12 Old Photos

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To Harry's utter surprise, the next day, Petunia unexpectedly called him into the living room. She held an old photograph, her fingers trembling slightly as she extended it towards him. The picture, slightly faded with time, captured a woman and a man. Harry's breath hitched; the woman had the greenest of eyes, exuding a serene beauty, and her smile radiated a pure, untainted joy. Beside her, a man with a cocky smile and glasses, exuded a certain rogue charm. Harry's eyes watered, a surge of emotions engulfing him, though he couldn't quite grasp why.

Seeing the unguarded emotion on Harry's face, a flicker of something – perhaps regret or a long-suppressed empathy – crossed Petunia's face. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, her features resettling into their usual stern expression.

Nigel's voice, laced with a hint of irony, whispered in Harry's mind, "Ah, Master Harry, the walls of Jericho are starting to show cracks. But remember, a fortress doesn't fall with the first trumpet blast."

Harry, clutching the photograph, looked up at his aunt. "Who are they, Aunt Petunia?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Petunia hesitated, her eyes darting away from Harry's gaze. "They... they were your parents, Harry," she said, her voice tight, as if the words were being dragged out of her.

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "My parents..." he repeated softly, his eyes glued to the picture.

Nigel's voice was gentle yet incisive in Harry's mind. "Tread carefully, Harry. This is hallowed ground you're stepping on. Use this moment wisely."

Harry, sensing the opportunity, said, "I've never seen them before. They look... happy." He looked up at Petunia, searching for a connection, a shared sentiment.

Petunia's lips thinned. "That was a long time ago. Things were different then," she said, her voice laced with a mix of bitterness and nostalgia.

Nigel, ever the strategist, suggested, "Now's the time to bridge the gap, Master Harry. Appeal to her memories, her lost dreams."

Harry gently prodded, "You knew them well, didn't you, Aunt Petunia? What were they like?"

Petunia turned away, her body language closed off. "I don't want to talk about it, Harry. It's in the past."

Nigel's voice was a mixture of encouragement and caution. "Persistence, Harry, but with finesse. You're walking a tightrope here."

Over the next few days, Harry, guided by Nigel's tactical advice, looked for ways to gently coax Petunia into sharing more about his parents. He strategically left the photograph in places where she would undoubtedly see it, each sighting a silent invitation to reminisce.

One evening, while preparing dinner, Harry ventured another attempt. "Aunt Petunia, I was thinking about what you said the other day about my parents. It must have been hard for you when they... when they passed."

Petunia paused, her back still turned to Harry. "Life is full of hardships, Harry. We all must learn to move on."

Nigel, sensing a shift, whispered, "Now, Harry, connect her feelings to yours. Show her that you understand."

Harry nodded to himself, taking a deep breath. "I know it's hard. I miss them too, even though I never really knew them. It feels like there's a part of me that's always been missing."

Petunia remained silent for a long moment, then, without turning around, said softly, "They were very much in love. Your mother, Lily, she had a way of making everyone around her feel special."

Harry's heart leaped at the revelation, a small victory in his quest to understand his past and connect with his aunt. Nigel's voice was full of approval. "Well done, Master Harry. You've opened a door long closed. Now we must ensure it doesn't shut again."

Harry sat alone in his room, the photograph of his parents resting on his lap. The newfound knowledge about his mother and father stirred a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. It was then that a realization dawned on him, a complex puzzle piecing itself together in his mind.

He understood that Aunt Petunia's disdain towards him was rooted not only in his resemblance to his father but also in a deeper, more painful history. "She hates me because I look like Dad, but why does she hate him so much?" Harry pondered. Nigel, in his typical fashion, offered no immediate answers, allowing Harry to explore his thoughts.

"Nigel said Aunt Petunia envied Mum for her magic. That much is clear. But her hatred for Dad, James, it must be more personal. It's not just about magic," Harry thought aloud. He delved deeper into his memories, the stories Nigel had shared, and the snippets of conversations he overheard through the years.

Harry realized that Aunt Petunia's resentment towards his mother, Lily, wasn't solely because of her magical abilities. It was more complex. "Petunia must have missed Lily terribly. Hogwarts semesters are long, and Lily stayed at school for most of the year. Petunia was left behind, alone, her envy growing into resentment."

He then thought about his father, James. "And then there's Dad. He came into Mum's life when she was about to graduate. Just when Petunia thought she'd have her sister back, James appeared. A stranger who took Lily away for good. Petunia must have seen him as the final thief of her sister's affection."

Harry's mind raced with possibilities. "If I want Aunt Petunia to accept my magical side, I need to recreate the bond she had with Mum. But it has to be even more special. And I need to be subtle about it." Harry knew this wouldn't be easy. Petunia's face didn't soften quickly; she had years of resentment built up, not just towards him but towards the magical world as a whole.

Nigel, always the voice of reason with a hint of sarcasm, broke into Harry's thoughts. "Ah, Master Harry, delving into the depths of family psychology, are we? Be careful, the waters are treacherous, and the current strong."

Harry nodded to himself. "I know, Nigel. But I have to try. I need to make Aunt Petunia see me not just as James's son but as Lily's son too."

With his newfound resolve, Harry planned his next move. He knew his knowledge about his mother, Lily, was limited, so he decided to engage Aunt Petunia in conversation about her, carefully observing her reactions and emotions. It was a challenging task, given his limited experience in reading emotions, but with his mind now functioning like an advanced computer, he could analyze and rewatch any memory in detail.

One evening, while helping Petunia with the dishes, Harry cautiously broached the subject. "Aunt Petunia, you mentioned Mum was special. Could you tell me more about her?"

Petunia's hands stilled for a moment, a flicker of something crossing her face before she regained her composure. "There's not much to tell, Harry. She was your mother, and she was ... That's all."

Harry observed her closely. Her words were dismissive, but her eyes darted away briefly, a sign of discomfort. Her jaw tensed, indicating she was holding back emotions. Nigel's voice echoed in Harry's mind, "Observe the nuances, Master Harry. The devil, as they say, is in the details."

Undeterred, Harry pressed on gently, "But you grew up together, didn't you? You must have shared some happy moments."

Petunia paused, her expression hardening. "I don't see why that's any of your concern."

Nigel's voice was a blend of encouragement and realism, "Persistence, Harry. But remember, subtlety is key. Don't push too hard."

Over the next few days, Harry tried different approaches to get Petunia to open up. He shared anecdotes from school, hoping to trigger her memories of Lily. He even brought up a school project on family history, subtly steering the conversation towards their shared past.

Each attempt was met with resistance. Petunia's walls were high, built from years of resentment and pain. Her reactions were guarded, her responses brief. But Harry noticed small cracks in her armor. A distant look when he mentioned a childhood memory, a slight softening of her eyes when he talked about missing his parents.

Nigel's strategic advice was invaluable. "Consider your approach as laying a siege, Master Harry. You're not storming the castle; you're surrounding it, waiting for the right moment to enter."

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