Petunia Dursley nee Evans
Her first thought was to scream, but in the end she refrained in favor of quickly snatching the thing in the house and quietly shutting the door. Moving to her pristine kitchen she snatches up one of the freshly laundered towels to set the filthy bundle upon. It murmurs briefly before turning over onto its side with a sigh. Ignoring it Petunia reads the letter it came with and nearly screams again. Of all the inconsiderate idiocy and arrogance – Biting her lip until she tastes blood the blonde has to count to 10 before her tears of anger dissipate.
Turning an angry glare at the bundle before her she nods quickly and then walks to a cabinet to get a bowl she doesn't mind throwing away. It's been at least ten years since she did this last, but it isn't something you can forget. A bowl of milk and a finger nicked with a sharp silver point. Exactly three drops of blood and a slice of newly baked bread. A word that tastes of iron and ash in her mouth - the one small bit of magic something like her can pronounce. Muggle. They might as well call her a nigger or a cripple. It'd be the same difference.
Pushing aside the familiar rush of anger Petunia sets the bowl outside her back door and stands quietly with the piece of bread. In the space of a blink there is a small withered looking creature with great brown eyes looking at her piteously. Attempting a smile it displays far too many teeth. With a shudder she holds out her letter along with the bread. "Thank you." Unlike the ever blessed wizards she would display some home training. Of course, she almost regrets it when the creature makes a motion to touch her. Luckily these things cannot pass her door without permission. She hates to think what she'd do if one ever decided to try. Little creeps.
Enough. Now what will she do with this changeling until she has her reply? It isn't a child… not a human one anyway. It's some little trickster brat that will raise hell with her life and the lives of her love ones until its people come back to take it away. Well it is filthy and so it needs to be washed. Not in the sink certainly and the bath is just as out of the question. At last she settles on wiping him clean with an old rag and a bucket that can be bleached. The changeling is a weedy little bastard too warm by half with a swollen mark on its head. It has yet to open eyes that are supposedly the same unnatural green as his mother.
"Lily." The perfect one, the pretty one, the clever one, the nice one, the only one anyone ever cared about. Perfect, prefect Lily Potter… nee Evans; not that it ended up mattering in the long run. It hadn't saved her from dying at the hands of some magical lunatic. Had she died in pain from this so called Unforgivable? Had it been slow or quick? What were those freaks doing with her corpse right now? Sick freaks… neither decent burial nor invitation to her one living relative. Well, no there was Dudley as well. Dudley who would never know safety until this little mongrel was gone.
She can sacrifice one of Dudley's old onesies and a pair of socks, but no more – the mortgage was currently eating through everything they had right now. And they were still paying off the funeral costs for her parents – this thing's grandparents. Well, it's human grandparents. Where the hell were its non-human grandparents? Did they get themselves killed as well? And it's godfather – where was that lackadaisical asshole? Probably too busy chasing skirts and pulling "pranks" to be worth a damn as usual. Why Lily took up with that worthless group of slack jawed fuckwits… At least the Snape boy was dependable – vicious, arrogant, filthy, and fey; but dependable and capable when needed.
And of course, speak of the devil if you wish him to appear. There is a brisk knocking at the backdoor. The ceiling gives a frightful groan as Vernon rolls over in protest. If only they had the money for his physical therapy they could get his knee back together and he could start trying to work off all the weight he gained after… Damn pests! Wrapping the bundle up it is the work of seconds to approach the door, open it, shove the thing over, and shut it firmly. Tomorrow she will speak to – to someone about the letter and the child. Tomorrow she will perhaps write again to the Snape boy and ask for assistance against that – that sumabitch prick Dumbledore.
Today she is going to start a pot of coffee and fry up some bacon. She will fry some eggs and make a container of formula for the day. There are clothes to wash and arrangements have to be made regarding the gas bill. It's her day to watch the kids so Vanessa and Gemma will be dropping off their lads. The Hollimans are out of town… And just like that Petunia's life goes on as normal - at least for now.
For the man walking slowly away with a baby on his shoulder things have only just begun.