Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the affiliated merchandise.

Author's Notes: This is sort of a collage of multiple "what if's" that I've always wanted to write about. I won't tell you what they are just yet because that would ruin the surprise! Please note that the first scene is taken directly from the second book (it is the last scene in the book.) It is included because I feel that it adds some additional context and contrast for the scene with Petunia. Also, any complaints about things I give warnings for will be ignored!

Warnings: slash, potential femslash, chan,

The Astounding Stupidity of Optimism

Chapter One: Start Match

The rest of term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences. Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled ("but we've got plenty of practice anyway," Ron told a disgruntled Hermione) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.

Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny got a compartment to themselves. They made the most of the last few hours in which they were allowed to do magic before the holidays. They played Exploding Snap, set off the last of Fred and George's Filibuster fireworks, and practiced Disarming each other by magic. Harry was getting very good at it.

They were almost at King's Cross when Harry remembered something.

"Ginny – what did you see Percy doing, that he didn't want you to tell anyone?"

"Oh, that," Ginny said, giggling. "Well – Percy's got a girlfriend."

Fred dropped a stack of books on George's head.

"What?"

"It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater," said Ginny. "That's who he was writing to all last summer. He's been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was – you know – attacked. You won't tease him, will you?" she added anxiously.

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early.

"Definitely not," said George, sniggering.

The Hogwarts Express slowed down and finally stopped.

Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment and turned to Ron and Hermione.

"This is called a telephone number," he told Ron, scribbling it twice, tearing the parchment in two, and handing it to them. "I told your dad how to use a telephone last summer – he'll know. Call me at the Dursleys', okay? I can't stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to…"

"Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won't they?" said Hermione as they got off the train and joined the crowd thronging toward the enchanted barrier. "When they hear what you did this year?"

"Proud?" said Harry. "Are you crazy? All those times I could've died, and I didn't manage it? They'll be furious…"

And together they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world.

Harry split off from his friends after a few more goodbyes, and headed over to the parking lot and the waiting Dursleys, hunching his shoulders against the nagging feeling of being watched. This lingering sensation had started up as soon as the aftermath of the Chamber fiasco finally settled down. It followed him where ever he went, only fading when he dealt with hygiene and bodily functions. He had tried to catch whoever it was that was following him but never managed to. Harry had his Invisibility Cloak for sneaking around; did the person watching him have one too? Or was it a spell? Hermione would know, he was sure, but he was scared of what would happen if he told anyone.

Besides, he was used to dealing with things himself, and this wasn't – couldn't be – any different. It was likely that he was overacting anyway. He was starting to sound paranoid. Maybe a few weeks away from the Wizarding world would do him some good. Even if it was with the Dursleys.

"There you are," said his aunt, startling him. She pursed her too thin lips together, glaring at something behind him. He didn't dare turn around to see the unfortunate victim of his aunt's ire. "Come here, we don't have all day." She seemed angrier than usual, though.

Not wanting start things off badly before he even got to the house, Harry hurried over to her, glancing around cautiously for his uncle and Dudley. He didn't find them. That was very strange. Usually Aunt Petunia, though she had a driver's license, had her husband driver her anywhere she needed to go. He wondered if something had happened, and felt a little guilty for hoping so. It wasn't that he liked any of the Dursleys, he just – Harry didn't want them to be hurt. He wasn't like Riddle.

Because there are strange likenesses between us, Harry Potter.

He flinched, and tried to push away the memory by asking, "Where's Dudley and Uncle Vernon?" Aunt Petunia scowled.

"They are away for the week, golfing." They got into the car. The trip back to Privet Drive was spent in silence, though Harry noticed that his aunt shifted in her seat nervously and kept glancing at him in the rearview mirror. Several times he thought that she was going to say something, but she stopped herself with a shake of her head. Finally, they reached the house. Aunt Petunia hurried to unlock the front door before returning to the car to help him take his things in.

"Harry," she began slowly, after they had put his things in his room. "Has anything – I mean – I received an…owl from a Minerva McGonagall." Air rushed from his lungs, and he found it difficult to regain his breath. His aunt didn't seem to notice as she continued, "do you know what it was about? She wrote to tell me that you had nearly died! What were you thinking? How am I supposed to make up for how I treated you if you're dead?"

"I – what? You never cared before!"

"I know that!" she yelled. He jerked back with a flinch; she sighed sadly. "Sorry, I didn't mean… While you were at you school, I realized something. About how I – about how we had treated you while you were growing up." Here she hesitated, watching for his reaction so far. He just stared wide-eyed at her. "I don't expect you to forgive me…"

"You – I – You're apologizing…?"

"Yes," said Aunt Petunia.

"Who are you?" he whispered. "You can't be my aunt. She wouldn't – not ever –" Petunia watched in worry as her nephew muttered to himself, eyes flicking his way and that like he expected something to jump out and attack him. Slowly, she moved closer.

…strange likenesses between us, Harry…

"No. No…" Tears began dripping from his eyes. In transfixed horror, she watched him drop to his knees, curl his limbs close to his body, and slowly begin rocking himself back and forth. It was like he was regressing back to the child he never had been. "I can't be. I'm not like him. I – nonono!" Finally, she could no longer stand it.

She settled next to Harry and pulled him into a gentle hug. The distraught youth just kept muttering.

"I can't be; I can't. Please, no, I can't. I'm not… I'm not like him."

What had that school done to him? It seemed that she would be contacting that McGonagall after all.

Mrs. Petunia Dursley,

I am Minerva McGonagall, one of your nephew's professors and the Head of his House. It is my duty to inform you of the events that occurred this year, and their relation to young Harry.

As you know from the letter sent out earlier this year, the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. However, the culprit behind this has been caught, and the creature residing within the Chamber has been slain. Therefore, Hogwarts will remain open for the coming year.

We, the staff of Hogwarts, must apologize for the danger we have once again placed your nephew in.

Several days ago, a student was kidnapped and taken into the Chamber. We are unsure how they discovered it, but Harry and his friend Ronald took it upon themselves to rescue the child. While there, the two were separated. Harry continued on into the central part of the Chamber and encountered the culprit and the creature itself. The creature was a Basilisk, a giant serpent capable of killing with a glance.

Harry was bit by the serpent. Fortunately, the antidote was administered before the venom could take permanent effect. However, the Basilisk is a rare creature and I am unsure what lasting effects the venom could have on young Harry.

If either of you need assistance, please inform me.

Best regards,

Minerva McGonagall

In an old homey manor, miles away from Privet Drive, Minerva McGonagall paced the length of her parlor anxiously. A week ago she had sent Petunia Dursley a missive, despite Dumbledore's protests, explaining the unfortunate events of the school year and her nephew's involvement in them. Minerva had hoped at the time that finally knowing what the Wizarding world continuously put the child through would convince the woman to provide some sort of…care.

It was foolish of her, she realized now. What she had done would only make things worse for Harry. Unfortunately, there was no way for her to take it back. All she could do was wait, and hope she could fix things when the boy returned to Hogwarts.

A faint crack signaled the entrance of her house-elf. "Mistress?" She turned slowly towards her.

"Yes, Baize?"

"An owl arrived for Mistress. Will Mistress be wanting tea while she reads?" Minerva blinked at the small creature and nodded absently as she accepted the letter. The envelope was very plain, had no crest to denote which family had sent it, and was made of paper instead of parchment. One of her muggle-borns, than…or, perhaps, Harry's aunt? There was no point in putting it off, she supposed, opening the envelope and removing the thin letter.

Minerva's mother had once told her that you could tell a lot about a person by looking at the parchment they used for letters. That idea was something that had stayed with her over the years, and something she considered when reading the replies sent by the first years and their families. She remembered that Lily Evans had used simple lined paper for her response; impersonal and indifferent. Quite different from the delicate, pale blue stationary that Petunia had used in her letter to Dumbledore all those years ago.

It seemed that her taste in stationary had survived the years.

Now, however, was not the time for such musings. One of her lions needed her.

Professor McGonagall,

There is something wrong. Harry has just – he's in shock, I think. He keeps muttering that he "isn't like him." I don't know what to do.

Please, you must help him!

Petunia