Petunia Dursley was busy at her kitchen table. The silver was in a
horrid state and she was sure she'd be at it for hours. How she'd let it
become so tarnished she wasn't sure. Normally she was on top of things;
she prided herself on her spotless house. The work of rubbing was making
her arm hurt. It didn't help that it was summer and the heat was unusually
intense. All windows were thrown open but no breeze was there to offer
relief. She was perspiring and her carefully pinned hair was falling in
wisps around her face. All things added together to make for a very bad
mood.
Just as she was contemplating the futility of it all, her nephew, Harry
Potter, walked in. His hair was unusually neat and well combed; though she
knew it was only because he had just taken a shower. She could see it
start to poke up in the back where it was already somewhat dry.
"Well, did you finish with the back garden?" she asked sternly.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he answered, pulling a Coke out of the refrigerator. She continued to polish, debating with herself on whether to make Harry finish the rest. There was still quite a bit left to do and most of it was family heirlooms which were surely very valuable. She wasn't sure she could trust him with such a delicate job. Who knew what they taught him at that school, but she was certain it had nothing to do with polishing silver. He sat at the opposite end of the table and slowly sipped his Coke. She would have sent him to his room, but Petunia had strict rules about food and drink outside of the kitchen. She would have no stains on her pristine carpet because her clumsy nephew spilled his snack. He didn't speak, but she hated that he sat there with her. Her husband and son hated Harry for their own reasons, mostly because he was odd and abnormal. She, however, had very different reasons to dislike the boy. Though he was the spitting image of his father, there was one difference, one difference that followed her. His eyes were just like Lily's. They haunted her every waking minute when he was there. His eyes were the same brilliant green with an intense gaze, the gaze that had followed her throughout her childhood; the gaze she thought she'd see no more, not until that fateful morning when she'd found him asleep on her doorstep. It was unnerving how closely his eyes resembled Lily's. They sat in silence, the only sound being the occasional clink of silver. Harry had nearly finished his soda when an owl swooped into the kitchen through the open window. It was a small, twittery thing and landed right in front of Harry. It couldn't have been bigger than the teapot Petunia had started with hours ago. It, unsurprisingly, landed directly in front of Harry, hopping back and forth until Harry removed the small brown package. Once free of its burden, the tiny owl zoomed around the room, twittering in excitement, before taking off through the window. Harry rose, the package clutched tightly in his hands. He made for the door but was stopped. Curiosity had won over his Aunt Petunia.
"What is it?" she asked, her thin lips pursed.
"Nothing. Just a present from my friend Ron." He was tense. She watched as his grip tightened on the package, drawing it closer into his body.
"I won't take it away. It's your birthday then, is it?" she asked, motioning for him to sit down. He did, but on the corner of his chair, ready to bolt at any moment.
"Yes, sixteen today." he mumbled. An uncomfortable silence filled the room.
"Well? Go on then. Open it. I want to know what kinds of things these freaky friends of your keep sending you." He stared at her, a blank expression on his face.
"It... erm... what I mean to say is... well, it's most likely... um... it probably has to do with..." he stammered. Exasperated, Petunia put down the spoon she had been so vigorously rubbing moments before.
"I know it's something to do with magic, boy. I'm not stupid. Just go on and open it." She threw her rag down and crossed her arms, waiting. Harry tentatively pulled the brown wrapping off the box. Inside was something that looked like a compass, only an odd shape and with a funny clip on the bottom, like it attached to something skinny and round. It didn't have the four directions on it, either; instead it had numbers and pictures. She didn't look very closely, nor did she understand, but Harry seemed to know what it was and was pleased to have it. He pulled something else out of the box. In each hand he now held a small, stiff piece of some kind of paper. Harry stared at them as if devouring them.
"Well, what are they?" Petunia asked, craning her already long neck to see. Harry slowly turned his hands so she could see the other side. Pictures. They were pictures. One was of a man who looked just like Harry. It was his father, James, standing with three other men whom Petunia vaguely remembered. One had long black hair and a devilish smile; another was slightly smaller with short hair the colour of honey and a thoughtful expression on his face, while the third man, oddly being pushed out of the frame, was small and squat with a pointed, shifty look about him. Petunia, however, focused instead on the other one. It was of a woman and a baby. The woman had long, silky red hair and shining green eyes. Lily. It was Lily and Harry when he was just a baby. The picture waved at Petunia and she screamed. Harry jumped and dropped the pictures.
"It... she waved at me!" Petunia exclaimed, clutching her chest.
"It's a wizard photograph. It's supposed to do that. They move," Harry said, slowly sitting down again. Petunia reached across the table and picked up the picture. Lily was cuddling baby Harry now. She smiled and Petunia drank in everything. It had been nearly seventeen years since she'd even seen her sister, and she hadn't known how much she'd missed her until now.
"What's that?" she asked, distracted by the rustling of paper.
"A letter." Harry answered, his eyes racing back and forth across the page.
"Well I realize that. What does it say?" Her lips were pursed. She was getting angry and started to glare at him again. He sighed and she knew he would comply.
"It's just Ron telling me happy birthday. He's trying to get Dumbledore to let me visit, but Dumbledore keeps saying I'm safer here. He explains the... present, and tells me his mother found the pictures among Sir... my godfather's things. She thought I ought to have them. I don't have many pictures of them." Petunia grimaced. She brought the picture back to her face and stared as her sister blew her a kiss and baby Harry cooed.
"Extraordinary," she whispered, fascinated by the moving photograph. She reached up to run a finger along her sister's face.
"Can you... will you tell me? About my mother, I mean?" Harry asked, hesitating only briefly. Petunia glanced at him sharply, staring. Either she could lock him in his room for asking, or she could tell him. She had to choose and fast.
"Surely you can ask somebody else? One of those men, perhaps. They knew her better than I ever did." Petunia nodded towards the other photograph on the table. She couldn't keep the contempt out of her voice. Harry looked at the picture of the four men.
"No. He died last year. He's a traitor. Dad's obviously dead. And he's not only too busy to talk to me much, but he only knew my mother as an adult." Harry pointed to each face, indicating which person he meant with each sentence. Petunia continued to stare at him, making Harry shift uncomfortably.
"You knew her when she was a child. Nobody else can tell me about that. Please? You knew her- she was your sister." He was resorting to begging, and a sixteen-year-old boy oughtn't beg, but Petunia couldn't resist it. She didn't like the boy, but she could not ignore the desperation in his voice. And she really was the only one left.
"Clear the table. I'll be right back. Wait here," she ordered, moving towards the door. She watched Harry slip the two photographs, letter, and compass-like gift into his pocket before starting to move the silver and polish, before she went upstairs and trawled through the attic until she found what she was looking for. She came back into the kitchen carrying a small box. Harry had done as she'd told him and was sitting patiently at the now empty table. Sighing, Petunia sat next to him. The top of the box was dusty and looked as if it hadn't been touched in years, which it hadn't.
"I haven't opened this since Dudley was born. And if you tell Vernon about this I will make sure you regret it," she warned sternly.
"I won't tell." Harry answered. Petunia slowly opened the box. It was full of letters and pictures.
"She was two years older. Perfect in every way. She was beautiful from the day she was born. She made perfect marks every year, even at Ho... that school. We never got on well. She was never purposefully mean." Petunia grimaced at the memory. "Instead she was painstakingly nice and polite. It made it worse in a way. Everyone loved her. Though she did have a short temper and we quarreled often." Petunia pulled the pictures out and handed them to Harry. He flipped through them slowly. There were very few pictures of Lily as a baby, but dozens of her childhood, probably because Petunia was in them all.
"Mum and Daddy had boxes and books full of photographs of Lily. She was very... photogenic. When they died, Lily took hers and I got mine. Hers were destroyed in the house when... that night. She always had more than me." In the pictures, Lily was always impeccably groomed and well dressed. Her red hair sparkled and shone no matter her hairstyle. Her skin was clear and soft, and her smile remained brilliantly white. Petunia, however, had always had a slightly sour look about her. She, even as a baby, was tall and skinny. As a toddler and small child she was nearly the same height as her older sister and about twice as gangly. Her blonde hair looked dull and wispy while her imperfect teeth were often hidden by a constantly tight smile. Her neck seemed to stretch on like a giraffe. Harry continued flipping. He stopped at a picture of two people Petunia recognized immediately- her parents. Her father was a rather meek and comely looking man, with Petunia's thin and wispy blonde hair. Her mother, however, was stunning. She could be described as nothing short of statuesque. It was obvious where Lily got her beauty. They were almost identical. Petunia, however, looked very much like her father.
"How did they die?" he asked, showing the picture. She looked at it fondly for a minute, stroking her father's head. When she glanced at her mother, however, a dark look crossed her face.
"Voldemort. I was just seventeen. Lily had only been a year out of school. I was nearly finished myself, only a few months left. She was working for some group fighting him. Apparently Voldemort didn't like her, so he killed them, our parents. Came right to our house and just killed them. I remember there was a great glowing thing above the house, green and smoky. It looked like a giant skull with something coming out of its mouth. I was out with Vernon that night; otherwise I would have been home with them. They looked normal when I came in, just sitting there in the front room. Mum had the tv on and Daddy had a book in his lap, just like every other night. The only thing wrong was the look of fear, pure terror, on their faces. And they were cold. Very cold." Petunia shivered and hugged herself, throwing the photograph back into the box. Harry looked horror-stricken.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the pictures temporarily forgotten. Petunia glanced at him sharply and gritted her teeth.
"Well, I was sent to live with Lily of course. I had no way to support myself and something had to be done with me. I only had a few months of school left; I wasn't about to leave without finishing." She stopped briefly, shutting her eyes to the memory. "She had married your father and she hated having me there. Hated my intrusion and what it meant. For the first time ever she was really very cruel to me. She blamed me for living when her beloved Mummy had not. I blamed her. If she hadn't gone to that school, if she hadn't crossed that Voldemort man, none of it would have happened. Mum and Daddy would still be here." Petunia forced back tears. She didn't want to cry. "Lily would still be alive and I wouldn't have been saddled with you. You'd have grown up with them and their odd ways and never laid eyes on me. Your freaky school and strange troubles would have nothing to do with me and I could live in peace again. But of course she didn't see it as her fault. She didn't see the connection." She grimaced again. "I was only with them six months. Four months before leaving school in June and another two of summer. Then I was eighteen and married your Uncle Vernon that August. I had Dudley ten months later, and you were born a month after that. Of course, I didn't see you. Lily and I had barely spoken since I left. I let her know when Dudley was born, she announced your arrival, and that was it until that crackpot Headmaster of yours left you with us." Harry just stared at her.
"It was the Dark Mark you saw," he said finally.
"What?" she asked, puzzlement written all over her face.
"The green glowing sign when your parents died. It was the Dark Mark. The Death Eaters' calling card. And the thing coming out of it's mouth was a snake." Harry paused. "They didn't hate my mother because she was fighting them. They hated her because she wasn't pureblood. Her parents, your parents, were Muggles. Non-magic people. They would have come after you anyway. No matter what, we would both be orphans." Petunia would not normally have permitted such blatant talk about wizards and the magical world, but she was learning things she had waited a good seventeen years to know. She was finally learning the why of it all and it was a bit unnerving for her nephew to be the one explaining. They looked through some more pictures before stumbling across some with both girls in school uniforms, Petunia in the bland ill-fitting greys of primary school, Lily in the flowing black robes of Hogwarts. Petunia sighed and threw the picture into the box.
"She was so excited to get her letter. At first it was fascinating, all the things she was learning and doing. But then I started to see what it really meant, how dangerous it was. Oh she was perfect at everything. She'd show us all the spells, all the potions. I went with her, at first, her and Mum, to get her school supplies. The shops along that lane were amazing, like out of a book. Mum doted on her, buying her the most beautiful things in the prettiest of colours. 'Anything to accentuate my darling's beauty' she used to say. I was never pretty enough to merit those words, or that behavior. I wasn't clever enough either. Your mother could do no wrong. Everything I did was awful. Only Daddy ever showed me any affection, but he never played favourites. It was Darling Lily as often as it was Darling Petunia with him. Never with Mum, though. They were both pleased when Lily got her letter. Mum never spoiled her more than that year." They silently sifted through pictures for a few minutes more before Harry figured it out. Petunia had let too much slip and she knew it.
"You wanted a letter, didn't you?" Harry asked. Petunia thought of denying it, of sending him away to his room, or locking him in his cupboard. Anything to get out of it. But something compelled her to tell. She hadn't told anyone for years and it was eating her up inside. Her nephew was the last person she wanted to tell, but she had to say something.
"I didn't just want one, I expected one. We all, well, all except Mum, expected I would get one. Lily even tried to teach me a few spells with her wand so I'd be prepared when school started. When none of them ever so much as produced sparks, she explained it away as being the wrong wand for me. Mum kept taking Lily's old schoolbooks away from me saying it was pointless, that I wasn't special enough to get into Hogwarts. And she was right. The summer I was eleven we waited. 'Any day now' she'd say. 'The owl got lost' she told me when her supply list came with no letter for me. But my letter never came." Petunia's face grew dark as she became more and more upset. "Mum was right and I went on to my secondary school with all the other kids while Lily went off to learn magic. I hated it then, truly hated it. All of it, wands, books, magic. I vowed to have nothing to do with it again. I convinced myself all it brought was trouble, and I was right. And then it found me, with my parents, my months of sleeping on your mother's couch, and then you." They stared at each other for a few minutes, neither hate nor animosity coming from either.
"You hated her, too, didn't you?" he asked quietly. Petunia threw all the pictures in the box. This memory session was over. It had gone too far. She never should have started it in the first place.
"Nearly. I disliked her only because I could never measure up to her. I very nearly hated her. But she was still my sister. And no matter how much I dislike her, I will ALWAYS love her." With that, Petunia left the kitchen to return the box to its corner in the attic. She covered it with an old cloth so Vernon would never know what it was nor, hopefully, that it was even there. As she turned to leave, however, something Harry said repeated itself in her head.
"No matter what, we would both be orphans," she whispered to the dust around her. She turned back to the box and dug around until she found what she was looking for. She replaced the lid and cloth and left the attic. When she reached the kitchen, Harry had returned the silver and jar of pungent polish to the table. Cloth in hand, he was sitting at the head of the table, finishing the silver. She walked past to start dinner. Without looking or even realizing what she was doing, she placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispered. He hadn't been ordered to, but was finishing the silver of his own accord, for her. He continued to rub the tarnished cup as if he hadn't heard her. She moved to start dinner. Just as she was putting the potatoes on to boil, she heard him turn in his chair.
"Aunt Petunia? Thank you, for giving me a piece of my mother." She stood still for a moment, head bowed over the pot, as he resumed the task he kindly chose to finish for her. Tears sprung unbidden to her eyes and she brushed them away. She hadn't really mourned for her sister, and she wasn't about to start now. Not another word was spoken.
After a silent and rushed dinner, Harry practically ran to his room. He put his letter and gift on his desk next to his other cards and gifts. He moved to the bed with the two pictures Ron had sent, and was surprised to find some papers on his pillow. He put the pictures beside him and picked up the papers carefully. One was a thick piece of folded parchment. He opened it slowly to find the familiar green ink and Hogwarts crest.
"Dear Miss Lily Evans, We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," it read. It was his mother's acceptance letter. The other piece of paper was a soft green coloured parchment, much thinner than the first. It was the letter his mother had written to Petunia announcing his birth. It had the time he was born, his weight, his height, everything he ever could want to know. It was the first time Harry had seen his mother's handwriting; it was curly and nearly perfect, with a slight slant to the right. She signed her name with a flourish on the 'y'.
There was another piece of parchment that looked like it might be from the stack on his desk, but Harry could only stare at the photograph on top of it. It was a normal, non-moving Muggle picture, faded and tinted yellow from age. Two children were sitting on a carpeted block. One had red hair tied in wavy pigtails. She was wearing a green dress and couldn't be more than two. It was his mother. She was holding a small, wrinkly, newborn that could only be Petunia. She looked a bit like a pink raisin. He finally looked at the last piece of paper, which had indeed come from his desk. It was a note written in Aunt Petunia's neat and precise hand. 'Tell no one' was all it said. Harry smiled. They may not like each other any better than before, but at least now he had a better understanding of his aunt, and she of him. He would cherish this gift forever, above all others. It was the best birthday he'd ever spent at his aunt's house.
"Well, did you finish with the back garden?" she asked sternly.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he answered, pulling a Coke out of the refrigerator. She continued to polish, debating with herself on whether to make Harry finish the rest. There was still quite a bit left to do and most of it was family heirlooms which were surely very valuable. She wasn't sure she could trust him with such a delicate job. Who knew what they taught him at that school, but she was certain it had nothing to do with polishing silver. He sat at the opposite end of the table and slowly sipped his Coke. She would have sent him to his room, but Petunia had strict rules about food and drink outside of the kitchen. She would have no stains on her pristine carpet because her clumsy nephew spilled his snack. He didn't speak, but she hated that he sat there with her. Her husband and son hated Harry for their own reasons, mostly because he was odd and abnormal. She, however, had very different reasons to dislike the boy. Though he was the spitting image of his father, there was one difference, one difference that followed her. His eyes were just like Lily's. They haunted her every waking minute when he was there. His eyes were the same brilliant green with an intense gaze, the gaze that had followed her throughout her childhood; the gaze she thought she'd see no more, not until that fateful morning when she'd found him asleep on her doorstep. It was unnerving how closely his eyes resembled Lily's. They sat in silence, the only sound being the occasional clink of silver. Harry had nearly finished his soda when an owl swooped into the kitchen through the open window. It was a small, twittery thing and landed right in front of Harry. It couldn't have been bigger than the teapot Petunia had started with hours ago. It, unsurprisingly, landed directly in front of Harry, hopping back and forth until Harry removed the small brown package. Once free of its burden, the tiny owl zoomed around the room, twittering in excitement, before taking off through the window. Harry rose, the package clutched tightly in his hands. He made for the door but was stopped. Curiosity had won over his Aunt Petunia.
"What is it?" she asked, her thin lips pursed.
"Nothing. Just a present from my friend Ron." He was tense. She watched as his grip tightened on the package, drawing it closer into his body.
"I won't take it away. It's your birthday then, is it?" she asked, motioning for him to sit down. He did, but on the corner of his chair, ready to bolt at any moment.
"Yes, sixteen today." he mumbled. An uncomfortable silence filled the room.
"Well? Go on then. Open it. I want to know what kinds of things these freaky friends of your keep sending you." He stared at her, a blank expression on his face.
"It... erm... what I mean to say is... well, it's most likely... um... it probably has to do with..." he stammered. Exasperated, Petunia put down the spoon she had been so vigorously rubbing moments before.
"I know it's something to do with magic, boy. I'm not stupid. Just go on and open it." She threw her rag down and crossed her arms, waiting. Harry tentatively pulled the brown wrapping off the box. Inside was something that looked like a compass, only an odd shape and with a funny clip on the bottom, like it attached to something skinny and round. It didn't have the four directions on it, either; instead it had numbers and pictures. She didn't look very closely, nor did she understand, but Harry seemed to know what it was and was pleased to have it. He pulled something else out of the box. In each hand he now held a small, stiff piece of some kind of paper. Harry stared at them as if devouring them.
"Well, what are they?" Petunia asked, craning her already long neck to see. Harry slowly turned his hands so she could see the other side. Pictures. They were pictures. One was of a man who looked just like Harry. It was his father, James, standing with three other men whom Petunia vaguely remembered. One had long black hair and a devilish smile; another was slightly smaller with short hair the colour of honey and a thoughtful expression on his face, while the third man, oddly being pushed out of the frame, was small and squat with a pointed, shifty look about him. Petunia, however, focused instead on the other one. It was of a woman and a baby. The woman had long, silky red hair and shining green eyes. Lily. It was Lily and Harry when he was just a baby. The picture waved at Petunia and she screamed. Harry jumped and dropped the pictures.
"It... she waved at me!" Petunia exclaimed, clutching her chest.
"It's a wizard photograph. It's supposed to do that. They move," Harry said, slowly sitting down again. Petunia reached across the table and picked up the picture. Lily was cuddling baby Harry now. She smiled and Petunia drank in everything. It had been nearly seventeen years since she'd even seen her sister, and she hadn't known how much she'd missed her until now.
"What's that?" she asked, distracted by the rustling of paper.
"A letter." Harry answered, his eyes racing back and forth across the page.
"Well I realize that. What does it say?" Her lips were pursed. She was getting angry and started to glare at him again. He sighed and she knew he would comply.
"It's just Ron telling me happy birthday. He's trying to get Dumbledore to let me visit, but Dumbledore keeps saying I'm safer here. He explains the... present, and tells me his mother found the pictures among Sir... my godfather's things. She thought I ought to have them. I don't have many pictures of them." Petunia grimaced. She brought the picture back to her face and stared as her sister blew her a kiss and baby Harry cooed.
"Extraordinary," she whispered, fascinated by the moving photograph. She reached up to run a finger along her sister's face.
"Can you... will you tell me? About my mother, I mean?" Harry asked, hesitating only briefly. Petunia glanced at him sharply, staring. Either she could lock him in his room for asking, or she could tell him. She had to choose and fast.
"Surely you can ask somebody else? One of those men, perhaps. They knew her better than I ever did." Petunia nodded towards the other photograph on the table. She couldn't keep the contempt out of her voice. Harry looked at the picture of the four men.
"No. He died last year. He's a traitor. Dad's obviously dead. And he's not only too busy to talk to me much, but he only knew my mother as an adult." Harry pointed to each face, indicating which person he meant with each sentence. Petunia continued to stare at him, making Harry shift uncomfortably.
"You knew her when she was a child. Nobody else can tell me about that. Please? You knew her- she was your sister." He was resorting to begging, and a sixteen-year-old boy oughtn't beg, but Petunia couldn't resist it. She didn't like the boy, but she could not ignore the desperation in his voice. And she really was the only one left.
"Clear the table. I'll be right back. Wait here," she ordered, moving towards the door. She watched Harry slip the two photographs, letter, and compass-like gift into his pocket before starting to move the silver and polish, before she went upstairs and trawled through the attic until she found what she was looking for. She came back into the kitchen carrying a small box. Harry had done as she'd told him and was sitting patiently at the now empty table. Sighing, Petunia sat next to him. The top of the box was dusty and looked as if it hadn't been touched in years, which it hadn't.
"I haven't opened this since Dudley was born. And if you tell Vernon about this I will make sure you regret it," she warned sternly.
"I won't tell." Harry answered. Petunia slowly opened the box. It was full of letters and pictures.
"She was two years older. Perfect in every way. She was beautiful from the day she was born. She made perfect marks every year, even at Ho... that school. We never got on well. She was never purposefully mean." Petunia grimaced at the memory. "Instead she was painstakingly nice and polite. It made it worse in a way. Everyone loved her. Though she did have a short temper and we quarreled often." Petunia pulled the pictures out and handed them to Harry. He flipped through them slowly. There were very few pictures of Lily as a baby, but dozens of her childhood, probably because Petunia was in them all.
"Mum and Daddy had boxes and books full of photographs of Lily. She was very... photogenic. When they died, Lily took hers and I got mine. Hers were destroyed in the house when... that night. She always had more than me." In the pictures, Lily was always impeccably groomed and well dressed. Her red hair sparkled and shone no matter her hairstyle. Her skin was clear and soft, and her smile remained brilliantly white. Petunia, however, had always had a slightly sour look about her. She, even as a baby, was tall and skinny. As a toddler and small child she was nearly the same height as her older sister and about twice as gangly. Her blonde hair looked dull and wispy while her imperfect teeth were often hidden by a constantly tight smile. Her neck seemed to stretch on like a giraffe. Harry continued flipping. He stopped at a picture of two people Petunia recognized immediately- her parents. Her father was a rather meek and comely looking man, with Petunia's thin and wispy blonde hair. Her mother, however, was stunning. She could be described as nothing short of statuesque. It was obvious where Lily got her beauty. They were almost identical. Petunia, however, looked very much like her father.
"How did they die?" he asked, showing the picture. She looked at it fondly for a minute, stroking her father's head. When she glanced at her mother, however, a dark look crossed her face.
"Voldemort. I was just seventeen. Lily had only been a year out of school. I was nearly finished myself, only a few months left. She was working for some group fighting him. Apparently Voldemort didn't like her, so he killed them, our parents. Came right to our house and just killed them. I remember there was a great glowing thing above the house, green and smoky. It looked like a giant skull with something coming out of its mouth. I was out with Vernon that night; otherwise I would have been home with them. They looked normal when I came in, just sitting there in the front room. Mum had the tv on and Daddy had a book in his lap, just like every other night. The only thing wrong was the look of fear, pure terror, on their faces. And they were cold. Very cold." Petunia shivered and hugged herself, throwing the photograph back into the box. Harry looked horror-stricken.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the pictures temporarily forgotten. Petunia glanced at him sharply and gritted her teeth.
"Well, I was sent to live with Lily of course. I had no way to support myself and something had to be done with me. I only had a few months of school left; I wasn't about to leave without finishing." She stopped briefly, shutting her eyes to the memory. "She had married your father and she hated having me there. Hated my intrusion and what it meant. For the first time ever she was really very cruel to me. She blamed me for living when her beloved Mummy had not. I blamed her. If she hadn't gone to that school, if she hadn't crossed that Voldemort man, none of it would have happened. Mum and Daddy would still be here." Petunia forced back tears. She didn't want to cry. "Lily would still be alive and I wouldn't have been saddled with you. You'd have grown up with them and their odd ways and never laid eyes on me. Your freaky school and strange troubles would have nothing to do with me and I could live in peace again. But of course she didn't see it as her fault. She didn't see the connection." She grimaced again. "I was only with them six months. Four months before leaving school in June and another two of summer. Then I was eighteen and married your Uncle Vernon that August. I had Dudley ten months later, and you were born a month after that. Of course, I didn't see you. Lily and I had barely spoken since I left. I let her know when Dudley was born, she announced your arrival, and that was it until that crackpot Headmaster of yours left you with us." Harry just stared at her.
"It was the Dark Mark you saw," he said finally.
"What?" she asked, puzzlement written all over her face.
"The green glowing sign when your parents died. It was the Dark Mark. The Death Eaters' calling card. And the thing coming out of it's mouth was a snake." Harry paused. "They didn't hate my mother because she was fighting them. They hated her because she wasn't pureblood. Her parents, your parents, were Muggles. Non-magic people. They would have come after you anyway. No matter what, we would both be orphans." Petunia would not normally have permitted such blatant talk about wizards and the magical world, but she was learning things she had waited a good seventeen years to know. She was finally learning the why of it all and it was a bit unnerving for her nephew to be the one explaining. They looked through some more pictures before stumbling across some with both girls in school uniforms, Petunia in the bland ill-fitting greys of primary school, Lily in the flowing black robes of Hogwarts. Petunia sighed and threw the picture into the box.
"She was so excited to get her letter. At first it was fascinating, all the things she was learning and doing. But then I started to see what it really meant, how dangerous it was. Oh she was perfect at everything. She'd show us all the spells, all the potions. I went with her, at first, her and Mum, to get her school supplies. The shops along that lane were amazing, like out of a book. Mum doted on her, buying her the most beautiful things in the prettiest of colours. 'Anything to accentuate my darling's beauty' she used to say. I was never pretty enough to merit those words, or that behavior. I wasn't clever enough either. Your mother could do no wrong. Everything I did was awful. Only Daddy ever showed me any affection, but he never played favourites. It was Darling Lily as often as it was Darling Petunia with him. Never with Mum, though. They were both pleased when Lily got her letter. Mum never spoiled her more than that year." They silently sifted through pictures for a few minutes more before Harry figured it out. Petunia had let too much slip and she knew it.
"You wanted a letter, didn't you?" Harry asked. Petunia thought of denying it, of sending him away to his room, or locking him in his cupboard. Anything to get out of it. But something compelled her to tell. She hadn't told anyone for years and it was eating her up inside. Her nephew was the last person she wanted to tell, but she had to say something.
"I didn't just want one, I expected one. We all, well, all except Mum, expected I would get one. Lily even tried to teach me a few spells with her wand so I'd be prepared when school started. When none of them ever so much as produced sparks, she explained it away as being the wrong wand for me. Mum kept taking Lily's old schoolbooks away from me saying it was pointless, that I wasn't special enough to get into Hogwarts. And she was right. The summer I was eleven we waited. 'Any day now' she'd say. 'The owl got lost' she told me when her supply list came with no letter for me. But my letter never came." Petunia's face grew dark as she became more and more upset. "Mum was right and I went on to my secondary school with all the other kids while Lily went off to learn magic. I hated it then, truly hated it. All of it, wands, books, magic. I vowed to have nothing to do with it again. I convinced myself all it brought was trouble, and I was right. And then it found me, with my parents, my months of sleeping on your mother's couch, and then you." They stared at each other for a few minutes, neither hate nor animosity coming from either.
"You hated her, too, didn't you?" he asked quietly. Petunia threw all the pictures in the box. This memory session was over. It had gone too far. She never should have started it in the first place.
"Nearly. I disliked her only because I could never measure up to her. I very nearly hated her. But she was still my sister. And no matter how much I dislike her, I will ALWAYS love her." With that, Petunia left the kitchen to return the box to its corner in the attic. She covered it with an old cloth so Vernon would never know what it was nor, hopefully, that it was even there. As she turned to leave, however, something Harry said repeated itself in her head.
"No matter what, we would both be orphans," she whispered to the dust around her. She turned back to the box and dug around until she found what she was looking for. She replaced the lid and cloth and left the attic. When she reached the kitchen, Harry had returned the silver and jar of pungent polish to the table. Cloth in hand, he was sitting at the head of the table, finishing the silver. She walked past to start dinner. Without looking or even realizing what she was doing, she placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispered. He hadn't been ordered to, but was finishing the silver of his own accord, for her. He continued to rub the tarnished cup as if he hadn't heard her. She moved to start dinner. Just as she was putting the potatoes on to boil, she heard him turn in his chair.
"Aunt Petunia? Thank you, for giving me a piece of my mother." She stood still for a moment, head bowed over the pot, as he resumed the task he kindly chose to finish for her. Tears sprung unbidden to her eyes and she brushed them away. She hadn't really mourned for her sister, and she wasn't about to start now. Not another word was spoken.
After a silent and rushed dinner, Harry practically ran to his room. He put his letter and gift on his desk next to his other cards and gifts. He moved to the bed with the two pictures Ron had sent, and was surprised to find some papers on his pillow. He put the pictures beside him and picked up the papers carefully. One was a thick piece of folded parchment. He opened it slowly to find the familiar green ink and Hogwarts crest.
"Dear Miss Lily Evans, We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," it read. It was his mother's acceptance letter. The other piece of paper was a soft green coloured parchment, much thinner than the first. It was the letter his mother had written to Petunia announcing his birth. It had the time he was born, his weight, his height, everything he ever could want to know. It was the first time Harry had seen his mother's handwriting; it was curly and nearly perfect, with a slight slant to the right. She signed her name with a flourish on the 'y'.
There was another piece of parchment that looked like it might be from the stack on his desk, but Harry could only stare at the photograph on top of it. It was a normal, non-moving Muggle picture, faded and tinted yellow from age. Two children were sitting on a carpeted block. One had red hair tied in wavy pigtails. She was wearing a green dress and couldn't be more than two. It was his mother. She was holding a small, wrinkly, newborn that could only be Petunia. She looked a bit like a pink raisin. He finally looked at the last piece of paper, which had indeed come from his desk. It was a note written in Aunt Petunia's neat and precise hand. 'Tell no one' was all it said. Harry smiled. They may not like each other any better than before, but at least now he had a better understanding of his aunt, and she of him. He would cherish this gift forever, above all others. It was the best birthday he'd ever spent at his aunt's house.