Aunt Petunia's Secret

Aunt Petunia's Secret

The clock was ticking too fast. July 31 was less than half an hour away, and Petunia Dursley's nephew, Harry Potter, would be turning seventeen years old. There was nothing she could do to stop time from its onward rush.

She was on her hands and knees in her spotlessly clean and very dimly lit kitchen. Even though she was in the deepest despair of her heart, she did not want her husband, her son, or the neighbours to know what she was doing.

"Please," she begged in a low voice through her sobs, "please, don't go."

"Cilla will go," the little house-elf coldly replied. "Harry Potter is of age at midnight, and where he goes, Cilla will be." Harry had left weeks ago, but the small being could not leave the house until he turned seventeen.

"But here is your home," Petunia cried.

"Here is where Cilla was stuck while Petunia Dursley was mean to Harry Potter and to Cilla," she said with a sniff. The little house-elf was swathed in a tablecloth - she looked like a ball of fabric with a head and limbs sticking out. Her left ear was misshapen and smaller than the right, and her left hand had burn scar tissue shining in the dim light.

"Cilla was to help Petunia Dursley rear James Potter's son to be a wizard, and Petunia Dursley would not let Cilla do her work," the house-elf complained in sing-song fashion. "Petunia Dursley had Cilla clean while Harry Potter was asleep or at school, but Petunia Dursley never let Harry Potter see Cilla. Lily Potter let Harry Potter play with Cilla. Petunia Dursley never let Cilla help Harry Potter with the work he was made to do." The house-elf scowled. "Now Harry Potter is in great danger and Cilla will help him."

"If he's in danger, you're in danger! It would be safer to stay here. You are safe here. No evil wizard would ever hurt you again if you stayed here." Petunia's face was wet with her tears.

"When Harry Potter is of age, then this is nothing more than ... than a Muggle house," Cilla sneered. "House-elves do not live in Muggle houses! Cilla will go back to Godric's Hollow."

"But our times together, when we would work together, here in the kitchen," Petunia sputtered.

"Petunia Dursley put on big gloves and told Cilla that Cilla was not doing a good job," the house-elf snarled. "Cilla did good work. Cilla not doing Petunia Dursley's work anymore."

The clock's hands were quietly ticking to the moment of doom. Cilla stomped over to the kitchen closet, and pulled up the door to the crawl space under the house. This was where she had lived for almost sixteen years and where she had stored her treasure. She disappeared for a moment and reappeared with a bundle of fabric in her arms.

Petunia muffled her sobs as she watched the small figure carefully unfold and shake out two ruffled kitchen curtains, made of white fabric with blue Swiss dots. Ribbons ran through the rod pockets and tied the curtains together with jaunty little bows. The tablecloth dropped to the floor as she slipped the curtains over her head, and tied the fabric around her body with another ribbon. Cilla then took two safety pins and pinned the lower sides shut. When she was done, she kicked the tablecloth away toward the closet. The curtains made what looked like a pretty little dress, gathered at the neck with the bows perched at her shoulders, with a ribbon around her waist and ruffles just above her bare feet. The fabric and ribbons were singed and smoke damaged, and much of the ruffle was burnt on the left side, but Cilla wore it as proudly as if it were a ball gown.

"What if there's nothing at Godric's Hollow? The house burned down years ago. Where will you live then?" Aunt Petunia gasped.

"Cilla was there when the house burned down. Cilla remembers," she said in a cold voice that made Petunia shiver, but then her voice warmed as she continued, "Cilla would live in a cardboard box if she had to, but Cilla knows Harry Potter has another house in London. Dobby says it is a mess, but Cilla and Dobby will make it bright and beautiful for Harry Potter." She smiled at her future.

"Dobby, that creature who was here last summer?" Petunia asked, aghast, thinking of the evil, croaking thing that the old wizard Dumbledore had summoned, and which her nephew now "owned".

"No, Dobby is the house-elf who put the cake on Petunia Dursley's friend's head." Cilla snickered. "Ministry of Magic had to clean it up, not Cilla," she crowed. "Harry Potter made Dobby free from the bad Malfoys, and now Dobby helps Harry Potter!"

The clock chimed midnight. "Now Cilla helps too!"

With a delighted laugh, the little house-elf clapped her hands and disappeared.

Petunia was left alone in the kitchen, hugging herself fearfully, as she felt the enchantments that had kept the house clean ebb away. Sixteen years of magic were coming to an end, and the dust mites, the debris and clutter that had been kept at bay were already slowing swirling in.

By the end of the day the house would be a mess.