AN: I guess I really love turning characters that are normally hated into good people. Kinda like I wanna do with the rest of the world. Anyhow, please enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Harry Potter. JK Rowling made an amazing world which I love, and I would never pretend to own it.
Petunia Dursley sat in her mid-sized bathroom, fretting over the circumstances of her life.
That boy... How could she have let things spin out of control, get this far out of hand? He was just a boy, and she had no idea where he was now; he could be getting killed. She was supposed to be his guardian; she was supposed to protect him from these things. She was letting her sister down.
Lily... Oh, how she missed her little sister. She'd shunned her all through their teenage years, right up to the day she was killed. Looking back on it all now, Petunia wished she'd been brave enough to tell her sister that she was jealous. They would have been saved so much heartache and pain - Petunia remembered seeing her sister off every year, watching her sister's sad eyes ride off into the distance, wishing Petunia wouldn't call her a freak. She remembered the happiness and cheer when Lily came home for the holidays, how the girl would gush about school and Petunia would - in hiding her ultimate interest - snip at her and call her a freak once more.
Lily never lost that spark, that light that surrounded her. The day Harry was found on her doorstep, a letter beside him, she couldn't help but remember all the brilliant times from when they were children; all the times when Lily would smile and laugh when they were teens. She'd wallowed in the memories of her little sister's wedding day, seeing her pledge her life to James Potter - how she'd felt the twinge of pride that her sister had found her life's partner. How she'd been jealous when mum and dad had gushed over baby Harry when her own little Dudly sat just next to him on the sitting room floor. How Lily had attempted to console her when their parents had passed away.
And there was her sister's one year old boy, dropped off at her home in suburban England in the middle of the night. She had fretted secretly over him, pretending to take trips to the bathroom in the dead of night to check on the boy, to make sure that her sister's killer didn't come back for him and steal him away, as well. Vernon would never understand how she cared so much for a magical child, how she could stand the abnormality. And so, she never let Vernon see her care. She showered Dudley in attention and gifts; she left Harry with nothing more than the ratty clothes on his back and the scraps of food her own son left. But while she treated her own son like a king, she watched Harry. She saw the same spark she'd attributed to her sister in her son's matching eyes. She prayed every night for the boy's welfare and refused to tell him the horrific truth of his parents' death - she would not subject a boy to that horror, nor the terror that would surely follow. She wouldn't be able to console him when he became frightened of the murderer - it would not be allowed by Vernon.
She had raised the boy wrong. No matter her intentions - she'd been wrong, she'd done wrong by little Harry. She'd treated him as Vernon had - as though he didn't belong. She'd lied to him and left him with nowhere to be himself but a cupboard under the stairs. She'd never told him what he was, and she'd allowed Vernon's cruel punishment for the things she knew the boy couldn't help. She'd never let him see a single picture of his mother, though she told him frequently that he looked nothing like her. She never told him that he looked just like his noble father, who'd given his life to protect Lily. She'd never let on that her sister's eyes had been the same beautiful emerald green. She had done nothing good for the boy in the entirety of his stay here in her home.
She glanced out the high window at the darkening sky.
And now that boy was gone. He'd grown into the same courageous spirit that had resided in her sister and her husband, and he'd walked out of Petunia's home after blowing up Marge. Petunia couldn't feel too bad for the woman, as the letter in her hand stated that the woman would be found as quickly as possible and put right, left with no memory of the incident. Not that it mattered, Petunia hated the woman. She was revolting, really, and Petunia looked forward to her visits no more than Harry did.
The letter had been delivered by hand, much to Vernon's chagrin. The little old wizard had popped into existence - Petunia remembered when Lily had passed her Apparition test - in her backyard, sending Vernon upstairs where he locked himself and Dudders in their bedroom. She spoke with the wizard, who was kind enough to tell her that Harry would most certainly not be expelled for this display of accidental magic - she couldn't bear the idea of what would happen to him if he was stuck here all year round. She'd asked, in a lowered voice, if he could find Harry. The man's shock had registered on his face when she'd assured him that Harry wasn't at the house with them. She told him that he'd run off with his school trunk, wand in hand, and the man nodded as he assured her that they would find him as soon as possible. For once, she was glad of the legacy that had been left to the boy - it meant that the entire wizarding world would stop at nothing to find him. She couldn't bear the idea of what would happen to him on his own, and she headed inside.
Telling Vernon that the man was gone and Marge would return soon - she avoided using words pertaining to the 'abnormality' of it all - before she did anything else, she headed back downstairs to clean up the mess in the kitchen. She turned off the televisions and set the plates in the sink to soak. She heard the telly in the living room turn on and knew that her husband and son would be distracted for a while. After cleaning the remnants of dinner from the room, she clutched the letter in her hand and traipsed wearily up the stairs and down the hall, to the bathroom where she now resided.
How could she have done this? To Harry, and by association, to his mother. How could she treat her sister's son, her nephew - her own flesh and blood - this way? How could she have allowed Vernon and Dudley to treat him the way they did? How did she ever dare to let on as though she didn't love Harry? She was his aunt, his only family, and she had let him believe all these years, that there was nobody in the world to love him, to care if something were to happen to him. It was her fault that he'd run away, her fault that he was missing now. Everything was her fault, and her hands caught her face as she began to quietly sob.
After a half hour of crying and a hot shower that made her feel more tired than rejuvenated, she was alarmed by a loud scuffling up the stairs. She stepped out of her room, redressed, just as Dudley ran past, springing into his room and slamming the door behind him. She turned her head back to the stairs as Vernon appeared at the top. He stopped just long enough to speak to her before slamming their bedroom door behind him.
"It was your sister, you deal with him."
She hurried down the stairs, intent on quietly apologizing for all the wrong she'd done. The relief on her face disappeared as she realized that it wasn't Harry Potter that sat in her living room. The same old wizard from her backyard sat waiting for her, his expression rather cooler than the first time they'd spoken. She stood in the doorway to the room, unsure of what his return meant and what she should do. He saved her the trouble, standing on his own.
"Mr. Potter has been found. He'll be staying at the Leaky Cauldron, Miss Dursley." He nodded abruptly, waiting for her to nod in reply, a small 'thank you' accepted just before he popped back out of her house. She sighed, resting her head on the wall before heading back up the stairs to kiss Dudley goodnight. She stopped at Harry's room - he'd left the light on, his sparse belongings scattered about in his haste to leave. She sighed, staring at an abandoned Gryffindor flag on his desk - no doubt from some broomstick game, like those his father had been so fond of. She glanced at the open window, noticing that he hadn't shut it after Hedwig's night out. She stepped back into the hall, leaving the room just as he had left it. She knew that he was unlikely to return tonight - or at all before next year - but she couldn't bear to change the state of his room. Even if it was a fruitless gesture, she needed to make one gesture of acceptance to Harry.
She settled into bed, relieved that Harry would be okay for the time being. She could always write him, or wait until he returned from school next summer to tell him that she was sorry for treating him the way she had. Falling asleep, she repeated to herself that her sister's son, a tough and brave Gryffindor just like his parents, would survive the rest of the summer on his own.
AN: So, this wasn't even the time that I originally wanted Petunia to be thinking about Harry(I wanted it in the first book), but I think it turned out a LOT better than the original would've. Plus, I imagine that Petunia wouldn't actually like Marge - she's way too rude, nothing like a lady, and blatantly insults her sister. Even if you hate your sister, nobody insults your family but you. Anyways, I really hope you enjoyed this, please review and tell me what you think!