Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Midnight

31 October 1981 - 4 Privet Drive

The shrill ring of the landline telephone tore through the oppressive silence of Petunia Dursley’s suburban home just past the stroke of midnight. With a deep sigh heavy with annoyance, she lifted the receiver from its cradle.

Who, she wondered irritably, would possess the sheer audacity to disturb her rest at such an hour?

The voice on the other end belonged to someone she knew intimately; the tone accompanying his words, however, was entirely unfamiliar. It was a sound contorted by raw pain and suffocating anxiety. He spoke, and with every syllable uttered, her heart plummeted further into a bottomless abyss, sinking until there was simply nothing left beneath it.

He did not linger, did not wait for a reply before the line clicked dead.

With trembling hands, Petunia replaced the receiver, fumbling slightly as it landed askew on her nightstand. She turned and roughly shook Vernon awake. “Peter called,” she managed. “Lily and James… they’ve been attacked. We need to go. Now.”

Vernon, Petunia knew, had heard that specific, dread-filled intonation in her voice perhaps only twice before in his life. With a loud, guttural grumble, her husband rolled over, his eyes struggling to focus on hers in the dim light. “What?”

After hastily pulling on clothes and securing her wand in the holster strapped beneath her usual floral pattern clothes, Petunia tiptoed towards Dudley’s nursery. She gently swaddled her sleeping son in thick blankets, lifting him carefully before Vernon helped secure him into his car seat in the back of the vehicle. Vernon, meanwhile, was already outside, turning the key in the ignition, the engine coughing reluctantly to life in the cold night air.

“So, where exactly are we headed?” Vernon asked as he manoeuvred the car out of the drive.

“St Mungo’s,” Petunia replied curtly. “Now.”

Fortunately, the route was familiar. As their car sped through the dark, deserted lanes, shadows flickered across Dudley's cherubic face, visible in the rear-view mirror. His even breaths, mercifully untroubled by the unfolding crisis, were a small, fragile island of peace in Petunia’s turbulent fear.

"So, what happened? What did Peter say exactly?" Vernon finally broke the heavy silence.

Petunia’s breaths came in short, sharp gasps, as if she were physically fighting to hold back an unseen, encroaching horror. Finally, she choked out a response, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "Peter… he said Lily and James were ambushed. By Voldemort. He said… he said they might not survive the night."

He slammed his foot down on the accelerator, the engine roaring in protest as the car surged forward towards the motorway. "Bloody hell, Petunia! Will we make it? Will we be in time?"

"How should I possibly know? Just drive, Vernon! For God’s sake, drive!" Her voice cracked on the last word, devolving into something close to a sob. Mercifully, the outburst didn't stir Dudley from his slumber, and thankfully, Vernon knew better than to press further, focusing instead on navigating the roads.

Time seemed to warp, stretching into an unbearable eternity as they raced through the depths of the night. When the familiar skyline of London finally pierced the darkness, signalling their approach to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Petunia felt as though her heart might physically hammer its way out of her ribcage. She had been here once before, years ago, visiting Lily after a particularly grave potions accident during her sister's apprenticeship. Back then, Petunia had silently wrestled with a bitter cocktail of pride and jealousy, feeling overshadowed by Lily's selection for a prestigious traineeship under Damocles Belby himself. Now, any lingering trace of those petty resentments was utterly consumed, incinerated by pure, undiluted horror.

Vernon parked the car with a jarring screech of tyres in a designated bay near the entrance. Petunia swiftly unstrapped Dudley, settling him into his pushchair, and practically bowled Vernon over in her desperate haste to get inside. Peter Pettigrew, the man whose panicked call seemed like a lifetime ago, stood waiting just inside the entrance, anxiously consulting his wristwatch, his left foot tapping a frantic rhythm on the polished marble floor.

“Peter! We’re here!” Petunia gasped, rushing towards him. “Where is Lily? And James? Are they…?”

“Inside. Follow me! The Janus Thickey Ward!” He was already striding away before the words fully left his mouth.

He led them through the gleaming, unnervingly clean, white corridors of St Mungo’s. Portraits of stern-faced Healers from bygone eras watched their hurried passage from ornate frames, their painted, inquisitive eyes seeming to follow them.

The Ward itself presented a scene of controlled chaos unlike anything Petunia had ever witnessed. Healers in lime-green robes and healers-in-training in crisp white uniforms rushed between what seemed like hundreds of occupied beds. Wands flashed, casting diagnostic charms and healing spells of every conceivable colour and intensity, while curt instructions and hushed consultations were exchanged over a harrowing soundtrack of moans, cries, and whimpered pleas from the afflicted. The air smelt sharply of antiseptic potions overlaid with the faint, metallic tang of blood and something else… something acrid, like the smell of the dying.

Just what calamity could have wrought such widespread suffering?

“W-where are they?” She turned to Peter, her gaze pleading. He would know.

Peter shot her a quick, distracted glance before whistling sharply (a surprisingly piercing sound in the din) and catching the forearm of a small, auburn-haired nurse hurrying past. “The Potters. Where are they located?”

The nurse’s eyes widened slightly in recognition of Peter, then flickered with something akin to pity towards Petunia. “Room 404. End of the corridor. Due to… the unique circumstances of their injuries." She pulled her arm free and hurried away without further elaboration.

Room 404. The designation echoed ominously in Petunia’s mind. Outside the door stood two Aurors, their faces resolute, their stances rigid as sentinels, wands gripped with white-knuckled intensity. Who on earth were they expecting? What further threat lingered?

"I am Ministerial Prosecutor Peter Pettigrew," Peter announced, his voice attempting a tone of authority that didn't quite mask his own frayed nerves. "As you both know. This is Petunia Dursley, Lily Potter’s sister. We need to see them. It might be our only chance.”

The Aurors exchanged uneasy glances. "Our apologies, Mr Pettigrew," one began, "but access is restricted. Only designated Healers and immediate family are permitted—"

Before he could finish, Petunia whipped out her own wand, the polished yew wood gleaming faintly in the torchlight. Her fear momentarily gave way to a surge of desperate fury. "Let me through," she hissed. "If you value your positions, or perhaps even your lives, you will let me pass! My sister is in there! My family!"

The guards tensed, tightening their grips on their wands, clearly preparing to enforce their orders, perhaps even subdue her. But just as the confrontation threatened to escalate, a calm, weary voice resonated from behind the guarded door. "It's alright. Let them in. They are who they claim to be."

James. Relief warred with dread in Petunia's chest.

Peter looked genuinely startled, peering through the doorway as the Aurors reluctantly stepped aside. "Remus? You're already here?"

Inside stood Remus Lupin, his face etched with exhaustion, his eyes sunken but strangely steady, reflecting the room's low light. "Yes, Peter," Remus confirmed. "Come in. Both of you. But… prepare yourselves. It's worse than you can possibly imagine."

And so they stepped across the threshold into Room 404, into an unknown reality that felt infinitely more terrifying than anything Petunia could have conjured in her darkest nightmares.

Almost mechanically, Petunia pushed Dudley's pushchair towards Vernon, her eyes immediately, irresistibly drawn to the figure on the nearest bed. Lily. The sight of her sister pierced Petunia to the core; she was barely recognisable, a canvas of raw pain and devastating injury. Two Healers hovered over her, their wands moving in precise, meticulous patterns, chanting complex healing incantations in low, synchronised tones. Another Healer, his hands clad in protective dragon-hide gloves, carefully administered a peculiarly viscous, violet-coloured liquid through a charmed gavage tube.

Her radiant, vivacious sister, the girl whose laughter could light up a room, had been reduced to a mangled, broken shell of her former self. Angry burns, raw and weeping, obscured the familiar contours of her once-lovely face. Beneath her ravaged skin, deeper wounds seemed to writhe and pulse with a dark energy Petunia instinctively recoiled from, even as the two Healers wove intricate spells she did not recognise over them. Lily's eyes, those brilliant green pools that had captivated so many, found Petunia's – but they were dull now, clouded with agony, defeated, reflecting a depth of suffering too profound for words.

For a fleeting, heart-wrenching second, Petunia was transported back decades, back to a life before she embraced the mundanity of Privet Drive, back to Hogwarts. She remembered the first day after the Sorting Ceremony, leading her apprehensive little sister down towards the Great Lake for the first time. “I’ll take care of you here, Lily,” she’d promised fiercely. “Whenever something happens, whatever it is, I will be there for you.” Petunia was the older sister, after all. It was her duty, her unspoken vow, to protect Lily.

But now… now, when it mattered most, she hadn’t been there. She had been sleeping soundly in her perfectly ordinary bed whilst her sister was being mutilated, perhaps dying. A wave of vicious self-directed shame, scalding guilt, and overwhelming pain coursed through her, so potent it felt like a physical blow. "Lily," Petunia choked out, the name catching in her throat, her eyes instantly flooding with hot tears.

Through a haze of excruciating pain, disoriented and weak, Lily barely managed to focus on the familiar face. "Tuney? How…?"

"I… I had to come. I had to be here for you," Petunia said, her voice trembling uncontrollably. Vernon stepped closer, his large hand squeezing her shoulder, offering what little solid comfort he could. "Peter called us. We came as fast as the car could bring us."

“P-please… take care of… my bo-” A fresh, violent wave of agony crashed over Lily, her body arching off the bed in a horrific convulsion. One of the unnamed Healers reacted instantly, producing a syringe filled with a shimmering silver potion, uttering urgent incantations in a desperate bid to alleviate her torment. The relief, however, was brief. Moments later, Lily's anguish seemed to redouble, her scream tearing through the room. "Petunia, I love y–” Her body seized again, convulsing with such violence it was as though large, unseen serpents writhed beneath her skin. A senior Healer, whose name badge Petunia distantly recognised as Humphrey Belcher, hastily retrieved a small vial containing a dark, syrupy potion. Draught of Living Death. Petunia knew it instantly; she and Lily had brewed it together countless times to attain that Belby traineeship, supervised by Slughorn. As Humphrey carefully administered the draught, Lily's violent convulsions gradually subsided, her body relaxing into an unnatural, unnerving calm that was almost as disturbing as the pain.

Petunia finally collapsed against Vernon's solid frame, burying her face in his shoulder, unable to watch any longer. Across the small room, James Potter, despite his own clearly grave condition, pale, breathing shallowly, bandages covering much of his chest and head, weakly beckoned Peter and Remus closer.

"Harry… Ben…? Are… are they alright?" James said, his eyes searching Remus’s face.

Remus nodded, his expression bleak but certain. "They’re safe, James. Completely unharmed. Not even a scratch on them. It's… inexplicable."

Gathering what Petunia deemed a flicker of his remaining strength, James managed to lift his head slightly, his gaze fixed on Lily's still, unnaturally peaceful form, her body slowly being consumed by the curse he knew had struck her.

"Sorry, Lily," James said. "I… I f–" His head dropped back onto the pillow with a strained, ragged exhale. "failed you."

"Take it easy, mate," Peter urged with care, though his own voice trembled slightly. He stepped back as Remus moved towards James's bedside. "You did everything you could tonight. More than anyone could ask. You're a hero, James. Remember that." Peter’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his fingernails digging so deeply into his palms that Petunia could see droplets of blood welling up. "Our fourth, however," Peter spat, "Sirius… he’s a degenerate traitor of the highest order. I’ll ensure he never sees the light of day again. I swear it, James. I promise you."

James gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod. “I trust you… Peter. See to it.”

Peter turned his head slightly, his gaze shifting to Remus. "How did you get here so quickly, Remus? Weren't you meant to be on that undercover operation for the Order? Deep in Slovenia?"

Remus' eyes weren't just tired; they were glazed with a film of tears both shed and unshed. “Word reached me… through the pack… that tonight was the night. The night the Potters would fall. By the time I got to Godric’s Hollow… all I found was carnage. Destruction. And Lily and James…” He trailed off, unable to finish, the unspoken horror hanging heavy in the air.

31 October 1981 - Godric’s Hollow

The colossal green skull, wherefrom the shape of a serpent protruded like a tongue, hung against the night sky. Its portend was always plain: death had visited here. Morsmordre.

Snow fluttered down softly, blanketing the devastation in a deceptively peaceful shroud. Remus looked numbly to his right. The entire street was a scene of chaos; houses nearby were heavily damaged, some practically obliterated, their structures ruptured, brick and earth torn violently asunder. Distant screams and closer, terrified shrieks pierced the cold air.

Remus, his wand clutched tight, blasted the wreckage that had once been the Potters’ front door into splinters, clearing a path through the debris with forceful waves of his wand. “James? Lily?” His voice sounded rough, unfamiliar even to his own ears.

“Remus?” A weak, pain-filled voice answered from the direction of the living room. When Remus reached it, the sight that greeted him sent a fresh stab of fear through his heart. James lay slumped against an overturned armchair, bleeding heavily from multiple wounds. Before Remus could form the frantic questions warring in his mind, James gasped, “Lily… and the boys… upstairs!”

He need not say it twice. Half-transformed, tapped into his primal beast from within, he jumped the stairs straight to the second floor.

The nursery door hung splintered from its hinges. The room beyond, ripped open to the elements, could scarcely be called a nursery now. Snow drifted through the gaping hole in the roof, settling silently on the warped, blackened wood of the crib and the burned, overturned soft toys scattered across the floor.

At once he fell to his knees beside her, tears blurring his vision. The sight of her pain was an inferno threatening to consume him whole. She tried to speak, her lips moving in a silent plea, but the words wouldn't come. There was too much hurt, too much finality carved onto her face. He uttered whatever healing charm came to mind, but to no avail. The rivers of red never stopped.

But her breathing did.

With a guttural snarl, a sound born of both human anguish and wolfish rage, Remus looked up and forcefully dispelled the ghastly Dark Mark hovering outside, shattering the green skull into nothingness. In the same breath, the sharp, distinct cracks of multiple Apparitions echoed from downstairs and outside, shortly followed by the sounds of urgent voices shouting orders.

He turned back to Lily, then instinctively knew James needed him more urgently downstairs. Lily was beyond his measure now. He scrambled back down, attempting basic healing charms on James, stemming the worst of the bleeding, knowing even as he did so how inadequate his efforts were. He had never possessed Lily’s prodigious skill with Charms, let alone the complexities of Healing magic. All he could hope to do was momentarily stave off the inevitable, the perpetual end: death.

Moments later, the ravaged house seemed to fill with the controlled urgency of Healers, their lime-green robes stark against the shadows and destruction. And then, Dumbledore himself was there, his expression guilt-ridden as he took in the scene.

31 October 1981 - St. Mungo’s

A silence bore down upon the room like a shroud after Remus finished speaking. Petunia realised that this was no mere nightmare to be woken from. Vernon's hand had found hers, calloused fingers intertwining as they clung to that solitary tether of normalcy amidst the maelstrom.

Peter's voice sliced through the stillness, raw with disbelief. "You're telling me You-Know-Who is just...gone?"

Remus raked a weary hand through his thin, prematurely greyed hair. Exhaustion carved deep canyons into his old-looking young face as he met Peter's intense gaze. "I wish I could offer certainty, Peter. But there was no sign of him, no body, amidst the ruin of that cottage. It's as if he simply… vanished into thin air."

"Vanished?" Peter practically spat the word. "That monster has slipped through every trap, survived every onslaught for over a decade! Are you implying that Lily and the boys consigned the Dark Lord himself to oblivion?"

The gentle clearing of a throat shattered the tension. Albus Dumbledore emerged through the doorway like a solemn spirit. As he calmly approached the Potters' bedsides whilst everyone watched, his scrutinising gaze roved over the sleeping forms of Harry and Benjamin, coming to rest upon the angry scar adorning the latter's brow.

"I indeed suspect these two precious souls may have played a pivotal role. The Killing Curse was unleashed upon them, and yet they remain unscathed..." One gnarled finger extended to trace the thunderbolt shaped wound on Benjamin’s forehead. "Save for this remarkable marking. The effects of rebounding such malicious magic are unknown, but I theorise this is the manifestation of that unholy paradox."

Healer Humphrey, who had been overseeing the monitoring charms on the infants, stepped forward, his eyes wide with alarm. "Headmaster, surely you cannot be suggesting casting diagnostic charms on mere infants? Especially untested, potentially volatile incantations designed to probe residual Dark Magic! The risks are enormous! This borders on the forbidden!"

Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes seemed to impale the Healer where he stood. "It is regrettably necessary, Healer Humphrey. You, perhaps more than many, should understand the occasional merit of bending rigid conventions in the pursuit of vital, potentially world-altering knowledge. If I recall correctly," Dumbledore's voice remained mild, yet carried an unmistakable edge, "Professor Flitwick caught you exploring – and contemplating acting upon – some highly questionable reading materials during your sixth year at Hogwarts. Something purchased down Knockturn Alley, was it not? Eugenics and the Muggle Population, I believe? Yes, a rather nasty little treatise that earned you several months of detention, if memory serves me correctly."

Humphrey cleared his throat and continued his work in silence.

When at last Dumbledore lowered his wand, his visage was etched in sorrow. A bone-deep sigh rattled from his chest. "My fears have been realised."

James, words emerging as little more than a ragged whisper, apparently had found the courage to ask. "What did you discern, Albus?"

"Young Benjamin and Harry..." He paused, and for a fleeting moment Petunia glimpsed an ancient grief upon his face. "They no longer possess any substantive innate magic. Mere traces remain. I can only theorise that in their instinctive act to rebuff the Killing Curse, fueled by Lily's sacrificial protection, they effectively...drained themselves of their abilities in perpetuum."

Remus looked stricken, and Peter was nearly shouting, "That means they’re... essentially squibs? That’s impossible!"

"The magical world is complex, and the charms I’ve used seldom err."

“Seldom,” Remus retorted with a hiss.

Peter scoffed loud enough to startle the infants. "What kind of life can they have now, in our world? Do you know any squibs who've ever been truly content, ever been truly embraced? And that is without taking into account the fact that squibs are heavily discriminated against. They’re practically third-rate citizens sweeping in the disease-ridden gutter!"

This, Petunia knew was the conundrum that plagued all in the room, only Peter dared say it aloud. Squibs were outcasts, the pariahs of all that was magical, sometimes considered lower than muggle, for at least the latter was not a desecration upon that which was magical: wizards and witches.

Who would take care of them? Remus was wholly occupied by past pains and future dread- all by the singular fact that was, and would always be a werewolf. Peter’s just-uttered words said enough to make him seem unfit. Dumbledore? No.

"They are still our boys,” James said, “regardless of the label 'squib' or not. We will love them no matter what."

“And who, exactly, will be up to the task to love them, raise them, mould them into proper men? The two of you are in no shape to do so.”

The pained contortions of James's ashen features spoke volumes before he voiced the unthinkable. Petunia recognized that look, that horrible moment of acceptance when all choices are unpalatable, but one must be made. She had seen it far too many times on her own face over the years when contemplating her own...circumstances.

"James..." Peter began, his tone normal anew, "These boys will be foreigners in our world, targets for the purists and Death Eater remnants no matter how the tides turn. Wouldn't they be...better off...removed from all that?" His gaze settled squarely upon Petunia and Vernon. "Raised in anonymity, beyond the disdain and sneers? Safe and divorced from magical matters?"

The room seemed to contract around them as every eye bored into James. Remus openly gaped while even Dumbledore appeared taken aback by Peter's brazen suggestion. But James's harrowed expression spoke of a deeper war within, a desperate father grappling with unfathomable decisions no parent should ever have to face. Relinquishing one’s authority over a child, yielding parenthood. Petunia's pulse thundered in her ears as the implications settled in the pit of her stomach like a lead weight. Her gaze flitted between the broken figures of Lily and James.

Watching James's torment escalate with every passing heartbeat, Petunia steeled her resolve. Letting go of Vernon's anchoring grip, she stepped forward to place herself directly in James's sightline.

“Lily is my sister. Harry and Benjamin are my family. Like the older sister that I am to Lily, I will be the mother to her children, for as long as I need to be. These boys deserve that chance… to find their own path whichever world fosters it." Her eyes glided between Lily's decimated form and James's devastated countenance, seeing only anguished parents faced with losing everything. "And they deserve to know the love of their family...by blood and by bond."

James, struggling with every breath, asked, "Petunia, Vernon, will you? Will you raise the boys as your own?"

She looked at Lily again, her skin ever burning and bubbling, inspiring her even more to do what needed to be done: raising her children as her own. It, Petunia knew, was the least she could do. "We will."

Peter interjected. "And don't fret about the legal formalities. Either Dumbledore or I can navigate those waters with ease."

"Then we need to amend the will – now," James gasped. “I won’t have those goblins and pen pushers interfere.”

Peter quickly penned the amendments under the watchful eyes of those in the room, while Remus and Dumbledore silently watched the Potter boys, deep in thought. Only once the harsh scratch of quill on parchment ceased did James find his voice again. "Remus...Peter..." His eyes shone with a feverish intensity. "You were brothers to me in all but blood. I need to know you'll be there for Harry, now that Sirius..." The unspoken betrayal lanced through them all like a physical wound. "Will you accept that responsibility? That promise?"

"Without question." Remus's affirmation was immutable, resolute. "We'll be a presence in their lives for as long as we draw breath."

For a fleeting moment, something akin to peace seemed to resettle James's features. But it proved naught but a cruel tease of false hope. With sickening suddenness, his condition plummeted into deteriorating free-fall. Petunia's stomach clenched as malevolent wounds erupted across James's wasting form. Viscous tendrils of blood seeped from the suppurating slashes, carving through flesh and musculature to lay bare the pallid architecture of bone. A deathly rictus contorted his face as fever's pernicious grip bore down upon him. The healers launched into frenzied action, barking counterspells and force-feeding vile looking potions down their patient's spasming gullet. Petunia watched, bile burning the back of her throat, as one final draught finally stilled James's convulsions. The very same foul admixture Lily had succumbed to moments before.

Dumbledore's commanding timbre sliced through the chaos. "Healer Humphrey, have you any insight into the nature of these afflictions? I cannot seem to discern their makeup."

"For James, a virulent combination of blood and laceration curses, impacting clotting factors and the cardiovascular system itself. As for Lily..." He nodded towards the prone witch, ravaged flesh still weeping ichor. "Some form of corrosive hex, searing her from the inside out."

"Then we must work swiftly to identify counter-agents." The headmaster's piercing stare bored into them all. "In the interim, arrangements must be made to settle the children with their new family." He turned towards Petunia and Vernon, mouth set in a straight line. "Are you truly prepared for this responsibility?"

Petunia swallowed hard against the lump constricting her throat. In truth, she felt anything but ready. Her clammy hands trembled with each shallow breath, chilled perspiration beading on her brow. A dull throbbing pounded behind her eyes as doubt's insidious tendrils clawed at her conviction.

But then her gaze fell upon Lily and James, the broken, mutilated shells of two vibrant lives cut disastrously short. And resting closest, the soundless, blissfully oblivious cherubs that had triggered this maelstrom. Innocent waifs torn from their family by the incomprehensible vagaries of chance.

Lily would have been there for her. Petunia knew that, and that was enough. Her sister would have moved mountains to keep her loved ones safe and loved. A fortiori, she did. She already did!

Suddenly, what should have been an impossible burden felt like the only conceivable choice. Squaring her shoulders, Petunia met Dumbledore's ageless stare without flinching.

"We're ready."

The words had scarcely left her lips before Remus gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment. "Then I'll ensure they reach your home safely and discreetly. Once situated, be ready, we'll need to move quickly, before complications arise."

Later, as the first pallid rays of dawn crept over the horizon, the Dursley car pulled away from the curb with its cargo of sleeping innocents. Remus sat flanked by the three bundles, studying their perfect little features with an intensity verging on desperation. As if committing every curve and crevice to immutable memory.

Eventually Petunia could bear the leaden silence no more. "This legal situation you mentioned earlier, Dumbledore and Peter can sort it, you're certain?" Her fingers twisted anxiously in her lap, knuckles blanching. "They'll be ours, completely?”

Remus met her pleading gaze in the rearview mirror, amber eyes swirling with too many conflicting emotions to parse. "I give you my word, Petunia, between Albus's influence and Peter's prosecutorial powers, every legal avenue will be pursued. Your family will be made whole and protected without question."

"And you'll still visit? Be a part of their lives, as James wished?"

“You have my solemn vow." Harry and Benjamin will know my presence, no matter what permutations the future may hold. I owe James and Lily that much, at the very least."

They had reached Privet Drive. Vernon juggled keys and diaper bags as he shepherded them inside the unremarkable family home. Petunia trailed behind, her posture that of a sleepwalker. Only once she had deposited Benjamin into the bassinet alongside Harry and Dudley did some semblance of tension bleed from her shoulders.