Time passed quickly after that. At first, Harry and Dudley thought themselves twins. Then, they thought themselves brothers. Petunia never corrected them, she simply let them figure out what they would and went about her days.
She didn’t have it in her to wreck her boys dreams of a larger family, and so she coddled them both. Beautiful clothes, magical sweets, Lyla and Prim and Lloyd all forever fixtures.
1985 found the boys in kindergarten, toddling around with the mundane. They’d been taught not to speak of the things their aunts and uncles and mother could do. And they knew how serious it was to tell. So when they brought their friends over, Harry —sly boy that he was, kept the kids in the dark, and Dudley —rambunctious as he ever was, kept them entertained.
1986 found the boys with slimming cheeks and different heights. But love between them was strong as always. Dudley towered over the short boy he called brother, and Harry saw more than Dudley could fathom.
It was 1987, the boys were old enough to be asking questions about their fathers. And everything else. Why did they look so different? Why were their birthdays so close together? Why did Petunia get reclusive on Halloween, sending the boys out with Ursula? How were they related to Uncle Prim and Aunt Lyla? What was up with the way Uncle Lloyd acted around them?
Petunia drank more often that year, but she answered as best she could. They were still so young. They didn’t need to know. They should be saved the tragedy of the Evans family for a bit longer.
It was 1988 when Petunia’s connection in curse breaking came through with a solution to the little problem with Harry’s scar. And it was summer time when they went to Virgo’s Medical Center in Manhattan.
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Harry didn’t wake up for three weeks.
Petunia sat beside him the entire time, red-rimmed eyes and a cigarette in hand.
Dudley came and went, but he’d never forget the terror of seeing Harry asleep but unable to wake. He’d never forget the way he and Ursula spent those three weeks taking care of each other.
When Harry woke up in time for school that fall they held a party that was so filled with people, Petunia had rented a ballroom.
It was 1989 when Lloyd convinced Petunia to get certified by a wizarding school. The boys knew plenty of both worlds at this point, but there was no way to keep them away from the magic they loved so dearly.
So Petunia had learned of wards, and curses, and all the nasty things that hid in the dark.
And she became an American Witch, through and through. Certification and all.
At some point, Petunia’s accent disappeared. She sounded like her sons, with their posh upper west side Americanisms.
The anniversary of her escape to the states came and went.
1990 found the boys playing recreational quidditch matches with local wixen children. And flag football with the mundanes. They had piano and gymnastics and practical alchemy and anything they wanted.
Petunia only grew softer on the boys as time went.
They never asked why their birthdays were a month apart. They had decided they didn’t want to know.
They were busy preparing for their magical education. They were certain they’d be going to Hecate’s School for Distinguished Young Wixen in Salem. Their mother had all but confirmed it when she made a massive donation in their name. The school had erected an Evans wing and Petunia had joined the school board.
June 23rd, 1991 passed uneventfully. Well, except for all the shouting and jumping and laughing the boys did when Dudley’s invitation came for all ten American Wizarding schools —including the exclusive Hecate’s School for Distinguished Young Wixen.
July 31st, 1991 was not so simple. See, Harry had received eleven invitations.