Prologue: 1981

It was raining, always raining.

And the night was dark, although the moon shone; it seemed to shine with a little less integrity than usual. As if it knew the horrors that had come about under its silvery veil, and was in abstaining shame.

But of course I didn't notice; I'd always been very unperceptive, always looking but never seeing. Never understanding, never wishing too. Overly content with my mundane life of late night television, frozen dinners and short black coffee.

Of course I knew more about the unnatural then most, but I remained entirely ordinary to the point that I was proud of the fact.

But it wasn't always so proud; so dull and so dreary. There was a time where my eyes were still a bright emerald and mesmerised by the world, but now they've become so very dull, the colour of swamp water. I always think that when she died that night, her eyes were still as bright.

I also like to think I'm too old to change, but of course that's not true. Still, even as a lie, it's a beautiful lie – one that I rely on to keep surviving in a life where every day is a grey repeat of the last.

That was until my nephew was left on the grey stone of our front door. I had just managed to get my little Dudley to stop crying at the lighting that struck the sky. A younger version of myself would have found it brilliant and terrifying, but all I felt then was annoyance.

"Who rings bells at this time of night," My husband said, a perfectly ordinary middle-aged man.

"Someone without sense, that's for sure," I replied, walking down the staircase. The both of us walked towards the door with grimaces on our faces. We didn't like uninvited guests.

Vernon opened the door, "Oh," he said plainly, "It's a baby. I don't remember ordering a baby," then proceeded to try and close the door, but I stopped him, seeing the fresh cut on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. A drop of blood mixed with rain ran down his forehead.

"Wait, there's a letter," I said, reaching down to pick up the bundle.

"Watch out, darking, who knows where it came from. It may have fleas or something," my husband commented, wrinkling his nose at the infant in disgust. Vernon, much like me, also had a strong dislike for change.

Ignoring his fear of vermin, I lay the baby on the sofa chair and plucked the nite out of the folds of its wrappings.

"Petunia, that's my chair," Vernon complained.

I sighed, "Just sit on the couch,"

"You know that couch hurts my back," he spoke with distain, but alas still sat down with a huff.

"It'll only be for a minute, darling," I said airily as my attentions were focused on something else entirely. Flipping over the letter, my manicured fingernails broke a strangely familiar scarlet wax seal.

Dear Mrs Petunia Dursley,

I regret to inform you of the tragedies that have befallen this night, but of course, I have no other options. Your dear sister, Lily and her husband, James (who you may or may not be familiar with) have been killed by the greatest evil to ever befall the Wizarding World. I will spare you the horrific details, and instead inform you that you are the sole remaining family member to their son, Harry, who is now an orphan.

But know, he has magical blood running through his veins, and raising him will be difficult at times. If there are any questions, please send me a letter and I will do my best to help.

Kind Regards,

Albus Dumbledore

I remember the feeling that hit my like a wave, how confused I was; so torn between grief and anger. I let the letter drop onto the kitchen counter.

"I will be right back, look after him," I told my husband and he nodded gruffly, continuing to watch the news.

Suppressing the tears that threatened to spill, I rushed up the staircase and straight towards the bathroom.

I just couldn't let anybody see my cry, because that's not what usually happened. I did not cry yesterday, so I cannot cry today, because that would be change, and in such a household as this, changing is forbidden.

Locking the door behind me, I burst into bouts of ugly sobs. Looking at myself in the mirror, I wondered what I ever did for my world to become like this?

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