Note: The next chapter will probably be late, as I've started classes again. Hopefully this one's long enough to make up for it.
Petunia was not lost.
She might not have any idea where she was or where she was going, but Petunia Dursley was not lost. She soothed Vernie in his pram before determinedly turning left, not caring that the street she was now on was many degrees darker and seedier than the one she had just exited.
Perhaps Petunia had got a bit off course, but as far as she was concerned, she was entitled to being a touch irrational, given the circumstances.
After the two freaks had left Privet Drive, Petunia had been in an understandable state of shock. She'd acted on auto-pilot, sending Harry back to the garden, cleaning up after Dudley, feeding and changing Vernie. Petunia was highly tempted to forget that anyone had said anything about her baby, but her rationalizations were halted by Dudley.
What had happened to Dudley, Petunia wondered, to make him act so cruelly? The second Vernon arrived home, Dudley was at the door, informing his father with malicious glee all that had transpired while the wizards were at Privet Drive.
Petunia had listened to the conversation from the kitchen, her ear pressed against the door. Vernon was shocked, of course, and Dudley had to help him into a chair in the living room. Dudley then explained his plan, a plan to "make everything like it used to be," in his words.
Dudley proposed giving his brother away to an orphanage, and telling anybody who asked that the baby had tragically died without warning. To Petunia's horror, Vernon agreed. She could not believe what she was hearing.
Petunia had burst into the living room, demanding an explanation for what Vernon had just said. What followed was the most spectacular row Petunia had ever had the misfortune in which to participate.
At first, Vernon couldn't understand why Petunia wouldn't just go along with Dudley's idea, and Petunia couldn't understand why Vernon would go along with Dudley's idea. Petunia couldn't bear to part with her son, and who knew what harm might come his way in an orphanage?
Vernon countered with who knew what harm might come Dudley's way should another wizard be allowed to live with him? What could a baby do to hurt Dudley? Petunia had asked. In that same breath, Petunia rejected the notion that she would ever put one of her children above another, and how could Vernon?
So it began.
Petunia yelled at Vernon for hardly being around while she was pregnant and after the baby was born, despite his promises to the contrary.
Vernon yelled at Petunia for spending all her time with the baby and neglecting him and Dudley.
Petunia accused Vernon of putting work above his family, and missing the baby's birth, for which there was no excuse.
Vernon accused Petunia of purposely not calling him sooner, before his meeting.
Petunia asked just what was so very important at Grunnings that kept Vernon away at all hours of the day and night, and why he felt it necessary to always shower as soon as he got home from yet another "surprise meeting?"
Vernon blamed Petunia for creating a freak son in the first place.
Petunia, speechless, turned her back on Vernon and marched up the stairs. She gathered up Vernie's supply bag, pulled her amazingly still-asleep baby from his cot, threw clothes blindly into a suitcase, and went downstairs. She arranged Vernie and his things in his pram, and went out the door without another word to her husband.
Petunia didn't have a destination in mind; she was only concerned with getting as far away from Privet Drive as possible.
Now, hours later, (though Petunia could hardly note the passage of time) her feet ached, her arm hurt from carrying the suitcase, her eyes were raw and red, and she had no idea where she was. Poor Vernie was asleep again, at least. With a heavy heart, Petunia realized he had to be hungry and in need of changing. What kind of mother would ignore her baby, regardless of her state of mind?
Petunia slowly woke from her stupor. Glancing about her surroundings, Petunia failed to see any familiar buildings or people. The shops that were open looked uninviting, and the area seemed caked with grime.
Petunia turned the pram gently into the next alleyway, to collect her thoughts and look Vernie over more thoroughly. The alley was dark, dank, and contained overstuffed dumpster, but was surprisingly better smelling than the street she'd left.
She leaned over the pram to gaze at Vernie's sleeping form. How could Vernon even think of giving him up? What harm could something so small, so precious, cause?
A newspaper blew past the carriage. Petunia stiffened; the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Something, no, someone was there.
Petunia turned. No more than a half dozen feet away stood a figure of nightmares.
It wore a long, black robe. A skeletal mask, grinning obscenely, obscured its face. In one hand, it held a wand.
Recognition flared in Petunia's mind. As the robed figure stepped forward, she stepped back, keeping her body in front of Vernie's pram.
"I know what you are," Petunia's voice trembled.
"How nice," it hissed. "We won't need to bother with introductions."
There was something familiar about that voice, but before Petunia could do anything else, the figure lazily lifted its wand and said, "Imperio."
Petunia floated. She didn't know where she was. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't know who she was. And she didn't care. A voice called to her from far away. Curious, Petunia followed it.
And then she came crashing back to herself.
Somehow, the dumpster had moved. No more than a few feet, but quickly enough that it must have knocked the dark wizard off his feet.
Petunia, however, didn't stop to wonder how the wizard came to be sprawled on the filthy ground, or how she'd got so close to him that the dumpster had grazed her arm. She barely noticed Vernie's high-pitched cries.
Instead, Petunia darted around the dumpster. She kicked the downed wizard as hard as she could, in what she supposed was his stomach. The wizard gasped. Petunia stomped on the fingers of the wizard's wand-holding hand. The wand came loose from the wizard's formerly tight grip, and rolled into the shadows.
Dimly recalling that most wizards were useless without their wands, Petunia took a much-needed breath. Anxious moments were spent rooting in the dumpster for a suitable weapon. The wizard grunted, and tried to get up.
Finally, Petunia's hand closed around a broken umbrella. She whacked the wizard in the head once, then twice. He rolled onto his back.
"You," he wheezed, "Will die slowly for this."
Petunia was disinclined to agree.
She hit the wizard again with the umbrella, and this time his body relaxed into unconsciousness.
Petunia backed away from the robed body, becoming aware of Vernie's crying. Still clutching the umbrella, Petunia carefully turned the pram around, her suitcase dragging awkwardly behind. She shushed the baby vainly; Vernie had no plans to quiet down. Petunia rolled the pram to the mouth of the alley, pausing only to give the unconscious wizard another vicious kick.
She was just about to pick a direction when she felt a second chill course through her body, stronger than the first. Petunia craned her neck around.
Five, no six, no, there were more than that, dark robed figures appeared behind her in the alley. There were too many of them. Petunia hadn't time to scream; a loud bang! sounded from the street.
A huge, purple monstrosity lunged at the alley. Petunia was tempted to take her chances with the wizards, until she saw the bus' doors swing open.
Harry Potter stood just inside the bus, calling to her frantically. Petunia wasted no time in pushing the pram inside, knocking over a pimple-faced youth. She didn't notice the curse that singed her hair or feel the jolt as the bus disappeared from the street.
At some point, Petunia realized she'd picked Vernie up from the pram and sat down on something soft. Oblivious to the ambient chatter, Petunia laid Vernie out on the bed and set about changing him.
Familiar actions calmed Petunia and her son. Vernie was still hungry, but at least he wasn't uncomfortable. Petunia wrapped the baby in blankets, and held him close to her chest.
The rest of the world slowly came into focus.
From what Petunia could make out through the dim lighting, there were five other beds on the bus, and a staircase leading to parts unknown. At the head of the bus two persons sat in armchairs; one of them, Petunia supposed, had to be a driver of some description. Harry was leaning between the armchairs. All three of the wizards (for who else would wear such ghastly purple clothing?) seemed to be having a heated discussion.
After a few more bumps and jolts, some sort of consensus was reached amongst the wizards. Harry broke away from the armchairs and plopped down on the bed across from Petunia's. The pimpled wizard, whom Petunia recognized as the one she'd about run over, poured a jug of water over a fire smoldering on what should have been a dashboard.
"They're taking us to an inn," Harry said. Petunia couldn't help but notice that this Harry seemed indescribably different from the one who'd been at Privet Drive for the past month. "It'll be safe there," he added.
Petunia opened her mouth to speak, but no sound would come out. She swallowed and tried again, "How did you find me? Why?"
Harry shrugged. "It felt like the thing to do. I didn't even know you'd gone for about an hour. When I came back inside, Uncle Vernon told me to get my things and leave, and never to come back. So, I packed and left. Wandered around the neighborhood for awhile, just when I'd given up on finding you, this thing popped up and offered me a ride. I'd thought I'd better…. Well, there was this other thing that was chasing me so the Knight Bus seemed like a good idea at the time."
So that's what they call this purple contraption, Petunia thought.
"Anyway," Harry continued. "I had to wait ages for all the other passengers to get sorted out before Ernie and Stan could look for you. After that, a simple locating spell did it."
"Did Vernon say anything else?" Petunia asked, her voice perilously close to cracking. "Can't we just go home?"
Harry hesitated. "I don't think that's the best idea," he said softly. "Maybe take a few days off, and then you can go back. It's, it's too much, too soon."
Petunia closed her eyes, the words Harry didn't say cutting her more deeply than those he did.
"He'll not have me back, will he?" Petunia whispered.
"No, that's not it at all," Harry interjected. "He didn't mean…"
"No," Petunia said. "He did. I won't give up my baby. He knows."
"He'll come 'round…"
The bus came to a violent halt, effectively silencing Harry. The pimple-faced wizard stood and announced, "The Leaky Cauldron, London." He pulled the lever to open the door, and began unloading Petunia and Harry's things.
Petunia shivered in the cold night air. She almost missed seeing the door Harry and the conductor pushed the pram through.
Petunia and Vernie were whisked upstairs quickly by the inn's proprietor, followed closely by Harry and his floating trunk.
As Harry and the innkeeper had a whispered conversation in the hallway, Petunia inspected her room as thoroughly as she could. Everything seemed clean and in order, though Petunia could have sworn she'd heard the mirror snore. Fortunately, she was too tired to care.
Harry knocked once to tell her he'd be across the hall.
Petunia set about readying herself for bed. She snorted in a most unDursleyish fashion when Petunia saw she'd accidentally brought the hated blue suitcase; the irony in it was oddly amusing.
Finally, Petunia settled on the bed with Vernie in her arms. As she fed him, Petunia allowed herself to see for the first time that her son's eyes were indeed a most unusual shade of green.
It was far too soon to be awake.
Petunia couldn't have managed more than a few hours of sleep, though Vernie was mercifully quiet and hadn't cried once since they'd arrived at the inn. However, she still tossed and turned all night (carefully, though; Vernie was nested in pillows next to her on the bed, and it wouldn't do for him to be accidentally smothered) and by now sleep was definitely out of the question as the curtains weren't doing a thing to keep the morning sun out.
Petunia groggily pulled herself out of bed, stretching gingerly. Yesterday had left her arms and legs quite sore. Naturally, her movements caused Vernie to stir, and Petunia spent the next hour tending to him. Once Vernie was taken care of, Petunia tried to fix her hair to go downstairs, but she was rather rudely interrupted.
"That's not a very flattering style, dearie. Don't you have any Sleekeasy's?"
Petunia whirled around. There wasn't anybody in the room besides herself and Vernie. "Who said that?"
"I did, of course."
The person who'd spoken wasn't a person at all; the mirror didn't even have a face, but a ripple near the bottom, which sort of rolled when it "spoke."
"But you're a mirror," Petunia said, taking a step away from the talking glass.
"So?"
"So? So!" Petunia sputtered. "Mirrors don't talk. They are inanimate objects."
"Inanimate? I'll have you know there's plenty of people who'll tell you that I'm the life of any party. Plenty of people," as the mirror's voice rose, the ripple in the glass expanded and Petunia's reflection became short and bulgy. "How dare you insinuate that I'm—hey, stop that!"
Petunia had grabbed a towel and was tucking it around the mirror's edges, covering the glass. "Mirrors do not talk," she muttered. "I am not having a conversation with a mirror."
Gathering up Vernie, Petunia exited the room. She did not hear the mirror protest, "You can't do this to me, I have a contract," because mirrors are inanimate objects. Mirrors do not talk. Of that much, Petunia was certain.
Downstairs, Petunia could hardly restrain a shocked gasp. She was in a bar. A filthy, smoky, filled with non-respectable human beings (as well as some that quite obviously weren't human), completely inappropriate place for a mother and her baby, bar. Worse, it was a bar with wizards in it. Wizards dressed in funny clothes, and there was a fire too, in July.
It was enough to make Petunia want to run back upstairs, but that desire was squelched when she remembered the mirror—not to mention how hungry she was. Petunia scanned the smallish crowd briefly, spotting Harry at the table farthest from the bar. She quickly joined him, giving all of the robe-wearing people a wide berth.
Petunia pushed several newspapers out of the way, clearing a section of the table. "Harry, you've made a mess," she said.
Harry jumped. "I didn't see you come in," he said, adjusting his glasses.
"What is all this rubbish, anyhow?" Petunia shifted Vernie to her right arm, and picked up one of the newspapers. Ignoring the picture, which was not in any way moving, because pictures do not move, Petunia read, "Black Still At Large."
"I'm trying to get caught up," Harry said.
A waitress came and placed a plate of steaming food in front of Petunia. Petunia was about to protest when Harry interrupted her,
"I didn't think you'd want to use the menu," he said, gesturing to a cage on the floor near the entrance, in which several winged parchments were fluttering about, trying to escape.
Petunia grudgingly agreed, though she looked the food over carefully, searching for abnormal additives.
"Here, let me hold him so you can eat," Harry offered, reaching for Vernie.
Petunia looked from the plate of food to her son; it was somewhat difficult to eat one-handed while a baby grabbed at your hair, and Petunia was having trouble remembering the last time she'd eaten. "All right," she said.
Easier said than done; Harry clearly had no idea how to hold a baby, and Petunia's instructions didn't seem to be getting through to him. Finally, she settled for having Vernie lean halfway onto Harry's shoulder, a bit higher up than he'd be if he were being burped.
"Support the head," Petunia reminded.
For his part, Vernie gurgled happily at Harry's new face. Vernie swung his chubby arms around Harry's glasses, too young to be dexterous enough to get a good hold on them, but still trying. Unfortunately for Harry, he hadn't a free hand with which to defend his glasses.
As soon as the waitress took her plate away, Petunia reclaimed Vernie and Harry was able to clean his glasses.
Petunia and Harry sat in silence for a few minutes, Harry reading newspapers and Petunia trying to entertain Vernie so that he'd stop looking at the wizard-filled bar. Eventually, Petunia said,
"What happens now?"
It wasn't the sort of question Petunia usually asked; she normally made it a point to know exactly what was going to happen when, but circumstances being what they were, she was at a loss. Petunia liked being in the dark about the future even less than she liked talking mirrors, particularly when the future no doubt included wizard elements.
Harry swallowed, as though he'd known the question was coming and was steeling himself against an inevitable backlash. "My headmaster owled me earlier, and he says we can't go back to Privet Drive."
Petunia's head snapped up. "Why? Apart from… Well, I don't see why I wouldn't be able to, if…"
"No, it's not that," Harry said. "He wouldn't give me details, but he said it isn't safe for me, you, or the baby."
"Not safe?" Petunia's voice caught in her throat. "But what about Dudley?"
"He's still safe," Harry assured his aunt. "It's just us that shouldn't go back."
"Oh," Petunia said softly. Then, louder, she said, "Where are Vernie and I to go, then? This establishment hardly seems appropriate." Petunia briefly considered some hotels in London with which she was familiar.
"So, we're going to go stay with my friend's family," Harry said.
The visions of room service and normal menus evaporated from Petunia's mind. "What? Not a friend from, from school?"
"My headmaster says it's the safest place we can go, apart from Hog-, er, my school," Harry said. "And they're not strangers, really. You met some of them last year," he added.
"Last year?" Petunia's voice became rather faint.
"They came to get me, remember?" Harry grinned. "They've all got red hair, and they had a flying—oh, I s'pose that wouldn't be, well, from your perspective, anyway…" Harry trailed off, fussing with his stack of newspapers. "Anyway, they should be here soon. I think they're borrowing a car, because you and the baby can't use Floo powder."
Petunia frowned. She didn't fancy having some wizard dictate her life, not to mention live with a family of the same. But did she really have a choice? Lily's world hadn't been safe for Lily, let alone Petunia and an infant. Going back to Vernon… well, she couldn't agree to his terms, and even if she could, would it make any difference? Looking at her baby, Petunia couldn't imagine giving Vernie up—which meant she had to follow the orders of a nameless, faceless headmaster whose only recommendation came from Harry. And Harry'd been in the care of his headmaster for two years, and he wasn't dead or horribly disfigured, yet.
Noticing that Vernie was nodding off, Petunia left Harry to his newspapers and went back to her room. At least one of them was taking this in stride.
"Aunt Petunia? Are you in there?"
Petunia yawned; she'd only intended to rest her eyes for a moment, which had inadvertently become forty-five minutes, according to her watch. Vernie was awake and staring at her with his unsettling green eyes.
"Yes, Harry?" Petunia called, not feeling terribly inclined to get up to answer the door.
"The Weasleys are here," Harry said. "We've got to leave now."
Petunia swallowed. "I'll be out in a minute," she said.
There wasn't anything to pack other than a few of Vernie's supplies. Petunia checked to see if Vernie needed to be changed (he didn't) and fixed her hair as best she could without a mirror (because there wasn't a mirror in the room, never mind the oddly hung towel over the dresser, which was not whimpering).
Petunia held Vernie with one arm and opened the door with the other.
"Ready?" Harry asked.
Petunia nodded. She was not alone with Harry and Vernie in the hallway; a tall, bald man and a much-taller-than-Harry redheaded boy were also waiting. Petunia vaguely recognized the man, but couldn't recall having met the boy.
"Arthur Weasley," the man said, shaking Petunia's free hand with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. "It's nice to meet you. Pity it couldn't be under better circumstances, but don't worry about a thing; I can assure you that my home is completely safe for muggles."
"Hello," Petunia said. A part of her desperately wanted to back away and slam the door, but reason won over emotion; it might not be the best idea to alienate someone who was capable of turning her or Vernie into a toad, particularly when she was to be a guest in his home.
A few minutes later, Petunia followed Harry, the Weasleys, and floating luggage down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. Harry's friends had indeed arrived via car, a nondescript, black sedan. Petunia worried needlessly about fitting Harry's trunk and Vernie's pram in the boot, as it turned out there was more space inside the car than one would think. Petunia tried not to think about the source of this phenomenon.
The car ride went suspiciously quickly; not a single red light stopped them, and the car had an uncanny knack for always being in the good lane. Not to mention the blurring scenery, which gave Petunia a slight headache when she looked out the window. Vernie hadn't even fallen asleep in his car seat when they arrived at the Weasleys' home.
Every rational cell in Petunia's body told her that a house like the Weasleys' just couldn't stay upright, but somehow, it did. Petunia decided she'd better get used to not thinking about why things behaved so oddly if she didn't want to drive herself mad.
No sooner had Harry got out of the car when a plump, red-haired woman barreled out of the house and seized Harry in what must have been a bone-crunching hug. The woman spent several minutes fussing over Harry before she turned to Petunia.
"Hello," the woman beamed, smiling at Petunia for no discernable reason. "This must be Harry's little cousin," she said.
The woman was smiling at the baby, Petunia realized.
"This is my wife, Molly," Arthur interjected, putting his arm 'round the woman. "And this," he continued, "is Ginny, our youngest."
Petunia hadn't noticed the girl come outside. Like all the other Weasleys Petunia had met, she had red hair. Petunia estimated that the girl couldn't be much younger than Harry, though she'd severely overestimated the age of Ron, whom Petunia thought of as too tall for thirteen.
"Oh, my," Arthur said, looking at his watch. "I'm due back at the Ministry already. I'll see you at dinner," he said to Molly, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
Petunia blinked, and Arthur disappeared. She felt another headache coming on.
"Now," Molly clapped her hands. "Ron, help Harry's aunt with her things; Ginny, you show her where your room is; and Harry, there's a snack waiting for you in the kitchen."
The girl's room was on the third landing. It wasn't flashily decorated, Petunia was relieved to see. The wallpaper was pale and faded, a bay window overlooked the Weasleys' back garden, a disorganized bookshelf took up a large corner of the room, a cot had been set up for Vernie, and a large trunk sat at the foot of the only bed in the room. "Don't worry," the girl said, sensing Petunia's thoughts as she eyed the bed. "I'm moving down with Percy."
Petunia didn't ask who Percy was; the girl and her brother left to let Petunia get settled.
Vernie took his cue to cry as soon as the girl had left. Petunia dutifully fed and changed him, growing increasingly worried about the sporadic banging sounds coming from upstairs. Aside from bringing the already unstable house down, the noise would keep Vernie from sleeping.
After she burped him, Petunia carried Vernie downstairs. He would only cry if she left him alone with the strange noises, and Petunia didn't want to be too far away from her baby in a house full of weirdoes.
Petunia's nose led her to the kitchen, where a number of dishes seemed to be washing themselves over the sink. There was a lit fireplace, despite the July heat. Petunia determinedly avoided looking at the dishes and turned her attention to the woman seated at the table.
Molly was reading pieces of parchment at the table, occasionally flicking her wand at the dishes. Petunia cleared her throat.
"Yes?" the witch asked, her attitude towards Petunia considerably cooler than it had been the hour before.
"May I use your telephone? I'd like to get in touch with my husband," Petunia said, not quite sure what she'd done to offend Molly.
"'Telephone'?" Molly's brows furrowed. "We haven't got a 'telephone'."
"You haven't?" Wizards were more backward than Petunia'd thought. "But, I need to speak with my husband."
"You can't just use an owl?"
"I'd rather not," Petunia said. "I left last night—and he hasn't any idea where I am." Petunia willed herself not to think about the wizard she'd met in the alley. So far, no one had asked her about what had happened, and Petunia was more than willing to forget it.
"Oh!" Molly's expression morphed to one of sympathy. "I'll ask my husband."
Petunia prepared herself to see the witch vanish as her husband had, but Molly did something else entirely. She tossed something onto the fire, and said, "Arthur Weasley's Office." Then, the witch put her head into the flames. It was all Petunia could do not to faint; as it was, she all but fell into a chair, startling Vernie.
Molly didn't seem to think anything was amiss. She chatted with an unseen audience, not paying any mind to the fire. Petunia tried not to hyperventilate; she was certain she smelled burning flesh.
After a few minutes of conversation, Molly removed here head from the fireplace, and square-ish object materialized in the flames. The witch plopped the old-fashioned rotary phone on the table in front of Petunia.
Petunia stared at Molly; she seemed amazingly unharmed for someone who'd just tried to barbecue her head.
"Have I got soot on my face?" Molly asked, dusting off her shoulders.
Realizing that this was another one of those things that she was going to have to ignore, Petunia shook her head. Examining the telephone more closely, Petunia said, "Where's the cord?"
"The 'cord'?"
"To plug into the wall, to make the telephone work," Petunia said.
"Why don't you try using it without a 'cord'?" Molly asked.
Petunia frowned, but picked up the receiver anyway; she'd never seen a wireless rotary phone, but there wasn't any harm in trying. Sure enough, there was a dial tone.
Petunia awkwardly tried to rotate the dialer, holding both the receiver and Vernie.
"Let me," the witch said, lifting Vernie from Petunia's arm. Molly was far more adept at holding babies than Harry was, though Vernie yawned sleepily rather than investigate the new face.
After a few clumsy mis-dials, Petunia waited anxiously for someone to answer the phone at Privet Drive. She counted the rings, one, two, (Vernon was at work, or did he take the day off?), three, (where was Dudley?), four, five, and the answerphone clicked on. The message she'd recorded herself when the machine was new sounded alien in Petunia's ears.
Petunia left a message, a highly watered-down version of the events of last night and that day, being sure to mention as often as possible that she was being told what to do by someone else and that she would very much like to come home, if such a thing were possible. The tape ran out before she finished.
"All finished?" Molly asked, bouncing Vernie gently up and down.
Petunia nodded. Molly returned Vernie to his mother.
"He's falling asleep," Molly said. "Why don't you put him down for a nap before the aurors get here?"
"Aurors?" Petunia vaguely remembered Lily having mentioned aurors a time or two, though she hadn't the faintest idea what they were.
"To interview you about last night," Molly said. "Dumbledore arranged for the Ministry to send a team as soon as Harry contacted him. The Death Eaters were all gone by then, of course." The witch wiggled her wand at the dishes, and they stacked themselves noisily on the countertop.
"Oh." Petunia looked down at Vernie, who had stirred at the unexpected sound. Petunia said, "My son ought to sleep, but it's so loud upstairs." She didn't say that she'd prefer not to lose sight of him in an unfamiliar house filled with abnormal people; who knew how the witch might react?
"Loud? How do you mean, 'loud'?"
"It sounds like fireworks, almost, but inside," Petunia said. "He'd be scared up there, all by himself…"
"Fireworks, eh?" Molly didn't seem to be paying attention to Petunia anymore. "If I've told them once, I've told them a thousand—wasting their time with nonsense—should be studying for their owls," Molly muttered, her eyes flashing.
The witch opened her mouth to yell, but saw Vernie and stopped. With a wave of her wand, Molly disappeared from the kitchen.
Petunia scarcely had time to work her brain around the other woman's departure before an almighty crash sounded from somewhere in the house; a moment later, two redheaded blurs shot through the kitchen and escaped outside. Molly reentered the kitchen through the doorway.
"It'll be plenty quiet for him, now," Molly said. "Why don't you take him upstairs and we can have a cup of tea before the aurors arrive?" The witch's eyes still held a rather predatory gleam
Petunia complied, though she still didn't like leaving Vernie alone and she didn't trust the weird baby-monitor the witch had given her. It looked like an ordinary blue marble, but Molly insisted it would turn red if Vernie cried.
Molly hovered over the fire, waiting for the pot to boil. Petunia, not particularly keen on making conversation or knowing what to say if she were, sat at the table and twisted her wedding ring around her finger. It fit more loosely than it had for some time; her hands had swelled while she was pregnant with Vernie.
The tea was served. Petunia drank hers in small sips. It wasn't as though the tea tasted loathsome, but Petunia wasn't sure if she should trust the witch not to poison her. Drinking tea in the kitchen of a shabbily dressed witch wasn't what Petunia had in mind for her last moments.
"Harry's awfully skinny, don't you think?"
Petunia looked at Molly quizzically. What was she getting at? "He's always been that way," Petunia said.
"Didn't you feed him?" Molly frowned at Petunia, her fingers grazing her wand, which stuck out of her pocket ever so slightly.
Petunia gulped. "Of course we fed him—Harry didn't have much of an appetite when he was small—and, well, I never spent any time with the family of Lily's husband, but my parents were both short and rather slight. (That sort of thing can skip a generation, you know.) Some boys are just skinny, no matter what."
Molly didn't seem convinced.
"And Harry never returned from school much bigger than when he left," Petunia said. "He eats however much he likes there, doesn't he?"
The witch's fingers returned to her teacup; Petunia relaxed. But, Molly wasn't quite finished yet.
"What about Harry's clothes?" Molly asked. "He hasn't anything that fits."
"Expenses," Petunia explained, "my husband's salary," pausing, Petunia did some quick arithmetic in her head, and changed tactics. "I didn't want Dudley to get the idea that we were favoring Harry over him."
Molly snorted
"I know what that's like," Petunia said. "My parents always favored Lily. I didn't want Dudley to go through the same thing, and besides, Dudley's been a bit bigger than Harry all his life, and it seemed inefficient not to reuse his old clothes. Why spend more money when there are perfectly good clothes already available?"
Petunia got the feeling that the witch wasn't at all convinced. Then again, Petunia wasn't about to tell Molly that she'd used hand-me-downs so that she wouldn't have to take Harry shopping.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how Petunia's thought about it, the fire chose that moment to flare and someone tumbled into the kitchen.
A dark skinned wizard with graying hair righted himself and dusted off his sooty robes. There was some sort of badge fastened to his left breast, but Petunia wasn't close enough to read it.
"Oh, Gordon," Molly said, leaping out of her chair with more swiftness than Petunia would've thought possible. "It's so good to see you again!" Molly hugged the wizard before he could escape. "It's been ages, hasn't it?"
"Not too terribly long, last August, I believe," the wizard said, disentangling himself from Molly. "Congratulations on Arthur's win, by the way. It couldn't have happened to more deserving folk."
"Thank you, we had a lovely stay in Egypt with Bill. Is Jonas with you today?" Molly asked. "He isn't ill again, is he?"
"Resting after last night," Gordon said. "We were still at the scene until about an hour ago. Every few hours we get called away because someone supposes he saw Sirius Black peering over a hedge."
Molly nodded sympathetically. "Please, have a seat—would you like some tea? I'll go fetch Harry."
Molly went outside, and Petunia was alone with the wizard. Petunia shuddered involuntarily; she wasn't sure what bothered her more, the puckered scar across the wizard's neck, evidence of an attempted throat slashing, or the fact that she recognized that the scar was evidence of an attempted throat slashing.
Gordon said, "Why don't we go ahead and begin before Harry gets here?"
Petunia nodded.
"All right, then," Gordon said. "Let's start from when you left the house…"
Petunia told her side of the events of last night. Her memory was fuzzy in some places, like how she managed to first incapacitate the dark wizard. Gordon took notes with a quill, asking questions whenever Petunia trailed off.
Being interviewed by an auror was a draining procedure, Petunia determined after Gordon finally left. It seemed as though he'd asked the same questions over and over, and checked her responses against Harry's. The auror spent three hours at the Weasley's home.
Vernie'd woken up about halfway through the questioning, and insisted on being walked around the kitchen so he could get a good look at everything. Vernie was being rather fussy, protesting whenever Petunia tried to sit down and rest. Petunia felt a bit fussy herself when Arthur appeared out of thin air, followed by yet another redheaded boy. Honestly, did witches and wizards think doors were only for decorative purposes?
Dinner was not the peaceful affair Petunia had grown accustomed to at Privet Drive. Nine people crowded around the too-small table, in addition to Vernie in a carrier Molly had somehow produced. Plates of food floated above the table, four conversations were going at once, and the girl who was lending out her room got turned into a platypus no less than three times during the course of the meal. The twins, the supposed malefactors, were sentenced to clean the dishes.
By the time she went to bed, Petunia was fairly overwhelmed. She felt certain she'd never get all the names of all the Weasleys straight. Ron and Percy looked terribly similar, except one of them wore glasses and an obnoxiously shiny badge, though Petunia couldn't recall which. As far as the twins went, Petunia wondered if she should even bother with both their names, as she'd never be able to tell them apart. Also, there were two older sons who Petunia hadn't met; fortunately for her, they'd already left home. At least there was only one girl. Jean, wasn't that her name?
The next morning, Petunia wasn't sure what to do with herself. Vernie was asleep. Harry was off with the rest of the Weasley brood, practicing sports or something. Arthur was at work, and Molly was knitting. Petunia had already searched the girl's room the night before, allowing her distaste for magic rubbish to be overwhelmed by her desire to snoop. Unfortunately, the girl was either frightfully boring or highly adept at hiding her personal effects.
Petunia wandered around the Weasley's garden, disappointed at the distance between it and any of the neighbors' houses. She couldn't even be entertained by the television: the Weasleys didn't have one.
Petunia sat down on a large rock. The garden was all right. Inside the house there were self-cleaning dishes, strange noises, people getting turned into funny looking mammals, and ticklish furniture. In the garden at least she could turn her back to the house and put out of her mind the fact that it was probably held up by magic.
The garden was more overgrown than even Petunia's had been at the beginning of summer. Vines and weeds were more prevalent than flowers, and the grass was several times taller than it ought to have been. But it was quiet, and for a moment Petunia could forget her circumstances. She sighed and shifted on the rock. It'd be more comfortable to sit in a chair, but Petunia didn't care to get one.
Petunia stiffened. Something had brushed past her ankles. She steeled herself and looked down, expecting to see an icky garden snake. Instead, she saw a potato. The potato turned to stare at Petunia. Not used to making eye contact with vegetables, Petunia screamed.
The potato blinked. Petunia screamed again.
Petunia started towards the house, but a line of potatoes with legs blocked her. She continued screaming.
Having heard the commotion, Molly ran out of the house, wand in hand. "What? What's the matter? Where are they?"
Petunia had never been so glad to see a witch. Too out of breath to speak, she pointed at the potatoes.
"Gnomes? I don't under—" Molly frowned at the potatoes. "Shoo! Get out of here." Molly waved her wand threateningly, sending sparks at the potatoes.
The potatoes scattered. Petunia watched the grass anxiously, expecting a potato to attack her at any moment.
"What's wrong?" Molly asked, her forehead tight with concern.
"Those, those things," Petunia said. "I wasn't doing anything, and then all of a sudden there were hundreds of them, and they…"
Molly had a rather peculiar expression on her face. "The gnomes? You were making all that racket over a bunch of gnomes?"
Petunia nodded, her heart rate slowly returning to normal.
"Gnomes?" Molly repeated. "I thought You-Know-Who himself was—or that you were being attacked by…" Molly sighed. "Just come back inside. The boys can de-gnome the garden this afternoon."
Petunia made certain to spend as little time as possible outside of the house after the potato-gnome incident. She stayed close to Molly, and kept Vernie with her whenever possible. The twins, she had learned, were less likely to attack her if their mother was in range.
If Petunia hadn't sworn long ago that she hated witches and wizards and everything about their way of life, then she might have been tempted to say she'd grown to like Molly. The witch wasn't so bad if you ignored the witch part; she was remarkably ordinary. Molly spent her days knitting, answering letters, and listening to the sordid soap operas that played over the wizard's radio. Molly, torn between pitying Petunia and being cross with her, had more or less accepted Petunia as a companion. Besides, the witch had a soft spot for Vernie, and perhaps babies in general, Petunia suspected.
Petunia became quite adept at ignoring all things magical in the house. The most difficult thing to overlook was the random disappearing and appearing of Arthur and Percy, really, mostly Percy. He never used a door if her could help it, and Ginny kept threatening to hex him the next time he popped into his room without checking to see if she was decently attired. All in all, Petunia found the appearing/disappearing most disquieting.
However, Petunia ignored the situation with her family at Privet Drive best of all. She rang every morning and left messages, but neither Vernon nor Dudley ever tried to contact her in return. Apart from those few minutes a day, Petunia didn't think about her husband or eldest son. Overwrought as she felt, Petunia knew she'd burst into tears if she dwelled too long on her family, and she wasn't about to look so weak in front of a bunch of magic people.
Ten days had passed since Petunia and Vernie had arrived at the Weasley home. Petunia thought she had the daily routine down, but this morning, after she'd put Vernie down for his nap, Molly wasn't knitting in her usual spot. Instead, Petunia found Molly in the kitchen, stirring an enormous bowl of batter.
"What are you making?" Petunia asked. She sat at the table, paying no attention to the eggs floating about the bowl.
"Harry's birthday cake, of course," Molly said.
Today was Harry's birthday, then. Petunia had thought it was sometime in June. "Oh," she said.
"He likes chocolate, doesn't he?" Molly pulled out a smaller bowl filled to the brim with melted chocolate. She added it to the cake batter.
Harry, not liking chocolate? Petunia sincerely doubted that any child of Lily's wouldn't love chocolate more than breathing. "I suppose he does," Petunia said.
Molly hummed while she made the cake. When it was time to put the frosting on, Harry and the four younger Weasleys zeroed in on the kitchen, drawn by a supernatural sense that told them when they were most likely to successfully sneak a finger into the bowl of frosting. Molly deftly repelled all such attempts at thievery, and sent her children and Harry away to ready themselves for the party.
"A party?" Petunia had just brought Vernie downstairs so Ginny could have her room back for a bit. "I didn't know there was going to be a party."
"Why wouldn't there be a party?" Molly touched up the "Happy Birthday Harry" on the cake for the third time in as many minutes. "It's not going to be a very big one. Hermione and her parents, a few people from Hogwarts, and Bill's in London on Gringotts business, so he'll put in an hour or two. And Arthur's going to try to get away from his desk long enough to join us for cake and presents."
Molly set the cake aside and started making dishes for the party. For a so-called "small party," it looked as though Molly was planning to feed an army.
Petunia winced involuntarily as cream sauce poured out of Molly's wand. She focused her eyes on the table and said, "How will you manage the food? This table would be too small, I should think."
"We'll eat outside, there's plenty of room in the garden," Molly said. She finished with a salad, and waved her wand over the bowl—a spell to ensure that it would stay crisp? Petunia decided that she did not want to know.
Molly glanced at the clock. "Guests will be arriving any minute, now," she said, frowning. "I knew I should have started earlier."
Petunia couldn't see how Molly had come to this conclusion; the kitchen clock only showed a few bizarre phrases with one hand pointing at whichever was appropriate. The clock in the living room was even worse; it had more hands than Petunia cared to count, at least a half dozen, none pointing to numbers. Petunia was quite thankful for her normal watch, which had the correct number of hands, each pointing to mundane numerals.
While Petunia was puzzling over how witches and wizards could tell how long to cook a roast without a proper timer, the twins and Ginny meandered into the kitchen. As far as Petunia could tell, the twins hadn't cleaned up at all, but they were exchanging secretive grins. One of them, Petunia couldn't guess whether it was Fred or George, edged over to the cake; the other circled the dishes Molly had finished making. Ginny, unlike her brothers, had changed her clothes and seemed to be employing the tactic of trying to look nice without looking as though she was trying to look nice.
At this observation, Petunia's penchant for gossip, having lately been denied its customary sustenance, was roused. Who was Ginny trying to impress? Surely she wouldn't be making such an effort for family alone. Petunia had searched the girl's room from top to bottom on several occasions, and hadn't found anything to suggest that Ginny had a boyfriend or a crush. In fact, the only scraps of newspaper she'd been able to find were old and dusty, as though it had been a couple of years since their last handling, and those papers had only made oblique references to "the boy who lived."
While Petunia was trying to divine the secrets of Ginny's psyche by analyzing the arrangement of her sock drawer, the twins were drawing close to their intended targets. Fortunately for everyone who was not Fred or George, Molly caught her wayward sons before they could act.
"What do you two think you're doing?" Molly asked, tapping her wand on the countertop. Both twins froze at their mother's voice.
"Nothing much…"
"Just looking at all the food…"
"It smells great, Mum…"
"But…"
"We've got these new spices…"
"That can really give food a kick…"
"And we thought we'd add just a little…"
"To help make Harry's party extra special."
The twins smiled innocently at their mother. Petunia could almost see the halos above their heads. Molly was not fooled.
"If you truly want to help with Harry's party," Molly said. "Then you can go to the road and wait for Hermione's car. But, if I find that either of you tried to use your ridiculous tricks on Hermione's parents, then you both can forget about having cake with the rest of us; you'll be too busy cleaning up."
Ginny snickered at her brothers' identical expressions of consternation. Petunia might've found it funny too, if she were less concerned about the safety of her impending lunch.
"But, Mum..." The twins whined.
"No 'buts'! Now, go." Molly purposefully turned her back on her sons, daring them to argue with her.
The twins slunk out of the kitchen, their whispered conversation too low for Petunia's ears. Petunia was very glad that she was not "Hermione" or one of the girl's parents. She did not want to ever be at the mercy of the twins.
The fireplace flared; two people tumbled out, one after the other. Ginny and Molly greeted the witch and wizard like old friends.
The wizard certainly was old, Petunia thought. The first to emerge from the fireplace, he wore dusty, purple robes. The wizard's white beard reached to his waist; the witch looked to be just past middle-aged and wore her black hair in a very severe bun. When the wizard turned to introduce himself to Petunia, she made an on-the-spot decision: Petunia did not like Albus Dumbledore.
This was the wizard who decreed it "unsafe" for Petunia and Vernie to return home. This was the wizard who decided that Petunia wasn't to have any input on her life, and dictated that she and her baby son were to stay in a house full of magic people. This was the wizard whose advice Lily had followed to the letter, and now Lily's son did the same. Lily was dead, but Harry was still alive—for now. As far as Petunia could tell, she had, at most, a fifty percent chance of survival when trusting this wizard. Petunia didn't like those odds—but did she think for a moment that she was capable of defending herself and her son against evil wizards?
Petunia glared at the back of Dumbledore's head. The witch hadn't got around to introducing herself yet—though Petunia thought she looked rather familiar—but Petunia escaped the kitchen before she had to talk to anyone else. Luckily, Harry and Ron came into the kitchen as she was going out, covering her exit.
Wizards did not have exciting parties.
Petunia had been observing the goings-on from Ginny's window ever since she left the kitchen. She wasn't certain what she had expected to be happening, but everyone walking around, doing nothing more than chatting amiably, wasn't it. The closest thing to an argument she'd seen was when a bushy-haired girl and Ron bickered briefly about something Petunia couldn't discern until Harry laughed at both of them and the tension disappeared. The twins hadn't even tried to pull any of their pranks; Petunia hoped that didn't mean they were planning to turn everyone into fire-breathing newts when it was time for cake.
Petunia's stomach grumbled at the thought of cake. Molly was actually a very good cook, for a witch, that is, and Petunia was looking forward to the cake. In fact, Petunia was looking forward to eating. She checked on Vernie in his cot; he was wide-awake and gave her a toothless baby smile. Petunia smiled back and picked him up. Vernie liked meeting new people, regardless of whether or not they were normal, and the Weasleys were always nicer to her when she had her baby with her.
Molly wasn't having a sit-down lunch; it was one of those buffet-style stand-and-eat-and-mingle all at once systems. This was both good and bad for Petunia: on the one hand, she could grab a plate and steal away into the house again, but on the other, she would face the challenge of doing everything one-handed without a Weasley sitting next to her, conveniently offering to hold Vernie while she ate.
"Oh, let me hold him for you!"
But then, perhaps a Weasley might just pop up out of nowhere (or, more likely, trying to escape a boring-looking discussion with Percy). Petunia handed Vernie to Ginny, reasonably confident of the girl's baby-holding capabilities. All of the Weasleys Petunia'd met thus far had held Vernie correctly, even the twins (though Petunia hadn't let them hold her baby for long). This was due to having a legion of toddler-aged cousins, or so she'd been told.
Petunia eyed Ginny and Vernie. No sooner had Ginny taken the baby than she was flanked by the bushy-haired girl. They both cooed nonsense words at Vernie, who grinned and gurgled charmingly. Harry and Ron looked at the girls as though they'd both sprouted second heads.
She was so caught up in watching Vernie that Petunia almost dropped her salad when a voice next to her said,
"You've got an adorable baby."
"Thank-you," Petunia responded automatically. Glancing sideways at who had spoken, Petunia had another near-salad plate loss.
"Bill Weasley," he said, giving Petunia a toothy grin.
Petunia could have guessed as much; Molly had lamented to her one morning that her eldest son was never going to give her any grandchildren if he didn't cut his hair, lose the earring, and dress normally—normally for a wizard, anyhow. The man standing next to her had long, red hair, an earring from the mouth of some animal, and from a distance he might have looked to be wearing regular clothes, but up close Petunia could tell they were made from some animal's hide—Petunia doubted it was cow.
"Petunia Dursley," she said, returning his smile weakly. Petunia couldn't keep her eyes off the earring; it looked too big to be from a lion or tiger; perhaps it was from a shark? Petunia'd never seen a shark's tooth before.
"It's a dragon's tooth," Bill said.
"Oh." Petunia turned back to Vernie and the two girls. She'd been caught staring; Petunia didn't know whether to be embarrassed or mortified that dragons existed and people went around wearing dragons' fangs in their ears. "I didn't think dragons were real." Petunia sneaked a look at Bill.
His hand floating to the earring of its own accord, Bill said, "How could you not have thought dragons were real? I know you're a muggle, but you're a muggle who lives with Harry Potter…" Bill shook his head. "It's just hard to believe that you wouldn't know about dragons, especially after what happened with Norbert. He never told you about the dragon?"
"He isn't a talkative boy," Petunia said. "And, Harry understands that I am not entirely… comfortable with talk of such things as dragons."
"Well, dragons aren't too dangerous—don't let my mother convince you otherwise, she sometimes likes to get everyone as wound up as she is—but I don't know too much about them. Now, Charlie could tell you all about dragons." Bill smiled. "Give you a lecture that'd put you to sleep faster than Percy can—I would know; he does it to me every time I buy a pair of boots."
"Why?" Petunia's mind searched briefly for where she'd heard the name "Charlie" before remembering; he was Molly's second son. In the name of all that was holy, what had possessed Molly to have seven children? Petunia loved her own sons more than she could say, but with the memory of Vernie's birth still so close at hand, she couldn't imagine having any more.
"He thinks it's cruel. He's almost eaten or burned on a daily basis, but still thinks it's cruel, even after the dragon's already dead." Bill hooked his thumbs into his pockets. "Dragon hide's great for blocking curses and things. I don't know what I'd do without it."
"Curses? It can block them?" Petunia looked at Bill's jacket again. She wondered if it could have blocked the spell that she'd been hit with in the alley.
"It doesn't block as much as weaken. It's better at protecting you from spilled potions and muggle acids," Bill said. "It's so thick that it doesn't let much through—here, feel it." Bill offered his sleeve to Petunia. The dragon hide did feel quite thick, and heavy as well.
"How can you stand to wear it? In this weather, that is," Petunia asked. It wasn't too hot in the garden, but it was still summer. Petunia would've melted in such attire.
"A cooling charm." Petunia's face must have looked doubtful, so Bill said, "It's not as hard to cast on dragon hide as most people think. In fact, it can sometimes work a little too well. Here, let me show you. "
For some reason, Petunia briefly lost control over her voice and Bill had taken off his jacket and removed the empty plate from her hands before she could say anything to stop him. He draped the jacket around her shoulders.
"See? It's almost too cold," Bill said.
It wasn't a matter of the jacket being too cold. "It feels strange," Petunia said. As though part of her was in an air-conditioned room and the rest wasn't. Petunia did not like the sensation; she did not want to be wearing an enchanted piece of clothing.
"It takes some getting used to," Bill admitted. His hand still rested on her shoulder.
Looking past Bill's head, Petunia saw the twins whispering together. One of them kept glancing at Petunia and Bill. "Your brothers are staring. I think you should have the jacket back," she said.
Bill didn't turn 'round to see the twins. "Never mind them—it's probably because you look better in it than I do." He smiled.
Petunia felt a ghost of a blush working its way onto her face. Was he flirting with her? Why, she was a married woman, with children, one of them only six weeks old.
Before Petunia could sputter any sort of response, she felt a second hand on her shoulder. It was Harry's headmaster.
"I trust I'm not interrupting anything," Dumbledore said. "But I had hoped to speak with Mrs. Dursley for a few moments."
"What-ever about?" Petunia stammered. She took a step back from Bill, and shrugged out of his jacket.
"A few things. Perhaps we could have our discussion in the house?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. They looked as cold as glass to Petunia.
Bill took the unsubtle hint. "In case I'm gone before you're done, it was nice meeting you, Petunia." He shook her hand lightly. "Professor," he said, inclining his head towards Dumbledore. Bill then disappeared into the sea of redheads.
"Let me get my son, first," Petunia said.
"Take your time."
Petunia hurried over to Vernie. As soon as she held her son, Petunia felt a fresh burst of embarrassment over Bill and his jacket. She had a six-week-old son, for pity's sake. Besides that, she was old enough to be his… well, Petunia didn't know how old he was, but she still felt like the woman in that awful American movie Yvonne had forced her to watch—the one where a teacher tried to seduce a boy half her age.
It was cooler inside the house. The wizard was waiting for her in the kitchen.
Petunia sat down across from Dumbledore, trying to leave as much space between them as possible without appearing rude. Vernie yawned and closed his eyes, ready for another nap, it seemed. Petunia watched her son's every move, unwilling to look the wizard in the eye.
"He's taking this quite well, isn't he?" To anyone else, Dumbledore's voice exuded kindness. Petunia knew better; he was trying to manipulate her into wanting to trust him.
"He's too young to know any better," Petunia said, keeping her head bent.
The wizard chuckled. "I wouldn't be so sure about that. Babies are more aware than we give them credit for being. More powerful, too."
Petunia resisted the urge to glare at the wizard. "He's too young to know any better," she repeated.
"As you wish it, Mrs. Dursley," Dumbledore said. The wizard altered his approach. "It is not feasible for you to stay here for much longer," he said.
"Then let me return home," Petunia said. She raised her eyes to meet those of the wizard. "I have no desire to stay here."
"Sending you home is not a viable option. You see, Mrs. Dursley, you no longer have a home."
"What? Has something happened to…?"
"No, your husband and elder son are both perfectly well, as is their home. But, their home is no longer your home. The moment you left Privet Drive, your heart stopped believing it was home." Dumbledore laced his fingers together on the table.
Petunia shook her head. "I don't understand."
"I do not expect you shall ever understand," Dumbledore said. "You must know this much: Privet Drive is no longer your home, and as long as that is so, I cannot permit you or Harry to return. The spell cast over the house is broken."
"Broken…" Petunia murmured. Bits and pieces of information swam in her mind. Vernie squirmed in his sleep. "Can't it just—can't we undo it? You're a wizard, are you not? Can't you take the wizard part out of my son?"
"I cannot," Dumbledore said. "It is no more possible to strip young Vernon of his powers than it is to endow one such as yourself with magical abilities."
"Then let us forget. If my family and I didn't know about Vernie, then everything would be all right. We could go home."
"And what would happen in eleven years? It would be a temporary solution."
"Eleven years is long enough," Petunia said.
"It would not work," Dumbledore said. "A memory charm is a highly complex spell when something so shocking is intended to be erased. Even then, only the minds of you and your family would be affected. It is not your mind which rejects Privet Drive."
Petunia swallowed. There was an odd stiffness in her upper lip. "Where, then, would you have us go? If we cannot stay here nor return home—where else is there?"
"You shall accompany Harry to Hogwarts, of course. There is no safer place, and better yet, Harry feels at home there," Dumbledore said.
"I cannot stay at his school." For some reason, the wizard's face was looking a bit blurry. "I cannot be surrounded by them."
"You must," Dumbledore said. His voice softened. "You and Harry are tied by Lily's spell—even I do not know precisely what she did make it so. With you, he is protected, and in these times, there is need enough for as much protection as we can manage," Dumbledore paused. "Has anyone informed you of Sirius Black?"
"No, I don't think…" Petunia dimly recalled having heard the name, but so much had happened recently that her thoughts had become a bit muddled.
"Black was James Potter's closest friend," Dumbledore said. Petunia resisted an urge to roll her eyes. What did she care about her insolent nephew's no good father? "Black is the reason Harry's parents are dead."
That got Petunia's attention.
"For almost twelve years Black has been in prison, ever since he was captured by the Ministry. Several weeks ago, he escaped from Azkaban. Azkaban is—"
"I know what Azkaban is," Petunia snapped. "What's this Black have to do with me and my son?"
Dumbledore took a slow breath. "I—as well as many others—believe Black is after Harry, to finish what his master started. Additionally, there has been some unusual activity amongst Voldemort's old supporters." The wizard leveled his piercing gaze to Petunia's. "It may be that they will use you or your son to get at Harry. It is safest for all if you and young Vernon accompany Harry to Hogwarts. Lily's spell encompasses all who share her blood, and Hogwarts has many of its own protections."
Petunia was mute. She didn't look at the wizard, she couldn't look at her son. Everything seemed strange, unfocused and out of proportion. Noise from the garden leaked into the kitchen. The wizard was suddenly standing.
"They are readying for cake and presents. Shall I say you'll be along in a moment?" Dumbledore asked.
Petunia couldn't think of anything to say. Vernie was waking; he wiggled in her arms. The wizard left.
She might have sat with Vernie for hours, moping and feeling sorry for herself, but Petunia was interrupted before long. Molly buzzed into the kitchen and rooted around in drawers, searching for something. The witch had a stack full of napkins balanced on one arm before she saw Petunia.
"Are you all right?"
Petunia shook her head.
"Now, dear," Molly plucked a napkin from her stack and offered it to Petunia, "it isn't so bad, really. Trust Dumbledore; he knows what's best."
Petunia wanted to tell Molly that it was all a lie, Dumbledore might know a thing or two when it came to tricks and spells, but he knew nothing about her, or about what was best for her family. Lily could surely attest to that, couldn't she? But the words would not come; her throat was somehow blocked. She dabbed at her eyes with the napkin.
"Why don't you go and splash some cold water on your face? I'll take him," Molly hoisted Vernie from Petunia's hold, "and you can join us in a few minutes."
Petunia must have nodded, because Molly then said, "Don't worry; I won't let them start the presents until you're back." Then, Molly and Vernie were gone from the kitchen.
Petunia took her time getting to the bathroom. The water did leave her feeling a bit better. Her reflection didn't look quite as good; her eyes were pink and puffed, but the rest of her face was pale. The fine lines around her mouth and eyes seemed much sharper than usual. She rubbed her face hard with a towel. It helped, a little.
Satisfied that she was as presentable as possible, Petunia made to go back down the stairs, but paused. Molly had said they wouldn't start the presents without her; did that mean Petunia was supposed to have a present to give as well? She hurried into Ginny's room, and peeked out the window. There was a stack of presents on the table, not so many as to rival Dudley's yearly haul, but more than Petunia had ever given Harry during all his years at Privet Drive put together.
Petunia stepped back from the window and reached for her purse. There wasn't much available; old receipts, a comb, a pen with a chewed cap. The pen still had some ink, it would have to do. She almost left with the pen, but then Petunia saw the blue suitcase, tucked behind the door, nearly out of sight. Of course, how could she have not thought of it?
The suitcase was fairly light, as Petunia hadn't seen reason to keep it packed. She opened it on the bed and yanked at the inner lining. It gave easily. The glue was old, and not of a very high quality. Petunia slid her hand between the lining and the metal body of the suitcase. After a moment, she pulled out a thin, wood stick, about two inches shy of a foot in length.
There wasn't anything to wrap it in, so Petunia uneasily tucked it into her pocket. It felt uncomfortable and didn't really fit, but she tried to ignore it. She rushed back to the garden before she could change her mind.
Molly handed her both Vernie and a large slice of cake without a word. Petunia took the stick from her pocket and tucked it next to Harry's pile, and then sat on one of the only available chairs, which luckily put a little distance between herself and the rest of the party. A quick survey of heads informed her that at least Bill had already left, so she wouldn't need to worry about making a fool of herself again. Unfortunately, Dumbledore was still present.
Petunia watched Harry open his gifts. She couldn't make sense out of most of them; what good was the package of sweets the twins had given him if he wasn't supposed to eat them? Petunia wasn't certain what one was supposed to do with a "broom-stick servicing kit," but she suspected it was something not entirely appropriate. At least someone had given him a book. Books were normal enough, even if they weren't the gift of choice for thirteen-year-old boys. After all of his presents had been opened, Harry finally spotted the wand.
Harry frowned as he picked it up. "Whose is this?" he asked, peering at the stick closely, as though he expected to see someone's name on it.
"It's yours," Petunia said. Suddenly, everyone's head swiveled to stare at her. Petunia tried to keep a sour expression from spreading over her face. Didn't wizards and witches know how rude it was to stare?
"What do you mean?" Harry's fingers closed around the wand.
"It belongs to you now," Petunia said. Really, did being magic make people lose their manners? "It was Lily's, and… well, I haven't got any use for it."
Harry's eyes widened. "But where did you get it?"
"Lily gave it to me." Petunia resisted the urge to shrug. She had no need to explain herself to Harry, to any of them, for that matter.
"You've had it all this time!" The bushy-haired girl had a surprisingly loud voice. "The Ministry's been looking for it for ages. There's a ton of people who don't do anything but sit around all day theorizing about what happened to Lily Potter's first wand—if she used it to save Harry, did You-Know-Who steal it to hide the spell."
"Miss Granger," said one of the witches—she was the one who'd come with Dumbledore through the fireplace. "No one had seen the wand for years before James and Lily died, and there's little reason to say Lily had used it at all since Hogwarts."
The bushy-haired girl frowned, but stopped trying to bore holes in Petunia's skull with her eyes. She turned and began whispering furiously to Harry and Ron. Ron hung on her every word, but Harry only had eyes for the wand. Bit by bit, the rest of the partygoers returned to their conversations, and Petunia breathed a sigh of relief.
Petunia was content to sit with Vernie and eat cake, for a little while, at least. Molly made good cake—almost as good as some of the cakes Petunia had made. She was tempted to get a second slice, never mind the baby-weight she was still trying to lose. Until, that is, Petunia felt a tickle in her left nostril. She sneezed, careful to direct her face away from Vernie's.
Vernie made surprised noises, not exactly crying, but not far from it. Petunia hastened to comfort him, but she sneezed once, then twice more. What on earth was happening to her? Vernie was getting more and more distraught, and she couldn't stop sneezing. Again, people were turning to stare at her.
"Petunia, are you ill?" Molly asked.
Petunia tried to answer, but found she couldn't stop sneezing long enough to speak. Vernie had begun to cry.
"Petunia," Molly paused, eyes darkening. "Fred! George! What have you two done this time!?"