The Boy Who Lived

That Lot!

They were going to Wiltshire; Dudley had told her. It should have taken a couple of hours from Surrey but seemed to take a quarter of that. Dudley and Ronica seemed unperturbed by the whole experience and Daisy slept for the entire journey.

'Oh, we're near home,' Ronica announced as they passed between familiar hills and saw signs for Lacock Abbey. Even Petunia thought of it as home and wondered once more about moving to the area.

'I was thinking of moving back here,' Petunia said quietly, voicing it for the first time.

'That would be wonderful,' said Dudley. 'You were very happy when we were here, despite the circumstances.'

'Yes,' said Petunia, thinking of a little cottage and garden tucked away in a row of little terraced houses.

'Did you know that Lily and James Potter lived in the village too?' Ronica asked cautiously.

'My sister? Lived here?' tears sprang to Petunia's eyes. She felt the need to go back to the village, to see where her sister had lived, to see her house. To think she'd lived so close to it for nearly a year. She suddenly felt so sad that she allowed herself to become estranged from Lily.

'Yes...'

'Are you okay, mum,' said Dudley, reaching across and taking her hand.

'Yes,' she smiled sadly. 'Perhaps we could go and see where on Boxing Day.'

Dudley gave her hand a squeeze, 'Harry still owns the house. He's wondering what to do with it. It's a wreck, hasn't been touched since the night they were killed...'

Petunia couldn't help the little fluster of an idea that grew in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps she could do her sister right after all this time. Perhaps she could restore it and look after her house. She wondered if there would be terrible ghosts there or if it was a place of peace. Albus Dumbledore said they had died for love, protecting their son and future of the Wizarding kind and into their world too. If they died for love, perhaps she could preserve Lily and James's memories with love too. Far better than the life Vernon had set out for her. She would have to talk to Harry about it...

When they pulled into a farm track, they seemed to pass through a shimmering veil and what had looked like farmland transformed into open mature parkland. They drove past a pretty gatehouse and up the long sweeping gravel driveway. Ahead lay an enormous castle, for want of a better word.

Her mouth fell open.

'I did warn you, mum,' said Dudley with a slight chuckle. 'He's a bloody lord in this world as well as a sir in ours.'

'Language, Teddy-bear. Daisy might be listening,' scolded Ronica but she was too excited to care. When Dudley had told her about his posh cousin and who he was, she couldn't believe it, and now it looked like she was about to step into the set of Downton Abbey. There was a gatehouse, and deer in the park, and follies, and a lake. And they were staying until Boxing Day. She wondered if she had enough posh clothes and whether she should have invested in a pair of Hunter wellies.

'You should have seen Aunt Marge's face when I told her,' said Dudley.

Ronica tried not to frown at the mention of Marge Dursley. She'd met the woman once and utterly disliked her. But then Marge was overtly racist and was very sneering towards Ronica. It was only through Marge that Ronica found it possible to believe Dudley's stories about his childhood and his father. It was so hard to believe that her giant cuddly teddy-bear could have come from such a toxic environment. She was almost pleased that Aunt Marge had decided to ostracise Petunia and Dudley since the divorce. The odious woman had sided with her brother and was still pleading his innocence and his wrongful imprisonment. To Ronica, that spoke volumes about her. Dudley had turned away from trying to be nice to his aunt after that and Ronica couldn't say she was heartbroken about it. They didn't need people like that in their lives.