Chapter Text
Every girl dreams of becoming a princess in childhood. To be beautiful as a flower, gentle and graceful, to live in a castle, enveloped in the love of a prince. Petunia Evans was no exception, she also dreamed of a handsome prince on a white horse, who would take her away as a beautiful princess to a huge castle with an incredible amount of decorations and gilding.
But life showed Petunia early on that not all girls can live in castles with princes, but only those who were “born a princess”. And she, Petunia, was not like that.
Unlike her younger sister, the red-haired smiling Lily, whom everyone always loved. Loved more than Petunia.
Petunia also tried to become special, to become a “princess”, so that her parents would smile at her tenderly and fulfill her wishes. So that she would also have unusual beautiful things and secrets that not everyone can know.
But Princess Lily and her nasty Prince Snape ridiculed her for her letter to the wizarding school. The letter they stole from her while rummaging through her things.
After that, Petunia decided that it was much better for her to be the most ordinary and normal, and not a strange princess who behaved so disgustingly with her own sister. She left her native Cokeworth for London to study, got a job there, and then met Vernon Dursley. He was the most ordinary, always dressed to the nines, thinking correctly and even predictable in his actions. Petunia was completely charmed by her non-prince and happily married him, settling in the most ordinary house in the most ordinary suburb of London and becoming part of the most ordinary family.
No crazy oddities, impudent extravagant "princesses" and their disgusting "princes".
But dreams of the beautiful and unattainable still lived in the depths of her heart. Not for herself, but for her daughter. Petunia dreamed of a beautiful little girl, whom she would dress in lovely dresses, teach her to speak softly and impeccably politely, with whom they would go shopping and cook together, tend the garden and run the household, read novels by Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte in the evenings and embroider floral patterns on handkerchiefs. Her little girl would definitely grow up to be a beauty and a real English lady, always remembering etiquette and politeness, able to grow the most beautiful garden in the whole city, baking pies on weekends and playing the violin in the evenings. These thoughts always brought a tender smile to Petunia's face.
But she had a son. Sweet Dudley, her precious treasure. Maybe not a daughter, but her and Vernon's son. Beloved and long-awaited.
Petunia hid her dreams of a daughter deep in her thoughts, trying to forget about them. She has Dudley, does she need anything else to be happy?
And no, Petunia is not at all jealous of her sister, who had a daughter. And she does not read Lily's letters not out of envy, locking them in a drawer, but out of dislike for her. Yes, that's right.
Perhaps, if she had read them in time, the baby found on the doorstep and the letter from the headmaster of the wizarding school would not have shocked her to the point of her knees giving way and tears escaping from her eyes.
Lily died defending her son. And now Headmaster Dumbledore asks her, Petunia, to take care of her nephew as if he were her own son.
The child that Petunia rocked in her arms, calming her down, was absolutely definitely a girl.
Yes, Petunia had long known that wizards were abnormal.
Looking with nascent tenderness into the bright green eyes of her niece, which reminded her of her distant childhood, when she still loved her younger sister, Petunia decided for herself that this child was now her daughter.
Vernon did not go against his beloved wife.
Petunia fed the baby and put her to bed, and then rushed to her sister's letters. They contained a lot of absolutely unnecessary information about the war in the wizarding world, about spells and everyday life, about Lily's husband's friends, about Headmaster Dumbledore. But there was also something useful.
The baby was named Henrietta Potter. Petunia chuckled, holding back tears, remembering how Lily had been engrossed in reading about Henrietta Maria of France, the wife of the King Charles I of England, with delight in her eyes as she talked about how beautiful she was and how romantic her true love with the king was. In the letters, her niece's full name was mentioned only once, the very first time. After that, it was first the male "Henry", to which Petunia winced in disgust, and then even "Harry".
If that's what her parents called the baby, then perhaps Petunia could understand why the wizards thought that her sister had a son. If "Harry" could still be an abbreviation for "Harriet" for a girl, then "Henry"...
Magic had definitely cooked all the brains in her little sister's head into an incomprehensible pink-vanilla porridge. With lumps of belligerence and abnormality.
Petunia still abandoned the idea of adopting her niece, deciding that it would be unfair to the girl, and that Petunia herself would not be suspected if Henrietta turned out to be the same as her parents - a wizard, strange.
For the first few months, Petunia would rush to Dudley and Henrietta almost every night to calm them down. The niece would cry at night and try to find her parents, and Dudley would wake up and cry "for the company." The children would fall asleep from the gentle female voice singing lullabies and the rhythmic rocking. Soon Henrietta, whom Petunia called by the affectionate abbreviation "Anri", stopped screaming at night. Vernon, who began to sleep peacefully and get enough sleep without waking up from the children's cries, finally accepted that their family now had a niece. Of course, he loved his own son much more, but if the niece did not cause problems, then why not.
Petunia's love for Dudley did not become less, on the contrary, this love seemed to have doubled, but now it was almost equally distributed between the children. Almost - because the future little lady needs to be given more attention. Dudley would grow up wonderful in any case, but Anri needed education and a good example.
Life in the Dursley family was calm and peaceful. Anri, who had become attached to her aunt who had taken her in, smiled happily at her and did not disturb the new family with magical emissions. Dudley was actively interested in his suddenly appeared sister. Vernon happily watched his son and worked, his career was on the rise. Petunia ran the household, reviving her plans for raising a little lady.
Vernon spoiled Dudley, allowing him to do whatever his heart desired, showering him with gifts and praise. This made the boy capricious and selfish, but he behaved more modestly with his mother and tried to adhere to decency at least a little - it was impossible to set an example of bad behavior for the little weak Anri, for which his mother could scold him. He treated his cousin like a beautiful expensive doll. He looked at her with interest, sometimes tried to tease her or involve her in his games, but did not allow anyone to touch her. Mom would be unhappy. Henrietta was Mom's doll, not his. Mom's toys cannot be broken.
Petunia taught Anri, taught her to be quiet and calm, to keep her emotions under control and always be impeccably polite. Not to be rude even in response to insults, and at the same time to be able to insult subtly and imperceptibly. So that it did not go beyond the bounds of politeness. And to do all this with a soft smile on her lips and a gentle voice. However, Anri did not like to insult anyone. She liked to come up with elegant compliments for her aunt more.
“Aunt Petunia, your singing today is like the sweet trill of a free nightingale among the most beautiful flowers in the royal garden. ”
Auntie's lips spread into a smile from such words, which pleased Anri. Auntie taught her to take care of the garden - by the age of six, Anri could take care of the roses near the house herself, which she willingly did every day, having asked her aunt for the opportunity to take care of them alone. Petunia nodded, letting her niece take charge of the garden. The girl helped her aunt with the cooking, diligently learning recipes and memorizing the family's tastes. While cooking, they often sang or discussed recipes, rose varieties, novels they read in the evenings, or the latest gossip in town. At the age of five, Anri began learning to play the violin, delighting her aunt.
And Petunia really felt happy, looking at her niece. She grew up to be a real lady, neat and polite, skillful and gentle. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t run after the ball with the boys, like some of the girls in the neighborhood, always watched how she looked, diligently learned to play the violin and took care of the roses with sincere love.
“A rose is a flower that symbolizes England. How can you not love roses if you are English?” thought little Miss Potter, embroidering flowers with her aunt in the evening, trying not to prick all her fingers with a needle. “If roses bloom in English gardens, then England is flourishing.”
And the roses at the Dursley family’s house really did bloom profusely, delighting the owners of the house with a sweet scent and rich colors. Anri dug in the ground every day, watching them. And Petunia looked out of the kitchen window with pleasure, admiring the results of her niece’s labor. Their garden was the most beautiful in all of Privet Drive, something Petunia was immensely proud of.
Anri kept up with her schoolwork, asking her aunt for advice and helping Dudley with his homework in a calm, quiet voice. She wore dresses in delicate shades and always had sparkling clean shoes. She gathered her curly black hair into a neat braid, with her bangs covering the lightning-shaped scar on her forehead.
Petunia looked at her little lady with pride, realizing that she had managed to raise not a capricious, nasty princess like her sister, but a true English lady, gentle as a violet and beautiful as a rose.
And that is why receiving a letter from the wizarding school Hogwarts addressed to Harry Potter upset her so much. So much effort and time, so much tenderness and care she had invested in raising the delicate flower Anri, and now she had to let her go to this terrible place full of oddities all alone? Her delicate flower would be trampled, ruined, torn out by the roots!..
“Don’t worry, Aunt Petunia,” Anri put her snow-white hand with neat fingers on her shoulder with a soft smile, looking into her eyes with her bright green eyes, the color of fresh summer grass. “This is just an invitation to school, I don’t see anything worse in it than a slightly burnt side of a pie. Not very pleasant, but not as bad as it could have been. Let’s ask Dudley to catch one of the owls flying around our house and send a letter of consent, as indicated in the invitation?”
The owls categorically refused to give themselves into Dudley's hands. Therefore, Miss Potter, holding back her irritation, collected the arriving letters in bags addressed to someone other than her, intending to figure out what to do with such a large number of letters and envelopes, which were made of real parchment. It would be a pity to waste such a large amount of material that would be useful in the long run, simply throwing it away. In extreme cases, the letters could be recycled. Dudley, at Anri's request, also collected and brought her fallen owl feathers, of which there had recently become an incredible number around their house, for which he was thanked with a sincere smile and his favorite freshly baked cookies. Anri washed Uncle Vernon's car, which was dirty from the owls constantly flying around, herself, bringing the surface to a mirror shine, so that Uncle would not be angry.
When, in the middle of the night before her eleventh birthday, someone began to pound on the door with all their might and shout demands to open it, Anri was able to remain calm only thanks to her aunt's discipline. No one would like to be torn from a warm bed in such a truly barbaric manner when he was enjoying pleasant dreams after a hard day.
With miracles of endurance and patience, Anri invited the uninvited guest to sit down and brought everyone hot tea with cakes, quickly tidying herself up along the way - straightening her clothes and putting on a dressing gown, gathering her hair into a simple braid and splashing water on her face in the kitchen. The girl listened attentively to the guest with a soft smile, silently sipping tea from a cup.
“But Mr. Hagrid, sir,” Potter objected, waiting for the guest to finish speaking, “we were unable to send a reply letter, since the post owls flew away immediately after delivering the letter. If necessary, I can bring you the letter we wanted to send,” she put the cup on the table, putting her hands on her knees. “I agree to study at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but I would like to know more about where and how I can buy what is indicated in the letter, as well as clarify the amount required for this. ”
Confused, Hagrid promised to pick her up in the morning and take her to Diagon Alley to do some shopping. There was also a bank there, where it turned out she had an account with a sufficient amount of money.
After cleaning up after the night tea party and wishing her family a good night, Henrietta Potter only allowed herself to exhale tiredly and slightly irritatedly in her room behind the closed door. Yes, no one likes uninvited guests at night. But this is no reason and certainly no excuse to show them your displeasure, as well as to anyone else. And now she still has a few hours to sleep. Tomorrow she will need all her self-control to save face during the journey along the magical street in the company of Mr. Hagrid.
Potter suppressed all unflattering epithets in his direction even in her thoughts. At least, she tried to do so.
The magical street struck Henri. But not with its beauty and unusual things, but with dirt, an unpleasant smell and unkempt-looking people. Sure, the shops were clean and looked quite inviting, and not all the people looked like… poor commoners in the ancient Middle Ages, but if Potter had had a little less tact, she would certainly have covered her face with a clean handkerchief with hand embroidery on the corner.
Perhaps the only completely pleasant impression she had was left by the bank. A beautiful clean room, good organization, polite staff, fast service. Even the fact that the bank staff were goblins did not bother Anri. They looked unusual, but, honestly, you don’t scold someone for their face. It was difficult to call the goblins attractive in appearance, but they were neatly dressed, spoke politely and behaved much more decently than some of the people she knew. Miss Potter was imbued with sympathy for the bank employees, smiling at them a little more sincerely than at Mr. Hagrid and the shop assistants.
Particularly sympathetic was the look the bank employee gave Mr. Hagrid when it turned out that he had the key to Henri’s vault. It was impolite, but it reflected Miss Potter’s true thoughts - why was the key to Miss Potter’s vault in Mr. Hagrid’s hands and not hers?
And yes, the wizards stubbornly called her "Mr. Potter" or "Harry Potter" and only the goblin from the bank addressed her as "Miss Potter". It would have been impolite to correct everyone, so Anri tried to hint to those around her that she was not "Mr.", but did not say it directly. The wizards did not understand hints.
Yes, she definitely liked the goblins more.
When everything on the list was bought, and Mr. Hagrid gave her a snow-white post owl in honor of her birthday, she was given a train ticket to school and ... left alone in the middle of an unfamiliar street with a large heavy trunk and a cage with an owl.
No, Anri Potter did not allow herself to click her tongue in displeasure, roll her eyes or look around in fear. She was too well brought up and too well controlled for that.
Miss Potter glanced around at the people around her, struggling with herself for a few seconds - a lady never speaks to strangers - and, to her relief, saw the boy who had introduced himself to her in the clothes shop. He was walking towards her in the company of a distinguished man with long blond hair and a beautiful woman. After waiting for them to come closer, Anri took a step forward and, looking down, modestly addressed the boy.
“I apologize for disturbing you, Mr. Malfoy, but could you help me please? Unfortunately, my escort had to leave me, and I am afraid I am not able to cope with the trunk on my own. Could you, if you do not mind, advise me on what to do next? ”
“Father, Mother, ” the boy turned to his parents, “let me introduce you to Henrietta Potter, she is entering Hogwarts this year, like me. Miss Potter,” Draco Malfoy returned his gaze to her, “these are my parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, albeit under these circumstances,” Henri bowed her head in greeting and lifted the edges of her dress skirt, curtsying slightly.
Mr. Malfoy Sr. kindly helped her by casting a weight-reducing charm on her trunk. Thanking him, Miss Potter headed out of Diagon Alley, where her aunt was already waiting for her.
The wizarding world seemed strange and unusual to Miss Potter, but no more so than any other culture. And customs are not judged. Especially if you have to spend some time - at least five years - among the people of this culture. Therefore, Anri only smiled reassuringly at Aunt Petunia and, glancing at the beautiful polar owl, headed home, mentally preparing herself for the trip to Hogwarts.
The wizarding world, extolling the Boy-Who-Lived Harry Potter, was about to meet little Lady Henrietta Potter.