Petunia Dursley began November first like any other day. She sprang up at precisely seven o' clock, and quietly went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. After she finished her exact two minutes of brushing, she stopped into the nursery to check on her baby. She kissed his plump little head and watched Dudley doze for quite a while. She went downstairs and opened the front door to collect the milk bottles.
What she saw on her front step, however, was far from a milk bottle. She saw, instead, an infant fast asleep in a small basket. Naturally, Petunia screamed.

She couldn't hear herself. It was as if she were plunged underwater. She saw the infant stir and then start to cry, but it was as if it was he were moving in slow motion. She heard Dudley scream from upstairs, but only faintly. She heard a soft rumbling as her husband lumbered down the stairs. He pushed her aside with one great, meaty hand and began to slam the door once he saw the child. Petunia finally tore her eyes from the baby, and looked to her husband and the door, her vision swimming, she leapt in front of the closing door and snatched the baby from the basket and brought him inside.
The front door slammed shut with a crack and Petunia broke the surface of the ocean of confusion she had just been drowning in. She heard her own son squealing upstairs. She looked to her husband who was now especially purple; he twisted his face in frustration and then stormed upstairs to his son. Petunia watched him go, and once he was fully out of sight she actually looked at the child.
He had a lot of hair for a baby; he had to be about Dudley's age too. He had jet black hair that it stuck up in all directions. Petunia felt her stomach tie up in knots. He had the same untidy black hair that she had only seen on one other person, and that person was someone who's existence she hoped she would never have to acknowledge. However, here he seemed to be. Petunia felt a strange mix of emotions stir up in her chest and she knew only one thing. If this baby was here, then it wasn't with Lily. She blinked back tears. Damn that Severus for teaching her what she was. Damn that school for taking her. Damn that Potter for putting her in harm's way. And now damn this Potter for taking her sister away from Petunia once and for all.
Petunia felt like she wanted to hurl the baby across the room, but when she tried to let him down of the sofa, she couldn't. So she sat herself and she looked at the boy. The baby slowly looked up at her and she saw those green eyes. As much as Petunia could loath the baby's thin scar and his unruly black hair, every part of her being had to love those piercing green eyes. She held the baby close to her. Petunia didn't want to admit that she knew it was coming. She didn't want to admit that she missed her sister. She wanted to blame it on this baby. So she would. She would blame her unhappiness on his lightning scar and his unevitable gift. She could blame it all on his untidy black hair, but she would never blame it on his emerald eyes.
"I'll take care of you, Harry," she whispered. Just then, Vernon came lumbering into the room. He gave her some exasperated wells and he sighed quite a bit when Petunia explained that they were going to house the baby for a while. He almost yelled at her, but he saw her trying to blink back her tears. He took the baby she was now shoving at him. He bolted up the stairs muttering and glaring at the infant. In all his exasperation, Vernon Dursley had not seen a small envelope fall out of the baby's blankets and flutter to the floor. Petunia whisked off to the kitchen, as only some good scrubbing of household appliances could help her grief. Amid her hurrying, Petunia kicked the small envelope, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, The Largest Bedroom, Number Four Privet Drive, and it skidded under a radiator, never to be seen again.