A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Prompts below :)
Magical Law and Government Task 3: Write about a harsh punishment.
Word Count: 1984
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.
Enjoy!
She could hear him. Every minute of every day, it seemed, his little voice was in her head, driving her mad.
Petunia scrubbed at the dishes in the sink, her mouth set in a thin line. Her back was to the stairs, but she felt hyper-aware of it. This was the right thing, she told herself. It was right to squash the magic out of him, because how was she supposed to care for a magical child? The minute he was normal, the minute he was able to blend in with them, he would be out of that cupboard and in the spare bedroom. They just had to fix him first.
The hot water flowed quickly over her hands, almost hot enough to burn her. Her hands were red beneath her gloves, but she carried on doggedly, obsessed with the cleaning. Everything in her house had to be perfect. It had to reflect the state of her family—her perfect, normal family. Herself, her husband, her son—
Her eyes drifted over to the stairs again.
She shut the water off, pulling off the rubber gloves and putting them neatly in a pile on the counter. Maybe she needed to check on Dudley. It wasn't because of—him.
She climbed the stairs quickly, not pausing even though every fiber of her being screamed at her to. She went straight to her son's bedroom, opening the door just slightly and peeking in. Nothing, just silence.
Still unsettled, she crept back down the stairs, slowing as she neared the bottom. She stared at the door to the cupboard, her blue eyes tormented. They had to make him normal, squash the magic out. He'd be happier, that way. After all, after only a few years out of her magic school, Lily and her husband had both perished. Really, Petunia and Vernon were doing the boy a favor.
She could hear him; he was talking to himself in there. Eventually, she was unable to resist and opened the door a crack.
"Mummy home soon," the little boy was saying. "Mummy home soon."
His vocabulary, she noticed, had shrunk considerably in the six months he'd been here. He was nearly two now, but those words were the only ones she caught him saying anymore. Could he remember Lily? It was doubtful. But maybe it was possible that he remembered the idea of her—someone who would hold him and keep him warm, clothe and feed him, love him…
Petunia stared into the little closet for a bit longer, listening to that tiny, hopeful voice.
Then she closed the door.
He was four now, and looking more like his father by the day. His eyes were Lily's though—Petunia couldn't escape them, no matter how hard she tried.
Vernon didn't call him by his name. He was referred to as simply "boy", but Petunia made sure to slip his name in whenever she could. He wouldn't be normal if he forgot it, after all.
She was cleaning the windows, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to watch Dudley as he colored at the kitchen table. She smiled fondly at her little boy. He was shaping up to look just like his father, and though she admitted to herself that he could be a bit demanding, she would rather him be rough than too soft. She didn't want anyone to be able to pick on her little angel.
Suddenly, Vernon's voice sounded throughout the house. "Boy, what do you think you're doing?"
Petunia's head snapped around to see Lily's son frozen next to Dudley, a crayon and a piece of paper in his hands.
He was looking at Vernon through big, round eyes, too terrified to speak.
Vernon was turning purple. "Well?"
"I wanna color, too," the little boy finally muttered.
"Those are my son's," Vernon boomed out, "and you are not my son. Give those back to him."
The boy set them meekly on the table, and Dudley snatched them up greedily.
"Go to your cupboard, and don't come out until supper!" Vernon roared.
The black-haired boy scampered off, and after about ten minutes, Petunia followed him. She paused outside the door, then pressed her ear up against the crack between the door and the wall.
"...and there's a big castle, where everybody is happy. The end."
Petunia opened the door slightly, peering through the opening. Her nephew was sitting on his bed, smiling at some ratty old toys of Dudley's on the floor around him.
"You wanna hear another story?" he asked them happily. "Okay! Um… Once upon a time, there was a girl, but she didn't have a mummy or daddy, like me. She lived with her mean sisters, but that was okay because she had lots of little friends. She…"
Petunia closed the door. Every child knew that story, and she didn't know how she was supposed to feel about him comparing himself to the victim.
Someday, he would understand how necessary this all was.
Then Dudley started crying, and the little boy, lost in his own world of fairies and ghosts and heroes, was forgotten once more.
She noticed little things about him, as he grew. He liked to tell stories with happy endings, and he had the most remarkable dreams—which he quickly learned not to mention, as Petunia and Vernon's reactions to them were extremely volatile. When he went to school she learned that he was clever, and had a tendency to pull away from the other children.
He wasn't wild like his father had been, but magic did show. He didn't seem to understand it, but it frightened her greatly—their efforts weren't working. He was turning into just as much of a freak as his parents. Punishments became harsher, and some night he was sent to bed without supper.
Perhaps the most startling thing was that he never complained. His teacher told her once that he'd told her he thought he could be better than he was. The teacher was concerned; Petunia was pleased. Finally, he was beginning to get it.
He didn't cry, either. He never shed a tear in her presence, but she went by his cupboard at night. He would be telling the spiders and broken toys that everything would be okay because his parents were watching over him. It was an idea that Petunia normally would want out of his head immediately, but she couldn't bring herself to dash the little hope he expressed when he was alone.
She never wanted this, any of it. She never had any intention of seeing her sister again, much less raising her child. The boy was a nuisance, and could bring danger to their doorstep if they didn't cure him of his magic soon.
But she found herself sending him to his cupboard more and more, not because he really deserved to be gone, but because, secretly, she knew that was where he was safest.
"Aunt Petunia," the eight-year-old said one day, hesitantly. "What was my mum like?"
He'd become more outspoken in recent years, most likely due to the influence of troublesome kids at school. But while she was growing used to his questions, for some reason she hadn't anticipated this one.
"She had a horrible temper," she answered curtly, not looking up from the table she was polishing aggressively. "She always got her way, though—terribly spoiled. She would spout nonsense about fairies and giants, and she always managed to convince our parents that she was entitled to everything she wanted. 'Don't listen to her. She's crazy.' That's what I always told them."
Her nephew hesitated, looking extremely disappointed. "Was she really crazy, Aunt Petunia?"
"Of course she was!" she snapped. "She was always lost in her head, in some make-up world. She couldn't tell what was reality and what wasn't. It's best that you didn't grow up around her."
"Oh." The boy's voice was small, and Petunia almost took it all back. She almost told him how wonderful Lily's laugh had been, how much she had loved her baby boy, how brilliant her smile always shone. But she didn't.
"I thought she must be nice, if… if my dad liked her."
"You think you're clever, don't you? She was a horrid, ugly person."
"But what about—"
"Go to your room," she said. "No more of these silly questions."
He hung his head, defeated. "Yes, Aunt Petunia."
He retreated to his cupboard and Vernon came in, his large mustache quirking up when he smiled at her. "Petunia," he greeted in his loud voice. "What did the boy want?"
Petunia kissed him lightly before turning her back to her work. "He was asking about his mother. I told him about how spoiled she was, her temper—her tendencies of madness."
Vernon nodded gruffly, his mouth twisting down in disapproval. "Batty, those Potters. Glad to be rid of 'em."
Petunia felt something cold stab through her heart, but she pushed that feeling aside. "Yes. Lily always was a bit… extra. 'What a drama queen!' our parents always said… but I knew it was more than that."
Vernon hummed in agreement. "Yes, well. I'm glad none of that rubbed off on you. Was it really not so bad? Growing up with that lot, I mean. You don't talk about it much."
Petunia straightened her back. "There were trials," she said, thinking of rejection letters and little sisters who would run off with fellow freaks, "but I managed. It was always very easy to realize how… unnatural that lifestyle was."
They were lies. She had longed to be like Lily, but that was a dream long dead. Now she was wiser, but Vernon could never know about those moments of weakness.
"We don't deserve the boy," she said suddenly. "We simply don't. It's not our fault that my sister and her good-for-nothing husband got themselves—blown up. I don't know what we're being punished for, but it hardly seems fair."
Vernon just shook his head and went to open a bottle of wine. "That's not something we can know, Petunia."
She nodded, but her gaze wandered back to the cupboard. Did he think it was unfair? Had she really been punishing him for Lily's sins all these years? She didn't know when it had happened, exactly, but he'd outgrown the cupboard. But if she changed everything up now, then that magic would bubble up again, and he would be lost to a world more terrifying than anything had any right being.
She accepted the glass Vernon offered her with quiet thanks.
Uncle Vernon's suit, a deep charcoal grey was the first thing he threw into the wash. He liked to get his uncle's clothes out of the way first; he liked to imagine that his aunt's things were his mother's, though he had no idea what his mother used to wear.
As he took out her dresses one by one, he noticed that one had a small, golden pendant on it. He remembered the story about it—how his uncle had gifted that to her when they were dating, as a sort of promise as to what lay ahead. He always liked that story. He liked to imagine that his own parents had an experience very similar to that one, though he didn't dare ask his aunt or uncle about them.
The boy sighed as he stared out the window. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the house at last, but he knew how unlikely that was. So he didn't complain or put up a fight—but when the lights went out, he dreamed that a woman was singing to him, and a man was holding him close as he listened.
He was only Harry Potter, and he didn't recognize these things as remarkable. That would come many months later. For now, all he knew was the little cupboard, punishment for a crime he wasn't even aware existed.
But soon, that would change.
A/N:
Writing Club:
Assorted Appreciation: 15. Write about someone's life taking a bad turn.
Disney Challenge: Characters 4. Darling — Write about a mother
Book Club: Sophos — (trait) kind, (dialogue) "Was it really not so bad?", (word) clever
Showtime: 4. Greased Lightnin' — Write about fixing something
Amber's Attic: Writing 2. (plot point) trying to escape from reality (5 bonus points)
Sophie's Shelf: 1. "You think you're clever, don't you?"
Em's Emporium: 4. Alt. (quote) "Someone who would just leave you like that wasn't worth it to begin with."
Liza's Lodes: 1. (trait) perfectionist
Angel's Arcade: 4. Firion — (word) wild, (object) pendant, (color) charcoal grey
Lo's Lowdown: Characters 4. Charles Boyle — Write about an optimist
Bex's Basement: 6. Write about someone lying in a relationship
Film Festival: 18. (dialogue) "Don't listen to her. She's crazy."; 26. (dialogue) "What a drama queen!"