Poison Ivy [Sirius Black]

IVY AND AN THE HARBORED PRISONER

ＴＨＩＲＴＥＥＮ

𝕚𝕧𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕣

      HARRY POTTER WAS COVERED IN mud, and it was dripping from his fingers, from his arms, to his small nose. Up ahead, his mu—no his aunt, was fretting over Dudley, who barely had a spec of dirt on him. Harry sat in the mud, watching Dudley cry, sob really, as his mother hugged him. Nevermind that Harry's clothes were soaked, out of reach of the umbrella that hung over his cousin.

      He watched them, shivering, his hands pale from the cold. Petunia finally looked at him, taking in his small body being pelted by the rain. Even now, even at his most pathetic, Petunia felt the resentment nearly overpower her, and staring at the 3-year-old, or maybe he was 4 as Petunia didn't remember, filled her with overwhelming bitterness. She held her son in her arms, not blind to the fact that Dudley had pushed him, struck Harry first, quick and hard enough to toss Harry into the mud.

      Petunia wanted to be the sort of woman who could look at a child not her own, and feel something akin to pity. However, Petunia felt that same pit in her stomach that she had every day her sister got praised or rewarded, leaving Petunia in the dark. "Look at what you did you little pest," Petunia said, in a tone that she couldn't believe was coming from her mouth, directed towards a boy that wasn't her son.

       Her son was crying, sobbing so loud that it was all Petunia could hear. She wanted him to stop, the stress of every cry filling Petunia with a sense of inadequacy. She rubbed Dudley's back, cooing him as she saw Harry start to stand. Petunia should have left the child home, under the stairs, but she had foolishly decided to bring him out. The groceries were in the car, and Petunia wished she could get away with placing Dudley in there too, locking the doors and leaving Harry here.

      Petunia didn't. She just glanced at Harry, opened the door to the car, and allowed her child to go inside. Petunia turned back to Harry, who had just started to cry. Where Dudley was loud with his feelings, Harry was quiet, and if Petunia turned away, she could forget he was there at all. Petunia watched him, watched the way the rain had ceased hitting him as if he had willed it away and it hit around him. Petunia felt disgusted at the sight, a burning resentment.