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After much deliberation, Petunia decided to keep the child.
Petunia longed to have a blood relative of her own, a life that could accompany her through the long years ahead.
Petunia could not bear this house — once filled with laughter, now hollow and empty — with only herself living alone inside it.
Every night when darkness fell, the sound of her own breathing echoed through the silent rooms, and that loneliness nearly suffocated her.
Petunia also had no desire to marry.
Petunia did not want her life steered by someone else’s will.
Nor did Petunia want this house, filled with so many memories, to be taken over by a new owner and made into something unrecognizable.
This house was where Petunia had grown up, and every corner held a record of that growing-up, the laughter, the milestones.
Petunia could not imagine a day when she would have no choice but to leave this home so full of warmth and memory.
A few days after handing the letter to Snape, Petunia received a reply from Lily.
In the letter, Lily openly expressed her grief and spoke of how much she missed Petunia and how much she worried about her.
Petunia’s eyes gradually grew wet.
It was as though Petunia could feel Lily’s sadness and helplessness through the paper itself.
Petunia thought of those years in their youth, the two of them playing together, sharing their dreams.
That letter was like a bridge, binding Petunia’s and Lily’s hearts closely together once more.
Though the two of them lived in different worlds, in that moment their hearts were tightly connected.
And yet, that letter also became the last contact between Petunia and Lily.
Halloween, the 31st of October.
Yvonne and Ruth came to Petunia’s house.
As night fell, the three of them set about decorating the house.
Yvonne took charge of the living room, draping it in ribbons and balloons until the space blazed with color, like stepping into a fairy tale.
Petunia busied herself preparing snacks and drinks, carefully selecting all manner of food and wine so that the taste buds could have their own celebration at the party.
Ruth handled the sound equipment, choosing a set of upbeat tracks to build a lively atmosphere for the evening.
After a few rounds of drinks, the party’s energy began to climb.
Yvonne and Ruth were already a little tipsy, dancing together in the middle of the living room, their laughter and cheers rising and falling in turn.
Of course, with a three-person party, only two of them were drinking.
Petunia began to feel somewhat unwell.
The smell of alcohol that had settled onto her clothes was unbearable, so Petunia decided to take a bath.
When Petunia stepped out of the bathroom, the living room was deserted.
Well then, her two friends had eaten and drunk their fill and slipped off to sleep in the guest room that had been prepared for them.
Petunia was drying her long hair with the blow-dryer when the doorbell rang.
Petunia set down the blow-dryer and frowned in puzzlement.
Who could be at the door this late?
Petunia’s heartbeat quickened a little, and her thoughts scattered like hair in the wind, tangled and complicated.
Just as Petunia was hesitating over whether to answer, the person outside seemed to sense her hesitation, and identified themselves: “Miss Evans, good evening.
I am Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.
I trust you still remember me.” Petunia certainly remembered.
But what had brought Dumbledore here?
Had something happened with Lily?
Opening the door, Petunia saw a strangely dressed old man, a battered, pointed hat sat on his head, its brim drooping low and nearly covering his face.
He wore a long, flowing robe covered in all manner of colors, its hem trailing a long shadow across the floor.
His face was deeply lined with wrinkles, but his eyes sparkled with a bright light, as if they could see straight into a person’s heart.
“Good evening.
What brings you to see me?” Petunia invited Dumbledore inside, then noticed that the living room, still in disarray from the party just held, was quite a mess, and a flush of embarrassment crossed Petunia’s face.
Petunia moved quickly, gathering up the scattered bottles from the floor one by one and pushing them into a corner of the living room.
After a flurry of tidying, Petunia had managed to clear out a relatively clean space for Dumbledore.
At the moment Petunia turned around, Petunia’s heart lurched in surprise.
Dumbledore had not come alone, there was also a woman with a grave expression standing there.
That woman wore a long black robe and had a stern face.
But most striking of all was the infant she held tightly in her arms.
The infant appeared to still be asleep, its breathing steady and faint.
The infant’s black hair was slightly disheveled, as though a gust of wind had passed through it, or as if the infant had just come through some sort of ordeal.
What startled Petunia most was that the infant’s forehead bore a lightning-shaped scar.
Petunia stared intently at the infant, and an inexplicable feeling welled up inside.
“I am terribly sorry to disturb you at this hour.
Only something urgent has occurred, and I believe you should hear this news as soon as possible — which is why I am here at this time of night to trouble you.” Dumbledore took the infant from the woman’s arms and held it out to Petunia: “This is your nephew, Harry Potter.” “Why are you giving him to me?” Petunia’s voice trembled.
“There is someone in the Wizarding World who has been hunting Harry Potter.
To protect him, we arranged for Lily’s family to be hidden in secret.
Things had been going smoothly.
But a traitor appeared among us.” There was deep regret in Dumbledore’s words.
“Lily sacrificed her life to protect the child.” “Lily is dead?” Lily was gone.
The news struck like a bolt from a clear sky, and Petunia’s world collapsed in an instant.
It was as though some invisible force had wrenched Petunia’s soul clean away, and Petunia felt the connection between herself and the world snap apart in that single moment.
Petunia’s eyes went blank and empty, and Petunia’s ears seemed unable to catch any sound at all.
Petunia’s heart was flooded with boundless grief and despair, as if the entire world had fallen into dead silence.
Dumbledore understood that anything said to Petunia right now would only make the situation more overwhelming.
So Dumbledore chose silence, and decided to wait for Petunia’s emotions to settle before sitting down for a proper conversation.
Dumbledore left behind a letter containing certain matters that needed to be communicated and his contact details, and arranged for an Owl to build a nest in a tree in Petunia’s garden.
After that, Dumbledore and the stern woman departed.
Petunia held Harry Potter tightly, her mind in complete chaos, entirely unaware of Dumbledore and the others slipping quietly away.
The soft light of the living room fell gently across Petunia’s face, illuminating an expression that was slightly dazed and vacant.
Petunia’s heartbeat seemed to synchronize with the Potter infant in her arms, now fast, now slow, now strong, now faint.
Everything around seemed to have come to a standstill, as though time itself had frozen in place.
Petunia sat motionless on the sofa, gaze hollow, as if all focus had been lost.
It was not until Potter began to cry and woke Yvonne and Ruth that Petunia, shaken by the two of them, came back to her senses.
A look of confusion and bewilderment crossed Petunia’s face, as though just waking from a dream.
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