Little Dudley’s birthday came and went, and it was a smashing success.

Petunia’s friends all brought their own little scions of rich men —and nannies to accompany them. And they drank and chatted and watched the babies bounce and play and generally act like babies. There were presents for Petunia, because what would these women get a child? And praise for Petunia, because who else would they praise? And they laughed and finished the day with plans to meet for brunch the very next day.

Petunia would send out Ursa and Dud daily to play with some child or another, while she practiced magic. She got better at it, and learned both more helpful and more obscure charms. By October 30th, 1981, she could say she felt rather adept —were she a third year at Hogwarts. Alas, she was an adult who found magic later in life.

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The day was not a lively one, Dud was being fussy and an owl hadn’t come to the high rise in weeks, and Ursa was being difficult whenever Petunia asked after her own son. Petunia didn’t even think about Lily Potter that day, so consumed with her own life.

But on the 31st of October, Petunia Evans thought about her sister. She allowed a single question to percolate in her head: what, realistically, could she do?

The answer was nothing. She couldn’t defeat a Dark Lord or hunt down Death Eaters, she didn’t even own her own owl —nor know where in New York to get one.

And so, Lily Potter died on October 31st, 1981.