Of Sisters and Sons

Chapter 4:

Not since her adolescence, while her sister attempted to covertly practice magic despite her schools regulations, and Petunia had been intent to catalogue any toe that Lily stepped out of line, had Petunia taken the time to sit back and watch magic happen. While Harry had been a teenager she and Vernon had done everything within their power to turn him against using it anywhere close to their general proximity, but now that the practice was being used to help her son, she couldn't help but sit back and marvel at it... just a bit.

It was interesting watching Madam Pomfrey work, her plump frame flittering this way and that, wand firmly in hand as various chants were spoken and various colors where produced. The medi-witch's gaze was so firmly intent on her task, that Petunia had to wonder that the other woman could just as easily be reading a book, or working a puzzle, instead of doing something so utterly odd and completely foreign.

With a pang Petunia realized that having lived with Lily, and later Harry, in the same household, she could have, at any time, become more accustomed to magic. At least to the point where she might be able to recognize what was being done, and what each spell meant, but she had chosen to forfeit that right, opting instead to label magic as something abnormal; something decidedly unjust in its propensity to be bestowed so carelessly on some while leaving others with none at all... and now that very thing she resented was the only hope that Dudley had. The irony of the situation couldn't escape her, no matter how much she wished she could feign ignorance.

"There is a lot of harm done here," the medi-witch spoke up at last, shaking her head sadly as she looked down at Dudley, "but that is not to say that there isn't hope that Molly, Harry and myself can work together to repair the damage. The fact that this is, in fact, Lily Potter's nephew works in our favor. I sense latent magic here, very weak, mind, but there nonetheless. Perhaps it will be just enough to assist the spells through the healing process."

The medi-witches words startled Petunia despite their relieving optimism... Lily Potter's nephew... Lily Evans Potter's nephew; it was strange that Petunia had never given the slightest ponder to her son being Lily's nephew just as Harry was hers, despite it being there and factual. Nor would she have ever imagined that any trace of magic would be latent within Dudley, or within her, for that matter, indirectly because Lily was magical, and she was their relation. Yet, logically, the same genetic background that had created Lily had created Petunia as well, and what little Petunia carried she too had passed on.

On any other occasion she would have openly detested that fact, and then wholeheartedly ignored any future mention of it, but now... now she wanted to get down on her hands and knees and thank a deity she had long since stopped believing in because of it. 'Guess what Lily? You really weren't the only one, and now, well, now my son gets saved. I believe this is the first time I've ever been eternally grateful that you were a witch. You're welcome to be Dudley's aunt all you want.'

A quick glance at Harry told Petunia that he, too, was utterly startled by this new revelation regarding his cousin, and also the jolting reminder of Dudley's relation to his deceased mother, but his surprise was quickly controlled, replaced by grim affirmation and focused intent as Harry withdrew his own wand from the sleeve of his shirt and went to stand beside Dudley's bedside.

Vernon, however, was not so quick to recover. His mouth was continually twitching seemingly at random as his eyes traveled between his wife and his son with highly evident shock. Yet this time he wisely chose to remain silent, the seriousness of the moment not entirely lost on him, much to Petunia's relief. She knew that when all was said and done, Vernon would question her on it, and she would reply bitingly, and he would quickly change the subject, never to bring it up again, and then all would return to its repetitive normalcy, but for now, with their son potentially snatched from the clutches of death, they could both appreciate the fact that Dudley was a little bit wizard.

"I'm ready, I'll start with detoxification," Mrs. Weasley announced, her own wand drawn and poised over the edge of the bed. "Harry, are you sure you're up to participating? I know you always did very well in charms, but I also know that only basic healing charms were taught at Hogwarts, and I know from Ron that neither of you have covered that in your Auror training yet..."

"Actually," Harry interjected, sharing a knowing look with Madam Pomfrey, "I was taught several healing charms during the war as an extracurricular activity of sorts. In case I might ever have to use them in battle."

"And quite skilled at it he was too, I taught him myself," Madam Pomfrey announced with pride, beaming fondly at her former pupil.

Petunia watched the conversation with growing interest, wondering at her nephew's use of the word 'war', and once again upset by the reminder of just how little she knew him. So Harry was good at charms... she wondered briefly what other subjects Harry was good at, what on earth an 'Auror' was, and what his part in this 'war' had been. Though it didn't surprise her that he had been involved. Lily had been involved in a war once, Petunia had overheard her speak of it, and that war had lost Lily her life. Yet Harry had survived it, somehow, someway, and she couldn't help but look at her nephew with renewed fascination. 'Good God I'm so glad we didn't break you. I wasn't then, but I am now. You grew up strong, Harry, you grew to be a survivor. You surpassed even your perfect mother. Now please, help Dudley do the same. Let's see that skill of charms. I'm willing to watch you perform magic now.'

"I'll shall work on repairing the system damages, Harry, you handle the legitimacy aspect, as is your particular proficiency. See if you can get the mind to put a little more effort into healing and waking," Madam Pomfrey announced, signally with a nod of her head for all three of them to begin.

Petunia had never been so raptly engrossed in the events going on around her, at least it felt that way. A small stirring of respect burned its way through her system as she watched her nephew and his companions concentrate totally on their combined goal, electricity cackling in the air around them. Harry's face was driven, and so intently focused that Petunia felt a little bit of fear churn in her stomach, but it was the good kind of fear, the kind of fear that signaled her mind that her nephew was powerful... powerful enough to defy death.

For untold minutes they continued: chanting, waving, concentrating, focusing - the lights in the room flickering under the strain; the minutes ticking by flawlessly... all to come to an anticlimax when all three stopped with a tired gasp and an obvious slump of the shoulders, seemingly in tandem.

"He's fighting us. He's resisting the magic," Mrs. Weasley announced, out of breath as she met her adopted son's gaze in dazed shock.

"I read his subconscious. He is aware that we're using magic on him, he can feel it," Harry confirmed, almost sadly, "and he doesn't like it. I've tried to reassure him, but he's been raised his whole life to hate magic..."

And just like that, with those simple words, Petunia's world came crashing down.

'Raised to hate magic, raised to hate magic, raised to hate magic...'

'..... Harry, stop that! You're a freak, just like your mother!.....'

'..... What have you done now, boy?! I thought I told you there was to be no more outlandish happenings?!.....'

'..... I knew you'd be just as strange.....'

'Raised to hate magic, raised to hate magic, raised to hate magic...'

The mantra kept repeating in her head, over and over, and once again, as it had when she first heard of Dudley's condition, the hospital room adopted a surreal air.

'This isn't real; this can't be real. I didn't raise Dudley to hate magic, and he'll be able to heal just fine. Please, please, I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to hurt my nephew; I didn't mean to inadvertently drive my son to this. Please make it work. Dudley, it's okay sweetums, you don't have to hate magic anymore. Don't hate it, for me, sweetie.'

Only the sad, unfaltering, bright green-eyed gaze of her nephew ground her in reality, his expression unreadable: not accusing, as it should be, and not righteous, just there... and strong, and vivid, and absolutely maddening.

So Petunia did the only thing she could do with a world gone mad - with grief, irony and guilt threatening to grasp the last of her own sanity... she screamed.

*****

Her parents were dead.

It was jarring to walk through her childhood home, shortly after her parents' funeral, with that knowledge; nodding at friends and distant relations absently as they offered their condolences, her mind still numb - still in shock.

She and Lily were orphaned, even though both had long since moved out on their own.

There would be no warm summer family gatherings in the backyard, no Christmas mornings where her parent's lavished her soon-to-be-born child with the dotting affection that only a grandparent could turn into an art form. No more running to her parents for advice, or to complain about Lily's latest defiance against normalcy. Nothing, nada, no more...

The walls were stifling, holding so many memories... Her mother with toddler Lily on hip, stirring something over the stove... her father, a book of Kipling's greatest works in hand, reading story after story, filling her dreams with tales of far off places.... the warm, pleasant smell of freshly baked cookies, and the bright pastel colors of her mother's summer dresses.

'Mother, what's that you're doing?'

'I'm putting on make-up to get ready for a party, dear.'

'Oh, can you put some on me, too?'

'Why, certainly, come here.'

"I'm so sorry for your loss," a neighbor announced with sympathy, jolting Petunia from her reverie.

"Thanks," she mumbled under her breath, absentmindedly rubbing her pregnant belly in an unconscious form of protection: against her thoughts, against her sadness, against the words of others that were heartfelt yet meaningless when weighed against the significance of her bereavement.

'Petunia, leave your sister alone. Witchcraft is a gift, not a mutation. You need to change your attitude, young lady.'

The police had said that it was intruders, and that these murderers had carried tasers of some sort, effectively electrocuting her mother and father; all of which explained the odd, almost lightening bolt scar found on both of their bodies...

The sound of her sister and brother-in-law's voices coming from the next room, along with others she didn't recognize, permeated Petunia's daze, drawing her closer so that she could spy, more out of habit then intent.

"But Albus, why? Why would he go after my parents? They had nothing to do with this war, they had nothing to do with the wizarding world at all," Lily beseeched an old man with a long white beard, crystallized tears shining in her eyes, as her hands went to her own pregnant belly, seemingly for comfort.

"Because they were muggles, because Voldemort knows that you're in the Order and he wanted to get back at you, because he doesn't have a soul... take your pick," a dark haired man, looking roughly Lily's age, interjected, blatant bitterness intermixed with his words.

"Tact, Sirius, tact... learn to use it," James Potter snapped, wrapping a comforting arm around his wife, while his other hand went to cover hers over their unborn child.

"Sorry, Lils, I didn't mean to sound insensitive. I'm just really pissed off on your behalf," the young man, Sirius, amended, looking at the couple in sorrow.

"It's okay, Sirius," Lily sniffed, forlorn and decidedly not okay.

"Indeed, Sirius is right. Voldemort's intent in this attack is clear. James, I think it's time for you to consider the discussion we had when you told me that Lily was expecting your son by the end of July. I'm afraid that Voldemort will only get more aggressive as time passes," the old wizard, Albus, cautioned, his eyes sad and weary...

Petunia could hear no more. A sudden, abrupt furry shook her system with a power she had never known before, and she saw red; nearly becoming blinded by it.

With focused intent she went through the door to confront her sister: uncaring that she was facing a room full of wizards, uncaring that her actions were motivated entirely by rage, uncaring to all the potentially prying eyes located within the house around her.

"You! It was you and your world, you and your abnormalities, that killed our parents!" she screamed, unaware of the looks she was receiving by those in close proximity to her sister.

"No Petunia, I swear, I didn't know. I didn't know he'd come after them. If I could have stopped it, I would have..." Lily exclaimed, glittering tears falling against rosy cheeks.

"Now wait a minute," James Potter announced as soon as Lily's plea trailed off, rushing to defend his wife, "you shouldn't make accusations like that without knowing all of the facts. Lily did nothing, she has only ever done good..."

Around Petunia a group of wizards secretly begun to withdraw their wands, their gazes both angry, and sympathetic, but all intent to protect the very pregnant Lily Potter against her equally pregnant, raging, older sister. Petunia was immune to it all, knowing only that her suspicions had been confirmed, and at a costly price... nothing good ever came from magic.

"I don't care! I don't need the whole story. I know enough. I know that if it wasn't for you and your freakishness, our parents would still be alive and none of this would have happened! As far as I'm concerned, and from here on out, I don't have a sister! I never want to see you again, Lily... EVER!"

*****

She never did.

To be continued...