A/N: Petunia gets a late-night visitor. Ghost!AU.

Submission for:

Bellatrix Lestrange: The Dark Lord's Most Faithful: Challenge #113 - Ghosts

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Petunia opened her eyes in the dark, her breath hitching in her throat as a slight chill settled around her. He was here again.

She closed her eyes quickly, drawing the sheets closer, willing him to go away. It wasn't her fault. She had done what she could. How was she to know that would happen? How was she to know that Vernon had gone just a little too far that day?

But she knew in her heart that it truly was her fault. Stemming all the way back from her childhood, it was her fault for everything. She had shunned her sister and her powers, she had chosen to ignore the world she could never be a part of and she had stood back as everything happened around her.

The chill grew stronger as she felt his presence even closer. He was right in front of her now, air flowing in and out of intangible lungs.

She closed her eyes tighter. She didn't want to see him. Seeing him would make it real. Seeing him would mean admitting that she had failed.

She felt tiny hands on her bare shoulder and her eyes popped open as she came face to face with the little boy who visited her almost every night for the past two weeks. Sometimes he would cry, white silvery tears slipping down pale cheeks. Sometimes he would ask for something to eat. Some nights, like tonight, he would just stand and watch her. But they always ended with him saying-

"I'm so cold," he said, his little arms wrapped around his pale blue body. His bony shoulders shivered beneath Dudley's stretched white t-shirt and his bare feet kneaded the rug at her bedside.

Tears slipped out of her eyes. That had been the last thing he had said standing outside the window in the snow. It was his punishment, to stay outside overnight during the storm. Afterwards, Vernon had forgotten all about him but she hadn't. She could have let him back in, but she dared not go against her husband. Now, she wished that she had. The next morning, she had found him frozen solid, curled into a small ball on their front step.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed, unable to let the words out. Because what could she do? She had killed her nephew, her sister's child, and there was nothing more to be done.