Without Wand or Wire

The Thursday after Uncle Vernon and Dudley's departure, Harry got up at about two in the afternoon. He was almost in a good mood. He'd been getting some decent sleep, and he and Aunt Petunia … well, he never would have imagined it, but they'd actually had a nice week together so far. Granted, that was mostly because they'd barley spoken to each other, but the tension that had been there between them his whole life seemed to have fizzled out in the absence of the male Dursleys. The silence he'd shared with her in the past days had been an amiable one. And to top it all off, the attacks from Voldemort, which had been petering off gradually as Harry had begun expanding his personal torture exercises, had vanished altogether by last Sunday. Harry had even allowed himself a rest from burns and nails for the last two days. He was still rather numb in both body and mind, but feeling was starting to come back a little. He even smiled softly now and again.

Petunia had noticed the changes in the boy as well. He didn't slouch so much, and the dark circles under his eyes had faded. Life flickered, ever so faintly, in his eyes again. Eyes that reminded her so strongly of those of her late sister, Lily. She thought back to the last time she had seen her younger sibling.

It was in a dream she'd had, during the first night Vernon and Dudley were gone -- the first time she'd spent a night away from Vernon since her marriage. …

She was back at her parents' house, standing on the porch. She knew this was a dream -- or rather, a nightmare -- as she'd had it a hundred times before. The door was slightly open, the lights on, the TV blaring. She knew how this would end, with her walking into the kitchen to find them both sitting there, dead. And yet she couldn't just turn around, couldn't leave the house, the nightmare, behind.

Except this time she didn't find them, their eyes wide and staring, their faces ashen, their bodily fluids on the floor as they sat there, hours dead, in a kitchen that was otherwise as immaculate as her own.

She was there, every bit as rosy-cheeked and lively as she had been in life, her green eyes sparkling, and a kind smile on her lips. She hadn't been, before, when it had really happened.

Petunia started to protest as much, ready to reenact the accusations she had thrown forth after the event, when Lily finally had shown up. The words were on the tip of her tongue.

But Lily had her own things to say, and was quicker. "Thank-you for looking after him," she told her, her eyes full gratitude, before Petunia could utter a word. "I know it was a lot to ask of you, given our history, but … it was very decent of you, Petunia. I don't think you'll ever know how grateful I am."

Petunia swallowed her words and nodded. "I … I'm not a terrible person, you know."

Lily nodded, smiling sadly. "The question is, do you know that I wasn't either?"

Wasn't. … Petunia could feel her dream-eyes stinging, and it distracted her from finding the words to reply. Why was she feeling this way now? There was no love lost between she and her sister, and it had been fifteen years. …

"Why weren't you there?" Petunia finally blurted out. She had never bothered to ask before, or listen; when their parents had died and Lily had shown up the day after the funeral, all Petunia had done was scream vile things at her. "What was so important that you couldn't be there when I called you?"

"I was trying to track down their killers!" Lily pleaded.

Petunia stared at her sister in disbelief, her old animosity once again rising to the surface. "What is that supposed to mean? Our parents died of a gas leak!"

Lily's brow furrowed in confusion. "Petunia!" she breathed. "Is that how you remember it?"

Petunia nodded once, curtly. "Of course! You weren't there, how would you know? I'm the one that found them like--" she choked "--like that!"

"No, Petunia." Lily shook her head in denial, her expression grim. "The Ministry of Magic--" Petunia gasped at the word, as if Lily had cussed "--must have made you believe that with a memory charm. Voldemort had them killed."

Petunia stared in disbelief. "Voldemort? The man who … who killed you and your husband?"

Lily dropped her gaze, which now sparkled with tears, to the hands folded in her lap. "Voldemort hated Muggle-borns." She looked up to find the confusion she knew would be in Petunia's eyes. "Muggle-borns are wizards and witched who are born to non-magical parents," she explained before averting her gaze again. "He hated them even more than you hate magic-users. Enough to kill them wherever he encountered them, and everyone they cared for, everyone who cared for them. Our parents were among his first victims. I never did find out who killed them, but I know it was at least one of his followers, if not the man himself. The only reason I wasn't killed was because I was spending the weekend at the shore, with James. I hadn't told anyone but Mom and Dad where we were going, it was so last minute. By the time the owl the ministry sent found me, you had already been sent home with Vernon. James and I joined the Order immediately, of course, and spent the next few days trying to! help them find Voldemort --- that was why I'd missed the funeral! But obviously we never actually found him."

Petunia plunked herself down in the chair across from Lily's, trying to absorb all that she'd just been told. Finally, after a long moment, she managed, "The Order?"

Lily nodded. "The Order of the Phoenix, a group formed in an effort to put an end to Voldemort's evil."

"And … Voldemort was after you, because you were a … Muggle-born?"

"Yes."

The smile Petunia gave her now was not a friendly one. "So if you had never gone to that … that school--"

Lily threw up her hand, exasperated. "Petunia! You don't get it, do you? Voldemort is an evil, evil man. He kills people for fun. He hates Muggles too, not just Muggle-borns! Do you remember reading about that horrible train wreck back then, the one the news attributed to the IRA? That schoolhouse that caught fire, where no-one managed to escape or get in to save anyone, and hundreds of children were burned alive? That plane that crashed, for no apparent reason? That horrible 57-car pile-up? That bridge that collapsed, killing everyone who was on it as well as the people in the cars going under it, and nobody could figure out why it had fallen? Voldemort! Even if I hadn't been a witch, he could easily have killed my husband and I, Mom and Dad, or you and Vernon, anywhere, for no reason at all other than you're 'normal', as you like to put it!"

Petunia stood quickly, her chair falling to the floor with a crash after she kicked it out of her way. "All the more reason no one should learn magic!"

Lily rose to her feet. "Magic exists, Petunia! Whether you want it to or not! Those with power would find a way to use it, even if there was no such place as Hogwarts! Would you really want to live in a world where there were no good magic-users? No one to stand between you and the giants or dragons?" Petunia flinched at that. "Yes Petunia, dragons. I'm not saying you have to like us, but you damn well better learn to accept that we exist! If it weren't for my wizard of a son, Voldemort would likely have been happily slaughtering thousands, muggles and non-muggles alike, all these years!"

Petunia grew very pale. "I … thought it was your spell that stopped Voldemort? That was what the letter had said …"

Lily sat down, looking defeated. "It was. It wasn't a spell, though, it was just … my inner magic, using the last of my life force to shield my son. But none of it would have happened if not for Harry. Sure, Voldemort wanted us all dead, but it was Harry he wanted to kill most of all that night -- because of the wizard he will become. And if he hadn't tried to do that, he wouldn't have been hit by his own curse when it bounced back at him instead of killing Harry. And now that he's back, Harry is the only one who will be able to stop him for good."

Petunia slid into the chair next to Lily's, her anger deflated. "How do you know Harry is the only one that can stop him? He's just a boy. … Is he really that powerful?"

"We don't know how powerful he will be," Lily told her honestly. "We only know that there is a prophecy that said Voldemort would mark the only person who could defeat him, someone born on July 31st."

Petunia looked down at the table, picturing her nephew's face, and bit her lip. "The scar …"

"Yes."

The sisters were quiet for a while. As they sat, a haunting melody caught Petunia's ear. She hadn't really noted what was on the television before. Some old sitcom, whatever had been playing that fateful night when she'd walked through the door. Whatever it had been was loud and harsh, and full of inappropriate laughter. But now the sound was soft and sad, soothing. It was a song, one of those modern pop ballads. In the silence that had settled between, the words were impossible to escape.

I would like to visit you for a while
Get away and out of this city
Maybe I shouldn't have called,
but someone had to be the first to break
We can go sit on your back porch
Relax
Talk about anything
It don't matter
I'll be courageous if you can pretend that you've forgiven me

'Cause I don't know you anymore
I don't recognize this place
The picture frames have changed, and so has your name
We don't talk much anymore
We keep running from the pain
But what I wouldn't give to see your face again …

Lily spoke again, "So you see, Petunia … by taking in my son, you may have saved the world. Provided he can defeat Voldemort."

Petunia looked at Lily in surprise. "Provided ... ? … But … you said there was a prophecy! …"

"The prophecy only says that Harry is the only person who can defeat Voldemort. Not that he necessarily will. It … does say, though, that neither of them can live while the other survives. … Which means he will have no choice but to face Voldemort one day. And if he fails to defeat him, Harry will only be the first of many to …" Lily covered her mouth with her hand and bit back a sob.

Without even thinking about it, Petunia reached across the table and took Lily's other hand in hers. She knew what pain it brought a mother to fear for the life of her child.

"He's just a boy, Petunia!" Lily lamented, her voice thick with unshed tears. "H-he shouldn't have to think about such things. You know, I would have gladly wished for him to have been a-a Muggle, like you wished he'd turned out, if I'd thought that would mean he would always be safe. …"

Are you still the same?
Has your opinion changed?

Petunia squeezed Lily's hand in sympathy. She felt a little overcome by the sudden rush of affection for her sister, a feeling she hadn't known since Lily had gotten her first letter from Hogwarts. The jealousy she'd felt then, for all the extra attention her already slightly spoiled younger sister had gotten, had banished the love she'd felt for her sibling to the deepest reaches of her heart. The bitterness was only made worse as the years passed, and differences in their lifestyles drove them further and further apart. Childish sibling rivalry grew into unwavering adult perception, and Petunia had clung to normality like a life-raft. This was who she was, there was nothing wrong with her just because she wasn't a witch -- it was Lily that had something wrong with her. … But now … perhaps being deep in her subconscious while she dreamed allowed Petunia to find that long-hidden love for her sister that was never really lost.

I know I never really treated you right
I've paid the price
I'm still paying for it every day

So maybe I shouldn't have called
Was it too soon to tell?

Lily began to speak again. "I know you've never liked me, Petunia, and maybe I didn't exactly give you any reason to, but whatever you feel for me, please don't hate Harry! He didn't ask for any of this …"

Petunia took Lily's hand in both of hers and squeezed it again, reassuringly, her face filled with open regret. "I don't hate him, Lily, or you! I'm just sorry I …" She couldn't put into words how much she realised she'd lost out of her own stubbornness.

Lilly nodded. "And I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. Contact between the sides of the Veil, between the world of the living and the world of the dead, is very, very difficult, even in the neutrality of dreams. There's a spell someone cast that helped us this time, but it's not likely that I'll be visiting you like this again anytime soon. And Harry's been trying so hard to block out everything; neither James nor I have been able to get through to him at all, at a time when he needs us the most!"

"What is he trying to block out?" Petunia asked, concerned.

"Voldemort and Harry are connected by the scar. Harry can feel what Voldemort's feeling, when the dark wizard's emotions are strong enough. And lately Voldemort's learned to send Harry images as well. I know Harry's been in a lot of pain, Petunia. I'm afraid he might … well, if things keep going the way they are, he could be lost to us!" Lily looked over her shoulder, suddenly, seeming alarmed. When she turned back to Petunia, she leaned over, drawing her elder sister in a fierce hug. "My time's almost up. Thank-you again," she whispered into her hair. "I'm asking so much of you, I know, but you must be brave. I'm sorry I didn't say this before I died, but …" she pulled back and cupped Petunia's cheek affectionately, "… I do love you!"

And with that, Petunia had awoken, her face wet with tears, to her alarm-clock radio, set on a station she would never turned it to. The song that had played in her dream sang it's final notes from the radio's speakers.

We don't talk much anymore
We keep running from the pain
But what I wouldn't give to see
your face again. …

"And that was Savage Garden's 'I Don't Know You Anymore'," the DJ had informed her, before she switched the radio off.

She hadn't really known what to think at first. Was it all a dream? She didn't really think so. But when she saw Harry later that day, she just didn't know what to say. Things had been so bad between them for so long, she didn't even know where to begin to make things right. She started small, just giving him an encouraging smile, chatting pleasantly now and then as they cleaned or at dinner. Before she knew it, it was Thursday.

Looking at the calendar now, which had a big red circle around Sunday to mark the return home of her husband and son, she realised, as she and Harry sat reading the morning paper, that she only had a few days left to do what she should have a long time ago.

Get to know her nephew.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?" She could see the wariness still in his eyes when he looked at her. He still couldn't believe, she could tell, that she was being nice to him, and she couldn't blame him. She resolved to work hard to earn his trust, even if she might never gain his affection.

"Would … would you like to see some photos of your mother when she was a little girl?"

Mouth agape, Harry could only nod. He followed her to where the trap door to the attic was. "I'll go," he told her as she unfolded the ladder, coughing a little at the dust that came down with it.

"Thank-you, dear. When you get up there, find an old trunk with stamps all over it, there's a good boy."

Harry looked about, and finally spotted the corner of a trunk peeking out from beneath a sheet. Sure enough, upon closer inspection, he found there were stamps from different countries all over it. "I found the trunk," he shouted down as he opened the box. Inside were assorted letters and postcards, mostly addressed to "The Evans Family", an atlas, a an old telescope, a compass, a deflated beach ball, some sea shells, a few rocks, a photo album, and … no, it couldn't be. Harry lifted a long, pointed object from the box. As he held it, he had a flash of memory from the Triwizard tournament. If he didn't know better, he'd swear what he was holding in his hands at that very moment was a dragon's tooth.

"You can leave the box for now, and just bring the album, Harry," Petunia called to him.

Hastily he returned the tooth. "Coming, Aunt Petunia!" He removed the album and climbed back down the ladder.

"That old trunk belonged to your Great Uncle Malcolm," Petunia told him as he handed her the book. "He was a wizard too, even if his brother -- my father -- and his parents were not, so we knew a bit about Hogwarts and such before Lily ever got her letter. I reckon my father took the news that his brother was a wizard far better than I did. … At any rate, Malcolm used to travel a lot, and would always send us cards from wherever he went, or bring us presents when he returned home. And sometimes he would invite us to his house by the shore," she continued, stroking the book's cover fondly. "There should be some pictures from some of our holidays there in here."

He followed her to the sitting room, his heart beating in his ears. Not that he was complaining, but what on earth had gotten into her?

She sat down on the couch and patted the seat beside her. He obeyed, peering curiously at the album as she settled it between them and opened it to the first page. "Oh, I remember that day!" she told him, pointing to the first picture which was of a pair of little girls, one with light-brown hair and one with red, grinning happily as they posed with their arms about each others' shoulders in front of a charming beach house. "That was our very first visit to Uncle Malcolm's house. …"

Harry listened with baited breath as she pointed to each picture, and told him a little more about his mother with each one. They might not have been wizard photos, the kind that move about when you look at them, but they captivated him nonetheless. As they went on through the book, he thought his aunt's voice held a certain sadness. Sure enough, when he looked at her, he saw a hint of tears long unshed.

And in spite of himself, he started to feel a thickness in his own throat, the first true bit of emotion he'd felt in weeks. He was torn between the need to feel something and the (believed) necessity to stifle it, ending up not being able to fully do either. The tears sat in his eyes, but did not fall. His voice wavered when he finally spoke, when she'd shown him all there was to see, but it did not break.

"I have an album too, if … if you'd like to see it. But they're not normal photos!" he added quickly, before she could say yes. "I don't know if you'd want to look at them, because they … they move, and I know you don't like …"

"They move?" she squeaked. Composing herself, she smiled bravely and nodded. "I would very much like to see them, Harry. Thank-you."

He nodded back, uncertainly. "R-right, then. I'll just go up and get them. …"

Up in his room, as he fetched his gift from Hagrid, he quickly filled Hedwig in on the strange happenings of the afternoon. Hedwig hooted what sounded like disbelief. "I know," Harry replied. "I'm having trouble believing it too, but …" He shrugged, and rushed back down the stairs.

Harry couldn't help but smile at Petunia's gasp of astonishment, despite his worry that at any moment she might change back into her old magic-hating self. His mind was soon put at ease, though, when she touched the first photo, of his infant self with his parents, her face filled with wonder.

"H-how? … Are they … ?"

"Alive? No," Harry answered, a bit wistfully. "Wizard photos are sort of like video games; the people in them move, and even interact with you a little," he demonstrated by waving to his father, who smiled and waved back, "but they can only know what's happened in that one moment. A sort of snippet of memory. The images of my parents here don't know what happened to them later. …"

Petunia gave him another sad smile, and rubbed his shoulder sympathetically. Harry stiffened at first at the touch -- his whole life, Petunia had never touched him with any sort of affection -- but then forced himself to relax, not wanting to spoil the newly found peace between them. He went on to show her the rest of the album, answering questions about the people in them -- which, sadly, for the first third of the album, much of the time he'd had to answer with "I don't know who that is. …" He was also surprised to learn that she'd actually met his godfather and Professor Lupin. In fact, to his great astonishment, there was a sad sort of twinkle in her eye when she looked at Remus. If Harry didn't know better. … But he didn't dare ask.

About a third of the way through the album, Harry felt that long-familiar, yet recently forgotten pain in his forehead. Almost more out of reflex than actual pain, he hissed and rubbed at his scar. He was looking about, trying to decide how to hurt himself without Petunia noticing, when his aunt said something that drove all thought of pain, current or intended, from his mind.

"Is it that man? Voldemort?"

He turned to her slowly, his mouth agape and brow furrowed in confusion. Was she really asking about his scar? She had to be; she had that same look of fear in her eyes that most other people in the wizarding world got at the thought of the Dark Lord. "How did you know about my scar's connection to him?!"

"I …" Petunia wasn't sure she should tell him, but after a long moment of deliberation decided there was no way around it. "I had a dream, a few nights ago …" And she proceeded to tell him most of it, if not the worry his mother had voiced about his state of mind.

Harry sat there quietly as his aunt spoke, his eyes focused on his mother beaming back at him from one of his photos. The image merged with her words in his mind's eye, making him feel like he was actually having the same dream she'd had. It took a while for him to speak, after she was done; when he finally did, his voice was quiet and toneless.

"So Voldemort not only killed my parents, but yours as well. My grandparents." The Harry of just a few short months ago would have been frothing with outrage. Now, he just sat there calmly. Petunia's revelation only strengthened his resolve. He already knew Voldemort had done horrible things; whether it was his family or any other he had killed, the man needed to be stopped. Feeling anger would only interfere with Harry's Occlumency. If he failed at learning that, he might as well hand Voldemort the heads of everyone in the Order -- gift-wrapped. But if Harry could remain emotionally void, Voldemort would lose his biggest weapon: fear.

Harry wasn't even jealous that Petunia, who had spoken so ill of his mother all these years, was the one who'd had the dream, and not himself. Once he fought Voldemort, either he would be able to stop doing Occlumency, and speak to his parents in dreams himself, or he'd be dead, and be with them all the time. He could be patient. In the meantime, it could only make things easier for him to be on good terms with his aunt, and his mother had helped that come about. No, it was probably better that his mother used what opportunity she had to put things right with her sister.

"He's killed other people I knew as well. And hurt a lot of others." Harry gave a somewhat bitter laugh. "He's even tried to kill me a few times, besides the time he gave me this," he told her as he pointed to his scar. "And my mates."

Petunia started to realise that she really didn't know anything about him. "Tell me about your friends," she prompted. "What's it like, going to your school? Lily tried to tell me a few times, but … I reckon I was never really ready to listen."

Harry smiled a little, in spite of himself. He went on with the scrapbook, which soon ceased to be of his parents and got into more recent photos, so he knew all of the people in them personally. He would point to each person in turn, and tell her a little bit about them, and how he met them. He started getting into anecdotes. And when they'd gone though them all, he found himself telling her a more linear account of his life at Hogwarts, starting with that first train ride.

Once the words started to flow, he couldn't seem to make them stop. Amazingly, he managed to keep his calm when he got to the parts about Cedric and Sirius, even when Petunia's hand flew to her mouth in horror, or she gazed at him sympathetically, tears -- tears! Over him! -- in her eyes. At those points, his voice became monotone, as if he were reading it from the pages of a book, and they hadn't really happened to him. He'd had practice coming to look at those events that way, after all, with the visions Voldemort had sent him. And so Petunia came to know all he had suffered, her heart breaking with the knowledge; it was so much worse than she ever could have imagined! And somehow the knowledge was made all the more terrible by the calm manner in which he told it. The words Lily had spoken about losing him came to hold new meaning for her. And having just found him, really, she was bound and determined to keep that from happening!

Before they knew it, it was past midnight.

They realised they hadn't eaten, and decided, since the day had already taken such a strange turn, to have chocolate sundaes for their dinner. The whip cream spattered a bit as Petunia topped off hers, getting on her housecoat. Harry grinned.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" Petunia's eyes glinted mischievously. To her nephew's extreme shock, she aimed the can and pressed the nozzle, getting him full in the face with whip cream. He grabbed the bottle of chocolate syrup and squeezed. They chased each other about the kitchen, ducking behind counters and chairs, until their ammo was depleted, and they were laughing so hard they could scarcely breathe.

[Petunia and Harry have a food fight.]

All of Harry's hard-won composure seemed to have gone out the window. He couldn't believe how good it felt to laugh! How had he forgotten? It was like all the extra oxygen he was consuming was blowing away the dark cloud that had settled over him, and filling the void within him with music.

Petunia was in a similar state. She honestly couldn't remember when she'd last laughed so hard -- and so honestly. Letting go like this had a sort of cathartic effect on her, chasing away the last of the bitterness she'd harbored for so long. Just as it was impossible to complain to someone whose problems were so much worse than yours, it was also impossible to hate someone when they were smiling at you with such true and total joy. Never would she have guessed how, by getting over one little preconceived notion, you left yourself open to change your entire life. It frightened her a little, but she knew she could never be the Petunia Dursley who hated her nephew and all things magic again.

So aunt and nephew, having recently become living proof of the healing effects of laughter, sat eating sundaes at nearly one in the morning, telling each other funny stories as they ate and as they cleaned up the mess afterwards. And when they were through, and Petunia was more tired than she ever remembered being, at 2 a.m. they finally called it a night. But before heading their separate ways on the second floor, Petunia paused.

"I think we should go out tomorrow and do something. Go to London, maybe? See the Tower?"

"Uh, yeah, all right!" Harry smiled "And maybe we could have dinner at The Leaky Cauldron?" he asked, hopefully. He was eager to show her more of his own world now.

"Leaky Cauldron?" She paled a moment, and he wished he could take it back. "Is that ... a wizard place?"

He nodded. "Yeah. But we could go somewhere else, it was just a thought!" he added quickly.

She squared her shoulders, though, and gave him a smile. "I would like very much to see this Leaky Cauldron. Good night, Harry!"

He grinned back. "'Night, Aunt Petunia!"

And with that, Harry headed into the bathroom he shared with Dudley, to wash up.

He was still smiling as he entered the room, but it quickly faded when he removed his shirt, and saw his scarred figure in the mirror. For a few hours just now, he'd managed to forget recent horrors, even convince himself that feeling things wasn't so terrible. But the scars, especially the one on his brow, would not let him forget that there were reasons he had locked his emotions away. Now Petunia was yet another reason for him to continue doing so. Another potential victim on Voldemort's list, someone he cared about that he had to protect by not caring.

As if Voldemort had been reading his mind -- and Harry was dreadfully afraid that he was -- Harry was sent to his knees by a flash of pain in his lightning scar and a flood of images. And in the images this time, along with the usual ones, Sirius, Cedric, his parents, was another: his Aunt Petunia, eyes wide and sightless, blood dripping from her mouth. It was all he could do to keep from running into her room to make sure she was all right.

Instead, he ran the shower so that it was almost scalding, and sat there for long moments with his hand under it. When the pain in his head finally subsided, he turned the temperature to close to freezing, and hopped in, half hoping that the icy water would help to numb not juts his body, but his spirit.

After showering, as he climbed into bed, he took his wand from his nightstand, and did the spell that turned it into a burning brand. It wasn't as effective as Petunia's curling iron, but it would do in a pinch. He added another burn to his arm.

Never forget again, Harry!