INTRODUCING PETUNIA DURSLEY

Ah. Back in time we go. Faster, faster, faster.

1981. A few hours into the first of November.

This is a nice time to begin our story. Right out on the steps of number four, Privet Drive, where our heroine would meet her aunt for the first time.

Hours earlier, Vernon Dursley retired home from work, having experienced a most peculiar day. Around the time of midnight, unbeknownst to the Dursleys, a man appeared on their street for the first time of two visits, which we shall talk more of, later in the future.

He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. His name was Albus Dumbledore.

He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something, but soon realised that he was being watched and he looked up suddenly at the cat, staring at him from the other end of the street. The sight of the cat seemed to amuse him and he chuckled, muttering, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket, something which resembled a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again - the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

The two spoke for awhile, exchanging news of the world they were part of. McGonagall spoke vehemently of the Statute of Secrecy and Dedalus Diddle. It wasn't long before she finally asked what had been on her mind the whole day.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are - are - that they're - dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James…I can't believe it…I didn't want to believe it…Oh, Albus…"

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know…I know…" he said heavily.

"That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the twins, but - he couldn't. The boy – disappeared without a trace. And the girl…they're saying that when he couldn't kill Merry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke - and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's - it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done… all the people he's killed…he couldn't kill a little girl? It's just astounding…of all the things to stop him…but how in the name of heaven did Merry survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Merry to her aunt and uncle. They're the only family she has left now."
"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore - you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son - I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. They will ruin the girl!"

"It's the best place for her," said Dumbledore firmly. "Her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to her when she's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand her! She'll be famous - a legend - I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Merry Potter day in the future - there will be books written about her - every child in our world will know her name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes - yes, you're right, of course. But how is the child getting here, Dumbledore?"
"Hagrid's bringing her."
"You think it - wise - to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"
I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.
"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to - what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky - and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

The man sitting astride it was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. Looking too big, and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he held a bundle of blankets.

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a tiny girl, rosy cheeks laced with deep-red hair. She wasn't asleep, for her eyes wondered curiously around to her surroundings. They were shining orbs of green, rather beautiful, if not for the fact that they were also the colour of the Killing Curse. In the darkness, they glowed. As they landed on McGonagall, the Professor winced.

"So the Killing Curse was-?"whispered McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Those eyes of hers, the mark of death, will stay alight till her dying day."

"Can't you do something about them, Dumbledore?"

"Our eyes are the windows to the soul. I cannot do anything that wouldn't affect her sight, nor anything helpful at this young age. Besides, they may come in handy some day. Well - give her here, Hagrid - we'd better get this over with."
Dumbledore took the bundle up in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.
Quite suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it - Lily an' James dead - poor little Harry gone – now Merry off ter live with Muggles -"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid the girl gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside her blankets, then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.
"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."
"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir." Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Merry," he murmured.

Perhaps he sensed a fraction of the future that was to come, for he peered into the two points of green light, still facing him, once more. A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place anyone would expect astonishing things to happen. Mistletoe Potter rolled over inside her blankets and fell asleep, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing that the path Fate had set out for her would be a long and dark one.

Tomorrow, she would wake, just in time to begin the next adventure…

Chapter 2: In which Petunia makes an interesting decision

Petunia Dursley was having a rather horrible day. Her Diddykins was screeching, her hair was unkempt and Lily Potter's daughter was in her house.

It was all the milk bottles' fault. If they weren't crowding up the kitchen, she wouldn't have considered throwing them out, and if she hadn't considered throwing them out, she would have stayed in the house well after the usual busy hours of the morning. And if she had, then maybe someone would have noticed the brat before she did and took her in themselves.

Unfortunately for her, this was not the case. She had her milk bottles to blame.

Dudley howled as he eyed the Potter girl, laid out on the kitchen table like a slab of meat. She didn't want to touch it.

Spread out in front of her was a letter written by Albus Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards. To Petunia Dursley, he was the man who had rejected her entry to his freakish school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Petunia, who took her rejections rather seriously, could still remember what Mr Dumbledore had written. Sincerest apologies, dear girl, for you don't have enough magic in you to be a witch. You are considered a squib. Perhaps in a few years' time, your magic will grow. Until then, Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, blah blah blah.

Oh, how she detested the man. It was he who had taken Lily away from her and her family. It was he who had forced her to marry that Potter, another freak, instead of a good, Christian boy whom Petunia and her parents all approved. It was Albus Dumbledore who had persuaded Lily to become a bloody fighter during a bloody war, and it was, therefore, his entire fault that the Potter freaks were dead.

She scanned the letter, reluctant to read the emerald-inked script. Emerald reminded her of Lily and thinking of Lily…hurt. Somewhere along the boring passage, the girl's name was mentioned.

Mistletoe Petronica Potter

Mistletoe Petronica Potter

What a truly ridiculous name. It was just the sort of thing freaks would call their spawns. The only part of the name that made her hesitate was 'Petronica'. Petronica. It strongly reminded Petunia of that promise Lily had made when she was still only six and her – Tuney – eight. What had Lily said? I'll name my children after you, Tuney! Well, maybe not their first name. But I promise to love you forever and ever, and my children will love yours forever and we'll all be the best of friends!

The best of friends. Right.

Of course, it wasn't her fault that they had stopped all contacts. Lily, with one last chance of reconciling with her only sister, had brought home her good-for-nothing husband and his equally good-for-nothing best friend. At first, Petunia conformed, but as the day stretched, it was evident that the two boys weren't going to leave the sisters on their own any time soon. Every bloody time Petunia began to ask Lily if she remembered what life was like before the whole mess began, Potter would interrupt coldly, then smile at Lily as if he was doing her a favour. And Black, such an arrogant boy who, when asked by Petunia whether his parents had ever taught him any lessons, actually spat at her in the face.

It was such a horrible day, and then the phone had bleated enthusiastically in the background, causing a relieved Lily to jump up and answer.

It left Petunia with the two freaks, and with her sister gone, the two relished at her horror. They taunted her, called her names, snob, ugly, horsey, bitch. They pointed their wands at her until she squealed with fright, and when Petunia finally had enough and kicked them out of the house, the look on Lily's face...She should have realised that her sister would believe her no-good husband and his friend, both freaks of course, over her own sister.

Petronica. Petronica. Petronica.

She was a freak, of course. But halfway through the thought, Petunia fleetingly imagined having something she always wished she had – a daughter, a mini Petunia, a pet she could take around to proudly display, just as she would have done with Duddy had he not been a boy.

The thought only lasted a few seconds, but a few seconds was all it took for the idea to become firmly embedded into her head. Yes, she, Petunia Dursley, was going to truly stamp out the magic from this girl, just as hers had been. She'd like to see Albus Dumbledore's face when he realised what she had done. The idea was perfect.

She grabbed the girl off the table, setting Diddykins howling again, this time with jealousy. She quietly shushed him, begging him to sleep. "SH-SHAN'T! SHAN'T!" he cried. Normally, Petunia would have fussed over her Duddy learning a new word, but today, she sighed somewhat tiredly and silenced him by ruthlessly placing a pacifier in his mouth. He struggled relentlessly, then gave up after a few seconds, falling into an exhausted sleep.

With a sigh, Petunia sat herself down on a chair and bent her head down to survey her niece. Amidst all the drama during Dudley's annoying fit, the girl had woken up and was staring curiously up at her, just the way Lily always seemed to when they were children.

And then Petunia's breath hitched. She stared, mesmerized by the two orbs. Emerald though they were, just as Lily's had been, they seemed to almost glow a sinister shade. She almost dropped the bundle she was carrying, pushing it away from her, as far away as she could. Those eyes, so ominous, so disturbing…and the way that they glowed. Even Lily's had never done that.

Hello, a voice sounded in Petunia's head. Startled, her eyes flickered to child. Hello.

Petunia shrieked silently. The child – this brat – had proven herself to be just as much of a freak – if not more – as her parents were. She could talk with her mind. Surely that Albus Dumbledore couldn't possibly expect her, Petunia Dursley, utter squib, to raise this child, this abomination, as her own. The day she accepted anything abnormal to be a part of her family would be the day she herself became a freak.

And that, Petunia decided, was not going to be happening any time soon. She eyed the brat cautiously, her mind racing with all the different ways she had to get rid of it. The brat, however, would have none of it.

Are you my mother now? The child's voice echoed in her mind. Will you be looking after me now that my real family is gone?

It was the eyes, Petunia decided later. The orbs that, sinister though they were, held an innocent, unknowing quality that she found she could not relent. It wasn't her fault that the girl had hypnotised her.

"Yes," she replied stiffly, "your family is dead now, so I'll be taking you in." Unfortunately.

The child almost smiled. It seemed satisfied with her answer.

And then Petunia's thoughts flew, once again, lingering a little longer than better, to the future. What would life be like if she did, indeed, raise this child to be her own? Perhaps Dumbledore had hoped, in light of what had happened and this girl's freakishness, that she, Petunia, would let go of her hate of all things magical.

Sure, it was going to be impossible for Petunia to stamp out the magic in the girl. But what if she used that to her advantage? Why should Albus Dumbledore leave such a child, clearly very powerful, to a Muggle family with little knowledge of how to look after her, moments after the death of her parents?

The answer was clear. They had simply abandoned her. The Wizarding world, the girl's parents, Potter's obnoxious friends, every one of those freaky people Lily Potter knew, had simply abandoned the child.

Love her, Petunia. Cherish her as you would, had this child been your own, and never let her forget the bravery and love of her parents as they fought with their lives to protect this child.

The problem with Dumbledore was that he was such a hypocrite. Years ago, Petunia Evans had written a letter to him, full of dreams and pleas, begging him for a place at Hogwarts. He had refused. Years later, Dumbledore had written to her, asking far too much. It was impossible to complete all of his requests. Especially the last one.

Excitedly, she prepared herself for her toughest challenge yet. Perhaps Lily and James Potter would die in a car crash…

Her thoughts anxiously flew to Vernon, knowing he would be displeased. It wasn't everyday a woman like her defied their husband.

Ten years later, Petunia Dursley would still be wondering just what made her look after the child, her child, even though she knew things would never be the same.

She supposed it would all be the milk bottles' fault.

Notes:

Okay, to all the people out there offended by what Petunia thought of James Potter and Sirius Black, in my defence, this is Petunia's thoughts. She isn't exactly known for her lack of bias.

Merry is Mistletoe. I decided to give her a nickname, being as first, Mistletoe's a mouthful for a baby, and second, it kinda sounds like a more feminine 'Harry Potter'.

I added the extra excerpt with McGonagall, Dumbledore and Hagrid because I wanted people to know exactly what had happened to the Potters, and how Mistletoe/Merry was marked.

Mistletoe's attitude, behaviour and personality is explained mostly by Petunia. Sure, the girl's obviously a pretty intelligent baby, but she's still a child, and no child is born evil. While Mistletoe will be far from evil, she is still pretty creepy at times. Had Petunia really treated Mistletoe as her own daughter, surely the arrogance/haughtiness would have rubbed off.

Hoped you liked this chapter! Cheers.

MaskWithATruth