Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Petunia nodded, though her stomach twisted with nerves. The weight of the baby supplies bag felt suddenly heavier in her arms.
Petunia adjusted her grip, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the stuffed owl tucked inside. The hallway stretched before them, its stone walls lined with flickering torches that cast long, dancing shadows. The air smelled of old parchment and the faintest hint of lavender—Hogwarts' signature scent, she realized, though she'd never been here before.
Jason's hand remained at the small of her back, his touch warm and grounding. "We're almost there," he murmured, his voice low and steady. His green eyes scanned the corridor ahead, his expression tense but determined. "Just a little farther." Jason's voice was a low murmur, barely audible over the distant echo of footsteps and the occasional crack of a door slamming shut somewhere in the castle's depths. His fingers pressed gently into the small of Petunia's back, guiding her forward. The hallway twisted slightly—a left turn Petunia hadn't noticed on the way in. The portraits lining the walls seemed to lean in slightly as they passed, their watchful eyes tracking their movements.
Petunia kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, her fingers curled tight around the handles of the shopping bag. The enchanted lanterns flickered in time with her heartbeat, casting shifting patterns of gold and shadow across the stone floor.
Petunia's fingers trembled around the bag handles as they turned the corner, and suddenly, the air changed. The scent of old books and potion ingredients gave way to something sharper—something that smelled like grief and magic and the faintest hint of lavender and lemon balm.
Jason's grip tightened almost imperceptibly as they rounded the final curve of the hallway. "There," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.
Ahead a massive stature.
"Sherbet Lemon," Jason says a loud as the stature descends into the ground revealing a staircase .
Petunia froze, her breath catching in her throat. The sudden movement of the earth beneath their feet sent a jolt of adrenaline through her, her fingers tightening around the shopping bag until her knuckles turned white. The ancient stone stairs spiraled downward, disappearing into the dim glow of flickering torches. The air grew cooler with each step, carrying the scent of damp earth and something older, something that felt like centuries of magic compressed into a single breath.
Jason squeezed her hand, his voice low and steady despite the tension in his shoulders. "Just a few more steps."
Petunia swallowed hard, forcing herself to take the first step forward.
The ancient stone beneath her heels was cold and unyielding, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and never quite left. Her stomach twisted with every descent, the tight spiral of the staircase making the world feel as though it were spinning even though they remained perfectly still.
Jason’s hand guided her gently at the small of her back, his touch warm and reassuring despite the chill in the air. His presence alone anchored her, kept her from collapsing under the weight of what lay ahead.
When they finally reached the bottom, the hallway opened into a vast chamber bathed in golden light from enchanted sconces along the walls.
The walls themselves were lined with ancient tapestries—each depicting a different Hogwarts founder, their faces stern and immortalized in threads of silver and gold. Between two of the portraits stood a door made of dark wood, its surface carved with intricate runes that seemed to shift slightly when stared at too long.
Before the door stood a figure shrouded in shadows—a tall, silver-haired man with piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through them.
Dumbledore.
Petunia's breath hitched. The name alone carried weight, but seeing him in person—feeling the quiet power radiating from him—made her shoulders stiffen involuntarily.
Jason’s fingers pressed into the small of her back, a silent reminder that she wasn’t alone.
Dumbledore’s gaze flicked from Jason to Petunia, his expression unreadable behind his half-moon spectacles. "Ah," he said softly, his voice warm despite the gravity of the moment. "Miss Evans. I’m so very sorry for your loss."
Petunia swallowed hard, her throat tight. The words felt inadequate, hollow in the face of everything that had happened.
Dumbledore stepped forward, the hem of his robes whispering against the stone floor. "And you, Mr. Potter.
I trust you’ve been keeping our young guest safe."
Jason nodded, his jaw tight. "As safe as I could, given the circumstances."
Dumbledore’s eyes softened as he turned his attention back to Petunia. "Miss Evans, I understand this is a difficult time for you. But I must ask—how are you holding up?"
Petunia’s fingers tightened around the bag of baby supplies. "I’m managing," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the owl inside the bag pressed against her palm, a silent reminder of everything she had lost.
Dumbledore studied her for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. "I’ve been in contact with the Ministry," he said finally.
"Things are... unstable, to say the least." His voice was measured, but Petunia detected the underlying current of tension beneath his words. "They’ve agreed to a temporary ceasefire, but it won’t last."
Petunia swallowed, her fingers digging into the soft fabric of the shopping bag. The weight of it served as a grounding anchor—the diapers and mittens, the stuffed owl Lily had chosen for Harry. She focused on that small comfort rather than the unspoken weight of Dumbledore's next words.
"I have the boy right here," he says motioning to the baby crib near him "He is sleeping well enough, but I fear it best if he was not in the wizarding world for the time being," he says his voice soft and sad .
Petunia's breath hitched at the sight of the crib. The room itself was simple: stone walls, a single lantern casting a gentle glow, and the faint hum of protective enchantments woven through the air. Harry lay curled on his side, one tiny hand clutching the corner of his blanket, his dark hair tousled from sleep. He looked so small against the padded fabric of the crib—smaller than she’d imagined, somehow. His breathing was slow and even, untroubled by whatever horrors the world had thrown at him.
Jason stepped forward, his boots making no sound on the stone floor.
He moved with the quiet grace of someone who’d spent a lifetime navigating magic’s nuances, his green eyes fixed on the sleeping child in the crib. A shadow passed over his face—something raw and unguarded—before he schooled his features into polite indifference.
Petunia’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t realize she’d stopped moving until Jason’s fingers curled around her wrist, gentle but insistent.
“Petunia,” he murmured, low enough that Dumbledore wouldn’t overhear. His voice was rough with something she couldn’t name. “He looks just like James. Same stubborn set to his jaw.”
She swallowed. Of course he did.
Harry’s face—small and peaceful in sleep—held the same stubborn set to his jaw that James had possessed even as a boy, the same stubborn line of determination that Petunia had always found infuriating in her brother. She had loved him despite it, despite everything.
She stepped closer to the crib, her fingers tightening around the shopping bag. The stuffed owl was warm against her palm, the threadbare fabric comforting. She set the bag down gently on a nearby table, the sound of the items inside shifting barely making a whisper.
Harry stirred slightly in his sleep, his tiny fingers flexing around the edge of his blanket.
Petunia’s breath hitched as she watched him, her heart pounding so loudly she feared it might wake him. The baby’s chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths, his dark lashes casting shadows against his pale cheeks.
Jason stood beside her, his presence a steady warmth against the chill of the stone chamber. His fingers brushed against her arm, a silent reminder that she wasn’t alone in this. Petunia could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his muscles were coiled like a spring, ready to react at the slightest provocation.
Dumbledore cleared his throat softly, his voice cutting through the heavy silence.
"Miss Evans, I understand this is a difficult moment, but we must discuss what happens next."
Petunia didn't look away from Harry. The baby's fingers twitched slightly in his sleep, as if chasing some unseen dream. She reached out slowly, her hand hovering just above his head. The warmth radiating from him was fragile, delicate—like a candle flame in a storm.
"I can't take him back to the Muggle world," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Not after everything that's happened. Not after what they did to Lily and James."
Jason's hand found the small of her back again, his touch grounding. "We'll figure it out," he murmured, his voice low and steady.
"Together."
Petunia swallowed hard, her fingers trembling as she finally lowered her hand to rest gently on Harry's tiny shoulder. His skin was impossibly soft, warm beneath her touch. She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm.
Dumbledore's voice was gentle but firm. "Miss Evans, I must impress upon you the gravity of the situation. The Ministry is in chaos. There are those who would see this child as a threat, and others who would exploit him for his potential. We cannot risk letting him fall into the wrong hands."
"I can take him back to the Potter estate no one knows it location, and it near London," Jason says looking towards her with a soft smile. "We can keep him safe there, and I will protect him with my life."
Petunia’s fingers tightened around the edge of the crib, her knuckles whitening. She could still feel the warmth of Harry’s tiny shoulder beneath her palm, the fragile weight of his existence pressing against her like a promise—or a curse. The room felt suddenly too small, the air too thick with the weight of decisions that couldn’t be undone.
She exhaled slowly, her breath unsteady. "And what if they find him there?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"They won't, with Voldemort dead they will be in shambles, they are nothing with our him," Jason said, his voice low and firm.
Petunia turned to face him, her eyes searching his. "You can't promise that. No one can."
Jason held her gaze, his green eyes steady and unflinching. "I can promise you this," he said, his voice soft but resolute. "I will do everything in my power to keep him safe."
Petunia looked back at Harry, her heart aching. The baby's chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths, his tiny fingers still clutching the edge of his blanket. She could see Lily in the curve of his cheek, James in the stubborn set of his jaw.
It was a cruel irony that the only thing left of her sister was this tiny, fragile life—and the responsibility to keep him safe.
Petunia's fingers trembled as she reached into the shopping bag and pulled out the stuffed owl. Its threadbare wings felt soft against her palm, the weight of Lily's memory pressing down on her. She carefully placed it beside Harry in the crib, tucking it against his side where he could feel its presence even in sleep.
Jason watched her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. When she finally met his gaze, she saw something raw and unguarded in his eyes—something that mirrored her own fear and determination.
"Alright," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"But only if you swear to me on your magic that you’ll do everything in your power."
Jason didn’t hesitate. His hand lifted, pressing against the family crest embroidered on his robes over his heart. "I swear it," he said, his voice low and steady. "On my magic, on my blood, on my name—I will protect him as if he were my own."
Petunia’s breath hitched at the intensity of his vow. The air between them felt charged, the weight of his promise pressing against her chest like a physical thing. She could feel the magic in his words, the unbreakable tether of his oath binding him to this commitment.
The air between them hummed with silent energy, and for the first time since she’d walked into that pharmacy, Petunia felt something like hope flicker to life inside her.
She nodded, her throat tight with unshed tears. "Then it’s settled," she whispered, her voice wavering just slightly. She reached down, gently adjusting the stuffed owl so that its soft head cradled against Harry’s tiny shoulder. The owl’s embroidered eyes gleamed faintly in the lantern light, as if mirroring the quiet strength she was trying to find within herself.
Dumbledore cleared his throat once more, drawing their attention back to him.
"Very well, I have made the liberties of packing your belongings they will be shipped to the Potter estate, now their is only one small thing that we must clear up, you two will have to be married in order to take Harry with you, in fact I am able to perform the ceremony here," he says his voice soft but firm.
Petunia's breath caught in her throat, the air suddenly feeling thick and suffocating. She turned to Jason, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Married?" she whispered, the word tasting strange and foreign on her tongue.
Jason's expression was unreadable, though his fingers flexed slightly against the fabric of his robes. "It's just a formality," he said, his voice steady but his green eyes flickering with something she couldn't quite decipher. "For Harry's protection."
Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "The Ministry is in disarray, but they still have their rules. A child cannot be placed in the care of unmarried adults without proper documentation.
This is for the child's safety and security. While I understand this may not be ideal, it is the simplest way forward."
Petunia's fingers tightened around the edge of Harry's crib. The weight of the decision pressed down on her like an invisible force field, each word from Dumbledore echoing through her skull like a gong. Married. The word alone sent a jolt of panic through her veins, sharp and electric.
She turned to Jason, searching his face for any hint of hesitation, any flicker of doubt. But his expression remained carefully neutral, his jaw set in that familiar stubborn line she recognized from Lily. His green eyes, usually so warm and playful, were now inscrutable.
"Well we where planning on getting married anyway," she says smiling softly to Jason.
Jason’s lips quirked up in a small smile, his fingers brushing against hers. "Yeah, we were."
Petunia nodded slowly, her throat tight. She looked back at Harry, her heart aching with love and fear in equal measure. The baby slept on, oblivious to the weight of the decision they were making.
"Then it's settled," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Dumbledore gave a small, approving nod. "Then let us proceed with the ceremony. It will be brief and to the point, as we have much to discuss afterward."
Petunia swallowed hard, her fingers still clutching the edge of the crib.
The word "married" hung between them, heavy and unfamiliar. She glanced at Jason, whose usual easy confidence seemed tempered by something unreadable in his gaze.
Dumbledore moved toward a small table set with two crystal goblets and a silver tray of what smelled like warm wine and honey cakes. The scent cut through the thick air of the chamber, grounding Petunia in the moment. She exhaled slowly, her breath shaky but steadying.
Jason’s hand found hers, his fingers warm and strong. "Petunia," he murmured, low enough that Dumbledore wouldn’t catch the words. His thumb traced circles over her knuckles, grounding her.
"We don't have to do this if you're not ready," he said quietly, his green eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation. "I can find another way."
Petunia looked down at their intertwined fingers, her pulse fluttering in her throat. The weight of his hand in hers felt both strange and comforting - like a promise she hadn't known she needed. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "We made a promise to Harry. And to Lily and James."
The mention of their names hung between them like a ghost, the air suddenly thick with memory. Petunia could still see Lily's stubborn smile, the way she'd always stood up for what was right, no matter the cost.
"Their it is done kiss the bride," Dumbledore says softly looking away as he begins the ceremony.
The stone chamber felt warmer now, the lanterns glowing brighter as if the castle itself approved of their union.
Petunia’s lips parted, her pulse thrumming in her throat.
Jason’s free hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch featherlight.
"You sure?" he murmured.
Petunia swallowed, her fingers flexing against his.
"Yeah," she whispered.
His mouth met hers in a soft, searching kiss—hesitant at first, then deeper, warmer, more certain.
Petunia’s eyes fluttered shut, her hands sliding up to grip the front of his robes as the kiss deepened.
The warmth of his lips surprised her—softer than she’d imagined, yet firm with something unspoken. The scent of him, crisp like winter air and faintly spiced with magic, wrapped around her senses.
Jason’s fingers curled around the nape of her neck, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin there. The kiss wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate—it was a promise, a quiet understanding between them. When he finally pulled back, his green eyes were dark with something Petunia couldn’t quite name.
Dumbledore cleared his throat delicately, though his voice held a note of approval. “Well, then.
That settles it,” Dumbledore said, his voice warm with quiet satisfaction. “By the power vested in me by the Ministry of Magic and the sacred bonds of matrimony, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
The words settled over Petunia like a spell—unexpected, yet undeniable. She stood there, fingers still curled into the fabric of Jason’s robes, her lips tingling from the kiss. The chamber around them seemed to hum with the weight of what had just happened.
Jason’s hand found hers again, his fingers threading through hers. His thumb traced slow circles over her knuckles, grounding her.
"Grab the child and head to the Potter Estate," Dumbledore says as she picked up the bundle into her arms.
"You must go now."
Jason nodded his ascent, his expression a mix of urgency and protectiveness as he turned to Petunia. "Stay close," he murmured, his voice low and steady. His free hand found the small of her back, guiding her forward with a quiet confidence that made her step lighter despite the tension coiling in her stomach.
Petunia clutched Harry tightly, his small, warm body pressed against her shoulder. Despite the situation, she couldn't help but marvel at the weight of him, the way his breath warmed the crook of her neck. The shopping bag with supplies dangled from her other arm, hitting against her thigh with every step.
It felt surreal, walking down these ancient corridors with a baby in her arms and a wedding band on her finger. The weight of Harry's tiny body against her shoulder sent a strange mix of terror and tenderness through her veins.
Jason led the way, his stride purposeful but not rushed, his green eyes scanning the shadows ahead. Every few seconds, he glanced back at her, his expression softening when their eyes met. Petunia could feel the heat creeping up her neck, but she didn't look away. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel... safe.
They turned another corner, and the portraits seemed to watch them with renewed interest.
A particularly stern-looking witch in a high-necked gown narrowed her eyes as they passed, her painted lips pursed in disapproval. Petunia resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at the ancient portrait. *Not now, she reminded herself. Not with Harry in your arms.*
The corridor widened into a grand hall, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. The air smelled of old parchment and something faintly metallic—like the scent of magic itself. Jason's hand pressed more firmly against her back, his fingers warm through the fabric of her dress. "Almost there," he murmured, his breath tickling her ear.
Petunia adjusted Harry's weight in her arms, shifting the shopping bag to her other hand.
The baby stirred slightly, his dark eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks before settling back into sleep. The warmth of his small body against her chest was both surreal and comforting, the steady rise and fall of his breath a fragile rhythm against her sternum.
Jason’s fingers brushed against her lower back, his touch light but deliberate. "You’re doing well," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. The sincerity in his tone made her chest tighten.
She exhaled sharply through her nose, trying to steady herself. "I feel like I’m going to drop him," she admitted, her voice tinged with self-doubt.
The realisation that she was now responsible for this tiny, helpless life made her stomach clench. Harry’s warmth was undeniable, his breath against her collarbone steady and trusting.
Jason’s grin was quick, disarming. "You won’t. You’re stronger than you think." He reached out, adjusting the blanket around Harry so it covered the baby’s tiny feet. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against Petunia’s wrist. "Besides, I’ve got you."
Petunia swallowed hard, unable to ignore the sincerity in his voice. Jason had a way of making her feel capable, even when she felt like the world’s biggest imposter.
The warmth of his hand against her back was steady, grounding. She could feel the calluses on his fingers—small, rough patches from years of handling wands, parchment, and who knew what else. It was a reminder that despite his easy charm, he was no stranger to hardship.
They reached the end of the corridor, where the air grew cooler and the scent of old stone and magic deepened. A massive wooden door stood before them, its surface carved with intricate runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. Jason stepped forward, pressing his palm against the door. The runes flared bright blue for a moment before the door creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase that spiraled downward into darkness.
The air that rushed out smelled of damp earth and something older, something that carried the weight of centuries. Petunia hesitated at the threshold, her fingers tightening around the shopping bag. "You're sure this is safe?"
Jason glanced back at her, his green eyes catching the faint glow of the runes. "It's the safest way out right now," he said, his voice steady. "The Ministry's got eyes everywhere, but no one knows about this passage except the Potters and Dumbledore."
Petunia nodded, though her stomach twisted with unease. She adjusted Harry's weight in her arms, feeling the warmth of his small body against her chest.
Soon they reach a painting waving his hand the painting turned into a portal .
The air on the other side was different—cooler, sharper, carrying the scent of rain on cobblestones and the faint metallic tang of magic. Petunia stepped through first, her boots clicking against the wet pavement as she emerged into a narrow alleyway between two towering brick buildings. The sky above was a bruised purple, streaked with the last remnants of sunset, and the distant hum of London traffic filled the air like a low, steady heartbeat.
Jason followed close behind, his hand still resting lightly against the small of her back. The moment he stepped through, the portal sealed shut with a quiet *whoosh*, leaving only the faintest shimmer in the air before it vanished entirely.
Petunia exhaled sharply, her breath visible in the crisp evening air. The weight of Harry against her shoulder felt heavier now, the reality of their situation pressing down on her.
Jason’s hand remained firm against her back, his presence a quiet anchor in the unfamiliar surroundings. The alleyway was dimly lit by a flickering streetlamp whose light struggled to penetrate the gathering dusk. Shadows stretched long and uneven across the cobblestones, making the mundane surroundings feel suddenly menacing.
Petunia adjusted Harry’s blanket, tucking it tighter around him despite the warmth of his small body. The stuffed owl nestled in the crook of her arm, its threadbare wings brushing against her forearm.
She looked around the estate the last time she was hear was for her sisters wedding .
The crunch of gravel beneath their feet was the only sound as they approached the wrought-iron gates of the Potter Estate. The estate loomed ahead, its gothic silhouette cutting a dramatic shape against the twilight sky. Ivy clung to the stone walls, and the scent of damp earth and old roses hung in the air—familiar, yet somehow alien now that she was returning under such different circumstances.
Jason paused at the gate, his fingers brushing against the cold metal as if testing its reality. "Home sweet home," he murmured, though his voice carried none of its usual playful lilt. His green eyes flickered toward Petunia, searching her face for any sign of hesitation.
She could feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken question hanging between them like a thread of magic.
The iron gates groaned as they swung open, revealing the winding gravel path that led to the manor. Petunia adjusted Harry's weight in her arms, his tiny breaths warm against her neck. The stuffed owl tucked beside him seemed to watch her with its embroidered eyes, as if judging her readiness for what lay ahead.
Jason stepped through first, his boots crunching on the gravel. He turned back to offer his hand, his expression unreadable in the fading light. "Ready?"
Petunia hesitated for just a moment before placing her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, warm and steady.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Potter,” Jason murmured, his voice low and rich with something she couldn’t name. The way he said “Mrs. Potter” sent a shiver down her spine. Her name sounded entirely new on his lips—like a secret only between them, like a promise yet to unravel.
Petunia swallowed, her pulse thudding in her throat. The gravel crunched under their shoes as they stepped onto the familiar path, the manor growing closer with every pace. It was strange, being here again, but entirely different now. Her sister’s laughter no longer echoed in these halls. There was only silence—thick, suffocating silence—and the soft breathing of a baby in her arms.
Petunia’s fingers tightened around Harry’s tiny blanket, the fabric warm from his small body. The manor loomed ahead, its tall, arched windows glowing softly like eyes in the twilight. Jason walked beside her, his presence steady, his hand still warm against the small of her back.
They reached the grand oak doors, their surface carved with intricate runes that pulsed faintly in the evening light. Jason reached out, pressing his palm against the wood. The runes flared golden, and the doors swung inward with a deep, resonant groan.
Inside, the manor was just as she remembered—grand, yet somehow homely in a way that defied its size.
"I know the perfect rooms for us,"Jason says softly as he guides her forward.
The air smelled of old books and beeswax, of lavender and something faintly sweet—like the lingering scent of Lily's favorite tea. Petunia's throat tightened at the memory, but she forced herself to focus on the present.
Jason led her through the grand foyer, his boots making no sound on the polished marble floor. The chandelier above them cast a warm glow, its crystals refracting light in a thousand tiny rainbows. Petunia adjusted Harry's weight in her arms, feeling the baby stir slightly at the change in movement.
"Here," Jason said, stopping before a set of double doors carved with intricate designs of ivy and roses.
"This was my father's and mothers room," he says pushing the doors open .
The room beyond was breathtaking. A massive four-poster bed draped in deep emerald velvet dominated the space, its posts carved with the same delicate floral motifs as the doors. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the walls. The scent of sandalwood and something floral lingered in the air, warm and inviting.
Jason stepped inside, his boots silent on the thick rug. He turned back to Petunia, his green eyes soft in the firelight. "I thought you'd want to be close to Harry," he murmured, gesturing to a smaller crib set near the bed.
"And I thought you'd prefer a proper room to these guest quarters you were stuck in before."
Petunia's breath hitched as she crossed the threshold, Harry's warmth pressing against her shoulder. The room was undeniably intimate—the massive bed dominating the space, the firelight painting golden patterns across the antique furniture. She could already feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her bones, the kind that came from carrying too much for too long.
Jason moved to the fireplace, stirring the flames with a flick of his wand. Sparks danced upward, the scent of burning oak filling the room. "I had bene preparing the place for us to move into for quite some time," so everything should be ready."
Petunia cradled Harry more securely, her fingers brushing the downy softness of his dark hair. The weight of everything—the journey from the wizarding world, the sudden marriage, the life now resting against her shoulder—settled over her like a heavy blanket. "You... prepared all this?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Jason glanced back at her, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable beneath the firelight. "Of course. You're family now." He gestured toward a small table set with a tray of sandwiches and a steaming pot of tea.
"I figured you'd be hungry. And tired. And probably a little overwhelmed."
Petunia exhaled a shaky laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly. "That's... actually perfect," she admitted, shifting Harry in her arms. The baby stirred, his tiny lips puckering in his sleep as if searching for something. Petunia's chest tightened at the sight.
Jason moved to take the shopping bag from her, his fingers brushing against hers as he did. The contact sent a jolt through her—warm, unexpected. "Let me help you with that," he murmured, his voice low.
Petunia hesitated for only a second before letting him take the bag.
His touch was warm, almost electric through the fabric of her sleeve. She adjusted Harry in her arms, the baby's breath warm against her neck, steady and trusting.
Jason carried the bag to a chaise near the fire, setting it down with a soft *thump*. He turned back to her, his green eyes catching the flickering firelight. "You look like you could use a seat," he said, gesturing to the plush velvet of the chaise.
Petunia swallowed, her throat tight. She nodded, sinking onto the cushioned seat with a quiet sigh. The moment she sat, exhaustion crashed over her like a wave.
Her muscles ached from the tension of holding Harry, from the weight of everything that had happened in the last few hours. The fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth seeping into her bones, loosening the knot of anxiety in her chest.
Jason knelt in front of her, his green eyes searching her face. "You okay?" he asked softly.
Petunia exhaled, her fingers tracing the soft curve of Harry's cheek. "I don't know," she admitted. "I feel like I should be doing more. Like I should be *better* at this."
Jason reached out, his hand hovering near hers before settling gently on her knee.
"It's our first day with Harry, we will learn eveythting we need to know," he says looking at her "Let me hold him, take a break," Jason says softly, his voice warm with understanding.
Petunia hesitated for only a second before carefully shifting Harry into Jason's arms. The baby stirred slightly at the change, his tiny fingers flexing against the fabric of Jason's robes. Jason adjusted his hold, cradling Harry against his chest with an ease that surprised her.
Petunia watched as Jason settled onto the chaise beside her, his green eyes soft in the firelight as he looked down at the sleeping child. His fingers traced gentle circles on Harry's back, the movement instinctive, almost protective.
She exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing for the first time in what felt like hours. The fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth wrapping around them like a blanket.
Petunia watched Jason’s fingers trace slow, soothing circles on Harry’s back, the baby’s tiny breaths steady against his chest. The sight of them together—Jason’s strong arms cradling the fragile infant, his green eyes soft with something unspoken—sent a strange warmth through her.
She reached for the teapot, her fingers trembling slightly as she poured herself a cup. The scent of chamomile and honey filled the air, grounding her. "You’re good at this," she murmured, nodding toward Harry.
Jason glanced up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I always wanted a child," Jason says smiling "Just never wanted one this way," he says looking down at Harry.
Petunia took a slow sip of tea, the warmth spreading through her chest. She watched the way Jason’s thumb brushed against Harry’s tiny fist, the way his expression softened when the baby stirred. There was something deeply tender in the way he held him—something that made her chest ache.
She set the teacup down, her fingers lingering on the delicate porcelain. "You’re going to be a good father," she said quietly.
Jason’s gaze flicked up to hers, something unreadable passing through his green eyes. "We’re going to be good parents," he corrected, his voice low.
"You’re part of this too, Petunia."
She swallowed hard against the unexpected lump in her throat, watching as Harry’s tiny fingers curled around Jason’s thumb. The sight of them—Jason with his protective grip, Harry with his fragile trust—sent something unexpected through her chest.
"I know," she whispered. She set the teacup down with a soft clink, her fingers lingering on the rim. The manor was too quiet, the fire too warm, the weight of what had just happened pressing in from all sides.
Jason adjusted Harry in his arms, shifting the baby so that his head rested against his shoulder. The movement was casual, as if he’d done it a thousand times before.
Yet the way his fingers lingered at the back of Harry's head—gentle, protective—sent something unfamiliar twisting in Petunia’s chest. She watched the scene play out before her, the firelight painting golden streaks across Jason’s face as he looked down at the sleeping child with a tenderness that made her throat tighten.
Petunia exhaled slowly, her fingers curling into the velvet cushion beneath her. "Do you think he’ll remember her?" she asked quietly, her voice barely rising above the crackling of the fire.
Jason’s gaze lifted from Harry, his green eyes reflecting the flickering flames. "I think he’ll remember the love she gave him," he said softly, his voice steady.