Petunia doesn't know how this has happened. How had she gone from all those years of misery, hating magic, hating herself, locked in the constraints of her kitchen – to lying in bed, with a sleepy blonde journalist curled at her side? And a witch at that! It had taken time and much persuasion (in its many forms) to reach this moment, but Petunia wouldn't trade it for the world. She snuggled a little deeper under the covers, hugging the duvet around her thin shoulders. She'd met Rita shortly after Vernon's death, caught suddenly out in the rain one day when the next thing she knew there was a loud cracking noise that reminded her of what Vernon said was a car back firing all those years ago and she was being approached by a tacky looking woman in a dirty teal raincoat.

Of course Petunia had turned up her nose and tried to scurry away as fast as she could without seeming overly rude – her social snobbery was not yet a thing of the past – but Rita had followed her, and they'd somehow ended up in a rather dubious looking café together, Rita eyeing her speculatively up from behind her horn-rimmed spectacles. Petunia remembered feeling entirely disbelieving with herself, that she was bothering to associate with someone of Rita's ilk, but by that point she'd been so swirlingly, mind-numbingly lonely that she couldn't help but accept the offer of a cup of tea from this total stranger.

After her departure from Little Whinging she'd lost touch with almost all of her dinner party acquaintances, not that she'd genuinely liked any of them anyway, Dudley had married and moved away, so after Vernon's death last year she'd found herself entirely at a loose end. But of course then it turned out Rita hadn't even wanted Petunia's company for her sake; it turned out she was a witch, a journalist, looking to get rich quick with a tell-all biography of Harry Potter on the 20th anniversary of his defeat of Voldemort… Christ, Petunia remembered thinking. How desperate must this wretched woman be to come find me of all people?

So she'd stormed out on Rita without paying for her tea, returning to her lonely little flat in tears. Why would magic not let her go? It was like fate knew all too well of her jealousy and used it as a weapon against her time and time again as a punishment for her ill-treatment of her nephew. But then fate had curled in on itself and this time it was Rita who she hadn't been able to let go of thinking about. She sighed heavily, the rustle of air disturbing Rita who stirred, her platinum blonde curls that had once seemed so tasteless to Petunia now simply beautiful tangled in her eyes. "Morning," she yawned. "What's up?" she frowned in concern at Petunia. "You look awfully sad, and half seven in the morning is a bit early for that, even for you!"

Petunia just sniffed and Rita reached out to gently stroke her arm. "Come on," she said kindly. "I'll make us some tea." Petunia watched Rita fondly as she climbed sleepily out of bed, draping herself in her pink satin dressing gown and padded across the room to the top of the stairs in her bare feet. She couldn't help but think how lucky she was to have Rita. Neither of them could ever really be classed as 'nice' women by the world at large, but somehow they got along together, balancing each other out – Petunia seemed to create a sort of softness in Rita that she didn't display much otherwise, and in turn Petunia only really felt relaxed when the other woman was around.

To think that none of this might've been! She laughed slightly, and dragged the back of her hand across her tired eyes. She'd not been sleeping too well of late. Rita slept like a log mostly, but more and more Petunia had been finding herself spending long hours gazing into the darkness at night, or focussing on the peace in Rita's slightly lined face as she slept.

Rita came back with the tea, slipping back under the covers and propping the tray up on her lap. "Thanks." Petunia took the nearest one, smiling in spite of herself as Rita playfully swatted at her hand. "Oi that's my cup," she teased, but Petunia merely shrugged her shoulders, smirking as she took the first sip. "Your favourite perhaps," she said, "but I seem to remember that it was bought as a gift for me!" Rita rolled her eyes and laughed. "Oh details, Petunia, details."

She set her own cup down, frowning as she glanced around her. "Have you seen my glasses?" she asked. "I can't see you properly." Rita started fumbling about on her bedside table, finding them at last under a copy of Witch Weekly and perching them on her nose. "Much better," she said coyly. "You're much more beautiful like this than you as a blur."

"Nonsense," Petunia tutted briskly. "We both know that the attractive one is you." Rita just smirked as Petunia continued. "We're both getting older," she said, "and you're holding up remarkably well." Rita shot her a side-along glance. "Charming. But you aren't so bad yourself you know, no matter how much you doubt it. If I wanted someone younger I'd have shacked up with someone like Fleur Delacour wouldn't I?" She was visibly joking, but Petunia still tensed up a little, and Rita sighed.

"Oh – sorry," she said quickly. "I forgot." Petunia was really rather touchy about magic in general, and although she was entirely used to Rita by now, Rita could tell that the wizarding world on a whole still made Petunia slightly uncomfortable. It was a shame, there was much about the wizarding world that Rita loved and she knew that it'd fascinate Petunia – a day out in Diagon Alley would be wonderful – but there was no way Petunia would ever agree to it, and as Rita was never inclined to mope about what cannot be, she let it go.

"It doesn't matter," Petunia said. She got out of bed quickly, clawing the tangles out of her hair with her spindly fingers, ignoring the dizziness that inevitably came with standing up these days. "Are you sure?" Rita asked from the bed, eyes dark. "And don't think I didn't notice you go pale there – is it your dizziness again, darling?"

Petunia blushed. "Oh you er – you noticed that?" Damn. She'd tried so hard to keep it hidden; not because she was deliberately trying to keep secrets from Rita, but she'd never liked to create a fuss – when she'd been married to Vernon, she'd never really thought about her own needs in her attempt to make everything perfect for Dudley and to keep her nephew at arm's length as much as possible.

"Course I noticed," Rita scoffed. "I love you don't I?" The words slipped out without her realising, and they hung in the air between the two women, both of them startled. In the six months that they had acknowledged their feelings for one another and the three that they'd lived together, neither had spoken of love outright. Oh, they had expressed it perhaps – through touch, and metaphor, and lingering glances – but neither had actually uttered the words. Petunia's heart swelled up and to her horror she found tears pricking at the back of her eyes.

"I – do you mean it?" she asked uncertainly, still hovering before the bed. No one had told her that sine before Vernon died, and - here she frowned – when was the last time he had ever actually said something along those lines to her? Rita yawned and nodded. "Mmh, yeah."

It wasn't the most passionately encouraging thing she'd ever said, but she held out her arm to Petunia as she said it, who took the opportunity to grab Rita's hand and snuggle back into bed. "I've never told anyone that before," Rita said thoughtfully. "Not since Rosmerta anyway and that was – ooh, years ago." She smirked at Petunia. "But now there's no one I'd rather be with." Petunia smiled into Rita's hair, sliding her arm around Rita's stomach and lightly caressing her side. "Me too," she said peacefully. "I feel so peaceful with you? Far more so than I ever, ever did with Vernon."

They were lying face to face now, legs tangled beneath the sheets, and Rita nodded gently, warmth shining in her eyes. Petunia found herself yawning, loosening where she lay, and slowly, finally, she began to slip into sleep. Rita sighed as she watched Petunia's fluttering face, stroking her cheek slightly with one red-nailed finger. At last.