Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, just the idea. Really if it was mine, would I be screwing around on fanfiction?
Petunia Dursley knew something was wrong the moment she woke up that morning. There was this tight, uneasy feeling in her chest that was confirmed when she went down stairs. The kitchen window had been left open during the night to release some of the lingering summer heat from the house and now lying on the sill was the body of a dear old friend. Petunia choked back tears as best she could as she looked at him, smoothing down the old bird's crumpled feathers and moving to cradle him in her arms. The bird had once been a majestic animal with glossy calico feathers and frightening yellow eyes. Behind the ever present scowl the Great Horned Owl had been fairly good tempered, hand feed from the time he was a fuzzy little chick, he'd only snap at you if you greatly pestered him. Feeling a little lost, she reached out and stroked his friend's feathered head. The equally old, gray, Scops Owl didn't have long left in her life either, but she took the time to mourn her companion. Petunia feared the day when Angel failed to return home for breakfast, for then she would truly have nothing left of her sister than the boy who they'd finally granted a bedroom upstairs.
"Aunt Petunia?" As if by magic (a rarely used expression in her household) the aforementioned boy was there, giving her a questioning look and eying the owl in her arms.
"Harry," She let the surprise creep into her voice, the she glanced down at her feathered companion, "This was my owl."
"Your owl?" The nearly thirteen year old echoed, confused.
She nodded, "I used to write an awful lot of letters to your mother when she was at school and I got tired of always waiting to tell her things until she sent Angel," She nodded to the owl sitting on the sill, "When she was just about your age, her and some friends pooled their money together and bought my own. His name was Mozart."
"What happened to him?" Harry frowned.
"He was old," she admitted, "On his last legs. Angel is to now, I guess I'll be owl-less before too long. I never... I just always thought I'd have one."
"I'm sorry." Harry said truthfully, bowing his head. Harry and Petunia buried Mozart in the garden before Dudley and Vernon awoke that morning. Harry watched his aunt hold herself together and act normal all through breakfast. She smiled and laughed, waved good-bye to Vernon and kissed Dudley's cheek as he left to hang out with his friends. The whole ordeal had seemed to have left her run down and tired out so, at Harry's suggestion, she headed back up stairs to take a nap. As soon as she was up the stairs, Harry bolted out the front door. He knew he had to time this precisely if he wanted to get back before Uncle Vernon or Dudley.
Petunia woke up feeling physically refreshed, but empty, her life was lacking now that her shy but friendly owl wasn't hanging around her bedroom window, hooting at her to make sure she wasn't ill. Angel was there, circling far above the house, but she'd never connected with her sister's owl the way she had her own. Frustrated with her misfortune, she stomped down the stairs in search of her nephew, confused to why he'd yet to do his chores. She was annoyed when she was unable to find him, but feeling too fatigued to be truly angry, she simply began washing up the breakfast dishes. Half way through the task, her wayward nephew came bumbling back into the house. She frowned with curiosity rather than anger, "Where have you been?"
"Sorry Aunt Petunia," He looked sheepish, "I needed to go out. I got you something."
She was taken aback, her underfed, neglected nephew whom she'd never done anything for had gotten her something. She voiced her thoughts, "Me? You got me something?"
He nodded eagerly, "I wanted to get something to cheer you up. I hope you'll like it."
Petunia stared as the boy lifted a large familiarly shaped object onto the counter and pulled the cover off, "Oh Harry!"
Her "present" was a beautiful, young barn owl with a curious face and intelligent black eyes. He blushed a little, not used to receiving positive reactions from the only real mother figure he'd ever had, "The man at the shop said her name is Athena."
"She's beautiful." Petunia hesitated before she walked around the counter and enveloped her nephew in a hug, "Thank you."
Harry hesitated, unsure of what to do, before he hugged her back, "You're welcome."
"Now," she smiled, pulling away gently, "What do you say we let her and Hedwig out for some fun before Vernon and Dudley get home."
Nephew and aunt smiled at each other for a moment, both holding on to the futile hope that maybe things could be different between them now, but they knew better. Vernon would still treat Harry like dirt and Petunia would still turn a blind eye, not because she hated him, but because when she looked at him, she saw what everyone else saw. He looked just like his father, but he had his mother's eyes.
Just a quick little thing that popped into my mind. This might later go with a story I'm working on where Petunia is also a witch, but that could take some time. Thanks for reading ~ Tygger