A/N: It's been about a decade since I wrote anything for publishing, but I've had this idea for a long while, and there we go. Enjoy!

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Chapter 1: Mundane Kin

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Albus, do you really think it's safe, leaving him with these people? I've watched them all day. They're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable.

Certainly, Dursley's weren't the sort of Muggles one'd present to blood purists in an effort to change their opinion on non-magical folk, yet they were a long shot from being branded as the worst.

A hard-working man, a supportive woman, and a toddler with rosy cheeks living in a pristine home with a flowering yard. Not fairytale characters in a dwelling awe-inspiring. Drab, boring, but above all other things: excruciatingly normal.

Just what the emerald eyed orphan with a tuft of untamable hair needed. A serene haven from the tempests that awaited him in the magical world, the one he belonged in, not as another wide-eyed child, but the savior of light.

Something no child should be.

It was to Albus' great dismay that he had failed Harry, failed to protect Lily and James, and as a consequence robbed the boy of the opportunity to lead an ordinary life. The least he could do for the misfortunate orphan was to ensure him a childhood as carefree as possible.

And who better to make it come true for Harry than his closest, mundane kin?

In the Dursley household, Petunia was the first to wake up. There was breakfast to be made, newspapers to be gathered, and a temperamental toddler to be fed. One would argue it was an overkill to be awake as early as five in the morning, but for Petunia it became an enjoyable habit. This way she not only had the time to prepare food for her beloved husband, she also had time to return the kitchen to its spotless state before he woke up.

Vernon always admired Petunia for her ability to keep the house in such a clean state all those shiny houses from commercials could be branded filthy in comparison. She preferred it to stay that way.

Once the plates were filled with steaming bacon, hashbrowns done with the most delicious crisp, pitcher filled with freshly squeezed orange juice, and Dudley was given double the portion of baby food (he was after all, a fast-growing boy), Petunia went to fetch the newspapers.

The air was particularly chilly that morning, much to the dismay of the boney woman. Usually, she would dawdle on the porch, pretending to read the headlines while scanning for any activity in the neighborhood. Now, she had to snatch the paper as fast as she could and retreat to the safe warmth of her abode.

The newspapers turned out not to be the only delivery made to Privet Drive number four. There was a cardboard box beneath them, containing nothing less but a child wrapped in a white blanket.

Petunia's face lost what little color it possessed. Frantic, she grabbed the box with the speed of a vulture and banged the door closed. Perhaps she was quick enough, perhaps nobody had managed to see.

What a shame it would be, if somebody saw the abandoned child on her doorstep. She knew the rumors it would create, forever defacing her reputation of a proper citizen.

No doubt it was left by a junkie or a desperate teen mother. To imagine such people being spotted on her lawn, the horror.

Surely enough, there was a letter folded between the tiny fingers. Full of some sentimental nonsense written to con honest people to take in a possibly sickly, genetically inferior child.

Maybe it held a disease from whatever filthy hand that wrote it. She was not supposed to touch either it or the child.

However, if there was a flaw (the only flaw, in her opinion, mind you) that could be connected to the reputable Petunia Dursley, it was curiosity.

Against her better judgement, she opened the letter and started to read.

Not even a minute after, there was a shriek which would give the most fearsome Banshee a run for her money, echoing around the usually silent home.

Petunia Dursley despised Lily Potter. She was too good, too smart, too beautiful, too everything the plain old Tuney could never hope to be.

The flowers bloomed at the touch of her fingertips, red carnations and cerulean hydrangeas. Petunia could swear that it was not simply due to her magic. Heavens themselves had chosen Lily to represent life, bestowing upon her all the virtues of a goddess.

The goddess which had faced the bitter destiny of all the mortals, from whose glory nothing would remain in a couple of years, nothing but that fiery red shining as a last defiance to the darkness that took her.

That, and the unnaturally quiet boy who basked in the heat of their fireplace, still in his miserable box.

Petunia could not send him away, the last remnant of her sister. Because everything aside, Lily had been hers to loathe and insult, not some Dark Lord's target practice for foul witchcraft.

Had he not died already, he would have rued the day he'd dared to take her away from Petunia. After all, she had been a member of a shooting club once upon the reckless teenagehood.

"I know he's kin, Pet, but he's not normal."

Vernon was pacing across the living room for the past hour, hands every so often balling into fists. Dudley was curiously following his movements, for once quiet as though even he could understand the gravity of the situation.

"He's just a baby, Vernon." With a sigh: "Well, there is that scar…"

"It's not about the scar, it's about…" Vernon fell silent, waving his hands in the air to portray words she supposed were hocus pocus. "There is no chance he's not like them, is there?"

Petunia's lips thinned.

"Not that I know."

"Then how are we to keep him? Imagine the look on our neighbors' faces if they see a toddler flying around like a blasted bird."

Petunia did not imagine. It was too horrible of a thought to nurse at this moment.

"We can teach him how to control it."

She did not believe her own words, yet she had to do something. He was part an Evans, not some promiscuous woman's offspring to be abandoned with grimy orphans.

Vernon stopped the agitating up and down route, huffing out his breath.

"And how are we supposed to do that, we are not some sort of effing wizard trainers. We are honest, normal people. Normal, Pet."

Normal...

Petunia looked up from her twisted fingers, grim decisiveness Vernon's words inspired upon her face. She rose from the plank stiff position she held on the couch and approached her husband.

"And that is exactly how are we going to do it. Show him what normal means. Teach him to be a good man just like we are going to teach our Dudders. Just like your parents taught you. He's young and malleable, he can yet be shown wrong from right." In a whisper, before Vernon came up with a reasonable protest: "Besides, Potter must have left enough money for us to raise him the way a kid should be raised. Him and Dudders both."

There was a gleam in Vernon's eyes that signaled her victory at last. There was little in the world Vernon would not do for his Pet, their bundle of squealing joy, and for money.

"Perhaps you are right."

For the first time Vernon braved to set his eyes upon the boy (still calm as a statue), a wide grin appearing on his features.

"Perhaps there's going to be use of the magical tyke."

As Vernon went on to prattle how they could possibly invest the Potter's money to benefit the boys, occasionally wondering could Harry use his hocus pocus to multiply it, Petunia approached the box and picked up the boy with blazing green eyes.

Her eyes.

So vibrant when compared to the watery blue of Petunia's.

Perhaps there was something plain old Tuney could be that Lily would never have the chance to.

A happy mother of two, cherished by her children above all.

She smiled at Harry as he lifted his tiny hand in an effort to reach her face, grunting as his finger fell short of her jaw.

I win, Lily, I win.