Storms on the Horizon

Albus Dumbledore looked down from the High Table in the Great Hall and smiled as he saw young Mr Potter laughing with his friends. He was glad. When Harry Potter had arrived at Hogwarts at the tender age of eleven, he had the hidden look that Albus knew all too well. The look that somehow he took up less space than he should, that excessive withdrawal, and that near pathological fear of wronging a person. As much as he wished it wasn't so, Albus knew these signs, and he knew what it meant for Mr Potter's home life. It was a bitter pill to swallow, as he knew there was no other family for Harry if he wanted to survive physical, and it was made worse by the knowledge that it was he, Albus Dumbledore, who had put little Harry there. Every now and then, one such child would arrive at Hogwarts, and Albus had seen them all grow, some for better and some for worse. He was relieved, however, to see that Harry had come out of his shell and had made some good friends who genuinely cared for him. Mr Weasley and Miss Granger had done more for their friend than they would ever know. It was a sad fact that the many muggle born witches and wizards suffered neglect or abuse in their childhoods. It was even sadder that often this was due to the parents not understanding their child's magic, and trying to control it somehow. As with many things, however, some took it too far.

For Harry, it all began with thunderstorms.

Petunia Dursley sat in her little kitchen-diner and watched her son with a quiet smile on her face. He was the centre of her world. Sat next to him, was that Harry Potter. He had only been in the family a couple of years, and had been a source of minor resentment within her marriage; she and Vernon had originally planned for a second child, but the reality was they just couldn't afford to keep three children on their current income. There were rumours of a Management job opening up at Vernon's company, and the higher wage would be perfect, but nothing was concrete. However, Harry was a nice enough child, she supposed. And whilst he would never be like her own darling, she thought she would grow to love him in time.

She watched the two toddlers playing with each other's food, and thought maybe she should stop them, but they were having such fun. Harry was shyer than her Dudley, no doubt some reaction to his childhood trauma, but he didn't seem to have absorbed any bad habits from his brief time with those freaks, and he did play so nicely with Dudley. So far he had only shown one tiny piece of that –magic- and it had been so small that Petunia had never mentioned it to her husband. She had high hopes that she could train it out of her nephew – one purple blanket (that used to be blue before Harry got there) wasn't so bad. No one had seen it, and it wasn't anything that couldn't be explained away. She just dyed the old blanket, that's all. Or maybe she bought a new one. That old one was getting a little thin, after all. Yes, Petunia smiled, she thought Harry would grow up quite nicely after all.

It all changed when he was four.

It had been a very hot summer, the air felt oppressive and clammy. The newsmen spoke of hosepipe bans and global warming, and the weathermen forecasted thunderstorms and the hottest summer for thirty years. Petunia was walking her two children through the park in their buggy – she just had to get out of the house and try to find some fresh air. Dudley had been lulled by the heat and now slept soundly, but Harry had grown restless and seemed as agitated as she felt. "Oh do settle please, Harry." She asked tiredly. "Look, there's some ducks. Do you want to feed the ducks?"

"No!" Harry pouted. "I'm hot."

"I know, but all that wriggling isn't going to help. If only there was a nice fresh breeze..." She mused that last almost to herself.

But Harry had heard her, and almost out of nowhere a strong gale picked up. Petunia screamed and held her hat tight onto her head. Harry giggled from his seat and waved his hands in the air. Leaves where ripped off the trees and flew in a whirlwind around them. Dudley woke and began screaming. Petunia's hat took off and flew down the road. "Look, auntie!" Harry cried. "Wind!" As he laughed the wind seemed to echo his breaths, and came in funny little gusts and swooshes. Petunia laid one hand on her son's head soothingly and, clenching the handle of the buggy, ran for cover. She came to a stop beneath the bus shelter, heart thumping wildly and clothes rumpled. Free from the gale she picked up Dudley and began to bounce him on her hip, trying to quieten his cries. She could still see the wind whipping up the dust from where they had been stood. It could only have been two meters across at most. Everywhere else the dust lay unmoving and the air still. She looked down at her nephew.

"Goodness, Petunia!" Oh, here came Mrs Nextdoor. Nosy woman. "Are you all okay? Well I never, I have never seen the like! A whirlwind, right here in Little Whinging! And you and your poor boys right at the centre of it too! I know they forecasted storms, but I never imagined..."

Petunia smiled a tight little smile and fobbed the woman off with assurances and agreements. As soon as Mrs Nextdoor had disappeared from sight she fixed Harry with a half stern, half fearful look. "Harry..." she began, but she wasn't sure how to go on. "That wind..."

"You like it?" Harry asked. "Nice fresh breeze."

"Come on, we're going home." And so saying Petunia clipped Dudley back into the buggy and hurried them home, glancing over her shoulder fearfully the whole way.

Two weeks later and she was doing the weekly shop with the two boys installed in the front of the trolley. They were having great fun picking at the grapes she had just bought especially for that purpose. Beginning to walk briskly across the car park, she glanced at the sky warily; it was dark and overcast, and looked like it might burst into rain at any moment. It had that strange purple heavy look that she knew all too well; probably another storm. She hoped it wouldn't be, the boys had grown increasingly fearful of them as the summer progressed. "Give Harry his grape back, Dudley." She murmured. "Come on, let's hurry up and get back to the car where it's nice and warm and dry."

The gods must have been annoyed with her that day, because at the exact moment the heaven's opened and a torrential down pour began. She removed her coat and gave it to the boys to huddle under and stepped into a jog at the same time. Harry had begun to whimper and sat closer to his cousin. "It's okay, Harry, it's just rain." She said. With the worst luck, at her words there was an earth trembling rumble and thunder flew directly over head. Harry began to all out cry and Dudley hid his face. Petunia resisted the urge to swear, and hurried on. Lightning and thunder chased each other across the sky in quick succession with barely a gap – the storm must be right above them. She couldn't see the car through the rain and had to stop to look around and get her bearings. Harry was crying so hard she thought he might do himself an injury, and he had set Dudley off too. Giving it up as a lost cause she picked Harry up and tried to calm him down. "Shh, shh, it's okay, Harry. Nothing's going to hurt you. It's loud, I know, but it's not going to hurt you. Come on, shhh..." She bounced him up and down and stroked his hair and face but to no avail, the child was terrified and clung to her and wailed. More thunder cracked the sky and lightning made her see spots. She had to find the car. It wasn't safe. "It's not far now, it isn't. I'm not sure where the car is, but it's not far. And then we'll be nice and safe and dry and warm and I'll put the light on for you and we'll be home in no time."

Harry paused his crying and looked at her. "Put light on?" He asked, not seeming to believe her.

"Yes. And light and warm and dry. Then we'll be safe."

"I'm scared." Harry pressed his face into her neck and screwed his eyes up tight. "Light and warm and dry." He repeated. "Light and warm and dry."

"Yes, and safe. Now, where is that car...?" Petunia took hold of the trolley again and began walking them in the direction she hoped the car was, Harry still in her arms, still repeating his little mantra, and Petunia chanted with him to keep him calm. Dudley had gone very quiet. The thunder came again and Petunia could feel it in her bones and Harry screamed.

"Light and warm and dry!" He shouted at the top of his little lungs. "Light and warm and dry! Light and warm and DRY!"

And all of a sudden, they were. Petunia screamed and nearly dropped Harry. She stopped walking suddenly, and Dudley poked his head out from under the coat. She looked around her in wonder. Outside, the storm still raged, but the three of them were encased in an iridescent bubble that had appeared from nowhere. It was filled with a bright light, and it was so warm that Dudley removed the coat all together. The rain still hammered down, but it slid off the sides of the bubble harmlessly, and the noise of the storm was dimmed to near silence. Petunia stood there and looked at this little haven that had sprung up. At her neck, Harry still mumbled "Light and warm and dry. Light and warm and dry." Her blood ran cold. She pried Harry off and nearly threw him back into the trolley and practically took off a run. The bubble followed them. What had the boy done? Good lord, what if someone saw? This couldn't be explained away as a new blanket or strange weather pattern! This, this was, unnatural. She had to get them home.

Petunia had never told her husband about the blanket, and she hadn't mentioned the whirlwind, but that bubble was one step too far, and something had to be done. "The boy simply doesn't like thunderstorms, Pet." He had said at the end of it all. "He hasn't got Dudley's character, that's all. Not half as brave as our boy. If the weather keeps on like this, he'll get used to his, ability. Maybe he will learn to use it. Use it against us, against Dudley..."

So the next time a storm threatened, Petunia stayed inside and turned the radio up loud and closed the curtain and shut her nephew away from the storm. After several weeks of this, she found herself at a quandary. Harry had been good during the last few storms – not so much as a flicker, but she had blown the fuse on the microwave and needed to buy a new one from the corner shop so she could continue with dinner. But the sky was threatening and the rain had already begun. She didn't dare leave him with a neighbour to mind whilst she dashed out – what if he did something? And it wasn't far...only three streets to the shop...she could be there and back again within half an hour... Steeling herself, she clipped her son and nephew into their buggy, made sure their coats were on tightly, and prepared them to go out into the storm. Harry fussed and complained all the way there, but he was behaving himself well enough by the time they got to the shop, so she bought him and Dudley a sweet each (okay, so she bought Dudley two, but he was her actual son, after all), and felt quite optimistic about the walk home.

But the rain had picked up whilst they had been in the shop, and the storm had begun. Not as terrifying as the one at the supermarket, but clearly enough, because suddenly Petunia yelped as the buggy sunk several inches into the shop foyer's concrete floor. Stopping in shock, she looked at the boys; Dudley was poking the submerged wheels with interest, and Harry was clapping his hands happily. Shaking her head she pushed against the buggy, tried lifting it, tried wriggling it – but nothing worked. The thing was stuck fast into the concrete. It seemed Harry was quite happy staying in the shop and not going out into the storm, thank you very much.

"Stop that!" Petunia snapped, grasping at his clapping hands and holding them apart forcefully. "What are you so happy about, you little...monster. Can't you see what you've done? How embarrassing! How am I going to explain this to the owner? To Vernon? Now you've got to walk home through that – don't think I'm letting you stay here in the warm and dry after that little stunt, oh no – and it's all your own doing!" She gave a slightly hysterical laugh at the look on the boy's face, and looked around herself fearfully before scooping her son up and settling him into her arms. Thank god there wasn't any CCTV. "Come on Duddy-darling," She cooed, "let's get home. We'll have to walk; Harry has broken the nice expensive buggy. But you can sit up here nice and comfy, and we'll make Harry walk as punishment, how does that sound?" Dudley stuck his tongue out at his cousin. "There's a clever little man." Petunia agreed. "Hurry up, boy." Petunia added, tucking Dudley's hood closer around his face and leaving Harry to scramble out of the buggy and hurry after her with his toddler's steps. "I'll be telling your uncle about your behaviour today, you see if I don't."

After that day the Dursley's soon learnt to keep Harry inside at all times whenever a storm threatened. He wasn't allowed out if it even rained too hard. He was to be kept inside and completely ignorant of any storm at all times. They didn't trust that merely having the curtains closed would keep the storm out enough, so to shelter their nephew from the sounds and sights of the storms, to keep him calm and to keep them safe from his magic, they put him in the only room in the house which didn't have a window. It was nice and cosy, had a light to stop him getting scared of the dark, and was safely hidden in the middle of the house, which minimised the amount of storm that Harry could sense. It was also a cupboard, but he was still small, and so he fit quite well. It was only temporary, of course. As soon as the summer's heavy weather was over, they would move him back into his own room, but for now, it was the safest option. For Harry, for them, and for Dudley.