Disclaimer: I don't own anything nor do I make money from this.
Head's up - this will be discussing child abuse and mind manipulation and psychological trauma without any personal experience. I'm not in a great headspace so this fic will be rather dark. Sorry and don't read if anything like this affects you.
Petunia stared from the half-frozen toddler in her grass to the empty basket and back to the letter in her hands. Finally, heaving an aggravated sigh, she picked up and lifted the toddler, putting him in the small washing tub they had for Dudley, letting in warm water and hoping that would warm him up. She stripped the small black-haired child and put him in the warm water – not too hot, though, she was an apt hand at this by now. Except the child wailed and screamed and Petunia found herself glaring at him.
Not even ten minutes and she was already tired of him. Nevertheless, she pulled him out and he quietened, blinking up at hear with wide green eyes, tears running down his face. It should have made her empathise – god knows she couldn't handle anything making her baby Dudley cry.
But it didn't. Because those were Lily's eyes. Lily – who had everything. Magic, perfect boyfriend, rich husband, and an entire world Petunia couldn't even see.
Her lips curled as she told the boy to behave, that he needed to be quiet, that the bath was to help him because he had been stupid enough to go crawling around on a November night.
A part of her wondered if he was brain-damaged; her Dudley certainly wouldn't ever do something so daft as go crawling away from the comfort of his blanket. That would be nice; maybe that's what the letter was about. Lily couldn't handle having a not-so perfect child.
"What's that?" her husband asked as he came in to see her dealing with the toddler. The screaming had obviously woken him. Petunia huffed in exasperation, throwing another glare at the child, unceremoniously putting him back in the water. The child's blue-tinged lips trembled but he didn't scream this time.
Nodding curtly, she turned to her husband.
"Not sure. I found him on our doorstep."
Vernon scratched his belly, eyebrows raised.
"The doorstep?" He repeated incredulously.
Petunia nodded.
"Like a Moses basket?"
Petunia paused. "I- yes, maybe?"
Vernon scratched his head for a moment before shrugging.
"Well, we'll make him warm and then we can call the Police. Really, abandoning their child, I sure hope that was no one on our street. We moved here to be with the right sort of folk."
"Yes, Vernon," Petunia acquiesced easily. Cokesworth really was no place to grow up – miners and families, always on the edge of poverty and not like the Snape-boy had been the only one with a dad who was a bit more heavy-handed. They had wanted this to be their new future – the sort of people they both wanted to be and identified with. Lily's then-fiancé had bought it for them as a wedding gift when Petunia had gushed to Lily about how they were going to be living with the 'right sort' of people and moving out of Cokesworth.
It was only after he left that she dried her hands and took the letter out of the envelope. She had never gotten to read it, after all. She doubted it was anyone else's but maybe this wasn't Lily's. Petunia certainly would never have expected Lily to abandon her child, even after becoming a witch, despite how much the girl she'd grown up with had changed.
Then she stared.
And stared for a bit longer until her little Dudley's cries woke her from her trance. Her steps were quick and sure, but automatic by now, lifting her baby easily and tending to him. It was only once her baby was safe in his own chair, food on the table for her husband and the letter safely hidden in her wardrobe that Petunia remembered her sister's child in the now-cool water.
Well, a few more minutes while she finished breakfast wouldn't hurt.
After tidying away and washing the dishes, Petunia finally came back to the shivering child who had climbed out of the bath tub and sat down beside it, tiny hands fiddling with his toes before wide green eyes fell on her.
Petunia opened her mouth – she wasn't sure what she was about to say; berate him for tipping bath water? For climbing out? For being her sister's spawn? For letting her sister die so this little abnormal creature could live? Her sister had only barely been twenty one years old. And because of this little child she was now dead.
Dressing him in a new outfit, one which hadn't fitted Dudley for a few months now but which she couldn't quite bring herself to get rid off – his old one was still wet from morning dew and icy to the touch – Petunia lifted him up and took him down with her to where her husband and son were watching cartoons together. A beautiful Sunday morning together with her family.
Breathing in deeply, she put Lily's child with her own but on the other end of the couch and gestured for Vernon to follow her.
"We need to keep him," she announced the moment the door fell closed behind them.
"What do you mean, Pet? Do you like him? Do you want another child? We can always try for more once I've risen up a bit and we have more income – no need to adopt."
Petunia huffed.
"No, god, no. We can talk about another child in future, and I would never want to adopt that hellspawn. D'you remember at my sister's wedding? Her husband and his friends?"
A moue of disgust flitted across her husband's face and Petunia couldn't deny she felt similarly.
"Yes, what about it?"
"This child – he's theirs. That war – they died and somehow their boy survived. That's him, there, in our living room. And that war, remember, they told us that some of those wizarding types wanted to kill all of us normal-folk? Apparently as soon as I took the boy in, we have protection on the home, on our family, so these people can't kill us. But it only works if the boy is in the house."
Petunia wasn't sure what she wanted. A part of her wanted to drop the boy off with the Police – or in a dark alleyway somewhere – but protection for her Dudders? Making sure her husband and baby would be alive for a long time to come? Was it worth keeping that child here for that?
"But what do we do about questions from the neighbours? About kindergarten and school?"
Petunia blinked and paused. "How do you mean?"
"Well, if he can't leave the house, he can't attend those. What will the neighbours say if he's always home?"
Petunia's mouth dropped open.
If you take Harry into your house, there will be protections on your home and family from the followers of the Dark Lord. For this protection Harry must stay in your house until he is seventeen years old.
Oh dear lord, Vernon was right. The wizard's letter had said that Harry had to stay in their house until he was seventeen. They couldn't move, not take holidays or even long weekends away for the next decade at least; until he was old enough to be responsible for himself for a few days.
He wouldn't be able to go to Kindergarten or school. They could kick him out as soon as he became seventeen but until then, what where they to do? Was the child even registered anywhere? Could they say they were homeschooling him?
"Oh Vernon," Petunia found herself saying, exhaustedly sinking down into one of the chairs near her. "This is a disaster. What are we going to do?"
"Albus Dumbledore! I told you they were the worst sort of muggle, but I should have been saying that about you! You said you would check in on him."
Albus blinked placidly, hand already reaching for one his favourite candies.
"Lemon Drop, Minerva?" With a flick of his wand, the chair in front of his desk transformed into this Deputy's favourite from her own rooms. "No? Alright, take a seat and tell me what this is about."
"You said your letter explained everything. But when they wrote to us after the acceptance letter, I went to see them myself. And you know what they told me? That your letter said the child cannae leave the house! Harry Potter hasn't been out in the sunshine in ten years, you dim-witted, moronic fool."
Albus blanked, staring at her open-mouthed for a moment before gathering himself to face the approaching storm in the shape of his transfiguration teacher.
"Now, now, Minerva. There must've been some kind of misunderstanding. I'm sure he's just fine."
"He hasn't seen the sunlight!" Minerva hissed angrily, hands on his desk, wand still spitting sparks angrily. Luckily the Elder Wand stopped the sparks from setting his (admittedly magnificent) bear alight. Albus was sure if she had been in her animagus form her hair would have been standing up.
"I'm not sure why they thought he couldn't leave the house," Albus continued, trying to pacify his deputy.
"Because your Merlin-thrice-damned letter said that for the protection he mustn't leave the house, you numpty!"
"Yes. He must stay part of the Dursley-Potter Household until he is seventeen. He cannot be married or anything prior to then for the blood protection to be effective."
Minerva sighed rubbing her eyes, finally taking a seat.
"Albus, we have talked about this. The muggle world has changed. We have Gryffindor and Slytherin houses, and the House of Dumbledore or Potter or even Malfoy. But in the Muggle world these days a house is just a building. You told them he couldn't leave the building – so he didnae. I have told you to learn more about the modern Muggle world. We are woefully behind and I am constantly struggling with the new students. And this- here, this is the result of it. A child under your care, according to your instructions, spent ten years indoors. He never saw sunshine or the night sky. No rain. He never got to play with other children or get grass stains. This, Albus Dumbledore, is entirely your fault."
Minerva stood up stiffly, eyes glaring at him before leaving again.
Well, that had not gone to plan. With a quick spell the door was locked behind her and he went to his fireplace and flooed Arabella.
"Arabella, Arabella," he called out, ignoring the plethora of cats meowing at him. The moment she stepped into view he began speaking, "have you seen Mr. Potter lately?"
"Albus, I have told you, he prefers to be called Dursley. Always seems awfully confused when I say Potter."
"Yes, yes," he waved away her objections as he usually did. "But have you seen him?"
"Why, yes, he walked by just the other day and he talks to me so long as I give him some candy. My, but that boy is certainly getting rounder each day. Looks nothing like his parents, really, but definitely takes after his uncle."
"You're colour-blind," Albus bites out between gritted teeth, frustrated with the conflicting reports and Arabella's unwillingness to understand. "He has his mother's eyes and his father's hair."
The woman looked dubious.
"If you say so, Albus."
"And there is no other child with the Dursleys?" He inquired, recalling vaguely that Minerva had something about them having a son.
"No, none that I've ever seen."
Oh well, Muggle child mortality rates had been high even when he was young. He didn't imagine that would've changed much – they were always so dirty and their hospitals – Albus shuddered just imagining being stuck in such a place. He vaguely remembered even in Riddle's orphanage children dying and during the war with Grindelwald people had even talked about the amount of children dying. Yes, a shame, but they had likely doted on Harry in place of their own loss. And if they hadn't, well, that would only make him easier to shape. But children at eleven, removed from their parents, guardians and everyone they knew, were generally easy to mould anyway. In a few years' time, Albus was sure, Harry would sacrifice himself for the greater good to defeat Voldemort once and for all. To protect the Wizarding World or his muggle family, either way, it didn't matter – Albus could certainly spin it.
But it looked like Minerva had just misunderstood something. The child had definitely been out and about. His deputy really was prone to hysterics; if he'd known the Dursleys wanted to meet he would've sent out Hagrid. Maybe also take the child to Gringotts and see the Sorcerer's Stone be picked up. Ah well, future opportunities.