I want to thank everyone for the reviews (some of which have been very insightful and I really enjoy reading those)! I've added a scene in this chapter that was not part of the original. I hope it meets with your approval.
However, I need to give credit where credit is due here. Many of you have commented on Remus Lupin in this fic. I have essentially aged the "Remus Lupin" from Phoenix_ Song's Marauder Era fics (Lily's Story, Year 1 and Lily's Story, year 2) on the Snitch. I am an ardent supporter of her work and the second I read her Remus, I've never been able to visualize him any other way. She's allowed me to age her Remus for my fic and is planning to incorporate the "cold cliff" location from The Power He Knows Not into hers. I can't wait to read about it!
For those of you who wondered where I was going with Petunia…here you go!
VLeigh
Chapter 4 - Unexpected
"Get up." Petunia walked into Harry's small bedroom and flicked on the light.
"What time is it?" Harry said incredulously as he blindly slapped the dresser in search of his glasses. A quick glance to the sky outside the window let him know dawn only begun to break on the horizon. Petunia was never up before the sun rose. She claimed it negated the entire point of "beauty rest" to wake before the dawn.
"Never mind the time, just get dressed and meet me in the kitchen," she said quietly and turned to leave the room.
Harry was not known to be a morning person, but Petunia's markedly uncharacteristic behavior peaked his interest. He swung his legs out of bed and rubbed his eyes before putting his glasses on. He stood up and looked to the top of the wardrobe as he stretched. Hedwig had not returned yet. He slipped on a pair of jeans and a jumper and headed for the kitchen.
"What's going on Aunt Petunia?" Harry said as he walked into the dimly lit kitchen. He didn't try to hide the consternation in his voice. Harry did not like to be woken early, and certainly not without good reason.
"Don't take that tone with me Harry. Here's your coat. Now let's go before Vernon realizes we're gone," she tossed his coat to him and headed for the front door with the car keys clutched in her hand.
Harry stopped for a second to wonder if he was dreaming. Petunia had never acted so strange and usually made it habit to avoid being seen with him in public. Vernon's snores, audible through the kitchen ceiling from their bedroom above, seemed to indicate that Harry was, in fact, conscious. However at the moment, he felt like he landed the starring role in Dudley's favorite television show; "The Twilight Zone." He slung his coat over his left shoulder and followed Petunia to the front drive.
They got into the car silently and Petunia said nothing while starting the engine other than an admonition for Harry to buckle his safety belt. They backed away from the house, and after watching Privet Drive fade quietly into the distance, Harry posed a variation of the same question he'd not gotten an answer to ten minutes ago.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on or do I just have to guess?" Harry said quietly but with purpose.
"I have a birthday gift for you." Petunia did not look at him; rather she continued to look in the rear view mirror as if expecting Vernon to chase after the car as they drove. Harry, noticing her behavior, shifted in his seat and glanced over his shoulder as well.
"As you so clearly pointed out yesterday, my birthday has already passed," he said with a bit more indignation than he intended. Everything about this morning had been strange, but he didn't want to set off his Aunt right after she indicated she'd had a gift for him; something she'd never truly done before.
However, at the same time, Harry recognized his chance here was golden. When would he have a better opportunity to ask Petunia for the truth? They were alone, she seemed in a decent mood, and there was no chance of being interrupted by either Dudley or Vernon. When she didn't reply to his last comment he decided to break the silence with the question that had (really) been plaguing him since last summer.
"Aunt Petunia," he began. "I want to ask you something," he paused to look at her. She seemed to grimace and her shoulders fell as if she knew what was coming.
"I want to know the truth," Harry said pleadingly. "I know there's more to my story than I've been told. I think you have some of those answers," he finished quietly. She sat in silence, driving to some unknown destination, not answering her nephew for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally, she discontinued whatever musings she had been engaged in and answered Harry quite sarcastically, "You didn't say the magic word."
Harry narrowed his eyes and connected with hers. "Please," he said in the most calm voice he could muster for being spoken to like a child.
Petunia drew a deep breath and mustered the courage to tell a story she'd kept concealed for the entirety of Harry's life. "What do you want to know?"
Harry had a million questions, but one loomed grander than the rest. "Are you a witch?"
Petunia laughed heartily. That was as good of an answer as Harry needed, but she embellished anyway. "If I were a witch I would've gone to Hogwarts with Lily." Harry was clearly startled at the candor with which she made this statement. He also felt a strange weight grow in his chest upon hearing Petunia speak his mother's name, quite possibly for the first time, without the word "freak" appearing in the same sentence.
The next question was the only other question Harry wanted an answer to, "What do you know?"
"I know everything."
The answer was so quick Harry ran through it again and again to ensure he'd actually heard her say it. He was at a total loss for words. When someone tells you they know everything, exactly where do you start? It felt the same as Professor Sinestra asking him to simply name all the stars in the universe. Harry merely sat, frozen in his seat, mouth agape.
"You're an adult in your world now Harry. I feel as though it's time to tell you what you no doubt want to hear. However, there's something I'd like to show you first as a matter of apology."
"Apology?"
"For fifteen and a half years of treatment that you didn't deserve. I'm not the same person my sister was, in nearly every way. But it has never escaped me that you are her son, and it was my responsibility to look after you," she added as she pulled the car to the side of a quiet residential street. Harry didn't bother to determine where they were, he was far more interested, for the first time in his life, in speaking with his mother's sister.
"Well, if the way you treated me is any indication of how you felt about her…" he stopped before finishing the rest of what was about to become a scathing remark with several references to the cupboard under the stairs. He stopped because he couldn't do it, Petunia was already crying.
"Harry, I don't expect you to understand, or to forgive me for anything I've done over the years. But, I acted as I did as much to protect you while you from threats within my home. What I'm going to tell you, Vernon doesn't know. You will not tell him any of it. He is equally as discriminatory against witches and wizards as some pure bloods are against muggle-borns," she added now turning to face Harry.
"Pure bloods…muggle-borns?" Harry's mouth was agape once more. His mouth continued to open and close but he couldn't formulate the words required to understand the terminology coming from his "muggle" Aunt.
"Oh, for heaven's sake Harry, close your mouth. I had to treat you just as Vernon would expect me to. I married him out of spite; spite against my family, spite against her. They knew who he was, what he was, and I did it anyway. I was so angry, so jealous of everything she was," she added quietly.
"What do you mean, who he was? Who is he?" Harry asked.
"He's no one magical, just the opposite actually. Vernon is the most direct descendant of Cotton Mather." Petunia didn't think the name would mean anything to Harry, but that was one lesson in Professor Binns' class that he actually remembered.
"The same Cotton Mather from the Salem Witch Trials in America?" he asked unable to keep the horror from his voice.
"The very same. His great grandfather, obviously several times removed, was arguably the person most responsible for the deaths of 19 people convicted of practicing witchcraft and wizardry. He even convinced the crowds, gathered to watch George Burroughs, an ex-minister himself be hanged, that his perfect recitation of the Lord's Prayer still did not absolve him from guilt."
"Wow," Harry muttered unable to believe what he was hearing.
"Well, you can imagine my parents had more to say than just, `wow' when I decided to marry Vernon. Our engagement came fast on the heels of theirs. Mostly because I was jealous," she added at a whisper.
"Jealous of what?" Harry asked, drawing his eyes back to Petunia's.
"I was jealous of Lily. I was jealous that she had the gift and I didn't. I was jealous that she was so celebrated in our family for it. I was jealous of those damn green eyes everyone complemented so. The same green eyes, I might add are staring at me now."
There was so much about this story that confused Harry. As a muggle family, it seemed odd to him that anyone would celebrate the discovery of a witch in their midst. It also struck him as incredibly odd that Petunia would've wanted to be a witch after all the times he'd heard her talk so derisively about them. He was bursting with questions and opened his mouth to ask any number of them. However, she stopped him before he got the chance.
"Harry, I'm not prepared to tell you the whole story. Frankly, that would involve far more alcohol than I'm capable of handling. I will tell you this, even though I was jealous of her, I loved her dearly. I have begged her forgiveness for your treatment more times than I care to remember. It's not easy living with Vernon, and it was certainly not easy keeping everything from him; especially the gift I'm about to give you." For the first time, Petunia broke into a smile and her eyes seemed to light up.
"What gift? The truth?" Harry asked trying his best to not sound ungrateful for what he'd been told thus far.
"No, Harry. You are an adult now. Although I don't know when, I'm sure you'll be leaving us shortly, and I have no doubt you will never wish to grace our doorstep again. That being said, I wasn't sure when, or if, I'd ever see you again. Hence the reason I took you out this morning to present to you the gift I have worked on for nearly sixteen years." Petunia finished with a smile. Although Harry was the one being given a gift, Petunia seemed to resemble a small child on Christmas morning.
"So…what is it?" Harry asked, a bit of the excitement beginning to show on his face. Petunia slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a key. She cupped his hand in hers and placed it in his palm.
"I doubt you'll really need to use this, but it is the traditional way to open a door." She chuckled. Harry was sure he'd never seen her do that. Before he could ask, she motioned her hand over his right shoulder and out of the passenger window behind him. Harry turned in his seat and his eyes fell upon a quiet abode set among some large trees. It was a quaint brick home with a picket fence running around the outskirts of the property. The entrance door had a gleaming brass handle and a vertical etched glass window. The front windows had operable wooden shutters painted in a hunter green that nearly matched the eyes she described earlier. Most remarkable was the pewter placard next to the front porch, it had only one word inscribed on it: "Potter."
He turned quickly to face his Aunt. "I don't understand. You're giving me a house?" Harry said, nearly unable to form the words.
"Not just any house Harry, this was their house."
"It can't be. It was destroyed in the attack."
"Very nearly destroyed; I have spent the last fifteen years scrimping money away here and there to have it rebuilt. It took that long because I could only use money Vernon wouldn't notice was gone." Harry had been listening to her, but had turned to stare at the house while she was speaking.
"I don't know what to say." He was absolutely correct in this assessment. Words failed him. He turned back to see his Aunt misting over and the next words she spoke hung in the air between them, but ultimately answered another long unasked question.
`What more can you expect from your godmother?" She smiled sweetly, for what Harry thought was the first time in his memory, and continued on. "I have one more place I'd like to take you, if you're up for it."
"Where's that?" Harry asked, not quite prepared to leave Godric's Hollow yet.
"I thought you might like to visit your parents."
***
"I'm afraid we haven't much time." Harry heard Petunia's words softly in his ear, but his eyes were fixed squarely to the ornate marble sculpture before him. He felt his head rocking forward in affirmation as Petunia quietly stepped away. Remembering his manners, he thought to thank her. He looked in the direction of her footsteps, but she had moved quite a distance across the cemetery.
Harry looked around the grounds. It seemed nearly incredible to him, such lavish gardens would exist in this area. Great Britain was certainly not known for its wide-open spaces. Privet Drive was a rather typical example of an endless row of smallish homes piled on top of each other in the name of space. Real estate was at a premium, given the per capita population per square mile.
You'd never know that standing here.
He watched as Petunia walked quietly along the gravesites. She stopped here and there pulling up an errant weed or brushing a dead leaf from a headstone. Seeming to feel his eyes upon her, she stopped and looked in his direction. After a fleeting glace she resumed her meanderings among the graves.
Harry noticed the character of the many headstones. Some were adorned with angels, others with animals. It didn't escape his attention that many of the sculptures depicted lions in varying stances and demeanors. That brought his attention back to the graves before him
"James Potter, 1960-1981" Harry's eyes landed here before moving to the left.
"Lily Evans Potter, 1960-1981" Feeling his legs turn to gelatin; Harry knelt down at the foot of the gravesite. His hand brushed absently over the well groomed grass as he continued to stare at the sculpture between his parent's headstones.
It was a massive lion. It stood tall and proud, its chest pushed out with pride, and eyes lowered maliciously at those who would fail to notice its presence. Suddenly, it made sense to Harry that this graveyard must've been more than just a muggle cemetery. What more fitting sculpture to protect the final resting place of the Potters, but a "Gryffindor" Lion. Without casting his glance back to their neighbors, he assumed the presence of ravens, badgers, and perhaps a snake or two.
For as much as he tried, he couldn't cry. This was all so incredible. He had woken only hours before as the Harry he'd been when he fell asleep. The world had been no different. Now, the façade of Petunia had shattered markedly, he'd seen, and been given the house in Godric's Hollow, and now…now, he was kneeling at the graves of his mother and father.
His hand continued to graze along the blades of grass. He dropped his eyes to follow its path. He was mere feet from his parents. Granted, that distance had several feet of earth between them, but still. His mind could not avoid the obvious facts of the situation. If he could just reach down, just reach through, he could feel their caskets, feel their touch, something he'd dreamed of for as long as he could remember.
He could not remember being held by his mother. He could not remember the true sound of her voice as anything other than screams. He never knew the strong embrace of his father or the warmth of his touch. He had lived a life alone, unloved, unwanted, and resigned to imaginative musings of the kind of life he could have had.
Still he couldn't cry. It was sculptured marble with in scripted names. They were names he knew of academically, but not names he really felt he "knew" in the truest sense of the word. He had visions of his parents, but they were manufactured images. They were pieced together from wizard photos, the Mirror of Erised, and the ghostly echoes from Voldemort's wand. He had no personal recollection to hold onto.
That was part of the reason he couldn't mourn. He'd been doing that for over fifteen years. But, those are the things he wished for more than anything. He desperately wanted to see his parents; he wanted to hear their voices. He would've given everything he had, for just one embrace from mother to son. He wished for his own memories of his family, not retold stories of humor and heroism.
It wasn't long before his eyes found their way back to the lion. It was at that time he realized Petunia had also returned. He looked up to see her unreadable expression and glistening eyes. She was looking at the grand protector as well. Suddenly, her lips pursed familiarly.
She turned to look at him. "Get up." Harry nearly thought to protest, but her expression was not one of indignation. His curiosity got the best of him and he rose to his feet. Petunia took his hand and walked toward the massive lion.
"As I am a muggle, I've never understood this. But I've noticed rather a few witches and wizards doing the same." She raised Harry's hand in hers and guided it so it rested peacefully over the lion's chest. "Lily once mentioned something about the heart of the lion when she did this to our father's sculpture. I'll give you five more minutes." Harry nearly removed his hand, feeling a bit silly, as Petunia moved toward the car. That was until…
"I can only hope that I've fulfilled my destiny as it was to be. I love my family, my husband, and my son as only his mother can. I know not of the future - only the past. I understand the destiny before him as I understand that which lies behind. I ask you not to stand at our graves and mourn our passing, only to look to the future and the hope that lies in the hands of our son Harry. He will prevail over the dark forces of our world. It is his destiny."
Harry snapped his hand from the cold stone as though it contained the heat of fire. He stared incredulously at the lion before him. It was his mother's voice. It was unobscured as an echo, and free of the terror he'd remembered in her screams. It was calm, quiet, and resolute. She believed Harry would triumph over Voldemort. Driven by compulsion, he drew his hand back to the lion's chest.
"…destiny before him as I understand that which lies behind. I ask you not to stand at our graves and mourn our passing, only to look to the future and the hope that lies in the hands…"
He pulled it away again. In a distant recess of his mind he understood that the lion was charmed to repeat this message for those who would visit their grave. That same distant consciousness wondered why his father's voice was not present as well. He continued to place and remove his hand over the lion's heart, and listened to the same voice echoing in his head; the same message broadcast to the wizarding world.
"It is his destiny."
Harry nearly felt as though he'd pass out. He stood rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the statue before him, his mind devoid of all rational thought. It wasn't long before a honking horn snapped him to reality.
It was time to go.
He stepped backwards, allowing his eyes to rest another moment on the names of his parents. He studied the grass covering their final resting place and raised his eyes for one last look at the proud lion that stood so protectively over them. It took a moment to realize the person who had spoken in whispered tones, was himself. He hadn't said much before he turned to leave, although it was fitting for the moment, it was also something he'd always wanted to say.
"Good bye."
With that he walked to the car with only the sound of his footsteps to keep him company.
***
"So, it's all set for tonight then?" Tonks whispered to Remus Lupin. Although they were alone in the garden, their plan was certainly not one to be spoken of in bright voices.
"Yes," Lupin replied quietly. He noticed the look of concern imprinted on Tonks' face but didn't need to ask where her concerns lay.
"Dumbledore is going to flip when he finds out," she added softly while casting a backwards glance at the door to the kitchen. The Order had just concluded a midday meeting at the Burrow and most of the remaining members were inside taking liberty of the meal Molly Weasley had prepared.
"You can still back out if you want to. No one is forcing you to do this with me," Lupin declared with a bit more spice in his voice then he intended.
"What? Miss all the fun? Certainly you're not serious Remus," she added fluttering her eyebrows mischievously. "Besides, you need me and you know it."
"That's the only thing I've heard today that I totally agree with."
***
If she was even slightly concerned with the repercussions of her actions, Petunia Dursley did not show a hint of it on her face. She pulled the car up to the house and turned it off without uttering a word. As a matter of fact, neither Petunia nor Harry had said much of anything on the seemingly endless drive home. The entire experience today had been utterly surreal to Harry and, truth be told, he was still trying to process it in his own head.
They sat in the car together for only a moment before Petunia pulled the keys from the ignition and opened the door. The heavy sigh that escaped her lungs before getting out of the car was the only expression of concern she gave.
She was in trouble and she knew it.
She straightened her skirt and held her head high as she sauntered into the lion's den. Harry had already seen Vernon's puce complexion peering from the kitchen window. Harry broke only the smallest of grins as Petunia opened the front door.
She would've made one hell of a Gryffindor.
"Petunia Evans Dursley! Where in blazes have you been?" Vernon bellowed before he even caught sight of her.
"Oh, dear! Did I forget to mention it to you darling?" Petunia let out with gasp. She covered her mouth with her hand and rushed over to Vernon, guiding him toward a chair. "Let me make you some dinner Vernon."
Nice plan Petunia, calm the savage beast with food!
"I don't want dinner Petunia! I want to know where you've been with…with," he began pointing toward Harry, "with…"
"Ha-rry," Harry scoffed while sounding his name out to Vernon as if he were a child. In retrospect, that course of action was not going to make this any easier for his aunt. Petunia obviously shared that assessment as she shot Harry a scathing glare and tried her best to stem the explosion that was growing in the pit of Vernon's stomach.
"Darling, I went to my dear friend Margaret's home. She's just moved into a lovely flat and needed someone to help her move her belongings," she answered his next question before he could ask it. "That's why I brought him. He's good for nothing if not moving heavy objects."
Ouch, Petunia.
Had Harry not been utterly impressed with the forethought she'd put into this story he might have had reason to feel angry at the latest volley of insults thrown his way. However, now that he and Petunia had spoken, if only a little, it was clear to him that this was all an act. All be it a very well rehearsed act, and an award-winning performance, but Petunia was an act nonetheless.
"Oh, so that's it, is it?" Vernon calmed slightly. He furrowed his brow and cast a look toward Harry. Apparently, pleased with any amount of manual labor Harry was subjected to an indeterminate look crossed his face.
"That's it darling," Petunia said with finality and turned to the cupboard to begin gathering the necessities for supper. She didn't get far.
"Lies!" Vernon was steaming. He was likely angrier than Harry had ever seen him. Instead of shouting, he spoke at a near whisper, seeming to be imploding on himself.
"What was that dear?" Petunia said, turning to him, the smile completely vanishing from her face.
"I called your dear friend Margaret. She hasn't spoken to you in days and has seen you even less!" Vernon was shaking with anger. It was clear to Harry that Petunia hadn't thought of a contingent plan to her story. Her mouth was bobbing open and closed as she searched for any plausible story that would extract her from this situation. After a few excruciating moments of silence, Harry spoke.
"I forced her to go," he said quickly turning his glance from Petunia and stepping between his aunt and uncle.
"You...you forced her? Forced her to go where boy?" Vernon's quiet rage had subsided and he returned to his typical ear-shattering decibel.
"That's none of your business," Harry said coolly. Honestly, he hadn't thought about where he would've forced her to take him, but didn't feel he needed to manufacture any more lies for the sake of his Uncle. Knowing that answer wouldn't satisfy him for long he added, "I needed to go somewhere, she had the car keys, and I had this," Harry said as he pulled his wand from his pocket and brandished it before his uncle's eyes.
"Petunia? Is this true? Did…did he try to use that against you?" he stammered. For as sad it seemed, that was as much loving concern as Vernon had ever been able to muster toward his wife. Silently, following Harry's lead out of her own bungled lie, Petunia stepped around Harry and buried her head in her husband's beefy shoulder. "How dare you! I've warned you never to use that thing in my house and now you've used it against my own wife!"
"I was so scared Vernon," Petunia's muffled voice squeaked from his shoulder.
Oh! now THAT was uncalled for Petunia! I had the whole thing under control and you had to throw that log on the fire! Fine, Rome wasn't built in a day, and old habits obviously die hard…two can play that game.
"Oh, Please," Harry said, dropping his wand to his side. "As if I'd really need to use this at all," he said lazily while catching the cast-iron skillet, that unbeknownst to the Dursley's had flown from the rack and careened across the kitchen, in his left hand. "I believe you needed this skillet to make supper," he said acidly as he thrust the pan into his aunt's empty hand. "You'll let me know when you've finished preparing the meal." It wasn't a request. Harry slid his wand back into his front pocket and turned on his heel. As he passed by a deathly silent Dudley, who had obviously been eavesdropping from the stairs, he thought there might possibly be nothing better in the world than officially being an adult in the magical world.