Something of a Gift

I had been thinking about this for a while. If the Dursleys really didn't care that much about Harry, who was the one who got him his glasses? Well, read and find out!

Monday mornings were the bane of Petunia Dursley's existence, as they are of many people's. But though a lawyer, or doctor, or anyone else with a job would logically abhor the start of a new workweek, Petunia's reasons for hating the relatively innocent day was not harbored by any real legitimacy. She hated it simply because it was there.

The same was true of many things. For example, Petunia hated the neighbor's garbage cans because they were constantly knocked over by the wind, and sent rolling into her driveway. She hated the sun when it was too bright and the flowers by the window wilted with the heat. She hated the dishes when they weren't put away, and food when it was not thrown out, and, goodness forbid, she hated stains on the carpet. She did her best to prevent these nuisances, and when she couldn't, fixed them immediately with pure loathing in her eyes.

But there was one thing that she could not fix, one thing that she could not change, not matter how much she wished she could.

Right above Monday mornings, her least favorite thing was her nephew, Harry Potter.

Of course she couldn't exactly say she hated him, he did do a fair amount of work to earn his keep, but Petunia had to train him into it, and still, he was rarely up to par. Just that morning, though the fact that it was Monday should have forewarned her that something was going to go wrong, young Harry flipping Potter had burned breakfast. She had told him, counting today, about fifty times, not to let the fire below the eggs get too hot, but had he listened? And now she had to scrape the charcoal-like egg whites from the bottom of the frying pan - her favorite frying pan.

Petunia let out a sigh as she emptied more soap into the sink. What was she going to do with that boy? Harry was becoming more annoying as he got older, that's what Vernon said last night when they talked. He was becoming annoying and expensive.

Last week the boy had returned home, complaining that he needed new pants. Petunia had looked him up and down and blatantly disagreed, though she knew he was right. Her little Dudley was growing infinitely faster and the hand-me-downs they had given Harry at the beginning of the school year were two years old and literally falling apart at the seams.

But Petunia wasn't going to do anything about it, and it wasn't just because Harry had mentioned it in front of Vernon, who, upon hearing the request, had gone into a long rant about how Harry was an ungrateful little pest who didn't deserve even the water he bathed with. No, Petunia wouldn't have bought them for him anyway, she simply couldn't.

She sighed again, scrubbing at the black pan with as much force as she could, but it was hopeless. Filling it with hot water from the tap she put it back on the stove to let it sit. "That boy better hope it's not ruined."

And she set off to do what she did best: clean and spy on the neighbors.

It wasn't an exceptionally eventful day. After making Dudley's bed (she had threatened her nephew enough times that he did his himself now), washing and drying a load of laundry, prepping dinner so that it would be ready for the oven by three, and learning that Mr. Reeves from across the street was wanted in court for a traffic violation, the clock on the kitchen wall already told her that her family would be home soon.

She went to check on the frying pan again, but it didn't seem to have made much progress by itself. She thought of buying one of those heavy duty cleaners they were advertising on the television, but the idea of spending so much money on something that may or may not work, wasn't very appealing.

A quick glance at the clock told her that the school bus would be there any moment, and Petunia grabbed a scarf from the hook by the door, wrapped it twice around her shoulders - for winter had decided to surprise them early - and walked out of the house to wait for her son.

It was three minutes late, she noted when the bus finally pulled up, but she smiled all the same at the lady who had driven her child back home to her. Dudley waddled off the bus, shoving something that looked extremely similar to a candy wrapper into his pocket, and made his way hurriedly to the open front door.

Harry was not far behind him. Petunia noticed with unwilling eyes that his too large knapsack was slipping off his thin shoulders, and the neck of his T-shirt was drooping, showing his awfully skinny collarbone.

He didn't look up to meet her eyes as he stumbled slightly on the bus stairs. He seemed to be staring intently at his feet, and with that look of immense concentration on his face, Petunia was extremely surprised when the boy tripped on his undone shoelace.

Her first and only reaction was to sneer. "Would you be careful?" she growled from between her teeth. "You're making a scene."

That was, actually, not true. There was no one else on the street and the windows around them were shaded. Even so, Petunia did not appreciate clumsiness in any company.

She grabbed the boy's forearm and lifted him to his feet, thanking the bus driver who had begun to look at her strangely. She waited until the bus was out of site before pushing the boy, anything but gently, towards the house.

Dudley watched their progression from the open doorway with a huge grin on his face. He was holding a Popsicle that was dripping red food dye all over his hands and only moved over to let them in when Petunia glared at him.

She let go of Harry's arm before she closed the door, then turned on him nastily. The boy didn't return the look; he was staring at the sofa with the same stupid expression he was wearing before. He was absentmindedly rubbing his wrist and Petunia's anger seemed to get worse. He hadn't fallen that hard.

"Go to your room," she ordered and Harry turned from her immediately, retreating to the cupboard beneath the stairs and slamming the door awfully harder than necessary.

Petunia closed her eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and went back to the kitchen, Dudley following her. She barely even noticed that Harry had uncharacteristically not retaliated. In fact, he hadn't said a word at all.

Perhaps she shouldn't have yelled at him like that, he had, after all, only tripped on the stairs. It could have happened to anyone, could it not have? Was it really necessary for her to be so short with him? But she caught the site of the stupid old frying pan on the stove and decided she had been punishing him for that.

Yes, that was it, she thought, as she took dinner out of the fridge and placed it in the oven. Don't go second guessing yourself now.

It wasn't until she had given Dudley some ice cream, as an award for the 76 he got on his math test, that she noticed Harry was standing in the doorway, watching.

For one insane moment she thought he was going to ask for some ice cream too, by the way he was looking at it, but he shook his head very slightly, seemed to be searching for courage, and walked up to Petunia. She half expected him to yell at her for the injustice he'd received half an hour ago, but he handed her a slip of paper, and became engrossed with the floral décor on the window curtains.

Petunia looked at the paper almost as though she were afraid it would explode.

"What's that?" Dudley asked, his mouth rimmed with chocolate.

"It's a note," Harry answered, still looking at the window. "From my teacher."

Petunia eyed the note hesitantly.

"You're in trouble," Dudley murmured happily into his spoon. But his mother knew better.

She may not have liked Harry much, but he was far from dumb. As a matter of fact, he had succeeded in scoring higher than Dudley on every exam he had taken, and even received a special award for his good behavior the previous year. Besides for a few incidences, which Petunia did not wish to recall, the school hardly ever spoke a negative word about Harry.

So, not knowing if she should feel afraid or not, she opened up the note.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,

Your nephew, Harry, seems to be having some trouble reading the board in class and I believe he may need glasses. I advise you to please take him to an optometrist and get his eyes checked as soon as your schedule permits, so that he can continue with his lessons easier.

Sincerely, Miss Handel

Petunia's eyes narrowed slightly as she reread the second line. I advise you to please…. It sounded almost as if the teacher was begging her, as if she didn't believe Petunia would get her nephew something he needed. Needed.

And now two things were clashing in Petunia's head. On one hand she knew Vernon didn't want her buying anything for the boy, but on the other hand, the teacher didn't trust her. Who knew what that woman would say about Petunia and her family if she didn't get the boy something he needed?

"You're in big trouble," Dudley was taunting now. "Mum and Dad are probably gonna send you away. Off to boarding school or something."

Harry still wasn't paying attention. If anything, one would assume that the window dressings were significantly interesting and exciting.

"Be quiet Dudley and eat your food."

Petunia chanced a look at the clock. Vernon would be home in two hours.

Well, she figured, perhaps the teacher didn't know. Maybe the boy doesn't need glasses after all.

Yes, she could send him back with a note: Dear Miss Handel…. We took Harry to the doctor… no, he doesn't need glasses, his eyesight is perfect….

But somewhere in her mind, a small soft voice murmured from her memories…. "Tuney, you know you aren't allowed to lie."

She couldn't lie, of course she couldn't. Vernon was to be home in two hours, that gave her enough time. She would take Harry to the doctor; she would get his eyes examined. If he needed glasses, well she would worry about that later.

"Get your coats on," she ordered the two off them sharply.

Dudley moaned. "I don't wanna. Where are you going anyway?"

"Harry needs to see the doctor."

This had a positive effect. "Ooh! You're getting a shot Harry. Did you hear that? You're getting a shot!"

Dudley was practically floating on clouds all the way to the optometrist's office.

As it was so late, they were the only ones there. Petunia ushered them all toward the desk, looking over her shoulder at the clock. They had an hour and a half.

"Good afternoon," greeted the intern who looked much too young to be working in a doctor's office.

"Yes, yes," Petunia said hastily. "My nephew here, Harry, he needs his eyes examined. He may need glasses."

"Oh, alright." The girl leaned over across the desk to look at Harry, smiling in a sickeningly sweet sort of way. "What's your name?"

"I've already told you," Petunia said with an air of annoyance. "His name's Harry, Harry Potter."

"Yes, right." The girl handed her a clip board. "Fill this out for him, the doctor will see you shortly."

Petunia mumbled a very quick thank you and shepherd the two boys to the plastic covered chairs in the corner.

"Mum," Dudley asked, pulling at her sleeve. "When is he getting a shot?"

"He's not getting a shot, Duddykins, he's getting his eyes checked out."

Dudley's face fell and he glared at Harry as though it was his fault that he wasn't going to get stuck with a needle. Harry ignored him, he was squinting at the other wall and Petunia was trying to convince herself that she didn't notice.

He doesn't need glasses.

She flipped through the form she had been handed. "'Do you have any allergies?'" she read under her breath and Harry glanced up at her with an unreadable sort of look in his eyes.

"What?" she asked him as she checked the box labeled 'No'.

Harry didn't answer.

A man, who Petunia assumed was the doctor, for he was wearing a white coat and had a tag that said Dr. Johnson on it, suddenly came out of the room next door and smiled at the three of them. Petunia stood up to hand the intern back the clipboard, but the doctor picked it up and looked it over.

"Harry," he said, turning to the two boys who were still sitting on the chairs. "Which one of you is Harry?"

Harry gulped slightly and walked over.

"Hey fellow, you ready?"

Harry nodded and made to follow the doctor into the exam room, but the Dr. Johnson stopped. "You can come with him as well," he informed Petunia. "He may get scared."

Petunia very much doubted that, and very much did not want to go with the boy, but she thought it would be weird for her to argue such an innocent request, and dragged Dudley away from the magazine rack.

"So Harry," Dr. Johnson said once he closed the door. "Why don't you hop up onto that chair and look over at that chart for me."

No matter what Petunia had thought before, Harry did seem very nervous as he climbed up to the big chair.

"That's a good boy," Dr. Johnson said. "Now I want you to read the first line on the chart. Tell me the letters on it."

"Um." Harry's hands were holding onto the arms of the chair, and Petunia didn't know if he was afraid of his surroundings, or of answering the doctor's question.

But no, he wasn't afraid. Of course he wasn't afraid.

"Come on Harry, can you see that first line?" Dr. Johnson coaxed.

Harry nodded.

"Okay, so tell me the letters."

"Um…."

"Don't lie, Harry," Petunia found herself saying.

Harry gulped again and started naming letters.

Petunia stared at the chart on the wall with a feeling of tight dread in her stomach. Out of the thirty letters Harry had been asked to recite, he only got eight of them correct.

Dr. Johnson noticed this too. "Ah, Harry," he said as he switched the chat for a new one and placed a black contraption before Harry's face. "Look through that lens for me, yes just like that. Alright, now read the third line."

Harry did much better the second time around. He was actually smiling a little as Dr. Johnson pulled the lens away from him.

"So?" Petunia asked as Harry jumped down from the seat.

"He's definitely going to need glasses. His prescription's pretty low, but he's straining his eyes and he has trouble seeing details."

"Does he?"

"With glasses he'll see much better, and I'm sure that will make him happy."

Make him happy, she thought as they were led from the room.

"Suzy?" Dr. Johnson called as they entered the reception room again. "Can you help Harry pick out a nice frame?"

Suzy nodded and she had Harry trying on twenty different kinds of glasses so quickly that Petunia was slightly grateful. If they were to be back before Vernon was, they would have to leave in fifteen minutes.

"I like these ones, you know," Suzy was saying about a green, square framed pair. "They bring out your eyes."

"They look like puke," Dudley said.

"Well, which ones do you like Harry?"

Harry looked at all the glasses, a smile playing on his lips. He was like a kid in a candy store. He caught Petunia's eye and he asked, in a desperate sort of voice, "Can I pick any one I want, Aunt Petunia?"

Petunia looked at Harry very closely. It went against her nature to give Harry something he wanted, but she wasn't that bad to him. She gave him plenty of things. Were they less significant just because he hadn't picked them? She wasn't that mean to the boy.

"Tuney, you know you aren't allowed to lie."

Well then yes. For seven years she had treated him inferior to his cousin, her son. Would she now deny him one thing, one thing for himself?

"You can pick anyone you want, Harry."

Petunia wished she had not been looking at him when she said it. For the first time she saw real true happiness in her nephews eyes. Elation so great that it took her breath away. Happy, she had made him happy. By giving him that one thing, she had made him happy for the first time.

She didn't even care to see what pair to boy chose.

Suzy told them that they could pick them up the next week, and with a feeling as though she had gone very far and had been away for very long, Petunia led Dudley and Harry out of the shop.

Harry was very quiet on the ride home, even when Dudley started pinching him, chanting "Shot, shot, shot."

Petunia was pleasantly surprised to find that the dinner had not burned while they were away, and by the time Vernon stepped through the door, the table had been set and any evidence that they had been out had disappeared like the setting sun.

Petunia did not comment on the evening's adventure. She didn't tell Vernon anything, though she knew she would have to when the bill from the doctor came. The feeling she had felt in the optometrist's office, though slightly diluted by now, was still with her and her heart did not want to lose it.

Dudley went up to his room after his second desert, and Vernon went to watch the nightly news as Petunia cleaned the dishes. Harry had walked off sometime when none of them had noticed, and he could have been sleeping for there was silence from the cupboard.

Scrubbing away at the stain left behind but Dudley's uneaten spinach, Petunia remembered her poor little frying pan, still soaking on the stove. She reached over to try her luck at it again, but it was empty. Not only that, but it was perfectly clean, it's inside shining so bright she could literally see her startled face in it.

"I did that when we got back," a quiet voice said from the corner.

Petunia looked up to see her nephew standing there beside the wall.

"I'm sorry I got it dirty this morning."

Petunia just stared at him. His eyes, his brilliant green eyes, still held some of that excitement, some of that joy from early that night. Dancing, they could be described as dancing.

He smiled very slightly. "Thank you, Aunt Petunia," he murmured before he walked away, his black hair sticking up in the back of his head as it always did.

"You're welcome," Petunia said.

Harry paused for half a second. He didn't turn around but Petunia was sure he had heard her.

"Tuney, you know you aren't allowed to lie."

"I know Lily, I know." And Petunia turned off the kitchen light as she went to go join her husband on the couch.