FIC: "Petunia's Battles" for lyras

Title: Petunia's Battles
Author/Artist: ???
Recipient's name: lyras
Characters/Pairings: Petunia, gen
Rating: PG (for language)
Summary: Most days, with Vernon at work and Petunia left at home to care for two babies, she felt trapped within her house's walls. Here is where she fought her many unnoticed, unappreciated battles.
Warnings: None.
Notes: 2,850 words. Thanks to my two lovely betas. I hope this is what you were looking for, lyras. ♥



A baby on the doorstep. A goddamn baby on the doorstep, where Petunia was supposed to put the milk. She gripped the doorframe with white knuckles and stared down at it, wondering if this was someone's idea of a sick joke.

Maybe the baby felt her presence, because it opened his eyes and looked up at her curiously.

Even in the dim early-morning light, she could see the bright, emerald green eyes.

That's when she screamed.

*

After nearly a half hour of debating, they still hadn't decided what to do about Harry Potter. Vernon didn't want to keep him. Vernon argued vehemently to have him thrown into the streets or an orphanage.

"The letter says Vold- that evil wizard will kill him unless he's here," Petunia said nervously, pacing around the kitchen.

"I don't give a damn."

Petunia looked hopelessly at the baby boy in the basket, who was staring at her with bright green eyes – Lily's eyes. God.

She knew her sister's memory would come back to haunt her if she didn't take him in.

"My sister died so he could live," Petunia said in a hollow voice.

Vernon looked at her for a long time. "He can stay until I can think of a better solution," he said quietly. "But he's not my son and he never will be."

Petunia nodded.

*

Harry cried nearly nonstop for a full week. He wanted his mother and father. Where-are-they-where-are- they-where-are-they? he seemed to be demanding.

When Petunia held him in her arms, he kicked and pushed against her chest, screeching, inconsolable.

"Shush, shush," she pleaded, rocking him, whispering calming sounds into his ear. She didn't know how to tell him, They're never coming back. You're stuck with us and we're stuck with you.

Nothing helped.

She imagined Lily holding him, soothing him, loving him. Petunia couldn't do any of that. He hated her; he squirmed against her.

And even worse: Dudley wailed like a siren every time she picked Harry up. "Vernon," she said on the third day, raggedly, "Take Harry for a minute."

"I'm not touching him," Vernon said from the sofa in front of the television, taking his eyes off of the screen to glare at her. "You're the one who let him stay. He's going to end up like your sister, you know."

"We'll – we'll squash that nonsense out of him, I told you," Petunia said. Harry was slipping from her arms; she lifted him up over her shoulder. Harry cried louder, now directly into her ears, and Dudley continued to howl.

Petunia thought she was about to burst. Amidst all the screaming and crying, she couldn't think. She put Harry down and picked up Dudley, who instantly stopped crying. There. Much better.

Except for Harry, left on the cold hard floor with no one to hold him.

Well, Dudley was her son. He was certainly more important.

*

Lily is dead. Lily is dead, Petunia kept telling herself. It was funny; she had been pretending that Lily was dead for years, ever since she ran off with Whats-his-face, James. But now she finally was dead, and she couldn't believe it. Her only sister, dead!

Lily would never see her son grow up. She had left him to Petunia to take care of.

It was selfish of her. When she had gotten herself blown up, she obviously hadn't been thinking about the misery she'd bestow upon her sister in the shape of a screaming boy. Now the Dursleys have to support two babies instead of just one.

Petunia didn't want to have to think about Lily ever again, not after the fights, the things Petunia told her in her rage. I never want to see you again! You're not my sister, you're not, I hate you. You'll regret choosing that Potter boy.

It was too late to take back what she had said.

Harry had Lily's eyes. Beautiful, expressive eyes. Petunia couldn't bear to look into them. It brought back too many painful memories.

Petunia liked to pretend that she hadn't had a childhood, but she had, and she couldn't keep the memories from rushing back to her now that Lily's son was in the house.

*

Lily had been adorable as a child. She was the youngest, the baby of the family, though only by a year. Her face lit up when she laughed, her cheeks dimpled when she smiled, her red hair was always a tangled mess and her fingers were always dirty from playing.

Petunia was the sensible older sister who chewed with her mouth closed, colored inside the lines, and made her bed every morning. She never needed disciplining or looking after; she never did anything wrong.

Lily liked to play Pretend and Dress Up. Let's pretend we're unicorns, she'd say. Or, let's pretend we're princesses and we're getting chased by dragons. Lily was always running through the house and bumping into things, breaking vases and knocking over neat piles of papers.

Petunia was above such silly games. She would look down her nose at Lily in scorn. I am not running in the house. We're not supposed to.

Their parents scolded Lily often, but their eyes would twinkle. They never meant it. Lily would bow her head in remorse and promise to do better next time. Petunia would watch from the doorway, fuming in jealousy.

*

As Petunia grew older, she couldn't help but compare herself with Lily on everything. She felt like she didn't measure up. She worked harder at school and did chores around the house. She always was hoping, begging for their approval.

She always ended up disappointed. "That's wonderful, dear," her mother would say before turning her attention back to Lily. In the battle for parent's affection, Petunia had always felt as though she were losing.

*

The house was Petunia's fortress. Most days, with Vernon at work and Petunia left at home to care for two babies, she felt trapped within her house's walls. Here is where she fought her many unnoticed, unappreciated battles. She wrestled squirming, screeching babies to the floor and changed their dirty diapers. She forced spoonfuls of green baby food into defiant mouths. Harry crawled around on the floor army-style. Dudley tugged viciously at her hair and earrings when she held him.

With the constant noise and chaos, it really did feel like a war zone.

Petunia couldn't leave the two of them alone in the same room. They squabbled and fussed. Dudley pulled at Harry's hair and clothes and pinched his skin, and Harry cried desperately, still waiting for his parents to come rescue him.

Petunia split them up into different playpens, eyeing Harry's weakness with disapproval.

*

After Dudley's prolonged sickness with a dreadful ear infection, Petunia vowed to never let him get sick again. So, she waged another war -- this one against all possible germs. Armed with her trusty cleaning supplies, she scrubbed countertops, dusted, sprayed disinfectants each night. Dirt was the enemy. Cleanliness came to mean order and sanity. The cleaner the house was, the better she felt.

*

Petunia began to feel the eyes of the neighbors watching her when she went down the street, pushing a stroller with one hand and carrying the groceries in the other. She didn't like their constant scrutiny. She couldn't call any of them friends yet; she was paranoid of rejection and hostility, so she didn't dare approach them. She first needed to make sure there was nothing about the Dursleys to criticize.

She started with her lawn, waging a war of attrition against the weeds in the garden. She pulled on worn gloves and knelt in the dirt. Using a trowel, she yanked out weeds, root and all. Each weed pulled out was a triumph. She wasn't satisfied until her garden was the neatest, brightest in the neighborhood. Not a flower was out of place.

It gave her a sense of superiority over Mrs. Next Door, who not only had problems with her daughter, but whose rose bushes were wilting.

*

She didn't know when she had started to hate Harry. It hadn't been an intentional decision. What with Vernon looking at the boy in disgust and Dudley picking on him whenever he was in sight, Petunia's hatred was only natural.

As the boys grew into toddlers, Petunia began to obsess with comparing Dudley to Harry and assuring herself that Dudley was better. Deep down, she knew her comparing them was not unlike the way she had constantly compared herself to Lily, but she couldn't help it.

The boy was causing them all to suffer, she reminded herself. They shouldn't have to take care of him. He was a useless, lazy boy anyway.

Harry became the target of all her frustrations, a symbol of all that was wrong in her life. My life would be so much better if he wasn't here, was her constant refrain.

One day, they moved him into the cupboard, as though hoping if they put him there he'd eventually go away. He never did. That is, until he received his letter.

*

Petunia remembered the day Lily's letter came. Lily had run through the house, her red hair a blur behind her. "I got a letter! A really fancy letter! It's addressed to me, Petunia! Look-look-look!"

Petunia followed Lily into the family room sullenly. Lily flung herself onto the couch and ripped open the envelope with relish. As she read, her eyes got bigger and bigger. "Wow," she breathed.

Where's my letter? Petunia thought despairingly.

*

I despise magic, Petunia decided after her sister returned home from her first year at Hogwarts. Lily's eyes were alight with new magical ideas. At the dinner table, she explained magic spells, Quidditch, and magical creatures to her fascinated parents.

Petunia scraped her fork loudly across her plate, but Mum and Dad didn't notice.

She despised being ignored even more.

*

A week into that summer, when Lily wasn't home, Petunia snuck into Lily's trunk and opened her schoolbooks. She lay down and began flipping through them nosily.

Hours later, she was still gazing at the pictures and the strange words, mesmerized. She didn't know what it all meant, and it frightened her even as it fascinated her.

It was a new world that she wasn't invited to be a part of.

She decided to hate it.

The hatred grew with every passing year, every long summer of having to listen to Lily, until she loathed everything that remotely had to do with magic and abnormality.

*

That's why she had married Vernon. He was normal; violently, rigidly normal in a every respect of the word. He was just as repulsed to abnormality as she was.

Her parents hated Vernon but adored James. They had never voiced their opinion out loud, but it was there, and Petunia couldn't stand it.

Petunia hadn't talked to her parents for many years.

*

One evening when Vernon was out seeing a client and Petunia was home knitting, Dudley was brought home by the police. Petunia opened the door to find a police officer manhandling her 16-year-old son as though he were some kind of criminal. Vandalizing, the police officer explained. Inappropriate words on public property. At the park.

Her son, vandalizing? He'd never!


"He told me he was having tea at a friend's house," Petunia said in disbelief.

The policeman snorted. "Tea? I doubt it. I've seen this boy on the street corner every night with a gang of boys. If you ask me, they're up to no good. I've received reports of suspicious activity before, but this was the first time I've managed to catch them in the act."

Petunia gaped at her son. Her sweet, precious baby had grown up into a liar, a stranger. Dudley stared at the ground guiltily, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Should I take him in or can you take care of the disciplining?"

It took Petunia some time to find her voice. "I'll take it from here. Thank you, officer."

She had been hearing other complaints: rumors of her son lurking on street corners smoking cigarettes, of boys being beaten up on Dudley's orders. Petunia hadn't believed them, hadn't wanted to accept the truth. She had been convinced her son was a perfect angel.

Now she couldn't bear to look at him.

"Mum – " he whimpered when the officer had left. He launched into an explanation. Petunia couldn't listen his speech fully; she could only stare at him in shock. She caught phrases like 'framed', 'not my fault', 'I swear, Mum'.

"Go to the cupboard," she said lividly when he was finished.

It was his turn to stare. "The what?"

"The cupboard!" she screamed, nearly hysterical.

"I can't even fit in there!" he protested. "That's HARRY's punishment, not mine!"

"I don't care. Go," Petunia said, pressing a hand to her throbbing temple.

He refused to listen to her, no matter how much she screamed. Maybe if she had started disciplining him when he was younger, he would've listened.

When Vernon came home and heard the news, he refused to punish Dudley either. "Only having a bit of fun, Petunia. Nothing wrong with that. Boys will be boys."

Petunia cried into her pillow that night, wondering when she had lost control over her own family.

*

For days, Petunia wandered through her house feeling like a ghost in her white nightdress. She didn't speak to anyone.

She tried to figure out where she had gone wrong in raising her son. She had perhaps spoiled him a little bit. Okay, a lot. But she had only wanted him to be happy. She had needed him to love her, and felt that if she was too hard on him, he'd hate her, and Vernon would hate her too.

She had spent most of her life trying to get approval. Approval from her parents, approval from the neighbors, from her husband, from her son. She worked so hard, and she just wanted to be loved and appreciated, was that too much to ask?

But maybe approval of others didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Maybe she had been approaching life the wrong way.

She had to approve of and love herself first, she realized with a jolt. She had to live for herself first, not others.


Petunia Dursley had spent her whole life hating herself.

Petunia looked in the mirror at the taunt, pale, horse-like face. She looked weary, exhausted from the many battles she had fought that hadn't needed to be fought at all.

*

"Can you explain it again?" Vernon asked stubbornly.

Harry stood with his friends, the redhead and bushy-haired girl, facing the Dursleys. "First we're going to the Weasley's to see Ron's brother get married," Harry explained calmly. "Then we're going to Godric's Hollow to visit my parent's graves. And then we're going to hunt for the remaining horcruxes, which are pieces of Voldemort's soul, to destroy them. And we'll hopefully fight and destroy Voldemort when the time comes."

"But - that's dangerous," Petunia said, her eyes widening. Voldemort – the name made her shiver; the horror stories that Lily had told her…nobody went looking for him like that…

"Yes, there's a good chance we'll die," Harry agreed vaguely.

"Sweet," Dudley commented.

"Why are you doing this?" Petunia asked, her eyes narrowed.

"Because…because I have to. To revenge what he did to my parents. For my friends, for Dumbledore -" Harry's voice cracked and he stopped short.

Petunia looked at him levelly, with a new respect. "Oh."

This boy had lived in her house for so many years and she had never realized what a good, brave person he had grown into; she had been too busy hating him.

It wasn't fair of me to not love him, Petunia realized. I should've tried harder. I shouldn't have resented my sister either. They're both good people. Harry was my second chance to make things right with Lily, and I blew it.

"So I won't be coming back here," Harry continued. "I'll be turning 17, an adult in the wizarding world. There's no reason for me to come back at all." The tone of his voice implied, I hate it here. I'm glad I'm finally leaving.

"Good," Vernon grunted.

"Yes!" Dudley cheered.

Petunia nodded, overwhelmed.

"We'll be going then," Harry said, nodding at his friends. The redhead opened the door and the three of them stepped outside.

"Goodbye," Harry said, trying to be polite, but his voice was bitter and resentful.

"Good riddance," Vernon said, glaring.

Petunia couldn't find her voice. This was the last time she'd ever seen him, and she needed to say something about the pain she had caused him. I'm sorry, Harry, I'm sorry, oh God, I'm so sorry.

"Harry, wait," Petunia cried out.

Harry paused in the doorway and looked back.

"Good luck," Petunia said softly.

Harry looked shocked for a moment. Then he nodded in reply and shut the door.

Petunia smiled for what felt like the first time in years.