Chapter Text
~Chapter I~
~The Witch at the Door~
Harry sat alone in his bedroom—if you could call it that. The cupboard under the stairs wasn’t very comfortable, nor was it entirely safe, but it was all he had. The green-eyed boy sat gingerly on the little mattress that took up most of the space, carefully applying ice to a new bruise on his leg. Aunt Petunia had slipped it to him, telling him to stay here for the rest of the night.
Uncle Vernon had come home angry, and then the dinner wasn’t quite right. Harry was sure the tirade that had ensued must have been heard halfway across the neighborhood, but still, no one came to check on it. His legs had suffered most of the abuse, as he once again took the belt for something Dudley had done at school.
He fell back onto his back, fighting tears that threatened to fall. Aunt Petunia said crying showed weakness, that it let others know you’d already lost. He knew she lived by these words too, because despite all she endured from her husband, she remained poised as ever. He felt a lot of things for his aunt. Frustration…Guilt…Sympathy. Love was not an emotion they shared, despite their familial ties. No one in this house loved, not like they should.
It was nearly October now. The school year had just begun, and Harry was already tired of it. Second Grade wasn’t any easier than First, though he supposed that was the point. It wasn’t the curriculum or the teachers he struggled with, but rather his cousin. For such a young boy, he was strangely obsessed with Harry’s torment. He made it his personal mission to ruin his life as much as possible. Harry thought this was ridiculous, but since when had anyone ever cared about what he thought?
–
Petunia Dursley sat in her own bedroom, nursing one of her own bruises, fresh and throbbing. She could still hear Vernon in the living room, shouting angrily at something on the tele. She knew Harry must be in much more pain than she was, but she couldn’t bring herself to go check on him again. No matter how she framed it, Vernon would never accept that boy. He was a freak, as he called their kind. Petunia sighed. Lily must be cursing her endlessly from beyond, her own sister, letting her precious son endure this much pain. She shook her head and walked into the bathroom, aiming to drown her sorrows with a bit of the hidden liquor she stashed from Vernon.
When she felt sufficiently intoxicated to handle being in his presence again, she returned to the kitchen. Her footsteps were silent, her breathing almost nonexistent, anything to keep her presence as small as possible. Vernon was laughing loudly now, clearly having had his own share of alcohol. She grit her teeth, hopefully he would fall asleep on the couch tonight.
When she thought him sufficiently engrossed in his show, she grabbed a small cup and filled it with water, walking carefully around the couch and out of the living room door. When it shut behind her and he made no move to follow, she released a breath. Slowly, carefully, she unlocked the door she knew her nephew was suffering behind.
“Boy.” She whispered. “Drink.”
She handed him the water, watching him gulp the liquid gratefully. Her hand instinctively reached out to touch the area near his injury, but she stopped herself.
“Go to sleep, I’ll wake you up for school.” She said, taking the empty cup from him and latching the door once more.
–
That was how a lot of their nights were spent now. Petunia would grant him small peace offerings, never saying more than a few words before casting him right back into solitude. Always holding him at arms length emotionally, never any closer. The guilt consumed her of course, but what could she do? Forming an attachment would only make it worse.
It was one of these nights—a cold, gloomy October evening with howling winds and pouring rain—that Harry sat outside his cupboard for once. Vernon was on a business trip until early morning, and Dudley was staying with a friend. He was idly fluffing the bouquet he’d picked from the garden outback to decorate the foyer with, when he saw it—a sudden flash outside the back window. He froze.
Was it lightning? Someone with a torch? His mind raced for answers as he moved to be further concealed. Petunia was sitting on the armchair that faced the opposite direction, her eyes trained on nothing in particular. He knew she was exhausted, and also knew she probably didn’t want him disturbing her if there was nothing wrong, so he didn’t say a word.
He moved quickly to the kitchen, pulling himself onto a stool to peer out the window above the sink. There, making their way to the back door hurriedly, was a cloaked figure. Harry clamped a hand over his mouth, and nearly toppled off the stool.
“A-aunt Petunia.” He called, running over and reaching for her arm.
She glanced at him strangely, he hadn’t reached out to her in a long time, not since he was very little. She let herself be pulled out of the chair, still confused.
“There’s someone…” Harry pointed to the backdoor, whose handle was now turning slowly.
Petunia gasped, pulling Harry behind her and backing up as far as she could before the door finally swung open.
A woman, dressed head to toe in black, stepped into her living room. Thick boots left wet footprints on her freshly mopped floor as the stranger made her way inside. Petunia watched as the woman took out what she knew to be a wand, and began muttering to herself. Within an instant, she and the floor were dry, and the door was closed and locked behind her.
“Who are you?” Petunia managed, gripping tighter to the trembling boy behind her.
The woman tore her hood off, shaking out long, curly brown hair. With every move, her cloak shimmered with magic. Though Petunia couldn’t have known this, it was crafted with magic entirely, creating what was essentially a shield or bubble around her. It made her not easily noticed, protected her from weak attacks, and even hid most of the magic she cast. An excellent tool for stealth missions such as this.
Petunia met her gaze. Her pale green eyes were sharp, trained on her with such intensity she found her heart rate picking up even more. Perhaps most disturbing however, was they reminded her of a certain woman she’d forced herself to forget—not to mention, the little boy behind her.
“Petunia Dursley,” the woman started. “My name is not important, nor should it be any of your concern. I am here on behalf of Albus Dumbledore, we are looking for Harry Potter.” Her voice was calm, collected.
Petunia swallowed in an effort to push down the bile that threatened to rise. Dumbledore, the old wizard that had been Lily’s Headmaster at that school. She knew the name, not the face. It had also been listed on the letter that had been left with Harry all those years ago. The letter that ruined her life.
“I have him.” Petunia said, the shakiness of her tone not missed by anyone in the room. “He’s right here.”
She brought him around slowly, making sure his back was to the woman so that his eyes were on her. He looked terrified, his little body shook with so much fear, Petunia couldn’t help but draw him closer.
“Harry?” The woman dropped to both knees, the tone of her voice changing instantly. “I was a friend of Lily’s—of your mother. There’s a whole bunch of people who have been looking for you for a long time, I’ll bet they can’t wait to hear you’re safe.”
Harry glanced back at her, eyes shining with unshed tears. He repeated Petunia’s mantra in his head, fighting them as best he could.
“I need to take you with me for a little while, we have to go on a little adventure. We’ve got to go talk to a couple of special people to help you out, but as soon as we finish, I can bring you right back. No worries, I won’t separate you from your family, alright?” The woman smiled kindly, and Harry turned to face her fully, sizing her up.
Petunia inhaled sharply. “No.”
“Oh, not to worry Mrs. Dursley, he’ll be back before-”
“No. No, don’t bring him back here.” She cut her off, her voice rising with each word.
“Pardon?” Elise stood, looking mildly offended for the boy.
“You don’t understand…” Petunia gripped Harry’s shoulders. “Harry, this woman, she’s like you. Your…powers, no- your magic. I’ve seen it, I know you know what I’m talking about. Vernon calls you a “freak”, but that’s not true, alright? She’s got them too, and so will other people where she’s taking you I’m sure. You should go, go and don’t come back. It will be safer that way.”
Harry’s eyes grew wide as he realized what his aunt was implying. Run away, and don’t look back.
“What about you?”
“Never mind that, boy.” She shook her head. “If you go, you won’t have to suffer through this hell anymore. You can live as a happy little boy like you should.”
He could feel her anger through her grip. Anger not directed at him, like Vernon, but rather for him.
“I’m sorry, Petunia, please step away from Harry and explain to me what you mean…” The woman had her wand out once more, taking cautious steps forward.
Harry put his hands out, and the sleeve of his jumper rode up. Petunia watched as realization dawned on the mysterious witch. With a swish of her wand, Harry was lying flat in mid air, peacefully sleeping. The woman cradled him gently, resting him on the couch to look at his arms and legs underneath the much-too-large clothes. She felt her blood boil.
Those cold, green eyes held hers again, and Petunia wouldn’t have been too far off to feel as though her thoughts were being read.
What she didn’t know was this woman specialized in the feelings behind magic. That particular skill came with an enhanced understanding of all emotions, even those not tied to magic. Though she sensed plenty of fear and guilt from Petunia Dursley, she couldn’t find a trace of danger or violence.
Petunia stood rooted to the spot, her teeth grinding nervously.
“What is this?” The woman asked, her tone low and threatening.
“My husband…” Petunia sighed, lifting up her own sleeves to show similar injuries. “He is not a kind man, nor does he care to be. That boy has suffered through so much under this roof. If you came to take him as you say, please do, and keep him far away from here.”
“Elise.” The woman said after seeming to contemplate something for a while, she stood and walked a few paces closer, repeating herself. “My name is Elise.”
Petunia nodded.
“I knew Lily. She was strong, and brave…and cunning–and brilliant and so many things. She never would have wanted Harry to suffer through this. You are a coward, and you cannot escape blame for this.” Elise said, her brow furrowed in a mix of sadness and anger.
“I know…” Petunia’s voice broke, the tears she’d kept at bay for so long finally threatening to fall.
Elise was right in front of her now. She was maybe an inch or two taller, enough that her eyes bore down into her own. Petunia clamped her eyes shut and looked away, waiting to be berated.
Instead, she felt something warm wash over her, a sense of peace and healing. Sure enough, when she opened her eyes, the marks on her arms had disappeared, she could feel that the rest of them on her body had too. Then, the gloved hand of Elise reached out gingerly, pulling the woman into an awkward embrace. Petunia sank into it, a single sob escaping her lips.
“I also know she never would have wanted her sister to suffer this fate either, Petunia.” She whispered. “Leave, while you still can tonight. I’ll take Harry as I intended, he’ll be safe. Take this and get on a train or a plane or something and rent an apartment for a while. Anything but here.” Elise pushed a bag of money into her hands.
Petunia shook her head adamantly. “I can’t leave my own son.”
Elise frowned, but nodded. “Perhaps you are braver than I gave you credit for. Still, keep it, just in case.”
Petunia pocketed it cautiously, her eyes trailing over to the sleeping boy on her couch. She walked over and combed his bangs to the side. That messy rat’s-nest of hair she could never quite tame. They kept it long to hide the nasty scar on his forehead, the only one not inflicted by Vernon. She cupped his cheek, letting the tears roll freely now.
“I’m so sorry…” She whispered, resting her forehead on the couch beside him.
Elise watched, conflicted. Part of her wanted to burn this house to the ground and find the man responsible for this—he deserved the cruelest punishment she could offer—but she knew what had to be done. Still, she would be sending someone out to at least give him a fair amount of trouble getting home from wherever he was.
“You said he’ll be safe? Someone will care for him?” Petunia asked, looking back at her.
“Yes.” The lie came easily.
Elise had no idea what was going to become of him once she took him back to the order. These were not the instructions she was given, but still, something had to be done.
Petunia nodded and backed away. “What should I tell people? How do I explain his sudden disappearance?”
“You sent him to boarding school.” Elise smiled. “It’s a couple years off, but you would have done so anyway.”
“Alright…alright.” She paced the floor nervously. “How do I explain that to Vernon?”
“Just tell him we came to get him. I’m sure your husband is at least partly aware of his origins.” Elise took off her cloak and wrapped it around Harry, bundling him up tightly.
“Yes…yes. That should work.” Petunia muttered.
“Right, well, I'll be taking him now then.” Elise lifted him up, pulling the hood over his face till only his mouth and nose were visible. “Take care of yourself as best you can.”
With that, there was a loud crack and she was gone. Petunia sank into the couch cushions, and for the first time in six years, cried until she had no tears left to shed. Then, she fell asleep on the couch, exhausted by the weight lifted off her shoulders. Though she was undeniably broken, this one choice felt like the start of finally—finally being able to forgive herself. Her dreams were not haunted by nightmares for once, but rather blessed with comfortable silence, a quiet finality to her grief.