CHAPTER FOUR

An Aunt's Duty

Albus sat quietly behind his desk, arms folded and his expression abnormally solemn, if a little sedated. Fawkes preened at the outlines of his feathers fervently, cooing smoothly into the silence of the tense atmosphere. He behaved impatiently and jerked his head around a little, Albus noted. But, he wasn't crowing or yapping like Hagrid's gentle giant of a dog; an aspect so little but so majorly relevant.

Putting his faith in a bird wasn't what others would call practical, that much Albus knew — as Severus had quite often enough pointed it out at him every chance he could — but this Fawkes, his companion, his familiar, his friend. Call him a sentimental, senile old fool missing on his medication and all the above, but he trusted his friend's judgement. As after all, time and time again, he'd been able to tell people apart from whether they're deceptive or sincere like a bothering smell. Granted, Albus preferred to reference it as telling white and black apart from each other.

However, this wasn't a reaction he'd been expecting from his feathered companion. Fawkes was piercing the person opposite of him with sharp eyes, tentative, but docile. It was almost as if he was waiting for something; a sudden movement, a bang, something. What was it? Albus, for the first time, had no idea.

"Dumbledore," the woman addressed him curtly. "If you don't mind, I'd rather we get along with this little chit chat sooner rather than later. I didn't go through the hassle to get here just for a mere social call if you've forgotten."

Succinct and terse, a direct similarity with Severus. Now if only she had access to his extensive vocabulary.

Albus coughed roughly behind his hand to suppress the impending chuckle that was rising from his throat, knowing fully well that the woman saw his slip of a smile from under his beard. From the thinning of her lips and subtle narrowing of her eyes, he'd have his guesses for being correct.

"Social call or not, it needn't limit us from simple courtesies, dear," he batted his hand flippantly before reaching over to his infamous glass bowl of delicacies, holding it up with both of his hands, appearing almost child-like with his eager offer. "Lemon drop?"

The possibilities of being quoted on that line from a reporter are as likely as the chances are of this woman accepting a piece.

Warily, Petunia ventured her hand forth, fingers wrapping around one of the odd, yellow sugary delights. Albus very nearly dropped the bowl in front of him when she plopped it in her mouth, even more so when she actually appeared to be enjoying it.

Wonders never cease, he thought dazedly.

"Now, onto the matter at hand; Harry's arrangements for the summer. Let me be clear on elucidating that this will be the only exception in which I am willing to excuse your duties as his guardian," his voice grew impeccably dark and harsh for a moment before his voice returned to its usual ingenuous tone, though the gravity in his voice was still there. "However, in doing so, you'll be required to sign some forms, seeing as I'm admitting him to a summer camp that a confidant of mine runs."

Petunia had stiffened and turned rigid at the previous tone Albus' voice took on, the slightest bit of colour had drained from her face, rendering her rather pale-looking. Her attention jolted at the mention of paperwork to do and she scowled with only a minimal amount of reluctance to such open displeasure in front of the Headmaster.

"Oh, also," Albus added as an afterthought. "You'll need to go down and see young Harry in the Hospital Wing, stay with him for a while, the minimum being an hour at the least."

Her expression softened for a minuscule of a second before rearing back into a countenance of indifference, something that made Albus ponder on how his Potions Master was managing. "What," the woman choked on her words, clearing her throat roughly. "What happened to him?" Albus smiled benignly at the concern she was letting past her barriers, though there was a hint of sadness and guilt sketched across his face.

"There was an unfortunate attack at the school, a wild beast — if you will — was running rampant through the castle, thankfully only petrifying those it came across," Petunia had gasped loudly and opened her mouth to snap at the man before pausing when he raised a single hand up to silence her. "Instead of outright killing them."

Petunia gave a shaky nod at the new onslaught of unforeseen knowledge that was just weighed down on her. She couldn't help but wonder what might have occurred last year. The boy had looked like a walking corpse during his first summer back, so much so that Petunia had pitied the boy and made him stay in bed while she had taken care of him for a few weeks.

Weeks. It was weeks.

"He was among those who were petrified?" She questioned worriedly, not quite comprehending the state that one would be in under such an effect. A feeling of dread settled in her stomach and only grew worse when Albus shook his head with a weary sigh. "Then what happened?" She all but hissed impatiently, throwing her hands up in the air briefly in frustration as the old coot dragged along the ominous silence.

"Harry was the one that defeated it, Petunia," he said softly, the furrow between his brows growing deeply as he steepled his hands together on the desk calmly. What colour was left of the woman was wiped off of her face almost immediately as the words left his mouth. "He got injured in the battle, a few nasty scratches and bruises, but what was most evident in his afflictions was the bite mark he received. A lethally poisonous one at that, the smallest drop and a grown man would drop dead in a matter of minutes."

Her eyes widened in great fractions, her jaw unhinged and hanging open.

"Thankfully," Albus perked up considerably, though there was still a hint of grimness in his eyes. "Fawkes — the bird you can see behind me — managed to arrive on the scene just in time before the essence could set into his core. He's currently in the process of recovering from his injuries, however, Poppy has… discussed with me some of her concerns about the boy. Concerns that we are growing wary of."

The two of them sat in momentary stillness, the only sound being the ruffles of feathers from the golden rod that held the perched phoenix grooming his wings. Petunia was the first to break through the overwhelming quiet that had taken over the room.

"What kind of concerns?"

Albus, the hilarity sucked from his colourful image, heaved a raspy breath and said, "We fear that the boy may be dying."

The silence was what met him, but when he looked up to gaze into the eyes of Petunia Dursley, the austere visage that she had taken on was ripped from her face and instead replaced with complete and utter horror. A strangled sob littered with self-contempt escaped from her lips against her own will. And, as quaint as it may have been, Petunia felt her entire body shaking, all of the bottled up emotions that she had long since renounced for Harry coming back in one full swing.

Albus had leapt up from his seat, maneuvering around the desk with speed a man of his age shouldn't have had the ability for. He steadied a tender hand on her shoulder as his gaze chased down the incursions of tears dashing down the side of her cheeks.

So, she does care, after all.

Much to his own consistent surprise, the woman blindly buried herself into the folds and wrinkles of his robes, gripping desperately at the material in her endeavours to use him as an anchor. Her cries were silent and her breathing had gotten laboured to the point of where she was wheezing and gasping for air, only to discharge it into weeping sobs.

"It's all right," he whispered quietly, cupping the back of her head and continuing with a stroking motion. "We're going to do everything we can for him."

It was only for a minute, but she lifted her head up to look at Albus, a glinting fire so comparable to Lily's fueling to life in her eyes.

"You better."

By the time both nurse and patient arrived at the front of the Headmaster's office, Harry threw caution to the air and mumbled 'Sherbet Lemons' as a stoutly wager at guessing the password past the gargoyle. Poppy had rolled his eyes at him, a remark on the tip of her tongue before dying off when the abraded statue scraped aside and permitted them access. Harry grinned like an idiot at the flustered look that had spread across her face.

Upon riding the stairwell up — which made him nauseated and queasy but simultaneously grateful as he didn't have to drag his weight up them — and reaching the doorway into the office, they found that it was left open, most likely due to Dumbledore already being aware of their presence from his wards.

He was sitting behind his mahogany desk, an exuberant Fawkes flapping his wings repetitively as he perched off of his rod and flew across the office. Somehow, the buoyant bird managed to steer his way through the place without accidentally bumping into one of the many artifacts that were littered about in random spots of the office. It was with a grace that even Harry was impressed by that he settled himself on his shoulder, his talons sinking into only the cloth of his emerald sweater.

"Hey, Fawkes," Harry said in a quiet undertone, raising a hand up to scratch the spot under the bird's beak. Beady black eyes looked into his own, squinting slightly in ecstasy as he revelled in the appetizing sensation before going tilting his head skywards so the boy had a bigger area to work with. Harry laughed lightly at his behaviour, the two others in the room adding their own quiet chuckles, though Poppy was steadfastly hiding her smile behind her hand.

Already knowing what he was probably going to be asked to do, he made his way steadily to the front of Dumbledore's desk and settled himself down into one of the comfortable cushioned chairs, letting himself sink into it tiredly. Maybe the trudge up the stairs was finally getting to him.

Deciding that his hand was getting far too tired to keep up with continuing to caress the creature still branched on his shoulder, his eyes found themselves guided to the wood grain of the desk before travelling up to Dumbledore's twinkling eyes. Already, he could feel himself tensing up slightly, but as he sunk more into the cushion behind him, he found temporary relief from his anxiety.

"How are you feeling today, Harry?" Dumbledore's eyes left way to the pronounced concern hiding behind his twinkling facade. He leaned across the desk expectantly slightly, hands clenched together in front of him. "And be honest with me now," the man warned teasingly, though the small furrow in his brows gave Harry the impression that he was being serious.

Unconsciously, Harry found his hand running towards the base of his right forearm, fingers trailing around desultorily his most burdensome wound. "I'm… I'm fine, sir," he replied meekly, eyes not quite looking directly at Dumbledore. "Just more tired, I think."

"We had trouble going up the stairs," Poppy stated abruptly behind him, her voice flat and blunt. "Nearly collapsed, he did!"

Harry, not sensing the proper distinction between being indignant and ashamed, shot his eyes down to the floor, chin nearly touching his chest. Fawkes weaved his beak through the tangles of his charcoal locks of hair softly, cooing deeply with a small rumbling sound reverberating from his breast.

"Harry, you're not in trouble- it's only natural that you would feel fatigued. Heavens, it's impressive enough that you managed to make it up here at all," Dumbledore gave an easy chuckle as he leaned back into his chair, and Harry caught the sight of the cushion behind him, a hideous mixture of magenta and lime stars included in the cover. "I'd have expected you to be bedridden for another few weeks just to be able to get out of bed." A jaunty smile blossomed across his lips. "Apparently, I was wrong."

Unwittingly, a smile was tugging along Harry's lips.

"Now, onto other matters," Dumbledore reached a hand across his desk — Harry suddenly watching attentively out of habit — and plucked one of the yellow lemon drops from the glass bowl, throwing it up in the air and smoothly catching it in his mouth. His smugness came in his smile. "You're aunt—" Harry suddenly realised the familiar fragrance of honeycomb lingering in the air.

A door to the side of them opened abruptly with a sneezing sound interrupting the flow of conversation.

There she was, Petunia Dursley, coughing lightly into the tissue she held up to her mouth. At first, Harry thought it was just makeup that made her eyes unusually red, but upon closer inspection, they appeared puffy with darkened lines shaded underneath them.

She… she looked like she was crying. Or, at least, had been.

That in itself was weird.

"Aunt Petunia?" Harry rasped, quickly straightening his back and perching warily on the edge of his chair. His aunt jumped at his voice, no doubt surprised just as he himself was. Dumbledore simply watched on with his twinkling eyes going into overtime, sucking merrily on the lemon drop in his mouth. Poppy stood by his side, almost like some kind of moral support. Which he actually felt like he needed right now.

Petunia opened her mouth, impersonating the typical goldfish expression perfectly. Harry could already hear Snape's sneering voice barking at her to close her mouth before she attracted flies.

"Har—" she coughed roughly before clearing her throat. "Harry."

The said boy stiffened up with a mixture of horror, shock and even anger concomitantly. His aunt never addressed him like that, as who he was, as who he was called. It was always boy, or, in some rare occasions that he'd often see her regret saying it afterwards: freak.

But then again…

"Harry, come out of the cupboard,"

…

"Harry. It's okay, Vernon's sleeping, come out, I have some leftovers from dinner."

He'd creaked the cupboard door open at that, nimble and meek fingers gripping the side of it gingerly as his mat of hair peered out from the crack. His aunt was kneeling at the very front of the door, nearly making him rear back in and hide instead. He was stopped, however, when his aunt grabbed his wrist and pulled him out gently, shivers racking his entire body.

Tears had begun crawling at the corners of his eyes and he hated himself for it.

When he raised a hand to angrily wipe them away, his aunt reached out again and held him still, relinquishing her previous hold on his wrist to tentatively caress his cheek. His bruised cheek.

"Oh," she croaked, sniffling heavily before she was able to suppress it. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," the words came out whispered and pained as she drew her nephew into her arms, holding his head close to the base of her neck.

"Auntie," he whimpered wetly.

"Aunt Tuney's here."