A Casualty of War

A Casualty of War

Harry stood silently on the green grass. A cold, biting wind blew the rain over him, causing an involuntary shiver. Harry drew his overcoat tightly around himself as he listened to the pastor's droning words.

"The Lord is my shepherd..."

"Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me..."

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."

"I've walked that valley, pastor," Harry thought bitterly. "You don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about."

A small choking sob brought Harry back to the event at hand. The sermon had ended. The onyx-black coffin, containing the body of his Aunt Petunia was being slowly lowered into its final resting place. Harry glanced cautiously over to his uncle and cousin. Both had the same vacant, red-rimmed stare. The hatred Harry had locked up in his heart melted away as he looked upon the grieving faces of his uncle and cousin. Harry's gaze only lasted a moment and then he turned away. He had seen far too much heartbreak and grief for one lifetime.

The ride home to Privet Drive was silent. Upon entering the house, Dudley went straight upstairs to his room. Harry couldn't blame him. He heard Dudley's door shut with an unimportant click. As Harry stood in the foyer, looking up the staircase, he wondered if this family would ever recover. Petunia had definitely been the glue that held the rest of them together.

Harry wandered into the living room and found Vernon sitting in a chair. He was staring at a photograph of himself, Petunia, and Dudley taken a year before. Harry turned to leave but was stopped by his uncle's words. "I want to talk to you, boy," Vernon said. "Sit down."

Dreading whatever was to come, Harry nevertheless turned and walked to the sofa. Uncle Vernon stood up, fished something from his jacket pocket and looked sadly at Harry before speaking.

"When the police found her," Vernon began, his voice trembling. "They also found what I have here in my hand. The moment I saw it, I knew it had something to do with...your kind. So, I lied to the authorities and told them it was mine. They let me take it away with the rest of Petunia's--the rest...her other things."

Vernon paused for a moment, clearly struggling to hold himself together. Harry had never seen him like this. He seemed so..."vulnerable," Harry thought. After wiping a tear from his eye, Vernon continued.

"I want to know what this is and I want to know what is was doing with her. I think you owe me that, at least."

Vernon stepped forward and handed Harry a small object. When he opened his hand and looked, Harry's blood ran cold in his veins. This could not be. This simply could not be. "Aunt Petunia had her throat cut, though," Harry muttered. "Why would they..." He looked up to see his uncle's face clearly pained by such a graphic description of his wife's demise. "Sorry, I was...just thinking...out loud."

Harry looked again at the object that his uncle had given him. He knew what it was, of course. It was, literally, the coin of his realm. Uncle Vernon had handed Harry a fat, yellow Galleon. That could only mean one thing. Aunt Petunia's death was not the random street crime that the local police thought it was. Voldemort, or his Death Eaters, had come to Little Whinging.

Harry pocketed the coin and surveyed his uncle. Could he, of all people, accept what Harry would tell him? He continued to stare at his uncle until, finally Vernon asked, "Well? What is that thing? Why did she have it?"

Harry sighed deeply in preparation for what he was about to say. "The object you gave me is called a Galleon. It's wizard money. It means that Petunia was killed by wizards...because of me. Now, I'll tell you everything I can, if you're willing to sit there and listen."

Vernon stared intently at Harry before asking quietly, "So, they left this coin there as some sort of bloody calling card? Is that it?"

"No," Harry replied, mulling thoughts over in his head. "I think it was dropped by accident. There are spells that can kill without--marks," he finished weakly. After considering a bit more, he added, "They wanted this to look like a muggle...I mean, a normal crime."

"And what makes you so bloody deserving of all this?" Vernon spat back at him.

Harry took another deep breath and began his tale. For the next 2 hours, Harry told Vernon everything he could possibly think of about his life and its role in the future of the wizarding world. He told his uncle why he bore the scar, why he was so famous. Harry explained the prophecy to Vernon and how it meant that Harry would be the only one that could finally defeat Voldemort, even if it meant sacrificing his own life. When he was finished, Harry simply got up and left Vernon sitting in his chair, looked stunned and deflated.

Harry went up to his room, collected the few items he'd brought along and went back downstairs. He planned on summoning the Knight Bus and returning to Hogwarts as soon as possible. As Harry reached the door, his uncle's voice stopped him.

"I'm not finished with you yet," Vernon said.

Harry turned to face him. "Look, Uncle Vernon, I've told you everything I can. What more do you want?"

"I WANT MY WIFE BACK!" Vernon screamed. Tears were now flowing freely down his puffy cheeks. "I WANT MY SON TO HAVE HIS MOTHER BACK! YOU OWE ME THAT! YOU OWE US ALL!"

When his uncle had finished his tirade, Harry replied, softly, "I can't do that. No one can. There is no 'death-reversal spell'. Otherwise, my parents would still be alive."

Vernon's reply dripped with agony. "Then you find whoever did this. Petunia died because of you. She gave her life for you, same as your mother. So, you find these...people, this Voldemort. And then, you kill him. You owe her that much, at least."

Harry nodded his head as he opened the door to leave. The anger was welling up inside of him. "I will," he replied simply. "Don't have much of a fucking choice, do I?"