Staring at the last crumbles of her scone, Petunia shook her head. It had felt like a dream. It couldn't be real. And yet, when she looked down the entryway, she could see the piece of carpet that was usually perfectly aligned with the tiles and was now off by a few degrees. It was the only indicator that this was not an ordinary day. Something had happened. She got up, placed her mug and plate in the sink, and went upstairs. Maybe, if she could see Harry peacefully sleeping in his cot, Remus' visit would start to feel real. Maybe there was still an ounce of his cologne in the air that she could ... good heavens, what was she thinking! What would Vernon think if he came home to her sniffing another man's cologne - even worse, a wizard?

She pushed the door handle with the most caution she could muster so as not to wake the child up. It was Harry's first time properly sleeping in her house since he arrived, and she would never forgive herself - not so much for Harry's sake, but for herself and Dudley - if she were to ruin the sweet, sweet quiet that had fallen over 4 Privet Drive. Inch by inch, she pressed the door open and entered the bedroom. There he was, sleeping as if he were the cutest and most low-maintenance child, with a slight smile on his little mouth. Petunia sighed quietly. What had this man done to Harry? And could he teach her?

No, she told herself. Whatever it was, it surely had something to do with - Petunia wrinkled her nose as her mind formed that word - magic. She didn't want anything to do with magic. Maybe Harry just needed a reminder that he was safe in this place, after all, that he could sleep and rest here, that no one was after him anymore. There was hope, Petunia thought to herself. She was about to turn around and make her way back to the door when her gaze fell onto an object next to Harry's bed. Tip-toeing, careful not to make any sound, she got closer and inspected the thing. It looked like a broom but was way too small to get any sweeping done with it. It looked like a kids' toy.

She should put it into the box full of toys in Dudley's room, she thought to herself. Vernon would get mad if he saw Harry had his own toys, and he would, of course, demand to know where the boy got them from. Telling him the truth was impossible. She had to put the broom into Dudley's toy box. It probably wouldn't survive long there, given that her son wasn't particularly known for his motor skills, but she had no other chance.

She reached for the broom, but as soon as her fingers touched the broomstick wood, she flinched as an unfamiliar yet unsettlingly close feeling shot through her body.

That feeling, like a million tiny electric shocks zizzling over her skin, reminded her of hugging Lily, but this was much stronger. When touching her sister, this feeling was more like an idea, but now ... even minutes after she had dropped that toy again, her fingertips felt strange, somehow energized. Was this ... magic? She eyed the broomstick, half expecting it to suddenly leash out at her and attack her, half telling herself her behavior was ridiculous.

She stared into the distance, tears forming in her eyes.

"Lily," she whispered.

Shock crept into her body because she didn't remember when she last hugged her, when they last shared a moment of sisterly love. It seemed to her centuries ago, yet both were so young, not even 25.

Harry turned around in his cot, and that sound drew her back into reality. Petunia quickly wiped her nose with her finger and blinked away the tears. With a tight grip, she grabbed the toy broomstick, firmly pushing her lips as the electric shocks crawled their way over her skin, from her fingers to her hands and forearms, all the way up to her shoulders. She knew she couldn't keep the toy in Dudley's toy box. She had to either hide it somewhere or, even better yet, give it back to Remus.

She nodded to herself as if to manifest her determination, then she went back downstairs to search for a safe place to store that toy until she could get a hold of Remus. Luckily, she knew where Vernon would never dare look - the cupboard under the stairs, where all her cleaning utensils were stored. Not just that he wouldn't look in there anyway, but even in the unlikely event that he did, all he'd see was a small broom in a bucket. Nothing too unusual.

Now, all she had to do was to find some way to contact this man to give him back this broom. Wizards must have had telephones, she thought - she knew Lily and James had one. Determined, she started browsing through all of the telephone directories they owned. She couldn't find Lupin, so she tried all other spellings of the name she could come up with: Loopin, Lupen, Loopen, Loupin, ... Nothing.

Petunia sighed. She had no idea who this man was, where he lived, or what he did for a living. Frankly, she didn't even know whether Remus Lupin was his real name.

If only Lily was here ...

She had not thought of her sister in 10 years as she had done today. Lily living in the magical world had ripped them apart - as a family, as sisters, but also as friends. As soon as Lily started going to that school, there were no more things they could share with each other, no more mutual friends they could reconnect with, and no activities they could enjoy. Lily had entered a new life, and there was no place for Petunia in it. Petunia had always known and accepted that, but now, dealing with the remnants of her sister's life made their lack of contact all too apparent. What kind of friends did she make at that school? What was her relationship like? What was she afraid of? What did their day-to-day life with baby Harry look like? And what on earth did they do to keep that kid quiet? There were so many questions that Petunia had forbidden herself from wanting to know the answer to, and now never having asked those questions brought her nothing but pain and regret.

She knew nothing, yet she was expected to navigate safely through what Lily had left behind - friends, acquaintances, an entire godforsaken child.

Maybe, she thought to herself after a while of staring at the pages of the unhelpful telephone directory, that strange man Remus Lupin could help her answer some of those questions. In any way, she needed a way to find him, contact him.

Petunia was still sitting in the kitchen, mindlessly turning the pages of the telephone directory, when she suddenly heard a noise. A key turned in the keyhole of the front door.

"Good evening, Petunia," Vernon said as he pushed his massive body through the entryway and into the living room.

"Good evening," Petunia replied and pressed her lips together.

"How was your day?" Vernon looked at her briefly before he sat down in his favorite armchair. "Any news?"

Oh, yes, actually. One of Lily's friends dropped by, asking me whether there was anything he could do to help me with Harry. And then he spent some time with the boy, Vernon - and Harry enjoyed it and fell asleep for most of the afternoon. It was the first quiet afternoon I had since we got that boy. That man I have never seen before in my life helped me more in these five minutes than you did in almost two years! And anyway, I fear I made a massive mistake by not staying in contact with Lily. She was my sister, and I allowed her to suffer in silence. Can you imagine the fear she and James were in? I should have been there for her. Vernon, are you even listening?

She wanted to tell him those things but knew she couldn't, and thinking those thoughts so clearly for the first time nearly brought her to tears. Vernon must never know. He wouldn't understand. He wouldn't even be interested in comprehending what she said or what it meant for them as a couple. He didn't want Lily to be her sister. For him, it would be safest to assume she didn't even have a sister, to begin with. And mentioning another man in their house, playing with Harry, would be too much for him. Not that he spent any amount of his free time playing with his very own son and had anything to be jealous about, though.

Instead, she just gave him her best fake smile. "No, nothing, sweetheart." And then, she added, "Any wishes for supper?"

He shook his head and mumbled something about his colleagues, which Petunia didn't fully register. It didn't matter much anyway. It was probably the same as usual; someone said something to someone else that this someone else was not supposed to hear but heard it anyway. A minor scandal broke out, but people cared too much about their reputation to turn it into a real deal and deliver some consequences, so all the colleagues were going home with the same piece of gossip, just different nuances.

The week dragged on, day by day. Harry slept better than before Remus' visit, but it seemed to Petunia that the effect was wearing off and getting worse every day. The little broom sat comfortably in the same bucket she put it in. Whenever Petunia opened the cupboard under the stairs, it felt like it was already waiting for her, wanting to be touched by her. She wanted to, she thought maybe Remus wasn't needed to play with Harry, but whenever she was close to touching the broomstick, she couldn't quite bring herself to it.

She had one last idea, albeit it was stupid and reckless, and she knew that Vernon would be furious if he found out about it. But before she knew it, she was at the other side of the living room, opening the cupboard containing the fancy paper for special occasion letters. As she pulled the sheet out of its carton box, it felt heavy and surprisingly sturdy in her fingers.

Hello Remus,

She wrote on the paper and then stopped. What did she even want to tell him? She always thought about contacting him, but now that she had an actual, tangible plan, she realized she had never thought about the contents of her message. She stared at the mainly empty paper in front of her, sighed, and wrote the first things that came to her mind.

Hello Remus,

I hope this letter reaches you well and it finds you at all. I'm not that familiar with your types of communication.

I realized I never said thank you for your visit last week. Harry has been much better since then, and thanks to you, everyone in this house had the most restful nights in half a year.

However, I feel the effect is wearing off, and I am not sure what exactly you did to him and whether I could ever do the same. I thought about your offer, and if it still stands, I want to see what we can do to arrange something regularly.

Let me know if you'd be interested and when you could come over. It would be best if my husband didn't find out about this arrangement, so it'd be best in the early afternoon during the work week. If you're not interested, please at least let me know where I can send the toy you gave Harry. I appreciate the thought, but it cannot stay here.

Kind regards,

Petunia

Petunia stared at her own handwriting. These were her thoughts, the thoughts she had thought, was thinking, all the time. And still, it was shocking to see them so clearly expressed on paper, to admit that this was what she wanted.

With shaking hands, she folded the sheet of paper and tucked it into an envelope of the same thick paper. Remus Lupin was the only thing she put in the place where one usually put the address. The envelope looked uncomfortably bare, but she had no more information to fill it with. She then put her own name and address in the top left corner, closed the envelope, and, letter in hand, headed out into the back garden.

She put the letter on the table and stepped back a few meters. And then she waited. The hollow pit forming in her stomach felt familiar, and all of a sudden, Petunia wasn't standing in the back garden of her own house anymore. She saw herself back in Cokeworth, in her parent's garden, and she wasn't in her mid-twenties. She was 13 years old, and the letter on the table was addressed to Albus Dumbledore. She wrote this letter out of pure desperation over wanting to join her sister in her new adventure. And then, following her instincts, she put it on the table in her parent's garden and waited. Until a brown, scraggly-looking owl had come to pick it up. And for some strange reason, it had worked. Just a few days later, she received her answer. Albus Dumbledore gently but firmly told her it was impossible, that she, Petunia Evans, was just a Muggle. No magical skills. No nothing. An ordinary, boring human being.

The sound of something tapping on the table startled her. Petunia returned to her regular self, her adult self, the version of her that was living with her husband and her child in Little Whinging. And yet, one thing remained the same: a scraggly-looking, brown owl sitting on the table in the garden. It tilted its head while focusing on Petunia as if it was asking her a question.

"I don't have any treats," she heard herself say.

If that was possible, the owl now looked terribly disappointed.

"Fine," Petunia sighed. "You wait here, and I'll go check the fridge."

She found some minced beef she wanted to use for pies and took a few small pieces with her. What on earth was she doing, talking to an owl? She shook her head.

"Is that good enough for you?" she asked as she placed the meat in front of the owl on the table.

The owl made a soft hoot, nibbled at the meat, grabbed the letter, and flew off. The following two days, Petunia spent in constant worry over 1) whether there would be any reply and 2) whether the owl would dare to deliver it when Vernon was home. But on the third day, just as she settled down in the armchair to read the newspaper, there was a soft thud on the window. When she went to check what had caused it, she saw an envelope stuck between the window and the flower box on the windowsill. The paper felt scratchy and thin, but the handwriting was neat and easily legible.

Hello Petunia,

Expect me on the 5th at 2 pm. We can discuss everything then.

Remus

That was it. No "thank you for your letter," "of course my offer still stands," no postscript. Nothing. What was that supposed to mean?