A/N: This is written for the "That's Our Song! Competition" on HPFC, for the song "Glass Skin" by Dir en Grey.

Petunia clutched the letter in her hand. The words, so familiar to her by now, still burned before her eyes. It still seemed unreal, but she knew with a certainty that the words spoke the truth. Her sister was dead, murdered by some maniac, who, if she understood correctly, wanted to take over power of the other world and get rid of everyone of non-magical heritage. She knew that because upstairs, a little boy with black hair but with her sister's eyes was lying in a makeshift crib. If there was one thing Petunia was certain off, it was that Lily would never - never ever - leave her child alone; she had always talked about how she wanted to have children when she grew up. So there was only one explanation: she really was was something peculiar about the boy as well. The letter said that he had defeated this powerhungry Lord, but she did not understand how this could be. He was only an infant. Would he turn out to be a freak like her sister and husband were - had been? There was not one fibre in her being that doubted that.

Petunia briefly wondered if he knew of their deaths, and images of him surfaced in her mind's eye. Images of a time before she knew better, before she knew he was part of the other world. She scolded herself. Undoubtedly, he had received a letter similar to the one she had received - minus the part about Harry, ofcourse. Had he fought alongside them? Had his face been the last thing her sister had seen before she was murdered? A of jealousy flashed through her and she immediately felt guilty about it. If he had been there, Lily would most definitely not have thought of him. Anyway, the letter didn't speak of any other persons involved, and she had a feeling that this Dumbledore person - whom Lily had always spoken highly off - would have mentioned it if there had big a big battle of sorts. No, the letter implied that they had been home alone when their killer arrived. And now she was stuck with their brat.

For a moment, she thought about how different the situation would be if the boy had been killed instead of her sister. But wishing wouldn't make her come back. Death was irrevocable, although that Dumbledore person seemed to think that the one who had murdered her sister and her husband, hadn't died, but had just fled, awaiting a second chance. She didn't understand the magic involved in protecting the boy, but only knew that they needed to take him in, feed him and cloth him so that he could live. The thought of a murderer walking around free, ready to come to their house to finish his job, unnerved her greatly. She tried not to show that to Vernon. He didn't understand the implications but was highly displeased with the newest addition to their family. He hadn't wanted to bring the child in, but Petunia had stood her ground this time. Once she had seen her sister's eyes looking at her, there was no way she could not take the boy in.

-o0o-

It was the second time in a week that Petunia received a letter from the other world and just like the first letter, it shocked her to her core. It wasn't as long as the first one, and not quite as detailed, but she didn't need many words to understand it's meaning. He had betrayed their trust, had sold them out to the monster that was apparently his master. He had laughed about it without remorse and then had proceeded to kill thirteen other people, mostly non-magical. Unconsciously, she touched the mole on her neck, which he had always found so endearing. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe she had been going out with a murderer. But he wasn't a murderer when you met him, an annoying voice inside her head said.

She tried to silence the little voice, but it did not easily give up. If he hadn't been one of them, would you have stayed with him?

No of course not!

The voice inside her head smirked. Sure.

Petunia blushed.

Even though it had been nearly three years now, she could still picture his face in detail; the way a dimple appeared in his cheeks when he laughed, the way he had caressed her, had been the first to show her the pleasures of the flesh... She blushed even deeper, even though no one was around to see her. She resolutely shook her head. She shouldn't be thinking about him, and certainly not like that. He was a murderer, and she was married now, to another man. She had picked Vernon because he was as far from any funny stuff as she could get. He was an honest, hard working and most importantly non-magical man, whose strangest character trait was that he didn't like the colour aquamarine. Yet she couldn't prevent the images from tumbling around in her head. She knew that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't forget him, and a part of her - the old Petunia - didn't want to forget the memories she had of him. They had had good times...

She didn't know how long she'd sat on the edge of the bed, lost in a daydream about times past. She was brutely woken from her reverie when the front door closed with a bang.

"Petunia dear, I'm home!

She glanced once more at the letter in her hand. Then she made a decision. She tore the letter up in little pieces and put them in the bin. She had a husband. It was about time that she started giving him some attention and stop dreaming about what could have beens. Sirius was a miscreant, a scoundrel, a hoodlum and ofcourse a murderer. She needed to forget him.

"I'm coming down, Vernon!"

The bell of reality rings out loudly from down deep within
And disappears with all the wind.