Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling.
A/N: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.
chapter twenty-one: such a small thing
The first time it happens, it is such a small thing.
They are at Nana Baker ("go ahead and call me Nana too, Petunia – I'm old enough to be your grandmother as well, after all") and Robyn's church's Eater Potluck. Harry is seven and she can tell he feels so very grown up (dressed up for today in a button up t-shirt and tie) being allowed back in the kitchens to help out.
The others have already gone outside with most of the food and Harry is in front of her walking very slow and careful, carrying a pitcher of lemonade. And he seems to be doing fine, would have done fine, if whoever had spilled ice earlier had cleaned it up – but now it is a puddle on the floor, a puddle neither of them see until it is too late.
Petunia winces, her hands tightening on the vegetable be-laden tray she is carrying as she watches him slip, right himself but loose his grip on the glassware. As it falls she is already making plans in her head. Reassuring Harry, making sure he is alright, clean up, getting more drink ready, a new shirt for him to wear until that one dries (some of the other boys have up to three layers on, she bets at least one of them won't mind being rid one).
But, then...then there is no need.
Because the pitcher stops mid fall, slows in its decent, and then sits upon the floor gently. Not a drop of lemonade spilled.
Harry has had his eyes closed the entire time behind his glasses - face scrunched up, almost comically, wincing in preparation for the spectacular accident and now opens his eyes, amazed and delighted to find no mess at all. He turns to smile at his aunt but his grin slips a bit at her expression.
"Tune?" he asks. At her lack of immediately response, he walks over (leaving the lemonade sitting where it pleases) and tugs at her shirt. "Tune, what's wrong? It's alright Tune; see," he points back, "nothing broke."
She looks down at him – into those bright green eyes that are now so much more familiar to her for just being Harry's than any resemblance to her sister. But in this moment she thinks of Lily sharply. Very sharply.
"No, Harry - nothing broke," she whispers, her throat feeling clogged. "You're right. Everything is alright," she says and Petunia takes a deep, settling, breath, steadying herself (pushing through the knowledge, in this moment - the thoughts that fall one after the other like dominoes - of what she knows this means. What it will change for both of their futures.).
Instead she smiles at him reassuringly, calming his worries, and says lightly, "Now pick that pitcher back up and let's get this stuff outside; everyone is waiting and my arms are getting tired."