TW: death, miscarriage, mention of torture

March 1980- Petunia

It was a surprisingly warm day when Mr. and Mrs. Evans decided to go for a drive to a nearby park. The weather had finally cleared after several days of storming; the couple badly wanted to get out of the house. Mrs. Evans packed a large picnic basket with chicken sandwiches, generous slices of sponge cake and bottles of cold water, along with her pretty checkered picnic blanket. They only meant to be gone for tea. They wanted to be back in time to catch Mr. Evans' favourite television programme that night, Doctor Who. They had plans for the next day and the next. Their future was already mapped out. Truly, no one ever means to leave, and to be gone forever. The wet road had other plans. Mr. Evans hit just the wrong puddle of water, going at just the wrong speed, and spun out of control. The only comfort Petunia had was that neither her mother nor her father felt a thing; it was over just as quickly as it had begun. It was a simple, straightforward, awful accident.

Petunia never realised how much her parents had mattered to her until she received that horrible phone call. She told herself that if she had known what would happen, she would not have been so distant from her parents after their absence from her graduation the previous year. Perhaps then, she would have been able to say goodbye. Perhaps she could have stopped them from going out that day. The things she hadn't done overwhelmed her thoughts.

She regretted not going home for Christmas when her parents had invited her and Vernon.

She regretted not telling them about her baby.

She regretted not forgiving them for loving Lily more.

She would never get to tell them now, that it didn't really matter. That her life was good, and she loved her husband and her future child. She would never get to tell them that she loved them anyway.

Regret was her constant companion.

Petunia returned to her childhood home to make the funeral arrangements and to pack up her parents's belongings. Petunia threw herself into sorting out her parents' things. There wasn't a great deal; they had been simple people. Lily was nowhere to be found. She sent a letter apologising for her absence, but, 'the war, you see'. The Evans' favourite daughter would not see them off to the great beyond.

Petunia chose simple caskets and arranged for them to buried next to each other at the graveyard. The day of the funeral was beautiful, and it made her heart hurt even more. How dare the sun shine, birds sing and children laugh when her parents were gone forever? It wasn't fair.

So many people Mr. and Mrs Evans had befriended over the years came to give her their condolences. Several told Petunia how pleased her parents were that she had become a teacher, causing tears to spring to her eyes. She never really truly believed until then that they were proud of her.

Much to Petunia's (petty) satisfaction, Lily's absence raised eyebrows. If she were honest with herself, she would have admitted that she wanted her sister there. She felt horribly adrift and wished Lily were there to anchor her. Lily, who knew their father's deep, rich laugh when he heard a good joke, and who would remember their mother's soft, gentle humming while she sewed. Lily, who, even as the privileged favourite, understood what it meant to be an Evans daughter.

But Lily wasn't there.

May, 1980 - Petunia

Petunia's grief came and went in waves. Some days it hung over her like a black cloud; on others, she could remember her parents with a smile. She slowly began to recover. Vernon did his best to distract her when it became too much, and to give her space when she needed it. She loved him more for it.

The doctor informed her that she was about three months along, and the baby started feeling very real to her. She wondered what sort of mother she would be. She knew, as much as she had loved her parents, that she would never, ever favour one child over another the way they had. She wondered if the baby would be magical, because of Lily. She didn't know quite what she would do if that were the case. She didn't think herself capable of raising a magical child. But, whatever her child was, she resolved to be the best mother she could be.

On the 15th of May, 1989, at 4 o' clock in the afternoon, Petunia Dursley went for a walk. In one of the boxes of things from her parents' house, she had come across an old photo album containing pictures of a family holiday in France when she was fifteen. The combination of seeing her parents alive and happy, her and Lily with linked hands and smiling faces, and her pregnancy hormones was too much. Vernon found her in a sobbing mess in their small drawing room and shooed her outside for some fresh air and sunlight.

15th of May, 1980- Vernon

He had found Petunia crying again, damn hormones. He patiently sent her out for a walk while he tidied the photographs, and repacked the box she had been searching. He thought it might be nice to treat her to a little candle light dinner (literally the regular dinner they would be having, but with candles lit; Vernon was not the most imaginative of men, but he tried).

He was upstairs when he heard the front door creek open and some odd crashing sounds. Surely Petunia wasn't back already? Perhaps it was a neighbour.

'Who is it? I'm upstairs, I'll be a minute,' he called, placing the box of photos back into the small closet.

'Worthless muggle,' a man sneered from right behind him.

Vernon jumped, and turned around. Several people in a silver masks and black robes stood behind him. Suddenly, Vernon found himself jerked off his feet and thrown roughly in to a chair and bound.

'Who are you? What the bloody hell is this?' shouted Vernon, angry and bewildered, as he struggled against his restraints.

'Aw, did little wifey not tell you about her sister's dark secret?' giggled a masked woman, with dark hair spilling out from under a hood.

With a sinking heart, Vernon realised that these people were magic, like Petunia's sister. But not the good sort.

'What do you people want?' whispered Vernon, already knowing the answer.

'Where's the mudblood's sister?' snarled another man.

'Petunia's not here!' lied Vernon, desperately hoping that she would not come back early.

'Where is she, then?' purred the strange woman softly. 'Tell us dear, we'll leave you be if you do.'

'She's… at her sister's! She's visiting Lily!'

'What a shame,' sighed the woman, twirling a stick between her long fingers, 'I did so want to play with her. But I suppose we can have some fun with you!'

'Crucio'

Vernon endured the blinding pain over and over again, holding onto the hope that Petunia would not return. Finally, a green light lit the room. His last thought was of her.

Pet.

15th May, 1980- Petunia

The walk livened her spirits and she found herself smiling as she remembered the vacation from the photographs. The Evans' had stayed in the most derelict little rental, with a leaky roof and draughty windows. Her father had joked that they were finally camping and made them giggle. They had gone to Paris, and seen the Eiffel Tower. Petunia remembered some French boys trying to talk to her and Lily. She laughed at the memory of poor Lily repeating the only the French words she knew 'oui, baguette, oh là là!' and receiving an abundance of bread for her efforts. Smiling, she hurried home to tell Vernon the silly stories.

As she approached the house, a sense of dread overcame her. Something was wrong.

The door was wide open. Vernon would never leave it like that.

The small table was turned over.

The couch was ripped open.

The house was too still.

Petunia's heart thudded painfully in her chest, and her breaths came short and shallow. Her legs moved automatically, taking her upstairs. Vernon lay in the bedroom, his eyes open and glassy, not a mark on his body. Petunia stared at him. This wasn't Vernon. It couldn't be. Vernon was waiting for her somewhere so she could tell him about the Paris trip. Vernon was alright. This was a stranger.

Her eyes fell upon the wedding ring on his finger. They had giggled like a pair of naughty children at the purchase of those simple rings. They had promised that no matter how rich they got, they would never replace them. And now the hand that wore that ring was cold. A sudden wave of grief washed over Petunia. Vernon was dead. The shock brought her to her knees as she let out an inhuman wail. Horror engulfed her and she doubled over as a terrible cramp in her belly ripped through her and she knew that the life she had held inside her was dying. The last thing she had of Vernon, and her last chance at happiness was bleeding out of her. She began to scream. And she did not stop screaming until her voice gave out.

AN: Hey everyone! Please let me know how you think the story is going. Thanks so much for checking it out! xx