Authors note: I do not own any characters created by J.K. Rowling. Full credit goes to her for all situations and information mentioned in any of the 7 books or interviews, etc. as well. However, the storyline of this fanfic is all me and the little voice in my head – and thus, of course, not to be copied by anybody else – that would be stealing my creativity, my ideas – and not very nice
Petunia's point of view
I couldn't believe it. After 21 years of living in this house, our house, we had to leave it. Just like that. And there wasn't a chance that we could move back, when this was all over – if it ever would be over. Well, apparently, it all depended on the little brat, so I didn't think the stakes were high. But still, I would miss this place. It was where we had gone to live as soon as we had gotten married. It was were we raised Dursley, where he said his first words, ... It was the place where I received the news that my sister had died. It even was the place where that little brat of a son of hers had been given into our keeping.
I guess that was the only good thing about it, we wouldn't have to look after him anymore. He wouldn't ever put my little boy in danger again. He wouldn't ever get the attention of the whole neighbourhood on our house anymore. And we wouldn't have to lie about everything concerning him anymore. Not that many people wondered, or asked, of course… And who could blame them? Even when they didn't know how much of a… How much of a freak he really was, they could still sense something strange about him. I knew I had been right, anyone normal could sense it. His kind of people just couldn't be trusted.
And still… I felt, somehow, sad at the thought of not seeing him again… After all, he was the only thing that still connected me with – no, not my sister, not her. But my parents… Even though they were always so proud of perfect little missy witch, I knew they were just as proud of me, of us, when we got married, when Vernon got promoted, … I guess they were lucky to have died shortly before my little sister and that husband of hers got themselves killed. But that also meant I didn't have anybody of my family left. Of course, there was Vernon's family, but somehow Marjorie and his parents have never come to feel as my family… The more as they always made it very clear that Vernon could have ended up with anybody he wanted, and that I was to feel ever so grateful that he, instead, chose me… After all, I was nothing but a poor girl, with no decent education, not a lot of money, and not even a remarkable family to make up for all those flaws on my side.
Oh, I wasn't to think like this, it was just the stress of moving, going on the run, that made me feel those things. I mean, I basically had to decide which of our belongings, our memories, were important enough to take with us… How could that not put a lot of pressure on someone? It's a whole part of our life's we were forced to leave behind, and such a situation is bound to make one remember the old times…
"Oi, you!" I heard Vernon yell. What had that boy done this time? Just like him, to be nothing but trouble, even on the day we would say goodbye. Just like him, to be happy at the thought of never having to see us again, and that after all we'd done for him. Ungracious git! Vernon was still yelling for the boy to come down, not a bit of respect. Ah, finally, the boy had decided to grace us with his presence... And now Vernon was talking about... Oh no, he'd changed his mind again... I couldn't blame my Vernon for distrusting the boy - he had never given us any reason to trust him after all – but even I knew it was unlikely that this was nothing but a plot to get our house, he told us that he already owned a house in... London? And now the boy was telling Vernon off – he reminded me of my sister somehow, trying to get her own way again – how dare he set that tone to us – but Vernon already waved me off. And now the boy was rambling on again, something about the good memories? How dared he, after all we'd gone through – giving him Dudley's second room, feeding him, clothing him, ... Unbelievable, the nerve of that litt–. "Are there, are there more?" my little Dudley asked. I realized they had moved on to the who's and what's again, so apparently we were leaving. And now Duddykins said he would go with those order-folks. I realized, and saw that so did the boy, it was settled then. I would never let Dudley on his own, whether he chose to go with that kind of people, or chose to stay. So go we would. While the boy went back upstairs, I continued to look through our stuff, replacing some photo's from 3 years ago with those from this summer. What a man Dudley had grown to be, he truly was his father's son, and-
Somehow I must've missed the bell, because next thing I knew there were two wizards in my kitchen, making theirselves comfortable. And the way they talked to the boy, as if he was something special – special enough to get his parents killed, yes. That would probably be the most 'special' thing he had ever done... And now they were babbling about getting him away, seriously, what was it with all these people treating him like he was something special? No wonder the brat never showed any respect for anyone or anything, with these people giving him an even bigger head than he already had... Then, suddenly, a screaching voice came out of the pocket of the little man – what in the name of... A watch? Screaming? How for the love of – Finally, we were ready to leave. Oh well, last goodbyes, so sad, see you later, ... And now they thought we needed some privacy? Honestly, we had nothing to hide, we were honest people, and it's not as if this was such a sad moment... There, Vernon said the goodbye's for all of us, so we could go now. Last time in our kitchen, last time in our living room, ...
But while I was checking something on my purse -no need to make these goodbye's longer than they -need to be, I heard Dudley mutter: "I don't get it" As I asked him what he didn't get, I noticed he was watching the boy, looking almost... Worried? About the boy? Oh, what a wonderful, openminded man my Dudleykins had grown up to be... As I listened to the conversation unfolding -of course those freaks would make it sound like they were better than us- I noticed how different the exchange between my son and nephew was. Now that I came to think of it, Dudley hadn't complained nearly as much as usual about the boy these last weeks. Even in the way they were talking just now, there appeared to be some sort of understanding as my son thanked him. Dudley truly was a magnificent young man – a bit overwhelmed, I burst into tears, and walked over to my boy, giving him a hug he'd truly deserved, yet feeling slightly guilty that I had never thanked the boy – he had after all saved Dudley's life. I wasn't stupid, I still remembered what my sister had said about those things, those Dementors. They did something to you that was worse than dying – and it was really only thanks to the boy that my son still had his soul. As I struggled to find the words to speak a long overdue 'thank you', I watched the boys say goodbye. Still looking for the correct words, the words that would mean something after 16 years of nothing, I said goodbye. With this thank you on my lips, I saw him watching me, as if he knew what I was thinking. Suddenly I was reminded that he was indeed my nephew, that he was my babysister's son. And through his eyes, I could feel Lily looking at me, only showing disappointement, no anger, no resentment. That just made it worse to bare. Without saying anything, I turned around, and left my house, my old life, and Harry behind.
So, there you have it: chapter 1. Hopefully with lots more to come, but for now I just bid you farewell (and ask you kindly to do me the humonguous honour as to let me know what you thought of it!)