Mrs Petunia Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, was proud to say that she was perfectly normal, thank you very much. She was the last person you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious or untoward or gossip-worthy, because she just didn't hold with such nonsense. Though, of course, what goes on behind closed doors can sometimes be very different from appearances.
Only, she knew the neighbours knew that too...
And she knew the neighbours knew about her and Vernon.
They had been curious about her, well, more curious than normal, ever since the house had been shut up for a year when she and her son went into hiding. Her nephew, even at sixteen, had insisted they were protected by what he called the Order of the Phoenix. Dudley, well, he'd insisted too. Said he trusted Harry and therefore trusted these people.
They had been taken to a lovely little quaint village in the West Country, as she understood it, though no one had actually said where they were exactly and she didn't like to ask. Gosforth's Hallow, she thought, or something like that. It was never actually confirmed. They lived under a false name and she had begun to build a quiet life for herself and Dudley where she tended her garden and learned to love cooking again and, on Sundays, she went to the little church called St Jerome's. And she met a few neighbours and took tea with them. She knew they were being guarded, their movements watched, but it was kept discreet and, for a while, life felt good. She suspected there were a considerable number of wizards and witches who lived in the village but she never questioned it. She also heard, in the bakery around Christmas time, excited gossiping that Harry Potter has passed that way briefly. Again, she kept her mouth shut. She understood that there were somethings she couldn't mention.
When she returned to Privet Drive, the neighbours assumed they'd been taken to a safehouse because of Vernon, especially after he'd been arrested for being drunk and disorderly and punching a policewoman. It had made it into the papers. She didn't correct the assumptions but he'd long since gone by then, for good. He'd left after Harry had said something to him which had scared Vernon somehow, she didn't know what but she'd always be grateful that he'd had the strength to do what she could not. Maybe Vernon might have wheedled back in their lives again; he tried but Dudley had stepped up too and wouldn't let him in the house. A restraining order was put in place.
It was after Vernon's arrest that the neighbours had really become fascinated in her every movement. She wondered, again, about moving away. She just didn't know where she would start afresh, though she often thought about the little village they'd been taken to. It was there, in that quaint little village, that Dudley had met Ronica Lewis so at least she'd know Aduke and Brianne, as well as those at the church.
For the moment, she persevered the gossip in Privet Drive and held her head high. More so after Vernon was prosecuted for historical abuse. Dudley had contacted Harry. She didn't know how because Harry always kept that side of his life so very separate from them. Dudley didn't say how he managed it. But after Vernon's arrest the two boys met up and decided it was time that full justice was sought. They got legal advice, though Petunia wondered if Harry had got someone bigwig from his Ministry lot involved. It seemed that the boy was big news these days, in his world.
However, currently, he had stood in the normal courtroom in a very normal but smart navy suit, facing Vernon as he was questioned by Petunia's solicitor and, on occasion, the judge.
Harry scrubbed a hand through his permanently scruffy hair and Petunia thought that he should, at least, have worn a tie.
'I was taken to stay with my aunt and her family after my parents died. Petunia is my mother's sister,' he said and Petunia hung her head in shame at the memories of her own behaviour back then. 'I can't tell you much about that period because, by the time I was seventeen months old, I was rehomed and brought up in Scotland by my great-aunt on my father's side, Minerva McGonagall. She's also my Godmother. You would have to ask her about those two months, though I understand I was neglected. My bedroom was the cupboard under the stairs and when I went to Minnie, I had two broken ribs and my torso was covered in bruises...'
'HEARSAY!' interrupted Vernon's solicitor. 'The witness cannot possibly remember.'
'The jury shall discount the last comment,' said the judge sternly, looking out at them over his glasses from beneath the wiry-curls of his dirty-white wig.
'...I still returned once a year, on the eve of my birthday, it was important to those around me; you see, apart from Minnie, my aunt and cousin are my only living blood relatives. Vernon Dursley had left Aunt Petunia so I didn't remember him and I never met him until I was eleven. When I went for my annual stay on the eve of my twelfth birthday, Mr Dursley had returned. He threatened me from the moment I met him. He threw me out of the sitting room, I wasn't allowed to sit in there with my aunt or cousin. He claimed he was going to send me to Borstal for Delinquent Boys, burn my belongings, and beat any ideas otherwise out of me. He lied to my friends who came to pick me up, told them I'd gone back to Scotland. I didn't know him and I didn't understand his hatred towards me. It was very confusing. I believe, now, it was a cross between blaming me for his failed marriage and because my parents had set aside a fund for me, registering me with a private boarding school. I was... I am considerably wealthy. I believe envy played a part in his victimisation...'
'Supposition, my Lord,' interrupted Vernon's lawyer.
Young Harry had a presence in that courtroom, he seemed at ease speaking before the courtroom, as if he'd done this a number of times before. He made even Vernon's solicitor seem insignificant with the way he engaged with the jury and those present. Perhaps it was the intensity of his green eyes, of Lily's eyes. He ignored the man's complaint and nor did the judge uphold it.
'There was an incident the night of my twelfth birthday, when the Dursleys had guests come for a dinner party. The accident involved my aunt's showcase pudding being dropped on the kitchen floor. I was blamed because I was out of my room. I wasn't involved in the actual dinner party itself. That wasn't allowed, that would have involved admitting I existed and it would have meant feeding me...'
'Why should I waste my time and hard-earned money on a useless, lazy, lying layabout? Just like his father,' muttered Vernon loudly.
'Irrelevance,' said Petunia's solicitor. 'The witness's father has no bearing on this case.'
'The jury shall discount that last comment by Mr Dursley. Please don't interrupt again, Mr Dursley. You will have your time in the stand.'
'May I ask what profession you hold, Mr Potter,' Petunia's solicitor said quizzically.
'That is not relevant to the witness's statement,' Vernon's solicitor interjected.
'Just establishing the witness's character, you honour. The defendant seems keen on portraying a particular picture of Mr Potter which does not fit with my understanding of the young man. It suggests Mr Dursley is trying to undermine Mr Potter's credibility.'
'I see. Carry on,' said the judge.
'Special forces,' answered Harry, barely batting an eyelid. 'Do you need to see proof of employment? Obviously, there will need to be some degree of secrecy but I'm sure my employer would oblige.'
'No, that won't be necessary,' said the judge.
'I understand you are highly decorated, at only eighteen,' said Petunia's solicitor.
'Yes, sir. Knight Grand Cross, for acts of outstanding bravery or distinction, a Commendation for valuable service to the crown, an O.M., and the Ottaline Cross.'
The judge's eyes widened and Vernon went purple in the face. Petunia felt rather humbled. Though she wondered what the Ottaline Cross was, she'd never heard of it but then, there were many military decorations and medals and it was another world for her. She wondered, briefly, if there was a wizarding equivalent of the Victoria Cross.
'Thank you, Mr Potter. I think, my lord, that is rather suggestive that Mr Potter is not "useless, lazy, lying layabout".'
'Indeed,' said the judge. 'So, you are "Sir Harry Potter"?'
'Yes, sir.'
'LIES! LIES! AND MORE LIES! WHERE'S HIS UNIFORM? WHERE ARE HIS MEDALS? A "SIR", MY ARSE,' Vernon expostulated.
'This is not a military related case; therefore, it is not appropriate for me to wear either my uniform or my medals. Again, your honour, I can provide evidence if required. As for my honorific prefix; I prefer not to use it unless absolutely necessary, which I find is very rare. It is obviously a great honour to have been recognised by her Majesty the Queen for my services but my origins are far too humble to be wrapped up in a title which bears no relevance to my day-to-day life.'
'Indeed,' said the judge, still looking at Harry in awe. 'The Ottaline Cross, you say.'
'Yes, sir.'
'As in...'
'Yes, sir.'
'You're... him?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Well, I never.' He turned his head and looked at Vernon sternly. 'Mr Dursley, please keep your temper under control and show Mr Potter the respect he deserves. I imagine our lives would be very different right now if it weren't for your nephew... And don't swear in court again, or I shall hold you in contempt. Please continue, Mr Potter.'
'Mr Potter,' said Petunia's solicitor, 'if we step back to what you were saying about your twelfth birthday. You said "it would have meant feeding you". Would you please explain to the court?'
'On that particular day, my first meal was a small supper in the evening. Aunt Petunia was ordered not to feed me. I had to prepare their food but not eat myself.'
'And you allowed this?' the judge turned to Petunia.
She had nodded fearfully.
'Please do not turn on my aunt,' Harry said in a low and authoritative voice. 'She was in an awful situation. She was controlled by a violent and perverse man who was undoubtedly gaslighting her as well as intimidating her with violence. She was clearly frightened and had to make a decision between me or protecting herself and her son first.' He looked at the judge, not challenging him as such but it seemed the judge had acquiesced to Harry with a nod. 'The incident with the pudding resulted in Vernon losing his temper with me. The guests left almost immediately...'
'YOU COST ME A LOT OF MONEY THAT NIGHT, BOY!' Vernon shouted as he jumped to his feet. 'YOU NEARLY COST ME MY BLOODY JOB! YOU AND THAT DRATTED OWL OF YOURS...'
'ORDER!' shouted the judge, banging his gavel on his lectern.
Harry had stayed remarkably calm, just studying Vernon witheringly until the purple-faced Vernon had finished shouting and had sat back down.
'I told you at the time, Hedwig needed to stretch her wings, instead you insisted she was cooped up in her travel cage. You should have just let me let her out.'
'WHAT! AND HAVE YOU SEND A MESSAGE WITH THE BEAST ASKING FOR HELP!' Vernon was back on his feet.
'ORDER!'
'So you admit I needed help,' Harry said calmly.
Vernon clamped his mouth shut.
'An owl?' questioned the judge, a slight smile showing on his face.
'I had a pet Snowy Owl called Hedwig. A family friend bought her for me for my eleventh birthday. My uncle had a particular hatred for her. He refused to let me fly her and was going to take her to a sanctuary the next day. In fact, he was going to do it that day but ran out of time.'
'IT WAS A BLOODY NUISANCE! SCREECHING ALL THE TIME! I HATED IT! IT REPRESENTED EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU AND YOUR LOT! I SHOULD HAVE WRUNG ITS RUDDY NECK!' Vernon snarled at Harry, appearing to forget where he was and, more importantly, why he was there.
'MR DURSLEY! IF YOU CAN'T CONTAIN YOUR ANGER OR YOUR COMMENTS YOU WILL HAVE TO LEAVE THE COURTROOM AND WE WILL PROCEED WITHOUT YOU! Please continue, Mr Potter.'
'He took his belt to me as a punishment.'
'He deserved it, bloody trouble-maker,' muttered Vernon quietly, though not quietly enough because everyone heard him.
'Would you mind, your honour?' Harry indicated to his torso and, when the judge nodded, he shucked of his suit jacket and turned his back to the courtroom. He tugged his shirt up to his shoulders and there was a ripple of gasps around the room as he showed his back. His back was very solid and olive skinned, defined by strong muscles, but cutting across it were prominent thin slivers of cross-hatched silver scars.
'Doesn't mean I did that,' said Vernon defiantly. 'Could have happened on one of your so-called military endeavours,' he said triumphantly.
The anger in the courtroom was palpable as Harry turned back around, tucking in his shirt and slipping his jacket back on.
'You just announced to everyone here,' said Harry calmly, 'that I deserved you taking your belt to me, on my twelfth birthday, when I was alone and frightened, and being held captive in your house because you locked me in a bedroom, which had bars on its windows. You call me a trouble-maker but never knew me. And if I did cause upset that night, it was because I didn't think I was ever going to be able to get home to Scotland and see my mum again. You had threatened to burn all my possessions and take away my pet. You had commanded my aunt that she shouldn't feed me. You sent away my friends who had come to collect me, lying to them. You told me you were going to send me to a new school; a borstal for delinquent kids. In what way did I deserve any of that before we even got to you removing your belt and taking it to my back?'
'Well, you're one of them,' Vernon spat.
'What? A boy? A fellow human being?'
Petunia glanced at the old witch sitting stoically upright with cold fury burning in her hazel-green eyes. She wondered if Vernon were to turn around whether he would drop dead, either from the stare or from apoplexy. She felt ashamed. 'I'm sorry, Harry. I should have stopped him.'
'Do not blame yourself, Aunt Petunia. What could you have done, realistically? It would have created more problems for you, it would have placed you in more danger.'
'The beating went on for so long,' she whispered.
'LIES!' shouted Vernon. 'BUT SHE ALWAYS A USELESS LYING BITCH, COULD NEVER GET ANYTHING RIGHT AROUND THE HOUSE! NEVER DOING ANYTHING TO HOW I WANTED! NEVER PROVIDING THE RIGHT SUPPORT WHEN I NEEDED IT! SHE DID IT ON PURPOSE! I THINK SHE LIKED GETTING IN TROUBLE! SHE LIKED THE BLOODY PUNISHMENTS! SHE KNEW SHE DESERVED THEM! SHE ALWAYS PLEADED SO WHEN I TOOK THE BELT TO HER TOO...'
Vernon was escorted from the courtroom as his lawyer hung his head in embarrassment. How could he possibly defend the man after such admissions? Not that he wanted to, it was morally reprehensible and indefensible.
'How did you escape?' Petunia's lawyer asked when silence resumed.
'The friends I was supposed to be going to for the rest of the school holidays were suspicious. They came and got me. Quite literally, broke me out.'
'And you didn't tell anyone?'
'I was afraid to, he threatened to hurt Aunt Petunia if I told anyone.'
'So you continued to visit your aunt and cousin once a year. Did Vernon beat or hit you again?'
'No. But I was scared he would. In fact, the following year I ran away because I was afraid of a severe punishment after another incident. I'm afraid I was rather a clumsy young teenager. And, after that, my Godfather, Sirius Black... well, it's complicated and a long story. My Godfather had been wrongly imprisoned and escaped. You may have seen him on the television or in the papers about five years ago. Anyway, I sort of used him as a counter-threat. I told my uncle that Sirius was looking out for me, wanted regular updates that I was okay and that meant if Petunia and Dudley were okay too. In fact, Sirius was no longer in the country but it worked for a couple of years. When I went back for my sixteenth birthday, Vernon tried again. But, by then, I was playing a lot of sport and was quite athletic, so although I'm not particularly tall, I was lean and muscular. Well, you saw what kind of condition my uncle was in, and he's lost weight since then. When he raised his fist at me again, I caught it. I admit to holding his wrist probably painfully. Vernon Dursley's a coward behind all that bluster. He backed down. With Dudley supporting me too, he suddenly lost all his power over the family. We suggested he leave. I said I'd be keeping an eye on things at the house. I don't know what became of his life after that point.'
There were no further questions asked by the defence.
Minerva McGonagall had taken the stand too. She had supported everything that Harry had said through pursed and disapproving lips. She also described various occurrences in those first two months.
'Why didn't you report Vernon Dursley to the child protection services?'
'My priority was Harry. As his Godmother, family friend of his parents, and relative of the Potter family, I wanted to get him out of there. When that became possible, I didn't look back. The injuries were treated privately and just wanted to give Harry all the love he deserved. He was such a loving child despite of it all. If anyone else had got involved, it would have been too complex, he would have gone into foster care first. I wanted to provide him with a stable home environment, with immediate effect, and Petunia agreed with my adopting Harry. Vernon, at that point, agreed to leave his wife. Or she threw him out. I'm not sure of the details, you see, I had a work colleague with me and I had left to take Harry home to Scotland.'
'But you let him go back to that house?'
'Annually, yes. Until he was eleven, I went too. If I'd known Vernon had returned the year Harry turned twelve, I would never have let Harry visit alone. I didn't know anything was wrong until the following year. Before his visit, he stopped eating. Then, when news reached me that he'd run away, well, it quickly became apparent that something was seriously wrong. Harry wasn't that sort of child, he always faced things, full on, even if he knew it might get him in trouble. He has considerable moral fibre and always took responsibility for his mistakes and showed remorse and guilt if he was wrong in his actions. So, you understand, for him to run away at thirteen suggested something was seriously amiss. In fact, I didn't realise the full extent of what happened until last summer when I saw Harry without his t-shirt on in our garden. Perhaps that speaks volumes about Harry's character, in case anyone has any doubts.'
After Vernon was sent to prison and it made it into the newspapers, the neighbours in Privet Drive created a considerable fuss around Petunia. There were those who avoided her and gossiped behind her back. But there were those who came around, knocking on her door, full of apologies for not realising, with offers of help and support. She found she made new friends and became stronger for having that care around her. Petunia finally believed that she was better off without Vernon in her life and that she had the strength to not let him back into her fragile heart.
Petunia stayed at No.4, though she often thought about the little village. She wasn't overly surprised that Harry didn't visit again, though Dudley said they occasionally met up for drinks.
Dudley helped her too. He was a good boy. He went back to school and worked hard to pass his A'Levels and looked after his mum. Academia wasn't a natural path for him but he applied himself. He had told her he wanted to be a policeman and help others too. She thought he was probably inspired by Harry. As he trained to be an officer, he specialised in domestic violence. For such a big, burly bloke, he was incredibly gentle and empathetic and it showed the moment anyone met him.
Yes, Mrs Petunia Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, was proud to say that she was perfectly normal, thank you very much. And although she was the last person you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious or untoward or gossip-worthy, she knew that appearances could hide some very intriguing and colourful truths. Yet, despite the trauma of the past and the regrets she held in her heart that she hadn't been stronger or done things differently, she couldn't help but feel very grateful that a unique little boy had entered her life sixteen years earlier. Her sister's little boy: the boy who did more than live, he was the Boy who Survived.
***