Petunia Dursley mopped up the last of the breakfast mess from her white countertops as her husband Vernon shut the door on his way to work. She dropped the soppy oatmeal-paper towel combination into the rubbish bin and washed her hands, watching their new black sedan pull out of the driveway.

She turned to the kitchen door, drying her hands on her apron, and stopped abruptly. She realized she was alone and her Dudders was at preschool. She slowly sat at the table, wondering to herself how time flew. Her quiet reflections on motherhood were interrupted by a wail from her infant nephew in the next room.

He'd been crawling around on the carpet and drooling on himself, occasionally propping himself up with furniture, while she'd been fixing Vernon's breakfast. She poked her head out to see the babe tilted somewhat, tangled in his own pudgy limbs as he tried to navigate the space between the couch and the coffee table. His face was red and scrunched, but he hadn't broken into full fledged howls yet. Perhaps he'd hit his head?

"Shush shush, now. You're alright." She bent over to grasp his waist and righted him.

"There you go."

It was strange to observe her nephew. What with her two boys constantly clambering for attention, it was a wonder she managed to feed him and change his diapers, let alone tend to him while he was bawling.

She sat on the couch, back straight, and watched him. He took a few more toddling steps, holding himself by the leather of the couch, and stopped to turn to her.

"Ba?"

"Yes, ba." She felt the muscles around her frown relax.

He continued to stare up at her, as if entranced by her face. His eyes were undeniably Lily's, and the red bolt of lightning stood out startlingly on his soft forehead. As for the rest of him… well, he was a gushy baby.

"Ha-buh. Ha-buh." His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, slobber glistening on his lips, and he his eyes looked directly into hers. She had to resist the temptation to baby-talk with him, his cheeks were just that chubby.

"Ha-muh? Da?" He wore the expression of one searching for the right word. Even as drool dribbled onto his chin, he was an unnaturally bright baby. You could see it in Lily's bright green eyes: he was going to be irritatingly clever like his mother, too smart-mouthed for his own damn good.

Lily.

Rather think about her sister, Petunia reached for her nephew and rubbed the top of his head and felt his wispy baby hair. He broke into a wide smile.

"Ma-ma?" Lily's eyes shone out at her, wide and questioning.

"No."

She was not his mother. Petunia Dursley had a son and his name was not Harry Potter.

"Ma-ma." He raised a chubby hand to flail it in her direction, making a grabbing motion.

"No."

"Ma-ma." The baby insisted, now gesturing towards her with both arms, wobbling on his feet, grasping for her.

"No, boy."

"Ma-ma!" He leaned forward, grabbing her shins for balance.

"No, I am not your mother!"

"Ma-ma!" He wailed.

"Your mother is dead! I'm not her and she is dead!" She jerked his tiny hands off her shins and stood. He plunked onto his diapered butt, bewildered.

"Ha-wa? Ma!"

"No, Harry! Lily is dead!" She cried.

"Lily is dead!"

Shaking, she tore for the kitchen, the child's cries floating in behind her.

With shallow breaths she sat at her kitchen table, inexplicable glistening in her eyes, a large mucus-like blockage in her throat.

She pressed her index finger into the crumbs on the white table as her nephew wailed in the living room.

"Ma-a-ma!"

She sat, tempted to cover her ears. Harry Potter had a mother and her name was not Petunia Dursley.