Petunia crept slowly down the stairs, taking care not to tread on the creaky step halfway down so as not to wake her still slumbering husband and child. Little Dudders was just starting to sleep through the night. Mrs. Polkiss down the street had told her that her son still woke her up at three in the morning, but Dudley, already advanced for his age, was peacefully fast asleep in his crib.

She reached the kitchen, gazing swiftly around to make sure that she had not missed any spots in her evening cleaning the night before. But no, her countertops were gleaming, and the faint scent of her favorite lemon cleaning product still lingered in the air. She wanted to have breakfast ready for when Vernon woke up, as she always did, and began pulling pots from the cupboard.

It was a comforting ritual, waking up early. It was often the only time Petunia got to herself, these wee minutes in the morning before her boys were up, and she cherished them. She loved being a mother, but it did get lonely sometimes while Vernon was at work. The fact was that many of her friends didn't yet have children, and so they didn't entirely understand what it was like to spend hours in solitude every day taking care of a baby. Dudley was absolutely perfect, of course, but he could hardly talk to her about the developments on her favorite television program or the scandalous affair the next door neighbor was having with his secretary. And Vernon was often too tired to talk about such things when he returned from work.

Fleetingly, her conversation with Vernon the evening before passed through her mind. He'd asked about her sister, and her sister's son, Harry. Petunia had done her best not to think of her sister for a very long time, and usually she succeeded. But now, after Vernon had so surprisingly brought her up, she couldn't help but wonder what Lily was doing at this very moment. She wondered if Lily was up making breakfast for her husband and son, but then pushed the thought out of her mind. The idea that she and Lily had anything in common anymore was ludicrous. Lily was surely off with that wretched Potter boy doing lord knows what. Still though, the fact that Vernon had seen some of her lot out and about yesterday… it was all very upsetting, is what it was.

As Petunia made her way to the front door to retrieve the milk from the front steps, she decided she would not give her sister another thought. She had Vernon and Dudley and she was quite happy, really.

She pulled open the door; as leaned down to get the milk her heart jumped into her throat and a shriek escaped her lips before she could stop herself.

Laying on the front step was a baby.

Somehow her scream had not awoken the child. Petunia looked wildly about the street, hoping to spot the child's parents, but Privet Drive was quiet.

A feeling of dawning comprehension was washing over her as she looked back down at the child and recognized the tuft of untidy jet black hair. A vivid cut was on the child's forehead, in the shape of a lightning bolt.

She felt her heart freeze in her chest as something that felt quite like dread passed through her. The child was clutching a letter in his sleep, and she thought she recognized the handwriting on the front of the envelope addressed: Petunia Dursley.

Suddenly aware that the neighbors could come out at any moment, she scooped up the boy and brought him into the sitting room, ignoring the panging in her chest and the tremble in her hands. She laid the boy down on the couch and teased the letter from his tiny grip.

There was no mistaking it now. She definitely recognized the handwriting on the front, from many years ago. She stared at the sealed envelope for a moment, prolonging the moment that she would have to read the contents of the letter. Somehow she understood that the letter would alter her simple little life forever, and she wanted to enjoy the last moments of peace she had left.

Finally, she tore it open and unfolded a single piece of parchment.

Dearest Petunia,

It appears that I am destined to write to you only unhappy things; unfortunately, the news I write to you now is far more terrible and painful than the letter I wrote you so many moons ago, but such are the times we live in. If I thought I could prevent you any pain or suffering by cloaking this news in profound words of empathy and insight, I would. But life and experience has taught me that the most terrible things are terrible no matter the manner in which the words reach you. And so I write this to you with heavy heart.

Your sister Lily and her husband James were killed two evenings ago, on the night of the thirty first of October. As you may or may not be aware, a very powerful dark wizard by the name of Lord Voldemort had been gaining power over the last eleven years. I will not list his numerous atrocities here, but suffice to say that he has done profound damage to the wizarding world. Lily and James were his latest victims in a series of good, brave people who stood up against his reign of terror.

I like to think that I knew your sister rather well, and never a brighter and more vivacious person I have met in all my years. Lily was exceedingly kind and wonderfully witty, and the world has lost a beacon of hope and love with her loss. I offer you what condolences I can. I grieve for the loss of Lily Potter, as do all who knew her.

As you have undoubtedly deduced by this point, being the sharp woman that you are, Lily's son Harry has wonderfully and miraculously survived this attack. I have brought him here to you in the hope that you will care for him as your own; orphaned and alone, you are his last surviving relative on either side of his family.

If this simple truth were not enough to convince you to allow Harry to stay, I must now place a larger burden than I already have upon your shoulders. I cannot impress upon you the import of the words I now write to you; I can only implore you to understand the significance of taking Harry into your home. Harry's future and the future of the wizarding world rests on your understanding of what I am about to scrawl on this insignificant parchment.

You may be wondering how precisely a boy of one survived an attack from a powerful dark wizard, while Lily and James did not. Harry did not simply avoid detection or pass unnoticed by Lord Voldemort during the attack. In fact, Harry was Lord Voldemort's intended target. However, in his insurmountable greed and inconceivable evil, Voldemort greatly miscalculated and failed to account for a magic far more powerful than anything that can be taught at Hogwarts: the strength of a mother's love. You have a young son, I believe? Perhaps, then, you can understand this piece even if the rest of it seems unfathomable.

You see, Lily refused to let Voldemort take the life of her only son. She refused to move aside, and when she fell at the wand of Voldemort she unknowingly placed a magical protection upon Harry, so that when Voldemort attempted to strike the final blow against Harry, the curse rebounded. Harry was left with nothing but a scar, and Voldemort was destroyed. Harry is the only person to have ever survived this curse, and he (at the age of one) has been hailed as the savior of our world.

I must now impress upon you the two most critical pieces of this intricate puzzle. 1) I do not believe Lord Voldemort is dead in the true sense of the word. He has experimented with magic in unfathomable ways, and I would reason that we have not seen the end of him. 2) If we accept the first as true, then Harry is in very grave danger; for as long as Voldemort exists, he will not rest until Harry Potter is dead.

This is where you, Petunia, become so incredibly important. The magical protection that Lily placed upon Harry that evening runs through Harry's veins, and in you as her only blood relation. By taking Harry in, you seal the magical protection that Lily gave her son in her sacrifice. Voldemort will be unable to harm Harry while Harry considers you his guardian. He will be unable to harm anyone in your home. This is of the utmost importance for Harry's safety, and as I believe he will play an integral role in the future of our world, his safety is paramount.

I cannot imagine how overwhelming it must be for you to read all of this in a letter. I have struggled uselessly trying to find the words to somehow make this all bearable and clear, but words have failed me. I can only hope that the tired scribbles of a very old and sorrowful man have served their purpose and provided you with the best possible explanation, even if the best possible explanation is, forgive me, appalling.

Even amidst this grief and horror, I must ask this of you: take Harry in. Treat him as a son. Offer him the love of a parent that has been so cruelly ripped from him at the hands of a despicable and evil person. In so doing you protect him and all of us from atrocities unknown and unnamable, and provide some meaning to the senseless death of such a wonderful person in your sister.

I do hope that one day we might exchange a more pleasant letter.

Yours truly,

Albus Dumbledore

Petunia stared at the letter for several long moments after she had finished reading it. She couldn't give a name to the tumult of emotions swimming through her chest, even if asked.

Your sister Lily and her husband James were killed… the words glared at her off the page. Suddenly she felt tears stinging her eyes and she quickly moved to wipe them away. Lily hadn't had the sense to keep herself out of danger even with a young child; Lily had never had much sense, always trying her best to be different and abnormal. And now she had left her son an orphan.

She tried and failed to ignore pain in her chest. Lily was dead. That was it. Her only relative remaining to her was gone. Of course she and Lily hadn't spoken in ages… Petunia hadn't even invited her to her wedding. But somewhere in the back of her mind she had always found some comfort in the fact that Lily was out there somewhere. And now she quite suddenly wasn't.

But now what was she to do? This man had dropped the boy unceremoniously on her doorstep. What of Vernon and Dudley? The boy was obviously in danger; he would bring danger to her perfect little family. She didn't know anything about this Lord Volde… whatever his name, he sounded like awful trouble and she didn't want anything to do with him.

And what of this magical protection that he claimed ran through her veins? She cringed at the thought that she had unwittingly become involved in such abnormality. Magic had never had anything to do with her, and she didn't like the thought of it one bit.

And then another awful thought occurred to her. The boy would surely be one of them. Just like his mother, he would make odd things happen and then be whisked off to that ridiculous school at the age of eleven. The image of the first letter Dumbledore had written to her danced across her mind. She had been a foolish child, jealous of the attention that Lily's oddness brought her. Angry at the wedge that Hogwarts had forced between she and her sister, she had written, asking to go with Lily. Dumbledore had responded, explaining that she wasn't like them and wasn't allowed to go. Of course she had long since realized that she was far better off than Lily was, living a perfectly normal and happy life, but at the time…

But what about Dudley? Was this boy going to give Dudley the same awful insecurity that she had felt as a child, when her sister had been able to do things that she could not? She would not allow it. The boy, Harry, would not make her Dudders feel the way Lily had always made her feel.

And what would Vernon think? He'd hated the lot of them, especially Lily's awful husband. He wouldn't want to take the boy in.

No, it was all very sad and all that, but it wasn't her responsibility that Lily had gone and got herself killed. It wasn't her responsibility to seal some sort of magical contract of which she had little understanding. The boy would have to go somewhere else, anywhere else. She wouldn't allow him to stay. It was all too much, too dangerous, too odd.

Suddenly, the boy moved on the couch, evidently awakening from his slumber. Without thinking, she moved to pick him up as she would have done with Dudley. Just as she reached out her arms, she stopped.

The boy was staring at her, the almond shaped green eyes bright with curiosity. She could see with unbearable clarity a young girl with dark red hair and bright green eyes laughing as they played with dolls together, as they ripped open presents at Christmas, as they ate breakfast with their parents at the long wooden table. Those eyes that had stared at her with disappointment and reproach every summer after she had gone away to that school, eyes that she had not seen in years and it struck her now that she would never see again. Petunia felt as though she were choking, frozen, staring at the boy whose eyes were so horribly and wonderfully familiar.

"Petunia?" said a voice from the doorway. "What's going on? Whose boy is that?"

She looked up at Vernon, staring at her as though she had three heads, midway through tying his tie. She could feel the tears on her cheeks and an undeniable feeling of deep regret in her chest.

"He's Lily's. He's Lily's son."