[A/N: So here's a lil som' som' I've been cooking up. The main reason I'm uploading this is simply because I wanted some feedback on it.
Is it good? Is it bad? Does it have potential? Would you like to see more of Petunia's side (which will be hard to do) or would you like me to enact a little scheme I've got cooking that skips forward to Harry's POV (maybe even on a different story, so I can continue them separately) when I think things get a little more interesting.
Idk, food for thought. I hope those that take the time to read this do enjoy it, and maybe have some thoughts on potential romance partners for ALL characters mentioned, either directly or indirectly... who knows?]
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There comes a point in everyone's life when they question how they got where they are. For some, it's the death of a loved one, and for others, it's when their life falls apart before their very eyes. For me, Petunia Renee Dursley (Nee Evans), it was the day the green-eyed 6-year-old of my dead sister caused a book to float toward him from the living room to the dining room.
It wasn't the floating book that was big, as a magical child of significant power Harry James Potter was bound to have accidental magic; in fact, it has happened at least once before, though I've only seen it one other time. I was equal parts happy and distressed for numerous reasons, most of which lead back to my past which I am less than happy with.
But when he floated that book, it was while we were finishing dinner as a less-than-happy family. This means that these past many years of hiding magic from my xenophobic husband Vernon Dursley all fell through, with one almighty shouting match while I tried to calmly explain something he would never accept as reality.
If I were to be honest with anyone who asked, Vernon Dursley was not my first choice of husband, nor my second, and definitely not my third - he was, in actuality, far down my list of who I wanted to be with. But in my younger years, in the heat of my childish feelings of inadequacy over being a Squib, I chose him as some sort of "payback" towards my very magically gifted sister, Lily Jane Potter (Nee Evans).
This choice, of course, caused our already strained relationship to practically buckle under the weight of Vernon's intense hatred toward anything different than his perfect, white Englishman world. Only a few years later, I would come to the belated conclusion that this was the last thing I wanted, especially after my parents died, leaving Lily to be the only person in this world I loved.
Of course, I had no one but myself to blame, so I squashed every ounce of grief and self-sympathy under the obvious truth that I was the reason it all failed. Others may call it unhealthy, but I simply call it factual. I was only further proven when about January 1981 I received an owl from said sister with a lovely note and a shrunken trunk with directions on how to use it.
It held her and James' school items, which she said she duplicated, and a very sweet letter talking about still loving me and wishing me a happy life. Now mind, I never got to reply, and the last thing I ever said to her before she died was a set of words that even at the moment I knew was going wildly too far; goes to show who deserved to live past their 20s.
With the news of her death came the arrival of her child, who I knew my sister loved enough to sacrifice her life to save, so I ignored the pain that her death caused in favor of giving the child as happy a life as I could. This turned out harder than I originally planned because I now had to hide both of our heritage and knowing accidental magic that would be nearly impossible.
But with the money we regularly received for caring for him, which I insisted I handle since it wasn't enough to even matter to a man as mildly wealthy as Vernon, Harry never went hungry, he had well-fitted clothes and a prescription I would recommend being magically fixed once he becomes old enough. The room Vernon originally wanted to use as my son, Dudley Dursley's second room became Harry's, under my insistence that we could simply store away anything Dudley no longer wanted.
While he was being raised in the muggle world, learning muggle things, I secretly spent my spare time reading and learning the things Lily once did at the renowned Hogwarts. Yes, I may never actually be able to use any of this, but knowing how smart she was, and how focused she was on her studies, I knew she would want her child to follow through with doing the same.
So life went on for a peaceful roughly four years after Harry arrived, and though I could feel the distance between me and the other Dursleys, my happiness with my child took second place when considering how much I owe Lily for how I acted before we lost contact. Besides, Vernon spoiled Dudley enough for the both of us, so I saw no harm in it.
Right, so that peaceful four years abruptly halted once Harry accidentally floated that book to him, and I knew it would only get so much worse from there. The shouting of Vernon surely lifted down at least a block and a half, and Harry cowered behind me as I tried my best to calmly explain it to my irate whale of a husband.
That didn't go well, and it was only the beginning. At first, it wasn't too horrible, Harry only got hit with the belt when he tried mentioning it within earshot of the man, and I only got hit when I tried defending Harry. If it weren't for the fact that I insisted on doing many of the chores, including cooking, I'm sure Vernon would've forced him to do all of them.
Thankfully, for me at least, he refused to touch me outside of hitting me, not that I ever truly enjoyed it when he did advance on me; I more or less accepted it as my penance for one thing or another. This led me to use the guest bedroom across from Harry's, and being that close allowed me to interrupt any beating Vernon wanted to sneak in while Harry was in his room.
It was after the second bout of accidental magic when he apparated atop his school building trying to escape what I would later learn was "Harry Hunting" that everything truly spiraled out of control. The beatings increased, and it was only my cooking for us that allowed us to stay even remotely fed.
I did what I could, but the more I helped him the more Vernon beat the both of us, being the horrid man he is he understood I would stop if it meant less pain for Harry. The only choices I found were to run away with Harry or stay in this godforsaken hellhole to share the burden. I had no real skills that would allow me to get a job, though the few times I tried to get a job Vernon skillfully beat that idea out of me anyways.
Outside of the beatings and the starving, which he manually induced, I would try my best to ignore any pain and hunger and instead allow Harry just that little bit more. All the pain medicine I could find went to him, any salves for bruising went to him, and as much food as I could smuggle from Whale and Whale Jr. went primarily to Harry.
It slowly happened over the years of abuse and protecting Harry, and it took me quite a few years to see and accept it, but my son became no better than his father, and I all but disowned him at heart. That hurt because he was still my offspring, but with how busy I was trying to keep us alive I just never focused on it.
Of course, it was never enough in my book. He was still hurting, still hungry, and still stuck here with me. In the handful of cases when something was fractured or broken with Harry I made sure he was seen by a doctor, and though they were slightly suspicious I couldn't bring myself to out Vernon.
He may be vile, but if he got arrested we would have nowhere to go, and though he was no better Dudley would lose his father, who seemed to love him despite my suspicions of him lacking a heart. Whenever we would come back with Harry in a cast, Vernon would switch completely to me as to "not waste the money spent fixing the freak".
I always tried my best to stay quiet whenever he would hurt me because I knew how much Harry needed these moments of respite from the pain and hunger. Being the adult I successfully hid the majority of it, though waiting for the pitiful magic of an adult Squib to aid in healing my broken or fractured bones was painful in too many ways.
Throughout all of the pain, hunger, and overall hell, I made sure to always make secret time with Harry to teach him everything I could about his eventual life. Knowing at one point he would leave here and only I would suffer my rightful due left me a weird mix of giddy happiness and longing for a life I would never deserve.
Though originally it would cause beatings for him if he did well, which would cause him to purposefully do bad, I would always manage to convince him to never let others dictate how he lives his life, even if it leads to bad things. And when he started consistently being the brilliant boy I knew he could be, I gladly took every hit Vernon thought he deserved for doing better than the tiny Whale I birthed.
A small piece of ironic joy I found was reading about two of Lily's electives at Hogwarts, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. As it turns out, the only magic you need for a lot of it is enough to activate small sparks, and Lily was adamant that Squibs had enough to do so - my self-healing, as agonizingly slow as it was, shows she was, as always, correct.
Finally, on Harry's eleventh birthday, the inevitable letter arrived, and I think I was happier than even Harry was. This meant he could finally leave here, and be around others his age who would appreciate him instead of joining in "Harry Hunting", and -
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING FREAKS?!"
'Ah, I forgot about him for a moment.'
Stealing the letter from my hands, after I had started stupidly talking to Harry about it right in front of the bastard, he tore through it, reading what was there, and turning an impressive shade of purple he had yet to turn since Harry's last bout of accidental magic a year and a half ago.
The following day was spent keeping myself between him and Harry, doing my best to keep his ham hands and belt from hitting the boy I found myself becoming more attached to than my own miserable existence. No doubt a rib or two became bruised, how he did that from hitting my back is beyond me, but thankfully Harry only had a small bruise here and there, some no doubt from how tightly I held him.
'It's not quite the same, but maybe this is how Lily felt.'
Over the next week, I pondered just how different this felt from how I ever thought of Dudley, and it was only when Vernon dragged us out of a house literally filled with letters that I started to understand it. Arriving at a distant and desolated lighthouse island didn't help the pain and hunger I felt, but thankfully his anger didn't get pointed at us, which let me finally come to the conclusion I was afraid of - Harry was as good as a son to me, and that made every second of abuse I let the boy endure become a mounting reason why I wished it were myself that died that night, so Harry would've never arrived at Number 4 Privet Drive.
'Oh, what would Lily think of me for what I've done.'
It was somewhere between midnight and dusk when the pounding on the door began, and seeing Vernon armed with a gun did all sorts of things to my heart that kept Harry firmly placed behind me. When the door flew inward off the wall, showing a mountain of a man, I swore I would jump in front of the gun if it meant he would live.
Because as Hagrid walked through the door, I saw Harry's exit ticket from this demon in human skin, and suffering alone would at least let me atone for a fraction of the pain I let him endure. When he effortlessly bent the gun into an unusable shape and used magic to cow the two whales into submission, it took every fiber of my being to control myself.
It was with the most firm shove I could give that I pushed Harry at him, since he seemed to try pulling me with him for some reason - I mean, I'm practically no better than the two whales, he should be happy I'll be suffering in his absence.
Hagrid looked at me funny, and even funnier at Harry when he tried to reach out to me or go back to me, and I could only agree with that look. Dragging him outside, Hagrid had to forcefully strap Harry into the bike that seemed reminiscent of the one I once saw Sirius Black drive.
Seeing the struggling boy, Hagrid once again looked at me funny, which was only possible because I followed them into the storm as a form of farewell. Seeing him not moving, I guessed he was asking me some form of silent question.
"Hagrid, leave, now. Take Harry, keep him safe, and for the love of Lily never bring him back. He isn't safe here, no matter what Dumbledore will tell you. No amount of blood wards will keep him safe around Vernon or Dudley."
I must've said something weird because he looked at me even funnier than usual, so I walked up to him and held out the shrunken trunk that held everything other than Harry I was attached to.
"This is a trunk Lily sent me a few months before she died. In it is everything Harry has been learning, and everything I have of his parents. Make sure it gets bound to him, ask the Goblins if you don't know how.Â
While at Gringotts, ask the Goblins about any properties the Potters own - If they don't own any then help him find somewhere to stay until it's time to go to Hogwarts. Now please leave, before Vernon tries something again!"
A look I recognized as surprise settled on his face as he numbly took the trunk, a small look of gratitude settled as he quickly mounted the bike and set off. The few moments where Hagrid wasn't covering my vision I could see Harry looking at me, and the tears I was barely holding back finally burst forth as I tried to put on the most comforting smile I possibly could.
It wouldn't do for a mother to show their child any less.
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The beauty and majesty of a flying motorbike, actual magic, were completely washed in grey as I kept my eyes on the rapidly shrinking lighthouse island in the distance. It wasn't until the island was lost to sight that I let myself rest in the seat naturally, looking forward.
A few seconds passed as it all fully set in - the only person who's ever cared for me, the only family I have left, just got left behind in a kind of hell I wouldn't wish on anyone but Moldyshorts himself.
After having been locked into my seat on the motorbike I had kept relatively silent because I realized it was worthless to continue fighting it. But now, kilometers away, the tears began, and having heard what Petunia hoped to be her final goodbye they wouldn't stop.
When you grow up as I have, you learn quite quickly that tears are a useless bodily function, but when they do strike you learn to multitask with them. In this case, I wouldn't let her continue to suffer in my place.
As they continued to fall I curled myself into a ball, letting my eyes go despondent and ignoring the looks Hagrid was sending my way. Despite everything Petunia taught me, some things she couldn't simply because she didn't know.
One of those was where Diagon Alley was located and how to get in/out because her younger self refused due to "immature feelings". Another big one is how the economy/politics works in wizarding Britain, though she was always strangely sure that I was set to inherit enough to leave the Dursley household for good - it never escaped me that she seemed to believe she would never get such a chance.
The only thing she was able to supply, was that the Goblins were a very good basis to start with. Noting that Lily found if you give them respect, not unnecessarily genuflecting or prostrating but instead as an equal, they tended to be far more willing to assist.
Feeling the friction of the motorbike landing on solid ground again I looked up, to see a barely risen sun in a dreary London. Within minutes Hagrid was parking in a part of London I've been nowhere near, and silently ushering me out.
Seeing him fidget I try to find some words to say, but before I can he suddenly rummages through his clothes before pulling out two objects; one was my mother's trunk, of which I was very familiar, and the second was an ornate golden key, the origin of which I had a single guess.
"So, 'arry, I 'ave lots'a questions, but as it was 'er only request I can wait until I take ya to Gringotts."
"Please, Hagrid. I promise I'll give you answers to at least some of your questions, but I need to speak to the Goblins as a matter of utmost importance."
"Right, off we go then!"
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The drive back to Number 4 Privet Drive had been suspiciously silent, outside the occasional concerned noises Whale Jr. made over his newly acquired tail; fantastic transfiguration by Hagrid, and if it weren't for the danger I would've been laughing at it. As to Whale Sr. - well, it's either the anger hasn't hit yet, or it's reached a peak that even his body can't physically react to.
Once we reached the house and packed the luggage back in, I found the answer was that his small Englishman brain hadn't yet comprehended the amount of anger and vitriol he felt. But even the smallest of brains eventually worked it out, and he happened to work it out about half an hour after we returned.
Time became subjective as at least a dozen bones became bruised or worse, some portions of my skin breaking open from lacerations, and my ears were ringing from the volume with which he spewed the garbling noises he must've thought were intelligible. As I lay on the floor of my room, locked in from the outside, I laughed - a mistake I will try to not repeat until I've semi-recovered - at the similarity he held to a walrus in those moments, spittle and all from his incessant barking.
Because if I didn't laugh I would cry, and I would be damned if I let him win like that. Without being able to do much else, and with how little sustenance I already received, I began drifting to a state of unconsciousness as my thoughts dwelled not on my pitiful existence, but on the pseudo son that was finally free.
It was that thought that got me through the pain, even when it hurt so much I could barely hold in my screams, or when I was so hungry I got regularly dizzy from any activity outside sleeping. For the first month he was gone this cycle repeated, with me often finding a smile on my face as I got up from bed - or more often than not my floor, after being unceremoniously thrown into my room in a nearly unresponsive heap.
It was only after Dudly got the tail surgically removed that his anger slowly abated, but his vitriolic hatred for all things magic had only increased.
Harry's lack of presence, however, soon started to wear on me, and even my smile started to disappear. It got particularly bad on Samhain, being the anniversary of Lily's death and all, where the only resistance I could give was my insistence on it not being Halloween, the holiday Vernon celebrated with the non-tailed piglet.
Of course, my emotional plight was overshadowed by the presence of my Walrus Warden, who decided that day would be a spectacular day to press his abilities for abuse into existence. I didn't wake up for nearly a week, and the only reason I lived at all would be whatever passes for magic as a Squib.
Even when November was coming to a close, the first Yule, Christmas being another holiday the bastard ruined with his use, I wouldn't be spending with Harry since he was left on my doorstep, my desire to hold him for even a second was overshadowed by the fear of him coming back, and what the Dursley Demon might do to him.
'As long as Harry's gone, he's safe.'
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Samhain, as always, was an utter disaster. Ronald Weasley, a friendly though very boorish bloke from Gryffindor opened his mouth at just the wrong moment, causing Hermione Granger, the very bookish know-it-all from Ravenclaw, to run away crying.
His statement hadn't been particularly harsh or nice, and in essence, wasn't incorrect, but he no doubt knew nothing about her, and judging a book by its cover is always the wrong thing to do - even when they're as much of a prat as Draco Malfoy from my own house, Slytherin. And though it wasn't particularly my problem, I thought of Aunt Petunia looking at me with disappointment for not acting, and the churning in my gut continued even after I gave Weasley words I thought were quite harsh even as I said them, so I gave chase.
Having told Blaise, Tracy, and Daphne beforehand that I wouldn't be attending the feast, regardless of any trouble it may bring me, I didn't worry too much about getting back, so I spent what felt like hours scouring the castle in all the places I thought a distraught first-year girl might hide. That of course led to practically nothing other than explaining to no less than 5 groups of girls of varying ages why I was so frantically knocking on bathroom doors.
This all led to being trapped between the Weasley twins Fred and George - though no one else seemed to be able to tell the two apart, their eyes gave them away - where I frantically, and maybe a tad harshly, explained what I was doing and why. Looking sheepish at their brother's actions, they had brought out a map that I swore looked familiar, something I told them I would follow up on once I figured it out, and helped me locate her.
If any of us looked just one floor lower or looked even half an hour later, we would've seen the unwanted intruder in the castle, but as it was I took off as soon as I found her. Once I found her, getting permission to enter from the sole occupant of the bathroom, I spent a while sitting there with her, doing my best to console her even though I had no clue what to do.
Thankfully, I can only say after the fact and because nothing permanent happened, a troll broke through the bathroom door. Very dangerous indeed, and had it only been us two we probably wouldn't have made it out, but a strange assortment of students arrived that caused the interaction to be cut short with the troll's death.
The unmanly scream from both Draco and Ronald had distracted it, and the quick thinking of Blaise caused it to look toward a pipe he burst with magic I KNOW is not taught in our first year. From there it was mostly luck, and as Tracy and Daphne helped Hermione I think I got the final hit, and the subsequent questioning, point deductions, and then point allocations were all a blur until I was once again in my Slytherin dorm room.
Exhausted, with adrenaline finally wearing off, I barely registered the package I grudgingly inspected after I sat on my bed. After seeing the note, my tiredness wore off immediately, and my father's invisibility cloak, something they both briefly mentioned in their journals, was before me.
The following days were spent completely exploring the castle at night, after having somehow acquired the Maurader's map, which I promised the twins access to when they needed it for their tenure at Hogwarts even as they freely gave it to me. It was on one of the trips that the twins had the map where I got far too close to getting caught by Filch, and finding refuge in a random room I found a peculiar mirror.
Thinking it was a regular mirror, I focused on the script at the top, and after translating it my curiosity got the best of me and I focused on the face of it. With a sharp intake of breath and more tears than I would like to admit, I saw my parents walk into frame, looking at me with all the love Petunia gave the moment I left the lighthouse.
It was a few seconds later when the mirror Lily looked over her shoulder, seemingly inviting someone forward, and a few more seconds passed where I wasn't quite sure who it was. But then recognition hit, and the tears came out in a choked sob I only covered out of habit, as a healthy-looking Petunia was readily embraced by my mother.
I once heard insults toward my aunt, calling her something like "horse-faced", but seeing this now just reinforced my opinion that she is simply gaunt from the lack of proper nutrition, activity, and lack of exposure to a magical environment. In actuality, the healthy Petunia before me looked quite pretty in a more homey way, and though more on the petite side showed more meat on her bones than I think I've ever seen.
While lost in my world I heard the clearing of a throat behind me, and with surprise, instincts from Privet Drive, and the recent Troll fight, I whipped around with my wand flying from the holster into my hand. Though it was admittedly clumsy, I didn't notice at the moment, having just lowered my wand with a shaking hand as I futilely did my best to wipe the tears from my eyes to not show Headmaster Dumbledore just how much I was affected by the image in the mirror.
With evident care and a healthy portion of concern, he thankfully gave me a few moments to collect myself. And so, with reddened eyes, I put my wand away and looked fully at him, not yet ready to face the mirror again.
"Are you okay young Harry?"
Now I would be the first to admit, even if I was collected on the outside, I was still shaken, and not all there, so I couldn't quite keep it all in.
"...y fault"
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that, would you be able to repeat it?"
"It's my fault!"
With no small amount of surprise sprouting on his face, Dumbledore looked between me and the mirror and noticing a look that was eerily familiar politely, though somberly, asked me to continue. And so I did.
I spilled a little of what went on in Number 4 Privet Drive, starting with the brief memories of before Vernon learned of magic and mostly focused on the lighter abuse that occurred, feeling uncomfortable with sharing more but needing to get some of it off my chest, even if it was mostly about Petunia.
At some point, the tears started again, thinking of the mirror Petunia and that's where I found myself slumping into a chair I didn't see before.
"It's my fault, because if I didn't have my stupid accidental magic then Vernon never would've found out her well-kept secret, and maybe she would've looked as healthy and happy as she does in the mirror.
All I've ever wanted was for both of us to be happy, but while I'm free from them she's still there, no doubt suffering in my place, for something that's not her fault, because she isn't able to escape. I can't even do anything for her until I become of age, and it hurts because I feel like I'm betraying not only her but my mother as well."
The tears kept coming, though now some were just as self-deprecating as they were sorrowful, so I put my head in my hands in a form of shame - whether it was because I was sharing this with basically a stranger, or because I couldn't do anything I didn't know. As the Headmaster gently put his wisened arms around me in a hug that exuded regret, guilt, and comfort in equal measures, I flinched only slightly, hesitating only a second, before wrapping my arms around him as well.
Just like that Samhain night, I was once again weary and exhausted, but without my knowledge, there was a flame simmering in the back of my eyes. I wouldn't let her suffer more than necessary, even if that meant my suffering in turn.
'Looks like I'm not staying for Yule.'
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Have you ever been given a present, regardless of the occasion, that you cherished so much you wish you would've never received? Seeing Harry James Potter, my not-son, be thrown into my room with all the grace the Podgy Ponce could muster, would probably top that list easily.
I can't clearly remember the rest of that night, though embarrassingly enough a good portion of it was spent just holding onto him for dear life and bawling my eyes out for one reason or another. Having thought - or I guess hoped, in this case - that I would never see him after he left that tiny island, it felt unreal and I first needed to absorb the fact he was back.
With that came the superficial anger that masked the worry that seeped into my very bones. Why did he come back? Why couldn't he stay at Hogwarts, or go with a friend to their house, to finally have a happy Yule? What could possibly bring him to come back here to suffer for Yule?
Of course, in my hysterics, I never actually portrayed my thoughts, and moved quickly to other topics as I tried to will my brain to regain proper function and for my damned tears to stop. Once that happened, I couldn't help the million questions that came out, wanting to know everything about the last few months - and though it was mostly in hopes of hearing him finding happiness, there was a morose sense of longing for a life I no longer deserved, and for the Hogwarts life I never asked Lily about.
We've been through a lot in this prison masquerading as a house, so I could easily tell how to interpret his words. The goblin interaction was interesting, and though he didn't tell the whole story I assumed it was unimportant things of legal or financial jargon that was useless for me to hear, being locked away and all.
That Malfoy brat sounded tame compared to what Harry normally dealt with, and though a part of me was sad he wouldn't be able to share that parental connection of being in Gryffindor another knew Lily and James would've been supportive and happy regardless. Granger and Weasley, despite their flaws at his age, sounded like good potential friends, but the last thing I would want to do is influence his life like that so I kept quiet.
Hearing Severus Snape, the dark and gloomy boy from my childhood had grown up into such a respected potions master, and head of Slytherin was a surprise. I hadn't thought him capable of looking farther than his hooked nose when dealing with "dunderheads", as he would put them, so I worried, especially given Harry was the son of his childhood love and childhood bully, but Harry said -
"He's a bit of a bastard, and he tends to isolate me and a boy named Neville with questions and whatnot, but I can see it in his eyes. He's nothing but a big softy with a VERY prickly exterior, and I am determined to get under the endless layers of "prickness" to find just what made him and mum such good friends for so long."
Of course, when his Slytherin friends were mentioned I paid extra attention: the Zabini boy seemed to come from a loving but rough background, though not in the traditional way; the Nott boy seemed more on the fringes, but seemed nice enough despite the Death Eater stigma his father carried on to him; Crabbe and Goyle both seemed a bit like Dudley, though raised less like bullies and more like the underlings that follow Dudley around; Parkinson sounded a bit like a bitch, but the soft way he talked about her led me to believe it wasn't out of malice that she acted or said certain things; Bulstrode seemed like the male version of Crabbe and Goyle, having more muscle than brains in a general sense, though Harry seemed to firmly believe she was a closet princess; the Greengrass girl, being among his closest friends so far, reminded me a staggering amount of how Lily was at that age, and I could see that Harry saw it too; and then came the Davis girl, seemingly average in just about every way, but the way Harry's eyes shined told me she was anything but average, and that there was a story he couldn't tell me why that was so.
When he told me what Weasley said, how it affected Granger, and how he reacted, I asked him why he did so. After a short amount of coaxing it out, he said, with the most embarrassment I've ever seen on him -
"Well when Hermione ran past me I saw a tear start sliding down her cheek, and I wasn't going to interfere. Then you popped into my head, looking all disappointed and stuff, and then I couldn't stand still until I fixed it."
My confusion lasted very shortly, as did my questions, because I soon forgot them entirely as he told me of the troll incident. Now I don't blame any of the children - Hermione and Harry were unaware when it barged into the bathroom, and the rest of them were worried for the two of them - but my gut twisted in the same way it did on that island, seeing Vernon with a gun, and I nearly pulled my hair out during the entire recounting, no matter how short.
'If I ever see those children, I am going to have to thank them profusely.'
Thankfully the rest of his term seemed to go smoothly since he glossed over most of it with short mentions and stories of his escapades around the castle at night, though I was a little sullen at the knowledge I would never be there with him in those moments I was happy to hear he had something else of his fathers in the form of that map.
That night, because we were still locked into my room, I offered him my bed, because I refused to make him sleep on the ground, but somehow I ended up on the bed as well, cuddling a strangely happy Harry. And for the first time since he left I didn't have a nightmare of any kind, and I found myself waking up more refreshed than I can remember ever being and with a smile on my face.
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Most of the dunderheads I must tolerate thought my hearing lesser than it truly was - growing up how I have and living through the heart of war as a double agent would prove them all very incorrectly. Therefore, upon hearing the hushed conversations between Potter and his friends, as I had coincidentally just been walking by, during the leaving feast for Winter break, I grew understandably concerned.
I'm a bastard, it's something I've come to terms with long ago, and not even Lily was able to change that. But just because I don't show it, and often do the exact opposite, I do in fact tolerate the existence of others:
While I admit I might show him favoritism, I am the godfather of Draco for a reason; Ronald Weasley is boorish but he wears his heart on his sleeve in a way that is commendable; I strangely enjoy teaching the young Granger, though that's mostly because she is just pure genius in a human body; even Neville, who I am most harsh on, I do it because I see a talent laying deep within his awkward, unconfident self - I may do it for good reasons, but my methods of encouragement seem to go directly perpendicular of my purpose of promoting his abilities.
There has never been a student, however, that has been as polarizing to me as the young Harry James Potter. Born from the man I grew up hating that earned my grudging respect and the woman I loved even after I understood there was no room in her heart for me in the same respect.
A very big part of me, the most vocal about its hatred towards everything Potter, wishes for me to despise this child, to do nothing but make his life a living hell every chance I can get. But every eventual thing I would've done to him was wiped away as he walked through those doors.
Not only did he look frighteningly similar to how I was before coming to Hogwarts, being just barely healthy enough, but he broke the long-standing Potter tradition by being sorted into Slytherin. I've never heard the Great Hall that silent, even nearing the peak of the war when I was a student.
Regardless of his physical or emotional condition though, the spark of intelligence and willpower that drove not only Lily but James once he grew up, were everpresent. And when I threw barbed words at him or caused him grief for no other reason than letting my past grudges guide me, he would throw right back at me, almost always just respectfully enough to not get in trouble, while looking at me with eyes that first saw me as a puzzle, but gradually looked at me as anyone I've ever let in has - as if they can see behind every defense I've learned to put up in my younger years.
So over these few months, seeing him almost die already twice, has been unnecessarily and stupidly stressful. Now, hearing his plans to go home, it took every ounce of my control built under the scrutinizing gaze of Voldemort to not stop dead and grill him for every detail.
Instead, I did the reasonable thing, and stormed straight to the headmaster's office after sending him a scathing mental probe; it may not be healthy or necessarily legal, but it has almost become a tradition between us since we're some of the only mental masters in this region of Europe.
As soon as we were there, he offered a lemon drop as he always does, I bit into him very fast with every question I could think of. I didn't know the details, but I knew enough to know the Dursley household was not only a danger to his wellbeing, but it may very well end his life one of these days.
"Severus, you must understand that I also was highly against it all. If it weren't for his situation I would've taken him out of that house as soon as he stepped foot within these castle walls - the wizarding world would probably rejoice at their savior residing at Hogwarts full time.
However, it was Harry who wished to go back. It is my understanding, through both Harry's own words and Hagrids report, that while Vernon Dursely is no better than a Death Eater, Petunia is practically his entire world."
Albus' words caused me to pause, only because I remember Petunia clearly - a side effect of being so mentally powerful, my memory rarely fails anymore - and she was anything but loving of magic. It caused a failing relationship not only with her sister but also with her parents because of how visceral her distaste for it went.
And so I sneered, a facial expression that settles so naturally I don't realize it most times, before replying.
"Please Albus, I remember the horse, I grew up around her. She's hateful, jealous of all things magic, and if Harry showed up as a constant reminder of that she would've been horrid; maybe not as bad as the Walrus, but definitely nothing to suffer for."
"Ah, that she was. It was unfortunate I had to turn her away so many years ago. However, people are apt to change under the right circumstances, as you should be well aware of by now."
I hate that look, not only because it annoys me but because it does in fact work, and so my mind decided to throw the image of two of the Mauraders at me; Lupin had never been bad, and in the final years it was only me acting my part as Death Eater that kept that gap.
But mostly it was James Potter, the one person in life I hated more than my bastard of a father. He went from an incorrigible bully to a respectful, hardworking man within a year - a hell of a transformation to make in such a short time, but the man he became was worthy of the respect he earned from everyone, and that does, unfortunately, include me.
"That does not change the fact that this is Petunia we are talking about. How could she change so much since I've last seen her, to gain such undying love from a child who has had a very bad childhood?"
"Ah, my boy it is simple. At every given moment she sacrificed everything she could spare to make his life just that little bit better - food, medicine, sanctuary from the abuse.
I didn't get the full or real story from him, but Harry was distraught at the thought of her being in that house alone. If one didn't know it was a house, they would think it was a torture chamber meant for death row inmates."
"And you let him go back to it? You should've vetoed that choice! You have the power to do so as Headmaster, you did so for me when I tried to follow Lily back those first two winters."
"I'm afraid it was out of my hands. He has conveniently learned just how much power he holds, no doubt from being around so many politically raised children. Besides, I could not deny him. There was a fire in his eyes - one you would be well aware of, having grown up and faced off against both his mother and father."
My silent fuming continued after his statement for a minute, the air lightly rustling around me from my agitated magic. This isn't my problem, the Potter brat threw himself into the wolf's den for a woman I could never see becoming decent.
So as I did a full 180, leaving the office with nothing more than a swish of my cloak, I could only wonder why -
'Why do I care so damn much?!'