By: CNJ
PG-13
2: Surprises
Harry:
It feels very strange being back in the muggle world for the first time in several years. But I go back to pay the Dursleys their last respects. I'm not even sure I'm wearing the right clothes, but they are dark and I manage to dig out muggle pants in black. It's a rather damp March day, threatening more rain, but the temperatures are mild for this time of the year.
In the motel room where I'm staying in the London suburb of Surrey, I try to find something muggle-looking for a black top, but can't find one, so I must settle for a loose black cape and baggy gray shirt that goes with the cape.
Peering into the mirror to comb my thick straight black hair, I see my brows slanted upward at the bridge of my nose, my right brow higher than my left. I try to relax them along with the rest of my body, but can't. Lines appear in the middle of my forehead, so I sigh and just brush my parted bangs over my forehead, push my round glasses up my nose, and leave for the funeral.
There is a small crowd there and I follow them in. It is a muggle religious institution, so I try to be quiet and "proper" but I also feel nervous because I have never been in such a facility.
People peer at me and I blush bright red, knowing that my top is not right for this funeral. I notice the other men are wearing short dark muggle jackets. I feel embarrassed and out of place with my black flowing cape and baggy shirt. I try to ignore the whispers and stares as I find a seat in the long benches, stumble coming down one bench and finally sit with a thunk.
Someone turns to look at me and I recognize Dudley. He's thinner than he used to be, but otherwise his face is still the same, his dirty blond hair parted way down one side. I try to speak, but he sneers at me when he sees me.
"Oh, it's you...Potter..." he spits. "Come to gloat over my parents' demise?" I'm a little shocked, especially since Dudley doesn't appear too upset over his parents' deaths himself. I open my mouth to try speaking again, but Dudley hisses, "Just save it, you ugly four-eyed little freak...I would have thought magic would have cured your nearsightedness..."
"Dudley...I'm so sorry about your parents'..." I start, but Dudley glares.
"Ohhh, save your pity speech, will you!" he snaps and turned forward as the service begins. I try to follow what the man in front is saying, but keep flashing back to my years with the Dursleys. I'm sorry that Dudley doesn't seem to have changed a bit. I see Aunt Marge several rows ahead, but she sits still and does not appear to be grieving.
Most of what the man up front talking about is a lot of nonsense about a God somewhere up in the sky taking my aunt and uncle in and things that really didn't make sense like The Lord givith and takith away and this "lord" being mysterious and just.
I guess it makes sense to religious muggles who've brought up by this, but I don't really recall my aunt and uncle ever being religious. They'd said they'd believed in a god, but I don't recall them ever being in a place like this. Maybe this place is where muggles just bury their dead. I make a mental note to ask Trevor about it, if he knows anything about this...ritual since he is a muggle.
I stare straight up front and try to ignore others' occasional glances at me. I know I look strange to them. I see two large boxes up front and at first wonder what they are, then I realize that they are muggle coffins with my aunt and uncle's bodies in them.
A chill runs down my back thinking that their lives ended just like that...just like my parents' lives had twenty years ago. Staring at those coffins, then I glance at Dudley, then back at the coffins again, my heart thunking away. How fragile life is, I think. That's why you can't just fritter it away; life is too precious for that.
I know my parents had held on to every precious moment that they'd lived and tried to teach me to do the same. And I try to; I hope I am doing my best. If only Dudley realized this too; he'd be so much happier.
It's really a shame that Petunia and Vernon were so limited in their thinking and never allowed themselves to open their minds to new and unusual things. Mum could have brought so much into Petunia's life if only she'd let her, I thought feeling a small ache inside of me.
But Petunia hadn't and both Mum and Petunia lost because of it. So had Vernon. Vernon and Petunia then passed this closed-mindedness onto their son and Dudley lost because of it...and was still losing. What a dreadful waste, I think sadly.
There's still so much bigotry and intolerance and everyone loses because of it. The thought brings unexpected tears to my eyes. I duck my head, but I startle myself and everyone around me by dissolving into tears. I try to fight the tears back, but can't and they spill down my face. It's a good thing I know how to cry quietly.
But others seem to sense my tears and turn to look at me, including Dudley. I try to bury my face into my cape, feeling very embarrassed at my emotional display. I feel very sad at the terrible loss...the love lost between the Dursleys and me, the beauty and warmth just wasted, thrown away.
I did want to love them, but they didn't let me; they pushed me away because I was too different for their world. They just had no room for me. I have to take off my glasses at one point and clumsily wipe my tears away.
Someone hands me a tissue and I whisper a sobbing thanks to her and keep crying, unable to stop for several minutes. By this time, almost everyone in my section is staring at me and it make me weep more. Dudley heaves a gusty sigh.
It's so strange and bizarre that I am the only one crying, even though I probably would miss Vernon and Petunia the least of this crowd. I wish I could curl up under one of the benches until I can regain my composure, but something tells me that would not be a right move and I'd only make a bigger fool of myself than I already have.
I struggle and bit by bit, pull myself together as a group of men carry the coffins out of the church. The crowd follows and I trail after them, putting my glasses back on. By then, I'm not crying as much, but silent tears still occasionally trickle down my face.
"Why is Harry crying of all people?" someone whispers. "How strange."
"Yes, you'd think he'd be glad they're gone after the awful way they treated him," I hear someone else whisper.
"And Dudley hasn't shed a single tear," someone else adds as we make our way to a graveyard behind the church. I shudder involuntarily. Cemeteries really make me nervous, but I fight to stay calm as they are buried.
I've had this fear of cemeteries since the end of my fourth year at Hogwarts when the same evil wizard who killed my parents lured a classmate of mine Cedric Diggory and me into a graveyard via portkey and killed Cedric right in front of me and used some of my blood to regain power. It had been very traumatic for me and it took me a long time to recover from that ordeal.
Thank Merlin's stars Voldemort is gone now; a group of us...the Gryffindor house at Hogwarts, the Young Order of Phoenix, which my friends and I had been active in, and the Original Order of the Phoenix of adult witches and wizards defeated him for good in November of my seventh year when I was seventeen.
It had been at a Gryffindor house retreat in a wooded area and we'd all surrounded him and chanted spells and songs until he'd lost most of his magical powers. One of the spells I'd chanted and taught the others had been a spell my mum had used to save my life the night she died. Once Voldemort...Tom Riddle had lost his powers, aurors class E had come, bound him up and taken him to Azkaban, where he'd spent the rest of his life.
The defeat of Tom Riddle had been a huge victory and we'd had so many celebrations since Voldemort had terrorized the magical community for many years. But part of the mark left on me is my fear around graveyards. I wonder if I will ever get over this phobia.
Thankfully, the burial is brief and we part ways. I start to walk back, away from Dudley, who is sneering at me and away from the whispers, eager to get back to the magical world by tomorrow morning.
As I reach my motel, which is several blocks away, a voice calls, "Harry?" It is a tentative voice and familiar. I stop a minute and debate whether to answer. I turn and see Aunt Marge, Vernon's sister behind me, peering at me as if seeing my for the first time. It's the first time I ever remember her speaking kindly to me or calling me Harry instead of boy.
"May we...meet and talk?" My mouth opens and closes as I stare at her, not sure what to make of her request. I somehow get the feeling that she is sincere and nod. "How about dinner tonight?" she asks.
"Do you know of any good places here?" I ask softly.
"How about the Ritz Cafe just down here around the turn?" she asks, tentatively touching my arm. "I really thought it was good of you to come despite the way my brother and his wife treated you...and Harry...I am very sorry for my part in being so unkind to you as a child...I hope you can accept my apology..." she peers at me. I nod quietly.
It's a pleasant surprise to see that perhaps Aunt Marge has changed for the better. It's a fragile peace at first, but we solidify plans to meet tonight at six at the Ritz Cafe as both of us have to change and shower first.
Once Marge heads on down to wherever she's staying, I head upstairs in a daze. I get the feeling for the first time that more went on between Marge and the Dursleys than meets the eye.