A letter sent a little late.

It had been two weeks since she’d learned she was pregnant again. The news had come quietly, almost shyly, but it had settled into her heart like a warm light. It was a surprise, yes, but not an unwelcome one. Things were stable now: Vernon’s job was secure, their home comfortable, their days predictable in the best of ways. Another child would complete the picture, she thought. And oh, how Vernon would dote on a daughter, he would love her to the moon and back, as he always said. Petunia smiled faintly at the thought. She hoped it would be a girl, soft and bright-eyed. Though, truth be told, a boy would be just as lovely, a rough-and-tumble playmate for little Dudley.

Only two more days until Halloween. That date always seemed to carry a strange weight, though she could never quite say why. It had been special for them. For her sister and that boy. She’d heard about their plans, their stories, the way they’d celebrate with laughter and friends. The memory tugged at something inside her, something old and bittersweet. Perhaps that was why she felt the urge to write now. To reach out before the holiday came and went. Yes, it was a good decision to send the letter today, it should reach them in time.

She folded the letter carefully, smoothing out the creases with trembling fingers before slipping it into an envelope. Then she paused. What was the address again? Something's Hollow... yes, that was it. Godric’s Hollow. Such a peculiar name. She wrote it neatly, her handwriting small and deliberate, then sat back, tapping the pen against her lip. How was she supposed to send it? Would ordinary post even find them? Surely it must. People lived there, didn’t they? Ordinary people? Still, a part of her wondered, did they expect something else? An owl, perhaps? She had heard things, half-whispered when they were children, about letters that flew through open windows, delivered by creatures with watchful golden eyes. She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Silly. Just silly.

Vernon would understand, she told herself. He was a good man, a devoted husband and a loving father. He might grumble, of course, but he’d never forbid her from reaching out. He didn’t like them, true, but that was largely her doing. It was her own bitterness that had cast the long shadow between them all those years ago. She hadn’t liked her sister’s world, the strangeness of it, the way it made her feel ordinary. But maybe... maybe it was time to mend that.

If they could be sisters again, perhaps Vernon would warm to her brother-in-law, a decent enough man, by all accounts. They could share a pint together, talk about normal things like football or car engines, and laugh about their sons. Yes, their sons. Dudley and Lily's boy, they were the same age, weren’t they? They could be friends.

The image of the two boys playing together in a sunny garden, laughter echoing through the air, brought a small, hopeful smile to her face. Perhaps, this time, things could be different.