Tea and Tidings

Part Two

With her finger, she broke the seal. The envelope had a warmer texture than she had been expecting. Taking another breath she braced herself and pulled out the folded pages within:

Greetings and Salutations Mrs. P. Dursley, I hope that this letter finds you well. I am sad to be the one to inform you, that your sister Mrs. L. Potter and her husband Mr. James Potter, by a known terrorist organization known as 'The Knights of Walpurgis' and in collusion with rogue elements within our government, have been murdered. Surviving Mr. and Mrs. Potter is their fifteen-month-old son, young Mr. Harloch Jameson Martinus Potter. Due to the circumstances of your sister and brother-in-law's passing, a special protection is offered to you and any who can call your home their own. This protection is the strongest the magical world can offer. You must only take in and raise this young child as your own. His blood runs in your veins, as yours does in his. Their are still knights that are at large, which could put you and your family in danger. In deference to your non-magical status and distaste for the magical world, I have placed certain wards around your home that make it uninteresting to the average wizard. Any in the wizarding world who do not already know your location will not be able to find it. As you had limited your contact with Mrs. Potter in the past, I feel confident that you will remain undisturbed by "our kind". The protections mentioned above will protect you from anyone bearing the mark of this terrorist organization and also from those meaning harm to you or any that you shelter. Please be reminded, young Mr. Potter's Hogwarts letter will arrive by mail the day of his eleventh birthday. If there is no response, be warned that more drastic measures will be taken. Until then his education and well-being are left to your discretion.

Kindly and with Deepest Condolences,

Albu Dumbledore

Petunia tried to take a deep breath only to find herself chocking on the air instead. Her whole body was shaking. The bottom had dropped from her stomach, pins and needles exploded in her fingertips and toes and then quickly infused her blood. Quietly, she dashed through the conservatory to back garden, behind a tall hedge that divided their garden in two, hiding their shed from view. There was a large tree that had somehow survived not only the Blitz, but also the developers who built in the area after the war. Not to mention the previous owners of their house, who could trace themselves and their conspiracies back to the Middle Ages. They had added, changed and sometimes even removed so many parts of the house and it's modest grounds, that she was still finding hidden nooks and crannies.

Hand on the tree, back to the hedge, Petunia finally released ragged breath. She fell to her knees, arms wrapped around her middle as she rocked back and forth, keening silently (so as not to wake anyone). Images flashed before her eyes: Red hair in pigtails and a rainbow striped shirt, hands on hips and a hardness to her chin. "I can do it myself!" the young Lilly had said mulishly. She had been four to Petunia's six. Her sister had refused to let Petunia help her climb the wooden slats that lead up to the platform their father had built in the lonely tree of their childhood home. She had fallen and broken her arm. "Tuney, UP!" followed after the doctor visit. Her little sister wouldn't leave her side for months. Even if she complained, she loved it. They even had sleep overs in Petunia's room (Lilly hadn't yet graduated to a bed big enough for the both of them).

Another flash; Red hair held back by a simple head band, a bright green frock with a yellow duckling embroidered on the breast. Her dainty feet in white sandals. The park near Spinners End, and her sister swinging as high as she could. She had been laughing. She was always laughing. "Tuney! Tuney watch!" Petunia's voice had caught in her throat as her baby sister jumped out of the swing at its highest point. She ran forward to catch her, yelling out "Lilly-bear, NO!" before she was stopped by shock, as the little girl floated down like Mary Poppins. "You're a witch," a young boy with an unfortunate hook to his nose, about her sister's age had said "and I am a Wizard. My name's Severus. What's yours?"

The pain in her heart was sharp with another flash; a huge smile lit her face as Little Lilly Evans, came home from wizarding school for holiday. She was given a beautiful pink orchid, clinging ever so gently to a thick evergreen tree (which had little teardrop shaped leaves). "I chose pink because I love you unconditionally, the orchid represents your grace and beauty, and the Boxwood tree is a bonsai! It represents endurance because we'll always be together!" Petunia had tried to keep the jealousy of her sisters magic hidden but obviously she had not hidden it enough. The Boxwood also meant stoicism. The plants were 'charmed' to stay fresh. It would always be in perfectly in bloom. Always.

"Tuney you know that I want you to be happy," the next memory began. "But you are worth more than the Queen's Jewels and that...thing out there can't make you happy! He just can't!" her sister had ranted at her. The red flush across her cheeks and chest, a clear sign of the 'hot blood' red heads were alleged to have. "No Tuney, he could make you happy. He could, but he won't. He's a pig-headed chauvinist. He's driven by his greed, ambition, and intolerance! He doesn't love you Tuney. I don't think he even knows how! He's only marrying you to be his trophy wife. With you at his side no one will actually look at him!" It had been one of the most vicious arguments the sisters had ever had. "Please Tuney, be happy," her sister had said as she kissed her cheek the day she had wed Vernon Dursley, and stood quietly by her side.

"Oh Petunia," the next Lilly memory sighed. "he's perfect!" Petunia hadn't known what to expect when she had called for her sister. They didn't talk often. She had been so scared though, when the contractions had begun getting closer and closer together. She had tried to kick Vernon out of the delivery room, ('let him stay with his horrible sister' she had thought) but he refused. He looked at her like a prize chicken. At that moment she couldn't stand his beady little eyes, pot-belly, and jiggling jowls. Then Lilly was there. She'd come into the delivery room like an avenging angel. A mere look from her flashing green eyes had sent Vernon running for dear life. Lilly stayed by her side, weathering the riot of emotions that bringing a life into this world can cause. She stayed by her side for over sixteen hours. Lilly had actually ended up with a scar on her hand that she laughingly called Petunia's Rage.

"Lilly, are you sure you're ready for this?" Petunia had asked in the next memory. "I mean I know you love him, I do. I get it. But you said he was a Lord! Even if your kind do things differently, there will be so much social pressure on you. With all that blood purity nonsense it could be very dangerous for you!" Lilly wouldn't see past her joy. She was happy, deliriously so. However, it was an older sisters prerogative to worry about her sibling. Lilly never had taken well to their mother's lessons on deportment and etiquette. Those lessons were the ones she would need most if she was going to survive her husband's social peers. She'd tried to tell her over and over that going to school with someone was much different from the social obligations of adulthood. The wedding was beautiful though, magical even.

"What good is your magic if it can't even protect our parents!" memory Petunia screamed at her sister in despair. "Tuney, please! Magic isn't a fix-all! Do you think I wouldn't have done anything to save them if I could? Petunia!" her sister had cried out as she walked away briskly. Their parents had died, peacefully, snuggled on the couch in front of their gas fire place. Never mind that there was no way Lilly could have known. Never mind that there were chemical alarms that could be bought at any hardware store that detected carbon monoxide. No logic didn't play in their arguments that day. The funeral was a haze in memory, but that was the last time she saw her sister.

All those memories and more kept flashing within her, an increasing pulse of agony that swirled with in her. The things she should have done, the things she should have said, the things they'd never do. The things Lilly would never do. She'd never know her son. The joys of motherhood that had been stolen from her sister ripped at years of jealousy, resentment and bitterness. It all built, a physical agony digging into her before she couldn't hold it in anymore. With a soft sob, Petunia fell to her back, arm thrown over her eyes and she cried harder than she ever had. A small part of her brain took notice of random things while the rest of her being was tossed in a maelstrom of loss. There was a large subterranean bunker under their garden shed. One of the roof joists could use some shoring up. She could easily remove the wall between the living room and the kitchen to give it more light and space. Their septic could use some bacteria to help with the breakdown of solids. The bird's nest above her had recently been rebuilt after a storm had blown half of it away.

She didn't completely remember all those little things. She never did. She purposely ignored them. Now, in her time of grief, she had no time to give to flights of fancy. Petunia didn't know how long she'd been there, lost to her dead sister. However, on the heels of the soul crushing devastation, came rage. A cold and determined rage. They had left her nephew, her sisters only child, on her stoop when the nights often brought frost. 'Goodness knows how long he'd been out there before I heard him! What if he'd been stolen or toddled off on his own?!'She didn't have the energy to follow the thought of what could've happened to Harry. She didn't even know when her sister died. Was there a funeral? Who made the arrangements? Who thought the could take her sister from her?!

She marched in from the garden, not caring about the dirt she tracked in from her shoe-less feet. She glared at the letter that sat innocuously on her table, her eyes were stinging from all the crying and her throat was sore from holding in her wails. She grabbed the envelope and pulled out all the other documents. All the documents she would need to show she had legal guardianship of Harry ('That's what her sister had called him and by all that was holy in this world, so would she'). However, there were quite a few things missing. What about her sisters' estate? She had received a "bride price" from the Potter Estate. Not to mention that, to her recollection all the Potters were dead save the baby in the bassinet. He still needed to get his regular vaccinations.

The rage burned colder as it struck her that these people had told her this shattering, life changing news, in a letter. Three whole paragraphs were supposed to give her the closure she needed? Three paragraphs and some veiled threat about her nephews magical status?! 'How dare they.' Fueled by her frigid anger Petunia began to plan her day. Her mind cataloged things that would need to get done while her husband was at work. She would take the direct approach in this. She knew her husband would want to ship the child off to Wool's Orphanage. He would dither and complain about the money that it would cost to raise another child. He would go on and on about the attention that it would take away from Dudley, and how he worried for his son's welfare. She would, in fact, receive many of the same arguments that he had given her when she asked him for another child. The man had his "interests" and he liked his life just so. He was very particular.

'Well, no one will take my nephew from me, not even my husband.' She had thought tersely as she lifted the child from the bassinet. Whatever else the sisters had been, whatever they had gone through and wherever things had been left; this child was not a part of that. He was roughly two years Dudley's junior so they wouldn't be competing for social status, something her husband was sure to bring up. They would attend primary together, though in different years. That might prove a sticking point for Vernon. It's easy, even for a stupid man, to look important if everyone around him were docile enough. Vernon was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them, at least not where his ambition held sway. No, perhaps she had better home-school Harry. 'It will keep conflicts from arising, and will endear us to the community,' which was necessary for Vernon's "plan". It would also appease Vernon's vanity if she started a tutoring business on the side. 'And if I hold at least one session a month at the local parish that will just augment Vernon's satisfaction. He had a "good wife", the very best. He would enjoy all the benefits of raising an orphan without actually impinging on his life. He might even get a raise.'

While she had been planning (coming up with counter arguments, reserve approaches, and auxiliary strategies), she looked over her nephew. Gently feeling out his arms and legs ensuring everything was as it was supposed to be. He had four fingers on each hand, two thumbs, and all his toes. The only issue she noticed was that viscous looking scar. It was no more than a few centimeters but all the more noticeable on a child's face. It was red and inflamed and shaped like a lightning bolt (or the sowilo rune, though she'd never tell her husband that.) 'I'll have to keep an eye on it,' she thought as she added antibiotic ointment to her mental list of things she needed make sure she had.

She glanced at the clock and saw that it would soon be time to prepare breakfast. Vernon preferred his breakfast plated and ready for his consumption. His suit and shirt for the day were already hanging in the bath room and his cuff-links were in the dish by the front door, with his keys. Glancing down at the baby she knew that the coming months would be hard. Even if the child didn't see the supposed attack that killed his parents, he was obviously affected by it. Situations like that rarely left only physical scars. With a moue of distaste, Petunia went to the toilet near the kitchen and dug through the medicine cupboard to find melatonin. She hated putting him in a medicated sleep, indeed she wanted nothing more than to cuddle him close and recover from her emotional overload, but she needed him to sleep. Grabbing the mortar and pestle she ground down the pill to a powder, opened a bottle and put in a bit less than a third of what was left of the sleeping aide. Then after warming the bottle she gently picked Harry up. It surprised her that it was almost two hours from his last feed. Grief does strange things to people.

When he had finished she threw a towel over her shoulder and burped him. The bottle was replaced with the dummy once again (with much less fuss from the baby). She swaddled him and placed him back in his bassinet. She tucked him in securely and ensured his face was uncovered, then laying a blanket over the bassinet itself. He was asleep well before she placed him quietly in the cupboard under the stairs. For her plans to work, there were things that she needed to get done today that her husband couldn't know about. Not to mention the conniption Vernon would have if he had to start his day with such a surprise. Since her husband had come from a family with no magic and having no magic himself, she would need to tread carefully. If he found out, there could be hefty consequences (from wizards and Vernon both). She didn't need her husband or the magic government making a mess of things. If the letter were at all to be trusted then the less she had to deal with the magical government the better.

Closing the closet door quietly (making another mental note to get batteries for the baby monitor), Petunia, stood and turned toward the kitchen. She straightened her robe, tightened her sash and grabbed a broom to quickly sweep away the dirt she'd trudged in. A moist kitchen towel erased any evidence that her feet contained. She couldn't give Vernon any reason to think that day, would be different from any other day. 'Why was my sisters family a target of these terrorists? Was it a random attack or planned? Did the government do anything at all to help? Shouldn't there be some sort of liaison she should be working with? Her thoughts ran quickly as she went quickly about making breakfast. ''There is so much I am not being told. That I SHOULD be told!? She was my sister, witch or no witch!' Well today was a day for answer, and she would have hers!