No Child Soldiers

From the get-go, Harrison James Severus Evans-Potter knew he was magical. Harry grew up surrounded by pictures of his mother and father and their friends (bar one rat-like face crossed out with sharpie) and daily hugs from his Uncles Sev and Padfoot and Moony, and he didn’t remember anything different.

(Petunia did.)

Petunia decided early on that her little boys needed to know how to fight, because even though war was for adults, she couldn’t stand the thought of her boys being defenceless. So, she yelled endless support for her son from rugby sidelines and joined her nephew in baseball and both of the boys in Karate. 

She taught her boys to be curious, to be cautious, to trust carefully and with entire hearts. She shouted with joy as Harry summoned a book across the room, and laughed with shocked elation as Dudley did the same only to miss and send it into his cousin’s face. 

She danced through her house to bad eighties music with Vernon as her two beautiful, wonderful, magical children leapt off the top stair to collapse in their Uncle Severus’s arms, who toppled backwards and bowled Sirius over, and Remus’s tea went everywhere as he laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe.

Petunia taught her boys that they could like boys or girls or anyone in between and as many as they like, like their Uncles, and they didn’t need to be boys if they didn’t want to, and that it was okay to hit people that hit you first. 

She taught them to be kind to a fault, smiling so proudly her face hurt as she watched Harry hug someone who was teasing him about his hair, making them cry and hug him back and apologise profusely. 

She taught them to be respectful and memorise people’s names because you never know when they might be important, laughing as Dudley pointed at Severus, shrieking, “SEVERUS PRINCE-BLACK-LUPIN!” and Severus pointed back, “DUDLEY VERNON EVANS-DURSLEY!”

Petunia taught her boys to be fierce, to swear when it was needed, to take no shit from anyone. 

She taught them how to escape if they were grabbed, how to make their magic help them like she made hers help her (those who called her a squib be damned), how to pick locks, how to disappear. 

She taught them to be their own people, because that is what truly matters above everything, and to treasure family like a precious jewel, because Lily was smiling down at them and would have loved them more than she loved anything else.

When their Hogwarts letters arrived, Severus choked on his tea and stormed into the kitchen to floo call a certain professor. He had snuck a look at Harry’s letter and it was titled simply to Harry J. Potter. Not Harrison J. S. Evans-Potter. Not even Harry J. Evans-Potter. Just Harry J. Potter.

If Severus wasn’t already kneeling with his head through the fire, Petunia would have done it herself.

But the boys, ever oblivious, were dancing around the room with big smiles and bigger letters, chanting, “WE GOT IN! WE GOT IN!” So she sighed and laughed and reminded her boys that of course they got in, they’re remarkable and joyous and magical, just like her sister and their uncles. Remus snorted into his breakfast, Petunia inferred what she couldn’t make out from the muffled yelling from the kitchen, and Sirius just glared at them from behind his veritable bowl of coffee but hadn’t the heart to tell them to quiet down.

When Severus finally came back into the living room, face red and hair everywhere, Petunia’s boys were on the rug with a pen and notebook and Vernon, planning out their day. He sighed, sitting beside her and muttering, “He didn’t answer. I ended up yelling at Minerva.” He dared a look at the children and sighed. “At least they’re happy.” 

Petunia smiled and nodded, stuffing her worry down beneath memories of Harry smacking a man that tried to grab him in the face and reducing him to tears, and Dudley telling off his friends, finger wagging sternly, for teasing a little blonde girl for being “weird”.

“They’ll be alright,” said Remus reassuringly.

When Petunia found herself back in Diagon Alley later that day, she had to fight back tears, reminders of her wonderful, brilliant sister flying around her. A cool hand grasped hers, and she smiled at Severus, who tilted his head and leaned into Sirius’s side. Vernon had the boys on his shoulders, laughing as they oohed and ahhed at every display.

In Madam Malkins, a tiny, sharp, blonde boy who reminded Petunia of a bully Lily always wrote home about made fun of her son for his clothes and her nephew for his hair. She grasped Sirius’s sleeve before he could say a word and told him to “just watch, they’ll be fine,” as Harry gave the blonde the most disappointed stare he could muster and Dudley tried not to laugh when the boy wilted beneath it. Severus tensed on Petunia’s other side and her gaze was ripped from her boys when a taller, sharper, blonder man walked into the store.

“Snape,” the man said, sneering down his pointy nose at her brother, who artfully hid the flinch at being addressed by his father’s name.

“Malfoy,” Severus replied, with far more grace than Petunia would have ever given the man, and she suddenly realised why the child bashfully apologising to her boys reminded her of her dear Lily’s letters. Lucius Malfoy, “rich boy supreme, racist extraordinaire, massive dickhead,” rang a bell.

Petunia put on her best pureblood face, a nasty, twisted little smile that she and Lily had perfected one wonderful summer, laid a hand on Severus’s arm, and hid a smirk as Lucius turned to her and his eyes widened minutely. A weakness, and she hadn’t even started yet. How shameful.

“And who might this be?” Lucius attempted to look down his nose at her, face in a sneer Petunia was beginning to suspect he was born with, but only managed to give an air of a man trying to be far taller than he was. She held out a perfectly manicured hand just a tad too far from his, subtly guiding Severus behind her until he took the hint and busied himself with the boys. Lucius looked like he had just sucked on a lemon as he stared at her hand, but Petunia had studied, and it was truly the height of impoliteness to ignore a proper greeting like the one she had offered him, even with the subtlest of snubs that she had slipped in, and she took great glee from his discomfort.

“Lady Petunia Evans-Dursley of the Honourable House Evans,” she purred, grimacing internally as Lucius took her hand and ghosted a kiss over it. “And you?”

Lucius’s eye twitched a little. She had just insulted him in such a manner that only the snobbiest of the crowd would have noticed by introducing herself before him, an action typically taken by the more powerful (read: pureblooded) person, and she was having the time of her life. “Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy of the Royal and Most Ancient House Malfoy,” the man eventually drawled, an unattractive and slurring tone that Petunia privately thought Severus pulled off far better.

“Well,” Petunia said. “Lord Malfoy, I am unsure if you were notified due to your…compromising circumstances…but Lord Prince here-” at this she let a slight bit more venom slip into her smile and she gestured lightly to Severus- “has recently attained his mastery in potions.”

“How…lovely,” Malfoy gritted. Petunia could have danced for joy at the look on his face as his eyes flitted around for an escape, bound by pureblood standards and the sheer number of people not-so-subtly watching the interaction. She put on a winning smile, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder in a sway sure to attract more attention from the public.

“It is, isn’t it. He won an award, you see, as the youngest potioneer to receive his mastery.” Petunia carefully watched Lucius’s reaction, gleefully noting that his left eye had developed a twitch. Goodness, such behaviour from a man supposedly raised under pureblood beliefs. The crowd was openly watching them now, bar the ever-professional Madam Malkin, who huffed to herself from where she was hemming Dudley’s school slacks. “You must have noticed his talent, of course, having gone to school together.”

Lucius clenched his jaw, hand tightening around the carved handle of his cane as his eyes darted to the door. “Indeed.”

Petunia smiled a little sharper, clasping her hands behind her back. He was cracking. “Say, Lord Malfoy, is this the young Heir Malfoy?” She nodded to where the small blonde boy was giggling with Harry, flapping the sleeves of his robes in excitement. Malfoy gave a disdainful little jerk of his head, a motion that did not go unnoticed by the other occupants of the store, and Petunia could have danced. “He seems like such a lovely boy.”

“He certainly is,” came a smooth voice from behind Lucius, and Petunia’s smile turned more genuine at the sight of a tall, equally blonde, but far less pointy woman swanning through the doors. The woman gave her a tiny tilt of the head, a far more private acknowledgement than Petunia expected, and she returned it as the woman curtseyed. “Lady Narcissa Malfoy of the Royal and Most Ancient House Malfoy, Scion of the Most Royal and Most Ancient House Black.”

Petunia watched out of the corner of her eye as Sirius perked up, and she curtseyed equally elegantly, suddenly even more thankful for the hours of practising she and Lily forced themselves to do. “Lady Petunia Evans-Dursley of the Honourable House Evans. It is my pleasure, my Lady.”

Narcissa gave a gentle laugh that Petunia wished she could replicate. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Evans-Dursley. I see your sons have made friends with mine?”

Petunia blinked past the shock of Lady Malfoy using the muggle section of her name in such a formal, pureblooded greeting, and smiled over at her boys. Dudley was now chatting away with the blonde boy as Harry was being measured, watched over by Severus and Sirius. “Yes, they appear to have done so. I’m glad, they’re in need of some friends that can join them in Hogwarts.”

Lady Malfoy smiled over at the group too- Petunia felt her heart swell at the genuine affection in her expression- then raised a delicate eyebrow at her. “Were they schooled in the muggle world?”

Petunia dipped her head, carefully watching Lucius out of the corner of her eye and noting that Narcissa's hand had tightened on his elbow. “Indeed, Lady Malfoy. I was raised almost entirely in the muggle world and I was frankly astonished at the lack of basic literacy and numeracy skills taught at Hogwarts.” She grimaced internally at her words; she truly didn’t mean to test the Lady so early, but what with her husband, one could never be too sure. Yet, to her surprise, Lady Malfoy nodded in agreement.

“I do agree. I admit,” she blushed lightly, “I do not have nearly the extent of experience as you must, but even I can see the gaps in what is being taught.”

What do you know, Petunia mused, she was testing Lucius too. The man in question’s face was turning increasingly pink and Petunia felt faintly embarrassed for Narcissa; what kind of pureblooded man couldn’t control his expressions, especially in public? “Lady Narcissa, excuse me if this is an overstep,” Petunia said softly, “but I find this conversation rapturing yet my time waning. May I owl you to further this?”

Petunia almost let a grin break out when she was gifted with a genuine smile, eyes crinkled, from Lady Malfoy. “Certainly, my dear. I was about to ask the same. Simply address the letter to Narcissa Malfoy, the owl shall find me.”

“And for me, Petunia Evans-Dursley,” Petunia dipped her head. “It was lovely meeting you, my lady.”

Lucius was rapidly turning an ugly shade of purple as Narcissa dipped her head in reply. “And you, my lady.”

Petunia watched through the corner of her eye as Sirius made a small movement and caught the Lady’s eye, an expression of what Petunia thought was guilt on his barely-visible face. Then, to her never-ceasing surprise, Narcissa gave the subtlest of nods, then beckoned for her son, who waved at Harry and Dudley and flounced out of the store with his parents. She could hear Narcissa’s soft replies to his excited recount of the experience, and her respect for the woman swelled. Severus appeared at her elbow, and she smirked at him.

“That was impressive,” he said grudgingly.

Petunia smirked harder. “Lady Malfoy certainly seemed to think so.”

Sirius barked a laugh, joining her on her other side with her boys. “I’ve never seen my cousin so happy in public before, so whatever you did, keep doing it.” 

“I intend to,” she laughed, and stepped out into the street. “I assume Vern and Remus have gone for other things?”

Severus nodded, nodding down the alley to the pet store, and soon she was being buffeted down the street with a kid holding each hand. Her wonderful, sweet boys obliviously chattered about their new friend, how he had an owl, and that was so cool, and could they please, please, please have one? We’ll take such good care of it! As the Malkins’ debacle had left her in such high spirits, Petunia could only laugh and nod.

Harry practically begged her to buy the beautiful snowy owl that had landed on his head the moment he walked into the store, and, tension from the clothes shop all but forgotten, Severus made a beeline for the surliest-looking bird in the store. “It’s his spirit animal,” Sirius cackled, leaning on an equally hysterical Lupin as Severus held the brown eagle-owl protectively to his chest. Which is how Petunia ended up standing in the corner of Ollivanders’ wand shop with an owl teetering on each shoulder.

“Aha!” Ollivander cried suddenly, wrenching her out of her thoughts.

Petunia shook herself, gasping as a beaming Dudley held up a wand. A great cheer filled the little shop and Ollivander smiled. “12 and ½ inches, flexible. Elder wood, dragon heartstring core. Good for charms!”

Dudley beamed over his shoulder at his family, and Petunia beamed right back. Harry was practically vibrating from excitement as he hugged Dudley, then blurted, “MY TURN!”

Vernon snorted. “Have patience, Harry.”

Harry pretended not to hear him and stared expectantly at Ollivander. The man laughed, “Alright, alright. Wand arm out!”

Petunia watched as the tape measure sitting on Ollivander’s desk once again sprang to life and began to measure every possible part of her nephew, who was giggling madly. Ollivander was gathering boxes into his arms, and laid them on the desk at the same instant that the tape measure fell limply to the floor. Harry watched the entire process with eager eyes, his enthusiasm refusing to budge as the pile of wands was gradually sorted through. Dudley tensed a little against Petunia’s side and she squeezed his shoulder; if Ollivander was only getting more excited the more wands Harry tested then everything would be alright. 

“Holly and unicorn hair!”

For the first time in almost ten minutes, a wand reacted positively. Harry beamed as a cloud of purple sparks shot from the wand and settled into Ollivander’s eyebrows. The man matched his smile, “We’re getting close, but not quite! Let’s see here…” He took the wand from Harry and set it back in its box, glancing around his shop. “Perhaps…”

Ollivander abruptly scurried away into the shelves, returning with a trio of boxes, two noticeably dusty. “I have a feeling one of these might like you. If not, I have some ideas!” He beamed down at Harry and offered him the wand from the clean box. “Oak and phoenix feather, eleven inches!”

Harry jumped and squealed with delight as two doves appeared with a loud bang, fluttering in panic against the window. Ollivander snatched the wand away and roared with laughter as Severus scowled and banished the birds as they flapped towards his face.

“Oh, not quite! A bit excitable for you, I think!” Harry was bouncing from foot to foot in anticipation. Ollivander paused and eyed the dustiest box in what Petunia was concerned to see was apprehension. After a moment, the man reached a conclusion and handed it gingerly to Harry. “Holly and phoenix feather, eleven and a quarter inches.”

A pause, then the family was jumping again as a sound like a scream came out of the wand, and Harry dropped it in alarm. Ollivander looked rather disturbed as he picked it up and muttered to himself, “That answers that.” Then, louder, “Definitely not the wand for you, I am very sorry for the scare!”

Harry accepted the apology easily enough, but Petunia was beginning to glare at the wandmaker. Ollivander swallowed, clearly feeling her venomous gaze, and hurriedly took the last wand out and offered it to Harry. The boy took it with no small amount of trepidation, but it was for nothing, as he was bathed in the same golden light that had surrounded Dudley a few minutes earlier. Ollivander beamed, clapping. “Oh, perfect! Yes, very good! Elder wood and phoenix feather, eleven inches, stiffer than most. Great for transfiguration!”

Harry whipped around with a massive smile before being tackled into a hug by Dudley. Ollivander chuckled a little. “That will be 12 Galleons for the both, and I hope they serve you well.”

Petunia rolled his words around in her head as she paid and left with her boys, owls once again bobbing on her shoulders. Remus slotted himself at her side and nudged her, and she knew that he had the same idea. Someone had told Ollivander to make Harry try the holly and phoenix feather core wand, even when it was very clearly not a match for him. Something wasn’t right, and if this didn’t come back to bite them Petunia would eat her hat.