The peaceful morning on Privet Drive was pierced by the high, blood curdling shriek of Petunia Dursley as she opened the front door of number four only to nearly trodden upon the sleeping baby on her doorstep. Immediately her hand clamped over her mouth, anxious eyes searching the street for a sign that any of the neighbors had seen either her outburst, or the child. In a rush, she reached down and collected the now awake child into her arms and hurried inside. Fearful of what someone might assume if they saw, she slammed the door shut quickly behind her.

'What's that racket? Are you alright Petunia?' the voice of Mr. Dursley grunted, entering the room just after Petunia had shut out the 'prying eyes' of the outside world. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the thing in her arms. It certainly wasn't Dudley; the hair was the wrong color. 'What's that?"

Petunia opened her mouth, but words didn't seem to want to come out. Eyes wide, she stared down at the small boy. That scar, simply horrid, and that messy black hair on his head, and… and the eyes. They were familiar, so very familiar. Then, she noticed the letter clutched in its tiny fist.

'Hold him, Vernon, please,' she said, still staring at the child as she moved to give him to her husband who was looking at the child with a look of disgust. Still, he took him.

Petunia took the off white envelope from the child and moved her long trembling fingers to tear it open. She knew what it would contain, she knew who that boy was, but as she pulled out the letter scrawled in scarlet ink, she pleaded for the contents to be different from what they inevitably would be.

Dear Mrs Petunia Dursley,

I'm sure at this point you must have many questions, and I regret to inform you that the answers are of the somber variety. I believe an introduction is required. My name is Professor Albus Dumbledore, and I am the headmaster of the school your sister formerly attended. Now, I'm sure you may have some knowledge of the war going on in our world and…

She read on, and as her eyes scanned the paper, her breath hitched in her chest and a strangled gasp was let out. The more she read, the more she covered up her pained reaction with a mask of pursed lips. There, in that letter, was the news of her sisters murder. That boy being held by her husband was her nephew, and they were the only family he had left.

The letter was long, and part of it explained that with them was the only place young Harry would be safe, and what to expect and what to tell him one day. One could say it was a little much to take in, but Petunia only let out a few gasps, and pushed away the odd stinging sensation in her eyes.

'What is it?' Vernon's gruff voice might have been the only thing to stop Petunia from letting tears fall from her pale eyes.

Petunia sniffed. She reached out and took Harry back from Vernon. After a moment of staring at the boy, who she noticed was quite the quiet baby, she finally said, 'she's dead.'

A look of confusion crossed her husbands face, but after grabbing the letter and scanning it, he finally got it.

'Rubbish-' he gasped. 'S-so they just expect us to take that brat in? We hate them, and their kind- You hate them.'

Petunia pursed her lips. 'I guess so.'

She didn't dare say what was on her mind, for she didn't want Vernon to hear it. Her sister was dead, gone; Petunia would never see her again. Yes, she had cut herself out of Lily's life, but in no way did that mean she wished her death.

'It's an outrage!' a still very flustered and furious Veron spluttered. 'We ought to send him to an orphanage. The nerve of them- expecting us to-'

'They're dead, Vernon' Petunia snapped at him. 'They didn't expect anything!'

Vernon was shocked by her reaction. For all he knew, Petunia hated her sister and the freaks that were her kind. His moustache twitched nervously, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Petunia cut him off again.

'He stays.'

'But- Petunia, you-'

'He stays, Vernon.' Her word was final. With that, she turned and took Harry upstairs.

'We'll stamp the magic out of him then!' yelled Vernon after her.

He was right, they would, thought Petunia. They would raise him as a normal boy, not as what his parents had been. They would make sure he didn't know, and that he never found his… his powers. Petunia knew deep down that the likelihood of that was slim, but they had to try. It was the only thing that would put them at ease.

She reached the room of her son Dudley, who was down in the living room in his swing, and placed Harry in the crib. They would find a more suitable place for him later.

Staring at the cooing child, into its eyes, all she could do was remember the women whose eyes were an exact replica of his. She remembered their childhood, and how there was a point where everything was perfect. They got along as any normal sisters did. They were happy. Petunia was happy. The letter had ruined everything. Yes, Lily had always been a bit different, but that letter was what drove a wall between them. Then, she started hanging around that nasty little boy, and just like that, Petunia's company and friendship had been replaced by a world of magic. How could anyone possibly top that?

This small boy, who Petunia couldn't help but resent, was now all that was left of her sister. Already, magic had done horrible things to him. It took away his parents, gave him that scar, and quite literally ruined his life. This, to Petunia, was just another example of its horror. She would not let that evil ruin her family, just as much as she would not let magic hurt this little boy again. No, they had to try and make sure he never came into contact with it.

The stinging was back in Petunia's now red rimmed eyes, as was a small trickle of tears running down her normally composed face. She sniffed. A slender hand reached up to wipe the tears away and put back on an expression of class, composure, and pursed lips.

She left the boy who was staring up at her, telling herself it was to go and check on Dudley downstairs, when really it was to end the pain that came whenever she looked upon his eyes; The eyes of her sister.

An: This was mainly written because I always enjoy imagining the missing moments, and characters reactions to certain events. This one in particular is something I have always thought about. It has probably been done before, but it was just something I wanted to write.

This was used in the The Birthday Challenge for the prompt of November - Birthstone - Write about a reaction to an event.