Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I can still recall
our last summer
I still see it all
walks along the Seine

laughing in the rain
our last summer
memories that remain

(Our Last Summer - ABBA)

October 31, 2001

Petunia sat on the bench at the train station, unfocused eyes slowly watching people pass her by. Not a single one of them gave her a second glance. A nod or indication they even knew she was there. 

But Petunia wasn’t there. Not really. No, Petunia Evans was stuck in the past, fractured memories of the last twenty years playing in her mind like a broken loop. Harry. Dudley. Remus. War. So much death. 

Her hands tingled with the cold winter air and she shifted, placing them in her pocket. Something inside rattled and she jumped slightly, pulling it out and staring down at it. 

So much death… And yet, just maybe… Release… 

Her head tipped up slowly to watch the passing families again, the suffocating weight pressing more firmly down on her chest as the memories offered themselves to her, dragging Petunia into the past once more…

November 1st, 1981. - Little Whinging in Surrey, England.

Petunia opened the door slowly, wincing at the creak that emanated throughout the house. Dudley had just fallen asleep an hour before, and Petunia was not keen on pulling Dudders from his nap. A sound startled Petunia, as she let out a silent curse and stepped back from the stoop. 

Instead of the milk she had planned to collect, a child lay swaddled on her doorstep. Petunia frowned, bending down to inspect the child more closely. Her nose wrinkled – she couldn't stand children. None of them were even close to her sweet Dudley, and as such, she had no time for them. 

Her eyes softened as she took in the fresh cut across his forehead. She drew her eyebrows together, tracing the shape with her eyes. It webbed across his forehead, beginning a mere inch under his hairline. It proceeded to fracture off from each branch, dwindling down into minuscule lines that nearly touched his eyebrow. 

The disgust faded from Petunia's chest as she slid her hands under this poor child. He was around Dudley's age, and a part deep in her heart mourned the pain he must have felt. Something crinkled in the wrapping of his blanket, and as Petunia stepped into Number 4 Privet Drive, her concern and curiosity raged. 

She settled the infant in the crook of her arm, pulling a bottle from the cabinet and filling it with formula. She turned the tap on, letting the water warm as she rocked the child. She would have to phone the police, she knew, but that didn't mean he had to go hungry while he waited. 

Taking the bottle, she made her way to the living room and sat on the sofa, laying the child gently across her lap. Once it had taken the nipple of the bottle, she drew the paper she had earlier from the fold of the blanket and carefully opened it. 

Petunia's stomach dropped as she read the name in which the letter was addressed to. Hands shaking, she unfolded it and began to read, emotions roiling under her skin as she realized the severity of the situation before her. 

Dearest Petunia Dursley, 
It is with great sorrow in which I write to 
inform you of your sister’s death.  
Under different circumstances, I would have 
wished to meet you personally to let 
you know of the unfolding of recent events,
however, there is still much unknown, and to be
done. The child on your doorstep is your nephew,
Harry James Potter. Due to the events that 
led him to become orphaned, we ask that
you would take him into your care and  
provide for him. I understand that this 
may be upsetting news, and to
take on a child in this time of grief 
may be difficult. However, for his protection, 
he must remain with you. Lily and James
gave their very lives to save their only child.  

Tears formed in Petunia's eyes as she continued reading. Anger and sorrow swirled through her as she thought of one of the last times she had spoken to her sister. It had only been two years before, when a letter arrived inviting her and Vernon to their wedding. Guilt rose in her throat like bile as she remembered the cruelly worded letter she had penned in response. 

Nevertheless, danger still hides in the shadows. 
Lord Voldemort is, I fear, still alive even as
our world celebrates his downfall. I believe he is 
in hiding, biding his time. As such, I plan to place
protective wards over your home in order to protect
young Harry. Through your sister’s blood, which 
flows as well through you, your son, and your
nephew, Lily’s final protection still stands  
from beyond the veil of our world.  

Petunia shook her head, trying to clear the jumbled thoughts. Lord Voldemort? What had Lily gotten herself into? And how could she raise this child? It would be like them – unnatural. No, they could not take him in. She would not corrupt her family. 

As long as he can call your house home, 
the protection Lily provided will hide 
him from Lord Voldemort. If he is ever 
to leave, ever to stop calling Privet 
Drive his home, the protections will 
fail and your entire family will be at risk.  

Petunia paled, re-reading the last line. She felt anger boil in her chest as she looked down toward her nephew. Whatever Lily had caught herself up into, she had no right to bring this danger into her home. 

Voldemort has not allowed Muggles
to stop him before. He holds a 
deeply rooted disdain for your kind— 
It will not be a protection. It will 
merely be a game to him. He 
has killed many, Muggle and Magic
alike. There is no sympathy in his 
shadowed soul. I know that this news
will come as a shock, but Harry’s 
safety is of the utmost importance. His 
survival may well insure the very future 
of our shared world.

Respectfully,  

  Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Petunia was shaking. How dare that – that freak leave her this child to raise. And her family would be in constant danger, to boot! If she had any sense, any decency, she would throw the child back into the street to starve. He would not be the reason her family suffered. 

Sensing her distress, the baby — Harry, her mind added treasonously — began to shift in his blanket. She turned to scowl at the child, but froze as her eyes met his. The anger dissolved as she looked into the mirror of her sister's eyes, and the grief swelled over her like a cresting wave. 

His eyes drew her back to the warm summer days when she and Lily were children, long before the hatred of her sister's ability had rooted in Petunia to fester. Petunia let out a sob as she pulled the boy to her chest, whispering apologies into the fabric of his blanket. 

"I'm sorry, Lily," she begged. All those years she had spent resenting her sister and now she was gone. They'd never had a chance to repair their relationship, but now it was too late to try. And all of it Petunia bore. It had been her who had ignored her sister's attempts; from burning the letters, giving her the cold shoulder and an attempted silent treatment at their parents' funeral, to even calling her a freak. 

Lily was gone, and all that remained was this child who no longer had his family. Resolve coiled in Petunia's stomach as she watched his eyes trail around the living room. He would still know love. Petunia would provide for Harry what she had failed to give to Lily nearly all her life. She closed her eyes at this, rocking her nephew gently in her arms. An hour ago, Lily had been alive — in her mind, at least. Now she was sitting with an orphaned child, too young to even understand why his parents were not here. 

Petunia let out a sob, biting down on her tongue to keep from crying too loudly and disturbing the poor boy. Grief bubbled under Petunia's skin, shame choking her. She had always resented Lily for being special, for being different. She remembered the letter she had once penned to Dumbledore, begging to attend Hogwarts along with her sister. When she had read his response, although written with a polite sorrow informing Petunia that she was unable to, it had cemented her distaste for her sister. 

If only she could turn back time. She would give everything to take back every sharp word, all the spiteful comments she had made towards Lily and the world she got to experience. Petunia pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling as the heavy realization that there would never be a chance to right her mistake. She bit into her lip, swallowing the tears that threatened to spill. She could grieve later — for now, her nephew needed her. 

"Dudders up already? Thought you'd just put him down a bit ago." Petunia jolted forward. She hadn't heard Vernon come down the stairs, despite the racket he usually made in the process. She looked down at her nephew, uncertainty blossoming in her chest. How would he react? He hated Lily's kind — Magical folk, she corrected herself — more notably than even Petunia did, which was saying something. She took a deep breath to settle the anxiety twisting in her stomach and looked to Vernon, intent on answering with the truth before she lost her nerve. 

"Vernon," she tried answering, flinching as her voice cracked. She took another steadying breath. "This is our nephew, Harry," she finished, the words spilling together in her haste to get them out. His expression did not change, sleep still evident in his eyes. Surprisingly, a loud chuckle escaped him. 

"That's a right laugh, ‘Tunia, I thought you said nephew. I know for bloody well you'd never bring Harvey into our home," he laughed, waving her off as he made his way to the kitchen. Petunia let out a sigh, standing to follow him. She placed Harry more tightly against her hip, shifted away from Vernon. 

"I did, Vernon. And his name is Harry, not Harvey. He is going to live with us—" she froze in her spot as Vernon turned on her with more speed and precision than one with his stature would predict. His face was a deep red, and she could see the beginning of a vein throbbing under the skin of his temple. She knew it would only get bigger, and his face darker, as this conversation proceeded. 

"We will not have that—" he stalled, searching for his words. "Unnaturalness in our home, Petunia. I want it nowhere near me!" He snapped. Petunia tensed, her arms tightening around Harry protectively. 

"He is a child, Vernon!" Petunia retorted. "He is a child, and his parents are— they're dead, Vernon. They were killed." Her tone lowered at this, all of the anger dissipating from her voice. Vernon merely snorted. 

"And good riddance to them! Our world is better off with two less of their kind in it. Should've taken him too. I will not repeat myself, Petunia. He goes to an orphanage, and I will discuss this no further," He answered in finality. Petunia's teeth ground together as she held back the emotions that were threatening to spill from her. 

"Do not ever speak of Lily and James like that again," She spat. "The world is not better off without them in it, and I was wrong. Lily is — Lily was kind — far kinder than I have ever been. I was jealous of her ability, and the world that opened up to her. The reason I hated her so much was because I asked to go as well and was told no because I was a Muggle, Vernon. I was wrong, and I have made many mistakes. Things that I can no longer undo, or seek redemption for. I lost Lily. I will not let Harry go as well." Vernon kept his back to her, focusing on his search through the fridge. 

"We are not keeping him, Petunia. End of conversation." 

"If he leaves us, we will be in danger, Vernon." He stood erect at this, turning to face her. 

"What do you mean?" He demanded, the fridge door still ajar behind him. 

"The man that killed Lily and James will be looking for Harry—”

"Why?" He interjected. She closed her eyes, sighing. 

"I do not know, Vernon. The letter simply stated that as long as he lived with me, he would be safe. Something about a protection Lily placed over him, that lives through the shared blood in my veins. In Dudley's veins. As long as he is with us, he will be hidden. If he leaves, that man — Voldemort, I believe — can find us in order to find Harry. He cannot go," she answered. 

"And what the bloody hell about me? Bringing me into danger for the sake of that abnormality!” He snarled. Harry began to cry at Vernon's outburst. Petunia coddled him close to her chest, red tinging her vision. 

"What about me, Vernon? What about our son! He will be at risk as well, but even more so if we send Harry away. I don't care for the fact we will always be looking over our backs, but what other choice do we have! He stays," she hissed. 

"No, he will not," he retorted, stepping closer to Petunia. "If you are going to keep that freak, it will be nowhere near me!" 

"He is staying here—” A harsh slap caught Petunia off guard. The words that had been on the tip of her tongue dissolved as she attempted to process the turn in events. Vernon had never struck her.

But, Petunia assumed, it had never been necessary. All he had ever needed to do before was raise his voice, and Petunia would come to heel under his discretion. Something new, something bitter, was rising in the back of her throat and mixing with the blood she could taste on her teeth.

"He goes, or you go as well, Petunia. I will not have it in my home," he threatened, his hand still raised. Tears obscured her vision and she stumbled back away from Vernon. 

"I am leaving," she whispered dejectedly. "I am leaving, and I am taking my boys with me," she affirmed. Vernon tried to close the distance between the two of them, and as she blinked away the tears, she could see that the throbbing vein in his temple had grown exponentially. He spoke through his teeth, words hissing as spit flecked on Petunia's cheek. 

"You will not take my boy from me, Petunia." She nodded, deciding her next words carefully. 

"Alright, Vernon. But Harry and I will come to visit him — often at that. As much as I am able to, we will be here for my son," she replied. Vernon's eyebrows knit together as he processed her words. "I will, of course, be adding visitation to my divorce proceedings." She could see the realization dawn on him as the red drained from his face, a sickly grey replacing it. 

"Take Dudley then," he replied. "But what am I to tell the neighbors? What will they think?" He moaned. Petunia watched him blankly. Had that really been her biggest concern when she had woken up this morning? In two hours, her whole world had shifted, and she knew by the end of the conversation her life would never be the same. 

"I don't care. Tell them I ran off with another man and took our son. Make yourself the victim, Vernon, and have people feel bad for you. I don't care anymore. I will send the papers in the mail, just sign them and mail them back. I'll take care of everything. No alimony, no child payments. You can wash your hands of us and be free." Vernon sat in a chair at the table, the wood creaking under the strain. 

"Get on out, then. Go on!” He snapped, refusing to meet her eyes. Petunia swallowed thickly, trying to wet the sandy dryness of her tongue. She made her way to the cabinet, pulling the containers of leftover formula from the shelf and a few of the bottles. She didn't speak as she left, making her way out to the car Vernon had bought her as a wedding present. She opened the back door of the green Ford Cortina, placing Harry gently in the back seat and letting the rest fall to the floor. Making sure he was safely laid in the seat, she returned inside and made her way up the stairs. 

Taking several pictures off the wall — only the ones of Dudley and herself without Vernon in them — she entered into Dudley's nursery and pulled a bag from the closet. She emptied his drawers, taking all of his baby clothes. The ones he had grown out of would fit Harry for some time, she figured, as she stuffed the suitcase. She pulled his old bassinet from the closet as well, filling it with bedding and stuffies for her boys. 

Once she had collected everything she thought they may need, barely remembering to place the wipes and diapers in the bassinet as well, she carried them down the stairs and placed them in the trunk of the car. She pulled a few of her own clothes together, throwing them and three pairs of shoes into the knapsack she swung over her back.

She looked around her room, taking it in one last time. A thought struck her, and she pulled open a drawer, rifling through it until she found the bound parchment. Letters she had penned in response to Lily's, scribbled across the bottom underneath her sister's own writing. She added it to the bag, sighing. 

She glanced down at her ring, unsure as to leave it or bring it with her. It was quite expensive, she thought. She could sell it to get them away from here.

She would take her boys to Huddersfield in the Midlands, where her parents had settled in a little home after she and Lily had finished school and married. It had been left to her in the will, and thankfully, they had trouble trying to sell it in the last few years. 

She collected Dudley, ignoring his wailing cry as she made her way downstairs. She closed the door firmly behind her, placing Dudley in the front seat and buckling him in tightly.

She removed the items from the bassinet and laid Harry in it, as he was still too small to buckle safely. Once the bassinet had been secured she placed the last of her belongings into the trunk and slid into the front seat. 

She sat there for a minute, contemplating her decision. Would the protection still work if she wasn't here? Dumbledore had specifically stated that it would be placed over Number 4 Privet Drive.

But they had no home here — she had to assume he could find them. She couldn't stay here. That thought became lodged in her mind, and she finally wept as she realized that the life she had made for herself — as boringly plain as possible just to spite Lily — was gone. 

Now, she was only twenty-four years old and was facing divorce, being a single mother to two boys — one of which she had no idea how to care for. Did Magical children need different things? A different level of care once they were older? How she wished now that she had paid more attention to Lily once she had started school.

And how was she to provide for them? She would get a job, of course, she could still remember her secretarial days with ease, but would it be enough for them? She lowered her head into her hands and sobbed. 

A gentle rap on the window startled Petunia, and she turned to snap at Vernon. The words caught in her throat at the sight of Mrs. Figg, a dumpy little woman who lived catty-corner to the Dursley's across the street.

Petunia hurriedly wiped away her tears as she rolled down the window, coughing to clear her throat. Mrs. Figg looked worried, her eyes trailing to the two boys in the car with her. They seemed to linger on Harry, and Petunia felt apprehension curl in her stomach. 

"Hello, Mrs. Dursley, I was just wondering if you were alright? I saw you packing up your car and you seemed rather distraught-" Petunia waved her hand. Her eyes caught sight of the ring once more, and she pulled it off sharply and placed it in her purse. 

"I'm alright, Mrs. Figg. I had some bad news this morning, and I am going out of town for… a while," She answered. "And please, call me Ms. Evans." Mrs. Figg cocked her head, concern brimming in her eyes. 

"I'm sorry?" She asked. 

"My name is Evans," Petunia repeated. "Vernon and I will no longer be… together, I guess. I am filing for divorce. Now if you'll please, I have to go. There are some things I need to take care of-" Mrs. Figg leaned into the open window, placing her lips beside Petunia's ear. She recoiled in shock, about to tell her off, before the woman spoke. 

"I don't mean to scare you, dear, but I believe Dumbledore needs to be told about this. You are in grave danger if you leave the house, there are many who are still loyal to You-Know-Who out there," she warned. Petunia pulled away, her eyes wide. 

"You– You know? About– them?” She spluttered, rather un-ladylike in her opinion. Mrs. Figg nodded, her eyes serious. 

"Oh yes, dear. I am a squib. A non-magical child born to a wizard family. It was a mere chance I lived across the street, but a good one at that. Dumbledore asked I keep an eye on you all, and little Harry. He needs to know. Where are you going tonight? I will send an owl to him to meet you, so he can sort things out," she offered. Petunia thought for a bit, before the memory of a motel she had stayed at once on holiday with her family when they were children came to mind. 

"The motel in Northampton," She answered. "By the reservoir." Mrs. Figg nodded. "I'll let him know. Hurry, now, and do not stop for anything, do you understand?" Petunia nodded, starting her car. 

"Goodbye, Ms. Evans. And good luck." Her eyes trailed to Harry once more, asleep in the back seat. There was a grim hope in her eyes as she watched the boy, and Petunia wondered what had really happened to lead her to this moment.

What had Lily and James been caught up in, that Harry was now the hope for Lily's entire world? And what did it mean for her and Dudley?

Chapter Text

When I was younger
so much younger than today
I never needed anybody's help in any way
but now these days are gone

I'm not so self assured
now I find I've changed my mind
And opened up the doors

(Help! - The Beatles)

November 2, 1981. Wilkes Motel, around 2:00 am. - Just outside Northampton in The East Midlands, England. 

Petunia jumped as a loud knock echoed through the room. Both Dudley and Harry awoke at the noise, crying out at the disturbance. Petunia hushed the boys quietly, pulling a bathrobe around her and combing her shoulder length blonde hair into what she hoped was a presentable manner. Presentable enough for the early morning, she decided, as she looked through the peephole into the corridor. 

A man stood outside, waiting patiently and seeming unhurried as she took in his appearance. He was dressed strangely — long resplendent robes of lilac that descended to the floor. Patterned across it were stars, and as Petunia watched them, it seemed they held the very light of the sky themselves — twinkling in the dim light of the motel hall. Perched atop his head sat a pointed cap of the same color, but decorated instead with little clouds that appeared to be drifting across the fabric. 

He was an older man, silver haired and wisened. Deep wrinkles were creased across his face and his hands were thin and colored with age. The long hair of his beard, which nearly reached his knees, was collected together by a thin silver chain that held fast around just above his mid waist. He was oddly dressed, no doubt, and that meant only one thing. He was one of Lily's kind — she stopped the thought as it crossed her mind. He's Magical, she corrected herself. 

"Ms. Evans, if you are quite finished in your appraisal of me, it might be best if we continued this inside the room, would it not?" He inquired. Petunia reeled back in shock, placing her hand against the hard wood of the door. 

"How do I know it's safe? I don't know you, what if you hurt my boys?" She demanded. A soft chuckle sounded through the door, but it did not assuage her fear. 

"Ms. Evans, I have done everything in my power to keep your little family safe thus far, and I will continue to do so until my very last breath. I assure you of that, and a promise Albus Dumbledore makes, he intends to keep.” Petunia's hand dropped. Dumbledore. She unlocked the door slowly, allowing it to crack open so she could see the man face to face. 

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions," she replied. Dumbledore laughed once more. 

"I will admit I know very little about Muggle beliefs in deities and the afterlife, Ms. Evans," he offered. She watched Dumbledore for a moment, appraising his words carefully. Her shoulders fell, the desire to fight leaving Petunia. 

"Neither do I. We weren't particularly religious, but you pick up on sayings you've heard often enough," she replied. Dumbledore nodded in agreement. 

"I wish I could promise you a life of security and ease, but I would be quite the liar if I did so. No, the road ahead of you is uncertain, and, one could assume, full of danger. I am sorry it is yours to tread, dear child, the same as I regret the road Lily had to walk. But I, and others, will keep watch over you throughout it. Even coming here you were not alone." Petunia opened the door wider, allowing a portion of her to be seen. 

"What do you mean?" She demanded, eyes flickering to the empty corridor behind him, searching. 

"You will not find him here, dear Petunia. But a good friend of mine, Alastor Moody, has kindly agreed to keep watch over you during this journey. For there are many who would like to see the ruin of young Harry that are still at large in our country, and who knows behind which corner danger lurks. Alastor, however, is well acquainted with such risk. He is one of the most powerful Aurors in our Ministry." A thought seemed to occur to Dumbledore. 

"An Auror, is, of course, is the Magical equivalent of a Muggle—”

"Policeman," Petunia finished. She frowned, surprised she recalled Lily telling her this several years ago. If only she had listened to Lily more, rather than ignoring her. "They hunt dark wizards. I remember… I remember Lily telling me that." Dumbledore nodded, offering her a sad smile. 

"Lily was truly an outstanding witch. Uncommonly kind, and fiercely brave until her very last." Petunia could hear the grief in his tone and looked away, trying to hide the tears gathering in her eyes. "She never blamed you, did you know? When she spoke of you, there was always hope. She desired the relationship you once had, and never hated you for your treatment of her. And for that, I must apologize. I tried to be kind in my response when you wrote to me all those years ago, but I can see now it had the opposite effect." Petunia closed her eyes, clenching her fist tightly as she fought not to cry in front of him. 

"You were never less than her, Petunia. You were never untalented or ordinary. You leaned into it as a way to define yourself in opposition to Lily, but my dear, you settled for the mundane when you were made for the exceptional. The circumstances that led you to this moment are heartbreaking, but you have a much larger part in this story than even the most accomplished in Wizardkind can boast. To love, to protect, and to raise Harry. And, I am sure, that will not be the end of your story, either. I have a sense that both you and your son will play a greater part in it than even I can imagine at the current time." Petunia felt that he knew much more than he was letting on, and a shiver raced up her spine as he looked deeply into her, almost as if he were peering through her. 

"Now, if we may, we have rather a bit in which we need to attend to. May I?" He gestured. Petunia opened the door fully, stepping aside to let him enter. "I also would like to see young Harry, simply to assure myself he is alright, if you are agreeable. I hated leaving him the way I did, but the Order — what remains of the Order, that is—" Again, bitter resignation colored his words. 

"—Needed to be briefed, and there was much to discuss. In fact, we only finished up a little bit ago, and I can assure you the passing time was quite a tense reminder once Arabella sent her owl," he threw over his shoulder, stopping beside the bed in which the boys lay on, deep in sleep. He didn't speak for some time, simply watching the rise and fall of their chests. Noticeably, he was watching Dudley just as much as Harry. 

"Do you regret, Petunia, they way things panned out with Lily?" He asked. There was no malice in his tone, simply a quiet wonder as he gazed at Dudley. Petunia sat herself on the edge of the bed, readjusting the blanket over her boys. She thought of how she could answer his question. Of course she regrets her choices. She had loved Lily, but bitter resentment had fouled the way she perceived her for a decade. 

"Yes," she answered simply. "She shone compared to me. I was dull. Always second best, never as brilliant, never as beautiful." She recalled Dumbledore's words in the hall and she shook her head slightly to loosen the thought. "It... It jaded me to her, and as time went on, I let it grow. Of course I regret it, Mr. Dumbledore." She realized she was still fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, unraveling a loose string from the corner. She let it fall, clasping her hands together.

"I saw us in them," she revealed. "I saw Lily and myself in the boys, and I can't… I won't let them grow apart the way we did. I made a mistake and it is too late to fix it, but it isn't too late to spare them that regret." Dumbledore listened politely. 

"Albus, please, Petunia. Is that why you left Vernon?" He prodded gently. Petunia nodded stiffly, picking at the skin on the edge of one of her nails. 

"Yes. He wouldn't have Harry in the home, and I wouldn't chance sending him away. Our safety was at risk, of course, and it still is, but… The thought of turning him away simply because he will be the same as Lily hurt too much to consider. She was brilliant, and he will be too. I am terrified of what the future holds, Albus, but I will walk beside him through it. I will not bear the same regret again, nor will I let them understand that divide." Dumbledore sat in the tattered armchair near the bed, pulling something from his pocket. 

"Jelly slug?" He asked, offering Petunia what appeared to be a flimsy rope in the dark. She took it hesitantly, unsure about the wizarding candy. 

"It's not really a slug, is it?" She asked, letting it rest haphazardly in her hand. Albus let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. 

"No, my dear. It is simply – oh, what would they be called? Gummy worms?" He asked. Relief flooded Petunia as she pulled a piece off, popping it into her mouth. Her eyes widened as flavors burst across her tongue in rapid succession. Pineapple, cherry, peach, the most decadent chocolate. She closed her eyes, moaning quietly at the melody of flavors. 

"Best bloody gummy worm I've ever had," she muttered, taking another bite. Dumbledore chuckled, merely pulling out a hard candy and unwrapping it gently. She watched his long fingers, shadowed in the dim lighting, as he carefully pried the sweet from its wrapper. 

"So you plan to encourage a relationship between the boys?" He inquired. "To foster what you lost with Lily?" Petunia nodded, swallowing the bite of jelly slug quickly. 

"Of course," she answered easily. "My son is not less than, simply because he is like me. And Harry is not more, simply because he will be like his mother. Both will know endless love and adoration. Both will be celebrated for their accomplishments, and neither will be overlooked. It won't solve everything, I became bitter because I believed those things, not because they were modeled to me. But I want more for them." She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. Dumbledore popped the sweet into his mouth, sighing. 

"Sherbet lemons are one of my favorites," he spoke. "Muggle made, but better than nearly any wizard treat I have come across." Petunia cocked her head slightly, wondering if there was a deeper meaning behind his words toward their conversation. He sucked quietly on the sweet for a few minutes, deep in his thoughts, before clearing his throat. 

"Did you know, Petunia, that I had a plan?" He asked. Petunia shook her head, confused. "I made several mistakes in my calculations, unfortunately. And many have suffered due to my failings. James and Lily believed in me, they trusted my decisions. So many young ones — children really — died following my commands. In the end, death will be inevitable. Voldemort is crafty and cunning, and willing to go to any lengths necessary in order to achieve his desires. Even as our world celebrates his downfall, I fear this is far from over. No one is safe from his reach, and I find myself questioning my choices." He sighed, crossing one leg over the other. 

"I told Lily and James to go into hiding. I trusted someone who would ultimately betray his best friends. I allowed a man who I knew was a risk to their safety to return to Voldemort. I led children into battle, and yet, here I remain while they lie cold and moldering in their graves." His voice trailed off, sorrow tinging the air. "I have made many mistakes, Petunia, but for every single one it was with good intentions." He turned to look at her, and Petunia could see a mist of tears in his eyes.

"And I believe that by the end of this, they will not be the only ones. This truly will be the fight of our age, Petunia, and Harry is bound tightly in the tendrils of fate. In the end, only one can win and we must assure it is Harry even if the choices are difficult. Sacrifices must be made. I had thought when he came to you, that your hate for our kind would rule your decision. But, just as you always have, you surprised me." Petunia frowned. 

"Why would you send him to me if you believed I would hate him?" She paled. Albus smiled sadly at her, intertwining his fingers together and laying his head across the top of his laced hands. 

"Because I believed it would create a thirst in him for love and acceptance he had never known before. I wanted him in a Muggle home for his peace, yes, so that he may not be bombarded every single moment with the worst day of his life. But I had calculated that you would be dismissive and hateful toward him. He was everything you despised, yet you instead looked at him and remembered everything you loved about your sister." Petunia was picking her nails now, agitation and resignation battling in her. She sighed, laying her hands into her lap. 

"You were nearly correct. I was angry when I read that letter, I didn't want that danger near me or my son. But Lily faced it every single day in order that her son may never have to. How could I do any less?" She looked away. 

"You changed my assessment because you were much more akin to Lily than I had anticipated. With no real attachments, or love lost, to the Muggle world, I had anticipated he would eventually be in such awe of our own that he would desire only it. I had planned to use this to manipulate him." He spoke, his words flat. Petunia snapped her gaze back towards Dumbledore, fury billowing from her. Dumbledore merely raised his hand, asking for a moment of silence. 

"As I said, miscalculations occur and sacrifices need to be made. And on that, it will be me who bows, Petunia. I was wrong, and with this new information, the strategy has changed. He will remain with you, and he will grow up loved. After all, it is not just the Wizarding community at risk. If Voldemort succeeds, all of Britain will be under his rule. Muggles will be slaughtered and enslaved. I mean not to scare you, dear Petunia, but I will not sugar coat the horrid realities in which we are faced with. It was war, and though we are at a cease for now, it will not last. I fear an even fiercer fight is yet to present itself in the coming years." Petunia deflated some, but still found her anger swirling in the bottom of her stomach. 

"How much stronger may the protection Lily provided be, I wonder, if the place he calls home is truly a sanctuary rather than a waypoint in his young life?" He mused. "I know I may seem cruel, child, and I do not reprove you for thinking so. But I have seen this play out before, and I know intimately the risk we carry if we allow sentimentalities to be our guide. Terribly hard decisions lay ahead of us, Petunia, and I pray we make the right ones when they come." He uncrossed his legs, sweeping his hands down the pale fabric. 

"What about us?" Petunia asked. "I mean, for the time being?" Dumbledore smiled, waving her off jovially. 

"Already taken care of, my dear. Alastor will continue to watch your journey until you are safely to your parent's old home. It will be clean and ready when you arrive, with the basics Harry and Dudley will need, as well as yourself. I see you plan to get a job, of course, which will be good. It will give you something to fill your days with in the coming years. I think you will find a familiar face once you arrive. Dear Arabella was all too happy to move north in order to keep an eye on things. Alastor will place the wards over your home, and that will be that," he smiled. 

"What do you mean you can see I plan to get a job And how do you know my son’s name? I never said it," Petunia inquired. "And what about when this all comes to a head?" She had so many questions tumbling around her mind, unable to grasp many of them as they passed. Dumbledore stood, readjusting his robes. 

"I think, you will find, there is very little I cannot ascertain through a conversation," he answered vaguely, with a mischievous expression. Petunia felt as though he were boring through her with his gaze once more and sighed in frustration. "But what about our future? What about Harry? And what will become of Dudley and I?" She demanded. 

"Ah, what is the future but a mystery, dear child? For all our planning and plotting, no one knows what tomorrow holds. I am no Seer, I cannot provide a glimpse of the end through prophecy. I can, however, say with confidence that you and young Mr. Dudley are entwined deeper into this than any of us can predict. You will be instrumental one day, though for now those details elude my grasp. Just remember to, well, not be yourself." Dumbledore grimaced apologetically. 

"That came out harsher than intended. I do apologize, of course. You are becoming a new woman, Petunia. But I must caution you not to fall into old habits. Now, off to sleep. You have quite the day ahead of you." Dumbledore turned to leave, but Petunia grasped his hand tightly. 

"What does it all mean, though?" She asked, fear lacing her words. The life she had envisioned for herself, for Dudley, was evaporating like smoke she desperately tried to clutch in her hands. Before them, a vast chasm of fear swirled in the unknown. She didn't know the next steps, didn't know what would be expected of her. Lily's world had always been behind frosted glass to Petunia, close enough to touch, but too far too see clearly. But here, she was preparing to step into the deep end. Dumbledore gave Petunia a sad smile, but one that reached his eyes. 

"That, child, you will have to discover on your own. Goodnight," he said. With a pop he disappeared from the room. Petunia's hand, which had been wrapped around his own, now tightened over thin air. She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose with her hand tiredly. 

"Bloody Wizards and their cryptic rubbish!" She sat down sharply on the bed, wincing as Harry cried. She pulled the boy closer to her, rocking him gently as he quieted. "We have a lot ahead of us, don't we, Harry?" She asked dejectedly. "So you've gotta stick with me, alright? You, me, and Dudley, okay?" She impressed, laying him down beside his cousin once more. 

"Just the three of us, now. Our own little family Evans." Petunia affirmed. 

Chapter Text

Chiquitita tell me what's wrong
you're enchained by your own sorrow
in your eyes there is no hope for tomorrow

How I hate to see you like this
There is no way you can deny it
I can see that you're oh, so sad, so quiet

(Chiquitita - Abba)

November 2nd, 1981. Near Huddersfield in Lincolnshire, England.  

Petunia packed away the last of the boys' clothes into an old bureau, sighing as she pushed the drawer shut. A knot formed in her gut as she stared at the dresser, her mind drawn back to well over a decade ago. She had been just nine, Lily six at the time. She recalled, with a twisting sensation now, the fear she had felt when she walked into their shared bedroom in the little house near Cokeworth in which they had grown up. 

Lily had been climbing the dresser to reach a book on the top shelf – something she had done almost as soon as she had learned to read. Too impatient to wait for help, she had formed the habit of scaling the old wooden dresser on her own to retrieve the items she desired. Petunia recalled watching in horror as, barely in the door and unable to intervene, the dresser had toppled over onto Lily. 

She had recalled screaming, though she could not recall if she had called out her parent's names, or Lily's own, at the moment. But, miraculously, the dresser had not crushed her little sister. It had seemed to freeze in mid-air. Nothing around it froze, Lily still lay on the floor crying, and the books had toppled off of the top. But the dresser did not fall, and, it seemed to Petunia, instead rocked gently backwards into its normal position. 

It had been the first bit of magic Lily had expressed in front of her, she realized. Her parent's hadn't believed her at the time. They had simply conceded that the dresser, without the added weight of Lily, had simply not had enough counterweight to continue tipping. A miracle, they'd claimed. Petunia closed her eyes, grief welling inside of her. She stepped away from the dresser, her eyes falling to her boys. 

Whoever had prepared the home had brought all the essentials for the boys. The nursery was fully stocked, with cribs on opposite sides of the room. They were laid down at the moment, fast asleep after the long and slow drive through the midlands this morning. After a quick meal, the boys had fought sleep, more interested by their new surroundings than a nap, but the fight hadn't lasted long. 

Petunia made her way out of the nursery and down the winding staircase, taking in the feel of the steps, memorizing the new home that would be theirs for the unknown future. She wondered how their laughter would fill the halls, the sound of little feet pounding up and down the staircase. She felt the little tug of nostalgia in her stomach once more and continued down the stairs, stalling at the bottom step. 

"Well, is it to your liking?" A large, grizzled man stood in the living room, leaning heavily on a twisted walking stick that rose nearly to his shoulders. His face was gnarled, a chunk of his nose missing and scars littered across his face. One of his eyes was dark and beady, the other a false eye in a shocking electric blue.As she appraised the man, she was surprised to see the false eye dart around in its socket. She could see a prosthetic leg as well, the light of the hall reflecting off of the dull, tarnished metal. Petunia took a step back, unsure of her options. There was nowhere to go, no escape up the stairs, and if she ran for the back door, the boys would be left defenseless upstairs. 

"Calm down, lass, I won't hurt you. Name's Alastor Moody. I'm on Dumbledore's orders to make sure you made it safe, I'm sure he mentioned something about it when you spoke with him last night." Petunia's heart settled some, but she could still taste the bile that had risen in her throat deep in the back of her mouth. She nodded hesitantly, not moving from where she was rooted to the old wooden stairs. 

"Quite a sight, huh?" He chuckled, limping over to the couch. He settled against the cushions heavily. Petunia inched closer to the living room, stalling beside the archway between the two rooms, leaning more into the hall. She chewed her lip, unsure how to ask the question burning on the tip of her tongue. The man – Moody, she corrected herself – eyed her. "Wondering about my appearance, are you? Received these beauties in the line of duty, taking down the worst criminals in our world." His words trailed off, his eyes falling to the floor. 

"An Auror, I recall," Petunia replied quietly. Moody nodded, pulling something out of his pocket. A wand, Petunia realized, as a simple flick raised the temperature in the chilly home. 

"Yes. Most of these, however, came while battling the Death Eaters," he shrugged, putting his wand away. Petunia frowned, the curiosity drawing her towards the man, but her fear pushing her away. 

"Death Eaters?" She inquired, her voice quivering. Moody nodded, settling himself against the back of the couch. 

"Followers of You-Know-Who,” he answered. "Voldemort, I mean. The Dark Wizard who came to power nearly a decade ago. So many good witches and wizards lost during the war," he muttered, shaking his head. Petunia watched how his eyes softened, and noticed the way his shoulders fell as the silence grew between them. Petunia swallowed, her mouth seemingly filled with sand. 

"Did you– did you know Lily?" She asked quietly. A slight tremor seemed to pass through Moody's body, so minute you would nearly miss it if you weren't paying attention. Nearly. He didn't answer for several minutes, searching for the right words as he appraised Petunia closely. 

"Yes," he replied, finally. "She was incredible, Lily was. So fiercely brave and selflessly kind. She and James faced You-Know-Who three times and didn't flinch. Didn't sway to his side. They fought and laid down their very lives for the chance of a brighter future. Potter was a decent man. Quite the prat back in school, but he had a good heart. Not too much in his head, though, as far as common sense went. He lived in the moment." A ghost of a smile touched the corner of Moody's lips. 

"She was strong, lass. Very strong. And I believe you can be as well. You will need to be so very strong in the coming years, Petunia," he warned. His tone lowered, became more serious. Ice crept through Petunia's veins at his words. She hurried over to a plush armchair, sitting lightly on the edge of the cushion. 

"What is coming, though?" She asked desperately, wringing her hands. "Dumbledore– Albus was so unbelievably cryptic. I am terrified of what is to come for my boys, how can I keep them safe?" She pleaded. Moody gripped the head of his walking stick tightly. 

"I will not pretend to know what goes through that man's head, lass. None of us know what is to come, but that little boy upstairs will be in the center of it. If he's anything like his parents were, he has a strong start. However, there is still much to be done. Most of it will be done in the background until he reaches Hogwarts and can begin his magical education. I only hope that he may have a few good years to truly enjoy school before the weight of the world really falls onto his shoulders." Moody cleared his throat. "But for now, simply love him. Let him enjoy his childhood, tucked away here from the magical world." He stood, leaning heavily onto his walking stick. 

"Oh, and I have something for you. Very little was able to be recovered from their home in Godric's Hollow, but Dumbledore thought you might want this." With a flick of his wand, the bag slumped over his shoulder opened and a horrendous vase appeared. Petunia's eyes stung as tears pooled in them. She turned away, closing her eyes and wiping away the tears that fell. 

"I hated that vase," she muttered. Moody barked out a laugh, letting the vase settle on the small table beside the couch. 

"Yeah, Lily wasn't overly fond of it either. In fact, I am fairly certain that Harry broke it several months ago and they had resolved to simply throw it away but James repaired it in the hopes that one day your relationship would be mended as well. Lily proudly displayed it after that." Silence lay between them. 

"Anyway, there is a lot to be done. I had better be off." He stepped toward the door, hesitating as he pulled it open. "In the closet of your bedroom are some boxes," he warned. "I believe they were some of Lily's possessions. They were in the boys' room when I prepared the house. It wasn't my decision on what was done with them. That's up to you. Good afternoon." With a simple nod, he stepped out of the door and disappeared. 

Petunia did not rise from her seat for a while. Distantly, she could hear the tick of the clock in the hallway. It seemed to slow as she mentally prepared herself to enter the closet upstairs. Time began to distort around Petunia as she rose from the chair. It flowed thickly around her as she ascended the stairs and stalled in the hallway. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she forced herself forward with small steps as apprehension built in her chest. 

The air in her lungs let out like a deflating balloon as she froze, unable to take another step. Her hands were shaking. She swallowed, her mouth dry, as her fingers spasmed minutely. She closed her eyes tightly, balling her fists against her hips. 

Have some courage! she thought bitterly. But Lily had always been the brave one. Lily had always been the one to stand, unflinching, in the face of danger. Petunia had always resorted to burying her head in the sand until the perceived danger had passed. She scoffed at herself. 

For Pete's sake, it was boxes of old things in the closet! She wasn't facing a grave danger in which she might lose herself. Yet, her mind added traitorously. She exhaled sharply, before forcing herself across the room in short steps. She wrapped her fingers around the knob of the door and swung it open before she could lose her nerve. 

There were several boxes she could see in the dim closet. Most of the items that stuck over the edges of the boxes were coated in dust. She reached her hand up and pulled the thin metal chain hanging from the ceiling, flooding the closet with light. 

She took her time in bringing the boxes out of the closet, careful not to bump them into the walls or set them too roughly on the bed. Once she had retrieved all of them – four in total – she sat beside one, uncertain.

A portion of her wanted nothing more than to lay out the remainder of her sister’s possessions; to rifle through and remind herself that Lily was real, that she had once been here. But a part of her wanted to respect her as well, to leave her things packed away for Harry to be the first to see. 

An idea occurred to Petunia. Harry could grow up with his mother’s things. Petunia could see records poking out of one box, and hats, scarves, jackets in another. She began to unpack the boxes with as much care as she could, dusting the objects she could and setting aside those that would need to be washed. 

She collected the clothes, placing them at the foot of the bed to take down later. A record player and dozens of vinyls had been in one box, Petunia thumbing through the stack idly. Queen, David Bowie, Electric Light Orchestra, Billy Joel, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, The Who, The Police, and an appalling amount of ABBA albums. 

Petunia found herself chuckling, despite the circumstances. She and Lily had been polar opposites, starkly opposed since childhood. While Lily had loved soft and hard rock, Petunia had preferred classical music. On a whim, following the slight tug she felt in her heart, Petunia set the record player up and pulled an album out of the stack. 

She loaded the album and started the player, gently settling the needle into the groove of the record. A crackling hiss filled the room, before a gentle melody replaced it. She looked at the album cover, rolling her eyes at the title. 

Arrival. She turned the album over as the words started, reading the list of songs. Dancing Queen? Lily’s music made no sense to Petunia, but she let it play. Though the idea was ridiculous, it felt like a bridge to Lily. 

She looked back down to the bed, taking inventory of the last of Lily’s possessions. Spellbooks from her time at Hogwarts, novels, a small assortment of jewelry, what appeared to be letters, and a picture. She focused more closely on the picture, surprised that it was moving. 

It was a group of people. She recognized Lily and James in the center, his arms wrapped tightly around Lily and planting a kiss on her cheek. On either side of them, two young boys stood, one who towered a bit over the rest of the group. He had light brown hair and brilliant green eyes like Lily’s, but his face was marred with scars. 

The one to the left of James and Lily was a bit shorter, pale with a mane of curly black hair and she swore she could see a tattoo crawling up the side of his neck. He was smoking a cigarette and laughing wildly. 

A much shorter, rounder boy was beside him, smiling uncertainly at the camera. He had a sandy blond hair color and watery blue eyes. Wrapping an arm over his shoulder was a lanky blonde woman, who had tattoos up her arms and a leather jacket tied around her waist. Leaning her head against the blonde woman’s shoulder was a shorter woman, with dark skin and beautiful locs that reached her elbows. 

On the other side of the tall boy with scars was one last woman. She was lighter skinned than the last woman Petunia had noticed, but she was just as beautiful. She had tight curls that held naturally around her head, ending above her shoulders. Everyone in the picture looked ecstatic, smiling and laughing amongst themselves. Petunia turned it over, curious to see if it had been dated. 

July 2nd, 1978. Three weeks after graduation, one last hurrah before we all go our separate ways. Petunia felt empty as she stared at Lily’s handwriting. She wondered where everyone in this picture was now. Had they met the same fate as Lily and James, or were they still alive, shell-shocked after the war? 

Underneath Lily’s tidy scrawl was a messier, uneven handwriting. James Potter, Lily (soon-to-be-Potter) Evans, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes, Mary Macdonald. She wondered what the last few years of their lives had been like. Was there happy moments amidst the fear and suffering? Where were they now, if they were still alive? 

Lily set the photo down, unable to wonder the outcomes of so many young lives. She shuffled though leaves of folded parchment, scanning over the words. Most were letters between her and a young man named Remus, a few from Sirius, and two from Peter. Sporadically there were some from the girls as well, shuffled in with the rest. Petunia froze at the last one in the stack. 

September 1st, 1971. Petunia recognized her own handwriting staring back at her. She had sent this letter on Lily’s first day at Hogwarts, before the crushing rejection letter Dumbledore had sent to Petunia was discovered on her bed that very night. 

Dear Lils,
I hope you enjoyed the train ride to
Hogwarts. Was it fun? I must admit that
I am ever so jealous you were able to
ride a magical train! I wrote a letter to
Professor Dumbledore asking if I may
attend Hogwarts with you, but as of yet
I have not received a response. How are
you finding the castle? Is it as beautiful
and magnificent as we had hoped?
I hope to have Professor Dumbledore’s
response the next time I write you. 

Best of luck and all my love, 

Petunia. 

Petunia stared blankly at the parchment for some time after finishing the letter. Lily had kept it all these years, even after Petunia had been practically frigid with her. Petunia closed her eyes, crushing the letter against her chest. 

Beyond all reason, Lily had kept the very last letter Petunia had ever sent to Lily in excitement about the magical world in which Lily got to see. The world which had gotten her killed, her mind added venomously. 

Petunia carefully folded the letters away, packing the boxes back into the closet. One day, when Harry was older, he would have access to these items. But for today, it was not something Petunia could handle thinking about. Lily’s entire life amounting to a few dusty boxes stored in a closet. 

Petunia made her way down to the kitchen, humming an old tune absentmindedly. It had been one their mother had sang them to sleep with long ago, and one she in turn sang to Dudley, and now, Harry as well. 

She prepared lunch in the silence, the sound of the clock in the hall ticking away her only company in the house. She thought of her mother, standing here and making her father sandwiches as he snagged food from the counter, delaying her mother’s work. 

She smiled at the ghost of laughter that echoed not in the cramped kitchen, but within the confines of her own mind instead. Just three years ago, she had an entire family. But here, today, she was left with the ghost of their memories, and two little boys who needed her. 

How she wished her parents had been able to know her boys. She placed her sandwich on a plate, wondering how many times her mother had scolded her father about crumbs on the counter, table, carpet, in this home. Petunia closed her eyes, and just for a moment, tried to forget how utterly alone she truly was. 

Chapter Text

August 30th, 1983. Near Huddersfield in Lincolnshire, England. 

Petunia let out a chuckle as she chased Harry and Dudley around the small living room. Dudley squealed with delight, hiding himself behind a couch as she approached. Harry, however, stood his ground and ran towards her, catching her legs with his thin arms. Petunia feigned shock, gently laying herself onto the floor so as to not hurt Harry. She lay still as he inspected her, before jumping up and pulling him into a tight embrace. 

"Gotcha!" She yelled, tossing him into the air. He laughed, arms outstretched. He was small for his age, despite Petunia's best efforts to help him gain weight. She worried for him, for both her boys. Dudley had lost most of his baby fat as well since they had moved north. 

Petunia did her best to provide for her children, but money was stretched tight between feeding, clothing, and supporting the three of them. She always made sure they had enough, however, even at a personal loss for Petunia. 

She pulled her sweater tighter around her slender arms, trying to banish the permanent cold that seemed to envelope her nowadays. The sweater was threadbare, held together with far too many mending jobs and kilometers of leftover embroidery thread she had found in her mother's old closet. 

Her blouse and skirt were much the same, darned far too many times and the fabric was thin. The soles of her shoes were nearly falling off, held together only by stitches she made through the sole and into the base. 

Her younger self would detest how she looked today. Petunia had always put stock in her appearance and presentation. After all, it is what she had valued most. She didn't mind, however. Her boy's always got new clothes for their birthdays, as well as a toy. 

A knock sounded at the door and Petunia stood, setting Harry upright on his feet before rising to her own. Her boys followed her into the hall, excited chattering filling the small entryway. Petunia smoothed her skirt, tucking her blouse back into it smartly before running her fingers through her hair. She turned the lock and opened the door, smiling. 

“Arabella? How are you?” She asked, as Mrs. Figg came into view through the crack of the door. Petunia pulled it open so that she could step inside, leaning down to press a quick kiss on her cheek. 

Since they had come to Huddersfield, Arabella had taken over watching the boys while Petunia went to work each morning. She had become a pseudo grandmother to the boys, and took every opportunity to dote on them that came across. 

“Oh, Petunia, I am doing alright. Tripped over Mr. Tibbles again this morning, but how can I reprove such a pretty boy?” Petunia smiled, although somewhat tighter. While she had grown to care for Arabella, her cats were another story. Odoriferous, unclean, and a financial burden. Petunia saw no benefit to pets. 

“I am sorry to hear that,” she said, moving aside so that the older woman could step into the hall. Upon catching sight of her, Harry and Dudley turned and ran back into the living room, squealing with laughter. 

“I would say they are quite excited to see me,” Arabella laughed. Petunia’s real smile returned as she took Arabella’s coat and placed it on the closet, removing her own before shutting the door. 

“Well, forgive me, but you do make it magic for them,” Petunia laughed. Arabella beamed at Petunia, placing her hand on Petunia’s thin arm. 

“Even without my own ability, there is so much my parents taught me I can pass along to them. I’m glad I can help in such a way, and help to steep Harry in his parents' world, if only a little.” Arabella’s voice wavered slightly. She swallowed, forcing the smile back onto her face. “Anyway, if you don’t hurry, you’ll be late for work, dear. Off you go,” she said, walking with Petunia to the door. 

“Oh, there is sandwich items in the fridge–” 

“And bread in the cabinet,” Arabella finished. “I know, dear. We’ll be alright here, and I’ll phone you immediately if anything happens. Go on, now,” she shooed. Petunia left her with one last smile, shutting the front door behind her and climbing in her car. 

Normally she would walk to the office, if weather permitted, but she was already running late and didn’t want to risk the twenty minute walk. She started the car and backed out of the drive, turning onto the main road that would take her into Huddersfield. 

Petunia made it to the office with hardly a moment to spare, running to the door and nearly knocking down a woman in the process. Petunia helped her to stand upright, apologizing as she readjusted the woman’s blazer. 

“Oh, no trouble done, love,” she answered. She had a thick Scottish accent. Petunia stopped, inspecting her closely. She looked familiar, but Petunia couldn’t place where she might have seen her before. 

She was only inches taller than Petunia, with beautiful dark skin that reminded Petunia of the forest bathed in twilight. Her eyes were a soft, rich black, but with the sun shining on them she could see hints of gold flecked throughout them. Her hair was styled naturally, beautiful, tight coils of curls held up with a piece of green cloth that matched her pantsuit. 

“I wasn’t even looking where I was going, oh, I’m so sorry. Here, let me get that door for you,” Petunia offered, pulling open the heavy glass door to Dawson’s Law Firm. She followed the woman inside, setting her purse and jacket down on her chair at the reception desk. 

“Already told ye, no harm done. Now, as it seems we’re to be working together, I guess introductions are in order,” the woman smiled, offering Petunia her hand. “Mary Paulson,” she revealed. 

“Petunia Evans,” Petunia replied, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. A flicker of confusion crossed Mary’s features, but they disappeared nearly as quickly as they appeared. “It’s nice to meet you,” Petunia said. 

“Likewise. Now, is there any gossip around here that I should know about?” She asked, a grin breaking across her lips. Petunia laughed, leaning against her desk and lowering her voice. 

“Well,” she drew out, looking around conspiratorially. “Melanie,” she nodded toward a woman by the coffee pot. “She’s Mr. Dawson’s assistant. Not qualified for the job, bless, but she’s a sweet young thing. I try to help her as much as I can. Now, Mr. Dawson can be quite the handful, but you can have him eating out of the palm of your hand if you play him right.” Mary nodded. 

“Mhm, Mhm, and how would that be?” She asked. 

“Just play into his ego, it isn’t difficult,” Petunia laughed. “Then there’s Helena, she’s our intern. Lovely woman, and has the brains to go far in this field. I’m excited to see what she becomes. And last but not least is Richard. He’s Mr. Dawson’s son, but that has gotten him nothing. He has worked very hard to become a partner. He gives no trouble, and keeps his father in line,” Petunia finished. Mary pretended to write notes down, nodding. 

“Okay, and two last people,” she said, looking up. 

“Who?” Petunia inquired. Mary snorted. 

“Well, as I told ye, I’m Mary Paulson. Born in Aberdeen, went to a private school out there. Parents were proud of me, but they died some years back of an illness. Met my husband who was working in Liverpool and moved out here a few weeks ago. He got a job opportunity, and I found myself here. Good thing I went to law school,” Mary laughed. “Two kids, twin girls who are two.” She stopped, watching Petunia. “What about ye?” She asked. Petunia sighed, sitting in her chair. 

She didn’t know how to describe what her life had become. Mary was like her, a Muggle, and while Petunia knew about the Magical world, she recalled Lily warning her to never tell regular Muggles about magic, or the Ministry would have to intervene. 

“Grew up outside of Cokeworth, went to school in London. Met my husband while working as a secretary at his company. Married, had our son, Dudley. My parents died in a car accident. Then my sister and her husband died unexpectedly in the same way, and their one year old son came to live with me. My husband would hear nothing of it – he didn’t care for my family – so I left. Moved to my parent’s old house and am raising both my boys on my own,” she answered. Mary gave her a sad look. 

“No friends?” She asked. Petunia shook her head. 

“Just an elderly neighbor who has become family,” she replied. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, love. Life always has a way of turning itself on its head, doesn’t it? Dinnae see lots of things coming, but best we can do is carry on,” she soothed. “Anyway,” she stuck her hand out once more. “Here’s to us, huh?” Petunia frowned. 

“What do you mean?” She inquired. Mary grinned. 

“To new friends, and to doing life together,” she answered. Petunia smiled, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. Petunia wasn’t entirely sure. As much as she liked Mary’s personality, there would always be the risk that she could discover the secret Petunia had been tasked with hiding. 

But another part of her yearned for companionship. To have a friend, all her own, to share life’s ups and downs with. If she could keep them in their separate boxes, she could nearly deceive herself into thinking things may work out. 

September 15th, 1983. In Huddersfield - Linconshire, England. 

Petunia collected her lunch from the fridge and made her way to a seat out of the way of the main recreational area for the office staff. Her thoughts began to drift, as they nearly always did when she was left alone in her own mind, to the future. 

A raw, gnawing sensation began to take form in the pit of her stomach, nauseating Petunia. She pushed her sandwich away, cupping her forehead in her hands as questions pelted her. What will Harry face? What would become of her? What if she died, leaving Harry and Dudley defenseless in the face of such cruel hatred? What would happen if she wasn’t able to protect her sons, and they died under her watch? 

Bile crept up Petunia’s throat as the thoughts were replaced with images, the words replaced with sounds. Her boys, her perfect, tiny boys, grown and in pain. She could hear them begging, pleading. Pale and shaking, voices worn and hoarse from overuse, unheeded. 

Petunia’s nails began to dig into the palms of her fists as her body began to tremble. Her chest was tightening and she couldn’t draw breath. Petunia could feel blood welling down her palm, her wrist, onto her forearm as panic seized her. Everything around her became enveloped in a haze as sounds dampened. 

All she could hear was her own breath, gasping and shallow, mingled with the sound of her boys’ screams in her head. “No, no, no no no, no,” Petunia moaned, the only word she could force past her dry tongue, her cracking throat. “Please, not them,” she begged. 

She didn’t know who she was begging to, in all honesty. She did not believe in God, of the Christian persuasion or otherwise. But she didn’t care; if anyone, anything were listening, she pleaded with them to hear her words, to accept her broken petition. Distantly, Petunia could hear a soft voice, could feel a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“Come on, love. What’s goin on, huh? What has ye so worked up?” Petunia couldn’t focus on Mary. Her words were ringing in her ears and the edges of Mary’s silhouette were blurred. Petunia opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat, choking her. 

“Shh, love. Let’s step outside, ya?” Mary pulled Petunia to her feet, guiding her toward the door slowly. In the distance she could hear a man’s voice, hear Mary responding, but the words wouldn’t translate in her mind. 

“Okay, okay, sit, Pet,” Mary coddled, pulling them down against the bricks of the back car park. She turned Petunia’s hands over, gauging the wounds and cleaning the blood away as best as she could with the hem of her shirt. 

“Oh, Mary,” Petunia started, but received a withering glare in return as Mary continued wiping the wound softly. Once she was satisfied the bleeding had stopped, Petunia stared at the wound in confusion. Where small lacerations had welled blood not a moment ago, tiny, crescent shaped scars stood in their place. 

Petunia gawked at her palms, turning them to catch the weak fall sunlight against the shining scar tissue. Her eyes moved up toward Mary, confusion stemming from the current situation and mingling with the slowly fading panic that had blinded her moments ago. “How– but– Mary?” She asked. 

Mary sat down beside Petunia, leaning Petunia’s head against her shoulder gently. She did not answer Petunia’s question, but instead watched the birds flitting through the branches of the trees at the edge of the pavement. “Ye going to tell me what has ye so worked up, love?” 

“Bad memories.” Petunia watched a juvenile bird, barely fledging, hop along a patch of grass and peck at the soft soil in search of food. She knew Mary didn’t believe her answer, but the Scot didn’t pry as Petunia processed her thoughts, tucking them neatly back into a container at the back of her mind. 

Mary’s hand found Petunia’s trembling one, their fingers lacing together as she grasped Petunia’s tightly. Her thumb trailed soft circles on the back of Petunia’s tickling gently and leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. 

How long had it been since Petunia had been touched like this? Merely a reassurance of proximity, no ulterior motives or unexpressed demands in disguise. It had been well before Vernon, she was sure. Most likely, not since she had left her parent’s home in search of her prosaic life in London. 

Mary’s fingers tightened fractionally, subconsciously, Petunia assumed. She let out a soft sigh and as Petunia’s eyes swept to watch Mary from the corner of her eyes, she found Mary’s closed. “Aye. I know all about bad memories.” Petunia waited for her to expound, but nothing more was passed between them. 

She was alright with this. While a younger Petunia would have itched to know the knowledge that Mary was hiding, all this version of her wanted was this. A comfortable silence. Her heart was slowing and it no longer hurt to breathe. She could see and hear again, even if it was still slightly muffled. 

“Come, love. I’ll collect your things, but you’ve gotta go home for the afternoon.” Petunia pulled away from Mary, rising to her feet. A layer of dust coated her backside and she beat the offending dirt from her skirt, turning her most singing glare toward Mary. 

“I most certainly will not miss near half a day of work for a silly episode.” The corners of Mary’s lips curled up, and a humorous light glittered in her eyes. 

She turned Petunia around, guiding her to the parked cars. “Aye, ye are. Mr. Dawson saw ye, and he was concerned. Told me to take ye home and make sure ye rest, love, and he didn’t want to see ye till ye were better. Come, now.” Petunia pulled away once more. 

“I can’t–” all the bitterness left Petunia, the swelling urge to fight diminishing and leaving her feeling empty. “I can’t afford it, Mary. Things are stretched too thin as is,” she revealed. Mary fixed her with a sad stare. Not pitying, which would have infuriated Petunia, but a mournful one. 

“He said not to worry about it, dear. He would handle it.” She pushed Petunia along with a promise of picking her up in the morning, as Petunia’s car would now be stranded at the office. Petunia, albeit frustratedly, allowed Mary to help her into the front seat, as her limbs had not stopped their violent shaking. 

Petunia focused on her breathing, trying to regain her composure. It had been unprofessional and not befitting of a lady to lose control of her emotions like that, and she only hoped Mr. Dawson would not look down on her for such a mistake. 

She jumped as the door opened and Mary climbed in, passing Petunia her peacoat and purse with a warm smile. Petunia accepted them gratefully, placing them by her feet as she buckled herself in. “Let’s get ye home, love.” 

Mary started the car and pulled onto the main roadway, looking expectantly to Petunia for directions. She called out turns as they approached, until finally, they arrived at the street on which Petunia lived, a good little ways down the country lane. “My, ye’re sure far out this way. It’s beautiful, though.” There was an air of wistfulness to her tone, and Petunia turned to look at her. 

“You don’t enjoy the town?” Mary’s lips tightened into a near frown. 

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy it, per se…” She fell into a silence, carefully trying to find the words she wanted to convey to Petunia. “I mean, grew up in Aberdeen, I did. My parents moved there before the population boom, but by the time I had come along it was quite the bustling city. But the school I attended was surrounded only by little hamlets, and I fell in love with the simplicity in which they lived.” Petunia cocked her head. 

“Why did you move here, then, rather than somewhere like that?” She inquired. Mary swallowed thickly, her eyes glistening as she fought back tears. Petunia had the uncomfortable sensation that she had just broached the bad memories that Mary had mentioned earlier. 

Petunia apologized, but Mary waved her off. She wiped a tear that had begun to fall, clearing her throat in an attempt to cover the action. “No fault, love. Hard times lay in my past, and the small hamlet life reminded me too much of things I had lost. I traveled some, hoping I could find a place that felt like home.” A warm smile replaced the sad look. 

Petunia waited, allowing Mary to tell her in her own time. She pointed out the house looming in the distance, and Mary slowed the car, pulling gently into the drive. “Thank you, for the ride,” Petunia spoke, breaking the silence that had filled the car. 

“It was David that drew me here.” Petunia stopped, her hand nearly around her bag. She looked back to Mary, whose eyes now sparkled warmly. “Met him while he was on holiday in southern Scotland. He gave me purpose again.” Petunia placed her hand over Mary’s. “I would follow him anywhere. He is all I have now, long with the girls.” Petunia smiled at the lilt in Mary’s words at girls. The Scottish brogue was quickly growing on her. 

A thought occurred to Petunia and she found herself speaking before she had even the chance to weigh the consequences of her actions. “Would you like to come in for tea?” A spasm of worry thundered through her. 

While Harry had not expressed a bout of magic yet, she knew it was coming any day now, and she didn’t know how she could possibly explain such an event to Mary. To her commingled dismay and relief, Mary shook her head. “Cannae spare the time,” she answered. “Mr. Dawson’ll be expecting me back any time. But thank you for the offer, Pet. I’ll take a rain check.” Petunia stepped out of the car, one word bouncing aimlessly around her mind in repetition as she waved Mary off, watching her drive back up the little-used lane. 

Pet. Innocuous as the nickname was, it brought back discordant memories of Lily. Unable to form Petunia’s name, it had begun when they were children. When they were close, Petunia had loved the name, and thus titled her little sister as Lils. 

With a pang in her chest, she recalled the last time she had ever called her that, moments before the word freak had crossed her lips for the first time. What had once been her greatest joy, she had allowed to torment her until it was too late to repair the damage she had caused. 

She recalled the last time that Lily had called her Pet, as tears rolled down her cheeks. Petunia had tried to ignore her sister’s presence, but Lily had always been too stubborn to back down. It had only been a few weeks from the letter Petunia had received about their wedding.

She closed her eyes, Lily’s voice sounding in her mind. But why? Why won’t you come? It had been at her parent’s funeral that they had last spoken face to face, and Petunia wished she could go back and change her words. 

Because you’re both freaks, and I am content with my life, Lily. I have no desire to taint it with you or that– that abnormality you call your fiancé. She had seen the despair in Lily’s face, had recognized the hurt in her eyes. Pet, you don’t mean that, surely. Her voice had wavered, and Petunia could recall the tears pooling in her eyes. 

How unfair that she had known Lily for so long. Petunia had neglected and hurt Lily nearly their entire lives, and now her own son had been stripped of knowing the wonderful whirlwind of beauty, grace, knowledge, and a temperament to rival that of a lion, which had been Lily Evans Potter. 

All he carried with him were her eyes. Eyes that had always looked like the green of new spring; of life and new growth. But now, Petunia stood here with nothing but her memories and regret. She took a deep breath and collected herself, fixing her clothes and hair into a presentable manner and wiped the evidence of tears from her eyes. 

She would never let her boys see her cry; she was the adult, after all, and that meant she was supposed to be strong for them. They would need it in the coming years, and if Petunia could offer them no more in the face of the unknown, she would always be their strength.

Chapter Text

Early twenties fighting for their lives
from dusk to dawn on the front line
they sold their youth to take up arms
broken bodies, broken hearts

Their friends that used to cheat on tests
now twenty-one cheating death
go out for drinks and laugh before
losing their lives to settle scores

The boy and girl that found a way
gave up their nights to dig their grave
they’d say goodbye to meet again
neither prepared for when-

(Until the End - Chloe Ament)

February 11th, 1984. The Evans’ Home, Near Huddersfield in Lincolnshire, England. 

Petunia nervously fixed the plates around the table, counting multiple times. This would be the first time that Mary would come for lunch, and a building panic was teetering Petunia on the edge. 

Theoretically, everything should go off without a hitch, but Petunia also knew that bouts of magic could occur at any time from toddlerhood on. While Harry hadn’t yet shown any magical abilities, he was approaching four years old, and Petunia was nervously watching him daily. 

It would mean a change in their dynamic. Once Harry had expressed magic, the trajectory of his life would change in ways that Petunia and Dudley could not follow close behind, and it terrified her. She worried about sending him to Hogwarts alone, when all his life he would have had her looking over his shoulder and making sure the way ahead was safe. 

And if she was unlucky enough to have all Muggle guests over on the day of Harry’s magical expression, all the more to Petunia. She frowned, rubbing her temples. With Petunia’s luck, more than likely, she would be receiving a visit from the Ministry by the time pudding was set to be served. 

She finished setting the places around the table, nodding at the layout of the dishes. Immaculate. If nothing else, she could try to present a face of perfection, and just possibly, not let the bubbling turmoil that was their dynamic come to the surface. Hopefully. 

Petunia brought the flowers in from the sink, arranging them beautifully in a vase — Lily’s vase. She spent several moments readjusting the centerpiece, grinning in satisfaction as she stepped back and admired the table. 

Food was piled high on the scrubbed wood, a simple tablecloth laid over it delicately. A pitcher of lemonade sat near the center and side dishes spread out amidst the plates invitingly. It had cost a pretty penny – and more than Petunia could afford, honestly – but she needed this splurge. 

Petunia jumped as a knock sounded at the door and she quickly brushed her hands off on her apron, hurrying toward the door. She peeked her head into the sitting room to check on her boys, relief coursing through her as she watched them playing quietly. 

She was thankful that they got along well. Not too different than she and Lily had been, once, she supposed; although Lily had been three years younger than her. Petunia reached the door, taking a moment to straighten her apron and tuck the stray hairs behind her ear once more. 

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door wide and offered a bright smile to the awaiting family on the other side. Mary stood, as beautiful as ever, graceful in a simple dress, a mirror image toddler on her hip. 

Behind her, stood a man several inches taller than Mary; bright blue eyes and a radiant smile, his own toddler in his arms.

“Welcome!” Petunia ushered them in, closing the door tightly behind them. She took coats in the hall, an awkward occurrence as children were handed back and forth and inelegant shuffling finally freed her guests from their outerwear. 

“Oh, Pet, this is a beautiful home!” Mary bubbled, looking around the hall eagerly. It was furnished simply, dark beams of aged wood making up the staircase and exposed joists, a splash of colorful wallpaper snaking up the walls. A few pictures hung, though in the hall, it was only of her parents. “This is David, by the way, David, Petunia Evans.” 

“Thank you. And it is lovely to finally meet you, David” Petunia preened, guiding them into the sitting room. “Now, my boys are in here playing, I do hope they get along with Charlotte and Natalie,” Petunia worried. Petunia called the attention of her boys, smiling as they turned and ran towards her. 

“Now, this is Dudley, and this is Harry,” she beamed. Mary’s features faltered for a moment, confusion stealing the place of her smile. Her eyes were on Harry’s forehead and tears were brimming in her eyes. 

“What it is, love?” David set a hand on Mary’s shoulder as she opened her mouth to speak, but no words made their way out. “He’s got quite the scar there,” David offered. Petunia’s chest tightened as she spit out the lie she had crafted when he had come to live with her. 

“Car crash,” she whispered. “It’s what took his parents. Poor boy will live with that reminder for the rest of his life.” David nodded understandingly, extending a hand to Harry. Harry grinned, shaking the man’s much larger hand with his own. 

“Terrible turn of events, and for such a young lad.” David let out a tsking noise, turning his head toward Dudley. “And what about you, young man? May I shake your hand?” Dudley looked over his shoulder, searching Petunia. She nodded, smiling warmly, and Dudley stepped forward to take the man’s hand. 

“Sorry.” Mary shook her head, kneeling down on one knee to greet the boys herself. 

“Everything alright?” David repeated.

“Fine, dinnae know what came over me.” Mary deposited Natalie onto the floor, David following suit with Charlotte. Almost immediately, quick, babbled introductions were made between the four children, and they were off back into the corner of toys that Harry and Dudley had previously occupied. 

“Sure you’re okay?” David pressed. 

“Ya, love. I don’t know, when I looked at wee Harry, it’s like I’d forgotten something important. Dinnae what it could be, though.” She shrugged, taking Petunia’s offer to sit. 

“Now, Arabella will be along soon. She was caught up with one of her cats. Snowball, possibly.” Mary giggled, well versed in Petunia’s dislike of pets, but also in her far overreaching love for the owner of the specified pets. 

A knock sounded at the door, halting all further conversation. Petunia stayed with her guests, knowing Arabella would already be letting herself in before Petunia could even reach the door. And on cue, the sound of the door opening filled the air. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, dearies. Mr. Tibbles was absolutely distraught at the idea of me leaving–”

A shocked silence filled the room as Arabella made her way into the parlor, her and Mary meeting one another’s eyes. Horror crept up Mary’s face as she stood, backing away from Arabella. “No! Not you, please,” she whimpered, placing her hands over her face. 

David stood, trying to comfort his wife as Petunia turned to Arabella, seeking answers. She gave her none, but her eyes held a sorrow Petunia could not fathom in them as she watched Mary. “I’m sorry, dear.” It was barely a whisper, her tone laced with pain. Petunia looked between the two women, confused. 

“I knew it was him.” Mary’s voice nearly broke. “I thought it was, but I can’t– the past is so foggy. Why can’t I recall?” Mary pleaded, looking at Arabella. 

“Does your husband know?” Petunia frowned, watching a silent conversation pass between the two women. 

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” David demanded. Mary shook her head. 

“Do you want them to know, or do you want to return home without the memory of this afternoon?” Arabella inquired. Mary looked torn, and David stepped back. 

“What the hell does that mean?” He snapped. “What is wrong with all of you–” 

“Stop!” Mary yelled, sitting roughly against the cushions, rubbing the bridge of her nose agitatedly. “I’ll tell them, Arabella, but I don’t know everything. Where did they go?” She asked. Arabella’s face fell and she sat across from Mary. 

“You gave them to Dumbledore to keep. It hurt you too much, but he wouldn’t allow them to be taken away forever. He always hoped one day that you would want to remember, but I don’t think even he saw this coming.” 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why would I give them away?” Mary’s voice was desperate, pleading. 

“Because it hurt too much to remember, and you were alone after. So you begged Dumbledore to let you start fresh. You remember a war, but not the entirety of your part in it. Not the friends you lost, nor the pain you suffered. No one blames you, dear. There are things we all wish we could have forgotten.” Realization struck Petunia like a blow. 

“Mary MacDonald!” She gasped. Mary smiled weakly, not looking up from the patch of carpet her gaze had settled on. David exploded. 

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” He demanded. Mary sighed, small sobs wracking her shoulders. 

“You know I am a witch. Well, I wasn’t entirely honest with you, love. Things… Happened. Stuff that I never wanted you to know about. I had hoped that with the downfall of You-Know-Who that it was all over. I just wanted to move on.” The last words were whispered, and Petunia understood her. 

“I wish I could forget too, sometimes. Just enjoy my life with Harry and Dudley, but I know that this won’t last. That much is clear.” Mary nodded sadly. 

“I– uh. A war began brewing while I was at school. Please, Arabella, fill in where I am missing. I think– I think I’ll send Dumbledore an owl soon about it, but you two deserve to know. It started out as rumors, but we ignored them. We were only kids,” she sobbed. 

“I was a Muggleborn, same as Lily. We were ostracized for our status by the Purebloods, who mostly backed You-Know-Who. Everything–” she frowned. “Everything starts to become fuzzy after sixth year, though. Once we graduated, it was nearly outright war. His followers were killing Muggles for sport, and Lily and I were targets.” Arabella cleared her throat softly. 

“More than that, you were good friends,” she revealed. “Thick as thieves, the four of you were,” she recalled, a bitter smile on her lips. Petunia stood, leaving the lot of them in the sitting room and making her way upstairs. She found the picture quickly in the top box of the closet, unfolding it. 

A younger Mary smiled back at her, exuding a confidence Petunia could not see in the woman downstairs. But there – her eyes held bags under them she hadn’t noticed the first time. All of them looked exhausted. She took it downstairs with her, stopping as she neared the door to the sitting room. 

“–fair to you, dear. You were children, and you needed to live after. Don’t blame yourself.” 

“I got to live without nightmares, memories, guilt, all while they never got to live at all!” Mary shouted. Petunia entered the room, her fingers tightening over the edges of the photo, crinkling it. David was seated next to his wife, a shell shocked look in his eyes. 

“I allowed myself to forget about the very people that gave me this life,” she muttered. Petunia edged her way into the room, sitting beside Arabella. “I remember the Order meetings, but I can’t recall them… ” Petunia slowly slid her hand out, offering the photo to Mary. 

She stared at it for a moment, unsure, before taking it with trembling hands. Something in Mary broke as tears welled in her eyes, her shoulders wracking now. “No,” she whispered, pushing the picture against her forehead. 

Several hours had passed in silence as Arabella filled Mary in on some of her missing memories. The crying had stopped a while ago, Mary now sat in a resolute silence, her finger softly stroking the edge of the photo in her hands. 

“What happened to them?” She asked. “I mean, I know about James and Lily– everyone in our world knows, but… What about the others?” Arabella’s lips tightened. 

“Are you sure you want to know, dear?” Mary didn’t look up, but she nodded slowly. 

“I need to know.” 

“Marlene was killed by Death Eaters in the summer of ‘81. She fought, let me tell you that, Mary. It took a large group to take her family down.” There was a note of pride in Arabella’s tone, though her eyes betrayed her pain. Mary let out a pained noise, gripping the picture tighter. 

“She always gave back as good as she got.” Mary wiped a tear away, smiling down towards the floor. “Dorcas?” 

“Killed by You-Know-Who himself.” 

“Cannae imagine what she held for him to go after her personally. But she was a vault. Could get no secrets out of that one, lest you were the one to tell her.” 

“Frank and Alice as well, I believe you gave away their memories.” Mary looked up to Arabella. Her eyes were hollow, and Petunia could not imagine the grief she was feeling at the moment. To have lost Lily was painful, yes, but here Mary sat learning the horrid ends to the short lives of every friend she had ever known. 

“They’re alive, dear, but they’re in St. Mungo’s. They–” She broke off, sniffling. “Cruciatus. Bellatrix and her horrid husband… His brother and Barty Crouch Jr. tortured them for info on He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named’s location after his downfall. Their minds are gone… Nothing could be done for them.” Mary’s eyes widened. 

“Surely not! But they had a child, did they not?” 

“Yes. Augusta is raising Neville, and when he is old enough, he will know the sacrifice his parents made.” Her eyes fell to the corner, landing on a mop of messy black curls. “As will Harry. 

“What about the guys?” She demanded. 

“Peter is dead, dear. He– Sirius–” She broke off, unsure of how to tell Mary the awful truth of that night. “Sirius betrayed the Potters, love. He turned hand to You-Know-Who. Hard to stamp out that Black breeding, bless poor Andromeda. She was the only one to ever make it out. Peter tried to chase him down for his betrayal. The only bit of courage that boy ever showed, and it cost him his life. Sirius has been in Azkaban since.” Mary looked up at Arabella. 

“Remus?”

“No one knows. With his… Affliction, things were much harder for him. You know how it is for them. He disappeared after news broke of Sirius’ betrayal. He had lost two friends, and at the hand of his last remaining one? It was all too much for him… For both of you,” she added gently. Mary didn’t answer, her eyes back on the photo. 

Petunia made her way over beside Mary, sitting a few inches away. Her mind and her body were conflicted; she desired nothing more than to reach out and take her best friend’s – her only friend’s – hand, but Petunia was simply a reminder to Mary of everything she had lost; the things she could never reclaim. Petunia has lost much, but Mary had lost everything.  

Surprisingly, Mary’s hand reached out to Petunia’s. She grasped it tightly, pulling her into a tight hug. She could feel Mary’s tears on her cheeks, could feel each rasping sob as Mary processed her reality. Petunia reached her free hand up, stroking Mary’s back in absent minded motions. 

February 28th, 1984. The Evans home, near Huddersfield in Lincolnshire, England. 

Three weeks had passed since Petunia had seen Mary. Mr. Dawson had informed her that the Monday following the disastrous lunch, he had received a resignation letter from her on his desk. Petunia didn’t know how to reach out to her, nor the faintest idea where they even lived. 

What could she say, anyway? She had chosen to turn over the best memories of her life, which had become a constant reminder of her own personal hell. She had been comfortable in her life with David, and Petunia had destroyed it with one simple meal. Not that they had even eaten the meal; the Paulsons had left not long after the conversation with Arabella had ended. 

Arabella, for her part, seemed to be giving Petunia a wide berth as well. She seemed to blame herself for the turn of events, but Petunia was sure that the situation had been a ticking time bomb since the moment Mary had laid eyes on Harry. Eventually, with or without Arabella’s arrival, Mary would have pieced together the truth as to Harry’s scar and, therefore, his identity. 

A knock at the door surprised Petunia. She placed the tray of cookies she had just pulled from the oven onto the stove, ignoring Harry’s incessant begging for one. “Too hot, we have to wait a little while,” she told him. She pulled the door open, her mouth dropping open. 

“Mary,” she stated, no other words coming to her mind. Mary stood before her, looking worse for wear. Bags circled heavily under her eyes, which were bloodshot. Her hair wasn’t neatly up like it usually was, instead hanging to her shoulders limply. “Come in.” 

They made their way to the kitchen where she placed a second tray of cookies into the oven, letting Mary take her time to speak when she was ready. It didn’t take long. 

“I met with Dumbledore.” Petunia shot her a look, scraping the cookies off of the pan and onto a cooling rack. 

“And?” She wheedled gently. 

“I have my memories back… They’re– I dinnae what to do, Pet.” Petunia set the spatula down, a familiar ache blossoming in her chest. 

“Now you do what everyone else has done, Mary. You learn to live with them for now, and, in time, it becomes easier. Not better, but easier. It doesn't leave, or get smaller... You just learn to make room for it. But Dumbledore… He told me that it’s not over, most likely.” Petunia sighed. “I don’t know what is going to become of us, and it terrifies me, Mary, but… I can’t hide away from it all. It’s coming, whether we are prepared or not.”
“I want a cookie!” Petunia shot a glance at Harry, one that firmly said not now. He frowned, crossing his little arms over his chest. 

“I know… I just– before David, I was completely alone and it scared me. Everyone I had ever known, everyone I had ever been able to turn to with my fears, was gone. And I alone was sent into the world to figure it out. I was broken, and I was left with nothing to repair myself. It was weak, but I didn’t know what else to do.” Petunia’s heart broke at her words, laced with longing and grief. 

“I understand, Mary. There is no animosity in me for your decision. If I hadn’t had the boys, and I was in your place, I don’t think I could say I would have done anything different. But unfortunately the worst isn’t over. Whatever the next years hold, I think– I think it can only bring more pain. Are you sure you are ready for that?” Mary thought over her words. 

“No. But, I’m not alone anymore, am I?” She smiled. Petunia laughed, shaking her head. 

“No, you’re not. And as long as I live, I swear you will not be alone.” It was a poor choice of words, and Petunia began apologizing profusely. 

“No harm done, love. We all made those promises, just turned to shite in the end, 'dinnit?” They were interrupted once more.

“Please Mum? Can I have a cookie?” Petunia laughed lightly at Harry’s plea, shaking her head once more. “It’s almost bedtime, dear. These are for tomorrow.” She turned her back, checking the cookies still in the oven. 

“Mum?” Mary inquired politely. Petunia’s shoulders fell and she closed the oven door. 

“One day he will hear all about their sacrifice, Mary. I promise. But how do you explain such atrocities to a child? How do I tell him they died so he could live? When he is older, he will be told everything. But for now, he is just a child, who cannot recall the parents who loved him so dearly that they faced death itself for him. Dudley calls me Mum. It is the only word he knows, and I don’t have the heart to tell him not to call me it. It hurts me, believe me it does, but… If you reprove me, I understand.” Mary’s eyes softened. 

“No, Petunia. You are correct, he’s too young to comprehend. In another life, he would know James and Lily. In another life, I would be Aunt Mary instead of a stranger to him.” Mary’s voice hitched and she closed her eyes, fighting tears. 

Petunia placed her hand on Mary’s shoulder softly. Petunia grieved her sister; Mary grieved everyone. She would not let her suffer this burden as well. “You are his aunt,” she told her, resolute. Mary’s eyes snapped open and she looked up at Petunia, disbelief radiating from her. 

“Pet–” 

“I will hear nothing of it. He has lost too much.” Her tone softened. “So have you, Mary. Anyway, how could one more person to love him be a bad thing?” She questioned. “Besides, you know… knew,” she choked. “Lily better than I ever did. Who’s going to tell him about who she became?” Mary threw her arms around Petunia tightly, sobbing into her shoulder. 

“And Dudley too?” Petunia’s heart clenched at the realization. She mumbled affirmations against Mary’s cheek, stroking her back. 

“Mumma, please can I have a cookie?” Petunia laughed, pulling away from Mary and turning back to the oven to check that the second batch hadn’t burned. 

A gasp sounded behind her and she turned, shocked to find a cookie floating nearly level with her eyes. She turned to Harry, eyes wide as excitement bubbled through her. Mary watched enraprtured as the cookie began to move through the air, and Petunia no longer had the heart to tell Harry no. He was doing it, the same as Lily once had. Wonderful, and magical, and so very special. 

“Are you doing your first bit of magic, Harry?” Petunia was beaming. 

But the cookie continued over Harry’s head. Maybe the small child did not have good control, or his burst of accidental magic was not coordinated, because it shot straight over his head and toward– Petunia stood in shock as the cookie landed soundly in Dudley’s open hand. 

“Merlin,” Mary whispered, her eyes traveling between Dudley and Petunia slowly. Petunia watched her oldest son reach out his hand and pass the cookie to Harry, who grinned as he took a bite. 

“But– no.” Petunia frowned, confused. Of all the possibilities that lay before them, she had never considered this one. Dudley was not like her, he was not ordinary. The blood that sung through Lily so many years before now echoed that melody in Dudley too. Petunia dropped to her knees, opening her arms wide. “Oh, my very special boys,” she whispered, pulling them against her tightly. 

Placing a firm kiss on both of their heads, she swore she would protect them both with her very life. Pride and sorrow coiled together tightly in her stomach. Her boys would get to experience, together, the very thing that had divided her and Lily. She was proud of Dudley, but worried about losing him in the process. 

He would go on to learn so many wonderful things, but he was now facing walking down a path that Petunia could not follow him on, and it terrified her. Harry she had been prepared for. But not Dudley. 

“Oh my special, special boys,” she affirmed, hugging them tightly once more. She stood and pulled a second cookie from the rack, handing it to Dudley. She would never allow him to feel unusual, and the word freak would never cross Petunia’s mind or roll off her tongue again.

Chapter Text

The second someone
mentioned you were all alone
I could feel the trouble
coursing through your veins
now I know, it’s got a hold

just a phone call unanswered
had me sparking up
these cigarettes won’t
stop me wondering where you are
don’t let go, keep a hold

(Leave a Light On - Tom Walker)

September 1st, 1987. Near the market square in Huddersfield. Lincolnshire, England. 

Petunia clutched the paper bag containing their dinner. Both Harry and Dudley had worked hard in school, bringing home grades Petunia was proud of. Dudley had always struggled in school, and she would praise his average marks just as highly as Harry’s high ones. 

She had invited Mary to dinner, and the witch had mentioned she would try to attend if she was able to. Her girls were nearly in school now themselves, and just like Harry and Dudley, had begun expressing magic. 

There were endless late nights as they drank wine, contemplating how to explain away certain curiosities. Twice now, Harry had been found in places he shouldn’t be able to reach, and explaining why he was on the school roof at seven years old had been quite the headache. 

Dudley, on the other hand, had fewer bouts of magic. Rather than running from his problems, like Harry, he resorted to what Mary had deemed ‘The Muggle Way’. Most of the time, he would simply push them away, but being bigger in stature than the other kids, it was often viewed as aggressive. 

“Honestly, it’s nice to see Lily in him,” Mary had said. When Petunia had raised her eyebrows, Mary sipped her wine, giggling. “While Lily was exceptionally gifted at charms and jinxes, I remember seeing her toss her wand aside on several occasions and just wailing on some bigoted purebloods,” Mary replied through shaking laughs. 

As if Dudley would ever raise his hands against another over any small matter. A deep root of pride had embedded itself in Petunia. Dudley would only ever defend when it came to himself. When it came to Harry, or the other children who were targeted, however, is when it became an issue. 

While Harry had found himself on the roof, or in a locked room, or his pursuant bullies suddenly entangled, Dudley faced his problems head on. Several times now, Petunia had been called in from work to speak with the principal about his temper, as the school put it. But every time she would ask Dudley to explain, she would find his eyes clouded with desperation and pain. “They were bigger than them, Mum. But I was bigger than all of them, so it was my job to protect them… Right?” 

Petunia could never fault him for defending another. So, they exchanged schools. Each day, before she dropped her boys off, she would speak with Dudley. ‘Remember, you are bigger than they are. It doesn’t matter your intentions, but their perception. I know–” she interrupted his defense. 

“Dudders, I know, trust me. But we just have to make it a little bit longer, yeah? There’s no more schools in the area. We can’t keep moving about because you start fights to defend others. I am proud of you, Dudley, please believe that. But you need to find new ways to do so, is all.” It had been a silent car ride after that, but the fights had decreased. 

Petunia was pulled from her thoughts as she bumped into a man, spilling the bag of groceries all over the ground. She dropped to her knees, collecting the loose vegetables and the wrapped meat from the butchers quickly. 

As she set her hand over a carrot, a much larger, scarred hand fell into place, dwarfing hers. “Sorry about that, I should’ve looked where I was going. Haven’t been feeling myself lately, but that’s no excuse to let it splash over onto you. Here,” he said, offering her the carrot. 

Petunia looked up, pale blue eyes meeting soft green. The man looked uncomfortable with her eyes on him, but Petunia couldn’t pull her gaze away. He was young, but so incredibly aged. His sandy blond hair was flecked with grey and worry lines creased permanently around his eyes. 

Petunia’s eyes trailed down over his face, noticing scars littering the pale skin. Her heart dropped as she found his eyes once more, the hesitation had been replaced with a cold dread. Petunia stood, offering a hand to the man. 

“No, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought instead of paying attention to where I was walking. Thank you so much for your help.” Her hand lowered slightly. He had not reached out, had not stood from where he kneeled on the ground. His eyes were searching her, in the same way she had him moments before. 

Doubt and curiosity raged in his eyes and Petunia found herself becoming nervous. Why was he looking at her like this? Slowly, it shifted into a look she knew well. It was the one she saw in Mary’s own as she processed and grieved the events of the war. Petunia dropped her narrowed expression, kneeling beside the man once more. 

“Are you alright?” She asked gently. She didn’t reach out this time, not wanting to scare the man further. He was thin – far too thin. His clothes hung on his frame, the sleeves and trousers too long. She could see the arch of his cheekbones, the collarbones under his too-large shirt. 

Scars continued down his chest before becoming lost in the draping fabric, increasing in size and number. Whatever had happened to him, it had been traumatic. He was still looking at her. She smiled softly. His eyes finally met hers again. 

“Are you alright?” She repeated. He opened his mouth to form words, but only a strained whisper came out. Petunia cocked her head, concern building for this man. She didn’t know if she should let him go on or take him to the hospital. 

“I– Yes. Yes, I’m so sorry,” he stuttered. He stood awkwardly, dusting himself. Petunia followed, still worried for this mess of a man before her. 

“Are you sure?” She inquired. She saw his body lock up, a shudder running up his spine, down his limbs. She could almost swear she saw him sniff the air as well. 

“Of course.” An air of confidence swept over him, but Petunia could see the trepidation behind it. “I apologize, I must be making you uncomfortable. It’s just – for a moment you reminded me of someone. But it couldn’t be.” Petunia clocked the anguish lacing his words. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said. She wanted to let this man move on, to continue on her way home, but something stopped her. It was like a thread being pulled tighter and tighter inside of her, drawing her toward him. 

“W–” Petunia swallowed, trying to clear what felt like a stone in her throat. “Who was she? What happened?” The man’s eyes widened some, and she could see his nervous demeanor rise back to the surface. 

“A dear friend of mine, once upon a time… She… She’s gone now. They’re all gone… But life, life goes on, doesn’t it?” A sinking weight settled in Petunia’s stomach. She felt nauseous as she looked at this weak and broken man, who she understood in a way she wished she never could. 

“Would you like to come to dinner?” She asked. Shock stole over the man’s face, panic dulling those beautiful green eyes. 

“Oh, oh no, I couldn’t impose. Really, I must be off,” he replied. Petunia straightened her back defiantly. 

“I insist. It looks like you could use a good meal, and I really must repay you for knocking you over. Besides, you can tell me all about that friend of yours. I’m no stranger to loss and regret.” Her voice lowered, her eyes falling to their shoes. 

“Trust me, I understand. And sometimes, it’s easier when you can share that burden with someone, if only for a moment. To let it rest between two souls for even a heartbeat is tremendous relief. Now come,” she said, snapping her gaze back to his. 

A glimmer of something Petunia had not seen from him sparked in his eyes. Amusement. He ducked his head slowly, waving out his arm. “You know, it’s really not safe to invite random strangers into your home,” he chided. 

“And what about you? Entering into a stranger’s home, simply for the promise of conversation and a home cooked meal?” She quipped back. The man let out a bark of a laugh, nodding. 

“Fair point. But honestly, on one hand, I think I could easily take you if the need arose.” Petunia flushed slightly at the immodest thought that came to mind at his remark, before rolling her eyes. 

“It looks like we weigh about the same. I’d say it’s an even playing field.” He raised his hands in defeat. 

“On the other hand,” he continued. “I can’t honestly tell you what it is. Like I said before, you just remind me of her. She never took no for an answer, and she was unbelievably kind, even to those who didn’t deserve it.” Petunia’s eyebrows tightened and her lips twisted into a frown. 

“And who are you to say you are undeserving?” She demanded. “From what I have seen thus far you are merely awkward and hesitant, but not without its charm. Besides, everyone deserves kindness.” He gave her a sad look. 

“No. That is a lesson I learned young, and has been ingrained into me through suffering. Not everyone is deserving of it, and I only hope it isn’t a lesson you learn too late.” Petunia watched him, taken aback by the sincerity behind such an awful statement. She didn’t allow her face to reveal her concern, however, and waved the man along beside her. 

“Now, what is your name?” He asked kindly. 

“Petunia. What about you?” The man hesitated for only a moment. 

“John,” he replied. 

“Well it is nice to meet you, John. Have you lived in the area for long?” He shook his head, his sandy hair ruffling with the movement. 

“No, just passing through. I travel looking for work, so I am never in one place for very long. I was coming up from Cardiff, headed towards Glasgow in search a job. I thought I might pass through here, I had a friend that lived here for a time. I reckoned I might pop in and see if she was still around, make sure she was alright. Have you lived here long?” 

“Six years come November.” John nodded easily. Petunia found, despite his disheveled appearance, that she did quite enjoy the company of this man as they walked along the side road that led to the lane she lived on. 

“By yourself or married?” Petunia shot him a mischievous smile. 

“Worried my husband may get the wrong idea?” She teased. John raised his hands non-threateningly, a grin barely concealed by the mock fear he tried to present. 

“No, no, I wouldn't want that,” he answered. Petunia laughed, and to her relief, after a moment John joined her. 

“No, just me and my two boys. I was married once, but… Things fell apart, eventually. It’s alright, though. My boys and I are happy as can be,” she smiled. She could see John watching her from the corner of his eye, but it brought no reservations to Petunia’s mind. 

It was almost like catching up with an old friend, which made no sense to her. She had never met John, yet here they were joking and laughing like old school mates. They turned down the lane and continued in a comfortable silence for some time. 

“Are you sure I am not intruding?” It was so quiet that Petunia barely heard him. She turned to look at him, glowering. 

“If you ask that one more time I will tie you up and make you attend,” she threatened haughtily. 

“Fine,” John replied dramatically, before his timid barking laugh returned. 

“How old are your boys?” 

“Seven. They’re a handful,” Petunia smiled. “And they should be home before supper is finished, their grandmother will be picking them up from school today.” It wasn’t a lie, necessarily. As the boys got older, technical distinctions had slipped. 

The boys had known Arabella nearly their entire lives, and she had taken on a grandmotherly role for them. It had just slipped into their vocabulary without their notice. Dudley had always called Petunia Mum, but Harry… He had been too young to understand her explanations as to why she was Aunt Tuney to him. 

As he got older, he understood the distinction more, but still the words Aunt and Mum were still used interchangeably. Harry knew his parents had died while he was a baby, but she had put off telling her boys the truth about how. 

She didn’t know how to put into words the horrors that had darkened a world she had never even really been a part of. Mary had offered, when the time was right, to help her. And as Harry and Dudley inched closer to eleven, she knew that the time was coming sooner than she thought she was ready for. 

They had, of course, explained to the boys why they were different from the others at their school, of course, and that no one could know about Magic. Mary had gone into a very long and dull explanation of the Statute of Secrecy that even Petunia had found her eyes drooping and her head bobbing during. 

She had even teased them with tidbits about Hogwarts and the surrounding Highlands, and Petunia had to step away as she felt a familiar sting rising behind her eyes. They would go together. This wouldn’t be like her and Lily. Dudley would get to see it all for himself. 

“–Okay?” Petunia snapped out of her thoughts, looking ashamed at the man beside her. 

“Sorry, yes. Got lost in thought,” she replied. “There it is,” she pointed. His eyes followed her indication, smiling softly at the small home that rose to meet them from the surrounding forest that encompassed the lane. 

“It’s beautiful.” Petunia swelled with pride at the praise. While she was working towards being a better woman than she had aspired too with Vernon, she still held a staunch pride for the appearance of her home. 

It had been abandoned when they arrived, and while the inside had been attended to, the outside had been overgrown and unkempt. She had worked hard in the years since to make it something she and her boys could be proud to call home. She tamped down the self righteous pride that bordered on ego, and gave John a genuine smile. 

“Thank you,” she replied. John took her bags as Petunia opened the door, sweeping it wide to allow him through in front of her. 

“The kitchen is just in through the hall. Very back of the house,” she said, closing the door behind them. Distantly she could hear John unloading the groceries onto the counter as she locked the door behind her. A slight wave of apprehension settled over her.

She had let a stranger into her home, where her children resided. Surely, if Dumbledore could see her now, he would be furious. But something had wedged in Petunia’s mind as he had appraised her on the street, and even now, she could not dislodge it. 

You remind me of someone I lost. Who could that have been? Nothing the man had said or done had raised red flags in Petunia’s mind, apart from the scars that decorated his body. But his eyes, as soft a green as gemstones, had settled any unease she had felt. 

Petunia trusted her instincts. She just hoped they didn’t fail her today. She made her way to the kitchen where John was arranging the groceries on the counter, turning to place a bottle of milk into the fridge. 

“So how old are you, John?” Petunia asked nonchalantly, opening a drawer and retrieving a knife and cutting board. The man jumped slightly, giving Petunia an apologetic smile. 

“Twenty-seven,” he answered, passing her the vegetables. Petunia began cutting them gently. 

“I’m thirty,” she replied, taking the next proffered courgette. “Any family?” She inquired. John shook his head softly. 

“No. My father died when I was sixteen, my mother three years ago. No siblings. You?” She pushed down on the knife harder than she had intended, a loud clack echoing through the kitchen as it collided with the wooden cutting board. 

“Not anymore. I told you I was divorced, and there is never going to be reconciliation with that…” Petunia frowned. “Not that I would want it, anyway. He was… Something else,” she sighed. “My parents died some years back. I… I had a sister once. She’s gone now… That’s how Harry – my younger boy,” she clarified, “Came to me. It’s just us now, but that’s alright. I enjoy the life we are building. What do you do for work?” She inquired. 

Silence met her question. She looked up from where her attention had been focused on the vegetables, realizing just how heavily the silence hung thick in the air. She turned towards John, who stood frozen with his hand on the counter by the sink. She could see that his knuckles were white with the intensity in which he gripped the edge. 

His shoulders were rising and falling rapidly and his eyes were distant and unfocused on the window above the sink. Petunia set the knife down slowly, trepidation building the longer John did not respond. She pressed herself back against the counter, the sharp edge biting into her back. 

“John?” She asked nervously. The spell over him seemed to break and he turned toward Petunia slowly. She realized his eyes were misted, and a haunting understanding lit the green staring at her. 

“I–” He started. “You reminded me of her, and now I know why. I remember where I heard of you, but the kind woman who stooped down to help me up was such a far cry from the version she had spoken of so many years ago… Petunia…” A bitter smile graced his face. “And Lily,” He finished. 

Petunia watched him, gob smacked. Her eyes widened and a hand shot to her mouth as bile rose in her throat. “You– you knew her?” Petunia whispered. A soft nod was her only answer as the man seemed to deflate before her. 

“Far less than she knew me, of course. Lily… She saved me in a way I didn’t know I could be saved.” As Petunia watched him, the picture she had found in the closet years before burst to the surface of her mind. The picture that contained Mary, and now safely was with her for the time being. And Remus Lupin. The boy who was covered in scars. 

“Remus.” His head snapped up to Petunia, shock painted across his features. 

“What?” He asked, his mouth forming words that would not come. Something about it made Petunia laugh despite the situation. 

“I found a picture of all of you lot upstairs. It’s with a friend now. But on the back it had all your names, and Arabella mentioned you were the only one still alive. So you must be Remus Lupin,” Petunia answered. 

“Yes… Yes, I am Remus.” Petunia’s head tilted to the side as she watched him. 

“And Lily changed you,” she furthered. He nodded. The closet. Petunia stood upright, apologizing as she bolted from the kitchen. She made her way up to the room quickly, digging her hand into the top box in the closet and fishing out the stack of letters inside. She rifled through, taking the ones that had been correspondences with Remus, and made her way back downstairs. 

“Here,” she muttered breathlessly, pushing the stack into his chest. Remus watched her with wide eyes, slowly taking the bundle from her hand. His face fell as he looked at them, recognizing the handwriting. She could see tears pool in his eyes. 

“People fear me,” he whispered, tracing the elegant scrawl with his eyes. Petunia frowned. 

“Why? All I have seen is a gentleman. Who would fear you?” Remus’ eyebrows furrowed, his eyes hardening. “Almost everyone. But not her… When she…” He swallowed thickly. “When she discovered my secret I thought it was all over.” Petunia pulled the meat over to her, cutting it for dinner as he spoke. 

“What kind of secret would have people fear you?” But the memory of Arabella’s words to Mary years before came to mind. With his… Affliction… He disappeared. Petunia looked up at him. “You were sick, but surely that doesn’t warrant fear?” She received a sympathetic look, as if she were too young to understand. 

“Most afflictions, no,” he answered. “But mine is… Different.” 

“What, are you a leper? You look quite intact to me,” Petunia retorted, discontent with his desire to dance around the topic. John– Remus, she corrected herself, laughed softly. 

“No. I am a Lycanthrope.” It was barely a whisper, overshadowed with an encompassing shame. Petunia looked up quizzically. 

“What on earth does that mean?” 

“A werewolf,” he replied bitterly. Petunia shot him a hard look. 

“A werewolf?” She repeated incredulously. He nodded. “Those are real?” Another nod. “Are you dangerous?” She demanded. “Because I swear, if my boys will be at risk just by coming home, I will flay you right now!” She snapped, brandishing her knife threateningly. Remus raised his hands, his eyes downcast. 

“There it is,” he said resolutely. “That is why people fear me. And no, at the moment I am no danger to anyone. It is only under a full moon that I transform, and only as my werewolf self that I pose risk to anyone. But stigma and fear blind people to who we are apart from that one night a month.” Petunia lowered her knife slowly. 

“That’s why you were so hesitant in the square? Because people treat you unkindly?” He snorted slightly. 

“A bit more than unkind, Petunia. I am low in their eyes. Werewolves are… Despised by wizardkind. Second class citizens, and barely that. It’s why I travel for work. I can’t stay anywhere too long, or they realize what I am.” Petunia put the knife down, transferring the meat and vegetables into a dish. 

“But that’s not fair,” she said angrily, tears brimming over and falling down her cheeks. 

“Whoever said anything about fair?” He asked. 

“But you’re safe the rest of the month. Precautions could be taken, couldn’t they? Why should you be hated for something you cannot control?” Remus smiled sadly at her. 

“I thought everything would end when my friends discovered my secret. Dumbledore had taken a great risk in allowing me to attend Hogwarts… I was changed just after I turned four in retaliation to comments my father had made against werewolves… I was the first werewolf to ever study there. Immeasurable safeguards were put in place.” He leaned against the counter. 

“But they did something I never expected. They clung tighter to that lone, adolescent werewolf, and never let him feel like the monster he believed himself to be. And Lily ensured that my parents knew their failings in relation to the fear they harbored towards me… It was the first time I had ever felt alive.” He closed his eyes, reminiscing. 

“And then I lost her. I lost all of them. And I was alone, tormented by the ghost of a life that could never be mine again. For the last seven years, they have existed only in my memories,” he whispered. Slowly, a soft smile grew on him. “Until, that is, I stumbled across a muggle in a little town who reminded me so painfully of the woman who taught me how to live.” Petunia watched him, her eyes burning. 

“She too was afraid, at first. But not for herself. For her boys. She felt sorry for that lone werewolf. Not pity, no. But a deep, soul aching sense of injustice for him. And now I see…” Petunia wiped away her tears. 

“What do you see?” He smiled. 

“Lily may be gone but the people she touched are still here. Still breathing. And together, we can heal.” Petunia crossed the room, pulling Remus into a tight embrace. It was awkward. He was nearly a foot taller than her and seemed to be frozen in shock as they stood, together, in the silent kitchen. 

His muscles were tense, twitching where her body touched his. But slowly she felt them relax, felt him release the breath he had been holding. She felt Remus ease into the embrace, his shoulders jerking and panting huffs in Petunia’s ear as he cried silently. And Petunia never mentioned it to anyone for as long as she lived. 

Chapter Text

Passed Alger Brook Road
I’m over the bridge
a minute from home
but I feel so far from it

the death of my dog
the stretch of my skin
it’s all washing over me
and I’m angry again

The things that I lost here
the people I knew
have got me surrounded
for a mile or two

the car’s in reverse
I’m gripping the wheel
I’m back between villages
and nothing is real

(The View Between the Villages - Noah Kahan)

December 4th, 1987. The Evans Home. 

Petunia found herself glancing at the door down the hall apprehensively. He won’t come. Petunia had found herself looking, several times a day for the past four months, for a stooped shadow in the windows. 

Remus had left before dinner was prepared, all those months ago. She had not seen him since, and, beyond Petunia’s complete understanding, it hurt her. She had chalked it up to the realization that another link to Lily had been severed just as quickly as she had found it. 

Or, perhaps, it was that Remus couldn’t face Harry. She could see it from his perspective. The pain in realizing her identity would be overwhelming to anyone with his connections to her long-dead sister, she assumed. 

But still, it stung. She had really liked the man, even in their brief encounter during the fading hold of summer. She had hoped he would stay to meet Harry, but his abrupt departure came only moments after his break of strength as Petunia had held him in her kitchen. 

She had not told Mary or Arabella about his brief visit. Arabella, she figured, had enough on her plate without the added stress of a long out-of-mind werewolf. Mary, however, had been difficult. Petunia knew she should have told her immediately, but the memory of their first attempted lunch had stalled her. 

What good would it have done to tell Mary that he had been here? That Petunia had seen him, spoken to him, but he had fled just as quickly? Every time she had seen Mary since September the words had crawled up her throat, catching sharply on her tongue before it could betray her. 

If there was ever a right time, she swore to herself that she would tell Mary. Petunia hoped that Remus himself would show back up, sooner rather than later. Petunia brushed the hair out of her eyes, tying it untidily in a low knot behind her neck as she began to clean up the parlor floor after her boys. 

Once they returned home from school she would take them shopping with Mary. She needed to collect their Christmas presents, and honestly, she could use the distraction of an afternoon with Mary. 

She didn’t have to wait long. No sooner had she folded the throw blanket neatly and set it over the arm of the couch did the sound of the front door opening catch her attention. She smiled, feeling a subtle warmth build in her chest as she heard her boys laughing. 

“Evening, Pet! Sorry we are a bit late, I got stuck in traffic.” Mary entered the parlor, flashing Petunia a dazzling smile as she pulled her into a hug. Petunia closed her eyes, relishing in the brief contact. 

“It’s no worry. I’m just glad you are here now.” She turned her attention to Dudley and Harry, who were hanging their backpacks in the hall closet and chatting animatedly. “How was school?” 

“Mummy, I got the highest mark on my history paper!” Dudley shouted, holding up a paper. Petunia gasped, taking the assignment from him and laughing. 

“Oh, my Dudders! I am so proud of you!” It was the highest grade he had ever received. She knew he struggled, but Harry had recently stepped in and started doing their studying together, as to help his cousin where he struggled. Behind Dudley’s back, she could see him smiling as well. 

“This means the fridge,” she announced. “Highest spot, for highest mark.” Dudley beamed as she strode to the kitchen, hanging the paper front and center at the top of the fridge. “Now, are we ready to go shopping?” She asked. 

The boys ran for the car, Mary and Petunia following them in slowed conversation as they got in and made their way into town. It was a dull ride. The cold winter evening was already falling into shadow, and the sky was a dusky grey that promised another bout of snow soon. Mary parked at the small shopping center and they made their way into the store, still chatting about how her girls were doing. 

“Do you mind distracting them for a moment while I pick up their presents?” Petunia asked. Mary nodded, leading the boys off to help her look for a certain ingredient she swore she couldn’t find. 

Petunia made her way to the entertainment department, browsing the aisles. She had been saving every pence she could for the last year and finally had enough to purchase a large present for her boys. It would be shared, but she hoped that it would foster more time spent together between them. Not that it was particularly an issue, as they spent most of their time together anyway. 

“May I help you with anything?” A stout man approached her, noticing the hesitation in which she had been looking at the different gaming systems on the shelf. She nodded, grateful. 

“Yes, please. I am looking for something a bit older, on the cheaper side? But something that two people can play together, so my boys can share. I just–” she gestured at the overwhelming options before her, “Have no idea where to begin.” The man nodded. 

“Well, do you have a television or a computer monitor?” He inquired. 

“Only a television,” she replied. He scanned the shelf, murmuring. Finally, he pulled a system off the shelf. 

“This is an Atari,” he explained. “It was returned so it is on sale. Nothing wrong with it, the note attached to the return said that both parents had purchased the same item as a surprise gift for their child’s birthday. The system is ten years old, but has held up fairly well. With the sale price, it sits at just £95. Brand new would be looking at £150. Of course, you will need the corresponding cables to the system. That will only be an additional £10. Does that fit into your budget?” Petunia nodded. 

“Alright. Now, games are a little bit more expensive than the cords, though. They are £10 to £30 depending on age and popularity.”

“I think I will just take one, cheaper game, if that works? I am getting close to the end of my budget.” The man nodded, rifling through the games on the shelf. He pulled one out and offered it to her. 

“One of the original released games. Would you like all this wrapped?” She nodded. He took the items to the counter, handing them off to a young, bored looking woman. She dutifully wrapped the items and Petunia paid, taking the boxes and making her way through the aisles of the grocery section, searching for Mary and the boys. 

She stopped at the head of an aisle. Near the middle stood her boys, Mary right beside them and talking with a wizened little old man excitedly. He was looking at Harry every few words, as if his eyes were deceiving him. Petunia bustled down the aisle, placing the boxes into the shopping cart. 

“Truly great to see you again, Mary. And of course, Messrs. Potter and Evans,” he bowed low before the boys, his hat falling off. He was dressed strangely, a floor length cloak covering him and the pointed hat that he snatched off the floor in the same shade. He rose, noticing her. 

“Oh! And Ms. Evans! Quite the day,” he bubbled. Petunia looked at Mary, but she simply shook her head as the man left. 

“What the bloody hell was that about?” Petunia asked. 

“Merlin, Pet,” Mary whispered. “Don’t you realize how famous Harry is in our world? Old Dedalus was over the mooncalf to recognize him.” Petunia shook her head. 

“Why would he be famous?” She asked, letting the boys walk ahead. 

“Galloping gargoyles, didn’t Dumbeldore tell you?” 

“Well, he told me some things,” Petunia answered. “I know what happened to Lily and James, and I know Voldemort died that night.” She looked over, shocked when Mary let out a gasp. 

“You said his name!”

“Yes? What else would I call him?”

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who is what our world knows him as. Even now, he commands great fear amongst our kind. But you must know why Harry is famous, surely?” Petunia shook her head. 

“Search me,” she said, shrugging. 

“Pet, the scar on his forehead… It came from the killing curse. No one is known to have survived it, aside from him. All of it’s quite the mystery, isn’t it? No one lived once You-Know-Who decided to kill them, but Harry did. A child! And You-Know-Who disappeared, to boot! Whatever happened that night freed us from the darkness he had instilled, and despite there being almost no understanding of how, it has passed into legend. Harry is in several of our history books marking the downfall of You-Know-Who.” Petunia frowned. 

“So this isn’t a one-off? It’ll happen again?” Mary nodded. 

“Most likely,” she said. Petunia pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“I am going to have to tell him the truth. Soon. Or, at least, a portion of it.” Mary clapped a hand on her shoulder gently. 

“I’ll be here, if you need me. Arabella, too.” Petunia offered her a weak smile. 

“Thanks.” 

December 9th, 1987. The Evans home. 

Petunia tucked her boys in, kissing both of them softly on the foreheads as she finished the lullaby. Truthfully, they were probably too old for this routine, but neither seemed too keen on asking her to stop. 

“Goodnight, my sweet boys,” she whispered, turning out the bedside lamp and suffocating the room in darkness. She closed the door softly, making her way down to the kitchen and pouring a glass of wine. 

She settled on the sofa, closing her eyes and taking a long sip from her glass. She was exhausted, they had stayed up late tonight to put up the tree. But as she looked at it twinkling merrily in the corner, she knew it had been worth it to spend the time decorating it with her boys. 

She took another sip of her wine, savoring the tart taste of the raspberry infused wine. A hesitant knock sounded at the door, startling Petunia. She cursed quietly as the glass in her hand shifted with her start of surprise, splashing the crimson liquid down the front of her dress. 

She looked at the clock, wondering who could be calling at such a late hour. She set her wine glass down, trying to dab at the stain from the fabric, to no avail. She noticed the shadow of a towering man in the frosted glass of the door. 

“Who is it?” She demanded. A hesitant voice answered her. 

“Remus.” Petunia’s eyes widened and she unlocked the door, pulling it open quickly. Before her, looking more ragged and worn than he had the last time she had seen him, stood Remus Lupin. Exhaustion projected from him, and a cold pity took a hold of her. 

“Come in,” she ushered, pulling him from the freezing stoop. Snow clung to the robe hanging from his shabby robes and his skin was pale. As he passed close by her to enter the warm home, she could feel the chill that clung to him. Locking the door, she followed him into the parlor. 

“Here,” she offered, helping him out of his cloak and hanging it on the coat rack in the corner. “You must be half frozen,” she fretted, pulling an afghan from the basket and settling it over him. He smiled gratefully, but it hardly reached his eyes. 

New scars littered his face and hands, in various stages of healing. The full moon, she realized, had been just a few nights before. She sat beside him, letting the heavy silence hang in the air between them. She would not force him to speak until he was ready. 

The only sound to fill the room was his tired breathing and the constant tick of the clock on the wall. Finally, his eyes opened again and he turned to look Petunia over, noticing the half drunk glass of wine on the coffee table and the dark stain drying on her dress. 

“Here, let me,” he offered, pulling out his wand from the pocket in his robes. Petunia stilled, unsure. As used as she had become to the boys increasing bursts of magic and Mary’s occasional spellwork, she was still slightly uncomfortable with its use. 

“No, that’s alright. I think I can get it out with some stain remover and work.” Remus shook his head, a slight bemused expression stealing over the exhaustion. 

“Red wine? Never,” he chuckled. “But if you would rather I not, I will not force the issue.” Petunia bit her lip, hesitant. He was right that she had a low chance of ever fully removing it, and this was one of her favorite dresses. 

“Oh, all right,” she acquiesced. Remus smiled, raising his wand into the air. 

“Scourgify.” With a gentle yet intricate flick of his wand, the stain disappeared entirely from the fabric. She appraised it carefully. 

“Not even a hint of the stain! That’s amazing,” she whispered. Remus chuckled, laying his head back slowly. She watched him, taking his appearance in more closely. His hair was unkempt and dirt clung to his skin. She pursed her lips, tamping down the sudden urge to go after him with a damp rag. 

“Would you like a hot shower?” She asked. A low hum was her reply. “I can launder your clothes, maybe even do a bit of reparative work on it. There’s some old clothes of my fathers in the bureau upstairs you could wear in the meantime.” Remus lifted his head. 

“I couldn’t put you out like that, Petunia. I didn’t come here looking for handouts.” Petunia furrowed her eyebrows. 

“It’s not a hand out, Remus, it’s common courtesy. And, if I may ask, why did you come, then?” He looked away from her, a slight pink flush creeping up his neck. 

“I just… I was lonely. And maybe I am being selfish, but you are the only one I felt I could turn to, if even only for a moment.” Petunia’s gaze softened. 

“I am glad for the company, Remus, and my home is free for you at any time. But please, allow me to return the favor.” He sighed. 

“Fine, fine.” She led him to the small bathroom upstairs, leaving him to collect a clean towel and set of clothes. She knocked gently, and hearing the water running, turned the knob and set the clothes on the sink silently. 

In the mirror above the sink, through the steam billowing in the air, she caught a reflection of him. His back was turned to her, and he was only visible from the waist up, but her heart leapt to her throat as she saw the scars running across the exposed skin. 

She turned, collecting his discarded clothing and took it downstairs to add to the pile she planned to pass through the wash in the morning. Closing the door with a soft click behind her, she retreated down the stairs and to the parlor once more. 

He joined her there not too long after, smelling strongly of Petunia’s orange scented shampoo and wearing her father’s old clothes. They were slightly large on him, the trousers hanging a little loose on his hips, and the shirt from his shoulders. He had rolled the sleeves of the button up to his elbows, exposing the scarred flesh of his forearms. 

“Are you feeling better?” She asked. 

“Like a new man,” he tried a smile, but Petunia could see he was fighting sleep. Dark circles lined underneath his eyes and she wondered how long it had been since he had a decent night’s sleep. 

“You can sleep here on the couch. I am sorry we don’t have a spare bedroom available,” she prattled nervously. He shook his head. 

“I’ve already overstayed,” he said. “You have done more than enough for me.” Petunia glared at him. 

“Remus, you are not going back out into that! It’s a winter storm, it must be near freezing!” She snapped. “As I said before, you always have a place to stay here. I will make up this couch for you to sleep on, you will get a good night’s rest, and you will enjoy a nice breakfast with us. I will not tolerate arguments.” Remus watched her, his eyes wide. 

“Alright,” he murmured. Petunia could see how tense his shoulders were and could feel the anxiety pouring off of him in waves. She reached a timid hand out and placed it on his knee gently. When he did not retreat, or push her hand away, she spoke. 

“Are you afraid to see him?” Remus looked away, but not before she saw the tears gathering in his eyes. 

“He has no idea who I am, Petunia. I… I went from being Uncle Moony to being a stranger in just one night. How is it fair? How can I sit and have breakfast with him when Lily and James are buried half a country away?” His voice broke and he took a moment to compose himself. 

“I should know everything about Harry, but now I don’t even know him.” Petunia’s hand tightened fractionally against his knee as she listened. 

“I understand, Remus… Not all of it, but I understand the ache that comes with knowing he shouldn’t be here. That he should be with them. Sometimes I feel like I’ve stolen him…” Petunia looked away. 

“But I know it’s not true. They died, yet life goes on. And all we can do is try to keep pace with it. But Remus, you can still know him. It’s not too late. When Mary realized who we were it terrified her, but now they have a sound relationship. She is his Aunt Mary, even though we lost her for a while. And you still are his Uncle Moony. Just because you lost a few years doesn’t mean you have to lose him entirely.” Remus turned to stare at her, his eyes wide in shock. 

“Mary knows him? She– she remembers?” He asked timidly. Petunia frowned. 

“Yes. She came over for lunch, oh, when was it… Eighty-three, I believe. We met at work. Between Harry and Arabella, fragmented memories started coming back to her. She spoke with Dumbledore and received her memories back,” Petunia answered. 

“She remembers,” he repeated, as if trying to assure himself he had heard Petunia correctly. 

“Yes,” she affirmed. “She remembers, she knows, and she has a relationship with the boys. Remus, that can be yours as well,” she pressed. He sat there for a moment, processing. Petunia watched sadly as his face dissolved into fear. 

“No. No, I am a risk to them. I am dangerous,” he insisted. Petunia scoffed.

“Hardly. Remus, Lily had you around her newborn. I think you’ll be fine with two seven year old's,” she said. “Besides, there are precautions we can take. Before the full moon you can leave for a place where you can’t hurt anyone and when you are ready, a hot shower, clean clothes, and a warm meal will be waiting for you here,” she replied. 

Remus watched her, tears falling unchecked from his wet eyes. He pulled her tightly against him and as he settled his face into the crook of her neck, Petunia felt an odd warmth spread from her chest and into her limbs. Cautiously, as not to startle him, she raised her hand to wrap them around his shoulders for the second time in her life. 

Some part of her urged Petunia to shift her hand upward, stroking her fingers softly through the soft hair at the base of his neck. It was still damp, but warm as her fingers slid through it. The tiniest shiver ran through his body. “Thank you.” 

It was barely a whisper in her ear. Petunia closed her eyes, smiling against his shoulder. Time would pass and, with it, the hesitancy and fear he harbored. 

“Now come, let’s get your bed set up. I do apologize, we don’t have another bed, so the couch it is.” Remus shrugged, standing from the couch. 

“That’s alright, Petunia. It’s much more comfortable than the forest floor,” he joked lightly. Petunia offered a polite laugh, but felt her stomach drop as she thought of the kind man before her curled up amongst the leaves, trying to hide from the bitter cold. 

“No more of that,” she said sternly. “You will always have a place to lay your head here.” Remus’ mouth tightened, so that it was barely a thin line. She raised her eyebrow, daring him to argue with her, but all she received was a ducked head and a mumbled apology. 

“Goodnight, Remus.” 

Chapter Text

Who do you have left
When it all goes bad?
Who is by your side
When the fire subsides
And it rains in your head?

Did you leave your mark?
Can they catch your spark? 
Did you trade your torch
For a silver fork
And a life in the dark?

(City on a Hill - Mon Rovia )

December 10th, 1987. The Evans home. 

Petunia woke her boys around nine, earning displeasured grumbles about early hours on days off. She continued to urge them through the process of a shower and getting dressed, before she sat them down on Dudley’s bed. 

“I want to warn you before you head down the stairs for breakfast that there is a man sleeping on the couch.” Harry and Dudley looked between themselves in confusion. “Harry, he was one of your parents best friends. Like Aunt Mary.” Harry’s eyes widened and she could see the confused shock he tried to hide. 

She rarely spoke of his parents, only mentioning his mother on the uncommon occasion that it didn’t hurt too much. Petunia tried to smooth his hair down, revealing just how nervous she was. 

“How did he find us?” Harry asked. Petunia smiled weakly. 

“I met him in town a few months back. It was a mere chance, he was passing through and quite literally ran into me while I was shopping. I offered him dinner to make up for knocking him to the ground, but when he realized who I was he… It scared him.”
“Why?” Petunia took his hand gently. 

“You know how Aunt Mary struggled at first when she started coming around?” Harry nodded. “It’s much the same for him, only… Worse. There are other things that complicate it, and he was terrified. So he left before you two came home that evening. I didn’t know if he would come back, so I didn’t tell anyone.” She answered. 

“But last night he did come back. He is asleep on the couch now. I am going to start breakfast, if you two will set the table for four. And when he wakes, you can meet your Uncle Moony. Is that alright?” Petunia asked. Harry thought for a moment, before nodding. 

“But why is he called Uncle Moony?” Harry inquired. Petunia let out a small laugh. 

“I’ll let him tell you that, alright?” It seemed to placate Harry, and the three of them tiptoed down the stairs and past the living room, shutting the door to the kitchen behind them. As she cooked the bacon, the boys set the table quietly. 

“Mum, will he be my Uncle Moony, too? Like Aunt Mary?” Dudley asked. Petunia looked over at Dudley, forcing a smile as her heart wilted. 

“I hope so, Diddykins… We will just have to see. He’s had a much harder life than Aunt Mary, so we will have to go slow with him, alright?” 

“Okay, Mum.” He set the silverware out, his head down. The door creaked open and Petunia turned, catching sight of a barely awake Remus in its frame. He was rubbing his eyes, his hair tangled and shirt askew on his frame. She could see the beginnings of the long scars that stretched his torso peeking above the collar. 

“Morning, Remus,” Petunia called, setting a plate piled with eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast on the table. 

“Morning,” He yawned, finally looking over to her. His face fell as he caught sight of Harry, the soft green of his eyes hardening as tears welled in them. He kneeled down, so that they were eye to eye. 

“Hello, Harry. My name is Remus.” Harry watched him for a moment, before turning to Petunia. She smiled warmly back at him, giving a slight nod. He turned back, gave him one last appraising look, and flung himself at Remus. 

Remus froze, shocked, as Harry hugged him tightly, but caught his composure and slid his arms around his nephew slowly. She could see that he was crying now, as his hand tangled into Harry’s wild mop of curls and pushed him tighter into his chest. 

Petunia wiped a tear away and filled the rest of the plates, calling Dudley to help her bring the glasses of juice to the table. Remus let Harry loose from his grip before he turned to Dudley. 

“And what is your name, young man?” He asked. Dudley watched him, shocked. 

“Uh– Dudley,” he answered. Remus smiled. 

“And you have grown up as a brother to Harry, correct?” Dudley nodded. “Are you comfortable with a hug? Or would you prefer a handshake?” Dudley’s face broke out into a blinding grin as he pushed forward, hugging Remus. Remus laughed, patting Dudley’s back gently. 

“Come, now, before the food goes cold,” Petunia scolded lightly. Remus stood, and the three of them joined her at the table. After a portion of the meal had been completed, Remus set down his fork and looked at Harry. 

“What would you like to know?” He asked. 

“How did you meet my parents?” A wistful smile came to Remus’ eyes, a melancholy smile splaying across his lips. 

“We met at Hogwarts,” he replied. “Do you know about Hogwarts?” Harry nodded. 

“Aunt Mary has told Dudley and I about it. I hope we both get put into Gryffindor!” Remus looked at Petunia, hiding his shock. 

“Is Dudley…” He trailed off, unsure. Petunia shook her head. 

“He expressed magic before Harry did,” she answered. Remus smiled once more. 

“Well, I was sorted into Gryffindor but I didn’t know anyone there. I was scared and alone, but your father noticed me. He bothered me until I gave up, and I am glad that I did. He became one of the best friends I have ever known.” 

“Who else was there?” Harry asked. Petunia interjected. 

“Do you remember that picture that Aunt Mary has at the moment?” Harry nodded. “Remus was the tallest one there, and Aunt Mary was in it too.” 

“But what about the others in it? When will we meet them?” Remus’ face fell. 

“You won’t Harry,” he replied. Harry looked at him, confused. 

“Harry, Aunt Mary and Uncle Moony are the only ones left,” Petunia answered. 

“But why?” Remus and Petunia locked eyes across the table. 

“Harry, do you remember how I told you two that bedtime story about that very evil wizard who became powerful?” Harry nodded, unsure. 

“Yes, and the young man and woman who defeated them through their love for each other?”  Dudley replied, watching Petunia. She nodded, her eyes burning. 

“It… It wasn’t a story. Not really. He was real, and… Well, your parents helped to fight him. James, and Lily, and Remus, and Mary were all part of a group called the Order of the Phoenix. But it was dangerous… Very dangerous. Your parents didn’t die in a car crash, dear… They died because the evil wizard tracked them down.” Harry’s eyes had filled with tears as Petunia spoke. 

“They died protecting you, Harry.” Remus’ voice was dry, crackling. 

“B-... But you said they defeated him… In the bedtime stories,” Harry mumbled. Petunia stood, moving to wrap her arms around Harry. 

“They did, Harry, they did… It just took everything they had, except for you. They gave themselves to make sure you never had to face the same. And he did go away that night. I’m sorry I lied to you… It was just too–” She choked on a sob as Harry’s arms wrapped around hers. “You were too young to know, then, baby,” she finished weakly. She freed a hand to wipe her eyes. 

“That’s why you came to live with me. There is a lot more to what happened, and when you are old enough, we will tell you everything. But this is a lot for a seven year old already, but you need to know why Remus had to leave for a while.” Harry nodded bravely, wiping away his tears. 

“Okay…” He sniffled. “But why are you Uncle Moony?” He asked. Remus laughed, a high, sharp bark. 

“Petunia didn’t tell you?” She stood, taking her seat once more and took the glass of apple juice in her trembling hand. She set it down quickly before she spilled it on her new table cloth. 

“No, she said you might.” Remus took a sip of his juice. 

“Because I am a…” Petunia could see the fear in his eyes, but Remus swallowed hard and continued. “A werewolf. I have been alone for a very long time to make sure others were safe from me,” he answered. Harry’s eyes widened, and Dudley squeaked. 

“A werewolf?” Remus nodded. 

“A-are you dangerous?” Dudley asked. 

“Not now, no. But I will go far away before the full moon to make sure you are safe. That is the only time I am dangerous,” he answered. For the rest of breakfast, Remus was peppered with inane questions by the curious boys. 

December 13th, 1987. The Evans home. 

With shaking hands, Petunia dialed the phone mounted on her wall. With each unanswered ring her anxiety grew, until she felt like a taut wire ready to snap. Finally the line was picked up, a friendly voice answering her.

“Paulson residence, David speaking. How may I help you?” Petunia let out a sigh of relief. 

“Hey David, it’s Petunia. Is Mary available?” She heard a muffled shout on the other side of the line, before he spoke again. 

“On her way, love. Is everything alright?” He asked. 

“No– yes… Ugh,” she groaned. “Nothing is wrong but I need her,” Petunia answered, pushing the phone against her forehead frustratedly. Remus poked his head out of the parlor, concern etched in the premature lines that creased his weary face. 

It had taken two days of gentle pressure for Remus to allow Petunia to call her, and Petunia didn’t want his courage to falter before he could face his past. Only through conquering his fears could he begin to truly move forward. 

“Hey, Pet, what is it?” Mary asked, slightly out of breath. 

“Mary, you need to come over now.” There was a small delay on the other end. 

“Give me just a minute, alright?” The line cut out, before a loud pop sounded in the parlor. Shit. Petunia knew she would most likely apparate after the call, but she had hoped it would be to the front door so she could explain the situation before– 

She heard Mary’s scream and the sound of a collision from the parlor. Remus let out a surprised gasp and as Petunia ran into the room she saw Mary had him in a crushing hold, sobbing into his chest. 

“Where have you been?” She cried, the words muffled by her tears and Remus’ chest. He cupped the back of her head gently, whispering apologies against the crown of her head. Petunia leaned against the archway of the parlor, smiling at how his hesitancy and awkward stoicism melted when he was with Mary. 

“I didn’t know you had your memories back until recently,” he answered. “And when I realized that I could be a part of Harry’s life again it was overwhelming. I am so, so sorry, Mary.” She struck her fist against his chest half heartedly. 

“I thought I had lost everyone,” She sobbed. 

“I know. But we are here now, and I don’t plan on leaving, alright? I’ll figure out Wolfsbane potions and be cautious. But I will never leave you guys again, I swear.” Mary’s sobs settled into hiccoughs as Remus guided her gently to the couch. 

“You know, Mary, I was always closer than you knew.” Mary looked up at him. 

“What do you mean, Remus?” A pained smile upturning the corners of his lips lightly. His hand raised against her cheek softly, wiping away the stray tears that still wet them. 

“Every few years I would come and check in on you,” he revealed. “Just to make sure you were okay… The night you told me your decision was one of the worst nights of my life, Mary… I don’t blame you, though. If I could erase those memories… Not all of them, of course. Without them, I wouldn’t be here today. But towards the end? What came after? I understand wholly.”

Petunia ducked her head to hide her tears as Remus composed himself. Mary had begun to sob again, hiding her face behind her hands as her shoulders shook. Remus stroked her back softly, whispering broken apologies. 

“You came to check on me?” She whispered, smoothing her hair back from her face. Remus nodded slowly. 

“Of course, Mary. Not as often as I wanted to… With my transformations I tried to stay as far away from others as I could, but… I couldn’t make myself stay away. Every few years I would stray near the town you were living in, just to make sure. I had to know you were alright, Mary. I had to see for myself life worked out for one of us…” Mary lowered her hand, cupping Remus’ forearm. 

“We all had such grand schemes for how life was supposed to turn out, didn’t we?” Mary asked. Remus tried to smile, but all he managed was a grimace. “James and Lily were right where they wanted to be… Albeit Harry came much sooner than planned,” she snorted lightly. 

“Yes.” Remus finally managed a smile. “The best bit of news in the worst time possible… Sunlight in the midst of a lingering darkness,” Remus answered. “Then there was Alice and Frank,” he laughed. “Those two wanted to make sure the world was a little safer for the kids. What happened to them was… But life is unfair,” he finished. 

“Then Marlene and Dorcas, who were unsure about everything the future held except for–” 

“Each other,” Remus laughed. His face turned downcast. “And finally Sirius and Peter.” It was nearly a growl. Petunia perked up at this; while she had heard bits and pieces between Arabella and Mary, but had never heard the full story. 

“Everything I had known about Sirius changed that night,” she whispered. Remus raised his head, blinking away tears. Petunia could see a slight vein rise in his temple. 

“It did for all of us… No one saw the betrayal coming. We all thought he was– that he would never… But he did. He betrayed everyone that night. He had been sneaking information for Merlin knows how long and he handed them over in the end.” Petunia’s hand rose to her mouth, bile rising in her throat. Sirius, the carefree boy in the photo, had presented her sister to Voldemort. 

“And Peter. Cowardly, weak, loyal Peter… Died doing the only brave thing he would ever manage in his life.” Mary sat back away from Remus. 

“He had always hoped James and Sirius’ boldness would rub off on him. If he had just stayed put he would still be here today.” Remus shook his head. 

“And here we are,” Mary mused. “The last two remaining.” Remus smiled. 

“And you, with a beautiful family.” Mary smiled, the first genuine bit of joy bleeding through since her arrival. 

“I am sure my girls would love to meet their Uncle Moony,” she laughed. 

December 13th, 1987. The Evans home. 

“Are you comfortable?” A quiet hum answered her as Remus lay back on the couch, reading a book. Petunia settled in the opposite armchair, sipping her glass of wine slowly. Remus looked up from his book, picked randomly from the sparse few she had on her shelf. She would need to pick more up for him when she had a chance. 

“Are the boys in bed?” He inquired, his pale green eyes visible just above the top of the book. Petunia took another sip, closing her eyes tightly. 

“Yes. After three stories they finally fell asleep.” She heard Remus laugh softly and joined him, cracking an eye to watch Remus. He had returned his attention to his book and she found herself watching as his eyes tracked along the pages. 

“I am sorry all I have for you to read is romance novels or instruction manuals,” she apologized. 

“Ah, it’s alright. I am rather enjoying–” he turned the book to read the cover, frowning. “How to run Windows 98,” he finished weakly. Petunia snorted. 

“Next time I go out I will pick up better titles for you… What do you even read?” She asked, her eyebrows raising. “Fifteen ways to prepare newts? Omens of the stars?” Remus snorted softly. 

“While newts can be used in potion making we definitely don’t eat them.” He grimaced slightly. “At least not everyone,” he clarified. “And while some can read the future in the stars, I am very poorly acquainted when it comes to the art of Divination. My preferences fall along the lines of Oscar Wilde and Leo Tolstoy,” he shrugged. Petunia gawked at him. 

“But those are muggle authors!” Remus smirked. “Tolstoy wasn’t,” he answered. “Wilde was, however. My mother was a muggleborn, so I learned much from your world as well growing up.” Petunia shook her head. 

“How many famous muggles are actually magic?” She asked, unsure if she really wanted the answer. Remus seemed to pick up on this, however, and offered her a smirk. 

“More than you’d expect, but less than I think you are at the moment,” he laughed. Petunia rolled her eyes. 

“And how is How to Run Windows 98? Are you enjoying it?” She chuckled. 

“Well, seeing as I don’t know how computers work, yes, yes it is. Fascinating how muggles have found workarounds for magic. Truly remarkable some of the things your lot has invented. Computers, aeroplanes, pheletones– what?” He asked, as Petunia’s eyes widened. She found a slight irritation nagging at her. 

“They’re called telephones, Remus. Not Pheletones,” she laughed. It was strange how entirely different their lives had been, when here they sat in the same room now. But she pushed that irritation with his misuse of a common word aside. 

Despite their differences, he was the most interesting man she had ever met. The contrast between him and Vernon nearly made her head spin, and she wondered how she could have ever preferred such a boring life as the one she had lived most of her life. 

Not when this world sat before her. One where her boys would learn magic, and bring home pockets full of frog spawn as Lily once had, or be excited about the fact they could turn her dishes into mice. 

While a portion of her was absolutely terrified and rather nonplussed about the things they would learn, she knew they would be amazing at it. And if they turned out anything like the man across from her, she couldn’t think of anything better. 

“What are you thinking about?” Petunia looked up guiltily, drawn from her thoughts. 

“Just all the weird and wonderful things my boys will do as they get older. Things that terrified me when I was younger, but things that I will still be proud of them for when they accomplish it. I… I am ashamed of the way I treated Lily. But my boys will never know the devastation I caused her. Not personally, I mean. They will never suffer it themselves…” She didn’t bring up the idea of how much she hoped they would be like Remus one day. 

It was a thought that did not bear repeating. Not today.

Chapter Text

Say that again, I didn't quite hear ya
Messed with the wrong bitch in the wrong era
I been at work and I got my badge of honor
Honey, I've changed so much since I last saw ya

Hands off my hair, how fucking dare you
Ding! Ding! Hold my earrings for my debut
'Cause I pack a punch backed into a corner
Come at me, don't tell me I didn't warn ya

(Little Girl Gone - CHINCHILLA)

April 9th, 1989. London, England. 

“No! Harry, Dudley, you come back here and do not run so close to the road, please!” It came out harsher than Petunia had meant, but a thorn of panic had embedded itself in her as she watched her boys run within reach of the busy road. 

Things here were so different than in Huddersfield. They were used to slow cars who kept careful eyes on those around the roadways. Here, in London, drivers were too focused on their destination to pay much mind to those around them. 

A strong set of arms wrapped around the boys, directing them away from the busy road and depositing them safely back by Petunia’s side. 

“Sorry, Mum, it’s just all so interesting. How do people live so close together? They’re basically on top of each other!” She smiled at Dudley’s curiosity. In all honesty, she didn’t know herself how she had once lived like this. With everyone peering over their garden walls and judging every action you made, constantly in competition with one another. 

“For some people it’s just comfortable,” she answered. Dudley shook his head. 

“Not to me,” he shrugged. She smiled, but didn’t reveal that this was very nearly how he had grown up. 

“Where are we going, again?” Harry asked, slipping his hand into Petunia’s. Remus cleared his throat. Petunia turned, her eyes caught by a flashy car passing in the road. 

“We are going to Diagon Alley,” he said. “The largest collection of magical stores in all of England. Now, you had better pay good mind to Petunia’s instructions and stay close, do you hear me? It is always packed, and while you are not in any danger if you behave and mind yourselves, there are things there that can be dangerous if improperly used. Do you understand me?” Harry nodded, his eyes serious. Dudley swallowed hard. 

“Good,” Remus grinned. “It’s not too far away, now.” Petunia’s attention drew back to Remus, her face tinged lightly pink as she realized she hadn't processed a word he just said. 

“How far are we exactly from Di-Dia?” Petunia frowned. “Oh, what did you call it?” Remus smiled almost imperceptibly, a hint of humor coloring his soft eyes. 

“Diagon Alley, Petunia. And not too far, the entrance is just up the next road, I– oh!” Remus’ eye had caught a tucked away bookstore, dozens of titles stacked outside the shop on display. Petunia chuckled quietly. 

“Oh, go on then. We will wait for you at the corner if you don’t catch up before then. Find something for me too.” Remus cocked his head. 

“Romance or fantasy?” He asked. Petunia thought for a moment, before her shoulders rose and fell uncertainly. 

“Surprise me. Find something you think I wouldn’t normally go for, but please, just not an action thriller,” she laughed. Remus grinned, nodding. 

“I’ll take that challenge. I’ll see you in a moment.” Petunia turned, the oddest sensation that she was leaving something of importance with Remus stealing over her. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thought. It did nothing for the weight that had settled in her chest. 

“Now come along, loves,” she called, taking Harry and Dudley’s hands in her own as they proceeded down the busy street. A lovely scent floated over then as they passed a florist, Petunia stopping to appreciate the heady aroma of displayed flowers. 

“Which one is you, Mum?” Dudley asked, his eyes scanning over the flowers intently. Petunia searched the flowers until her eyes fell on a patch of multicolored petunias on the last shelf. 

“These ones, here,” she gestured. 

“They’re beautiful, Aunt Petunia,” Harry whispered. His voice was distant, as if his mind were a thousand miles away at the moment. Petunia turned, her breath catching as she saw him. Harry stood before a beautiful display of lilies, his little fingers tracing the delicate petals softly. 

Their first spring in Huddersfield, Petunia had planted lilies in the garden. Despite her belief that sentimentality only ever led to disillusionment when she was younger, the idea of Lily’s namesake thriving so near to where her son was growing brought a gentle peace to Petunia. 

“They really are,” Petunia answered, kneeling down beside Harry. She stroked her hand along his back, waiting for him to be ready. After a moment he nodded, seemingly more to himself than anyone else, before he turned and took her hand again. 

“Alright, are we all ready to-” Petunia was cut off as a large man barreled into her, knocking Dudley to the ground beside her. Petunia dropped to her knees, looking Dudley over as the boy pulled himself back up.

“Do you mind?” A cold, familiar voice demanded. Petunia froze, unable to draw breath. “Excuse me? Are you deaf as well as blind?” A rough snort sounded, followed by a high, false laugh. Petunia stood abruptly, taking the boys’ hands. 

“Of course, so sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention,” Petunia muttered, turning to step around him. A pudgy, soft hand reached out and wrapped around Petunia’s arm. She flinched, remembering every other time those hands had lain against her skin. 

Somewhere, distantly in Petunia’s mind, she thought about how different Remus’ touch felt. His hands calloused by years of suffering and hard work, the sinew of his hands rippling as he turned the pages of his book or the cold hard earth of their flowerbeds. 

Their. When had she started saying theirs?  

“Petunia?” She refused to raise her head, scared to see what she would see reflected back in Vernon’s eyes. “Look at me, woman!” He snapped. Petunia’s head shot up, years of submission channeling back up inside of her. 

“Vernon,” she whispered. His eyes were small, hard. They very nearly reminded her of a pigs. A faint cough issued beside Vernon. 

“Sorry, Verny, but who is… She?” Petunia turned her head, and sighed in relief as Vernon’s hand pulled away from her arm as if she had burned him. 

“Millicent, this is my ex-wife, Petunia,” he answered shortly. The woman looked so much like Vernon, down to the beady eyes and large jowls. The only thing that held them short of twins was Vernon’s bushy mustache. 

“Oh, the homewrecker. Well, at least she provided the opportunity for me to love my wittle Verny,” she cooed, kissing on Vernon’s cheek. Petunia frowned, gripping the boys’ hands even tighter. It did not go unnoticed by Millicent. “And which of these brats is my boy?” 

“I’m sorry?” Petunia asked, her head spinning like a top. 

“Which one is my stepson? Verny told me you ran off with another man and took his son. Is the other one the bastard you sired with your dog?” Petunia could feel her cheeks reddening. She raised Dudley’s hand slightly, a sick contempt settling over her. 

“Dudley is right here, Vernon,” she answered hesitantly. The woman chattered on. 

“I’ve always wanted a little boy!” she crooned. “And once he’s home with us he will be brought up properly, Verny!” Red tinged the edges of Petunia’s vision. 

“Is it custody you were looking for? I must let you know, he’ll only be around for the holidays come his eleventh birthday. You see, he was accepted to school with Harry… You know,” she whispered suggestively, “The elite school that only takes the best? Looks like he’s more my son than you thought.” Vernon’s eyes bugged out, his face deepening to a marvelous maroon color. The bravery Petunia had felt moments ago shuddered under his glare. 

“You mean to tell me you passed that… Abnormality to my son?” Petunia set her jaw, unflinching as it popped and her teeth ground together. 

“Yes, Vernon. I did. But if we recall, you signed a no fault divorce proceeding and waived parental rights. You have no claim to my son. You were no more than a sperm donor.” It was more crude than Petunia would have preferred, but something about Vernon stood before her and his attempt to look down at her while his new lap dog preened at the idea of taking one of her sons away from her irritated her. 

Vernon stepped closer to Petunia, his large hand grasping her arm once more. Yet, despite the tremor of fear she felt roll up her spine, she held her position. He would not bully her again. His eyes held a resolute anger that Petunia had, thankfully, only seen a few times in their marriage. But the memory of their last meeting crept into the edges of her mind, her resolve slipping. 

A hand settled onto her back. Warmth spread from the familiar brush, unlocking her rigid muscles and clearing her mind. Remus stepped to full height behind Petunia and she swore that, ever so faintly, she could hear a growl emanating from behind her. 

“Hands to ourselves.” It was a low snarl, and once more, Vernon’s hand jerked away from Petunia. “That’s better,” Remus coddled. “We must set a good example on how to treat ladies in front of the boys, mustn't we?” Petunia choked down a laugh, returning her gaze to Vernon. 

Now that Remus was behind her, she felt a strength and assurity she had forgotten about. She was not alone. Not anymore. While Vernon had been everything during their marriage, she now had a community that stretched across an entire village. And within that community, viable threats that would keep Vernon far away from them for the rest of their lives. 

“And is this the dog your bitch heeled for?” Petunia had nearly forgotten that Millicent was with them, but at this comment she turned to the woman. Before she had opened her mouth to speak, however, Remus interjected. 

“Yes, and is this the cow you settled for?” He asked Vernon matter-of-factly. Pink tinged Petunia’s cheeks and she turned away, hiding her face. When she turned back, Vernon’s face had returned to a deep red. 

“Now you listen here-” 

“No.” Vernon turned to look at Petunia, shock lightening his face marginally. 

“What did you say to me?” He snapped. Petunia swallowed, taking comfort in the firm hand still placed on her lower back. 

“I said no, Vernon. We parted ways long ago. This interaction does not change that. Now let us go our separate ways once more.” Vernon stepped to cut her off, his hand raising once more. Petunia snapped her eyes to his, a scorching fire erupting in her chest. She pushed Harry and Dudley back toward Remus before she spoke. 

“Vernon, I want to make one thing very clear to you. I am not who I was eight years ago, do you understand me?” Vernon opened his mouth to speak, but Petunia held up her hand and surged on. “I want you to consider your options very carefully now, Vernon. You have two options. We can either separate here, now, and you can continue your quiet life. Go to work tomorrow at Grunnings as if nothing ever occurred. Or, if you would like to fight this battle; if you choose to not let my family pass or continue to badger me about Dudley’s custody, I guarantee that you will be sorely disappointed in your rewards,” she hissed. Petunia watched his face transfer varying shades of red. 

“I- W-” Vernon stuttered, spit flying from his lips. One long strand caught on his mustache, dangling. Suddenly, Vernon was no longer ten feet tall in her eyes. He was merely a child throwing a tantrum. 

“Now you listen here! It is not a woman’s place to threaten-” She saw his hand raise, his palm outstretched, the strike telegraphed well before he followed through with it. 

Petunia stepped back as she felt Remus pull her aside, his free hand moving to his jacket pocket where she knew his wand was secured. Vernon seemed to notice Remus’ hand as well, as he pulled away from them, his face suddenly a nasty shade of grey. Petunia brushed the stray hair behind her ear, composing herself. 

“I would be very careful what you do with those hands, Verny.” Petunia spoke. “Before you wake up missing the way they looked before… Or missing things you enjoy a whole lot more,” Petunia said, glancing ever so quickly down. Vernon’s mouth snapped shut, the last of the color fading from his face until it was nearly a ghostly white. 

Without another word Vernon took his new wife’s hand and pulled her down the street. Petunia closed her eyes for a moment, the nauseating mix of anger and fear settling back down inside of her. 

When she opened her eyes again, she was surprised to see Remus watching her closely. He turned his head when he noticed her eyes, a faint blush creeping up his throat. But in the split second she had caught him staring, she was taken aback. 

Admiration she could pick up easily enough, muddled with an air of humor as he watched the Dursley’s fleeting backs disappear around a corner. But there had been something else as well. Something she couldn’t place had also taken lodge in those soft green eyes. 

“Mumma, was that him?” Petunia turned to her oldest boy, her heart aching at the distant tone of his voice. Dudley’s eyes were fixed on the corner that the Dursley’s had turned, his shoulders slumped. Petunia kneeled before him, nodding appreciatively as Remus took Harry. 

“He was, once… Dudders, he was…” She sighed, struggling to find the right words to express to her child all the shortcomings his father had while not destroying the image of a father in his mind. But, just as Dudley always had, he surprised her. 

“He placed his hands on you. He tried to hit you,” Dudley stated. “He is a bully, and bullies do not deserve sympathy.” Despite the tears in his eyes, she was shocked by the resolution in his voice. 

“Yes, but Dudley, he is still your father… Technically,” she added. “You-” Dudley cut her off. 

“No, he isn’t.” Petunia frowned. 

“What do you mean, Dudders?” His face lit up slightly. 

“A father spends time with you. He plays catch in the backyard, or helps make dinner. He helps you with your homework even when he is just as confused about something as you are. A father, a true father, is kind, and loving, and always gentle even when he is angry.” His eyes shifted away from Petunia. 

“He teaches you new things, or he stands and learns it with you simply to spend time with you. And he is respectful of women, even when they are not married, simply because he views you as his equal.” Petunia followed Dudley’s gaze, her heart stuttering as her eyes fell to Remus. When she turned her head back, Dudley’s smile had only grown. 

“And despite not really being our father, he stepped into that role without us asking. He simply wanted to be a part of our lives, which he never did. He only wanted us to pad the image of his life.” Petunia watched Dudley, tears forming in her eyes. 

She reached out her hand, gently sweeping his hair back from his forehead. Her throat was too constricted to speak, but her mind was spiraling so wildly at the moment she couldn’t even string together the words she wanted to say. 

Dudley was right. Remus had only known them for just over a year, yet he had entered entirely into their world without a second glance. His concern had only ever been for their safety, not his own comforts. 

And today. Remus had stood behind her, one reassuring hand centered on her back reminding her she did not stand alone, all while letting her settle her own problems. Not taking charge and setting her aside, but intervening when Vernon had grievously misstepped. 

She smiled, taking Dudley’s hand in hers. She walked over to Remus who handed her a book with a smile. She studied the cover, laughing. It was a werewolf novel. She took Remus’ hand in her free one, letting him lead the boys down the street. 

He stops at a dingy pub Petunia barely noticed until he pulled her hand to stop her stride. She followed him in, staring around the dark, smoky room. People of odd dress sat at scrubbed tables, drinking, eating, or chatting. 

Remus led them through the pub and into the back courtyard. He pulled out his wand, tapping a pattern into the bricks. Petunia watched, amazed, as they shifted and split, revealing an entrance to a bustling street beyond. 

Harry and Dudley stood wide eyed as they took in the scene. Petunia and Remus held firmly onto their hands as they stepped into the crowd, Remus leading them to a large building of white marble that gleamed in the sunlight. 

“How do muggles not notice all this?” Dudley asks softly. Remus chuckles. 

“They don’t pay enough attention,” he answers. “As well as a lot of highly complex security charms.” Harry looks at the strange creatures guarding the doors. 

“What are they?” He asks curiously. 

“Goblins,” Remus answers. “The very best in money handling, they’re the only employees over the vaults. Of course beyond that there are several jobs wizard folk take in Gringotts, from Curse-Breaking to guards,” he explains. He leads them up to a teller, digging in his pockets. 

“I need access to Vault 943 and Vault 687,” he says, producing two keys. 

“Two vaults?” Petunia asks. Remus smiles. 

“First one is mine, second is Lily and James’. I wrote to Dumbledore and he sent me the key to it,” he replies. Tears prick at Petunia’s eyes. 

The goblin looks the keys over carefully before nodding. He calls another goblin who introduces himself as Galronk to guide them. Petunia follows, her stomach dropping as she takes in the cart she’s expected to ride. 

Remus takes her hand, helping her on. She doesn’t let go as the cart starts, jolting down the tracks. Remus squeezes her hand encouragingly as the cart takes a sharp turn. The boys shout loudly, enjoying the speed and sharp turns. Petunia snatches Dudley’s collar as he leans out, dragging him back into his seat. 

Finally the cart stops, the four of them clambering off. Remus provides supoort for Petunia’s trembling body. Galronk inserts the key, turning it. The vault door opens, revealing a small amount of coins in a dark corner. Remus collects them, dropping them into a bag, his cheeks tinged pink with shame. 

Petunia moans softly as she is led back to the cart. Remus resumes his postion beside her, stroking her back comfortingly. The ride to the second vault is much faster. Galronk opens the vault and Petunia’s eyes widen in shock. Floor to ceiling, the vault is filled with piles of gold, silver, and bronze coins. Jewelry and gemstones wink and sparkle in the torchlight from outside. 

“That's… That was my parents?” Harry asks shyly, looking around. 

“Yes. Your grandfather, Fleamont, made quite the fortune back in the 20’s with his sleakeasy hair potion,” Remus answers. His eyes grow distant for a moment, lost in the past. He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. 

“Fleamont and Euphemia were truly incredible… They took all James’ wayward friends in without a second thought. They never feared me… My own parents were terrified of what I wss capable of. My mother loved me of course, but my father… It was his hatred of what I would become that sealed my fate. But your grandparents saw Remus, not a werewolf.” He breaks off, his voice thick. 

“They were so incredibly kind. I could never repay Fleamont and Euphemia for giving me the chance to be a child… You have his nose, Harry. Fleamont’s I mean. And Euphemia’s jaw. Your father’s unruly hair and your mother’s beautiful eyes…” He sighs gently. Petunia looks at Harry, noticing other features in him. 

“You have Grandpa Evan’s ears,” she states warmly. “And Grandma Evan’s smile.” Harry beams. Petunia looks at Dudley as well. “And you have his nose, her jaw… They live on in you, all of them.” Dudley hugs her gently. 

Remus enters the vault, picking up three rings and a necklace. He returns. Harry looks at the piles of coins in the vault, recalling how empty Remus’ own had been. He steps inside, grabbing handfuls of different colored coins and stepping out, pouring them into Remus’ coin bag. Remus smiles at the boy. 

“What’s mine is ours,” Harry stated simply. “It’s what family does. Galronk closes the vault as Remus kneels before the boys. 

“These signet rings bear the crest of the Potter family. They have been passed from generation to generation of Potter men for centuries. James wore one all through school, and knowing him, it’s buried with him even now. But today, it’s your turn to receive your own,” Remus says. 

The rings are too big for the boys’ small fingers, so he fastens them to golden chains that he clasps around their necks. The boys study the rings carefully, thanking Remus. He slips his own onto his finger, signifying his promise to care for and guide Harry and Dudley in place of James. 

“And this was James’ wedding present to Lily,” Remus says, clasping a fine gold chain around Petunia’s neck. “It also has been passed down through generations of Potters. He stated the green matched her eyes,” Remus says. He pulled out his wand, transforming the stone’s color to match the shade of Petunia’s blue eyes. 

Petunia sobbed silently, her chest feeling hollow. She wished she had been the sister Lily had deserved, wish she hadn’t wasted the few short years she’d had while Lily was alive. Remus pulls her close, stroking her back softly. 

“They’re always with us,” he murmurs, placing a tender kiss atop the crown of Petunia’s head. “Now, how about we go get some ice cream before we check out the shops?” He says, cutting the heavy atmosphere. The boys scramble back to the cart, Petunia shuddering at the thought of the wild ride ahead as she follows.

Chapter Text

Bring me some hope
By wandering into my mind
Something to hold onto
Morning, or day, or night

You were the light that is blinding me
You’re the anchor that I tie to my brain
‘Cause when it feels like I’m lost at sea
You’re the song that I sing again and again

All the time, all the time
I think of you all the time
All the time, all the time
I think of you all the time

(The Anchor - Bastille)  

April 9th, 1989. Diagon Alley in London, England. 

Petunia follows Remus out of Gringotts, blinking rapidly in the bright sunlight that filtered through the bustling street. One of her boys’ hands in each of her own, she allows Remus to guide them to a little tucked away shop. 

“Florean Fortescue’s?” Petunia asks, reading the sign above the door. Remus grinned, pulling it open and holding it as they entered. 

“Best ice cream in the magical world,” he promises, following them in. The carefree man behind the counter smiled as they entered, his eyes brightening as they settled on Remus. 

“Remus! It’s been far too long,” he says, pulling Remus close and clasping his hand firmly. “It seems like just yesterday your little quartet sat outside on the patio,” he says wistfully, mind drawn into summer's long past. “Of course, life changed, didn’t it?” He says sadly. His eyes turn to the boys, his eyes lighting up once more. 

“And who are these fine young gentlemen?” He smiles brightly. His eyes flick to Harry’s scar before returning to his face. “The spitting image of a young James, this boy!” He laughs. “Except for the eyes, I remember young Lily’s beautiful gaze. You must be little Harry!” He grins, looking at Dudley. 

“Dudley Evans, sir… I’m Harry’s…” He trails off, unsure. 

“Brother, cousin, it’s all fairly blurred,” Remus answers. Florean beams, shaking Dudley’s hand firmly. 

“And you, miss?” He asks. Petunia blushes, smiling at him. 

“Petunia Evans,” she replies timidly. The sadness returns to his eyes, his smile turning down at the corners. 

“Ahh, little Lily Potter’s sister… It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he smiles, taking her hand and brushing a chaste kiss across her knuckles before letting it fall. “She was always one of my favorites. An absolute angel… To me, at least,” he laughs. 

“Now! What shall we have?” He inquires, returning behind the counter. After much debate and second guessing, he dishes up their requested flavors. As Remus tries to pay, Florean shakes his head resolutely. 

“Absolutely not,” he smiles. “This one is on me. Such a wonderful family, and the final connection to two such amazing kids. I could never charge you.” Petunia tries to argue but he brushes it aside. 

“No payments, or I can chase you out of the shop with my broom,” he chuckles. Remus smiles, ushering the boys out onto the patio to finish their ice cream. The air is still slightly chilly, but a warm breeze promises the coming summer. 

Once they’re finished Remus guides them along the street, pointing out his favorite stores from when he had been a student. Petunia waited patiently outside of the Post Office, unsettled and unwilling to enter due to the large amount of owls hooting inside of the small shop. 

She smiled as she watched her boys gaze in wonder around Quality Quidditch Supplies, noting Harry’s particular interest with a warmth in her chest. However, the idea of him wanting to fly around on a broom hundreds of feet in the air iced it over considerably. 

“Oh, don’t worry Petunia. It’s in his blood, I’m sure of it,” Remus chuckles. 

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, his head cocking slightly as he looks at Remus. Remus’ smile tightens slightly, a hint of sadness coloring his eyes. He kneels in front of Harry, placing his hands on the young boy’s shoulders. 

“You’re father was one of the most talented Quidditch players I think I ever had the opportunity to witness. He was a chaser on the Gryffindor team from second year all the way to our final year. I also recall him pestering Minnie every day of first year to let him try out,” Remus chuckles. 

“I have no doubts that in another life, James Potter’s name would be known throughout Europe for a very different reason, if he’d had the chance to go professional like he always dreamed.” Remus brushes Harry’s hair back from his forehead, his watery eyes settling briefly onto his scar. 

“Who’s Minnie?” Harry asks softly. Remus lets out a sharp bark-like laugh. 

“Someone I hope you’ll get to meet when you attend Hogwarts. She was our transfiguration professor and the head of Gryffindor house. Professor Minerva McGonagall to you, however, but James… He played by his own rules,” Remus smiles. “And paid dearly for it in detention. But she is as kind as she was stern,” Remus answers. 

“Was there anyone else at Hogwarts you hold in such high regard?” Petunia asks, surprised by the softness of his tone as he spoke about McGonagall. Remus’ smile broke into a grin. 

“Oh, yes. Quite so. There was also Madam Pomfrey… Poppy.” His smile reaches his eyes as he recalls memories from summers long past. “She always tended to me before and after my transformations. Where my own mother was… Lacking, Poppy made up for ten fold.” Remus brushes away the wetness from his eyes hurriedly. 

“She sounds wonderful, Remus.” Petunia felt a comfort knowing someone had comforted the small boy who was still too young at the time to grasp the cruel reality of his fate. Remus nods gently.

“She truly is, at that. I had not known unconditional love before her, and not since… Not since 1981,” he finishes weakly. Petunia’s heart broke as she imagined Remus, barely twenty-one, and looking at facing a world that hated his very existence alone in just the course of a few hours. 

His whole world had ended that night. Petunia could not imagine the weight of such a terrifying reality. Tears burned at her eyes and she sniffled quietly, looking away before the tears fell. Remus cleared his throat, standing up as he pulled Harry close. 

“I know that, when the opportunity arises, you will be just as talented as James was. Just… Don’t let it inflate your head as much as it did his, alright?” Remus chuckles. Dudley looks at the broomsticks, less thrilled about the idea of flying as Harry was. 

“Now come, off to Flourish and Blotts. The largest magical bookstore in all of England,” he says, guiding them out of the Quidditch shop. 

“Oh, are we finally picking up fifteen ways to prepare newts?” Petunia teases. Remus shakes his head, laughing. 

“Of course. I have to earn my keep somehow, don’t I? Now I can start helping with dinners.” Petunia pales and Remus laughs louder. “What, no Mooncalf pie? Or Niffler stew? Oh, maybe some Kneazle casserole,” he teases as Petunia laughs. 

“I don’t even know what those are,” she says, shaking her head. 

“Well, then we will pick up a copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. And possibly a few history books and basics so the boys can learn more about the world they will one day inherit,” he says, holding open the door to Flourish and Blotts for them. 

Petunia’s eyes widened as she entered, her neck craning to look far above them. The room extended much higher than the outside of the store predicted, and she assumed magic was the reason. 

Above them, books soared over their heads. People milled about, perusing shelves or chatting quietly. Petunia breaks off from Remus, scanning the shelves for herself. She sees a section for health and remedies. 

“Hey, Remus? Do magical folk have different needs than muggles?” She asks. A few people nearby raise their heads to look at her, but as Remus approaches they turn their heads away quickly. 

“Yes. Where muggles have chicken pox we have dragon pox. Cancer isn’t really an issue for magical kind. Something about genetics? But things we have that can be deadly don’t affect muggles in the slightest. It’s a bit of a give and take,” he answers. Petunia nods, returning to the shelf in front of her and reading the tomes. 

She pulls out a copy of Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions, surprised by how heavy it is. Remus takes it from her, allowing her to continue looking. Eventually she finds Healing with Spores, as well as One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and Goshawk’s Guide to Herbology in the next section. 

“Stocking up?” Remus teases lightly as he returns from taking the considerable stack to the counter. 

“I have no idea how to care for them but that stops today. I want to know everything I can about their world,” she replies, scanning the next section. She hands Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Children’s Anthology of Monsters to Remus, her mind focused on her task. 

“We have to pick up Tales of Beetle the Bard,” Remus says, handing her a thin, leather bound book. 

“What is it?” She asks, flipping through it. 

“Children’s tales. Much like Cinderella or Snow White, just pertaining to magical issues or persuasions.” Petunia nods, wondering if this was the book Lily had once read to Harry so many years ago. 

She collects Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, Notable Magical Names of Our Time, Hogwarts: A History, Magical Theory, and Legislative Guide to the Proper Use of Magic. 

“You’re going to have a library,” Remus laughs, taking the next stack to the front counter. 

“Better to know too much than nothing at all,” she replies absentmindedly. “Where are the boys?” Remus turns his head, scanning the room for them. 

“Reading A Guide of Jinxes,” he replies. Petunia’s head shoots up. 

“Jinxes don’t sound good,” she says. 

“No, but they have no possible way of performing them for another seven years at least. It’s quite difficult spell work and they will not even receive their wands for another two years.” Petunia quells at this, returning her attention to the shelves. 

She pulls out a title, laughing as she reads the back. She hands it to Remus, his own eyes filling with tears as he reads the summary. He tucks Hairy Snout, Human Heart against his chest tightly. 

“Under all that fear is someone very worthy of being known,” Petunia says, not looking up as she continues to scan the titles. She stops in the potion section, recalling Remus' words from last year. Wolfsbane Potion. 

She flips open the Book of Potions by Zygmunt Budge, scanning the index. Listed near the bottom of the alphabetical list lies her target. She hands the book to Remus, as well as a copy of A Humble Guide for Potion Brewing You Cannot Live Without. 

“Why the potions books? These are far out of the boys’ league even well into their education. Hell, I don’t even think I could brew most of these,” he says, scanning the list. Petunia shrugs. 

“I want to learn so that I can help,” she replies. Remus frowns, searching for the right words. 

“I love that you want to help in such a way, Petunia, but… Potion brewing doesn’t exactly work for muggles. In fact, it usually just results in a toxic mess,” he explains gently. 

“Well then we will have to see, won’t we? Magic lies dormant in my genes, does it not? If I am unsuccessful then I will drop the matter,” she assures. Remus forces a smile knowing she only desired to help, but also knowing it was a dead end. 

“Well then, we will have to stop by the Apothecary shop after this then, won’t we?” He says. Despite the knowledge of the end results of her quest, her desire to help was overwhelming. He leads her up to the counter, paying for the books. 

“How are we possibly going to carry all this back?” Petunia asks. Remus chuckles. 

“Magic, of course,” he says, pulling out his wand and shrinking the large stacks of tomes until they fit in his pocket. 

“Wow! When will we learn that?” Dudley asks, his eyes wide with wonder. Remus chuckles, ruffling his hair softly. 

“In time. For now just enjoy being a child with no responsibilities,” Remus answers. Dudley’s face falls. 

“But I already have responsibilities!” He replies, a hint of petulance in his voice. Remus throws his head back, laughing. 

“Oh, dear child, believe me. There will come a day when you will yearn for these days when household chores were your biggest concern.” Dudley frowns. 

‘What’s your biggest concern as an adult?” Silence meets his question as Petunia and Remus share a heavy look. 

“That’s a conversation for when you’re a little older, Dudders,” Petunia replies. 

‘You say that every year but we are older now,” Harry says diplomatically. Petunia chuckles. 

“Yes, but there are some things too heavy for a child to bear, Harry. It is a parent’s responsibility to carry it until the child is ready to handle such a burden. Soon you will know more, okay? But for today, just enjoy your carefree youth,” she says firmly, pulling him against her chest. 

Harry and Dudley nearly reached her shoulders now. She knew that the day was coming when she could no longer hold them like this, in favor of a day in which they would switch positions. Her chest tightens slightly at the thought, knowing her boys were growing up and no amount of wishing would change that. 

“So,” Remus says, breaking the tension. “Shall we head to the Apothecary shop? It’s getting late.” He extends his arm, checking the watch on his wrist. Petunia nods, the three of them following Remus out into the chill evening air. 

Petunia’s nose wrinkles as they enter the Apothecary, several scents assailing her senses at once. Remus steps up to the counter, requesting a basic potioneer kit and cauldron. Petunia walks the aisles with the boys, looking at all the ingredients. 

“Unicorn horn? Oooh, beetle eyes!” Dudley calls. Petunia shakes her head, already imagining all the disgusting things they would be bringing home in their pockets in the years to come. A memory surfaces of Lily returning home one year with a pocket full of frog spawn. 

At the time Petunia had been disgusted, but thinking back on it now, it warms her. The memory was entirely Lily, capturing her carefree and forgetful nature in lieu of enjoying the moment. Remus approaches, shrinking a cauldron, potioneer kit, and a roll of basic ingredients. 

“Shall we return home?” He asks. Petunia nods, letting Remus guide her back up the bustling street. 

July 19th, 1989. The Evans Home outside Huddersfield in Lincolnshire, England. 

Petunia watched the clock nervously. Her hands fidgeted mindlessly with the pages of the book she had been reading. She glanced down at the copy of Magical Theory she had been trying to read. She glanced back at the clock, chewing her lip in worry. 

Last night there was a full moon. Remus usually came back sometime during the day after, exhausted and injured. But it was nearly eleven o’clock and she had seen neither hide nor hair of him. She glanced at the window, noting the consuming darkness outside. 

Finally, she heard a crack outside and the back door opened, a weary and bloody Remus falling through the door. Petunia jumped up, running to help him stand. 

“No, no… I’m fine,” Remus mumbled weakly. Petunia frowned slightly, continuing to shift his weight onto her shoulder. While he had gained several pounds since he had begun living with them, his transformations took a heavy toll and he was still far too light. 

“Nonsense, Remus. Just let me help,” she rebutted. He didn’t have the strength to fight, allowing her to take the bulk of his weight on her shoulder. She half carried him back to the couch, where a heavy sheet had been laid out. 

“Lay down, Remus,” she soothes, helping him to lift his legs up onto the couch. She cuts away the remnants of his torn clothes, leaving him only in his under garments. Modesty and shame had gone out the window long ago in these moments. 

She began cleaning his visible injuries, apologizing as he cried out at the rough scrubbing. Once each wound on the front of his body had been cleaned she pulled out a suture kit. 

“Remus…” She swallows hard, trying to clear the lump in her throat knowing what came next. “I am about to begin sutures.” He moans weakly as she begins to stitch up what couldn’t be covered with a salve. 

“You’re doing so good, Remus,” she whispers, her heart wilting at his whimpers of pain as his wounds were pulled together with the sutures. “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes as Remus gasps. 

“Not… Not your fault,” he moans weakly. Petunia finished the last of the major injuries to his arms, torso, and legs. 

“I need to roll you over,” she warns, helping him to shift so she can address the injuries to his back. These ones were worse, deeper and more irregular. She cleaned them gently, flushing the dirt and debris from his torn skin. 

“Prepare yourself,” she says softly, cupping his pale and clammy cheek in her hand. He nods, his eyes unfocused on the ceiling above them and clouded with pain. He lets out a hiss as she begins stitching these closed as well, applying the salve over the top with each closed laceration. 

“Do you need a moment?” Petunia asks, still focused on carefully threading the needle through his skin. 

“No… Only drag it out– Oh!” A whimper cuts him off as she begins pulling together the edges of a large gash down the side of his ribcage. Tears burn in Petunia’s eyes and she tries to soothe him, her voice breaking. Once it’s closed, she pulls away.  

“I’ll be back in a moment,” she promises quietly, going to the kitchen. She pulls the pot off the stove, pouring the hot water into a basin. She collects a sponge and antibacterial soap, returning to the couch. 

Remus is already half asleep as she soaks the sponge, cleaning the blood and dirt from his body. She hums the old lullaby she’d sang to the boys, carefully navigating around the treated wounds to Remus’ marred flesh. 

“Roll over again,” she directs, helping him to shift. As she works, she lets her mind wander. How strange life was now. Only eight short years ago she had been resentful of this amazing world. While parts of it still scared and amazed her, there was a certain normality in it, the same as her own life had once held. 

She dabs around Remus’ face gently. His eyes are closed and his breathing deep as Petunia finishes sponging away the last of the soap. 

“Sleep, Remus. We will be here when you wake,” she promises. As she stands, she feels like a cord is being wound taut the further away she steps from him. 

She pours out the basin of filthy water in the sink, scrubbing everything with watered down bleach. She pushes a strand of hair out of her eyes and tucks it behind her ear, leaning against the counter as she lets out a deep sigh. 

Shaking her head softly, Petunia returns to the parlor and takes vigil beside Remus. She pulls out the copy of Book of Potions, thumbing through to the dog-eared page. 

Wolfsbane Potion

Difficulty level: Advanced

Add seventeen leaves of the wolfsbane plant to the cauldron.

Put in the juice of two mandrake leaves.

Add three drops of dragon blood.

Control the precise temperature of 82 C for exactly twenty five minutes.

Add one powdered moonstone.

Stir thrice, clockwise.

Put in two drops of the Syrup of Hellebore.

Add three murtlap tentacles.

Maintain a medium temperature of 43 C.

Add the juice of sopophorous beans, one at a time.

Reduce heat to a low temperature, around 26 C.

Gently crush an occamy egg and sprinkle it into the cauldron.

Stir six times counter clockwise.

If brewed correctly, it will emit a thick blue smoke. 

If brewed incorrectly, harmful side effects may occur.

The potion must be administered each night a week prior to the full moon. Missing a single dose will render the entire process obsolete. 

Petunia pinched the bridge of her nose, closing the book. She had a long road ahead of her if she was going to be able to ease his transformations. If you can even brew a potion without killing him, her mind supplies. 

No. She could do this. She had to. Lily’s blood came from the same family Petunia had. It would work. Setting down the Book of Potions, Petunia picks up A Humble Guide to Potion Brewing You Cannot Live Without and opens it to the first page. She would make it work. 

Chapter Text

Beyond the trees, across the sea
I know we’ll meet again
I may be gone, but not for long
Our journey never ends

I know it’s hard, I know you’ve tried
To wipe away the tears you’ve cried
I know it’s rough, I know you’re tired
Wish I was there to hold you tight

But when the wind kisses your face
Know it was me and I’ll always
Guide your way
Darling I’ll wait for you

(Wait for you - Somberbloom)  

October 19th, 1989. The Evans Home near Huddersfield in Lincolnshire, England. 

Petunia pulls out the chair of the kitchen table, sitting down. She has several books open in front of her, scribbling furiously onto a notepad as she tries to memorize all the information. She had been gathering a basis of magical knowledge from the books they’d purchased. 

She had finished all of the books on Herbology and Remus had upturned the soil in the old tubs that were scattered in the back greenhouse. Currently, they were waiting for sprouts of a variety of different magical plants to grow. 

She had finished the book on potion basics last night and felt hopeful about embarking on her potion brewing journey soon. But one book catches her eye, discarded near the end of the table. Notable Magical Names of Our Time. 

Rubbing her forehead tiredly, she pushes aside the heavy tome in front of her and drags the unopened book from the side of the table. She opens the heavy, ornate cover and flips through to the index. She scans the names, frowning at some of the names 

Bathilda Bagshot. Damacles Belby. Albus Dumbledore. Gellert Grindelwald. Alastor Moody. She smiles softly as she recognizes some of the names in the list. She stops as she notices a few other names. Lord Voldemort. Harry Potter. Lily Potter. James Potter. She notates their pages, flicking to Lord Voldemort’s.

Lord Voldemort
(He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who) 

You-Know-Who still casts a dark shadow of terror over the hearts of all
of Great Britain's magical population. Known as The Dark Lord to his followers,
titled Death Eaters, You-Know-Who rose to power in the early 1970’s. 

Very little is known about his life before infamy. What was clear is that he
had been working in the shadows, recruiting the outcasted creatures from our society. To his cause
he had swayed Giants, Werewolves, and Wizards and Witches who were bent towards the dark arts.

In the years between 1970 when he came to power and his unforeseen
downfall in 1981, terror shrouded both magical and muggle Great Britain. Death and
chaos followed in his wake as his ideology tore through the magical community. 

Family turned on family, friend on friend. The horrors even spilled
over into the muggle world, as Death Eaters tortured and killed
hordes of muggles for reasons varying from distaste, hatred, to downright pleasure. 

It is not known what led You-Know-Who to set his sights so firmly on the
Potter family. Lily and James Potter (see pg. 623 and 624)  were members of The Order of the Phoenix,
an organization created by Albus Dumbledore (see pg. 296) to combat the dark forces at play in Great Britain. 

On the eve of the 31st of October, 1981, You-Know-Who’s reign of terror
came to an abrupt end. Using inside information from
traitor Sirius Black (see pg. 174) You-Know-Who located their home that
had once been under the Fidelius Charm with Black as their secret keeper. 

You-Know-Who entered the Potter home, killing both Lily and James
Potter in pursuit of their infant son, Harry (see pg. 622). Casting the killing curse
on a child, his powers failed him and the curse rebound onto You-Know-Who, bringing an end to his reign of terror. 

She closed her eyes for a moment before flicking to page 622. Her eyes burned as tears pooled in them, looking at Harry’s short but harrowing entry. Her perfect little boy who had witnessed so much horror before he could even comprehend it. 

Harry James Potter. 

Harry James Potter was born 31st of July, 1980 to James and Lily Potter.
Not much is known about the boy, who after the events on 31st October, 1981,
mostly disappeared from our world. A few reported sightings have been
echoed throughout the years but none have been confirmed. 

On Halloween night in 1981, Lord Voldemort (see pg. 389) discovered the location
of the Potters due to the betrayal of their once-loyal friend Sirius Black (see pg. 174).
Unaware of the Fidelius Charm’s failure, they were unaware of the danger
looming. Late that evening He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named entered the Potter's house in Godric’s Hollow. 

Despite the attempts of James and Lily to protect their child, insofar as to give their very lives,
You-Know-Who succeeded in confronting young Harry Potter. In a twist of fate that not even
the most acclaimed Seer could predict, You-Know-Who’s attempt to kill a simple child rebound fatally on its caster. 

It is not known why You-Know-Who desired Harry Potter, but the
events of that night have passed from story into legend. With a mystery
wrapped in a riddle, the end of an impenetrable darkness came at the hands of young Harry Potter. 

Petunia turns the page, her breath catching in her throat. A picture of Lily and James waved cheerfully up to her from the page. It seemed that the Lily in the photograph recognized her, waving more hurriedly as a wide grin broke out over her face. Petunia looked away as a sob broke from her chest, her fingertip softly stroking the page. 

James Potter 

James Potter was born 27th March, 1960 near Bradford on Avon, Wiltshire, England.
He was the only child of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter (nee Braithwaite, a descendent of the House of Black).
The last pureblood heir to the Potter line. 

His life would be cut short on 31st October, 1981 with his wife, Lily Potter, at
only twenty-one years of age. On his eleventh birthday, James Potter
would receive his long-awaited letter of acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

James Potter was sorted into Gryffindor house, where he promptly
(according to several sources) made quite
the name for himself amongst the ancient halls as a k
nown troublemaker. He would go on to befriend several others named in this book. 

(See Sirius Black pg. 174, Marlene McKinnon pg. 415, Dorcas Meadowes pg. 417)

In his second year at Hogwarts, James would go on to join the Gryffindor
house team as chaser. With natural talent and his charismatic demeanor,
it came to no one’s surprise that the young man who led them to several
house championships desired to play for the national team. 

Aside from sports, James held an affinity for school as well. Despite rather mediocre grades,
those who knew him promised he had the head, but not the heart, of academic excellence.
Regardless, James Potter would go on to receive the title of Head Boy alongside his counterpart, Lily (nee) Evans.
Sometime between fifth and sixth year (1976-1977) a romance blossomed between Potter and
Evans that would last the rest of their lives. Notably, around this time, a
noticeable improvement in his behavior and marks was measured. 

James Potter would leave Hogwarts in June of 1978, marrying Lily (nee) Evans
in the fall of the same year. Both young Potters would soon join The Order
of the Phoenix under Albus Dumbledore’s (see pg. 296) guide. 

During their time in The Order of the Phoenix, Lily and James Potter
spent the year battling Death Eaters and abating the growing tide of You-Know-Who’s
campaign. On at least three occasions, the Potters defied
You-Know-Who’s personal attempts to sway them towards the dark arts. 

In the fall of 1979, Lily Potter discovered that she was expecting a child.
In the middle of a war, the Potters decided it was best
to sequester themselves away for the time being. Lily gave birth to
Harry James Potter (see pg. 622) on 31st July 1980 while in hiding. 

For a year and a half they lived a relatively peaceful life in hiding from dark forces.
But on 31st October 1981, their journey came to an end.
You-Know-Who would discover their location and enter the home. 

James Potter would give his life in an attempt to provide his
wife and son a chance to escape. His wand would be discovered in the nursery,
whereas James Potter’s short life came to an end in
the parlor where he faced You-Know-Who unarmed. 

And thus, James Potter departed our world with the hope
that his life had ensured the safety of his wife and infant son. 

Petunia wiped a tear from her cheek as she finished James’ entry. She wished she had gotten to know him better. She had only met him on a few short occasions, but he had been kind and exuberant, if also not a tad egotistical. It had driven Petunia and Vernon up the wall back then. She braced herself, finally looking down at Lily’s entry. 

Lily Potter

Lily Potter (Nee Evans) was born 30th of January, 1960 in Cokeworth, Midlands, England.
Her short life would come to an end on 31st October, 1981 when she
was just twenty-one years old. Lily (nee) Evans was born to two
muggle parents, the first magical child in their family for generations. 

On her eleventh birthday, Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall
visited the Evans home to inform the Evans family of her acceptance to Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. On 1st September 1971,
Lily embarked on the Hogwarts Express into her unknown destiny. 

Sorted into Gryffindor house, Lily was described as an embodiment of her designated
house by those who knew her. During her time at Hogwarts, Lily excelled academically
as well as in popularity. Despite her muggleborn status,
her name was well known in Hogwarts during the later years of her education. 

Made Prefect in her fifth year and later earning the title of Head Girl,
Lily was a model student with high marks.
Some time in her later years at Hogwarts, a ‘major inconvenience’
(as described by a former acquaintance) began to fledge into attraction. 

Lily and James Potter began dating in their sixth year, unaware of the short path
ahead for them. Former students described it as a deep, everlasting love the two held
for each other. Lily (nee) Evans finished her final year at Hogwarts in the summer of 1978,
alongside James Potter and a group of friends whose names would later be known to the world. 

(See Sirius Black pg. 174, Marlene McKinnon pg. 415, Dorcas Meadowes pg. 417)

In the fall of 1978, at only eighteen years of age, James Potter and Lily (nee) Evans
were wed, marking the downfall of their expected life.
Both young Potters would soon join The Order of the Phoenix under
Albus Dumbledore’s (see pg. 296) guide. 

During their time in The Order of the Phoenix, Lily and James Potter spent the
year battling Death Eaters and abating the growing tide of You-Know-Who’s campaign.
On at least three occasions, the Potters defied You-Know-Who’s
personal attempts to sway them towards the dark arts. 

In the fall of 1979, Lily Potter discovered that she was expecting a child.
In the middle of a war, the Potters decided it was best to sequester themselves
away for the time being. Lily gave birth to Harry James Potter (see pg. 622) on 31st July 1980 while in hiding. 

For a year and a half they lived a relatively peaceful life in hiding from dark forces.
But on 31st October 1981, their journey came to an end.
You-Know-Who would discover their location and enter the home,
killing James Potter as he tried to buy time for Lily Potter to flee with young Harry. 

While James Potter was discovered in the parlor, Lily Potter was
found leaning against Harry’s crib, her arms outstretched,
as if to protect her infant son with her last breath.
And thus, Lily Potter left the cloak of our world for the unknown. 

 
Petunia shoves the book away, blinded by her tears. She sobs violently, the image of Lily shielding Harry in his crib burned into the back of her eyes. She struggles to draw in breath, her lungs tightening. The scene replayed in her mind on a horrifying loop. 

James, who she had only met on two occasions but could still recall in perfect detail, facing the shadowed figure of a man towering over him. His voice screaming, pleading, for Lily to run, to save Harry. 

She could see him fall to the ground as his soul was ripped from his body. Could hear the thud of his lifeless weight against the carpet, only rivaled by the sound of Lily’s footsteps and sobs as she ran with her child in her arms. 

She could hear a mocking voice as the shadowed figure followed her, taunting. Could see a door slam as Lily tries to buy precious moments. Moments that would not change the outcome. Petunia’s body trembled violently as she could hear splintering wood and Lily’s scream of fear, her attempt to coddle Harry’s own.

She could see Lily lifting her arms to shield her only son, knowing that in just a few moments she and her son would be reunited with James. She could see Lily’s body drop, limp, empty. 

Petunia tried to scream but she had no breath in her lungs. 

Distantly, as though through roaring water, Petunia could hear someone calling to her. Her chest heaved, air finally flooding into her as she wailed loudly. Strong arms wrapped tightly around her body but they felt a thousand miles away. 

Remus pulled Petunia into his chest, pressing his forehead against the crown of her head, calling her name and trying to draw her back. His eyes fell on the open book, his breath catching as two of his best friends waved up at him excitedly. 

Remus bit his lip as his breath hitched again. Tears littered the page, smearing the ink and blurring the words. He reached down, closing the book. Petunia was still sobbing, her body shuddering in Remus’ arms. 

“Ssshhh,” Remus tries to soothe. He readjusts his arms to cradle her body, lifting her from the chair with ease. He carries her up the stairs, her body rocking gently with his steps until he reaches her bedroom. 

Remus carefully settles her on the bed before laying down beside Petunia, pulling her against his chest once more. The light in the room shifts as time passes, his heart clenching with each broken sob that emanates from Petunia. 

Petunia’s hearing begins to return as her cries subside, leaving her empty and numb. Remus strokes her back gently. Finally, silence descends over them like a cresting wave as Petunia lays exhausted in his arms. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Remus asks softly. Petunia swallows. 

“Do you?” She responds. Remus smiles softly, despite her inability to see it. 

“Not particularly… That was the worst night of my life and dragging it back out… But if you need this Petunia, I would gladly bear the weight of my grief,” he promises. Petunia takes a deep, shuddering breath as she tries to steady herself. 

“I just… I never thought about it. Not beyond reading Dumbledore’s letter. I never thought… I never imagined… She must have been terrified. Knowing there was no escape. No exit. Knowing that James was dead and that she and her baby were next… I– I can’t–” Petunia whimpers, pressing her face into Remus’ chest once more. 

“I know, Pet, I know… Believe me, I know… I’ve gone over that night in my head thousands of times. I can’t imagine that level of sorrow and fear. I’ve never loved anyone the way they loved each other… To lose what they had… I honestly don’t know if Lily could have survived that whether she had escaped or not.” He shakes his head, trying to banish the thought. 

“But I know she would have done, and did, everything in her power to protect Harry. And it wasn’t in vain. She did it. She saved him. He’s here, and he’s safe because of her. Despite the consequences she did it for him. And now it’s our duty to preserve that sacrifice,” Remus whispers. 

“I miss her, Remus… I… I miss Lily so much,” Petunia’s voice breaks and her fingernails dig into his shirt, twisting the fabric around her fingers. 

“I know, Petunia. I know,” Remus assures, pulling her tighter against his chest. 

“How do I make this pain go away?” She begs weakly. Remus sniffles. 

“You don’t. You don’t ever let it go, because that pain is what reminds us that it was real. That it wasn’t all in our heads.” Petunia pulls away from him slightly, craning her head to look Remus in the eyes. 

Soft green meets pale blue as he searches her gaze. He reaches his hand up, brushing a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. He doesn’t pull it away immediately, letting it linger against her skin. 

“Let's go see them,” he suggests. Petunia frowns slightly. 

“What?” She asks. Remus chuckles, squeezing her jaw between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Lily and James… We can take the boys to Godric’s Hollow next weekend and leave flowers for them.” Beneath his fingers he feels her jaw clench slightly as tears well in her eyes once more. 

“Okay,” she nods, pressing back against his chest. Remus rests his chin on the crown of her head, his mind a thousand miles away and years ago. 

October 21st, 1989. Godric’s Hollow, West Country, England. 

Petunia pulls her scarf tighter around herself in an attempt to fight the bitter wind assailing them. She readjusts Harry’s hat and Dudley’s jacket, ensuring that they are securely bundled as they begin walking through the small hamlet’s streets. 

Beside her, Remus chats quietly with Mary and David who had decided to join them. Charlotte and Natalie walked alongside the boys, talking animatedly about school. They came to a small church, Remus stopping them at a small gate to the side that opened into an overgrown cemetery. 

Petunia found Mary’s hand as Remus held the gate open, letting everyone pass through. With each step through the cemetery, Petunia felt as if more and more of the world was pressing down on her shoulders. 

Nearby, someone looked at them closely. His eyes lit up in recognition, prodding the person beside him and whispering excitedly. Several others joined the two men, chatting quietly as the two families crossed the graveyard. 

She saw it before Remus pointed it out. It stood high above the other grave markers. Solid white marble, gleaming vibrantly in the snow. Petunia bit her lip, her chest tightening. Mary squeezed her hand softly. 

The group stopped in front of it. Harry kneeled in the cold snow, pulling off his glove and reaching out to trace the words with his small fingers. 

James Potter                         Lily Potter

Born 27 March 1960            Born 30 January 1960

Died 31 October 1981           Died 31 October 1981

  The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. 

“This is them,” Harry whispers quietly, pulling his hand back. Petunia kneels beside him, Remus squatting next to her. Petunia settles her left hand on Harry’s back, her right reaching out to trace the words herself. 

“Yes, Harry. This is them,” she answers softly. Harry turns to look at her, his eyes filled with tears. 

“But why? Why are they here?” He asks quietly. Petunia’s heart trembles at the pain in his voice. 

“Because sometimes life is so very unfair,” she replies, brushing his hair back. She looks at Remus. “Do you think it’s time to tell him what happened that night? He’s bound to find out sooner or later, and we only have a year and a half left until they go to Hogwarts. They’ll learn everything then regardless.” Remus nods. 

“Yes… When you’re ready, come with me.” He places his hand on the top of the grave, his knuckles turning white as he grips the marble tightly for a moment before standing up and whispering something to Mary. 

Harry and Petunia stay there for several more moments, Dudley joining them. One Harry was ready, he nodded, looking back at the grave. 

“Bye Mum… Bye Dad… I’ll be back again, I promise,” Harry says, stepping away. Petunia closed her eyes, trying to banish the building tears. She leaned her forehead against the frigid stone above Lily’s name, her tears finally breaking free as they flowed down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. 

“I’m sorry,” Petunia sobs. “I’m sorry I pushed you away and said the things I did. I was so bitter and jealous and you were the one to suffer for it… I’m so sorry.” Her chest heaved as he cried. 

Two hands settled onto her, one on her shoulder and the other on her back as Remus and Mary took spots beside her. Mary leaned her head on Petunia’s shoulder, Remus wrapping his arm around her waist. They held firmly to her, anchoring Petunia as her grief threatened to sweep her away. 

“But I have him… I have Harry and I promise you he’s alright. I have him and I am never letting go,” Petunia swears. She wipes away her tears, looking at the bare marble. “We should have brought flowers,” she says. 

Wordlessly, both Remus and Mary pull out their wands. With a few simple flicks, two beautiful bouquets and an ornate wreath blossomed from the empty air and settled in front of the headstone. 

“Thank you,” Petunia whispers, fixing them gently until she makes certain they are perfect. The bouquet under Lily’s name was a mix of lilies and petunias. After a few minutes she lets Remus pull her to her feet. Mary, David, Charlotte, and Natalie stay beside the grave as Petunia and the boys follow Remus from the graveyard. 

He leads them to the center of the hamlet, the snow crunching beneath their feet. As they approach the obelisk in the center square it shifts. Petunia’s eyes hurt as it transfers in and out of focus. 

She catches a glimpse of the tall, erect stone before it fades into a monument, revealing two people sitting on a bench. She grips Remus’ hand tightly as she recognizes the woman. Lily and James look down at them, immortalized in strikingly detailed stone. A small, stone baby is cradled in Lily’s arms. 

“It was erected after the downfall of You-Know-Who,” Remus says. He guides them past the monument and down a side street. This time the disillusionment charm is easier for Petunia to see beyond. At the end of the lane, where previously no house stood, now lay a house in ruins. 

A large blast had occurred, destroying a portion of the roof and side. Harry stares at the destruction, his expression unreadable. Petunia stepped up to the stone wall surrounding the cottage, stroking the aged stone gently.

Remus guides the boys’ attention to a sign as Petunia continues to stare at the destruction. Debris littered the garden, wind whistling through the shattered windows and exposed rafters. She jumps as a hand settles on her shoulder. Remus apologizes, leading her to the sign. 

On this spot on the night of 31 October 1981,
Lily and James Potter lost their lives.
Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard
ever to have survived the Killing Curse.
This house, invisible to muggles, has been left
in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters
and as a reminder of the violence that
tore apart their family. 

Petunia looked at Remus, before rereading the sign. She glanced back up at the house, and back down at the sign once more. “Remus, it says invisible to muggles… Why can I see it?” 

“My guess would be because you’ve been exposed to magic for years. You’re used to seeing what your mind usually tries to smooth over,” he answers. Petunia nods, accepting the answer. Remus turns to Harry, kneeling before him. 

“This is where it happened,” he begins, placing his hands over Harry’s shoulders. “You-Know-Who was a fearsome enemy. Ruthless, cunning, and limitless despise… Nothing was beneath him. Your parents and I were in school when he rose to power…” He swallows hard, pressing on. 

“We ignored the rumors at first… I mean, we were children… But war does not discriminate. Towards the end of our time at Hogwarts we understood just how bad it really was. All of us made the decision to join The Order of the Phoenix in the hopes that we would leave a better world for the next generation.” 

“But we were young and foolish. Despite the gravity of the situation it never really occurred to us the consequences… Marlene, Dorcas, Lily, James, Alice, Frank… We lost so many before their lives had even really begun…” Remus sighs, readjusting Harry’s jacket. 

“Your mother and father defied You-Know-Who three times. He tried so hard to win their allegiance but it never worked. Lily and James were loyal to Dumbledore and to a free world. Eventually Dumbledore placed Lily and James into hiding for their protection… Then you were born…” Remus smiles softly. 

“You and Neville were our light at that time. Innocence embodied in the heart of the blackest night, you gave us hope. Reminded us of what we were doing it all for… But we placed our trust in the wrong man. Sirius Black was like a brother to James…” Remus let out a deep breath, his emotions coiling and shifting. 

“Sirius was disowned for becoming a Gryffindor. The first Black not to be placed in Slytherin in generations… He portrayed a despisal for everything his family stood for. Blood purity, value based on wealth, looking down their noses at anyone who couldn’t pay to be viewed as an equal.” 

“In our sixth year Sirius ran away from home. Fleamont and Euphemia took him in as a second son without a single thought. In everything but name he was a Potter. He fought alongside us in The Order. Saved all of our lives on several occasions… I don’t know when his allegiance changed, or if we ever really had it to begin with… He…” Remus trails off, sighing. 

“He had been leaking information about The Order to You-Know-Who for months… Finally he was made secret keeper of the Potters home. He handed that information right over to You-Know-Who… His betrayal is the reason everything ended. The war. You-Know-Who. And Lily and James,” he whispers, stroking Harry’s cheek softly. 

“I don’t know why it had to be this way… I have asked myself that every single day for the last eight years. But I do know your parents loved you so very much, Harry. And they would have done it all again if they knew the outcome because you were their greatest love.” 

Petunia pulls Dudley close, kissing the crown of his head. Snow drifts down around them as they stand in the shadow of the Potters’ cottage, one week shy of the eight year anniversary of its destruction and the end of her sister and brother in law’s lives. The end of the darkest era in recent magical history. 

‘Nevertheless, danger still lies in the shadows. This truly will be the fight of our age, Petunia, and Harry is bound tightly in the tendrils of fate. In the end, death will be inevitable.’ 

Petunia felt as if she bore the weight of the world in this moment, watching as Remus held a crying Harry and soothing him as he processed the betrayal and hatred that had led to his parents’ death. 

‘Sacrifices must be made.’ She just hoped it didn’t cost them everything in the way it had for Lily and James. She looks at the destroyed house one more time, wondering what it had been like full of laughter and joy. 

‘We are at war. We are at a cease for now but it will not last, and I fear that we have a much fiercer fight ahead of us in the coming years. I have seen this before and I know intimately the risk we carry if we let sentimentalities be our guide. Terribly hard decisions lie ahead of us and I only pray we make the right ones when they come.’ 

Looking back at her boys, Petunia didn’t know if she could make any other choice. Lily had followed through to the end, and Petunia finally understood why. 

Chapter Text

This mess was yours
Now this mess is mine
Your mess is mine
Your mess is mine

Bring me to your house and tell me
“Sorry for the mess”, hey I don't mind
You’re talking in your sleep, out of time
Well, you still make sense to me, your mess is mine

(Mess is Mine - Vance Joy)

March 17, 1990. The Evans Home outside Huddersfield in Lincolnshire, England. 

Petunia slammed the ladle down, frustrated. The potion she had been working on belched black smoke, the kitchen becoming foggy. Remus cleared away the mess, leaving an empty cauldron in front of Petunia. She pulled the Book of Potions closer, trying to see where she had fallen off track. 

Wiggenweld Potion

Difficulty: Beginner
Heals injuries, antidote to sleeping potions. 

Add salamander blood until the potion turns red. 

Stir clockwise until the potion turns orange.

Add more salamander blood, until the potion turns yellow. 

Stir counterclockwise until the potion turns green. 

Add more salamander blood, until the potion turns turquoise.

Heat until it turns indigo. 

Add more salamander blood until the potion turns pink. 

Heat until the potion turns red. 

Add five lionfish spines. 

Heat until the potion turns yellow. 

Add five more lionfish spines. 

Add flobberworm mucus, until the potion turns purple. 

Stir counterclockwise until it turns red. 

Add more flobberworm mucus, until it turns orange. 

Stir clockwise until it turns yellow. 

Add honeywater until it turns back to a turquoise color. 

Add a few drops of boom berry juice. 

Stir the potion again clockwise, then allow to simmer for thirty minutes. 

Take the potion away from heat and allow it to cool. 

Once fully cooled it is ready for consumption. 

Petunia shoved the book away. She had forgotten to add the second portion of lionfish spines. Remus watched from the table, concerned. Petunia had placed the cauldron on the stove to heat. 

“Petunia, maybe this isn’t…” He quails at the look she gives him as she refills the cauldron with water, pulling out the salamander blood and letting it drip slowly into the cauldron. She smiles as it blooms bright red, pulling the bottle away and setting it down. 

She retrieves her ladle, stirring the potion clockwise for several minutes. Gradually, the potion lightened until it was a marvelous orange color. Remus watched, his brows furrowed. Petunia dashed in a few more drops of salamander blood until it turned a pale yellow hue. 

She immediately begins the counterclockwise stir, humming as the potion shifts colors again. Satisfied with the mossy green tone, she checks the book again. She drips in more salamander blood, watching the shade intently until it finally turns turquoise. 

She increases the flame of the burner marginally, letting the potion heat. Remus shakes his head, thunderstruck. Finally, a thick, indigo liquid bubbled in the cauldron. Petunia shook in more salamander blood, grinning as it turned pink. 

“We will get it this time, Remus!” She says, letting it simmer until it deepens into a dark red. She wipes sweat from her brow, rubbing her tired eyes. She had been attempting this potion all day with pitiful results. Remus shakes his head. 

“Yes, but how? None of this should be working. You’re a muggle, cooking the bloody potion on the stove! It shouldn’t be responding at all,” he says, his tone colored with wonder. 

“Are you going to question it? Or accept it?” Petunia asks absentmindedly, adding the lionfish spines one at a time. She lets the potion heat once more, gauging the color until it turns yellow. “Not this time,” she says, repeating the process and adding the remaining lionfish spines she had forgotten earlier. 

“I just don’t understand… I mean, seeing through defensive and illusionary spells is one thing. You’ve been exposed to magic for nearly a decade… But this? It’s supposed to be impossible,” he muses. 

“Well, let's not look a gift horse in the mouth, shall we? I still have quite a while to bugger this and make it poisonous,” she chuckles, scooping flobberworm mucus into the liquid in increments until it shifted into a brilliant purple. 

She stirs the potion counterclockwise for several minutes, watching the hue until it shifts into the dark red once more. She scrapes a little more flobberworm mucus in until the color matches the described orange. 

She begins counterclockwise stirring once more, her arms burning from the exertion of stirring repeatedly for several hours with each failed attempt. She grins as it turns a bright yellow. 

She grabs the bottle of honeywater, uncorking it carefully and letting a drop at a time fall into the potion as it darkens more and more. Once it returns to turquoise she pushes the cork back into the bottle and adds a few drops of boom berry juice. 

“What is a boom berry, anyway?” Petunia asks, stirring the potion clockwise. 

“A bitter, disgusting berry. But for all it lacks in flavor it more than makes up for in use,” Remus answers shakily. Petunia turns to look at Remus. His eyes are downcast on the rough grain of the table, but she can see the shining trail of a tear down his cheek. 

“Remus? What’s wrong?” Petunia questions. Remus shook his head, wiping the tears away. 

“Nothing, really. It’s just… It was almost like looking in a mirror of years past. For a moment I almost saw Lily here… You two are remarkably alike, you know?” Petunia set down the ladle, pain rising in her chest as memories swirled in her mind. She cleared her throat, blinking against the tears that pricked her eyes. 

“Was she… Was she good at potions?” Petunia asks quietly, trying to cut the tension in the air. Remus snorted, the heavy blanket over them dissipating. 

“Eventually,” Remus laughs. It’s loud and genuine as he recalls a long buried memory. “Although, I think poor Professor Slughorn lost his eyebrows quite a few times before she got the hang of it.” Petunia laughs, shaking her head. 

“Oh, that poor man!” She says, returning the ladle to the potion and resuming her clockwise movements. 

“Oh, I don’t think he minded all too much. He quite adored Lily. He was probably more excited by her progress than the permanency of his eyebrows.” Petunia shook her head, still laughing. She stirs a few more times before turning the heat down to let it simmer. She set a timer, sitting down at the kitchen table beside Remus. 

“So, what brings you here?” Petunia asks tiredly, resting her chin on her hand. Remus chuckles, brushing the hair from her face. 

“Well, it is the central hub of the house. And with the boys at school today, it seemed the place to be. Catch up on news, chat… Watch you complete an impossible feat,” Remus replies warmly. Petunia smiles, closing her eyes. 

Remus lets her rest until the timer goes off. Petunia turns the propane stove off and moves the cauldron to a cool burner. Remus takes her hand, leading her to the couch and settling her on it gently before taking position beside her. 

Petunia closes her eyes, leaning against Remus. He cracks open a book, reading quietly to her. The soft timbre of his voice and the rumbling of his chest lulls Petunia to sleep. Remus watches her intently, memorizing her face at this moment. 

Her worry lines were gone, her face truly peaceful for the first time since he’s known her. He turns back to his book and continues reading. The light shifts in the room as time passes. The door opens, Harry and Dudley bursting into the hall to hang their coats and backpacks. 

Petunia stirs beside Remus, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She stands up as Arabella comes into the parlor, hugging her tightly and pressing a kiss against the older woman’s cheek in greeting. 

“Arabella,” Remus smiles, pulling her in for a tight hug. Her frail arms wrap around Remus, squeezing him. 

“How was school?” Petunia asks the boys. Dudley grins, running to hug Petunia. Harry is not far behind. 

“We made volcanoes in science!” Dudley’s reply is muffled against her shoulder. Petunia laughs, kissing the top of his head. 

“As long as you don’t make one in the kitchen, that’s wonderful!” She laughs, pulling Harry into a tight hug. Arabella takes a seat in the chair. 

“And what about you two? What have you been up to today?” She asks. Remus’ smile grows. 

“Petunia brewed a wiggenweld potion today,” he replies. Arabella frowns. 

“That’s not possible, though. I can’t even brew potions and I had two magical parents and four siblings,” she responds. 

“Well, let’s go see if it worked,” he shrugs. Arabella stands, following the family into the cramped kitchen. Remus ladles the potion into a cup. 

“It’s the correct shade. A nice, transparent green,” he notes. He sets it on the counter before pulling a paring knife from the block on the counter. Petunia gasps loudly as he draws the sharp blade across his hand, wincing slightly as the flesh slices open. 

“Remus!” She cries. Blood drips from his hand down onto the countertop. Remus smiled apologetically. 

“Sorry, but if it works I’ll be fine,” he offers. 

“And what if it doesn’t? You’re no good at healing magic!” Petunia snaps. 

“Well then it’s a good thing I have you here. You’ve sewn me back together countless times,” Remus responds diplomatically, earning a sigh of frustration from Petunia. He picks up the glass of wiggenweld, knocking it back without hesitation. 

Petunia and Arabella watched with bated breath, Arabella’s eyes narrowed with concern. If it had been brewed by a muggle it would be toxic. And even if it had been somehow imbued with magic, there were still so many variables that could affect its reaction. 

Dudley and Harry, however, watched excitedly. Remus shuddered slightly and horror crept up Petunia’s spine. Arabella let out a gasp as the laceration on the palm of Remus’ hand began to seal, the skin knitting back together. 

After a moment, Remus stretched and flexed his hand experimentally. He grinned, looking where the scar should have formed. Aside from the drying blood on his skin, there was not a sign of the wound ever having existed. 

“Amazing,” Arabella whispered, breaking the heavy silence. 

May 3rd, 1990. The Evans Home near Huddersfield in Lincolnshire, England. 

“No, Remus! I won’t hear another word! You aren’t going back into the woods for your transformations anymore,” Petunia snaps, continuing to clear out the cellar. The full moon was just over a week away and Petunia’s concern for Remus was only growing. 

“It’s not safe!” Remus yells, pulling her gently to look at him. “I will not put any of you at risk!” He warns. Petunia pulls her arm away from him, meeting his hard gaze with her own. She was sure it wasn’t nearly as intimidating, as Remus towered over Petunia. 

“They boys will be at Mary and David’s and Mary will be here with me. I’m tired of waiting up for hours wondering if you’re even alive, Remus! I can’t… I can’t stand the not knowing,” she reveals, her voice breaking. 

Remus deflates, his shoulders falling as he lets out a sigh. He pulls Petunia against his chest, holding her firmly in his arms. They stand there in silence for a few minutes, the only sound in the dark cellar is their breathing and the sound of wind blowing in from the doors leading outside. 

“If anything happened to you guys, I… I couldn’t live with myself,” he admits. Petunia shifts, craning her head to look up at him. 

“Mary will be here to make sure nothing happens,” Petunia replies. “Besides, I’ve continued to advance my potion brewing. One day I will get the Wolfsbane potion down and you will never have to worry about it again,” Petunia promises. 

Remus smiles weakly, letting his arms fall from her. Rather than fighting her this time, he picks up the large wooden boxes she’d been carrying out and cleans the cellar with her. Petunia picks up the broom, clearing cobwebs and sweeping up the dirt and leaf litter from the floor. 

“You’re annoyingly persistent, you know?” Remus asks. Petunia chuckles, shaking her head but not giving him a further response. Once the sweeping is done, she picks up a rag and wipes down every surface and wall, cleaning away the layers of dust. 

“There… One last thing and it will be ready,” Petunia announces, wiping her dirty hands on her apron. Remus looks at her, waiting. She steps outside of the cellar, climbing carefully up the old wooden stairs. She hands Remus a new lightbulb, pointing him toward the single naked light that hung down in the room. 

“Oh, now I see why you keep me around,” he grins, reaching up to change the old burned-out bulb. “Cheap labor.” Petunia snorts softly. 

“But of course? Why pay for what I can get for free?” She turns her attention back to the cellar doors. Inside, a light flares to life before clicking out. Remus returns with the old bulb in his hand. Petunia pulls a heavy sheet of metal from the side of the house, closing the cellar doors and placing the sheet over it. 

“Mary will use magic to make sure it stays until it’s safe to open again. Just as a precaution, of course. And one day, when we get the Wolfsbane potion right, we won’t need it anymore,” she smiles brightly. Remus’ feels a warmth in his chest as he smiles back at Petunia. 

“I don’t deserve such wonderful friends,” he says, wrapping his arm around her once more and laying his chin atop her head. Petunia smacks his shoulder softly. 

“Of course you do, and I will not tolerate another word like that,” she threatens. Remus raises his hands in surrender. 

“Yes Madam,” he replies, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he fights the laugh lodged in his throat. Petunia shakes her head, sighing. 

“What on earth am I to do with you,” she mock-sighs, before chuckling again. 

May 9th, 1990. The Evans Home near Huddersfield in Lincolnshire, England. 

Petunia watched Remus step down into the cellar, her heart pounding in echo with each step. His shoulders were taught with fear and worry. She bolted down the steps, pulling Remus into a quick hug before retreating and helping Mary close the doors to the cellar. 

Petunia settled the heavy steel plate over the doors, stepping back as Mary drew her wand and cast a sealing bonding charm, forcing the metal to seal to the stone walls that supported the wooden doors. 

“Come on, Pet… No use staying here and strengthening our scent. Let’s go inside.” Mary took Petunia’s hand as she guided her to the house. Petunia went to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine before sitting in the chair of the parlor. 

She watched the clock intently, each resounding tick echoing through the silent room like a cannon. Mary sat on the floor, crossing her legs and leaning back against the couch. Suddenly, a loud howl pierced the silence. Petunia flinched. 

“Just ten hours until dawn,” Mary whispers, more to herself than Petunia. Petunia pulled her legs to her chest, leaning back into the wing backed chair as she closed her eyes against the howls and snarling emanating beneath the floorboards. 

Time seemed to move in slow motion. Each tick of the clock took longer to complete, the darkness outside of the window seeming to grow until it threatened to choke out the light of the parlor. 

A crack sounded from beneath them, followed by an ear splitting yelp. A sob bubbled up from Petunia’s chest, wracking her body. Mary moved closer to her chair, leaning her head against Petunia’s leg. 

Petunia picked up Hairy Snout, Human Heart from the table next to them. With trembling hands she opened to the first page, trying to occupy her mind from the continued noises of frustration and torment from downstairs. 

She could barely see the words through her tears, nothing sticking in her mind as each sound seemed to tear right through her. Inch by agonizing inch, the hands on the clock moved as if through molasses. 

“I hate this,” Petunia says, slamming the book shut. Mary sighs in agreement, her own mind drawn back to the full moons between their last month at Hogwarts and the end of the war. It had been a shuffle in the core friend group, each tending to Remus before and after the horrible nights as time allowed each of them. 

“I remember sitting through a night like this with Lily, once,” Mary admits, her voice strained. “She was about ready to go to him in werewolf form because she couldn’t stand the noises from the forest… James, Sirius, and Peter had it together, though… They were the only ones who could make a difference.” Petunia lifts her head, looking at Mary. 

“What do you mean?” She asks. Mary grins. It’s strained but genuine. 

“Those idiots spent four years becoming unregistered animagi,” she chuckled softly. 

“Animagi?” Petunia inquires. Mary nodded. 

“It’s extremely difficult and dangerous to become one. Loads of steps that have to be done perfectly… Keep a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a month, collect dew from a place that’s never seen sunlight or been walked over by human feet. Wait for a thunderstorm. Repeat an incantation every day at dawn and dusk for as long as it takes to get to the thunderstorm. But they did it,” she shrugged. 

“Always wondered how they always managed to sneak about undetected… Although, that probably had more to do with James’ invisibility cloak than being an animal… Don’t think a stag, a dog, and a rat would’ve gone unnoticed strutting about the halls at night,” she laughs. 

“So they could turn into animals?” Petunia says, shocked. 

“Yep. It allowed them to stay with Remus during the full moon. While a werewolf will forget himself while transformed and would kill their best friend, they’re usually indifferent to animals. There were some close calls, of course, but it also occupied Remus' attention. It gave him something to focus on. You know where his injuries come from, don’t you?” Mary asks softly. 

“No. I assumed they came from other animals,” Petunia answers. Mary’s eyes darkened as she leaned her head against the arm of the chair. 

“No. They come from Remus. He does it himself. Some parts of his conscience remain deeply buried. In order to keep himself from returning out of the forest, he attacks himself until he’s too weak and injured to stay up,” Mary replies bitterly. 

Petunia doesn’t respond, horror creeping up her spine. Silence remains between the two of them aside from the occasional sob or sniffle as the sounds of pain and anger echo up through the joists. 

Finally, dawn creeps on the horizon. Petunia lifts her head, rubbing the dark circles under her eyes. Mary shifts beside her, picking at a loose thread on her sweater. 

“When can we go check on him?” Petunia asks. Mary looks at her sadly. 

“Give it another hour to be sure,” she responds. Petunia deflates back into the chair, each tick of the clock resounding in her head. As the sun clears the trees, filling the parlor with the bright rays of light and illuminating everything in the soft light of dawn, Mary finally stands. 

Petunia rises from her chair, running to the kitchen to collect a vial of wiggenweld potion from the cabinet. She meets Mary beside the door, slipping on a pair of shoes and following her to the cellar doors. Mary removes the enchantment, pushing the steel sheet out of the way and pulling the old doors open. 

Long, deep scratch marks score the underside of the old wood. The stairs are destroyed, splintered wood littering the floor. Mary repairs them with a quick flick of her wand, stepping down into the darkness carefully. 

Petunia follows, ready to bolt at Mary’s warning if it’s still unsafe. But they find Remus curled up on the ground, unconscious and nude. Blood was splattered on the walls, floors, and ceiling. As Petunia kneeled beside Remus, Mary began cleaning the evidence from the surfaces around them. 

Petunia pulled her house coat off, laying it over Remus to preserve his dignity as much as she could. Mary took position opposite Petunia, holding his head up and opening his mouth. With trembling hands, Petunia pulled the stopper from the vial of wiggenweld, upturning it and letting it dribble slowly into Remus agape mouth. 

Mary stroked his throat, triggering Remus to swallow the potion. Within moments of the vial emptying, the wounds littered across Remus body began to disappear as the skin knit together seamlessly. 

Mary cleaned the blood from his body as Petunia shifted, sitting on the cold dirt floor and laying Remus' head in her lap. She hummed absentmindedly as she waited for Remus to wake up, her fingers carding through his sweat-dampened hair gently.

Chapter Text

We laugh about nothing
As the summer gets cool
It’s beautiful how this deep
Normality settles down over me

I’m not bored or unhappy,
I’m still so strange and wild
You’re in the wind, I’m in the water
Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter

Watching the chemtrails
Over the country club
Suburbia, the Brentwood Market
What do we do next? Maybe we’ll love it

White picket chemtrails over the country club
My love, my love
Washing my hair, doing the laundry
Late-night TV, I want you only

(Chemtrails over the country club - Lana Del Rey)

August 7th, 1990. The Evans Home near Huddersfield in Lincolnshire, England. 

Petunia re-reads the page from the Book of Potions, ensuring she was reading it correctly before she dared begin the potion. It was more advanced than any she had so far brewed and she didn’t want to risk Harry and Dudley’s health any further. They had both come down with serious summer colds and muggle medication wasn’t working on them. 

She had just replenished her supply of wiggenweld this morning as well, since Remus’ transformation had occurred last night and she was dangerously low. He lay sleeping in her bed upstairs at the moment, exhausted from his ordeal. 

Pepperup Potion

Difficulty: Moderate

Side effect: steam billows from ears. 

Light fire under the cauldron, fill with one cup of water and allow to boil.

Chop, then mash one mandrake root and add until the potion is a light blue. 

Allow to boil for twenty minutes until the water has fully absorbed and evaporated. 

Add another cup of water to the potion. 

Grind one bicorn horn and add to potion until it turns a deep purple.

Heat on high for one minute until the potion turns green. 

Lower heat, cover, and let brew for thirty minutes. 

Uncover and add three sprigs of English Thyme. 

Stir clockwise four times. 

Add five drops of salamander blood.  

Stir counterclockwise twice. 

Add four fire seeds slowly, one at a time. Allow one minute
between each addition to let the fire seed settle. 

Heat on medium for one minute until red in color. 

Strain out solids and bottle. 

Warning: Fire seeds can be highly volatile. You must allow a minute between each addition to avoid
overheating the potion. If overheated, the potion will scorch and render it null, giving off a dark red vapor. 

Petunia sets the book up against the tile wall flush against the counter, pouring a cup of water into the cauldron and setting it onto the stove. She struck a match, lighting the propane and turning up the flame so the cauldron could come to a boil. 

As she waited for the water to come to temperature she pulled another book over, reading the next few pages of War and Peace by the, apparently, wizard Leo Tolstoy. She flips through four pages before the sound of the boiling water catches her attention. 

She quickly chopped the mandrake root before mashing it into a paste which she scraped into the cauldron. It turned a lovely shade of blue. Petunia left it to boil, setting a timer for twenty minutes before she collected a vial of wiggenweld, climbing the stairs. 

She stopped briefly at the boys room, peeking her head into the cracked door. Both were asleep, their breathing stuffy. She left them there to rest before continuing to her own bedroom. Remus lay sprawled across the sheet, the blanket tangled in his legs.

He was clothed only in his under garment. Petunia’s breath caught as she took in the sweeping planes of his torso. The way his thighs curved gently. He snored softly, the sound nearly imperceptible. She watched his chest rise and fall for a moment, reassuring herself that he was still here. 

Petunia swallowed, trying to force the lump out of her throat as she crossed the room, setting the vial down on the table beside the bed so he could reach it when he woke up. She bent down, pressing her lips softly against his forehead before leaving, shutting the door quietly behind her. 

She returned to the kitchen, turning on the wireless radio Mary had gotten for Petunia’s last birthday. She hummed along to the song absent mindedly, jumping when the time went off. She hurried to the potion smoking on the stove. 

She added another cup of water, grinding the bicorn horn thoroughly but quickly. She swept the powder out of her mortar, letting it dissolve into the liquid. The potion deepened into a lovely shade of dark purple. 

She turned the heat up, letting it boil as she counted to sixty. The potion shifted to a vibrant green color and she cut the heat as low as it would go, letting it simmer. She set the timer for thirty minutes before covering the cauldron and moving to the parlor, setting the kitchen timer on the table beside her as she closed her eyes, resting for a moment. 

In her dream, Petunia walked through shadowed halls. She could hear Remus, hear Harry and Dudley. They were calling out, telling her to follow them. Petunia tried to find the source of their voices but they echoed and rebounded from every direction. 

“Remus? Harry! Dudley!” She called, her own voice nearly inaudible despite her attempt to shout. Unease coiled inside her, her muscles tightening and trembling with her constantly rising fear. Something felt off about the way the shadows seemed to move like water around her. 

“Harry! Dudley! Remus!” She cried, but her voice was swallowed by the heavy darkness around her. Panic bolted through Petunia like ice cold water in her veins. She reached a hand out to steady herself on the wall, but it melted like smoke and Petunia fell right through it. 

She gasps as she lands on solid ground, sharp stones digging into the flesh of her palms and knees. She pushes herself upright, wincing as her torn skin screams in protest. A high, pained scream tears through the air and Petunia shudders at the sound of pure agony. 

She knows that voice. She knows that scream, because she had been hearing his cries of pain for years after each full moon. Her own wounds forgotten, Petunia shoves herself upright and begins running, screaming for Remus. 

A loud, cold laughter rings around Petunia from every direction. She turns, looking wildly for its source. Around her, fog curls and shifts, obscuring her view beyond a few yards. Terror takes root in Petunia, the hairs on the back of her neck rising.

She can feel unseen eyes on her, stalking and calculating her every move. She knows, deep in the back of her mind, that she is being hunted. She pushes herself forward on shaking legs, stumbling over the uneven ground. 

Rocks slip and tumble out from under her feet as she runs with no destination in mind. She just knows that she needs to put distance between herself and her pursuer. She can hear branches snapping around her, sending Petunia’s panic into a frenzy. 

She’s panting for air, her chest heaving as her bone deep weariness settled into her. Her lungs scream for a reprieve from this torment. Her throat burns as air tears through it into her starved lungs. 

Petunia stumbles, crashing to the leaf littered earth below her. She whimpers as her aching body collides with the hard packed dirt below, the sharp ache radiating through her tired body. She lay there as she sucked in lungfuls of air, her head pounding with every breath, every beat of her heart. 

A branch nearby cracks, the sound sending fear tingling through every nerve in Petunia's body. She shudders but she doesn’t have the strength to pull herself up again. She registers the soft slithering noise of a cloak dragging across the leaves, nearer, nearer, nearer. 

She pinches her eyes closed in unbridled horror, the childhood belief of if I can’t see it, it can’t see me dragging its way to the forefront of her mind. Her muscles lock up, rigid, as she feels fingers stroke her cheek tenderly, almost lovingly. 

The fingers swipe through the blood from an abrasion, swirling the dark crimson liquid across her pale skin. She flinches, her body shaking with terror and confusion. She hears them lean down, before a high, cruel voice begins to whisper in her ear, taunting. 

“What do you think you are doing? This world is not meant for you, for your kind. You exist as no more than a mere slave, an afterthought to our glory. Why do you believe you have the right to walk so freely through our world as if an equal? To care for magical blood as if your own filthy blood were comparable? It is mud in your veins.” It croons, as if trying to teach a child a lesson. 

“You would not sully our lines. You would not muddle our minds. You shall die thrashing in the dirt like the animal you are, a beast to be slaughtered.” Petunia shudders, her heart pounding so loud in her ears she could barely catch the words whispered into them. 

“And a reminder you shall be to the rest that magic is might,” he promises, his fingers digging more roughly into her skin, nails digging crescent shaped wounds into the back of her neck. She can feel blood trickle down either side, tickling as it trails down her flesh. 

Petunia woke with a start as the timer shrieked loudly. She groaned, rising to her feet and stretching. Her joints popped as her muscles relaxed. She flinched as the memory of her dream resurfaces, her hand reaching to the back of her neck where the fingernails had dug in. 

She pulls her hand back, her fingertips wet with blood. The timer continues to ring loudly, reminding Petunia of her potion. She runs to the kitchen, pulling the lid off of the cauldron and sprinkling three sprigs of English Thyme into the bubbling liquid. 

She picks up the ladle, counting as she slowly stirs clockwise. One. Two. Three. Four. She retrieved the vial of salamander blood, counting out five slow drops into the potion. She stirred again, counterclockwise. Once. Twice. 

She pulled on dragon hide gloves, securing them before she opened the box of fire seeds. She collected four in her gloved hand, pinching one out of her palm and dropping it into the potion. She counted to sixty slowly, ensuring she did not add the next too early and ruin two hours' work. 

She repeated the process with each fire seed, sighing in relief as the potion shifted into a deep orange. She raised the heat to medium, letting it boil at a low pace as the potion darkened into a deep red. Red. 

Petunia’s hand returned to the back of her neck, her fingertips brushing across it. She couldn’t feel an obvious mark, but she swore she could just barely distinguish four, small raised spots that weren’t there before. 

She cut the heat to the potion and  moved it off the burner. She strained the dark liquid, throwing the unneeded solids into the trash before ladeling the potion into several small vials. She clutched two in her hand, holding them against her chest as she made her way up the stairs. 

She knocked gently on the door to the boys’ room. A half asleep voice answered her and Petunia entered, handing a vial to Harry and Dudley each. They drank it quickly, the potion working immediately. 

Harry laughed as steam began to billow from his ears, Dudley’s reaction slightly less enthusiastic. Dudley covered his ears several times, trying to make the clouds of steam disappear, but it only made them cling around his head in a tighter cloud. 

“Go back to sleep now. Nothing better after some good medicine than a good nap,” she says, tucking them back in. 

“But we have slept all day,” Dudley argues. Petunia smiles as she sits beside him on the bed. 

“I know. But the potion can only do so much. Even Remus is still sleeping. Sometimes a little rest is the best remedy, Dudley. Besides, you’re still smoking heavily from your ears. You can’t really go outside like that, can you? It would draw some strange looks if anyone were to pass by,” she replies. Dudley huffs. 

“Who is going to come by? We live near the end of a small lane,” he answers petulantly. Petunia’s lips tighten slightly. 

“Yes, but sometimes bigger city folks get turned around and get lost on our lane. You know that Dudley. It’s too much of a risk, and one we cannot afford.” Her tone holds a finality to it and Dudley knows the topic is no longer open for discussion. 

“Goodnight,” she says, pressing a kiss to his forehead. She does the same for a half asleep Harry before leaving, pulling the door shut tight behind her with a soft snap. 

She heads downstairs, scrubbing the cauldron and ladle as she puts the ingredients away into cupboards. She pulls out thawed chicken from the fridge, carving and seasoning it before setting it into the oven to bake. 

She washes and cuts potatoes, carrots, and celery, tossing them into a pot to fry for a few minutes in oil. She tosses seasoning onto the medley, her stomach growling at the scent wafting through the small kitchen. 

She turns up the radio, humming along tunelessly as she adds onion to the crisping vegetables. Upstairs she can hear slight movement. She pauses, making sure it’s Remus and not the boys. She hears the soft footsteps above her, emanating from her room. 

They pad to the bathroom and Petunia returns her focus towards dinner, mincing garlic and sweeping it off the cutting board and into the pan. The scent of cooking garlic beckons through the room as Petunia pulls the pan from the burner. 

She fills a pot with water, tossing in the bones from her chicken and letting it boil for an hour as she pulls the chicken from the oven. She shreds the tender meat before adding it to the vegetables. 

Once the bones have boiled for some time she strained them from the now-discolored water and threw them in the compost pile as she added chicken stock and a dash of beef broth. She stirs until the broth dissolves fully. 

She scraped the vegetables and meat out of the pan, wiping up the drops of broth that splashed out onto the countertop and stove around the pot. She stirs, letting the broth and solid pieces distribute evenly. 

She pulled seasoning from the cabinet and tossed them into the soup, lowering the temperature as she watched it come to a boil. A hand settles on her shoulder and Petunia nearly jumps out of her skin, a flash memory of her dream coming back. 

Remus apologized, turning Petunia towards him as he looked her over. She was pale and her skin was cold. He could smell blood on her. He turned her slightly again, noticing the crescent shaped wounds to the far back side of her neck. 

Four are in a line on the right side of her neck, a fifth on the opposite side. A deep, feral growl rumbles in his chest as he brushes them with his fingertips. Petunia shudders and Remus steps back.

“Who did this to you?” Remus demands lowly. Petunia shivers at the deep, threatening timbre of his voice. She shakes her head, collecting herself. 

“It’s nothing,” she brushes off. Remus’ eyes narrow and his large hand settles on her shoulder, holding her firmly, yet gently, in place as she tries to retreat. 

“It’s not nothing, Petunia. It looks like someone pinned you down by the back of your neck,” he growls. Petunia flinches as another glimpse of her dream surfaces; the crushing weight and piercing nails. The cold, cruel voice taunting her. 

Remus pulls away as she flinches, his eyes filled with hurt and shame. Petunia pulls him back, wrapping her arms around his waist as she apologizes. Remus hushes her, resting his chin on the crown of her head. 

“It wasn’t anything you did,” Petunia swears. “I just… I don’t even know where it came from. I was brewing potions earlier today and I fell asleep while waiting for my Pepperup Potion to simmer,” she explains. Remus frowns. 

“That doesn’t explain the injury,” he says. Petunia shrugs. 

“Like I said, I don’t know what happened. I had a strange dream while I slept on the couch and when I woke up they were there. I must have done it in my sleep in response to the dream,” she says. Remus grabs her wrist as she tries to pull away again. 

“A strange dream?” He inquires, his gaze searching. Petunia sighs, knowing he wouldn’t let it go now. She laughs as a thought crosses her mind. Remus’ gaze hardens. “What?” He demands, not unkindly. 

“Nothing, just a thought,” she giggles. “You’re like a dog with a bone, you won’t give up,” she chuckles. Remus' hard demeanor dissolves slightly, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he lets out a soft snort. 

“What was your dream about, Petunia?” He repeats. Petunia’s smile drops from her lips as memories dance across her mind. 

“I… I was wandering in dark hallways filled with fog. I could hear you guys calling to me. You and the boys, I mean… But it was coming from every direction. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, I was just staggering blindly through the halls,” she answers. Remus' lips pressed together, waiting. 

“I put my hand against a wall to steady myself and I fell through it. I was disoriented, trying to pull myself up when I heard you scream from deep beyond my sight. I scrambled to my feet when I felt eyes settle on me from somewhere in the fog. I felt like prey being stalked… I… I started running.” She swallows hard, closing her eyes at the rising tide of residual panic. 

“I don’t know how long I ran but I could hear their pursuit. I was exhausted, I couldn’t run anymore. I collapsed to the ground and was too weak to pull myself back up. He… I think it was a man, I don’t know… I couldn’t see him. But I heard him, and his voice struck terror into me. I felt like an animal pinned for slaughter,” she admits, wincing. 

“And?” Remus asks softly. The dream was odd, but so far not one that particularly concerned him. She had been overworking herself for months now. Petunia shudders. 

“And he spoke to me. He dug his nails into my neck, pinning me down… They felt more like claws than human nails.” Remus’ eyes narrowed. 

“What did he say?” He wheedles. Petunia shook her head slowly. 

“He was going on and on about me sullying magical blood. Said that I had mud in my own veins and I needed to remember my place.” Remus pales at this, his fists clenching. 

“What else did he say?” Remus demands. 

“Uh… He said something about my rightful place being beneath them, not beside them. That I existed merely to serve… A slave, I think, were his words. That I needed to be reminded that magic is might. When I woke up I could feel the blood on my neck. I must have done it in my sleep as I dreamt,” she says, looking up. 

Petunia feels her heart drop as she takes in Remus’ appearance. He’s pale, more pale than he was when he had come down to the kitchen. The dark circles under his eyes seemed more pronounced and his shoulders seemed to sag as he processed her dream. 

“Remus? What is it?” She asked, her heart clenching with fear. Remus snaps out of his daze, shaking his head. 

“It’s probably nothing. Coincidence,” he tries to convince himself. “But that was the… Motto, I guess, for the pure blooded mentality that fueled You-Know-Who’s rise to power… Those were his words,” Remus whispers. 

“But–... But how did they come to me in my dream?” Petunia frowns. Remus’ shoulders rise and fall, uncertain. 

“Can you describe his voice?” He requests. Petunia frowns, closing her eyes as she tries to remember it exactly as it had been in her dream. Empty. Cold. Amused. 

“Uh... It was high. He spoke to me as if he were correcting a child… And cold. So bitterly cold. And cruel. When he laughed it sounded hollow. Empty. Like he had never known true emotions,” she recalls. When she opens her eyes, there is no more color in Remus’ face. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he assures, his voice betraying his fear. 

Chapter Text

Brother, I watched the sky burn
And all I learned was smoke
Fills the lungs like a disease
Oh brother, I see you burn like me

The singes on our skin like a brand
Oh brother, I confess
There is little of me left
That could care about dousing the wildfire

And I left you alone
In a house not a home
And I watched the burning grow
As my hair filled with grey

(Brother - Madds Buckley)

November 2nd, 1990. The Evans Home near Huddersfield in Lincolnshire, England. 

Petunia knelt beside Remus, cradling his pale and clammy face in her hands. She shifted his head until it rested in her lap, his eyes fluttering as he tried to stay awake. Petunia soothed him, her heart breaking as she looked into his weary, pain dulled eyes. 

“Hush, Remus,” she said softly, pressing the bottle of wiggenweld to his lips and letting the potion pour slowly into his mouth. He coughed, spluttering as he choked on the potion. Petunia pulled the vial back, shifting Remus’ head to the side so that he could expel the liquid from his airway. 

“I’m so sorry,” Petunia fretted, wiping the mixture of potion and spit from the corner of his mouth with the edge of her dress. Remus tried to protest, but his voice was raw and the words wouldn’t form. 

Petunia poured the potion slower this time, letting Remus partake it slowly. She watched his wounds warily, unease coiling in her stomach and tension radiating off of her. But, just as always, they began to knit together. She let out the breath she had been holding, her muscles untensing as the pain dissipated from his eyes. 

“Better?” She asked. She didn’t move, allowing Remus to rest where he lay. His breathing lightened some and he gave a near silent grunt of acknowledgment. The corners of Petunia’s lips pulled up into a tight but genuine smile as she brushed the unkempt and sweaty hair from his face. 

Upstairs she could hear the boys moving about the house, the joists above their heads creaking as dust filtered down over them. Petunia held Remus there until he was ready, calming herself with the sound of his even breaths. 

He tried to push himself up, groaning at the persistent, dull ache in his body that never seemed to fade. Petunia stood, wrapping an arm under Remus’ shoulder and helping him to stand. He was shaking, his legs ready to buckle at any moment. 

“Take your time. Find your footing, Remus. As long as you need,” she promised, shifting so that more of his weight rested on her shoulders. Remus exhaled heavily, willing his trembling legs to stand firm. Petunia waited patiently, not making a noise as he mustered himself. 

“‘Kay,” he whispered, taking a shuffling step forward. Petunia helped guide him over to the bookshelf in the corner of the cellar, opening a drawer and retrieving the clothes from inside of it. She helped him dress slowly, only interceding when he indicated. 

“Ready for a good meal and a long nap?” Petunia asked. Remus huffed in agreement. The trek out of the cellar was slow and awkward. Remus stumbled on the stairs, nearly sending the both of them toppling back down to the hard stone floor. 

Petunia laughed gently, pulling Remus back up and helping him center his balance before watching him take the next step. As they passed through the back door of the house, the tantalizing aroma of breakfast cooking met them. 

“Did you two use the stove without supervision?” Petunia demanded, both Harry and Dudley freezing as they looked at her guiltily. They shared a glance, a quick, silent conversation passing between them. 

“Yes, but we did so with care, Mum. Besides, you do so much for Uncle Moony and we wanted to help too,” Dudley replied sheepishly. All of Petunia’s sharp concern faded in that moment as Dudley watched the two of them, his eyes wet with unshed tears as he looked at Remus. 

“My, how you two are growing up,” Petunia said quietly, her voice strained. She stepped around the table, sweeping Dudley into a tight hug. “Sometimes I forget that you are ten now and not toddlers anymore… Sometimes it is hard for Mums to accept that their boys are growing up,” she sniffles. 

She pressed a kiss to the crown of Dudley’s head quickly before turning and pulling Harry into a hug as well. She rested her chin across his head, before pulling back and looking into his eyes. Her jaw clenched. They truly were an exact copy of Lily’s. 

“My two wonderful boys,” she smiled, helping them to plate breakfast. She threw a glance towards Remus, worry stabbing through her as she took in his utter fatigue. He was slumped over the table, his skin nearly grey. 

Petunia hurried over, placing the plate in front of him. He smiled gratefully, foregoing the fork and picking up the slightly burnt pancakes with his hands and eating them slowly. Petunia piled more meat onto his plate, even taking the portion from her own. 

“Pet, I’m okay. I don’t need yours too,” he argues. Petunia shoots him a hard glare and he wilts under it, mumbling an apology as he digs into the meat. Petunia clears away her portion of pancakes and eggs, her eyes never leaving Remus. 

Her fingers twisted in the fine chain around her neck, anxiously twirling the pale blue gemstone hanging from it as she observed Remus’ limited strength fading. Finally, she could bare it no longer and helped him to stand, taking nearly his entire weight as she guided them to her room. 

“Here, Remus. Rest,” she soothed, helping him lie down on the bed and banding down to pull the duvet over him. His hand wrapped around her thin wrist, halting her. Petunia looked up at him, concerned. Her stomach dropped as she saw the intense vulnerability in his eyes. 

“Stay… Please,” he whispered, his eyes dropping. He let go of her wrist, apologizing for his outburst. Petunia ignored his apology, slipping into the bed beside him. “No, Pet, I’m sorry. It wasn’t appropriate, I just–”

“Hush,” she cut him off. “You are exhausted and still in pain. How could I ever leave you like that when you desire not to be alone in such a predicament?” She demanded, pulling up the covers over them. 

Remus didn’t argue, curling up close to Petunia. He was freezing, and Petunia just hoped that her warmth would be enough to warm him back up. She would never allow for him to be alone in the cold again. 

December 25th, 1990. The Evans Home near Huddersfield in Lincolnshire, England. 

Petunia cleared away the last of Christmas dinner. She set the plates in the sink, washing them in the somber silence that filled the kitchen. Out in the parlor she could hear the boys laughing as they played with Remus. 

Her hands slowed as she stared out the window, her mind wandering. Next Christmas would be different. She only had nine months left with them, nine months with things being the same as they had always been. 

This summer they would receive their Hogwarts letters and everything would change. They would go to Diagon Alley and collect their school supplies, their wands. Just nine short months and they would be off into the amazing world she had always been apart from. 

Already, she longed for the days long past when they were toddlers, content with being chased through the house in play. She felt a pang of despair knowing she would never hear the patter of little feet once again. She would never hear their high squeals of joy echoing from the old walls of this home. 

She jumped as she felt a hand settle on her shoulder. She turned, finding Remus looking down at her with concern. He reached a hand up, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had streaked down her cheek. Her mind was drawn to last October when he had held her, wiping away her tears. 

“What’s wrong?” He inquired. His hand did not drop from her face as he searched her eyes, concern pooled in his eyes. Petunia smiled weakly, shaking her head. 

“I just… Everything is going to change, isn’t it?” She replied. Remus frowned. 

“What do you mean?” He pulls her hands out of the soapy water, drying them gently with the towel that was laid on the counter. 

“This is our last Christmas before their lives change forever.” Her voice trembled and Petunia closed her eyes, cursing it for betraying how deep her concern ran. Remus didn’t answer immediately, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. 

“In some ways, yes. But they will still be our boys. They will still be here for holidays and they will always know that home is waiting and ready to embrace them each time they return.” Petunia rested her head against Remus’ broad chest, soothed by the constant and steady beat of his heart.

“I know. But the idea that in seven years I will only see them for two and a half months of each and every one of them is… I’ve been with them for nine and ten years. Every day. Every moment. But I can’t follow them now, Remus, and it terrifies me. In the next seven years, I will only have a year and a half of it.” Her fingers tensed slightly, digging into the fabric of his shirt. 

“I know you’re scared. But I will be here every step of the way,” he promises. Petunia pulled back, her brows furrowing. 

“You’ll stay?” She asks, several emotions warring inside of her. She saw hurt flash across Remus’ eyes and guilt reared in her. 

“I mean, if you would have me,” Remus says sheepishly. “I would never presume to overstep.” Petunia’s face fell as her stomach rolled. She hadn’t intended to hurt him. 

“Of course I will have you, stupid. I have told you time after time that this is your home as long as you wish it to be so,” Petunia said firmly. “I just didn’t know… With Harry going to school, I mean…” Understanding dawned in Remus’ gaze. 

“And I have told you time and time again, Petunia, this is my family. Harry, yes, but Dudley as well… And you,” he says, watching her. “I could not give up so easily that which has fought so hard to love me unconditionally. I would not leave you, same as I would not leave them, Pet,” he says, watching her intently. 

Petunia felt her cheeks flush under his gaze. He smiled softly, reaching out to squeeze her hand gently in his. They stood in silence for several minutes, unsure what to say or how to proceed. The world around them seemed to fade into static as they watched one another in that kitchen. 

“Uncle Moony!” Like a rubber band snapping, the moment shattered. Petunia stepped back, embarrassment flooding her as a light blush crept across her cheeks. Remus cleared his throat, his eyes focused on the floor as he nodded. 

“Right, better go check on… Whatever it is they need.” He nearly flees from the kitchen. Petunia turned back to her sink of dishes, resuming her scrubbing as thoughts chased themselves around her head. 

She turns on the radio, loud enough to try and drown the thoughts with mindless noise. 

January 3rd, 1991. The Paulsons Home in Huddersfield, Lincolnshire, England. 

Petunia set her glass of wine on the table, her shoulders shaking with laughter and a light pink blush clinging to her cheeks. Her head seemed to swim a bit and she knew it was best to ease up on the wine. 

Their usual New Year’s plans had been put on hold due to Remus’ transformation falling on the last night of the year. But Mary and Paul had merely shrugged and pulled out a calendar to find another day that would work. 

Petunia knew it bothered Remus to have schedules and celebrations shuffled around for him, but Mary and Petunia had stopped coddling him over it a while back. Him being able to enjoy the holidays or special occasions was more important than the actual specified times in which they were meant to be celebrated. 

She blushed as she realized that Remus was staring directly at her. He smiled gently, cocking his head. Petunia nodded, assuring him that she was alright. She swept a lock of hair behind her ear as she looked away. 

Mary returned, sitting beside Remus and throwing her legs over his lap. Immediately, Remus laid his hands over her legs as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was a stark contrast to the nervous energy he still harbored when he touched Petunia. 

Despite the amount of close contact they had held over the last three years, she could feel the hesitation in his touch when it came to her. It was as if he was holding back, just slightly. She almost envied the ease in which he shared with Mary. 

David sat at the other end of the couch, letting Mary rest her back against him. He planted a soft kiss on the crown of her head and Petunia felt a stab of longing for something she had never known. 

Several years and a large distance lay between Petunia and her disastrous marriage. She had been so sure at the time that it had been perfect, that Vernon had loved her entirely. She could see now that he had simply been content with the image of a perfect life. That he had never, and clearly could never, love her the way she had imagined throughout her teen years. 

It brought back to her mind the stark contrast that had been Lily and James’ relationship. Despite not knowing him very well, she could still recall the easy laughter that they shared. They had the entire weight of a world she could not understand resting on their shoulders, the future uncertain. 

Yet they had loved each other intimately and deeply. Not on the surface. Not through a peaceful, easy life. They had faced hell and high water together without flinching. Ice seemed to form in Petunia’s stomach at the thought. They had deserved nothing less. They had been willing to give everything. 

Whereas Petunia had only sought to clutch what she saw as hers tightly to her chest, afraid that someone would come and take it from her. That was the difference. Lily had been sacrificial in everything she had ever done. Every relationship she had ever held. 

But Petunia, oh no, Petunia clung tight and bristled at the idea of others encroaching. She had been unwilling to truly imagine a life without her boys. While Hogwarts presented and exciting experience with the chance of personal growth and the opportunity to come into their own, Petunia had only seen it as a personal loss. 

And Remus. She had clung tightly to him, throwing it at him every time it came up that he deserved love and a family not in spite of the condition of his lycanthropy, but due to the condition of his humanity. But had that been the only reason? 

No. Petunia had known it for quite some time, but the realization bred shame in her mind. She had been pushing it aside for the last year, but it seemed that it wasn’t going to fade anytime soon. Their conversation in the kitchen on Christmas had sealed it permanently in the forefront of her thoughts. 

She was terrified he was going to leave too and she would be alone again. Not entirely alone, she knew Mary would never walk out of her life. They had become too integral to each other’s lives, too tightly bound into their own respective families. 

Over the years it had all blended into one large extension. But with Remus it was different. Mary had her own family to return to. Her own home. But Petunia’s home would become so much quieter this fall, and she was terrified that with it, silence would follow. 

She had become used to the sound of voices echoing through the halls, the sound of steps creaking the floorboards. At the rate this was going to change overnight, she was afraid she would go insane with the quiet. 

And if Remus did change his mind and choose to move on, she would be trapped in that silence entirely alone. The ice in her stomach seemed to grow colder, spiraling up and through her veins. Her chest felt tight and she couldn’t force air into her lungs, they wouldn’t inflate. 

She hadn’t felt this level of panic in years, not since the day Mary had brought her home eight years before. Part of her was terrified of it, quailing in its overwhelming presence. But another part of her welcomed it. Some piece of her, buried deep inside, knew it was what she deserved for her selfishness. 

Petunia jumped as a hand settled on her cheek, pulling her from her revolving thoughts. Her shoulders heaved as she panted, a light buzzing sound in her ears. Remus stood above her, but she couldn’t focus on his details. 

Her eyes were shifting, focusing and unfocusing in a jarring manner. Remus knelt in front of her, pressing his forehead against Petunia’s. He knew the distant look in her eye intimately. He had seen it reflected in his own nearly his entire life. 

She had been struggling to stay present this last year, drawn into her fractured thoughts and overwhelming fears. It pained Remus deeply to see her so wound up, lost inside something that was once so bright and beautiful. 

Now it was a constant battle for Petunia to simply stay rooted. On the surface, he was concerned. But deep inside himself he was terrified of losing her. Losing the only tie he still held to Lily, as selfish as it was. 

As he watched her pale blue eyes struggle to focus on him, a low whine escaped his throat. Behind him, he could hear Mary and David sharing a whispered conversation, and his wolfish side could feel their eyes on his back, on Petunia. 

“Pet, come back to me… Whatever it is that has entangled you so deep in your mind, tear free from it. Come on, Pet, fight it!” He urged, cupping her head in both of his hands. They were so large that from the base of his palm resting on either side of her jaw, his fingers curled around until the tips nearly met behind her head. 

Petunia blinked a few times, before her eyes finally cleared some and she was able to focus on Remus. A single tear fell from her wet eyes, Remus’ heart dropping at the sight. He brushed the tear away with his thumb, his eyes searching hers. 

“What is it? Where did you go?” He questioned. He hated that she suffered like this. That she was fighting a battle inside her own head with her fears that he couldn’t step in, couldn’t help. All he could do was watch her break apart and then collect the pieces when it was over. 

Petunia offered him a false smile that he saw right through. “It was nothing. I’m fine,” she said, her words dripping with false positivity. Remus’ eyes hardened, but he had no right to demand the truth from her when he himself had lied so many times himself. 

He pulled away, ducking his head in acknowledgement. Behind him, Petunia could see Mary and David sharing a concerned and almost frustrated look. As soon as Mary realized Petunia had seen them, she plastered on an almost too-cheerful smile. 

“So,” Mary says, trying to ease the thick silence that had settled over the room. “How is your potion brewing going?” Petunia smiled softly, a hint of pride rearing inside of her. 

“I am working on a blood replenishing potion at the moment. It’s tricky, but I know it will benefit Remus greatly and help reduce his healing process if I can get it down. Besides, it’s merely a stepping stone towards the wolfsbane potion,” she replies, her tone even and measured. 

“True, but it would also be good to know how to brew for whatever the future holds.” Mary’s eyes, now, are distant. Her thoughts are drawn to nights long ago in places far away from where they are now. “If it’s like last time, they’ll need all the help they can get… And I have a growing fear that what is to come will be far more dire than what was.” 

Petunia’s jaw clenched. Mary was right. Whatever the future held, they would need all the help they could get. A heavy weight settled in Petunia’s chest, but with it, a ray of hope. She had a route into their world with this; a way she could help and not just sit on the sidelines and watch everything unfold. 

Suddenly, Petunia had a purpose beyond nurturing and caring for her boys. She would, whatever was to come, provide that same care and comfort to all she came across when the time came. 

If only she knew the consequences of this choice.

Chapter Text

Poor Jim’s white as a ghost
He’s found the answer that we lost
We’re all weeping now,
Weeping because

There ain’t nothing we can
Do to protect you
(Oh, children)
(Lift up your voice) 

(Oh Children - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds)

April 11th, 1991. Diagon Alley, London, England. 

Petunia sat at the table outside of Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlor. She turned the page of her book, absentmindedly drawing the spoonful of chocolate ice cream to her mouth as she scanned the page. 

Around her, the sound of people bustling about on errands or simply enjoying a stroll through magical London filled the air. Laughter echoed along the cobbled stones, an air of lightness settling over the afternoon. 

Someone sat down beside her, pulling a chair. She glanced up, but did not recognize the man. He was around Petunia’s age, she thought, with slicked back blond hair and cold blue eyes. She continued reading, wondering when Remus would be back from taking the boys to the quidditch shop. 

“Not even going to say hello?” The man asks, a thick cockney accent grating on Petunia’s ears. His voice was greasy and rough, and something unpleasant seemed to crawl up Petunia’s spine. 

“Don’t typically introduce myself to strangers who make themselves comfortable without permission,” Petunia replies, turning the page. She hoped that if he saw her disinterest that he may leave. 

“Quite rude, innit?” He demands, leaning back and placing his boots on the table. His foot knocked Petunia’s book aside, and her ice cream fell into her lap. She sighed frustratedly, picking up the cup and trying to dab the melted ice cream with her napkin. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, love,” he chuckles. “But just use your wand, that’s why you have it. Magic makes everything easier, and it makes us better. Why would you want to clean it the muggle way?” Petunia froze, her hand hovering over the stain. 

“I’m not… I’m not magical. I am a muggle,” she replied quietly, resuming her gentle dabbing at the stain. The man’s demeanor changed, his eyes darkening and his shoulders squaring. A look of disgust crossed his face and panic flashed through Petunia. 

“And what the hell do you think you’re doing here, then?” He demanded. His voice was cold and Petunia could see the veins in the back of his hands as they flexed and clenched. “Your kind don’t belong here. You belong under our boots,” he snarled. 

Petunia tried to push her chair back, but the man grasped the metal arm and held her in place. Petunia’s breath became shallow, panicked, as she saw the unbridled hatred in his eyes. “I– I have two ma-magical kids,” she stuttered. His look of disgust twisted into one of loathing. 

“Mudbloods or half breeds?” He demanded. Petunia’s hands were trembling and she shoved them into her lap. 

“One is a muggle born and the other is a half blood,” she replied, terror coursing through her veins. He sneered, leaning back in his chair once more and lifting his boots into her lap. Petunia held her breath, too scared to move. 

“So it wasn’t enough that you produced one thief, you then had to go and sully magical blood and fill it with your filth?” Petunia closed her eyes, willing someone, anyone, to see and intervene. 

“No… We had magic somewhere in our line, that’s how my son came to possess magic. And as for my other boy, both his parents were magical,” she replied, her voice measured and strained. 

“Lies. The only way for a mudblood to possess magic is to have stolen it. And you, parading about our world as if you belong…” He cocked his head, a leering grin stretching across his lips. “Look at me!” He snapped. Petunia jumped, her eyes opening immediately. 

“I think I ought to teach you’s a lesson, shouldn’t I?” He asks, his voice rippling with unbridled excitement. Petunia felt her stomach drop and she shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes. 

“No, no… That’s not… It’s not necessary,” she begs. He laughs loudly, drawing out his wand. 

“When I stand up, you’s are going to follow me to the edge of Diagon Alley. We are going to have a little fun, you and I. It’s been a while since I have enjoyed playtime with a muggle,” he says gleefully. 

Petunia was shaking as she stood, her shoulders trembling as she held back terrified sobs. A voice sounded behind her, relief flooding her body. She didn’t know the voice, but the words brought her some modicum of comfort. 

“What is the meaning of this?” The man holding the wand darts his gaze to whoever is behind her. Petunia grasps the fabric of her dress, a whimper clawing up from her chest. Immediately a man sweeps around her, placing himself between her and the man who was threatening her. 

A second pair of hands pulls her away and Petunia is clutched against a soft, feminine body. She pushes her face into the woman’s shoulder, sobbing. 

“Merlin… Carrow?” The man asks, shocked. He pulls his own wand quickly, his defensive stance slightly awkward and unsure. The other man laughs, the noise just as devoid of humor as his voice was. She can hear several people stopping to watch, a hushed silence falling over them at her rescuer’s proclamation. Petunia chanced a glance back at them. The man who had trapped her, Carrow, was eyeing the crowd nervously. 

Several shouts began calling out from the crowd, some calling for Aurors and others scared. Carrow turned on the spot, disappearing with a loud crack. Petunia let out the sob she had been holding in, her body shaking. 

The woman holding her shushed her soothingly, wrapping her arms more tightly around Petunia. “What did he say to you? What happened?” The woman asked. Petunia pulled away, wiping the tears from her face. 

She was older than Petunia, but not terribly so. She was short and soft, a crown of frizzy red hair cascading down to her shoulders. Petunia met her eyes, a soft and inviting shade that reminded her of the chocolate Remus always had on hand. 

“I… He found out I was a muggle and he started talking about places. How I had sullied magical blood with my own… He pulled his wand and trapped me as he went on, and just before you came up he told me we were going for a walk… He said it had been too long since he had gotten to play with a muggle,” she whispered, her voice flat. 

The woman paled. The man who had confronted Carrow stepped beside them, his face grim. “Godric’s heart… We knew they were still out there, but here? In plain sight? They are getting bold,” he said, his voice tinged with an ominous edge. 

He appeared to be the same age as the woman, with a lighter shade of bright reddish-orange hair. His eyes, however, were a sparkling shade of blue and a pair of horned glasses were perched atop his nose. 

“Who? Who was that, that Carrow?” Petunia asked. The couple shared a heavy look before the man cleared his throat. 

“His name is Amycus Carrow. He was a death eater in the war but has evaded the Aurors since You-Know-Who’s downfall. He was… He was a…” He broke off with a sigh, searching for the right word. 

“He was a monster. He was one of You-Know-Who’s most loyal and twisted followers. He killed muggles for sport, and I think if he had managed to get you out of here he would have tortured and killed you as well. It’s a good thing Arthur recognized something was off. I’m sorry, dear, I was distracted. And to think if we had been any later… You really dodged a bludger there.” The woman sighed, shaking her head. 

“I’m Molly, by the way. Molly Weasley,” she offered, extending her hand. Petunia took it gratefully, shaking it. “And that is my husband, Arthur.” Petunia nodded to him. 

“Thank you two, so much. I can’t… If you hadn’t… Just… Thank you,” Petunia stumbled through her words. The woman shook her head, smiling. Despite the obvious warmth that shone in them, Petunia could sense a deeply buried undertone of fear. 

“I’m just glad we could help. Especially with someone like Carrow. The Aurors office will have a hell of a time knowing he was walking about Diagon Alley without seeming to have a care in the world,” she shook her head. “Anyway. What is your name, dear?” She asks. She looks down, noticing the stain on Petunia’s dress and clears it away with a flick of her wand. 

“Thank you,” Petunia says, looking down at her now-spotless dress. “And my name is Petunia Evans,” she replied. Molly’s face fell, shock coloring it. 

“Petunia Evans? As in Lily Evans?” She asked. Petunia nodded gently, concerned which way this may lead. The woman schooled her features and Arthur cleared his throat. 

“Well then definitely not a moment too soon,” he said, shaking his head again. “To think about what may have happened… What is the world coming to?” He pulled his glasses off, rubbing the dark circles under his eyes tiredly. 

“Do you have anyone here with you?” Molly asked, unwilling to leave Petunia alone for the moment after such a harrowing encounter. Petunia nodded, looking down the busy cobbled street. 

“Yes, they went into the quidditch shop while I read. I assume they would still be in there,” she replied, collecting her book and purse from the table. Molly and Arthur stepped in alongside her. 

“I would bet my wand that’s where my two youngest are now. They seemed to have slipped off before we came across you. As angry as I am with them for running off, I am not upset that they were nowhere near Amycus Carrow…” Molly shuddered lightly, gripping her bag of purchases closer to herself. 

Petunia quickly found Remus in the packed little shop, his head and shoulders towering over most of the other people bustling about. Petunia weaved through the jostling bodies, hearing the hurried whispers between them. The news of Amycus Carrow’s appearance in Diagon Alley was already spreading like wildfire. 

“Remus!” Petunia called, trying to step around someone. His head shot up, his eyes scanning the room for her. She finally pushed past the last group of people separating them and slid up beside Remus, throwing herself against him. 

Remus caught her, wrapping his arms tightly around her. A low growl emanated from his chest as he smelled her fear, turning them so that his back lay between her and the crowd of people. 

“What happened?” He demanded. Petunia shook her head, looking around. Harry and Dudley were an aisle over, chatting excitedly with two red haired children as they all stood around a display case. The tension in Petunia’s body seemed to relax some. 

Molly and Arthur finally pushed their way through, their own faces a reflection of Petunia’s as they found their children safe. 

“We need to go outside,” Petunia said, slightly louder than she usually would due to the crowd of people in the store. But as they made their way out, the crowds began to thin as people turned on the spot, vanishing into thin air with loud cracks.

“Petunia, what is going on?” Remus demanded. But Petunia couldn’t tell him, despite how badly she wanted to let go of the fear that still clung to her. The words seemed to lodge in her throat, choking her. 

Even now, she could still hear Amycus Carrow’s cold, greasy voice as he commanded her to follow him to her likely death. Harry and Dudley watched them, Harry’s eyes wide with concern as Dudley’s were brimming with fear. 

“Remus!” Remus turned, his eyes lighting up as Arthur stepped out of the quidditch shop, Molly and their two children in tow. All three of them huddled close to him, Molly casting frequent glances over her shoulders. 

“Arthur! What are you doing here?” Remus asked, clasping the older man’s hand. Arthur’s eyes flashed to Petunia and Remus’ eyes darkened once more. “What is it? What happened to her?” He demanded, his voice frosty. 

“Not here. Everyone is clearing out for a reason. Why don’t the lot of you come to the Burrow with us? I can explain it all there, and I think Petunia could really benefit from a strong cup of tea,” Arthur urged. Remus nodded sharply. 

“Alright. You remember where the Burrow is, I assume?” Remus offered a second nod. “Then Molly and I will start apparating with the kids. You stay here with Petunia and keep her safe, do you hear me?” A louder growl rumbled deep in Remus’ chest. 

Arthur took Harry’s hand. With a nod to Remus he turned on the spot, a loud crack resounding. Molly disapparated with their younger daughter just as quickly. Remus took her hand, looking at Petunia. 

“What is about to come, you will most likely hate, given your feelings on floo travel. I’m sorry, but whatever happened we need to leave quickly. Once all of the kids are safely back at the Burrow, I will take your hand in mine and you will side-along apparate with me. It will be unpleasant, but I need you to trust me.” Petunia nodded stiffly. 

Molly and Arthur reappeared, Molly reaching out to take Dudley’s hand. He looked at Petunia, his eyes still wide. She nodded shortly, the jerking movement failing to reassure him. “It’s okay, Dudley. She is safe, and she is going to take us to her house for tea.” She winced as her voice cracked, but it had done the job. 

Dudley took Molly’s hand, the pair turning on the spot and disappearing. Arthur nodded to Remus before following suit with his son. Remus guided Petunia so they were standing side by side, adjusting her hand so that it laid over his. 

“Breath deeply,” he warned, before Petunia gasped. It felt like a string had been pulled taught from deep inside of her, tearing her forward and twisting Petunia around. As her feet his solid ground she dropped, sharp, drawing in short gasping breaths. 

Remus kneeled beside her, petting her back softly and reminding her to breathe. Slowly, Petunia managed to control her breaths. Nausea burned, bile crawling up her throat as her stomach continued flipping in circles. Nearby, she could hear indistinct voices. 

“Molly, she may need a little more in her tea,” Remus called to someone in the distance. When Petunia could stand without the world spinning and the ground shifting, Remus helped her slowly to her feet. 

Petunia shook as she stood, bile clawing its way up her throat. She bent over and Remus caught her, supporting her middle and holding her hair as she retched into the dirt. Everything was twisting, fragmenting. 

When she had finished, Remus swept her up into his arms and carried her inside. From the glimpses she could snatch amongst the blinding light and spinning earth, she caught flashes of a discombobulated house, a shed, an unkempt garden. 

Remus hurried inside, laying Petunia gently on the couch. Grounded, things came into sharper focus. Petunia curled up, her hand clutching to Remus’ like a lifeline. He knelt beside her, stroking her hair softly. 

Arthur and Molly took seats around her, a tray of tea floating across the room and settling onto the small table near the couch. With a flick of Molly’s wand, a bottle filled with amber liquid shot over to them as well. 

“What in Merlin’s name happened?” Remus demanded, looking over at the Weasley’s. Unease radiated off of him in palpable waves. Arthur looked at the stairs, content that all four children were well out of earshot. 

“Molly and I were running errands in Diagon Alley,” Arthur started, his eyes tracking Molly’s movements as she poured a generous amount of Ogden’s Finest into a cup of tea. “I got a bit of the story from Petunia, but I overheard a bit too… It was chilling…” He shook his head, pulling his glasses off and wiping them clean. 

“Petunia was being accosted by a man, that’s all it appeared as when we got to them, but… Remus, it was Amycus Carrow,” Molly revealed. The color drained from Remus face and his hand tightened around Petunia’s until it was nearly painful. 

“What? How?” Remus asked, his own head beginning to spin. Arthur shrugged lightly. 

“I was surprised to see him too. I didn’t recognize him until I had already put myself between him and Petunia. He had discovered she was a muggle and… Well, you can imagine,” he shuddered. 

Petunia pushed herself up, the world right again and the ground solid underneath her. Remus watched her carefully, passing the cup of tea to her. Petunia grimaced at the burning sensation as she took a sip, but it settled into a warm fire in her belly. 

“He was terrifying,” she revealed, her voice barely above a whisper. “He sat down beside me and wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried to ignore him, but it just seemed to anger him further. When he put his boots on the table he knocked my ice cream into my lap. Ridiculed me for cleaning it the muggle way… I didn’t think… It was stupid of me,” Petunia shuddered. 

Remus settled a hand onto her knee, his eyes hard. His wolfish nature was struggling to the surface, snarling at the idea of someone causing Petunia fear. He pushed it down, waiting for her to finish. 

“I told him I was a muggle and he… I have never seen a loathing like that, even with Vernon. But he also held a twisted glee with it as well. He said it had been a long time since he’s had a muggle to play with. He… He pulled his wand on me and told me when he stood I was to follow him away so he could play with me,” she finished, her voice hollow. 

A loud snarl erupted from Remus. Molly jumped and Arthur set his hand on her leg. Remus pushed himself up from his position beside her, pacing. A long, deep rumble continued to emanate from his chest before he pulled his arm back, striking forward and punching a deep hole into the wall beside him. 

Petunia jumped at the display of violence. She had never seen Remus like this. Had never known him capable of any level of violence, aside from the nights of his transformations. He yelled, pulling his fist back and striking the section of wall repeatedly. 

“Remus,” Arthur tried, but a loud growl silenced him. Petunia flinched, but a larger part of her held a growing concern. She pushed herself up from the couch, taking measured steps on her still shaking legs. 

She approached Remus slowly from his side, making sure she was clearly in his vision before she reached out her hand. He tensed, his fist freezing before it struck the wall again. As her warm palm settled onto his arm he seemed to deflate, drawing her close. 

She could feel his nose pressed against the side of her head, could hear him breathing deeply as he took in her scent. Slowly, his muscles relaxed until he stood there shaking. He pulled away, a look of shame crossing his face as he took in the damage to the wall. 

Holes riddled it, and bruises were blossoming across his scraped knuckles. “Sorry about your wall, Molly,” he said shortly, pulling out his wand. “Repairo.” The splintered wood came back together until it looked brand new. 

“It’s fine, Remus. We understand. If Molly had been in that position…” A look of murderous rage crossed Arthur’s eyes. “Besides, there’s nothing you can break here that we can’t put back right in a moment.” Petunia rifled through her purse, pulling out a small vial of wiggenweld and handing it to Remus. 

“Honestly, it is quite a refreshing thing to see that you found yourself a mate, Remus. And with Harry’s guardian no less,” Molly said warmly. Remus choked on the wiggenweld, spluttering. Petunia frowned. 

“Mate?” She asked. Molly and Arthur shared a look, not meeting their eyes. 

“Sorry, we just assumed… The way you defend her, your wolfish reactions… We didn’t mean to overstep,” Arthur assured. Remus shook his head, a dark blush creeping up his throat. 

“No, she’s not my mate. Just friends brought together by chance,” Remus clarified. He sat heavily on the couch, nearly sagging forward. Petunia sat beside him. “Normal wizards and witches come together under a marriage bond built by love and trust. It’s solidified and strengthened by a mixing undercurrent of their magic and sealed by a vow. A wedding type event, I guess. Werewolves are… Different, in some ways,” Remus answered. 

“How so?” Petunia asked. Remus grimaced. “For werewolves there is a more… Primal undertone to it. A marking of a mate, sealed more through… Physical means…” He answered stiffly. “Scenting and marking their mate. It’s rare for werewolves to actually find their mate. But that person becomes the sole focus of the werewolf. Protecting, defending, and providing for them is their whole world.” Petunia frowns. 

“That sounds more like a slave than a mate,” she says. Remus chuckled bitterly. 

“It can, yes. But for a mated werewolf it is described as a need. Their mate becomes more important than air, than food, than survival. But it is a give and take, as well. There is still an exchange of trust and love. It just has an undercurrent of instinct that comes along with it,” he explains. 

“And how rare is it for a werewolf to find their mate?” He looks away at this. 

“I have met dozens of werewolves, and of them I have only known two who have mated. And it was always with other werewolves… To bind yourself willingly to a werewolf is unthinkable in our society,” he answers. Petunia frowned. 

“And what of someone who has no regard for what is expected from or of what is acceptable for wizarding society?” But Remus gave her no response to this. Molly watched Remus for a moment, her eyes unreadable. 

A thick silence followed Remus’ words. Petunia picked at the hem of her dress, goosebumps erupting across her flesh as the sound of Amycus Carrow’s voice rang in her ears again. Petunia had always desired to enter into Lily’s world, but she had never known it would come at such a high cost. 

Shaking the thought from her mind, she plastered on a smile and looked back up at Molly and Arthur. “So how did you two meet Remus?” She asked. An unsettling look of longing flashed through Molly’s eyes, and Petunia knew before she ever spoke. 

“My brothers. I would say that they were the most unserious, impractical lot I have ever had the misfortune to know, if my own twins were not the very reflection of them… Nothing was ever serious for them. Life was simply one long game… But it wasn’t long enough,” she said, her voice tinged with a soul crushing agony. 

“They were a right laugh, though. Even as the world kept growing darker, they fought the growing tide the best way they knew how, for a time. They were able to keep spirits up far longer than they ever should have gone,” Arthur supplicated. Molly grinned. 

“That they did. I swear, I never thought your Uncle Alfie was going to fall in battle. I was certain Fabian and Gideon were going to give the poor man an aneurysm long before the war broke open.” Molly snorted. Arthur grinned. Petunia looked away. 

She had known that there had been carnage. There had been death and suffering on a scale she had never seen in her life. But to hear others speak of the fallen, humanizing them, giving them their faces, personalities, names. 

Lily. James. Marlene. Dorcas. Peter. Fabian. Gideon. Alfie. How many more? Hundreds? Thousands? And then, with the unnamed, ill remembered, half forgotten, lay the unknown. The raids. Those who had held out, even in the face of torture, of death, against the demand of Lord Voldemort to kneel. To submit. They would not submit. They did not break. 

Petunia wondered if she was capable of such strength. Of that impossible courage. She doubted it. “I’m sorry,” Petunia said, her voice small. 

“Don’t. We have all lost people we love. They did not die in vain. They gave their lives for something much greater than all of us,” Molly assuaged. Petunia smiled softly, shifting her gaze towards Remus out of the corner of her eye. 

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing,” Petunia said. Remus eyebrows shot up, a grin breaking across the sour look that had taken root. “Burke?” He asked. Petunia grinned back. 

“Stole it and oblivated the memories of the original penman. Or did you not read the book I got you for Christmas?” She false-pouted. Remus offered her a guilty smile. 

“I mean… I skimmed,” he offered. Petunia shook her head in mock-frustration. “And I looked so hard for a book that told the history of famous authors who were secretly magic,” she groaned. 

“But regardless,” Remus said firmly. “It still stands. Complacency was not, and will never be, an option. Not when the toll is far too high a price to pay.” 

Chapter Text

Honey, you’re familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

Babe
There’s something wretched about this
Something so precious about this
Where to begin?

(From Eden - Hozier)

May 31st, 1991. The Evans Home near Huddersfield, Lincolnshire, England.

Something had changed. Since the events that had taken place in Diagon Alley, and the subsequent and impromptu evening at the Burrow, Remus had been distant. Petunia didn’t know what exactly had been the catalyst for this, but she had a few ideas. 

First had been his reaction to finding out about her meeting with Amycus Carrow. Petunia had never seen a rage like that, let alone from Remus who, up until that moment, always managed to keep a reserved control over his lupine instincts. 

It had terrified Petunia to see him come so undone. But it wasn’t Remus she feared. No. Even from their first meeting in the market square four years before, Petunia had always felt a nearly unnatural peace and sense of security when it came to Remus. 

But to see that carefully maintained hold fall away so easily had been shocking. When they had returned home, Remus had refused to speak on it. Refused to speak at all, locking himself away down in the cellar. She never told him that late that night, after the boys had fallen asleep, she had heard his second outburst. 

In the following months he had kept his eyes averted. Maintained proper distance, even during his weakest moments after the full moon. Especially in those moments. All of him seemed to be on edge. He had become jumpy, irritable. She did not recognize this Remus. 

Second had been his instincts. This tied somewhat to the first, she rationalized. He held the mind of a pack animal. Though his wolf did not maintain one, she realized that in a sense, Remus did. Without her noticing, a pack mentality had formed in their family. 

Remus was the alpha. The protector. He had always stepped in when Petunia was not able to face something herself. But while his wolf instinct screamed for him to defend what it saw as his, Remus always allowed for them to stand up for themselves. 

She had noticed in the last month and a half that Remus refused to breathe around her, even to the point of lightheadedness. If she came too close, stayed too long, his chest stopped rising and falling. It was nearly imperceptible, but she knew him too well. 

And he refused to touch her. Everytime Petunia neared him he was rigid, tense. She knew his lungs must be screaming for air, but Remus himself was searching for an escape. On the rare occasion he was sleeping, he would flinch and pull away when Petunia placed a hand on him. 

Petunia was terrified he was going to run. 

Which led her to three. His reaction when Molly had mentioned a mate. His apprehension as Remus explained to her the dynamics of how his magical bond fought with his lupine bond. She knew of neither the feeling of magic’s course through her veins or the mental warfare that came with lycanthropy. 

But Petunia hated watching Remus fall apart. He had not found his mate, and his lupine mind was constantly reminding him of it. His human side, his wizard side, demanded he stay here. But his lupine side demanded he go and search for his completion. 

But Petunia was selfish and did not want Remus to leave. That same string she felt that tugged when he was around seemed ready to pull her down these days. Petunia was trapped between wanting his best, and wanting him. Here, with her, forever. 

But she was not his mate, and her selfishness was hurting him. 

June 23rd, 1991. The Evans Home near Huddersfield, Lincolnshire, England. 

Petunia had put Remus from her mind. He was still here – still home, her mind unhelpfully supplemented – but he still refused to come near her. If that is what he wanted, fine. Petunia would not let his dour mood affect today. 

It was Dudley’s eleventh birthday. Today marked his first milestone. This fall, he and Harry would board the Hogwarts Express and ride off into a life she could not imagine. She would never admit it, but she was jealous her boys would get to see Hogwarts in all its glory. 

But together . They would get to see it together. For all her and Lily’s daydreams about Hogwarts in those summer days long ago, she had never once thought it would lead to this. To Petunia preparing her boys, and herself, for the idea of sharing that dream together. 

If only Lily were here to see it. Lily would not recognize the woman Petunia had become. She was ever shifting, always changing. With magic in the mix, there was always some new fear to overcome, some unexpected setback with her comfort. The Petunia she had been ten years ago would shudder at who she was to become. 

Lily would recognize Petunia’s movements, sure. Not much had changed in that regard, as she bent down and pulled a steaming cake from the oven and decorated it flawlessly. Her appearance would be similar, only touched by time. 

But her eyes had changed. No longer did they hold a cold disdain as she looked down her nose at others. Her neck has lost its slight bend from years of looking over garden walls. She was still thin, still pale, but now due to stress in caring for two boys and a werewolf. 

That, she figured, would probably shock Lily the most. Magic hating Petunia Dursley – she shuddered at the thought – had not only taken in a magical child as her own, but had also sired one, in addition to welcoming a werewolf into her home. 

Remus had been the epitome of her despise and fear. Proof that magic was dangerous, whether Lily liked it or not. But instead, a beautiful friendship had blossomed from the ashes of war and heartbreak…

A friendship that seemed on the verge of breaking apart. 

Petunia stalled, pulling her shaking hands away from the cake before she could ruin the last forty minutes of work on its intricate edge. No. He would not ruin today. 

Whatever was to come with Remus, she held no control in it. Her life had been upended once before. She would figure out how to re-pick up the pieces and move on. Once her hands had stilled she returned her attention to the cake. 

Everything would be perfect for her Dudder’s special day. She would make sure of it. 

June 23rd, 1991

Petunia put away the last of the cake, looking out the back window to assure herself that all the children were alright outside. Twilight brushed across the horizon, announcing the coming night. Mary flicked her wand, cleaning the loads of dishes and wiping down the counters. 

Petunia placed the plates in the cupboards, tucking away the silverware into the drawer. She let out a sigh, looking at the darkness encroaching beyond the trees once more. 

“So, spill,” Mary said, leaning against the counter. Petunia glanced at her, schooling her features as she offered Mary a politely confused look. Mary held her gaze, nonplussed. “What happened between you and Remus? Did you fuck?” Mary asked, her eyebrows wriggling. 

Petunia turned a deep shade of red, looking away from Mary. Taking it as confirmation she let out a whoop. Petunia shushed her, glancing down the hall towards the parlor to assure herself that Remus, Arabella, or the Weasley’s had not overheard. 

“ No!” Petunia hissed, still refusing to meet Mary’s eyes. “No,” she repeated. “Something… Something happened and he hasn’t… He won’t… I don’t know what to do, Mary. I feel like he is going to run at any moment,” Petunia revealed, her shoulders falling as she leaned back against the counter. 

Mary watched her closely, her eyebrows knit together in concern. “What happened, love?” She asked. 

“We went to Diagon Alley a few months back… I ran into… I ran into Amycus Carrow. Arthur and Molly saved me… He had commanded me to follow him so he could torture me. Remus… When he found out he destroyed a portion of Molly’s wall,” Petunia answered. 

Mary let out a low whistle, shaking her head. “He hasn’t lost control like that since the night we found out that… When…” She turned away, a tear slipping down her own cheek. “But why won’t he come near you?” Petunia shrugged. 

“Search me. I’ve tried to bridge the gap but it only serves to push him further away. I have three theories, but none of them really fit… Not with the way he is acting,” Petunia replied. 

“What are the theories?” Mary asked, slipping onto the counter and tucking her legs beneath her. Petunia held out three fingers, counting each one off. 

“Ashamed by his outburst, he’s always managed a firm control on his anger. Werewolf instinct, he’s the alpha of our ‘pack’ – this family – and he wasn’t able to protect me when I was in danger… And mating instinct,” Petunia finished, her right hand lingering on the third finger. 

“What do you mean?” Mary asked, her voice carefully measured. 

“He explained how a werewolf’s bond differed from a normal magical bond. I think he wants to stay, to fulfill a familial bond, but his wolf is demanding he moves on to fulfill a mating bond. I think… I think he is trying to ease me into him being gone. That’s why he is distant with me; he is going to move on,” Petunia replied stiffly. 

Mary laughed loudly, earning her a glare from Petunia. 

“I do not think he is going to move on, Pet,” she said, shaking her head. Petunia huffed. 

“Then what? What theory do you have?” She demanded, her eyes narrow. 

“What’s going on here?” Petunia jumped, cursing as Remus’ head appeared in the door. He looked uneasy, nearly pained, and Petunia could see his chest was not rising. 

“Nothing, just women talk,” Mary replied quickly. If something was going on for Remus to act like this, she would not be able to press an answer from him around Petunia. It would have to be put on the back fire for the moment. 

Remus nodded, fleeing without a second glance towards Petunia. Mary watched him closely, a calculating look in her eyes. 

July 20th, 1991

Petunia stirred her potion, a deep root of satisfaction blossoming as it shifts into the described deep red color. After half a year of trial and error, she had finally managed to brew the tricky potion. She cut the heat, ladling the potion into vials. 

She cleaned her cauldron and collected a few bottles of wiggenweld and the blood replenishing potion, hesitation clawing at her as she made her way to the parlor. Remus sat on the couch, but even with his back to her, she could see him tense. 

“I finally got it right,” she said, setting the vials onto the table in front of him. She glanced at the title he was reading, and a stab of bitterness tore through her. He was reading the book she had bought him for Christmas last year. 

Petunia turned quickly and left the room. She froze under the archway into the hall as one small, quiet word reached her ears. “Thanks.” It was the first word he had spoken to her, not around her, since they had come home in April. 

Petunia didn’t reply, trying to force the swirling emotions down inside of her. Stinging tears filled her eyes as she stepped out onto the back patio, closing her eyes and taking in the warm summer scent of the forest that sprawled out behind their home. 

She collapsed into a chair, pulling her legs underneath her and leaning her head back, basking in the warm sunlight. The boys were at the Burrow this week. Originally, when it had been planned, Petunia had hoped she might have a chance to clear the air with Remus. 

Remus, however, had seemed to purposely avoid her at all costs now. Instead of the reconnection she had hoped for, she felt entirely alone in the home they shared. It was worse than the fear she had harbored of being left in an empty house. 

A loud screech erupted above her. Petunia’s eyes darted open and she jumped as a large owl swept down from the sky in front of her. It landed on the arm of her chair and blinked slowly at her, extending a leg. 

Tied to that leg were two thick, cream colored envelopes. She could see a curling, green scrawl. She stared at the owl for a minute, who hopped forward on it’s free leg and hooted louder. With trembling hands, Petunia reached out and carefully untied the letters from it’s leg. 

Once the owl had been unburdened of it’s cargo it ruffled it’s wings loudly, before returning to the skies with a loud, powerful swoop. Downy feathers drifted down around Petunia, some clinging to her hair, unnoticed. 

Petunia’s attention lay on the letters in her hands. Her hands had not stopped shaking, instead, they were trembling so hard now she was surprised she had not dropped the letters. In shining, emerald ink, the words emblazoned across the letter in her hands. 

Mr Dudley Evans
4008 Wild Thicket Ln,
Huddersfield, Lincolnshire

She turned the letter over, her eyes tracing the finely pressed wax that bore a crest with the letter H, surrounded by four small animals. A lion, a raven, a badger, and a snake. She chanced a glance to the second letter, her heart sinking. 

Mr Harry Potter
4008 Wild Thicket Ln,
Huddersfield, Lincolnshire

A memory tore through Petunia’s mind. The world around her faded as she fell twenty one years into the past. 

A younger Petunia sat on the couch, excitedly watching as a stern looking woman in a strange,  emerald green robe was led into the house by her father. The woman eyed Petunia and Lily, seated beside her, with a pointed glance. But in her eyes Petunia could see a sparkling warmth. 

“My name is Minerva McGonagall. I am the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Normally, on the occasion of a child’s eleventh birthday, they receive and owl with a letter of acceptance to our institution, along with a list of necessary supplies.” She clears her throat, turning her attention to their parents. 

Her mother looked apprehensive, unsure of the woman seated before them. Her father, however, could not stop glancing over at Lily with a look of deep pride. Petunia felt a slight chill creep up her spine. 

She had never seen her parents look like this when it concerned her. No, her mother never worried about her stern, put together older daughter who knew what she wanted in her future. And her father had never held a deep rooted look of pride, as Petunia had truly never done anything exceptional. 

“Miss Lily Evans is a witch, Mr and Mrs Evans. A magical child born to non-magical parents is not entirely common, but it is not rare, either. It simply means that somewhere in your lineage, someone who possessed magical ability passed on the gene. In the subsequent generations, it lay dormant… Until Lily,” she smiled warmly, her eyes focused on her sister. 

“Our school serves to educate young magically-prone children as they mature, until such a time as they are ready to enter into the world as fully fledged witches and wizards in their own right,” Mcgonagall explained. 

“But if there are magical folk all around us, how come we don’t see them?” Their mother asked. She had eased slightly during the conversation, but still seemed ready to teeter over the edge. 

“They are all around us. Neighbors, the person you see in the grocers, someone you brush shoulders with on the streets. But we are bound by a statute of secrecy. We learned our lesson during the witch burnings; the muggle world is not ready for the knowledge that magic exists,” she answered. Petunia sat up straighter. 

“Muggle?” She inquired politely. For the first time since McGonagall had entered the home, her eyes fell solely onto Petunia. 

“It is our word for non-magical folk, such as you and your parents. People who are incapable of wielding wands and harnessing the magic core inside themselves.” She turned back to their parents and Petunia deflated slightly. 

Lily’s hand reached out, resting on Petunia’s knee and squeezing it softly. Petunia offered her a half smile in return, her stomach churning. Lily was special. Lily was magical. But Petunia was, and always would be, ordinary. 

“Lily’s name was in the book of admittance as we began this year’s process for new students, which means she has expressed enough magic for the book to allow the quill of acceptance to add her name. I am sure you have noticed it; strange occurrences. Complete impossibilities?” She questioned. 

“The bookcase,” Petunia replied, remembering the day it had toppled over onto Lily and, seemingly, magically, tilted back up and into place before it could crush her. Her parents ignored her, their rapt attention on McGonagall as they offered their own strange stories. 

Petunia tuned them out, her mind drifting to that strange boy that Lily had befriended this spring. The unkempt boy with greasy hair and too-large clothes that didn’t match. The boy with dark eyes and a hooked nose, whose name brought to mind a disgusting snake. Snape. Severus Snape. 

She thought of the tantalizing, wonderful things she had overheard them talking about. Of the beautiful castle that stretched far above a lake in the Scottish Highlands. Of the village nearby that was full of people like them. Of magic and learning, and all the things that lay before them. 

“Now, here I have her letter of acceptance and her list of school supplies,” McGonagall spoke, unfurling letters and passing them to Lily. “When you go to Diagon Alley, you will need to go to a little pub…” But Petunia wasn’t listening again. One thing kept ringing in her mind, like a bell tolling. Again. Again. Again. 

All the things that lay before them. All the things that lay before them. Lay before them. 

Nothing lay before them. 

This day marked Lily’s life. This day had taken the many years ahead and crushed them under heel, twisting the burning fire of her sister’s life into smoldering ashes to be swept away by the bitterly cold wind of the winter she would die in. 

Petunia dropped the letters, bending forward and uttering a keening wail. The day Lily’s life had changed forever she had been marked for death. And now their sons were to follow that same path, walk that same road that had killed Lily. 

She had only lived for ten years from the day they had sat on that couch, learning about an entirely new world. Lily had gone off to a wonderful adventure and now lay in a grave in the far north. Petunia had walked another, and here she was to collect the broken pieces and try to put them together again. 

She couldn’t. This letter… Lily... Like a bell, tolling in her head. Again. Again. Again. History would repeat and Petunia would be left to watch the fallout. A death knell. Again. Again. Again. 

She jumped as hands swept around her back, her face pressed into a firm shoulder. A familiar scent enveloped her, calming her and putting her more on edge. Books, fresh tilled earth, and fur. 

Remus. 

Chapter Text

We are the reckless, we are the wild youth
Chasing visions of our future
One day we’ll reveal the truth
That one will die before he gets there

And if you’re still bleeding, you’re the lucky ones
‘Cause most of our feelings,
They are dead and they are gone
We’re setting fire to our insides for fun

(Youth - Daughter)

August 4th, 1991. Diagon Alley, London, England. 

Petunia scanned one copy of the list as Remus held another one in his hand. An uneasy truce had been established the day she had received the letters. He was talking to her again, but he still was unable to touch her since that afternoon that he had held her as she sobbed. 

“Where do we even start?” Petunia questioned, feeling overwhelmed. While she had still been excited at this point during Lily’s own preparation for Hogwarts, she had not attended their trip to Diagon Alley, nor her departure on the Hogwarts Express. 

“Books, then supplies, before wands, and finally owls,” he said. Petunia groaned.

“Do we need to get an owl?” She asked. Remus chuckled, the sound warm, albeit a little stiff. 

“Not unless you want to talk to them twice a year. It’s the only way for letters to go back and forth from Hogwarts.” Petunia sighed. 

“Bloody wizards, so advanced that you’re regressed,” she laughed. Remus shook his head, leading them to Madam Malkin’s . He ushered them into the small shop, waiting patiently as the aged witch carefully measured a young boy standing in front of the mirrors. 

“It says three sets of plain work robes and a hat,” Petunia reminded him. “As well as a winter coat with silver fastenings.” Remus smiled softly at her. 

“They handle this list every year for decades. They’ll get us taken care of,” he assured. He helped Harry and Dudley to fit dragonhide gloves, taking the correctly sized pairs up to the counter. 

“Looks like I will have to get the sewing kit out,” Petunia muttered to herself, noticing the written request for labeled garments. The aged witch hurried Dudley up beside the blonde boy, fitting and measuring a robe she had conjured around him. 

The blonde boy began a quiet conversation with Dudley, but as Petunia watched their body language, she could see Dudley become more tense as it continued. The woman reappeared with a bundle of robes, shooing the blonde boy out into the street. 

Harry took his place, letting the woman begin working on him as Dudley returned to Petunia, handing the fitted robe back to the woman. Petunia ruffled his hair as he approached, but she could see something was still bothering him. 

“What is it, Dudley?” She asked. He frowned, looking out into the bustling street where the boy had disappeared. 

“He was asking me about Hogwarts. What house I wanted to be in, and when I replied he sneered. He… He looked in the mirror at you and Uncle Moony and said ‘with the company you keep, I’m not surprised you would want to be a bleeding-heart Gryffindor’. Did he know about Uncle Moony?” Dudley asked. 

Petunia felt as if ice cold water had been dumped over her head. She glanced up, seeing that Remus, though his back was turned to them, had stiffened up. Petunia looked back down at Dudley, carefully searching for her words. 

“Sometimes people can be cruel for no purpose other than they don’t know any better. He was just a child… But always remember who you are, and who you love, Dudley. One’s value is not based on what we are capable of, or who we are. Everyone, at a base level, is due respect simply for being human. Even if others do not think so, you never allow yourself to be brought down to them, okay?” Dudley nodded, his attention drawn away from her. 

A stooped wizard handed Dudley and Harry bundles of robes, the witch taking Remus’ payment with a warm smile. He shrunk their purchases, placing them into a bag and holding the door open for them as they stepped back out into the blinding sunlight. 

Petunia enjoyed the feeling of a gentle breeze ruffling her hair as they walked, but she noticed that Remus pushed ahead, passing her with barely a glance. His shoulders were tense, and she wondered if he was holding his breath again. 

Her thoughts were disrupted as they entered Flourish and Blotts, jostled by people on their way out. Petunia scanned her list, pulling two copies of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and passing them to Remus. 

They continued in this synergetic silence, collecting copies of A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginner’s Guide to Transformation, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Draughts and Potions, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection. 

As each additional book was handed to Remus he shrunk them, passing them to the boys to carry. He led them to the front counter, waiting patiently as patron after patron was helped. He paid quietly for the two sets, nodding to the man behind the counter as they left. 

“Right, apothecary next. We can get the cauldrons, potion kits, phials, and scales there. In fact, I was thinking Dudley could take your cauldron and we should upgrade yours. The boys need pewter, but I think you are brewing often enough it would be beneficial to get a copper cauldron. It’s the most conductive for magic and heat, reducing brew time significantly,” Remus explained. 

“That would be greatly appreciated, I have lost a lot of time watching smoke billow from my cauldron,” Petunia replied, pushing her way into the apothecary. Remus handled the cauldrons and scales as Petunia collected the phials and beginner potioneer ingredients kits for Harry and Dudley. 

By the time she had reached the counter, Remus had already paid and was shrinking their supplies. He added hers to the pile and swept them all into the bag. As Petunia stepped towards the door, she lost her footing as someone swept past her with a mumbled apology. 

She stumbled, falling against Remus. She could feel his limbs stiffen, could nearly hear his teeth grinding as he rightened her before putting distance between them. She sighed, returning out into the throng of shoppers outside. 

“If you head to Ollivander’s with them I will collect the telescopes. Then we can head to Eyelop’s after.” Remus didn’t give her a chance to respond before he was lost in the crowd. Petunia watched the spot he had disappeared for a moment, knowing he had only jumped at this opportunity to put distance between them. 

“Right, then. Ollivander’s,” she called, taking Harry and Dudley in hand and guiding them the opposite way, towards where she had seen the shop the few times they had been here. When they entered, unlike the other shops, it was empty and silent. 

Dust motes floated through shafts of sunlight as they entered, the tinkling of the bell nearly shrill in the still air. From the back of the shop, a wizened little head with a wispy shock of snow white hair poked out from the darkness, his eyes lighting up as he noticed the three of them. 

“Harry Potter… I had wondered when I would be seeing you here… And who are these two lovely people?” He asked, glancing over Petunia and Dudley. A knowing light seemed to spark in his eyes, a smile erupting across his face. 

“Ah… I remember as if only yesterday when dear Lily Evans was in here buying her own wand. 10 ¼ inches, willow. A dragon heartstring core. Quite swishy, good for charms. And from the rumors I heard, she used it quite well when it came to the likes of your father,” he chuckled. 

“Now your father’s was 11 inches, mahogany with a unicorn tail core. Very pliable, excellent for transfiguration. So tell me, what brings the sister of lovely little Lily Evans in this afternoon?” He inquired, flicking his gaze from Harry to Petunia and Dudley. 

“I am bringing my boys to get their own wands, sir,” Petunia answered. If possible, his smile split into an ecstatic grin. 

“And you, young Mr?” He asked Dudley, shaking his hand. 

“Dudley Evans, sir,” he replied. Mr Ollivander bowed deeply before the three of them. 

“My pleasure to meet your acquaintances,” he offered. With a flick of his wand, a tape measure shot from across the room, measuring both Harry and Dudley as he turned, tsking as he shuffled along the shelves. 

“Hmmm… What to do, what to do… Here! Let us try this one. 8 ¾ inches, chestnut with a unicorn tail core. Here, here!” He tittered, handing the wand to Dudley. He looked at Mr Ollivander, unsure. 

“Well? Give it a wave,” he encouraged. Dudley swung his arm around, but a loud bang echoed through the store. Mr Ollivander’s smile fell as he took the wand. “Oh well. Another, then,” he grinned.

“Ah yes, 13 ½ inches, English oak with a phoenix feather core. Come on now, come along!” He thrust the wand into Dudley’s hand, but no sooner than Dudley’s fingers had wrapped around it, he had snatched it back. 

“Definitely not… Hmmm…” He watched Dudley for a moment, before he raised a crooked finger in the air. “Maybe… Just maybe,” he murmured, hurrying off deep into the store. The door opened behind them, a loud tinkling erupting through the air. 

Petunia turned, catching sight of Remus. He settled into the chair, offering Petunia a polite smile as he turned his gaze to where Mr Ollivander had disappeared. 

“Perhaps this one? It’s– Oh! Young Mr Lupin! Well, not as young as the image I still hold in my mind, of course. How is your wand treating you? 10 ¼ inches. Cypress and unicorn hair, quite pliable,” he beamed. Remus gave him a genuine grin. 

“As wonderful as ever, Mr Ollivander,” he replied. 

“Good to hear. Now, back to young Mr Evans… This here is an unusual wand. 12 ¼ inches, acacia and dragon heartstring. Quite sturdy, it will be a little harder to learn with but this wand will produce incredible results once skills are mastered.” He says, his eyes reverently on the wand. 

“Temperamental, acacia, an uncommon wood. I haven’t sold many, they are rather difficult to pair. They can be wonderful in the right hand, though, and nearly impossible to sway from their owners. They truly are unique, their power growing with their wielder to nearly unimaginable levels. Here, here!” He thrust the wand into Dudley’s hand. 

Dudley stared down at it for a moment, before finding the courage to flick his arm. Petunia watched as a soft smile formed on Dudley’s face. A strange warmth tingled in his fingertips, rippling up his arm. Mr Ollivander beamed. 

“Truly an exceptional wand for an exceptional young man. Be careful with it, though. If you do not excel, do not grow, it can be quite the firecracker. But I believe you will do well. After all, it is an extension of you,” he smiled. He turned to Harry, studying him closely. 

“Now, now… What to do with a young Mr Potter…” He mumbles, resuming his perusal of the shelves. Dudley brought the wand over to Petunia. She took it gently from his hand. She had held Remus and Mary’s wands several times over the years, but she still felt unsure. 

Dudley’s was a fine wand, though. It was a soft, smooth thing, sandy brown with streaks of red marbled through. The handle was carved intricately, rounded and with fine spiraling towards the bottom. 

“It’s beautiful, Dudley,” Petunia beamed, handing it back to him. Dudley stared down at the wand for a moment, nearly in disbelief that this moment was real, and that he was a part of it. Petunia could feel Remus step behind her, hovering awkwardly, stuck between wanting to reassure her and whatever block stood between them. 

“Here, here!” Mr Ollivander said, offering a wand to Harry with a flourish. “Vine wood and unicorn hair, 9 ¾ inches.” Harry looked at the wand in his hand for a moment, before copying Dudley’s movement. A crash echoed in the back of the store. 

“It would appear not,” Mr Ollivander chuckled, taking the wand back. Petunia watched as, wand after wand, Harry did not find his. Petunia looked at Remus, intending to ask him if it was unusual for such a long search, but he would not meet her eyes. A stack of tried wands stood on Ollivander’s counter. 

“I wonder…” He murmured, delving deep into the back shelves and out of sight. Petunia shifted her weight to her other foot, her back starting to ache slightly. Dudley fiddled with his wand, twirling it slowly in his fingers. 

“Here,” Mr Ollivander said. The lightness had left his tone as he handed Harry this next wand. Harry studied its nondescript appearance. It was dark brown, nearing black, with a rough hewn handle that held the character of its natural rough wood. 

Harry flicked his wrist and a soft wind blew through the room. He felt a warmth spread through his body and a small smile stretched across his face. Mr Ollivander, however, held a look of grim understanding in his eyes. He shifted until he caught Remus’ gaze, Remus’ eyebrows knitting together. 

“Holly and Phoenix feather. 11 inches exactly, and rather flexible. It is quite a strange thing, is it not?” He asked. “How fate and coincidence seem to dog your steps.” Petunia frowned, putting her hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“What do you mean?” She demanded, unease rising like an adder inside of her, ready to strike. Mr Ollivander lifted his gaze to her, a rueful edge stealing into his eyes. He offered Petunia a weak smile. 

“I think we will see great things of young Mr Potter here. Young Mr Evans, too, but Mr Potter… Mr Potter is wound up in something far larger, far darker, than any his age could proclaim. It is strange that this wand would choose him, when its brother gave him his scar,” he answered. Petunia felt her stomach drop and she could see Remus stiffen beside her. 

“I know and recall every wand I have ever made. Who it ended up claiming and some of what those wands would go on to achieve through their wielders. The phoenix that gave the feather residing in this wand gave another feather. That wand I sold fifty three years ago.” He shuffled around the counter, sitting carefully. In just a moment he seemed like he was all the years wrinkled deep into his skin. 

“Yew and phoenix feather, 13 ½ inches long. It would go on to leave a trail of fear and death in its wake that would ripple across an entire nation. Yet its reign would end with an infant one cold night that none foresaw coming. And now, ten years later, this wand would choose that same young boy.” Silence met his words. 

Petunia felt Remus’ hand settle on her arm, and, anywhere else, any other time, she would have been delighted. But her focus was settled on Mr Ollivander and the words he spoke, terror building inside of her. Just as she had in Godric’s Hollow, she now heard Dumbledore’s words as if they were spoken aloud. 

Voldemort is crafty and cunning, and willing to go to any lengths necessary in order to achieve his desires. Even as our world celebrates his downfall, I fear this is far from over. This truly will be the fight of our age and Harry is bound tightly in the tendrils of fate. 

“With his wand, You-Know-Who did great things. Terrible, but great. And so, I should expect that we shall see incredible things from young Mr Potter. But I must caution that you keep firmly in mind that which you desire, Harry. That which you love. Because power can be a frighteningly tempting thing. This wand chose you, Mr Potter. You must strive to be worthy of that choice.” 

In the end, only one can win and we must make sure it is Harry even if the choices are difficult. Sacrifices must be made. 

Petunia closed her eyes, biting her lip until she drew blood. She would have to let the cards be dealt, allowing them to play out as fate intended. Come September, she would let go of their hands and just hope that fate would be kind to them.

“Okay, let’s pay and head to get our owls,” Remus said, handing the galleons over to Mr Ollivander. Petunia smiled softly at him as they left. As much as she wanted to despise the man for burdening them with such knowledge, for imparting something so dire onto Harry’s shoulders, she knew he was just as scared. He had lived in that shadow once. He knew it’s darkness. 

They stepped out into bright sunlight, Dudley running ahead with Remus. Harry strayed behind, his eyes downcast on the cobblestones as they walked. Petunia reached down, taking his hand. He didn’t speak for a moment, trying to make sense of what he had learned inside the shop. 

“Aunt Tunie… I am connected to him…” His free hand reached up, brushing against the scar webbed across his forehead. “I thought it was over but things keep drawing me to him. Is something wrong with me?” Harry asked. Petunia’s heart sank and she dropped to her knees, pulling Harry tightly against her chest.

“ No ,” she stated firmly. “ Nothing is wrong with you. Whatever happened, whatever is to come, you remember Harry James Evans Potter. You remember who you are and how many people love you, do you hear me? You are perfect the way you are and you will go on to do amazing things. Things that seem too big, too difficult, at the current moment. But you will rise to meet any challenge that comes to you, and you will do so with grace and strength.” Harry nodded, an unsure smile on his face but determination in his eyes. 

“You may be connected to him through fate, but you are connected to Lily and James through blood and genetics. They were brave, so very brave, and stood up to every challenge that they faced. You are your parents’ child, Harry, and I know that you will rise to face your odds as marvelously as they did. Do you hear me?” She asked. She pushed down the bitter sting that threatened to rise whenever she thought of Lily’s fate, desperate to bring some semblance of comfort to Harry now. 

“Yes, Aunt Tunie,” he answered. She stood, taking his hand. They entered Eyelop’s Owl Emporium, a loud, screeching racket and a foul odor greeting them. Remus waved them over. Petunia navigated the aisles carefully, her nose scrunching as a large owl hooted next to her. 

“Alright, pick your owls so we can go, please,” Petunia begged. Remus chuckled as the boys split in different directions. Petunia, despite her complete dislike for birds, remembered Remus warning that it was the only way to communicate with them while at Hogwarts. 

She paced the nearest aisle, carefully inspecting each bird. She passed quickly by the larger owls, wincing as a screech owl ruffled in displeasure. One owl hooted softly at her, calmer than the others. Petunia watched it for a moment, and it watched her. Large, amber eyes blinked slowly in recognition of Petunia’s own gaze. 

Petunia put her hand up to the bars, smiling despite herself as the owl hooted and shuffled closer. She pulled the cage off the shelf, carrying the barn owl up to the counter. Harry arrived with a magnificent snowy owl, and Dudley not soon after with a regal great horned owl. 

“What are you going to name them?” Remus asked the boys, holding the door as they stepped outside. 

“Hedwig,” Harry replied. “I read it in one of our books we got before you put them in the bag. I don’t know, it just seemed right for her.” Remus nodded in approval. 

“I think I will call him Fogg. I always liked it when you read us to sleep, and he was my favorite character.” Petunia smiled at the memory of a much younger Dudley begging for just one more chapter before bed, ill-content without knowing the end of Phileas Fogg’s journey. 

“What about you, Petunia?” Petunia froze, not expecting the question to come from Remus. She looked at the owl carefully. She smiled, looking up at Remus. Surprisingly, he did not avert his gaze this time. 

“Jo March,” she answered. A quiet chuckle rumbled from Remus’ chest and he shook his head. 

“And why, might I ask, that name?” But despite his words there was a lightness to his eyes that Petunia had missed. 

“Because she was my favorite character from any of the books I have read. Simple as that.” Remus shook his head, albeit good naturedly. 

“Alright then. Off to home we go, so that I may build an owlery in the backyard,” Remus chuckled.

Chapter Text

I can hear the words you speak
When the west wind whispers
I can hear your voice ring
Clear in the evergreens

Am I who you thought I’d be,
Am I what you pictured?
Did you have me standin’ here
In your wildest dreams?

(Save You a Seat - Alex Warren)

September 1st, 1991.

Petunia woke with a scream stuck in her throat. She felt as if it were choking her, a tight pressure pressing down on her lungs. She pushed herself up in the bed, drawing her knees to her chest and pressing her forehead against her knees. 

Her shoulders shook as the remnants of her dream began to fade from the forefront of her mind, the image of Lily that had been plastered to the back of her eyes finally dissolving. She could still hear her terrified pleas ringing in her ears. 

The ache in her chest didn’t dissipate, however, as she struggled to draw in air. It felt as if her lungs were frozen, unable to expand. She heard the door open and whimpered, shame briefly flashing through the back of her mind at being caught in the remnants of her nightmare. 

Books. Fresh tilled earth. Fur. Remus’ arms wrapped around Petunia, broken snatches of words filtering through her spinning mind. He pulled her against his chest, rocking her slowly as finally her lungs seemed to expand, to slowly draw in oxygen. 

The repeated, horrid begging of her sister’s voice finally quited in her ears, slowly replaced by a low buzzing. She could feel his hands on her back, stroking soft patterns into it as he slowed his back and forth motions. 

“I’m so-sorry,” she whimpered. His hands retracted from her and she pulled away. Silence enveloped them for a few moments as Petunia’s heart rate settled. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Remus asked softly. She could barely see his outline in the moonlight that filtered through her bedroom window. She brushed her hand across her cheek, wiping away the tears that wet them. 

“Lily… The boys… I just…” She sighed frustratedly, unable to get the words out. She took a deep, settling breath before trying again. “It’s the same panic that I had the day we received their acceptance letters. Lily’s life was marked that day,” she whispered. Remus let out a slow exhale. 

“Lily didn’t see it that way… She always told us that was the day her life began. When everything clicked into place, when she felt whole. She… She didn’t die needlessly. It wasn’t some twist of fate. Her death was a calculated choice, Petunia. One we all understood, because the moment Harry was placed into our arms, it was our choice as well,” he stated softly. Petunia’s shoulders slumped. 

“I would give anything for my boys,” Petunia replied. Remus let out a broken chuckle. 

“Do you think that Lily felt any less about Harry?” He inquired. “She knew the risks. She knew the odds. She stared down every single threat that came her way. She never flinched. Her life wasn’t marked by attending Hogwarts. It was marked by her unfailing, unflinching love she harbored for those she deemed her own… She was…” Remus trailed off and Petunia could hear the pain lacing the last of his words. 

“What was she like in school?” Petunia asked softly. Remus laughed loudly, the sound making Petunia jump. He apologized softly, before turning his head away and shifting through long buried memories. 

“She was incredible. Top of her class, high marks in everything she set her mind to. Pissed the blood supremacists off to no end. That a muggle-born was beating them out. And she was incredibly gifted when it came to jinxes. I am pretty sure James had dozens of scars from their run-ins over the years and he refused to let Poppy heal his ‘trophies’ as he put it,” Remus chuckled. Petunia laughed. It felt foreign to her at the moment. 

“I thought he and Lily were desperately in love,” she said. “That book that had their biographies in it said that they weren’t friendly as children. What changed? What happened in sixth year?” Petunia asked. Remus shook his head. 

“James had the unfortunate condition of a massively inflated ego,” Remus replied. “He and…” His voice caught in his throat, but he cleared it quickly. “He and Sirius were like brothers. Bonded at the hip. Unfortunately for all of us, Sirius ego was just as big. It infuriated Lily to no end. She taught me quite a few new curses,” he chuckled. Warmth spread through Petunia’s chest. 

“She would hex him all the time for his big head. But James knew from the first moment he saw her that he would marry her one day, he just needed to convince her of it. After the first time she hexed him, it only got worse. I swear, you would think someone was slipping him love potions. But something happened at the end of our fifth year. Something I thought would push them apart for good.” Petunia waited as Remus collected his thoughts. 

“Lily had a friend. It went against house rivalries and even blood. She was friends with a Slytherin named–” 

“Severus Snape?” Remus turned to look at Petunia, shocked. 

“You know him?” Remus inquired. 

“I did, once upon a time. It was long ago… He lived near us in Cokeworth and knew what Lily was before Hogwarts officially came to inform us. I… I would eavesdrop on their conversations sometimes. I was so jealous of the things he told her. Of the knowledge that a much larger world was out there. I never saw him again after they went off to school, though. I know Lily would go visit him during holidays and breaks, but I was much too caught up in avoiding her beyond that,” she shrugged. 

“Well, James and Severus were constantly at each other. Severus was bent towards the Dark Arts, and, despite all his flaws, James was starkly opposed. Their rivalry began on their first train ride to Hogwarts. James had seen Lily and tried to sit with them. Barbs were exchanged, but when James drew his wand, Lily hexed him.” He closed his eyes at the memories swirling through his mind. 

“As the war grew stronger, the divide between Severus and Lily expanded. HIs housemates attacked her often for her blood status. But James went too far that day, even I will admit such. Lily jumped in to defend Snape and he called her a mudblood. Their friendship ended that day.” Petunia turned to look at Remus. He shrugged. 

“Snape apologized again and again for his actions, but she knew where he stood at that point. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sway him from the path he had set out on. He became a Death Eater, one of You-Know-Who’s most loyal followers. James spent a few more months trying his ridiculous advances before something managed to get through that thick skull of his. He put more focus in his studies, expanded his friend group. Tried to breach the interhouse gaps. He made strides, and Lily noticed it.” 

Petunia laid back against the headboard, imagining what life must have been like for her sister. She, despite the obvious difference in circumstances, had also been a teenage girl on the verge of adulthood. She had crushes, fears, ambitions. She had stayed up late laughing with friends, weeping with them. But she, in the midst of it, had understood war was brewing on the horizon. She had lost friends, grieved loved ones. She and Petunia were not so different. 

“Tell me something about her, Remus. Not about her bravery, or James. Something about Lily,” Petunia pleaded. Remus thought carefully for a moment. “One year she broke into Mary’s stock of muggle romance books. Mary thought it was a right laugh, but Lily was embarrassed when Sirius found out. I didn’t think anything could be redder than her hair, but I was wrong,” Remus chuckled. Petunia laughed, but it was followed by a yawn. 

“What time is it?” Petunia asked. Remus pulled out his wand and murmured ‘tempus’ before the room was lit up by softly glowing numbers. 

“Early,” he said, noting that it was just barely after one in the morning. “We still have several hours before we need to get the boys up and ready for the trip to King’s Cross.” Remus made to leave the bed, but Petunia’s hand grasped his wrist quickly. She let go immediately, as if burned, but a quiet whisper followed. 

“Stay,” she begged. Remus sighed, but made no argument as he pulled the covers back and settled under them with her. He kept distance between them, shifting so that his back was to her, but it did not matter. Petunia did not need him to hold her, she just did not want to be alone. 

“Goodnight, Petunia,” Remus whispered. Petunia smiled tiredly, pulling the duvet tighter around her. 

“Goodnight, Remus,” she replied. 

“Boys, you are going to walk straight into that wall between platforms nine and ten. If you are nervous, sometimes it is better to run,” Remus said. Harry looked at the wall excitedly, but Dudley seemed much more unsure about the instructions. Harry pushed his trolly forward, before breaking into a sprint and disappearing through the wall. 

Petunia watched, a mix of shock and wonder on her face as her son disappeared. She had heard Lily and her parents talk about it, of course, but she had been at school on Lily’s first trip to King’s Cross twenty years ago. After she had received Dumbledore’s letter, she had never desired to attend the trip. 

“Ready, Dudley?” Remus asked, a smile tugging at his lips. Noting the success of his cousin, Dudley nodded as he gripped the handles of his trolly and followed Harry’s steps. A large group of muggles swarmed by, and when they had cleared, Dudley was gone. 

“Are you ready, Petunia?” Remus asked, offering her his hand. She swallowed hard, taking Remus hand and letting him guide her forward. 

“Will it work for me?” She asked. Remus chuckled. 

“Of course. Lots of kids have a muggle parent, or both. They come every year to watch their kids off. Now, hurry,” Remus said, running forward with Petunia’s hand still clasped in his. Petunia felt a nervous laugh bubble up from her chest as they approached the wall, her mind spinning the worst possibilities. The wall shifted like smoke around them, before a large, bustling platform appeared. 

Petunia continued laughing on the other side, looking back at the now-solid wall behind her. Remus was laughing as well, his head thrown back and his chest thrumming with each resounding movement. A few people looked their way, small smiles and knowing looks shared between them as they watched the two of them. 

“We had better move before we are run over,” Remus warned, pulling Petunia along to where the boys were waiting for them. Several people were looking at Harry, eyes wide as they murmured to those around them. Petunia ignored them as she pulled Harry close to her, kissing the crown of his head. Remus began taking their luggage aboard as Petunia said goodbye. 

“Now, I expect owls tonight telling me about your first night,” she said, looking at both Harry and Dudley. “I want to know everything. That the beds are comfortable, that the food is good, that you are safe, that you are enjoying yourselves. Do you understand?” Petunia asked, anxiety clawing at her lungs. 

“Of course, Aunt Tunie,” Harry replied, offering her a grin. Dudley swept forward, hugging Petunia tightly. 

“I love you, Mum,” he whispered. It felt like her heart was constricting. Is this what her own mother had felt two decades before as her own sister rode off into the unknown? Petunia wished she hadn’t been so cruel to her parents. She tried to picture her mother here, watching with tears in her eyes as her youngest child boarded the Hogwarts Express. 

She could almost see Lily, eyes wide with wonder and breath still with fear as she stepped up onto the train. Petunia closed her eyes and the image conjured itself easily. If only she could have known what was to come… Would Lily be beside herself, seeing Petunia here now? But she had always seemed to know there was hope for Petunia. 

The sound of a piercing whistle drew Petunia from her thoughts. Remus pulled Harry and Dudley to them, offering each a hug and a quick word of advice. Ron appeared from the haze of smoke, followed by Molly and an upset Ginny. 

“Be safe, and don’t forget to write!” Petunia called as the boys boarded the train. 

“And no loo seats!” Molly yelled at the retreating backs of her twin sons. Petunia laughed, casting a glance over to her but all she received was an exasperated shake of her head. 

Petunia watched the train catch speed, a dull ache growing in her chest. She followed it for a moment, selfishly wishing that this was not her fate, that she did not have to send her boys so far away. She came to a stop as the train disappeared in the distance, the last remnants of smoke dissipating in the wind.

She could Remus behind her but he did not speak. She watched the empty tracks for a while, trying to convince herself they had made the right decision. Remus took her hand, noting the tears built up in her eyes. 

“Come. Let’s go home.” 

Aunt Tunie, 

We arrived safely. The feast was amazing, I have never seen so much food before. They appeared magically on the table. I was sorted into Gryffindor like my Mum and Dad were. Ron made it here, too. I’ll let Dudley inform you of his night. Oh, and the beds are extremely comfortable. 

Love,
Harry. 

PS, let Uncle Moony know I love him too, and we met Nearly Headless Nick!

“Remus, do I even want to know who Nearly Headless Nick is? “ Petunia asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. Remus set his book down, laughing. 

“He is the house ghost of Gryffindor tower,” Remus explained. Petunia pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Ghosts?” Remus gave her a guilty grin. 

“Mary and I told the boys not to mention the ghosts, we, uh, figured you might not love the idea,” he chuckled. Petunia shook her head and picked up Dudley’s letter, breaking the wax seal on the back carefully. 

Mum, 

The train ride was beautiful. We passed through pretty fields and forests our whole way through Britain. When we reached Scotland, it turned into mountains and lochs. Hogwarts is breath-taking. It’s an ancient castle set high on a hill in the highlands. We rode across a lake to reach an underground harbor, they said it was a tradition for first years. Harry was sorted into Gryffindor like Uncle Mooney and his parents… Mum… I was sorted into Slytherin. My house mates weren’t too pleased with it, when they found out about my parentage. I think I am the first muggle-born to ever be sorted into Slytherin. They say Salazar Slytherin believed his house was only for purebloods. It is known as a dark house, one that makes dark wizards. Some of the more vocal ones have called me mudblood and one used a charm to lock me out of the common room. When the issue was brought up with my head of house he seemed to see the issue as an annoyance. But the feast was good, the food almost holds up to your own cooking. And the beds are very comfortable. I love you, Mum. We start our classes tomorrow, and I cannot wait. 

Love,
Dudley. 

“How do I send a Howler?” Petunia snapped, already pulling out a pen and parchment as she wrote a reply to both Harry and Dudley. Remus eyebrows knit together as he set down his book. 

“Who are you sending a Howler to?” He asked. 

“Whatever git is the head of Slytherin house,” she said, rolling up Harry’s letter. 

“Okay… Why?” Remus furthered. Petunia looked up at him, her face softening slightly as Remus recoiled from the anger in her expression. 

“Dudley was sorted into Slytherin and he is being bullied for his blood status. When it was brought up to their head of house, apparently they did not think it was worth their time. How do I send a Howler?” She repeated. 

“I’ll go get you the supplies, you finish up and send your letters,” Remus replied, disappearing out the front door. She heard the sound of him disapparating as she penned Dudley’s letter. 

Harry,

I am glad to hear you are settling in. I hope you are ready for your first week of classes. Dudley let me know about his predicament, and Harry, I must impress upon you the need to stay close, now more than ever. Dudley needs you. Do not let usual house rivalries separate you two. Stand firm and stay beside Dudley, even in spite of other’s views. Never forget that your relationships give you strength. Stand firm in the face of adversity. Lily once had a friend in Slytherin. I love you, and please, keep safe. 

Love,
Aunt Tunie

Dudley, 

I know it must be scary. You are alone in a new place. Stick with Harry as much as possible. Do not forget your family ties even though house rivalries deem you enemies. You are not evil, Dudley. Do not worry about becoming a dark wizard. Always remember who you are; the little boy who stood up to bullies with no thoughts to his own well being. But look inside your house as well. You never know who may need that hand of friendship extended to them. Make friends from as many houses as you can, and show Hogwarts a unity unseen in generations. I am so proud of you, Diddykins. Uncle Mooney is as well. You are brave, kind, and smart. I know you are going to grow into an amazing man one day, but not too soon, alright? If you need anything, just owl us. I love you so much. 

Love,
Mum. 

“Here is the Howler… Just, uh, yell at it,” Remus offered. Petunia took the red envelope and stared at Remus. 

“Who is the head of Slytherin House?” Petunia demanded. Remus shifted his eyes away, the mumbled ‘ Severus Snape’ barely audible. 

He shrugged gently before retreating to the backyard. As the full moon grew closer, he struggled with cluster headaches and nausea, and what was about to transpire was not something he felt he needed to be a part of. 

“If I ever find out that you are allowing disgusting remarks to be made about my son again I will come up to that school and drag you out by your greasy hair! Do you understand me? The mistreatment stops now! And if I discover that other students are using magic against him in anything other than a classroom environment you will wish the whomping willow had a go at you instead of me!” 

Petunia took the three letters to the kitchen and heated up the wax, letting it dribble onto the parchment. She sealed each one carefully, addressing each one to their proper recipient, before taking them outside to Jo March. Jo March patiently held out her leg, allowing Petunia to tie the letters to it carefully. 

She petted the owl softly, offering her a treat. Jo March ruffled her feathers excitedly, giving a soft hoot before she took off with a flap of her wings. Petunia watched her for a moment, smiling as her silhouette faded in the dark sky. 

“Snape is going to have quite the breakfast,” Remus chuckled. Petunia looked at Remus, confused. “Mail comes during breakfast. In the great hall. Where everybody is eating,” he laughed. Petunia’s face fell and she paled. 

“How loud are Howlers?” She asked quietly. 

“Loud enough that I am sure Professor Dumbledore will hear in his office in one of the highest towers,” Remus replied, his shoulders shaking. Well shit. 

Chapter Text

Honey, you’re familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

(From Eden - Hozier)

October 31, 1991. 

Petunia sat at the table, staring at the letter she had just penned to Harry. Dudley’s own, much shorter, letter sat sealed and ready on the table. But Harry’s was more difficult for her to wrap up. She sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. Remus entered the kitchen, pouring a cup of tea for himself. 

Several moments elapsed in silence as Petunia wrote out the last lines to Harry. She included memories of Lily in it, as well as the recollection of a horrid double date she had attended with Vernon. In retrospect, however, it was quite funny. She folded the letter carefully, sealing and addressing it before giving both to Jo March. 

She watched the lithe barn owl tear off into the grey sky, long wings flapping powerfully as she rode high into the clouds and disappeared. Remus appeared beside Petunia, wrapping his arm around her gently. 

“How are you doing this morning?” He asks quietly. Petunia shrugged softly. 

“Ten years,” she finally managed. She closed her eyes, letting her head rest against his shoulder. “Ten years ago this morning she was alive. And ten years ago tonight, she will be gone.” Her voice was strained, barely reaching his ears. 

Remus turned and pulled her against his chest, resting his chin atop her head. His hands grazed across her back gently as Petunia cried softly into his chest, his own eyes burning. 

“Do you want to see her today?” He asks. Petunia pulled back slightly. 

“Can we bring Mary?” She inquired. Remus smiled. 

“Of course we can bring her.” Remus turned and disappeared into the house, leaving Petunia in the chilly morning air. She turned into the breeze, closing her eyes and focusing on the sensation of it rustling her hair and stinging across her face. It smelled like snow. 

Petunia turned and returned to the warmth of the house, drifting up the stairs in a slight daze as her mind remained in the past with memories of Lily. She showered quickly, dressing warm for their trek North this morning. 

Remus was in the hallway as she stepped out. He froze, his eyes falling on her. She watched, confused, as his chest stilled and he turned away, his pupils wide. She did not have a chance to dwell on it, however, as the sound of the door opening reached her ears. 

Petunia descended the old, creaking wood quickly. At the bottom, she was surprised to see both Mary and Arabella standing in the foyer, shaking small snowflakes from their clothes. 

“I hope you dinnae mind Arabella comin’, she was part of the Order and, well… She loved James and Lily.” Petunia shook her head, smiling. 

“Of course I do not mind her coming. I love her just as much,” she says, planting a kiss on Arabella’s cheek. They had seen less of her as the boys had grown older, but she still remained a fixture in their lives. Petunia collected her coat from the closet, nearly bumping into Remus as she turned around. 

“Well, we had better apparate. It will be quicker,” Remus says. He offers an arm towards Arabella politely, smiling as the older woman blushes and takes his arm, stepping back out into the light snow falling. 

“What’s with tha’?” Mary asks. 

“I do not know. It doesn’t matter, though. Let’s just go,” Petunia says, grasping Mary’s hand and stepping out the door. They turned on the spot, Petunia’s stomach twisting violently as if it had been jerked forward. 

As they arrive at the edge of Godric’s Hollow, Mary catches Petunia before she stumbles into the snowbank. “Watch yer step,” she says, righting Petunia carefully. Nearby, Remus and Arabella await them on a plowed road leading into the small hamlet. 

The walk to Lily and James’ house was fairly quiet, only a few children out playing in the snow. But as they turned the corner to the street that held the ruined shell of the cottage, several people stood cloistered around it. 

Mary and Remus continued their confident pace, leading them up to the fence with the memorial sign. As they approached, whispers broke out around them. Petunia did not look at the sign this time, instead focusing on the scattered rubble extended across the yard. 

She jumped as a hand settled on her shoulder, Remus apologizing quickly for startling her. She realized she was crying, the hot trail of tears burning against her pink, frozen skin. 

“Is it– Is it safe for me to go inside?” She asked quietly, her voice wobbling slightly. Remus looks over at Mary, who nods. 

“Anyone has something ‘te say, I will hex them into next week,” she replied. Remus nodded, taking Petunia’s hand and pushing the gate open slowly. A loud, echoing shriek emitted from the hinges of the gate, unused to being open for a decade now. 

Remus led her across the yard, careful to avoid any of the bits of the house sprawled through the front garden. He pushes the front door open slowly. 

Petunia freezes in the doorway. A thick layer of dust lays over every surface in the house, dead leaves and snow ghosting across the floor with the occasional breeze that slipped into the house. Specks of dust hung suspended in the light from the windows. 

The house lay untouched, only time having left its mark on it since that night. Petunia couldn’t breathe. She dropped to her knees, bracing her hands against the dusty carpet as sobs ripped from her chest. 

Remus was beside her in an instant, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She could distantly hear him shushing her, rocking her trembling body in his arms as they cried together. She felt his hand stroking across her back, his other one wrapped around her waist and pressing her soundly into his chest. 

She didn’t know how long they sat there. Remus did not move, did not shift, even as she continued to cry far longer than he did. When it had finally passed, he simply helped her up and slipped her hand into his. 

“How many times did you come here?” Petunia asks, drifting her gaze across the living room, taking in every picture sprawled around the house. 

“Never. I wasn’t the secret keeper, and I was on missions. Once they came here, very few people came in or out. I wasn’t one of them,” Remus answers. She followed him into the dining room, stopping as he let out a shocked yelp. She jumps as another shocked yelp responds. 

“Prongs!” Remus yells, running to a portrait above the empty fireplace. In the painting stands James, Lily, and a newborn Harry, suspended in time. The James in the portrait seems intent to break free from it, yelling the word ‘Moony’ in response. 

Petunia’s eyes fall on Lily, tears springing to her eyes once more. The portrait of Lily seems shocked, looking back and forth from Petunia to Remus as she holds a sleeping Harry in her arms. 

“You– You’re… Here,” Petunia whimpers, bracing herself against the table. 

“And you are, too. I have to be honest, this I never expected. We assumed Remus and Sirius would eventually come to see us. But never you,” Lily replies. 

“You know what happened to you?” Petunia asked, pulling her hands from the table. In the disturbed blanket of dust, her handprints remained. 

“Of course. We were here when Voldemort came. We heard everything from here. I know that we are dead, and that Harry was taken by Hagrid. But what did Sirius do? He was supposed to take Harry, not Hagrid. That idiot came to us begging apologies for what he was going to do, but he never came back,” Lily frowns. Remus looked at Petunia, his eyebrows knit. 

“He betrayed you two. He told Voldemort where you were,” Remus said. James laughed loudly, shaking his head. 

“Sirius Black was many things, but a traitor was not one of them. He wasn’t our secret keeper, Remus. Peter was.” James frowns, something occuring to him. “He never told you?” Remus stumbled back into the wall, looking as if he had been struck. 

“N–no… He is in Azkaban for selling you out, for killing Peter, and for murdering thirteen muggles in his attempt to flee. Stupid, cowardly Peter chased him down and tried to apprehend him,” Remus replied. 

“No, Remus!” Lily cried, her free hand moving to cover her mouth. 

“No, we made Peter the secret keeper, per Sirius’ request. He thought it would be too obvious it was him and he didn’t want to put us at risk. Sirius… He’s in Azkaban?” Petunia didn’t know a portrait, even a moving, talking, thinking wizarding portrait, could look as sick as James currently did. 

“Peter came that night. He came to the door, saying he wanted to see we were doing alright. But as soon as he stepped inside, James saw him. He cried out for me, for the real me, to run. To save Harry and get out. Peter stood by and watched as Voldemort killed us both.” James looked livid as Lily spoke. 

“That rat turned us in, and Sirius is paying for it?” He turned to Remus frantically. “Harry, where is Harry? Is he with you?” Lily looked up at this, her own eyes flashing with worry. Remus smiled gently. 

“You know that with my affliction that they would never give him to me, Prongs. But I found him eventually.” Lily looked at James. 

“Where was he? If not with you?” She inquired. Petunia took a small step forward. 

“He’s been with me,” she answered. James laughed audibly, before coughing to try and cover it. Lily looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms. 

“Was he loved?” She asks gently. Petunia’s throat tightens at her fear. 

“Yes, Lily. Every moment. I wanted to hate him when I read the letter, knowing what danger would follow him to Dudley and I. But he is loved, and he is cared for. I left Vernon and I raised them by myself for a while, until Mary and Remus came along in their own time.” Lily’s eyes lit up, even as tears fell down her cheeks. 

“Mary? She survived the war?” Petunia nodded, grinning through her tears. 

“She has become my very best friend. And Arabella has become a grandmother for the boys, Remus a father to them. They are happy, they are safe, and they are so incredibly loved.” James smiled warmly down at Petunia, almost not recognizing the woman that stood before him in comparison to who she had once been. 

“And where is he now?” James asks. Remus grins. 

“Tearing up Minnie’s patience, no doubt,” He replies. James’ face lit up. 

“He’s at Hogwarts?” Despite the joy in the portraits' features, Petunia could see sadness buried underneath. 

“He’s a Gryffindor, like the both of you. And Dudley broke tradition. He’s a Slytherin,” Remus replied. Lily’s head snapped up. 

“Dudley is a muggleborn?” Petunia nods, smiling. 

“He is just as amazing and gifted as you were,” Petunia replies. With trembling steps, Petunia makes her way across the room and to the portrait. She places her palm against the canvas, a muffled sob breaking from her chest as Lily’s hand meets hers. She cannot feel her sister, but for the first time in Petunia’s life, she feels truly connected to her. 

“I am so proud of you, Petunia,” she whispers. Petunia draws in a shuddering breath as she rests her forehead against the cold, dusty canvas and cries. 

“I am so sorry,” she says weakly. “I am so sorry I waited until your death to change.” Lily shakes her head softly. 

“I had always hoped we would reconnect one day. But even though I never got to see the day, you did more than I could have ever wished for. You took in my son, and you loved him wholly. You held nothing back, and you have done amazing. I will always be proud of you,” Lily promises. 

Remus steps up to the portrait, pulling out his wand. He taps it gently, the portrait shrinking down until it would fit in his pocket. With a quick but intricate spell he cleans the painting. 

“We still have much to do today, but we will not leave you here. You will come home with us, and we will make sure Harry gets to meet you, even if it is just a shadow of yourselves.” James nods gratefully, Lily waving with her free hand as Remus slips the portrait into his pocket. 

“I forgot they had this portrait done right after Harry was born,” he revealed. “But I am thankful to have found it now.” Petunia follows him outside into the snow once more, meeting Mary and Arabella outside. 

“We have a surprise for you when we get back to the house,” Remus tells Mary with a knowing smile. They traipse through the snow in silence, coming to the graveyard in the center of town. 

“Remus,” Petunia asks, slipping back to walk beside him as Mary and Arabella navigate through the gravestones ahead of them. “What are we going to do about Sirius?” He shakes his head. 

“I have no idea. Our best option is to let the DMLE speak with the portrait of Lily and James, and hear their account of events. I just cannot believe Peter would do such a thing,” he says angrily. 

“DMLE?” Petunia inquires. 

“Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” he replies. “Sirius needs to be freed soon. I will write Mad-Eye a letter, he still holds a lot of sway within the department.” Petunia stops.

“Mad-Eye?” 

“Alastor Moody. He was an Auror and a member of the Order,” he explains. The memory of a grizzled old man in her living room comes back to Petunia. 

“I met him once… Mad-Eye definitely fits him,” she chuckles. “He made sure we made it here safely from Little Whinging.” They fall into silence as they approach James and Lily’s grave. Several people stand around it, stepping back and giving them space as they see the group approach. 

Petunia kneeled in the cold snow, the bitter chill seeping into her bones as she traced Lily’s name laid in the marble. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. “For everything.” She does not speak beyond this, simply tracing out James’ name as well. Remus conjures two bouquets, laying them before the headstone in silence. His hand falls to his pocket, gripping it tightly as he stands motionless before the grave. 

They return to Petunia’s house in silence late that afternoon, Remus drawing Mary and Arabella to the kitchen as he enlarges the portrait back to its proper size and affixes it to the wall above the dinner table. 

Petunia smiles as she hears Mary’s swear of surprise. Remus joins her in the parlor a few minutes later, parchment and quill in hand. He writes out a letter before sending them off, sitting in the chair perpendicular to Petunia and leaning his head back against the back tiredly. 

“So if Sirius is released, what will that mean? He is Harry’s rightful guardian.” Petunia tries to push down the worry creeping up her back. 

“He won’t take him from you. Not now. As long as Harry is happy and loved, he would not intervene with that. But he will probably be here any moment Harry is,” Remus chuckles. “But… I really don’t know. Azkaban is a terrible place. It changes people. There is a chance he could be as mad as his cousin, Bellatrix, at this point. It is a waiting game. And even with the testimony of the portrait, it may not be enough. There aren’t any living witnesses to what happened that night, aside from Harry.” Remus scrubs his hand across his face, his skin pale. 

“Remus, are you alright?” Petunia asks carefully. Remus snorted. 

“No. Two of my best friends are gone, I am helping raise their kid. My last best friend is in prison for a crime he apparently did not commit, and I have spent the last ten years hating him for it. And today, on the way to see the graves of Lily and James, I stumbled across a portrait of them and had a conversation with a shadow of themselves… I love them, and I miss them so much, but they aren’t really here…” Remus shakes his head. 

“I do not know how to be okay right now,” he reveals. Petunia smiles softly. 

“Well, neither do I. So that is alright,” she replies. They are interrupted as Arabella sweeps into the parlor, planting a kiss on Petunia and Remus’ heads as she bids them goodnight. Remus follows her to the door, making sure she is bundled up properly before stepping out into the swirling snow. 

“I am glad they were able to see them, though,” he says, returning to his spot in the chair. Petunia hums noncommittally, her eyes closed as she replays the conversation with Lily in her mind. 

“How much of them is there?” She asks. 

“Everything up to the day of the painting. Their memories, thoughts, emotions. All of it. Any information beyond that, they must learn as we do. But as much of them as in there, it’s also missing as much. It isn’t them no matter how much it seems,” he responds. 

“Well, I could figure that out on my own when we went to the cemetery,” she replies tartly, wincing at how sharp the retort slipped out. “I’m sorry, it’s just… It has been a long and emotionally draining day.” 

“I know. It is alright,” Remus replies warmly. Mary slips into the room, wiping tears from her eyes as she sits beside Petunia. 

“Thank you,” she says simply, leaning against Petunia. Petunia strokes her hair, wondering what they had talked about in the kitchen. But it was not her place to ask, so she just watched the clock tick away as Mary cried herself out on her shoulder. Once she was done, she bid them goodnight and apparated away. 

Chapter Text

Now at the lake, your hands on my waist, I’m home
There’s summer in the skies, the water matches your eyes
You kiss me and I wish that I could freeze the time
‘Cause it feels so good having someone to call mine

(Someone to Call Mine - Chloe Ament)

December 19th, 1991. 

Dear Mum, 

I hope this letter finds you well. I just wanted to let you know that Harry and I have decided to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. The castle is truly magical this time of year, and a large portion of students choose not to return for the holidays. Harry is up to something, but I don’t know what just yet. He wants to confide in me, but I never really run into him without other Slytherins nearby. 

Oh, I wanted to let you know that I made a friend. He is a boy in my dorm, Theadore Nott. He is different from the others. Despite coming from a well off pureblood family, he does not take much stake in blood purity. He got tired of the other’s bigotry quite quickly and we started talking. He said it was quite a refreshing change. 

I think his official title is Lord Nott, as he is the heir of the Nott household. There is a girl in my year as well, Lady Greengrass, who is fairly neutral. Both have been a great help in the dorms. I love you, and I hope that you and Uncle Mooney have a good christmas. 

Love,
Dudley

Petunia set the letter down, her eyes stinging. She was grateful that Dudley was making friends, and that he and Harry seemed to still be making an effort to stay close, but the idea of a silent Christmas burned through her like wildfire. Remus appeared in the kitchen, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, Petunia jumping and clutching the letter to her chest. 

“Christ, Remus!” She muttered, turning to face him. “How did you even know something was wrong?” She asked, setting the letter down. Behind her, she could hear the portrait of Lily and James laughing quietly. He shrugged lightly, not meeting her eyes.

“I could sense it,” he replied. “Something felt off. What is it?” He repeats, turning to face her once more. His expression was unreadable, as if he were intentionally barricading his emotions. Petunia handed him the letter, letting him read it over. His eyebrows raised slightly. 

“I’m sorry, Pet. I know how much you had been looking forward to seeing them over break.” He frowned slightly. “And I would prefer to know what Harry is up to,” he added. “But, this letter gives us a challenge we need to address.”

“And what might that be?” Petunia asked, leaning against the counter. The hem of her dress rode up on her thighs, and she did not miss the way Remus’ eyes snapped away from her. She let it slide. 

“We need to talk with Andromeda.” He moves to take a seat at the table, already pulling a piece of parchment towards him and penning something with the quill she left out. 

“Who is Andromeda?” Petunia asks, opening the back door to let Jo March flutter in. Remus finished the letter, sealing it and tying it to the owl’s leg. 

“Take this to the Ministry of Magic, to the office of the seat of the House of Potter,” he tells the owl, sending her off into the swirling snow outside. 

“Remus? What is the office of the House of Potter? ” She asked again. Remus shifted his gaze to her. 

“Andromeda was titled as Harry’s magical proxy. Since he is the last heir to the House of Potter, an ancient bloodline, he has a house seat on the Wizengamot, our version of parliament. However, Harry must be of legal age to claim his seat. So, a line of succession was established for a proxy. It was supposed to go to Sirius, since he is a blood relative of the Potter’s and, seemingly, held their same ideals. When Sirius went to Azkaban, it went to his cousin, Andromeda,” he explained. 

“Has there been no movement on freeing Sirius?” She asked. Remus shook his head frustratedly. 

“The Ministry seems to be dragging their feet on that,” he replies. 

“And Andromeda is…?” Petunia trailed off. 

“An ally. Andromeda Black, of the ancient and most noble house of Black. Pureblood middle daughter from one of the most staunch blood supremacist families to exist. Their family motto is Toujours Pur. Always pure,” he grinned. Petunia’s face fell. 

“So why is she the proxy? And how could someone of… That family be an ally? I mean, I get that Sirius didn’t hold their values.” Remus laughed. 

“Andromeda Black married a man named Ted Tonks. A muggle-born Hufflepuff, much to the shame and disgrace of her family. She was burned off the tapestry, disowned from the ancient and most noble house of Black, and to this day staunchly advocates for muggle welfare and protection acts. She was a natural choice to take the Proxy.” Petunia shook her head. 

“But why are we reaching out to her?”

“Because when Harry turns seventeen, he will be given the right to take the seat back or allow Andromeda to resume as his Proxy. Either way, Harry is going to need to be trained as a proper Lord of House Potter. And Dudley wouldn’t be remiss in lessons, either.” Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place for Petunia. 

“Lord Nott and Lady Greengrass,” she stated. Remus nodded. 

“Both are heirs to seats on the Wizengamot. And both could sway the outcome of our laws for centuries. They are too powerful of allies to let these cards be carelessly cast aside. If we are able, we must keep them close to our chest until the time is right.” Petunia didn’t reply, letting the information seep in. 

“It feels like they are pawns… All of them… But they are just kids, Remus,” she finally manages. He nods, his face tight. 

“They are. Unfortunately, this is our society. And the purebloods have held our government in a financial chokehold for generations. Money is trivial to them, something to be passed through hands as needed to keep their laws in place. And I hate to say it, but Harry is a pawn. People have attributed Voldemort’s downfall to him, rather than Lily. Many will be swayed by him in the years to come. It is not the life I want for him, but it is his road to walk.” He stands, moving to wrap his arms around Petunia gently. She noticed he wasn’t breathing again. Time for that talk. 

“Remus…” She begins, unsure as to how to approach the delicate question. Finally, she just decided to leap off the summit. “Something changed this last year. You have been distant since that day in Diagon Alley. Did… Did I do something wrong?” She finally pushed out. Remus tensed. 

“No, Petunia. You did not,” he responds, his voice clipped. Petunia turns to look at him sharply. 

“Molly mentioned mates,” she furthered. Remus’ arms froze as he finally drew in a deep breath. 

“She did,” he chanced lightly. 

“I’m not your mate, though,” Petunia tried, her voice flat. Remus’ hands tightened around her arms. 

“Petunia…” He whispered. She rolled on. 

“It’s alright. I just… I do not wish to hold you back from happiness. I… I have loved the times of you being here, being close. It has made life… Almost feel like a normal muggle life… Almost, aside from the furry little problem,” she laughs, but there is no real joy in it. 

“But if I am holding you back from that missing part, I will not. I want you happy, Remus, even if it means that you leave this home. You have lost too much in your life. I will not let you throw that opportunity away for my comfort,” she finally manages. The words feel like they are choking her, strangling her lungs on the way out. Remus pulls away, sitting across the table from her. 

“Petunia,” he says slowly. Words seem to fail him, however, as he tries to piece them together in his mind. Petunia looks away, knowing he was building the courage to leave. 

“ Expecto Patronum.” Her head snaps up at the sound of a spell. In the air above them, a bumblebee made of silver smoke lazily drifts around, leaving a trail of silver mist behind it. Petunia frowns. 

“What is that?” She asks. Remus forces a smile. 

“A patronus. They are a defense charm, made to repel dementors. Dementors are–” 

“They guard the prison in the North Sea… Oh, whatever it’s name was,” she replies. “I remember Severus telling Lily about them when they were children,” she explains, noticing the way his eyebrows raise. 

“Azkaban… Of course,” he smiles, setting his wand down. The bumblebee continues its aimless flight. “But this was not the patronus I learned to evoke,” he says. Petunia looks at him, confused. “A patronus is a reflection of the castor’s personality. Ever since I learned the spell, my patronus has been a wolf. The very worst of myself, in my eyes…” Petunia reached a hand across the table, placing it over Remus’ hand. He took a sharp breath. 

“But it changed?” She tried. He nodded, his face unreadable. 

“A patronus does not change unless a deep transformation occurs in the witch or wizard themselves. It is rare, not everyone achieves this, even under my circumstances. Do you realize what it is, Petunia?” He asked, his voice drawn tight. His heart was pounding in his chest as he watched her look at the bee. 

“A bumblebee,” she replied, unsure. “Is there something else I am supposed to understand?” He looks away, unable to keep her gaze. 

“What do bees do?” 

“Pollinate flowers and make honey,” she answers, even more vexed by his roundabout. “I assume that it is the same in the wizarding world? Or do you have some strange magical way around that as well?” She laughed, trying to break the tension in the air. Remus offered her a halfhearted, bemused grin. 

“Petunia, a patronus only ever changes if the caster falls in love,” he says, his voice nearly inaudible. “A deep, true, honest love. Undying. Eternal,” he whispered. Petunia’s face fell and she felt her chest tighten. She felt like she was drowning. 

“So you have fallen in love,” she managed. She plastered a smile over her despair. “I am so happy for you, Remus,” she said, her voice clipped. Remus whined lowly, seeing the pain in her eyes, hearing how small her voice was. 

“Yes, but… I understand if… If you are upset by this. I would never push you to accept such a thing,” he rambles, his mind reeling. 

“No, Remus… I truly am happy for you. You found your mate, I assume… I just thought… Well, it does not matter what I thought,” she finished. Realization struck Remus like a blow to the chest and he began laughing, relief flooding through his body. Tears burned Petunia’s eyes as he laughed and she pushed herself up from the table sharply. A large hand wrapped around her wrist tightly. 

“Petunia, look at it again,” he pleads. Tear filled eyes found the bumblebee, now twisting silvery trails around Remus’ head. 

“A bee, yes. We have covered that,” she answers stiffly. “But I still do not understand–” 

“They pollinate flowers,” Remus cut her off, not letting her avert her gaze from his. Petunia froze, her thoughts jumbling and her throat tightening. Then suddenly the connection came, her mind flipping on itself. 

"Oh..." Remus watched her intently. 

"Oh..." He laughed softly now, watching her mind try to wrap around the information. 

“Flowers,” she finally whispered. Remus grinned, standing so that he towered above her. Uncertainty swelled in Petunia’s chest as she tried to piece her thoughts together. “So, that means…?” She trailed off. A flicker of unease crossed Remus' gaze before it disappeared. 

“That I love you, Petunia Evans,” he answered. “Completely, wholly, and eternally.” Her tears finally fell as a sob broke from her tight chest. The sound of her cries twisted something inside of Remus, hurting him in a way he had never felt before. His lungs seemed incapable of drawing in new breath and a deep part of him, his wolfish part, growled at the idea that he had hurt her. As he watched her cry, he swore he would never do it again. 

“I love you,” he repeated, pulling her towards him. The bee faded, a small drift of silver smoke dissipating in the air before it disappeared. Petunia looked up at him. 

“I– I love you, too,” she whispered. Remus’ heart stuttered, the fear and confusion of the last several months fading from his mind as his soul preened at her words. Remus lowered his forehead against hers, feeling the way his nerves lit up at contact with her. 

“I was so terrified when Molly called you my mate, because everything became so clear. I couldn’t look at you without the wolf inside my mind snarling to protect you. Whining to comfort you… Howling to claim you…” He revealed. Petunia felt a warmth flutter through her body at his admission. 

“And above all, I did not want to force you to accept. I felt… I felt like you had no choice in the matter, Petunia. I did not want to bind you to a life without a choice. But when I cast the patronus a few days ago, I realized it was not just due to my condition. But that my own magical signature, my human and magical core, had shifted around the hole you left. And my Lycanthropy cannot affect that,” he says, pressing a kiss against her forehead. 

A large hand comes to cup her cheek, fingers pushing her jaw up to look at him. Petunia closes her eyes as Remus lowers his lips to hers, brushing them across hers softly. Something seemed to coil tightly inside Petunia, drawing her closer to him. It warmed, until she could feel it like a thrumming just under the surface of her skin. She pulled away slightly, gasping. 

“It’s a mate bond,” Remus pants, his face drawn as if he is in pain. Petunia reaches up to touch his face, concerned, but he pulls further away. “No, don’t… I…” He gasps, his hand wrapping around her upper arm as he steadies himself. 

“It will feel like this when we touch until we… Seal the bond,” he explains breathlessly. Petunia cocks her head slightly, remembering the conversation about bonds from months ago. Her face flushed slightly. 

“That is why you pushed away.” Remus nodded sharply. “But there were times that you still came to comfort me,” she says. Remus smiles softly. 

“When my mate is in distress, there is an overriding urge to protect. It always comes first, your safety. But in moments where you were not distressed… Every time I smelled you, felt you… I felt like I was going to lose control… I did not want to hurt you, or scare you…” He lets his hand drop, taking a step back and regaining his composure. 

“Does it hurt?” She asked softly. Remus’ eyes snapped up to hers, nearly losing himself in the deep blue that reminded him so much of the bubbling creeks in the highlands around Hogwarts. 

“Sealing the bond?” He asks, flushing himself. “I mean, no more than…” His mouth snaps shut as the flush spreads down his neck. Petunia shook her head. 

“No, I mean the unsealed bond. Does it… Hurt?” She repeated, concern brimming in her eyes. Remus cleared his throat, turning away. 

“No, it is just… A very strong… Urge,” he finally manages. 

“Oh,” Petunia responds, unable to meet his eyes just yet. “Well, if it will help you–” 

“No,” he cuts her off sharply. “If we decide to… Seal it. It will be when we both are ready. When it is organic and natural. Not just for my comfort. Taking that step is huge, Pet… It’s a magical bond, one not broken. And…” He flushes deeper, his skin dark. 

“What?” He swallows, closing his eyes. 

“Werewolves mark their mates,” he replies, his voice nearly silent. Petunia frowns. 

“What, like a… Bite mark?” She inquires, unable to figure out how else he could mark her. “You will bite, what, my neck?” He grimaces. 

“No, a mating mark is… Lower,” he grinds out. Petunia’s eyes widen and she nods her head stiffly. “Of course, we also supposedly bite quite a bit, so I assume your shoulders, back, and chest will eventually bear the marks. But no, they will not be mating marks.” 

A loud whistle comes from the portrait of Lily and James, startling the both of them. Petunia blushed furiously, catching in the corner of her eye the sight of Lily smacking James over the head as he roars with laughter. Both she and Remus pointedly ignore them. 

“Supposedly? Have you not…?” He shakes his head. 

“No. I thought about it over the years, but I just never felt the draw towards meaningless sex. That was more Sirius’ style than mine. Especially during the war…” He trails off, looking away. Petunia reached forward, before thinking better of it and letting her hand fall. 

“How bad was it? Really?” She asked softly. He sat heavily in the chair. 

“Hell. War is hell, Petunia. I will never try to dissuade that notion… And I fear what is coming will be far worse.” His eyes seemed to unfocus as his mind slipped back through the years, his face aging with every second. Petunia sat across from him. 

“I watched so many people die. Good. Bad. It did not matter,” he whispers, his voice flat. “Death takes, and it takes, with no regard to who you are. Not age, or creed, or morality. It cares not for wealth or poverty, love or hate. I held Sylvia Clearwater in my arms as she died. It was November the ninth, nineteen seventy-eight. She was the first, but she would be so far from the very last…” He closes his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek. 

“And what is to come will be worse,” she says. He nodded, not opening his eyes. 

“I think that Voldemort will take into account his failures. He… He was naive last time, but I don’t think he will make that same mistake again. Petunia, I am so scared of what is to come,” he admits, his eyes snapping open. Petunia swallowed, trying to curb the dread seeping through her veins like mud. 

“All we can do is prepare, then,” she says firmly. “I will continue brewing. Wolfsbane is my personal goal, but if all out war is eventual… We will need potions and healers. The more, the better.” Remus shrugged. 

“We have St. Mungo’s.” 

“No. Not in war. Hospitals are always targeted. They are either taken or destroyed in order to cripple. I do not think that either St. Mungo’s or the Ministry should be in our plans.” Her voice was cold, detached. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she longed for her muggle life where such concerns would never have faced her. But that life was long gone in the past of another reality. 

“Remus, I don’t think it would be a bad idea to start preparing even now. War is unpredictable and violent… The way Dumbledore explained everything to me seemed so simple, but not even Harry can bear this weight alone…” She did reach across the table at this, linking their fingers. 

“So we begin prepping him. And Dudley… Train them, even during the summers. Prepare them for what is to come. And I will do what I can, where I can be of help.” She looks up, taking in Remus’ unreadable gaze. “What?” 

“Did I tell you that I love you?” He says, the corners of his lips tugging up. 

Chapter Text

No place for beginners or sensitive hearts
When sentiment is left to chance
No place to be ending but somewhere to start
No need to ask, he’s a smooth operator

(Smooth Operator -  Sade)

December 24, 1991. 

Petunia took the last of the Christmas dinner leftovers from Mary, setting them in the fridge. She looked up to the window over the sink, taking note of the nearly full moon outside. She jumped as something moved in the reflection, relaxing as familiar arms wrapped around her. Mary watched, a grin on her face, as Remus planted a soft kiss against the crown of her head. 

“Happy Christmas, love,” he whispered, before reaching around her and snagging a biscuit from the plate on the counter. Petunia whirled around, raising a finger at him. 

“How dare you use affection to sneak sweets, Remus Lupin!” She scolded. He barked out a laugh, turning and fleeing from the kitchen. Petunia resolutely did not look at Mary, turning back to cover the plate of biscuits. 

“Sooooo…” Mary said, hopping onto the counter and crossing her legs. Petunia looked at her, masking an air of confusion. 

“Yes?” 

“Oh, don’t even play!” She snapped, leaning forward. “What was that?” 

“Well, we had a… Talk, last week.” Petunia shrugged. Mary stared at her incredulously. 

“And?” Petunia smirked. 

“And we love each other. What of it?” She replies. 

“Well, have ye fucked yet?” Mary inquires. Petunia choked, turning dark red. 

“N-no!” She says, her face flushing even harder. “He… He wants it to happen naturally, not just because it would ease his… Urges,” Petunia winces. Mary laughs, shaking her head. 

“Just don’t wait too long. He’s waited long enough,” she chuckled. “But really, Pet… I am thrilled for the two of ye. I think I scolded him for an hour over the summer, after ye told me he had distanced himself. I am glad he finally pulled his head out of his arse.” David entered the kitchen, his face apologetic. 

“Hun, I think it is about time we took the girls home. They are tired and full of sugar,” he says. Mary laughs, slipping from the counter. Petunia followed them out, making their way to the parlor. Natalie and Charlotte were half asleep on the couch. 

“Thank ye for having us, Pet,” Mary says, hugging her tightly. “And the next time I see ye, I had better hear all about yer sex life.” It was so quiet against Petunia’s ear she almost missed it, but from the way Remus’ eyes widened, his lupine hearing hadn’t. Petunia flushed, letting Mary release her. 

They exchanged quick goodbyes with David, Charlotte, and Natalie, before the family left. Silence descended through the house once more and Petunia sat on the couch, tired. She leaned her head back, closing her eyes and resting. 

She heard Remus cross the room, before music started filtering through the air as he fiddled with the radio. Petunia smiled as Bing Crosby’s voice clarified, his words cutting through the air softly. She opened her eyes to find Remus standing above her, his hand extended. 

“Dance with me?” He asks. She took his hand, letting him pull her up and into his arms. She sighs at the feeling of his hands wrapped around her, letting her head fall against his chest as they  began to sway back and forth to the music. 

She could feel his heartbeat through his skin, a soothing rhythm as they danced slowly around the parlor. Petunia sighed softly, relaxing further against him as the song faded out into soft notes. She felt Remus tense and pulled back, noting the way his heart was pounding in his chest. 

“Remus? What is it?” She asked. His lips were drawn in a tight line and it did not look like he was breathing. 

“Nothing… I’m fine,” he forces out. Petunia frowned, stepping away to give him space. 

“Remus, what is wrong?” She demands. He lets out a shaky breath as she puts distance between them, leaving Remus panting across the room. 

“It’s just worse this close to the full moon… Everything is in overdrive,” he whispers, reaching up to rub his temple. Petunia’s eyes soften as she watches him, taking in his discomfort. She steps forward, once more invading his space. He looks at her and she notices how dark his eyes are and she can hear a faint rumbling growl in his chest.

It causes a warmth to flash through her body, her skin flushing red as she continues to step towards him. He takes a step back. 

“Petunia, I do not want to push anything–” 

“You are not pushing, Remus,” she cuts him off. He backs into the wall and Petunia pushes forward until they are centimeters apart. She raises up to her tiptoes, watching his lips intently before she leans forward and brushes hers against his. 

A much louder snarl erupts from Remus as they connect. His hands grasp her firmly, holding her in place as he devours her lips. The tugging returns, coiling tighter and tighter. She is dizzy now, and she isn’t sure if it is from his lips on hers, or the need for oxygen. 

“Are you sure about this?” She opens her eyes, unaware that he had even pulled away. She pants heavily, her lips swollen and tingling from his stubble. His question slowly processes and she nods, pressing herself against him until her body is molded to his. 

“Please,” she whispers. Remus picks her up and she wraps her legs around his waist, circling her arms around his neck. He latches his mouth to the pulse point of her neck and Petunia gasps, her head falling back as she arches against him. 

Remus barely made it to the couch, falling heavily onto it. He readjusted her so that she straddled his lap, nipping at her neck. She rolled her hips, feeling like something inside of her was about to snap. 

Remus groaned, grinding himself against her shamelessly. She moaned as she felt his hardness press against her, leaning her head forward against his shoulder. He bit down on her neck and Petunia screamed, pleasure coiling and expanding through her like a rubber band snapping. 

She shuddered against Remus, her nails digging into his arms as she rode out a sensation she had never felt before in her life. She heard a strangled gasp leave Remus and could feel him rutting up against her distantly. 

Slowly, Petunia’s head cleared. The throbbing sensation faded from her body and she collapsed against Remus, panting. His arms wrapped around her tightly, his own heartbeat a staccato against his chest. When she was finally able to string her thoughts together, she ground out the words.

“What was that?” She asked breathlessly. Remus chuckled, pulling her tighter against his chest. 

“Petunia, you’ve had an orgasm before,” he says lightly. Petunia pulled back, looking at him appraisingly. 

“Never like that,” she admits weakly, dropping her head back to his shoulder. “With Vernon, it was never… I never found real pleasure in it,” she said flatly.

“What do you mean?” He frowns. Petunia blushed, burying herself deeper into his chest. 

“It was all rather orthodox. He… The lights were always off and he would… I never…” She couldn’t force the words out. Remus’ grip tightened considerably around her. 

“You mean to tell me he has never been so lucky as to see your beauty laid beneath him?” A small shake of her head. “Next you will tell me he has never tasted you, never explored the landscape of your body,” Remus scoffed. Petunia did not respond. 

“Petunia, would I be the first?” He asks seriously. Another small nod against his chest. 

“What a fool he was. To have such a vision as yourself before him and to not even worship you,” he says, standing up with her still clutched tightly in his arms. 

“No, Remus… Really, it is fine–” He guides them up the stairs, carefully winding down the hall towards her room. 

“No, Pet… I would not dream to finally know you intimately without first leaving you gasping and writhing. It is a desire both of my own mind, and the wolf’s. Now stop arguing and lose yourself to a sensation you should have known.” He kicks open the door to her— their —bedroom and sets her down gently in the center of the bed. 

Petunia blushes, pressing her knees together as her dress rides up her thighs. Remus narrowed his eyes slightly, settling onto the bed and crawling slowly towards her. He didn’t try to part her knees just yet, instead leaning over and capturing her lips slowly. 

Petunia felt something inside her twist as he kissed her, his lips gentle. His hand came up to grasp her jaw, turning her head slightly as he moved his attention down her neck. She gasped as he nipped at her skin, her eyes closing. 

He continued south, lavishing attention to her collarbones as his hands moved to her hips. He held her firmly in place, stalling the movements her hips had been doing seemingly of their own accord because she had not realized how much they were bucking until she couldn’t move anymore. 

Her growl of frustration was cut off by a stuttered moan of shock as his lips wrapped around a stiff nipple through her clothes. He nipped gently at it, one of his hands moving up to wrap over her other breast. Petunia whimpered at the feeling, shuddering as she felt something inside winding up once more. 

“P-please, Remus,” she stuttered. Remus groaned at the desperation in her voice. He grabbed the hem of her dress, pulling it up her back. Petunia sat up and let him pull it over her head, flushing in embarrassment as she lay before him in her underclothes. 

She wrapped her arms around herself, covering her bra as she tried to push down the rising panic. Remus whimpered lowly, pulling her against his chest. 

“We don’t have to if you are not ready,” he says. Petunia shakes her head firmly. 

“No, I just… Like I said, Vernon never looked at me during… No one has ever seen me and I am just… Self conscious,” she replies. Remus' eyes soften as he pushes her back down to the bed, kissing across the bare flesh of her stomach. 

“Petunia, when I saw you fall apart in my arms downstairs, I finished just from the sight of it,” he revealed. Petunia frowned. Remus laughed, leaning back so she could see the dark stain across the front of his trousers. 

“You drive me absolutely insane with desire. Nothing you show me could do something to change that. In fact, the worst that could happen is it drives me insane and I become a raving, lust-crazed lunatic,” he says, before nipping his way down her thigh. 

Petunia gasps, her hips arching up off the bed as he works his way back up towards her center. Slowly, she lets her arms fall away. Remus’ pupils darken as she looks at him, waiting. He pushes the brassiere up, revealing her breasts to him. 

They are fairly small, fitting her thin frame perfectly. Remus swallows roughly, his mouth suddenly dry as he takes in the sight of her nipples. They are raised and pebbled, dusky against her pale flesh. 

Remus feels himself harden as he leans forward, wrapping his lips around one and sucking. Petunia’s hand wrapped around the back of his head, arching into his mouth as he sucked her nipple. His hand comes up, pinching and rolling her other nipple between his fingers softly. 

He pulled away, drawing Petunia up with him and kissing her roughly. His fingers find the clasp of her brassiere, loosening it clumsily. Petunia laughs against his lips as it finally falls open, laying back against the bed and drawing it off of herself slowly. 

She watches the way his eyes track her movements. The way his chest rises and falls in deep, panting breaths as he struggles to maintain composure. With a surge of confidence she let her knees fall apart, flushing deeply as she watched Remus’ eyes darken considerably. She could swear for just a moment, as well, that she had seen flecks of gold flash in them. 

Remus seemed to breathe more deeply as he shifted towards her, his eyes not leaving the wet spot on her knickers. Petunia grasped the sheets tightly, swallowing. Remus settled himself between her thighs slowly, his finger moving out to trace across the wet spot. 

Petunia cried out as his finger brushed across her sensitive flesh. She felt as if she were on fire, a heat she had never felt before flooding through her. Remus eyes snap up to her, a look of deep hunger in his gaze. 

He lowers his head, pressing his nose into her knickers and inhaling deeply. Petunia’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the sheets, her head twisting to the side as her body shuddered. Slowly, Remus slid her knickers down her legs, tossing them behind him as he resumed his place between her thighs. 

She could feel his breath against her center, cold compared to the heat radiating from between her legs. Petunia held her breath as she felt Remus inch closer, a loud gasp escaping from her as she felt his lips wrap around her clitoris. 

“Oh, fuck! Remus!” She moaned, bucking her hips up to his face. Her hands moved from the sheet to card through his hair, holding his head in place. She wasn’t going to last long. 

Remus swirled his tongue around her clit slowly, a loud sigh escaping him. Between the scent of her arousal in his nose and the taste of it on his tongue his senses were in overdrive. 

He slid a hand between her thighs, sliding it between her lips and coating it in her arousal. Petunia shuddered underneath him, whimpering as he slipped the finger into her slowly. He crooked it, sliding it in and out of her with agonizing slowness. 

He could feel her tightening around his finger and began to pump slightly faster. Petunia cried out, her muscles clenching around his finger as she held his head in place. She bucked her hips against his mouth, riding out the feeling throbbing through her body as it finally began to ebb away. Remus shifted up her body, something deep inside of him driving his movements as he bit her hip sharply until he could taste blood. 

Petunia cried out in pain, but did not push his head away. She knew it needed to be done, that their bond needed to be sealed. Remus licked over the wound, trying to soothe her. “Mating bites are the only ones that really hurt, from what I have been told. They are a lot deeper in order to scar enough. I’m sorry,” he whined. 

“It’s okay, love.” She collapsed against the bed, exhausted. Remus pushed himself up, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he gazed down at her. Through hooded eyes she watched as Remus began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his skin inch by inch. 

The scars that littered the flesh he let show grew thicker and longer as they moved down his torso. In all the times she had seen his body in the aftermath of full moons, she realized with a jolt that she had never truly looked at it. 

As he turned to set the shirt on the floor, she noticed rather brutal scars that ran across his back. Her chest hurt as she thought about the little boy who couldn’t understand why he hurt when he woke up, or the man who knew exactly why. 

He unhooked his belt, tossing it onto the floor as he unfastened his trousers. Petunia chewed on her lip as he slid them down his legs. She bit back a gasp as she saw bite marks on his thighs, large, ugly wounds from a large animal. 

While she understood that his scars came from his time as a werewolf, she never stopped to think that the shape of them remained the same post transformation. Remus slid down his pants next, and every other thought disappeared from Petunia’s mind. 

He knelt between her thighs, bending down to kiss her softly as he settled his weight over her body. Petunia shuddered slightly at the feeling of his body pressed against hers. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensation of the kiss. 

She reached her hand between them, stroking him gently. Remus hissed, his head falling against her shoulder as he thrust into her hand weakly. “M’not gonna last,” he gasps. Petunia chuckles, releasing him. 

He lines up, rubbing the head of his cock against her with aching slowness. Petunia drops her head as he begins to push into her slowly, letting her acclimate as he inches deeper. Only once he is fully seated inside her does he stop. 

“Fuck, Pet,” he gasps in her ear. Petunia doesn’t respond, too overwhelmed by the feeling of being overly full. Remus settled his hands on her hips, slowly rocking into her with a reserved pace. Petunia moaned lowly, her head falling back and her legs wrapping around his waist. 

“Shit,” he whispered, the minute change in position pushing him ever slightly deeper into her. Petunia curled her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he began to increase his pace. She felt a coiling deep inside of her, threatening to snap at any moment. 

“Oh, fuck, Remus!” She panted, her head falling back. His teeth found her neck, nipping and bruising the flesh as he rutted into her. One of her hands tangled in his hair, pulling it as she clung to him. The other splayed across his neck, holding herself in place as she fell apart underneath him. 

Remus gasped as he felt her nails bite into his flesh, her body shattering around his. His thrusts became erratic as he felt a coiling at the base of his spine, the muscles of his abdomen tightening. He bit down onto Petunia’s shoulder, muffling his cry as he reached his release. 

Petunia collapsed against the bed, laughing as Remus laid bonelessly across her. She carded her fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. Finally, he pushed himself up and fell onto the bed beside her. 

“How was it?” She asked teasingly. He let out a huff. 

“I didn’t know it could be like that,” he said breathlessly. Petunia smiled softly. 

“Neither did I. If I had known it could feel like that, I would have never married Vernon… But I wouldn’t have Dudley, so I guess in the end, it was worth it,” she shrugged. Remus narrowed his eyes slightly. 

“Dudley is an amazing kid and I am so very glad that we have him, but Vernon was a bloody idiot who wasted every good thing laid before him. And am I glad for that, because it means I get to be the one to make you fall apart like that,” Remus says. Petunia lets out a snort, shaking her head. 

“If only I could see his reaction to finding out I am a werewolf’s mate. I am pretty sure he would die of shock on the spot,” she replies. Remus lets out a barking laugh, shaking his head and pulling Petunia against him. 

“Now that, I think I would enjoy seeing,” he says, before pressing a kiss against her cheek. Petunia closed her eyes, letting herself be lost in the feel of his body as they drift to sleep.

Chapter Text

We’re only getting older, baby
And I’ve been thinking about it lately
Does it ever drive you crazy
Just how fast the night changes?

Everything you’ve ever dreamed of
Disappearing when you wake up
But there’s nothing to be afraid of
Even when the night changes

(Night Changes - One Direction)

December 25, 1991.

Petunia woke slowly. Above her, through the window, cold rays of sunshine crept slowly through the room as the sun rose. She felt Remus shift behind her, and as the memories of last night came to mind she felt a flush spread across her face. 

Warm arms wrapped around Petunia and pulled her close. She turned in Remus’ embrace, curling into his chest as she closed her eyes tiredly. They had stayed up most of the night, lazily making love in between cat naps. 

“Mmmh, morning,” Remus mumbles tiredly. Petunia opens her eyes, meeting his gaze. 

“Morning,” she responds, kissing him softly. Remus begins to stir at this, his eyes more focused and aware. 

“Definitely a good morning… Best Christmas I’ve ever had,” he says, a glint of humor in his eyes. Petunia smacked his arm gently, softening the blow with a trail of kisses across the spot. 

“Abuse,” Remus moaned playfully, his arms tightening their grasp around her waist and pulling her flush against his chest. 

“Uh huh. Don’t you forget that you left scars on me last night,” she smirked. Remus looked at her sharply, his grin undercutting his tone. 

“Hey, I warned you what was going to happen!” He said softly. Petunia laughed, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose. 

“Mmmh, you did,” she agreed. “And I do not recall protesting last night,” she said, pushing herself away from Remus. He groaned, holding her firmly in place as she tried to rise from the bed. 

“Remus Lupin, you had better let me up if you want to eat today,” she said sharply. He let out a groan, releasing his hold. Petunia chuckled, smacking his thigh as she stood from the bed. 

“Abuse!” He cried again. “Smoothing it over with sweet words and soft kisses, just to repeat the offence,” he says, pushing himself up as well. 

“Oh, hush,” she says, removing a nightgown from a hanger in the closet and slipping it over her head. Remus whined softly, stepping up behind her and pulling her back against his chest. She closed her eyes, her head falling to her shoulder as Remus kissed a trail from her ear to the crook of her neck. 

“Remus, breakfast,” she says breathlessly. A gasp escapes her as a hand slides around to her breast, the other down to the crux of her thighs. 

“Forget breakfast,” he says between kisses. “Let me feast on you.” Petunia whimpers as his fingers brush across her nipple, her hips bucking forward against his other hand. 

“What, does your Lycanthropy give you a reduced cool down time?” She pants. Remus chuckles, nipping at her neck. 

“Yes, it does,” he replies. Petunia lets out a shuddered moan before pulling away. 

“Well, I don’t have that option. Food. We need food. And we would never hear the end of it if Mary decided to come over today and found us in the middle of a round.” Remus laughs, before collecting fresh clothes and dressing. 

Petunia heads downstairs, walking slowly through the house. It was the first Christmas without the boys. Without anyone over, aside from Remus. She glanced into the parlor as she passed, remembering the last decade in this home. She blushes as memories of last night come to mind as well. 

She pushes on to the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out the meat for breakfast. As she is cracking the eggs over the pan, the sound of muffled laughter reaches her ears. Petunia freezes, her back rigid as she delays turning around. Finally, the sound of a smack is what causes her to turn. 

“James, you git!” Lily laughs, her own face reddening as she fights a laugh. 

“Oh come on, Lily! Remus and your sister! Your sister!” He says, before breaking into another fit of laughter. Petunia’s cheeks turn a dark red, her hands immediately in her hair as she tries to comb it down into a presentable manner. 

“Oh, it is too late for that,” Lily smirks. “We heard it. Every time.” She wriggles her eyebrows, but her eyes hold a genuine happiness as she watches Petunia fluster. Finally, unable to give a response, she turns back to the pan and stirs the eggs quietly. 

“Oh, come on, Tunie!” James laughs loudly. Petunia ignores them pointedly, scooping the meat and eggs onto plates. The sound of the kitchen door opening catches her attention and she turns just as Remus sits down at the table. 

He glances up at the portrait to tell James and Lily good morning, before he catches James’ eye and averts his gaze. 

“Oh, come on, Moony! Not you too,” James whines. “As much as I find the situation humorous, I am so happy for you two,” James says, his tone serious now. Petunia finally looks up at the portrait, her eyes on Lily. 

“Pet, I am happy that you found someone to love who will love you just as fully in return,” Lily says softly, a smile stretching across her face. Petunia set the plates on the table, sitting next to Remus instead of her usual spot across from him. 

“But, as much as we are happy for you two, would it kill you to cast a silencing charm next time?” James asks, his eyes glinting with mischief. Remus set his fork down, turning to the portrait with a mock glare. 

“Oh, you are one to talk! We had to tell you that over and over again, James. I am surprised with the amount of times we did overhear you, that you did not have several children by the time Harry was born,” he quips. Petunia laughs, covering the sound as she takes a sip of her water. 

“You were just jealous that I had such a beautiful witch,” James says. Remus shakes his head, laughing. 

“Eh, I prefer her sister,” he replies with a devious grin. James laughs as Lily shakes her head, muttering ‘boys’. “Hey, at least I grew up!” Remus argues. 

“Umm, that is not my fault. I would like to make the argument that I died at twenty-one, and therefore, should not be held accountable for maturing,” James grins. A dark look crossed Remus’ eyes and James immediately apologized. 

“It wasn’t your fault. And it is a good argument,” Remus shrugs. “I just do not like that I am talking to a portrait of you,” he says lowly. 

“Yes, but if things had turned out differently, you would not be here right now,” Lily interjects. “Things do not always happen in the way we expect, or the way we would prefer, but that does not mean good cannot come from it. You are happy. Your lives have finally turned into a good direction. I am grateful for that,” she says. 

Petunia wiped a tear from her eye, finishing her meal in silence. A loud crack sounded in the yard and Remus stood quickly, drawing his wand as he approached the back door. Petunia frowned. 

“What are you doing? It is probably Mary,” she says. Remus shakes his head. 

“Mary always apparates in the living room nowadays. It isn’t her.” He opened the door quickly, stepping up to the gap before pushing his wand out the door. He lowers it slightly, but does not put it away. 

“What was my mission in the Order?” Remus demanded. Petunia stood up, moving so that she was hidden behind the wall. A rough, grizzled voice replies to Remus. 

“You were sent in to infiltrate the werewolf packs in Northern Scotland and Ireland. What were my words of advice to you lot, that apparently, you actually listened to?” Remus grinned. 

“Constant vigilance,” he replies, lowering his wand. Mad-Eye Moody stepped through the back door, shaking Remus’ hand firmly. Petunia let out the breath that she was holding, relaxing against the wall as Moody took a seat at the table. 

“You two had better head to the Ministry today,” Moody says. There is no preamble as he shrinks the portrait of the Potters, offering them a respectful nod before tucking it securely into his pocket. 

“Dumbledore found out that the Ministry was trying to drag out Sirius’ hearing. He tore into Fudge last night and an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot was called together for this morning. Remus, I need you to prepare yourself… Sirius will be there today,” he says shortly. 

Remus dropped heavily into a chair. It felt as though he had taken a hard blow to the chest as he struggled to breath. After ten years, something was finally being done for Sirius. But there was no guarantee that the Wizengamot would move to free him, either. 

“Okay… Alright. Petunia, you go with Mad-Eye. I am going to Mary’s and collecting her. She needs to be there, too,” he says. Petunia nodded, rushing upstairs to change into proper clothes and brush her hair back into a low ponytail. 

She found Moody in the backyard, glaring down at his watch. Remus had already left. Petunia closed her eyes, preparing herself as she laid her hand over Moody’s. A crushing sensation settled over her as her insides jerked and twisted on themselves as they disappeared from her back yard and appeared in a large foyer. 

All around them fireplaces lined a magnificent hallway of black marble. Every few seconds, bursts of green fire flared and died as Ministry officials arrived to work via the floo network. Moody stumped along without looking back, and Petunia followed him through to an atrium. 

At the center of the large room, a fountain stood high above them. A witch and wizard stood high, their wands raised in the air as magical creatures looked towards them in awe. Something about the image sat wrong with Petunia, but she did not have time to dwell on it as Moody continued across the room. 

She followed him onto a lift, ducking her head quickly as paper aeroplanes whizzed into the compartment with them, swirling around their heads. The lift descended, the metal around them rattling jarringly. Petunia grabbed a handrail, her knuckles white as they descended several floors.

The doors opened and the paper aeroplanes disappeared down the hall before the doors shut slowly. Moody leaned over to her, grinning. 

“Those were interdepartmental memos. They used to use owls, but you can imagine the mess that caused,” he chuckled gravelly. Petunia shook her head, fighting a smile. Finally, the lift lurched to a stop and the doors opened with a screech. 

Ahead of them, a long, dark hallway stretched ahead. Dark, cold stone lined the route, torches casting a flickering light about the walls causing shadows to dance across the dark stone. 

“Where are we?” Petunia asked, following Moody out into the hall. It was colder here, a chill seeping into her very bones as they proceeded down the hallway. Moody stumped along ahead of her, the thud of his walking stick echoing loudly off of the walls. 

“Level ten of the Ministry. This is where the Wizengamot meets, the court rooms aren’t too far up this hall,” he replies. She wraps her coat tighter around her as they turn a corner. Ahead of them, dozens of men and women stand talking as they approach. Silence descends as they take notice of Moody, nods and smiles being offered. They don’t offer the same to Petunia. 

She looks them over as they pass. Each is dressed in plum colored robes, one man sporting a lime green bowler hat. Moody pushes past, guiding Petunia into a chamber beyond the group. It is much larger than she expected, balconies sweeping up from the chamber floor with seats several rows back. 

“You will be over there,” Moody says, nodding towards the seats behind him. She makes her way over, sitting on an empty bench near the front. Several people already sat in the rows behind her, a woman with stark blonde hair and bright turquoise robes catching her eye. 

The woman seems to take notice of Petunia as well, quirking an eyebrow towards her behind her bejeweled spectacles. She leans over, opening her purse, an acid green quill whizzing out a moment later, followed by a pad of paper. 

People continue to enter the chamber, filling the seats around Petunia. After several minutes, two heads of red hair caught Petunia’s eyes as the Weasley’s stepped through the chamber doors. Moody nodded to them as they entered, his own seat near the dividing banister that split the witness seats from the court seats. 

“Morning,” Molly says, sitting stiffly beside Petunia. She smiled at her warmly, but Petunia could see uncertainty hidden in her eyes. Petunia nodded to Arthur, before responding in kind to Molly’s greeting. 

“Where is Remus?” Arthur asks, sitting beside his wife. Petunia shrugs, looking over to the door. 

“He went to collect Mary before he came here. Alastor brought me,” Petunia replied. Molly frowned. 

“Why did Moody bring you?” She inquired. 

“He came to collect our portrait of Lily and James,” she replied. Arthur turned to Petunia, shock coloring his features. 

“There is a portrait of them?” He asks. 

“Yes. It was in their home in Godric’s Hollow,” Petunia replied, her eyes returning to the door. “I assume the story will come out when the hearing starts.” Arthur nodded, letting his eyes wander around the room. He let out a strained breath. 

“Skeeter is here. You know that tomorrow’s Prophet is going to be filled with speculative lies,” he says sharply. Petunia follows his gaze, finding the woman in turquoise robes once more. Finally, Remus steps through the door, Mary right behind him. 

“Happy Christmas, Pet,” Mary says, embracing Petunia tightly before she moves down to Petunia’s other side so that Remus could take the seat beside her on the bench. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, earning another look from Molly. 

“So, have things shifted between you two?” She asks, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips. Petunia blushed faintly, looking away. Remus responds for her. 

“You were right, Molly. I had found her. I just was not ready to accept it at the moment, but I know now.” Molly smiled warmly, Arthur reaching over to shake Remus’ hand. 

“I am so glad for you two,” Arthur says honestly. Remus smiles warmly, before his hand found Petunia’s and pulls it into his lap. His thumb brushed across her knuckles lazily. Mary leaned over, her lips nearly against Petunia’s ear. 

“Wha’s tha on yer neck?” She asks, her voice lilted with a laugh. Petunia’s hand slaps up to her neck, covering the spot she knows Remus had nipped and sucked on last night, her face turning a marvelous shade of red. 

“Today is not the day to talk about it, but I do want the details soon,” Mary says, sitting back straight. Out of the corner of Petunia’s eye, she can see Remus’ posture, his back ramrod straight. She let out a laugh, slowly relaxing. 

“If you really want to know, you should ask the portrait,” she replies. “Poor Lily and James apparently overheard everything because we did not think to cast a silencing charm.” Mary chuckled, shaking her head. 

“Oh, I know James gave you two a hard time about tha’, the hypocrite,” she laughed. Silence descended over the courtroom as the door opened, the members of the Wizengamot filing into the chamber. Behind them, Albus Dumbledore entered, taking a seat beside Alastor Moody. 

He looked the same as Petunia recalled. Long, silver hair. A matching beard tied and tucked at his waist. His robes today were a vibrantly patterned orange, but the eclectic robes seemed to fit the man. He cast a glance over the chamber, offering Petunia a nearly imperceptible wink. 

“We call together this urgent meeting of the Wizengamot to address evidence in the case of Sirius Orion Black, intending to prove his innocence in the deaths of both the Potters, as well as the subsequent deaths of Peter Pettigrew and the twelve muggles in London.” A tall woman with sharp features spoke, turning to the man in the lime green bowler hat. 

“As well as address, Minister Fudge, the handling of the original case ten years ago by the DMLE. Albus Dumbledore has the floor.” She sits down, gesturing for Dumbledore to step forward. 

“Thank you, Madam Bones,” he says firmly, sweeping out onto the chamber floor. “Ten years ago, it was believed that Sirius Black was made secret keeper for the Potters. When it was discovered that Lord Voldemort had discovered their location and killed young Lily and James, it was assumed that Black must have changed hands.” He turns as he speaks, addressing everyone in the room instead of the court directly. 

“The death of Peter Pettigrew and the unfortunate deaths of the muggles in London were attributed to him as well. However, in the last few days, it has come to my attention that there was never a trial in the case of young Mr Black.” He turns back to the Wizengamot, his eyes on Minister Fudge and another man nearby. 

“That Sirius was sent to Azkaban on the belief that he had betrayed and killed his closest friends. But no investigation was made. No questions asked. The DMLE seemed intent on sending him directly to Azkaban.” 

“He was a dangerous criminal!” The man near Fudge cried out, grasping the back of the seat in front of him. 

“Barty, is it not the purpose of the DMLE to investigate and ensure that someone is guilty of a crime?” Dumbledore asked calmly. 

“He was discovered in London with over half a street destroyed, surrounded by bodies, laughing like a mad man!” Barty retorts, a vein in his temple throbbing. 

“But did he bear a dark mark? Did he wear Lord Voldemort’s symbol?” Dumbledore inquired. 

“It does not matter!” Fudge interjected. “A lack of a dark mark does not indicate innocence. It is entirely possible that turning over the Potters was the act that would earn him his place among You-Know-Who’s ranks? Unaware of the downfall that would meet his master that night.” Fudge looked incensed, his eyes bulging. 

“So you admit that his fate was decided on could have been’s? That proof was not offered? What a miscarriage of justice that appears to be. If you were wrong, you have sentenced an innocent man to life imprisonment in Azkaban.” Dumbledore’s voice turned cool at his, his eyes burning. 

“If it was not Sirius Black, who do you surmise betrayed the Potters that night?” Barty demanded. Dumbledore turned to face him, his eyes like ice. 

“Peter Pettigrew,” he replies. Noise erupts around Petunia, the courtroom descending into chaos. 

Chapter Text

This voice inside of me has lost its breath
It’s far too tired to sing at ease
All of the things I never said out loud
They will remain inside of me

Yeah, and I’m falling
Yes, I’m crawling on my knees

(Fallen - Gert Taberner)

December 25, 1991. 

“Silence!” Petunia flinched, covering her ears as Fudge's voice resounded through the chamber, echoing off of every wall and rebounding down to them once more. Slowly, the chatter around them died down as Fudge continued to pound a small gavel on the desk before him. 

“I will have silence!” He yells one last time, the last of the whispers dying away. “Now, Dumbledore, that is quite the accusation to make. Peter Pettigrew is a hero. A post-mortem recipient of the Order of Merlin, first class, for his attempted apprehension of Black in 1981.” Fudge looks down at his notes, clearing his throat before he continues. 

“What evidence do you harbor to support your claims that Peter Pettigrew was involved in the events of October 31, 1981? It was made public information not the morning after that Black was their secret keeper.” Dumbledore nodded lightly. 

“Yes, and it is my own fault for that information, Minister. Lily and James, when we decided to hide them away with the Fidelius Charm, requested that Sirius be made the secret keeper…” Dumbledore pauses, looking at Moody and seemingly having a silent conversation with the man. 

“Minister, if I may… Perhaps it would be easier for Lily and James to tell us what happened, if that pleases the court?” Fudge frowned, turning to Barty and whispering quietly. 

“Pardon me, Albus, but I fail to see how we can collect the testimony of two people who have been dead for a decade now. In fact, the only living person who was present for the event was an infant who cannot recall the events in order to testify here today.” Dumbledore offers an apologetic smile. 

“Of course not, Minister. What we do have, however, is a portrait of the young Potter family who was painted around September of 1980. Now, of course, portraits have been used to obtain both facts and testaments used in court proceedings before today. This particular portrait was brought to the Potters’ cottage in Godric’s Hollow from James’ family estate in the summer of 1981, when they were placed under the Fidelius Charm. It remained in the rubble of the home until it was discovered this last October by Petunia Evans.” All around the court chamber, eyes flashed down to Petunia and Remus. 

“In addition to the testimony of the Potters’ portrait, I have taken it upon myself to have a group of Aurors visit Sirius Black in Azkaban. While there, they collected his memories of both the night of the Potters’ deaths, as well as the night of Pettigrew’s supposed death. Memories which were neither collected, nor tested with veritaserum, Minister.” Fudge looked uncomfortable as he shifted his gaze away from Dumbledore. 

“And finally, we have pulled the wand of Sirius from the evidence records in order to perform Priori Incantato. A spell, if I may, that may have cleared this entire endeavor up ten years ago.” Dumbledore clears his throat, turning to look across the witnesses. 

“Depending on the outcome of today’s trial, I am sure that a formal and intensive investigation will be done on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s decision in the case of Sirius Black.” Dumbledore turned away, conjuring a large cell in the center of the chamber. 

Remus let out a pained whine as the chamber doors were opened, two Aurors entering the chamber with their wands raised. Above them, a man was suspended in the air. Once he was securely contained in the cell, the door was shut and locked before the spell was lifted. 

Petunia took Remus’ hand as Sirius slumped forward against the tarnished metal, a shuddering, pained gasp escaping him. Remus is trembling beside Petunia, his gaze averted. Sirius grabs onto the bars, pulling himself upright and looking at the Wizengamot before him. 

His hair extended down to his waist, a curly, tangled mop of knots. His skin was gaunt. Sharp, aristocratic features hollowed out by years of malnourishment. His eyes, however, a piercing, metallic grey, held a sophistication and reserve Petunia did not expect from someone of his appearance. 

“Morning, Minister,” he rasps out. “And, if I am to believe what I am told, a happy Christmas to you all.” Sirius lets out a sharp, deep laugh as he watches Fudge’s face. Dumbledore steps forward, conjuring a stand. Alastor Moody stumps forward, enlarging the portrait of the Potters and placing it on the stand. 

Sirius turned his head away from the portrait, his shoulders slumping as whispers once more broke out across the chamber. Lily and James watch on from their canvas, their faces troubled as they watch Sirius. James turned away, running a hand through his hair. 

“Minister, may I introduce the Potters to the Wizengamot.” Dumbledore steps back, taking a seat beside Moody. Fudge clears his throat loudly, choosing his words carefully as he watches the portrait. 

“Mr and Mrs Potter. I must admit, this is an unusual case. While portraits have been used for testimonies before, it has not been in my lifetime that such an event was necessary. However, the court will hear all the evidence compiled here today. May I ask, who was your secret keeper for the Fidelius Charm?” 

“Peter Pettigrew,” James replies. “We thought it too obvious that Sirius would be assumed our secret keeper. Sirius approached us and requested that we chose another in his stead. Lily and I chose Peter, since he stayed clear of the front lines in the war. We let Sirius know of our decision, and no one else.” Fudge’s eyes snapped up, calculating. 

“Nobody else? Not even Dumbledore? Or another one of your ‘close friends’?” Lily shook her head. 

“No. We knew there was a mole in the order, feeding information to Voldemort. But it never crossed our minds that it could be Peter himself. We made the decision. Sirius was the only other one who knew about it. He was willing to let himself be followed as a false lead, as long as it meant we were safe.” Lily turned her head to look at Sirius, pain reflected in her eyes as she watched him. He still would not raise his head towards them. 

“And what happened on the night of 31 October, 1981?” The portrait of James swallowed hard, anger evident in his movements. 

“We heard a knock at the door. Only four people knew of the location of our safe house. Professor Dumbledore, Bathilda Bagshot, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. When I opened the door, Peter was standing there. He looked uncertain, scared. I thought that the weight of the war was pressing down on him, that he just needed to see his friends…” James closed his eyes tightly. 

“When he stepped into our home, Voldemort stepped in behind him. I did not have my wand, I had left it in the nursery where we had been trying to get Harry to bed. I… I had called Lily down to the parlor when I had seen Pete at the door. When I saw Voldemort, I yelled for her to run. She fled up the stairs, Voldemort following her as he stepped over my… James’ lifeless body.” Lily wiped away a tear. 

“He followed me to the nursery. I locked myself in, knowing that we would not escape. He blew the door apart, telling me to step aside. I do not know why he gave me the option to run when he had killed James so easily. But I knew I could not move. I begged him, screaming. I could hear myself… Her screaming. ‘Please, not Harry! Kill me, please, spare Harry! Spare him!’ 

Around them, people turned their heads away as Lily gave her testimony. Petunia closed her eyes tightly, tears burning at the back of her eyelids as Lily told of her last moments, in her own words. Fudge shifted uncomfortably. 

“And how did you see all this?” He inquired. 

“Our portrait was hung in the dining room. The way Peter stepped into the parlor, we had a clear line of sight to him, and to Voldemort when he entered.” Fudge closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“And what happened to Peter after James was killed?” 

“He fled. I think he panicked. He ran, and he never returned to the house. Sirius did come, later that night, though. In fact, three people showed up.” Fudge narrowed his eyes. 

“Who all entered the home that night, after?” 

“Severus Snape, Rubeus Hagrid, and Sirius,” James replied. 

“Snape? Why Snape?” Fudge demanded. Dumbledore stood. 

“Lily Potter is the reason Severus Snape turned sides in the war. His love for her had never faded, and when he discovered that Lord Voldemort had set his sights on the Potters, he offered his loyalty for their safety. His choice was the only reason we were forewarned to hide the Potters when we did. I spoke to him after that night. He felt he had not done enough to ensure her and her family's safety.” Dumbledore sat, returning the floor to the Wizengamot. 

“Hagrid collected Harry and took him to Petunia. Sirius arrived while Hagrid was still there… He begged Hagrid to give Harry to him. It was in our wishes that he would take guardianship. I do not know what happened after that. Their conversation became too quiet for us to hear from the dining room.” James spoke softly. It did not matter, however. 

The only sound aside from James’ words that echoed through the chamber was the muffled sobs of Sirius Black. James looked at his friend sadly, searing pain etched in his eyes. 

“Sirius came to speak to our portrait before he left. He begged forgiveness for failing us. We begged him not to go, to stay and speak with us, but he was gone after that.” The portrait of Lily laid her head on James’ shoulder, watching tiredly from the canvas. 

“Well, thank you, Mr and Mrs Potter.” Fudge looked like he did not know how to proceed, glancing almost timidly around the Wizengamot. “And now, if you will, the Aurors.” Two men stood, moving to rest on either side of the cage holding Sirius. 

“Aurors John Dawlish and Kingsley Shacklebolt. You visited Sirius Black and administered veritaserum to him last week, is that correct?” Fudge asks, looking up from the notes that had been provided for him. 

“Yes sir,” Kingsley replies.

“And what did you find during that interrogation?” 

“Sirius Black maintained his innocence. He named Peter Pettigrew as the secret keeper to the Potters, and the mole in the Order of the Phoenix. When asked about his alleged pursuit of Pettigrew, he said that Pettigrew had been the one to blow the street apart.” Barty frowned, looking up from the papers before him. 

“Why would Pettigrew blow himself up?” Sirius laughed loudly from the center of the room. 

“He claimed that he did it to cover his tracks. That Pettigrew and Black were both illegal Animagi. He concluded that Pettigrew had cut off his own finger, blown the street apart to cover his tracks, and slipped into the sewers in his animal form.” 

“And what form was he said to have taken? Or Black?” Kingsley looked irritated at this question, but schooled his features quickly. 

“Pettigrew was a rat, sir, and Black a dog. We found no tamperings of his memories, no alterations. He spoke the truth, as he knew it to be. Copies of his memories were made, as well as our own from the interrogation, and studied by wizards and witches much more accomplished in memory magic than us. They all agree that the memories are sound, Minister.” John spoke lowly and soundly, before stepping back. 

Kingsley turned and approached the counter in front of the Wizengamot, picking up a wand from the smooth surface before him. Remus leaned over, whispering in Petunia’s ear. 

“He always had a fine wand. Poplar, 11 ½ inches. It was fairly flexible, with a dragon heartstring core. That idiot would lose it all the time, and nine times out of ten, it was stuck in his hair holding it up. We would let him search for it,” Remus laughed softly. Petunia smiled, trying to reconcile the man she saw before her with the one she had seen in the picture ten years before. 

John held the wand out steadily as Kingsley pulled his own wand. ‘Priori Incantato’. Above the two men, flashes of images passed overhead. The sound of stunning spells flying, of angered yelling. And in the background, the sound of a weaselly voice pleading for forgiveness before mocking panic crept into the tone. Demanding why he had betrayed the Potters, how he could do that to his friends. The images faded, leaving behind a stunned silence. 

“And finally. Sirius, if you would, please present your arm for the court.” Sirius slid the tattered, stained sleeve of his prison shirt up. On his arm, several tattoos lined his skin, but in clear sight of the Wizengamot, they could see no Dark Mark marred his pale flesh. 

“Sorry, Minister. As much as I enjoy muggle tattoos, magical ones weren’t my forte,” Sirius grins weakly. Albus nodded to Sirius, who let his sleeve fall back down. 

“Minister,” Dumbledore said, standing. “Everything we have presented here today indicates that a miscarriage of justice occurred ten years ago. I urge the members of the Wizengamot to make the right one, today, and free Sirius Black.” Fudge swallowed thickly. 

“All in favor of leaving the charges as they are?” Several hands rose into the air, and Petunia could hear a rumbling growl emanate from Remus' chest. “All those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?” Across the assembled Wizengamot members, dozens of hands crept into the air. Petunia counted them quickly, her breath catching in her throat as she realized that despite being close, they had more votes. 

“Sirius Black is cleared of all charges…” Fudge banged his gavel uncertainly, his skin pale. Beside her, she could feel Remus sway slightly. Petunia tucked an arm around his waist, holding him upright against her. 

“Might I request, Minister, that Peter Pettigrew would be stripped of his Order of Merlin, and the Prophet would run an article tomorrow morning declaring Mr Black’s innocence? I do fear that there may be a sense of panic amongst the magical world if a suspected Death Eater were roaming the streets. After all, no one has ever escaped Azkaban before.” Fudge glared down at Dumbledore, his face flush. 

“Of course, Albus,” he replied, his voice strained and quiet. 

In the center of the chamber, the cell was opened and Sirius pulled out by Alastor Moody. He shook his hand, nodding, before he slipped Sirius’ wand into his hand. The man looked down at it, disbelievingly, before a broad grin spread across his face. 

His head snapped up to the portrait of Lily and James, approaching it on trembling legs. Mary leaned her head on Petunia’s shoulder. She could feel a wet spot forming from where her friend’s tears fell. She slid her free hand into Mary’s, stroking her knuckles gently with the back of her hand. 

Remus stood and Petunia followed, David nodding to her as he took Mary against him. Petunia stayed several steps behind Remus as he descended to the chamber floor. She leaned against the banister that separated the two spaces, watching Remus closely. 

He approached Sirius’ back. The thin man was kneeled before the portrait, his shoulders trembling with broken sobs. His dirty hands were flat against the canvas, his knuckles white. James was kneeled inside the painting, whispering to him softly. 

James looked up, catching sight of Remus. His eyes were haunted as he nodded towards him, whispering to Sirius again. Sirius’ shoulders tensed, his back stiffening. Slowly, he turned and caught sight of Remus behind him, his shoulders falling and his eyes trained on Remus’ shoes. 

“I… I am so sorry,” Sirius whispers, his voice rough and grating. Remus rushed forward, taking the frail man in his arms and crushing him against his chest. 

“You never apologize to me, Pads… I am at fault, too… I thought you had b… Betrayed them. I hated you,” Remus choked, tears falling down his cheeks. 

“I guess we are even, then,” Sirius smiles softly. Remus frowns at him, pulling back slightly. 

“It was stupid, and I was wrong. I know that, but I thought… I thought because of your time with the packs that you were the mole, Remus… That is why I suggested Peter. I am so sorry,” Sirius says, his silvery eyes turning away. Remus grabs his shoulder, squeezing. 

“It is in the past. I was an obvious choice, due to my condition and my infiltration of the packs. I get it,” he shrugs. “But never again. We never doubt one another ever again,” Remus says firmly. Sirius nods, slumping into Remus’ broader frame. 

“Since when are you so fit?” Sirius asks teasingly. “Swear we couldn’t keep weight on you, whatever we tried. I was always the brawn, you were the brains. What happened?” Remus grinned, turning to catch Petunia’s eye. 

“I met an amazing woman,” he replied. Sirius’ face lit up, pulling back and grabbing Remus arms. 

“You found your mate?” He cried. Around them, most of the chamber had emptied, aside from those who had personal ties with Sirius. He glanced around, counting heads. He froze as he saw Mary, his shoulders falling slightly. He nodded to her, his eyes stinging. Finally, they landed on Petunia. 

“Is that her? She looks… She looks like Lily,” he says, his voice tinged with bitter joy. Remus chuckled softly. 

“Probably because they were sisters,” he replies. Sirius’ eyes flash to his, his eyebrows knitting together. 

“Really? Evans’ sister? Wasn’t she horrid to Lily? I mean, we saw her once at the funeral. Of course, Lily wouldn’t even let us get close to her. Wish she had, I think it would have been a right laugh,” Sirius grins. 

“And that is why she didn’t let us near them. She was trying to salvage the relationship,” Remus reminded him sternly. 

“But still, she hated magic. Lily tried everything to bridge the gap between them. Her sister just would not have it. It cannot be her,” he argues. Remus took Sirius by the shoulder, guiding him to the first row of benches and sitting with him. Petunia moved closer, still leaning against the banister. 

“When James and Lily died, Harry was supposed to go to you. When he couldn’t, they moved to the next guardian. I was not an option. So, he went to Petunia.” Sirius paled, his skin nearly translucent. 

“Why?” He demanded. Remus raised a hand, gesturing for him to wait. 

“She fell in love with him, Sirius. Despite everything. Despite her fear, despite her husband’s hatred. She saw what she lost with Lily, and she swore to never let Harry down the same way. She left her husband, moved across the country, and raised her son and Harry. She loved them both equally.” Remus’ voice began to thicken as he spoke. 

“She met Mary. She met me. And through it all, she strived to learn as much as she could about the world her boys would enter.” Sirius frowned. 

“Boys?” Remus smiled. 

“Her son is a muggleborn, like his aunt. Harry and Dudley are at Hogwarts right now. They are close, close as brothers. Petunia is so much like Lily. She has faced every fear she has ever had and fought through them. She has changed into something new. She has grown, and she is wonderful.” Sirius finally looked up to Petunia, his eyes watering. 

“Then I can think of nothing better. I won’t try to take Harry from you, if that is a concern you harbor. I only request that I can be his godfather again.” His voice was hesitant, worried. Petunia smiled at him. 

“Of course you can. As long as you are a good role model who toes the line,” she says, a knowing smirk crossing her face. Sirius flushed slightly, remembering his school days and all the possible stories Remus had told her. 

“I will do better,” he answers. Petunia shrugs, a soft laugh escaping her. 

“I do not think I could ask better of you, Sirius Black.” Sirius lets out a genuine, sharp laugh, his head falling back. Remus watched him, his chest aching as the sound echoed the long buried memories in his mind. 

Chapter Text

I walked across an empty land
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Sat by the river, and it made me complete

(Somewhere Only We Know - Keane)

December 30, 1991

Petunia and Remus sat at the table, watchin the sun track down towards the horizon. Distantly, up stairs, they could hear Sirius stirring. Aside from the occasional meal and restroom breaks, he had not left his bed since he arrived the night of Christmas. 

Remus had dragged Sirius through a shower not soon after they had made it to the house. Sirius had come down, exhausted, and picked at a plate of food as if afraid he would be punished for eating. 

Then, he had gone to bed and barely been seen since. Petunia heard the shower start up and made her way to the stove, heating the leftover supper. Remus watched her for a few minutes, a light smile on his lips as she bustled about, putting a plate together for Sirius. 

He sidled up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing her back against his pelvis. He growled against her ear, and Petunia flushed brightly as she tried to focus on ladling the food carefully onto the plate. 

“Remus, I am trying to do something,” she said, her strained voice betraying the air of frustration she had been trying to emit. 

“Don’t care. Sirius would probably eat it off the floor,” he shrugs, nipping along her jawline. Petunia set the spoon down, the sound echoing through the kitchen. 

“Remus, the sun is going to set soon. We don’t have enough time,” she warned breathlessly. Remus whined in frustration, his hands kneading into the flesh of her hips. The day of the full moon, his instincts and hormones ran rampant, but it was too dangerous now. 

“Interrupting?” Remus jumped back, snarling at Sirius. Petunia looked down, picking up her plate and taking it to the table. Sirius stood in the frame of the door, towel drying his hair and laughing loudly. 

“Sleep for days at a time, and finally come down to see us when I am busy?” Remus demanded. Sirius glared at him, a smirk on his lips. His eyes seemed to shine like liquid silver.

“It is the full moon tonight,” he shrugged. Remus’ shoulders fell, and Petunia watched him sadly. “A hundred and twenty three,” Sirius continued. Petunia looked at him sharply, her hand falling to the side of the table and gripping it roughly. 

“I was not there for them, Remus. You will not suffer tonight.” Sirius sat down at the table, pulling the plate towards himself. “Delicious, Petunia,” he said between bites. Petunia sat across from him, watching Sirius carefully. He ate quickly, cleaning the plate once he was finished. 

“Thank you,” he said politely, seeming suddenly the aristocrat he had been born. Petunia nodded, smiling. She pulled Remus towards her, kissing him softly. 

“Be safe, whatever you two do,” she warned. Remus agreed, kissing her once more. She watched them traipse out the back door, laughing and pushing one another gently. They seemed years younger, and she felt like she was glimpsing back in time to a night at Hogwarts long ago. 

She watched in shock as Sirius bent forward, thick black hair sprouting from his skin as he shrunk down into the shape of a large, shaggy black dog. Despite having known of his ability, she had never imagined what it may look like. 

They disappeared into the forest, and as the last edges of twilight faded into darkness, the moon slowly crept up over the tree line. In the distance, she heard a lonesome howl pierce the air, and for the first time in ten years, another barking howl answered it. 

Petunia stepped back inside, glancing tiredly at the portrait of Lily and James. She smiled weakly at them, rubbing her face. Lily smiled back at her, the eyes on the canvas glistening with tears. 

“He will come back injured, but only that of his transformation and any scuffles they get into. He will not be gravely injured this time,” she said, her tone warm. James paced the portrait, brushing his hair aside. Lily frowned, shifting the sleeping image of Harry in her arms. 

“I want to be out there with them,” he said frustratedly, pulling off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Lily scoffed. 

“What, so you can prance around the forest and come home with bite marks from Sirius?” She laughed. 

“Hey! He also has scars from my horns. Plenty of puncture marks mar his skin,” James replied proudly. 

“Boys,” Petunia muttered, biting back a laugh. James gave her a mock pout in protest. 

“Men,” he replied testily, but the remark was softened by the wide grin that he bore. Lily laughed, rocking a fussing Harry in her arms. 

“No, boys is correct. She was referring to your maturity, not your age,” she replies. A cold silence follows her words. Petunia closes her eyes, leaning against the counter. How cold of a realization it was, that James and Lily should be here, not on the wall. 

That James should be out there, prancing around the forest with Sirius and Remus. That one hundred and twenty three full moons should not have passed with only the companionship of bitter loneliness and a crushing weight of responsibility to accompany Remus’ transformations. 

Petunia idled about the kitchen, putting away the leftovers and cleaning the dishes in silence. Lily and James did not disturb it. In a way, they knew. They knew that they were only the faintest impressions of themselves, and that their company would not always be a balm. That sometimes, it was heavier to have them there at all, rather than letting their memory rest. 

Once she was finished, she retired to the parlor. After several years of sitting guard here, full moon after full moon, the house felt empty. It put Petunia on edge not to hear the sounds of pain and anger howled out through the floorboards, to not hear the sound of things breaking in the cellar. Not to have her and Mary’s tears and whispered words to break the agonizing soundtrack. 

She pulled a roll of parchment off of the writing desk in the corner, sitting on the couch and setting a pillow on her lap. She wrote to her boys, hoping to fill her mind until Sirius returned with an exhausted, but safe, Remus home. 

Dear Dudley, 

I hope that you and Harry have enjoyed your holidays. A lot has happened here. Sirius has come home. He was proven innocent of his crimes, and I wanted you to hear some of it from me rather than the Prophet. 

Dudley, sometimes friends cannot be trusted. It is a hard learned lesson, and one which I hope you never learn through experience. Aunt Lily and Uncle James were betrayed by a friend of theirs, one who sought his own safety above all else. 

The boy’s name was Peter Pettigrew. He was a pureblood. He was well off. In Voldemort’s perfect world, he was safe. He had nothing to worry about. But he realized, as he grew older, he had made the wrong friends. 

His friends opposed the very things that secured his place in that world. And so, he sought to find the one who would offer him that protection. He sold out Lily and James in order to protect himself. 

Never be a coward, Dudley. I hope that it is so very far away, but when it comes time for you to stake your ground and choose your fate, choose Harry. Always choose Harry. 

In all honesty, I would prefer that this day never come. But I cannot let you walk forward blind to the reality that your future holds. You are everything Voldemort despises, but Dudley, no matter what is offered to you, do not take it. 

You were always the boy who fought for justice, no matter the cost. Dudley, I need you to always be that boy. Learn. Study hard. Practice. And when the time comes, do whatever it takes to protect the innocent and defend justice. 

But make sure that you do not become cold to those who think differently. We are all human, and sometimes all one needs is a hand of compassion to make the right choice. But not everyone is capable of redemption. 

You must know when you face a losing battle and plan accordingly. ‘Those who wish to fight must first count the cost.’ All these are the words of muggles, but Dudley, hold to them. Every choice you make will have unforeseen consequences, good or bad. 

Some who are not worth saving will live long and abundant lives. And some who deserve life will be cut short, pruned from this world as one would a flower. Life is not fair, but we should not expect it to be so. So fight, Dudley. Fight. ‘Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.’ 

Never stop fighting for what is right. Assess the cost, but understand that some things are a necessary sacrifice. But never go so far as to lose yourself in the process. ‘Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster, for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.’ 

I love you, Dudley. I love you so very much. 

Always remember that. Choose Harry when the time comes, and do whatever it takes to protect the innocent. Never let that part of you die. 

Harry. 

There is so much I wish to tell you, but I know that a letter will never be sufficient. When you come home for summer holiday, we will answer every question you have. There are several here at home who are excited to meet you. They have been waiting so long. 

Your godfather is here at home. I am sure he will write to you soon, he seems to have recovered some from his time in Azkaban. Harry, I cannot express to you how much you were loved, and how loved you still are. 

Sirius has never spent a day without thinking of you. As much as I think he will be a bad influence, I know that it may be the most important influence you ever have. Your father’s best friend. The man that knew him better than any ever would, except perhaps Lily. 

He awaits your return home eagerly. And despite my hesitations towards him, he is quite the gentleman when it counts. 

I feel that I am rambling. In truth, I know very little about him. And everything I do know, I only learned a few days ago. So many lies had swept away the man who now eats at the table with us. He was buried in speculations and fears, yet here he stands. 

Harry, as the future unfolds before you, always remember who you are. Remember that we stand behind you, and when the day comes that you are too weak to stand, we will carry you forward. You have never been alone, and we will follow you until the very end. 

She did not sign the letters. Something felt wrong about trying to write a false-cheerful farewell considering the contents of the parchment she now rolled tightly and sealed. She laid her head back against the couch and closed her eyes, a wave of exhaustion cresting over her. 

Her head snapped up as a sharp crack sounded through the empty house. Mary stood by the fireplace, her eyes tired and red rimmed. They stared at each other for a minute, before Mary finally spoke. 

“It felt wrong. Not being here,” she clarified. Petunia moved over, opening a space beside her. Mary took it silently, her eyes focused on the cracks in the floorboards. Petunia pulled her to rest on her shoulder, her hand grazing comfortingly across Mary’s shoulder. 

“When did they leave?” She asks softly. 

“About an hour ago.” No more words are passed between the two women. They sit in silence, both comforted and uneasy in the stillness. 

December 31, 1991. 

Petunia’s head snaps up as she hears the back door open. She lets out a quiet moan as she lifts her head, the stiff muscles in her neck protesting painfully at the movement. In a moment, Remus is in the frame of the door leading to the parlor, his eyes wide with fear. 

His shoulders relax as he takes in the sight before him. Petunia is curled up on the corner of the couch, Mary laid across her lap, still fast asleep. Petunia smiles tiredly at him, rubbing the tense spot in her neck. 

Her heart calms some as she looks Remus over. He is upright, but pale. But no blood stains his clothes. No new wounds mar his skin. Behind him, Sirius appears, a bottle of wiggenweld in his hand. 

“Forgot this, Moony,” he says, passing it to Remus. Remus grimaced slightly, before uncapping the potion and taking it quickly, his mouth drawn tight in an unapproving manner. 

“Tastes awful,” he murmured lowly, taking it back to the sink for Petunia to wash and re-bottle. 

“You brew it, then. Nothing I can do about the taste, not without ruining the potion,” Petunia yawns, rubbing her sleep-heavy eyes. Mary groans, shifting in her lap as she finally wakes, stretching. 

Sirius made his way across the room, taking a seat in front of Mary, rocking his head back and letting his mane of hair scatter across her. Mary snorts, pulling on it teasingly. 

“Aren’t ye a little old for this?” She asks, her fingers combing through his hair. Sirius shrugs his shoulders, his eyes closing as his body relaxes. 

“Prison,” he says casually, laughing at Mary's breath of annoyance that escaped her. 

“Are ye gonna throw that in my face every time?” She demands, pushing Sirius’ now-detangled head forward. 

“I mean, I could,” he replies, drawing the sentence out with mock-thoughtfulness. 

“If ye do, I will stick Pet on ye,” Mary threatens, her fingers tangling in Sirius’ hair as she begins braiding it down the crown of his head. Sirius snorted, earning a flick against his temple and a reprimand to stay still from behind him. 

“Don’t discount Petunia,” Remus replies, returning to the room and settling down on the couch beside Mary. “She left me covered in bruises.” Petunia’s face flushed a deep red as she turned away, the sound of muffled laughter ringing out behind her. 

“That does not count,” Sirius crows. “Since I do not think your prim and proper mate will be hickey-ing me to death. Although, I can think of a few witches I’ve known that I would not mind meeting such a fate with,” he says wistfully, his mind drawn back to years ago, memories of long-dead women filling his mind.

“Thankfully, we no longer share a dorm room, so I do not have to worry about walking in on you and your witches,” Remus laughs, shaking the memories from his head. A dark look crossed his face at that. Mary tied off Sirius' braid, pushing his head forward and freeing him. 

“Speaking of which, have you thought of where you will go, Padfoot?” Remus asks, his voice measured. Mary stood, allowing Petunia to scoot closer to him, the Scot taking Petunia’s previous place. Sirius frowned some, nodding his head. 

“Yes. I will return to Grimmauld Place,” he answered, his own tone dark. 

“But–” 

“I know, Remus. I said that I would never return after I ran away, but time has continued to shift forward and change. It is high time I do the same, before I am left behind. I will clear it out of all dark magic and return it to a state of glory. And, in time, I only hope that I can do the same with the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,” he finishes, a grim determination in his eyes. Remus nodded, reaching out to shake his hand firmly. 

“Together,” he said. Sirius grinned, squeezing in response. 

“Always and forever,” he replied. “A Marauder never goes back on his word.” A thought seemed to occur to him, his eyebrows knitting in anger. “And I vote that we officially remove the rat from our organization,” he suggested. Remus laughed bitterly. 

“I think we can arrange that. I do not have any doubt that Prongs would be opposed,” he replies, his voice tinged with heartache. 

“Hey, Petunia, do you feel up for a little house cleaning?” Sirius asked, a spark of mischief in his eyes, despite the obvious topic shift. Petunia shrugs, but Remus cuts off her response. 

“Only after the house has been checked and cleared of dangerous dark magic and creatures,” he says, his eyes seeming to flash for a second. Petunia laid her head against his shoulder, a sense of security blossoming through her at his desire to protect her. 

“Fine, I won’t let her play with dark magic artifacts,” Sirius replies moodily, a false-dour look etched across his features. 

“Don’t pout, Sirius. It doesn’t become you,” Petunia admonished teasingly, earning a sharp, barking laugh from Remus. Sirius smacked out behind him, catching Remus’ leg as he laughed. 

“Yes, mother,” he snapped back snarkily. Petunia shook her head, looking at Mary. 

“Do they ever grow up?” She asked. Mary laughed. 

“Hey, dinnae ye look at me. I married one who did. You chose Remus, and by extension, Sirius. This is on ye,” she chuckled. 

“Lovely. I got an overgrown child who can shift into a ravenous beast and his lap dog,” Petunia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Remus pinched her waist playfully. 

“Hey, the only time I am a ravenous beast is when I am looking at you,” he shot back, bending down to nip at her jaw. Sirius faked a gag, barely covering his laugh. 

“A good dog sits silently,” Petunia reprimanded. Sirius gave her a sly grin, his eyes light. 

“Who ever said I was a good dog?” He asked, his eyebrows wiggling. Remus growled, the noise rumbling low in his chest. 

“Keep it up and I will chain you to the tree outside,” he warned. Sirius beamed. 

“Ah, then you remember how much I like being tied up,” he says brightly. Laughter burst from the three seated on the couch, and suddenly a memory came back to Petunia. 

She had worried for so long that when the boys had gone to Hogwarts that the house would become silent, herself a ghost to haunt its empty halls. But Lily had been sending her one friend after another, from a lifetime ago, to fill it with sound and joy. 

She was not, and would never be, alone. Because her sister had loved so fiercely, had cared so deeply, that the bonds transcended a lifetime and continued to flourish here. Petunia closed her eyes, once more leaning against Remus’ firm frame.

Whatever tomorrow held, she would not stand alone to face it all. For the first time in her life, she had a community. A village. People to love and stand with, even when the world threatened to knock them flat. They would hold each other up.

Chapter Text

Left me in pain, was all our plans in vain?
Our memories we make, I can see them slowly fading
You basically erased me
So how do you expect me to ever be happy? 

(I will Meet You at the Graveyard - Cleffy)

January 23, 1992

Petunia stumbled as they appeared in a drab, grey park. The trees shifted in the wind above her head, reminiscent of a ghost clinging to the memory of summer. Around her feet, decaying leaves scudded about in the wind around them. 

“Where are we?” She asks, the sound of traffic reaching her ears from unseen streets. The square of houses around them seemed to be frozen in time, a breath of a long forgotten era in the modern age. 

“London,” Remus replied, righting Petunia before she fell. She laid her hand over his arm, following him to a row of the houses nearby. As they approached, Remus whispered something in her ear. “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Remember that.” 

Petunia watched in amazement as between numbers eleven and thirteen, another building seemed to emerge from the nonexistent air between them. This one seemed older than the others, seeped in despair and rot. 

“What spell was that?” She inquired. 

“Fidelius,” Remus replied, looking around to make sure no one noticed as they stepped into the boundary of the charm. The scent as they approached was thick, cloying. Mould and dust tickled at her nose even before the door was flung open, a tired and grumpy Sirius greeting them. 

He wore a fine pair of slacks and white button-down shirt, his sleek, long hair pulled back into a knot atop his head. A cloth was tied around his head, a nearly crazed look in his eyes. Petunia wondered if he had finally cracked. 

“Welcome!” He called, opening his arms wide. In one hand, a feather duster was clenched tightly, in the other, polish. 

“Sirius, are you doing alright?” Petunia asked, stepping aside so Remus could pull Sirius into a tight hug, clapping his hand across the other man’s back. 

“Oh, me? Fine. Swell, really. Just been at it all morning with mother, is all,” he replied, an impish light taking over his silvery eyes. “Drives her up the wall using muggle methods.” He laughed at an, apparently, inside joke as Remus joined him. 

“She is going to absolutely hate you,” Sirius grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling above the cloth tied around his face. 

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t mean to impose–” 

“Impose? I practically beg you to do so,” Sirius roars. Remus pulled Petunia close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“His mother, Walburga, died some years ago. The house has remained empty since then, since there was no heir to take over headship of the Black Manor. Unfortunately for all of us, she had a portrait painted and placed on the wall at the end of this hallway that no one has been able to remove, as of yet.” Petunia glanced at Remus. 

“The one who hated muggles?” She asked. A guilty look crossed Remus’ face. 

“Yes,” he replied hesitantly. 

“Oh, and if you see a little gremlin running around in here, that is the House Elf, Kreacher. Don’t mind him, he has quite a mouth. Cannot seem to get him to close it, unfortunately, and he was… And is, I suppose, very fond of dear old Mum. Just give him a good kick if you see him, he will shove off,” Sirius interjects, moving up the hallway. 

Petunia followed them, uncertainly. As she passed a rather hideous umbrella stand, the edge of her skirt caught on the rough exterior and pulled it along with her, sending the heavy article crashing down. 

“Filth! Dishonour! A stain on the house of my fathers!” Petunia covered her ears at the splitting scream that emanated from a portrait on the wall that had previously been hidden by curtains. 

“How did anyone ever stand painting her?” Petunia called, barely able to hear her own voice above the screaming. “Dear lord, I am thankful the paintings in the muggle world don’t carry on like this,” she mumbled. The portrait of Walburga Black narrowed her eyes, fixated on Petunia. 

“Mud!” She screamed, an intense fury in her canvas eyes. “Not even the filthiest of blood, but pure mud which must be scraped off your boot at the door! Staining the ancient halls of my fathers! You have brought shame into my home, Sirius Orion Black!” Her eyes flashed to Sirius, before returning to Petunia. 

“A slave to wizard-kind you should be! To bow low before your lords, low to the ground you filthy–” 

Whatever her next words were to be, they never discovered as Petunia agitatedly stepped toward the painting, staring down the image of Walburga with equal dislike. A grin spread across Petunia’s face as she raised her hand, licking across her palm before swiping it across the canvas. 

“You’ve got mud there, did you know?” Petunia asked saccharinely. An unholy noise erupted from Walburga’s portrait, but no more words escaped her. She seemed too flustered, too angry, to form words anymore. 

“Oh sweet Merlin, someone’s finally done it. Someone finally shut her up,” Sirius said, a tinge of awe coloring his voice. Hurriedly, before she could begin her tirade again, he slammed the curtains closed, muffling the agitated howls. 

“Now, Evans, that is a point in my book,” he grinned, offering her a wink. Remus growled behind her, but the sound was softened by a rumble of a laugh. Petunia blushed faintly, ducking her head. 

“Alright, alright. We are here to clean, so let us get to it,” Petunia laughed. Sirius shook his head, tossing the polish and feather duster to the ground. 

“No, magic will definitely be faster. And easier,” he shrugs. “I just wanted to ruffle her feathers,” he grinned. Remus snorted. 

“You plucked her feathers is what you did,” he says. Sirius shook his head. 

“No, she did that,” he corrected, looking down at Petunia with pride. 

“So what do you need me for?” Petunia asked, watching as they raised their wands and began removing the layers of grime from the surfaces of the hallway. 

“Obviously we need a woman’s touch,” Sirius dead-pans, glancing over his shoulder to her. “Honestly, a home re-decorated by two men? It would look like a nightmare,” he shook his head. “My room would probably still have all the muggle posters I put up as a rebellious teenager, and your and Remus’ room would have a dog bed and toys.” Petunia snorted. 

“You are definitely not touching our room,” Remus replied. 

“Who says we will stay here?” Petunia inquired sweetly. “A bachelor’s pad is no place for a woman.” Sirius’ face fell slightly. “Oh, Sirius, I am sorry. I did not mean to imply–” 

“No, no,” he cut her off. “It isn’t that. I just… I do not know what the next few years hold. If your home will be safe, in the long run. That is why Grimmauld Place is so secure. Just in case,” he clarified. “A safehouse for those who need to go into hiding.” Petunia frowned. 

“Why would we need to go into hiding?” Remus placed his hand on her arm. 

“You are the muggle guardian of the boy who lived, and I am a werewolf. If Death Eaters make a move, neither of us are safe.” Petunia shook her head. 

“Then put the Fidelius charm over our house, too. Make it another safehouse for others to run to. We may have to move around some, but there should be backups. Failsafes.” Sirius nodded some, lowering his wand from where he had been cleaning the stains from the carpet. 

“It makes sense. We may need more room than we currently have,” he shrugged. “I can be your secret keeper. Same as you are for me. For Grimmauld Place.” Remus looked unsure at Sirius’ suggestion. “We have a while to think about it,” Sirius assured. 

“I just… I don’t want to put her at risk,” Remus answered softly. 

“Well that is stupid, Moony. She will always be at risk,” Sirius scoffed. 

“He is right,” Petunia agreed. “Even more so than the rest of you. I can’t fight back against magic.” Remus took a deep breath, trying to settle himself. 

“Please do not remind me of that,” he growled. 

“Alright.” She pressed a chaste kiss to his jaw, standing on her tiptoes to reach. “We can discuss all that later. For now, let us tackle this pigsty.” 

February 5, 1992

“How is there this much!” Petunia sighed, plastering over the last of Sirius’ muggle posters. “And why on earth would you use a permanent sticking charm to put them up?” She snapped. 

“So mother couldn't take them down,” Sirius replied flatly. 

“Well, the plaster will be dry by tomorrow. We can paint then,” she shrugged. Sirius looked at her strangely, before pulling out his wand and casting a quick drying charm. 

“Or not,” he shrugged. 

“Why did you have me put the plaster up if you could have done it easier?” 

“Hard work is good for you, Petunia,” he grinned. 

“Wizards are arseholes," she muttered under her breath. 

“What was that?” Sirius asked, changing the color of the walls with a grin. Petunia watched in awe as the room faded into brilliant golds and deep reds, a peaceful smile on Sirius’ face. 

“Nothing,” she replied, pulling the bedding taught and straightening the pillows on the large, ornate bed. “It’s beautiful,” she said absently, glancing around once more. 

“I like it,” Sirius replied. “How is your room going?” 

“Fine. We finished it a few days ago,” she replied. “Took a little negotiation on colors.” Sirius barked out a laugh. 

“What, he couldn’t see the ones you liked?” Petunia smacked his arm. 

“You know he is not colorblind!” She reprimanded, fighting her own smile. 

“And a good thing he does not harbor wolf traits,” Sirius shook his head. “Or his chocolate addiction would have been his end many years ago,” he said solemnly, before offering her a wink. Petunia shook her head. 

She left Sirius there, making her way to the drawing room. It was empty, scrubbed of all the dirt and grime that had coated it for so long. Her eyes were drawn to an ancient rug on the floor, which stood gleaming in the light that filtered through the open window. 

A breeze fluttered the curtains, her eyes drawn to a large tapestry over a still-closed window. Hundreds of faces decorated it, a few near the bottom scorched from recognition. She made her way to it, tracing the lines between the faces. 

“That is the Black family tree.” Petunia jumped, turning guiltily to look at Remus. He was leaning against the frame of the door, his gaze on the rug in the middle of the floor. His eyes were distant, haunted. 

“What is it?” Petunia asked, making her way to him. He shook himself, his eyes not leaving the rug. 

“We spent an entire day trying to clean that blasted rug. But it feels like we erased it,” he finally answered. 

“Erased what?” Petunia frowned. 

“The night he ran away, that rug was drenched in his blood.” Petunia gasped, and Remus closed his eyes tightly. “I guess Walburga never got around to cleaning it. She wasn’t in the best of health, and after Regulus…” He sighed. 

“Regulus?” Petunia asked. Remus finally turned to look at her. 

“Regulus was Sirius’ little brother. He wasn’t too much younger. He was sorted into Slytherin. The perfect child, but not the Black heir. Not until Sirius left, anyway. Sirius was tortured that night. We were only sixteen… He was expected to take the Dark Mark but he refused. He never gave in…” He stalled, his voice tight. 

“Regulus followed his parent’s desires, however. He was marked at seventeen.” Remus made his way over to the tapestry, kneeling down to point out names near the bottom. “Here is Regulus. And here was Sirius.” Sirius’ name and portrait were burned away, leaving nothing recognizable behind. 

“Regulus died less than a year later, on a mission for Voldemort. Most days I cannot tell where Sirius stands. Stuck forever on a pendulum, swinging between love and hate for his brother. He tried so hard to sway him from the path he was on, but Regulus would not listen to him. I think a part of Sirius died the day he found out his brother was gone.” Remus shook his head, standing. 

“We are not responsible for the choices others make, but I think everyone harbors concerns that they could have changed the outcome. Somehow.” Petunia watched Remus carefully, noticing the wetness of his eyes. 

“I am so sorry,” she whispered, pulling Remus against her. He lowered his head into the crook of her neck, a wet spot forming on her skin. As he pulled away, it grew cold, but his eyes were now dry. 

“Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat. “Came to grab something.” He made his way over to a bureau, drawing open the top drawer. He drew out a necklace. A heavy locket glittered in the light. It was silver and green, on a long chain. An intricate S decorated the front. 

“Even the ministry officials who came to purge the house of dark magic wouldn’t touch this. Said we had to deal with it on our own,” he said, placing it into his pocket. “So we are going to have it sent to Sirius’ vault in Gringotts. Seems safer than having it laying about here.” Petunia agreed, watching him leave. 

She made her way down the stairs, stopping on the last flight as she heard a wheezing, rasping noise from a room ahead. She pushed the door open slowly, shocked to find a tiny, wizened creature muttering about in the corner. 

“You must be Kreacher,” she managed, slowly coming out of her shock. The ancient house elf turned to her, its bulbous, bloodshot eye landing on her, accusingly. His large ears flopped against his head as he stopped. 

“You!” He snarled. “A stain on our house. Filthy muggle, wandering about my mistress’ home as if it belonged! Changing and destroying the ancient and most noble house of Black! Taking my poor ancestor’s heads off the walls!” He shouted. 

“I am sorry you feel that way, but really, stuffing and mounting severed heads? It is rather barbaric,” Petunia replied, her lips pursing. Realizing her words were not being heard by the creature, she backed out into the hallway once more, closing the door behind her. 

“A wretched creature, he is.” Sirius stood at the foot of the stairs, a dour expression on his face as he watched Petunia. “Always hated him. Of course, he has always hated me as well. He was entirely devoted to mother and Regulus, though…” His eyes grew distant for a moment, before he shook his head. 

“Doesn’t matter. Now, I believe that it is time for a nip of tea. Would you care to join me?” Sirius extended his arm, eyeing Petunia expectantly. 

“You always leave me guessing, Sirius Black. I never know when you open your mouth, whether the calm and collected aristocrat is going to speak, or the wild, carefree hooligan.” Sirius gave her a look of mock-dismay. 

“Madame, I believe the word you are looking for is wayward marauder,” he chuckles airily. “And quite a compliment it would be, to carry such a glorious label.” Petunia shook her head exasperatedly. 

“And who, may I ask, gave you such a title? It seems it has inflated your ego beyond safe measure,” Petunia replied, taking his proffered arm. 

“Minnie, of course,” he answered easily. 

“And who is Minnie?” A wide grin burst across Sirius’ face, cutting away at the sharp features. 

“Only my greatest love, Petunia. But alas, ours was never meant to be. Try as I might, I could not sway her heart towards me. Or, at least towards forgiving my detentions,” he muttered. 

“Minnie is Minerva, isn’t she?” Petunia asked, laughing. 

“It could have truly been a story of the ages,” he shakes his head. 

“Well, yes. She is, after all, decades older than you,” she offered. Sirius glared at her teasingly. 

“It is your kind that should stand in the way of true love,” he scolded. “Who is to determine if that which the heart wants is acceptable in their narrow views? Not when love itself is a boundless, shapeless void. Your mate chases his tail once a month!” 

“Unlike you, who did it last week,” Petunia replied dryly. 

“How can you deny a man simple pleasures?” Petunia sighed, taking her hand back as they entered the kitchen. Sirius flicked his wand, a pot of water whistling as it floated to the table. Petunia took a teacup and saucer, fixing her tea quietly. 

“In all honesty, I hide behind my roguish demeanor,” Sirius ventured, not looking up towards Petunia. She took a sip of her tea, watching Sirius. 

“I know. It wasn’t all that hard to piece together,” Petunia shrugged. “I did the same, after Lily went to Hogwarts. I… I hated her for being unique. Or, at least, I thought I did. But in truth, I hated myself for being so normal. I prided myself in my normality, wore it as armor. But there are people here who are safe to set it aside with, Sirius. Don’t push everyone away in order to protect yourself. Otherwise, there is nothing to protect.” Sirius nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. 

“It seemed that James and Remus alway knew who they were, despite everything… But I… I just felt like I knew who I wasn't, but I couldn’t seem to grasp what was there. So I painted over the parts of me I didn’t know in order to present someone whole. I don’t think I know how to be, even today.” Petunia watched him sadly. 

“I see someone resilient. Brave. Honest. I see someone who gave their freedom and life away to honor their friends, to avenge the wrong done to them. I see someone who is funny. Charming. Good mannered, on occasion,” she chuckled. “But most of all, I see someone who has lit up in the month that I have known him. Everyday you are discovering pieces of yourself. It takes time. Stop focusing on the parts that you cannot figure out yet, and pay attention to the ones you can.” Sirius smiled at her weakly. 

“I see where Lily got it from, then,” he replied. Petunia smiled, and for the first time when thinking of her sister, it reached her eyes. “I just… I don’t know how I am supposed to make it all work. I feel like I am broken, Petunia. There is no use for all these parts. They don’t fit together anymore.” Petunia pursed her lips, frowning at him. 

“Sirius, have you ever seen a mosaic?” He shook his head. “I swear, wizards are smart but so bloody barmy at the same time,” she sighed. “A mosaic is a form of Greek art made with broken bits of pottery. Scraps meant for the bin instead are meticulously placed into plaster in order to create a scene. Just because it is broken doesn’t mean it is useless,” she shrugged. 

Sirius didn’t reply, thinking over her words. They sat in a comfortable silence, sharing the pot of tea, until the evening, when Kreacher’s loud, abrasive appearance sent them their separate ways for the night. 

Chapter Text

I finally got sewed up
I set a time, then I showed up
And, now, the weight of the world
ain’t that bad

Well, I saw the end,
and it looked just like the middle
Got a paper and pen
And a page with no space 

(No Complaints - Noah Kahan)

April 9, 1992

Petunia stepped back from the cauldron, her hands shaking. Sirius helped her to ladle the potion into a goblet, the blue liquid smoking profusely. Petunia watched with bated breath as Remus accepted the cup, taking a long pull from it. He winced, before draining the rest of the liquid. 

“Will it work?” Petunia asked, biting her lip. Remus shrugged. 

“We won’t know until the night of. Either I will have my wits about me, or I will once more be a mindless beast. One goblet a night for seven nights. If it’s wrong, we will try again next month. Regardless, Petunia, you have done the impossible,” he smiled. 

“It’s true. You have not only brewed potions, but bloody advanced ones at that. Few attempt this potion, let alone get this far,” Sirius offered. 

“I know. I just… I want you to be safe, Remus. I don’t want to wake up one day to discover that you killed someone, or…” She closed her eyes. 

“My biggest fear is accidentally turning someone, Petunia. But most of all, you. I know you want me to stay here this full moon, but I won’t. Not until we know it works. I will not put you at risk,” he pressed, his eyes moving over her body. She could see his eyes flash, and could almost feel the rise in his heart rate in her own. 

“I know,” she replied, kissing him softly. “You have always put yourself ahead of everyone, and I both love and hate that about you,” she whispered, closing her eyes and leaning her head against his chest. 

Remus set the empty goblet down, pulling her against himself more firmly. Petunia gasped as he lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist in an attempt to balance herself. Remus growled, his fingers digging into the exposed flesh of her thighs where her dress had ridden up her legs. 

Sirius let out a whistle, a sharp laugh turning into a yelp as he ducked, barely missing the now-airborne goblet that had just been on the table. Remus turned, carrying Petunia to the old stone counter of the kitchen and setting her on top of it. 

“I understand your hormones are out of whack at the moment, Remus, but really? In my kitchen?” Sirius demanded. Remus glared at him, his eyes flashing. “Fine, fine, I will just… be on my way then,” Sirius grimaced, turning to leave the room. “Just make sure you use a silencing charm,” he offered, grinning. “And a scouring charm.” He left, laughing as Remus growled loudly. 

Petunia covered her face, her cheeks uncomfortably warm. Remus peppered kisses up her neck, sucking on the pulse point as her discomfort turned into arousal. “Does your heightened senses spill over onto me at all?” She asked breathlessly, turning her head to give him more room. 

“Wouldn’t know,” Remus answered distractedly, his fingers slipping up under the skirt of her dress. “Very little research has been done on werewolf biology, or potential symptoms the mate’s may face.” Petunia shuddered as his fingers found the crux between her thighs, banishing the thought from her mind. 

Remus dropped to his knees, pushing Petunia’s apart as he was drawn forward by the scent of her arousal, his mind fogging over. His skin felt like it was burning. It was as if he could not draw in enough oxygen, and the only sense of relief his lupine senses could determine was her. 

Petunia fell back against the stone as she felt Remus pull her knickers down, a cold draught of air settling across her warm skin. Her hips wriggled impatiently, before her entire body stilled as she felt the heat of his breath push away the frigid air of the basement kitchen. 

“Amortentia could not smell this heavenly,” Remus uttered breathlessly, before lowering his mouth to her flesh. Petunia gasped, her head falling back as his tongue delved into her, seeking, as if trying to transcend into a single form. 

Her hands snaked down, fingers tangling into his hair as her hips bucked against his face. His nose pressed into her clit, making stars burst across the back of her eyelids. His tongue pushed, probed deeper between her folds as she felt her body tensing. 

She pulled tighter on his hair, her thighs closing around his head and holding him in place as she reached her climax, her body trembling and her mind adrift. Slowly, as the world started taking shape around her once more, she became aware of his hands wrapped on her hips, holding her body in place. 

He rested his chin on her pubic bone, watching her with an adoration that nearly choked her. She had never deserved such love, and she would never be able to repay him for it. Remus eyebrows knit together, a soft whine emitting from his chest.

“What is wrong, Pet?” He asked, pushing himself up. He braced his weight on his elbows, lowering himself so he rested mere centimeters above her. Petunia shook her head, but his hand caught her, stalling the movement with the slightest pressure from his finger and thumb. “Tell me, please,” he begged, his eyes searching her own with an intensity she could not hide from. 

“Sometimes, I feel as if I cannot repay you, Remus,” she replied weakly, closing her eyes so she could not see the hurt reflected in the soft green looking down at her. 

“Repay me for what?” He asked, his tone clipped slightly. But she knew it was not born of anger, but of his own buried sense of inadequacy. She felt his thumb trace against her cheek, swiping away a tear she had not realized was there. 

“I love you so much, Remus. But sometimes I feel that I have not done enough, could never do enough, to deserve you,” she replied, her voice trembling. Remus sighed, slipping a hand under her head and pulling her up to himself, kissing her deeply. As he pulled away, he kissed the trail the tear had carved. 

“I feel the same way every time you do something for me. Who is to say that I deserved someone as amazing as you?” He demanded gently. “A woman who would look past a horrifying monster, and instead see the lonely man trapped inside? Or decide that she would learn to brew potions for him, when no other muggle has? Or raise two wonderful boys, and let me know my nephew again? It is I who could never repay you, Petunia. So how about we just let the debts wash away, and enjoy the rest of our lives together?” He asked softly. 

“But… What… I–” She tried to gather her thoughts as they fell through her fingers. “What about after this? Do magical people go somewhere else when they die? What if–” She broke off, her chest heaving slightly as panic stole over her. “What if I go somewhere else, without any of you?” She finally managed. Remus soothed her softly, kissing her forehead. 

“Absolute worst case scenario, you would have Arabella and her many cats,” he whispered teasingly. Petunia huffed a small laugh, glaring up at him. “But, if there is a different place for the both of us, then I would tear apart the fabric of the universe in search of you. I do not think that fate would wind us so intricately together if it were not the case. My love, my friend, my mate.” He kissed her softly. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” she replied, her lips pulling up into a smile. Remus grinned, bumping against her heated flesh with the stiffness of his own. Petunia closed her eyes, moaning lowly. Remus stood up, guiding Petunia to roll over onto her stomach and push herself up onto her elbows. 

“If you ever tell Sirius we used this position, I will never forgive you,” Remus groaned, pushing forward into Petunia slowly. “We would never hear the end of his extensive repertoire of dog jokes,” he hissed, his pelvis meeting her hips. 

“She doesn’t have to, Moony. You forgot the silencing charm!” Petunia froze at the words shouted from two floors above, followed by loud music. 

“How did he hear us?” Petunia asked, mortified. Remus flicked his wand agitatedly, muffling the noise outside the kitchen. 

“Shit, I forgot about that,” Remus said, holding still inside of her. “Animagi still possess the heightened senses of their animal counterpart when they are human. Less, but still there. Now please, don’t make me think about Sirius right now,” he groaned, rocking his hips back slowly, before snapping forward. 

Petunia’s head dropped as Remus set the pace. One hand remained on her hip, holding her in place, as the other slid up her body, pushing the hem down across her breast until he could grasp her firmly. 

She arched her back, pushing her breast into his hand as he continued to thrust, her knees shaking slightly. She bit down on her arm, still self conscious about Sirius overhearing her breathy moans. 

The hand on her hip slid down, tracing along her folds where he was buried inside of her, before circling her clit and rubbing gently. She arched her back, a keening wail escaping her as her body shuddered around him. 

“Bloody hell, Pet,” he growled, his pace stuttering as she clamped down around him. His teeth pierced her neck as he climaxed, his hands holding her firmly against his chest as his breathing slowed. He slid out of her, rolling so that she lay across his chest, the cold stone counter beneath him a sharp contrast to her hot skin. 

“I promise you. In this, and every lifetime, I will find you.” 

June 19, 1992 

Dearest Petunia Evans, 

I write to inform you of the recent events that took place here at the school this last term. As you may recall from our last conversation ten years ago, I was concerned that Voldemort may still be alive. 

As we have feared, he does still roam our world. Young Harry defeated him once more just hours ago, here in the depths of our school. I fear I have made many miscalculations this year, I was not aware just how strong Voldemort had become. I shall come by shortly after the summer holiday begins, that we may discuss young Mr Potter and Evans futures. 

As I said once before, I believe that war is inevitable, but I worry that we may not have as much time as we had once hoped. I will speak with you and Mr Lupin soon. 

Albus Dumbeldore

June 28, 1992

Petunia scanned the crowd of students flooding the platform, searching for her two boys. Remus squeezed her hand firmly, his own anxiety matching hers. Between their failed attempt this month with the wolfsbane potion and the letter from Dumbeldore, they had been on edge for several weeks. 

It did not help that this morning, they had to argue with Sirius over his intent to join them at Kings Cross Station in order to pick up the boys. Begrudgingly, he had accepted that not everyone may be over their concerns about a once-convicted murderer showing himself in such a public manner, despite the evidence of his false imprisonment. Despite all of it, he had made it very clear he was not pleased with the final decision. 

“Mum!” Petunia turned, spotting Dudley amongst the throng of reuniting families. Harry was just behind him, followed as well by Ron and a young girl she did not recognize. Smiling, she pulled Dudley against her chest and kissed the top of his head, ruffling his hair. 

“Oh, my boys. You came home to me,” she said, her voice thick as she pulled Harry into the haphazard hug. She turned on him, glaring. “And what is this that I hear of you fighting dark wizards in the bowels of your school?” She demanded, planting a somewhat aggressive kiss to the top of his head as well. Harry’s face flushed, his head bowing slightly. 

“I didn’t do it alone,” he said quietly, his eyes turning to Dudley, then sweeping to the other two behind him. Petunia sighed, pushing aside her anger. 

“We will discuss it later,” she warned, before pulling Ron into a brief hug. “How was school? Did you learn a lot? And who is this young lady?” She asked, smiling down to the girl with a bush of curly brown hair. The girl smiled, slightly hesitant, as she offered her hand to Petunia. 

“My name is Hermione Granger, and you must be Ms Evans?” She asked, scared she was going to be told off as well. “I heard a lot about you from Harry and Dudley this year. They think the world of you,” she offered diplomatically. Remus chuckled, shaking his head. 

“It is wonderful to meet you, Hermione. And please, just call me Petunia. There is no need for formality.” Petunia shook her hand, smiling softly down at the young girl. Remus shook her hand next, introducing himself. Hermione’s eyes wandered over him, noting the scars covering his exposed flesh. Remus withdrew his hand quickly. 

“Hermione! Hermione! Oh, there you are!” A couple emerged from the crowd. Hermione was a perfect blend of the two adults standing before them, carrying her father’s curls and brown eyes, but matching her mother’s facial features. 

“Oh, Mum! Dad!” Hermione nearly squealed, throwing her arms around them excitedly. “This is Harry, Dudley, and Ron. And this is Harry and Dudley’s family, Petunia Evans and Remus Lupin,” Hermione offered. They shook hands, neither Granger parent seeming concerned about Remus’ appearance. 

“Lovely to meet you. I am Richard, and this is my wife, Helen. Seems that our Hermione has latched on to your kids, so if you are amiable, we should set up luncheons over the summer holidays.” 

“Oh, I would love that! We are currently staying here in London, but next week we will be returning to our home in Huddersfield. Where are you living?” Petunia asked warmly. 

“Here in London, down in Hampstead Garden,” Helen replied. Remus seemed to perk at this, looking at them. 

“That is a muggle neighborhood. Do you find it difficult to fit in there? I am a halfblood, but I remember how diligent my parents were at protecting… Me,” he finished awkwardly. Helen laughed. 

“It wasn’t an issue until Hermione started expressing magic. Honestly, I felt like I was going barmy at first. It wasn’t until Professor McGonagall arrived to explain everything that it at least made some sense, even though we thought at first that some kind of joke was being played on us,” Helen answered. 

“Oh, you two are muggles, then?” Petunia asked. 

“Yes, dentists. Are you… Are you aware of what a dentist is?” Richard asked. Petunia laughed, nodding her head. 

“Yes, I am aware of dentists. I am a muggle as well,” she told them. “My sister, Lily, was a muggleborn. I remember quite well the visit we received from Professor McGonagall back in the summer of 1970.” 

“Oh! Did she have a hard time navigating all of it? We try so hard with Hermione, but honestly, we have no idea if we are doing anything right. We just want her to settle well. Maybe Lily could chat with her, help her figure out how to balance her two lives into one?” Helen asked brightly. Petunia’s smile fell. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to cause offense,” she offered quickly. Petunia shook her head. 

“No, no, I know you didn’t. The truth is, Lily and I didn’t get along too well. She died a long time ago, that’s how Harry came to be with me. We lost both Lily and her husband the same night, and I never got the opportunity to bridge the gap I had created. But… There may be a way for Hermione to speak with her,” Petunia said, looking at Remus. 

“The portrait has all her memories,” he shrugged. 

“I am so sorry,” Helen spoke, her face twisted. Petunia shook her head. 

“You couldn’t have known. Besides, there is a way for Hermione to ask her about it,” Petunia soothed. Harry looked up at her, his eyebrows knit. 

“How, Aunt Tunie?” Petunia smiled down at him, ruffling his messy hair. 

“You will see later,” she promised. She turned back to the Granger’s, bright once more. “We will get together over the summer, and try to help you acclimatise to all of this, as well as getting Hermione settled. She is welcome over anytime.” 

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Helen smiled, her shoulders relaxing. 

“Hello, Petunia! Remus.” Arthur Weasley sidled up beside them, shaking Remus’ hand vigorously. “I hope Ronald hasn’t given you too much trouble,” he said, looking his son over. Ron blushed, mumbling under his breath. 

“I would fix your attitude before Mum gets here,” Fred warned teasingly. George traipsed beside his twin, grinning. “Oh yes,” he interjected. “None too happy about the owl she received from Professor Dumbledore, oh no, not at all,” he lamented. 

“Oh Merlin, Mum’s going to kill me,” Ron moaned. “If I survive, and I am not grounded until our seventh year, I’ll owl you about meeting up later this summer,” Ron offered to Harry, before following Arthur and the twins out of sight. 

“Poor Ron,” Dudley said, before quailing at the glare Petunia gave him. 

“Oh, he isn’t the only one in trouble,” she told him. “I may be grateful that you managed to get out of whatever happened unharmed, but there will be punishment after I meet with Professor Dumbledore,” Petunia threatened. 

“Yes, Mum,” Dudley squeaked. 

“It was lovely to meet you, Richard. Helen.” Remus shook hands with Hermione’s father as Petunia hugged Helen quickly, parting ways with the promise of further communication. Petunia pulled them toward the floo flame exit, handing a scoop of floo powder to Harry and Dudley. 

“We are going to 12 Grimmauld Place,” she told them, making them repeat it before stepping into the flames. She threw her handful down, repeating the name before she disappeared into a swirl of emerald flames, the world around her pressing down, pressure and the nauseating spinning nearly crushing her. 

She stumbled forward onto the hardwood floor of the drawing room, Sirius catching her. She stood, dusting herself off and stepping away from the fireplace. She could nearly see the path he had paced in the ancient wood, his anxious eyes meeting hers. 

“They will be through in just a moment,” she reassured. Sirius nodded, applying a cleaning charm to her clothes. The fireplace roared again, Dudley stepping out onto the hearth. He looked around in awe at the house before him, before awkwardly introducing himself to Sirius. 

“Lovely to meet you, Mr Evans,” he replied, softening the formality with a wink. The fire shifted again, and Harry stepped out coughing on the ash in his mouth. And for the first time in over a decade, Sirius Black looked down on the form of his godson.

Chapter Text

       Living in chains,
my past holds me for ransom
And I’ve grown accustomed
to the hurt that entails

When my mind starts to wander
And the nightmares prevail
And I get caught in the web
Of every detail

How it should have been me instead
Each day I get older and older
I’ve lived through a war
I’m still soldiering on

(Running to the Edge - Chloe Ament)

June 28, 1992

Sirius stood, stoic and unblinking. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights; his chest rising with short, panicked breaths as he took in the form of his godson. His eyes jumped from one feature to another, taking in every inch of the young boy before him. 

The fireplace erupted behind them, Remus stepping through the emerald blaze and onto the dark hardwood floor of the drawing room. His eyes scanned over Sirius, a concerned undercurrent in his gaze. 

“Sirius?” Remus asked softly. The sound of his friend’s voice seemed to snap Sirius out of his daze. He shook his head, clearing his throat loudly. He did not speak, however, as he turned to the decanter of firewhiskey in the corner. 

Petunia watched, her heart aching, the feeling seeming to crawl up her throat, threatening to choke her. Sirius pulled the stopper out with his teeth, pouring a healthy amount into the tumbler as he fought the tremors in his hands. 

“Sirius,” Remus repeated, his voice slightly strained. 

“I know, I know. You think I do not recall all your concerns about my drinking during the war?” Sirius demanded sharply. “It is all I ever bloody heard, Remus. You need to stop, Sirius. Alcohol poisoning is still possible for wizards. And stop using women to drown your memories. I know, Remus.” Sirius closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping. 

“But you cannot teach an old dog new tricks,” he added bitterly, before downing the amber liquid in the glass. He winced slightly, coughing gutterally for a moment before he slammed the tumbler down. “I thought I could do this, Moony,” he forced out, the tremors beginning to move through his body. 

Remus stepped forward, taking Sirius into his arms. Sirius collapsed, sobbing into Remus’ shoulder, his fingers tangled in the taller man’s sweater. “I can’t,” he sputtered, his voice taught. “He looks just like him, Moony. He looks just like Prongs, and I cannot look into Lily’s eyes knowing it was my fault!” He screamed, pounding his fist against Remus’ chest. 

Petunia pulled the boys to her, not so much concerned for Sirius’ outburst, but for his sanity. Remus shushed Sirius, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “Don’t you dare,” he warned gently. “Don’t you dare shoulder that responsibility, Padfoot. We trusted Peter. There was nothing we could do to change the course he set out on. We offered him everything, but it wasn’t enough.” Remus closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the crown of Sirius’ head. 

“I… I thought you were the traitor,” Sirius muttered weakly. Remus’ back tightened, his nerves tingling as shock blossomed through him. He took a deep breath, settling his nerves. 

“I get it, Sirius. I understand. I was constantly in and out of the werewolf packs of Great Britain and Ireland. I was the obvious choice. We all trusted Peter. None of us saw it coming. But that does not make you responsible for what he did. Hell, even Lily and James trusted him, Sirius. We cannot change the past. It is set in stone. But Harry is still here, still breathing. And we made a promise the day he was born, did we not? You must fulfill it now.” 

Sirius stayed still for a moment, collecting himself. After a minute, he pulled away from Remus, nodding. “It’s our watch now. Keep him safe, and good luck,” he whispered, recalling the words from long ago. The promise James had made them take, should the worst come to pass. Words that had haunted Sirius every single moment since his imprisonment in Azkaban. 

“Then get in there and do your damn job,” Remus said, grinning weakly. Sirius nodded, finally forcing himself to turn towards Harry. He stepped forward on shaky legs, unsteady and seemingly unsure. 

“H-hello, Harry,” he managed, his voice shaking slightly. Harry smiled up at him, inviting but unsure. He glanced back to Petunia. She nodded, guiding Harry forward to the couch. Sirius raised a hand to place on Harry’s shoulder, but his trembling fingers met his cheek instead, tears swelling in his silver eyes. 

“My Harry,” he whispered. Harry stepped forward, wrapping his skinny arms around Sirius’ thin frame. Sirius froze, the tears slipping down his still-gaunt cheeks as he looked down at the boy embracing him. All nervousness seemed to fade in that moment as he pulled Harry close, picking the boy up and hugging him tightly against his chest. 

“Oh, my Harry,” he repeated, a watery laugh escaping him as he reached a hand up to card them through Harry’s curls. Petunia settled onto the edge of the couch, wiping away the tear that dripped down her cheek as she watched Sirius reunite with his best friend’s son. 

“Look how you have grown!” He cried, setting Harry back down onto the carpet. “Tad slim, though,” he noted, a hint of concern tinging his voice. 

“It is the best build for a seeker, if I recall correctly from the countless hours you droned on about it in school. I swear, I never thought you’d stuff it,” Remus chuckled, shaking his head. 

“A seeker, huh?” Sirius beamed. “Oh, my boy. I knew you played for Gryffindor, but not which position. Your father was a chaser, and I was one of the beaters,” Sirius announced proudly. “And if you got even a smidge of your father’s talent, I know that you are amazing. Had it not been for the war, he would have played for the English national team. Have you thought about that?” Sirius asked, sitting down to face Harry at eye level. Harry shrugged. 

“I haven’t really thought too much about the future,” he replied softly. “But with Voldemort back, it seems more uncertain than ever.” The temperature in the room seemed to drop some, and Sirius nodded. 

“Just remember to never stop planning. When you no longer have a future in mind, the present becomes harder to keep a grasp on. Always remember what it is you are fighting for, yeah?” Sirius said, his voice bearing a false optimism. “Now, enough talk of what tomorrow holds. Let us enjoy today for as long as it lasts. Now,” he turned, facing Dudley. “You must be young Mr Evans?” 

Petunia watched them for a moment, sighing in relief as both Sirius and Dudley began to relax into a pleasant conversation. Petunia turned to Remus, indicating for him to come closer. “Can you watch Dudley for a bit while I take Harry home, Remus? Bring him back in time for supper.” 

“Of course, Pet,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead before she could pull away. She laughed, swatting his arm gently. 

“Come along, Harry. There is something we need to take care of at home, before everyone comes home.” Harry followed her to the fireplace, placing his still-little hand into hers as she threw the floo powder into the flames. 

“The Sanctuary,” she spoke clearly, smiling to herself at the name Remus had given their home all those years ago. She stepped into the emerald blaze with Harry, her stomach churning slightly as they were spun into tighter and tighter circles. 

She pinched her eyes closed as bile crawled up her throat. Harry squeezed her hand tightly. Finally, it stopped, and they tumbled awkwardly out onto the floor of their house, knocking ash all over the carpet. 

“Nothing we will do about that until Remus comes home,” she sighed, dusting the clinging ash from Harry’s clothes. “There is one more thing, and Harry, you have all the time in the world with… them,” she said sharply, wincing slightly. “So don’t worry about not knowing what to say, or having the right words. They will always be here.” She guided Harry down the hall to the kitchen, stopping at the door to let him pass through beyond her. 

He stopped as he came around the corner, his eyes fixed on the portrait above the small table. Lily and James looked down at him lovingly, but an undercurrent of grief marred the joy. 

“Hello, my son,” James whispered, his voice taut with emotions. Lily clutched the sleeping image of baby Harry tighter in her arms, her body language expressing just how desperately she wanted to tear herself from the canvas to hold the real Harry before her. 

“M–...” Harry’s voice failed him as he looked up at his parents. “Mum?” He whispered. “Dad?” Lily nodded, her green eyes, identical to Harry’s, welling with tears. 

“Oh, my brave, sweet boy,” Lily said quietly. Petunia stepped back out of the room, wanting to give Harry privacy for this first moment. She was caught, however, by his hand wrapping around her wrist tightly. 

“Thank you, Aunt Tunie,” he said, circling his arms around her waist. She hugged him back tightly, tears burning in her eyes. She placed a kiss atop the crown of his head, her eyes drifting up to the portrait. James and Lily watched them, bittersweet smiles on their faces, and a proud love in their eyes. 

“Speak with them, yeah? And then come find me when you are ready.” Harry nodded, returning to sit below the portrait. Petunia turned and stepped away, her heart stuck somewhere between grief and contentment. 

July 8, 1992. 

Petunia sat expectantly on the couch, watching Albus Dumbledore in silence as he slowly adjusted himself in the chaise chair. Remus stood behind the sofa, towering over her, leaned forward so that his arms rested on either side of her shoulders. 

Harry and Dudley sat on the other end of the couch, their eyes flitting back and forth between Petunia and Professor Dumbledore, waiting for the storm to break. Albus cleared his throat, causing Petunia to flinch slightly at the sudden noise. 

“I apologize for the delay. Much groundwork is being laid at the moment now that we have more info. As I said in my letter back in June, Lord Voldemort has returned. He did not have a physical body, however. He, in a sense, cleaved himself to one of his followers in a, excuse my language, but a bastardized possession, in terms you may understand, Petunia.” She watched him in horror, her eyes falling to Harry and Dudley. 

“Do not be angry with them, Ms Evans. After all, it was my poor planning and lack of foresight that led us to troubled waters. I thought the stone would be safe at Hogwarts. I deluded myself into the belief that not even Voldemort could breach her ancient walls. I was foolish, and for that I apologize. Voldemort is more cunning and patient than I realized. I do not think it will be long before he achieves his desire.” Dumbledore trailed off in thought, his eyes wandering to the boys. 

“And what is that?” Petunia asked, steeling herself for the inevitable shoe to drop. 

“First, a physical body. I do not think there is much that can be done, until this is accomplished.” Petunia frowned. 

“How would he get a physical body?” She demanded. Remus’ hand settled onto her shoulder, squeezing it gently. 

“Well, magic, of course,” Dumbledore replied, an irritating smirk on his face as if he had just offered a revelation to a child. Petunia felt something uncomfortably hot swirl inside her, her eyes seeming to become fuzzy. 

“If you could, Professor, I would prefer you to answer my questions outright and without presumption. I may not know every aspect of your world, but I still have a stake in it. For nearly everyone I love, their lives and safety hang in the balance. So please, do not treat me like a child,” she snapped. 

“Of course, Ms Evans. The Philosopher’s Stone was the quickest and easiest way into a new body for him. Immortality, fortune, power. All at his disposal. Now that we know just how close he had come to achieving  it, we have removed the stone entirely from play. But there are other routes. Longer roads to travel, which I am certain he is already pursuing.” 

“Such as?”  

“There is ancient magic. Dark magic. Incantations and rituals that corrupt the soul. Devour the mind. But, I fear, he has no concern about this. He is already so impure that it will affect him to a lesser degree. I believe that this will be his next step. As for after that, it is only guesswork, at the moment, but…” Dumbledore sighed gravely, once more looking at the boys. 

“Then start guessing,” Petunia spat. Her patience was quickly running thin. All she had ever received from Dumbledore was vague, half answered riddles. 

“I think he realizes his mistakes in the last war. What is to come will be far more brutal. Outright war, rather than sowing fear from the shadows. Already there are murmurings in the night that his followers are banding back together. The Death Eaters are rising once more, and they shall make alliances with the more violent creatures in our world.” 

“Such as?” 

“Giants, banshees, werewolves, and goblins, if they can sway them. Voldemort has had ten years to count every loss, to tally every score. He will be more thorough this time. Which means that we need to begin preparing now,” Dumbledore finished gravely. “I fear that he is going to strike swiftly and harshly, once his plans are together.” Petunia nodded grimly, trying to steady herself. 

“Alright. Then what is the first step?” She asked. Dumbledore offered her a sympathetic smile. 

“Mr Lupin has kept me apprised of a few… oddities, over the years. Your ability to see through muggle charms, and brew potions, are both unique and unlikely. As I said the last time we spoke, I believe you and your son would play a bigger part than I could fathom at the time. Keep practicing. I want you, Mr Lupin, and Mr Black to train in occlumency. Keep your minds sharp, and intricate.” Petunia shook her head slightly. 

“I cannot learn magic. Remus tried giving me his wand once, it went absolutely mental.” Dumbledore watched her with a wan smile. 

“Occlumency is based upon mental fortitude, not magic. But it is the only defence against legilimency, which is a powerful magic. As for your ability, or lack thereof, the wand wouldn’t behave that way if it were an impossibility. A mere muggle with a wand in hand could do no more than if it were an ordinary stick. I believe those oddities have an explanation, and I shall keep researching until I know why. As for your son’s path, it is clear, moving forward. He shall train alongside Harry in offensive, defensive, and healing practices, as well as magical theory.” Dumbledore paused for a moment, thinking. 

“As shall the rest of the school, now that I dwell on the matter…” He frowned, his eyes distant. “Too many children lost to war. Unprepared for the path they had been set on. It will do no good. As Voldemort will reassess, so shall we.” Remus’ hands tightened on the back of the sofa. Harry looked to Dudley, motioning him to the door. Petunia watched as they left, Remus waiting for their retreating backs before he spoke. 

“So you will do it again, will you? Child soldiers. Train children for the slaughter?” His words were measured, his voice tight. But Petunia could sense the agitation bubbling under his skin. “You would send my children, my friends’ children, off to war once more?” He demanded. Petunia did not speak. He had always remained distant from his trauma, seeming to hide from it. Maybe it was time for him to let it loose. 

“Remus, I understand your pain–” Dumbledore’s words were cut off by a snarl. 

“You don’t! You don’t, and never pretend that you do!” Remus yelled, his nails digging tears into the fabric as his hands clenched. “They weren’t your family! I watched everyone I love offered for the hope of a brighter tomorrow, and you are telling me that it meant nothing? That now, my best friend’s son, my son, has to fight this war? He is a child! They are children! We were children!” He gasped, falling forward against the sofa. 

Petunia pulled him against her, holding his weight upright. He howled in agony, his werewolf fighting with his mind between her comforting scent and the reality of what their future held. Dumbledore bowed his head gently. 

“You were, and they are. But war does not discriminate. Death comes for us all in the end, Remus. But it does not mean that the sun should not rise again. We must meet death head on, and walk side by side, if that is our fate. But the legacy we leave behind, the future we ensure for those to come, that cannot be won without a price. I cannot see the end of this. I do not know if any of us shall see that bright tomorrow, but I will gladly give my life if it brings us even an inch closer. As the muggles say, I believe, we must play the hand we have been dealt. Harry is the only option. Harry is our best chance. All we can do is prepare him, and buy him time.” Remus shook his head weakly. 

“I cannot do this again,” he murmured. 

“We do not have a choice, Mr Lupin. I am sorry. Petunia, Harry and Dudley will spend the mornings at the Ministry with his cousin, Andromeda. There they will learn the intricate world of politics, and they must understand what Harry will one day be stepping into with his house seat on the Wizengamot. Andromeda will be by in a few days to meet you and the boys.” 

“And as for the training?” She asked hesitantly. 

“In the afternoons, I will have Aurors that I trust come by to teach them. Mad-Eye, Kingsley, Tonks. A rotation, so that it does not interfere with their current work. As for you, Mr Lupin, and Mr Black, there is one person I trust to work on occlumency with you.” Remus let out a barkish laugh. 

“Padfoot will have your hide if it is who I am thinking,” he warned. 

“Yes, I assume he will not be pleased. But alongside the mental training, he shall help Petunia with her potions. When the war well and truly begins, we will need endless amounts of potions. And I will probably send Poppy and Andromeda along for healing lessons, as well. Even though you cannot use magic to heal, it will help you for when the time comes. Moments of traumatic injuries can be mitigated by preparing you now.” Petunia laced her fingers with Remus’ tightly.

“I will try to keep you apprised, but information is always changing. Hearsay and panic muddle the channels with which knowledge flows. If anything drastic changes, I shall let you know immediately. Good day.” Petunia watched him stand, wincing slightly as the loud crack of apparation filled the room.

Chapter Text

Because the more you see the better it feels
Flowing faster than you can heal
It’s a goddamn shame to come this far
They’ll tell you you’re wrong
And then call you a sinner

(Thinner - Mousetown)

July 12, 1992. 

“It is lovely to finally meet you. My name is Andromeda.” Petunia took the proffered hand, her eyes taking in the woman before her. Andromeda Tonks stood proud; her back straight and head held up high. Her hair was carefully pulled back, long, black curls knotted at the back of her head and cascading down her shoulders. 

Her appearance exuded wealth, but her demeanor was pleasant and laid back. Petunia let loose the breath she had been holding, recalling Remus’ words of her long ago. Petunia smiled, finding herself easing into the warm presence before her. 

“Petunia, and yes. I had meant for an acquaintance to happen some time ago, but we have been quite busy since Sirius came home,” Petunia replied. Andromeda threw her head back, laughing heartily. 

“Oh, yes, I remember all too well how much of a handful that boy… Man, could be,” she corrected herself. “In truth, I always felt something was off about his charges, but without sufficient evidence, they would not reopen his case. Thank you, Petunia, for clearing his name. In all honesty, it is nice to have another sane Black around.” Petunia shook her head. 

“No, no. Not at all. Life has certainly become more full with him around, although, sane is not necessarily the word I would use,” Petunia chuckled. “Speaking of which, how is your family? Remus told me you married a muggleborn?” Andromeda nodded. 

“Yes, and he is quite the handful, even long before our daughter came along. Ted works here in London. He is an anchor on the news for the southeastern London news channel. I love hearing about his day each evening. It is such a change of pace from my work.” 

“I can imagine,” Petunia smiled. “And your daughter? She is an Auror, correct?” Andromeda nodded her head. 

“Yes. You will meet her soon enough, she is one on rotation, per Dumbledore’s orders, to come help train Harry and Dudley. She is a carbon copy of her father when it comes to her personality,” Andromeda laughed, shaking her head. 

“Well, the boys are ready upstairs. They have been quite excited to see the Ministry, it has all I have heard from them since Dumbledore’s visit,” Petunia replied. “And I would probably head out soon, Severus is scheduled to arrive soon for my potions lesson today. You and Poppy will be by later this week for healing, correct?” Andromeda nodded. 

“Yes. I had thought about a profession as a healer in my younger years, before I ended up taking the seat of Lord Potter in Harry’s stead. It will be nice to brush up on some things, as well as learn newer techniques. Whatever is to come, I would rather we be well prepared. Already, Albus is sending out messages to the healers at St Mungo’s who are standing against Voldemort’s ideals.” Petunia frowned. 

“That is wise. While hospitals should always be neutral ground, there is no certainty that it will remain so. From the way Dumbledore has been speaking, it sounds as if he expects a full takeover of the government,” Petunia replied, shaking her head. 

“Let us hope it does not come to that, but nevertheless, we shall be ready if it does.” Andromeda was interrupted from her next thought as the boys made their way down the creaking old stairs of Grimmauld Place. 

“Harry, Dudley, this is Mrs Tonks. Be polite, and behave yourselves, alright?” Petunia said as she ruffled their hair. She knew they would, but sending her boys out into the world to be steeped in parliamentary proceedings brought back to her mind those two little ones running around the parlor, squabbling about toys. 

“Of course, Mum,” Dudley replied, hugging her. Harry nodded, squeezing her hand in his. Soon, his hand would no longer be smaller than hers. The thought tugged tightly at Petunia’s heart. 

“Go on then. Hurry along.” They waved goodbye, following Andromeda to the fireplace. In a flash of emerald, they were gone, leaving her alone in the large manor. A clock nearby ticked loudly, seeming to echo through the aged halls around her. 

She made her way down to the kitchen, pulling out the copper cauldron and setting it out, alongside her basic potioneer kit. She cataloged her ingredients, noting down in a small journal her supplies and restock needs. The door to the kitchen slammed open and Petunia jumped, letting out a small yelp of surprise. 

Severus Snape stood before her; long billowing robes flowing behind him as he stalked into the room, hair shining in the dim candlelight around them. He did not look at her as he pulled out his own cauldron and kit from his pocket, enlarging them with a flourish of his wand. 

“So, it seems the simple muggle has managed to somehow not only grasp the intricate concepts of potion brewing, but also managed to somehow imbue magic within her potions. Over the next few years, I shall put your… skills to the test. In that time, we shall as well build a stock of potion ingredients here that would put even the greatest potions masters to shame.” Severus rolled out his own ingredients roll, organizing them neatly. 

“As the war wages on, potion ingredients will become harder and harder for you to come by. Prices will rise, vendors will disappear, and those sympathetic to the Order shall be fined, imprisoned, or murdered. So I shall leave you with intricate maps detailing where each ingredient that grows from the ground can be collected across Great Britain and Ireland.” Petunia frowned. 

“How will I get across the country in an efficient amount of time?” She asked. 

“I am sure you will think of something,” he sneered. “After all, your brilliance has stunned even the most astute magical theory professors. A common muggle interacting with magic.” His voice was oily, bitter. Petunia wondered what had happened in his life for him to become this way, and what Lily had seen in him all those years ago. 

“Of course,” she replied evenly, trying to keep her temper in check. It would do no good to send him off in anger before her first lesson had even begun. Whatever she felt about him, lives may one day depend on what she could gather from his teachings. 

“What, no biting retort?” He antagonized. “No sharp words? I remember your savage tongue when we were children. All the horrid things you said to… your sister.” His last words were strained, as if he had changed course at the last moment. 

“I was rather shrewd, wasn’t I?” She replied sadly, the memories of Lily in the months before Hogwarts playing in her mind like a rolodex. She forced back the tears that threatened to accompany them. Severus stopped moving, his hands tensing around the ladle he had just pulled out. 

“We will begin with basic potions for the time being and continue to advance as you get the recipes correct. As we go through the tomes of potions, I will be making adjustments as we go. I will only tell you once how to modify what is written, so you had better get it right. We will test them on your… mate and his mongrel friend.” This was the nearest Petunia had ever come to seeing a smile on Severus’ face, and fear lanced through her. 

“Surely that isn’t necessary,” she replied hastily, panic coursing through her. 

“Oh, come off of it. They volunteered, as dim as they are. Nothing you manage to do cannot be undone. If it is brewed correctly, there is no need for concern. If not, I am sure I can reverse any damage done. I have been teaching dunderhead children for a decade now,” he spat. 

“Now, pull out your potions book. I understand you have mastered basic potions, but I want to see your process for preparing.” And so, Petunia flipped to the first page, setting the book up against the counter. Severus lit a fire under her cauldron, watching her begin the preparation of the ingredients. 

“Roll and crush the leaves instead of cutting them, reducing the number of leaves by two,” he barked. Petunia notated it quickly in the margin of the book, before gently and firmly rolling the leaves under the knife, crushing them. Prat, she thought spitefully. 

“For your information, you get more of the juices from the leaves this way, increasing how far the ingredients may go. In a matter of life and death, stretching and rationing may be the difference between one life saved and a dozen.” His tone was cold, patronizing. 

It continued this way for some time; orders snapped and barked, as if she were a child too stupid to understand. It irritated Petunia, the way everyone seemed to speak to her, over her, as if she did not hold as much of a stake in the future as the rest of them. 

“And now, we let it brew for an hour. In that time, we will practice occlumency.” Severus turned, making his way to the table in the center of the room. 

“Aren’t Sirius and Remus learning alongside me?” She inquired, taking the seat across from him. 

“They have both requested individual training,” he dismissed. “Occlumency is the practice of shielding one’s mind from legilimency. I want you to imagine your mind as a maze. Doors leading nowhere, locked doors with nothing inside, important information constantly shifting, transporting, disappearing. Try your hardest to keep me from rooms with nothing in them, make me fight for meaningless information, useless memories.” 

Petunia nodded, closing her eyes and focusing. She used their childhood home; adding rooms, winding corridors, endless stairs. “Open your eyes,” Severus demanded. For the first time since he had come into the room, he made eye contact with Petunia. 

It felt as if a knife was being pried into her eyes. She screamed, the maze slipping from her mind, leaving fragmented images, memories, thoughts, to swirl aimlessly around her mind. She could feel something pressing, digging, searching, before it all turned black. 

“Up.” The words were hazy, as if Petunia was underwater. Something was forced between her lips, a bitter, foul liquid hitting her tongue and making her gag. Her head was forced back, opening her throat. As the potion poured down it, her clarity slowly returned. Severus stood above her, a concerned look on his face. As soon as he realized she was awake, however, his cold expression returned. 

“How did it feel?” He demanded, returning to his seat. 

“Like hell,” she replied, her throat raw. 

“It will for some time. With repetition it will ease, as your mind acclimates to the invasion. But the Dark Lord will be much more brutal with his assaults. Eyes make it easier, like a window into your thoughts. Truthfully, a skilled legilimens could sink into the mind painlessly, but I will not be kind, as they will not afford you that mercy.” He cleared his throat. 

“He takes pleasure in the suffering and enjoys cracking the mind open with force. Once you are strong enough, I will do the same to you. You must be prepared, or he will have access to every thought, every memory. And in his hands, knowledge is a dangerous power. Again. Build the maze again,” he commanded. 

Petunia tried. Her body was still shaking from the last assault, her mind seemingly fractured. But she placed the maze together once more, adding and switching infrastructure. She opened her eyes, more prepared for the pain this time. 

Severus’ dark eyes met her, and she felt as though a burning stake was being speared through her eyes into her brain. She was screaming again, she could hear it distantly. She tried to force the maze together, locking doors as he approached them and shifting hallways he passed down. She could feel the dizziness returning; could feel herself losing consciousness. 

Suddenly strength seemed to fill Petunia. The blackness receded, the pain lessening. It became easier to plant false doors, to change the layout of the house. But the pain disappeared in one brutal tear, forcing a strained screech from her lips and leaving her half conscious. 

“Stop it!” She knew that voice. Knew that commanding growl. Knew that scent. Books. Fresh tilled earth. Fur. Remus. Distantly, she could hear Sirius yelling as well. Another bottle was forced into her mouth, her senses sharpening. 

Remus was holding her close to his chest, his eyes wild. Sirius stood between Remus and Severus, both of his hands held up towards his friend in a calming gesture as he tried to soothe his werewolf instinct. Snape stood behind Sirius, sneering at the both of them. 

“Remus, stop,” Petunia said weakly, putting her hand to his cheek. He dropped his gaze to her, his eyes softening. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, ashamed. “Every time you screamed, I… I couldn’t… It consumed me. I am so sorry,” he whimpered. Petunia pulled his jaw down, kissing him gently. 

“I know, I know,” she soothed. Sirius finally let his arms fall, a look of relief crossing his features. 

“Well, your little display did reveal something, at least,” Severus spoke in a tone of boredom. 

“And what may that be, Sni– Snape,” Sirius replied. Severus glanced sharply at Sirius, before making his way to the cauldron. He ladled the steaming potion into a cup, handing it to Sirius. Sirius eyed it for a moment, before draining the goblet quickly. 

Petunia watched in horror as his eyes bulged, his chest spasming as he bent over, hacking and coughing. Foam bubbled from his lips, crimson as it splattered across the floor. Petunia screamed, turning against Remus and hiding her face in his sweater. 

Remus watched in shock as Severus pulled out a bezoar stone, forcing it into Sirius’ mouth. After a moment, the convulsions faded, his hacking cough forcing the bloody foam from his mouth as he gasped for air. 

“W…what t… the bloody… hell, Sni– Snape,” he choked out weakly. 

“She was not able to keep her occlumency up until her mate arrived. He was not here this morning, and her potion is toxic,” Severus answered simply. “There is a connection between the two of them, it seems.” Remus shook his head. 

“There have been several times I have been away while she brewed potions, though,” he argued. Snape frowned, looking between them. 

“Who was with her at these times, then?” He demanded. Remus looked down at her, then to Sirius. 

“Mary or Sirius,” he replied. 

“So, always someone who could wield magic…” He muttered, calculating. The minor curiosity passed briefly. “A conundrum that I, however, desire not to partake in. I shall update Professor Dumbledore. In the future, I want a rotation with her. Black, Macdonald, or Lupin, so that we can gauge the difference between her potion qualities. I want Lupin nowhere near this house during occlumency lessons,” he warned. Remus snarled loudly. 

“Whine all you desire. Need I remind you, however, that Professor Dumbledore has tasked me with preparing her for the worst outcomes possible, Lupin. That includes an assault directly from the Dark Lord himself. He will not spare her, he will not be gentle. He shall take enjoyment from her suffering, and when she cracks, he will learn vital information that could destroy the Order. It is my job to make sure she can hold out as long as possible, the same as I am tasked with you two flea brains. So if you do not mind, I would prefer to do so without the risk of being mauled by a hormonal werewolf in the process,” he snapped. 

Without another word he turned, his robes snapping behind him as he left the room. Sirius pushed himself up against the counter, hacking loudly. “I am so sorry,” Petunia offered pathetically. Sirius waved her off lightly. 

“Don’t you dare. We offered to be your lab toads. ‘Sides, did you see the look on ol’ Sni– Snape’s face when Remus barrelled in? Priceless,” Sirius chuckled. 

“Honestly, how do you feel?” Remus demanded. Petunia shook her head slightly, the effects of the potion beginning to fade. 

“Dizzy… And like I have a migraine coming on,” she answered. Remus tutted slightly, sweeping her into his arms. 

“Then off to bed for you, my dear. Rest, and let your mind heal.” Petunia curled into the heat of his chest, her eyes closing. 

“You know that you will have to control your urge to protect me, right?” Remus did not answer, but the tensing of his muscles revealed to her that he had understood her question with perfect clarity. “Remus,” she urged. 

“I know, I know–” 

“Do you?” Petunia cut him off. “If the difference is my life over another, you always choose them, Remus. Do you understand me? I will not bear the weight of their life in my soul. Swear to me that when the time comes, you will always make the logical option.” Remus whined low in his throat, but Petunia pressed on. 

“If you must choose between me and an optimal healer, a powerful fighter, or a strategist, Remus, always choose them over me. If that means you cannot be near me because you will be unable to make a selfless choice…” She swallowed hard, bracing herself. “Then so be it, Remus. When all hell breaks loose, I will not allow the war effort to be undermined by someone unwilling to put the greater good above me.” Remus stalled outside the door to their room, his eyes closed. 

“I have made this choice before, Petunia. And here I stand, for better or for worse, without most of the people I have ever loved. Do not speak to me of selfish choices and weakness.” He closed his eyes, his eyebrows furrowing together as he fought the tears burning behind his eyelids. 

“I know it all too well, and I know the sorrow of unrequited love. Of friendship torn apart. Of life smothered. So please, do not ask me to watch you die in the stead of another, no matter the reason. Please, my love, never make me choose.” His voice was strained, his words so quiet that Petunia had to lean closer into his chest to hear them. 

“I told you, Pet. The moment you leave your mortal body behind in this world for the next, I will tear apart the fabric of the universe in order to find you, wherever you may be. And I would kill every single man, woman, or creature that stood between us. Please, do not make me dwell on the idea of your death, for I fear the very thought will tear me apart.” He turned the knob, pushing the door open. 

He stepped across the room, laying her on the bed, turning out the lights. In the darkness, he simply held her close, finding his peace in the sound of her heartbeat. Around her, the sounds of Grimmauld Place faded, as she drifted into the intoxicating scent of Remus around her, slowly drawing her into sleep. 

Chapter Text

Woken up like an animal
Teeth ready for sinking
My mind’s lost in bleak visions
I’ve tried to escape but keep sinking

Limbs lost to a dead weight stake
Skull cage like a prison
And he’s lost faith he’ll ever see again
So may he once thought of me then

(Human - Daughter)

August 20, 1992. 

Vernon drew nearer, his face plum red, his vein throbbing in his temple. Petunia cowered before him, begging forgiveness for an unseen slight, an unintended slip up. He was yelling, each loud word causing her to flinch. One hand rested on her swollen abdomen, a feeble attempt to hide their unborn son, to try and protect him. 

“The next time you decide to open your mouth, think hard about it! You nearly cost me this sale, you pathetic, worthless woman!” Vernon made his way over to their bed, articles of clothing discarded every step as he looked down at Petunia expectantly. The vision dissolved, leaving Petunia alone on the floor of the drawing room, trying desperately to draw air into her lungs. 

They felt too tight, like there was not enough room to bring air into them. Her mind started to spin, her arms trembling as she held herself up. One hand went to her stomach – now flat, but the memory of Dudley’s tiny form inside it vibrant in her mind, even as the memory faded. 

“Get up,” Severus snapped. His tone, however, lacked the usual venom she had grown accustomed to in their lessons. Petunia pushed her head deeper into her chest, forcing her breaths to become deeper, longer. Finally, her mind began to clear as she pushed herself upright, standing in the center of the room, staring expectantly at Severus. 

“You are doing better, but you are still trying to use brute force to keep me out of the memories. Focus on misdirection. Present an empty, useless memory as important. Keep me following dead ends and red herrings, leading me further and further away from important memories. In the end, let them see this fodder.” Petunia flushed slightly, embarrassed. 

“Pathetic as it is,” he drew out icily, “It will present as more genuine that you try to hide it. But when you harbor secrets that can kill a hundred men and women with only the knowledge in your head, they will peel apart your mind in search of it. Let them chase useless sex and humiliating moments. Every minute bought for your allies is a moment longer you shall live as well. Once he has extracted all useful information from your mind, he will kill you without a second thought. So keep him chasing,” he chastised. 

“Mary, whisper something in her ear. Do not let me hear it. I am going to search for it. Petunia, I want you to keep me from it, and I want the chase to feel organic. Loop me around and around with meaningless memories.” Petunia nodded, bracing herself. 

Mary stepped up beside her, whispering a sentence into Petunia’s ear that was meaningless to her. She stepped away, nodding slightly. Petunia began weaving thought after thought over it, tucking it deeply away in her mind. She looked up to Severus expectantly. 

While the burning pain was still present, she had grown accustomed to Severus sinking into her mind. She let the pain fade away into the background as she stared deeply into his dark eyes, willing him to search. As he sifted through her memories she tugged certain ones away from him, sinking them deeper into her subconscious.

He obliged her, chasing them momentarily. He tore through them with ease, discarding the fragmented memories with no value as he sought his target. Something piqued his interest and he pursued it, diving around memories as Petunia offered more intriguing, more tantalizing memories. 

He did not sway as he closed in on the memory. With a flash of triumph, he caught it, inspecting it carefully. His face turned a deep crimson as the memory unfolded before him, a late night of passion between Remus and Petunia filling their minds. Cheeks bright red, Petunia laughed, pride blossoming in her chest. 

Quick as lightning, Severus dove deeper into her memories, snagging the now-unguarded memory he had been seeking. Petunia cursed as he let it play out, the corners of his lips imperceptibly turning up at the corners. 

“Such a shame, you were almost competent,” he shook his head, sliding free from her mind. “Let us not forget, though, to not become distracted. One slip up and the war is over. Petunia closed her eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh. 

“And Mary,” Severus spoke, not turning to look at her. “Mulciber always leaves his left shoulder unguarded… Should you come across him again.” With no further words, he turned and stalked out of the room. 

“What did he mean by that?” Petunia asked, looking at Mary. She did not meet Petunia’s eyes, her own trained on the floor. 

“What I told you was a memory both Snape and I have. He was there that day,” she answered slowly, her shoulders shaking slightly. Petunia hoped she had not overstepped, and had not brought up a painful memory for Mary. 

“What happened?” She asked hesitantly. Mary raised her head to meet Petunia’s eyes, and she realized that her friend was not upset. She was enraged. 

“His bastard friend, Cadmus Mulciber. Well, Cadmus Mulciber the Second, I guess. His father was one of Voldemort’s first followers, back when he was in school. A part of his gang of bullies. And when he had a son, that boy was a carbon copy of his father, down to his very name.” She swallowed hard, shaking her head. 

“What did he do to you?” Petunia asked, sitting down on the edge of the couch. Her legs were shaking, exhaustion settling back into her bones. Mary turned her head away. 

“It was the end of my sixth year… He used the Imperius Curse on me,” she answered flatly. “Made me bend down on my knees and kiss his boots, begging him to forgive me for the mud in my veins. Made me beg…” She stopped, tears welling in her eyes as her voice failed her. Petunia laid her hand across Mary’s, pressing her forehead against her best friend’s.

“He made me beg him to pity fuck me,” she finally managed. “That my bloodline may be redeemed, and that my blood may be purified. And the worst part wasn’t the words coming out of my mouth,” she whispered, shaking her head. 

“The worst part was him and his friends, standing over me and laughing, as I could feel his magic in my mind, pulling strings and making decisions in my own body for me.” The tears finally broke, cascading down her cheeks. Petunia pulled her close, rocking back and forth with her slowly. 

“And Severus was there,” Petunia clarified. “Did you ever tell the Professors what happened?” Mary nodded, a small laugh escaping her. 

“I honestly never saw Snape switching sides in the war,” she said softly. “It was a shock to all of us… And no, I never told. I never told anyone, really, besides Lily. But, I guess, none of it matters now. It is all so far in the past,” she brushed off. Petunia shook her head. 

“No,” she replied angrily. “There is a reason that curse is illegal. He took away your ability to consent, dehumanized and belittled you, and made it sexual. None of that is okay, no matter how much time has passed since it occured,” Petunia argued. Mary’s eyes trailed up to Petunia slowly, something seeming to break in them. 

“It does not matter if it was normalized by those who witnessed it, Mary. It was not okay, and it was beyond the borderline of assault. No one deserves that. Ever.” Mary’s chin trembled slightly, before she threw her arms around Petunia and cried into her shoulder. Petunia held her there for some time, before a knock at the door caught their attention. 

“Sorry, Mum, Mr Moody wants to see you.” Dudley stood solidly in the frame of the door. He had grown over the summer, muscle bulking him outward from the constant training, inches drawing him higher. Petunia pulled away from Mary, kissing her softly on the cheek as she wiped away a tear. 

“I will see you later, okay?” Mary nodded, watching Petunia leave. Petunia walked through the halls, side by side with her son, realizing just how much he had grown. He was nearly even with her height now, and she knew that by the time he came home for Christmas, he would be taller. 

He led her to the attic, through winding halls and twisting stairs. She admired the woodwork as they walked, finding herself lost in the intricate designs in the railing of the stairs. She wondered if they had been cut by wand or by hand, and who had, many years ago, drawn them out, cut them, and placed them so carefully. 

“Here we are, Mum.” Dudley stopped at the attic door, pushing it open. He turned and left. Inside the room, Alastor was speaking quietly with Harry. Once she stepped into the room he stopped, and even though he did not turn to face her, she knew his magical eye was watching her carefully. 

“That’s a good lad. Go on, then. Go find yourself some lunch, or read. Whatever it is that you kids do.” Harry laughed, turning away from Moody. He hugged Petunia tightly, and a pain clutched her tightly as she realized that Harry had grown too, now standing eye to eye with her. 

“Good luck,” Harry muttered quietly, before leaving the room. Petunia frowned. 

“Good luck? Good luck with what?” She demanded, turning to Alastor. He gave her a solemn look, but a resolute one. 

“Now, my goal, lassie, was never to hurt you,” he started. Petunia had a feeling she did not like where this was going. “But, I think you need to be prepared on every front, and that includes magical assaults from casters,” he tells her. Petunia laughs. 

“Oh, is that all?” She demands flippantly. 

“Take this seriously,” he frowned. “Now, I started the boys with stinging hexes to increase their agility, but I am going to leap off the ledge with you. I want you to learn quickly,” he said, readying his stance. Petunia frowned. 

“And what does that mean?” She inquired uneasily. 

“If you can dodge an explosive spell, you can dodge a stinging hex,” he replied. The words had barely processed in her mind before a jet of red was being cast in her direction. Panic stole through her and Petunia threw herself to the side, missing the spell by inches. The wall behind her exploded, plaster and rubble raining down around her. 

“What the bloody fuck is your problem!” She gasped, pushing herself up. “I cannot wield magic, why would you cast dangerous spells at me!” Alastor didn’t blink, firing two more explosive spells in her direction. She jumped, the blast slamming her forward as she fell. 

“Because there are those in our world who, If I may, will relatively shortly be walking freely around again, who do not give a single shite that you cannot fight back. So, I have decided to increase your odds,” he shrugged. “Better that it is me here teaching you, than a lesson ending in your death with one of them at the other end of the wand. They won’t be merciful.” 

“Diffindo!” Petunia screamed as a new spell sliced through the air, a deep cut materializing on her upper arm. Her hand clasped over it, her mind spinning. Flames shot past her, and she wondered just how stable Alastor really was. 

“Hold still a moment, I cannot have you bleeding out on me.” Alastor drew his wand tip over her gash, muttering inaudibly as it traced across the skin. The flesh knit back together, a thin scar in its place and the blood disappearing. “Now, go back.” 

Petunia ducked down behind a box, exhaling deeply as she tried to process what exactly she had gotten herself into. The moment was brief, however, as the box exploded behind her. She dodged the spell that came next, but was unable to move in time for the last one. She cried out in pain as she was thrown into the wall, her vision blurring for a moment. 

The ringing in her ears took a little longer to die down, and Alastor did not give her a moment’s rest. She could no longer rely on audible cues to warn her of impending attacks, leaving her vulnerable to more and more injuries as they progressed. Alastor finally called it, picking her body up off the floor and sitting her upright. 

“Here you go, lassie.” The rim of a bottle was placed between her lips, a bitter liquid spilling down her throat. With it, though, the ringing stopped and the pain eased. He healed a few outlying injuries, before leaning back. 

“I am sorry,” he offered awkwardly. “But I will not let you out of a safehouse until I know you can protect yourself. They have an advantage you do not, and I will not bury you without giving you the best chance I can.” Petunia watched him silently, wondering just how many people he had buried before her. People he thought he had done enough for, taught enough to, trained thoroughly. 

All the bitterness she had felt toward him from this afternoon faded away as she stared at him, just the two of them alone in the attic. He seemed an entirely different man all of a sudden. One who had loved and lost, and swore never to do so again. Yet, here he was, breaking his own rules. He looked away from her, but she had a feeling his magical eye was watching her through the side of his head. 

“On the days that I am here, I will work with you half the time, and with young Messrs Potter and Evans the other half. So I will see you again on Sunday.” He limped heavily out of the room, leaving Petunia alone in a mounting silence. 

She watched the plaster dust drift through the light of the window, the setting sun leaving a trail ablaze with light across the floor. She blew out slowly, causing the plaster dust to swirl rapidly, disturbing the collected dust on the ancient hardwood. 

Slowly, the sun set, the shadows growing as the light faded. She sat alone in darkness, her mind empty and her body exhausted. Distantly, she heard footsteps climbing the stairs. Part of her wondered who it was, what they wanted. The other part of her was too tired to care, too anxious to wonder beyond the present moment. 

The door creaked open and she caught the scent of Sirius’ cologne. She didn’t turn her head, barely moved. He walked around the room, repairing the damage from her training with Alastor in silence. Then, he simply slid down the wall, joining her in silence. 

“You are pushing yourself too hard,” he finally broke the silence. “Spending your mornings with Snape, which is always a refreshing pleasure. Brewing potions while he berates you, or standing there screaming as he tears your mind apart again, and again, and again, and again, constantly pulling out your deepest shames, your greatest regrets, and your darkest nightmares. Putting them on display as if they were a show,” he scoffed. 

“And now, you are being dragged up to the attic and having spells, hexes, and jinxes thrown at you as if you were an Auror out in the field, and not a muggle parent dragged into our world. You are burning the candle at both ends, Pet, and that is not even factoring in the nights where you pace, worrying about your werewolf mate every full moon.” He turned to her, concern etched in his eyes. 

“What choice do I have?” Petunia answered flatly, her voice cracking. He was right. She was exhausted, but they had only just begun. 

“Petunia, you have lost too much weight. You have always been thin, but we can see your bones when you move now. Wrists, collar, cheek, knees. Remus said he can feel your ribs every night when he holds you. You are wasting away trying to get everything right, but it will mean nothing in the end if you fade away regardless,” he told her. 

“Maybe the training with Moody will be good for you. It can help you build muscle. Maybe we can look at melee and hand to hand as well, to try and give you an advantage. But you need to sleep better, eat more often. I will not watch you disappear. Do you hear me?” Petunia looked at him slowly, nodding. Sirius smiled warmly. 

“Good. Because I will not lose my best friends before it even begins.” Petunia laid her head against this shoulder, her eyes drifting closed. “You do know we will all shoulder this weight with you, right? You are not the lone soldier in this war,” he said softly. 

“No,” she whispered back. “Harry is. In the end, it all boils down to him. But my relationship with him puts too much on me, on Dudley. And it draws us into danger, too. I had thought I understood that when Dumbledore visited us at the motel, but I was wrong. I had no idea just how much fear someone can truly feel.” Silence greeted her words for several moments. 

“Well, way to be a Debbie downer,” Sirius said flatly, before bumping her shoulder with his. Petunia snorted, smacking his knee lightly. “But honestly, Petunia, you need out. You have been at Grimmauld Place or The Sanctuary non-stop, working with Severus. Once the kids head back to school, we are hitting the town. You, me, and Remus. We will make a night of it– I will set the itinerary, you two just show up,” he grinned. 

Petunia watched him, warmth kindling in her chest as she saw excitement blossom in his eyes. She acquiesced, hoping she did not come to regret it. A knock sounded at the door, Remus calling out before stepping into the attic. 

“I followed your scent,” he said, sitting across from them. Sirius put his hand over his heart, cocking his head with mock admiration. 

“Oh, I knew you loved me, Moony!” He said sardonically. Remus gave him an unamused glance. 

“Yes, because a wet dog is definitely the smell I was tracking,” he replied, laughing. 

“I don’t smell like a wet dog!” Sirius shot back, but Petunia did not miss the little sniff he gave himself. “Oh well, I will get you back when we go out,” he grinned. Remus’ narrowed his eyes. 

“What do you mean?” Sirius’ grin only grew, and Petunia felt like she may have bit off more than she could chew with his proposal. 

“Well, you see, Remus, your mate gave me permission to throw a little night out on the town,” he smirked. Remus sighed loudly, letting his head fall back. 

“I am assuming this was a mistake?” Petunia asked tiredly. 

“A mistake would be an understatement. Sirius was banned from planning anything in our seventh year,” Remus answered. Petunia frowned. 

“Do I dare ask?” She said hesitantly. Sirius’ eyes lit up, and Remus’ head fell into his hands. 

“He managed to smuggle several, very real deer into the Head Boy and Girl’s common room,” Remus answered. 

“Why?” She asked, looking at Sirius. 

“Because James was never going to get over Lily, so I staged a little stag party,” he replied. 

“And?” Remus urged. Sirius looked away, laughing. 

“And I got James so drunk the night before that his hangover was talked about the rest of the year,” he answered proudly. 

“That is an understatement.” Remus looked at Petunia, exasperated. “James, hungover as all utter hell, transformed into his stag form out of confused panic when he saw all the other deer. Then, we spent the entire morning chasing a hungover Prongs through Hogwarts. I still don’t know how we weren’t caught and expelled,” Remus sighed, shaking his head. 

Petunia burst out laughing, tears burning her eyes as she fought for air over her laughter. “Oh, he is definitely in charge of our night out,” she chuckled. 

“Your funeral,” Remus replied, shaking his head. 

“Or yours. You are stuck with us, remember that,” Sirius supplied. Remus glared at him playfully. 

“Watch it,” he warned. 

Chapter Text

We’re overdue for a revival
We spent so long just gettin’ by
That’s the thing about survival
Who the hell, who the hell likes living just to die?

(You’re Gonna Go Far - Noah Kahan)

August 30, 1992 

Petunia entered the kitchen of their home, ruffling Harry’s hair as she passed him. He tried to hide his smile as he pushed his hair back down, pointedly ignoring the laughter coming from his parent’s portrait. 

“What do you have planned for today?” Petunia asked, taking the proffered cup of tea from Remus who stood by the counter. She sipped it, sighing in contentment. 

“Ron invited us all over for quidditch today,” Harry replied, shoveling food into his mouth. Petunia frowned. 

“Manners, Harry,” she admonished. He apologized through a mouthful of food, taking smaller bites. Dudley sat across from him, reading through one of his school books. 

“And what will you do?” He looked up from his book.

“Hermione is coming, too. She is going to help me with a few more complex spells that Mad-Eye wants us to learn. She is really good with charms and transfiguration, so I am going to see if she can teach me these,” he replied. 

“You cannot use magic outside of school, though,” Petunia replied. 

“Alastor sent in an exception form for the kids this summer. It will allow them to practice within certain parameters, and The Burrow was accepted alongside Grimmauld Place. That way, if Grimmauld Place was compromised for any reason, we could transfer their training location,” Remus interjected. 

“Why would Grimmauld Place be compromised?” 

“Kreacher is not… Fond of Sirius, if you have not noticed. He is still loyal to Narcissa, who he perceives as the last true Black. He has been forbidden from speaking to her, but we needed a failsafe, just in case,” he explained. 

“Well, I am just glad Alastor was called out of the country by the Ministry this week. I need a break,” Petunia sighed, rubbing her arm where a dark bruise still stood stark on her skin from their last training session. From the portrait, James laughed loudly. “And what do you find so hilarious?” She demanded, narrowing her eyes. 

“Is Mad-Eye still at it with his constant vigilance?” James asked, still chuckling. 

“Yes,” Petunia sighed exasperatedly. “Yesterday, he started our lesson by jumping out of a hall closet and catching me with a stinging jinx,” she replied huffily. 

“Better than what he did to us, though,” James replied. “He was not pleased with our shield charms. You see, a basic shield charm will only block weaker magical bursts. What it will not do, is block non-magical projectiles,” he grinned. 

“Oh, no,” Petunia replied, her eyes widening. 

“Oh, yes,” James replied. “He carried cinder blocks with him for a solid month, using Depulso to catapult them at us with no warning so we could increase perception, evasion, and peripheral awareness. Protego Maxima was the only spell that would stop them, so we became masters at using the strongest shield charm possible with almost no warning. As mad as Mad-Eye is, he is a good teacher… I think,” James finished uncertainly. 

“Well, as insane as the man may be, you cannot argue with his results,” Remus offered flatly. Petunia snorted into her tea. Harry finished his breakfast, washing his plate in the sink before running upstairs to grab his Nimbus 2000 that they had bought him when he made the team last year. 

Remus pushed a plate of food over to Petunia with an expression that brokered no arguments. She ate quickly, giving him a look once she had finished. Dudley approached her, placing a kiss on her cheek. 

“Love you, Mum. We will see you tonight,” he said, disappearing into the parlor. Harry was on his heels, and a moment later, they disappeared in a blaze of emerald flames. 

September 1, 1992. 

Petunia pulled both of her boys close, pressing a kiss to their foreheads. Remus hugged them tightly, clapping his hand over their backs. “We love you two so much. Study hard, have fun, and for the love of Merlin, please do not cause or get into trouble this year,” he admonished. 

“Oh, did you tell them about Norbert?” Hermione asked, appearing by Harry’s side. Remus glanced at her, confused. 

“Well, I meant more along the lines of not running headfirst towards Voldemort. Who is Norbert?” 

“A… Dragon,” she replied quietly. 

“What is this about a dragon?” He demanded. Hermione blushed and Harry looked away, searching for anything he could to disappear. 

“Oh, Hagrid hatched a dragon egg last year. Harry and Hermione smuggled it out to Charlie Weasley so he could take it to his colony in Romania… Apparently Harry did not inform you of this,” Dudley frowned. 

“No, no he did not,” Petunia answered, cuffing Harry gently over the ear. 

“Hey, I got detention, so I have already been punished!” Harry argued. 

“Yes, and you dragged Neville and Draco into it. Honestly, Harry, Draco already hates us, and you made it worse with that stunt,” Hermione shook her head. They approached the wall separating Platform 9 ¾ from the rest of the station. Harry pushed his trolly forward, breaking into a run. 

Petunia watched in horror as the trolley collided, knocking Harry to the ground. Hedwig chittered angrily in her cage, ruffling her feathers wildly. Remus pulled Harry to his feet, feeling the wall in confusion. 

“It’s sealed,” he said, striking it softly. “I will send a Patronus to Dumbledore, see if the three of them cannot floo into Hogsmeade. I don’t know why it would seal, though. It’s never done this,” Remus wondered. “Oh well, it is one minute after. The train is departing. Come, to the car,” he ushered. 

Hermione followed them, since her parents had left her to board with Harry and Dudley in order to make it to a conference this morning. “Ron already made it onto the platform, didn’t he?” Petunia asked. 

“Yeah, they went early since it is Ginny’s first year,” Hermione replied. Once they made it back to Grimmauld Place, Remus sent a Patronus out with his message. Petunia helped a bewildered Sirius carry the luggage into the house. 

“What do you mean it sealed on you? We ran late plenty of times and it never did that to us,” he questioned Remus. Remus shrugged, taking Dudley’s trunk from Petunia. 

“Search me,” he replied. From the library they heard the fireplace roar, and a moment later, a tall, stern woman appeared in the hallway, brushing ashes from her robes. Petunia recognized her. Minerva McGonagall did not appear to have changed in the slightest since Petunia had seen her in 1971. 

“Minnie!” Sirius cried, his arms thrown wide open. Minerva stared at him for a moment, but Petunia noticed the corners of her lips curling upwards minutely. 

“Albus informed me of the issue at the train station. Kingsley is looking into it.” With a flick of her wand, the trunks and empty cages shrunk down. “Put those in your pockets and send your owls off to fly on their own,” she ordered, not unkindly. 

“Then follow me to the fireplace. We will travel directly to my office at Hogwarts where you will wait until the train arrives.” Harry and Dudley took their owls out the back door, Hedwig and Fogg taking off into the sky. 

“Thank you for this, Professor McGonagall,” Petunia said, following her into the library. Minerva shook her head. 

“It is no problem, Petunia. And please, call me Minerva,” she replied. 

“Or Minnie!” Sirius’ call echoed through the hall. Minerva gave her a stern look. 

“Not Minnie,” she said. Petunia laughed, nodding. Harry and Dudley appeared, looking to Professor McGonagall. Petunia kissed her boys’ cheeks one last time, offering them one last warning to be good. 

Remus’ arms wrapped around her waist as they stepped into the fireplace, Hermione on their heels, disappearing. Sirius popped his head into the library. “Are they gone?” He asked. 

“Yes,” Remus replied, kissing Petunia’s cheek softly. 

“Good. You two need to be ready by nine tonight, then we will head out. Petunia, Mary popped by and dropped off a dress while you were out, it’s on your bed. Remus, your clothes are there too.” Remus grimaced. 

“He is dressing us, Petunia. We need to worry,” he said. Petunia snorted, turning to kiss him. 

“Maybe it will be fun. What is the worst that could happen?” She asked. Remus gave her a stern look. 

“I am hanging your mugshots above the fireplace,” he replied. 

“Who knows, Mary picked my clothes. We may end up somewhere entirely different tonight,” she suggested coyly. Remus’ eyes darkened and he growled softly. “Now, now, I have a meeting with Severus to attempt the Wolfsbane potion. You will need to be there, and I would prefer if he did not have a reprise of the memory he saw last week,” she chastised, grimacing. 

“Oh, he didn’t,” Remus winced. Petunia nodded. “Which one?” He asked hesitantly. 

“The counter we brew on downstairs,” she answered. 

“Well, that is… Awful,” he broke into an awkward laugh, shaking his head. 

“Sirius keeps almost calling him something, before he corrects it to Snape… Why is that?” She asked. Remus’ face darkened slightly. 

“James and Snape didn’t get along in school. Sirius sided with James, since they were practically brothers. With the family Sirius came from, he hated Snape for joining in with Voldemort’s followers. He used to call him Snivellus in school. I have done my best to set aside my reservations for him, knowing that Dumbledore’s direct orders are to learn from him… Sirius is having a much harder time with this, but he is trying,” Remus replied. 

“And how is their occlumency training going?” She asked. 

“Abysmally,” he replied. “They argue constantly throughout it. Insults are thrown, but they hold themselves back from a true confrontation. Both of them know that what is at stake is of higher importance than schoolyard rivalries,” he answered. 

“And how is your training going?” She wheedled. He offered her a sad smile. 

“I do not need to train. Being a werewolf has its perks. The wolf inside my mind barricades my thoughts from being read, it appears. My thoughts are not legible to those who are not werewolves themselves.” 

“Wow. And you are alright with that?” She asked quietly. 

“Yes. I will say, it is one of the few upsides to my condition. Now go, before Snape comes looking for you.” He pulled her close to him, one palm resting on her cheek, the other snaking behind her head. 

He kissed her roughly, his tongue sweeping along the line of her lip. When she let out a sigh, he used the brief opening to plunge his tongue into her mouth, caressing hers with his. She let out a surprised moan, melting into his body. He pulled away, grinning, and trying to ignore the tightness in his trousers. 

“Arsehole,” she muttered, putting space between them. He smirked. 

“Just giving you a teaser of what is to come when we come home tonight, is all,” he replied. “I will see you at nine, love.” He turned and left, allowing Petunia a moment to collect herself before heading down to the kitchen. 

Petunia stared at herself in the mirror, horror etched in her eyes. She would kill Mary, she thought, as she tried to pull the hem of her dress down, the neckline up. It was a solid black and only reached her upper thigh. Her legs were on display, down to the black pump heels Mary had sent along. 

The neckline of the gown plunged down, offering a teasing look at her breasts. Since she had been eating regularly and training, she had regained weight she had not held in years. Her breasts were pushed high, close together, leaving the image it evoked almost obscene to Petunia. 

The back of the dress bunched at the waist with a large cut out in the back, leaving much of her flesh exposed. It came together again at her neck, held together by fastenings. She was definitely going to kill Mary, she decided. 

The door behind her creaked open and her hands shot over her chest, a deep blush creeping up her neck. Sirius stood in the doorway, dressed in black slacks and a button down shirt, his mouth agape. 

“I– I was going to tell you we were waiting downstairs, it’s almost time to go, but… Shit, Mary is trying to get you pregnant,” Sirius collected himself, whistling. Petunia blushed deeper, her face now scarlet. 

“I think I am going to change… This isn’t…” She trailed off, unsure. Sirius shook his head. 

“No! Absolutely not! Remus is going to have a stroke when he sees you, go downstairs, now!” Sirius grinned. 

“Sirius, I am not comfortable dressed like this,” she answered. 

“Petunia, you look fucking hot,” he said seriously. “I am particular towards a lot of muggle things, but they got this one right. Now go downstairs and short circuit your mate’s mind before I drag you down. You look flawless, that dress was made for you.” 

“But people will see me in this,” she replied, her nerves getting the better of her. 

“Who gives a shit? Whose eyes do you see? Whose eyes are only ever on you?” He soothed. She smiled weakly, the butterflies in her stomach settling some. 

“Remus,” she replied. 

“His eyes are only going to be on you tonight. Hell, his protective instinct may even kick in, too. And you know what happens when it does?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows. Petunia blushes. “Mary must really be trying to get you pregnant with this one,” he laughed. 

“I am on birth control, Sirius,” she glared. Sirius frowned slightly. 

“Muggle or potion?” He asked. 

“Muggle,” she answered. “After all, I am a muggle.” 

“Well, I know that,” he said obstinately. “But you have been taking revival potions after your training sessions with Mad-Eye, and they have worked on you,” he argued. 

“Not very well. Alastor said they seem to have a diluted effect on me.” 

“So maybe muggle medications do as well,” Sirius rebutted. “It would make sense. You can do some things normal muggles can’t, but not everything we can. What if it is the same with medications and potions? Both have a reduced effect. Maybe you have to take them in tandem, or in higher amounts, to have the usual effect,” he shrugged. 

“I don’t know, Sirius. Even Dumbledore hasn’t been able to figure out what exactly is going on with me. I don’t think doubling down on pills and potions is a wise move until we know more. Besides, who knows how they would interact with each other in my system.” He nodded. 

“Alright, well, it is time to go.” He grinned. “Now get down there and stop that old werewolf’s heart.” Petunia glared at him. 

“You do remember that I am three years older than both of you, right?” She asked. Sirius bowed in apology. 

“My humblest apology, madame. I thought that you were in your early twenties, you have such a youthful complexion.” Petunia laughed, smacking his arm. 

“Using flattery to get yourself out of trouble,” she chided. “Such an aristocrat.” He took her arm in his, leading her down the stairs. 

“I take great offence to that, my lady,” he gasped dramatically. “I have spent most of my life chasing the image of a funny, sexy, and smart rogue.” Petunia laughed again, feeling the last of her nerves fade. 

“Well then I would take funny, sexy, and smart out of there,” Remus answered from the hallway below them. “Then you would achieve your goal.” Sirius stopped, forcing Petunia to a halt beside him. 

“How incredibly rude, Moony. And to think, I just talked your mate out of changing into another dress,” he teased. “Oh well, come along, Petunia. Let us go see if we can find a floor length gown.” Remus came around the edge of the banister, searching for her. 

He stilled as he caught sight of Petunia, his eyes darkening perceptibly. She could swear she saw a flash of gold, as well. Sirius guided her down the last steps, bowing his head formally to Remus and offering him Petunia’s hand. 

He didn’t respond, his eyes still on her as her hand was placed in his. She frowned, looking at Sirius, but he was bent over, laughing silently. She squeezed Remus’ hand softly, a pit forming in her stomach. She felt foolish. 

Remus seemed to snap back to reality as she began to panic, pushing her against the wall of the stairs. Petunia gasped as his knee pressed between her thighs, grinding roughly against her clothed core. 

“You – are – so – fucking – hot,” he ground out, each word punctuated with a kiss against the column of her throat. She could feel her pulse throughout her entire body, a burning heat coiling in her abdomen. Sirius cleared his throat loudly behind them. 

“We are going to be late,” he said dryly. “Also, I would not like to think if you two fucking like wild animals every time I have to use those stairs. You already tainted the kitchen,” he added. It took a great amount of effort for Remus to pull away from Petunia.

“Hurry along now,” Sirius urged. “We will be apparating to Blackpool. To the southern pier,” he told them, before popping out of the room. Remus pulled Petunia close to him. She closed her eyes, gripping his hand tightly. 

Pressure condensed around her, squeezing. She felt almost ready to explode when they landed, creaking wooden boards below them. She opened her eyes, taking in the now-defunct rides on Blackpool's South Pier. 

Sirius was waving them over, standing beside an old funhouse entrance that had been boarded up for some time. “Come along, then,” he said, before walking through the boards and disappearing. Remus took her hand, pulling her along behind him. 

Loud music greeted them. The room around them was huge. Lights flashed across the people assembled, offering snatched fragments of color before darkness enveloped them again. Sirius cast a muffling charm over the three of them, allowing the noise to die down some. 

“There, that’s better,” he grinned. 

“Sirius, where the hell are we?” Petunia asked, surprised she could hear him over the noise still reaching their ears. 

“This is a magic night club,” he replied. “Called The Hippogriff Den. They are featuring the Weird Sisters tonight. Go on now, drink up!” He said, pulling four shot glasses off of a tray of a waiter passing by. 

“Remember, you did this,” Remus said, looking at Petunia as he downed his shot. Petunia sniffed hers, relaxing as she recognized the scent from Sirius’ nightly drinks. She threw back the shot, gasping as fire crawled down her throat and settled in her stomach. 

“You drink this every night?” She demanded, shaking her head. 

“Well, yes. Firewhiskey is the best liquor on the magical market,” Sirius replied, downing a second shot. “Fairly fond of vodka and gin, though. Cheap enough, too, but Ogden’s Finest Firewhiskey?” He moaned in appreciation. “Nothing comes even close.” 

“You are mental,” she muttered, shaking her head. She could feel the alcohol already. Her head swam pleasantly, her stomach still burning warm from the shot. Remus pulled her out to the floor as a band set up on stage, looking out over the crowd. 

“And who are the Weird Sisters?” She asked, her attention on Remus. 

“Most popular band in the United Kingdom currently,” he replied, moving along with Petunia in time with the crowd around them. Sirius joined them shortly. Petunia smiled as she saw the look of excitement in his eyes. 

“Did you do this often when you were younger?” She asked. Sirius nodded, not looking over at her. 

“Yeah. Tried to drag Remus to them a few times over the years. He came once, then swore never again,” Sirius laughed. “But, I found his weakness. I just have to dangle you in a pretty dress and he follows anywhere I go,” he grinned. It faded slowly, replaced by a look of nostalgia. 

“James, Lily, Marlene, and I would come to these. Our own little quartet of hard rock hooligans. Mary tried joining us, once. Then she would join Remus for quiet evenings while we all went out. Dorcas split her time between the two.” Petunia felt her stomach sink at the idea of Lily here, once, long ago. Never to return. 

“Well, I am glad you dragged us out from under the rock we have been residing beneath,” Petunia replied, shaking the emptiness that threatened to consume her. 

A loud, echoing chord emanated from the stage, and the crowd around them erupted. Petunia was suddenly much more thankful for the muffling charm Sirius had cast as the band started playing. 

Every so often, Sirius would pass them shots. Petunia accepted every one he gave, feeling happier and freer with each drink. Remus excused himself after a few songs, moving to the back of the crowd. 

Petunia danced with Sirius some, enjoying herself fully for the first time in months. She turned as she felt hands on her, shock pouring through her when a stranger’s face met her. She tried pushing his hands off, but he held firm. 

“Excuse me, but I am in a relationship,” she called out. 

“I don’t see a ring,” he yelled back, pulling her close against his hips. “Besides, one night with me, and you wouldn’t even be able to remember his name.” Petunia gasped as Sirius struck the man, his knuckles cracking across the stranger’s cheekbone. 

Familiar hands wrapped around her and she relaxed, turning into Remus’ embrace. Behind her, she could hear Sirius arguing with the stranger, and she could feel the deep, rattling growl in Remus’ chest. 

“Thank you,” she spoke, unsure if he could hear her over the noise, muffling spell or not. 

“I would never let you be hurt,” he replied, swaying them gently. Sirius handed them more shots, Petunia’s head starting to feel foggy. She pressed closer against Remus, her rear grinding into his crotch as his hand reached up to cup her breast. 

Remus growled, holding her hips in place as he nipped on her shoulder roughly. Sirius grabbed them, pulling the two of them stumbling out of the club behind him. Stepping out into the cool night air was a shock, but did nothing to clear her alcohol-riddled mind. 

“Can’t even take you to a club, can I?” Sirius slurred, laughing aloud. “Not without you two trying to fuck on the dance floor. Had to pull you out before security got involved, I could see them coming around the edges,” he crowed, bent over. 

“I have the inclination that they were coming after you for striking another patron,” Remus replied. Sirius waved him off. 

“Ah, it doesn’t matter. Now come on, surely there must be something for three intoxicated adults to do late at night,” he said, stumbling down the pier. 

“Three wasted adults,” Petunia corrected, leaning against Remus as they swayed along behind Sirius. 

“I think the safest option is going home,” Remus replied. While he was still as entirely sloshed as they were, his Lycanthropy was helping him at least keep his thoughts in line. 

“Oh, pish, posh,” Sirius hiccoughed. “We can… Well, we cannot apparate under the influence, if we want to keep all of our limbs intact…” He frowned, trying to think. “And floo is out, unless we stumble across a witch or wizard… Oh, well,” he giggled. “The Knight Bus it is.” Remus groaned loudly. 

“What is it?” Petunia slurred. 

“We are definitely throwing up tonight,” he answered vaguely, pulling her along in Sirius’ unsteady footsteps through the dark streets of Blackpool.

Chapter Text

Let them say we’re crazy,
I don’t care about that
Put your hand in my hand,
Don’t ever look back

Let the world around us just fall apart
Baby, we can make it
If we’re heart to heart

(Nothing’s Gonna Stop us Now - Starship) 

September 2, 1992

Petunia groaned as she slipped from her slumber. Her head was pounding so violently it felt as if gongs were going off inside her skull. She groggily cracked an eye open, wailing at the stab of pain that came with the bright light filtering through the window. 

Remus stirred beside her at her noise of pain, worried mumbles quickly giving way to his own groanings. Petunia pushed herself closer to him, burying her face in his bare chest until the light diminished. The door to their room at Grimmauld Place slammed open, both of them groaning loudly. 

“Rise and shine sleeping– Oh, Merlin!” Sirius yelled, backing out of the room with his hands over his eyes. “I thought we only had one full moon to worry about every month, and now there are three!” He called from around the corner. Petunia frowned. 

“Three?” She mumbled to Remus. Realization dawned on both of them, and Remus threw a blanket over their bodies in panic. “Ohh, god,” Petunia mumbled, her embarrassment nearly overwhelming her hangover. “What the bloody hell happened last night?” She asked. 

“I… I honestly do not remember, after the club. I think… I think we did take the Knight Bus home, though,” he answered. 

“Yes, we did, and Ernie said if we ever made a mess like that again he will send us the bill,” Sirius replied, slowly peeking his head around the corner. Once he saw they were covered, he slipped back into the room. 

“Bill for what?” Remus groaned, scrubbing his eyes with his hands. 

“Honestly, I have no idea. He used magic to clean up and repair, but I have a feeling we really got onto his nerves last night,” Sirius answered, sitting on the edge of the bed. He handed both of them a vial. 

“What is this?” Petunia asked. 

“Hangover cure,” Sirius answered. “The only reason I am here and not dying in bed like you two is I took one before I passed out when we got home.” 

“Git, why didn’t you give them to us last night?” Remus demanded, drinking his. Petunia pulled the cork off of hers, chugging it. It was bitter and thick, and she was certain it would come back up before making it to her stomach. 

“Well, if you must know, you didn’t even really make it in here to the bed,” Sirius grimaced. Petunia moaned in embarrassment, lowering her head into the hand not still tucked under the blanket. Mercifully, the pain in her head diminished into a tolerable ache. 

“Where did we–” Remus started. 

“Stairs. Wall. Loo. Then in here,” he answered. Petunia frowned. 

“Why the loo?” She asked. 

“Because he was holding your hair back while you threw up,” Sirius replied flatly, looking sick. “At least he cleaned you up before you two started again,” he shuddered. “And, might I add, not one silencing charm,” he frowned. 

“Well, why didn’t you put one up over your room?” Remus demanded. "Besides, it serves you right, all the times I had to overhear your... encounters in school or during the war," he adds. 

“Kreacher, the little git. I had set my wand on the table beside my bed, but it was gone when I reached for it. I spent all morning looking for it,” he replied, ignoring Remus' other comment. Petunia looked up. 

“All morning? What time is it?” Sirius grinned. 

“Three in the afternoon,” he replied. 

“Ugh, what did we do last night?” Petunia mumbled. She couldn’t remember anything after the first few songs.

“Well, we drank a shit ton,” Sirius said, touching one of his fingers. “A guy hit on you, I punched him, you and Remus tried to fuck on the dance floor,” he added, counting off more fingers. “We left, then went to another pub, and then went to a magical tattoo parlor, had greasy fish and chips, rode the Knight Bus, then, well, I already told you what you did after,” he finished. Petunia’s head snapped up. 

“Magical tattoo parlor?” She inquired. Sirius perked up. Sirius grinned. “Oh, yeah. Look!” He said, pulling his shirt aside to show his new tattoo. Three sets of animal prints wandered across his flesh, side by side. 

“What is that?” Petunia asked, her eyes still fuzzy. 

“The prints of a wolf, a dog, and a stag,” Remus replied, looking down at his own forearm. Petunia looked over, noticing a matching set pacing across his flesh. Petunia noticed something on his chest, moving closer. 

A patch of petunias had been tattooed on his chest, one lonesome little bumblebee drifting around the petals, landing every so often. She started to cry, running her fingers across the ink. “So you two idiots went and got tattoos,” she stated, but there was no malice in her tone. Sirius laughed. 

“Two? No. Three, however,” he grinned. Petunia blanched, lifting the covers to look down at her body, careful not to reveal it to Sirius. On her upper thigh sat two flowers, grown closely together. A petunia and a lily, drifting in a breeze. Tears burned her eyes, and she felt Remus plant a gentle kiss against her neck. 

She noticed another one, planted on her left forearm that had been covered by the blanket. A crescent moon lay there, idle clouds scudding lazily across the sky. The moon and stars winked in and out as the clouds passed. 

“Why did I get a tattoo of the moon?” She frowned, looking more closely at it. Of all the things in the world, why would she have chosen the one that haunts Remus? Sirius grabbed her hand, squeezing it softly. 

“The artist linked it to Moony’s magical signature,” he answered. “It tracks the phase of the moon, so you would always remember, and the weather patterns wherever he is, so you won’t have to worry needlessly.” Remus looked up at Sirius. 

“How do you remember that much about last night? You drank more than we did.” Sirius grinned. 

“I have been drinking since I was fifteen years old,” he answered. “This was, by far, not the worst night I have ever had.”

“That is great, Sirius, but can you please leave so we can get dressed?” Petunia asked, pulling the blanket tighter around her. 

“Oh, yeah, no problem.” Sirius left the room, leaving the two of them, still slightly mortified, in the bed. Remus rolled over on top of her, shutting the door with a flick of his wand. 

“Muffliato,” he whispered, tossing his wand onto the nightstand. 

“I thought we were getting dressed,” she said, running her hands up his sides. Remus hissed lowly, his eyes shut tight. 

“Fuck clothes,” he replied, moving a hand down to place under her knee. He lifted her leg up, pushing her knee to her chest as he settled between her thighs, kissing up the flesh slowly, nipping her sporadically. 

Petunia gasped as his teeth clamped down on her skin. Remus licked over the spot, soothing it, as well as several he must have put on her last night. He licked across her core, making Petunia jump. 

They made love lazily, slowly. Every so often, he would pull out and return down to her core in order to taste her, the scent driving him wild. Petunia whimpered as he slid back into her, his arms on either side of her, intertwining his fingers with hers and his eyes settling on her own. 

She felt slightly embarrassed as he gazed down at her. It felt like every barrier was stripped from between them, releasing a flood of emotions she did not know she was capable of harboring. He kissed her softly, slowly, as if he was trying to memorize the contours of her mouth. 

She felt that familiar tug inside her chest, the winding tautness of an invisible cord she could not see, could not place. It felt so tight she feared she would not be able to pull away from him ever again, the invisible cord binding them together tightly. 

Petunia shattered underneath him, a flood of warmth spreading through her, tingling down along every nerve in her body. She cried out loudly, clamping her legs around his waist, holding him deep inside of her. 

She felt connected to him in a deeper sense than she had ever known possible and it scared her. She didn’t know what she would do if something were to happen to him. She didn’t know if she could survive it. 

Remus climaxed above her, his weight falling down atop her as he gasped out. He rutted a few more times, as if he were trying to bury himself entirely inside of her, trying to become one flesh. Petunia reached up, scratching her nails through his scalp. 

Remus shuddered under her touch, an exhausted whine coming from him, the noise muffled between their bodies. He lay there for a while, panting as his heart raced in his chest. If he never had to leave the spot he was now, he could be content with that the rest of his life. 

“Remus, do you feel a draw towards me?” Petunia asked, still carding her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. 

“Of course I do. I love you,” he answered tiredly. 

“No, I mean… Well, I don’t entirely know what I mean,” she said, frustrated. Remus rolled onto his side, pulling her close to his chest. She noticed, however, that he had not pulled out in the process.  

“Try to explain it to me, then,” he encouraged. 

“I don’t know. I think it started the day we met. I was terrified when you told me you were a werewolf, but I felt a draw to you. One that made me want to comfort you, whatever it took. And later, the day we met Vernon in London,” she thought back. 

“I felt it then, too. Like it was pulling tighter the further I went away from you. And since we have been together, I feel it more intimately now. Like I am drawn to you, again, and again. Like if I were to pull too far away, something inside me would snap,” she explained. Remus’ eyebrows furrowed together. 

“Well, a mate bond explains the emotional and physical aspects, but not the last bit… It isn’t a marriage bond, since we are not married, and it cannot be a magical bond. Honestly, since you are a muggle, only the mate bond should be possible” he ruminated. “We should let Dumbledore know. Maybe it will help him with his research.” 

“True,” Petunia replied. “But I thought magic bonds came with marriage bonds,” she stated. 

“No. You can have a magic bond without a marriage bond. A marriage bond is a unique form of a magic bond, completely intertwining the magic of the two people involved. It strengthens both parties' own magic, and changes the signature of it entirely since the two become one,” he clarified. 

“A magic bond, however, can be between anyone who forms close relationships. It allows you to draw off each other in a diluted form of what a marriage bond would. It isn’t as powerful, and your magic is still entirely your own.” He peppered kisses across her jaw. 

“We can inquire about it later, you little enigma. For now, rest. It is one of our only free days,” he said, closing his eyes and pulling her close. She sighed, realizing he was right. 

Alastor would be by a few times this week for defense training, as well as Andromeda for her beginner’s healing course. Madam Pomfrey would take over once they got into more advanced fields, and Andromeda would come along beside her as a student. 

She knew it was important for her to train, regardless of her inability to heal. Through the teachings, she could learn symptoms, antidotes, triage, and potion recollection until it became muscle memory. Then, when the day came where actual casualties were brought in, she could help wherever she was able. They would need all the hands they could get. 

Severus, however, had been recalled to the school for the fall term. He could no longer come out every morning to work with her, and as such, had left her homework. Remus had enlarged the inside of their greenhouse, and dozens of additional magical plants had been added. 

Aside from those meant for healing, a few defensive ones had been procured as well. Mandrakes, Venomous Tentacula, and Chinese Chomping Cabbages had been propagated along the back wall. 

In the kitchen, on the back wall, several plants that could be stored as shelf stable were hung to dry, so that they could have a surplus when demand and prices skyrocketed. Her occlumency had progressed as well, but she was far from ready. 

Her potions had improved with the addition of Mary, Sirius, or Remus’ presence. She and Severus had progressed beyond the moderate to difficult potions, and had been working for the last few weeks on advanced recipes. 

She hoped that by Christmas she would be able to effectively brew the Wolfsbane potion. The margins of her potions book was littered with small, cramped notes in nearly every available free space that had once been clear. 

As for the occlumency training, Severus still had an easy time seeing through her diversions and feints in her mind. He had a keen eye for important memories, and had warned her that Voldemort’s skill exceeded his own, if only due to the cruelty he used to gain access to that which he sought. 

When she had asked him how he managed to turn spy in the last war, he sneered at her. His answer had been simple, and cruelly offered. I used my mind. I know that is difficult for you to do, but please, try. She only had four days left until he came for their lessons on Saturday. 

“Has Dumbledore or McGonagall found anything out about the gate sealing on Sunday?” She asked. Remus sighed. 

“There were traces of magic over it, but it wasn’t human,” he replied. Petunia shifted to look up at him. 

“What was it then?”

“It appears to be from a house elf, but they cannot narrow it down much further than that,” he answered. 

“Kreacher wouldn’t have done that, would he?” Remus shook his head. 

“No, he was here with Sirius when it happened. Sirius said he was banging around, complaining the whole time we were gone. All that we can assume is that someone sent their house elf to do their dirty work.” 

“Who would do that?” 

“Plenty of those who are sympathetic to Voldemort come from old families. I couldn’t tell you beyond that. Too many of them are likely suspects, but as of now, we have nothing else to go on. Now come, we need food. Real food,” he said, pushing himself up from the bed. 

He took her hand, helping her up before rifling through the drawers in search of clothes for today. Petunia slipped on a nightgown, before collecting her own clothes and heading to the bathroom up the hall. 

She leaned her head back, exhaling as the hot water cascaded over her, soothing her muscles. She looked down at the tattoo on her forearm, tracing over it lightly with her fingertip. It was a few inches below her wrist, taking up a fair portion of the skin between her elbow and wrist. 

She looked down at the flowers, warmth spreading through her chest. She traced over this one as well, thinking of Lily. How she wished her sister was here, but she knew. If Lily were here now, Petunia would most likely be back at Vernon’s. Her life would never have changed without Harry arriving on her doorstep.

“I’m sorry, Lils…” She whispered softly, tracing the lily once more. She finished her shower, drying off and pulling her undergarments on. She slipped into her day dress, combing out her hair and brushing her teeth. 

She returned the nightgown to her room before making her way down the stairs, finding Remus and Sirius at the table, conversing. She collected the eggs and bacon Sirius had prepared, taking her place beside Remus. 

He leaned over to her, taking in a deep breath of her hair. She looked at him curiously, but he just grinned, snagging a slice of bacon off of her plate. “The first night I spent in your home,” he finally said. “I used your shampoo and conditioner. Oranges.” He took another breath. 

“Oranges are a strong scent memory for me, and you haven’t changed your shampoo since I met you.” Petunia took a bite of her eggs. 

“I always know when you are near, too. I can smell it,” she replied. Sirius choked on his bite of food. 

“Please tell me you smell dog,” he demanded. Petunia laughed. 

“Not quite, but close,” she answered. “He smells like the old books he is always reading, the earth he tills in the greenhouse, and fur,” she revealed. 

“I will take it as a win, she said you smell like a dog, mate,” he said, pointing his fork at Remus. 

“She said fur, Sirius. Not dogs,” Remus answered, taking another bite. 

“Nymphadora is coming by Wednesday evening,” Sirius said, pulling a copy of the Daily Prophet open. 

“You had better not let her hear you call her Nymphadora,” Remus warned. 

“Older cousin privileges,” Sirius dismissed, rifling through the pages. He let out a whoop, tossing the paper down. Spread across a portion of the top page, a picture of the three of them in the club the night before sat prominently, several other small ones collaged around.

“What is this?” Remus asked, shifting the paper to see better. In the image, she and Remus were laughing as Sirius thrashed his head beside them, his long mane of hair flying wildly. Another featured her and Remus in a tight embrace, his hand on her breast. Petunia blushed. 

“Gossip column, mate. Rita Skeeter’s work, too. Probably full of wild speculation,” he laughed. 

“Why are we in it, though?” Petunia asked. 

“Because we are interesting,” Sirius replied as if it were obvious. Petunia frowned at him. 

“No, really,” he said. “I am an acquitted murderer and spy. Remus is one of the original Order members as well, and raising Harry and Dudley as his own sons, and you are the legal guardian of the Boy Who Lived,” Sirius explained. 

“And here we are, drunk off our asses at a nightclub just hours after dropping off the kids for school,” he grinned. Petunia read the headline. 

Is the Boy Who Lived in Danger at Home?
Guardians Spotted ‘Letting Loose’ at Nightclub
Rager Just Hours After He Missed the Train
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

The Boy Who Lived may not be living the quiet,
wholesome life the public has always imagined.
Eyewitnesses have revealed that the Potter–Evans
household caused quite a stir this year by missing the
Hogwarts Express entirely.

Onlookers at King’s Cross report seeing young Harry Potter
and his cousin Dudley Evans sprinting desperately toward
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters just as the scarlet steam
engine pulled away. Potter collided face-first with a mysteriously
sealed barrier. Families were still milling about the platform at
the time, prompting widespread speculation as to
why the gate would close prematurely.

Even more alarming is that Harry’s guardians (Aunt, Petunia Evans,
who divorced her Muggle husband 11 years ago, and family friend Remus
Lupin) were seen escorting the boys away with apparent nonchalance.

How the cousins managed to appear in the Great Hall for
the start-of-term feast mere hours later remains an unanswered
question. Yet, astonishingly, the very same evening the so-called
“responsible adults” were spotted at The Hippogriff Den, one of
Blackpool’s most infamous wizarding nightclubs, dancing and
drinking well into the night as the Weird Sisters played a roaring set.

One club patron claims that an inebriated Sirius Black struck him
on the dance floor during what witnesses describe as “a heated shuffle”
with Petunia Evans. While this fuelled whispers of a scandalous
romance, such rumours were seemingly put to rest
when Evans was later seen in a provocative embrace with Lupin.

Could this be the true reason for her Muggle divorce? An appetite
for high-profile wizarding suitors? Or is this simply the
blossoming of a most unconventional love story?

Evans and Lupin have been seen before in Diagon Alley
accompanied by both Potter and Evans, giving the appearance
of a close-knit unit. Yet one must wonder if this is truly a
stable environment for the Boy Who Lived. With such late-night
escapades and public displays of questionable decorum, is young
Harry in danger of being influenced by reckless behaviour?

Only time will tell whether this unconventional household will
guide the Boy Who Lived toward greatness or lead him astray.

Petunia groaned, shoving the paper back towards Sirius. He folded it, tucking it under his arm. Petunia ate in silence, ruminating over the article. She had never expected to be featured in the papers in any capacity, let alone the bloody gossip column. 

“Chasing famous wizards?” She sighed, rubbing her head. “Vernon was an abusive piece of shit,” she growled. 

“Don’t worry about it too much,” Remus told her. “It’s Rita Skeeter. Anyone with half a mind pays her articles no attention. She is known to weave gossip and speculation in order to gain readers. Back in our Order days, she wrote a piece on my and Sirius’ secret whirlwind romance,” he revealed. Petunia choked on the glass of water she had been sipping. 

“I’m sorry?” She spluttered. 

“Ah, I remember those days,” Sirius sighed fondly. “Nothing stoked the old fires like skirmishes and serious injury.” He winked at Petunia. 

“There was nothing between us, ever,” Remus shook his head, laughing. “But she caught a picture of us in an embrace, as she put it. The image cleverly managed to not include the mangled leg that Sirius could not walk on,” he clarified. “I was just trying to get him away from the battle. Hell, I don’t even know why a photographer was anywhere near us.” 

“But, alas, the next edition of the Prophet included a two page speculatory piece with testimonials by people we have never actually known, old classmates, and completely imagined snippets from close friends.” Sirius grinned. “I still have the clipping of that paper, and this one is joining it.” Remus groaned. 

“Why would you keep that?” He asked. 

“Because, how else would I ever remember our torrid love affair against the background of war torn Britain?” He demanded, ducking as Remus threw his fork.

Chapter Text

Sheets are swaying from
an old clothesline
Like a row of captured ghosts
Over dead old grass

Was never much
But we made the most
Welcome home,
Home, home

(Welcome Home, Son - Radical Face)

September 4, 1992

Petunia laid across the sofa in the library, her head in Remus’ lap. Alastor had been here this morning and she was exhausted. New cuts and little burns flecked across her skin; areas where magic and potions could only do so much for her. 

Remus’ was intently reading a book, one hand in her hair, stroking through the light blonde locks. She had been drifting in and out of a nap for the last hour, her body exhausted but her mind still on edge from evasion training. 

The fireplace erupted green flames, Nymphadora Tonks stepping out onto the dark hardwood floors. She cleaned the excess ash with a flick of her wand. Remus helped Petunia up, before striding across the room to shake Tonks’ hand. 

“Hello again, Tonks,” he said politely. Tonks greeted him in return, before turning to Petunia. 

“Wotcher, ‘Tunia,” she grinned, striding across the room in large steps to hug her. Petunia returned it, smiling as she pulled away. Tonks was dressed as a muggle today, but her baggy t-shirt had the Weird Sisters on it. A pair of loose jeans clad her legs, before heavy duty boots finished the ensemble. 

She didn’t look too much like her usual self today. The first time she had come, she presented her appearance without her ability interfering. Since then, however, it had been a grab bag of how she might look. As of late, Petunia could only really tell some days when ‘Wotcher’ came out of her mouth. 

Her hair today was a fiery red, braided back. Her eyes were brown, rather than her natural grey. She was tanner, too, than she had been the last time she had been here. “Anyways,” she says. “I have a surprise for you and Sirius,” she grinned. “Where is that git, anyway?” 

“I heard my name?” Sirius called, walking up the hallway. 

“Yes, git, now get in here,” Petunia replied. Remus laughed and Tonks punched Petunia’s shoulder, roaring. Sirius entered the study, his face drawn as he looked down at Petunia. 

“Name calling? Really? Is this the primary school playground? Maybe Rita was right, I wouldn’t want the likes of you teaching my godson manners.” He winked at Petunia, who flipped him off discreetly. 

“Oh, how unladylike!” He gasped, placing his hand over his heart. “I thought you were a proper woman, now I know the truth,” he said dramatically, turning his head. 

“You, Mary, and Remus are fully to blame for this,” she replied. “Who do you think I got it from? Honestly, when you lot are together it’s like I am babysitting teenagers,” Petunia laughed. “You’ve rubbed off on me, you have,” she argued. 

“And yet, you have only rubbed one of us off,” Sirius replied. Petunia snorted as Remus blushed deeply. “My apologies, slip of the tongue. You have rubbed off on only one of us,” he corrected charismatically. “This one thinks he is so mature now,” he said playfully, rolling his eyes. Sirius turned to Tonks, who had been raptly watching the exchange like a tennis match. 

“Ahh, Nymphadora! So lovely to see you. All grown up, graduated Hogwarts! It feels like just yesterday you were running around, shifting into a different child every few minutes and convincing me I had lost you at the park,” he said, pulling her in for a hug. “And now you are officially out of Auror training and into the field. I couldn’t be prouder.” He released Tonks, whose eyes were narrowed. 

“Don’t call me Nymphadora,” she replied icily. 

“Older cousin privileges,” Sirius tutted back. Tonks whipped out her wand so fast Petunia barely caught it. 

“Auror privileges,” she grinned. “Keep it up and I’ll hex your bollocks off and into the next century.” Sirius swallowed thickly, stepping back with his hands raised. 

“Alright, alright,” he replied, his voice a little strained. “So, what did my baby cousin have that was so important she needed to pop by for?” He asked, trying to shift her focus. Tonks slid the wand back into her leg holster, her face once more pleasant. 

“Well, Dumbledore requested a transfer of employment,” she answered. Sirius raised his eyebrow. 

“O… Okay?” He replied, finally letting his hands fall. 

“He has a house elf in his care who he thinks would be much happier here,” she clarified. 

“Why?” Remus asked, as confused as Sirius. Tonks grinned.

“Flopsy!” The word was barely out of her mouth before Sirius yelled in excitement, Remus groaning beside her. A loud crack announced the arrival, and behind Tonks, a house elf appeared. She was dressed in a Santa hat, faded t-shirt, a pair of children's shorts, and cloth shoes. 

“Flopsy!” Sirius yelled, barreling over to the tiny elf. He grabbed her, pulling her close and hugging her tightly to his chest. 

“Who is Flopsy?” Petunia asked, leaning over to Remus. She noticed that, despite his initial reaction, his eyes were misted over. 

“She was James’ house elf. She served his parents and grandparents. Originally, she belonged to his grandmother. Euphemia’s mother forbade her to take Flopsy when she married; they didn’t approve of her marrying a Potter. So Flopsy demanded Euphemia free her so that she could continue her service with her.” 

“Why would they dislike Euphemia marrying Fleamont?” She frowned. 

“Euphemia’s mother was a Black. Technically, she was Sirius’ great aunt, once removed, or some shit. I don’t know, I can never keep his tree straight. Potters were marked as blood traitors, so her parents went into a rage. Anyway, Flopsy had raised Euphemia. She would rather be free and work for her than stay loyal to the family she served.” Sirius put Flopsy down, peppering her with questions. 

“So why did you groan?” She asked. 

“Because Flopsy does what she wants, and if you aren’t agreeable… Well, I will let you find out in your own time,” he laughed. 

“Wait, if she raised Harry’s grandmother, how old is she?” Petunia asked. 

“House elves have a longer lifespan than wizards. Whereas we live on average of a hundred and twenty to a hundred and fourty, house elves can live to be over two hundred,” he answered. Tonks made her way over to them, shaking her head. 

“Flopsy comes along and suddenly I am chopped liver,” she said, but humor sparkled in her eyes. 

“How is it going at the Ministry?” Remus asked. Her face darkened. 

“Not good. There have been increasing reports all over the country of suspected Death Eater activity. They’re planning something, we just don’t know what. We are chasing shadows at this point,” she answered. Remus’ face darkened. 

“Dumbledore is sending his own out, right?” Remus asked. Tonks nodded absently. 

“Yeah. I am unofficially on double duty, along with Moody, Shacklebolt, and Dawlish. But he has sent others out as well, not even we know the full extent of his network. I don’t think we ever will, even if war breaks out,” she shrugged. “It would be too easy to track and destroy if everyone knew where undercover assets were.” 

“You’re right, of course,” Remus replied, shaking his head. “I just hate the idea of undercover missions.” His voice was strained, causing Sirius to raise his head from his conversation with Flopsy. The little, aged house elf made her way out of the room. 

“Surely Dumbledore wouldn’t ask you to go back in?” Sirius demanded. Remus shrugged. 

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” he answered honestly. He side eyed Tonks, unsure. 

“Don’t worry about her. She won’t tell a soul,” Sirius offered. Remus smiled weakly at him. 

“He doesn’t have another option. He didn’t last time, and I do not see any other werewolves stepping up.” Tonks’ eyebrows shot up, her eyes widening slightly. “Voldemort was, is, intelligent. He told them exactly what they wanted to hear. Freedom, jobs, equality. Of course, they would never be equal, but even the hope of it is tantalizing.” 

“Blimey, a werewolf? Like, tail and all?” Tonks asked, eyes wide in excitement. “But then why do you follow Dumbledore? If all the others are banding together under You-Know-Who?” Tonks inquired. 

“Because I have had equality,” he answered, pointedly ignoring the tail comment. “I have been able to keep my condition fairly under wraps. But those who did discover, the ones who mattered, never cared. They loved me regardless, and that is all I have ever wanted. Friends, a family, and a mate,” he stated, glancing over at Petunia with warmth in his eyes. 

“All I would be to Voldemort is a tool. Expendable when my use is complete,” he clarified, looking back at her. “Killing and imprisoning innocents is not the way I want to achieve anything.” 

“But you don’t think he would send you back, right?” Petunia worried, biting down on her lip. Remus sighed, pulling her close and cupping her jaw with his hand. 

“I hope not, my love. But we may not have a choice. It would be the only way to keep information flowing about the activities and mindset of the greater packs.” Petunia pulled away slightly, tears burning in her eyes. Remus’ chest ached as he saw the hurt reflected in them. 

“Pet, I–” 

“I know, Remus,” she cut him off, turning her head away to try and hide the tear that fell down her cheek. “I know. Sacrifices must be made, and we cannot let sentimentality be our guide. I just don’t like it, though.” A sob bubbled up in her chest. 

“I just… I can’t lose you,” she whispered. Remus pulled her against his chest, stroking her hair softly. 

“I would never allow it. And we will not borrow tomorrow’s worries for today, alright? We don’t know that it will even come up. If all out war occurs, who knows what route I will have to follow? Let us focus on today alone,” he soothed. Her cries slowly subsided, his presence easing her fear. 

“Wow. Hope I can find something like that one day,” Tonks whispered, looking at Sirius. 

“You and me both, baby cousin,” he replied. “Now, aren’t you supposed to be at work?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Shut it,” she grinned. “But yes, even on days off, there is much to do. Lots of preparation. I’ll be off. Say hello to my mother when she comes by tomorrow morning,” Tonks called, stepping into the fireplace and disappearing. Sirius left them there, offering them privacy. 

Remus wiped her tears away with his thumbs, tracing down along her jawline. No more words were shared as they stood there, trying their best to not imagine the path they may be on tomorrow. 

September 14, 1992

Petunia set the medical volume down, rubbing her eyes. She was learning the material easily enough, but exhaustion had begun to creep into her bones again. It seemed her days were on loop, between occlumency lessons, potions, healing, and herbology. In the back of her mind she found it humorous, knowing this is exactly what she had wanted when she was a child. 

Andromeda began tidying the sheafs of papers that littered the table, yawning herself. She always came early to teach Petunia, leaving the Ministry late each evening. Once everything was cleaned up, she sat across from Petunia, conjuring a set of tea. 

“We will get there,” she promised, adding cream and sugar to her cup. Petunia snorted, pulling another cup towards herself.

“If we don’t go crazy ourselves,” she answered, taking a sip. “I don’t think we would be much help, then.” Andromeda laughed lightly, but something crept across her face. 

“We won’t be able to save everyone. You know that, right?” She asked. Petunia set down her cup. 

“Logically, yes, but I don’t think that will prepare me for anything,” Petunia replied. 

“It won’t. The first person who dies under your care will haunt you for the rest of your life.” Her eyes were distant. “Then it is a revolving door. War is horrid. There is a Death Eater named Dolohov. He is in Azkaban currently, but he lives in our memories.” Andromeda shuddered slightly. 

“He took pleasure in developing curses. Each day, a new horror arose. Deaths that you could not imagine , things that would haunt your nightmares. Some were quick. Too fast acting for us to deconstruct the curse and counteract it. Others were slow, eating away at the victim. Our curse breakers never had the time to rest.” She swallowed thickly, closing her eyes. 

“My older sister is a monster,” she managed. “She enjoys torturing people. I have never seen evil like her.” She looked up at Petunia. “Death isn’t the worst outcome. The Longbottoms… She did that to them. Tortured them until their minds were gone. They live in the memory ward at St Mungo’s now, with no idea who they are, where they are, or who their son is.” Her voice quieted. 

“Every time I meet with Augusta, I know all she can see is Bellatrix. I am her mirror image… You cannot save everyone, and you will see horrors that you will not be able to comprehend. I do not tell you this to scare you, Petunia, but I will not let you walk into this unprepared. You will see strangers, acquaintances, and loved ones die under your hands.” Andromeda looked at her intently. 

“I know. And I know I will not understand it until it has already happened. But someone has to do it, or everyone will be a casualty. I have to set aside my fears and emotions in order to save lives, then so be it,” Petunia replied. The door opened and Flopsy entered. 

“I broughts tea–” Flopsy stopped as she took in the sight of the tea spread across the table, her eyes pooling with tears. 

“I am so sorry, Flopsy, but we already have some tea,” Petunia replied. The tray of tea fell to the floor, smashing into pieces, china and hot tea splattering across the floor. Flopsy threw herself down to the floor, a loud, mournful wail escaping her. 

“I broughts tea, and you won’t takes tea, because you already has tea!” She howled. Petunia sighed, dropping her head into her hands as Andromeda laughed. 

“Is this common?” She asked. 

“I have no idea, but based on what Remus implied, yes,” Petunia answered. “I now understand why she is called Flopsy,” she giggled. 

“I love her,” Andromeda laughed, clearing away the tea on the table and repairing the dishes Flopsy had dropped. The old house elf pushed herself up from the floor, sniffling. “Flopsy, would you like to join us for tea?” Andromeda asked. The house elf quickly wiped her eyes and nose, directing the tray to settle on the table as she pulled herself into a chair. 

“Flopsy would be delighted to joins you for tea,” she squeaked. Petunia stood, pulling sandwiches and biscuits from the icebox before returning to the table. They ate in silence, apart from occasional comments made by Flopsy. 

“So, Petunia, how is your training with Severus going?” Andromeda inquired. Petunia’s head shot up and she swallowed quickly, brushing the crumbs from her chin. 

“You know about that?” She asked. 

“Yes. Dumbledore has shared certain information between all of us stepping in to train you,” she replied. 

“It is going… Alright,” she replied. “I am progressing, which is a blessing. The more I master, the less he insults me,” she laughed. The corners of Andromeda’s lips turned up. 

“Severus was always…  Difficult,” she said diplomatically. 

“Yes. Well, recently, he has decided to abruptly use legilimency on me during potions lessons,” she grimaced. “I understand the purpose of training me against sudden, unexpected invasions, but I do not enjoy it.” Andromeda pursed her lips. 

“I can understand that.” Her eyebrows knit together. “I always had the impression that he could read my thoughts when he looked at me. Like he was peering through me entirely. When I found out he was a natural Occlumens, it made a lot more sense,” she shrugged. 

“That is how I felt the two times I have come across Dumbledore,” Petunia pondered. 

“Oh, he is a powerful Occlumens. Not natural, like Severus, but he has mastered it. He was reading your mind like an open book. You just didn’t know what it was at the time, your mind had no ability to perceive the intrusion.” 

“But it always hurts when Severus does it. I never felt it with Dumbledore,” Petunia argued. 

“Well you wouldn’t, would you?” Andromeda asked. “Dumbledore doesn’t use it in the same way. Severus is trying to teach you with the knowledge that those who you need to defend yourself from are seeking to hurt you. Dumbledore is only using it for information. He just kind of… Slips into your mind, whereas Severus is forcing his way in. The stronger you become with occlumency, the more painful the breach will be, unless you are allowing them in,” she explained. 

“Why couldn’t he just explain that, rather than insulting me?” Petunia demanded. 

“Severus works the way he does, and we just have to accept it. How he presents and conducts himself is the reason he was able to act as a spy from within the inner circle,” Andromeda answered. 

“I just wish he wasn’t such an arse,” Petunia sighed. 

“Well, look at it from his perspective. If his memories are monitored, he has to be able to present them honestly. So every thought, action, and word is carefully calculated. Yes, he trained the Order members, but that was to keep his disguise as a double agent,” she replied. “But, if every memory is tainted with disdain and disgust, it is easier to sell.” 

“I guess.” Petunia shook her head. “I cannot imagine trying to keep that all together. I feel I would crack under the pressure or be unable to keep everything straight in my mind.” 

“You will have to. That is why we started early, so that you had a lot more time to prepare yourself. You do not have the foundation we do, you are learning everything all at once. Magical theory, instruction, and practice all at once, with absolutely no magic to fuel any of it.” Andromeda’s hand settled on Petunia’s knee, squeezing it gently. 

“You are doing well, Petunia. Do not let him tear you down. Use it to strengthen yourself. Prove him wrong,” she said firmly. “I pray it never comes to this, but if it does, you let Voldemort know that muggles are capable of incredible things.” Petunia looked away, unsure. She didn’t know if she could live up to that.