Chapter 1
PROLOGUE
At six in the morning on the first of November 1981, Petunia Dursley awoke with a start. For a few moments, she lay still, just listening to the sounds of her husband, Vernon, snoring and her son, Dudley, rolling in his crib beside the bed. It took that time for her ears to adjust and be able to hear what had disturbed her. And there! If she listened close enough and held her breath, she could hear the faint sound of an infant crying.
Ever so slowly, Petunia cautiously got out of the bed and carefully made her way across the room, taking care not to wake either her husband or her son. The stairs creaked slightly as she made her way down, dim light from the rising sun outside pouring through the open curtains in the living room. She paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, trying to ascertain where the crying could be coming from. She listened closely, waiting for the cries to begin again, and there they were. Coming from the street outside she presumed.
Petunia opened the door, squinting as her eyes struggled to adjust to the morning light. She stood there confused scanning the street, trying to locate the source of the noises she had been hearing. A sudden cry, closer than she expected, startled her and her eyes dropped to the front step where she discovered what appeared to be a lump of blanket. Petunia knew better however, because what kind of lump cries?
She reached down and picked up the babe, cradling it in one arm while she searched for a fold in the blanket. When she found the edge, Petunia peeled it back to reveal the child’s face. As she did so, a letter fell to the ground unnoticed. She gasped as the babe opened its eyes, disturbed by the sudden infiltration of light within its blanket cocoon, for she recognised the colour she found there. And yes, if she looked closer, she could see the traits belonging to each parent. The messy hair and tanned skin of the father, the petite nose, soft jaw and auburn hair of the mother. This child was undoubtedly her nephew, Harry.
Petunia had to wonder why he was here. Surely her sister Lily wouldn’t have let him out of her sight, let alone leave him on a step in early morning, nearing winter, unattended. As she turned to take Harry inside out of the cold, her eyes caught sight of the letter, particularly the neat script addressing her by name. She bent down to scoop it up and brought it inside, chucking it on the nearby kitchen bench as she took Harry into the living room to lay him gently on the lounge. He emitted a soft gurgling noise and closed his eyes again, wriggling to nuzzle further into the lounge.
Leaving him there to rest, Petunia got up quietly and went over to the letter, keeping an eye on Harry to ensure he didn’t roll off. She tore open the envelope, scanning each sentence with horror growing within her. She had just read the sentence stating the death of her sister when she flung the letter back down and vomited in the kitchen sink. As she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to scrub the taste of bile off her lips, she made her way back over to where Harry was sleeping peacefully. Pulling him gently into her lap, Petunia began rocking back and forth, sobbing uncontrollably.
“I’m sorry Lily, I’m so, so sorry. I will take care of him, I promise. I will treat him like my own, like Dudley. I will make you proud.” She whispered, in amongst a continuous stream of other mumbled words.
And in the kitchen, the letter Petunia had cast aside unfinished burst into flames.