Author's Note: This is a rewrite of my own story 'The ballad of an orphaned lamb'. I am currently reworking it, so chapters, characters and events will be different from the previously 14 chapters published.
Petunia Dursley was not looking forward to her husband leaving the house. She had spent the previous day cleaning the entire house from top to bottom, and knew that in a few hours she would deep-clean it once again, but that time for a different reason.
She yawned loudly right before turning around, kissing Vernon on the cheek. She had kept herself awake the entire night, keeping her Dudley up on purpose as well. The young boy was close to dozing off in his bowl of cereal, tiredly looking at his parents.
"Oh, you poor love - I could hear him all night in the other room. Get some sleep with Didders while I'm off, alright?"
With a nod, Petunia lifted Dudley in her arms, and raised his head so Vernon could give him a goodbye kiss before he left. Her little boy had to be quiet, safe in his crib, while she would deal with them. She didn't want to raise attention by taking him to Vernon's parents, or have the neighbors talk about her hiring a babysitter just for a couple of hours. Or even worse, what if the neighbors would see her outside with their kind?
Both her and Vernon had noticed the oddities that happened yesterday. They were the talk across the country - and even before she received the letter, something inside her just knew that it had to do with her, with them.
After she made sure her husband got in his car and left, Petunia put Dudley in his crib, and watched him as he dozed off. He was a lovely, round little boy, looking just like those chubby little cherubs in old paintings. And she wouldn't let anyone harm or get in the way of her raising her boy in the most normal way possible.
Away from - and she couldn't help but wince even thinking about the word, magic.
Petunia took off her apron, and shoved her hand in the big pocket at the waist, grabbing the folded letter. It was the one place she was sure Vernon could not even stumble upon it. She unfolded it with trembling hands, looking at the clock. According to it, they would appear - appear! - in her living room in five minutes.
She recognised the handwriting - the color, the flow of it, she knew even by the time she read his signature who it was that sent it. Her lips thinned as she read it once more. Condolences for her sister's death. That her son survived. About the danger they had been in, about who killed them. That there was a choice to make. Petunia read it again and again, until a sound coming from her living room made her breathing stop. She recognised that sound. She had heard it before. Without even realizing what she was doing, her feet led her to the living room, where she saw two figures - no, three, the third one barely visible, wrapped up in a thick blanket.
"Ah, Petunia. Good morning, good morning. I cannot but apologize that these are the circumstances we are making ourselves finally acquainted with each other. I am Albus Dumbledore, and this is, as I have explained in our correspondence, Miss Moruzi. And of course, this is - well, surely, I don't have to introduce you to one another, since you must know him well - Harry."
Her lips pursed as she looked at them. Albus Dumbledore looked even more outrageous than she imagined. Her sister described him many times over the dinner table when she'd come back from that school, but Petunia never thought those descriptions were actually real. At least the woman who held the bundle of blankets close to her looked a bit more normal. She wore an ill-fitting skirt suit that seemed to be two sizes too big, in a bright yellow color that hurt Petunia's eyes. Her black hair was braided and hung over her shoulder, reaching the same length as Dumbledore's beard.
"I was quite brief in my letter - you must understand, of course, that I could not detail everything that has happened in the past days. However, I am now here at your service to answer any questions you may have about Lily, James, or anything else. As her sister, you deserve to know."
Petunia took a deep breath, and focused on the corner of Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles. For some reason, she could hardly find it within herself to look him in the eye. She had practiced what she would say many times in her head, but never out loud. Now, in one breath, she finally heard herself say it.
"I don't have questions. I've read your letter. I've made my choice." With that, she crumpled the letter in her hand. She had to think about her own son. She couldn't possibly let Harry stay. She wanted this to be the last time she ever had to let this nonsense inside her house. "I don't want him."
She shut her eyes. In the silence, she could hear the polyester suit of the woman flutter as she moved. Petunia opened her eyes again, and watched Dumbledore ponder for a moment, before addressing her. She could hear the child fuss, covered in his blankets, but refused to even look towards his direction.
"Very well, my dear Petunia. I understand this must be quite a difficult decision for you to make, and I trust you did not take it lightly. I believe you understand what this entails?"
"Yes." The affirmation came strangled, as she put her arm out, towards him. Come on, be done with it and leave my house.
"You understand, should Harry wish to see you, you cannot refuse him."
Unlike the previous affirmation, this time it was Petunia's turn to ponder her answer, and her arm fell slightly. Yet she knew that refusing the consequences of her decision would only lead to her having to take him in. And she put her arm out again, her hand in a fist
"Yes."
"You understand you cannot refuse him shelter, should he wish to stay with you and call your home his home."
"Yes."
"Very well then. I see no reason for us to not proceed. If you will allow me…" With that, he extended his hand, and placed the top of his wand on her arm.
The doors to the train compartment opened briefly. A young man was ready to sit down, when the scene laid in front of him made him swiftly close the door, turn around and leave. It wasn't the crying baby that an oddly-dressed woman was trying to soothe, as much as the garb of her companion, dressed in light blue robes, with a long beard that could make Santa Claus jealous.
Albus turned his head as the young man left, and raised his wand, waving it gently. The doors to the compartment were now gone, replaced with the same cheap wood that covered the walls.
"Apologies, Dochia dear, I should have done this before. With everything happening, my mind has been in eleven places at once. Pity I only remember right as this gentleman woke Harry up."
"He'll be fine… They cry, that's what they do." The witch continued her attempts to calm Harry, bouncing him up and down with one arm while taking her wand with the other. She quickly muttered under her breath as she raised her wand slowly, the train window following its motions and opening slightly. She knew quite a bit about children, and cold air was one thing that was sure to soothe them quickly.
"And this little one has many things to cry about." she continued. Parents dead, his godfather betraying them, then his aunt refusing him. "You know, Dumbledore, I wondered why you wanted the child out of the country, but now I understand. This world is not kind to him, and if his own blood treats him like this..."
Albus looked outside of the window, the wind pleasantly hitting his face. That wasn't even all of it, unfortunately, yet he did not want to burden her with all the sordid details. The more time passed - and two days had barely gone by - the more he doubted Harry would be safe in the United Kingdom. What Dochia did not know was that he himself had only learnt of Sirius Black's betrayal only after he had gone on a murderous rampage, killing Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles, and all of this after Black was the one who had found Harry first in the rubble. Were it not for Hagrid, Dumbledore dreaded to think what could have happened.
On top of that, he had been informed that two former Order members, the Longbottoms, had just disappeared, and Aurors were hot on the heels of the Death Eaters they suspected must have had a hand in it - he was almost ready to ask Dochia to take their child in as well, however he knew very well that Augusta Longbottom was a more than capable witch and guardian for her own grandson.
"We cannot blame Petunia Dursley. She has a young child as well, you have seen the pictures on the wall. I imagine that knowing her sister was murdered and her nephew was the next target was enough for her not to wish the same fate to befall her, or those close to her."
"I suppose. I think I'll let that part of the story out when I tell Harry about it."
"It is good not to let our own judgment of people cloud how we talk about them. Harry will be able to make his own judgments when that time comes. And Petunia, bless her, has agreed to the terms to help keep Harry safe, until he'll be old enough to decide what he wishes to do moving forward."
"I suppose." The witch opened the window wider, and stuck her head out. Unlike the rush she was in to go to England, now she could relax on her way back.
After all, there was no rush now.
There is no rush in raising a child.
"How was Harry? Well, I hope." Minerva raised herself as soon as Dumbledore stepped in her office, having received the owl detailing his trip a few hours before his arrival.
"Slept most of the way on the train. As I assumed at first, Lily's sister refused to take him, however I think that was for the best in the end." Albus sat at his desk, and offered Minerva a small pastry laden with icing sugar. The witch shook her head, before examining it.
"Sweet cheese cake? Miss Moruzi would simply not let me leave without a bagful. And speaking of our friend, she has agreed to raise Harry away from here, and we have agreed to all terms, without a hitch as well."
Minerva sat back on her chair. She turned her head towards a map laid across his desk. It was only days ago that the two of them were examining that map, with Dumbledore explaining the most scenic routes in Central and Eastern Europe.
"I still can't believe you have decided to send him so far away. Do you think it is wise, keeping him away from who he is? Here, he'd be beloved by all - a legend, famous beyond comparison! Over there, he'd just be… well-" Minerva was not quite sure how to explain it, and snapped her fingers as she found herself at a loss for words.
"Another little boy learning he is a wizard, and just how magical that is." Dumbledore gave a soft smile for a second, before clearing his throat lightly and speaking in a grave tone. "With his aunt refusing him, with the Longbottoms' disappearance, with a murder attempt already on the boy, it's safest for him to be away.
And he would be away from fame, until he would be able to take it and know what to do with it. What use is growing up surrounded by the fame of something you can barely remember? Surrounded by a fame tied to your parents' death?"
Harry Potter would have no normal life - not when he'd achieved the fame of ending a war as an infant. Yet Miss Moruzi will do her best to ensure his upbringing will be normal of a wizarding boy."
Well, as normal of an upbringing as an English orphan growing up in the Romanian mountains could have.
The wizarding community Harry would grow up in was small, but tight-knit. Soon enough, there was an array of witches and wizards giving Dochia child rearing advice, among which was Albus Dumbledore's own friend and her mentor, Hedda Ablai, the one who proposed her as a guardian for Harry.
"Why me?" When she spoke to Harry, she would talk in English, but with the child sleeping snugly in her lap, she reverted back to Romanian.
"You're a nice girl." the old witch took her headscarf off, and wiped her forehead with it as she sat down. By this time, she'd usually have a pipe lit at the corner of her mouth, but with an infant inside, there was instead only the crooking of her mouth to one side as she spoke.
"You know your place - I made you into the woman you are. And you are the one most like me. Not blood of my blood, but soul of my soul. Mark my words, this child is going to one day achieve some grand things. Good or bad, I don't know. But I would rather he be raised a good man. With good morals, the same I instilled in you and every student that passed through the doors of my house or my school. If he is to be raised outside of Britain, I'd rather he be raised with our morals.
That's what I told Albus, word for word as well, you know."
Dochia knew that Hedda refused Dumbledore's idea of raising him herself due to her advanced age. It filled her with pride that Hedda would trust her so, yet she couldn't help but feel her heart tighten with every movement Harry would make. Being tasked with raising a child who defeated evil himself, having the responsibility of ensuring he would be safe, and cared for, and loved, and grow up as normal a child as he could - it was terrifying.
She made sure he always knew who his mum and dad were. Had a picture of them on their - and later his - nightstand, and made sure he had another with him at all times. The one on the nightstand was a particular beautiful picture of them, she thought, with James spinning Lily under a blossoming tree, both looking at the camera with bright, smiling faces. She made sure Harry knew they were brave, and that they loved him very much, and that they died at the hands of Voldemort, and that he would have been next, but that something happened - something must have happened, and Voldemort disappeared.
No matter his age, Dochia always tried to explain to him in ways he could understand. Why he couldn't live in England now. Why he was in Romania with her. But that one day, he'll go to Hogwarts, and he'll grow up to be a wonderful wizard. That of course his aunt didn't mean to say those words, and that his cousin couldn't relate to him because Dudley was a Muggle, but that didn't mean that they didn't love him in their own way.
She made sure Harry read, spoke, and wrote in perfect English, and went to England as often as he wanted to. She never meant for him to learn Romanian, but he picked it up fast, and at some point, when he would start talking to her in her own language, she started answering back, not wanting to treat him with silence. She never meant for him to assimilate with the villagers, or to raise him speaking her language by any means, but for some odd reason, he wanted to. Harry wanted to go to the fairs. Wanted his own drum, like he would see the older wizards have at winter festivals. Wanted, when he grew up, to work at the dragon sanctuary where she'd take him in the warm summer months.
Harry was a precocious child, which is what she would more often than not write to Dumbledore in her letters. When it came to him walking, speaking, speaking in another language, riding his broom, handling his emotions, writing, eating food most children would scoff at, understanding difficult concepts - she thought that even his accidental magic had a rhyme and a reason.
Such as when he tried to get one of the cats out of the attic, a memory she fondly kept close to her heart.
"Harry, leave it."
"But-"
"Harry, I swear on what I have holiest, if you get yourself stuck, I'll leave you there." she was too busy writing to Dumbledore on that summer eve, and couldn't be bothered to even turn her head. She'd told him about a hundred times that unlike humans, if cats can go up some place, they can come down as well.
The attic was an ancient thing that had been boarded up for years, from when her ancestors used to store grain and maize. It was only recently that she decided to open it back, and ideally turn it into a second bedroom above the first. Right now, however, it was an unstable and dangerous mess, the worst of it being the rotted wooden beams that needed to be changed.
One wrong step when trying to walk on them could send someone through the ceiling. The cats, however, would be able to get in and out without much bother, and she'd only have to do a quick cleaning spell on them, as they'd be full of dust and cobwebs.
"But I've been hearing him since yesterday."
"Nonsense, darling." she murmured without paying much attention, absorbed in detailing an incident from a few days ago. Felix was smarter than that - and even then, he could wait. That cat had enough fat in him to last a week. However, Dumbledore's letter could not wait a second more. He always wanted to hear of anything out of the ordinary happening.
However, just as she was signing her name, a loud crash made her quill jump from the parchment, and her jump from the chair and into the living room.
"Harry? Harry? Harry!"
"Y-yes?" a small voice cried out, yet Dochia had no idea where the source came from.
"Harry, where… where are you?"
Silence.
"Harry- this isn't funny, come on."
Nothing.
"Harry… Sweetheart, are you in the attic?"
"No!" came a quick response, which she recognised came from above. Dochia looked up, and swore she could hear that damn cat purring.
"How'd you get there?" The ladder was still propped outside of the house, and she couldn't figure anything that he could have used to climb.
"I just really really really wanted to go up there and help Felix. And then I went up." his voice was small and apologetic, and as Dochia stepped back, she saw a tuft of brown hair appear from the entry to the attic.
"You're not hurt, right?"
"No…" came a strangled answer, which she felt may have been another white lie. She chuckled, and took her wand out, stepping back in order to see him better.
"Come on. Raise yourself a bit so I can help you down. I'll take Felix down too."