Shackles and Chains:

Summary: One-shot. He was a burden. They'd never even wanted to take in the stupid baby, but an old man's letter had persuaded Petunia. Whatever she was, she would never be a part in a baby's murder.

A/N: This will be short but this idea won't get out of my head, so I needed to write it. It's not even very good, and I changed plans while I was writing it, but don't let me put off any potential readers and reviewers. Speaking of reviews, I'd much appreciate them. Sorry for the angst, but I seem addicted to writing it.

Petunia Dursley was tired out. She was rocking a quite pudgy looking baby who, although being a little overweight, looked as normal as they could come. On the floor silently watching her was her nephew, Harry Potter, and although he also looked almost normal, he most certainly was not.

Although Petunia and her husband Vernon had many acquaintances who came over to their house, the knowledge that they even had a nephew – let alone that he lived in the same house – was not widely-known. If it had been up to them, they'd have been happily bringing up little Dudders alone, but that wasn't the case now.

She had got the shock of her life one morning when she found a baby outside her door, fast asleep and snug and warm. For a moment, she had just stared, but then she had found the letter. This letter had made her decide that she would keep her nephew – however much she despised the idea, she almost needed to do it.

She didn't really care that the boy was an orphan, that they were his only remaining family left. Harry was a burden, that was for sure, but he apparently had a maniacal murderer out for his blood, not to mention all of his supporters. Although Petunia and her sister Lily – the boy's mother - had never really seen eye-to-eye, she had still been family, and this guy whose followers - at least - would be after the baby had been the one who killed her.

This sense of duty to her dead sister, though, was not the reason Harry still lived with the Dursley's. It was because Petunia, despite her shortcomings, was not a murderer, and if she'd left the baby and completely rejected him, she would have sentenced him to death.

There were times when she almost regretted the decision of letting him stay, but her and her husband weren't going to throw him out then and there.

Dudley suddenly yawned, and she looked at him and smiled almost tenderly before lying him down in his cot. She turned around to face her nephew who was staring at her warily with bright emerald-green eyes.

Petunia had been quite surprised by his eyes being almost a replica of his mother's. Lily, who rarely wrote to her sister and never received a reply when she did, had last sent a letter giving word of Harry's birth, stating a lot of things among how blue his eyes were. Even their mutual dislike seemed to not have been enough to get Lily to stay way away, though she made no attempt to get Harry and Dudley in contact with each other. When she had first seen the colour of his eyes and knew that it was her nephew, Petunia had had to remind herself that all babies had blue eyes, and that it really was no surprise that Harry had some resemblance to his mother. The rest of him was apparently like his father – a man she could not remember meeting. Still, it would not do her well to dwell on the past.

The little boy had begun to wail slightly and Petunia wasn't quite sure whether or not he was tired or hungry. She didn't really like being near the boy so much, as there was more than looks that he had inherited from his parents.

The boy had inherited magic. This almost made Petunia sneer. She'd been brought up believing magic was a lie, but then it turned out her sister was magic and she wasn't. But, she thought, that was okay, because she never wanted to be able to do it anyway. She was an ordinary person, and that was what she had wanted.

Her sister, her brother-in-law and their spawn (there were times when it helped for her to realize that the boy had this magic and would think he was superior to them just like her sister had seemed to sometimes, which had made Petunia very bitter) were completely abnormal. Magic was a danger. People without magic – Muggles, she thought they were called, although she despised this name, perhaps because it made them sound more like creatures than human beings – knew nothing about magic unless they had been cursed – although other people may have called it blessed – with such a gift.

What Petunia knew was that a homicidal maniac who seemed to want a baby dead existed there, and a great many people who fought for him and apparently believed he was right? She knew – or thought she knew – that her sister had always seemed so haughty and horrible, always sitting around and reading her magic books as if she was so much better than everyone and wanted to shove it in their faces. Petunia apparently had been the only person who had picked up on this, but to her, that made it no less true.

Seeing her sister's son was eerie: sometimes she thought he was laughing at her along with his parents and this made Petunia be quite detached from the boy, disliking him but with no real cause other than his heritage.

She was very weary. Looking after two babies while her husband worked at Grunnings was very difficult, and it wasn't the first time she felt quite faint. Her forehead was throbbing, too, and Harry's grating whining was beginning to get to her head.

"Be quiet!" she hissed at him, heading into the kitchen to get some paracetamol. The baby's wails never wavered.

"Vernon will be home soon," she sniffed, "and I have other things to do than coddle you. Now is time to sleep."

Harry seemed to cry louder.

"What's wrong with sleeping, stupid boy? Go! I'm busy!"

Predictably, Harry didn't comply and remained crying whilst staring at his Aunt. She glowered, and tried once again only adopting a much harsher tone. Sometimes children need to know who is boss.

Another thing was that, although she saw the boy's miserable face, it almost seemed to appear as a younger Lily, sitting with her head in a book, too good for her own sister -

"I said," she snarled, raising her voice a little but not enough to wake Dudley, "you should go to sleep. Cupboard, Harry. Now."

Harry was obviously not happy, but neither was Petunia. She frowned at him and saw his lower lip tremble, and she was about to turn around, ready to get back to her ironing when –

Bang.

A vase that had stood on the mantelpiece suddenly exploded, pieces of glass raining down onto the carpet harshly, some bits embedding themselves in Petunia's skin as she hadn't been standing far from there. Dispassionately watching a few beads of blood well up from her arm and obtaining a box of plasters from a drawer, she spoke to Harry in a low, angry, authoritative tone without turning around to her face him. "Go to your cupboard, boy. Now."

A sort of whimper and the scuttling of feet happened in response. The boy was evidently fearful, but for what of, Petunia didn't know. He'd been the one who could have easily killed someone with his freakish curse.

Magic was not only a horrible thing, but to one who could not defend against it, it can be terrifying. Children being unable to control such gifts could also be a reason for someone to be scared.

Petunia Dursley's shoulders were shaking, and although she could still hear some crying coming from the cupboard under the stairs, she couldn't help from thinking, "good riddance, I don't need him endangering my family out here" and she turned away from the sound to see Dudley.

In some circumstances tough love can be the best thing, thought Petunia.

Years later when Harry gets his Hogwarts letter, she might find herself wondering where the 'love' part went.

A/N: Please review. I never get many reviews, so any at all are appreciated.