Author's Note: Well, just a few days longer than I expected for this one, but I think it's better for the betaing. The usual suspects on CaerAzkaban were very helpful, if a little delayed.
I'd like to credit AnnF's Grief, Deceptions, and Hope for Freedom, for the idea of Patronus Pals which spawned a device used in this chapter.
This chapter was updated 7/30/18
Chapter Seven The Greatest of These
Ginny wore a black dress. It wasn't the mythical little black dress. No this was a long black dress, which she'd paired with a black hat and shoes. She'd forgone the veil, and actually felt its absence. Beside her stood Harry, in his one black dress of mourning. The fire of their hair seemed to be the only color in the room.
"You know, I think the Dursleys are more devout in death than life," Harry whispered as he watched his aunt kneel at the altar rail before the start of the funeral service. Dudley was just standing up, doing the sign of the cross as he did so. He was wearing a black suit with a bow tie. It made him look a bit like a penguin, as the unbuttoned suit jacket showed the white expanse of his hefty form.
"May be," Ginny stated, her arm going around Harry's back as Dudley approached them.
"I'm glad you could make it, Harry," Dudley said, as he shook hands with Harry. "I think Mum is too."
"She hasn't said a word to me yet," Harry replied. "This is my friend Ginny, who is staying with me this Summer."
"Try to keep my cousin in line, Ginny," Dudley said with a somewhat surprising smirk. "If you believe the lies on Privet Drive, he's a seriously disturbed youth."
"Oh, I believe the lie," Ginny shot back, with a smile that she was sure Harry saw.
"Mum wants to know if you'd be willing to join us in the car following the hearse?" Dudley asked. "I think she wants to talk to you."
Ginny looked at Harry. She thought she had been good at figuring out Harry's mood, but since he'd been temporarily transformed into a she, it had become just a bit harder. His hand went up to adjust his hair just a bit around his scar. Ginny pulled him a bit closer with the arm she had around him.
"I'll ask the Professor," Harry replied after a minute's silence. He didn't let the silence continue. "How are you doing?"
"Okay considering, I guess," Dudley replied. "I'm kind of numb at the moment. I don't know what's going to happen. I mean, Dad was always there. I never thought he'd die. I don't really think about a lot of things, but you knew that." He kind of had a sort of half smile at the statement.
"Mum's not really doing anything but crying. She couldn't even start dinner last night. I ended up eating crackers and cheese. I don't think that's going to change tonight, and I don't know how to cook, unlike you."
"Go to my cupboard," Harry said. "There is a shelf between the studs right to the left of the door as you stick your head in. There are a bunch of note cards on it. Look for the one labeled meat pie five. It will take about thirty minutes to make, and you have my number if you run into trouble."
Ginny looked at Harry with amazement. She'd thought that Harry hated Dudley. For a few moments, she puzzled why he would offer to help someone that he hated. Then a memory of what Hermione had said when she asked her why Harry saved her.
"Harry has a people saving thing," Hermione had said. "It doesn't matter what the risk is to him. If he thinks he can save you, he'll try. I think we both can be grateful that he has it, not that he'll ever admit it. In fact, he'll probably downplay saving you from the Basilisk and the Dark Lord.
Hermione had been right. Actually, it wasn't often that Hermione wasn't right about something. So Ginny smiled a bit at Harry's offer.
"I'll try ... or order pizza," Dudley said. "Probably order pizza, actually."
"No, you need something good to eat, especially after a day like today," Harry said. "Make the meat pie. Heat up the greens. Tomorrow morning, there is that instant porridge. Heat it on the stove medium heat, no matter what the instructions on the side of the box say. The stove is a bit hotter than it should be. Oven's fifty degrees over what the dial says, too. My cards have match the display. You've got enough food in the house that Aunt Petunia shouldn't have to shop for another week or so."
Dudley nodded. Then after another awkward silence, he said, "Harry, I don't know why you're even willing to talk to me, after the way I treated you. I was a bully. I led a group of bullies after you. Mum was cruel to you. She even once swung a pan at you. True, you were on the other side of the room, but still. My father beat you, and I did nothing. I'm not even certain why you bothered to come to my father's funeral. I wouldn't have. But you're here.
"All I can say, Harry, is I'm sorry, and I'm glad you came."
Dudley suddenly broke out into tears, looking down at the floor. His shoulders were slumped. His hands were grasping at each other, nervously moving between poses as if Dudley couldn't decide. His whole body seemed to convey the message that he was lower than he'd ever considered. "I don't deserve it."
Then suddenly, Harry was no longer beside Ginny. Instead, Harry was embracing his cousin, his at first tentative hug seeming to pull the heavy set, crying, blonde boy upwards. "Maybe you will," Ginny heard Harry whisper into his cousin's ear. Then after a couple minutes, letting Dudley cry, Harry pulled away.
"I don't get you, Harry," Dudley said.
"No one gets me," Harry said, sadly. "Kind of a shame that. Someday, maybe, everything will be right. See you Dudley."
Harry found them seats in the second row of the pews, and pulled out a book in the shelf behind the seat in front of them, as Dudley move away to talk to his friends. He turned through several pages until he came to a stop, and then almost breathlessly, almost inaudibly, he began to read. Ginny was sure that his finger on the text was only to make sure he hadn't forgotten it.
"Love is patient, love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends."
Harry looked up at the altar, ignoring the casket before it, a tear coming down his face, unbidden and unrestrained. "Someday," Ginny heard him say. "Someday."
Petunia Dursley forced herself to look at the young lady sharing the seat with her in the limo following the hearse carrying her husband. The red hair and green eyes, they were her sister's. If only she'd been able to see them instead of the accursed black hair and face of her brother-in-law the morning that he'd been left on her doorstep. No, if only she had treated Harry Potter the way that her sister had wished, the way that she would have wished her only Dudley would be treated if the fates had been reversed.
Here in this place, after the loss she'd suffered, Petunia allowed herself no excuses. All the never can happens were gone. All the it will be that ways were never mores. Here there was only what was, and what should be. Here she had a moment, a short one at that, to for once say what should have said, to be, if only for moment allowed, the aunt she should have been. All the losses would be back. Her husband was dead. Her sister was dead. This was not the way things should be.
"Harry, I'm sorry," Petunia began, trying to keep her eyes focused on the niece Harry was for the moment. "I let my hurt and my beliefs turn your life into a life not worth living. I let Vernon do what I knew was wrong. I was not there for you when I should have been. I turned what should have been joy into punishment. I turned what should have been laughter into tears.
"I could not bear to let magic pull another away. I could not let another into my heart, though I should have. I saw the magic you had, and I wished you hadn't. I could not let you into the joy your mother felt, so I turned it all into a reason for your punishment. Punishment built on punishment, but somehow, you survived it all. Inside I was glad, though I could not admit it.
"I couldn't admit that I was wrong. I could not let the magic within you turn to the joy it should have been. Every little accidental release should have not been a reason to hate, but it was. I could not stand that the gift I was not given, had been given for me to witness again, see magic again. Perhaps even, to share what had once been offered, again.
"I should have been your second mother, the one you went to when you were in tears. Lesser than my sister was, perhaps, but not unimportant. Maybe I can try, still, in the short times that you have left between terms. Maybe it's all too late. Maybe what I say here doesn't make a difference at all.
"But I have to say it. I have to try. Even if all I can love is gone."
Petunia went silent, as Harry's green eyes met hers. It wasn't the defiant glare that she'd often got when she had wronged him, had mistreated him and punished him without cause. It wasn't a trusting one, unheeding of the past. It was one of caution, of awaiting action to match word. She had no actions for her word. There was nothing she could do, not in this car.
Into the silence of the car, at just a whisper, Harry began to repeat a bible verse that Petunia had heard at her own wedding, with a feeling and meaning that she had not heard before.
"Love is patient, love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends."
The was silence again after the verse. Tears were already finding their courses down both their faces. They were not new courses, as tears found the course that they had fallen though the years. There should have been ravines for the salty waters to follow, down their cheeks. But there weren't. There were only tears glistening in low afternoon light through the lightly tinted windows in the rear of the car.
Then the words, soft and plaintive, were said, a question that had to be answered. "Aunt Petunia, can you love me?"
Petunia reached over, pulling her nephew turned niece as far into her arms as the seat belts would allow. Their was only one answer she could give. "Yes, I do."
When minutes later the car came to a stop in the graveyard, Petunia was sure that everyone thought that the young lady with her felt the loss of her uncle keenly. Petunia knew better. It was not the tears of loss that tracked down their cheeks. It was the tears of forgiveness, the tears of hope, and tears of the promise she'd made.
It was half past seven, and Severus Snape was not expecting his phone to ring. It rarely rang, actually. Sometimes he wondered why he kept the service.
"Professor Severus Snape residence," he announced as he picked up the phone. Harry and Ginny were not going to answer. Ginny had already taken her sleeping drought, and Harry was in the midst of taking a bath.
"Professor Snape?" There was only one young girl's voice that could mix surprise and respect in just two words. It appeared that someone was giving his home phone number to Gryffindors.
"Miss Granger, may I ask what brings you to call me away from Hogwarts," Severus said, in a tone that he usually reserved for questioning those found violating curfew.
"Dudley Dursley gave me the number when I called the Dursley's to check up on Harry. I'm not letting him isolate himself half the summer again. Is he there, or was Dudley lying and I need to pay a call on Privet Drive?"
"Indeed, young Mister Dursley was correct," Severus said. "Harriet is indeed residing here for the summer. Unfortunately she is currently washing up for bed." As he said that, he heard the tub start to drain. "She should be out in a few minutes, however, judging by the sound."
"Professor, did you say Harriet?" Granger said with an uncharacteristic puzzlement in her voice.
"This summer, Harry is Harriet," Severus stated. "No one is looking for the Girl-Who-Lived. Now, Miss Granger, I have a question for you. Where did you find the reference about the use of thistle to stabilize partially made Doxycide?"
"I found it in the third edition of Libatius Borage's Advanced Potion Making," Granger replied. "I found it strange that it was missing from both the second and fourth edition, though the third edition is sixty-one printed pages longer than the second and fifty-three shorter than the fourth."
"I don't believe I have that version," Severus mused. He was sure that he had used the second edition when he had taken the class, and he was teaching from the fourth for his NEWT classes. "Tell me, Miss Granger, do you often use NEWT text books for your essays?"
"I use any text book I can get my hands on that is in the Hogwarts Library," Granger replied. "I especially find Moste Potente Potions to be helpful, even in the expunged edition."
"I suspect that you have had the full edition in your possession this past year," Severus said. "Tell me, Miss Granger, do you find brewing potions fascinating or rote work?"
"Fascinating," Granger replied, as Severus heard the door to the bathroom squeal as it opened.
"Hold for a moment," Severus said, before placing his hand over the handset and calling upstairs. "Harry, Miss Granger is on the phone for you!"
"Coming Professor," Harry said.
"Harry is on his way down, Miss Granger," Severus continued. "I shall have to see about challenging you more in class."
He heard Granger's sudden intake of breath. He so enjoyed challenging his students, if they were not a bunch of dunderheads. Privately, and not that widely, he'd admitted that neither Granger or his house guests were dunderheads.
Severus looked up as Harry's footsteps reached the top of the stairs. The Gryffindor was wearing the plain white night shirt that Ginny had given him, not the newer pair of pajamas that had been purchased for him the day before. It was obvious from the way he pounded down the stairs that he had been born a boy. No girl, save perhaps a tomboy, would swing herself around the post on the landing with a single hand.
"Here he is."
Severus handed over the phone and retreated to the parlor. He picked up a book, and pretended to read it, while he listened to one side of the conversation.
"I told Dudley that it wasn't that hard to cook it."
"Yeah, I know, not my fault. That's why I'm at Snape's"
"No, I haven't started my homework."
"It's been just a bit busy. Uncle Vernon died of a heart attack, and I've got to go see Doctor Chalice every day."
"I'm fine Hermione – Okay I will be fine."
"Hermione. Hermione. That's why they brought me here."
"I think it's a daily appointment, almost. I go again tomorrow. Doctor Chalice is nice."
"No, I don't want to talk about being a girl."
"Living with him is okay, so far. He's letting me make my own breakfast."
"Better that Hogwarts. Three good cooks in the house."
"I don't know if the Professor ... that's what he's asked us to call him this summer ... anyway, I don't know if the Professor will let anyone visit, especially Gryffindors."
"I think I'd miss not going to the Burrow again this summer. Ron's place is neat. You've got to go there sometime."
"I know, Devon is a bit far from Crawley, and Cokeworth too. Maybe there is some sort of magical transportation you can take."
"Do what you always do, Hermione, look it up!"
"Okay, but the same goes for you. We're always the best when we're all together. Don't stay up too late reading."
"Good Night, Hermione."
Harry put the receiver down, and Severus returned to the front hall. "Ready for bed?"
"Almost, Professor," Harry replied. "Ginny told me that I needed to brush out this flaming mop of mine, first."
"Wise advice," Severus said, not entirely sure that it was, having never had as long of hair as Harry now possessed. "Go ahead and do that. I have something for you before you go to sleep. I should be up there in a few minutes."
Harry Potter looked over at the crystal that Professor Snape had put on her bedside table. It had been a simple crystal cylinder before the Professor had cast his patronus on it. Now the glowing crystal was a crystalline doe, no more than six inches high. It cast a warm glow to the otherwise darkened with night room.
Somehow it also made her feel warm inside. It wasn't a heat warmth, though. Harry wasn't quite sure what it was. It felt good though. It felt a lot like someone was holding her, hugging her.
She needed a hug. Especially after today. Aunt Marge had brought Ripper to Uncle Vernon's funeral. Harry had hoped that her transformation into a girl would make her immune to Ripper's attentions. She had no such luck. The bulldog had gone right for her ankles. Her brand new black socks, one of the few things that she knew she'd be able to use once she was back as a boy, had been ripped.
Not only that, but the dog had scared her so much, much more than it had ever done before. Harry had ended up on top of an end table before Ripper was removed from the funeral home.
Then there had been her cover and Aunt Marge's reaction to it. Ginny and Harry had been there as Petunia's nieces, a cover that the Professor had apparently informed Petunia and Dudley ahead of time. That relationship had been enough for Aunt Marge to bring up her real identity.
It hurt to hear Aunt Marge talk about his parents, calling them unemployed drunkards who got themselves killed. That was when someone spoke up, someone who apparently knew his parents. It was the first time Harry had ever heard her parents defended. Not hero worshiped, not mentioned as an aside to her being the boy-who-lived, but defended, even praised. She would remember forever the words of John Dawlish.
"I don't think you realize exactly who you have just degraded. If you had, you would have never insulted two heroes of Her Majesty's Police — two members who gave their lives in service, in fact. James Potter, I swear the man was fearless. He once stared down an armed man who had already hit a half dozen men, walked right up to him and disarmed him personally. And as for Lily, she saved my life, twice from one of the most deadly criminals.
"I suggest that the next time you see Harry Potter, you apologize personally. His parents gave their lives to protect this country from criminals. His mother killed the crime lord who had already killed her husband at the cost of her own life. Her — their sacrifices are worthy of the highest honor that any member of law enforcement can obtain. You would be wise — everyone would be wise — to remember that."
Harry yawned. She adjusted her night shirt a bit. It had gotten just a bit twisted. Turning on her side, she took one last look at the glowing crystalline doe, before closing her eyes. Her arms found the stuffed dragon that Ginny had insisted that she get, telling her that hugging a stuffed animal always made her sleep better. Ginny had a stuffed Kangaroo. The dragon's horns rested on her chin, and the wings pressed against her breasts.
Harry could still feel the warmth from the patronus, and as she slipped towards sleep, she tried to classify that warmth, that feeling that filled her. It was something she knew she should know. It was something that she wanted, but the word describing the feeling was not coming to her.
The warmth felt right to her. The warmth held her tight and gave her a feeling of protection. With the warmth of the patronus, filled with the Patronus created by the Professor, in the image of his mother's form, drowsiness overtook her. Only as she yawned again and slipped into the arms of sleep did what the Professor had called it return to her mind.
For the first time in over a decade, Harry Potter slept in a room filled with love.
