Chapter Text
The Dursley family, who lived in a blue house with a white picket fence at 4 Privet Drive, was quite ordinary, a typical English family that didn't attract attention. There was nothing grand about them, nor anything particularly bad that would draw the attention of their neighbors. Vernon had a common and boring job downtown as an accountant, while Petunia was a typical housewife who cared for her only son, who was a spoiled brat, to the point of being even more so than some of the neighborhood's children and adults.
Perhaps the most shocking thing in their lives was Petunia's sister, the black sheep of the family, according to Petunia and Vernon themselves, who made a point of staying away from that kind of person. But Petunia hadn't heard Lilly's name in so long that she never thought to worry about receiving any shocking news from her strange sister. After all, Lilly lived with her husband somewhere far from home. She learned against her will that she and James were somewhere in Latin America, Brazil, or Cuba? He didn't think much about it, just silently listening to his parents proudly talk about their witch daughter. Even Petunia's tongue burned with regret at that horrible word, which brought back terrible memories of floating furniture and owls flying around.
Vernon was having another ordinary day at work. "My little brat," he said as he passed Dudley, who was calmer this morning. While playing with a building block, he climbed into his old notebook like he did every morning. A normal, boring, and monotonous day like any other. Maybe not so normal and monotonous, since as he turned the corner of his street to work, he was sure he heard a cat talking to a rabbit. Of course, he slept late because Dudley was having nightmares. This could only be some kind of hallucination caused by his head. Maybe with a cup of coffee everything would return to normal. Right, it was just in his head; after all, cats and rabbits didn't talk.
Nothing about this day was normal. At the door of the company where he worked, Vernon encountered men and women dressed in peculiar ways, with strange cloaks—something he'd always hated. "What weird people!" He passed an old man biting his nails while wearing that strange cloak.
"Did you see He Who Must Not Be Named has been defeated? It's a party day, my friend, even for a fool." He thought it could only be someone very drunk, perhaps a convention of weirdos he always saw during Anime Nights or Comic-Con. Those were the weeks when the Dursley family insisted on staying home. They didn't need any more strange things happening in their lives. But his world froze and fell apart when he heard two weirdos talking, both wearing those flashy cloaks.
—...Poor Lilith...
—...The Potter daughter, I heard...
Vernon dropped his cell phone along with his briefcase. No, something must be wrong. His wife would tell him if something happened to his sister.
Only if she didn't already know... He needed to get home, and fast. Even if Petunia didn't like her sister, they were still family at the end of the day. They grew up together, and Petunia was his older sister. She had been shocked by the news.
He stumbled down to the parking lot, on the fourth floor, where that rabbit and cat were staring at him again, as if they knew something he didn't, as if the world were bigger than he imagined. Vernon cursed the animals, scaring them away as he tried to unlock the car. However, with the catch, her keys fell to the floor, quite a deja vu, something similar had happened when her son was born, she was so nervous that the keys slipped out of her sweaty hands, the same thing happened now, only the reason for her nervousness was far from being something good and happy.
Petunia had a normal day. She cleaned the house and had to take care of Dudley, who had severe colic and wouldn't stop crying. It was a normal day, if you asked her. Dinner was already ready when Vernon arrived, pale as if he'd seen a ghost. The normally calm man was visibly anxious.
Dinner went smoothly. Petunia told him about her day. The neighbor had a fight with her daughter who left home with a delinquent, and Dudley had learned a new word (water). She told him all about it, while they ate a delicious dinner that took her a long time to prepare. Vernon couldn't pay attention to it, no, the food was like nails scraping down his throat, but it wasn't the time to talk about something sad, especially with Dudley still awake.
Vernon had time to watch the last news of the evening, which rarely happened; after all, he always got home so late. He had enjoyed this moment while his beloved wife put little Dudley to sleep in the bedroom.
"And finally, birdwatchers everywhere have noted that the country's owls have been behaving very strangely today. Although they normally hunt at night and rarely appear in daylight, hundreds of these birds were seen flying in all directions since dawn today.
Experts are at a loss to explain why the owls suddenly
changed their sleeping patterns."
The announcer allowed himself a smile, an ironic one that was unusual for that newspaper.
"Very strange indeed, tell me, Eduardo, will we have any owl showers today?"
The journalist laughed at his own joke, handing the floor to his meteorologist colleague.
"Really, Jorge, we've had some strange things happening today, like luminous clouds appearing during the day, catching the attention of some viewers."
This conversation sickened Vernon, who quickly turned off the TV, pale as if he'd just heard the worst news of his life. "Petunia, my love," his dear wife turned around. It wasn't normal for her husband to call her by name; it must be something really serious.
"Everything okay? What's bothering you, my love?" She sat down next to her husband, who looked tense, adjusting the brown suit he hadn't taken off since arriving home. "You're acting a little strange today."
"Your niece's name is Lilian, right? Or Valéria?" — with a roll of her eyes Petunia responds — Lilith, a vulgar name in my opinion, that's no name for a child — her eyes widened as she nodded with a weak smile, her stomach churned as if a hurricane had just passed through her body — indeed, a peculiar name.
Across the street, in front of the Dursleys' house, a tall man with a long white beard was leaning against the wall. A black cat sat beside him. The man was none other than Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of the renowned school of magic, Hogwarts.
"Good evening, old friend," he said to the cat, who quickly transformed into a very beautiful woman with long black hair. "Not so old, Dumbledore, how did you recognize me?"
"Not every cat sits so stiffly," she laughed, nodding. "Imagine sitting next to Charles Turney for so long, you'd go crazy too."
As if called the White Rabbit, he soon became a man with platinum hair and equally dark eyes. "Don't blame me for that." Dumbledore laughed. The two hadn't grown at all since their teenage years, even now, at almost 60 each, they remain the same young men he met years ago. "Tell us, Dumbledore, is it true about the Potters? They... died?" Minerva quickly nudged the man beside her for speaking so indelicately. With a sad, heavy sigh, Dumbledore looked at the lit lights of house number 4, where little Lilith would be her new home.
"I'm afraid I must confirm that yes, the Potters died." The silence was so heavy that not even their breathing was strong enough to break the silence. Turney let the tears fall and quickly slammed his hand against a nearby wall. "This isn't fair," he said in a trembling whisper, while Minerva simply sobbed. "I can't believe it, it doesn't seem true."
The three of them stood there, staring at the Muggle family's door, as if somehow they would receive some answer to such a tragedy, but there was no answer, only more unanswered questions. In the end, her aunt and uncle would care for the girl who survived the greatest tragedy of her life.
"And who's little Lilith with?"
"I gave Hagrid the task; he's always been good with babies." Minerva smiled. The bearded man, even though clumsy and a little uncoordinated, was someone to trust.
"Are you sure? What if he drops the little one?" the ever-skeptical Turney asked. He and Hagrid had a history, and neither trusted the other much, but Turney knew deep down that Hagrid was the best choice.
"He'll know what to do. I'd trust Hagrid with my life; after all, there's no one better than him for that." In the early morning, the bearded man appeared, almost falling, searching for the Dudleys' house, until he saw from afar the three figures he knew so well. Hagrid awkwardly approached with Lilith in his arms—the old gang reunited—his deep, animated voice almost woke the little girl who was fidgeting in his lap. Her eyes and dark skin were the same as her mother's. Lilith was almost a copy of Lily, only her hair reminded her of James's, dark like her father's. “Hush, you'll wake the girl.” Turney laughed, so many memories that brought back, it felt like a time machine, Minerva scolding her while Hagrid clowned around.
Times that never return, how good adolescence was, he thought to himself with a smile plastered across his pale skin. As he approached Lilith, the man smiled sadly, caressing her face. "Good luck, little one," he whispered like a plea. He needed Lilith to have a good life and selfishly, for the little girl to never become a witch. No, she needed a happy and safe life away from this madness.
"You have people who love you."
"Take care," he said.
Each of them said, as if these words were spells that could protect Lilith from the entire world, as if not even Voldemort could touch little Lilith.
Gently, the three accompanied Hagrid to the door of the house, leaving small gifts for the girl with a letter addressed to Petunia.
"Dear Mrs. Dursley, this is certainly not the best or fairest way to break this news, but perhaps it is the most honest way to tell you.
Your sister and son-in-law, Lily and James, have just passed away. They had a daughter, Lilith, who needs all your love and care at this difficult time. We will provide all the financial support we can at this tragic time. I hope you understand.
With love and condolences, Albus Dumbledore and Hogwarts."
"Do you think she'll be okay?" Hagrid asked on the way back to Hogwarts, the man twirling his beard as he looked back anxiously. "She's the girl who lived; evil wouldn't dare face her."