Wilting Petunia.
Petunia Dursley never really loved her husband. She never felt the fluttering in her stomach that so many romance novels talked about. How could she? She settled for Vernon simply because he was handsome and somewhat rich.
Was.
She stared at her plump husband from her kitchen window, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea. How did he changed so quickly? Gone was the man that she fell head over hells for. It seemed that he was swallowed by the big fat man she calls her husband now. A song was playing from the living room stereo, accompanying her melancholic thoughts in such a bright Sunday afternoon.
… Love and beauty
Should be everybody's duty…
She sighed mournfully. Her finger toyed with the edge of a cloth, itching for a cigarette. She picked up the habit two months after their honeymoon. Even in their younger years, when he was not as pudgy and boring, Vernon was domineering man. The sexist jokes that he made occasionally hinted on a chauvinistic streak. Sadly it was too late when Petunia realized how unpleasant her husband was. It wasn't long into their domestic life that petunia realized that she needed more than just strong cup of tea to help her deal with Vernon.
As horrible as cigarettes are, she didn't drop the habit for her own health. When the doctor delivered the news about her pregnancy, Petunia wasted no time and threw every pack of fags she hid throughout the house. 'This was it. My chance at happiness.' Petunia thought back then. It doesn't matter if she couldn't have the perfect husband, because she will give birth to the perfect son.
She smiled at the thought of her Dudders and turned to watch father and son play catch through the kitchen window. The boy face lit up when the ball that he threw landed on his fathers mitt. Petunia smiled in approval. She always knew that her son had a talent for… something. Maybe he will be good at sport and lose a stone or two. He certainly needed it. Petunia's hopes was again dashed as the little white ball escaped Dudley fat sausage fingers and landed squarely on his head. The boy fell on his bottom and laughed boisterously with his father.
Petunia moaned and rested her head on the cool counter. Who was she fooling? Dudley was not the perfect son she had envisioned. He is severely overweight, loud, and seems to share his father's delusion of self-grandeur. If she was honest wit herself, she rather dislike Dudley.
But how can a mother say out loud that her son was not the son that she wanted? All her life she was made that way by the mere presence of her sister. Lilly was the perfect daughter, not her. Lilly was the pretty one, not her. Lilly was the one who went to the special school, not her. She was just Petunia, plain old Petunia. She will not, nay, she will never make Dudley feel the way she did. She can swallow her disappointment and et her child grow up happy. It's the least she could offer as mother.
"Are you okay Aunt Petunia?" a small voice asked timidly from behind her.
Harry was standing on a small stepladder, elbows deep into the sink. He was doing the dishes from Sundays' lunch, and he used too much soap that the suds are overflowing the sink. His concern for her softened her heart and Petunia didn't have the heart to scold the boy. After all, he was the first person to ask about her today.
The suds kept growing, attaching itself to Harry's chin like a bread. Petunia tutted and went to up him, wave of maternal instinct taking over as she wiped the boy's chin with the edge of her apron.
"Look at you, you have bubbles all over your chin." She said softly, smoothing Harry's unruly black hair.
On days like this when Petunia feels blue and she couldn't find a cigarette, she usually treats herself to a shopping spree. That usually distracted her enough that she would forget about her problems until supper. However as she began to mother her obedient little nephew, she realized that it calms her. She felt complete when she brushed Harry's hair back and not have him pull away like Dudley does. She felt delighted when Harry politely said thank you, like a proud mother would.
Except Lilly is his mother.
Petunia stared at her nephew's back as he resumed his chores, unsure of what to make of her own self. She groaned and sat back down, forcing herself to finish her tepid tea.
"Are you I'll Aunt Petunia?"
"No.. I'm-" she stopped herself before she snapped at the boy. "I'm not sick Harry, just a little bit sad."
"Hmm…" the boy mused out loud for a moment. "Isn't that just a different kind of sick? When your body is sick, your face get red and have fever but when your feeling is sick and you become sad. That's why people say that they're blue when they're sad!"
"How absurd." Petunia said, quiet enough so the boy wouldn't hear.
"So, so, listen. If your body is sick you take medicine right? I think when your feeling is sick you should laugh! That's why the saying goes "laughter is the best medicine' right Aunt Petunia? Right?" The boy chirped up excitedly. He never get to talk this much when Uncle Vernon is around. "So…? Should I make you laugh Aunt Petunia?"
"Just what are you talking abou-" She turned, started to scold the boy for his nonsense. She was met with her ten year old nephew's face covered completely in suds.
"Ho. Ho. Ho. I am Santa Claus." He said in a deep booming voice, slapping his non-existent belly to try and jiggle it.
There was a brief moment of silence when the two simply stared at each other awkwardly. Harry was scared that Aunt petunia was going to go into one of her rants, but instead she laughed so hard that her apron became undone.
Harry, delighted that his auntie was no longer sad, took more suds and shaped it into a top hat and started singing nonsensical show tunes.
"Oh stop it you're killing me!" Petunia begged between her laughter.
Harry smiled, his eyes sparkling with delight. He never had this much fun with his aunt before. Thinking of one more clever costume he shaped a cone on top of his head.
"Abracadabra, I'm a wizard!"
Slap!
When Harry woke up, he was on the kitchen floor. His cheeks stung badly, and the floor was slippery with suds. On the far corner of the room her aunt was sobbing onto uncle Vernon's arm. Confused, he got up and tried to get closer to his Aunt.
Dudley came out of nowhere and pounded him on the arm. "You made mummy cry you freak!" He said, his purple face scrunching up in anger. "Go away!" Dudley pushed the smaller boy out of the garden.
"But…" Harry started to explain, but the glass sliding door was shut squarely on his face. "But I was just trying to help…" He muttered.
A/N: Witten for the The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Prompts used are;
Love and Beauty, By Moody Blues
Spree
Laughter is the best medicine