Hermione knocked on the door and waited. She winced at the sounds of a wailing pair of boys and a woman's screams coming from inside. Merlin's beard, this was going to be a complete mess.
When the door finally opened, a harried-looking young woman peered out at Hermione. Her hair was piled up in a messy bun on the top of her head, and the dark circles under her eyes were a testament to many, many sleepless nights.
"Yes?" the woman asked, her voice high-pitched and shrill. She flinched when a toddler's petulant screams reverberated through the house and something flew through the air and smacked the back of her head.
This was Petunia Dursley?
Hermione was suddenly hit with a pang of sympathy for the woman. It couldn't be easy for the woman to lose her only sister and gain another child in a matter of days, especially when they had been estranged for a long time. Handling two toddlers wasn't an easy task. Hermione was only glad that Neville was a completely harmless little boy.
"I'm Hermione, and I'm here for Harry," Hermione explained and pulled out the rolled documents she had just signed last night. "I've got adoption papers for him."
Petunia's eyes filled with tears of absolute relief. "You're adopting him? Really?"
"Yes." Hermione glanced inside over Petunia's shoulder. "If you don't mind, I'll just take him and be on my way."
Petunia threw the door open and ushered her inside. "Come in, come in!"
Startled by the surprisingly warm reception, Hermione stumbled into the living room just as Petunia hurried towards the stairs.
The Dursleys' living room was a scene of utter chaos. Toys were scattered haphazardly across the floor, a trail of plastic cars and building blocks leading to an overturned playpen. The once-pristine beige carpet was now marred with crushed biscuits and spilled juice, forming sticky patches underfoot. The coffee table had been shoved askew, its surface littered with the remains of a hastily abandoned snack, and a vase that once held Petunia's prized roses lay on its side, water seeping into the carpet. A large pillow had been thrown onto the sofa, and the curtains hung crookedly, one end yanked free from its hook. Dudley's loud, wailing tantrum still echoed in the room, and a black-haired little boy with eyes so green sat quietly in the corner, taking in the aftermath. The room, once a model of suburban orderliness, now bore all the marks of a storm unleashed by a toddler's unchecked fury.
"Wha—" Hermione cleared her throat and looked around, a bit scared for herself. "What happened here?"
"Oh, my ickle Dudleykins doesn't like the boy," Petunia said nonchalantly, entering the living room behind Hermione. She had a basket in one hand and an untidily folded blanket in the other. Shoving the things in Hermione's arms, she announced, "These are the only things he came with. Now you can take him off my hands."
Hermione wanted to recoil at Petunia's callousness, but she forced herself to remain composed. It was unnerving how quickly Petunia was ready to hand Harry over to a complete stranger, someone whose only first name she knew. The woman's relief was palpable, almost desperate, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions.
On one hand, there was a flicker of understanding—Petunia was clearly overwhelmed, drowning in a chaotic life she never asked for. Losing her sister and being saddled with a child she didn't want must have been unbearable.
But on the other hand, Hermione couldn't ignore the coldness in Petunia's eyes when she spoke of Harry, the casual dismissal of a child who had already lost so much. How could she so easily discard her own nephew? How could she not see the little boy who was quietly sitting in the corner, far too accustomed to being ignored?
It made Hermione's heart ache with a familiar anger, one she had felt too many times when thinking about Harry's past. She had come here to save him, and that's what she intended to do. But the ease with which Petunia was willing to give him up, as if Harry were nothing more than an unwanted burden, filled Hermione with a cold resolve. She would make sure Harry never had to feel this kind of rejection again.
She scanned the chaotic living room. The mess was overwhelming, but not as overwhelming as the sight of Harry, sitting quietly in the corner with his knees pulled up to his chest. His too-big clothes hung loosely on his small frame, and his vivid green eyes, so striking and filled with a mix of innocence and sorrow, stared at her. There was no light in those eyes, no spark of mischief or joy. It was a look Hermione had never seen before in her time—this was a Harry who had been thoroughly neglected, made to feel unworthy, and it broke her heart.
Petunia followed Hermione's gaze and waved dismissively at Harry. "He's over there. Honestly, I don't know how you could want him, but if you do, take him and be done with it. He's been nothing but trouble since the day he arrived on our doorstep."
Hermione bit back a sharp retort, instead forcing herself to ask calmly, "Trouble? He's barely more than a baby."
Petunia snorted, her eyes narrowing in disdain. "He's not like Dudley, you see. That one"—she pointed a bony finger at Harry—"is strange. Always getting into things, making a mess of everything. And Dudley… well, he doesn't like sharing his things, especially not with the likes of him."
As if to punctuate Petunia's words, Dudley, his small, chubby face twisted into a scowl, spotted Harry and immediately picked up a toy car, hurling it across the room at him. The car bounced off the wall near Harry's head, narrowly missing him. Harry didn't even flinch, just continued to stare at the ground with those empty eyes.
"See? Just look at him," Petunia said with a hint of exasperation, as if Harry's reaction, or lack thereof, only proved her point. "He just sits there, never fights back, never cries. It's eerie, really. Dudley tries to teach him a lesson, but he just takes it. The boy doesn't learn."
Hermione's hands clenched into fists at her sides. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to hex Petunia right there on the spot. But she couldn't do that—not here, not now. She needed to get Harry out of this hellhole, away from the neglect and casual cruelty that was being inflicted on him every single day.
As Hermione moved closer to Harry, Dudley tried to block her path, his tiny fists raised as if ready to take on the stranger who dared approach his cousin. Hermione stopped and looked down at Dudley, the boy's face reddening with a mixture of anger and confusion. She knelt to his level and spoke softly, but with a firmness that left no room for argument.
"Move aside, Dudley. I'm taking Harry with me, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."
Dudley hesitated, his eyes darting to his mother for reassurance, but Petunia simply watched the scene unfold without a word, as if she were witnessing something she'd been hoping would happen for a long time. Eventually, Dudley backed down, retreating to Petunia's side and glaring at Harry with barely-contained resentment.
Hermione turned her attention back to Harry. "Harry, come here," she said gently, holding out her hand.
Harry slowly lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers for the first time. There was a flicker of something in his expression—caution, curiosity, perhaps even hope. Tentatively, he reached out and took Hermione's hand, his tiny fingers trembling as they curled around hers. The moment their hands touched, a surge of protectiveness washed over Hermione. She wasn't just taking Harry away from this place; she was rescuing him.
"Does he have anything else?" Hermione asked as she placed the blanket inside the basket.
"That's all he has. Everything else… well, he doesn't need much, does he? Just make sure you take him far away from here."
Hermione's anger flared again, but she swallowed it down, knowing that Petunia would never understand. She picked up the basket, noting its pitifully light weight, and then scooped Harry into her arms. He stiffened at first, clearly unaccustomed to being held, but gradually relaxed as she whispered soothing words to him. Hermione could feel the tension in his small body, the way he leaned into her warmth, seeking the comfort he had been denied for so long.
With Harry securely in her arms, Hermione turned back to Petunia, her voice cool and detached. "You're making a mistake," she said quietly. "One day, you'll regret the way you've treated him."
Petunia's face hardened, but she said nothing in response, merely crossing her arms and watching as Hermione walked towards the door. Dudley was still glaring at Harry, his little fists clenched in anger. Hermione felt a pang of sadness for the child he was, molded into cruelty by the environment around him, but her focus was on Harry now. She would ensure that he grew up in a place where he was loved, where he would never have to endure this kind of mistreatment again.
As Hermione stepped out of the Dursleys' house with Harry in her arms, she couldn't shake the lingering anger that simmered just beneath the surface. The way Petunia had so easily dismissed her own nephew, the coldness in her voice as she spoke of him, left a bitter taste in Hermione's mouth. She paused on the front steps, glancing back at the house that had been Harry's prison for far too long.
Her grip on her wand tightened. She couldn't leave without doing something—something that would remind Petunia of the cruelty she had inflicted on an innocent child. Hermione was no stranger to the idea of consequences, and while she knew she had to rise above the pettiness of revenge, a small part of her couldn't resist the urge to leave behind a reminder of the wrongs that had been done.
With Harry safely tucked against her, Hermione slipped her wand from her sleeve and pointed it subtly towards the open doorway. She whispered an incantation under her breath, careful not to draw too much attention. The tip of her wand glowed with a faint, almost imperceptible light, as she wove the spell into the fabric of the house itself.
It wasn't a particularly vicious hex—nothing that would cause real harm. But it was enough. The living room, which had already been a chaotic mess of toys, crumbs, and debris, would now never be truly clean again. No matter how much Petunia scrubbed, polished, or organized, there would always be a layer of grime, a spot that couldn't be wiped away, a toy that refused to stay in place. Dust would settle in the corners moments after being swept away, stains would reappear as if by magic, and the room would always carry an air of disorder and imperfection that would drive Petunia mad.
Hermione smiled faintly to herself, a quiet satisfaction blooming within her. It was petty, she knew, but it was also a small act of justice—a way to ensure that Petunia Dursley never forgot the child she had so heartlessly discarded.
With one last glance at the house, Hermione turned and walked away, her steps lighter now. Harry remained silent in her arms, his head resting against her shoulder, unaware of the small vengeance his protector had just enacted. As they disappeared into the night, Hermione felt a sense of closure. The Dursleys would continue their lives, but they would never be free of the subtle reminder of their cruelty—a reminder that would linger, just out of reach, refusing to be swept away.
"Don't worry, Harry. I promise you won't have to come back here ever again."