Chapter Text
November, 1981.
On the morning of November 1st, Petunia Dursley was looking forward to a letter from her sister about meeting for Boxing Day that December. She knew that Lily and James had been in hiding for the past two years, but figured that their fireplace could be hooked up to the...flue? No matter, she thought, and opened the door for the milk when she saw it: a baby. Without pause, she grabbed the poor child from their porch and brought it inside. It had been blustery and snowing for nearly two weeks now, and the babe was shivering quite heavily.
"Vernon!" Petunia called up the stairs, rushing to light the fireplace and warm up some blankets and a set of winter baby clothing before settling on the couch to grasp the child close.
Her husband came barreling in, holding Dudley, soon after she'd put the mittens and socks on the baby. "Pet, what's going on?" Vernon's throat seemed to stop working before her very eyes. "Is that..."
"No, you fool, it's not ours. Someone must have left the poor babe on the porch all night with only a rag and some letter to warm it. Warm a bottle of milk for it please, then contact the police?" She tugged a hat on its head, then reached out for Dudley. Who would do such a thing?
The police came and went, taking a report and promising a visit from a social worker the next day. Finally, the Dursleys (and Harry Potter, although they didn't know that yet) were left in peace for the night. Petunia sat down on the couch with the babe, who'd been discovered to be a boy after a stressful diaper change, and felt an uncomfortable lump underneath her. After groping around for a moment, she found a bent envelope labeled with her name and address. It was written in a peculiar script, almost reminiscent of the headmaster of Lily's school who had refused to let her attend.
Opening the envelope, she couldn't believe her eyes at its contents. Her sister had died the evening before, and Petunia was now holding Lily and James' one-year-old son, Harry. As soon as she looked down at the boy, she knew that it was true, and burst into a fit of tears.
"Oh, Pet, what's the matter?" Vernon tried to comfort her, and Dudley gave her many a pat on the head, but nothing could console Petunia, who'd only just begun to reconnect with her sister after many years of holding a grudge against her magical ways. How could the world be so cruel?
July, 1991.
A tap on Harry's shoulder woke him up. Aunt Petunia stood over him, holding a box and a letter with emerald ink on the front. She sat them down beside him before she began to sign. "Wake up. You have a gift here for your birthday and a letter addressed to you."
Harry jumped up excitedly. His aunt and uncle had told him about a letter that would arrive on his 11th birthday from the magic school his parents went to. He'd been so impatient that he asked Aunt Petunia to send a letter to the headmaster asking if he could go early. She'd refused, but it was worth a try, right? Harry snatched up the letter and ripped it open, eagerly devouring the words inside:
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...
Aunt Petunia smiled at her nephew, a little sad around the edges, then pushed the box toward him. "Open this before you get too excited." Harry shook it, amazed to find that nothing happened. Was it empty? He quickly broke the tape and found that it was not; the box held another piece of paper that he picked up and read.
Harry,
Your uncle and I have been speaking about this for a long while. We decided to ask you first, just in case you didn't want it or weren't sure. Our family, specifically you, has been chosen to test the newest version of the hybrid hearing aid from Bell Laboratories. We want you to know that this is completely up to you, and we understand if you choose not to try it. We love you so much and we're so proud of you for everything you've been through and what you will become.
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon
Harry sniffled. This was not what he was expecting on his birthday—perhaps a cake or a few presents, like Dudley had received a month before on his. He looked up at his aunt, who looked suspiciously close to crying, and made his decision.
"I'll try it."