Of Sisters and Sons

Chapter 3:

Even though Petunia had been expecting him, the sight of Harry Potter standing before her caused a mild tremor of shock to spread throughout her body.

He was so different from when she had seen him last, and yet, so achingly recognizable. Images of a little boy kept flashing through her mind, with gangly limbs, scraped knees, a wild mop of black hair, big green eyes, and the occasional spot of dirt, yet, before her stood a full grown man: shoulders back, well groomed... confident. Even the eyes were different. Gone was any trace of childlike wonder: age, wisdom, and an untold number of events that she was not privy to had matured his gaze along with him, not quite hard, but fiercely guarded - as if they held a secret he wasn't inclined to share.

But he was there, and he was familiar, and she so desperately needed any semblance of hope that the sight of him, albeit standoffish and hesitant, warmed her heart with something akin to relief.

A quick glance at Vernon, statue still except for the occasional twitch of his mustache, and crease of his forehead, told of his own hesitant emotion - as if he too was glad to see the boy, in his own way.

With a pang Petunia remembered the many, many times scattered throughout Harry's childhood that she had looked at him with disdain, never finding the time nor inclination to lavish him with affection, yet, in that moment, and for the first time that she could remember, she felt the odd urge to reach and out and clasp him to her tightly. 'You're here. You came despite mountains of ill will between us. If that can happen, despite everything, then maybe anything is possible. I don't know why, or how, but you engender such comfort. As little as this will mean to you... thank you, Harry. I may never get the chance to show that I appreciate it, but I do.'

For his part Harry made no move to greet them. His expression was blank: devoid of anger, devoid of hurt... devoid of love. It was as if he'd overcome their power to affect him, and having done so, was immune to any emotion personally felt towards them at all, save indifference. Gone was the hurt, lost child who used to look at them with the desperate hope for some semblance of humanitarianism, and in his placed stood a stoic man, rigid in their presence - rigid because of their presence.

A flash of movement turned Petunia's attention from Harry to one of the women standing beside him, her hand reaching up to gently pat his back in a show of comfort, seemingly feeding him strength. Petunia faintly recognized her as the woman who used to greet Harry at the train station to and from Hogwarts, always with a hug... The one with all of the redheaded children: Wheezer, Wheaton, she couldn't quite remember, but an inexplicable, entirely illogical pang of jealously welled within her at the sight of the easy communication between them. 'That woman replaced me as Harry's mother figure... if I ever really was one to him to begin with. I could have been the one to pat his back in comfort. I could have been the one he came to for reassurance, but I gave up that right years ago, willingly. I lost him the minute I took him in. Actually, in all honesty, he was never mine to begin with. He was always yours, Lily. Always yours. Your brains, your heart, your eyes staring back at me - accusing me, taunting me.'

The second woman standing beside Harry kept alternating her gaze curiously between Petunia and Harry with her eyebrows raised, obviously curious as to why Harry wasn't greeting his relatives with any form of excitement, or vice versa. Petunia cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the thought of a stranger forming opinions on her family's personal affairs, while slightly embarrassed to have anyone witness the fact that she and her nephew would never be ones to greet each other with anything close to the expected warmth of long lost relations. The sound seemed to bring Harry to attention, however, and he eyed his aunt and uncle wearily before breaking the awkward tension with a stiffly polite, "Hello Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon."

His voice was deep, a rich timbre, so different from what she remembered ... it gave Petunia a slight jolt. 'God, I don't know this man at all. He's my nephew but a total stranger. But then, I never took the time to get to know him as a child, either...'

Her reverie was cut short by her husbands answering grunt, and the wave of Harry's hand as he introduced his companions: "This is Madam Pomfrey, the head medi-witch at Hogwarts, my alma matter, and you remember Mrs. Weasley, my friend Ron's mother? She's raised seven children and is very proficient at healing charms. Both of them are here to take a look at Dudley."

Although the hospital corridor was always deserted late at the night, Petunia had to squelch the urge to look around her to make sure that no passers by had overheard words like 'medi-witch' or 'charms', although Vernon wasn't quite so charitable. It didn't seem to matter that the three visitors in front of him had come to help his son, his eyes were flashing of the mere mention of magic - the one thing his wife had taught him to hate, and Petunia cringed inwardly, hoping her husband wouldn't say anything that would send their nephew waltzing out of their life just as fast as he had waltzed back into it. Dudley was more important than past prejudices; Dudley was more important than hate, even her own.

"Boy, watch what you say aloud around here, anyone can walk by and overhear you," Vernon hissed under his breath, his pudgy face turning red with a combination of anger and embarrassment.

For a brief moment, Petunia wished she, herself, were capable of magic, so she could somehow fasten her husband's mouth shut and a quick glance at her nephew betted that desire. Harry's aloof, condemning eyes were flashing, his mouth set in a firm, grim line as he squared his shoulders and met Vernon's gaze unflinchingly.

"I see some things never change," Harry announced neither with venom, nor with sadness, just propriety, as if he had expected no less from them. "It may have escaped your attention, but we are here, at your request mind, to help you. If we are to accomplish that, I would like to get a couple things straight. One, I am not a child, nor am I still under your guardianship. I will not answer to you, and I don't have to pretend to be something I'm not for you either, nor shall I, EVER again. Secondly, it is magic that you ask to heal your son, it is magic that we shall try to use... I believe that deserves a certain amount of respect, even from you. We are no more anxious to have knowledge of our world broadcast than you are, however, having said that, while alone, as we are now, I will refer to what we are doing by its name. If you don't like it, leave until after we do."

Harry's speech stunned Vernon into shocked silence, as unused as he was to Harry being so blatantly assertive, and Petunia couldn't help but marvel again at the change in her nephew. In an odd way, despite being utterly exasperated by his tone, as well as his blatant disrespect towards the man who had helped raise him, she was proud of him.

So, it appeared, was that Weasley woman, who beamed at Harry with an open pride, and then turned an menacing glare on both Petunia and Vernon, her gaze flashing a warning, like a mother lion guarding her cub.

For a minute Petunia wanted to snap at her to back off, reminding her that they had no intention of hurting, maiming or otherwise verbally assaulting their nephew, but another part of her wondered just what Harry had told these people about his childhood. She vaguely recognized the woman as one of those who threatened them on Harry's behalf the summer after the boy's fifth year at that school, and following that incident, it was various redheaded members of that family who had come to collect the boy well before the school term had started. At the time both Petunia and Vernon had been grateful for the reprieve, but now, years later, she wondered if it had actually been a positive thing.

She had missed out on so much. The sight of her nephew, so adult, so grown up, just highlighted that fact. She had failed to notice that transformation from child to man almost in total, and now, well, now Harry had been adopted into a different family, one who didn't harbor skeletons in closets that were both vast and deep; one who accepted him without qualms. She hated that fact for a multitude of reasons, but another part of her was glad for it as well. They had failed him, but at least someone else hadn't.

"Vernon and I are glad you can make it, Harry," Petunia spoke for the first time, meaning her words entirely. Her smile was small, she knew, but it was genuine. "Now please, let's go look in on Dudley..."

*****

Petunia couldn't remember ever being so excited, nor so independent. Tonight was the night... the night she was to announce her engagement with Vernon Dursley to her parents. The fact that her sister was bringing home her boyfriend for the first time was inconsequential, not even the fact that she was being forced to share the evening with Lily and one of those freak wizards could dampen her spirits.

That was, until she met James Potter.

He was absolutely charming; there was no other word to describe him. The minute Lily had introduced him to her parents he had taken their mother's hand in his own and kissed it, following the gesture with entirely obvious flattery on how it was clear to him where Lily got her extreme beauty from, and then he had greeted their father with a firm handshake, inserting a 'sir' to the end of the customary, "It's absolutely fantastic to finally meet you."

Petunia and Vernon exchanged an eye roll, both wondering if the Evans were really going to fall for that particular load of crap, but apparently they were eating it up, their mother exclaiming excitingly... "Why Lily, what a delightful young man you've found. Do not let this one get away."

Beside her Vernon stiffened, undoubtedly feeling inadequate for not only lacking in the initiative to greet her parents in such a manner, but for failing to make such a profound impression in such a short amount of time and Petunia felt her spirits rapidly start to sink. None of this boded well for the rest of the evening...

Throughout dinner Petunia watched her sister and her lover closely, monitoring their combined oddity, looking for any sign of insincerity or just a dink, any dink, in their seemingly perfect armor... there wasn't any. Physically, Lily and James were a beautiful couple, with his dashing good looks and natural charisma, and her quiet beauty, and sunny congeniality. Emotionally they couldn't keep their eyes or their hands off of each other: stealing looks every five minutes, reaching across to lightly touch the back of a hand, tuck a stray piece of hair, or softly caress a cheek. Petunia felt like a voyeur just watching them. Love, pure and unhampered, radiated off of them in droves, and it was starting to make her feel slightly ill.

Seeing her sister obviously incredibly happy with someone that she undoubtedly adored forced Petunia to comparatively size up her own choice of partner.

Vernon Dursley was a responsible, driven man who would assuredly provide her with a home, a family, and anything else her heart desired. He was as normal as they came: no oddities, nothing 'super natural' in his family tree, which she had covertly checked through his extremely talkative sister - he was everything that Petunia thought she wanted... Except he didn't look at her as if she was the begin all and end all of the universe, and he couldn't go five minutes without checking to make sure she was still with him and it wasn't all just some fabulous dream. There was no reckless passion - just two adults choosing a path of mutual aspirations and working to attain them.

God how she resented Lily for making her compare like that; resented Lily for inserting so much beauty and warmth of her own into a night that was supposed to be Petunia's alone, although she honestly didn't know why she was so surprised. Lily shown in everything she did, apparently relationships weren't mutually exclusive.

After enduring the lovesick couple for as long as her stomach would allow, she squared her shoulders and made eye contact with Vernon, signaling that it was finally time...

"Mr. and Mrs. Evans?" James Potter piped up politely before Petunia could gather her nerve, "there is something I had to ask you, with your consent, of course."

"Of course, dear, what is it?" their mom inquired, sharing a knowing look with her husband.

"I wanted to ask your permission for your daughter's hand in marriage?" he continued bravely, entirely unaware that Petunia's heart was sinking as she watched the exchange in something akin to absolute shock.

Vernon fidgeted and coughed, his face turning bright red as he realized that it never dawned on him to ask Petunia's parents' permission for her hand, and that once again he had been upstaged by a black-haired wizard with glasses, while Petunia moved from shock to wanting to beat her head against the table. It just wasn't fair...

"I realize that we're both young, just twenty, but I can honestly say that I don't think it's possible for anyone to love another person as much as I love Lily. And that, as long as I live, there wont be a day that goes by that I wont show her the depth of my love in every possible way that I can," James finished, making unwavering eye contact with both parents before turning to Lily, taking her hand in his own and squeezing it.

Lily turned to her parents, green eyes glistening with unshed tears as she consented. "Mom, Dad, I love him, truly and deeply. More than anything, this is what I want; what I've always wanted."

"Well," her father announced boisterously, a huge grin spreading widely across his face as he took in the happy couple before him with obvious glee, "how can I possibly argue with that? As long as you promise to love and cherish my daughter in the way that she deserves, you certainly have my permission for her hand, Mr. Potter."

"Oh Lily, I'm so happy for you! I'm happy for both of you," her mother exclaimed, tears lighting her own, older version of her daughter's green eyes.

Amidst the tears, hugs, and joyful exclamations that followed 'the great' confirmation, Petunia sat fuming, Vernon, to her left, twitching uncomfortably in his chair. So much for her own announcement... her witch sister had once again, albeit unknowingly, stolen the show.

To be continued...