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SIYE Time:20:59 on 28th March 2024
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Atonement: The Early Years
By Amour

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:All, All
Genres: Comedy, Drama, General, Humor
Warnings: None
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 12
Summary: Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. However, the strangest of occurrences, and the oddest of circumstances, often fall into the hands of those that consider themselves to be perfectly normal.

AU. Petunia Dursley never forgave herself for the way she treated Lily Potter, and her sister's death is anything but good news. And so, in belief that raising Lily's son will atone for her sins, she accepts young Harry Potter into her home. Love has nothing to do with it.

Sometimes, however, love is exactly what comes from atonement.
Hitcount: Story Total: 3557



Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.



Author's Notes:
This story came to me upon re-reading of the Sorcerer's Stone. What would have happened if Petunia Dursley would have loved Harry? And it got me thinking - well, what would have happened? So I say down and started typing, and this is the result of that typing. The first two paragraphs of this story are verbatim from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (American edition, pp. 1).

And without further ado, I present Atonement.




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Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they didn’t hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck (some neighbors supposed that she borrowed from her husband), which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley, and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

However, the strangest of occurrences, and the oddest of circumstances, often fall into the hands of those that consider themselves to be perfectly normal.

And it is with this little trio, dear readers, that our story begins.

--------------------

Petun ia Dursley was the kind of woman that would call herself a homemaker. She cleaned her own house, she weeded her own garden, she took care of her own son. None of the prude behavior of women that bought penthouse apartments and paid nannies to take care of their children while they played all day.

As a homemaker, Petunia Dursley strived towards excellence in her home. Little Dudley was always clean, his blonde hair perfectly parted on the side. The outside of the house shone, the windows were clean - the lawn was always green and lush. Even Petunia managed to look immaculate when she was digging away in the garden for weeds.

But it was on a bright, Wednesday morning that everything changed.

It was unseasonably warm for November, feeling more like late spring than late autumn. The jack-o-lanterns from Halloween two days previous had disappeared, leaving the front step of many houses looking bare and unfinished. But Petunia Dursley had left an un-carved pumpkin on the front step - Doris Gladding from down the street was looking at it in interest yesterday. This morning, there was a pumpkin on her step, too.

Petunia stuck the last pin in her blonde hair. Vernon was showering, and she smiled faintly. Although a bit uncouth, the man had become essential to her very being - most neighbors wouldn’t have believed how sweet he could be as they tucked little Dudley into bed. And the way he looked at her over their breakfast made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

But he really was rather uncouth at times, and she worried that little Dudley would take after him. The boy was spoiled when his father was home - when Vernon was at work, however, she was very strict with him. Nothing would turn her darling boy into a spoiled, rotten child. Absolutely nothing.

She stood from the vanity, patted her hair once, and slipped out of the bedroom. A swift peek into the nursery told her that Dudley was still sound asleep, although the creeping rays of the sun would soon hit his crib and wake him up. She rewound the music box Vernon and herself had purchased when he had been born and continued on her way downstairs.

She glanced at the clock, then at the milk bottles on the counter. She still had enough time to slip them outside before the milk man came to collect them. She collected them very gently, careful not to break the glass, and scurried over to the front door. With only a bit of difficulty, she opened the front door.

And nearly dropped the milk bottles in surprise by the man she found there.

She recognized him immediately, although the last time she’d seen him his beard had been more gray than silvery, and his glasses more round instead of moon shaped. But she couldn’t deny that this man was Albus Dumbledore, the same man that had been present the day her parents had been found tragically dead four years ago.

This was the same man who hadn’t granted her access into her sister’s world.

“Good morning, Petunia,” said the older man cordially, but she sensed tension in his voice. “May I come into your home for a few minutes?”

Petunia glanced around furtively, hoping the neighbors wouldn’t see him. “Yes, yes,” she said at once, ushering him inside. She put the milk bottles on the front step and then closed the door behind her, her breath catching in her throat. She turned to look at Dumbledore once more.

His robes were a bright blue, silver moons and stars embroidered onto the hems. A lopsided hat sat upon his head, the end dropped down while he still managed to look very dignified. And then she noticed the bundle in his arms, a soft blue blanket that was cradled as gentle as possible.

“What do you want?” Petunia asked, perhaps more harshly than she intended.

But Albus Dumbledore only smiled. “Perhaps we should have this conversation over tea, my dear.”

Petunia gave him a calculated stare. “Anything you need to say to me can be done without tea, Professor.” She shifted her weight. “Now, what do you want?”

“I came to -” Albus paused, and his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. His eyes followed, and then his head. “At least let us sit down.”

“Fine,” Petunia snapped, and pointed to the sitting room behind him. “Sit.”

He turned on his heel, probably ignoring the fact that Petunia was seething. She wanted this man out of her house, out of the home that she had built so carefully without the blessed life that her sister had, that he had.

She perched herself on the edge of the single armchair in the room, and he took the long couch across from her, setting the little bundle aside, out of her sight. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Well?”

“Something very grave has happened, Petunia,” he said very quietly, and a feeling of dread came upon her. “On October 31st, two nights ago, your sister and her husband were murdered.”

And Petunia Dursley felt oddly detached from the conversation now, her ears tuning him out in an instant. Murdered. Gone. Taken. She may have kept the bitterness, the resentment, that she had felt towards her sister for twelve years, but in a single moment it was all gone, replaced by the most desperate of longings within her.

Lily Evans-Potter was dead. And Petunia wanted her back.

She couldn’t cry, wouldn’t cry, until Albus was gone, but then tears were spilling from her eyes and over her high cheekbones and onto her white blouse. They were silent tears, the kind that were only cried when you didn’t know how else to show that you were sad.

She cried until she couldn’t anymore, and by that time she was done the shower water upstairs had ceased. She hastily wiped her eyes and looked back at the aging professor. “How? How did she die?”

“There has been a war going on in our world for a long time,” Dumbledore said seriously. “It is headed by a vicious man who calls himself Lord Voldemort. He had a personal vendetta against Lily and James. They went into hiding, but he found them, and -” He ducked his head, but she had seen the tears glimmering there. But he raised his head again and continued. “But there is something you can do, Petunia. Something to help ease their passing.”

Petunia stiffened. “What do you know about easing passing?” she asked in a low tone. “You were here the day my parents were taken from me. Nothing could have helped then.”

“But now there is something,” Dumbledore pressed, and lifted the bundle back into her view. “Their son survives them - your nephew, Harry.” The blankets fell away, revealing a small infant in its folds.

Petunia leaned forward to accept the boy into her arms. From the three times she had seen James Potter, she recognized the messy black hair, the straight nose, the olive-toned skin, on the child. But as he opened his eyes and gazed up at her in that curious way, Petunia saw only Lily in his eyes. She stifled another cry and swallowed. “What must I do?”

“Accept him as your son,” Dumbledore urged her. “Something Lily did that night created a protection around Harry, one that Voldemort couldn’t breach. The Dark Lord has essentially disappeared, but I believe he will be back.” He touched Petunia’s arm. “Your shared blood can provide protection for him that nothing else can. It will not only protect you, but everyone under the protection of your household.”

“Isn’t there someone on his father’s side that can take him?” Petunia asked urgently. “My husband doesn’t like magic, Professor. He thinks it’s unnatural and freakish. He won’t be pleased with this if I agree.”

“There is no one else,” Dumbledore answered swiftly. “Everyone in the Potter line is dead - you are his only family left, and the magic will become even stronger because you are Lily’s sister, not a relative of James’.” He leaned towards her. “Please, Petunia.”

She sighed and looked back down at the tiny face staring up at her. He gave her a toothy grin and squealed happily, lifting a hand towards her. She smiled slightly and brushed a finger down his nose. This was Lily’s son - she had to do something.

She and Lily had been at odds for so many years, fighting over the pettiest of things. Now that Lily was gone, it put things in start relief for Petunia. It had been stupid, being mad at Lily for being a witch. In truth, she should have used it to her advantage - imagine how many chores she could have gotten done so much faster with Lily around! She might have had her best friend for seven more years if it hadn’t been for that silly, stupid argument on September 1st of so long ago.

And now, holding her nephew in her arms, Petunia knew that she had forgiven Lily a long time ago, but had been too stubborn to admit it. She also knew that it was time to atone for her horrible treatment of Lily.

And it started with Harry.

“I’ll do it,” came her soft reply, “but I will need to speak with Vernon about it. He won’t be happy about this.”

“If there are any complications, I will be here immediately,” Dumbledore promised. “Meanwhile, I will take Harry until arrangements are settled for him.” He stood and held out his arms for the little boy.

Petunia felt a surge of gratitude as she gave Harry back. “Thank you, Professor.”

“It is my pleasure, my dear,” he laughed. And then he laid a hand on her arm and said very gently, “I am sorry that I could not do more all those years ago. It is impossible, you see, to -”

A floorboard upstairs creaked. “I understand now, Professor,” Petunia said quietly. “I am not magical, and I doubt that I ever shall be. I was a foolish girl seeking things that were not meant to be sought out by me.” She gave a small smile. “But it is the distant past. I have forgiven you.”

“It warms my heart to hear it,” Dumbledore said quietly, then took a slight bow. “I shall depart now. I shall come again on Friday, during the day in case your husband does not agree.” He moved towards the door.

“It is all very much appreciated, Professor,” Petunia said with a smile. “Shall I expect you for tea?”

He laughed. “You may, my dear.” He tucked the blankets around Harry once again. “Until then.” And with a turn that startled her, he disappeared.
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