Chapter 3: Chapter 3
In London time moved gently days melted into months and months into a year.
Now days before here wedding to Jason she was shocked to look down to the engagement ring on her finger . It was a simple band of white gold inscribed with a single phrase in elegant script: *"Trust the magic"*—chosen by Jason specifically for her, knowing she’d need that reminder.
Petunia traced the words with her fingertip, her breath catching. "This is... beautiful," she whispered, more to herself than to him.
Jason, who had been watching her with quiet intensity, stepped closer. His hands settled gently at her waist, pulling her close. The engagement ring caught the light as she raised her hand between them, its simplicity belying its significance.
"You’re trembling," he murmured, his voice soft and warm against her temple.
She swallowed, nodding slightly. "It’s just... a lot.
I never thought I would end up here, with you, with a life that includes magic and weddings and... and *this*." She gestured vaguely at the ring, then at the bustling London street around them, where the last of the autumn leaves swirled in the evening breeze.
Jason chuckled, his breath warm against her ear. It's a lot to take in. But you've handled it all beautifully."
Petunia turned to face him, her fingers still resting against his chest. "Have I?
I still wake up some mornings half-convinced this is all a dream," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jason tilted her chin up, his thumb brushing lightly across her jawline. "Then let me give you something real to wake up to," he murmured before pressing his lips to hers—a kiss that was both tender and passionate, filled with promises she wasn’t sure she could keep but wanted to believe in anyway.
The London street around them seemed to fade into silence, the golden glow of streetlights reflecting off her engagement ring like a tiny beacon of something permanent. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling in the crisp autumn air.
However all was not as well as it should be. News was spreading of the death of Voldemort even though Jason had yet to hear.
The wizarding world was in a state of shock, relief, and cautious celebration. But for Petunia, it was just another reminder of the world she had chosen to step into—a world where danger and darkness lurked just beneath the surface of everyday life.
---
Petunia stood in the small kitchen of her flat, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. The morning light streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the worn wooden table. She had just finished her shift at the hospital, and the exhaustion was beginning to set in. Her fingers traced the edge of the mug absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting to Jason.
The past year had been a whirlwind.
Between adjusting to the magical world, her secret engagement to Jason, and the insane reality that Voldemort—*the* Voldemort—was finally gone, Petunia’s life had transformed in ways she still couldn’t fully process. She sipped her tea, the warmth doing little to ease the knot in her stomach.
The news had broken like a storm—Voldemort dead. Killed. After years of terror, of whispers in dark corners and bodies turning up drained of magic, it was over. The wizarding world was cautiously celebrating. Social media was flooded with reactions. Some called it justice. Others called it a miracle. A few still whispered that it couldn’t be true. But Petunia?
Then the new broke about the Potter's.
A knock came to her door , sharp and urgent. Petunia set down her mug, wiping her damp palms on her apron. She hadn't expected anyone—Jason was supposed to be at the Ministry for some hunter business, and Lily was still at work. The knock came again, more insistent this time.
"Coming!" she called, her voice steady despite the unease coiling in her stomach.
She opened the door to find a young witch standing there, her black robes slightly disheveled, her eyes wide with something Petunia couldn't quite place. Fear? Relief? The woman clutched a rolled-up scroll in her hands, the wax seal broken.
"Petunia Evans?" the witch asked, her voice breathless.
"I need to speak with you. Urgently."
Petunia's grip tightened on the doorknob, her knuckles whitening. "What's happened?" she asked, her voice steady despite the sudden racing of her pulse.
The witch handed her the scroll, her hand trembling slightly. "It's about your sister and her husband," the witch says as she looks at her "May I come inside it's best if we sit down,"
Petunia stepped back, her heart pounding as she let the witch into her flat. The air felt suddenly too thick, too heavy. The witch moved to the small table by the window, her robes whispering against the wooden floor. Petunia closed the door, her fingers lingering on the handle as if it could somehow anchor her to reality.
"Please," Petunia said, her voice barely above a whisper, "just tell me what's happened."
The witch unrolled the scroll with careful fingers, her eyes scanning the words before she looked up at Petunia. "James and Lily Potter were attacked last night," she said, her voice steady but her eyes betraying the gravity of the situation. "Lord Voldemort killed both Lilly and James Potter last night," she said, her voice steady but her eyes betraying the gravity of the situation. "They were on their way back from the Ministry when—"
Petunia’s knees gave out. The mug slipped from her grasp, shattering on the floor, tea splashing her shoes. She gripped the back of the chair, knuckles white.
"No. That can’t be true," she whispered, voice trembling. "You're lying. This is some kind of joke."
The witch stepped forward quickly, placing a steady hand on Petunia’s arm. "I wish it were. But the Ministry confirmed it just this morning. We’ve been trying to reach family. Jason is still unreachable but I have heard he is quickly heading back as we speak. I know this is a lot to take in but, we need to decide what to do with Harry now," the witch says with a shaky voice.
Petunia's mind is in spin mode, her head is pounding, she can't breathe, her hands are clawing at her throat like they can open up her airways if she scratches hard enough. All she can see is the image of her sister, her best friend, her whole life gone in one night. The teacup lies in pieces on the floor, the amber liquid seeping into the cracks between the wooden planks like blood.
She stumbles back against the counter, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Harry..." she chokes out, her voice breaking. "Where is Harry?"
"He's safe," the witch says softly, her own eyes glistening.
"He's with Albus Dumbledore. They're at Hogwarts now."
Petunia's fingers tighten around the edge of the counter, her nails digging into the wood. "Harry... my nephew..." she whispers, her mind racing. "He's just a baby. He can't be alone."
The witch nods, her expression grave. "Dumbledore is taking care of him, but they need to know what to do next. The Potters had no will on file, and with both parents gone..."
Petunia's breath hitches. No, no, no." She shakes her head, her vision blurring. "This can't be happening. Lily was just here. I had just seen Harry days ago," she says as she looks down at her shaking hands. "How can they be gone?"
The witch's eyes softened. "I know this is unbearable to hear. But we need to act quickly. Harry is in danger. Voldemort's followers are still out there, and they won’t stop until they’ve finished what he started." "What do you mean?"
The witch hesitated, glancing at the scroll in her hands. "The Dark Lord’s death curse rebounded. It killed him, but it also... it took Lily and James. There was nothing anyone could do. But Harry—he survived," the witch says , her voice low and urgent. "The Dark Lord’s curse rebounded. It killed him, but it also took Lily and James. Harry was spared. But now he’s in danger." "What do you mean, *spared*? How? Why?" "The Dark Lord’s curse was meant for Harry. But Lily—she must have known. She must have done something."
Petunia’s mind raced. "What are you saying?"
The witch exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around the parchment. "Lily sacrificed herself. She put up a shield—some kind of protective magic.
She didn’t just die protecting Harry; she *fought* to give him a chance. The curse rebounded, but not before it took her and James.
Petunia’s breath came in sharp, strangled gasps. The kitchen spun, the broken china and spilled tea now a grotesque still-life of ruin. Her sister—her beautiful, fierce sister—had *chosen* to die so a baby could live.
“And Harry’s alone with Professor Dumbledore?” she whispered, her voice raw.
The witch nodded. “At Hogwarts. But the castle isn’t safe forever. The wards are strong, but Voldemort’s death is still fresh. I know this is a lot to take in, but would you be willing to take Harry in," the witch asks her, her voice trembling slightly. "He needs family now more than ever."
Petunia’s hands fly to her mouth, stifling a sob. Harry—her nephew, her sister’s son—orphaned in a single night. The weight of it threatens to crush her. She thinks of Lily’s laughter, her fierce protectiveness, the way she’d always defended Petunia despite their differences. And James—kind, steady James, who had loved Lily with a devotion that made Petunia’s chest ache.
She looks down at her shaking hands, the same hands that had once bandaged scraped knees and wiped away tears. Now they would have to hold something far heavier.
"Yes of curse," Petunia whispered through her tears, nodding shakily. She wiped her hands on her apron, leaving damp streaks of mascara on the fabric. "Harry is family. I'll take him."
The witch exhaled in obvious relief. "Thank you, Mrs. Potter—er, Evans." She reached for another rolled parchment in her robes. "This is Dumbledore's note. It explains everything—the wards, the schedule for transferring Harry—"
"I'll need to pack some things," Petunia said, already mentally going through the single bedroom she'd made into a guest room. "Just... just give me an hour. Maybe two." She swallowed hard.
"You need not worry Jason should be here soon," the witch said, her voice softening. "He’s been notified. He’s on his way back from the Ministry now."
Petunia nodded, her fingers still trembling as she reached for the scroll. The parchment was heavy in her hands, the wax seal cold against her skin. She unrolled it carefully, her eyes scanning the elegant script.
*"Dear Miss Evans,"*
*It is with the deepest regret that I inform you of the tragic loss of your sister, Lily Potter, and her husband, James Potter. Under the circumstances, I believe it is in Harry’s best interest to be placed in the care of his only remaining family—you.*
*As you may be aware, Harry is in grave danger.
Voldemort’s followers still roam the shadows, and his death has not diminished their hunger for power. The wards of Hogwarts will hold for now, but we must act swiftly. Jason Potter is on his way, and I urge you to prepare Harry’s transfer before nightfall. Time is of the essence.*
—Albus Dumbledore
*
Petunia’s hands trembled as she set the parchment down. The weight of the words pressed upon her chest, making each breath feel like a battle.
She glanced at the clock above the stove—three forty-seven in the afternoon. The sun had already begun its slow descent behind the rooftops of London, casting long shadows across the kitchen floor.
Petunia stood motionless, the parchment still clutched in her hands. The witch had left minutes earlier, promising to return with Harry by nightfall. The silence in the flat was suffocating, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional drip of water from the tap.
She moved mechanically, clearing the broken teacup from the floor, her fingers brushing against the shards as if they were fragments of her own shattered world. The engagement ring on her finger caught the fading light, the words *Trust the magic* now feeling like a cruel joke.
She hears the door swing open followed by a loud "Petunia" as Jason rushes in, his robes torn and his face pale. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. His eyes are wide, his chest heaving as if he’s run all the way from the Ministry. His hair is disheveled, and there’s a smudge of soot across his cheek. He looks at her, his gaze searching her face, and she sees the moment he realizes she already knows.
"Petunia," he says again, his voice cracking. "I just heard. I came as soon as I could—"
She doesn’t let him finish. She crosses the room in three strides and throws herself into his arms, her body shaking with sobs.
Jason catches her, his arms wrapping around her like a shield, his face pressing into her hair. He smells like smoke and rain, like the Ministry and the outside world, like everything that is real and terrible and true.
"Shh," he murmurs, his voice rough with grief. "I've got you."
Petunia clings to him, her fingers digging into the fabric of his robes. She can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles are coiled tight with shock and fury. His heart is pounding against her cheek, a frantic rhythm that matches her own.
"I can't believe it," she whispers, her voice muffled against his chest. "I just saw them. Lily was here, Jason.
We talked about the wedding. She asked if Harry could wear a tiny bowtie to our ceremony—she was laughing, *laughing*. And now she’s—" Her voice broke, the words dissolving into a choked sob.
Jason’s arms tightened around her, his chin resting on top of her head. “I know, Petunia. I know.”
They stood there in the wrecked kitchen, her teacup shards crunching underfoot, his robes damp with the evening’s drizzle, neither of them saying another word. The flat felt hollow. The world felt hollow. London stretched outside the window, indifferent.
After what felt like eternity, Jason pulled back just enough to press his forehead to hers.
His breath was ragged, his green eyes darkened with grief and something else—something raw and dangerous. "We have to move," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Dumbledore's note said Harry needs to be transferred before nightfall. If Voldemort's followers are still out there, they won't wait."
Petunia nodded, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I'll pack a bag for him. He'll need clothes, diapers, a few toys." Her voice was steadier now, though her hands still trembled as she pulled away from Jason's embrace.
Jason reached for her wrist, his grip firm. "Petunia, listen to me.
We don't have time to pack." Jason's voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of her grief. "The Ministry is already on high alert. There are Death Eaters still out there who won't hesitate to come after Harry. We need to get him somewhere safe before they realize he's vulnerable."
Petunia's breath hitched as she looked up at him. "But he needs things. He can't just be taken away with nothing."
Jason's expression softened slightly. But we'll get him what he needs later. Right now, we need to move. Dumbledore is expecting us at Hogwarts within the hour."
Petunia nodded shakily, her mind racing.
She turned away from Jason, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter as she tried to steady herself. The kitchen felt too small, too suffocating. She could still see the broken teacup on the floor, the tea staining the wood like a dark omen.
"Alright," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We'll go now. But we need to stop by the pharmacy first. Harry will need supplies—diapers, formula, a few essentials."
Jason hesitated, his jaw tightening. "Petunia, we don't have time—"
"Jason," she interrupted, her voice firmer now, her eyes meeting his with a sudden resolve.
"He's a baby. He needs things. We can't just whisk him away without diapers or a change of clothes. What kind of life is that for him?"
Jason exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The soot from the Ministry fire still clung to his fingers. He knew she was right, but every second they spent in the Muggle world was another second closer to danger.
"Fine," he conceded, his voice rough. "But we make this quick. No lingering. We grab what we need and go straight to Diagon Alley. From there, we can Apparate to Hogwarts."
Petunia nodded, already moving toward the hallway where her coat hung.
Her fingers brushed the engagement ring, grounding her. "Quick, then," she said, her voice steady now. "I'll meet you at the pharmacy in twenty minutes."
Jason caught her wrist before she could pull away. His touch was warm, firm. "Wait." He stepped closer, his free hand lifting to cup her face. His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone, smudging the remnants of tears and mascara. "We don’t know what we’re walking into. Once we’re at Hogwarts, the wards are strong, but until then—" He exhaled sharply. "Listen to me carefully. Keep your head down. Don’t let anyone see any weakness.
Not now.
Petunia nodded, her breath hitching as she met Jason’s gaze. His green eyes were sharp with urgency, the playful glint she adored now replaced by something harder—something that made her stomach clench. She understood what he wasn’t saying: *They’re watching. They’re waiting.*
She swallowed hard. "I know."
Jason’s fingers tightened around her wrist for a moment before he released her. "Good. Meet me at the corner of Privet Drive and Magnolia Street. There’s a Muggle pharmacy there—Boots. We’ll be in and out in ten minutes."
Petunia didn’t argue.
She simply nodded and watched as Jason turned, his robes fluttering slightly as he moved toward the door with purposeful strides. Before stepping out into the London drizzle, he glanced back at her one last time, his expression grim. The way his hair was tousled, the soot smudges on his cheek—just a few hours ago, this man had been laughing at her terrible attempts to brew tea with a wand, teasing her for her Muggle skepticism while secretly knowing she’d charm him regardless.
Now, there was no teasing. Only purpose.
Only urgency.
Petunia stood in the doorway of her flat, watching Jason disappear into the rain-slicked streets of London. The air smelled of wet pavement and distant exhaust fumes, the kind of scent that usually made her think of ordinary things—groceries, commutes, the mundane rhythm of life. Now it just smelled like the world moving on without Lily.
She closed the door behind her, her fingers lingering on the cold metal of the doorknob. The flat felt too quiet, too empty. The broken teacup still lay in pieces on the kitchen floor, the tea staining the wood like a dark omen.
Petunia stood motionless in the doorway, her fingers still curled around the doorknob, her breath shallow. She could feel the weight of the engagement ring on her finger, the inscription *"Trust the magic"* now feeling like a cruel irony.
She moved mechanically, pulling her coat from the rack and slipping it on. Her hands trembled as she buttoned it, her mind racing through the list of things Harry would need—diapers, formula, a few toys to comfort him. The thought of her nephew, barely a year old, now orphaned, sent a fresh wave of grief crashing over her.
She pressed her palm against her chest, as if she could physically contain the ache. The flat was still, the only sound the faint ticking of the kitchen clock, each second stretching like an eternity. She needed to move—needed to do something—before the weight of it all crushed her.
Petunia grabbed her purse from the hook by the door, her fingers brushing against the worn leather strap. She paused, staring at the small, framed photo on the wall—a snapshot of her and Lily as teenagers, arms slung around each other, grinning at the camera. Lily’s eyes sparkled with mischief, her hair wild and untamed.
Petunia remembered the way her sister had always dragged her into trouble—daring her to sneak out past curfew, convincing her to try out for school plays she wasn’t prepared for, the two of them giggling late into the night long before they knew anything about magic or curses. That Petunia—the one who had laughed until her stomach ached—felt like a relic now, buried beneath layers of grief and fear.
She turned away from the photo, blinking back fresh tears, and stepped out into the hallway. The flat’s fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the worn carpet. She locked the door with a sharp *click*, the sound echoing in the empty corridor.
The hallway stretched before her, lined with identical doors that blurred together. She moved with purpose, her heels clicking against the linoleum floor, the sound oddly comforting in the otherwise suffocating silence.
Jason was waiting for her at the corner of Privet Drive and Magnolia Street, just as he had said. He stood under the flickering glow of a streetlamp, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his posture tense. The drizzle had picked up slightly, dampening his hair and making the fabric of his robes cling to his shoulders. He looked up as she approached, his green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach twist.
The way the streetlamp illuminated his face, casting sharp shadows across his cheekbones, made him look more serious than she had seen him in years. There was none of his usual mischievous charm in his expression now—just raw determination.
"Ready?" His voice was low but steady, the kind of voice that wouldn't betray him even if his hands were trembling. His gaze flicked past her, scanning the empty street behind her as if expecting trouble to appear at any moment.
Petunia nodded, clutching her purse tightly against her side. "As ready as I'll ever be," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
She squared her shoulders, though the effort of the gesture felt foreign to her. Jason exhaled through his nose, his shoulders relaxing just slightly at her words.
He stepped forward, his hand finding hers and giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. His fingers were cold from the walk over, but they burned against her skin. "We'll get through this," he promised, his voice low and rough. "Together."
Petunia nodded again, blinking back the fresh wave of tears that threatened to spill over. She had spent the last hour in a daze, her mind replaying the witch's words like a broken record, but now, standing here with Jason, she felt a fragile sense of determination settle over her.
The drizzle had turned into a steady rain, the droplets glistening on the pavement like tiny diamonds. The street was quiet, the usual London hum muted by the evening's chill.
"Did you Apparate?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jason shook his head, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. I didn’t want to risk it. Not when I didn't know what was happening. I ran most of the way," he admitted, a hint of his usual charm breaking through despite the grim circumstances. "Though I'm not sure I could've Apparated anyway. My mind was a mess."
Petunia gave him a small, watery smile. "You ran?
All the way from the Ministry?" Petunia asked, her voice cracking slightly as she tried to imagine Jason sprinting through London’s streets, his robes flapping behind him like a dark flag of urgency.
Jason gave a humorless chuckle, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a rhythm that felt more like a lifeline than a caress. "I would’ve flown if I could’ve. But I didn’t want to risk drawing attention." His gaze flicked to the street behind her again, scanning the shadows between the flickering streetlights. "The Ministry’s in chaos. Half the Aurors are out searching for Death Eaters who might still be loyal to Voldemort’s cause.
The other half are guarding the bodies of Lily and James…” His voice cracked on their names, and for a moment, Petunia saw something raw ripple through his expression—something she had never seen before, not even when he had first confessed to loving her. He cleared his throat roughly. “I grabbed a Ministry car, but the roads are blocked. Couldn’t get past the security wards around Diagon Alley.” He exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tensing. “So yes. I ran.”
Petunia’s breath hitched.
The thought of Jason running—*sprinting* through London like a man possessed, desperate to reach her, made her chest ache. She looked down at their hands, their fingers interlaced, his knuckles bruised from the run, her nails bitten down from the shock. She had been numb before, but now something inside her shifted, like a dam cracking under pressure. “You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered.
Jason’s lips curled faintly, though his eyes remained shadowed. “Yes. Yes, I did.” His voice was low, rough. “Because you’re my family now. Harry’s family.
She looked at him, her heart already stitching itself back together with gladness despite the sorrow around them.
"I love you," she said simply. "I know I've told you before, but I need you to know it now. Right now. Because I don't know what's going to happen next."
Jason's expression softened, his green eyes glinting with something fierce and tender. His thumb brushed away a tear she hadn't even realized was falling. "I love you too," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "And I swear to you, Petunia, we're going to get through this. Together."
The rain was falling harder now, drumming against the pavement in a steady rhythm.
Petunia looked up at Jason, her breath hitching as she whispered, "I love you. I know I've told you before, but I need you to know it now. He stepped closer, his hands cradling her face as the rain slicked down his hair and robes. The streetlamp above them cast a golden glow over them, making the moment feel both intimate and surreal.
Raindrops clung to Jason’s lashes, and Petunia reached up, her thumb brushing away one that teetered on the edge of his cheekbone. The warmth of his skin contrasted with the cold wet chill in the air, grounding her in the moment. The world around them had narrowed to this single point—just the two of them, standing under the flickering light, rain washing over the ordinary London evening.
Jason’s hands slid from her face to her shoulders, his fingers digging in slightly as if anchoring her—or himself—to the reality of the moment. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “We don’t have time to grieve right now, but we will.
When this is over, we’ll sit down and weep together. But not here. Not now.” His voice was firm, steady; the kind of voice that had carried a hundred battles before this one.
Petunia swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the damp fabric of Jason’s robes. The sob that clawed its way up her throat felt like a betrayal—she wanted to scream, to collapse into the rain, to let the grief swallow her whole. But the set of Jason’s jaw, the unyielding grip of his hands, kept her anchored to the present.
She nodded once, sharply. “Then we move,” she whispered, her voice catching on the words.
“We get Harry. We keep him safe.”
Jason exhaled slowly, his thumbs brushing over her shoulders in a rhythm that felt like a promise. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice rough with something between pride and relief. His green eyes darkened as he studied her face—searching, perhaps, for any sign of hesitation. But Petunia only straightened her spine, her fingers tightening around his robes.
“Let’s go,” she said, stepping back just enough to break the contact. The rain had soaked through her coat, the fabric clinging to her arms. She could feel the chill of it seeping into her bones, but it was nothing compared to the cold weight of loss settling in her chest.
Jason used his magic to make her clothes dry and warm her up.
He then stepped back and took her hand in his. "We need to move quickly," he said, his voice low and urgent. He glanced down the empty street, his eyes scanning for any signs of threat. "The Ministry is in chaos, but that doesn't mean we're safe here. We need to get to Diagon Alley and Apparate to Hogwarts before nightfall."
Petunia nodded, her fingers tightening around his. "What about Harry? How will we get him?"
Jason's expression darkened for a moment. "Dumbledore will have him ready for us. We just need to get there." He hesitated, then added, "And Petunia, you need to be prepared, Harry is young to young to remember any of this we will have to tell him the truth one day," he said, his voice softer now, his gaze searching hers. "But not today. Today, we just need to get him to safety."
---
The rain had slowed to a drizzle as they hurried through the London streets, their footsteps echoing against the wet pavement. Petunia kept her head down, her fingers tightly laced with Jason’s. She could feel the tension radiating from him, the way his muscles were coiled like a spring, ready to react at the slightest hint of danger.
They turned onto a narrow side street, the glow of the pharmacy’s neon sign flickering in the distance. The air smelled of wet asphalt and the faint, antiseptic tang of the pharmacy.
Petunia kept her eyes fixed on the flickering neon sign ahead, the letters of "Boots" buzzing like a swarm of fireflies in the gloom. Jason's grip on her hand was firm, his fingers warm despite the chill in the air. She could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles were coiled like a spring, ready to react at the slightest hint of danger.
"Stay close," Jason murmured, his voice low and steady. His green eyes scanned the street ahead, flickering over the shadows between the buildings. "We're almost there."
Petunia nodded, swallowing hard. The weight of everything that had happened pressed down on her like a physical force. Lily was gone.
James was gone. The words echoed in Petunia's mind like a curse, each syllable carving itself deeper into her heart. She focused on the pharmacy sign ahead, the flickering neon a beacon in the rain-slicked darkness. The world had shifted beneath her feet, and yet here she was, walking through London as if it were just another evening.
Jason squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a rhythm that grounded her. "We're going to get through this," he said, his voice low but steady.
Petunia nodded, though she wasn't sure she believed it.
The rain had picked up again, the droplets pattering against her coat like tiny, insistent fingers. She could feel the dampness seeping through the fabric, but she didn't care. The cold was a welcome distraction from the numbness spreading through her chest.
They reached the pharmacy, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft hiss. The bright fluorescent lights inside felt harsh after the dim glow of the streetlamps, and Petunia blinked against the sudden brightness. The air smelled of antiseptic and the faint, sweet scent of cough drops. A few shoppers milled about, their carts filled with ordinary things—shampoo, toothpaste, boxes of cereal.
A mother with a fussy toddler in the checkout lane hummed off-key, completely unaware of the storm raging outside their protected Muggle bubble.
Jason released Petunia’s hand long enough to retrieve a basket, then fell into step beside her. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like cicadas trapped in a jar, the sound oddly soothing. Petunia moved mechanically, her gaze fixed on the shelves ahead. She needed to keep moving—needed to do something concrete, or she would dissolve into the grief saturating every cell in her body.
“Formula,” she said aloud, more to herself than to Jason. “Diapers.
Small. Hairbrush. Tiny socks. Onesie with—” Her voice cracked. “With a little lightning bolt.”
She pressed her palm to her mouth, her breath hitching. Jason’s hand found the small of her back, steadying her. The warmth of his touch seeped through her coat, grounding her in the fluorescent sterility of the pharmacy.
“We’ll get everything,” he murmured, his voice low. “But we need to move fast.”
Petunia nodded, blinking back tears. She grabbed a basket and moved down the aisle, her fingers hovering over shelves of baby essentials.
A stunningly beautiful witch clerk was watching them with a sharp eye from behind the counter. She held a wand in one hand, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tallied inventory in her magical ledger. That look—the way her eyes lingered too long on Jason, the way her lips curved slightly—sent an unexpected surge of jealousy through Petunia.
Jason didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy scanning the shelves with a businessman’s efficiency. "We need to split up," he said, breaking from thought. "You handle the baby stuff—I'll grab anything that looks like Harry could use it."
Petunia nodded, gripping the basket tighter. She moved toward the formula section, her mind reeling.
The shelves were a blur of colors and labels—*Enfamil, Similac, organic options*—but her fingers shook as she reached for a canister. The weight of it felt foreign, too heavy for something so small and fragile.
Her thoughts drifted to Lily’s last words to her—*“You’ll be a wonderful aunt, Petunia. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”*—and the memory made her throat tighten.
Jason appeared beside her, his arms full of supplies. “Got diapers, wipes, a few toys,” he said, his voice low. “And this.” He held up a tiny, threadbare stuffed owl—its feathers slightly matted, one wing slightly bent.
“Found this in the toy aisle. Thought Harry might like it.”
Petunia’s breath hitched. She took the owl from his hands, her fingers brushing over the worn fabric. “Lily gave this to him,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. “His first birthday. I remember because she made such a fuss over it being handmade by a house-elf at the Burrow.”
Jason’s expression softened as he watched her cradle the owl against her chest. “Then it’s perfect,” he said quietly.
The witch clerk had stopped her inventory wand mid-sweep and was now watching them with a faint, knowing smile.
Her wand tip glowed softly, tracing the air between them as if sizing up the weight of their magic. The fluorescent lights above hummed, casting a sterile glow over her sharp cheekbones and the dark curls tumbling over her shoulders.
"Looking for something special?" the witch asked, her voice smooth and slightly amused. She leaned against the counter, her robes whispering against the linoleum floor. The scent of lavender and old parchment clung to her—suggesting she was not long out of Hogwarts herself.
Petunia stiffened, clutching the owl closer. She felt Jason’s presence shift beside her, his posture subtly tensing.
She followed his gaze, taking in the witch’s polished boots, the way her wand lay casually against the counter’s edge—as if she were more than just a shop assistant. Which Petunia knew, instinctively, she was.
"No," Petunia said quickly, too quickly—her voice sharp with discomfort. She forced a polite smile, though it felt brittle. "Just standard supplies. Harry—our nephew—he’s coming to live with us."
The witch’s eyes flicked to the owl in Petunia’s hands, then back up, her expression softening just slightly. "Ah. You’re the Evans girl.” She tilted her head, studying Petunia with open interest.
“I’m Minerva McGonagall’s niece—Cassandra Meadowes, I so sorry I just heard the news, just let me know if you need anything everything today is on the house," she said, her voice warm but laced with something sharper beneath the surface. "And I’ll make sure no one bothers you while you shop."
Petunia’s fingers tightened around the owl’s threadbare wing. The witch’s words hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. She glanced at Jason, who had gone very still beside her, his green eyes locked onto the witch with an intensity that made Petunia’s pulse quicken.
“Thank you,” Petunia managed, her voice barely above a whisper. She forced herself to meet Cassandra’s gaze, though the weight of the witch’s scrutiny made her feel exposed. “We appreciate it.”
Cassandra’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Of course.
I’ll be at the register if you need anything,” Cassandra said, her voice smooth as she stepped back, though her eyes lingered on Jason for a moment longer than necessary. The way she looked at him—like he was a puzzle she was determined to solve—sent a fresh wave of unease through Petunia.
Jason exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening as he watched Cassandra retreat behind the counter. He turned back to Petunia, his expression unreadable. “Let’s finish up,” he said quietly, his voice low and urgent. “We don’t have time to waste.”
Petunia nodded, her fingers still clutching the owl. She moved down the aisle, her steps quick and purposeful.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the shelves of baby essentials. The air smelled of antiseptic and the faint, sweet scent of powdered formula. She grabbed a canister of Similac, her fingers brushing against the cool metal. "Got diapers, wipes, a few toys," he said, his voice low. "And this." He held up a tiny, threadbare stuffed owl—its feathers slightly matted, one wing slightly bent. "Found this in the toy aisle. Thought Harry might like it."
Petunia’s breath hitched.
She stared at the owl in Jason’s hands, her fingers tightening around the basket’s handle. "Lily gave this to him," she whispered, her voice cracking. "His first birthday. I remember because she made such a fuss over it being handmade by a house-elf at the Burrow."
Jason’s expression softened as he watched her cradle the owl against her chest. "Then it’s perfect," he murmured, his voice low and warm. He reached out, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a rhythm that felt like a lifeline. "We’ll make sure he has it when he wakes up."
Petunia nodded, blinking back fresh tears.
She tucked the owl gently into the basket beside the diapers and wipes, its tattered wing peeking out like a folded promise. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the mundane items—just formula, diapers, socks, the ordinary detritus of a baby’s life.
But nothing was ordinary now.
“We should get the pain relievers too,” Petunia said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. “Just in case. Teething or—” Her throat tightened. “Or if he gets sick. Lily always kept them on hand.”
Jason’s expression flickered—something dark passing behind his eyes for a split second before he nodded. “Good thinking.” His voice was rough with emotion.
“We should get a bottle of Gaviscon too,” Jason said quietly, his eyes lingering on the baby section like it pained him to look. “In case he gets an upset stomach. Lily used to swear by it for James when he was teething.”
Petunia nodded, swallowing hard, and reached for a box of infant pain reliever from the shelf beside her. The box felt small and heavy in her hands, the bright packaging almost garish against the sterility of the pharmacy. She could practically hear Lily’s voice— *“Just in case, Petunia. Better safe than sorry.”* —whispering in her ear.
She added the box to the basket, her movements careful, deliberate The pharmacy hummed around them—someone’s cough drop clicking against the counter, a child’s distant whine from the next aisle, the fluorescent lights flickering like a dying star. Every sound felt too loud, too real. She could feel Jason’s gaze on her, steady and warm, but his silence was louder than words.
She turned back to him, clutching the basket like a lifeline. “Is this everything?”
Jason glanced down at the contents—diapers, wipes, formula, a few tiny socks, the stuffed owl, the pain reliever, the Gaviscon—his gaze lingering on the worn fabric of the owl before meeting her eyes. He nodded, though his expression was tight. “Yeah.
That’s everything,” Jason said, his voice low and rough as he took the basket from her. His fingers brushed against hers, warm and grounding. He hesitated for a moment, his green eyes searching her face. “You okay?”
Petunia swallowed hard, her throat tight. “No,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I will be. For Harry.”
Jason’s expression softened, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a rhythm that felt like a promise. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice warm and steady. He turned toward the counter, where Cassandra Meadowes was watching them with a sharp, knowing gaze.
Petunia followed, her fingers tightening around the edge of the basket.
The witch—Cassandra—leaned against the counter, her wand resting against the register like a casual threat. The lavender scent of her magic curled through the air, mingling with the sterile pharmacy smells.
"Everything alright here?" Cassandra asked, her voice smooth but her gaze lingering on Jason. "I can make it *permanent* if needed."
Jason stiffened beside Petunia, his hand subtly shifting toward his robes—where his wand was hidden beneath the fabric.
Petunia’s breath hitched, her pulse spiking. She stepped slightly in front of Jason, her free hand clutching her purse tighter. "We’re fine," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor beneath it.
"Well once again my deepest condolences, I will cover everything today I am so sorry about your loss," she says , her voice softening as she looked at Petunia. "I'll make sure your purchases are delivered to the Burrow. The Potters have an account here."
Petunia nodded, her fingers tightening around the basket’s handle. "Thank you," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jason exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small, worn leather pouch. "For the delivery," he said, sliding it across the counter.
Cassandra’s fingers brushed against his as she took the pouch, her eyes flicking up to meet his for a moment too long. "No need," she murmured.
"Consider it a gift."
The witch's fingers lingered on the pouch for a moment before she slid it back across the counter toward Jason. Her eyes flicked between them, sharp and assessing, before she turned away to ring up their items.
Jason exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He pocketed the pouch with a nod of thanks, though his jaw remained tense. Petunia could see the way his fingers twitched toward his wand, the way his gaze kept darting toward the pharmacy's entrance. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension.
As Cassandra processed their items, Petunia let her gaze wander over the shelves of baby supplies.
The packaging was bright, sterile, almost cheerful in contrast to the weight pressing down on her chest. She focused on the mundane: a single baby sock, a jar of rash cream, a small yellow onesie with tiny embroidered ducks. These were things Lily had once touched, things Lily had chosen. Petunia could almost see her sister’s hands arranging them in a basket just like this one, her lips moving as she counted aloud.
Jason’s voice cut through her thoughts. “We should go.”
Petunia nodded, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill over. She followed him toward the counter, her steps heavy with the weight of everything they were carrying—both literally and emotionally.
Soon they are outside the The Leaky Cauldron , the rain had stopped, and the cobblestones of Diagon Alley glistened under the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. The air smelled of damp stone and the faint, sweet scent of roasting chestnuts from a nearby vendor. Petunia clutched the bag of baby supplies to her chest, her fingers digging into the fabric as if it were a lifeline.
Jason paused just outside the door, his green eyes scanning the alley with a sharpness that made Petunia’s breath catch. His hand found hers, his fingers warm despite the chill in the air. "Grab my hand I can get us their quickly," he says his voice a low murmur against the noise of the crowd. His thumb traced lazy circles over her knuckles, grounding her in the moment. The bustle of Diagon Alley swirled around them—witches haggling over cauldrons, children laughing as they chased each other past the ice cream cart, the distant chime of a street musician’s flute. The world continued spinning as if nothing had changed. As if Lily weren’t gone.
Petunia tightened her grip on the bag, her knuckles whitening. "I don’t—"
"Trust me," Jason cut in, his voice firm but gentle.
He didn’t wait for her to respond. In one swift motion, he pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her waist. The world blurred around them—the enchanted lanterns streaking into golden comets, the cobblestones dissolving into a whirl of color and sound. Petunia’s stomach lurched as the ground vanished beneath her feet, and for a terrifying moment, she was weightless, suspended in a void of magic and motion.
Then—
Solid ground materialized beneath her. Petunia stumbled slightly, her fingers gripping Jason’s robes for balance. The air smelled different here—crisp, clean, with the faintest hint of pine and old parchment.
Petunia’s breath came in sharp gasps as she steadied herself against Jason’s arm, her fingers still tangled in the damp fabric of his robes. The world had stopped spinning, but her head still felt light, as if she’d been spun too fast and then dropped.
They stood in a dimly lit hallway, the walls lined with ancient portraits of stern-faced witches and wizards. The paintings watched them with unblinking eyes, their expressions ranging from disdain to mild curiosity. A single enchanted lantern flickered overhead, casting long shadows that danced along the stone floor.
Jason kept his arm around her waist, his grip firm but gentle. "We're here," he murmured, his voice low.
"Hogwarts."
Petunia exhaled slowly, her fingers still clutching at Jason's robes. The hallway stretched before them, the air thick with the scent of old magic and polished wood. She could feel the weight of the castle pressing down on her—the centuries of history, the whispers of spells long cast, the echoes of students who had walked these halls before her.
A portrait of a particularly severe-looking witch with a hawk-like nose glared down at them. "You're late," she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Dumbledore has been waiting."
Jason stiffened slightly, his grip on Petunia tightening. "We ran into some complications," he said, his voice carefully neutral.
His thumb traced smooth patterns against the small of her back, steadying her as much as himself. "Ministry security was tighter than anticipated."
The portrait’s eyes narrowed. "And the boy?"
Jason exhaled through his nose before answering. "Safe with Madam Pomfrey. She’s preparing him now."
Petunia felt Jason’s magic press against her skin like a warm breeze—though he hadn’t spoken aloud, his words had been clearly directed toward the portrait. Some invisible ward or enchantment had responded instantly, confirming their identities and intentions without a single spoken syllable.
The portrait’s expression softened marginally, though her tone remained sharp. "Very well. Move along then.
The Headmaster is in his office. And mind the third step—it creaks," the portrait snapped, her hawkish gaze lingering on Petunia for a moment too long before she turned back to her embroidery with a dismissive flick of her wrist.
Jason exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers tightening around Petunia's waist before releasing her. "Thank you, Professor McGonagall," he murmured, his voice low and respectful. He glanced down at Petunia, his green eyes searching hers.
Petunia nodded, though her stomach twisted with nerves. The weight of the baby supplies bag felt suddenly heavier in her arms.