A/N: Random little story I already had on my harrypotterfanfiction page. But I supposed that I should probably add it here too. Nice little break from my Inuyasha story. Hope you enjoy it. PS, lyrics to "I Hear Thunder" song should be sung to that French "Frere Jacques" tune.
I Hear Thunder
11:50 pm. Loneliness.
The wind howled mournfully outside and seeped into the shack, saturating the air with cold. An angry, watery lash whipped the windows, making them rattle with a vengeance. Flashes of lightning lit the room, and cracks of thunder shook the floor.
Petunia shivered under a thin cover. The cold touched her bones with a finger of ice. Vernon snored noisily next to her, facing the other way. It was terribly uncomfortable on the old mattress, hard and filled with odd lumps. She could not possibly sleep.
It was a strange place to be, out in the middle of a freezing gray lake, far away from home. She twisted around. There was a sudden glare of brightness, sharp on the back of her eyelids. She opened her eyes. Lightening had flashed, and the room was bathed in silvery light for a half moment. Pretty. She had not noticed many pretty things for a long time. Almost subconsciously, she counted for the thunder, like she did when she was little. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand…a growl of thunder rolled in, almost gently. The corners of her lips lifted slightly. She remembered.
I hear thunder, I hear thunder. Hark, don't you? Hark, don't you?
Petunia lay still under her blankets, her chubby, child fists curling around the edge. Lily was singing softly, half to her sister, half to herself. It was a nursery song, sung to the tune of Frere Jacques. Their mother had sung it to them as a lullaby.
Lily paused for a moment. "You know, if you count the seconds between the lightening and the thunder, that's how many miles away the thunder is?" She propped herself up on her elbow and looked matter-of-fact. "Mum said so." She looked at the ensuing storm through the window. "Let's try it, Pet."
Petunia pushed herself up, and the two little girls put their heads together and waited for a flash of lightening. One with blonde curls, and one with reddish, copper curls, holding their breath.
A burst of light filled their room. Petunia squealed, but Lily, cool-headed and older, shushed her gently. Together, they chanted the seconds like a little song. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand.
Crash. Petunia clapped her tiny hands happily. Lily settled back under the covers, satisfied. "That means the thunder is three miles away." Petunia looked wide-eyed at her smart older sister. Lily wrapped one of her bright coppery curls around her finger and began singing again.
Pitter patter raindrops, pitter patter raindrops. I'm wet through. So are you.
11:55 pm.
Oh yes, Petunia remembered. Her sister, Lily. The flower sisters, Mum called them. Petunia had admired Lily when she was little. She felt a sudden pinch in her heart. She wished that it had lasted. They were too different to be together much. Lily was clever and witty, quite outgoing, while Petunia preferred to stay at home, reading or daydreaming.
Perhaps it would have been alright if Mum was there for her, but she never was. Mum and Lily were close, and there never seemed to be room for Petunia. Mum loved attention and hosted many parties. Lily took after her. Mum could not understand why Petunia liked being by herself. It especially vexed Mum when Petunia would hide upstairs during one of the social gatherings, and Mum had to explain her away.
Dad was quiet. He always went along with what Mum said. He did not talk. Not to Lily or to Petunia. He discussed matters with Mum, and that was the extent of his conversations. He went outside when there were parties, and no one knew where he went during his retreats. The family was a no-nonsense, mind your own business sort. Questions about personal life were frowned upon. Petunia never did know much about her parents or her grandparents, who died when the girls were two. Lily never seemed inclined to ask. She did what she was told. Mum liked that.
The rain subsided slightly outside, or at least the hard plops of raindrops against tattered roof were lesser and longer in between. Petunia slipped out of bed, careful to not disturb her slumbering husband, and slowly wandered toward the window. The clouds had parted. The barest sliver of moon peaked out, luminous and lovely. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth on her heels, savoring the moonlight that washed over her.
"Petunia! Where are you?"
Petunia started. Mum's angry voice floated up from downstairs. The thin blonde girl stood and rushed toward the door. Too late. She could hear Mum stomping up the stairs in a rage. Petunia composed herself as best she could and smoothed the front of her flowered dress. She clasped her hands quietly in front of her, clutching her purple notebook tightly in her hand, and cast her eyes downwards. Not a moment later, the door flew open to reveal Mum's furiously red face, her lips twisted in a menacing growl.
"Why can't you come downstairs and show yourself!" she demanded. Petunia stood stock still, not daring to move. "Why do I always have to pretend like I only have one daughter, like my other one is always sick with something? What do you want me to tell them? Huh? I'm running out of ideas, Petunia! I'm running out of things to tell them!" She paused to take in a deep breath. "I told you that there was a dinner party today. I told you! I bought you an expensive sprigged calico dress and put up your hair. I explicitly told you that you were to be downstairs at a quarter till. But you 'forgot' again, didn't you! You knew I couldn't implore you to come while the guests were there! Well, I simply cannot believe that you would be so selfish. And it is not the first time, Petunia! You did the same thing last week. You promised that you would do good this time! I'm tired of your excuses and complaints, if you can't stand company, perhaps I should just lock you up here all the time. You wouldn't miss me anyway!"
Mum had angry tears running down her red cheeks. Petunia knew that she was easily upset, but Petunia was absolutely terrified near strangers. Why couldn't Mum understand? It was like when people were around, her head would spin and her mouth grow dry and her lungs refuse to take in air. She could not be around people. It made her faint and ill. Mum never took her to a certified doctor, saying that they were "untrustworthy." And she thought that Petunia was feigning it.
It startled Petunia when Mum jerked her arm forward. In one swift motion, she grabbed the notebook Petunia had clenched in her fist. A strangled cry broke from Petunia's throat. "Don't, Mum!" she screamed. Mum took the notebook filled with her daughter's secret writings and ripped it down its length. "There!" she shouted. "That's what I think! I don't want you wasting your time on your stupid little endeavors anymore!" She threw the ruined halves of the notebook onto the light blue bedspread. "You need to spend more time with children, with people, not wrapped up all the time in your own little dreamy world." She turned on her heel to go. Glancing backward, she said harshly, "You'll thank me for this later."
The door slammed closed, a hard, cold sound. Petunia sank slowly to the ground, her small white hands twisting in her lap. Hot, wet tears ran down her face, and she made no move to wipe them away. The small purple notebook was in two pieces, on different sides of the bed. The top half lay next to the headboard, the pages rumpled and torn. It lay there, the paper twisted to awkward angles, like a victim of war. It looked lonely. The bottom half, the smaller half, lay at the foot of the bed, open to a certain page, ripped unceremoniously in a jagged line. On the page was a drawing of a flower. A petunia. But the petunia was torn, for that was where the page had ripped.
Petunia picked up the bottom half of her notebook and stared at the flower. It was drawn prettily, each petal carefully considered for the most aesthetic position. It was colored, with a red ink pen. The center of the flower was a darker crimson, gradually brightening to an almost orangey red on the edges. As she watched, a single crystal tear dropped and made an audible plop onto the very core of the petunia. The petunia absorbed the tear slowly, and the ink began to bleed. The defined black lines of the petals softened into the flower. The petunia became one big red blotch on the page.
Petunia's eyes hardened and she wiped away her tears. She took one last glance at the now shapeless petunia flower, and threw it away. Never to look at petunias again.
11:59 pm.
Petunia's heart ached with tears. Tears that she never shed, not once again, after that incident. She wouldn't give Mum that pleasure. It hurt her that Mum didn't understand, and Lily turned a blind eye to what she did not want to see. Lily could pretend. She could pretend that everything was all right and the sun would always shine on her. And it was true. The sun would always shine on Lily. But Petunia could not pretend. She could not imagine away the pain, could not put on a smiling face every day. She could not do it.
12:00 pm. BOOM.
Petunia's eyes snapped open. The door outside was shaking and trembling. Someone was outside. Someone was beating it with enormous fists. The door shuddered once again.
Vernon sat up, his eyes wide with fear. "Who is it?" he whispered hoarsely, his tongue still thick and sloppy from sleep. Petunia turned to face him. "You know who it is," she said flatly. "You can't run from them. They will always find you." Like they found Lily, she thought. They found her.
Petunia vividly recalled the day that Lily had received the letter. The letter. They wanted her. They. They and the letter. Petunia never spoke of who They were and the contents of The Letter. She remembered how happy Lily was, and how surprised and delighted Mum was. But what about Petunia? Was there something for her?
Petunia's pale hands shuffled frantically through the pile of letters. She paused. She could hear Lily's excited squeal from the other room. She could hear Mum's voice, shrill with happiness. She turned back to the task at hand. There had to be one for her. Where was it? She tossed the letters to and fro. They fluttered like large feathers, gently settling to the ground. Petunia stood there, still. And there was no letter for her.
No. There was nothing for her. Was there ever anything for her?
Vernon scurried out from under the covers. His face was white. He bent down jerkily and reached for something under the bed. When he straightened, he held a rifle in his hands. His mouth was set in a resolute grimace. "I'm ready," he said stubbornly. She took his hand and squeezed it gently. She would not be afraid.
Slowly, they made their way out to the main room, where Harry was sitting up on the ground, and Dudley was shivering from head to foot. The door was still quaking from an unseen force.
Vernon gathered all of his height and stood tall. "Who's there?" he called out. There was no answer, but the door continued to be assaulted. "I warn you—I'm armed!" Petunia was not listening to her husband babble about uselessly. She knew what she was facing, and Vernon did not. It did not matter that Vernon was a large, strong man. It was apparent that the figure attacking the door was larger and stronger. It most certainly did not matter that he had a rifle. They had something far more powerful. They had magic.
Lily was home at last. She was humming a pretty song, a song that Petunia had never heard before. Lily was always singing or humming something. Lily sat at her bed and scribbled away at something happily. Petunia watched her silently. After the parchment was filled with writing, Lily blew on it gently to dry the ink. Then she strode over to the gilt cage where a stately barn owl roosted. Petunia felt a twinge of envy. Mum had never let them have pets until Lily said she needed an owl. Lily had remarked that it was not a pet, but a necessity, to Her world. But Petunia had seen her feeding the owl and cooing softly to it.
Lily coaxed the owl to hop onto her arm, and she stroked its feathery head. She rolled up her parchment and tied it to the owl's leg. Lily told it where to go. The owl turned its heart-shaped face toward its owner, as if it were really listening. But it couldn't be, could it? Animals can't understand humans, Petunia thought. But there it was, flying through the window, to some destination that Lily had commanded.
Petunia felt that she had a million things to tell her sister, a million things about what had happened when she was away at her strange, magical school. But the words caught in her throat. Here was someone new. Someone with an air of confidence and a sheen of happiness that she had never before seen in Lily. And Petunia did not do well with strangers.
Lily looked benevolently at Petunia. Why is she looking at me that way, Petunia thought. She is looking at me indulgently, as if I am a little girl that does not understand the way the world is, and she must teach me. Why?
"Do you want to see something, Pet?" Lily asked. Her voice was different. Softer and more assured. But it was Lily. She had called Petunia, Pet. And that was the name that only she knew. Lily's eyes smiled secrets, and the green was a darker, more emerald green. A more mature green, not the spicy, spunky green of her childhood.
Lily produced a polished wooden stick. She held it in her hands reverently, assuredly. Her elegant wrist flicked quietly, and there, suddenly in her hand, was a teacup. It was a nice teacup, pretty and blue-flowered, like the teacups Mum kept for special occasions like Christmas. Petunia's eyes were wide with wonder, like they were when she was a child.
"Shhhh," Lily giggled, though Petunia had not made a sound. "I'm not supposed to do magic during the summer. But I learned a new spell. All by myself," she said, glowing with pride. She flicked her wrist again, and light blue glitter filled the room. It was suspended in the air for the barest moment and then fluttered out the room and disappeared. "Now the Ministry won't know. It's a Masking spell. It masks any magic that I do. Aren't I the clever one?" she burst into peals of girlish laughter.
"Here. I'll do something else," she said after her burbles of laughter subsided. She waved the stick again, and the teacup was transformed into baby mouse. The little mouse had tiny black bead eyes and a wriggling pink nose. It breathed softly. Petunia made a small sound of surprise. She reached out to touch the little mouse with her finger. She saw her finger nearing it, but just as her hand was about to touch it, it disappeared. Lily laughed. "See? See what I can do!"
Petunia was silent. "Where did it go?" she whispered. Lily shrugged. "I don't know. It disappeared." Petunia insisted. "It had to go somewhere. Where did you put it?"
Lily tapped her foot impatiently. "I don't know. It never existed. It was just a figment of magic, something unreal." Humming, she slid off the bed and ran out of the room, her red curls bouncing. They were darker now, too, Petunia noticed.
It wasn't true. Petunia had seen it herself. The baby mouse, breathing, live as any of them. A living, breathing creature. How could it just go away without a trace? How could her sister treat the animal like it was her little plaything? And what was to prevent Lily from producing something truly terrible, like a poisonous snake? What if Lily became angry and in her anger, produced a dagger, or something horrid like that?
Petunia shivered. Magic was dangerous and malevolent. She did not like it.
CRASH. The door flew off its hinges, and an the enormous silhouette filled the doorway. He stepped in. Petunia looked up into his face. It was hairy and uncouth. He looked around. She could hardly read his expression behind the wild beard, but his eyes expressed disgruntlement.
He spoke, his voice growly and low. "Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…" His voice trailed off. His eyes were fixed on the door that had blown across the room. He grasped it in his strong hands and easily jammed it back into the frame.
He strode over to the couch were Dudley was sitting and quite rudely told him to move. Petunia stiffened. Vernon was oddly silent. The massive man turned his attention toward Harry. "An' here's Harry!" he bellowed, but anyone could tell he was pleased.
Vernon tried to summon courage once more. "I demand that you leave at once, sir! You are breaking and entering!" he demanded pompously. The giant disregarded him completely, with a few rude comments under his breath, which Petunia could not quite catch. She was frozen, not with fear, but simply frozen, as if just a spectator of what was happening in front of her eyes. She watched as the giant chatted amicably with Harry, who was still pale with a terror that was only slowly subsiding. The giant prepared a fire, so quickly that Petunia did not know how he had done it. He set on a kettle of tea and some sausages. The delicious smell of fresh food filled the shack and Harry scrambled upon the food, starving.
Petunia was seemingly not paying attention anymore. It was all so dreamlike, so unreal. There could not be an enormous man talking to Harry about Lily and James. There could not be. After all these years of trying to forget, how dare he bring it all back? Petunia refused to register it in her mind. Her pretty sister and her handsome fiancé.
"Mum! I'm home!" Lily's voice called, light and airy. Mum rushed downstairs and enveloped her daughter in a warm hug. Her hair was streaked with silver now, and thinning with age.
In the kitchen, Petunia wiped her hands on a towel and removed her apron. She ventured to the front door. Mum was deliriously joyous, and tears were leaking out of her eyes. Next to Lily, a tall young man stood. He looked a little shy, his black hair messy, his hazel eyes happy, and his expression of the utmost politeness. Petunia thought he looked positively dashing.
"Mum, Petunia. This is my fiancé, James," she said, blushing furiously, but it made her all the prettier. Petunia remembered last summer, when Lily was bubbling about James all the time, so much that Petunia was rather sick of it. But she could see why now. James was enormously good-looking. At least, more so than those drab, silly boys that Petunia met at school. He appeared intelligent and good-humored as well. She felt that familiar pinch of jealousy welling up from deep inside her. She fought hard to suppress it. This was Lily's moment. She should be pleased for her sister.
Mum threw herself upon him, and he looked embarrassed as he patted her awkwardly on the back. After Mum had released her strangulating grip on him, he extended his hand toward Petunia, saying "You must be Lily's sister."
Petunia smiled vaguely. She nodded slowly. His face was spinning, everything was spinning. She stumbled. The ground seemed to be trying to shake her off of it. James caught her elbow, but she could no longer see his expression. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered that she did not do well with strangers, especially with this handsome, polite stranger. That thought swirled into oblivion as she felt herself collapse into a gentle but firm embrace.
Petunia heard the comforting rumble of murmurs in her ears. Groggily, she opened her eyes. The bleary outlines of Mum, Lily, and James met her. Mum had her hand on Petunia's forehead. Lily sat back, staring at Petunia, a slight look of annoyance in her eyes.
James smiled. "Awake, are you? Had us worried for quite a bit, you did. Heartless thing." His words were scolding, but his eyes were soft and teasing. Lily cracked an unconvincing grin. "Well. Gotten past your little faint, have you? Good," she remarked. But she did not sound happy. She turned to James with a bright smile on her pretty, flushed face. "She has nervous problems when she is around strangers." Lily had her face arranged like a pitying angel, but her voice had an edge of anger. James nodded, his face turned on Petunia's with pity as well.
Petunia could not stand it. They looked at her like she was a poor, ignorant child who needed the care of betters. She didn't want their silly, stupid pity. She didn't want to always be treated like a little girl, like the baby of the family, like the fragile, delicate one. She could perfectly well take care of herself, thank you. And Lily could go off and be happy with her silly, moonstruck fiancé, get married, and have a whole passel of hateful children. She, Petunia, would have no part of it. She didn't care if she ever saw her horrid family again. She would go off and get married herself, without approval of her Mum, controlling, life-strangling Mum. And Petunia's husband would have gumption and character, not be like a dreamy, infatuated schoolboy.
She jumped up, startling everybody. "No!" she screamed, as loud as she possibly could. "I can do by myself. I don't need all your hateful, hateful pity. I don't want all your flattering smiles, your cookie cutter comforts! Don't give me that stupid confused look! Go away! I don't ever want to see any of you again! Do you hear me? I'm never, ever coming back, for as long as I live!"
Without waiting for a response, she rushed off, getting a grim, but delicious satisfaction from their dumbstruck, stunned expressions.
And I did it, Petunia thought with a surge of self-deserving pride. After a whirlwind relationship of two months, Petunia and Vernon got married. He never asked why she was so desperate to marry quickly. He was shocked that he had married her at all. She was the belle of society, and everyone sought her hand.
Oh yes, Petunia had once been quite pretty. She looked like a delicate angel, with pale blonde curls, porcelain-white skin, and light gray eyes. But the years of difficult marriage had hardened her expression, thinned her rounded face, and brought out the prominent cheekbones. After five years of marriage, she looked like an old maid, fallen on hard times.
And never, never, did she seek out her sister Lily. She was true to her word. She did not want to see her giggly, over-confident sister and her husband, who looked as if he had been hit in the head with a frying pan when he was around Lily. Petunia was also perfectly obstinate when it came to meeting her mother. She did not want to see Mum, ever again. And she hardened her heart against everything.
Then there came the wonderful time when Petunia was blissfully pregnant with Dudley. She was deliriously happy. She was convinced that she would only have one child, so she could lavish all her attention on him or her. Her baby would never have to know the discomforts of being overlooked for a sibling. Her baby would get everything that Petunia could provide.
And Lily had ruined it all. Somehow, she had gotten a hold of Petunia and Vernon's address. And she had written to them. Lily wrote that she was pregnant, and everything was perfect, and would Petunia please come see her? Petunia could have wept with anger. So Lily had to wreck it again, did she? No, Petunia would not go see her. She did not want to see her pretty sister, big with child, rosy with pure joy. She did not want to see Lily's proud smirk at besting her again. Petunia did not respond to the letter, and Lily did not write again.
The sullen voice of the hairy giant bored into Petunia's head.
"Yeh don't know what yeh are?" he asked incredulously of Harry. Vernon stirred next to her. Petunia suddenly noticed that his rifle was in a knot in the corner. She shifted uncomfortably. Vernon sucked in a breath and spoke. "Stop! Stop right there, sir! I forbid you tell the boy anything!"
Petunia wondered vaguely why Vernon was so stubborn in telling Harry what he really was. What does it matter, now, she thought. Harry will know someday anyway. Why not tell him what his horrid ancestry is? Of course, nothing will convince him that Lily and James were not perfect heroes. Nothing will convince him that they were both silly dreamers. The whole society. Magic could not work. Think of all the criminals, and the wars. What people could do, with magic! Petunia was furiously thinking this while the giant bellowed.
"You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from him all these years?"
Don't be stupid, Petunia was thinking angrily. Of course I kept it from him! What was I supposed to tell him? That his parents were blown to bits by a dark wizard who had taken a stab at him too? It would destroy him! He would hate magic till the end of the world! Do you really think that he would go to this hobgoblin school of yours if I had told him what I knew? Really, you are so damned stupid!
Vernon was screaming indiscriminately now. "STOP! I FORBID YOU!" Petunia sucked in her breath, preparing for the moment of truth. No, she suddenly decided. I don't want to hear this ignoramus blubber about, telling Harry a whole bunch of glorifications of magic. I don't want to hear it. Petunia was bubbling over with fury and pain. She remembered when Harry had come, and she had quite done her best in consideration of the idiotic blundering of these magic folk.
Petunia awoke early in the morning. Earlier than both Vernon and her new baby son, Dudley. Her heart swelled with love when she thought of Dudley. He was her boy, the most perfect little boy in the world. She crept to the side of his cradle and watched him slumber for a few moments. She bent over and brushed his plump cheek with her thin lips.
Straightening, she sighed. Another day, she thought. Another boring, gray, useless day that ends in more sleep. She went downstairs and got the two empty milk bottles. Oh milk. It seemed as if there was always a need for milk. She went to the front door and opened it to put them out.
There was a bundle of cloth on the front step, with a small head peeping out of it. She stared at it dumbly. It was a baby to be sure, but it did not register with her immediately. She opened her mouth in a small O. Then she screamed. Screamed enormously loudly. Vernon came running down the stairs in his night clothes. His face was pale with fear and he was shouting, "What's wrong, sweet, what's wrong?"
It was hard to remember from then on. She remembered thinking about how crude it was to set the baby down on the hard stone steps for an entire night. The least that silly, good-for-nothing could have done was wake me when he got here, she thought indignantly. Leaving a poor baby out in the cold, how terrible!
And she read his stiff, formal letter. It was long and tedious and described what had happened in horrible detail. She suddenly regretted not going to see her sister, not saying sorry. And Petunia sat on the couch and cried, with little Harry on the crook of her arm.
Vernon was shouting next to her, shouting about some rubbish that he had apparently made up on the spot. It was too painful to breach the wound that had closed. How carefully they had kept the secret from Harry, as to make him ready to learn magic when the time came. Petunia hated magic well enough, but she knew that Harry would have to leave when The Letter came. Vernon was yelling something about stamping magic out of Harry. Rubbish, Petunia thought.
And Harry turned on his aunt and looked at her with hurt green eyes, whispering, "You knew? You knew I'm a—a wizard?"
And that was it. Petunia could not bear to see her sister's emerald eyes looking at he with innocent pain and confusion. She absolutely despised that hateful, ugly old giant who had ruined her family and left her with nothing but broken shards. She wanted to scream out the truth and cry like a little girl. She felt righteous fury rushing up from the pit of her stomach into her throat, so thick that she was choking. All right, she screamed in her head. I will tell them all the pain I have ever felt, and they can hate me. I don't care! Everyone wants to hate me, and I will let them! I'll tell you, oh dear God, I'll tell you!
And then she was shrieking with pain and passionate rage, "Knew! Knew!" she spat. "Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that—that school and came home every vacation with pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was—a freak! But my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"
She paused to take in a quavering breath. Her heart pulsed with untold pains and her throat constricted. But she went on. "Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as—as—abnormal—and then, if you please, and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"
It was only then that she collapsed from effort. Like a little child, she sat on the ground and put her face in her hands. The giant and Harry continued to rant and talk and Vernon injected his opinion every now and then. But Petunia was done. No more talking, no more baring her soul out to every hateful being. She felt strangely numb and light. Her head spun.
She was crying, but no one noticed. Tears were streaming thick and fast down her cheeks, and no one cared. No one was there to comfort her and wipe away the pearls of her eyes. Oh it was all stupid, stupid Lily's fault. She and her stupid, damned magic had ruined Petunia's entire life. No, she would not be sorry that Lily had gotten herself blown up by some magical villain.
She was silent for a long while, but she did not listen to the anger and revelation that was going on just beyond her. It did not interest her anymore.
It seemed as if she were asleep for nearly half an hour, when Vernon jumped up and screamed. Really screamed with fear and rage. Petunia looked up, and Dudley was clutching his rear end, and shrieking with pure fright. Petunia knew that that brute had done something to hurt her little boy. It pierced her heart to know that she could not do anything. She was a frail, helpless woman, and he was a enormously frightening giant with magic. Oh magic, plague of her life, bringer of her sister's death, curse of the world. She would hate it forever.
She led her precious, whimpering Dudley into the bedroom, and Vernon slammed the door with all his might.
Thunder rumbled again, and she felt soaked, weighed down with all the heaviness of ache and fear. Oh so wet and tired, she thought.
I hear thunder, I hear thunder. Hark don't you? Hark don't you? Pitter patter raindrops, pitter patter raindrops. I'm wet through. So are you.