Fan Fiction ❯ Still a Child ❯ Still A child ( Prologue )

HP Fic

Title: Still a child

Warning: Angst, angst, angst.

Disclaimer: HP does not, will not EVER belong to me. That's kinda sad really…

That boy. He's staring into space again. Every time, ever since he returned from the school of his, he'd just stare into space, as if waiting for some kind of sign. Then he'd cry, but not a sob came he'd just be pouring tears, until he realises that he'd been crying, then he'd wipe them off. That anger and hatred when he sees us was now gone. Though I can't blame him for being like this

We've gotten a letter from the headmaster of his school. An owl had come by and Veron had thrown a fit. I acted indifferent though I was quite startled. I'm used to owls coming and going. After all, I had that kind of a sister too. It was only Veron whom vehemently hated them. I don't like them. I was just jealous. The letter the owl carried really forced us to read, threatening to follow us around until we read and heeded the words.

The letter told us about a Triwizard Tournament at school, about one of the contestants, a close friend of Harry's from the looks of it, having being killed by an evil reincarnated wizard. It also said that we had to take care of him so that he doesn't lose his mind as he had suffered much trauma. It had lot of other things but that was the gist of it.

I actually understand how it is like to lose a friend, someone important, someone who's part of the family. Though I will never say it out loud, I miss my younger sister. I miss her a lot, especially the times when we were younger, before her powers began showing. Veron doesn't like that bunch of people, saying that they were unnatural, but I loved him too much to contradict him. So I decided to become somewhat like him, but with less hatred to Harry's kind of people. Dudley was actually influenced by his father, whom he loved so much.

It's summer time. Veron was out at work and Dudley was out with his friends, for once. I'm alone at home with Harry. I really pity the boy. I don't feel sorry for him. I don't feel the need to apologise how I treated him all those years. He needed to toughen up more anyway. But today, he'd done his chores, doing them with the efficiency of a robot, never protesting or complaining.

I'm really worried about him being like this. When he was younger, he was really a boisterous boy, but anything he did that we didn't like, I'd scold him. I'll never beat him up. Only Veron does that. Then I will treat his wounds while Dudley jeer at him. I may dislike the boy and his people, but I can never turn my head against a crying child. I am, after all, a mother. Veron and Dudley were out and would hopefully be out longer. I decided to be a proper guardian, for now.

"Harry?" I asked, looking for his attention. His eyes were dull when they faced me. "Harry, I've heard about it. About your friend." He looked at me with surprise and surprisingly fear. I had never been this nice to him, have I? " I know you feel responsible, but don't let his death haunt you too much." His eyes began to get glassy. He tried to stop the oncoming tears. I held back his hand. "Cry. There's nothing wrong in crying." He's tears began to form as he looked up. I could see many emotions playing across his face. "Cry, don't hold it back." Then the many emotions took a single form of total sadness and pain. His sobs came strong and loud as he let his tears flow freely. I gathered him in my arms, providing him the care and comfort that I should've given him al long time ago. He just cried, not caring that it was one of his tormentors that was comforting him.

We stayed for quite a while before his ceased sobbing. I glanced at the clock. It was almost time for tea and Dudley was due home soon. Then Harry sat up. "Better?" I asked. He nodded. I smiled. Then my face went back to its old self. "Clean u your face and go back to your room." I said in my usual cold demeanour. I went to change out of my soggy dress to prepare for tea.

"Thank you." I stopped and turned, my ears straining to hear the small voice. "Thank You, Aunt Petunia." He said louder, but still almost a whisper from his sobs before. I smiled at him and returned to the task at hand.

`He's still a child…'