Privet Drive hadn't changed much. The houses along the suburban street were still boxy and boring, their hedges neatly trimmed and the grass the perfect height. It was quiet, with everyone still asleep, taking advantage of their Saturday morning. Even if anyone had been out, it was doubtful they'd notice the young man standing outside Number 4.
Harry Potter stood in front of the house for several minutes, unsure of whether or not he actually wanted to go inside. He knew it was going to be a ghost of what it had once been, it's residents having long since moved out. Before they'd left, he had charmed the property so that all the neighbors would think it was being maintained. In all reality, the hedges had long since grown out of their perfect shapes. They hadn't been left alone long enough to go entirely crazy, but had Vernon Dursley seen them, he would have had a fit. The grass, too, needed work; it rose nearly to Harry's knees. The garden that Petunia had once tended to so diligently was now indistinguishable behind the grass, the plot grown over and lacking the color her flowers had brought it. There were cobwebs in the corners of the windows.
Regardless of his apprehension, he needed to go inside.
"Alohomora," he whispered, pointing his wand at the door. The handle turned with a soft click, leaving him to push the door open. And though he knew it was pointless, he cast a look around to check to see if anyone were watching him. With the coast clear, he stepped into the house, and shut the door behind him.
All the utilities were off, with the house having been unoccupied for so long, so everything was dark. Unwilling to open the blinds, Harry decided to use his wand for light instead. The brightness at the end of the wood was familiar and comforting, even if he felt rebellious for using it here. For so many years, the Dursleys had forbidden the mention, use, or thought of magic at all...but he'd managed to sneak it in a little.
He stood in the hall for a few moments, looking toward the cupboard where he'd been forced to live for the majority of his life with his aunt, uncle, and cousin. The door, he could see, was coated in dust...like everything else in here. He turned around so that he was facing the front door, looking at the mail slot, and he couldn't help the smile that burst onto his face. His uncle had been so angry when the letters from Hogwarts started coming, and the hundreds that had managed to make it through this slot had angered Vernon so badly he'd nailed the door shut. Crazy man, but it made for a good memory.
Shaking his head, he turned to the right, walked into the living room. He pictured it as it had been for most of his life, full of commotion and smelling of cleaning supplies, not as it currently was, which was silent and covered in dust. He saw the sideboard with the ornaments, the oversized armchairs he had drowned in on the rare occasions he sat in them, the sofa and coffee table, the photos on the mantelpiece and the fireplace that had been blocked and filled with an electric fire.
He went upstairs next, stared down at the guest bedroom that had always been reserved for Aunt Marge and her miserable dog. Stayed away from it, and went instead to Dudley's bedroom. His mind could see the large bed Dudley had slept on night after night, snoring so loudly he often kept Harry awake. The floor was always littered with broken toys and electronics, a computer Dudley rarely ever used, books bruised and battered beyond repair, clothes...just about everyone one could imagine would be there. It had never been a room that Harry had liked, so he lingered there for only a few moments before going across the landing to what had been his own room.
The smaller bedroom, at the front of the house, had perhaps been the best thing that had happened to Harry while living there. It was (obviously) larger than the cupboard had been, and it gave him a place to escape the wrath of his relatives. It was a sanctuary of sorts… and he pretended that it still looked like it had before his sixth year at Hogwarts had begun. Against the wall that ran alongside the stairs, his trunk for school was always parked at the end of his small bed, which was made up in Gryffindor's maroon and gold. Close to the head of the bed was a small table, on top of which sat a small lamp. Against the other wall was his desk, where Hedwig's cage made a home for itself. His desk lamp, which he always forgot to turn off, sat there too, and the chair was pulled away from the desk more often than not. His chest of drawers was pushed so that it was slightly under the window, a suitable place for it so that it could be climbed upon. The wardrobe, where he'd shoved Dobby during the house elf's visit before his second term at Hogwarts, was left with it's one door open.
It made him miss some of the days he'd spent here. They weren't all bad; he just wished that he could have been with Ron or Hermione all the time instead. Further annoyed with himself, he whirled away and hurried back down the stairs and into the kitchen. There he paused again, but this time, he wasn't recalling memories of what the room had looked like. Instead, he was thinking about his family.
What were they doing now that the war was over? He'd only told them that it was necessary they leave Privet Drive while Voldemort was alive and his followers full of rage… Surely, wherever Dedalus and Hestia had hidden them, they had been reached and told that they could come back. Right?
Probably.
Vernon was as Muggle as any Muggle could be, with no use whatsoever for imagination. He was boring, set in his ways, obsessed with appearances. If there was anything that could be counted on, it was that he would come back to his home in Little Whinging. But when? Contemplating the answer, Harry moved to the door that led from the kitchen to the back of the yard, where the greenhouse and back garden were at.
And stopped short at what he saw when he opened it.
The woman sat on a small bench, her blonde hair lighter than he remembered it. She was staring at the ground, looking as though she were lost in thought. But it wouldn't have mattered if her back were turned to him or not… He would recognize that long neck anywhere, having seen it so often. He hesitated before speaking. "Aunt Petunia?"
She looked up, and her expression was somber. At the sight of her nephew, her eyes widened. "I didn't realize that you would be here."
"Yeah, well, I didn't think you would be either." He walked closer to her, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. "But you haven't moved back in...so why are you here? And why are you sitting back here?"
So many questions… That had always been one of the things that had annoyed her about him. She closed her eyes for a moment. Opened them, looked at him. "We're going to be moving back in. Tomorrow, probably. I wanted to come early, to…" she trailed off, bit her lip. Decided to go ahead and tell the truth. "I couldn't grieve with him, because he thinks it's abnormal to be sad about her. But I couldn't trap it in forever."
"Grieve? About what?" He moved a step closer.
"Your mother!" she snapped. "I may have hated her, but I loved her, too."
Harry cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. "I think she knew that…"
Petunia shook her head, looked back to the ground. "How could you possibly have an idea? You didn't even really get to know her."
"Professor Snape died, during our last battle in the war. And he left his memories for me to look at." It felt inappropriate to be telling her this, revealing things about the magical world. "I saw what happened between you and my mother… And I think that she would have forgiven you, if she had had the time. She was a kind woman, from what I've been told; she wouldn't have it in her to be mad at you forever."
Tears suddenly began coursing down her cheeks, and when Harry moved to comfort her, she waved him away. "I just.. .I just need some air."
Her words were hard to understand, and by the time he was able to figure out what she had said, she had darted past him into the house. He tilted his head, puzzled. But a couple seconds later, he just shook his head.
Some things never changed. The Dursleys were weird.