Fear of Losing

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Hello, everyone! First of all, thanks to everyone who is supporting my fanfiction. You have been great, and I hope you will enjoy the upcoming chapters as well. I would like to answer a few queries that have been asked so far.

1- Why is the relationship with Petunia important?

--It is the beginning of his journey as a wizard and a manipulator. Petunia is the first person he will bond with to make the rest of his Hogwarts life easier.

2- Why doesn't he use magic?

--Psyche and Mind magics are not easy to use. They can have dangerous effects that can even lead to full obliviation or death. Thus, it is easier to manipulate. This is also practice for his life at Hogwarts where magic wouldn't be the wisest option in such cases.

3- Does Nigel intervene too much?

--Not really. Nigel is not the System Master; Harry is. Nigel is a guide, and I wanted to write such a character. My inspiration is Jeeves from "Jeeves and Wooster," an old British TV show I recommend to those who like such shows. My point is, Nigel doesn't force Harry to do anything; he just guides and, from time to time, withholds information to protect him or alters descriptions of spells to help him. All in all, Nigel is not the one who decides Harry's fate.

Also, a shout-out to my patrons. I thank each and every one of you! I cannot express how much you help in my writing!

Haze2343, Terrance, Elijah, Mikeal, King Killa, Arka, That Guy, Felix, MrZoop, Jordan, Zephyre, Sherry, chancy orr, J, Moon Lightning, mud104, romulus, Galad, Benjamin, Molière and Durza!

Thank you very much!

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Petunia's reaction was swift and sharp. "That's... that's not possible. You must have imagined it. Such things don't happen in the real world."

Harry looked up, his eyes filled with fear and confusion, a perfect picture of a troubled boy. "But it did happen, Aunt Petunia. I don't understand it either. It's like those stories in Dudley's books, but it's real."

Nigel, ever present in his mind, whispered, "Excellent, Harry. You've painted the picture perfectly. Now, let's see how she responds."

Petunia paced the room, clearly troubled. "This is nonsense, Harry. There's a logical explanation for everything. You must have used some trick or..."

Harry interrupted, "But I didn't, Aunt Petunia! It was like magic!"

The word 'magic' hung in the air, thick with implications and unspoken history. Petunia stopped pacing, her face a mixture of disbelief and an emotion Harry couldn't quite place. "Magic...," she whispered, as if the word itself was a ghost from her past.

Nigel's voice was cautious yet encouraging, "You've opened the door, Harry. Now gently push it open."

Harry continued, his voice soft, "You know about magic, don't you, Aunt Petunia? You've seen it before... with Mum."

Petunia turned sharply, her eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and pain. "Don't talk about your mother! You know nothing about her or what she was involved in!"

Harry knew he had hit a nerve. He had to proceed with care. "But I want to know, Aunt Petunia. I want to understand why I'm different. Why I can do these things. Did Mum do things like this too?"

Petunia seemed to wrestle with her thoughts, torn between her long-held resentment and a hidden, deeper emotion. "Your mother was... she was a freak, just like you."

Harry's Occlumency shield shattered like fragile glass as he hissed, "Don't call my mom that!" Petunia, taken aback, collapsed onto the couch, her body wracked with sobs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It's all because of Vernon," she managed through her tears.

Harry, seething with anger, was about to unleash a torrent of words, but Nigel's voice halted him. "Now is the perfect time, Master Harry. Control your emotions. She is vulnerable. Use it against her. Let her open up. It is time to learn the truth."

Harry took a deep breath, reining in his fury, and sat beside his aunt. "Aunt Petunia, why did you say that about my mother? What did Vernon do?"

Petunia, her face stained with tears, struggled to compose herself. "It's... it's complicated, Harry. Your mother and I... we were different. And Vernon, he never understood. He made it worse."

Harry, sensing the opening he needed, pressed on. "Different how, Aunt Petunia? Because of the magic?"

Petunia nodded, a resigned look on her face. "Yes, because of the magic. Your mother was... she was special. But Vernon, he couldn't accept it. He saw it as a threat, something unnatural."

Nigel's voice was a beacon in the stormy sea of emotions. "Probe further, Harry. Gently, but firmly. We need to understand the depth of her feelings."

Harry continued, his voice soft but persistent. "Did you ever feel the same way, Aunt Petunia? About magic being a threat?"

Petunia blurted, "No, I envied it!" Then her hand went to her mouth as if she had revealed too much. Harry, sensing a critical moment, pressed on. "You wanted to do the same, so why? Why hated my mother? Why hated me?"

Petunia's eyes, now swimming with a mix of emotions, darted away from Harry's piercing gaze. "It's not that simple, Harry," she began, her voice a tremor of past pains and regrets. "Your mother, she had this world... a world I couldn't be part of. And then she left, leaving me behind."

Harry's mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of his family's past. "But why take it out on me? I never knew my parents. I've always just wanted to belong."

Petunia sighed, a sound heavy with years of bottled-up emotions. "I know, Harry. And I'm sorry. It's just... when I see you, I see her. And it hurts, remembering what I lost."

Nigel's voice, a quiet murmur in the back of Harry's mind, chimed in. "Delve deeper, Master Harry. There's more beneath the surface. Gently coax it out."

Harry took a deep breath, his voice softening. "Tell me about her, Aunt Petunia. About my mum. What was she like, really?"

Petunia looked at Harry, her eyes now a well of unshed tears. "She was brilliant, Harry. Full of life and laughter. But she was also... different. And that difference drove a wedge between us."

Harry, encouraged by Petunia's openness, asked gently, "Different because of her magic?"

Petunia nodded, her expression a complex tapestry of sadness and nostalgia. "Yes, because of her magic. It was a world I couldn't enter, a gift I couldn't share. And when she went to that school, it was like I lost my sister."

Nigel's voice was a beacon, guiding Harry through the emotional terrain. "You're bridging the gap, Harry. Keep the conversation flowing. Let her open up."

Harry pressed on, his curiosity about his mother growing. "And my father, James? What did you think of him?"

Petunia's face hardened, a shadow passing over her features. "He was part of that world too. He took your mother away from me, fully and finally. I resented him for it."

Harry understood then. It wasn't just the magic that Petunia resented. It was the loss, the feeling of being left behind, first by her sister and then by the magical world that had claimed her. His father, James, was the embodiment of that world, the final nail in the coffin of their sisterly bond.

Nigel, sensing Harry's realization, added, "You're peeling back layers of years of resentment, Harry. It's a delicate process. Proceed with care."

Harry, his heart aching for the pain his aunt had endured, said softly, "I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia. I never knew any of this. I always thought you just hated me for being... different."

Petunia's gaze softened slightly, a hint of regret in her eyes. "I didn't hate you, Harry. I was afraid. Afraid of what you represented. Afraid of losing you too."

Harry looked at his aunt's sobbing form, his mind colder and more calculating than ever. He realized he stood at a crossroads – one path led to control, to exploiting Petunia's vulnerability for his benefit; the other, to compassion and understanding, the path his mother, Lily, would have chosen. He could easily manipulate Petunia, bend her will to his own. She deserved it, didn't she, after all the years of neglect and cruelty? But that was not the way of Lily's son. Harry sighed, his decision clear. He stepped towards her and hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia. Sorry that you felt abandoned."

Petunia stiffened in his embrace, her body racked with years of suppressed emotions. Harry felt her resistance but held on, his embrace a symbol of the bridge he was trying to build.

Nigel's voice echoed in Harry's mind, its usual sarcasm softened by a note of approval. "Ah, Master Harry, showing a heart as big as your mother's. A wise choice, indeed. But remember, mending bridges with Aunt Petunia will be a task akin to taming a Thestral – challenging, and not without its risks."

Harry pulled back, looking into Petunia's eyes, which still held a trace of the old resentment. He knew this was just the beginning. He needed to be patient, to employ tactics that resonated with her deeply rooted emotions.

"Can we talk, Aunt Petunia? About Mum, about magic, about everything?" Harry asked, his voice a mix of hope and uncertainty.

Petunia, her face still wet with tears, hesitated. "I... I don't know, Harry. It's... it's painful."

Harry nodded, understanding the complexity of her emotions. "I know it's hard. But I need to know. We need to understand each other better."

Petunia seemed to ponder his words, the walls she had built over the years showing cracks of vulnerability. Finally, she nodded slowly, a reluctant agreement to his request.

Nigel's voice buzzed in Harry's ear, a reminder of the delicate task ahead. "Remember, Harry, your approach must be subtle, yet direct. Draw parallels between her life and yours. Help her see you not as the embodiment of a world she was excluded from, but as a kindred spirit, equally lost and searching for a place to belong."

Harry sat down next to her, choosing his words carefully. "Aunt Petunia, you said you were afraid of losing me too. Afraid of what I represented. But I've always just been Harry, just a boy who wanted a family."

Petunia looked away, a conflict of emotions playing across her face. "I know, Harry. But your world... it took my sister away. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you to it as well."

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