บท 122: Hesitation
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Misty appeared with a soft pop, her eyes wide with excitement at being of service. "Master Potter, Miss Petunia, Misty is ready to take you home," she squeaked, her voice filled with eagerness.
"Thank you, Misty. Let's head back," Harry said, offering Petunia a reassuring smile as they took hold of Misty's offered hands. With a nod from Harry, Misty snapped her fingers, and they disappeared with a faint crack, leaving behind the twinkling lights and lingering melodies of the Yule Ball.
Reappearing in the familiar surroundings of their home, Harry and Petunia shared a moment of quiet reflection on the night's events. The warmth of their living room, with its soft, inviting glow, was a welcome contrast to the grandeur of the ball.
Petunia let out a contented sigh, her earlier trepidation about attending the event now replaced by a warm sense of accomplishment. "That was quite the evening, Harry," she said, removing her coat and settling onto the sofa.
Harry's smile was bright and genuine as he looked at his aunt. "You were truly amazing tonight, Aunty," he complimented, his eyes reflecting the pride he felt. Petunia, with a modest smile, found her lap soon occupied by Crookshanks, who sought her affection with a purr. As she stroked the cat, she sighed softly, her voice carrying a weight of decision. "Harry, I think it would be better if you attended such gatherings without me in the future."
Harry's expression turned to one of confusion, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "What do you mean, Aunty? If this is about that frog—"
But Petunia interrupted him gently, shaking her head to dismiss the notion. "No, Harry, it's not about her. It's about status."
Harry's scowl deepened, reflecting his disdain for the shallow judgments of the wizarding elite. "Aunty, the opinions of those self-important fools hold no weight. They're trapped in archaic beliefs, thinking pure bloodlines are superior to innovation and intelligence. Did you not see how impressed Lady Longbottom was? Your creativity left her in awe."
Petunia's gaze softened, but her resolve remained. "Harry, it's not just about their opinions. It's about fitting in, and I... I don't want you to miss out because of me."
Nigel chimed in, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Ah, yes, because nothing says fitting in like hobnobbing with wizards who think a good pedigree trumps common sense. Truly, the pinnacle of social achievement."
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Aunty, your work, using Muggle innovations with magical herbology, is groundbreaking. You're bridging worlds. That's where the future lies, not in the purity of one's blood."
Petunia smiled weakly, touched by Harry's words. "I appreciate your faith in me, Harry. But, I can't help feeling like an outsider there."
"Outsider?" Harry snorted. "Please, those wizards couldn't innovate their way out of a paper bag. You, on the other hand, are redefining what it means to be magical. If they can't see that, it's their loss."
Harry leaned forward, capturing his aunt's gaze with his own earnest one. "You belong there just as much as anyone, Aunty. More, even. You're showing them a new way forward. If they can't see your worth, that's their folly, not ours."
Petunia's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, moved by Harry's passionate defense. "Thank you, Harry. It means the world to me, truly. But, I think it's best if I focus on my work from the shadows. The limelight... it's not for me."
Harry, with a persistence that mirrored his determination on the Quidditch field, leaned in closer, his voice carrying an earnestness that could not be easily dismissed. "Aunty, you embody the spirit of the Evans House, a line that, though you believe it ended with you, continues to thrive through your innovations. You merge Muggle ingenuity with magical ways, a feat those stuck in their ways can't even begin to comprehend. And," he added, a spark of excitement in his eyes, "I have something for you, a token of appreciation for everything you've done and will continue to do."
Reaching into his pocket, Harry retrieved a small, neatly wrapped box and handed it to Petunia. The curiosity in her eyes was evident as she carefully unwrapped it, revealing a ticket inside. "What's this, Harry?" she inquired, her gaze shifting from the ticket back to Harry.
The ticket itself was a work of art, adorned with intricate designs that spoke of the magical world from which it originated. Hogwarts' house crests—Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw—were elegantly displayed along the borders, with magical creatures like hippogriffs and nifflers adding a playful touch to the corners. In the center, the Quidditch pitch was depicted in stunning detail, with tiny broomsticks flying overhead, giving the ticket an almost animated quality.
"This," Harry began, his tone infused with pride, "is a VIP pass to every Quidditch game at Hogwarts, for as long as you wish to attend. As a stakeholder in the Quidditch events, I've been given a VIP box, and I can't think of anyone more deserving to share that space with me. I'd be honored if you'd come to watch me play."
Petunia, taken aback by the gesture, examined the ticket more closely, her fingers tracing the delicate lines of the Hogwarts crest. "Harry, this is... incredible. But are you sure? I mean, me, at a Quidditch game?"
Harry's smile was reassuring, his confidence unshaken. "Absolutely, Aunty. You're not just attending as a spectator; you're there as a representative of our family, of the Evans legacy. And yes, even if you can't cast spells, you're bringing something equally powerful to the wizarding world. Your ability to blend Muggle technology with magical innovation is groundbreaking. Those purebloods, with their narrow views, are missing out on the potential for progress. You, Aunty, are a part of that progress."
Petunia, now smiling at the thought, looked from the ticket back to Harry. "Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse? It'll be my pleasure to watch you play, Harry. And who knows? Maybe I'll learn a thing or two about Quidditch in the process."
Harry's grin widened, pleased with her acceptance. "Trust me, Aunty, Quidditch is more than just a game. It's a spectacle. And with you in the VIP box, it'll be even more special."
Harry could see Petunia's earlier apprehension about attending events like the Yule Ball slowly fading away. As they discussed the upcoming Quidditch games, Harry saw a gleam of excitement in Petunia's eyes, a sign that she was gradually moving past the earlier hesitations about attending magical events such as Yule Ball. "We're expected at Longbottom Manor this Friday," Harry added, his tone casual but encouraging. "It's a perfect opportunity, Aunty. You should present the muggle greenhouse technology you've blended with magical practices. The Greengrass, Davis, Bones, and Abbott families will be there, too."
Petunia, caught in the enthusiasm of the moment, momentarily forgot her reservations. "Oh, that sounds wonderful, Harry. But what exactly should I prepare?" she inquired, her voice laced with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.
Harry smiled reassuringly. "Just be yourself, Aunty. Share your passion for blending muggle innovations with magic. It's not just about the technology; it's the perspective you bring that's truly revolutionary."
Nigel, seizing the moment to add his insight, quipped, "Yes, think of it as enlightening the wizarding world one greenhouse at a time. Who knows, you might just start a trend. Next thing we know, they'll be swapping their broomsticks for gardening tools! A rake perhaps?"
Chuckling, Harry waved off Nigel's commentary with a light-hearted, "You've got quite the imagination, Nigel." He then turned to Petunia, his eyes reflecting the fatigue of the day's events, "It's been a long night, Aunty. I think it's time for me to head to bed. Good night."
Petunia smiled softly at Harry, her gaze warm. "Good night, Harry. Today was indeed eventful. Rest well."
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