Authors Note: I'd like to thank both my reviewers, and the people who put it on their favourites lists... I really, really appreciate it! I'd also like to thank a friend of mine, Abbey, who read the entire story as I wrote it, and pointed out things I missed. :) It's more like an alpha-reader, than a beta-reader... Since I wrote as she spoke. I think this chapter is sweet. Petunia's always been my favourite Dursley, especially in OoTP... I'm glad with the outcome of their relationship in this story.

Disclaimer: I still don't own it, I'm still not a girl. :( So, until then, no chance.

At exactly 4:53 a.m. the next morning, Harry Potter was awoken by a horrid screech. Pig had flown into his room, seeing as he left the window open. Harry opened his eyes, and stared at the ceiling, seeing Pig circle around his head. It took him a moment to register what was going on, and it may have helped that his Uncle Vernon had let out a loud snarl (of course, he didn't dare come into the room, they were all still afraid of the message Dumbledore had given them the year before.).

He abruptly sat up, and unfortunately hit the poor owl with the force of his head, causing him to fall to the bed, and didn't move for a few seconds. "Hey, Pig…" Harry groaned, and lifted him up, while the bird was still down, and untied the large parchment from around his leg. Harry had originally planned reaching for his wand and casting the spell, since he had little to no fears of receiving a message from the Ministry of Magic, because Scrimgeour wouldn't dare expel him, but he figured he'd be polite, and just go turn on the light.

As he stood up, Pig seemed to wake from his daze, and began floating around the room again, making an annoying hooting noise. Harry's head was already throbbing, probably from sleeping wrong, but he knew there was no way to stop in incessant owl. He flicked on the light, and walked back to his bed, where he had left the letter. He recognized Ron's (who else would use Pig?) scribbled writing on the parchment.

'Harry,

I want this wedding to be over with. Fleur's family came over today… I mean, she's pretty and all, but what gits – and Ginny thought Fleur was bad? You should have seen her face; she looked ready to hurt somebody.

Mum and Dad will be over at your house around 6 tomorrow morning (I don't know when Pig will get this to you); they want you to be ready by then. Hermione should be coming over, too.

Ron.'

Groaning loudly, Harry threw the letter back down onto the bed and glanced over at the Digital Clock the Dursley's had graciously given him – it read 5:00 a.m., which gave him roughly an hour to get his things packed; of course, most of it already was. He had been ready for this day since the school year ended, which was only a few days ago.

He stood up, again, and knelt down under his bed, where the Dursley's wanted him to keep his things (as I mentioned, they were rather afraid.), safely tucked away in his school trunk. The only thing left to pack were his schoolbooks, which he had been reading over, despite arguing with himself on whether to return to Hogwarts or not.

As he walked over to his desk, and collected the thick, hardcover books, and left them neatly in a pile. Next to the desk, was a large, empty birdcage, which belonged to his pet owl, Hedwig, who was out hunting for the night. Harry expected the magnificent bird to return shortly, as the sun was beginning to rise. He heaved up his trunk, and placed it on the dresser, and began loading his school books into it.

After the few moments it took to pack up the trunk, Harry zipped it up, and carried it to his door, Pig following happily. He opened the door swiftly, and was surprised to see his aunt, Petunia, a horse-faced, skinny woman, standing behind it.

"Harry…" she said quietly, probably not to wake her husband, Vernon, and son, Dudley.

"Yes?" Harry asked, with a raised eyebrow. He couldn't remember a time when his aunt used his name in such a tone of voice.

Petunia looked worried, saddened, and guilty, but she stood firm in front of her young nephew. "Harry, I want to apolo- apologize."

This caught Harry off guard. After 16 years of pure hell: ignoring his birthdays, Christmases, beating him, making him do slave work… She wanted to apologize! "What?" was all he could muster, his voice was cold, and angry.

She stared into Harry's eyes as firmly as possible, but it seemed his gaze weakened her, "I said I was sorry. I- We should have been so… hard… on you."

"You're damn right you shouldn't have!" Harry snapped, raising his voice – half hoping that Vernon and Dudley would wake up. He glared at her; she looked as though she could begin to cry.

"Harry – the… the only reason I never liked her," she began, the word 'her' seemed to be difficult to say for her, "was because she stole my attention. I was – I was extremely jealous of her," she concluded, tearfully.

Harry continued examining his aunt, still with a glare. It was hard to tell if she was truly sorry, or not. His aunt had always been the kindest of the three, but that didn't mean she wasn't a git. He loathed all three of them, and never wanted to see any of them ever again. "Do you expect me to forgive you?" Harry asked, truthfully. He wanted to know – to see if it registered to her what they had put him through.

"Of course not," Petunia choked, "but we're not your enemies, Harry… He is," she informed him. 'He', Harry assumed, was Voldemort. "I- I have something to give you," she concluded, and gestured for him to leave the room. Hesitantly, the boy followed his aunt downstairs, into the living room. The lights were all out, except the kitchens, where he assumed she was working.

Petunia stopped in front of the fireplace, and reached for a locked chest they placed there, but forbid both Harry and Dudley to touch. She took a key out of her apron pocket and unlocked it. "This… This belonged to your father," she told him, and held out a locket. She only held onto the golden chain around it, as if afraid to touch it. Her hand was trembling feverishly, and he gaze looked as if she was saying 'take it'.

Harry extended his arm and took his from his aunt's hand. He instantly brought it back, and began running his hand over it. "My – My fathers?" he asked, Petunia only nodded. She was busy taking another item out of the box.

"… And this – this was your mothers," she told him, with a cracking voice, and held out a beautiful wand. Harry stared at his aunt blankly momentarily, in complete awe. "Willow… 10 inches…"

"Ten-and-a-quarter, actually…" Harry corrected, still staring at both the wand, and his aunt. He felt like he could forgive her for every little thing she had made him do in the past, as if it was all forgotten with these two items. "Aunt- Aunt Petunia…" Harry choked, and walked closer to his aunt, who was still resting the wand on her palm. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her bone frame, and tightly squeezed her. "Thank you…" he said quietly, before looking at the clock they had hanging on the wall.

5:35 a.m.

Harry's glasses reflected the time, as he let go of his aunt, who was now dissolving in tears. "Aunt Petunia… I- The Weasleys… They're picking me up at 6. I forgot to tell-"

"I know they are, Harry," the woman sobbed, "they sent me a letter, too." Harry looked at her in horror, but she gave him a faint smile. "I didn't tell your uncle. He won't be awake for any of it. I… I want to have a chat with this Molly woman."

Harry smiled again. For some reason, he had completely forgiven his aunt. These two items… They epiphanied his entire stay at Number 4, Privet Drive. Of course, Vernon and Dudley could still be the victims of his torture…

Petunia had sat down with Harry at the kitchen table, and cooked him up a quick, delicious breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast – which could have been more than every other breakfast he'd ever received at the house. Neither spoke much, but Petunia couldn't keep her eyes off of her nephew.

"Your mother…" she started, "Lily – she'd be very proud of you, right now. I remember when she came home before her final year, she was so excited – she never kept quiet about it. You're being so modest…"

"Actually," Harry chimed in, after taking a difficult bite from his toast, as his throat dried up. "I'm not going back," he concluded, and scraped his fork around the plate, trying to look at his aunt.

"What? But… You must! Why wouldn't you?" she asked, suddenly shaken, as if she had supported his decision to go to Hogwarts the entire time (of course, she may have, considering the shocking turn of event of the morning).

"He's back," Harry snarled, and dropped the fork on the edge of the plate, "and I'm the only one… the only wizard… who can stop him."

"Well, that doesn't mean you can go and stick your neck out, like that! You're not even of age, yet – you'll get in trouble. What would Dumbledore-"

"Dumbledore's dead!" Harry roared, sounding in denial of the entire thing. Petunia's mouth went agape, and looked as if she were to say something, when the fireplace suddenly burst into vibrant green flames, in the other room.

Out from the fireplace stepped the short, plump Molly Weasley, who was still dressed in her sleeping robes. From behind her, came her tall, lanky husband, Arthur. "Harry, dear!" Molly exclaimed. And ran into the kitchen giddily, hoping to wrap her arms around Harry's skinny body. "So they do feed you here…?" Molly questioned, under her breath.

Arthur, who seemed much calmer, waved to Harry, and whispered the word, "Muffliato.", which, as Harry learned the previous year, kept sounds from reaching unwanted ears. He, too, eventually entered the kitchen.

Petunia seemed unnerved at the entrance of the two wizards. Harry knew she was expecting it. She only smiled to them, and said happily, "Coffee? Tea?"

Molly smiled, but shook her head 'no'. She looked as if she wanted to leave, right then – right there. Arthur followed his wife's command, and graciously said no. He seemed much more interested at looking around the kitchen, at all the gadgets and gizmos, then to drink regular old coffee.

"Uh, Molly…" Petunia said, quietly, "may I have a word?" Molly glanced at Arthur, who wasn't listening, and didn't answer. She let out a sigh, and mumbled 'sure', and waved Arthur off, who, regrettably, went back through the fireplace.

"Harry, dear… Go get your things; you know how to use Floo, don't you..? Oh, of course you do. I'll see you soon, then." Molly ordered, making Harry stand up.

He obediently walked out of the kitchen, but before going out of sight, he turned back to Mrs. Weasley and Petunia. He stood there for a moment, looking at the both of them, and finally said, "Thanks, Aunt Petunia…" and turned away, grabbing his things, and heading to the living room.

"The Burrow…" Harry said, and stepped into the green flame. The last few words he could hear were the distorted voices of Molly and Petunia, who seemed to have engaged in a shouting match.