Shades of Gray

The final sun of summer dipped drowsily down behind the English hills in golden rays, the lull of the evening intoxicating the inhabitants of Privet Drive. All across the neighborhood, families were sitting in their houses, the adults in comfortable conversation, the children fighting the urge to close their eyes against the heat and their full stomachs. The houses stood proud and tall as he walked past them. Nothing had changed. Even after 16 years, it had remained exactly the same...on the outside, anyway.

Harry Potter's eyes scanned his surroundings, his heart pounding, as Number 4 grew closer and closer. Mrs. Figg's house was nearby, and he had to fight the urge to make the detour. He had to go through with it. He had finally come to terms with his feelings, and it was time he made peace with his past. He walked up the path, gravel crunching quite satisfactorily under his feet, and somehow managed to find himself staring blankly at the front door. The golden knocker eyed him suspiciously, challengingly, and Harry felt a sudden foreboding as his finger nervously pressed the doorbell.

He heard muffled voices from behind the door as the bell chimed and sang. He heard footsteps making their way toward him, and he half-hoped they would never reach him. Yet, he was glued to the spot on the step. And so he waited.

Eventually, there was a dry 'click' as the door cracked open. Harry took a step back in surprise when he saw the figure before him. Bony and sharp as ever, Aunt Petunia Dursley stood there, her back hunched over with age (and possibly years of scrubbing surfaces), her hair graying and pulled back in the familiar tight bun. She wore small-framed glasses over her skeptical eyes, and the lines in her face were prominent. She looked up at him for a moment, her eyes processing the image of her nephew. Harry spoke first before she could figure it out.

"Er...hello, Aunt Petunia," he mumbled, never taking his eyes off of her.

Her pale eyes grew wide and she clutched her chest, clearly startled. She goggled at him, her mouth open, moving her lips as if to say something, but she didn't make a sound. She stood back in the doorway, leaving him room to squeeze by. Not knowing exactly what to do with himself, he raised an eyebrow.

"Can I...er...come in?" he asked cautiously.

This seemed to knock some sense in her. Channeling the Petunia that Harry had known, she sprang forward with surprising nimbleness and pulled him forward, her eyes darting down the street to see if any of her normal neighbors had seen the return of this particular oddity to their home.

Harry entered the home. The smells, the sights, the sounds were exactly the same. If anyone hated change, it was the Dursley family. He took in the staircase that led up to his old bedroom and the cupboard in the hallway that he had once, unfortunately, called home. Every surface of the house was immaculately clean, and the grandfather clock stood proud and tall in the hallway. He smiled ruefully. He felt a twinge of dread stepping through the threshold again, but it wasn't as strong. He turned when the door slammed behind him.

Aunt Petunia continued to watch him. The clock ticked loudly, and soon it became deafening.

"Who was at the door, Petunia?" Uncle Vernon Dursley's deep, harsh voice bellowed from the living room. "Another salesman?"

"No," she replied, faintly. Her voice sounded weary and a little deeper since he had seen her last. Without another word, she trudged down the hall toward the living room. Harry blinked but followed. He forgot how annoying it felt to be ignored.

He entered the familiar living room, and he had to stop himself from bursting out in laughter. Sitting in a lump in the armchair was his uncle, bigger and grayer than ever before. His girth had exceeded all expectation Harry had ever had. His stomach rose and fell in a massive heap, his hair and bushy mustache was white with age, and he seemed to be one with the armchair.

"We have a visitor, Vernon," Aunt Petunia said dully, sitting down on the sofa looking stiff and nervous.

Uncle Vernon moved his fat head to look at Harry. His beady eyes surveyed him a moment like his wife, until he seemed to understand. He let out a grunt that could have been disgust or panic...or both...and struggled to sit up a little straighter.

"What the ruddy hell is he doing here?" his uncle demanded loudly, breathing heavily as he heaved himself up into a sitting position. "What do you mean by coming here, and...?"

"Hello, Uncle Vernon," Harry said loudly, fighting the urge to go for his wand. His neck felt hot and agitated, but he was determined. He walked forward and stretched out his hand. Uncle Vernon looked at it expectantly as though it would do tricks for him. Harry sighed and grasped Uncle Vernon's lax hand and shook it. "It's...er...nice to see you again."

"What do you want, boy?" came the gruff answer.

"I just wanted to stop by and..." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he finished, "and...thank you." The both of them looked up, clearly shocked at these words. Harry shrugged. "You know, for taking me in...when you clearly didn't want to." Petunia turned pink. "I know it was hard for you especially, Aunt Petunia, having to relive all that pain and...well, thank you."

"I don't know what you mean," Petunia sniffed, smoothing out the cushion on the couch.

Harry took a chance and sat down in the opposite chair. Clearly, Uncle Vernon found this rather bold. He grunted in disdain.

"Listen, I know about the letter," he said gently, looking intently at his aunt. "I know that you...you wanted to go to Hogw..."

"It's a lie!" she shrieked, leaping up from her chair. Vernon jumped, but Harry remained stationary.

"It's not," he said calmly. "I know why you hated my mum. I know it was because you wanted to be a witch too. And I understand how hard it is to let go of someone you love to...another world."

Vernon scoffed. "What is this nonsense? Petunia, why is he here? Boy, leave us be. I thought we were rid of you long before this. I won't have you coming back in my house and shaking it up again. We already had you in our lives..."

"I'm only here once," Harry interrupted. "I'm not here to get back into your lives. I just wanted to thank you...and let you know that I'm alive and well and...well, happy."

Aunt Petunia looked at him, her chest heaving as she breathed, her cheeks pink.

"I'm married now," Harry continued, nodding. "I have a good job. I'm head of the Auror Department at the Ministry of M..." He paused, knowing that the "m" word was unacceptable in this particular house. "...at the Ministry. I have three children too." He pulled out a wallet and took out a moving photograph of him, his gorgeous wife, and his family. He shoved it into his aunt's fingers.

Aunt Petunia scanned the picture, her eyes becoming glassy. Harry pointed out them by name. "My wife, Ginny. She's a journalist. My eldest, James, named for my father. This is Albus, my second born, named for Professor Dumbledore." He smirked to himself as Vernon gave an involuntary twitch. "And this beauty," he continued, pointing at a small girl with flaming red hair and gorgeous blue eyes, "is my daughter, Lily."

The room fell silent for quite some time. Petunia stared at the photograph, Vernon sulking in his chair, Harry waiting. After a long time, Harry saw that there was nothing left he could do. He had done what he needed to do.

"Well, sorry to have bothered you," he said, bowing his head to his uncle. "I'll be going. It was nice to see that you're well. Don't worry. I won't be darkening your doorstep anymore. He nodded at his aunt and walked determinedly toward the door. He had his hand on the knob when he heard hurried footsteps behind him.

"Here." Harry looked around to find his aunt holding out his photo to him. He shook his head.

"No, that's for you." He smiled slightly and watched her.

"Dudders has a wife now too," Petunia said in a small, shaky voice. Harry waited. "He...he works for Vernon too...drills and all that." She fell silent, but she looked as though she was longing to say something more.

"Well, I'm glad," Harry managed. It was an intense moment, but Harry had to get going, and he knew that she was going to let more things go unsaid. So he turned the knob and walked out into the street. He was almost to the end of the driveway when he heard her shouting.

"I didn't hate Lily!" He looked around at her, and their eyes met. "I was just...hurt. I didn't want to lose her. But, when I saw the way she..." She paused, collecting herself. "I'm glad you came back. And congratulations on your...your life. I suppose...well, I suppose we owe you some thanks as well. That man who came to take us...he told us what you were to do."

Harry nodded yet again and turned away. The burden had been lifted. It did not matter about Uncle Vernon. He was hopeless, and somehow, he always knew. But to hear Petunia talk once about her sister and him without bitterness was enough for him. He reached the end of the neighborhood and looked around one last time at Privet Drive.

"Goodbye," he muttered softly before Apparating, the tightness taking over him. Some things could not heal, but he was relieved to know that his only living family had given him something more than a kick and emotional scar.