Chapter 11: The Letter
Morning came slowly to Privet Drive.
Sunlight spilled reluctantly across the manicured lawns and neatly painted fences. The birds that usually sang were oddly quiet, as if even they sensed something was off. A gentle fog clung to the edges of the street, curling around the mailboxes and flower pots like fingers of cold memory.
Inside Number Four, Petunia Dursley stirred.
Her alarm clock buzzed precisely at 6:00 a.m., as it always did. She opened her eyes and sat up sharply, fixing her nightgown. Vernon snored beside her, undisturbed by the chime.
She frowned.
Something felt... strange.
There was a chill in the room, though the window was closed. She rubbed her arms and reached for her slippers.
When she pulled back the curtain to check the street—a habit she'd had since moving into this house—her breath caught.
Two bundles.
On the doorstep.
Her heart thumped.
She rushed downstairs, each footfall sharp against the wooden steps. She yanked open the front door.
And froze.
There, nestled together in a neatly folded blanket, were two babies.
The letter, partially tucked into one blanket, flapped faintly in the breeze.
She recognized the handwriting at once.
Dumbledore.
Petunia's face drained of color. Her knees wobbled. She reached forward, hesitating, then picked up the letter first.
The envelope felt heavy, like it carried more than parchment.
She opened it slowly, fingers trembling.
The words inside were written with care.
> "My dearest Petunia,
I write to you in great sorrow, but with hope.
Your sister, Lily, and her husband, James, were killed last night protecting their sons.
The two children you now see are your nephews. Harry James Potter and Hardwin Evans Potter.
I ask you to take them into your home and raise them as your own. Not for obligation, but for blood. The same blood that ran through Lily runs through you. That bond can protect them in ways no magic ever could.
I understand the difficulty. I understand the pain. But they are innocent. They are your family.
Love them, and you may save them.
With all faith,
Albus Dumbledore"
She let the letter fall to her lap.
Petunia stared at the babies.
Harry stirred, one tiny hand poking out of the green blanket. His hair was dark and wild. His cheeks were smudged with faint soot.
And then she saw the scar.
She gasped.
Hardwin lay more still. His brow furrowed slightly as if troubled by dreams. He didn't stir when she leaned closer.
A wave of memory washed over her.
She saw Lily as a child again, running barefoot through the summer fields. Her laughter was high and clear, a sound like chimes dancing in the wind. Lily, with her flaming red hair and muddy shoes, always getting into trouble, always shining so brightly.
Too brightly.
Petunia remembered the day Lily received her Hogwarts letter. The golden crest, the strange owl, the shimmer in her sister's eyes. Petunia had begged for her own letter. She'd written to Dumbledore.
But the answer had come back kind, firm, and final: she was not like her sister.
Lily had gone where Petunia could not follow. She'd crossed into a world of magic and wonder, leaving Petunia behind with unanswered questions and burning jealousy.
Years later, she'd convinced herself it didn't matter. That normalcy was better. That magic was nonsense.
But it always mattered.
It still burned.
Petunia looked at Harry.
A Potter. Just like James. Just like Lily.
She looked at Hardwin.
Another reminder.
Her breath caught in her throat, and her hand clenched around the letter.
"Why you?" she whispered. "Why do you get to come back into my life like this?"
She stood and paced the hallway, her slippers muffled against the carpet. The hallway smelled faintly of last night's roast and the lemon polish she used on Saturdays. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
"You left us, Lily," she muttered. "You chose that world. You chose him. You left me alone."
But even as she said it, she remembered the look on Lily's face the day Petunia got married. She had come alone. No wand. No robes. Just a sister with flowers in her hair and a small smile.
"Congratulations, Tuney," Lily had said. And for a moment, everything had felt the way it used to be.
But it hadn't lasted.
Now Lily was gone.
Petunia opened her eyes and looked down at the children again.
One whimpered.
She flinched, then knelt.
Their skin was soft. Their faces so small. Too small to carry such burdens.
Slowly, stiffly, she picked them up. The warmth of their bodies seeped into her arms. Their breaths were soft puffs against her neck.
The sunrise broke over Privet Drive, bathing the house in gold.
Petunia turned and walked inside.
The door shut behind her with a quiet click.
And the ordinary world tilted on its axis, forever changed.