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03 | harry

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The next morning Camellia awakened to the pleasant aroma of a traditional English breakfast. Camellia stretched under the fluffy white covers that stubbornly rose like baking bread each time she tried to push them down. Prying open her bleary eyes after a yawn, Camellia spied the tray of steaming food on the small table next to her bed. It was a magnificent sight, reminding her distinctly of home. Bacon, scrambled eggs, fried mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, toast with butter, sausages and baked beans.

Camellia had to make a conscious effort to keep her mouth closed so she wouldn't drool. She ate in record time, poring over the newest edition of the Daily Prophet that had been stuck under the tray. As she did, a strange sensation overtook her. Camellia had not realized until that moment just how much she had missed her life in the wizarding world. Perhaps she had tried not to think about it too often. After all, Camellia had learned from experience that it was best not to mourn things that you couldn't change. That particular kind of grief created holes in your heart that eventually became too large to fill. If Camellia took the time to tally her losses, there would be nothing left at all.

She tossed aside the newspaper with a sigh and looked about the room. She spied her suitcase in the corner – thankfully, it wasn't still in Dumbledore's office. Camellia couldn't imagine making the trek in the middle of the morning amidst all the students looking like she had only just rolled out of bed. She had just rolled out of bed, but it did not need to be common knowledge. The previous night had been the first in more than a decade that she had passed without interruption. Shockingly, there had been no nightmares. No lying wide awake obsessing over the threat of the Dark Lord's return. When it wasn't he she worried about, it was other Death Eaters. Camellia was honestly surprised that she had been permitted to still draw breath, as so many of them hated her. Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, some of the more vocal radical pure blood supremacists, were among the ones she could best remember. Strangely, they were the ones she would have most cared to forget.

Severus she had seen in passing. They never spoke, never cared to. At the time, Camellia could remember Lily worrying that he had joined the Death Eaters, going on and on about the company he kept after she had drawn closer to James. Specifically, two boys by the names of Avery and Mulciber. Once Camellia felt that she'd heard enough of them to last a lifetime, she told her sister to let it go - that whatever Severus was doing was none of her business. Lily was so angry by her apparent lack of concern that she didn't speak to Camellia for two weeks afterward. Then came the day when, during a particularly nasty stunt on James' part, Severus was humiliated in front of Lily. When Lily came to his defense Severus had snapped at her, calling her a mudblood. This term was especially foul and offensive to Muggle-born witches or wizards. It was used to point out what some people felt to be lower breeding and implied that an individual had dirty blood and was therefore undeserving of magic.

No matter how much Camellia tried to persuade Lily to forgive him, though Severus was not one to freely offer up apologies, Lily disregarded her and never spoke to Severus again. That was the last straw for Camellia who spent most of her time after that being furious with Sirius and James, even Remus. This was mainly on principle, since she couldn't see Remus without seeing the rest of James' band of Merry Men. Sirius had managed to maneuver his way back into her good graces right before they graduated Hogwarts, but Camellia never truly mended things with James. This was something she now regretted.

What was she supposed to tell her nephew when he asked about his parents? Surely, he would have questions. Who wouldn't? Camellia would have to make a conscious effort to gloss over her strained relationship with his father. Talking to Harry about Lily would be difficult, but it would be good to look back on some of the better times they shared before the First Wizarding War. If Harry asked about that, he would be out of luck though. Camellia had already made up her mind that she was never going to speak of it again, not if she didn't have to. If Harry truly wanted to know, he could write to Sirius. She was more than certain that he would give Harry enough bits and pieces of the puzzle to keep him satisfied.

Camellia chewed on her bottom lip as she went over her options for conversation, thinking that none of them sounded incredibly wonderful. The war was out. The topic of Harry's parents would be a slim one, indeed. And as for Camellia's absence from his life and leaving him with her horrible sister, how did she explain that? Where in the world did she begin? Camellia put a hand to her throat, noting the way her skin seemed to burn a hundred degrees hotter than what was normal for a human being. She could feel anxiety taking root in her like a poison, squeezing the air from her lungs. Camellia rather felt that she was being dropped from the top of a tall building with no hope or prayer of being caught before she hit bottom.

Hands trembling slightly as her imagination ran wild, Camellia rushed across the room and grabbed her suitcase. She carried it back to the bed and tossed it on top of the cover, digging through it with abandon until she found something suitable. Thirty minutes and eight outfits later, Camellia finally settled on something semi-professional. And then she rethought that, wondering if looking too professional would frighten Harry or at the very least make him uncomfortable.

Camellia wanted Harry to feel like he could treat her as family rather than the disappearing, uptight magic act that he would certainly take her for at first. It was Halloween and tonight would be the choosing of the champions for the Triwizard Tournament. It should have been an exciting time for her nephew, but it seemed she had shown up just in time to spoil all of his fun.

A knock sounded on her door just as Camellia finished arranging her robes. She had found them hanging in the wardrobe, courtesy of Dumbledore she was sure. She looked up just in time to see the door open and watched mutely as McGonagall hurried inside and closed the door gently behind her.

"Are you quite ready?" She questioned, clasping her hands together in front of her as she eyed Camellia dubiously. "You seem..."

"Not ready. I know." Camellia huffed exasperatedly. "It took me half an hour to settle on this," she whipped open the heavy robe to reveal an emerald green blouse and an ankle long, ink-black skirt. "I'll look like the Slytherin from hell come to haunt him."

McGonagall shook her head with a soft sigh. "You must calm down. I understand that this is an ordeal for you, but in the end Potter will have family again. Keep that in mind."

"If he wants me to be." Camellia muttered. "I will be absolutely gobsmacked if he does not make up his mind to be furious with me for the rest of his life."

"For a time, perhaps he will be. But for now, you cannot waste energy worrying over it. Compose yourself – breathe. It will turn out alright in the end." McGonagall hesitated as Camellia went about fixing her robes again, smoothing her hair into place one last time. "Though, it would do well to keep in mind that Potter has not had much luck with the Slytherin students these last few years."

McGonagall's comment about Harry's problems with the Slytherins concerned her greatly. Even so, Camellia made a mental note to exclude her House from conversation. Then the issue of her clothes came to mind, since variations of green, grey, and black were most of what she had in her wardrobe. Perhaps Camellia would even go shopping over the weekend. Unfortunately, her list of safe topics to discuss with Harry was diminishing by the second. Camellia put a hand to her throat and attempted to swallow, but found her throat was completely dry.

Camellia wished desperately that she could calm down, but she doubted that would be even remotely possible until her visit with Harry was well and truly over. Camellia spared McGonagall a quick glance and saw that she was patiently waiting for Camellia to compose herself before they left to meet Harry.

"Where is he?" Camellia asked, fidgeting with her robes one last time.

"In the Headmaster's office." McGonagall answered primly. "I doubt you will be disturbed. Classes are rather light in content today because of the choosing of the champions that is to take place this evening, as you know. The work Potter misses will be given to him tomorrow, and I am sure one of his friends will be more than glad to help him if there is something he does not seem to grasp."

Camellia stopped fidgeting. "Friends?"

McGonagall nodded and if Camellia did not know any better, she thought for a moment she saw the beginnings of a smile turn the corners of the professor's lips skyward. "Two close friends, to be precise. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. He is not alone here, Camellia. In fact, he is doing quite well."

The knowledge that Harry had someone, anyone at all, made Camellia feel the tiniest bit better about what lay ahead. She hoped that Harry would do his best to understand. Maybe he wouldn't be able to. Camellia knew she would have to leave so much of her past out of the equation that it would be almost like Harry didn't know her at all. Perhaps that was best for now. If Dumbledore's ridiculous plan ever put him in danger, it would be more helpful for Harry to be clueless than it would for him to be informed. It might even save his life. And by extension, it could also save Camellia's.

Camellia took a deep breath that didn't seem to quite fill her lungs and nodded.

"Good." She said finally. "I think I am ready to see him now."

With a sharp nod of her head, McGonagall turned on her heel and led Camellia from the room. As they walked, Camellia was aware of how tense her former professor seemed. Whether it was from the upcoming ceremony in which the Triwizard champions would be chosen, or from the uncertainty of the outcome of her meeting with Harry, Camellia couldn't tell.

Either way, it didn't matter much. Camellia was more than glad to have someone else know almost exactly how she felt without saying a word. They walked in complete silence through the empty hallways of the school until they reached the door of Dumbledore's office.

"Remember to breathe." McGonagall murmured, hand on the knob.

Before Camellia could say a word, the professor opened the door.

xxx

For a moment or two, Camellia couldn't bring herself to move. And then, she somehow managed to wake her numbed limbs. She stumbled into Dumbledore's office, flinching slightly when McGonagall closed the door roughly behind her. An unruly mop of dark hair was all she could see from where she stood, staring at the chair that Harry was sat in. It was just like his father's. She braced herself for more similarities, but nothing could have prepared her for just how alike he was to both James and Lily.

Harry stood from his seat and turned, mouth open in an attempt to defend himself for some imagined wrong. He froze mid-step when his eyes landed on Camellia. It seemed to Camellia that both she and Harry had the air stolen from their lungs at about the same moment, each for different reasons. For Harry, it was most likely the fact that Camellia strongly resembled his mother. And for Camellia, it was the fact that Harry had James' hair, even his build, but his eyes... his eyes were Lily's.

"Who are you?" Harry asked quickly, regaining use of his tongue much faster than Camellia could have ever dreamed. She was still obviously floored, blinking heavily with her mouth opening and closing like an idiot. "Where's Professor Dumbledore?"

Camellia shook herself free of whatever spell was keeping her from putting Harry at ease and ran a hand through her hair that she had tried so hard to fix only half an hour before. "I think you should sit back down." A wry chuckle left her mouth before she could stop it. "I need to sit down."

"Who are you?" Harry demanded, more forcefully this time.

"Your aunt." Camellia blurted and immediately wished she had remained mute on the subject until she'd had a chance to seat herself and coax Harry to do the same. The boy paled, but he was immediately adamant with her.

"I only have one aunt. She lives in Surrey."

"Harry..." Camellia sighed and walked over to the chair opposite the one he'd occupied and plopped herself down. "My name is Camellia. Your mother, my sister, Lily and I came to school here together. I know the aunt you mean. Petunia. My other sister."

Harry blinked. He was torn between confusion and outrage, but he decided to follow Camellia's example. He sat down, shoulders slumping as he leaned against the back and stared at her quietly for a long moment.

"Why did no one ever tell me about you?" He asked.

"For the same reason that, I assume, Petunia never told you about Hogwarts." She answered gently. "After Lily and I went away to school, we never had the same relationship with her that we once had before we received our invitations."

"How did you know she never told me?"

"A surprisingly lucky guess." Camellia said. "I know... you must have questions. And you can ask them of me. I will do my best to answer what I can, and I –"

"You knew I was with her, didn't you? Petunia." Harry said, interrupting her attempt at reconciliation. This was going to be so much more difficult than Camellia had originally thought. It was becoming glaringly clear by the minute. "You knew I was with her, and you never came for me – never even came to see me."

There it is, Camellia thought. The one obstacle that she doubted she could overcome. Her heart broke the moment she was able to tear her eyes away from her lap and truly look at Harry's face. The look of absolute betrayal she saw there was enough to send her running. This was a mistake. This was a mistake.

"I would have." She said sternly, catching his attention. "Harry, believe me. I would have loved nothing more than to have had you with me all these years. But the further away you were from the wizarding world, the better. Petunia was the obvious choice when it came to keeping you safe."

Camellia was nearly satisfied with the way she had answered Harry's accusation. The statement was not a complete lie, but there was just enough untruth to make her uneasy. Harry would find out eventually about everything she had done. Just not today.

"Why come back now, then?" The boy ignored her insistence and cut right to the chase. And how was she to answer that? "You didn't do it for me."

"I would like to, if you could ever find it in your heart to forgive my absence, be your family." Camellia began, quite sincerely. "I did come back for you." She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the door was still shut before leaning forward in her chair. "Sirius wrote to me. I know that you have been having dreams of sorts, about –"

"You're in touch with Sirius?" Harry questioned, wide-eyed.

Camellia huffed. "Do you ever let a person finish their sentence?" Harry ducked his head, looking a bit sheepish before Camellia sucked in an exasperated breath and continued. "Is your scar hurting you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head forcefully. "No."

She watched him warily, noticing the way his eyes didn't quite meet hers as he nearly spat the word at her. "I suppose I will come back to that." Camellia murmured, letting him slide for the time being. "Sirius wrote to me and told me to come here. He did tell me some things, but gave little or no detail surrounding them. I would love it very much if you told me about yourself. Your friends, maybe? And about what has happened to you since you came here. I know that it certainly has not been without a certain... charm."

Harry snorted derisively under his breath. "If by charm, you mean having constant dealings with death three years in a row, then yeah. I guess this place is oozing with it."

Camellia raised a brow. "Well... how about starting from the beginning?"

There was a long pause. Harry stopped twiddling his thumbs in his lap just long enough to sit up straight and look Camellia in the eye. She wondered what he was looking for and how it contradicted what he was really seeing in her. If he was looking for a mother, Camellia knew he would be sorely disappointed. She was not and never would be Lily. But if Harry were simply looking for someone he could confide in, someone he could love and who would love him in return, someone would do her absolute best to stay by his side always, then Camellia figured she might just have a chance. Harry studied her for what seemed an eternity, those green eyes of his seeming like they could see right through her, right into her past. Camellia fought the overwhelming urge to look away from him in an attempt to hide the shame that she could feel rising up within her. She had to remind herself that he didn't know. There was no possible way he could know.

But perhaps he did. Or maybe he sensed something off about her... or, as McGonagall had said, maybe it would take much longer than Camellia had hoped for Harry to put aside his anger toward her. The boy stood abruptly, hands curling into fists at his sides. He opened his mouth to deliver what Camellia considered the final blow.

"I don't know you." Harry said flatly, his gaze having turned remarkably icy. Camellia could sense whatever progress she had made slipping away. Before she could reach out to him, open her mouth to protest, to beg, Harry had walked out of the room.

Harry's exit was quiet and rather undramatic compared to what he could have done. Camellia wished he had shouted more. Screamed, even. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she deserved that and more. The boy's silent disappearance from the Headmaster's office stole the very breath from Camellia's lungs, as if he had been a tempest and she something in his path that had only just escaped being obliterated.

There was relief to be had, but not much. Camellia sat absolutely still in her chair. She wanted to cry, but she had no tears left to spare after so many years of heartache. There was only quiet resignation. Minutes passed; her eyes never once left the door.

Camellia thought her nephew might reappear at any moment to give her a second chance. But, he didn't. Harry was obviously going to make her work for his forgiveness. Camellia sat alone in one of Dumbledore's voluminous armchairs for an hour, waiting.

Harry never came back.