Another summer has passed. The boy has left. Duddy has returned to Smeltings. You are alone wirh your walrus of a husband, Vernon.

As Petunia chopped her onions, she bestowed upon herself a gift of which many people don't even think twice about; she allowed herself to dream. Dream of what life could have been like for her, had things turned out differently.

These dreams were of disappearing toads, flying cauldrons and animated frogs. Of endless hallways and demented caretakers. Of house rivalry and friendships found.

Of red hair and green (or were they brown.. possibly blue?) eyes. 

Of a life so unlike her own that she craved even now.

As a girl, Petunia had been foolish and had written the old crone worshipped by the freaks. He had denied her. Petunia wasn't good enough for his little school of magic tricks and tomfoolery.

That was okay. Petunia was a bright girl. A responsible girl who hadn't leaped at the chance to get herself blown up.

She was often overshadowed by her brilliant younger sister but that was okay.

She did well in school but didn't see the use in going down the eduction route. 

That, too, was okay.

For she had met a wonderful man named Vernon.

A man who upon hearing of her family's freakishness and indiscretion did not cower, did not shy away, did not call her crazy but instead embraced her, loved her,understood her and obeyed her.

They had a wonderful son, proudly named Dudley. Dudley Dursley. A fine name, that. Strong, too, Marge had remarked one April visit. 

Until recently, that had been perfectly fine and well with Petunia. She did not care to have a life outside of her wifely and motherly duties, a life outside of her neigbours' misfortune or her hairdresser's gossip. She was simply content and rather lucky now that the freak had been gone for the better part of three years.

One would imagine locking one's nephew inside a cupboard and limitting his meals would take its toll on a person.. No, not on Petunia. No! She was a strong woman. A smart woman. An independent woman. She was out for herself and ONLY herself. Maybe Dudders too, but that was besides the point.

The point was, as she stared at the onions, tears leisurely strolling down her face, she thought of all she had done. All that would and very much should warrant tears and she felt none of the urge to cry but instead the urge to fulfill herself in a new way.

Somewhere, somehow, something had gone wrong and it had happened in the summer of '71 during one of the coldest months of Petunia's life. 

She knew what she had to do.

With great determination, Petunia scraped the onions into her steaming concoction and went about finishing dinner, all the while planning her great rendezvous internally.

A/N

Many thanks to @AturoKazika  

They inspired this new venture and for that, I am forever thankful.