RISING FROM THE ASHES

Chapter Eleven – Aunt Petunia's Secret

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood tentatively on the doorstep of number four, Privet Drive. Everything looked as it always had, the large square house was framed by a low garden wall, with a neatly kept hydrangea bush underneath the living room window. The emerald-green lawn sparkled in the afternoon sun, yet the seemingly calm atmosphere had an air of foreboding to it.

Walking up the front staircase, Harry thought he could feel prickles of what could only be described as a strange sort of negative energy surrounding him, but he brushed it out of his mind. He was just anxious, just imagining things.

"I thought I'd left this place forever," Harry said dully, "and now I'm back, of my own accord."

"You're doing the right thing, Harry," Hermione assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"That doesn't make it any easier, Hermione," he replied. "This so-called family gave me hell for sixteen years, and yet here I am, checking to make sure they're okay and seeing what I can do to help."

"We're here if you need us, mate," said Ron, and Harry nodded.

"Thanks," he said, and stepped forward to ring the doorbell.

A loud, high-pitched scream, followed by the sound of breaking glass came from inside the house.

Harry grimaced. Understandably, the Dursleys had been frightened so badly by the Death Eater's attack on their household that they had become incredibly skittish. It was completely reasonable, but it would make this visit much harder.

A shuffling of feet was heard, and a loud voice, presumably Uncle Vernon's came from behind the door.

"Who's there? I – I'm a dangerous man and I swear if its you people back again – we've got quite the police force here, and I have a gun by my side! We won't hesitate to attack you if –"

"It's me, Harry Potter," Harry said, bracing himself for his uncle's outburst.

Uncle Vernon flung the door open, his eyeballs bulging.

"Get inside," he hissed, "quickly, before anyone – who are these people?"

He had just noticed Ron and Hermione.

"They're my friends," Harry said coldly, "and they're coming if I am."

"Fine, I don't care, just come in and close the door," said Uncle Vernon in a strangled sort of voice.

Harry, giving Ron and Hermione a significant sideways glance, did as he was told. Together, they took a seat on the living room couch.

"Petunia!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, "It's him, he's back."

Aunt Petunia, who Harry now discovered had been hiding in the kitchen, came back into the living room, clutching Dudley's hand.

She gasped, her horse-like face wide with shock.

"So, boy," said Uncle Vernon angrily, "what are you doing back here? I hope you realize that what has happened is entirely your fault! You have some nerve, coming back here after we've been attacked because of you!"

Harry felt as though a stone had been dropped into his stomach. Although what his uncle was telling him was cruel, it was also very true. If Voldemort hadn't thought Harry would have been at Privet Drive, he wouldn't have bothered to attack the Dursleys at all.

"I came back here to make sure you lot were alright!" Harry said furiously.

Uncle Vernon continued as though he hadn't heard him. "As for Dudley's lapse of abnormality…"

"His 'lapse of abnormality' saved your neck!" Harry shouted, insides boiling. He had never liked Dudley, who deserved a lot of things, but what he didn't deserve was to be treated like a freak by his own father.

Tears trickled down Aunt Petunia's cheek as she clutched Dudley – who was very pale and frightened looking – to her chest.

"And you knew!" Uncle Vernon said accusingly to his wife. She didn't deny it, but kept her pale face impassive.

"I will not tolerate another show of your freakishness, Dudley." Said Uncle Vernon coolly. "You are a Dursley – perfectly normal – and you better believe that you will act as such."

Dudley hung his head, his multiple chins folding over each other. Harry had never before seen him look ashamed, and it was quite startling. He did not in any way believe, however, that the recent events would make Dudley turn over a new leaf. He was quite sure that once his cousin recovered, he would be back to his old bullying self.

"Well," said Harry, standing up, "we just came by to make sure that everything was alright here, and since it seems to be, we'll be going now."

"Wait," said Aunt Petunia quietly. So quietly, in fact, that Harry couldn't be entirely sure she had spoken at all. Perhaps he had just been imagining things, but then she spoke again.

"I need to give you something else," she said to Harry's feet. The rest of the room stared at her as she walked determinedly to the staircase and kneeled down next to the bottom stair, which always creaked when stepped on. To Harry's astonishment, she lifted the floorboard which the stair consisted of, revealing a crevice. Apparently hiding things underneath floorboards ran in the family.

"Here," she said, removing a bundle from it and shoving it into Harry's arms. "Letters from your mother, some photographs. Some messages from Albus Dumbledore. Mind y-you tell him I gave these to you."

"I can't," said Harry, feeling the familiar twisting of his stomach return, "as he's dead."

Harry wasn't quite sure why he had told them this. It wouldn't have mattered to the Dursleys. He distinctly remembered his uncle referring to Dumbledore as a crackpot old fool, but a mixture of anger at his uncle's ignorance, and astonishment that his aunt had saved memories of her dead sister had compelled him to say it.

He left without another word to any of them, beckoning Ron and Hermione to follow him. And, strange as it seemed, he could have sworn he heard a sharp sob escape from his aunt before he closed the door on his childhood.