Title: The Dead Man is Gone
Author: pinkparanoia
Summary: Vernon dies before Harry leaves for Hogwarts, and things change.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, don't own his world, and don't own anything else, either. Unfortunately.
Chapter 1: Love Never Dies
Petunia came awake with a jerk. It took her a minute to identify the soft whimpers that had woken her up, because they weren't coming from Dudley's crib at the foot of the bed, they were coming from Harry's crib over by the open window. The curtains shifted a little in the wind, and suddenly she realized it was raining, and the drumming sound in the background was the rain falling on the roof and going down the gutters. In his sleep, Vernon snorted and rolled over. When he moved, she could see his stomach jiggle a little through the sheets. We're getting older, she thought absently. The baby was still crying, shifting restlessly in its crib. Stupid child. He was going to wake Dudley if he kept this up.
Petunia sat there, looking at the blue sheets on their bed, speckled with patches of white streetlight filtered through the trees. The breeze smelled like rain, a smell which usually refreshed her, pushed her into action. It was too late, though, and she was too tired. She didn't want to get up, wouldn't get up. But with the rain she couldn't fall asleep. Dratted rain.
Her fingers toyed with the sheets draped over her legs, stretching the fabric over her thighs as tight as it could, until her fat bulged out from the pressure. She scratched at her face absently, cursing under her breath when she hit the cat-scratches from earlier today. Figg's cats were all horribly annoying and vicious. She waited, listening, but Harry still hadn't started crying, just kept whimpering softly. She played with her hair, clacked her teeth, watched the walls flare up with color then die back down as a car went by, its brights on in the rain. She inspected her nails carefully, checking for chips in the polish. Dudley still didn't wake, didn't need coddling. Petunia didn't have any excuse to put this off any longer. She carefully pushed the blankets aside so as to not wake Vernon, and went over to Harry's crib.
Lily's eyes looked back up at her.
Petunia had been born with watery blue eyes, the kind that were a little red around the rims, so it had always looked like she was about to cry. When combined with her mousy brown hair, before she had started dying it blond, the effect was underwhelming. Petunia had always felt distinctly uninteresting, especially compared to her older sister. Lily's eyes had always been electrifying, the kind of emerald that could usually only come from colored contacts. Hehad the same eyes, too bright to be real.
Lily had always drawn well, even when they were young girls. She had won school awards for her picture of their dog sleeping. That was what Lily drew mostly, dogs, cats, and wild animals, unicorns and dragons. She always had been fond of odd, imaginary things. The week before Lily left for school, she and Petunia spent almost every day together. On the last day, Lily had drawn a picture of them sitting on the front steps. Lily had been very kind to Petunia in that picture, and in it they looked almost exactly alike, knees bumping and smiling. Petunia hadn't thought of it for years, but the first year Lily was gone it had hung on Petunia's wall right above the dresser where she could see it every day. As Petunia had gotten older, and her big sister older too, the picture faded into the background, an image of two people that no longer existed.
Petunia breathed in shakily. She didn't know where the picture was. Was the picture still safe, hidden in the attic somewhere? She didn't know what had happened to the drawing, and somehow that was very important to her. Lily and she had never looked like sisters at any other time. Harry and Dudley would never look anything alike. Both boys looked like their fathers anyway. Where was it? Maybe Lily had had it hidden away somewhere in her old house.
Petunia had heard about the house that had exploded due to a "gas fire" the night after Harry had appeared, and she had wondered. And the picture wasn't here. She had treasured it, made for her by Lily to keep her from being lonely. Petunia remembered Lily reaching down to pick her up when she had fallen off her bike. They had read fairy tales together before bedtime. The house had seemed so empty with Lily gone; Petunia had been so left-behind and deserted.
Petunia stifled a sob (mustn't wake Vernon or Dudley, though they both slept like the dead, nothing would wake them up) and hurriedly wiped at her face, trying to get all the tears off, but she couldn't. Her face, on her cheeks, all over them, it was water. The rain was coming through the open window, and the blanket was soaked. The baby was crying, waving its arms at her in distress. It might have been crying for minutes and Petunia couldn't tell. She just didn't know how long she had let Harry sit there, wet and cold and alone. He was so tiny, so much smaller than Dudley.
Petunia pulled the window closed and picked Harry up, bouncing him up and down. Together they went to get a dry blanket, Harry's sobs fading into whimpers before finally dying down altogether. He looked up at Petunia through half-closed eyes, looking content, for now at least. Petunia carried Harry to the window and watched the rain spatter against and slide down the glass until he was completely asleep.