July 12, 1996
Petunia carefully stacked the last plate in the cupboard, closed the door, and ran her slightly damp washcloth over the sink to fend off any water spots. Dishes finished, she pulled out the sponge and disinfectant for her nightly wipe-down of all the kitchen surfaces. Pulling on her gloves, she paused a moment to wonder if it might be overkill to do this so often.
No, better safe than sorry.
When the doorbell rang, Petunia didn't bother pausing in her work. It was rare that there was a visitor for her, especially at this time of night. She heard Vernon yelling about it as he went to answer and Harry thudding down the stairs, and only paused in her work when she heard the strange voice say he had come for Harry. She dropped her sponge and moved to the closed door, listening to get a better idea of the situation. Troubled Times? Well. After what Harry had told her the previous year of Voldemort's return, it was hardly a surprise. And if one of them thought it unsafe to linger on the doorstep of a muggle home, especially with all the wards and nonsense that were supposed to be cast here, it really was not a comfort. Giving her housecoat a tug to ensure it was secure, she decided it was time to see what was going on.
"Ah, and this must be Petunia."
A tall, thin man whose sliver hair and beard reached his waist stood in her front hall next to her sputtering husband. Harry stood at the foot of the stairs, watching them.
"Albus Dumbledore. We have corresponded, of course."
She nodded. It may have been over a decade and a half since, but she could hardly forget those letters.
"And this must be your son Dudley?"
A twinge of fear ran through her as she noticed her son was there as well. Not all magic might be bad, but Dudley certainly hadn't been given any exposure to the decent side.
She stood with her family, asessing the situation, as Dumbledore made himself at home and settled in Vernon's chair. He sent the sofa crashing into them, then pulled it back into position sharply as if it were some involuntary amusement park ride. Petunia realized then the type of magical encounter this was going to be, and decided it best to remain silent and avoid drawing unneeded attention.
This was not an effective plan, she realized as the glass of some unknown substance began bumping against her head. Petunia missed Bar all the more now -- she would occasionally serve something more alcoholic than Petunia would prefer, but always to help her cope, and never was it forced.
Doing her best to ignore the attacking beverage, Petunia listened carefully to Her nephew's conversation with Dumbledore. It was clear they weren't to be taking an active part in it, so the man must have some reason for ensuring they heard it. Vernon's interest at the mention of gold and property gave her an idea of what it might be, but the news of the death of Sirius Black was what caught Petunia's attention. She hadn't known the man well by any stretch, but Lily had introduced him some time back. He seemed nice enough, despite an awful pranking streak that explained his friendship with that Potter boy. She felt a pang for Harry, realizing the cause behind his poor mood in the past weeks. This didn't last long, as the increasing attack of her glass had reached the point that she had to shield herself from the beating.
She was worried that Vernon's outburst might have a negative effect, but for a refreshing change it worked, and the glasses vanished. As soon as that attack had ceased, another began -- with a loud crack, Dumbledore called in some hideous filthy creature. She couldn't hold back the shriek of horror at this nasty thing -- the waitrats, at least, had been clean and well-mannered.
Quiet observation remained her best option, though she couldn't help the occasional wince -- why hadn't Vernon listened when she asked to have the shag carpeting replaced with something that didn't hold the dirt as firmly?
She kept it up for over ten minutes, even during the horribly awkward period when Harry went up to pack his things and Dumbledore spent the time humming in a disturbingly cheerful way. It wasn't until after Harry's return that she felt any need to speak up.
"As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year's time --"
She may not have been the most attentive of aunts, but even she saw the error. "No."
"I'm sorry?"
"No, he doesn't. He's a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."
Dumbledore gave the standard explanation to anything magical -- they simply did things differently there. Petunia couldn't figure out why he then started going on about how Harry came to live with them, all just the same rubbish they'd always known. It was almost as if he were summarizing their lives for some unseen audience. There was a sinister undertone, and she instinctively shifted closer to her family. And then his words sank in.
". . . The best that can be said is that he at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the poor boy sitting between you."
Petunia's cheeks flushed red, and her eyes were fixed on her hands. She barely took in the rest of what Dumbledore had to say -- something about ensuring Harry would be allowed to stay a bit longer next year, not that she had any intention of allowing otherwise. Harry left with him, and after a frozen moment Vernon announced that they should all head off to bed put it out of their minds. Dudley agreed, but Petunia sat alone on the couch for some time after. The man was as much a prat as every one of the magical types she'd encountered in this world, but he had struck home on one point.
Dudley.
Dear god, she was a horrible mother.
No, better safe than sorry.
When the doorbell rang, Petunia didn't bother pausing in her work. It was rare that there was a visitor for her, especially at this time of night. She heard Vernon yelling about it as he went to answer and Harry thudding down the stairs, and only paused in her work when she heard the strange voice say he had come for Harry. She dropped her sponge and moved to the closed door, listening to get a better idea of the situation. Troubled Times? Well. After what Harry had told her the previous year of Voldemort's return, it was hardly a surprise. And if one of them thought it unsafe to linger on the doorstep of a muggle home, especially with all the wards and nonsense that were supposed to be cast here, it really was not a comfort. Giving her housecoat a tug to ensure it was secure, she decided it was time to see what was going on.
"Ah, and this must be Petunia."
A tall, thin man whose sliver hair and beard reached his waist stood in her front hall next to her sputtering husband. Harry stood at the foot of the stairs, watching them.
"Albus Dumbledore. We have corresponded, of course."
She nodded. It may have been over a decade and a half since, but she could hardly forget those letters.
"And this must be your son Dudley?"
A twinge of fear ran through her as she noticed her son was there as well. Not all magic might be bad, but Dudley certainly hadn't been given any exposure to the decent side.
She stood with her family, asessing the situation, as Dumbledore made himself at home and settled in Vernon's chair. He sent the sofa crashing into them, then pulled it back into position sharply as if it were some involuntary amusement park ride. Petunia realized then the type of magical encounter this was going to be, and decided it best to remain silent and avoid drawing unneeded attention.
This was not an effective plan, she realized as the glass of some unknown substance began bumping against her head. Petunia missed Bar all the more now -- she would occasionally serve something more alcoholic than Petunia would prefer, but always to help her cope, and never was it forced.
Doing her best to ignore the attacking beverage, Petunia listened carefully to Her nephew's conversation with Dumbledore. It was clear they weren't to be taking an active part in it, so the man must have some reason for ensuring they heard it. Vernon's interest at the mention of gold and property gave her an idea of what it might be, but the news of the death of Sirius Black was what caught Petunia's attention. She hadn't known the man well by any stretch, but Lily had introduced him some time back. He seemed nice enough, despite an awful pranking streak that explained his friendship with that Potter boy. She felt a pang for Harry, realizing the cause behind his poor mood in the past weeks. This didn't last long, as the increasing attack of her glass had reached the point that she had to shield herself from the beating.
She was worried that Vernon's outburst might have a negative effect, but for a refreshing change it worked, and the glasses vanished. As soon as that attack had ceased, another began -- with a loud crack, Dumbledore called in some hideous filthy creature. She couldn't hold back the shriek of horror at this nasty thing -- the waitrats, at least, had been clean and well-mannered.
Quiet observation remained her best option, though she couldn't help the occasional wince -- why hadn't Vernon listened when she asked to have the shag carpeting replaced with something that didn't hold the dirt as firmly?
She kept it up for over ten minutes, even during the horribly awkward period when Harry went up to pack his things and Dumbledore spent the time humming in a disturbingly cheerful way. It wasn't until after Harry's return that she felt any need to speak up.
"As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year's time --"
She may not have been the most attentive of aunts, but even she saw the error. "No."
"I'm sorry?"
"No, he doesn't. He's a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."
Dumbledore gave the standard explanation to anything magical -- they simply did things differently there. Petunia couldn't figure out why he then started going on about how Harry came to live with them, all just the same rubbish they'd always known. It was almost as if he were summarizing their lives for some unseen audience. There was a sinister undertone, and she instinctively shifted closer to her family. And then his words sank in.
". . . The best that can be said is that he at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the poor boy sitting between you."
Petunia's cheeks flushed red, and her eyes were fixed on her hands. She barely took in the rest of what Dumbledore had to say -- something about ensuring Harry would be allowed to stay a bit longer next year, not that she had any intention of allowing otherwise. Harry left with him, and after a frozen moment Vernon announced that they should all head off to bed put it out of their minds. Dudley agreed, but Petunia sat alone on the couch for some time after. The man was as much a prat as every one of the magical types she'd encountered in this world, but he had struck home on one point.
Dudley.
Dear god, she was a horrible mother.