It was a cool and windy autumn evening as Petunia Dursley stepped out of her London flat clad in a dark wool coat and clutching her purse's strap. She had forgotten to buy eggs, matches and filet mignon for her precious Dudley and his family who were to visit tonight for their usual Thursday family dinners. As she walked swiftly, eyes gazing sharply forward like those of a hawk she swerved from the other passersby on her way to the grocery shop. Suddenly though, the wind felt stronger and even colder, almost slapping her face. She felt a strong tug at her heartstrings and for an entire second (far too long) she felt as though there was no oxygen in this world. She stopped, gasping for air. It didn't take long for her vision to become blurry and for her to suddenly not see anything at all. In the background, she could hear gasps, cars honking and desperate cries and murmurs.

…

When she opened her eyes she was in the emergency room. The strong smell of bleach and disinfectant insulting her senses. She frantically called for a nurse or doctor, someone, anyone. She felt that something was entirely wrong.

…

"Please telephone my Dudders..." She would murmur in between tears and sobs. She hadn't called him Dudders since he left for university, or no, maybe it had been on the day she finally said her goodbyes to Vernon. Petunia couldn't for the life of her recall. Either way she needed him here, to talk sense into the doctors that she hadn't had a nervous breakdown, that they were about to sit down for dinner, that he was still here. And Abigail his wife and her beloved little Daisy too. The nurse came, eyes with dark circles below them, pale blond hair. Everything about her screamed tired and miserable, she huffed and gave Petunia a trio of pills to swallow, a plastic cup of distasteful water, Petunia spit it all out. She squirmed and screamed and called out for her Dudley. Unfortunately for her, he never came.

…

Late in the morning, she awoke from fitful sleep and she was sure more tired than she had been before it. A different nurse came in, plump and rosy-cheeked, a friendly smile crowned by light freckles.

"Good morning, Mrs. Dursley. Sleep well?" She asked, checking the clipboard.

"No! No, I did not, thank you very much." Petunia was dismissive and irritated and wanted desperately to go home.

"Mrs. Dursley, a one Mr. Temple is here and wishes to see you. Is he a relative?" Petunia's eyes widened. Why on earth would John be here? And then she remembered yesterday's horrible sensation. She'd made a fool of herself in front of everyone in the middle of the street. In public. Petunia was mortified... and above that, she was not enjoying the strange chain of events one bit.

"Let him in." She finally responded dryly, as another nurse popped in carrying the breakfast tray. Petunia's scrambled eggs were a lot better, she could tell by the smell. And the biscuits and oatmeal too.

Mr. John Temple followed the nurse into the room, eyes glued to the floor which was very unlike him. Mr. John Temple was the most annoyingly happy person Petunia had ever the displeasure of knowing. Perhaps, and she would never, ever admit this, because she was the most annoyingly unhappy person she had ever known. He stopped at the side of her bed and finally raised his brown eyes to look at her, matted brown hair and blue eyes as sharp as ever and of course that frown.

Despite her often prickly demeanor, Petunia wasn't at all unattractive. Her now seven years of being a widow had done wonders to her complexion as she spent quite a lot of time outside, out and about in this city that was familiar but also all too new to her. Petunia's skin now had a permanent hint of golden glow and she wore red lipstick most days and even jean trousers that fit her nicely. Not bad for fifty-nine!

"Dearest Petunia..." Mr. Temple started, suddenly very much fascinated by the hem of his sweater. He was always so full of words to say and Shakespeare and William Blake quotes and films that he'd seen and untamed horses he'd ridden on. It disturbed Petunia just how now there were awfully too little words.

"Please, just tell me already." She finally whispered, impatient and resigned because she feared for the worst and the worst was what she was expecting. She honestly wished he would just get it out with and leave her sight.

"Our Abigail and our Dudley, have regretfully departed us." He murmured all at once, words jumbling together, choking out a sob, tears bursting out of his eyes. He grabbed Petunia's hand and squeezed it, more for his reassurance than hers. She let him even though it made her uncomfortable, no one had held her hand, no one since Vernon. But now... She blinked, trying to process, rationalize his words. Petunia blinked several times before she felt an imaginary dagger to her chest and her pulse quicken madly. Petunia too choked, but headstrong as she was, she held her own, refusing to make a fool of herself and cry in front of John Temple or anyone else.

"What do you mean by they departed us?" She managed to say moments later, voice trembling and hands trembling, heart pounding in her chest almost deafening her.

"Our children are no longer, Petunia. They died." He told her, wiping away the tears, breathing coming back to normal. John, always so talkative, pure happiness and rosy cheeks was now only sadness before Petunia. It unsettled her just how different he now presented himself and just how much he didn't care if he looked like a teary fool in front of everyone. That thought only lasted a second as Petunia registered his much clearer words this time, the single thing that as a mother she had always, deep down dreaded to hear.

"D-dead?" She asked in a low, disbelieving voice, though in her heart she knew it was true. John nodded vigorously, more tears sliding down his cheeks. He squeezed her hand once more and exhaled heavily, attempting to control himself. "And Daisy?" Petunia asked of her granddaughter, just two years old.

"Doing fine. At my house, with a nanny, the poor little thing."

…

The day after the funeral, Daisy moved into Petunia's flat. The grieving grandmother set up her cot, little books and little toys in the small crafting room, her clothing all in the large wooden dresser. Daisy was a sweet little thing, barely cried, always smiling, ate very well, slept through the night, bless her soul. Petunia loved her more than anything, but still, each time she gazed upon her only grandchild, a piece of her heart would break. Not just because the child was the living memory of her only and treasured son who Petunia lost forever, but because each time she looked at Daisy a pair of big Emerald-colored eyes would gaze back at her, and all Petunia could see were the beautiful eyes of her late sister, because even in that the late Lily had beaten her to. Petunia hadn't inherited this gorgeous green orbs, only a common shade of brown. Lily had completely robbed and won her even in the color of her granddaughter's eyes.

...

As Petunia Dursley went about her daily chores around her small but cosy Notting Hill flat, caring for Daisy as best as she could and never forgetting to water her potted plants by the kitchen window, one thing reverberated in the forefront of her mind: once again there was an Emerald-eyed baby, an orphan, a little someone for Petunia to rear and nurture in her life. Yet, there was another thing that haunted and managed to unsettle Petunia even more than the loss of her precious son, which admittedly shocked her at first, it was the fact that this was it, that this was Petunia's last chance, her redemption, the only thing that could perhaps ease the guilt in her heart, towards her deceased sister Lily and towards Harry, Lily's son. It was always those emerald eyes to haunt her, the emerald eyes were her karma.

AN: This story isn't 100% compliant with the canon (epilogue). Harry married Ginny not long after the war was over and they have sons James and Albus, but divorced when they were little, which means Lily Luna doesn't exist here. In this story, James is 8 years old and Albus is 5 years old, while Teddy Lupin is a 12-year-old Gryffindor in his 2nd year at Hogwarts. Teddy still lives with his grandmother but at heart is Harry's eldest son and Harry is Teddy's closest father figure. I also thought it pertinent for readers to know that Harry and Hermione's friendship will at some point evolve into something more.