Story Title: Petunia the Petulant

Chapter Title: Petunia's Dance

Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews! I am so glad the previous chapter was enjoyed at least by some. I had a hell of a lot of fun writing it. But as I near the end of this story, I find myself haunted suddenly by the fact that I will have no idea what to do when I'm done! Oh well...that's how it goes...


Petunia's Dance

The week of the conclave was a whirlwind of activity throughout the school. After Petunia had shown her dance performance to a skeptical Snape and the other teachers, Professor McGonagall took over preparations. It was a probably a very good thing, because Snape had no idea how to prepare a performance.

It had not been what he envisioned when he first set out on this journey of academic discovery, but even he couldn't deny that Petunia had put together a compelling part of their presentation. He was still a little bit nervous that the wizard and witches of the conclave would not take his research seriously if it were presented alongside a choreographed, staged dance, but it was too late now. If nothing else, they would leave wondering if what they had seen was a trick or real. That might be good enough; there was something to be said for the entertainment factor.

In fact, the conclave had gotten far more press than they'd expected. At first, academic journals and special interest peer groups had been targeted. But the mainstream magazines also got wind of it and sensationalized the news far beyond what they could have done themselves.

Once the teachers saw what they were working with, a wave of busy excitement swept throughout Hogwarts as word finally spread about what Harry's aunt had been doing there all this time. Now everyone in Hogwarts knew who she was, and the media attention felt like a double-edged sword: the more eyes would be watching, the higher the stakes.

McGonagall had taken this extremely seriously, and she was joined by Hermione and Professor Flitwick, as well as a handful of very enthusiastic students. She had arranged for the feast hall to be transformed into a stage, complete with temporary box seats, velvet curtains, and stage lighting to rival the best theatres in the wizarding world. Studies for the entire week had practically been suspended, and all assignments given extensions while the school prepared for the public to descend on them. Although there had been no attempt to sell tickets, reservations came so fast that a limit had to be placed on them. Even though the event hadn't happened yet, there were invitations to present at other venues again, so that more witches and wizards could see the extraordinary muggle woman who could work magic.

The whole endeavor had become so complex that Snape was finally persuaded to give his written findings as a pamphlet that people could take as they left, instead of doing a speech in addition to the dance. It wasn't what he had envisioned, but on the other hand, it took the outcome out of their hands, and after months of agonizing and fretting and late night research, that was quite liberating.

Petunia felt as if she were walking in a dream that week. When she'd first suggested choreographing her magical presentation, she could not have predicted that it would turn into a solo ballet performance in which she, Petunia Dursley, was going to be the star. Twice this thought made her vomit, so she had to exercise some steel will and try to focus only on the preparations. As the night approached, she slept little; her sleep was plagued by dreams of failure and humiliation, forgetting steps and causing accidents.

When she was lying awake, she would interrogate herself over and over the entire night, asking herself who she thought she was, a woman her age, and who had not done a ballet performance since adolescence, to allow herself to have gotten into this position. Why had she ever thought this was a good idea? It was Professor Snape's fault…all she wanted to do was learn magic. It had been his idea to present her to the public.

Two nights before the performance, Petunia was sitting bleary-eyed in one of the armchairs in her suite, staring into the fire, when she suddenly heard a familiar voice out of thin air.

"Aunt Petunia?"

She looked around wildly, thinking she must really be cracking up, but the voice was unmistakable, and it was coming from the fireplace.

"Harry, is that you?" She knelt down to peer into the fireplace, and saw a ghostly, green image take the shape of her nephew's head. Within moments the image solidified as Harry's actual head took its place, and there he was, glasses and all, staring up at her. She had not seen him since he had left 4 Privet Dr. for the last time, although they had had that one written exchange.

"Harry…what are you…Oh!" Petunia suddenly realized that all this time had gone by, and not once had she thought to update him on all that had occurred. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt, and her nausea began to come back. Harry was stepping out of the fireplace. Petunia had heard and once or twice seen the Floo Network being used, but it still never ceased to startle her, it looked so very strange. He brushed himself off and stood awkwardly in the midst of the magical flames.

"Is it…all right if I come in? I didn't mean to startle you, I – "

"Oh-yes, yes of course. Come in, Harry. I'm so sorry. I forgot to write. I've been so busy…"

She gestured toward the other armchair and sat opposite him. They stared at each other, both looking equally incredulous and confused.

"So what's this about-"

"I suppose you've heard-"

They started at the same time, and then Petunia said, "Why don't you go first?"

"Right. Well, um…" Harry was rubbing his hands and looking around the room, seeming to take it all in. He looked only slightly older than when she last saw him, but definitely had more of an adult air to him. He looked as if he had not shaved in a couple of days, and he was wearing thick denim and corduroy, the kind of clothing one would wear if they expected to do a lot of physical labor.

"Would you like something to eat or drink?" Petunia said suddenly, her face lighting up a little bit.

"All right," Harry said, a little warily.

Without another word, Petunia stood up, drew her wand, and focused on the end table next to Harry's chair. She whispered a conjuration, and some silver platters and containers appeared, along with a couple of small plates, as well as a steaming teapot and cups. When she turned to see Harry's reaction, she almost burst out laughing. Harry was sitting as far back into his chair as he could, as if trying to avoid some dangerous creature who might strike at any moment. He was looking at her like he wasn't actually sure she was who she said she was.

"Go on, try it! It's fine! Leftovers, you know. There's a nice piece of roast."

That seemed to do it; Harry was clearly famished, and the smell of the cold roast was wafting into the air. He reached carefully for a plate and lifted the top of the platter, never removing his eyes from Petunia. Petunia had to bite her tongue to keep her face straight. Like any other young man, food was the most important thing in the room, no matter what the situation. Harry put the plate in his lap and started to lift the meat with his bare hands, still looking at Petunia. He scanned her up and down several times, as she gathered her robe about her again and sat down.

"You're staring me. Don't you know it's rude to stare? Have I taught you nothing?" She said cheekily. Harry blinked and shook himself, suddenly apologetic.

"You're right. I'm so sorry, Aunt Petunia. It's just…a lot to take in."

"I know. It's incredible, isn't it?" She gushed, unable to keep the smile from her face any longer.

"It is…but it isn't just that. You…seem very different," he finished.

"You want to make sure it's really me, is that it? You're afraid someone's used some Polyjuice potion, or perhaps an Imperius curse?" Harry's eyes grew wider than seemed possible at the use of these magical terms, sounding so comfortable coming from his muggle aunt.

"No! No. I believe you. It's just…I really don't know what to say." Petunia's face fell a little.

"I see. You're not thrilled about it."

"No no no!" Harry jumped up and sat next to her on the couch. "I'm sorry if I seem that way! I'm just so confused. Look, the truth is, you and I have never actually had a real conversation. It isn't just the magic. I'm realizing I lived with you all those years, and I still knew nothing about you. It's just…strange. It wasn't that long ago when it was still clear to me that I was never…welcome in your home."

"Well, I'm sorry about that," she said a little pertly, after a silence. But she was starting to feel tight inside and closed up, like the old Petunia, the one before Hogwarts. She began to wonder if it were all a mistake. Maybe it really was a dream, and this was her about to wake up.

Harry looked down and seemed to be trying to decide something. Then he slowly reached out to take her hands in his. She flinched, unused to the touch, but let him.

"I'm really happy for you, Aunt Petunia. Really. I can't even express how glad I am that you've found this," he said, his voice full of warmth and sincerity. That was also a part of Harry she had not seen much of herself. To her, he had always seemed like a sullen little boy or a bitter, angry teenager. But the warmth in his eyes – Lily's eyes – and voice melted the iciness that had begun to take over. Tears started to fill her eyes.

"Really? You really mean it?"

"Really. There are so many questions I have…and obviously it's not just me, since you're apparently about to be presented to the entire wizarding world in just two days."

Petunia almost retched.

"Don't remind me." But she smiled nervously, pleased.

"Please don't be offended because I don't know what to say. I've…I've been through an awful lot in the past year. Not saying I'm special or anything, I mean everyone has, and you lost Uncle Vernon –" At that, he looked just a little bit sad, and Petunia was surprised. "But I've learned a lot. You…you've gotten to know the Headmaster quite well, I take it?"

"Yes, I have."

"Well then, maybe you'll understand when I say Professor Snape played a major part in changing the entire way I look at the world, and at people," he finished, looking at her thoughtfully. She started to understand.

"That's right…he was a double agent for a while, was it? And everyone thought he was one of the bad guys?"

Harry chuckled.

"Yes. Triple agent, if you can make sense of that. And that's putting it mildly. And if he had actually died last year, the way we all thought he did…" Harry seemed to swallow a lump in his throat. "Well, let's just say he would have died the most underappreciated person in the world. And he wouldn't have deserved that."

"I see," Petunia said softly, trying to imagine all this intrigue playing out.

"Anyway. My point is this: If there is one thing I've learned this year – I'll be learning it for the rest of my life, too – it's that people are almost never all that they seem. There's always more to them." They both exchanged a meaningful gaze at this, and Petunia felt suddenly both extremely awkward, and extremely happy. It was as if a wall had been chipped away all year, and now it was finally brought crashing down.

"That's very grown up of you, Harry, to know that."

"Maybe. But it doesn't seem guaranteed to happen, no matter what age you are. That's why I'm just so astounded, again, at what's happened to you. You're turning the world upside down, you know. You're challenging everything I thought I knew about magic. And there will be real consequences for that, for some time. We'll have to go back to the drawing board." Harry smiled as if he thought this were no big thing.

"Well I didn't mean to…"

"Oh no?" He challenged. She bit her lip.

"You're right. I absolutely did."

"And you did it." Harry let her hands go and sat back a little, his thoughts seeming to drift for a moment. She watched him, noticing how every movement indicated a kind of fierce, vulnerable compassion she had not known he was capable of. Then she recognized it. He was just like Lily. He was her child, all right.

"I'm sorry I haven't written to you, Harry," she said mournfully. "You did me such a great favor. I should have kept you informed. There's really no excuse. Time just went by so fast."

Harry held up his hand as if to stop her.

"None of that. I completely understand. Besides, I kind of like the surprise. If I'd known about it before, I wouldn't have been able to concentrate on my work, and that might have landed me in a very tight spot!"

"Speaking of that, what do you do now, Harry?"

An expression of mystery passed over his face.

"I can't tell you much about that. But let's just say I track down dangerous wizards and witches for pay."

"So you're a bounty hunter."

Harry gave a surprised laugh at this, but she thought he was particularly pleased with the comparison.

"Anyway. I've got to get back to work, as well. I just wanted to stop in and see you, after I heard the news. They were all talking about it, all the way in…well, where I was. Everyone was so excited and suspicious at the same time."

Petunia smiled, a real smile for Harry, for the boy who was her nephew, her blood, her kin. Hers.

"Well then I'm honored you took the time. To come see the oddity for yourself, I mean," she joked, and he laughed.

"Oh! I almost forgot. I do have something for you."

"Harry, haven't you done enough for me?" she protested. He ignored her, patting around in his heavy pockets for something. He found it and held it out to her in his palm.

"This is for you," he said. And Petunia saw a little yellow and gold bottle, like a perfume container, with some kind of magical liquid inside. It gave off the slightest reflection of light on the floor, like a prism.

"What's that?"

"Felix Felicitas," Harry said seriously, and handed it to her. She thought she had heard that phrase before and knew somehow it was no small gift. "It's a potion for a day when you really need something to go your way," he explained. "It's something I'd use very, very sparingly, for a few reasons, but I don't imagine you need me to explain them. In any case, I figured with all that's ahead of you, you could probably use a little luck now and then," he finished.

Petunia was as moved as she was astonished. She turned the bottle over in her hand, and she knew that Harry was watching her consider all the possibilities of such a powerful bit of magic.

"So I drink a little of this, and things just turn out in my favor?"

"Essentially. Yes." Harry started to stand up, and Petunia did the same. The firelight had gone down a little bit, and was now mostly embers with a few small, bluish flames. It seemed as if a lot of time had passed.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, and reaching out awkwardly, gave him a hug. Harry's arms hugged her back firmly, with no hesitation. It felt like…like family, she thought, becoming a little tearful again. "Listen, Harry…there are things we should probably talk about, things I should say to you-" But Harry stopped her, backing into the fireplace again.

"It's not important right now. It'll wait." He smiled. "Hopefully, if I don't get blasted into a million pieces, soon we'll be able to do all the catching up we want. And I really do want hear the entire story, Aunt Petunia!"

She grinned.

"Well go on then, James Bond. And – try not to do anything too stupid, will you?" Harry grinned back.

"Do me a favor and tell my cousin I said hello, and hope to see him again soon," he called, and he disappeared back and down into the Floo Network.

Petunia stood looking at the fire, clasping the little bottle to her chest. After a moment, she took it and placed it very carefully in the drawer next to her bed. And that night, she slept a wonderful, deep sleep.


On the night of the conclave, Petunia sat in what had been converted into a dressing room for her, listening to the sounds of conversation from hundreds of voices. She was alone; after being tended to and fussed over by everyone, especially Hermione and Professor McGonagall, she was relieved to have a moment with her own thoughts. On the counter with its paneled mirrors, she had placed her wand…Lily's wand. Next to it was the bottle of Felix Felicitas. She stared at it uncomprehendingly, completely torn. Should she use it? Wasn't this a time when she couldn't afford the chance of failure? It made perfect sense…but something about it didn't feel right.

She had 15 minutes before she would enter a stage facing hundreds of wizards and witches as some kind of incredible anomaly that was not supposed to exist. What if she froze up? What if her magic failed her? And so she sat, staring at the bottle, and occasionally glancing in the mirror to make sure she hadn't somehow turned into a bag lady.

She was wearing the pale green, romantic style tutu that was for the first part of the performance. Then, halfway through, she was going to summon the sheer, black hooded cloak that would create a new dress altogether. Her blonde hair was tightly done in a braid around a bun, and she had a green and silver filigree clip covering it. Her make up was done for the stage; eyes startlingly lined in black so they would jump off her face at the audience, pink lipstick, and a stroke of blush on each cheek with a tinge of green glitter. Additionally, her body had changed since she'd come to Hogwarts; her dancing practice toned her arms and shoulders ever slightly, and her skin was taut and healthy-looking.

She did not look, she knew, like a real professional ballerina, or even an amateur one…at least, not in her opinion. But she did look like a performer. She also looked more beautiful than she could remember ever feeling about herself. Her unusually long neck looked perfectly natural for a dancer, making her stretches and positions more dramatic, and her face seemed small and delicate instead of long and squarish, as she'd always been told it was. That was the nice thing about being on a stage; the audience would see what you wanted them to see, and it was just like magic…the muggle kind.

A soft knock on the door jolted her, and she stood up and opened the door. Headmaster Snape stood in the darkened hallway backstage, seeming to barely fit into the doorway. She opened the door and stepped back so that he could come in. Snape looked around, hands clasped behind his back with a sort of casual, businesslike interest.

"Good evening, Petunia. Are you ready for your debut?"

"I'm ready, sir," she lied. He would not feel any sympathy for her if she said how she really felt, and she did not need anymore pressure from him at the moment. Snape looked at her for a moment, seeming to search her face a little. Petunia felt her heart speeding up as it lately seemed to do, whenever he was alone with her. She looked at his forehead instead of meeting his eyes directly…a salesman trick Vernon had taught her.

"May I sit for a moment?" He asked softly, and she started. She pulled the empty chair on the other side of her and placed it in front of the door, so that they could face each other. Snape took his cloak off and sat; he was wearing a much nicer version of the high-collared, buttoned suit he usually wore. This one had some shine to it, but it was still subtle. He folded his cloak and held it in his lap. They looked at each other awkwardly.

"I just want you to know I-" said Petunia quickly, trying to fill the silence, but he raised his hand to stop her.

"I'm not here to tear you down or threaten you. This time, anyway." He drawled. Petunia smiled a little at this. "I don't have any doubt that you'll do well, Petunia. You've worked for the better part of a year, harder than any of my current students at any level. Hard work is always repaid." She simply nodded. The sound of voices seemed to get suddenly a bit louder and closer, and she realized that people were being seated. Her heart pounded harder. She was starting to breathe faster – she hoped she wouldn't hyperventilate. Snape seemed to be struggling very hard to say something, like a person about to give some very bad news.

"I want you to know how…'proud' I am of you, as my student. What you've accomplished is extraordinary, and no matter what happens tonight, no one can take that away from you. Not even me." Petunia stared at him, stunned.

"Thank you, Professor," she whispered, her voice shaky with emotion.

Snape gave her one of those sideways smiles of his, the kind that you knew was real, and started to stand up.

"Well, that's all, then," he said rather officially. She watched him put his cloak back on. The awkwardness in the room had only increased from their interaction, but she was still touched. "By the way," he said, as he put his hand on the door to close it behind him, "you won't be needing that." He nodded at the Felix Felicitas, and then he was gone.

Petunia felt breathless. What did that mean? Was he forbidding her to use it? Was it just a word of encouragement? She decided that if he really hadn't wanted her to use it, he would have taken it. All right, encouragement, then. If I can be capable of magic, I suppose anyone is capable of anything, she thought, gathering herself and taking one last look in the mirror. She still looked beautiful to her own eyes, and that alone was worth all she had gone through and was about to.

She took a few deep breaths to slow her breathing down and heard a magnified voice telling the audience what they were about to see. Quickly she stood up, pulled the door open with more confidence than she felt, and headed for the wings, leaving the yellowish-gold bottle behind. The audience had gone quiet, and the stage completely dark. McGonagall, Hermione, and Draco were there, giving her silent nods and gestures of encouragement. You've got this! Hermione mouthed. Petunia nodded back. Looking out through the wings, she saw the curtain was down. It was time. Six minutes. It's only six minutes. She stepped lightly and quietly to the center of the stage and took her first position. A person can do anything for six minutes. The curtain rose. The music began.

She saw the audience for only a second, and then she was into her dance, thinking about what each position was meant to convey. The piece she had created was somewhat autobiographical, but not all of it was meant to be understood by the audience; it was just what had come from her heart. On her first pirouette, she apparated from one side of the stage to the other, going from one spotlight into the its opposite. She heard several gasps of wonder and surprise from the audience and fought a smile. Though she was still nervous, a part of her began to feel stronger. She had them in her hand. The hard part was done. Now to continue.

Petunia gave the performance of a lifetime, and she knew it. She knew that as an amateur, she had put far more emotion and drama into her poses and her expressions than most would. It meant everything to her for them to feel the drama of every single moment, to leave them breathless with each spell she cast, because that was how she'd felt the first time she cast it all those months ago. The wand became an extension of herself, and as she twirled across the floor, sparkling wisps of light traced her wake, and there was some light applause.

The first half was done; now for the conjuration….

"Accio black tutu," she whispered, barely moving her mouth, and threw her will into her wand.

Suddenly, members of the audience were standing up, looking behind them. A slight whooshing sound passed over their heads, disturbing their hair the slightest bit, as the black robe tutu flew into her hand. She caught it and spun, putting it on her in one movement while she levitated in the air. At this, she heard not only applause, but some shouts of excitement.

The culmination of the dance was an increasingly complex series of illusions that reset the stage to look like the clearing of a deep forest, the green branches of wispy trees swaying above her. Deer, birds, and flowers sprang up and moved, animated, around in perfect imitations of their subject. She made one last, forceful spin with all of her momentum…one, two, three…four…five…and on the sixth spin she hissed, EXPECTO PATRONUM! The monstrous cobra shot out of her wand like a genie and hovered over her just long enough for more shouts of surprise when she directed it right into the audience with her wand. It flew into the audience with a wide-open mouth and disintegrated into millions of confetti butterflies. She fell down into her final position, her face on the ground, her arms spread out, and the black hood covering her face.

The audience screamed. They shouted. They rose up as one body together and applauded so hard it must have hurt. The curtains came down and she got up immediately, rushing to the safety of the wings. As she got there, she saw Hermione jumping up and down, and McGonagall looking at her with tears in her eyes, as if the performance had been so beautiful it touched her deeply. The way art should, she thought, ecstatic that she had given that feeling to someone. The audience would not quiet down. There was stomping. She heard some whistles from mouths and wands both and suspected that celebratory flashes of light were being shot around the room to show their appreciation. There were shouts of "Encore!" But she had not prepared an encore. They would have to be satisfied with that.

Petunia went back to the dressing room to get into the evening gown she would wear for the reception. Her ears were ringing, filled with the sound of a multitude of magical people, all mesmerized and infatuated with her. The grin on her face was so wide it almost hurt, but she could not have stopped if she tried. There were a few friendly bangs on the door, as if some of the others were saying to her "Good job!" She lifted the tutu over her head and collapsed in front of the mirror, looking at her own luminous face. Then she put her head down on her arms and cried the cry of the happiest person in the world.