Simply Petunia
By Njuzu Chapter One: Woe is ISteam rose out of my tea as a sat on my bed. I had finally come to and my dear Vernon wasn't going to let me black out again ("It's like you're pretending to die. You know I hate it when you fake it."). He sat on a chair beside me, watching. Obviously I hadn't taken the news too well. But how was I supposed to react? I woke up and found a baby on my doorstep. The neighbors probably saw everything. I would be in the throes of scandal for ages! On top of that, it belonged to that…abnormal sister of mine. I always knew she was up to no good. I said it from the very beginning. And now the stupid bitch deposited her puppy at my home like I'm some kid of dog pound. She was always like that. Running off and leaving me to deal with her mistakes. She makes me sooo angry. I hope to God that she gets what she deserves some day. I still can't forgive her for that time she –
"Petunia?" Vernon said. He seemed to have something important to say. And I could tell he was a bit nervous about it.
"What?" I said, glad that he had stopped my train of thought. I always get a little worked up when I thought about my sister.
"There was a letter."
"A letter where?"
"With…er…Harry."
Pause.
"Does it say where Lily is? Because there is no way I'm rearing her baby."
"Er," Vernon said awkwardly. "Lily's dead. And so is her husband. They were killed."
Pause.
"Well she deserved it! After what she did to me…"
"I'm sure whatever she did to you wasn't enough to-"
"SHUT UP!" Petunia screamed. Everything fell silent. Nothing was heard during the silence except for the sound of my raspy breathing. After a few moments, "You have no idea, no idea what she did to me," I said, her voice dripping with emotion. "And I refuse to take care of her child."
"But Petunia-"
"No."
"You don't understand-"
"No. No! NO!! I refuse," I said with a certain finality I didn't know I had. "I have a headache again. Leave now."
Vernon sat there, shocked. I had never been so forceful with him before. He was always the dominant one. He is a robustly brawny man. He opened his mouth to say something, and then decided against it. Dejected and distraught, he tossed the letter on my nightstand, and walked out of the room and closed the door. I sat in my spot, heart racing, trying to control my breathing. My eyes wandered around the room on their own accord. They weren't paying attention to me and I didn't heed their direction. That is, until they settled on something important.
The window was open! It was wide open with a gentle breeze blowing the pale blue linen curtains that framed it. Not too long ago, when I decorated the nursery, I thought it would be good to give the house a lighter look and feel. The colors would calm me down because there's lots of stress involved with taking care of a baby. However, the relaxing colors did nothing to mollify me now. I got out of bed and went to the window, and sure enough Mrs. Stackpole was standing there in her yard listening, accompanied by Mrs. Beckham. When they saw me looking, they quickly turned the other way and started talking about the strange owls that had appeared everywhere yesterday. I slammed the window down in frustration and yanked the curtains closed. I can't believe my horrible luck. Mrs. Crapyard and Mrs. Uglyrobe heard! Those two are such nosy gossipmongers, it'll be all over the neighborhood in no time. I can never deny this now.
By this time I was furious. Adrenaline was running wild throughout my body. I could hear the blood pumping through my veins. I decided to count to ten. 1. 2. 3. Oh piss it. That's not going to bloody work. I breathed deeply, filling my lungs to their capacity and exhaling slowly. That did help a bit. I guess I can stay cool under fire. I walked to the bathroom that was attached to my room. I picked up one of the paper cups I keep in the bathroom and filled it with water from the sink. After I drank, I looked at myself in the mirror, straight in my own eyes. I expected to see a strong woman, steadfast and resolute. But instead I saw a woman that looked like she was about to go psycho. And I did.
Screaming, I threw my cup at the mirror. Frustrated at the fact that the mirror didn't break (the cup was just paper) I screamed even more. I wrenched the medicine cabinet open, looking for something to break. I took a bottle of my favorite perfume, L'eau Maison. I tossed it through the bathroom window. I didn't even care if the meddlesome ladies heard anymore. I hope the bottle hit one of them in the head. "BITCH!!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. And then, I felt better.
*
"Done," I said as a put down my makeup brush. Since my anxiety attack began to relieve some of my tension, I took a nice long shower to get rid of the rest. I stood with the hot water cascading against me for at least half an hour. I was now completely calm. I sat down on my bed to think about what I was going to do next. Maybe I should put It up for adoption. Or maybe Marge, Vernon's sister, could bring him up. Yes, I was very calm.
Well, at least I was for a while. But then I read the letter.
I turned and picked it up from the nightstand. I studied it as I turned it around in my fingers. It was a strange letter. The envelope was made out of what looked like yellowed parchment. On the front, Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley was written in green ink. I opened it with my perfectly manicured nails (Thank you very much, sir) and pulled out a sheet of parchment. I opened it slowly and read the contents.
*
Another bottle of perfume soared out of the window, followed by the sound of my screams. I didn't feel better this time. I couldn't believe it. I had to take care of Harry. There was no way I could get around it, now. Why me? Why was it always me? All I ever wanted was a normal life. To have a normal sister and a normal childhood that would grow into a normal womanhood with a normal family. Instead I get…my life. How depressing. I sat back down on my bed. It was depressing. My anger packed his bags and left. His cousin depression came in to stay next. I sighed sadly as a tear rolled down my cheek. What luck. Quelle chance.
After a couple of hours of crying, being melancholy, and drowning in a salty sea of self-pity, I got up. I marched out of the room down the hall into the nursery and up to Vernon, who was changing the diaper that was on It (yes, that is what I will be calling him for a while).
I looked at my poor neglected Dudleykins, unattended and alone. I could see the pattern beginning at that moment. This boy would take away all the care and attention from my Dudley. Well I decided that I wouldn't have that happen. From that second on I would make sure my Dudley received more attention that It. Then it hit me. I had to take care of the child, but I didn't have to take care of it like one of my own.
"We're keeping the child," I said to Vernon. He started a bit, because I don't think he heard me coming. No one hardly ever hears me coming. I'm not a very big woman. In fact, I'm a very small, svelte, slender woman. However, that doesn't really matter at this moment.
"What made you change your mind?" Vernon said, almost timidly. I suspect he was still quite shaken from my outbursts.
"The letter. I suggest you read it later so you can be caught up with the situation. However, he will not be in the nursery with my Dudley. In fact," I continued as inspiration came, "he will be staying in the cupboard underneath the staircase."
"Don't you think it is just a bit cruel-" Vernon began.
"Just read the letter," I cut in. "I'm sure you'll agree with me after you read what it says."
*
By the end of the day, the cupboard was cleared, dusted, and turned into a makeshift nursery. Vernon didn't like my treatment of the boy, but he changed his mind later on. However, there still was the fact that I had to take care of him. I didn't want to touch the boy. Vernon told me to deal with it ("Suck it up, woman."), and pretty soon things went back to normal. I told the girls at the neighborhood meeting that I had to baby-sit my sister's son for a while and that's why a baby was on my doorstep; soon the rumors died down and were forgotten. Then time marched on.
*****
Next Chapter: Mrs. Figg and the Flying Breadbox
Authoress' Notes: Thanks to Lorelei Wood, DeAtHzLuLaByY, AngelsAngel, QTPie-2488, Spordelia Chase, Kristal Scarlett Sparklin, ReeraTheRed, and Aragornrocks for reviewing the prologue to this story. Hopefully, you'll review this one too.