Broken Promises

This was written for the second round of the Potter Games. The prompts were Hide, Damaged, Dandelion, 'So thoughtless, so careless' and 'Goodbyes are always tough- especially if you think there's still a lot to be said before parting" - Rachel Summers (X Men).

It all began with a letter. A harmless piece of paper snug inside an envelope, an ordinary letter – well, it would have been if not for the contents, or the fact that it arrived clutched in a baby's fist, nestled in his blankets, and seemingly carelessly left on a doorstep on a chilly October evening.

Petunia's shill scream on the morning of the first day of November woke up those inhabitants of Privet Drive still sleeping. The shock of opening her front door to put out the empty milk bottles but instead finding the doorstep already occupied by a babies' basket, containing a peaceful sleeping baby would not be forgotten for years to come, no matter how much she tried.

Perhaps if it were a perfectly normal baby and letter, then maybe it wouldn't have shocked her so. But the letter was no ordinary letter. The writing informed Petunia, in rather cold terms, that her sister had been murdered by an evil wizard, Lord Voldemort, whom subsequently had been destroyed by attempting to kill her infant son, Harry. Therefore, the baby left sleeping on her doorstep was no ordinary baby, even for wizards – it was a baby who ended the war and defeated the biggest threat to Wizarding Britain in recorded history. As if to show his strangeness, hidden under soft tufts of messy black hair, his small forehead was marred by a scar in the exact, unnatural shape of a lightning bolt.

...

Twenty three year old Petunia Dursley, who prided herself on being average, living in her house identical to the rest of her street with her neatly manicured lawn and expensive car parked outside, now not only had her own son to look after, but a magical baby who was apparently famous in the secretive wizarding population. In other words, her life was far from the normality she so desperately tried to cling on to.

Now many years had passed, and Petunia stood by the living room door, watching the farewell exchange between her beloved son and her nephew. Since her nephew announced he was leaving and advising them to go into hiding in case they were targeted by dark wizards, she had kept tabs on his behaviour. Suddenly, it struck her that no seventeen year old should willingly go off into the unknown to fight in a war. Dudley would never want to do such a thing, nor would she let him. What would make him want to risk his own life before he's even lived it? Memories of fifteen years of neglect rose unbidden and struck her like a physical blow, and she realised the impact of what she had carelessly done.

It was evident he was no longer the helpless baby left in the cold October night, or the shy boy forced to hide away in the cupboard under the stairs, pretending not to exist so her family could pretend to be normal. He was now a man, and she could clearly see the damage that had been inflicted by her own foolish actions to keep up appearances, and the petty jealousy and rivalry between her and her long deceased sister. She had done it so thoughtlessly, so carelessly, not understanding the full consequences of her actions, or even giving how the boy felt a second thought.

Despite neither of his parents being short, the boy was at least a head shorter than her own son, most likely due to living in such small and dark conditions. Not that the harm ended there. He was far too thin, and whilst it was easy to pretend it was just in comparison to her larger son, she knew it was her own fault. Looking back, she realised she had done more harm than she had ever realised. She had selfishly denied a child proper meals and living space, but more importantly, deprived him of a family's love and a happy childhood.

Dudley said an amicable goodbye and left, leaving her facing Harry alone. Looking into his emerald eyes, her sisters' eyes, her mind cast her back to a carefree summers day many years ago.

...

The August afternoon was pleasantly warm and two girls were playing in the shade of an apple tree in their back garden. They seemed so carefree and alive, such a contrast to the present – one long buried, and the other consumed by guilt.

"I can't wait until I'm all grown up," Lily said, picking a dandelion from the grass and blowing it, scattering the seeds in the gentle breeze, "we'll both be mummies."

Petunia jumped up in excitement and joined her sister among the flowers, "And we'll have lots of babies and they can all be best friends!"

"Yeah!" Lily said enthusiastically, "and they can grow up together, and go play together and go to school together!"

"And we can babysit them for each other, for when you want to go on dates!"

"Ew," Lily scrunched her face up, "I don't want a husband. Boys are so icky."

"But you'll have to," Petunia said, grinning at Lily's horrified expression. "He'll be like a prince and when you get married you can wear a beautiful dress, like a princess."

"Ooh," Lily giggled, "maybe that's not so bad after all."

...

Snapping back to present day in a rush of speed and colour, she regarded the boy once again. He stood awkwardly, unsure of what he should do, his messy appearance as usual sticking out like a sore thumb in her meticulously tidy entrance hall. A million words lay unspoken between them, and her thoughts ran through her mind in an unorganised mess, but most prominent: sorry. Opening her mouth to speak, she suddenly couldn't draw the right words from her tangled thoughts. Instead, she gave a sharp nod of her head and rushed out of the room after her husband and son, leaving the words never to be spoken.