It was unfortunate, then, that a tall young man with greasy black hair and a hooked nose caught Petunia’s arm as she approached the back of the Leaky Cauldron once again.

Spinning on her heel, she gripped the wrist that was clinging to her elbow and tugged, causing the man to stumble.

“Petunia Evans?” He said, shock and confusion filling his voice.

“Severus Snape,” She snarled, brushing his hand off her further and straightening her skirt, “Well, I’d say it’s a pleasure —but we both know it would be a lie.”

She took a step away from the man, Severus, and slowly inched her way towards the pub.

“Oh, no. That won’t do.” Severus found himself, lunging for her with his wand out —a spell dancing across his lips just as Petunia slid her leg out and tripped him before ducking through the entry to the pub and dashing out the other side straight into muggle London.

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I am not paid enough to deal with him, she harrumphed to herself as she melted in with all the commuters on the street.

It was a tense two hours before she returned to her hotel and informed Ursula they would be staying a single night and a single night only.

Unfortunately for Petunia, who remembers just enough to know but not enough to be in the know, the world around her was vast. All she wanted was to dart back across the pond. It was at the Heathrow Airport, Dudley and Ursula right behind her, that she realized she had no desire to return to London, or Cokeworth, or anywhere else in the isles.

Her home was America. And America is where she would stay —far from Dark Lords and Death Eaters and soon to be dead sisters. Her home was New York with a baby she kind of liked and a nanny who preferred money over personal connection. It was a 50th floor apartment and brunch in the Upper East Side. Petunia would never choose to become a savior.