It was a cold day in New York City, unseasonably cold for a September day. It was hell. And Petunia was not there to suffer through it.

Petunia, you see, had continued to vanish, shatter, and otherwise destroy everything she had owned that was within reach when she had a bad day. And despite knowing that there was a wizarding America bollocks if she could find it. For all Petunia’s complaints, she knew her situation was growing dire. Obscurials are dangerous not to themselves but to entire neighborhoods. And Petunia had grown to like her neighborhood. Thus, she and Dudley and Ursula boarded a plane for London. Because for all her faults, of which Petunia had many, she had grown to like the fat baby that had popped out of her. He laughed at every word she said, and ate everything she fed, and late into the evening, after Ursula was tucked into her own bed, Petunia would dance with Dudley to lull him back to sleep. She may drink too much, and care too little, but Petunia had found it in her to love Dud in her own way.

Perhaps she would never be the original —her morals too loose and her tongue too sharp, but maybe Petunia could still be a mother.

Aside from all of that, Petunia knew she had to do something. Anything, the pain of accidental magic was increasing. She needed a wand. And a book on magic. Or several books.

That was how, after leaving a Ursula and Dudley at an upscale hotel off Queens Avenue, she found herself at a horrible little pub that was settled between a cozy bookshop and a dingy music store.

Now or never, Petunia, she told herself.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

And so she went in, with her muggle clothes that hung a little too tight and her muggle shoes that were a little too tall, walking with a scowl on her face and her back rimrod straight. It was, after all, 1980. Lily and James, Petunia knew, had been in hiding for nearly a year —with another year yet to go. That meant the war was still on, the Years of Terror still in full swing.

Within the rear courtyard, she counted out three up and two across three times before pushing in a single brick to reveal the whole of Diagon Alley.

It was not as grand as she had imagined.

Several of the shops were boarded up and many of the wizards on the street refused to make eye contact. The tension was so thick in the air, Petunia was sure she could cut it with a knife.

She only needed three things. A wand. An ever expanding bag. A set of books. Only, she also had to go to Gringotts and exchange her muggle money for nuts and bolts or whatever wizards used.

So she did. She stared down unflinching at the goblins who tried to talk slow to her. She placed a large stack of bills down and received an equally large stick of galleons that she slid into her absolutely muggle bag. She said “thank you, I suppose,” and went out to the very first bag shop she found.

Twenty three galleons later, Petunia was feeling ripped off but still overall pleased with her purchase of a two toned rose colored bag. Tucking everything she held into it she caught sight of a wand shop —Jekyll’s Mystical Means— and figured it was better than Ollivanders in that it was different.

Eight galleons later, Petunia was the owner of a ten inch Aspen wand with a Slavic mermaid heartstring at its core. She felt Ursula had rubbed off on her too much when the salesman, presumably Jekyll, had announced that little tidbit of the core.

Fifty more galleons found twenty seven charm books in Petunia’s bag and meant her trip to Diagon Alley was a success.