Chapter 2: Her Eyes

When Vernon came out to answer the door, he didn't look down. He started grumbling about stupid kid pranks and was about to slam the door when he heard a soft cry. He was startled to find a baby who looked to be a few months old crying, wrapped with a thin blanket. The baby was bleeding from a weird cut on his forehead and was clutching a letter with his purple fingers. Any normal person would have immediately picked the baby up and brought him inside. Vernon Dursley was not normal. He was cold, calculating, and very cruel. The kid wasn't his. He didn't need to care.

He bent to pick up the letter while continuing to ignore the baby and was shocked to find out that it was addressed to him and his wife. He bellowed: "Petunia! Get out here this instant!"

"What is it?" she said, trying to sound less afraid than she was. Vernon's tone was the one he always had when he was about to bruise her up.

As she got to the door with a now calm Dudley, she looked at her husband's rage and then down at the bundle on the floor. That hair… It can't be, she thought. She quickly placed Dudley inside a playpen and went back to scoop the other baby. She motioned for Vernon to be quiet. If her neighbors heard, they would have to keep the freak. Her mother instincts were telling her to call an ambulance. Her resentment was telling her to burn the unread letter and get rid of the child. The baby's lips were bluish. Perhaps it was already dead. But as soon as she held it, the baby opened its eyes. The same eyes that she had envied and hated. They were emerald green with flecks of turquoise. They were her sister's eyes.

"What is the meaning of this? I told you I would have no freakishness in my house, Petunia!" Vernon roared. She noted it was never their house; it was his.

"I don't know Vernon. Let's read the letter," she said, coming with the baby as close as possible to the fireplace. Her motherly instincts were fighting with her self-preservation ones. It wouldn't do for that creature to die in her home. What would the neighbors say when they heard a baby died of hypothermia in her living room? She pulled the blanket away from the child's face, took off her sweater, and wrapped it around him. The baby started to stir. She hoped the baby would stay quiet. Otherwise, she would have to bear Vernon's wrath.

"Leave it there," he ordered. Petunia put him on the floor and secured the fireplace screen. It wouldn't do for her sweater to be stained with soot. Vernon tore the envelope and took out the parchment. He handed it to his wife. He did not want to touch anything remotely freakish. She opened it and read.

Mr. & Mrs. Dursley,

Young Harry has been made an orphan. His parents Lily and James were a casualty of our war. They gave their lives to save him. Lord Voldemort murdered them in cold blood. I am sorry for your loss Mrs. Dursley nee Evans. As you are his only blood relatives, I thought it obvious that he should live with you. You will be given a monthly stipend of 5000 sterling pounds (I think that is what they are called). We hope that this will alleviate any financial burdens that housing Harry may give you. Should he need more eventually, just send a letter to the address at the bottom of the scroll. Use the muggle post. There will be terrible consequences if you do not take him in.

Albus Brian Wulfric Dumbledore

Hogwarts Headmaster

Warlock in Chief of the Wizengamot

"Who the hell is that Dumb-door?" Vernon asked, shaking the envelope. Petunia was speechless. Her only sister was dead. She should feel relief because the competition was over. However, she felt a hollowness in her heart that shouldn't be there. She hated her sister. And now, what was she to do? "Petunia, answer me!"

"I think he is the principal of the school she went to," she said shakily.

"Another freak? Is this your sister's son?" he asked, pointing at the baby.

"Yes…" she noted that he hadn't offered condolences of even acknowledge that her sister had been killed. Petunia knew he didn't like Lily, but still. How could he be so cold? Her eyes flooded with unshed tears.

"Get rid of him," Vernon yelled. "I do not want him in my house, growing up with my son, and eating my food!"

Petunia was at a loss. Suddenly, an idea struck her. Vernon loved Dudley and normalcy, but he also loved money.

"But dear, we could use the five thousand pounds a month… You could get that new car. We could get better toys for Dudders. We could remodel the house…"

Vernon was a materialistic pig. He wanted the money, but he didn't want the kid. What a dilemma! But wait, who could know if the kid lived with them or not? The freaks didn't use phones. If that Dumb-door person had left a baby outside in the middle of the coldest night of the year, Vernon doubted he cared much about the brat.

"Let's ask for double. If the freaks agree, we'll keep the mini freak in the cupboard," Vernon said stroking his pudgy chin.

"The cupboard? But Vernon, he's a baby," Petunia said softly.

"Listen to me, you hag. He is not my son. He will never be equal to Dudley. He's a freak. I don't want him polluting my house. If he stays, he stays in the cupboard. He is not to have any toys. I will not spend a dime on him. He will eat leftovers if any. He will earn his keep. You wanted a maid? Well, as soon as he can walk, he will be your maid. You best see that he starts walking as soon as possible!"

"What if he cries at night? If he's there, I won't hear him," she said even softer.

"Who cares? He is a bloody orphan. He needs to learn that no one will be drying his tears or tucking him in. If I ever see you doting on him or treating him like family, there will be hell to pay. Am I understood? He will be called freak, not Harry. If he asks about his parents, you will tell him that his father was a drunk, his mother was a whore, and the drunk beat the whore to death and then killed himself because he was a coward. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," she said, avoiding eye contact. Dudley started crying and lifted his arms to be held by his father, who just patted him twice on the head.

"Keep them quiet. Especially the freak. I am tired and want to sleep undisturbed," Vernon said in a commanding tone.

Great, she thought. Not only am I stuck with this freak, but also, I must sleep on the couch. She gave her son a pacifier. She bent over to pick the baby up. His eyes were full of tears. He had wrapped his hand around her finger. His hand was still a bit cold. She wondered if he knew his parents were dead. I will not love this child; she thought resolutely. The baby seemed to read her mind, and two big tears rolled down his cheeks. He made no sound but immediately let go of her finger. She felt strangely bereft the moment he let go. She shook her head. How long had it been since the baby had eaten? The stupid man who left him didn't specify anything regarding the boy. Was he starting solids? Was he allergic to something? She would not nurse him. She was glad they had milk in the fridge. She warmed up the milk and sat the baby on the high chair. He could already hold up his own head. Dudley couldn't.

Petunia added a bit of sugar and valerian root powder to the milk. She needed to make sure Harr-the freak wouldn't wake up. She fed him, cleaned his gums, changed his nappy, and put him next to Dudley inside the playpen. She went to the cupboard, took out several boxes, did a quick cleaning, and grabbed Vernon's old dog bed. His dog, a rottweiler, had been run over by a car about a year ago. It still smelled like dog, but Petunia was too tired to try to clean it. She wrapped it with a blanket, took the sofa's thick throw and put it on top like a comforter. She placed pillows strategically so Harry couldn't roll over and smother himself. She then felt like her sister was looking at her disapprovingly. She decided to put a warm water bag under the sheets. The child was no longer cold, but he had been outside for a while, and if the baby caught something, her Dudley could too.

When she went back to the playpen to get Harry and bring him to the cupboard, she saw a scene that made her heart constrict. Harry and Dudley were lying down, holding each other close. Harry was emitting a soft golden glow from his scar. Her son was fast asleep. It always took her about an hour to get Dudders to sleep. She carefully picked Harry up and took him to the cupboard. As she put him down and wrapped him with the throw, she noticed he smelled the bed, smiled, and snuggled to it and the warmth of the bottle. Perhaps the child had a dog? As she turned on a small lamp and backed off to close the door, his eyes flew open, and she could have sworn, she saw Lily looking at her accusingly through his eyes from the death. The intensity of the child's stare was such that she felt her eyes tearing up again.

Little Harry was born with a prodigious brain and steadfast intuition he inherited from his mother and with perception and silent strength he inherited from his father. He knew, even then, that his parents were gone. He wanted to be with Pa-foo or Moo-y. Harry took comfort in the fact that his bed smelled similar to them and that it was much warmer than outside. His scar started bleeding again. He wished it would stop hurting, and after a while, it did. He fell asleep dreaming of his uncles coming to get him to take him home. However, it would be years before Harry would see anyone who loved him again. In fact, it would be years before the sweet boy would get to get out of that house.