Querencia

The inner musings and grief of Petunia Dursley.

1st November 1981. 5:57am. Privet Drive, Surrey.

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A shrill scream was what the residents of Privet Drive awoke to. A shrill scream that came from none other than one very shocked Petunia Dursley.

The same one who now stood on her doorstep, white faced and staring at the small baby left on her doorstep.

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Petunia Dursley was a perfectly normal woman mind you. She wore expensive dresses and held a large collection of extravagant shoes that was updated seasonally of course. Her hair blonde and cut short into a bob cut and curled perfectly, her stature thin and tall and her voice high pitched and nasal. This description excluding the extremely long horse like neck she possessed of course. We don't mention that.

But more importantly, she had it all.

She was young. Married and a mother of a horrible...sorry 'wonderful' baby boy. Not to mention her husbands wealth and her own vast social network. And of course. A very strict schedule to ensure her day goes smoothly.

Now today. On the early morning of the 1st of November.

She woke up at 5:45 as usual.

Feed her son as usual.

And make breakfast as usual.

Everything was perfect.

Till it wasn't.

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The baby was a curious thing.

Wrapped in a faded green blanket, it lay soundly asleep unaware of all the chaos yet to come.

Petunia frantically glanced from side to side as if she was a metal machine on an endless loop before hastily picking it up and running inside, closing the front door with a loud slam.

"VERNON! VERNON!" she screamed darting into the dining room and shakily placing the baby on the dinner table.

The sound of thumping echoed off the walls and soon her husband waddled through the door frame.

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Vernon Dursley was a plump man. His body was overtaken by a flabby beer belly and his neck hidden by a large excess of chunky skin. His mouth covered by a large moustache that twitched violently when he was angry. His face was a pale yellow colour that rapidly morphed into an ugly shade of purple or blue when he was mad. His head was covered in black hair that he had neatly brushed back and styled as if it would make him more attractive and his eyes were watery and a light blue colour.

In all honesty, he wasn't a man you wanted to meet.

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"What happened Pet?" Vernon asked desperately, "Did the newspaper crush your flowers again?"

"No" Petunia whispered looking down "Its something far worse."
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During the period of time in which Petunia had hurriedly called for her husband he came bustling in, a letter had fallen from the tattered blanket used to wrap the baby in and had fluttered gently till it deposited itself on one Petunia Dursley nee Evans shoes. A letter which she leaned down to pick up and stopped short with a gasp. Because she recognised that handwriting. And she didn't like that she did. No she didn't like it one bit.

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"He can't stay here." Was what Petunia whispered after her large shouting match with her husband. The letter, now opened, lay crumpled on the floor stained with dirty footprints and grime. Its envelope had been ripped open and discarded cruelly before the house's occupants had read the contents of what sat inside.

"Take him and leave. Leave and don't come back till he's gone." Vernon bared his teeth and growled menacingly making Petunia jump in fear and scurry out the door meekly, baby in one hand and car keys in the other. As she walked out the door and onto their impeccable driveway, she couldn't help but look down into the baby's emerald green orbs and sigh.

Lily would be rolling in her grave if she saw them now.

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1st November 1981. 7:23am. Ms Barren's Group Home, Surrey.

Ms Barren was a kindly old woman. Her stature plump and her height short. Her hair a light blond colour but greying and full of split ends. Her eyes a mesmerising dark blue and her cheeks rosy and red.

Her group home was by no means in the best condition nor was it an ideal place for children to live but they made do.

Currently, at this moment, 20 or so children sat around the tiny dining table and gobbled up their meagre proportions of porridge with grubby, bent spoons and licking grimy bowls clean in their insatiable hunger.

Everything was perfectly normal. Till it wasn't.

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The doorbell had rang. A screeching horrid noise that echoed through the already shaky house and made it tremble more.

Outside a shivering Petunia Dursley stood alone in the rain holding a bundle wrapped in white in her arms.

The door flung open and Petunia cried, with happiness or grief she didn't know.

"Take him." She had whispered softly thrusting the bundle in her hands forward. "Take him please. I can't raise him." Her hands shook violently and her knees buckled with the heavy weight of sadness and heartbreak she carried. She looked up. Her face marred with tears and white tearstains causing her makeup to move from its position and run down her face mixing in with the numerous tears and tainting them black till they all eventually fell.

"I beg of you. Please." Fear took over Petunia and she found herself looking up at the sky and thinking of how it was the exact same stormy colour as the man she so overwhelmingly feared. An image of cold twinkly eyes rushed into her mind and she trembled. "He'll kill me. He'll kill me and my family if you don't."

"His name is Harry Potter. He was born on the 31st of July 1980 and he's an orphan. I can't talk him and I beg of you to please, take him instead." She had sobbed. A loud heart-breaking wail and when Ms Barren had slowly and timidly nodded, she stumbled up onto her feet depositing Harry into Ms Barren's arms with loud and a numerous amount of thanks.

Petunia had wiped her tears quickly and turned on her heel marching back to her car hurriedly controlling the sobs that were furiously trying to break through. And as she drove away from the desolate little house, she watched as Harry cried and she couldn't stop the uncontrollable sobs that left her mouth and cried with him.

She was so helplessly alone.

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