Work Text:
They say, all the infants have blue eyes. It’s one of those axiomata, common-sense rules that are revealed in warm, affluent lounges over a cup of tea, one of those clichés you say, holding a monosyllabic talk in front of the telly. One of those things which Petunia wanted so badly to believe in. Like in the white curtains, neatness in the house, being a good housewife, in a resourceful husband, in a perfect firstborn, in a loving family. A fragment of a stable, normal world. Infants have blue eyes.
It’s not true. Why must all the good, safe elements of her life be taken away by someone—magic—and get distorted and thrown away?
The night sky was serene and in the moonlight, she could see clearly. The infant—Harry—had Lily’s eyes.