Summary: Petunia Evans never expected to find a baby on her doorstep one dank London day. Now she has to cope with raising a magical child on her own – because she never married Vernon Dursley those two years back…
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine – the plot idea might be. I'm not sure if anyone else has had the idea before me. Anything you don't recognise is likely to be mine, and I suspect any mistakes you notice in story canon are mine too. Everything you do recognise, such as HP, etc, are J.K. Rowling's. Just in case you didn't know already.
Warnings: Slight swearing. Short prologue.
Not the Best Start
It was a dank, miserable day in London as Petunia Evans woke up in her flat and began to prepare for work in the half-light of dawn. To all appearances, this woman was the essence of normality – her straggly blonde hair falling down to her shoulders as she washed it with Head and Shoulders (Dandruff free!), her long neck craning up into the cupboards to see where that packet of Weetabix had gone and her thin hands somehow managing to spill milk all the way down her blouse and jeans.
Damnit. She'd have to wash those again – but she'd just done the washing last night. Petunia sighed irritably and finished her breakfast with much clattering and scowling. She hated this flat, but she'd had to move here because of her job. After she had refused that Vernon Dursley's proposal… well, suffice to say that she hadn't wanted to stay in Little Whinging any longer – and certainly not near that fat lummox. Just why her parents had thought she would have wanted to marry that self-important fool was beyond her.
That had been two years ago though. If she'd tried, she could have probably found a different flat somewhere else, away from that strange woman who cackled loudly whenever Petunia walked past and those teenagers who blasted Pink Floyd out as loudly as possible in the middle of the night and that odd couple at the end with their one-year-old girl who seemed to change hair colours every other day. To be honest though, Petunia had never been able to force herself to try. Her flat was near enough to her work and it wasn't as if she stayed inside any more than absolutely necessary.
Petunia yawned and scowled at the mirror nailed to the wall. She looked exhausted, but that was only to be expected – she had been up until four in the morning finishing off her article so it would be ready for the deadline tomorrow. She raked a hand through her hair and with a sigh, tied it back into a scruffy ponytail.
Hm. She had a feeling that she'd forgotten something. She glanced around the corner kitchen, and shrugged as she realised that nothing was out of place – until she looked up to where she stored her teabags. Petunia swore as she realised that they were scattered across the counter. That damn cat had been at them again, she was certain.
…Thinking of that, where was Wilde? Normally the black and white cat would have woken up by now and would be chewing her feet in an attempt to remind Petunia to feed him. She frowned, and then snorted as she realised that was what she had forgotten – to feed the stupid cat. In sloppy movements, Petunia dug some cat food out of a tin (after having managed to cut herself opening the thing and bleed all over the contents) and dumped it in a plastic blue container. Wilde would find it eventually. He always did find food.
Petunia raised her eyes to the clock and nodded to herself. Seven thirty. She should be going now; it shouldn't take her too long to walk to the headquarters (and didn't that sound militant? She was sure the editor of The Month would love that idea). With a grimace, Petunia hoped that there weren't too many egg yolks over the walls. It had been Halloween yesterday, and some of the kids did go a bit over the top when they were denied their sweets. Petunia, for one, refused to give the little brats anything.
She grabbed her coat from where it lay bulging over a chair back and searched for her satchel. She found it in her bedroom – along with Wilde who was sleeping on it in a very contented fashion, yowling at her when she prodded him off irritably. Shoving her article in it, Petunia left the bedroom, and fumbled with the key of her three-roomed flat. After stabbing the door several times, she managed to insert the key in the keyhole and turn it.
Whatever she had expected upon opening her door however (and if she thought about it, she hadn't really expected anything) it was not a sleeping baby placed carefully outside, wrapped in light blue blankets. Mouth dropping open, Petunia stared at the little boy who was sleeping peacefully, and let her eyes drift to a letter left on top of his blankets. 'Miss Petunia Evans, Flat 7, Mill's House, Streatham, London.'
Well, that sounded like her. She swallowed and looked down at the baby once more. Um, her mind said helpfully. Petunia stooped slightly to inspect the baby – Harry Potter? Her nephew? What was he doing here? What had Lily done now? Petunia looked around, and poked Harry quickly on the forehead to make sure he really existed.
Apparently he did, according to her finger – and if that wasn't enough, her touch had woken him up, bright green eyes flying open to stare her in the face. They stared at each other for a few seconds, and then Harry opened his mouth and began to wail, assaulting her ears with the indescribable noise of agony and fear that only babies can produce.
Somewhere, in the recesses of her stunned mind, she realised this was not the best start to a day.