Petunia Dursley did what she usually did on a Monday morning. She got out of bed; her curler filled hair still wrapped in her headscarf. She put on her robe, which was quite elegant, if she did say so herself. She covered up her nightgown and put on her fuzzy slippers. She walked down the hallway and peeked in on her infant son. She walked in quietly and nuzzled his little baby head and gave his soft baby cheek a kiss. Then, she walked down the stairs.
Usually, Petunia would poke her head outside, grab the newspaper and the milk, eggs, and butter delivered fresh that morning. She'd go inside, make breakfast, and spend the rest of the day cleaning, spoiling her son, and gossiping. It was all she really ever did.
Petunia Dursley felt like a charlatan every day of her life. She lied to everyone about almost everything. She told her husband she came from a well-to-do part of London when she really came from dirt poor parents who loved their kids but never seemed able to pull themselves out of the blue-collar life. She lied to her friends. She told them she was a graduate of Paddock Wood Girls Finishing School but she was really a graduate of Stonewall High. She lied to herself. She told herself she had no sister and that, if she did have one, her sister was perfectly normal. All her stories about her family told the tale of a loving big sister and an adoring little sister who wanted to be just like her. All lies. Lucky for Petunia, she wouldn't live long enough to have it all come back around to bite her in the bum.
On this particular Monday, November 2, 1981, Petunia stuck her head outside but she didn't find the newspaper and her frothy rich clotted cream. No, she found a baby in a basket instead. She pulled a letter out of the basket and started to read.
"Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, also known as
The Loch Beannach School for the Gifted
Dear Petunia Dursley, nee` Evans,
I regret to inform you that your sister and her husband passed away on the night of October 31, 1981 at approximately 3:33am. Unfortunately, they were targeted by a madman who had engaged the wizarding world in a civil war. Your nephew, Harry Potter, was the only surviving member of the family. I leave him now in your care.
I warn you, Petunia, if you do not accept him into your home, it is likely you will be hunted and killed by the madman, known as Lord Voldemort, and his followers. Heed my warning; however begrudgingly you accept him in, you must accept him. His mother sacrificed her life for him. Living with a close blood relative of his mother will provide a significant magical protection to him and all within your household, if he is allowed to call your home his own until his 17th birthday.
Wizards will not interfere in your life or the way you raise your children. A deposit of 1000 galleons or 5000 pounds will be deposited into an account for Harry's care and upkeep monthly. The account information can be found in the trunk with his other things.
My condolences,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts,
Grand Sorcerer,
Supreme Mugwump of the ICW,
Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot."
Petunia screamed at the top of her lungs. She picked up the basket and tripped in her haste to get off the porch. She ran into the street, looking frantically in every direction hoping to see the person who had left the little wretch on her doorstep. He would ruin everything! All her carefully crafted lies about being normal would go up in smoke!
She screamed one more time and turned to look behind her, hoping beyond hope that someone would come and take this problem away. A bright blue lorry, driven by a man who was looking at his cassette tape collection, answered her prayers.
The lorry smacked full into the woman standing alone in the middle of the roundabout. On instinct alone, Petunia had thrown the basket away from herself and the unstoppable lorry. The basket, with a sticking-charm-stuck baby Harry, flew out of her hand. Petunia turned and took the full brunt of the lorry to her already flat backside. Harry landed safely in the Dursley's yard, the half-torn letter sticking to the wicker of the basket. The other half of the parchment blew away on the breeze caused by the lorry turning over on its side.
The driver would go on to swear that he hadn't seen her. When he stood for his inquiry, he swore she ran out into the road, right in front of him. The truth was, the man never saw her. He only saw his Oingo Boingo tape. It would be the last lie of Petunia Dursley's life, though it wouldn't be her last misunderstanding.
Vernon Dursley heard the screams of his darling wife, Petunia. His precious Pet. Vernon Dursley was a selfish oaf of a man but he truly did love his wife and his son. They were his world. He would give anything for them. Too bad for him, he hadn't given up fattening foods for them. It took him a full five minutes to get out of bed, put on his robe and house shoes, and make it to the porch to find out what happened.
People were milling around near a lorry that was turned on its side. Vernon gaped and hurried forward.
"Petunia? Petunia!" Vernon shouted in fear, looking for his wife. Everyone turned to stare at him. Vernon felt like his soul left his body. He was watching what was happening from above. He wasn't really part of the action anymore.
He saw himself walk around the back end of the sky-blue lorry. Petunia was laying on the ground, her back bent at an obviously broken angle. One of her arms was mangled and broken. Her hair had come out of the curlers and was sticking out in blood slick tentacles around her head.
He saw himself hurry over and fall to his knees, the cracking sound and the pain ignored by the man that was completely dissociated from himself at the moment.
He gently lifted her head into his well cushioned lap. "Pet," he said brokenly. He looked out at all the gawking people and screamed. "Someone call 999!"
Everyone jumped. Two people ran towards their houses to make the call.
"Vern-on," Petunia said, her glassy eyes looking into his. Blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth.
"I'm here, Pet," the man said, brokenly.
"The boy, baby," she gasped. Someone came running over with the baby.
"This baby? She saved his life. She's a hero," said a crying woman, holding the crying baby. "It's a miracle he's lived," said the woman. Vernon just looked dully at her.
"My sisters. He's … special," she said. She'd wanted to say freak but talking was so hard. She couldn't stop until she got it out. Vernon had to know. Dudley had to be kept safe from the freak.
"Tell 'im I love 'im," Petunia said, her voice getting weaker. She meant Dudley but everyone thought she meant the baby whose life she'd saved.
"Take… care… of 'im. Tell… Dudley… I… love…. Him," she said as she exhaled. She didn't breathe in for a few seconds. Then she gasped. Her eyes became bright and sharp for just a minute.
"I love you, Vernon. Take care of our boy…sssss….gggggaahhhhgggg…." with that, Petunia Dursley died in her husband's arms, right there on the street, with her knickers showing and everything. She was deeply ashamed when she came to in the afterlife.
Vernon sat there, stunned. The medics came and tried to get Petunia's heart started again but were unsuccessful. Vernon didn't move. They put her on the gurney and covered her with a sheet and put her inside the ambulance. Vernon didn't move. The medics checked the baby. Vernon didn't move. The coroner came and explained what would happen next. He left his card and told Vernon to take his time making the arrangements. Vernon didn't move. Someone handed him the baby. Vernon moved.
Vernon looked down at the little boy who stared back at him with his beloved wife's beautiful green eyes and he knew he'd honor his wife's last request. He'd take care of their boys.
oooOOOoooOOOooo