Title: Punished (2)
Author: Constant Vigilance
Status: Fin
Email: tirel@pcnuthut.com
Website: https://www.angelfire.com/tv2/firebird_ascending/
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Spoilers: AU. Characters will be
entering 6th year.
Warnings: Language, slash in later
chaps, violence, torture, implied rape
Disclaimer: I own nothing. JKR is
God.
Summary: Draco has a ‘heart to
heart’ with a most unlikely sympathetic ear.
Notes: None this part.
(Draco’s POV)
I hate that fat fucker.
I made my way to my room and
slammed the door shut, throwing myself onto my bed.
Who the hell does he think he is?
He’s no one, that’s who! He’s a bloody muggle. Where does he get off telling me
I’m a nasty git? Nasty git? I’ll show him just how much of a nasty git I can
be! Bloody wanker. ‘He can’t help who he is.’ What kind of drivel is that? He
can do anything he wants to do. He’s the bloody Boy Who Lived.
He can save the world from the
Dark Lord. He can free mass murderers. He can force the ministry to change
hundreds of year old laws. He can shit golden eggs and bestow blessings on
little girls’ dogs. He can twist his way out of anything. Make friends with
anyone. Do anything he wants. ‘He can’t help who he is.” I snorted. Fuck that!
~But he couldn’t keep his muggle
uncle from beating the hell out of him.~
Comes the quiet voice of reason
into my perfectly good rant. I buried my head under my pillow.
~He couldn’t keep his family from
abusing him. From breaking his bones and fucking his arse with a stick. He
couldn’t stop the torture.~
And torture it was. Even I had to
admit that. I hated admitting that. I hated admitting I felt any kind of
kinship with the little bastard. But I understood torture. Sadly, I understood
giving it more that receiving it. I don’t suppose Wonder Boy would agree that
it was sad, though. He’d made it blatantly obvious, even bleeding to death on
that disgusting bed, that he’d rather continue to be tortured than turn that
torture on anyone else. Even those fucking muggle relatives that had let this
happen to him.
All right. I admit that I’m
pissed. And horrified. And angry. And, bloody hell, on the verge of tears. I
don’t think that fat fuck cousin of his has any idea of exactly what Harry went
through in that room. But I do. I was there for every healing spell, every
potion, every prayer Severus uttered that he didn’t think I heard. I know how
close Harry Potter came to dying this night.
And it scared the hell out of me.
I’d blocked out my fear, my anger,
my…everything, while we were working on him. I focused on sending Severus all
the energy I could manage and still stay standing. He was the better healer. He
could do more with it. I just held what he told me to hold, lifted Potter when
ordered, and sent tiny tendrils of energy to my godfather so he wouldn’t drop.
I’d blocked it all then. Now? Not
so much. Now, it was all coming back to me. How close to death he was. How
fucked up he was. How much it bothered me. I’m not sure what bothered me more.
Was it that someone hurt the Boy Who Lived? And that it was a nothing muggle?
Or was it that if the Boy Who Lived could be hurt, where did that put me? Or
was it even worse? Was it because it was Harry lying on that bed, dying slowly?
Was it because I was terrified
that Severus might see my tears? And recognize that they were more than pity?
Or that he might see how I gently brushed Harry’s hair off of his bloody
forehead and wished I could feel that mop of soft strands without the clumps of
vomit and blood in them? Or perhaps I was afraid that he’d notice how I
couldn’t get him out of the room fast enough, so that I could spend a few
minutes just holding Harry’s hand like a bloody fucking 12 year old girl?
I pulled the pillow off of my
face, rolled over and punched it.
And what the hell was with that
fat bastard telling me that if I asked for Harry to be my friend, he’d probably
do it this time? Fuck that! Fuck him. I don’t need charity. Even from the likes
of Harry Potter.
Crap.
I’m never getting to sleep
tonight, am I?
__________________________________________________________________
The next morning, I awoke to a
tinny beeping. I opened my eyes groggily and looked around the room. What the
hell is that bloody annoying noise? Then I realized what it was: the alarm
spell I put on Potter’s bed. With a sigh, I rolled out of bed and threw on my
shoes. I glanced down at my wrinkled robes and my nose wrinkled as well.
“Disgusting. I look like that
muggle fucker,” I sneered.
Still picking at my clothes, I
made my way down the hall to Potter’s room and rudely shoved the door open. Two
sets of eyes tracked my progress through the room. I was pretty sure, however,
that only one set actually saw me. Potter hadn’t had his glasses on him when we
rescued him.
“Feeling better this morning,
Potter?” I asked snidely, pulling my wand to cast some information spells.
“Yes, thank you,” he replied
softly. His fat arsed cousin sat on the side of his bed, watching me like a
hawk. I snorted. Bloody idiot wouldn’t have a clue if I were casting Avada
Kedavra on Potter. What the hell good did he think watching me would do? I cast
a few more spells and, satisfied that everything was progressing well, tucked
my wand away.
“I’ll have a house elf send you up
some broth. You couldn’t handle anything else and I’m quite tired of cleaning
up your vomit,” I said rudely.
Potter blushed. His whale of a
cousin looked a bit angry.
“Thank you, Draco,” Potter replied
with a small smile. “Not only for the broth, but for helping me last night.”
Bloody hell. Quit looking at me
with those earnest fucking green eyes, Potter! Quit making me feel all warm
and…and gooey when you smile at me! I shuddered. “Whatever, Potter,” I shot
back. “Don’t be thanking me too much. Severus was the one who healed you. If it
were up to me, you’d still be back in that muggle rathole.”
Ha! That bloody annoying soft
light disappeared from his eyes. I ignored the part of me that wept at its
loss. Then I began backing up. Harry’s whale-cousin began cracking his knuckles
and getting up off of the bed, rage filling his features.
“No, Dud,” Harry said quietly,
placing a small hand on Dursley’s monstrous arm. “Let it go.” The huge boy
hesitated, as though he might shake off Harry’s arm and lunge for my throat
anyway, but then he settled back in next to Harry. Harry who looked at me with
hurt in his eyes. “Well, I suppose I should be glad it wasn’t up to you then,
Malfoy.”
And his eyes turned away from me.
I felt that like the loss of the fucking sun. God, I want to throttle myself
sometimes! With a final sneer, I whirled around and flounced out the door.
Leaning up against the door, I
could hear the conversation begin again in the room I’d left behind.
Conversation that didn’t include me. Which more than likely included several
bad things about me.
“Bloody idiot,” I whispered to
myself.
_______________________________________________________________
I made my way to the kitchen,
wanting nothing more than to periodically stop and ram my head into a wall
several times. Sighing, I shrugged it off. It didn’t matter, what Harry thought
of me. Not in the long run. Not when we went back to school and back to hating
each other. Not when my father had plans to force me into servitude and into
the murder of Harry Potter.
No, looking at it that way…not
much at all mattered in how Harry Potter felt about me.
I pushed the kitchen door open;
ready to find a house elf to prepare some broth for Harry and some breakfast
for his fat arsed cousin. What I saw, however, was my godfather and Harry’s
aunt sitting across from one another at the kitchen table. Petunia glanced up
and tried to force a welcoming smile on her face. Severus just flushed, rather
guiltily I might add, and grunted a good morning out to me.
Grinning, I grabbed a cup and
poured some coffee from the carafe they had sitting inbetween them. “I checked
on Potter this morning, Severus,” I smirked. “He’s doing well. Taking to the
healing nicely. I’m going to send up some broth to him in a bit. His regrown
teeth are probably a bit too sore to do much chewing.”
Severus nodded and Harry’s aunt
smiled weakly. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,
for all your help.” I nodded. From the look she gave Severus, she’d already
thanked him profusely that morning and he dreaded hearing it one more time. “So,
what is to be done now?” she continued, wrapping her hands around her cup.
Severus cleared his throat. “I
will contact Albus, the headmaster of Hogwarts,” he explained at Petunia’s lost
look. “Once he is aware of the situation, I am sure he will move Mr. Potter and
you and your son to a safe location, madam.”
Petunia looked a bit upset if you
asked me.
“But…we aren’t to stay here?” she
questioned softly.
Severus looked a bit flustered.
Oh, I loved this.
“Well, Mrs. Dursley, this isn’t
exactly the best place for an injured person to recover. A medical facility
would have him well much quicker.”
“But, he’s so comfortable here,”
she protested.
“Besides,” Severus continued, “it
would be best for you and your son to be someplace more…muggle.”
I winced. Oh, bad move Godfather.
Petunia stiffened immediately. “I
see,” she responded, a bit of coolness in her tone. “Well, thank you for all
that you’ve done for Harry thus far. And for my son and me. I’ just be going
back to my…the room.”
Ouch. She’d just verbally slapped
him. And he looked as though he hadn’t the foggiest clue of what he’d said to
piss her off. I sighed. Oh, Godfather. I love you dearly, but you are so
clueless when it comes to women.
She pushed away from the table and
left without another word. Severus just stared after her, flummoxed. I couldn’t
help but snicker. “Women troubles, Severus?”
He glared at me, daggers in those
dark eyes. “So, Draco,” he sneered. “Did Potter remember you stroking his hair
and holding his hand last night?”
Touché, Sev. Touché.
I took my own turn at flushing and
began to order about the house elves that happened to be unlucky enough to not
make it out of the kitchen fast enough.
Severus sighed. “It’s all right,
Draco,” he said softly.
“What’s all right?” I demanded
rather stiffly myself.
“To have feelings toward your own
gender.”
I snorted. “I have no problems
with my feelings toward my own gender, Severus. I am perfectly in touch with
who I am. And who I am happens to like boys better.”
“And what about your feelings for
Potter?” he challenged me.
“I have no feelings toward
Potter,” I snapped.
“I see.”
Bastard.
“So, you’re not mutilating that
bread in a sad attempt to take out your anger at having been caught being
something other than a berk to our golden boy?” He eyed the smooshed piece of
bread I was slowly picking apart.
I slammed my head onto my arms,
burying my face into the table. “I was horrible to him, Severus.”
“This morning? When you went to
see him?” he asked, carefully prodding at my walls. I nodded into my arms.
“I told him that if it were up to
me, he’d still be in that hellhole.”
I could feel him purse his lips.
We’d known each other long enough that I didn’t even have to see it. “Well,
that probably wasn’t the way to win him over, but I’m sure it can be made
better with the judicious application of apology.”
I glared at him briefly through a
crack in my arms. “I’m not apologizing.”
He shrugged. “Then you’ll never be
more than enemies.”
“That’s fine,” I said loftily,
meeting his eyes. “My father would have me gutted if he knew I were…fond…of
Potter anyway.”
“If you’re so fond of him, then
why were you such a bastard?” came a new voice from the doorway.
I buried my face in my arms again.
Severus snickered. “Mr. Potter
and Mr. Malfoy have always had a bit of a pulling pigtails syndrome, Mr.
Dursley,” he said. “They ‘hate’ each other with a passion. Yet, cannot seem to
just stay away from one another.”
“Shut up Severus,” I mumbled.
“They have a bit of school rivalry
going on. That and a few personal issues that I’m sure Draco would hate to have
to share with anyone.”
“Shut up Severus!”
“His father’s given him a bit of a
complex as well, I’d say. Perhaps you could help him out with overcoming it?”
“Fucking hell, Severus!” I
bellowed. “Shut the fuck up!” Snape snickered again and bid us a good day
before excusing himself from the table and leaving the two of us alone. Dursley
plopped down in the vacant chair and stared at me. I could feel his eyes.
“So do you hate him or do you like
him?” he asked pointblank.
“I don’t know,” I said, knowing I
was whining a little. “A little of both maybe?”
“Yeah, I get that,” he nodded.
I rolled my eyes. “How could you
possibly understand what I’m talking about?” I sneered.
Dursley just shrugged. “I hated
him for 15 years. Don’t presume to think you’ve got the market cornered.”
I frowned, never having enjoyed
the feeling that I was somehow missing a vital part of the picture. “But you
saved him.”
The fat arsed bastard muggle
had the audacity to smirk at me. “So did you.”
Fucking wanker.
He shrugged again and picked up
a piece of the toast I had mangled, wadding it into a doughy ball. “I hated him
because he took away from me. Nothing physical, you know. I still got all the
best toys and everything I wanted. I got the parties, I got the friends, I got
everything. But he was always there in the background. Drawing attention from
me. Even if it was bad attention.”
He sighed and dropped the tightly
wadded ball of bread only to pick up another piece and begin rolling it as
well. “I think I hated him for not having anything too. Just a reminder that
everything I had could all go away. Or a reminder that, even though he had
nothing, he was still there. I hated him cause my father hated him. I never
knew why. Just cause he could do magic, I guess. I never really asked. I just
hated cause my father did.”
Dear Merlin. I think I wanted to
die. How the hell could I have something in common with…well, with this
creature in front of me? Frustrated, because something inside me kept prodding,
wanting to share. And eventually, I opened my mouth. “I hated him cause my
father told me he destroyed our hope for the future,” I stated, voice subdued.
“I hated him because my father always compared me to him and I came up lacking.
I hated him because he had nothing and I had everything and he still seemed so
much happier than me. I hated him because he had friends. Because he was
someone important. Because everyone loved him and he didn’t even have to try.”
He wouldn’t look at me. If it had
been any other day, any other person…I would have said it was because I was
Draco Malfoy and you don’t stare at a Malfoy for any reason. But this was a
muggle. Harry’s muggle. And from the determined set of his expression, I began
to realize he wasn’t looking at me because he was afraid I’d stop talking if it
ever dawned on me to whom I was speaking.
Quietly, he took up the verbal
drowning of our sorrows. “I hated him because I was jealous. He got to go to a
magic school. He got to have an owl. He got to have friends who cared enough
about him to kidnap him from us one year. I hated him because he and mum had
some secret knowledge about your world that I didn’t.”
I smirked. Oh, how I hated this
boy. “I hated him because I was jealous as well. He was so good at defense against
the dark arts, something I should have been better at because my father was a
bloody death eater. I hated him because he could fly, dear Merlin he can fly.
I’d trained for years to fly like I do. He picked up a broom that morning and
by the afternoon, he had a seeker position as a first year.”
Then came the crux of the
conversation. I suppose big, dumb and stupid believed he was being subtle. He
was not. Strangely enough, I didn’t seem to mind. “I respect him, though, for
having the strength to stand up to my father. To stand up for all of us. I
respect him for putting up with all of the abuse we’ve heaped on him over the
years without killing us in our sleep.”
I felt a real laugh bubbling up. I
was a bit surprised to feel it tumbling from my lips. “Potter wouldn’t kill
you. He’s too Gryffindor. He saved the life of the man who betrayed his mum and
dad. But I know what you mean. I respect him for putting up with all of my
shite over the years and only hitting me once. He hexed me a few times, but I
expected that. When he pounded me into the ground during 5th year
though, that was something else. I even respect him for beating the hell out of
me.”
Dursley shook his head. “He never
hit me. I was always afraid he would cast a spell on me. I was even afraid of
him when the dementor was trying to suck my soul out. I thought it was
something he was doing. But he was actually saving me…again.”
I sighed. “He never saved me
personally, but he saved the school a bunch of times.” With that, I paused to
think. “I take that back,” I said absently. “He sent my father to Azkaban in 5th
year. So, I suppose in a way he did save me personally.”
“How so?” the fat arse prompted.
“He gave me a chance to figure
out who I really was. What I really wanted out of life.” Fucking hell. I
sounded like such a poncey wanker.
“And what’s that?”
I shrugged with a grin. “Still
working on the specifics, but I’m sure now that I don’t want to be a death
eater like my father. I don’t want to serve the dark lord.”
“That’s a good thing, right?” he
asked, uncertainty spilling from his every pore.
I barely managed to keep from
rolling my eyes again. Fucking muggles. “Yeah, Dursley, that’s a good thing.”
Then he broadsided me with his
next muggle headshrinker thought. “So if you could tell Harry one thing you
were the most sorry for, what would it be?”
I faltered. I stuttered. I
couldn’t get a word out of my mouth to save my soul. He just nodded.
“I know. It’s hard. I’ve got 15
years of hateful things that I’ve said to sort through to find the thing I’m
most sorry for. But I think it would be something I said when we were around
five. I was angry because he had hurt his leg and mum had bandaged it up for
him instead of finishing making me biscuits. I told him that he was an orphan
and no one loved him. That no one had ever loved him. And no one ever would.
That there was nothing about him that someone could love.”
I winced. “That’s harsh.”
Dursley looked shamed. “Hey, I was
five.” Then he sighed. “No, that’s no excuse. I hate who I was, Draco. I hate
who I am. I’m seeing more and more of my father in me with every memory I bring
up and it scares me. I don’t want to turn out like my father.”
I couldn’t bring myself to break
the silence for a bit. Then...
“I…I’d tell him I was sorry for saying
I’d have left him there,” I finally said, quietly.
Fat arse smiled. “Yeah, that was
pretty harsh too.”
I shoved a hand through my
hair. What was it about this lard arse
muggle that was making me confess to him as though he were some muggle priest?
“I don’t want to be like my father either, Dursley. I don’t want to measure my
successes by a body count or how many people I made cry today.” Oh, Merlin.
What the hell was that? Why would I just up and say something like that
to…well…to anyone! Much less to someone like Dudley Dursley.
But did I stop? Fuck no! I just
kept spilling out at the mouth. “I know…I can feel something in Harry Potter
that can show me how to get away from all of that. I just don’t know how to ask
him to show it to me.”
Dursley shrugged. “Harry’s a
pretty straightforward guy. Why don’t you just start by telling him that you’re
trying to be different?”
I had to snicker at that. “Oh,
yeah. That’d go over well. ‘Hey, Potter. I’ve decided to join the light side.
Hows about you give me some tips on being a good guy?’”
We exchanged grins. “Lame, Malfoy.
Really lame,” he smirked.
I choked back another chortle.
“Hey, you hungry?” I offered.
He rolled his eyes and smiled
wryly. “Look at me. I’m always hungry.”
Pigs began to fly. Hell began to
freeze. Something catastrophic just happened, because I bit my lip against the
rude comment I would normally have made, and just called to a house elf. “So,
what do you want?” I looked back at him.
“Whatever,” he shrugged, then
winced. “…just…no meat, please. Or eggs.”
______________________________________________________________________________________
After one of the most enjoyable
breakfasts I’ve had in years, Dursley toddled back off to find his mum or talk
to Potter or something. I, however, realized what time it was and went in
search of Severus. It was nearly time for Potter’s potions again and I wanted
to make sure we were keeping the dosage the same since he had taken to healing
so well.
I caught sight of my godfather
turning the corner into the solarium and hurried to catch up to him. Merlin
knows I wasn’t about to do something as plebian as bellow down the hall for
him. As I stepped into the archway that separated the solarium from it’s foyer,
I ducked into an alcove. For dear Godfather Severus seemed to have discovered
the Lady Dursley.
I smirked, nearly rubbing my hands
together in anticipation. Settling in to the alcove, I prepared to shamelessly
eavesdrop.
Severus walked further into the
solarium and came to an abrupt halt. Petunia stood leaning against the window,
her finger gently tracing the path of the raindrops. Severus turned quietly
back around and attempted to make his way from the room. I smirked again. Poor
Sev. No idea how to handle a woman. Especially a moody one.
“Please,” she spoke, her voice
almost too soft to hear over the sound of the rain on the roof. “Don’t go just
because of me.”
Severus paused in his exit and
turned back around. “I don’t wish to disturb your thoughts, madam,” he bowed
slightly.
Petunia smiled, though her eyes
never left the window. “You aren’t a disturbance, Severus.” He ventured further
into the room, stopping near the desk. “I was just thinking,” she added, her
fingers rising from the bottom of the window jamb back to the top as the drop she’d
chased finally met its end. It was kind of hypnotic.
“Of what?”
She sighed. “I was thinking,
Severus, that my entire life has been lived for the express purpose of pleasing
someone else.”
Severus frowned. “How so?”
“Do you know, Severus, that every
skill I learned in this life was to better someone else’s? First, there was
Lily. Don’t misunderstand, please. I loved Lily,” she smiled softly. “She was
the most beautiful little girl in the world. Her red hair shone like fire. Her
green eyes…” a look of pain flashed over her face. “I see her every time I look
at Harry,” she whispered.
“When she was born, our parents
were overcome with joy. She was beautiful. She was the perfect extension of
Miranda and Charles Evans. And they adored her for it. They showed her off to
hundreds of people. They painted her. They immortalized her on film. But they
never saw her.”
“What do you mean?” Severus asked,
settling against the desk. Sev could never resist a story.
“I learned to feed her,” Petunia
replied instead. “I learned to change her nappy. I played with her. I cooked
for her. I washed her clothes. When she was hurt, I kissed her boo boos. When
her heart was hurt, I held her in my arms. She was my world, Severus.
Everything I did was for her. The books I read were because she liked them. The
clothes I sewed were because she thought they were pretty. The people I became
acquainted with were because they made her happy. I lived for Lily Evans. I was
three years older than she.”
Severus looked startled. I didn’t
blame him. Only three years of age and already taking care of her smaller
sister? Petunia leaned her head forward, resting her brow on the cool window.
“And then, she received her Hogwarts letter,” she smiled sadly. “She was so
thrilled. Our parents were pleased of course. Just one more thing to crow
about, I suppose. I was happy for her. I laughed with her; cheered for her,
promised her I’d write every week. And I did. Faithfully. Until she stopped
writing back,” her voice dropped again. “Then I continued to write her, I just
didn’t send them.”
“She had a new life. One I didn’t
understand. One in which I couldn’t fit. But I didn’t resent it. I was happy
for her. Truly, I was. But I felt her grow away from me. I suppose that isn’t
such a bad thing for older sisters. But my whole life was my little sister. I
was empty. The books I read…they didn’t mean anything. The things I sewed…I
burned them or used them for cleaning rags. I was…empty.”
“I tried to fill that emptiness. I
tried to take care of my parents. Hoped that the idea that I was still taking
care of something would work. But they didn’t need me. They had each other. I
tried to take care of other lonely girls. I was labeled a freak and soon I had
no friends at all. No one would associate with me. I was just too needy. I was
15 by the time I’d given up completely. Lily was in her second year of school.
And then I met Vernon Dursley.” Oh, yeah. And what a treat that must have been
for you, I thought.
A small humorless laugh escaped
her throat. “He was everything I could have asked for. He needed me. He needed
to have me listen to his stories. He needed me to support his wild dreams. He
needed me to please his parents and to prove to his peers that he was capable
of keeping a girl. I just needed to be needed. A match made in heaven, hmmm?”
Her fingers moved up, tracing
raindrops again. “I was 16 when I finally figured out that what Vernon needed
could be supplied by anyone. That he needed a warm body, not me. But by then, I
was of age and I just wanted to leave the pain of my family behind. The pain of
not being good enough, of not being Lily. Of not being there for Lily, though
it was obvious she didn’t need me any longer.”
“And so, I entered into marriage
with Vernon Dursley. In marriage, I found great similarities to raising a child
again,” she smiled faintly. “Vernon required someone to cook for him, to clean,
to wash his clothes, to listen quietly about his day. And so I did. Once again,
I became what someone else wanted. I read the papers because he did. I disliked
the same people he did. I threw dinner parties for people I didn’t care for
because he wanted me to. And I died a little bit more.”
“Then, one glorious day five…or
was it six? Or maybe seven years later? Well, anyway, one glorious day later, I
found that I was pregnant. Finally, I thought. Someone to love me. Someone to
need me. I rang my parents, so excited I could burst. They said, ‘isn’t that
nice, Pet. Guess what? Your sister is getting married!’ And again, a little
part of me died. So, I went to the wedding. I smiled, I wished her well…her and
James. And I truly did wish them well. And then I went home and cried.”
“Several months later, I was in
the hospital. I’d just given birth…alone. Vernon had to work the next day and
so he had dropped me off at the hospital and said he’d be by after work the
next day to pick me up. Rather like dry cleaning, I thought at the time. So,
there it was…three a.m., silence, just me and my Dudley. It rained that evening
as well. I remember drifting in and out, just listening to the sound of my
baby’s breath mingling with the raindrops on the roof. I was at peace. Finally,
I’d found peace, Severus.”
“Of course, then I went home. And
I cooked and cleaned, changed nappies and made bottles. Life was normal. It was
good in it’s own way. And then came the night when I heard the ringing of a
doorbell and opened our front door to a pram on our doorstep. Inside was a
baby,” her voice hitched. “Lily’s baby. I brought him in and sat on the couch
with him, just holding him…realizing that this, this little creature in my arms
was all I had left of my sister. Of who I was.”
“He didn’t fuss. Not like Dudley.
He just lay there, staring up at me with Lily’s eyes, like he was daring me to
fall into the same pattern I’d fallen into with every other human who passed
through my hands. I put him down for the night after a bit. And in the
morning…I began to cook, to clean, to do laundry and to live for yet another
person.”
She frowned. “Always another
person, Severus. Never for myself. You know. He never lost it…that look of
his.” I cringed. I knew that look. I had been on the receiving end of that look
several times. The most recently when I’d said that shitty thing about leaving
him in that house.
“He asked me everyday with his
mother’s eyes ‘Petunia, when are you going to live for you?’ I couldn’t bear
it. I just couldn’t. And so when Vernon demanded that he be put in the
cupboard…” she cringed. “Oh, lord, Severus. I let him. I let him lock that
precious reminder away. That child who should have had a future. I just let him
lock him away so I didn’t have to see his eyes every day…asking me, accusing
me…still loving me.”
Her breath caught on a sob. “And I
could tell that he still did. He still loved me. No matter what I did. No
matter how I lied about his parents’ death. No matter that I always placed
Dudley first…he still loved me. I think that hurt the most of all.” She took a
moment to compose herself, sniffing delicately. “And then, his Hogwarts letter
came. And I wanted to die. It was like losing her all over again.”
“Vernon…oh, lord he was angry. The
only time that was worse was when I explained that Harry was most likely
magical. I didn’t know what Vernon would do to him. How Vernon would respond.
I’d hoped that the coldness, the snubbing would be the end of it. But it
wasn’t. He hurt the boy. He hurt him…and I let him for fear he’d hurt my son
and me as well. But Harry never blamed me. Oh, he should have. Lord knows I
blame myself. But he never did. And every time I looked at him…after one of
Vernon’s lessons…I’d see that question again. I’d see that incomprehensible
love again. And I’d run. I’d hide. I’d pretend I saw nothing so I didn’t have
to do anything. Didn’t have to admit that I couldn’t do anything. That I
was weak.”
“Then the punishments became
worse. The reasons for punishments became less clear. But I was still willing
to let it go on rather than break from the mold I’d created for myself. And go
on it did. For years. Until the day when my mold finally broke.” She laughed
humorlessly. “I can’t even say that I broke it, though. Still, I had no will of
my own. Dudley begged me to do something. He’d finally seen Vernon lose his
temper in front of him. Over a dropped teacup.”
I waited with bated breath.
Finally, I’d hear how Harry actually got his injuries.
Petunia closed her eyes. “He
watched as Vernon jerked Harry from his chair. He said that Harry must have
magicked the cup to fall, to dirty the floor. He said that Harry could have
burned Dudley with the tea and did he know what it felt like to be burnt? Harry
said nothing. He never said anything. He was always so brave, so determined
never to bring Vernon’s wrath upon Dudley or me.”
A shudder passed through her body
and I could see Severus fighting the impulse to take her into his arms and
shield her from the memory. He’d done that quite a bit for me in the past. “He
ripped Harry’s shirt from his back, not that it was really in any good shape
anyway. He never allowed Harry to have new clothes. Anyway, he tore the
material clean through, pulling it off of Harry’s chest. Then he sank his
fingers into the boy’s hair and jerked him across the room to the stove. He
knocked the teapot from the burner and lifted Harry up by his hair.”
Her eyes moved far away. “Harry
was always so thin. He was so light. He never had enough to eat. I was always
afraid to feed him more.” She came back to herself. “He lifted Harry up and
threw him onto his back…onto the burner. He screamed. Oh, lord how he screamed.
His small body thrashed, his voice pleaded. But Vernon showed no mercy. Harry’s
flesh…it…it sizzled…like bacon,” she clapped her hand over her mouth. A moment
later, she pulled her hand down but not away. And suddenly, I understood
Dudley’s aversion to meat.
“The smell was the most horrible
thing I’ve ever smelled. It wasn’t just the smell of burning flesh, Severus,”
she looked over at him, finally making eye contact. “It was the smell of
betrayal. I’d betrayed his trust. Lily’s trust. I’d betrayed myself. But I was
still so damndably afraid. Finally, Harry stopped thrashing, having passed out
from the pain, and Vernon dropped him. He left him there on the floor, Severus.
On the floor. Like…like a dog.”
She turned back to the window.
“When he went to work, I cleaned the boy up. I bandaged him. I cried over him.
But I didn’t do anything. Dudley just watched me and finally he spoke.
He asked me why I let his father hurt Harry. And you know, Severus, I had no
answer. ‘Because I’m afraid to change’ seemed so bloody stupid when faced with
what he’d just done to a 15 year old boy.”
“Fortunately…or perhaps
unfortunately…Dudley didn’t let me answer. He just hugged me and said he
understood. He was afraid of his father and what he might do to him as well. I
didn’t have the heart…no, I didn’t have the courage to tell him the real
reason. So, I let him believe the easier lie. It worked just as well for the
purpose of helping Harry.”
“So, we helped him. Rather sadly
and rather late, but we tried. We distracted Vernon when we could, lied when we
couldn’t and took care of Harry’s beaten and bloody body when the other two
failed. But this time…this time was just too much. And again, I can’t even
claim credit for bringing the kind of help Harry needed to him. It was Dudley.
Dudley took that wand out from under Vernon’s nose. Dudley summoned that bus.
Dudley brought you. And I followed along, poor Aunt Petunia, coming with her
beloved nephew to make sure he would be all right.”
She snorted. “Bollocks. I came
because I was afraid not to. And, stupidly, not even afraid of Vernon. I was
afraid of being alone again.” She turned round, tears glistening in her eyes.
“Why, Severus? Why does that boy love me? Why does he protect me? Why? How can
he still want to after…”she turned back to the window, falling silent.
Severus cleared his throat.
“Mrs. Dursley,” he began.
“Petunia, please,” she said with a
small shudder.
“Petunia,” he amended. “I
certainly don’t presume to guess at any of Mr. Potter’s actions,” he said
carefully. “To be quite honest, the boy infuriates me at nearly every turn.
He’s willful and a rule-breaker. He has little respect for tradition and lacks
the patience needed to fulfill his promise.”
I was torn between snickering at
Severus’ obvious frustration and Petunia’s shock and storming into the room to
tell him that was precisely the reasons I found the blasted boy so attractive.
In the end, I said nothing because Severus had begun to speak again.
“However, I have found that Mr.
Potter’s instincts are rarely incorrect,” he sighed, running a hand through his
hair. “As annoying as he is, and truly…he is the most annoying child I’ve ever
known, I do trust his instinct and judgment when it comes to a person’s
character. Quite often, Mr. Potter cannot even grasp his reasons for feeling as
he does for any given person. But, that does not invalidate that he can
invariably read one’s soul.”
I stood in shock. Never had I
expected to hear something like that, about the golden boy of Hogwarts, come
out of my godfather’s mouth.
“If Mr. Potter has seen something
in you, Petunia,” he continued, “my best guess is that there is something there
to be seen. That if he chooses to protect you, that there is something about
you that cries out to him for protection. If he loves you…then there is something
there to love. Take it as the gift it is, madam. Take it and cherish it, for
Harry Potter does not grant his affection frivolously. Many are his friends.
Many more are his acquaintances. Very few are those he has chosen for family.”
Petunia looked as though she were
going to cry again. Severus simply bowed slightly and backed out of the room. I
pushed back further as he passed the alcove I had chosen to hide in. When he
was gone, I glanced back at Harry’s aunt. She still looked a bit bewildered.
But even as I watched, she sat up straighter and a tiny smile graced her lips.
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