Petunia Dursley stood in what had been her living room for the past twenty years. As she glanced around the room, twenty years of memories flooded through her, as she struggled with herself to show no emotion.
'It's small, mind you, but it would be a lovely starter home for you," gushed the young real estate agent as she proceeded to show the young couple around the newly built home.
Petunia gazed at her husband - husband! The word still felt strange to her, she hadn't quite gotten used to the fact that she was married! - as she tried to get his opinion.
"Hmm," he grunted. "It is small, but I think it will be a fine investment."
Harry Potter walked down the stairs at that moment and caught site of his aunt staring at the walls, and he could tell that she had something on her mind.
"I have lived in this house for twenty years. And now, in a single night, I'm expected to leave."
He could swear, that just for a moment, there was a bit of emotion seeping through her words, but just as it appeared, it was gone in a flash. Wanting, for the first time in his life, to at least try to make her feel better, he said, "They'll torture you. If they think for a moment that you know where I'm going, they'll stop at nothing."
Whereas there was definitely no love lost between Harry and his aunt, at the same time, there was no way that he wanted to see happen to them what he had seen torture do to the Longbottoms. Maybe the Dursley's hadn't been the best family, but it was because of them that he had stayed safe all of these years, it was certainly something he couldn't quite forget.
Slowly, she turned her head around to look at him. "Do you think I don't know what they're capable of? You didn't just lose a mother in Godric's Hollow that night, you know. I lost a sister."
Petunia opened the door that morning to pick up the milk off the front step. But what she saw made her scream with fright. There, lying on the front step was a small basket, thought that wasn't what made her scream. It was the baby that was lying the basket, holding a note. She recognized that handwriting on the envelope, how could she not?
She would never know what feeling it was the most, the fact that she was now responsible for her sister's son, or the fact that her sister, who had been her best friend for so many years, was dead. She was dead and Petunia had never made amends with her.
She glanced at Harry, standing there in the doorway, watching her. She opened her mouth as if to say more, but then closed it again. There were so many words that she wanted to say, but how was she to begin? She'd had almost sixteen years to tell him everything and now, where could she even begin. She turned to walk away, but as she passed him, she said once again, "Just remember. You didn't just lose your mother. I lost my sister."