The Awakening of Petunia Dursley
Chapter 1: The Ignorance of Choice
25 November, 1987: "It came as a shock to the entire nation. A small boy, no more than seven years old, had been found near death in a small town in Surrey County. He had been found unconscious in the bushes of a park by an off-duty police officer playing football with his son. The child was rushed to the hospital and given emergency treatment, and it was immediately evident to the medical staff at St. George's that young Mark Tanner was not the victim of some teenage hooligans, but was in fact a victim of his own family. His father had been demoted at his work some months prior, and the humiliation of that, coupled with the increased financial stress, drove Mr. Tanner to the bottle. Mrs. Tanner took to painkillers, and with both of his parents living in a fugue state, little Mark was left alone. He was a fairly self-reliant boy of seven, but one cannot live on peanut butter sandwiches forever. He took to stealing money from his mother's purse, sparse as it was, to feed himself. Unfortunately for him, his mother caught him late one evening, and soon his father came back from the bar, already drunk out of his mind. He heard his wife lecturing Mark about stealing money, and, full of alcohol, went into a rage and beat the poor boy senseless.
Mark was then locked in his room for a week, both of his parents nearly forgetting he was there, living in a haze as they were. He had some water in his room, but no food, and by the end of the week he was starved. He broke his window and climbed out, breaking his ankle in the fall. He limped to the park at the end of his street and passed out from hunger in the bushes, where he was later found.
Fallout from the-"
Petunia slammed the newspaper shut as she caught a glimpse of the picture included of the child. He looked remarkably like him. Oh, the face was clearly different, but he had very dark hair and light colored eyes, though the actual color could not be determined from the black and white school photograph. Petunia felt a strange mixture of emotions after reading the article. Pity for the poor boy, revulsion from the similarity to him, and a twinge of guilt that she quickly squashed. It's not the same with him, he's a… freak. An abomination. They don't actually suffer like us normal people do. After just over six years of such rationalizations, the words came naturally to her, but it took more time for that spike of guilt to dull into oblivion than usual. Shaking her head, she folded the paper and put it on the coffee table where Vernon would finish reading it after dinner. And speaking of dinner…
"Boy! Get in here and start dinner!" Petunia screeched. As always, she cringed internally at hearing her shrill voice. Yet another of the things that Precious Lily was spared. Her entire maternal line had been afflicted with what the women had named the "harpy voice". But no, Precious Perfect Lily had gotten a perfect voice, leaving Petunia with the sour screech of her kin, as well as the horse-face and thin hair. Her mouth curdled further when Lily's misbegotten son crept into the room, fresh from breaking another one of her beloved son's toys no doubt. She pointed at the calendar through the panty wall, not wanting to hear her voice again. He nodded and checked what was planned for the day. It had quite slipped her own mind. Being a Wednesday, she suspected it was something involving veal (as veal was usually the Wednesday meat). Sure enough, as he started gathering the requisite ingredients, the veal in its brown-paper wrapping was placed on the counter.
She watched him make the meal with hawkish eyes, occasionally shouting a sharp rebuke whenever he made any minor mistake. But, after a year and a half of working in the kitchen, he made few mistakes, but she was in a foul mood. "Can't you chop carrots anywhere close to the same size you wretch?" "No! Shred the parsley finely, not in such large pieces!" and of course, the most common utterance of her recent years, "Can't you do anything right?" The boy, very much used to this kind of treatment, said nothing and less, working as well as his small frame would allow with adult-sized tools. Eventually, the meal was finished and put in the oven to keep warm until Vernon got home, and the boy was sent back to his little hole with a couple slices of bread.
In the short time between the meal's completion and Vernon's return, Petunia occupied herself with setting the table and wiping specks of dust off of her pristine white countertops. The cookware she piled in the sink for him to clean after her family was done eating. Right as the clock his 6:30, the door opened and Vernon's heavy footsteps came down the hall to the kitchen. They stopped briefly halfway down the hall, and the rumble of his voice was heard briefly, and then he continued to the kitchen. Petunia put the washcloth in the sink and walked over to him.
"Ah! There's my Pet!" Vernon chuckled, his eyes lighting up. He threw open his arms and embraced her, sniffing the air. "Smells good in here! Nothing like a hot meal after a hard day's work."
Petunia smiled, well, at least gave some facial expression as close to a smile as she would, and took his coat. "Now, where is my beautiful baby boy?" she asked. As if summoned, Dudley raced into the room, cheeks red as he leapt at his father, hugging him around the waist.
"Daddy!" he shouted, grinning as wide as he could (which, given how he took after his father, was quite widely indeed). The family of three settled down to a wonderful dinner, made by the unseen and unwelcome fourth, though all gave credit to Petunia, despite they all three knew who made it.
Some time later, after all the food was gone, Petunia called out the boy again. "Boy! Clean up this mess!" Again, he appeared and went about his work, as silent as a shadow, though far less welcome than one. Dudley went upstairs with an admonition to brush his teeth, and Petunia and Vernon retired to the living room. Vernon turned on the telly to catch the news, and Petunia opened a gardening periodical. Occasionally, one would draw the other's attention to something in their respective objects of focus. Vernon pointed out a deadly storm named Nina about to make landfall in the Philippines, and Petunia showed him some pictures of a wonderful small suburban garden that she planned to try her hand at. All through their typical, domestic talk, the sound of running water and dishes bumping against each other could be heard. And the small boy they so diligently ignored worked his childhood away.
Time passed, and the news of the world turned to lighthearted, meaningless stories. Vernon turned it off then, and picked up the newspaper from where Petunia had set it earlier. The boy had completed the dishes and returned to his room. Petunia finished her periodical and checked over the kitchen, noting that it was actually cleaned to her satisfaction. Then she wrote down some gardening ideas for the coming spring. Of course, she would never have to dirty her hands when the boy was around to do the work, but monitoring him and keeping him on task was work enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vernon suddenly shut the newspaper. "That article about that-" she began.
"Yes," he said, tight lipped. His ruddy face had paled a little bit.
"Are you worried about…?" She gestured towards the boy's cupboard. Their voices fell to near whispers.
"No, there's no need." Vernon assured. "This…Tanner kid, his parents had changed their behavior very suddenly." They lapsed into silence. "And besides, all the neighbors know him for what he is."
Petunia nodded, her mouth twisting. "Besides, I've read the laws… There's not even any mention of…" She trailed off.
"Those people" Vernon finished.
"Yes, exactly. And if there's no provision or even reference in the law for something, it's not covered by it."
"And therefore doesn't even exist in a legal status." Vernon chimed in again, looking triumphant. With their consciences appeased, or at least deceived, they lapsed back into their comfortable quietude.
Petunia went to make sure Dudley bathed before bed, and returned downstairs as the sound of the shower running could be faintly heard. Vernon moved to the table to look over some financial matters and Petunia flipped the telly to a travel show. Soon, the shower was turned off and she went upstairs again to make sure Dudley went to bed. She came down again and watched the rest of her show. Vernon finished his business and joined her.
At 10:30, they turned off the TV and shared a nightcap before going upstairs to bed. Petunia checked the cupboard in some strange act, seeing the tiny figure of the boy curled up on his mattress under that ratty old blanket. The air smelled musty. She reminded herself to get the boy to clean in there that weekend, if the smell got much stronger in there it'd be detectable in the hallway. Satisfied, she closed the door and drew the latch over it to keep him in. Then, she went upstairs and joined her husband in bed.
Her dreams were indistinct that night, yet left her with a lasting sense of concern. Vernon had nothing of the sort, at least not that he admitted to. The next few days went much like each one before. On the weekend, she made the boy clean his filthy nest out. All fabric went in the washer, and everything else but what was in his backpack went in the bin. The latter was scarcely more than two handfuls of papers, dust, and a few crumbs.
That Monday, the 30th, things changed on Privet Drive. The Smiths from Number Eight moved out suddenly, citing a family emergency (which was actually a rather large inheritance of an old house in a village in Wales), and their residence was put up for sale. Within a week, the house was sold, and three days after that, a new family moved in, and the Adamses would cause a change in all four of the residents of Number Four.
Hello readers, thank you for taking the time to read this. I am aware that most of this chapter must seem unbearably domestic, but it does have a purpose. This story will be mostly Petunia-centric, with Vernon as a secondary point of view, and perhaps later on, Harry as a tertiary. I intend to attempt the task of humanizing the abusers in this story. It will include worse abuse than what has been seen in this chapter, but not as severe as what is seen in many stories. Also, they are slightly more competent parents than in the original story, as well as smarter. Give a review, give a favorite or a follow, or all three, or none, you reading my story is praise enough. I do have about three acts of the story planned thus far (out of the Shakespearean 5 act model), but nothing written as of yet. I can't promise consistency or even that this story will be finished. I intend to now, though. I Am My Own Worst Enemy, signing off.