Chapter Text
The summer of ‘89 was proving to be dull and monotonous for one Harry Evans. The summer was nearing its end and Harry couldn’t wait for it to be over so he could enter Year 7 and be free of this house. This particular summer day had passed much the same as the others. Nothing of note had happened all summer really. Harry worked on his summer homework, kept the garden, cooked meals, helped Dudley with his summer workbooks, and watched as the Dursleys drove off on excursions, a long list of chores in his hand. A very normal, very boring, summer vacation.
That is until a knock came at the door.
It’s well after dinner and Harry is almost finished cleaning the kitchen. The leftovers put away, the dishes done, the counters wiped down, now the only thing left to do was clean the floors.
The knock on the door startles Harry a bit but he clenches his hands around the mop so as not to drop it, he freezes and listens for but a moment, till:
“Harry, answer it! Tell them we do not welcome solicitors!” Aunt Petunia’s screech from upstairs spurs the young boy into motion.
Leaning the mop against the wall, Harry carefully steps around the wet spots on the floor and makes his way to the door. Small for his age and tired from the full day of chores Harry opens the door with little patience.
“We do not welcome solicitors,” Harry repeats verbatim to the tall stranger and tries to close the door quickly. But it does not move. Harry’s eyes regard the door with annoyance before looking up at the stranger on his aunt’s doorstep. A tall, thin man with a long white beard in a sparkling yellow suit stands before him.
“Wonderful news for me as I am no solicitor,” says the tall man. “In fact, I am here to inquire specifically after a Petunia Dursley?”
Having no script for this Harry pauses, his mind racing. Petunia said not to welcome a solicitor, but this man wasn’t one. The stranger could be a friend, though Harry doubts Petunia would be friends with anyone who dressed as strangely as him.
“Could you wait here while I get my aunt?” Harry asks, haltingly.
“Go right ahead,” the tall man says, rocking back on heels with his hands in his pockets.
Harry shuts the door softly, then races up the stairs. He hesitates in the doorway before walking in. It’s well after dinner and Petunia is almost done with Dudley’s bedtime routine. After a bath and reading time, she tucks her darling son into bed. Singing softly so as to gently put him to sleep. At nine years old, Dudley is a bit old for such things, but he loves the attention and hasn’t told Petunia to stop. So she holds on to this routine that she has had ever since Dudley was a baby.
Harry steps into the dark room, light from the hallway spilling in from the open door. Petunia is sitting on Dudley’s bed brushing back his brown curls. So gentle and soft. A side of her Harry has only ever seen like this, from a distance, as an observer.
Before Harry can say a word or even take more than two steps into the room Petunia raises her eyes. They’ve always looked dead when they look at him, at least Harry has always thought so. Brown eyes that glitter when laughing at Vernon’s stupid jokes, and sparkle when Dudley so much as breathes near her. Yet when looking at Harry, they were flat disks of color. Nothing more.
Swiftly, Petunia stands and, in a few steps, is before Harry, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the room down the hall.
“What do you think you’re doing? Trying to ruin Dudley’s rest?” She asks with a raised brow.
Harry doesn’t dare respond yet. It's all part of the script.
Right on time his aunt chimes, “Well, explain yourself.”
All predictable. All too familiar.
“There is a man at the door asking for you,” Harry says more to his feet than his aunt. This is something new at least.
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know.” Dread begins to fill Harry. He’s messed up. Twice now.
“You didn’t even think to ask for his name,” she scoffs. “Fine. Let me see what he wants.”
Before she leaves her hand roughly pushes his chin up to look at her. Flat brown eyes meet vibrant green.
“Do not ever enter that room again unless instructed. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Petunia drops his chin and goes downstairs to greet the stranger at the door.
“I don’t know why she hates you,” a small voice comes from a crack in the door down the hall. A small sliver of Dudley’s face is lit by the hallway light, the rest obscured by the darkness of his room.
Harry tries for a smile. His kid cousin has only ever known Petunia’s love. Her care and attention. Smiles and soft hugs. All things Harry has never received. Tears make his throat tight, but Harry refuses to let them fall.
“I don’t hate you,” his little cousin’s voice is earnest.
“I know Duds.” It's all he can force out. They stand looking at each other. Harry in the brightly lit hall, Dudley in the dark comfort of his room. Until the unmistakable screech of Aunt Petunia makes itself known downstairs.
“I’ll go check on her. Go back to bed, Duds. I’ll see you in the morning.”
A small ‘goodnight’ issues from the cracked door before it closes silently.
Harry creeps down the hall to the top of the stairs, every step clarifying the words being said between his aunt and the man at the door.
“He was placed in my care! I simply will not have him attend your ridiculous, immoral school!”
A soft voice responds, it’s difficult to make out so Harry risks going down the stairs to hear. Now hiding around the corner of the landing, the doorway is just around the corner. Harry sits on the bottom step as the adults continue their argument.
Finally, Harry can hear the calm voice of the old man, “It was in her will, as I have stated before. If you do not cooperate with me I will involve the Aurors and remove Harry entirely from your care.”
“You will do no such thing!” A small something surges in Harry’s chest, only to crumple at her next words, “Imagine how confused and scared that would make Dudley. My son relies on Harry, he can not just disappear into your world. I will not be as welcoming as my parents were of my sister when Harry turns up on my doorstep no longer wanted by your kind.”
“Lily Evans left Hogwarts of her own volition, against the advice of her professors. Harry will be attending as per the instructions left in Lily’s will.”
“You keep reiterating this will I have never seen nor heard of! It’s preposterous that my kid sister would have made a will at eighteen!”
“It is a magical will revealing Harry’s parentage that she wrote at the tender age of sixteen.” Harry can almost picture the tall man, his sparkling suit and white beard speaking condescendingly to his aunt in a way Harry has always wanted to but never dared.
“Very well, send one of your coppers with a copy of this will and then Harry may attend Hogwash.” Petunia says with an edge of triumph, very like when she wins an argument with Vernon.
“I see, I see. What a terrible sight I came upon this night, a fire had taken out the home of our dear boy. He luckily survived once more, by my saving hand this time around. Yet nothing could be done for his extended family. All burned to a crisp in their beds. Quite terrible, you’d agree?”
The same calm and easy tone. Harry wonders why Petunia doesn’t scream for the neighbors and call the police. Such a threat, that hangs in the air and chokes all the air out of Harry’s lungs. He is of half a mind to rush upstairs to save Dudley, when Petunia speaks again.
“Fine. Take him to your school. Force him upon us in the summers.” Resignation and fear tinge her voice, “However, absolutely none of your artifacts are allowed under my roof. He will keep all that freakishness out of my house.”
A thoughtful hum, “It would be no matter for Harry to store his school things elsewhere in the summers. Someone from my staff will provide him with his school robes on the train and his school things will be provided for him upon his arrival. Do make sure he is on time for the train, or there will be consequences.”
“Fine.”
“Lovely to have reached an agreement suited to both parties, I will be on my way now.”
“You don’t want to speak to the boy? Explain?”
At this Harry’s heart stutters, to be found out now would mean a harsh punishment. He stands and carefully steps up onto the bottom step.
“Whatever for? He has been listening to most of this conversation.”
Harry freezes completely, as Petunia stomps down the entrance hall to see him at the foot of the stairs. She stares at him, with Harry on the bottom step he is closer to her height than normal. Instead of seeing the top of his head with its mess of dark curls, Petunia can see more into his face than usual. A terrified child, bright eyed and tense stands before her.
“Finish in the kitchen and then I will speak to you.”
Harry nods quickly, walking to the kitchen. As he goes he glances behind him at the tall man. It's only for a brief moment but their eyes meet and a strange anger rises in him, hot and inexplicable. Then the man’s eyes flicker away and the feeling fades. Harry turns and scurries off to the kitchen and tries to allow the familiar task of mopping the floors to soothe him.
He hears more words exchanged, then the door closes. Harry finishes his task efficiently, nervous that any moment Petunia will come through the door and punish him. Punishments vary in the Dursley household. Often no food. Sometimes a rough push or a slap for bad behaviors. Even more chores on top of his already exhaustive list.
The worst punishments are given when things happen around Harry that he can never explain. His personal guardian angel, he thinks. Things moving through the air into his hands when he needs them. His bruises healing overnight when it should take weeks. Having a book fall from a shelf in the school library right on the page he was reading last time he was there. These things rarely happened in front of Petunia, almost as if his angel knew when to appear and when not to. But it took a while for it to learn. When he was young the angel would act more independently and the punishments were harsher. Hit in the head with a frying pan, shut in the cupboard for three days, spending the night outside in the winter. Nothing good comes from his angel helping Harry at the Dursleys. So he learned to ask it for things and it learned never to help him in front of his aunt.
Harry stands quietly in the center of the kitchen after putting all the cleaning supplies away, trying to gather his courage to walk into the living room. It takes a minute but it's there, a spark of courage. Harry knows it’s actually just part of the script for him to walk out there and receive a punishment. What other path would lay before him, except that he walks into the living room?
Harry glances at the door to the back garden. The short fence beyond that Harry knows he can scale, as he has done it before. The unpredictability that awaits him, which he can’t gather the courage to dive into. Running away. It’s been his favorite daydream these last few weeks of a summer that passed far too slow for his liking. Running far, far away from his never ending responsibilities, chores, and punishments.
Harry walks into the living room.
There sits Aunt Petunia on the couch, nibbling at the cuticles on her thumb. Harry moves through the room and stands before her, wanting to get this over with so he can go to sleep. So this day can be over, but he knows he made three mistakes and a harsh punishment will follow. As it's always been, sad in its familiarity.
Petunia sits there, her hand slowly lowering into her lap as she acknowledges Harry. She stares at him, once again more at eye level than usual, and considers how small he is. She knew he was like Lily, ever since he landed on her doorstep a small part of her could tell. But she wanted what she had missed out on as a child for her own future child. An older sibling to lead the way through life and help her with her problems. Unlike her younger sister, who never did much to help Petunia. Lily was beautiful, their parents’ favorite, and always out cavorting in the streets with all the misfits from their small town. Lily never needed Petunia’s help for anything.
Pregnant at sixteen, dead at eighteen. Ten years ago, Lily’s bastard lay in a basket on Petunia’s front doorstep. She read the note detailing Lily's death and her parents’ deaths. For a moment Petunia considered turning him away, but the possibility that he could be normal, like her. She could mold him into the perfect elder sibling for her future child. Standing over the basket Petunia decided to take him in as her own. He could be normal, it was possible. Convincing herself against what she feared, she scooped up the baby and held him close. Kissing his forehead and tucking the blanket tighter around his small form.
Years passed and Petunia was pregnant with her beloved Dudley, when tiny two year old Harry, lovingly nicknamed Chrys, floated his milk cup off the table and into his waiting hands, slurping it down greedily as Petunia’s world crashed down around her.
Now he stands before her, so like her sister in his beauty and delicate features, so unlike her in his tanned skin and dark hair, but his eyes the exact shade of green. His middle name a homage to her family naming their children after flowers. Nothing about Harry stood out to Petunia, after a few punishments the magic stopped and he functioned quietly in her home. Helped around the house, made no trouble at school, guided Dudley toward safe and educational games. He was everything she had carefully molded him to be and now a wizard comes to her house and blows away all her hard work.
“When Vernon returns from his business trip, not a word is to be said. If he asks, explain that you were awarded a scholarship to the same school your mother attended and I have decided it would be best for Dudley’s independence for you to go. I have your train ticket and I will drop you off at the station. Don’t breathe a word of this to Dudley. I’ll find a way to tell him.”
Harry nods and, after a dismissive wave of Petunia’s hand, he rushes to close himself into his cupboard under the stairs.