To Whom It May Concern
Number 4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging, Surrey, England

October 30th, 1981

Dear Petunia Dursley:

Introductions are, as I've always been of the opinion, rather fluffy and unnecessary, filled with rather faux greetings and chit chat before ever getting to the crux of the matter. So I will not bother with an introduction, though it may irritate you a bit, knowing your standards for order – for the fact of the matter is that there is no time for fluff.

I know your grudge. And I have hope that someday it will come loose from its fastenings, and you'll see clearly past whatever shrouds you now. But I, personally, cannot admonish you for any ill will or spite that dwells within you, for I have as many faults, if not more, than you. However, I beg of you. No matter how much you try, it is impossible to escape family. It is impossible to escape the truth. And through it all, love and hate are tricky matters. They manifest and grow, and it is only at the breaking point that we can tell what we are dealing with.

See past your cloud, for a moment, if not for a bit longer, as I explain to you the problem at hand. Your sister and brother-in-law are in grave danger, and dark times are pressing in from all sides. You have, I surmise, already felt it – in the skies, in the buzzing of the air, or in the tremors of the ground. Perhaps you have sensed the shadows looming. But it is the beginnings of a war, fought for power and dominance, that will be far more deadly than anything you can ever imagine.

The accidents? The wreckage, the mysterious disappearances? These are far more than just mere coincidences. And as our world begins to leak into yours, the disaster will spread faster and further than it can be stopped. Already, the Ministry of Magic has begun to lose control. The enemies have infiltrated. And innocent lives are being crushed underfoot.

I have been a bit vague, haven't I? Perhaps I should elaborate, for I fear that I might be taking your brain through some rather confusing circles. To put it simply, I once knew a boy, Tom Riddle - clever and cunning beyond anything I'd ever seen. He was sly, and smooth – a look to his handsome face, and you would lose yourself to expert charm, or his gold gilded words laced with a delicate, undetectable poison. And he was powerful. Magic – and incredible, deadly skill – ran through his veins, coursed through his body with a strength that no one at the time could have predicted.

It was this boy that fell from grace. The soul is a precious thing, Petunia Dursley. Without it life is shapeless and empty, and we are but shells, hollow vessels that live to die. But with it, we are human. We feel, we sense, we hate…we love. And so, the soul is crucial. If tampered with, we lose this humanity to twisted limits that never should be reached. And through this, Tom Riddle – that beautiful, perfect boy – began to destroy himself.

I will not describe to you the details of this process. He ripped himself apart, piece by piece, by performing the most unforgivable act. As his self, plagued by bitterness and hatred, shattered to pieces, he grew undefeatable in the worst way possible. He split himself into seven, and, no longer tethered by a natural life, further dove into darkness unforeseeable.

This is Lord Voldemort. And as he wrecks the world to gain power in blind, cruel force, the blood of the innocent is shed in masses. Towns have been destroyed, families have been splintered apart. The fighters are falling quickly, and he gains more control and more support as his terror overtakes all remains of hope. And hatred and fear rules over our world, and will soon conquer yours as Lord Voldemort gains power.

This has everything to do with you, Petunia. And more so than the possible threat of terror reigning down upon life as you know it. As he continues to overtake us, we continue to fight. In the Order of the Phoenix, Lily and James Potter are fighting for their lives and for the ultimate safety of the rest of the world. Surely you remember Lily's capabilities? You've grown bitter enough about them as is. She is strong, courageous – and aided by James, they are a match that Voldemort remains wary of. He seeks them to destroy them, or turn them against what they believe.

Already, three times, they have escaped death, but I am afraid that this cannot continue any longer. Lily, as I'm sure she has told you, just recently gave birth to a son. Your nephew, Petunia. He has her eyes, and resembles James to the finest hair on his head. Have you seen him? Or do you deny his existence, like how you have attempted to erase Lily from your life? But they are both here, on this earth, living in shadows, sought by a power that will not be satisfied until they are gone. Voldemort has chosen them as his adversary, as the ones of which his prophecy speaks. In hiding, they are safe, but they will not escape his wraith forever. For your nephew has a doomed fate, Petunia, as Voldemort seeks the Potters in order to secure his own destiny…but only if you let it be so. There is so much you can do, and I hope that you will do as much as I ask. You are tethered to their existence, as a family. You are strung together, despite distance or discord.

Please, Petunia. This is what I ask of you. Lily and James may not survive, but Harry must. I cannot be sure of the future, as I cannot answer the questions that are likely running through your mind at this point, but I must have your word. Promise me, Petunia, that Harry – if he shall be torn away from the life he is only beginning to embrace – will be safe in your care. Lily's blood runs through him as much as any magical blood does.

You cannot hate her. As much as you wish you could, you can't, and that is because she means as much to you as family can. And if you can't save her, Petunia, then maybe you can save what she has fought for.

Take care of Harry.

In faith,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix – A Peck of Owls, pg. 40

An awful voice filled the kitchen, echoing in the confined space, issuing from the burning letter on the table.

"REMEMBER MY LAST, PETUNIA."

A/N: Twas my submission to a HPFF contest, and as you can see, it's based off of Dumbledore's howler sent in the Order of the Phoenix.

I've always felt like there's more to Petunia than meets the eye, and once I finally get into Pottermore, I hope I'll be able to see that in J.K. Rowling's extras :) That damn welcome email!

Nutshells is going well.

Anyway, leave a review?

-.x. :)