Chapter Five
Normally, Uncle Vernon would not let Harry sleep in, so it surprised Harry when he put on his glasses to discover that it was eight minutes after ten. Harry quickly slid on his trousers and a fresh T-shirt. He hoped that he could at least get a glass of orange juice before being sent out to work on the yard.
When he entered the kitchen, Uncle Vernon was there, looking at a picture in his wallet, tears sliding down his face. On the table was the Daily Prophet, still folded, with the bottom half of the first page visible. There were two pictures on the page, one of Walden Macnair and the other of Gregory Goyle V. It didn't take long for Harry to deduce that it was the picture of Macnair that was the reason.
"Boy, you were at the trial, weren't you?" Vernon asked, causing Harry to turn with a start from where he'd been just about to reach the refrigerator. "It says you helped bring charges."
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied. "The whole Wizengamot was there."
"It says that you're the member from Surrey now," Vernon said. Poking the index finger of his free hand on the picture of Walden Macnair. "Does that mean you can get tickets to this bastard's execution? I want to see this bastard hung!"
"I don't know, Uncle Vernon," Harry said carefully. He'd never heard his uncle directing such venom towards someone. Even in his worst temper, there had never been such a tone of loathing with an undertone of a request for vengeance that would not be denied in his voice. If it had been directed at Harry, he was sure that he would have curled up and died. "I can ask Professor Dumbledore, he's head of the Wizengamot. Why do you want to?"
Vernon looked down at his wallet, and for the first time, Harry could see the picture. It was a baby, girl judging from the pink dress, being held by his Aunt Petunia. "Dahlia." The name came out with a sob. "She was only a month old, I only had my daughter for thirty-three days when that bastard killed her. She was just a baby, she hadn't done anyone any harm."
Harry had to sit down. He'd never seen his uncle like this, tears going down his face, as he looked at the small picture in his wallet. "We were just shopping, when that bastard came and ripped her out of Pet's arms. He said that muggles didn't deserve children, then he threw her up, and hit her with a green beam ..."
"The Killing Curse," Harry said softly.
"She was dead. My baby girl was dead," Vernon said. The last word stretched out in a wrenching sound that seemed to cry out to the heavens for justice. Then there was silence.
"Only Pet and I remember what happened," Vernon said, in an usually low tone. "Everyone else thinks it was a deranged gunman who killed my Dahlia, three other babies, and nine children. But I remembered. They didn't wipe my memories. I knew about magic because of your mother, and Petunia and I had the cards. I remembered, and that was the cruelest part of all. Everyone I knew thought the gun man had been killed, but I knew my daughter's killer had escaped. I watched him disappear, smiling like a damned Cheshire Cat, as those brown robed wizards arrived. I swore I'd make sure he came to justice."
Harry wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't Hermione, or Mrs. Weasley, who always seemed to think that hugs were good when people were in distress. Plus, if he tried to hug his uncle, he'd probably be backhanded across the room. Almost without his intervention, Harry's hand moved across the table to rest on his uncle's. "I didn't know about Dahlia."
"We don't talk about her," Vernon said. "It's still too painful for Pet, even after all these years. The few pictures we have, I've carefully hidden. Pet has hers in her bedside table. She slammed the door in my face last week when I suggested that she was having another Dahlia. I don't dare mention the name.
"She was such a pretty little baby, with wisps of blond hair, and the cutest little smile. Pet always said it was gas, but it was a smile. She was always smiling. She never cried very much, not like Dudley. She looked like an angel."
"Non Angli sed angeli," Harry said, after his uncle was silent for a bit.
Uncle Vernon looked up, wiping tears from his eyes. "That's on her grave. I always thought Pope Gregory the Great was right, at least about my girls."
"Uncle Vernon, do you think Aunt Petunia would mind if I put some dahlias around one of the angels in the new garden?" Harry offered. It was the only thing he felt he could offer himself.
"I don't think she would, Harry," Vernon said in a soft appreciative tone. Harry had never heard it directed to him from his uncle before. For years, he had told himself that he didn't need his uncle's approval. His uncle's approval didn't matter to him.
It surprised Harry when he discovered that it did matter after all.
There were ten other girls in the room with Pansy. Pansy was the only one who was really mobile. The others were victims of Lucius Malfoy rescued by Aurors and now under the protection of her Majesty, the Queen. The other girls were all in beds, most of them bandaged somehow. All of them were greatly injured, and pregnant. From the testimony of the Death Eaters before the Wizengamot, Pansy knew how they had gotten that way, and that if that scum had gotten his way, their babies would have been murdered right after birth.
Pansy didn't have to be here, in this room in Windsor Castle. She had her own room, right next to Draco's, and could have been there with Draco. Assuming of course that Draco was at Windsor at the moment. She knew that he was trying to secure some safety for her once his father was executed.
Pansy reached out and applied some salve to the bruised jaw the girl that was furthest along, getting a smile from her as the pain was eased. "I hope that's better for you, Peggy," she said.
"A bit," Peggy rasped back. Pansy knew that the muggle girl's vocal cords were raw from screaming. "Can I have some more of that juice?"
Pansy smiled, before raising the head of the bed up a bit more. She poured out another glass of pumpkin juice and handed it to the girl.
"Thanks."
Pansy moved on to the next bed. It was actually quite satisfying to help out. That wasn't why she'd started though. Pansy wanted to remember this. She wanted to burn into her mind exactly what pureblood bigotry lead to. Never again would she allow herself to forget the result of believing that one's ancestry, one's blood, was better than others. She would not forget where that led.
It had been a little after five am when the ten girls had arrived at Windsor, and it was seeing two girls in particular that had made Pansy sick. The girls had arrived via muggle conveyances called helicopters, direct from Malfoy Manor. Pansy wasn't quite sure why the girls had been taken to Windsor's makeshift hospital wing. She suspected that it might be for protective reasons. Windsor Castle had wards that made Hogwarts look like an open field.
The first girl looked a bit like Hermione Granger, a Hermione Granger beaten, broken, and at least seven months pregnant. The second ... the second could have been her in the mirror, just as beaten, just as battered, just as broken, as the Granger look-a-like. Both of them had tubes going into their arms, both of them had bandages on their heads, both of them looked like they had given up on life.
Pansy found herself putting herself in their place. She had heard Lucius Malfoy confess to abducting, raping, and beating over a hundred muggle girls from all over the world. She knew that they had been destined to be murdered, they along with the babies they bore. Her hand went down to her belly that was even now filled with the grandson of the Death Eater who had doomed them and so many others.
Before she even realized what she was doing, she had followed them in. Pansy didn't ask for permission. The old adage applied. She simply was there to offer help. When water was needed, she filled the glasses. When the doctor or nurses needed a hand, she was there. If any of her friends in Slytherin had asked if she was the type to lead a hand without any expected reward, they would have scoffed at the incongruity of the Slytherin Princess serving muggle girls.
Pansy looked at the clipboard attached to the foot of the bed. She had to remind herself of the girl's name, June, otherwise she would call her by the name of the girl of the Gryffindor Trio. "Do you need any help, June?" Pansy asked. June appeared to sink back, bending her head to hid her face behind her messy curly hair. The girl didn't speak. Pansy had not heard a single word since the girls had arrived from June. "Would you like me to brush your hair? It really is quite a mess. My mother said you should always brush your hair, a hundred strokes every day."
For the first time, Pansy got a positive reaction, as June looked up at her. No words were said, just an ever so tentative slight nod of acceptance. Slowly, Pansy pulled out the brush, careful not to scare the girl. She had been told not to make sudden moves. June shifted so her long brown hair was clear and easily reached by Pansy. Ever so gently Pansy began to stroke her brush through June's hair, teasing out the tangles without pulling the hair from June's head.
This was something she could do, something that made her feel like she wasn't quite helpless. At least in some small way, in a world that seemed to have turned upside down in less than a week, Pansy could do something that mattered, even if it was minuscule in the grand scheme of things.
Dudley Dursley looked with satisfaction at the painted angel statue he'd just finished fixing into place. It's cherubic form looked upwards, hands folded as if in prayer. The wisp of golden hair caught the late afternoon sun, and the blue eyes seemed to twinkle as he looked at it. He didn't remember his little sister Dahlia. He hadn't even been two when she died, but Harry had shown him a picture when they went shopping for the angel, and it was the closest they'd found.
The news that his mother was pregnant with another baby girl after all these years had shocked Dudley. He knew that his parents did that. He'd had the misfortune of walking in on them several times last summer, after Harry had left. It was an image that he'd rather have not gotten.
He was working on the new front garden with Harry. Dudley had been surprised to learn that Harry was now allowed to do magic, if he didn't let the secret out. Seeing Harry do what he called minor transfiguration on a couple stones had stunned Dudley, but he rather approved of the reason. The little rock that the Angel Dahlia, as Dudley was privately calling the statue, was on had the carved name of his baby sister.
It wasn't the only angel that would be in the garden. Harry had chosen a couple others that Dudley easily identified as matching his parents. Dudley knew that the garden was a memorial garden for his mother. She'd been in tears when she explained to Dudley exactly why the garden was being built, and where the idea had originated. He'd never really seen his mother so emotional as she had been since he arrived home. At first he thought it was due to her being pregnant, but as he thought about it, he wasn't so sure, anymore.
"Harry, does this look right?" Dudley called out, as he stood up straight. Most of the garden was bare dirt, the plants wouldn't arrive until next week, but Harry had put little stakes in various places to indicate where they were to go. His cousin was currently struggling with the water feature liner.
His cousin looked up, and giving a thumbs up, replied. "Looks good to me, Dud."
Harry had been calling him Dud since he got home. It was not among his preferred names, but he let Harry. At Smeltings everyone was called by their last names. Even if you were friends, you didn't use first names. It just wasn't done. Dudley's friends around Little Whinging called him Big D, mostly. Piers occasionally got away with calling him Dud, but not often. "Thanks. Where do you want your parents?"
Harry looked up in surprise. His mouth seemed to drop open and closed without him realizing it. Dudley figured that he'd managed to surprise his cousin by knowing something. That was rare. Dudley knew that he wasn't as smart as Harry. When he was in primary school, it was not uncommon for him to bully Harry into checking his homework, if not doing it for Dudley. His first year at Smeltings had taught him the downside of relying on that.
Harry firmly closed his mouth after a moment. "Mum goes opposite Dahila on the other side of where the waterfall will be. Dad will be peeking around from behind it."
Dudley picked up the angel he'd identified as Harry's father, with the messy hair as smirk, there was no other way to describe that expression. "Looks like he's about to pull your Mum's pigtails," Dudley said as he moved the angel in to place.
"Yeah, that's kind of why I chose that one," Harry said, spreading the lining towards where the angels were. "We're going to need help to put the waterfall in place. Might even have to wait until Professor Dumbledore is available."
"Yeah, that pile of stones looks way too heavy," Dudley said, standing up straight. "Maybe Dad can help with it." As he looked over the bare dirt of the front garden, picturing the changes that had been in the drawings that he'd been shown, he noticed someone walking dejectedly down the sidewalk.
It didn't take long for Dudley to identify the figure. The long straight strawberry blonde hair could only belong to one person on Privet Drive, Porta Polkiss, Piers's younger sister. Porta went to school in a rather exclusive girl's school in Essex that her mother had gone to, and Dudley had not seen since he'd left for Smeltings the Summer before. He hadn't seen her since they'd shared their first kiss. "Porta?"
Porta looked up, revealing that she'd been crying, the trails of tears visible down her cheeks. "Dudley!" She cried out, flinging herself into Dudley's arms. Instinctively, he put his arms around her, as her body shook with a sob.
"What's wrong, Porta?" Dudley asked, She looked up into his eyes, like she was seeking something. Whatever it is, Dudley thought she found it, as she seemed to relax in his arms.
"Piers is in the Hospital," Porta said. "He was hit by a truck while he was out last night. Mum said he broke every bone in his body, and Daddy says he's in a coma."
Dudley knew that Porta was really close to her brother, much as it sometimes annoyed Piers. He'd hoped that she hadn't told Piers that she had gotten her first kiss from him, but Dudley had been punched in the gut for doing it on the way to Smeltings.
"I'm sorry, Porta," Dudley said, taking an offered handkerchief from Harry and beginning to use it to wipe the tears from Porta's face. "I was supposed to meet him yesterday afternoon but I missed the first train of the day."
"He was kind of upset about that," Porta said, moving in Dudley's arms, pressing her body up against him. "Mum practically kicked him out of the house after no one answered the telephone all afternoon." Dudley barely heard Porta's belly rumble.
"Hungry?" Dudley asked, one of his hands sliding up and down her back under her hair.
"A bit, I haven't eaten all day," Porta admitted. "Mum and Dad have been at the Hospital most of the day."
"Harry, do you think we can risk Mum and Dad and go into the Kitchen?" Dudley asked, looking over at his cousin.
"I think can make up a little snack for us without Aunt Petunia complaining too much," Harry said, before pausing and smirking. "I think they've crossed off the Kitchen for this week, but I'd be careful about going into the bathroom."
Dudley groaned. "You had to remind me about it," he said, remembering what he'd walked in on when he'd come back to take a shower after his morning run. "Come on, Porta. Let's see what the best boy cook in all of Surrey can put on the bloody stove."
"Oh, you want something cooked!" Harry said. "Porta, are you sure you want to hang around this big lug?"
"I'm sure," Porta said, and then to Dudley's surprise, she kissed him. It wasn't just a quick kiss either. Her mouth opened and their tongues briefly touched, before she pulled away with a smile, her brother's condition momentarily forgotten.
As he guided Porta around back, Dudley decided that he liked his cousin. It wasn't something that he'd tell Harry, at least not at the moment. He opened the door for Porta. It wasn't time now to ask, but as she stepped into Number Four, Dudley decided that he was going to ask her to be his girlfriend. Now he was going to make sure she got to eat, and then afterwards, maybe his father would take them to see Piers in the Hospital.
As Harry took his place in the kitchen, Dudley dared to start to kiss Porta. Harry had to tap his shoulder to get their attention when the snack was ready. Both of them blushed as they pulled apart.
"I've got to tell Laura about this," his mother said as they both suddenly took an embarrassed step backwards. "So is he a good kisser, Porta?"
"Mum!" Dudley found himself moaning in protest, even as his cheeks warmed with embarrassment. He pulled out the chair for Porta, ready to endure his mother's questioning, knowing that he couldn't escape it, not with Porta's hand clasped in his. He wasn't letting go though. No, he intended to kiss Porta again soon. That was what mattered. For her he was willing to endure his mother calling him her little Dudleykins again.
Author's Notes:
Posting of this was delayed one day due to a review that was just "post more soon."
You may expect to see more of Privet Drive in the next few chapters as we enter a lull in the planned actions, the Dark Lord requires time to recover.
A Guest reviewer comment that in the last chapter he had some difficulty following which royl was which. This was intended, actually, due to the point of view. Basically, when the point of view is a pureblood, expect them to have trouble identifying royals. Pansy would have no idea who the Queen was if she was to walk into the room.