argued, Harry went back to his trunk and deposited the last of his belongings into it. He stood, recollecting himself in a manner than some would find a bit nerve-wracking. He began to pace the room, a habit he had taken up some time ago. He supposed it was a signal to go downstairs to try to reconcile his uncle. He knew from past experiences that this outrageous behavior was best to ignore, but fearing what his uncle could evoke, Harry chose to meet it head on. When he was about to grab his coat and turn, he was meant with something completely unexpected, he had to blink several times to assure that he wasn't seeing things. He stared openly at his guest.

When it came to strange phenomenons, Harry hadn't the slightest idea how to conduct himself. What greeted him was breathtakingly surreal. It was an odd string of fluorescent blue, the sort of thing one would see if they picked a ribbon and set it alight with a bluish-purple flame. Though, he had to admit as he stared at it with the enchanted meadow of a child, Harry couldn't speculate as to what it could be. Only, as he wondered briefly, he wanted nothing more to touch it. To feel it in his hands as it wove around his fingers and tickled his palm. When he reached out his hand to grab it, a marvelous spectrum was met and Harry, as though spellbound as he refused to believe such a sight, contacted with the beautifully woven piece.

"It likes you," Hestia said, smiling as she came into the room. Harry looked at her, instantly regretting letting his guard down. He supposed it had something to do with his uncle, so he waited until she brought it up. When she didn't, anxiety riddled his body. She looked at him with a blank stare before smirking.

"I guess," he told her as calmly as he could, wondering what she could be hiding behind that smile of hers. "What is it?"

She shrugged, looking at him as if he knew the answer. "Dunno. Anyway, I came to tell you that your uncle is being most difficult with our endeavors. I don't mean to sound cruel, but he

know that we're trying to save him, yes?"

"He reckons all Wizards are evil." He almost laughed. "I'll be down in a minute. I'm just… going through some things."

"Like what?" she asked, looking about the room excitedly. It was moment's like these that made Harry grateful for the regular Muggle up-bringing he had. Terrible, or not, he was appreciative. "What is this?"

Hestia reached for the article that lay on his bed and in that moment, Harry jumped up and snatched it from her hands. Breathing heavily, he apologized awkwardly but made it abundantly clear that he didn't want anyone to touch the last of the belongings he hadn't had the chance to go through himself. Hestia didn't mind. In fact, she shook it off as if he hadn't been so rude as not to allow her to pillage the last of his treasures.

"They are dear to you, yes?" Hestia asked, smiling again. He knew that everyone had to have read the article about Dumbledore, but Harry chose not to embellish the notion any more than he needed to.

"Kind of." He admitted, looking at the string as it moved between them in a platonic dance of the ages. "Are you sure you don't know what that is?"

Hestia tilted her head to the side, and thought. By the time she summoned the answer, Harry's uncle gave another wildly loud accusation. All she did was smile and looked at the winding string of light once more before telling him her answer.

"I believe it's a string."

"Er…"

She laughed at his expression. Harry should have waited to let her finish before questioning the integrity of her answer. "I've never seen one… only in books, but I believe it's a string of guidance."

"A string of what?"

"Guidance." She repeated, though Harry was sure he heard her correctly the first time. "You know, pieces of one's being that attaches to another?" When she was met with a blank stare, Hestia reconsidered her words and tried again. This time, she accounted the true nature of the light that he was seeing in a way that made more sense to him. When she was done explaining, Harry looked at the lightened figure and let out the breath that he was holding in inspired awe. "I supposed this one found you because you've been doubting yourself. Have you, Harry?"

"A little." He admitted. "But, don't get me wrong. I know what I'm supposed to do. I just… I just don't know how to execute it."

"I suppose Dumbledore has all the answers." She nodded to the article. "I'm sure you'll figure it out, yes?" Hestia gave him one last smile before taking her leave, instructing him to come down as soon as possible (which, she made very clear she needed him at that very moment), to ease his uncle one last time. "I don't mean to sound cruel, but do keep in mind of the time. We shall leave precisely at ten. And, no later."

In the heat of the moment, Harry forgot why he had come back upstairs in the first place. He was to hunt for Horcruxes, not study the infinite uses of Dragon Blood. While Voldemort was out there gaining power, he was stuck inside a house he was forced to call home for the last sixteen years. He reckoned he wasn't quite ready to face whatever was lurking out there. Having battled three-headed dogs, giant snakes, and raging dragons, Harry couldn't find it in himself to face something that was inevitably

. With all self-perveance, a wave of hesitation cloaked him and he found even the simple task of turning off the light ardently hard.

Crestfallen, Harry looked around the room once more, struggling to compose himself during this time of selfish need. Each step toward the door seemed to provoke something inside of him. One soul lost to rise again, he thought.

All he wished to know was who was so brave enough to summon such a fascinating subject in the wake of his downfall.

Harry turned and looked at the glowing wonder one more time. A moment later, he was met with the glaring need to touch it again. When he did, the thing lit up and with all perceived notion, the room became silent. During some time, Harry had turned his back away from the door and was now standing in the middle of his room. When he looked up to the window again, the mirror almost engraved into his palm, he found his aunt staring back at him. It had been a scene that had been burnt into his mind some weeks ago upon the news of their relocation. She hadn't spoken about it to anyone. Harry knew that for whatever strange reason, his aunt was keeping everything under lock and key. It seemed as if that door was to be allowed open, and he was going to discover something that he never knew.

"You know, I've always hated this room."

Petunia walked slowly into the room, her body stiff and her head held high as her terribly distant eyes looked out the window. She was looking at something; though, Harry couldn't quite place it. He tried to convey what she might be seeing. When he looked to greet her properly, he noticed she wasn't looking anywhere near the window, but rather at him. He felt her eyes trickle from the top of his head and to his eyes where they rested for a second before leaving his face altogether. The jarring need to know became his new obsession. When she looked at him again a few moments later, this time he was ready for what she was going to say.

"And, not because it was Dudley's second bedroom but the owls always seemed to linger here the longest. Could never quite keep them at bay, eh?" She waltzed into the room in a fashion that would have looked entirely too intrusive. As she looked about the masquerade that was the room, her attention was brought to the similarity that was his aching heart.

The window, Harry supposed he could picture it, was another awful gateway to her. In the farthest reaches of his mind, a single thought was brought back to him and he didn't know how he overlooked such a strange concept.

She knew the dangers that they were about to face. But, that didn't stop her.

"You look so much like your mother when you do that," she whispered, her voice giving out as she searched his eyes again. With every whisper of a hint in reminiscence she grazed the space between his brows before stepping back. Harry could see the hatred that she bestowed him long ago melt away at a single look. In that instant, oddly, she looked just like his mother in a strange, almost mocking representation of son and mother seeing each other for the last time. It hurt him almost as much as it had to hurt her. "I suppose it's the Evan's genes, but she would always scrunch up her nose when she was angry. It was entirely too improper."

"You know what's proper, then?"

"I don't think a single lick of us rubbed off on you." Her words were chosen carefully, but she didn't mean for them to sound so harsh. "We're just too different, you and I. Even when we were young, I always knew there was something different about her." Just then, she smiled one of those half-matured smiles before it completely faded away from her face.

"There's a reason you came up here to talk, isn't there?" Harry finally asked.

"I know it's too late to say these things, but I came up here to ask you something." She was silent for a moment. Her eyes filled with tears and when she spoke again, Harry found that her voice was cracking from the mere execution of her statement.

"How do you do it?" her question was so unexpected that it stumped him.

He greeted his aunt with an ironic smile. "What do you mean?"

"How can you go out there," she pointed to the window and continued," knowing what you're about to face? Knowing that there are thousands of horrible creatures that are out to get you. Aren't you even a little scared of what you might face?"

"I dunno," he told her honestly, feeling the need to denounce whatever troubling notion that seemed to surface. "I've dealt with it all my life."

"How do you deal with it, Harry?" This time, Harry figured out what she meant.

"People dying for me?" he countered softly, his voice a brace away from cracking. "I suppose I just got used to it."

"You don't look like someone that could get used to that."

"Haven't I proven that enough already?" Harry let the joke die off. There was no sense in explaining it to her, and it wasn't because she wasn't capable of understanding. He just wouldn't be able to comprehend the mere dedication it took to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He moved about the room more vigorously than he anticipated. Being animated with a subject that sparked more than the occasional brain cell was doing something to his body and Harry was keen on feeding off this amazing energy. As he bounced around, trying to locate another item he knew he needed, he could feel his aunt's eyes locked onto his every move.

"Ready to go?"

"Go out there and face whatever's trying to kill us?" Her voice was shrill. "No thank you."

Harry didn't try to reason with her. Like his uncle and cousin, she was just as anxious and scared, so much so that his uncle changed his mind at least a hundred times in the interim of telling them of what was going on. They needed protection and he was offering it without the slightest hint of detest. If they were too stupid to realize that all these years he never once blamed him for the treatment inflicted by their hated morals, then there really was no reason to prolong the inevitable.

"We've been over this before-"

"This has been my home for the last twenty years," she moved around the room, as if admiring the curtains one last time before she had to leave, "and now in a single night, I'm expected to leave." Abruptly, she stopped to look at him in the hallmark stance of a woman who has seen enough-

through enough, really.

"They'll find you," he said. "And, they'll torture you."

"You think I don't know what they're capable of?" she asked shrilly before her guise completely dissolved. "You think… that I don't know how cruel and unforgiving they are? I've seen what they can do, Harry. What this

can do to people. You didn't just lose a mother that night, you know. I lost a sister."

The façade of her picturesque nature crumbled away, leaving behind a frightened little girl. In this interface, Harry could see for himself the substitute idol that was slowly destroying his aunt. Not only was she scared, she was terrified of what she might find outside of the walls of this house. Whatever had gotten her sister could inevitably get her, too.

"What are you most afraid of?"

Petunia looked up, tears filling her eyes. As one escaped to the crook of her nose, she murmured her answer softly into the scape of the room.

"Dying." She told him. "I'm afraid of dying."

"Listen, people die." He took in a deep breath and let it out sharply. "People live, they become scared and lose hope- this makes you human. Don't let the threat of what's out there hinder you. I made a promise to you years ago, when you were the first one to notice what was happening to me, that I'd protect you. Magic, despite some belief, is far greater and far safer than a majority of what you'll find out there- "He pointed to the rain-stricken window, and Petunia's eyes traveled instantly to the cover. "Your worst fear only exists if you allow it to. Out there, everything is out and the only thing you have to rely on are the ones who are willing to die for you."

"How can you be so brave, even in the bleakest of times?"

In that profound moment, Harry suddenly stopped talking.

He never really had the chance to sit down and

about his actions. His instinct was always do now and think later. Just as he was about to question ever popular belief he had, a flash of light lightened up the room and he knew that it was too late to reconcile any differences that they may have.

It was in that instant that he realized just how much his Aunt gave up, and that their secret kinship had blossomed into something inherently different. She could see now the struggle that befell him; he felt every emotion as it boiled over him and for once, he wasn't just relying on the stoic spar of his facial features to tell him what was going on.

This was real.

"How do you deal with the deaths?" Her voice trembled with the exhaustion of her question. Time came to a halt between them. "How can you stand knowing what's out there and still risk your life?"

"It isn't the easiest thing," he admitted with a simplistic nod. With a difficult sigh, Harry elaborated. There was a word he had been searching for all this time. Through the neglect, the abuse, the non-stop pressure to conform to ideals, they had grown on them. And, not because he felt obligated to. "They're family. You have to protect your family."

"And, th…those people from school?"

For some reason, the difficulty to understand his reason behind what would look like a suicidal mission for someone else.

It lingered.

To ask such a loaded question struck him so hard that he staggered, almost dropping the piece of mirror. In an instant, he remembered he had cut himself. When he went to bandage his finger up with an old t-shirt, he felt his aunt's eyes travel to the injured hand and she let out a sort of disconcerted gasp that normally would have jolted him into action. However, in the blind of chaos, he remained perfectly calm.

"He was like that, too."

"What?" his head whipped up at her accusation.

His aunt acted as if he didn't hear him. "Your father. You're very much like your father."

"You've met him?" It was the hardest thing to picture and accept.

"He wasn't the easiest to forget," Petunia admitted. "Not that his nature would allow it."

"What do you mean?" he asked, nervous now.

Petunia looked at him and sighed. In that pivotal moment, everything that had fallen between them began to piece themselves back together again. Memory after memory began an eternal stich on the quilt that was the string of guidance. At first, it didn't provoke any returnable need until Harry's eyes roamed over to where it hovered. All along he questioned himself for coming back upstairs to this dank little room that overlooked the front porch, where his friends tried to bail him out and where he spent countless hours trying to remember everything there was before the break of day. Inside that trunk lay every memory that he could possibly hold onto and hope for. He was just too blind to see it.

Harry walked over to the trunk and flipped open the case, his eyes landing on the single bounded leather album where all his treasure lay. His hand gripped the piece of mirror, breaking the barrier he had with the outside world as he sank to the bottom of the room. His heart ached for what he could not touch.

She graced him with an uncustomary smile and said, "He carried them in his heart too, Harry. They gave up their lives so you could have yours. They were the light at the end of the tunnel, and now you do the same." Petunia helped him up, glancing as the string before looking at him once more. "It's come to help you. Just, when you go out there, don't forget them. Always remember. Never let go of them."

With those words, the string wrapped around his body and enveloped him with the warmest sense he could have ever imagine. When it came to the final battle, he kept this spirit with him through the tribulation and as he approached the hallows at the end of the long-fought battle, the string final rendered its power, allowing him to finally greet what he's been missing all along.