Family Reunion (Character Study)
“Knock knock!” Harry announced as he forced his way into the Dursley residence. He glanced around at the white walls and eerily minimalist decor with dull, glazed over eyes, purposefully ignoring the cupboard in the entryway. The Dursley’s had always been a stranger’s house to him, always more of a showroom than a home. It reflected its inhabitants - barring Harry - perfectly: a perfect, normal, image of a suburban lifestyle. Completely lacking in love or soul.
Vernon stumbled into the hallway from the living room, where he had fallen asleep watching the telly wearing nothing but white pants tinted yellow with age. Even with Harry’s hovering boots Vernon towered over him both in width and in height.
“Who- What- GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” He yipped like an angry chihuahua at a wolf, bristling to block Harry’s path-
Vernon threw himself at him, eyes wild and feral with barred teeth as he threw him to the ground, slamming his fifteen year old body to the ground in front of the cupboard that haunted him. He gripped Harry’s throat so hard Harry was certain he’d never breathe again. He scratched his nails against Vernon’s hands, desperate, kicking out underneath him and unable to get free…
He threw Harry, barely nine years old, into his cupboard. Harry, tearfully and in gentle tones, begged not to be locked up in the dark again. He told his uncle in choking sobs that there were monsters in there - he was sure of it. The older kids at school had warned him that they didn’t usually go after older kids, but Harry looked barely seven: young enough that they would eat him. They’d told him that monsters live in all sorts of small, dark, places. He shook as he waited for an answer, pressing his forehead against the door, when finally Vernon laughed with mirth from the other side and said it would be six days instead of three this time…
Harry still had to stand on his tip-toes to touch the ceiling of his cupboard when Vernon screamed for him from the living room, demanding a cold beer from the kitchen. Harry tried with all of his might to force open the locked cupboard door, knowing that the lock on the outside was not an excuse for failure. Especially not when his uncle was this drunk…
Harry hadn’t even started school yet when he woke up to an empty house, filled with complete terror at the sound of silence from outside his cupboard. The Dursley’s hadn’t bothered to tell him that they were leaving for a family vacation to Mexico a month before their precious Dudley started school, and that Harry would have to mind himself for two weeks. They hadn’t even bothered to unlock the cupboard-
“Hullo,” Harry said politely, even as Vernon continued his tirade.
“GODDAMNED FREAKS IN MY HOUSE-“ Vernon cut off abruptly in shock as Harry stepped through the hilariously narrow space between his uncle and the wall. He walked into the kitchen, going through the cupboards for food.
“Vernon, is everything alright- Potter?” Petunia paused at the entryway, dolled up in her silk nightgown with her curlers in. Her face twisted into shock, like she’d seen a ghost.
It had been eight years, but Harry’s hands remembered where everything was. The layout of the Dursley’s kitchen was engraved into his very bones, reminders of his time there - literally - burnt into his palms. When it got just this side of too cold you could almost see a faint, swirling outline of the stove. Petunia had sure loved to hold his hands down against it.
“I’m here for the boy,” Harry said simply. Two buttered slices of bread sat on a small plate on the counter - any more and the poor kid would surely puke his guts out on the ride back. Where were they going, anyway? Harry hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. He walked over to the sink and began to fill up a large glass of water.
Petunia quieted her husband, who had gone quiet at his declaration but still looked like he was on the verge of an aneurysm. “Why?” She asked with suspicion. “Who… who are you?”
Harry sighed and turned to her with piercing green eyes, unblinking. Recognition and confusion flashed across her face in equal measure. “Stop pretending you care, Petunia. It’s exhausting for both of us.”
Petunia nodded eagerly. “He’s yours,” she said. “Do whatever you like with him. I don’t care. Make sure he doesn’t come back - that none of you do.”
White hot anger rose up in Harry. An old, forgotten burn in a place deep down inside burned brighter, like hot coals left after a campfire. His rage exploded outwards and touched everyone he’d ever met. Everyone who had any part in letting him stay here, in this terrible evil place.
His monotone expression did not change, but some of it must have come across in his eyes… “I despise you,” he said, with feeling.
“Please don’t hurt us,” Petunia whispered in response. Harry glanced down at her trembling manicured hands and laughed.
Harry looked down at his own hands, which had been perfectly still since he was old enough to realize that showing any outward signs of terror just made hurting him more fun for the Dursley’s. It was no wonder he had been placed in Gryffindor. Bravery had been cultivated in him as a child - a necessity. He’d needed it far more than cunning, to survive what he had survived.
The water was overflowing onto his hand. He turned the faucet off and poured some into the sink so it wouldn’t spill, then calmly placed the glass on the counter.
“If I ever find out that you’ve accepted Harry into your care again, I am going to come back and kill you,” he said, like he was reading a dull fact from an encyclopaedia, staring at the tile backsplash.
“Dear lord - Harry? It is you, isn’t it?” Harry turned his head to look at her, eyes widened ever so slightly. The sound of his first name felt so foreign in her mouth that he almost wondered if she was some kind of poly-juiced imitation. “I wasn’t sure… I- I didn’t know your lot could mess about with time.”
“Most wizards can’t. At least not permanently and without certain tools,” Harry attempted to shrug tense shoulders. He didn’t know what else to say. He never expected to be having a conversation with Petunia again, least of all about magic of all things.