As Seen Through A Mirror

A Rather Appropriate Turn of Events

The truth of it was hidden behind several doors in his mind, but deep down, Harry knew with a certainty that Uncle Vernon wasn't going to kill him. And if Vernon, with his habit of raging before thinking wasn't going to kill him, then his aunt certainly wasn't.

However, even as he reassured himself, Harry could not deny that his aunt looked ready to kill him, or at least seriously maim him.

Her eyes, which had never held fondness when she was looking at him, suddenly held nothing. It was as if this new horror in their lives (this time in the form of a dead cat) had killed something inside her, it had taken her to the edge. He'd seen the same look in Sirius's eyes when he hadn't know he was being watched. It was the look of someone who had forgotten himself, a deep aching tiredness, a longing to walk away from it all.

Seeing this, Harry found that he was afraid. Not just for himself, but even more so, he was afraid for his aunt.

"Aunt Petunia?" His voice was soft and she left the room without meeting his eyes. He was sure she had not heard him. Still, Harry stood there, careful not to look down at the blood stained floor as he awaited to see if his aunt would return.

Within five minutes, she did, and with her she brought a cardboard box, a trash bag and several cloths made from retired T-shirts of Dudley's that had been passed to Harry and then much later, once they had started to rip, been turned into cleaning rags.

"Clean this up. There's a bucket for water in the bathroom." Her voice was emotionless, but Harry saw the twitches in her hands and knew that this was a facade of calmness. Under the surface was a torrent of emotion that was barely held in check.

She turned to leave, shoulders tight with tension. Harry found himself desperate for some sign from her that would show her belief in his innocence. Why hadn't she even asked where the cat came from? She hadn't asked him anything, just heard the words of Dudley's new friend and immediately accepted them as the truth. Shouldn't his words count for something? Her disdain of him had never been felt more heavily. It was almost suffocating and he couldn't help himself from stepping back a bit, as if distance would ease the weight that had settled on his chest.

She was almost out the door when Harry blurted the truth out, his voice almost desperate, "Aunt Petunia! I didn't do this--"

He'd hoped she would be surprised, and say, 'Well of course you didn't! If I had even the slightest thought of you doing something terrible you'd be out of here in a quick minute. No, of course you didn't do it, Harry.'

What she did next killed those thoughts. The speed in which she turned around surprised Harry, but when she raised her hand and struck him across the face, he was shocked. Any words Harry had thought of to defend himself were suddenly nonexistent, as if the sharp sound of her hand striking his cheek had scared them off. She'd never slapped him before.

"Don't." The one word was harsh, and stung as much as the slap had. Because behind that one word was disbelief. Petunia followed it with a small shake of her head, her eyes rimming with tears and then as she glanced at the empty owl cage in the corner of the room, fear.

She fled the room.

Staring after her in surprised hurt, Harry's already miserable mood dampened beyond repair. Why was it everyone on Privet Drive seemed intent on harming him? Their words, actions, the things they didn't say, the things they shouldn't have said...even some of the looks they gave, all of it focused on causing him pain. Seeing the fear in her eyes stung something fierce. Memories of his accidental magic and their responses to it rose up from the far corners of his soul where he'd hidden them, locked them away because the truth behind it brought forth such a burst of emotion that he thought he would choke from it.