Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Chapter 3

”My aunt is here? Why?” Harry asked as he stood up clumsily, stiff and a bit hoarse from not speaking since the morning.

 

”I told you I was going to write to her, don’t you remember?” said Mme Pomfrey. ”I asked her to come, and offered arrangements to make it possible. I got the impression that you approved,” she added.

 

Harry only looked at her and shrugged slightly, inwardly damning his unreliable senses. He had no recollection what-so-ever that Mme Pomfrey had talked to him about Petunia Dursley. But now, apparently, she was here. Harry felt unsure what to think about that. Most and for all, he was surprised that his aunt had agreed to come at all because she couldn’t be bothered with him already as a child. Now he was grown up and she had no obligation to visit him even if he were sick to death, which he was not, he was quite sure about that at least.

 

”She’s your family, Harry. The only one you have. I know that you did not part with warm feelings when you left for the war, and that you thought you were never going to see her again. Bill Weasley told me how cold the Dursleys behaved when you said good-bye to them last July.”

 

Harry looked down. Indeed, he never thought that he would see them again.

 

”You know what happened to your uncle and cousin, don’t you? Harry…?” insisted Mme Pomfrey hesitantly.

 

Harry clenched his teeth so hard that it was difficult to pronounce the small word.

 

”Yes.” 

 

What had happened to his uncle and cousin was not only a horrible mess in itself, but at the time, it had set a chain of events in motion that had cost Harry personally dearly in the end. He preferred not to talk about it. Aunt Petunia, however, as far as he knew, had not been directly involved in the tragic events.

 

”I’ll let her in then, shall I?” asked Mme Pomfrey carefully. 

 

Harry took a deep breath and nodded, frowning at his own mounting agitation. This was just Aunt Petunia. Sure, he had not seen her in almost a year, but that counted during his school years as well. Since his eleventh summer, they had never met more than once a year. Why should he be nervous - he still knew what to expect, didn’t he? There was not a chance in the world that he would get his hopes raised, he told himself sternly as he advanced towards the small group of furniture set up in a corner of the ward, for the purpose of receiving visitors. 

 

Well, thought Harry, maybe they could have tea together like civilised people, his aunt and he. That would be a start… A start of what!? He echoed his own thoughts with horror. What was he imagining? Harry suddenly noticed that he was gripping the back of the chair with his still half-anaesthetised fingers far too forcefully and tried to relax. 

 

When he looked up, his aunt was standing in the doorway. She was, if possible, even thinner than Harry remembered her. Maybe it was the majestic room of the ward that made her look so small. But then again she had always stood out in stark contrast to his cousin and uncle who had been unhealthily big. Harry was at a loss to identify his own feelings as he took her appearance in. Pity? An ounce of tenderness? Inexplicable fear? He clenched his teeth again. He was grown up, for heavens sake! Get a grip!

 

”Welcome to Hogwarts, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said formally, with a streak of uncertainty and gestured for his aunt to have a seat. Neither of them made an attempt to shake hands, or approach to hug each other. Harry thought that his aunt gave him a funny sort of look. She said nothing, but conceded to advance and sit down in an armchair. Harry hesitated before sitting down, too. He didn’t choose the sofa where he would be placed closer to his aunt, but ended up in the armchair at the opposite short side end of the table. 

 

”Um… Would you like some tea?” Harry stumbled slightly over the words. Mme Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen. She must have thought it wise to leave them alone. Harry, on the contrary, thought that his aunt and he could have used the diverting and conciliating presence of a third person.

 

As his aunt silently nodded her assent to tea, Harry nervously snapped his fingers. 

 

”Kreacher!” he said and the old house elf from Grimmauld place who had been transferred to Hogwarts materialised in front of him. Petunia flinched at the sudden appearance of the appalling creature, but straightened herself up immediately with tightened lips. 

 

Kreacher efficiently brought them a selection of Hogwart’s supply of pastries and crackers, as well as a kettle of well-brewed tea. Harry needed to concentrate in order to pour the steaming liquid in the cups as he served his aunt, because his hands still felt clumsy and he was afraid to spill. Lessons from his childhood were too deeply impressed on his memory to risk Petunia’s scorn. 

 

It was not until he sat back in his chair that he decided to make an effort to start a conversation.

 

”So, how did you arrive at Hogwarts, Aunt? Did you come by train?” he asked politely.

 

The exchange of words that followed was so slow and difficult that it occurred to Harry that it was like patiently untangling hair, only to realise that it had been caught in chewing gum and was hopelessly beyond salvation. His aunt barely answered his questions, or if she did, it was with snorts and humming, or monosyllables at most. All the while, she kept her eyes riveted at him, however, in a stare that Harry could not decipher. 

 

Was she so impressed by Hogwarts that she could not speak? wondered Harry. She never used to mince her words. A fragment of someone’s childhood memories surfaced in Harry’s brain. Once upon a time, he realised, Aunt Petunia had written to the headmaster of Hogwarts, begging him to take her in at the school. Once upon a time she had longed to belong here.

 

Harry felt a surge of pity for his aunt and he made a conscious effort to lower his shoulders that were so taut they were almost pulled up to his ears from tension. 

 

Maybe without Uncle Vernon and Dudley, Aunt Petunia felt free to investigate her former desire? He could show her around a bit, perhaps. Muggle relatives were allowed to visit, both at Hogwarts and at Diagon Alley. It could be a new start.

 

There was a sudden burn behind Harry’s eyelids. He bowed his head, but could not help letting out a small gasp which he immediately tried to hide by coughing. 

 

What kind of new start did he have in mind, exactly? Why did it suddenly seem so important to get along with Aunt Petunia? Had he not vowed never to return to Privet Drive when he left just before his seventeenth birthday? 

But the war was over now, he countered in his head. Everything was different. There was no threat. They could get on with their lives, and he in particular needed to decide about his future. 

 

Harry could not help grimacing. He was a hero, worshipped in the Wizarding world - all kind of possibilities lay open before him, and yet… Harry loathed to admit it to himself, but he was alone in the world. Despite his friends, he felt terribly lost and lonely.

 

Harry gulped. He realised already at an early stage after the victory that Fred’s death had caused a deep wound in the Weasley family and that it would probably take a long time for them to recover. Even if various members of the family had visited at the ward over the past fortnight, they seemed more distant, as if shutting themselves up in their grief. 

 

Ron and Hermione were completely engrossed in each others, making grand plans, talking about spending a year abroad, visiting Hermione’s parents, whose Obliviate spell had vanished the instant Voldemort died and who had thus been puzzled to find themselves settled in Australia. Meanwhile, even if Ginny showed signs that she was still interested in Harry, she made it very clear that her mother needed her at the moment and that he could expect nothing of her until Mrs Weasley was recovered.

 

Harry’s wandering thoughts did not facilitate the interaction with Aunt Petunia, nor did his ambiguity about his feelings for her. The conversation grew increasingly difficult while Harry grew increasingly exhausted until, finally, he abandoned his efforts and they fell completely silent. 

 

After a long while, Petunia put her empty cup down. When she finally pronounced her first full couple of sentences since her arrival, she did it with emphasis and with blatant resentment.

 

”You don’t look particularly unwell, do you? I was told that you had suffered serious damage from the war. I cannot see a trace of it,” she accused.


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