Privet Drive was too clean.

That was Severus's first thought.

Too neat. Too bright. The painted door, the trimmed hedge, the precise symmetry of the windows—it all offended him.

Grief was messy. Ugly. It howled and bled.

And yet this house stood untouched, smugly ignorant of the horror that had unfolded only hours ago.

Severus Snape stood in the shadows, black cloak wrapped around him like a shroud, eyes fixed on the doorstep.

The bundle was there.

Wrapped in coarse blankets, a lightning bolt hidden beneath a tuft of unruly black hair—Potter's hair.

But Lily's child.

The air shifted.

The door creaked.

She opened it.

Petunia Dursley blinked at the infant, a sharp frown already forming. Her mouth opened—something biting, no doubt. Something about freaks or noise or being disturbed—

"You will not speak."

The words slipped from him like silk—deadly. Quiet.

Petunia's eyes snapped up. She stumbled back, recognition dawning.

"Y-you—"

"Lily is dead."

His voice cracked despite himself. He swallowed hard.

Let her see it—the grief etched across his face. Let her see all of it.

She froze.

Snape stepped from the shadows, cloak trailing behind him like a ghost.

"She died protecting him," he said, motioning to the child at her feet. "James did as well, though I doubt you'll mourn him."

Petunia's hand trembled where it gripped the doorknob. Her lips parted, but no words came.

"I tell you this not to frighten you," he continued, softer now, "but because you once loved her. And someone should say it out loud."

He hesitated.

"She died well. She died brave."

Petunia's eyes shimmered—but no tears fell.

"Why is he here?" she asked at last.

"Because Dumbledore left him here. Because he thinks this place will protect him."

She made a faint, choked sound—and Severus saw it then. That flicker of resentment, buried deep and pulsing.

The same look Lily had spoken of years ago.

A lifetime of envy, disguised as disinterest.

He looked down at the child again.

Green eyes.

Gods. Her eyes.

"He thinks you'd accept him as your own," he murmured. "But we both know better, don't we, Petunia?"

He drew a breath.

"So no," he whispered.

The decision struck like lightning—sudden and certain.

"No. I won't leave him here."

He bent, swift and sure, and cradled the baby in his arms.

Harry stirred—but did not cry.

Petunia gasped, stepping forward. "You can't—!"

"I can," he said, "and I will."

Their eyes met.

And for once, there was no venom in his.

Only pain.

The kind she recognized.

The kind no one ever says out loud.

"Tell Dumbledore whatever you like," he said. "But I will not let him grow up unloved."

With that, Severus turned, cloak snapping behind him, the child pressed tightly to his chest.

And Privet Drive faded into the mist behind him.

Petunia stood frozen in the doorway long after he vanished, the night settling thick around her.

The baby was gone. Just… gone.

Her heart beat wildly, confused by what she was feeling.

Not fear. Not really.

Not anger either—not at him, at least.

At herself, maybe.

At Lily.

Her throat tightened.

She remembered Lily's bright laugh as a child. Her wild stories. Her ridiculous magic tricks with flower petals and floating leaves.

She remembered begging her to stop—to be normal—before their parents caught them.

She remembered the look Lily gave her the day she left for Hogwarts for the first time—half sorrow, half excitement.

She remembered writing letters that were never answered.

Petunia stared at the empty stoop.

No child.

No cloaked man.

Just the night, and the crisp, perfect air of Privet Drive.

She closed the door slowly.

Good.

She nodded to no one in particular.

Good.

Let the freaks handle their own.

She hadn't asked for a magical baby on her doorstep, and she wasn't going to beg to keep one either.

Let Lily's boy grow up with people who wanted him.

Besides…

Her thoughts drifted to Vernon and his news of the job offer in Majorca.

She had thought it too sudden, had scoffed at it just yesterday.

But maybe a change of scenery was exactly what they needed.

Far away.

Quiet.

Normal.

If Dumbledore or his kind came knocking, she'd smile and pretend she knew nothing at all.

And that would be the truth, wouldn't it?

She turned off the porch light and locked the door behind her.

The night swallowed the house whole.