Petunia Dursley woke up just as the first rays of sun peeked through the narrow gaps between the curtains. She took in the loud, snoring form of her husband and smiled to herself. Even after all these years she marvelled at her good fortune. She never thought she would find someone who was so amazingly normal. Most people would go as far as to call him boring; Petunia called him perfection. But then, most people never had the problem that she did - no one else had her for a sister.
Petunia sneered in disdain at the thought of her sister. Perfect Lily, with all her abnormality, bringing all sorts of strange things into the house and their parents, oh, so proud of it! Petunia could only be thankful that Vernon never held it against her, that he'd accepted her so unconditionally when her own sister was everything he abhorred. She smiled down at him once more.
Thanking her luck, as was her morning ritual, Petunia got dressed and went down to get things ready for her perfectly normal day where things never changed. And her little Dudders - only sixteen months old, so sweet and so boisterous - would be awake soon. She knew he'd be hungry. She opened the front door of her neat little house to pick up the milk bottles. She looked down and she froze.
And then she was screaming.
There, on her front porch, lay a bundle of yellow blankets and there was no doubting what it was, especially when it began squirming and wailing in response to her own screams.
As she continued screaming, she was only vaguely aware of her husband's shouts, her own son's cries and the neighbours hurrying out of their homes and looking out their windows fearfully.
It was only when she felt, rather than heard, Vernon's yell right behind her that she abruptly stopped screaming. She looked back down at the still wailing bundle, and somehow, without a doubt, she knew whose baby this was. One look at his eyes - exactly like his mother's - confirmed it.
A cold hand seemed to clench at her heart.
Without another glance at their surroundings, she picked up the baby and hurried in, rocking him haphazardly, trying to silence him. She moved into the living room and carefully placed him on the sofa. The baby tried to get out of the blankets and, in the process, threw something on to the floor. Just as she picked up the envelope, Dudley's cries and Vernon's agitated questions pierced through.
"Stay here with him," she said to Vernon, and without another word, hurried out of the room to her baby's room, the letter still clutched in her hands. She didn't let go off it even as she cooed at and soothed her Diddydums. Only when he went back to sleep did she go downstairs.
She peered through the living room door and saw the boy had managed to get rid of his blankets and was standing on wobbly legs, in blue pajamas, next to the sofa, clutching at it for support. Vernon standing in one corner of the room, a look of anxiousness and anger on his face. She didn't blame him. The boy, even at the age of one, looked incredibly like his father, and just remembering them, Petunia felt all the reasons for her dislike of the Potters rush back to her mind.
The boy had his fingers in his mouth, which he lowered at the sight of her, looking curious. "Mama? Da?"
She just stared at him, as guilt and grief warred with jealousy and hatred. The former won over as she watched the boy's lower lip tremble and tears filled his -Lily's - eyes. She ran away to the kitchen, unwilling to deal with him just yet.
She sank down at the kitchen table, and it was only then she noticed she was trembling. She remembered the letter in her hands, and she fumbled a bit before opening it. Almost immediately she closed her eyes, not wanting to read it, not wanting the confirmation that - that…She couldn't even complete that thought.
She'd loathed her sister, hated her, ranted at her and then had entirely cut her off for so many years. So why then, did it matter so much? It shouldn't be this hard to affirm what she already knew.
Petunia sat at the table like that for nearly thirty minutes, only dimly aware of the muffled cries from the boy, her nephew. Then, steeling herself as she opened her eyes, she looked down at the letter once more:
Dear Mrs. Dursley,
My name is Albus Dumbledore, and you will remember me, from a single instance of correspondence, as the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I write to you this letter to inform you, with a heavy heart, the death of your sister - Petunia choked out a dry sob - and her husband at the hands of the man known as Lord Voldemort.
Let me explain to you the circumstances of their deaths. As I'm sure you know, the Wizarding World was at war with the self-styled Dark Lord known as Voldemort for eleven years. Lily and James had both opted to fight against him right after they left school.
About a year ago, however, soon after the birth of their son, Harry, it came to our attention that Lord Voldemort had identified the Potters as a potential threat. Lily and James then went into hiding with Harry. After much searching, Lord Voldemort found them at their home in Godric's Hollow last night. Your sister and brother-in-law put up a valiant fight before they were overpowered.
I now come to the other reason for writing this letter - your nephew, Harry. As Lily fought against Lord Voldemort, she sacrificed herself in exchange for the life of her son, providing Harry with a protection that was strong enough to destroy Voldemort's body when he turned his wand on the boy. But I fear, Petunia, that Voldemort is not gone forever and when he does return Harry will be in terrible danger. I do know of a powerful enchantment that can keep him safe till he comes off age, but it is something only you can enact. It is an ancient magic that occurs in the form of love - in this case, Lily's sacrifice for her son. This magic is binding only if the person who shares Lily's blood takes Harry in and provides him with a home.
So, I ask this one thing of you, Petunia, for the sake of your beloved sister, that you take in Harry and protect him against the evil that is sure to return. I'm sure that you will raise him as your own and that, one day, when he's old enough to understand, explain to him the circumstances surrounding his parents' death.
You know how to contact me, if, for any reason, you wish to do so.
I'm very sorry for your loss.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore.
Petunia stared numbly at the letter her in her hand, only a few words jumping out at her. "Lily...dead", "Voldemort...terrible danger", "beloved sister...dead", "Harry...protection."
At first, the numbness was replaced with grief - grief for the loss of the sister she once loved. It was followed by the guilt she felt for cutting off Lily when she left for that school. That school! Oh, how she hated it!
There was that one time she had wanted to go too, but they wouldn't let her! She became angry at them, angry at Lily, for leaving her behind. But then, she'd come to fear it, fear the strange thing, the wrongness of it all. But Lily couldn't see it! She wouldn't listen to her! And now she was gone.
As her thoughts turned, so did her emotions - grief changed to anger, and then, to spite. She blamed Lily for all of this. Lily, who became a Witch, Lily who refused to leave that world, and that Potter, behind. And now she paid for it with her own life! And what happened after that? She, Petunia, after years and years of living a normal life, had been dumped with the burden that was her sister's mistake.
Realisation crashed on Petunia in that moment, though; she'd already, unconsciously, decided that she would take that boy in. She didn't doubt for a second that he would be any less of a freak of nature than her sister, but she was going to take him in nonetheless.
"Petunia, dear," came Vernon's nervous voice, as he stood at the doorway. "Petunia - that boy - what…? The neighbours are all asking question and I don't know what to say to them!" His expression turned alarmed. "Petunia! Are you crying?! Is - is everything alright?"
Petunia sat up straight and hastily brushed away the tears she hadn't realised she'd shed. She pulled herself together and replied in clipped tones. "My sister's dead."
Vernon looked stunned for a moment. "And - and the boy's father?"
"Dead as well," she said coldly, as she stood up. "Last night." She couldn't get herself to explain it. She just stuffed the letter in his hand and went to the stove to prepare breakfast.
There was silence as Vernon read the letter. "I - they got themselves blown up! And protections! And Ancient ma-magic!" He hissed the last word under his breath, peering about nervously as if to check no one had their noses pressed against the windows. "What is this rubbish? What does all this mean? Why is the boy here instead of being with his - his lot!"
"He'll need to stay here," Petunia said sharply. "The neighbours have already seen him."
"But Petunia!" said Vernon, aghast, "I don't want one of them in the house!"
"Then, we'll make sure he isn't one, Vernon. We won't tell him what he is!"
Vernon gaped at her for a moment. "Right," he muttered, and began pacing the kitchen. "Right. We'll keep him in this house and we will feed him and clothe him but that is it! No more than that! And there won't be anymore talk of - of that utter rubbish! If we're going to have him here then we're not going to tolerate all this - this dangerous nonsense!"
"Yes, exactly," said Petunia primly, heating the frying pan. "Where is that boy anyway?"
He hesitated, and then replied defensively "I put him in the cupboard under the stairs. The racket he was making! He would've woken Dudley up! And the neighbours would've started coming around - again - to see what was happening!"
Petunia hesitated for a moment, but then remembered what a blight on her perfect existence he was, just like his parents.
"Leave him there, then," she said contemptuously, and Petunia Dursley proceeded with her day's work without another thought to Lily Potter.