Chapter Text
The early winter chill was persistent in the early hours of November 1st. The street was quiet in the suburbs of Surrey. Peaceful even.
One of the residents of Number 4 Privet Drive rose early to start the day. The woman was still in her nightgown, wrapped in a thin robe, in a futile attempt to keep out the cold. She opened the front door to collect the newspaper, only to find herself staring at a small basket. Said basket contained a somewhat thin blanket. It was moving. Breathing.
To avoid drawing suspicion from the other early risers, the woman bent down, picked up the newspaper and the basket, then quickly went back inside the house and closed the door behind her.
Inside the house, the woman set the newspaper on the dining table absentmindedly, her focus on the basket. She moved to the drawing room and sat on the sofa with the basket on her lap. She gently peeled the blanket and nearly screamed.
Wrapped in the blanket was a baby, shivering and cold. From how pale the infant was, the basket must have been left at the steps for hours. How many? The woman wasn't sure.
She hurried with the baby in her arms up to her own son’s nursery; the basket and a small note inside were forgotten. There, she got one of her son’s old onesies to change the child’s clothes. The boy was small, but definitely her own son’s age. Barely a year old.
As she worked to warm the child, she blinked back tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
Who could be so heartless as to leave a child at the doorstep of a stranger in the middle of the night?
As she pondered this question, her husband walked in, dressed and ready to go to work. He found her muttering to herself and rocking a child in her arms, while their son was sound asleep in his crib.
“Petunia?”
The woman, Petunia, looked to her husband and began her word vomit.
“I found this child at our doorstep in a basket. Vernon, how could someone do this? I wouldn't even dare to do such a thing to our Dudders,” she said frantically and began muttering to herself again.
Her husband, Vernon, stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her. “Do you know the kid’s name? I reckon it would help to find out who left the child,” he said gently.
“There was a note in the basket…” v said as she clumsily wiped the tears that had begun to fall.
With a slight nod, the man made his way downstairs, where he found the note and the basket.
Vernon read to note over and over, and as he did so, the rage began to build.