Harry Potter Fiction, "The Space Between" (Harry, Petunia)
I actually wrote this fic a while ago. But, due to some problems, couldn't get it transfered to this computer until now. It's just a bit about Harry and his Aunt Petunia...between Harry and his Aunt Petunia.
Disclaimer: All belongs to J.K.Rowling etc. etc. etc. ad infinitum.
Dedication: To my twin, Chelle-sama. For no reason at all.
The Space Between
Harry stood in the doorway of the Dursley’s living room, watching his aunt dusting knick-knacks on the mantle piece. He wondered if she even knew he was there. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and cleared his throat. “Aunt Petunia,” he said when she made no sign that she’d heard him. He edged into the room. “Aunt Petunia?”
She swept the duster over a picture frame. “What?” she snapped at last.
“Dumbledore is sending some people from the Order to pick me up.”
Petunia didn’t turn. “When?”
“Half an hour,” Harry answered. “I’m already packed.”
His aunt sniffed. “At least Vernon and Dudley are at the golf course,” she said as she resumed dusting.
“Yeah, I asked them to do it now instead of later tonight.”
She rounded on him. “Why? She asked sharply.
Harry shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets and felt stupid. “I thought you’d rather it,” he mumbled.
The look on her face was the same inscrutable mask he’d always seen, all his life. “I do,” she said at last. She turned away again, raising the duster and added, so softly that he wasn’t sure he was meant to hear it, “Thank you.”
Maybe it was her voice, which he’d never heard so gentle, or maybe it was her unexpected gratitude, whatever it was, Harry didn’t leave the room. “Aunt Petunia?” he asked quietly.
The duster jerked down. “Yes?”
He could hear the irritability in her voice, but for a moment he couldn’t care. For once he thought that, if he asked, he might have a question answered. “Did you know?”
From the way her shoulders tensed he thought she was going to ignore it, the way she had everything important that he’d ever asked. But instead she spoke. “Know what?” There was caution mixed with the irritation.
“When you took me,” Harry said. “When you took me in, did you know?”
“Know what?” his aunt asked again, more cautious and almost angry.
But it was too important to drop, though he didn’t know why. “That you were doing a spell,” Harry said in a voice that hovered just above a whisper, “that you were the key to making the magic work on me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Dumbledore left a letter with me.”
Aunt Petunia stood frozen and Harry wanted to move, to see her profile, her face. “Who told you?” she whispered at last.
“He did,” Harry said and his voice sounded loud to his own ears. “Did you? Did you know about the spell?”
“What does it matter?” his aunt asked, her voice shrill and rising with each word.
“Did you know?” Harry shouted.
“Yes!” Petunia shouted back, whirling around to face him again, her face gone bone-pale and her eyes wide and dark with some emotion Harry couldn’t name.
Not even as his voice broke, trembling on his next question. “Why?” Staring at his aunt, watching her stare back at him, Harry realized, dimly, what he was looking for. What he wanted to hear from her. One word of love, of caring, from the one person who shared his blood. “Why?” he repeated desperately.
After a long moment of silence, she answered. “I don’t know.” She lifted her hand and seemed surprised to see the duster still in it. She crossed the room and began to clear another picture.
Harry watched her and then went to the door. He paused and then looked back. He looked back out the door, at the faded wallpaper of the hallway. “Why?” he asked again, in a voice that he might use to ask ‘is there any bacon?’. “Why did you do it?”
For a moment he thought he felt her eyes upon him. And he was surprised to hear her answer him, in a voice that he felt sure she hadn’t used for years and years beyond his knowing. “I don't know,” she said, “I just did it.”
Harry nodded and left. He walked calmly up the stairs to his room and sat on his school trunk, thinking and thinking and thinking until Moody and Lupin rang the front bell.
Disclaimer: All belongs to J.K.Rowling etc. etc. etc. ad infinitum.
Dedication: To my twin, Chelle-sama. For no reason at all.
The Space Between
Harry stood in the doorway of the Dursley’s living room, watching his aunt dusting knick-knacks on the mantle piece. He wondered if she even knew he was there. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and cleared his throat. “Aunt Petunia,” he said when she made no sign that she’d heard him. He edged into the room. “Aunt Petunia?”
She swept the duster over a picture frame. “What?” she snapped at last.
“Dumbledore is sending some people from the Order to pick me up.”
Petunia didn’t turn. “When?”
“Half an hour,” Harry answered. “I’m already packed.”
His aunt sniffed. “At least Vernon and Dudley are at the golf course,” she said as she resumed dusting.
“Yeah, I asked them to do it now instead of later tonight.”
She rounded on him. “Why? She asked sharply.
Harry shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets and felt stupid. “I thought you’d rather it,” he mumbled.
The look on her face was the same inscrutable mask he’d always seen, all his life. “I do,” she said at last. She turned away again, raising the duster and added, so softly that he wasn’t sure he was meant to hear it, “Thank you.”
Maybe it was her voice, which he’d never heard so gentle, or maybe it was her unexpected gratitude, whatever it was, Harry didn’t leave the room. “Aunt Petunia?” he asked quietly.
The duster jerked down. “Yes?”
He could hear the irritability in her voice, but for a moment he couldn’t care. For once he thought that, if he asked, he might have a question answered. “Did you know?”
From the way her shoulders tensed he thought she was going to ignore it, the way she had everything important that he’d ever asked. But instead she spoke. “Know what?” There was caution mixed with the irritation.
“When you took me,” Harry said. “When you took me in, did you know?”
“Know what?” his aunt asked again, more cautious and almost angry.
But it was too important to drop, though he didn’t know why. “That you were doing a spell,” Harry said in a voice that hovered just above a whisper, “that you were the key to making the magic work on me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Dumbledore left a letter with me.”
Aunt Petunia stood frozen and Harry wanted to move, to see her profile, her face. “Who told you?” she whispered at last.
“He did,” Harry said and his voice sounded loud to his own ears. “Did you? Did you know about the spell?”
“What does it matter?” his aunt asked, her voice shrill and rising with each word.
“Did you know?” Harry shouted.
“Yes!” Petunia shouted back, whirling around to face him again, her face gone bone-pale and her eyes wide and dark with some emotion Harry couldn’t name.
Not even as his voice broke, trembling on his next question. “Why?” Staring at his aunt, watching her stare back at him, Harry realized, dimly, what he was looking for. What he wanted to hear from her. One word of love, of caring, from the one person who shared his blood. “Why?” he repeated desperately.
After a long moment of silence, she answered. “I don’t know.” She lifted her hand and seemed surprised to see the duster still in it. She crossed the room and began to clear another picture.
Harry watched her and then went to the door. He paused and then looked back. He looked back out the door, at the faded wallpaper of the hallway. “Why?” he asked again, in a voice that he might use to ask ‘is there any bacon?’. “Why did you do it?”
For a moment he thought he felt her eyes upon him. And he was surprised to hear her answer him, in a voice that he felt sure she hadn’t used for years and years beyond his knowing. “I don't know,” she said, “I just did it.”
Harry nodded and left. He walked calmly up the stairs to his room and sat on his school trunk, thinking and thinking and thinking until Moody and Lupin rang the front bell.