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It had been months since Petunia Dursley had done any form of activity with her husband and son, or as she liked to call them, her two boys. Dudley, at 23, still lived at home. It wasn't a problem for Petunia, it meant that she would spend more time with her Dudders, even if he spent most of his time roaming the neighborhood with his school friends or locked in his room. But sometimes, she wished that he would get on with his life. Find a suitable woman and accept one of Vernon's weekly offers to join him at Grunnings. She could swear that the neighbors had begun to whisper in the corners about Dudley still living at home, and it didn't really suit their perfectly normal family image. Maybe her nephew’s influence would have pushed Dudley to move out. If that boy was still living with them, then Dudley, like any reasonable normal human, would want to move out as soon as possible, instead of living with a freak. It was only because of the love she had for her late sister that she even took him in. Vernon had wanted to leave him on the step of the nearest fire station (and rightfully so). But in the end, she went against her better judgment and argued for the boy to stay.
“We are here,” Dudley announced with a small amount of pride in his voice, as they arrived at the theater. He had obtained his driver's license last year, and although the trip was only 30 minutes by car, it was still the longest distance he had driven without an instructor beside him. Petunia had been reluctant to let him drive, but Vernon had convinced her that Dudley was a strong and capable man, which he of course was.
“I really hope that you are happy now, Petunia,” Vernon grunted. He didn't like to spend so much money on “fun”. The money was better off being in the bank or used on a new car.
“I have wanted to do this for a long time. I have heard that it should be a good play with sophisticated guests in attendance. Which is why I had you dress nicely,” she shot a look at her two boys, who were wearing matching tuxedos. (She had spent a good 30 minutes researching whether bow tie or regular tie was the norm, and the answer had been bow tie).
As they made their way up to the ticket booth, she couldn't help but notice a familiar-looking couple in front of them. It reminded her of her sister and her freak husband. A short redhead and a taller raven-haired man with wild hair. Her thoughts went to her nephew. She wondered what he would be doing right now. It was obviously not him in front of them, this was expensive - and there was no way someone like him could afford it. Still, she wondered what had happened to him, as she hadn't heard from him, or anyone from their world since they got escorted back to Privet Drive after their ‘vacation’. Had he found a job? Could they find jobs? A voice broke her train of thought, “Yes, three front row tickets,” her husband said as they reached the end of the queue, making sure to emphasize that they were front row. Now that they finally went out, they did so in style.
“Mum, are you ok? You look distracted,” Dudley asked, while Vernon paid.
“Don’t worry, it's nothing.” She faked a smile. It had been years since she had spared that boy a thought, so why did it happen now, and twice in one day? Even after being out of their lives, he still managed to annoy her.
The small family then made their way to the front row seats, Dudley called their section "Ringside", it was some sort of boxing reference, but she was too lost-in-thought to inquire further. Her husband and son were in a discussion about that very sport, so she let her mind drift off once again. This time, her thoughts fell on her late sister. She allowed herself to think about her for the first time in years. Normally her memory would have been too painful, or too irritating due to what she left her with. God, she missed her at times. They might not have always gotten along , but Petunia still loved her. Life would have been so much better if she had survived.
The show started before Petunia managed to daydream any further. Despite the early complaints from the two men, the Dursleys left the theater chatting enthusiastically about the play. As Petunia led them out into the entry hall, she noticed the familiar raven-haired man from before. After a closer look, she was sure that it was her nephew and he looked a lot healthier, she noted. He had put on a lot of muscle, and he was no longer the scrawny boy living in a cupboard. Rather than leading her husband and son toward their estranged family member, she decided to lead them in the opposite direction. The confrontation would be awkward and not pleasant at all, Petunia told herself. She glanced back to his previous position and no longer saw anyone. Perhaps he also decided to go the other way, and let them go about their life uninterrupted. It was probably the only smart decision he would ever make, Petunia thought.
Suddenly, Dudley turned around and said, “Mum, I think I forgot my keys in there. They must have fallen out.”
Petunia smiled warmly at him, and then silently cursed the stupid fashion designers, who always managed to disregard the practical part of making clothes. Like in this instance, making it too easy for things to fall out of the pockets.
“Then let us go back and grab them. I doubt anyone has stolen them. This is a highly esteemed establishment,” Vernon declared
Petunia led the way through the crowd and back into the Theater hall. Thankfully the keys were still there, and they didn’t run into her nephew. But as luck would have it, Dudley literally walked into him on their way out.
“Harry, is that you?” Dudley asked, before Petunia could lead them away.
“Yes, Dudley. It's been a long time,” Harry replied, there was no shortage of annoyance on his face, but his tone was still polite. He clearly wanted to be there as little as Petunia did. Nevertheless, he extended his hand for Dudley to shake, which he did. He did the same thing to Vernon, but to no avail. Petunia volunteered her hand after a few seconds of Harry’s hanging in front of her husband. It would have been impolite to let it hang there, she told herself.
“And who might this be? Your caretaker?” Vernon demanded and gestured towards the woman to Harry’s left. She was very beautiful. No, outright stunning. A natural kind of beauty. She was far too pretty to be his date, Petunia thought.
“In a way,” Harry tried to force a laugh, but ultimately failed, his eyes shooting daggers at Vernon,” This right here is my wife, Mrs. Ginerva Potter. Gin, this is the Dursleys,” he said and gestured unnecessarily to the three people in front of him.
“Wife? You?” Dudley looked genuinely shocked, his jaw dropping to its physical limit, although not all the way down as it did in cartoons.
“Yes, I believe so. I seem to recall our wedding,” Harry said, puffing his chest a bit. He seemed proud of being her husband, Petunia thought.
“It is nice to meet you, Ginevra” Petunia, said and to her surprise, she actually meant it. She felt some odd form of compassion toward the woman. Was it affection? No, it couldn't be. She had just met her mere seconds ago.
“Please, Ginny is fine. I have heard a lot about you.” Ginny faked a smile, carefully avoiding the ‘Nice to meet you too’, which hung unsaid in the air.
“Is she-?” Vernon asked, visibly uncomfortable. Harry nodded stiffly, implying that he didn’t need to use words to answer such a question. Petunia would have been offended, had she not been startled by the whole situation.
“Why are you here? I thought your kind had other things. Besides, isn't it out of your price range?” Vernon questioned. He had taken a little step backward after the last answer from his nephew.
“Well, we go out once a week, if the circumstances allow it. And we have had a pleasant experience with this theater on a number of occasions, so we chose it again. As for the price range, it has never been a problem. Money isn't an issue for us,” Harry stated, once more, puffing his chest slightly. A habit his late father also had, if Petunia remembered correctly. It had been over two decades since she last saw him.
“So you're rich?” Vernon all but demanded.
“I don’t like discussing such private matters,” Harry said, a slight smile making its way across his face.
“We're your family, we have a right to know.”
“You may be related to me, but you are not my family. Families treat each other well, and with love,” the smile from earlier fading completely.
“How dare you, boy. We raised you, fed you, and put clothes on your back,” Vernon growled. His face was beginning to turn red.
“You also neglected me, physically and emotionally abused me, and you did neither of those things that you just mentioned very well. I only got far too big hand-me-downs, leftover food, and a cupboard to live in,” Harry responded harshly. A few of the other guests started looking their way, so Harry lowered his tone, ”Out of respect for the owner of this establishment, who is a very nice man might I add, I will not get into a shouting match with you here and cause a scene. With your obsession with being normal, I think you share my view on that” he finished. He was visibly struggling to compose himself, but a squeeze of his arm by his wife seemingly calmed him down.
“Well then, I bid you goodnight,” Petunia cut in, before her husband managed to formulate a response. “I wish you the best in the future,” she added as she began to lead her boys away.
Her nephew gave a half-hearted “you too” in response. Petunia looked back several times and could see that his wife was trying to calm him down, and it seemingly worked. At the fourth look back, they were laughing. Despite her previous feelings towards her nephew, she was happy that he had found someone who could give her all that she couldn't.
As they started their drive home, Dudley tried to start a conversation about his cousin, but the topic was quickly shot down by Vernon. No one said a word the rest of the way back.
Later that night, Petunia stayed up when her husband and son went to bed. There was one last thing to do before she could finish her day. She sat down at her kitchen table, pen in hand and a piece of paper in front of her. She stared at the paper for what felt like an eternity, before putting the pen on the paper and writing:
“Dear Harry, I am terribly sorry.”