Half Evans

It has been many years since Dumbledore has sat on this couch. Far many more since he’s been pierced by the shrewd brown eyes that are boring holes through his skull right now. He lifts the dainty floral teacup to his lips and takes a slow mouthful, hiding the smile that spreads across his lips. He can’t imagine she’d be pleased to see it, but he simply can’t help himself. In spite of everything, Albus has always liked Petunia Evans.

Well, Dursley now.

He had been both shocked and somewhat delighted when he received her letter. It had been many years since the grey, stern looking owl he knew belonged to her had arrived in his office. Her script was very much the same – harsh, angular letters that spelled out a blunt and somewhat terse message. As always, when it came to Petunia, he wasted no time penning a response and sending it back. He knew, after all, how she valued punctuality. He also knew that several more strongly worded letters would be on route if he took too long.

“Well?” Her brusque tone burst through his reminiscing like a battering ram. She had never been once for patience.

“It is as you thought.” He can practically hear her eye roll.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Albus. Just answer the damn question normally.” He smiles cordially, not just unperturbed by her anger, but actively enjoying it.

“He does indeed have magic.” He watches several emotions flash across her face. Shock. Sadness. Anger. Excitement, perhaps. And then purses her lips and narrows her eyes, a default expression for her, he has come to learn.

“I won’t have it.” She says after a moment, and Albus raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“You won’t have it.” He repeats. Petunia sniffs loudly, lifting her chin to stare down her nose at the man.

“No.” She says. “I will not.” A thousand thoughts flit through Albus’s mind. He doesn’t understand, and yet, he understands perfectly. It both makes sense and makes no sense.

“I’m afraid,” He says slowly. “I don’t quite understand. Do you expect that he won’t use magic? That he’ll live as a muggle? I must confess, Petunia. Given your history, given our history, I had thought you would be happy.” She looks startled at this, which disappears behind her mask of lofty disdain.

“You are certainly more cracked than I remember then, Albus. I will not have my son carted off to some crackpot school to live in a world I am not allowed in that murdered my sister.”

Ah. The heart of it, then.

“Voldemort is gone.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Albus can’t hide the smile now.

“You know, you were always my favorite Evans sister.” If Petunia is shocked to hear it, she hides it well. There is no flicker of emotion. “I understand you fear a similar relationship between Harry and Dudley that you and Lily had, am I correct?” Petunia doesn’t answer, which gives Albus all the answer he needs. “Presumably this is why you’ve taken to beating the boy every time he shows magic?” His voice sharpens at these words, and he pierces her with his own fixed gaze. He is aware, of course, of Harry’s treatment in this house.

“I’d hardly call a spanking now and then –“

“Do not lie to me, Petunia Dursley.” She falls silent, and Albus sees her shrink back, only slightly. “You’ve allowed your husband to brutalize the child for something he cannot help. Something that your own son now possesses. Tell me, will you subject Dudley to the same treatment?” At this, Petunia visibly pales as she shakes her head.

“I would, I would never – “ Albus sits back, threading his fingers in front of him.

“If Dudley remains untaught, his magic will not disappear. It will fester and grow with him, grow in strength and power until it explodes out of him. He will have no control, no ability to channel it, and no way to prevent those he loves from being hurt. He will be a danger to himself and everyone around him, and he will become a monster. Your fear, Petunia, will be the death of him.” Petunia blinks once. Then again. And once more. Her fingers clench together tightly and Albus notes the way bites on her lower lip.

“I want him safe.” She says finally. Albus nods.

“His name has been written in our book.” He says, ignoring the way Petunia balks at that statement. “When the time comes, rest assured that both boys will receive their letters. They will not be separated, Petunia.” He adds, his tone becoming softer. Petunia sniffs loudly at this.

“I know they won’t.” She responds haughtily. “I would never allow it.” And Albus smiles. Because of course she won’t.

He leaves shortly after.

Petunia leans against the kitchen sink. In the living room she can hear the sounds of some inane talk show playing on the tv, as well as the low timbre of Vernon’s chortle. Dudley is magic.

Dudley has magic.

Dudley is a wizard.

A harsh laugh escapes her, and she silences it as quickly as it came, clapping a bony hand over her mouth.

Dudley is a fucking wizard.

The irony is not lost on her, and she wonders if her determination to stamp it out of Harry had somehow made it manifest in Dudley.

Of course, she knows that’s nonsense.

But then again, in another world she would’ve considered the notion of witches and wizards complete and utter nonsense as well. But her sister was one. Her nephew is one. And now her son..

Her son.

Her fingers tighten against her lips, pressing harder as tears fill her eyes. She allows herself a moment – only one moment – of emotion. Sadness, terror, anger, whatever concoction of feeling her brain came up with, and then she did what she does best and stamped it down.

There’s no point in wallowing in these feelings. Dudley is her son, and he is a wizard, and she will do whatever it takes to ensure that he is cared for.

From the living room, Vernon chuckles again, and she barely stifles her irritation.

Right.

There are a great many things Petunia needs to deal with, but before she can get to them, she needs to deal with him. She sniffs loudly, straightens her back, and marches through the doorway that leads to the living room.

No time to waste, then.