It surprised Petunia that it surprised her.  Had you asked a week ago she would have sworn the whole abnormal mess that freak had thrown herself into would be the death of her.  She had said varying versions, all to the same tune.  Nothing good can come from such things.  Mark her words.  

  Mrs. Petunia Dursley, Surrey, Little Whining, Number 4 Privet Drive, Kitchen

Petunia stared at the short, tactfully written letter in her left hand. She was no longer in the kitchen.  She would think the freaks would have gotten that right. Her husband thundered dimly while their baby boy screamed in frustration, but all she heard was the artfully posed words of the first line of the first paragraph of the end of her sister.

It is my sad duty to inform you of the tragic event that has transpired at your sister and her husband’s home yesterday, the 31st of October.

No more adventurous tales of Lily’s escapades at her school of freaks. No more parcels headed Dearest Tuney. No more proud anecdotes about their Lily, the witch. No more terrible memories of soul-ripping fights.  No more hastily written announcements.  No more to the saga of Lily Evans.

The dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort breached our best safeguards and murdered your sister and her husband in the late evening.  

She was not crying.  What she felt was different than grief, more like the most shocking regret Petunia had felt since she had been a young girl.  That letter had been just as tactful, just as charmingly remorseful.  So sorry Ms Evans, you are unable to attend my magical school.  Dreadfully sorry Mrs. Dursley, but I’m afraid you’re sister’s pushing up daisies. A hysterical laugh bubbles up and she doesn’t even try to stop it.  A peel of wild laughter echoes in the house.  This would be so unlike Petunia in the best of circumstances that the sound now makes even the infant silent.  Stopping as quick as it came, she is silent for a long moment, staring at the wicker basket just visible on the bottom stair step.

Despite being put under the full force of one of the darkest killing curses of wizard-kind, her child lives.  She gave her life to save him.

Petunia had not looked in that basket.  She didn’t need to; she knew what she’d find.  The letter fell to the floor as she rose.  Still there was no noise.  Not even the orphaned child made a sound.  Vernon began roaring again about orphanages and foster care and how the bloody hell was it there fault the fools went and got themselves blown up while Petunia walked back to her impeccable kitchen.  She was not thinking of the first lines now.  The lasts burned themselves into her eyes from a room away.

I implore you, do not let her die in vain.  Take her child and raise him as your own.  Once you desperately wanted to be with her in this cruel world of ours.  Take what’s left of her into yours.

Vernon was thudding towards her, demanding to be told what institute she wanted him to take the brat to.  She wasn’t paying the slightest attention.

Take what’s left of her into yours.

A huge smile crept up her visage.  Yes she would take him. Take him from Lily’s world, and give him her’s.  What’s left of her to have the world Petunia had always made due with.  

“You’ll take him nowhere,” she rasped in ecstasy.  

“What the devil do you mean?” Vernon stuttered.  He was not used to his wife being forceful, and did not like it.

“We’ll keep him.  Here, with us. We’ll squash the freak out of him, make him a normal boy.”

“But!”

“It’s the least we can do.”

“Wonderful,” Vernon stalked off, up the stairs.  The thumps woke the brat.

“Yes,” petunia said once he was out of earshot.  “It’s wonderful.”

Never had she been happier then that day.  The end of the saga of Lily Evens, and the beginning of her’s.