Lisa and Lloyd were estranged, and Petunia knew it. So, it was a bit of a shock when one Lisa Farnworth called Petunia into the very top of the Woolworth building in Tribeca.

“I’ll do it, you know,” she said, as if they were talking about borrowing a knut and not shutting down immigration for two weeks.

“Why?” Petunia asked, anxiety welling up inside of her.

What could she want?

“Because I know about your boy —the Boy Who Lived they’re calling him.” She glowered as she spoke. “And I don’t rather like the way they’re talking about him. A child.”

Petunia could have cried. Instead, she straightened her back.

“My boy is remarkable for many things, that dreadful scar is the least interesting thing about him. It’s practically gone now —I bet there wouldn’t be a soul who could spot him without it, either. Him and my other son are both going to go to Hecate’s.”

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Lisa smiled, a fierce thing.

“Make sure they meet up with my two, they’ll be attending as first years.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Oh, hmm, there is one thing,” Petunia said, a realization striking her.

“Yes, what is it?”

“I believe they’ve jailed the wrong man in Azkaban. Do you know how I might push for an appeal?”

Sirius Black had slipped her mind, actually. His story not one of the forefront when it came to escaping wizarding Britain. But she supposed it would be good for Harry to know a man other than Lloyd or Prim or Jason. Good for Dud, too, if this Sirius Black is upright.

“In Azkaban? Who is he?” Lisa narrowed her eyes. Doing so made her look even less like Lloyd.

“Why, the Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black,” Petunia said mockingly, “Sirius Black. I don’t believe he had a trial, and he’s Harry’s Godfather.”

“Hmm, well, I’ll see what can be done. Perhaps they’ll allow a mere exile to the States.”