A/N: I own nothing. Hope you enjoy.

Vernon Dursley died of a heart attack on July 4th, 1981. His secretary found him in his office that morning after leaving him to continue working late into the night the previous evening.

Dudley Samuel Dursley was only eleven months old.

Petunia had never worked outside of home a day in her life. Now, all that would change. Vernon had taken out an impeccable insurance policy the week after they were married and as such, Petunia and Dudley were certainly comfortable. But Petunia, sensible woman that she was, knew that it was foolish to rely on that money.

The house on Privet Drive felt much too big and somehow suffocating. Everything looked too much alike. The concern her neighbors displayed was as fake as their perfect little lives were. For once in her life, she wanted anything but normal.

Thus, when she moved to Manchester a month later and took up as a secretary for a furniture giant, she was far too busy to attempt normalcy. There was a routine with she and Dudley, certainly, but any semblance of normalcy died with Vernon Dursley.

She'd been able to find an affordable child care not far from her job where Dudley went during the day. In the evenings, she played with him, fed him, bathed him, anything that kept him awake and tired him out. Finally, at around 8pm, she would put him down for the night and curl up in her bed to cry.

She missed Vernon. She missed the safety and security she felt with him. Still, she could not deny the modicum of relief she felt at his absence from her life. He'd been so suffocating and so disgustingly boring at times. But he loved her and he took care of her and she loved that.

This was her life for nearly four and a half months until October 31st, 1981.

The furniture company had been swamped with orders that day and Petunia had not been able to get lunch. When she picked up Dudley from daycare, she raced to the nearest fast food restaurant and took her frustrations and hunger out on an order of chicken strips and chips. She rushed out of the car with Dudley who'd been extremely fussy for some reason she could not yet understand.

As she rushed into the little townhome on the moderately quiet Silverfield Drive, she completely missed the cat sitting on her stoop, peering at her intently. When Dudley began to wail uncontrollably, she did not hear the loud pop at the end of the street. When she finally, finally got to sleep at nearly midnight, she slept deeply, completely oblivious to the vague sound of a motorbike arriving across the street.

It wasn't until the very next morning, on November 1st, that her life would truly change forever.

She was locking the door, Dudley on her hip, when she turned and nearly tripped. She looked down and saw a baby wrapped in a blanket, stirring restlessly, a fresh lightning scar on its head. Tucked in the side of the basket it was in was a folded note.

Dudley began to squirm restlessly and she decided to hurry and strap him into his car seat before returning to scoop up the basket with the baby inside. When she dropped Dudley off to daycare, she sat in the parking lot, staring intently into the backseat where the basket sat, the baby still asleep inside.

"I can't go in today." She said it to herself simply, as if it were merely fact.

When she got back home, she rushed inside and to her living room, placing the basket on the coffee table. The baby was awake now, staring at her curiously and intently as he made small gurgling noises. She was struck by his eyes and how very familiar they were to her.

Petunia pulled the note from the side of the basket and opened it. The handwriting inside cause her breath to hitch. She would know it anywhere. After all, she'd written a letter to the person long, long ago. But why, after all this time, was this person writing her?

As she read the letter she felt tears sting her eyes and the breath leave her body.

Mrs. Petunia Dursley,

I am terribly saddened to inform you that on 31 October, your sister Lily and her husband James Potter were murdered in their home. Their son, Harry, was mostly unharmed save for the scar on his forehead.

There is no one else with whom it would be best to leave Harry, and as you are his aunt, it is best he be with family for his own protection.

I offer you my condolences during this most terrible time. Information regarding arrangements for James and Lily will be forthcoming.

Respectfully,

Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore

She dropped the letter, her hands shaking as she leaned forward, pulling the baby out of the basket. His eyes narrowed curiously as if he could sense the sadness and confusion radiating from her. Petunia could see now that his eyes were exact replica's of Lily's. Everything else hinted toward his father.

As she held him up in front of her, his legs kicked about experimentally as he looked around. She could see that he was bigger than she thought, probably a little over a year old. He and Dudley were practically the same age.

"Oh, Lily, what the hell did you get yourself into?"

Meanwhile in London…

"Sirius, you can't-"

"That dirty bastard! He killed them, Remus!" Sirius could not recall another time that he'd felt guilt pressing upon him as heavily as it did at that moment. He felt like he might never breathe again.

"He did. But you are not going to be the one who serves him justice for it." Remus replied firmly, bodily blocking the doorway so that Sirius could not exit.

When Sirius stomped away in frustration and tossed an old mug at the wall, Remus silently placed anti-apparition wards around the flat. He knew Sirius like the back of his hand and knew that keeping him inside was best.

"And you believe the fucking ministry will bring justice to that traitor with Dumbledore pulling their strings? They'll suspect me, Remus, mark my words!" Sirius felt his throat grow heavy as he choked on his next words. "They'll think I betrayed them, Rem. Me."

The flat was dimly lit and Remus was vaguely aware that what few lights were on had begun flickering the minute Sirius threw the mug at the wall. There was a hard and tense silence in the living room as Remus watched Sirius crumple onto the sofa, a distraught and grieving mess. He felt his own heart shatter even more as he realized that the deaths of James and Lily had yet to register to him.

As a werewolf, he supposed, he was used to loss, used to people leaving his life abruptly. But deep inside of him, he knew that the deaths of Lily and James caused a fracture inside him that he doubted could be healed with anything but time. They'd been family to him. And Harry. Dear gods, Harry.

"You cannot go after him, Sirius. Harry needs you." Remus found strength in some part of himself and walked over to the sofa where Sirius was. He pulled him into his shoulders, letting him cry into his shirt. "I need you."

Sirius sat up after a period of time. "They're really gone, aren't they?" He looked so much like a child in that moment that it shattered Remus to pieces.

"Yes, Sirius. They're gone. But Harry is not. I am not." Remus answered firmly.

"The Ministry will come for me, the backward fuckers." He seemed to be to be thinking out loud, his eyes wandering somewhere far behind Remus. "They'll take me away and-"

"They will do no such thing!" Remus's voice interrupted sharply, startling Sirius with its intensity. He had turned just in time to see the flash of gold in Remus' eyes begin to fade to hazel. "You were with me the whole night anyway. I will give them my memories of the evening."

For the first time in nearly twenty four hours, something vaguely resembling a smile crossed Sirius' face. "You sure you want to show them everything, Rem?"

The man in question smiled back and kissed Sirius' forehead before pulling him back onto his chest. "Only if we must."