Disclaimer- This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership over any characters or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here is not part of J.K. Rowling's story canon (which is far better than anything I could write). I'm only borrowing some of her characters to practice fiction writing. This fanfiction story is for entertainment only, I will make no money off of it, and is not part of the official story line.
AN: This is intended to be three chapters. It will cover Harry's childhood up until he starts Hogwarts.
This story was inspired by Amalgum – Lockhart's Folly by tkepner.
Cover Photo: Rupert Brooke, painted by Clara Ewald, oil on canvas, in 1911, NPG 4911.
Chapter 1
Petunia Dursley kept a very clean home. Inside, outside, upstairs or downstairs, her home was always sparkling. It was a point of pride.
She was enjoying her first cup of tea for the day while keeping watch over her ne'er-do-well nephew's work in the garden when she remembered the attic. It hadn't been cleaned in ages. She shuddered to think of the dust it must have accumulated.
She sat her teacup down decisively. That would not do at all.
Her critical gaze fell on the boy again. She'd dramatically increased his chores the moment the school year ended. Experience had taught her that he needed to be busy and exhausted if his freakishness was to be kept to a minimum.
Only a month ago he'd turned his teacher's hair blue in a fit of petulance! Fortunately, Mrs. Miller hadn't been able to prove the boy had anything to do with it, though the poor woman had her suspicions. It would have humiliated poor Duddikins to be associated with his cousin's unnatural behaviors.
Well, she wouldn't be having any more freakishness in her home. She was pleased to see that his head was down, his attention fully focused on the weeds in the flowerbeds. He'd be at it for a while.
Dudley was probably playing with Piers. She couldn't help but feel a warm glow at the thought of her beautiful, strong, smart and, most of all, normal, Duddikins. He'd be at the playground with his friends for hours.
Good. Her son was a healthy young boy and needed his exercise. She had plenty of time to look over the attic.
The attic's entrance was well out of the way. A small door past the third bedroom allowed access to a very narrow set of stairs. She suspected that only she and Harry would be able to negotiate that particular stairwell. Vernon and Dudley were far too big-boned to manage it easily.
Just as she feared, the attic was covered in dust. She pursed her lips. She could only imagine what the neighbors might think if they ever caught sight of this mess.
Fortunately, dusting was a particular talent of hers. Within an hour or two, the attic was thoroughly dusted and the floor swept up. She'd even cleaned the small window, which was just as well. It allowed her to keep her eyes on the boy, while still making sure her neighbors weren't up to anything disreputable. She valued her good and decent reputation, after all, and what they did or did not do indirectly reflected on her and her family.
She found organizing the boxes and trunks took little effort, but one chest in particular caught her eye. A steamer trunk, well used but in immaculate condition. Someone had written 'Lily's' in a rainbow of colors around the lock.
Her heart seized looking at her sister's name.
She'd forgotten about it. A few days after the boy had been unceremoniously dropped on her doorstep with nothing but a blanket and a letter, the trunk had made an appearance. She'd been so busy caring for two infants, its arrival had barely registered.
Reluctantly she opened it and went through it. It was as she feared. Books filled the bottom portion. They were obviously from 'that' school, and were organized by year. It was easy enough to tell, as small pieces of cardboard divided the books into segments, with a number '1', '2' and so on until ending in '7'. An eighth piece of cardboard was labeled 'M'.
She ignored them as best she could. Besides, they'd not be in her house for long. She wouldn't have any of that freakishness in her home. She'd introduce them to the fireplace at the first available opportunity.
She picked through the rest of her sister's possessions. Robes, two wands, some scrolls, quills, parchment, bottles of ink, and a variety of other objects which all needed to be burned. Only three items in particular caught her interest.
The first was a series of pots, cauldrons she remembered them being called, which were obviously made of silver. She found a collection of small knives and other silver objects in the basin of the smallest. She set those aside to be melted down and sold for their weight.
Just because they'd been used by freaks to do freakish things didn't mean that she should squander their value, after all.
She smiled. Vernon would be pleased. The weight in silver appeared to be fairly significant. Maybe they'd have enough to take a small family vacation.
She sniffed. Without the boy, of course.
The second was a large, heavy pouch. She gasped when she opened it. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of gold coins glinted. She weighed the bag. It was heavier than the silver. Much, much, heavier.
She felt positively giddy. She wasn't sure of the conversion rate, but she suspected she had a small fortune in her hands.
The third set was a series of journals. She almost fainted when she opened them. She recognized Lily's handwriting. Her sister's journals.
Her motions were almost mechanical as she closed the trunk, setting the silver and pouch inside. She hesitated, then gathered up the journals before taking them downstairs.
She spent the day reading, one after the other. When the boy came in, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand, directing him to shower and make himself lunch. When he was done, she ordered him out of the house. He left, reluctantly.
She was mesmerized by her sister's writings. Her amazement at Hogwarts. The classes, her love of Charms and Potions. Her friendship with Severus. The girls she knew in her dorm rooms. Her irritation with Potter and his friends, and their constant bullying of those they disliked.
Overtime, the tone of the entries changed. She used a lot of words and discussed a lot of magical theories that Petunia couldn't make heads or tails of, so she sped through them. But others she could follow. Her friends and their loves, joys and heartaches. Her dismay over Severus gradually falling into something called the Dark Arts, whatever that was. Her heartbreak and anger over Severus siding with blood supremacists, and insulting her and other muggleborn.
Apparently a normal person was a muggle, from what Petunia could gather. Witches born of muggle, normal, parents, were muggleborn. Purebloods and half bloods looked down on magical children born of normal parents.
Petunia sneered. She could have told Lily that Severus Snape was no good. A small minded, petty, jealous, controlling man. It was no surprise he'd persecute those witches and wizards who had normal families.
She kept reading as Lily suddenly reversed course and fell in love with James Potter, citing his sudden maturity. Petunia had to suppress another sneer of disbelief as she read. So far as she was aware, Potter had never matured.
Something caught her eye. The Potters were apparently a rich family. She wondered where that money had gone. Other than the pouch, she'd seen none of it for the support of Harry.
She frowned. That made little sense. Someone on the Potter side should have made contact with them. Someone should have offered some support. She put the thought aside for later consideration.
Turning her attention back to the journals, she read of her sister's exuberant happiness with Potter and graduating. Her pride at being accepted as an apprentice to a Charms Master named Flitwick.
Then war broke out, though Petunia thought it sounded more like rival gangs fighting for control. Her sister joined a group called the Order of the Phoenix. The opposing group was formed of dark wizards calling themselves Death Eaters. They followed a Dark Lord called Voldemort. They wanted to kill or enslave muggles, normal people, and the muggleborn.
Petunia had to suppress a laugh. Death Eaters? Really? And what kind of name was Voldemort? She was proud of her ability with French, having earned a degree to teach it, and knew exactly what this so-called Dark Lord was trying to say. But Lord Flight from Death wasn't a particularly courageous or inspiring pseudonym.
She sneered. Wizards were fools and freaks.
But Petunia did feel proud of her sister. Lily was a lot like her, she knew, despite her freakishness. She wouldn't let wickedness prevail without trying to do something to stop it.
Petunia took the opportunity to peek out of her window toward Number 6 Privet Dr. She was convinced that Mrs. Jowalski was carrying on with Mr. Bartholomew of Number 12 Magnolia Crescent. If she caught them at it there would be consequences, she vowed. That sort of immoral behavior brought down the value of the entire neighborhood. She wouldn't have it.
She turned her attention back to reading. During the war, Lily married Potter. Petunia sneered again. She remembered James Potter. A spoiled, arrogant man who thought he was better than normal, hard working people like Vernon. He'd nearly wrecked her wedding, being the self-important, pompous man-child that he was.
Really, Petunia had no idea why her sister would marry someone so clearly unsuited to her. Yes, James Potter was handsome and rich. He was also an insufferable prat. For all of her faults, Lily was beautiful, intelligent and caring. She thought her sister's take on Potter's personality was much closer to being accurate over the first half of their school career than the second.
She never understood why Lily didn't just find a nice, normal husband. One that would provide decently and keep freakishness and wars far from their doorstep.
If she had to marry a wizard, then why not someone like that nice Lupin boy. He'd at least made an effort to be polite and mind his manners. Unlike Black, who was an even worse prat than Potter, or that rodent of a man Pettigrew. They both gave Petunia the creeps.
Petunia's heart almost broke as she kept reading. Dumbledore warned Lily and Potter that they had to go into hiding. A prophecy had been given that their son would match the power of the Dark Lord and he was hunting them to kill the boy. She read of Lily's fear, her desperate desire to protect her child, her research for ways to save her family, and then nothing.
She dropped the journal, tears staining her face. She knew what happened after that.
She reached high up behind the top shelf of her china hutch and pulled a letter out that she kept there. It was on heavy off-white parchment and written in green ink. The words were excessively ornate, with long swooping loops. It was positively difficult to read.
She read it for a second time anyway. Her tears continued to fall as she read of her sister and her husband's death. Their defeat of the Dark Lord. The need they take in their surviving son because of the protection he afforded their home until adulthood because of some magic spell her sister had cast.
Her sister was a hero. She sat there for long minutes, dabbing her eyes, remembering Lily before Hogwarts, before she got caught up with those freaks.
Eventually, she regained control of her emotions. She tapped her finger on the counter, considering. Though she felt it best that these journals should burn also, she decided to keep them. There were more personal entries than magical and she couldn't bear to be parted from her sister's words.
Harry might want to read them someday, even if he was a freak like his parents. She snorted. Who was she kidding. There could be no question as to his freakishness. Despite their best efforts, they hadn't managed to beat it out of him. Yet.
The few hours left in the day passed quickly. She returned the journals to the attic. She left the silver and gold until she got a better idea of the weight and value. She couldn't have a proper conversation with Vernon otherwise. Maybe Christmas would be the best time to reveal it?
Harry showed up just before dinner, covered in mud and with a black eye. She snorted in irritation. The boy was constantly falling down, collecting scrapes and bruises, wrecking his clothes.
Worse, he tried to blame Dudley for his clumsiness and disregard for his clothes and person. The boy was a lying troublemaker, just like his father. Perhaps being sent to bed without dinner would make a point, she decided as she dragged him off to his cupboard. He didn't protest as he followed behind her listlessly.
Dudley arrived just as the table was being set, Vernon following behind. They both gave her a peck on the check. She had to send Dudley to wash his hands. The poor dear had somehow managed to muddy his hands and scrape his knuckles.
Probably working on some project with the Polkiss family, she decided. The father was a mechanic if she recalled correctly.
She beamed as she enjoyed a perfect dinner, with her perfect family.
Much later in the evening, she snuck out of bed as Vernon snored. Something had been troubling her thoughts and she knew she'd get no rest until she sorted it out.
She sat at the kitchen table, turning the events of the day over in her mind. She was missing something. Finally, she made a nice herbal tea and just relaxed. Eventually, it would come to her.
And it did. She was just seeing the sun pick up over the horizon when her world came crashing down.
She sat there in stunned silence, turning over her conclusions, one after the other. When the boy stuck his head out of the cupboard to begin his morning chores, she ordered him back to bed. She needed to think without distractions.
It was a Saturday so Vernon and Dudley would sleep in a bit. She made breakfast, letting the simplistic ritual of making a full English breakfast soothe her rattled nerves.
"Boy!" she called out. She knew she sounded harsh, but couldn't bring herself to care. It was his fault, his and his mother's, and freaks like them, that they were in this untenable position. "Come set the table."
Harry was thin, too thin, she thought contemptuously, not a thing like her strong, stout Dudders. Maybe Marge's observation about poor genes held some truth.
This was the freak that she needed to keep her and her family alive. She had difficulty calming herself.
"Eat," she ordered, pointing to a plate she'd set opposite him. She saw his eyes widen at the full breakfast she'd set before him. He wasted no time digging into the meal, his tiny frame hunched over it as if she'd change her mind and snatch it away.
She almost growled in frustration. No support, not even a thank you for taking in her nephew. Now his presence both doomed them and, perhaps, saved them. She didn't know whether to cry or scream.
When he was done, she gathered up the plates. "I want you gone for the day," she stated emotionlessly as she handed him a bag containing two sandwiches, egg and tomato, for lunch that she'd made from some of the extras from breakfast. "Be back by supper," she said curtly.
She could see that he hardly believed his luck as the boy snatched the lunch bag and scampered off. She sat there, stewing. She wasn't a stupid woman. She knew what she needed to do. But it grated. All the good work she and Vernon had done for the boy was about to be undone.
When the sun was over the horizon and she was sure that Mrs. Polkiss would be awake, she called and made arrangements for Dudley to have a weekend over with his friend. She needed to speak with Vernon without either child overhearing.
Worse, she thought she might have to go to 'that' place.
The rest of the morning passed as she knew it would. By the time her two boys woke it was nearer lunch than breakfast but she didn't begrudge them their lay in. Vernon worked hard and Dudley was a growing boy. They needed their rest.
After making them breakfast, she had Vernon take Dudley to the Polkiss house. She could tell that he was concerned when she told him to hurry back, they had something important to discuss.
Her Vernon was a sweet man. Doubtless he was worried that she had something horrible to tell him when he returned. He was prone to overreacting. She resolved to make it up to him, considering both boys would be out for the day.
She'd made him a nice hot tea, with three lumps of sugar, just like he liked it, as he walked through the door.
"Pet?" he said anxiously.
"In here, sweetums," she called from the kitchen. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek by way of reassurance when he entered. "We need to talk about the boy," her tone was grim.
His face grew red. "What has that freak done now," he half-growled.
She rested a comforting hand on his arm. "He's done nothing." She thought for a moment. "Nothing that I know of, yet," she amended. "But we've been tricked by Dumbledore."
He relaxed marginally, though she could tell he was like a coiled spring, ready to leap and defend their family from that meddlesome old goat. "What has he done?" he grumbled.
"I found my sister's journals in the attic. I read them and compared the letter Dumbledore left us." She breathed deeply, collecting her thoughts. "The wizards were in a war. The man who led them was defeated, but not killed." She double checked the letter to make sure of that. It might have been her imagination, but the older wizard's use of defeat seemed significant. "Both he and his followers are looking for Harry, looking for us."
"Dumbledore promised . . .," he protested until she cut him off.
"He promised our home was safe until Harry was seventeen. Nothing about the neighborhood, Dudley's school, your work, the park, or anywhere else we might go. Nothing about what happened after Harry turned seventeen." She sipped her tea to calm herself. "Lily said she didn't fully trust him in her journals, that he twists words." She felt ready to cry. "I don't think it coincidental that he was specific as to the house only and even that is only until the boy is seventeen."
His face paled. "We need to leave the country. I can accept a transfer. We'll leave the boy behind."
Petunia had tears in her eyes. He loved her and Dudley so much. It broke her heart to shake her head, disagreeing with him. "They'd find us," she choked out. "They're wizards. We're only truly safe in this house."
He jumped up and began to pace. She could see he was outraged, looking for a way to protect them all.
He turned to her resolutely. "Then we contact those," he paused, struggling to find the right words, "wizard terrorists. Turn the boy over to them in return for leaving us alone." He gathered her into his arms. "I know he's your nephew, Pet, but we need to think of Dudley."
She wept as he held her, comforting her. She didn't deserve a man like this; he was too good for her. "It wouldn't work," she said, still crying. "They want to kill or enslave all of us. And they lie," remembering Lily's journal. She trembled as her husband held her, though she knew she was safe in his arms.
He rocked her from side to side for a few minutes. It reminded her of when they were young and they'd go dancing. She nearly started crying again, remembering those wonderful days before the blasted boy came into their lives.
"What do we do then?" She could hear from his tone that he was half-torn between raging and breaking things and making a run for it anyway.
She gathered her courage. "There's a prophecy," she held her finger to his lips as he snorted in contempt. "Magic, remember?" Seeing his reluctant nod, she continued. "There is a prophecy that Harry will be as powerful as their so-called Dark Lord once he's grown." She felt him stiffen as he held her. "We need to make sure that happens."
His face was red again. She held him tight as he tried to pull away. "I thought we'd agreed to beat the magic out of the boy. For his own good."
Tears were still in her eyes as she nodded. "The best gift we could give the boy is normalcy. But we can't. If he's normal when he turns seventeen, or they found out where you work, or Dudley goes to school, then we won't be able to protect ourselves." She pressed her head against his broad chest, seeking comfort, hating herself for what she was about to say. "We need the boy as a weapon. Our weapon."
They stood like that for a long while as Vernon turned her words over in his mind. She didn't say anything. She knew he was smart. He was a Grunnings director after all. He'd figure it out. And he did.
"What do we need to do?" he asked, defeated. Her heart leapt in her chest as she saw him come to the same realization.
She told him. She was reassured when he didn't disagree, though he did look like he'd taken a bite of something disagreeable.
"I'll handle it," she said in an effort to comfort him. "You focus on improving our home security. Deadbolts. Cameras. Security alarms. Not bars, we don't want to look like a prison and have the neighbors talk. But shutters, maybe. I'll focus on getting the boy the training we need."
When he agreed, she took his hand and led him upstairs. He really was too good for her.