Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling.

Chapter 1: Aunt Petunia's Realization

Petunia Dursley was a very proud woman. She was proud of her darling Vernon and his job, and her sweet dinky diddums especially when he was good enough to get a C in school. Often, when feeling proud, she would crane her long, thin, neck, and tilt her chin upwards like a self important peacock. But, most of all, she was proud of her absolute perfection and normality.

The house was so clean, none of the other wives could say a negative comment about the state of it. Her appearance meant everything to her, and from her hair to her shoes, everything detail was perfect. But, despite this effort, there was one thing that irked her, that was not up to her perfect standards.

Boy.

Freak.

The little twig living in the cupboard under the stairs because his worthless parents got themselves blown up. Not, that anyone knew that, because explosions are not normal, but car crashes, although terrible and sad, are. Imagine what the neighbors would think if they knew! No, it was best to keep to her fantasy world, content with pretending her perfection and proving her place in uniform society she spends her life trying to conform to.

Harry was sore and tired, but happy. He had been working all day at the list of his chores and night was falling, the sun just peeking out over the horizon, just barely illuminating the room with a warm glow. Most six year olds would whine and object to all the work without a break to play, but Harry didn't mind, it was all he knew. After all, there is no point in giving the Freak a break if there no one to play with. Everyone had been warned away by their mothers after the gossip in the neighborhood got around, as bad troublemakers aren't the sort of child a mother wants her child to be around.

In the dim light of the kitchen, looking through the window, Harry cheerfully cleaned the dishes up after dinner- which he had made, but wasn't allowed to enjoy. Even at his young age Harry was used to being the unpaid housekeeper for the Dursley's. He did everything from laundry and dusting to vacuuming and painting the house, as his aunt and uncle thought he owed it to them for "being such a burden". But, out of all this work, there was only one chore he enjoyed, which happened to be the last chore on his list, gardening.

He was made to wait until it was dark, so the neighbors couldn't see the freakish boy, but he reveled in his small freedom of leaving the house every night. He didn't mind, as he could still do the work very well, with only the light from the moon to help him. Harry had a special connection with his plants, and tended to them with the gentleness and all consuming, encompassing love, only a child could have.

He only wished, as he looked through the window, seeing the Dursley's watching the telly, that he could be the recipient of that proud look from his aunt, and feel that love. He wanted to have his hair tousled like Dudley's, his shoulder clapped as a aftershock of his accomplishment. To have someone be proud of him, proving that he was not a worthless freak but a prized and cherished child, was his pure and honest heart's desire.

His desire and desperation to feel this way, to receive this love shone through, and he continued to garden, pouring his hope for love from his family and love of gardening through his capable hands into the plants.

As the months went by, the plants feeding off Harry were flourishing, earning Petunia admiration coupled with jealous glares from the neighbors. After all, the garden was beautiful, and perfectly so, so perfect that the neighbors copied them, turning the tables for Petunia, who was used to following the lead of the others, conforming, not starting a gardening movement. It seemed almost magical the way the garden moved, as if gentle waves of wind were moving the flowers, dancing in the breeze in sync. The leaves were the softest and most natural green the people of Privet Drive had ever seen, and when the flowers opened in the morning, runners stopped and stared, entranced by the beauty.

She became somewhat happy with Harry, letting him have some food before dinner, and not just the leftovers, but that all nearly ended the day she saw him planting flowers around the mailbox, without even asking. In fact, her magazine had said that flowers around mailboxes were a big nono this season, and were considered a huge social faux-pas. Rushing outside, she smacked Harry's hands away quickly before he could do any more damage to the patch of grass around the mailbox.

"What are you thinking?" she screeched in a loud, high pitched voice, making Harry shudder and the lady next door pop her head out the window to see the spectacle.

"Planting around the mailbox, you should know better! I let you get flowers and this is how you repay me?"

Harry shuddering, backed up. "I'm sorry Aunt Petunia, I'll move them. I didn't know."

Then Petunia looked down, into a patch of flowers, her namesake, beautiful and bought with the change Harry had found off the streets saved up over the past few months.

Her wilted heart, like a flower in spring, began to bloom.

She started looking at her nephew as Harry, not freak or boy, after all, a freak couldn't make something as beautiful as the garden, and his magic wasn't bad and unnatural like she thought magic was. In fact, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. It brought back the memories of Lily, and of her magic, the beautiful magic she used to open beautiful flowers just like her son does. And, at about the same time she started raising her chin in pride of Harry, she began to feel ashamed too.

What was she thinking treating a child like that? Even worse, her sister, Lily's child! She may have been angry at magic for taking her beloved, no matter how envied sister away from her, but she would not keep taking it out upon a child, all that she has left. She decided that she would treat Harry the same way any other child should be treated, special or not, in honor of Lily.

Over the course of a week or two, Aunt Petunia had been cutting down his chore list, even giving some to Dudley, much to his horror. She had even told Dudley's gang to stay away from him, all under the pretense that she only cared about the garden. But, when he saw that proud smile and tilt of her neck he knew she had truly begun to care about him.

The Dursley's reputation, and therefore Harry's reputation among the neighborhood had become even better, not being viewed as a troubled child anymore, but a hard working child who was a prodigy with plants.

Tell me how I did!