The Inadequate Life

Harry stopped when he reached the edge of the driveway at Number 4, Privet Drive. Despite the Warming Charm he’d cast on himself to protect him from the morning chill, he was shivering.

Harry really didn’t want to do this. He’d thought he was washing his hands of the Dursleys forever when he packed up his belongings and Apparated away on July 31… his seventeenth birthday. He’d reveled in the knowledge that he’d never have to do another demeaning chore or care that his Uncle Vernon told people he was an unbalanced criminal. He’d never have to listen to Aunt Petunia’s high, nasal voice screeching at him again, or look at Dudley’s piggy jowls. And yet here he was—and it had been his own idea.

He’d taken as many safety precautions as he could. He had his Invisibility Cloak with him. He had a Portkey in his right pocket that would take him straight back to the House of Black. He also had his D.A. Galleon in his left pocket so he could call for help if necessary. And three D.A. members had taken Polyjuice Potion so they would look like Harry, and were letting themselves be spotted briefly in different places to throw any watchers off.

Ginny had offered to go with Harry, but he’d turned her down—he didn’t think Uncle Vernon would appreciate seeing her there, considering that the last time he’d seen her Ginny had magically knotted Uncle Vernon’s shoelaces together and then threatened to “pay him back now for the sixteen years of hell he put Harry through”. Besides, everything would go faster if Harry were alone, and he wanted to keep the visit as short as possible.

Harry walked the rest of the way up the drive. He noticed that Uncle Vernon had a new car, which he’d kindly left in front of the garage for the neighbors to see and envy. Aunt Petunia was probably starting to go stir-crazy, as she often did around this time of year when the weather was too cold for her to work on her flower garden. Steeling himself for the inevitable, Harry reached out and rang the bell.

After a long wait there was a surprised squawk from behind the door; apparently Uncle Vernon had looked through the peephole. “Go away!” Vernon shouted nervously. “We don’t want any more to do with you!”

“I need to speak to you, Uncle Vernon!” Harry said.

“Absolutely not! You aren’t welcome here any longer!”

I never was, Harry thought bitterly. “I’m perfectly happy to wait out here in full view of… well, everyone,” he said, raising his voice to a shout.

That did the trick, as Harry had known it would—the Dursleys would rather die than have any of their neighbors see Harry back. He’d intentionally dressed in his finest robes (the robes he’d worn to Bill and Fleur’s wedding) in anticipation of the Dursleys’ being reluctant to let him in. “All right, fine!” Vernon growled, and unlocked the door. He glared furiously at Harry “But if you do one single thing I disapprove of—”

“I suspect I will be, Uncle Vernon,” Harry interrupted apologetically. He glanced down the hall—past the cupboard under the stairs, which made him shudder reflexively—and caught a glimpse of Aunt Petunia in the kitchen, trying to spy on him without being seen. She was really terrible at it, considering all the practice she’d had spying on the neighbors. “I’ll have to. But I’ll give you my word that I’m not here to harm you, or Aunt Petunia or Dudley—”

Vernon snorted. “Your word! Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“—and I promise that this is the last you’ll see of me,” Harry added.

Vernon’s eyes widened, and then narrowed. “Is that so?”

“When I leave, if you tell me never to come back, then I won’t,” Harry said. “You have my word on that, too.”

Vernon nodded shortly and stepped aside. Harry walked in, clutching his wand in his pocket—he wouldn’t put it past Vernon to clobber him. But Vernon just shoved Harry out of the way so he could shut the door as fast as possible. “Well?” he said rudely. “What in bloody hell are you doing back here?”

“I need to talk to you,” Harry said, making sure to keep a tight rein on his temper. “All of you. It won’t take long. I know Aunt Petunia is here—what about Dudley?”

Vernon’s mustache shook slightly as he considered whether to admit it or not. Harry was actually almost certain that Dudley was upstairs in his room—from outside Harry had seen some flickering lights in Dudley’s window that probably indicated the television or a new video game. By muggle laws, Dudley wouldn’t be an adult until the following June, but Harry suspected he’d still be living with his parents well after that. “He’s upstairs,” Vernon admitted finally. “You swear you won’t do anything to him? Won’t give him another ruddy tail?”

“I didn’t give him the first one,” Harry reminded Vernon. “And I already said I wasn’t here to harm any of you. Or humiliate you either. Just to talk. It’ll go quicker if we just get it over with.”

Harry’s clear desire to be anywhere but on Privet Drive evidently convinced Vernon of his sincerity. He turned and shouted up the stairs “Dudley! Come down here a minute!” He returned his glare to Harry. “No one better hear any of this, boy, or else…”

Or else what? Harry thought, but he didn’t say it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Petunia was shutting the curtains as rapidly as she could. “Good morning, Aunt Petunia,” he said mildly, stepping into the living room. “Let me help you with that.” Before she could respond, Harry drew his wand (ignoring Vernon’s shout of surprise) and flicked it, causing all the curtains to cover the windows.

“How dare you?” Vernon bellowed. “You come in here—” Before Vernon could get going Harry raised his wand again. Vernon winced, but Harry only cast an Imperturbable Charm on the house. “What was that?” Vernon asked anxiously when there was no obvious effect.

“It was an Imperturbable Charm, Uncle Vernon,” Harry said calmly. When Vernon looked blank he added “It means that no one outside will be able to hear what goes on in here, so you don’t have to worry about anyone finding out about my visit.”

“Oh. Right,” Vernon said, seeming surprised at such a useful application of magic. “Er… you could leave that on when you leave, then? Petunia would probably appreciate it…”

“I will if you’d like,” Harry agreed with a shrug. “But you might not like it. What if something happened and you needed to call for help, but no one outside could hear you?”

“Hrmph… well that’s true, I suppose,” Vernon conceded. Suddenly he looked alarmed. “Oh, so that’s your game, is it?” he accused, pointing a finger at Harry. “No one will be able to hear when you cast your spells on us!”

Petunia gave a fearful little whimpering.

“I told you I’m not here to harm any of you,” Harry repeated. “I was just giving us some privacy as a courtesy to you!”

Just then Dudley came trudging down the stairs. He’d lost even more of his body fat, and replaced it with even more muscle—Harry wondered that Dudley could still move at all, the way all the fat and muscle were taking up room. “You!” he said accusatorily when he saw Harry. “If you lay one hand on mum and dad—”

Harry looked wearily at Uncle Vernon. “Could we please just get this over with?”

The suggestion clearly appealed to Uncle Vernon. “The boy just has a few things to say,” he told Dudley, who looked skeptical. “Then he’s going to go, and never darken our door again.”

“Really?” Dudley looked surprised at that. Strangely, he didn’t appear as hostile as Harry would have expected.

“Really,” Harry answered. “Could we all sit down? There’s no reason to be uncomfortable.” Vernon looked suspicious, as if Harry were inviting himself to stay a long time, but nodded shortly.

They all took their places in the sitting room, with the Dursleys on one couch and Harry on a chair across from them. Harry was reminded distinctively of when Dumbledore had come to collect him for the summer, and fought down a smile at the memory of glasses of mead bouncing off of the Dursleys’ heads.

His reminiscing was interrupted when Vernon snapped “Well? Get on with it, then!”

“Right,” Harry said, trying not to roll his eyes. “Well, it’s like this: there’s a very good chance I’m going to die soon.”

Harry had planned to lead into what he needed to say, but the Dursleys’ behavior had irritated him so much that he decided to be blunt. It was worth it for the looks on their faces alone. “Wh—do you have some disease?” Petunia asked in repulsion, leaning away from Harry as much as possible.

“No, of course not,” Harry replied impatiently. “I should have phrased that differently—I meant that there’s a good chance I’m going to be killed soon.”

“So they still haven’t caught him then, have they?” Vernon asked smugly. “The one who’s been after you?”

“That’s right, Uncle Vernon. They haven’t caught Voldemort.”

“And no wonder, with people of your type in charge!” Vernon stated. “Completely incompetent, I’d wager!”

“You’re right there,” Harry said, hiding a smile at Vernon’s shocked look. “The wizards and witches—” Petunia glanced around nervously at the forbidden words—“in charge of finding him are pretty useless. It’s putting a lot of innocent people at risk.” He sighed. “Voldemort is still after me—he never stopped, really. The wizarding world is at war now, and there’s a confrontation coming soon—that I don’t expect to survive.”

Ginny had argued with Harry for hours about that the night before. She didn’t want to admit that Harry’s death was a serious possibility, maybe even a likelihood. But Harry wasn’t willing to delude himself; he’d accepted a long time ago that there was a good chance he’d die at Voldemort’s hand. Ginny had been the one to give him the courage to accept the possibility and face what was coming, but their marriage and the close, loving relationship they’d developed over the last few months had made it far more difficult for Ginny, especially considering that they still hadn’t located one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes, and had absolutely no clue where to even begin looking—even the notes Dumbledore had left hadn’t had any idea. Eventually Harry had managed to convince Ginny that at the very least he could tell the Dursleys about the risk he was in, even if he and Ginny didn’t accept it.

“Well, what do you expect us to do?” Vernon demanded. “If you think we’ll let you move back in here—”

“I don’t want to move back in,” Harry said dully. “And it wouldn’t do any good anyway—now that I’m seventeen and an adult in wizarding society, the magical protections I got while living here don’t exist any more. I’m only here to warn you and help you prepare.”

“Prepare?” Dudley said. “Prepare for what? What do we need warning for?”

“Because you’re my family,” Harry replied a bit more sharply than he meant. “Like it or not, we’re blood relatives. Over the years the protections I had here applied to all of you as well—no one who wished me harm could find the house, or anyone in it, while I lived here. Now that I’m on my own, this house is vulnerable again. It’s possible that Voldemort or his followers would decide to search for you, and maybe try to use you against me.”

“Use us against you? How?” Aunt Petunia asked. She didn’t sound angry, or condescending—only afraid.

“No one really knows that we—um, didn’t get along,” Harry temporized. “Voldemort could assume that since were family we’re very close, and if he does, he may think that capturing you and holding you hostage would make me give up.”

“It wouldn’t?” Vernon demanded furiously, as though he thought Harry was betraying them. “You’d just let this Voldy-person kill us to save your own skin, would you?”

Harry favored Vernon with a sardonic look. “You expect me to believe you’d do better for me?”

“That’s not the same thing!” Vernon growled. “We didn’t bring a psychotic murderer down on you!”

“And I didn’t lead one to you!” Harry shot back angrily. “I didn’t choose to have Voldemort after me, let alone have him go after people I know!” He held up a hand when Vernon opened his mouth. “I’m not going to argue with you about the past, Uncle Vernon, or we’ll be here for hours. I’m just trying to do what I can now so that Voldemort doesn’t get you.”

“What—what can you suggest?” Petunia asked fretfully, her face almost white.

A bit surprised at Petunia’s willingness to listen, Harry said “Honestly, Aunt Petunia, I think it’s pretty unlikely anyone would come after you. We don’t even have the same last names, so finding you wouldn’t be easy, and I think that Voldemort knows I wasn’t exactly happy here. He might not consider it worth his time to track you down—there wouldn’t be a lot to gain from it. I’m really only telling you so that you’re warned.” Petunia nodded, a bit of color returning to her cheeks. “As for what you can do—well, pretending that I was never here would probably be a good idea.” I’m sure you were doing that anyway. “I’ve already gone to the government offices—our government—and had them remove any records of your names from any records pertaining to me. It took a bit of legal maneuvering—and a bribe, to be honest—but I managed it. So they won’t find you that way. The only way to find you now would be through Mugg—er, non-magical methods.”

Vernon was peering dubiously at Harry. “Where did you get money for a bribe, boy? Did you sell that house you inherited? A bloody stupid idea, real estate’s a buyer’s market right now—”

“No, I still have the house,” Harry interrupted. “If you must know, I inherited a lot of money along with the house. Oh, that reminds me—” Harry fished in his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This is for you,” he said, holding it out between Vernon and Petunia.

Petunia again surprised Harry by taking the envelope when Vernon wouldn’t. “Thank you for doing that,” she said after hesitating. “Disassociating our names from you, I mean.” Having apparently confused herself by appearing gracious to Harry, Petunia focused on the envelope. “What is this?” she asked, clearly suspicious.

“It—it’s a gift,” Harry said reluctantly. “A sort of… thank-you present. You kept me alive for years, so…” Harry trailed off uncomfortably. He and Ginny had argued about the gift too, although in that case it was Harry who was against it—he didn’t feel he owed the Dursleys anything. Neither did Ginny, but she felt a gesture of goodwill might be useful. She only convinced Harry to go along with it by pointing out that Uncle Vernon would think twice before crossing a rich man, even if that man was Harry (perhaps especially if it was Harry, considering how Vernon had treated him over the years), and making Vernon Dursley think twice about anything was strategically sound since his first thoughts were usually rather stupid ones. Plus, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have the Dursleys subconsciously thinking they owed Harry something. And their reaction would undoubtedly be priceless.

Vernon harrumphed and muttered something rude about the idea of a gift from Harry, but Petunia was studying Harry carefully. Harry forced himself not to squirm under her gaze, and after a tense moment Petunia opened the unsealed envelope and pulled out the slip of paper. She stared at it a moment before faintly murmuring “Vernon?”

“Petunia? What is it?” Vernon leaned over and peered at the paper in Petunia’s hand as if certain it would explode or turn into a party favor. “A bank draft?” he exclaimed incredulously. “What do you—?”

Harry knew the instant Vernon—who dealt with numbers often in his job and was especially keen on numbers with pound signs directly in front—saw the number on the bank draft. His eyes widened comically, and he wheezed and clutched at his chest. For a moment Harry was afraid Vernon was having a heart attack; “Uncle Vernon? Are you all right?”

“All—all right?” Vernon repeated, turning purple. “This is your idea of a joke, is it?”

“It’s not a joke,” Harry insisted, trying not to laugh. “It’s real. I had a solicitor arrange it,” he added, figuring he didn’t need to explain about the goblins at Gringotts. “They’ve had a word with your bank and the transfer just needs your signature.”

Dudley leaned over, almost displacing Petunia, and his jaw dropped as he read the paper. “Fifty thousand pounds?” he yelped. “You must be joking! Where did you get that kind of money?”

“I told you, I inherited it along with the house,” Harry said patiently. “And before you ask, no—I won’t miss it. There’s plenty more, we’ll be fine.”

“We?” Vernon echoed. “Who’s we, boy? Are you and your freak—I mean, your friends living together now?”

Harry was trying to think how to respond civilly to such a rude comment—especially considering the immense gift he’d just given them—when Petunia gasped. “So—so it’s true!” she exclaimed. “I noticed the—the ring, but I was certain it was some w-wizard…thing.”

Vernon’s mouth worked for a second. His eyes darted to Harry’s hand—Harry had the impulse to hide his hand, but he’d be damned if he would feel ashamed of Ginny. Shrugging, he held up his left hand, where the wedding band glinted slightly.

“You—but—you can’t be married!” Vernon declared, flustered. “You’re only seventeen and I never signed anything giving permission!”

“I’m an adult in the wizarding world, I said so already,” Harry answered tiredly—Honestly, do they listen to anything I say? “I married my girlfriend Ginny Weasley back in mid-August.”

“You—you didn’t invite us?” Petunia asked. Amazingly, she sounded vaguely hurt.

Harry frowned in surprise. “Would you have even come?” he asked bluntly, and then shook his head when Petunia looked offended. “I’m sorry, Aunt Petunia, that was unfair. The truth is you wouldn’t have been allowed. It was a wizard’s ceremony, which means that Mugg—that non-magical people can’t attend without special dispensation from the Ministry, and the Minister isn’t too happy with me at the moment.”

“Oh, I see,” Petunia said, looking embarrassed that she’d even asked.

“Weasley,” Vernon repeated. “Sounds familiar… isn’t that the family you’re always visiting? All the redheads?”

“That’s right,” Harry confirmed. Then, with a hint of a smirk he added “And Ginny’s the one who visited my room this past summer, remember? She tied your shoelaces together?”

“Oh, that one,” Vernon snarled. “Yes, that figures. Her family could clearly use a bit of cash, couldn’t they—”

Harry’s hard-fought effort to keep his temper vanished. “Don’t you even think of suggesting that Ginny married me for money!” he said hotly. “We were dating long before she knew I had any money, and we were friends well before that! And her brother’s been my best friend since my first day in the wizarding world!”

Harry realized that the Dursleys were all leaning away from him as far as possible, and their eyes were all fixed on his right hand, where he still held his wand. He put his head in his hands and sighed. “I’m not going to hex you, for Merlin’s sake—how many times do I have to say it? But it would be nice if just once you wouldn’t assume the worst about my friends and family.”

Apparently the use of the word family made just the right impression, with Petunia at least. “Con-congratulations,” she murmured, being careful not to look at Vernon. “I hope you’re—quite happy together.”

Harry almost laughed, because it was such a stereotypical thing to say. But at least Petunia was making an effort, which was more than Harry could say for Vernon or Dudley. “Thank you, Aunt Petunia,” he said graciously. “We’re very happy.” He raised an eyebrow at Vernon. “Uncle Vernon, if you’d rather not accept that money from me I can take the bank draft back—”

“NO!” Vernon cried frantically, and then settled slightly. “Er, no—that’s all right. I—we’ll, it’s fine if—”

“I think what you’re trying to say,” Harry said darkly, “is, ‘Thank you.’”

Vernon went purple again, but didn’t respond. He didn’t say thank you either, but that didn’t surprise Harry. “Uh, so can you do something about your old room before you go?” Dudley asked cautiously. “Only I want my second bedroom back…”

“What?” Harry asked, nonplussed. “Do what? What’s wrong with it?”

“How should I know?” Dudley replied defensively. “I wasn’t about to risk my neck finding out!”

What neck? “I don’t know why you—hang on,” Harry said. “You mean you haven’t been in my room since I left?”

“Of course we ruddy haven’t!” Vernon puffed. “We didn’t know what you’d left behind after you up and disappeared on your birthday!”

Harry blinked. There were times he wondered if the Dursleys actually remembered when his birthday was. “I, uh… I didn’t leave anything behind,” he said slowly. “The room’s fine.”

“Oh good,” Dudley said. “I don’t want anything to—to jump out at me or something.”

Harry stifled a laugh, and almost wished he’d picked out a few of the Weasley twins’ patented Crotch Fairies gag to put under his old bed for Dudley to find.

“Is there anything else, bo—er, Harry?” Vernon asked. He had evidently realized that Harry could take back the bank draft at any moment, and apparently fifty thousand pounds was a large enough sum for even Vernon Dursley to be courteous, even to Harry. But it didn’t stop him from wanting to see Harry’s back, either.

“I—no, I suppose not,” Harry replied dully. What could he say? He and the Dursleys still weren’t on good terms, and almost certainly never would be. And really, Harry couldn’t honestly say it mattered that much to him. Being on bad terms with the Dursleys was his natural state of being, and always had been.

And yet… he didn’t want to be on bad terms with them. It was purely selfish—Harry didn’t want to give up the last connection in the world to his family. Like it or not—and Harry didn’t—Petunia Dursley was the only person alive who remembered what Lily Evans had been like as a child. If she died without telling him, young Lily would be lost forever. Harry wasn’t ready to close the door on that yet—he just couldn’t.

And deep down, Harry knew, he just knew that his mother would have wanted him to keep trying to connect with Aunt Petunia. Despite all the terrible things Petunia had done to him, Lily Evans would not have wanted her son to give up on her only sister.

“Look,” he said awkwardly, “I wanted to thank you.” Vernon’s eyebrows shot up; Harry began talking quickly to get it all out as fast as possible. “I know that Dumbledore told you before, but if you hadn’t taken me in and let me live here for so long, I’d be dead now—I’d have died years ago. No matter how much we—er, didn’t get along, you literally saved my life. So—so thank you. I don’t think we ever did any more for each other, but I’m actually happy now, I have friends and someone I love, and I wouldn’t have any of it without your help. So thank you for that.”

The looks on the faces of the three Dursleys were shocked, confused and unwelcomingly suspicious. Harry’s shoulders slumped; he was foolish to think that he could even begin to change the Dursleys’ minds about him with a few words. He hadn’t really expected it to work… but he’d hoped it might at least be a start. But no such luck. “That’s all I have to say,” he muttered. “I’ll be off. See you later. Er—” He raised an eyebrow at Vernon. “I said that if you told me never to come back here, I wouldn’t,” he said. “So—so if that’s what you say, I guess I won’t see you later.”

Vernon looked embarrassed, which for him was a huge change, but he didn’t say anything and wouldn’t meet Harry’s eye, confirming his wishes. “Right,” Harry said gruffly. “I won’t contact you again. But,” he said quickly, remembering something, “if—if you need anything that I could help with, you can contact me.” He pulled a piece of regular paper out of his pocket, on which he’d written the Post Office box number he’d used to contact Ernie MacMillan. “Send this the, er, regular way. I’ll get it immediately.” He set the paper on the coffee table. “Goodbye, then,” he concluded, and turned to leave.

Harry was at the door with his hand on the doorknob when Petunia cried out “Wait!”

Startled, Harry spun around to see Petunia walking briskly toward Harry, ignoring the shocked expressions of Vernon and Dudley. “Don’t leave yet,” Petunia said to Harry brusquely. “I—there’s something you should take with you.”

“All—all right,” Harry stammered, and watched as Petunia marched right to the stairs and climbed them, quickly disappearing from his sight. He turned back to the living room, looking for an explanation, but Vernon and Dudley looked even more shocked than he was. Harry had just started to wonder if it wasn’t some sort of trick when there was a strange sound from upstairs. “What was that?” he asked, his grip tightening on his wand.

“That sounded like the trapdoor to the attic!” Vernon shouted, levering himself off the couch and following Petunia as fast as he could until he too disappeared upstairs.

Harry was mystified. The attic had been off-limits to him almost the entire time he’d lived at Number 4 Privet Drive—he thought he’d only been up there two or three times, ever. The first time he’d snuck up there to see what the big secret was—visions of bodies or treasures flashing in his head, and he’d been horribly disappointed to find no more than extra linens, and a few dusty chests that were locked or empty. After that he just got the sheets when he was ordered to, which wasn’t often.

“Do you know what that’s about?” Harry asked Dudley.

Dudley shook his head. “Mum always told me not to go in the attic,” he said with a hint of nervousness. “She said there were… bats up there.” Harry nodded; when he was younger, Dudley have been deathly afraid of bats.

After a few minutes Harry heard Vernon’s voice carrying down the stairs; the words were unclear, but he sounded agitated. There was a muffled thump, which Harry decided was the trapdoor closing in the hall ceiling. Then Petunia appeared on the stairs, Vernon right behind her. She was carrying a large, roughly cylindrical object about half a meter long, wrapped in an old sheet.

“Petunia, I insist that you explain what’s going on!” Vernon was saying, although he made no move to stop Petunia as she walked down the stairs. Her recalcitrance was clearly upsetting Vernon, making his forehead break out in sweat and his voice shake slightly.

Petunia ignored Vernon’s order and walked right over to Harry. “Here,” she said shortly, holding the object between them. “Take it.”

Harry eyes the bundle warily. “What is it?”

“Something—something that should be yours,” Petunia answered. “It—it was at their house.”

“Th-you mean my parents?” Harry exclaimed. “When were you ever in Godric’s Hollow?”

“Three days after it happened,” Petunia said. “Vernon and I both went—we had to, we thought we were made executors of all their property since you’d been left with us! But it turned out that someone else had been told to deal with it—we didn’t ask questions, we only knew that it wasn’t our problem.”

Harry looked questioningly at Vernon. “Well, it’s true,” Vernon snapped defensively. “We were saddled with you and not a penny of help to show for it—I was more than happy to turn my back on the place!”

Well, that answered one question Harry had been wondering about— someone out there did have proof of who owned Godric’s Hollow. Harry had asked the goblins at Gringotts but they hadn’t been made executors of the house, only the vault. “But—” Harry looked back at the object in Petunia’s hands. “But if you weren’t executors for the house, why do you have this?”

“I knew the moment I saw it that it was from—from your world,” Petunia said. “It—it stood out, I just knew it was important for some reason. And I had the strongest sense that I shouldn’t simply leave it there in the house, which I knew would be empty for years. So I—” she flushed. “I took it with me.”

“You did what?” Vernon yelped. “Petunia, don’t say another word, he’ll be having us before a barrister—”

“I’m not going to sue you, Uncle Vernon,” Harry shot back. “Aunt Petunia’s giving it back!”

Vernon went red around his ears. “But—but Petunia, pet, I was right with you when we left and I think I would have noticed you carrying something that large!”

“But you see, it wasn’t this large then,” Petunia said weakly, looking nauseated. “The moment I picked it up, it sh-shrank. It happened right in my hands, it was horrible. But it got small enough that I could fit it in my purse. It g-grew again when I put it in that trunk in the attic.” She turned her eyes on Harry, and he was surprised to see shame there. “I locked it away up there. Ever since you—you went away to that other world when you were eleven, I’ve wondered if I shouldn’t tell you of it. I’ve had nightmares about it—where Lily and your father begged me to give it to you, telling me terrible things would happen if I didn’t. But I couldn’t—we swore we’d stamp that right out of you, and they were only dreams…weren’t they?”

She looked so afraid and her voice was so full of pleading that Harry had to answer. “I—I don’t know,” he said weakly. “Probably, but you know… almost anything’s possible with magic.”

Petunia shuddered violently. “Now you’ve told us that the man who murdered Lily has returned, and I fear it’s true—terrible things have happened, and I can only pray I’m not giving this to you too late.”

Harry swallowed nervously and looked down at the object again. He couldn’t tell what it was since it was wrapped so tightly. “I—thank you, Aunt Petunia,” he muttered, reaching for it. “I’m sure you haven’t caused any harm by holding onto it—”

Pain unlike anything Harry had ever felt shot through his head the second his hand touched the bundle. It was worse than broken bones, worse even than the Cruciatus Curse; somewhere he thought he heard Vernon yelp in shock, but his vision had gone. He was blind and deaf, lost in pain, and he could only marvel at how thoroughly Petunia had tricked him—

He came back to himself on his hands and knees, his forehead pressed to the carpet. Weakly he lifted his head and saw a violent crimson stain—blood on the off-white carpet in the clear shape of a lightning bolt. His stomach twisted and he retched, sending new pain lancing across his forehead, and he didn’t stop until well after he had nothing left inside.

It took Harry a full five minutes to recover enough to even think. His head was still throbbing painfully, his throat was sore and he could feel the blood oozing disgustingly on his forehead. Finally he got enough strength to try and lever himself up, but his legs wouldn’t support his weight and he ended up falling back against the door.

The Dursleys were as far away from him as they could possibly be and still be in the house. Their backs were pressed against the far wall of the living room, and Vernon was brandishing the fireplace poker like a sword. “Don’t you touch Petunia!” he bellowed, waving the poker menacingly, although he was much too far away to reach Harry with it. “She didn’t mean to poison you, or whatever that bloody thing did!”

Thing? Harry thought blankly, and then remembered—the bundle. He turned his head slowly and there it was, resting on the floor where Petunia had apparently dropped it. What in Merlin’s name…?

And then it came to him. There was only one thing he’d ever encountered, other than Voldemort himself, that made Harry’s scar burn. It had never caused such a severe reaction, but still, Harry didn’t think it could be anything else. “It—it can’t be,” he whispered to himself. “It just can’t.”

“You stay away from us!” Vernon screeched. “You’re always trouble, no matter what we—”

Harry angled his wand vaguely at Vernon and muttered “Accio poker.” The poker whipped out of Vernon’s hand and flew to Harry, who dodged at the last second and just avoided being skewered. The sharp movement caused more pain to erupt in his forehead though, and he took a moment to recover.

When he felt steady enough, Harry gingerly picked up the poker from beside him. He was vaguely aware of the Dursleys watching him warily, but he ignored them; he used the hook at the end of the poker to pull a bit of the sheet off the object inside, but it was too clumsy to get the thing unwrapped properly. “Aunt Petunia?” Harry said, his voice a bit raspy, “would you open this for me, please? I’d like to see what it is, but I don’t think I should touch it again.”

When there was no response, Harry glanced over; Petunia hadn’t moved. “Aunt Petunia?”

“Is—is it s-safe?” Petunia stammered. “I don’t think I can do that—I saw what it did to you—”

“It won’t do it to you,” Harry assured her. “If it’s what I think it is, it won’t do that to anyone but me. But I have to know for sure—whatever’s in that bundle might be more important than anything that exists in the wizarding world.” Petunia looked like she might be bending to Harry’s request, but Vernon had a hand on her arm. “Aunt Petunia, please,” Harry pleaded. “Your dreams might not have been wrong.”

Finally Petunia was convinced. Pulling out of Vernon’s grasp, she walked hesitantly over to the bundle, which looked completely harmless. “What—what should I—?”

“Just unwrap it,” Harry said softly, “so I can see.”

Petunia knelt down—which was somewhat out of place in itself, since she would never have done something so unsanitary under normal circumstances—and carefully pinched the sheet with her thumb and index finger. She pulled one side of the sheet aside, and when nothing exploded or turned her into something she dared to unwrap it the rest of the way. The last piece of cloth fell away, and Harry saw it for the first time.

It was—well, for lack of a better word it was a gauntlet, but far rougher than any gauntlet Harry had ever imagined. It was bright silver, but had been crudely shaped to fit over the left arm all the way to the elbow. It wasn’t decorated with carvings or jewels, and it had several dents in it that indicated it had, at some point in the ancient past, been used to block blows that would otherwise have shattered the wearer’s arm. It had been built for use, a very long time ago.

“You—you found it on the floor at my parent’s house?” Harry asked almost inaudibly. “Where?”

“On the floor underneath your cradle,” Petunia said, her cheeks going rosy for a moment. “It was so out of place I knew it had to be significant—why would something like that have been in a nursery?”

Petunia reached for it, but stopped before she touched it and glanced at Harry, looking afraid. He nodded reassuringly, so she grasped the gauntlet—and gasped. “Petunia!” Vernon shouted, hurrying toward her. “What did he do to you—”

“No-nothing,” Petunia said weakly. “It—it sh-shrank again.”

Harry looked, and the gauntlet was indeed smaller than it had been. “It thinks you want to wear it,” he said to Petunia. “It shrank to fit you.”

“Oh,” Petunia squeaked. “W-well, when—when I first found it, I noticed something…” She turned the gauntlet over, looking carefully at its surface, and when she found what she was looking for she stopped. “Here,” she said, holding it up for Harry to see. “Does this—mean something to you?”

Harry squinted at where Petunia was indicating. At the base of the gauntlet, near the armhole, were two little letters etched coarsely in the metal:

GG

“G.G.,” Harry breathed. “Godric Gryffindor.”

This was it. This was the final step of a journey Harry had begun, unknowingly, in the Chamber of Secrets five years earlier. He had destroyed Tom Riddle’s diary that night. Years later, Dumbledore had found and destroyed Marvolo Gaunt’s old ring. Voldemort’s snake Nagini had been struck by the Killing Curse during a battle. Harry and the D.A. had located Salazar Slytherin’s locket, Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, and Rowena Ravenclaw’s tablet. And here was the last piece of the puzzle. Godric Gryffindor’s gauntlet—the final Horcrux. He finally had possession of the last piece of Voldemort’s soul.

It had been right there with him his entire life. He’d lived in the Dursleys’ home for ten years, and for the summers after, and he’d never known that in the same house—maybe even directly above his bed—was an object of unspeakable evil, quite possibly crafted from the souls of his parents. Ironically, a key component to defeating Voldemort had been shielded from discovery by the protections Harry had gotten from his mother. Death Eaters couldn’t find the house. Had Voldemort been searching for his Horcrux these last few years? Had he actually gone to Godric’s Hollow as Harry and the D.A. had suspected? Was Voldemort aware that a piece of his soul had been hidden from him?

“Gryffindor?” Petunia repeated. “I—I remember that word. It was very important to Lily… she was proud of it, I think.”

“Yes,” Harry confirmed, leaning on the door to pull himself up. “She would have been. Godric Gryffindor was an ancient wizard—one of the four who founded my school over a thousand years ago. The four Houses of the school were named after them—I was in Gryffindor, and so were both my parents.”

“This thing is that old?” Vernon exclaimed, his eyes glittering in a way Harry didn’t like. “It must be worth a pretty penny then, especially if this fellow was so important.”

“It’s worth more than you can imagine, Uncle Vernon,” Harry said. “But it wouldn’t do you any good. All you could get for it was Galleons—wizarding money.” Harry was relieved when Vernon slumped unhappily. He didn’t want to get into an argument over the gauntlet, so he chose not to mention that Gringotts would probably pay Vernon his considerable weight in gold, or an equal value of British Pounds, for a magical item created by Godric Gryffindor. “Aunt Petunia, do you have a box or something I could take this in? It would be dangerous to leave it here, but I can’t touch it…”

Petunia turned to Dudley. “Diddums, there should be a box in the—in the cupboard. And a rag, too.”

Harry hadn’t even thought of the cupboard under the stairs—beyond his reflexive shudder when he first arrived—until Dudley pulled the door open. He fought down a surge of claustrophobia. It was a long time ago and it’s over, he told himself firmly.

Dudley came back holding a small wooden box, no larger than a shoe box, and a rag. Petunia took the rag and held it out to Harry. “For your f-forehead,” she said weakly.

Surprised, Harry took it and wiped the blood off his forehead as best he could. “Thanks,” he said, and Petunia flushed slightly.

“It’s the biggest thing I could find,” Dudley said with a shrug, holding up the box. “Not big enough, is it?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Harry said as he stuffed the bloody rag into a pocket. “Aunt Petunia, try putting it inside.” After giving Harry an odd look, Petunia lowered the gauntlet to the edge of the box—and stifled a shriek when it shrank again. “See?” Harry said as Dudley hastily slammed the lid on. “It knows what you want to do with it and grows or shrinks accordingly.”

“It knows?” Vernon repeated with alarm. “You mean it can think?”

“No, but it can sense things,” Harry said.

“Well, get it out of here then!” Vernon demanded, grabbing the box and thrusting it toward Harry. “Before it senses something we don’t want it to!”

Harry nodded. “I will.” He turned to Petunia. “Aunt Petunia…”

“Yes?” Petunia said cautiously.

Harry threw his arms around Petunia and gave the startled woman a hug. He couldn’t remember ever having hugged her before—she wasn’t the sort to approve of physical displays of affection, nor had Harry ever felt much affection for her anyway. But this woman had done something monumental for him, and Harry felt more gratitude for her than he ever had before.

Petunia seemed stunned and didn’t even react to being hugged until Harry let go. “I—you hugged me,” she stammered—not angrily, just utterly gobsmacked.

“Aunt Petunia, you don’t understand what you’ve done,” Harry replied, surprised to find himself on the verge of tears. “Taking this from my parents’ house, holding it for all these years, giving it to me now… I think you may have saved my life again. I have to go,” he said quickly, both out of a growing sense of urgency to secure the gauntlet and the suspicion that Vernon’s patience might not last much longer, especially after he hugged Petunia. “But if you ever need anything… contact me and I’ll do what I can. Oh—Uncle Vernon, do you want me not to contact you ever again?” he asked a second time.

“Uh…” Vernon’s eyes flickered to Petunia, who looked slightly weepy. “Well, I suppose… it doesn’t have to be never…” he said through gritted teeth.

Harry wanted to laugh, but he recognized that Vernon was really stretching his own limits. “I promise I won’t contact you unless something very important comes up, then,” Harry offered. “Or if you contact me first. Okay?”

“Yes, that’ll do if it must,” Vernon agreed, seeming a bit less disgruntled.

“All right.” Harry accepted the box from Vernon. He felt his head start to throb, but it wasn’t too bad. It was still amazing that he could feel anything, really—for some reason this Horcrux caused him more pain than the others had. “Goodbye for now,” he said, opening the door and stepping through. “And thank you again.”

As soon as the door closed Harry glanced around. There was no one in sight, but Harry ducked behind Vernon’s new car so no one would see. The second he was crouched down, Harry checked to ensure that the box was secure inside his robes (creating an odd rectangular shape on the right side of his torso). Then he stuffed his hand in his pocket, muttered “Portus,” and the Portkey activated, sending him flying home.