The ballad of an orphaned lamb

Petunia Dursley was not looking forward to her husband leaving the house. She had spent the previous day cleaning the entire house from top to bottom, and knew that in a few hours she would deep-clean it once again, but that time for a different reason. 

She yawned loudly right before turning around, kissing Vernon on the cheek. She had kept herself awake the entire night, keeping her Dudley up on purpose as well. The young boy was close to dozing off in his bowl of cereal, tiredly looking at his parents.

“Oh, you poor love - I could hear him all night in the other room. Get some sleep with Didders while I’m off, alright?” 

With a nod, Petunia lifted Dudley in her arms, and raised his head so Vernon could give him a goodbye kiss before he left. Her little boy had to be quiet, safe in his crib, while she would deal with them. She didn’t want to raise attention by taking him to Vernon’s parents, or have the neighbors talk about her hiring a babysitter just for a couple of hours. Or even worse, what if the neighbors would see her outside with their kind?

Both her and Vernon had noticed the oddities that happened yesterday. They were the talk across the country - and even before she received the letter, something inside her just knew that it had to do with her, with them. 

After she made sure her husband got in his car and left, Petunia put Dudley in his crib, and watched him as he dozed off. He was a lovely, round little boy, looking just like those chubby little cherubs in old paintings. And she wouldn’t let anyone harm or get in the way of her raising her boy in the most normal way possible. 

Away from - and she couldn’t help but wince even thinking about the word, magic.

Petunia took off her apron, and shoved her hand in the big pocket at the waist, grabbing the folded letter. It was the one place she was sure Vernon could not even stumble upon it. She unfolded it with trembling hands, looking at the clock. According to it, they would appear - appear! - in her living room in five minutes.

She recognised the handwriting - the color, the flow of it, she knew even by the time she read his signature who it was that sent it. Her lips thinned as she read it once more. Condolences for her sister’s death. That her son survived. That the danger he was in at the hand of who killed them existed. That there was a choice to make. Petunia read it again and again, until a sound coming from her living room made her breathing stop. She recognised that sound. She had heard it before. Without even realizing what she was doing, her feet led her to the living room, where she saw two figures - no, three.

“Ah, Petunia. Good morning, good morning. I cannot but apologize that these are the circumstances we are making ourselves finally acquainted with each other. I am Albus Dumbledore, and this is, as I have explained in our correspondence, Magdalena. And of course, this is - well, surely, I don’t have to introduce you to one another, since you must know him well - Harry.”

Her lips pursed as she looked at them. Albus Dumbledore looked even more outrageous than she imagined. Her sister described him many times over the dinner table when she’d come back from that school, but Petunia never thought those descriptions were actually real. At least the woman who held a bundle of blankets close to her looked a bit more normal. She wore an ill-fitting skirt suit that seemed to be two sizes too big, in a bright yellow color that hurt Petunia’s eyes. Her black hair was braided and hung over her shoulder, reaching the same length as Dumbledore’s own hair and beard. 

“I was quite brief in my letter - you must understand, of course, that I could not detail everything that has happened in the past days. However, I am now here at your service to answer any questions you may have about Lily, James, or anything else. As her sister, you deserve to know.”

Petunia took a deep breath, and focused on the corner of Dumbledore’s half-moon spectacles. For some reason, she could hardly find it within herself to look him in the eye. She had practiced what she would say many times in her head, but never out loud. Now, in one breath, she finally heard herself say it.

“I don’t have questions. I’ve read your letter. I’ve made my choice.” With that, she crumpled the letter in her hand. She had to think about her own son. She couldn’t possibly let Harry stay. She wanted this to be the last time she ever had to let this nonsense inside her house. “I don’t want him.”

She shut her eyes. In the silence, she could hear the polyester suit of the woman flutter as she moved. Petunia opened her eyes again, and watched Dumbledore ponder for a moment, before addressing her. She could hear the child fuss, covered in his blankets, but refused to even look towards his direction.

“Very well, my dear Petunia. I understand this must be quite a difficult decision for you to make, and I trust you did not take it lightly. I believe you understand what this entails?”

“Yes.” The affirmation came strangled, as she put her arm out. 

“You understand, should Harry wish to see you, you cannot refuse him.”

Unlike the previous affirmation, this time it was Petunia’s turn to ponder her answer. Yet she knew that refusing the consequences of her decision would only lead to her having to take him in.

“Yes.” 

“You understand you cannot refuse him shelter, should he wish to stay with you and call your home his home.”

“Yes.”

“Very well then. I see no reason for us to proceed then. If you will allow me…” With that, he extended his hand, and placed his fingers on her arm.

***

The doors to the train compartment opened briefly. A young man was ready to sit down, when the scene laid in front of him made him swiftly close the door, turn around and leave. It wasn’t the crying baby that an oddly-dressed woman was trying to soothe, as much as the garb of her companion, dressed in light blue robes, with a beard that could make Santa Clause jealous.

Albus turned his head as the young man left, and raised his wand, waving it gently. The doors to the compartment were now gone, replaced with the same cheap wood that covered the walls.

“Apologies, I should have done this before, Pity I only figured right as this gentleman woke Harry up.”

“He’ll be fine… They cry, that’s what they do.” The witch continued her attempts to calm Harry, bouncing him up and down with one arm while taking her wand with the other. She quickly muttered under her breath as she raised her wand slowly, the train window following its motions and opening slightly. She knew quite a bit about children, and cold air was one thing that was sure to soothe them quickly. “And this little one has many things to cry about. 

Parents dead, his godfather betraying them, then his aunt refusing him. You know, Dumbledore, I wondered why you wanted the child out of the country, but now I understand. This world is not kind to him.”

Albus looked outside of the window, the wind hitting his face. That wasn’t even all of it, unfortunately, yet he did not want to burden her with more. The more time passed - and two days had barely gone by - the more he doubted Harry would be safe in the United Kingdom. What Magdalena did not know was that he had learnt of Sirius Black’s betrayal after he had gone on a murderous rampage, killing Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles. 

On top of that, he had been informed that two former Order members had just disappeared - part of him was almost ready to ask Magdalena to take the other child in as well, however he knew very well that Augusta Longbottom was more than enough of a guardian for her grandson.

“We cannot blame Petunia Dursley. She has a young child as well, you have seen the pictures on the wall. I imagine that knowing her sister was murdered and her nephew was the next target was enough for her not to wish the same fate to befall her, or those close to her.”

“I suppose. I think I’ll let that part of the story out when I tell Harry about it.”

“It is good not to let our judgment of people cloud how we talk about them. Harry will be able to make his own judgments when that time comes. And Petunia, bless her, has agreed to the terms to help us keep Harry safe.”

“I suppose.” The woman opened the window wider, and stuck her head out. Unlike the rush she was in to go to England, now she could relax on her way back. After all, there was no rush now.

There is no rush in raising a child.

***

“How was Harry? Well, I hope-” Minerva raised herself as soon as Dumbledore stepped in her office, having received the owl detailing his trip a few hours before his arrival.

“Slept most of the way on the train. As I assumed at first, Lily’s sister refused to take him, however I think that was for the best in the end.“ Albus sat at his desk, and offered Minerva a small pastry laden with icing sugar. The witch shook her head, before examining it.

“Sweet cheese pastry? Magdalena would simply not let me leave without a bagful. As for our friend, she has agreed to raise Harry away from here, and we have agreed to all terms, without a hitch as well.“

Minerva sat back on her chair. She turned her head towards a map laid across his desk. It was only days ago that the two of them were examining that map, with Dumbledore explaining the most scenic route to go across Europe.

“I still can’t believe you have decided to send him so far away. Do you think it is wise, keeping him away from who he is? Here, he’d be beloved by all - a legend, famous beyond comparison! Over there, he’d just be… well-” Minerva was not quite sure how to explain it, and snapped her fingers as she found herself at a loss for words.

“Another little boy learning he is a wizard, and just how magical that is.” Dumbledore gave a soft smile for a second, before clearing his throat lightly and speaking in a grave tone. “With his aunt refusing him, with the Longbottoms’ disappearance, with a murder attempt already on the boy, it’s safest for him to be away. 

And he would be away from fame, until he would be able to take it and know what to do with it. What use is growing up surrounded by the fame of something you can barely remember? Surrounded by a fame tied to your parents’ death?”