Petunia had always loved Harry like a son, just like she'd loved her sister. Had she ever showed it? No. She had always kept everything inside. Every feeling. Every weakness. She had built a wall to control her emotions, and she'd never even thought of bringing that wall back down. It was difficult, she knew that well, but Vernon preferred the boy to be treated like a slug - mostly because they all knew Harry would be magical, too. Vernon was convinced that could mean only one thing: trouble. To Petunia Harry wasn't just a chore, or another mouth to feed. Harry was her nephew. But sometimes - sometimes she felt it: She felt pity for her sister's son. She wanted him to live a real life. The life he deserved. The life Petunia hadn't lived. She would never admit it, of course. In fact, she barely admitted it to herself.