You married, had children, paid your dues to the community, and patiently awaited for grandchildren to dote on and spoil. That was the natural order of things, to Petunia Dursley. She watched as her friends proudly boasted about their grandchildren and oh, Jack has just turned two, he’s adorable, I have a picture of him right here this or I went to my grandson's school play last Friday and Petunia responded with appropriate enthusiasm, though she privately thought these children were a bit dull. Now, any child of Dudley’s would be delightful.

Nobody was happier than Petunia when her patience was rewarded. Of course, there was still some bitterness dampening her joy - why her Dudders had chosen such an awful girl to marry, when there were so many other suitable women, she would never know. Still, she was going to be a grandmother! A shame that Vernon wasn't here to experience this with her.

And at last the moment came, and Petunia was holding a baby girl in her arms, except, there was none of the joy and delight she had expected.

It was the green eyes. Those disconcerting (familiar) green eyes. Had they been any other colour, Petunia might not have been unsettled, and the first seeds of unease wouldn't have crept in. Petunia ignores the twinge of relief when the baby starts fussing, promptly handing her back to her mother.

Lizzie Dursley is a ball of manic energy and red curls who couldn't be bothered to sit still. (Much like another little girl she knew.) Petunia tries to reason with herself; there weren't that many similarities. Her nose was flatter, her hair was wasn't the same shade of red. That doesn't stop her from feeling uneasy.

Petunia finds that she doesn't mind becoming the secondary grandparent to Kate’s parents. She doesn't argue when the family dinners become fewer, nor does she demand to spend more time with her granddaughter.

And then, one day, Lizzie stays at Privet Drive for a week while her parents go on vacation. Of course, this is because Kate's parents aren't available themselves. She feels a fresh wave of irritation for her in laws.

Petunia tries to grin and bear, she really does. But the skip in the girl's step while walking, the same dazed look when she was lost in thought, the humming. It was driving Petunia nuts, the familiarity of it.

"Stop that at once, Lily!" Petunia snaps at the girl, who had been singing hopelessly off tune under her breath. A pair of bright green eyes stare at her.

"... My name is Lizzie, Grandma."

"That's what I said, sweetheart," Petunia says, quicky. "You must have misheard me."

The girl excuses herself to do whatever seven year old girls were up to.

Odd things happen in the next few days. Her roses wilt away, all of a sudden, when they had been in perfect health a day back. She swears the cupboard under the stairs was bolted ages back. Petunia finds its door open now. Her dreams are haunted with the cries of a baby. Desperate cries that won't stop. They felt oddly familiar.

The downpour is completely out of the blue in the middle of summer. Petunia can't sleep, not with the storm raging outside. Perhaps a glass of warm milk would help.

They were out of milk. She makes a grocery list for tomorrow, before heading back, resigned for a sleepless night.

The cupboard door is open. It wasn't her, it wasn't the wind, and Lizzie -

The girl stands at the top of the stairs, watching her.

"Lizzie! What are you doing up so late?"

No response.

"Is anything the matter, love?" Petunia asks again. The hair at the back of her neck stand up as the girl stays eerily still.

A minute. Petunia stands frozen, not daring to move.

And then Lizzie giggles abruptly. "Tuney, look at this. Watch what I can do!" before leaping off the stairway and floating to the bottom -

("Lily, don't do it!" shrieked the elder of the two girls.

But the girl had let go of the swing at the very height of its arc and flown into the air, quite literally flown, launched herself skyward with a great shout of laughter.)

There is a wide smile on Lizzie's face as she advances closer and closer.

"Won't you play with me, Tuney?" Lizzie says, but the voice is not Lizzie's -

Petunia feels her legs move of their own accord. She breaks into a run. Behind her, the pitter patter of small feet.

"Are you going to hide, Tuney?" the sing-song voice calls out. Petunia crowds herself against the sink, trying to get as far away from the figure as possible.

There is an exaggerated frown on her lips, though her eyes are twinkling. "Why won't you play with me, Tuney?"

"Get away from me," Petunia gasps.

"Tun-ey," the girl smiles again, as if Petunia was being difficult. "I know what you've done."

"Get away from me, you freak!"

("Freak!" she spat at her sister, and she flounced off to where her parents stood on the platform.)

A flash of lightning. The playful expression vanishes.

The air is filled with shrieks. So loud, so anguished. Petunia closes her ears with trembling hands.

When the girl opens her mouth, this time, the voice is not of a seven year old. It's nothing like she's ever heard before. It's nothing that should ever come out of a child's mouth.

"Petunia, I know what you've done," the voices says. She can hear them, a culmination of a thousand voices. Speaking from nowhere and everywhere at once. The tea cups and saucers topple down from the cupboard, shattering in a million pieces.

"Please," she whispers. "Please,"

"For years, you abused my son. You starved him, neglected him, hurt him and I could do nothing but watch as he cried," the voices continue.

"Please, I'm sorry, I'm so - " Petunia babbles, incoherently. The drawer next to her bursts open and the knives clatter to the ground.

"Sorry? I trusted you. I thought my son was in good hands. But you denied him even a scrap of love or affection, you locked in him a cupboard, and you say you're sorry?" The voices scream in union.

Another flash of lightning. For a second, she sees a tall young woman instead of Lizzie's small frame standing in front of her.

"Help me," Petunia sobs, hoping something, someone, hears her.

The awful voices stop.

"Help me, Aunt Petunia," a small, meek voice pleads. Lizzie's eyes are wide and scared, no longer rageful. "I'll be good. I promise! Just please let me out,"

The lights flash on and off. Petunia can hear the baby's cries again, and now she realises why they sounded familiar. Those desperate cries, wanting for comfort she never provided.

"You will never be free of me, Tuney."

A frying pan hits her head, and she sees black.

-

"Mum? Mum!"

Petunia startles awake. She is somehow in her bedroom, blankets piled around her.

"Are you alright, Mum?" Dudley asks, concerned. Petunia rubs her the back of her head, absentmindedly feeling for a lump. The memories flood in.

"Dudley, Lizzie - she's - yesterday night I - Lily - " Petunia gasps for breath, panic setting in.

"Mum, Lizzie's in bed. Nobody answered the bell. I thought since you're always up early - but it's okay, we used the spare key," Dudley says, gently. "Don't sit up, Mum, you look ill."

Kate pops in with a cup of tea. It's the same cup that shattered yesterday.

"Breakfast will be ready in a bit, I'm just going to go grab some groceries," Kate says. Petunia's hands are shaking.

They depart the next day. Any traces of that night's events are gone. The tea set is as good as new. The knives are neatly arranged in the drawer. The cupboard door is bolted.

Lizzie shows no signs of oddness. Her voice is completely normal and she is extra cheerful to leave Privet Drive, as she always is.

It takes another week for Petunia to conclude that it had been a nightmare. Yes, it had been that and nothing more.

Petunia sets the bottle of lotion back on the vanity. She catches a glimpse of her reflection.

A young woman with long red hair and green eyes smiles at her.

.