Prologue
Petunia couldn't do this anymore.
The boy had to go, needed to go she couldn't-
She tried to do the right thing, the respectable thing, by taking in her late sister's child, but enough was enough. Harry wasn't a difficult baby by any means, especially compared to her sweet duddy, bless him, but both Vernon and she agreed two babies were too much.
Harry was three years old and showed absolutely zero signs of talking until eleven am that morning. He was so silent they assumed he would grow up mute (not that they particularly cared). But apparently, he could talk and he had been absorbing everything Duddly had been saying and had addressed Petunia for the first time the same way her little Duddykins did.
He called her mama.
A regular adoptive mother would be thrilled. Petunia was no such mother. Harry was not her son, he was Lily’s , the freak, that horrid man’s— he wasn't a normal baby and would only bring mischief and mayhem into her home. He needed to be with his own kind, far away from her Duddy, where his oddness wouldn't affect them when it eventually reared its ugly head. And so, Harry was given away to the proper authorities to deal with and never set foot on number 4 privet’s drive again, and Petunia pretended to be at peace with this decision. After all, she wouldn't be able to get him back if she tried. Not that she wanted to.