Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing them.

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MUGGLE

Chapter Eight: Desperate Measures

Desperate affairs require desperate remedies.

Horatio Nelson

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When Petunia finally stumbled out of the sewer, wet and dirty and shivering, she wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the ground. She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to fall into her mother and father's arms and let them fix everything wrong with the world. She had believed when she was younger that they could do just that—that nothing could ever harm her.

"This line is currently out of service," said the operator's voice in her head, the flat, toneless voice more mocking than any sarcasm could ever possibly be. She fought down a sudden rise of nausea and looked around at the quiet, sleeping town. Did she dare go to the police?

Officer, I saw my parents' house burn to the ground in a crystal ball and now the minions of an evil Dark Lord are trying to kill me too.

That would go down wonderfully... and even if they did believe her, by some extraordinary chance, what could ordinary Muggle policemen do against Death Eaters? They'd never even get a shot off. Petunia had seen, in the crystal ball, just what Voldemort's minions did to cops. She had no desire at all to watch it in real life.

She swallowed hard and sat down on the curb, wrapping her arms around herself. The night sky above her shimmered with stars, just pinpoints of diamond on black velvet. No Dark Mark to cast the world in sickly green light—but, Petunia wondered, would she see it above the school when they failed to find her? The thought of the Death Eaters spurred her into action once more. She walked the streets, keeping to the shadows, with one eye out for a payphone. Only once did she ever see anyone else, and that was a shuffling stranger who gave off a strong scent of whiskey as he passed.

She found a phone booth outside a petrol station and collect-called the number Augur had given her—and then slammed the phone back into its cradle, a horrible thought leaping into her mind just as the operator asked for her name. Someone had betrayed her—and the only people who knew she was here were the members of the Order of the Phoenix. She didn't dare call the headquarters... who knew if the traitor was lurking in wait even now?

Petunia slumped against the side of the phone booth, racking her brains for something, anything, to do. Home—even if Voldemort had lied to her, and her parents were still alive—was out. He would expect her to go there. She could not go back to school. She could not go to the Order of the Phoenix.

So that left only two other places where she could expect to find wizards—Diagon Alley, which was out because she didn't remember where it was...

... and Hogwarts. She could find Platform Nine and Three-Quarters in her sleep, having been dragged there time after time to drop off or greet Lily. Someone would be able to help her there—she could find the legendary headmaster, the only one who Voldemort feared—and he would know what to do.

Just one problem remained—how to get to London?

The sign above the pumps sparked suddenly, sending a shower of sparks down onto a row of cars parked below. The light shone into the empty garage, glinting off of a row of shiny keys hanging just inside the door.

A glimmer of an idea swirled into Petunia's head...

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Three hours later she pulled into a parking spot outside King's Cross, white-faced and shaking and totally amazed at her own daring. The little Ford Anglia shuddered to a stop. For a moment Petunia rested her head on the steering wheel, then pulled the keys out and hid them under the seat. Locking the door behind her, she stumbled out of the car and headed for the station.

Luck had been on her side again.

The door to the garage had been locked—but the window at the side hadn't. It was a slim fit—but Petunia was a thin girl, and managed to slip in with little trouble. No one had seen her, or if they had no one had done anything about it. With keys in hand she had grabbed a set and scrambled back outside, trying each in turn until she felt them slip cleanly into the lock and heard the tumblers fall into place as the door opened.

With a roar the engine had started, shuddering and bucking, but running well enough... and she was off, taking the road toward London at precisely the speed limit, driving with a deadly calm that surprised her somewhere deep inside.

Halfway there she had suddenly realized exactly what she was doing—she had stolen a car, for heavens' sakes!—but it had not been enough to stop her. The owners would find it eventually—and if not, she could always come back later and drive it home to them. If she wasn't arrested first.

And, Petunia amended further, if there was a later.

She trudged through King's Cross, not caring that the few people there this early in the morning all stopped and stared at the grimy, bedraggled girl as she went past them, leaving muddy footprints in her wake. Her school uniform had long since stopped pretending to be any sort of recognizable garment and now simply hung off of her like a gray, sewer-stained sack.

She found Platforms 9 and 10 and, cautiously, poked at the barrier between them. Her finger met hard brick for a split second and then, slowly, as if the magic had decided she was wizard enough to get through, sank into the barrier. Petunia went through with her eyes shut tight and breathed a sigh of relief when opened them to see the familiar Hogwarts train sitting silently on the tracks.

"May I ask what you're doing here, miss?" said a gruff voice behind her. Petunia whirled around to find a dark-cloaked figure aiming a wand straight at her, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "How did you get through the barrier?"

"I've seen people go through it a hundred times," snapped Petunia, all her patience gone. "I need to see Headmaster Dumbledore at once!"

"You can't just come in here and demand that, girl!" cried the guard. "He's at Hogwarts, not here, for one thing!"

"Can you call him?" asked Petunia.

"Call him? Call him?" blustered the guard. "Just who do you think you are?"

"I have information for him," she said, that deadly calm taking over once more. "Voldemort is planning an attack. He may already have begun. It concerns a student of Hogwarts—"

"Now look here, miss," he snapped, "you have no right to just barge in here and—" With a start the guard suddenly straightened, eyes going wide, and stared at her as if he had seen a ghost. "You said his name! Get out of here! Now!"

"Not until I see Dumbledore!" Petunia cried. "I can do a lot worse than just say Voldemort's name!"

"A little lass like you?" growled the guard. "Try it, miss. I'll Stun you, I will, girl or no."

"Call Dumbledore, and I won't do anything."

"I'm not going to bother the Headmaster with anything so trivial as what you've got to say, I'm sure."

Petunia's jaw tightened. "Very well then," she said. "How would you like it if I just stood half in and half out of the barrier and told every Muggle walking by exactly what was inside?" She got two steps before she felt the spell hit her, and thought as she fell, Jumpy, aren't they?

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"Miss Evans," said a voice.

No, thought Petunia. I don't want to wake up ever again.

"Miss Evans, I really must insist that you wake up." A hand touched her shoulder, and with a groan to show the extent of her annoyance Petunia opened her eyes.

A wrinkled old face with half-moon glasses and a long white beard with hints of auburn swam above her. "I regret that the King's Cross guards are so quick to spell first and ask questions later, Miss Evans," said Dumbledore. "You will be all right in a few minutes."

He offered a hand, and she took it, pulling herself up into a sitting position. She took in her surroundings and realized that she was still on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Gray morning light filtered down on the tracks. Petunia looked at the clock and saw the time was only seven; she could not have been out for more than a half hour or so.

Dumbledore watched her with a twinkle in his old eyes, head cocked to one side just like a little boy. Petunia returned his gaze, somewhat surprised that he seemed to know who she was. Only once had she even seen him, and that had been little more than a quick pass-by in the corridor of the headquarters of the Order.

Her sense of character—of curiosity about people and their lives—none of it told her anything about Dumbledore. He was completely and totally unique, a type of person she had never before encountered. She could not wonder about his life, wonder what his secrets were and what he did every day; all she could do was gaze at the bearded old face and marvel at the strength and wisdom that hid behind that little-boy twinkle.

"So he did call you after all," said Petunia.

"No," replied Dumbledore, "but I was looking for you. I have a little talent for scrying, myself. Not like looking into the future, mind you, but I can see where someone is in the present. And luckily for me, you chose a rather convenient refuge." He slipped his outer robe from his shoulders and slipped it around hers—Petunia hadn't even noticed she was shivering.

"If you were looking for me..." said Petunia slowly, the words heavy on her lips, "...then what I saw was true?"

Dumbledore put a hand on her shoulder and gripped tightly. "If you are referring to the destruction of your parents' house, then yes. I am sorry to report, Miss Evans, that we were not in time to save them."

Petunia felt the tears pricking at the corner of her eyes.

"This line is currently out of service," whispered the operator in her mind.

"They were betrayed," she whispered. "Someone told Voldemort about them—about me—they sent Death Eaters to my school, to try and capture me."

"Your school is safe," said Dumbledore, his hand still tight on her shoulder, his eyes fixed on hers. "We arrived there only a short time after the Death Eaters."

So, her flight had been in vain. If she had returned to the school—

"You could not have known it was safe," Dumbledore said firmly. "You did well, coming here. We got there as quickly as we could, hoping they had not managed to find you among the rest of the Muggles. When we could not find you either, we hoped you had escaped—we feared you had been taken."

"Voldemort tried," she said softly. "The traitor did not tell him my name. And I gather that they spelled first and asked questions later when they killed my parents. I don't think they know exactly who I am, sir, though I could be wrong."

"That is some saving grace," Dumbledore replied. He let go of her shoulder and stood up slowly, putting out a hand to help her to her feet.

"Where are you taking me?" asked Petunia as he led her across the platform to the barrier.

"To Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "I will not risk the traitor discovering you are alive—your whereabouts must be kept secret until we can find out more about the situation."

"Will I see Lily?" asked Petunia, at once desperately wanting her sister and at the same time, hoping she never saw her again.

Dumbledore's shoulders sagged a tiny bit. "Soon. Right now I cannot allow anyone to learn of your whereabouts at the moment. I will tell her you are safe—but not where you are. Even Hogwarts is not entirely secure from Voldemort's prying eyes. He cannot reach you there, never fear, but information has a way of sneaking through the smallest crack."

Petunia wondered what he had told her school—and decided she didn't care. There would be time later for those questions. As he took her through King's Cross, the both of them completely unnoticed by the people waiting for their trains, her mind fuzzed and swam with exhaustion, her body sore and her limbs aching. She hardly noticed when Dumbledore pointed his wand at a discarded tin can and said, "Colloportus!"

There would be time later for questions about all of that—and there would be time later to ask the most important question of all, the one single, simple question that rang in her ears and threatened to drown all else out. She felt a jerk at her navel and the world blurred around her... and still the question hissed snake-like in her ears...

Who?

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