Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I associated in any with with Harry Potter or Warner Brothers.
It was the second funeral Harry had attended in the past eight months and the second one he had attended while wearing his Invisibility Cloak. He'd thought he was done going to these things after all he'd been through, but he was only further reminded that death was an inevitability. He stood in the back of the church for the duration, his hands folded in front of him. He remained silent as the friends and well-wishers had their say, handing over their memories to the room so they could all laugh and cry and remember together.
He tried not to wonder, as he stood silently for the duration of the wake, whether any of the speakers really meant what they were saying or if they were simply doing what was expected. He'd been to enough funerals, conducted enough interrogations, and administered enough Veritaserum in his life to be able to spot a liar pretty easily. He labeled them all as they took their turn and, sadly, only one of them seemed heartfelt.
Most were attention-seekers who had only been inviting out of courtesy, weeping only to be seen weeping. A fair number clearly didn't know enough to say more than a couple of generic lines. A few of them had a difficult time even pretending to be upset.
And then there was Vernon. Vernon was truly upset. His eulogy for his wife had been more impassioned than anything Harry had ever heard him say in the entire seventeen years he had lived with him. It made Harry begin to feel sorry for the man who had tortured him throughout his entire childhood.
Really, though, Harry hadn't come to the funeral because he was particularly upset by the death of his Aunt Petunia. He had, however, developed a higher sense of respect for death and—by extension—life, over the course of the last several years. There were worse things in the world than abusive or neglectful families, he'd discovered.
Harry had also gained a bit of insight into the fear that his aunt and uncle had possessed. He'd seen the worst side of magic—had experienced it first-hand and come back from it damaged, but still breathing.
So Harry had come to Petunia's funeral out of respect for her life and death. He waited until everyone had gone, never moving or speaking until the minister had closed the coffin and retreated to his office. Harry removed his cloak, then, and approached the casket on silent feet. He didn't open it; he didn't need to see her face to pay his respects. He simply laid his hand on the glossy, wooden surface and bowed his head briefly.
"Find peace," he said in a whisper that was almost a command.
"What…" a voice began behind him, "are you doing here?"
Harry turned slowly and looked at his uncle solidly. Harry wasn't the skinny teenager he had been the last time they'd seen each other. He wasn't scared or confused anymore.
"Don't worry," Harry said, without bitterness. "I was just leaving."
"Just… lea—You were just leaving?" Vernon burst, his face turning purple with rage. He swung an arm out at Harry, who dodged it easily and stepped around Vernon quickly.
"Yes," Harry said firmly. "I'm leaving."
He turned to leave, reaching for his cloak, but Vernon caught his attention.
"I should have killed you, boy," Vernon spat with venom. "I… should have… KILLED YOU!" he screamed, place his hands on Petunia's casket to keep his balance as though he needed physical assistance to maintain the volume of his voice.
Harry paused and turned back to his uncle. "You'd be in a lot sorer position had you killed me," Harry said.
"Oh, would I?" Vernon asked. "Would I have been any worse off in your Hell than I am in this one? Petunia, dead! Dudley, dead! My… my boy! My son, dead!"
Harry advanced, pointing his finger at Vernon. "Dudley was not my fault, Vernon, and you'll not pin that guilt on me."
"Don't feed me that bull, Potter. You bewitched him! I know it was you. DON'T LIE TO ME!"
Harry stepped forward again and grabbed his uncle by the collar. "Dudley is dead because of you, Vernon. Because you couldn't accept him! Dudley is your fault. Your fault and hers."
It was a low blow and Harry regretted it the moment he'd said it. Vernon caught him by surprise by freeing himself and delivering a right hook to Harry's jaw, sending him to the ground. Holding his jaw, Harry looked up at his uncle from the floor.
"Don't you talk about her!" Vernon screamed, pushing one accusatory finger into Harry's face.
Harry just looked at him calmly and said, "You know, I never thought either of you ever cared for anything, but you have always loved your normalcy. You always cared for each other because of your normalcy. And Dudley threatened that, didn't he?"
"SHUT UP!" Vernon roared. "You did that to him! You made him that way!"
"No one made Dudley gay, Vernon," Harry said flatly. "And no one made him kill himself. No one but his parents. And ruddy excuses for parents, you've always been. How long after his funeral did she start refusing the chemo?" he asked, getting deadly quiet. "Did she call the hospital right away, or did she wait a few days before deciding she couldn't live with what you'd done?"
"I'LL KILL YOU!" Vernon raged, reaching down to grab Harry by the neck.
"What in Heaven's name is going on here?"
Vernon turned around quickly to see the minister looking at him strangely. When he looked back down at the floor, Harry had vanished. Vernon, denied an outlet for his hatred, fell to his knees. He lifted trembling hands to his face and sobbed into them, great heaving sobs that shook his entire mass. The minister hurried over to him to lay a hand on his shoulder.
Harry, invisible once more, cursed himself for having allowed his anger at Vernon to get so out of control. He'd come in good faith and managed to provoke his uncle to violence. Well, he'd always had a knack for that.
Harry Disapparated from the Church silently.
The last thing her heard as he left was his uncle's muted cries of "My boy! M-My Dudley…"