On the second floor of No. 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, the bright summer morning sunlight streamed into the storage room, making it a little warm.
The room was a mess, piled high with mountains of miscellaneous items. Neither Vernon Dursley nor Dudley Dursley could ever find what they were looking for in here, but Petunia was the master of this place—she could locate anything.
As for Harry Potter, who lived in the cupboard under the stairs, every time he stepped foot into this room, his aunt would scold him for an hour.
Petunia sat by the window, quietly flipping through a photo album, her face filled with nostalgia.
Suddenly, she closed the album and turned to look outside.
A dark-colored owl flew over the carefully tended lily garden and toward their front door, while a lighter-colored owl landed in front of No. 3 Privet Drive across the street.
Within a second, the album was hidden in a place where neither Vernon nor Dudley would ever find it. Petunia picked up a bag of gray-black dye powder and left the room, heading downstairs to the bright, spacious kitchen.
She poured the dye into a pot, added water, and brought it to a boil. While it was still hot, she poured it into a large iron basin in the sink, where one of Dudley's old clothes sat—once dyed, it would become Harry's new outfit.
While the dye simmered, Petunia prepared two caramel puddings, placed them on a plate, and was about to leave the house.
Vernon happened to be coming downstairs and asked casually, "Where are you going?"
"Mr. Smith just returned from his trip to France. I'm bringing them some caramel pudding," Petunia replied.
Vernon nodded. "We should properly thank Mr. Smith. If it weren't for his help, who knows when the folks at 10 Downing Street would've fixed the streetlight?"
Petunia carried the plate across Privet Drive to their neighbor's house and rang the doorbell.
It took a while before the door opened, revealing an 11-year-old blond boy.
"Good morning, Charles," Petunia greeted him with a smile. "Would you like some caramel pudding?"
Every time Charles heard someone call his name, he had the urge to touch his hair. He couldn't help it—his adoptive grandfather had a terrible knack for naming things. He had found Charles wrapped in an old newspaper and had simply taken the name printed on it.
Charles always suspected that his grandfather, Jack Smith, had made up his own name as well—after all, "Jack Smith" was one of the most common names in England. You could go to a shop for a soda and run into nine people with the same name.
To the residents of Little Whinging, old Jack, who had moved into No. 3 Privet Drive nine years ago, was a kind, upright, and traditional gentleman with a touch of humor. The grandson he had raised was polite, smart, and rather good-looking, making him quite popular in the neighborhood.
A few years ago, Jack suddenly decided to run for the Surrey County Council—and actually got elected. He had done a lot for the district since then, so neighbors would occasionally bring him homemade treats in appreciation.
The Dursleys, living across the street, visited the most, as they often asked Jack to watch over Harry.
Charles welcomed Petunia into the living room—only then did he realize that he had left something important out in the open. In his daze after receiving his Hogwarts acceptance letter, he had forgotten to put it away.
Petunia placed the plate with the caramel pudding on the table and curiously picked up the parchment letter. She read the emerald-green writing aloud:
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, First-Class Order of Merlin
Dear Mr. Smith,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of required books and equipment. A professor will visit your home shortly to provide further details.
Deputy Headmistress… Minerva McGonagall."
Charles forced a smile. "It's… a prop. Some friends invited me to act in a play."
But to his surprise, Petunia muttered as if in a dream, "Hogwarts… Dumbledore… Lily… So you're a wizard, just like Lily."
Charles fell silent. After a moment, he asked, "Mrs. Dursley, would you like a cup of tea?"
Petunia nodded. After sitting down on the couch, she hesitantly asked, "Can you… use magic to make tea?"
Charles awkwardly replied, "I haven't learned how yet."
He noticed that Petunia didn't seem to be repulsed by magic—quite different from the image he had of her treating Harry like some terrifying anomaly.
The tea was ready soon enough, but as they sat across from each other holding their cups, they found themselves staring in silence, unsure of what to say.
The living room was quiet, the only sound being the steady tick-tock of the clock on the wall.
Then, the doorbell rang.
Charles quickly got up to answer it.
As he opened the door, the first thing that met his eyes was a cascade of long, white beard.
"Good morning, Mr. Smith," Dumbledore greeted him with a gentle smile. "May I come in?"
Charles shook his head. "Sorry, my grandfather isn't home. I can't let strangers in."
Dumbledore's smile didn't falter. "But I'm not a stranger. I believe you've seen the Hogwarts acceptance letter—it has my name on it."
Charles put on an exaggerated expression of surprise before composing himself. "So you're the Dumbledore? The one with all those fancy titles?"
Dumbledore gave a small nod. "That would be me."
At that moment, a sly grin formed on Charles' lips. Without hesitation, he stepped aside and invited Dumbledore in. After all, Mrs. Dursley was still inside—he was rather curious to see what would happen when those two met.
And just as he had predicted, the moment their eyes met, they both froze.
Petunia's eyes instantly burned with fury. Charles had the distinct feeling that if he handed her a watermelon knife right now, she wouldn't hesitate to take a swing at the old man.
Dumbledore's expression flickered for the briefest moment before returning to calm.
Moving quickly, Charles poured some tea, fetched a watermelon from the fridge, sliced it up, and then promptly stepped aside—ready to enjoy the show.
Petunia gritted her teeth and spat out, "How did Lily die?"
At that moment, she no longer looked like an ordinary housewife—she was a lioness, burning with rage.
Charles was taken aback. He hadn't expected this side of her at all.
Dumbledore's voice was solemn. "I regret Lily's death deeply. She died protecting Harry. She was killed by Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord."
"Details." Petunia's glare bore into Dumbledore like a knife. "I want every detail. Why was Voldemort after Harry? Why didn't Lily go into hiding? If she was hiding, how did he find her? Was she betrayed? What were you doing at the time? What about James Potter? And Severus Snape—wasn't he Lily's friend? What did he do?"
Dumbledore found himself unable to meet Petunia's gaze. "Petunia… I'm sorry," he said heavily. "I can't tell you too much."
To Charles' mild disappointment, the explosion of rage he had anticipated—complete with Petunia grabbing the watermelon knife—never came.
Instead, she simply returned to her usual composed self, as if nothing had happened. She looked at Charles and said, "You have a guest, so I won't disturb you." Then, she turned and left.
On her way out, she happened to run into old Jack, just as he was coming home.
(End of Chapter)