Harry Potter stared at the moon. A waning crescent, the perfect witness for what was about to happen. He took a deep breath and focused his eyes on his surroundings.

He was standing up in the middle of a nine-pointed star, each point represented by his friends and his sister. Curious how life worked, there were exactly eighteen people that were going to receive his mark, the exact same number necessary for the ritual. Now, he only had to wait a few moments until the moon was in the right position.

The preparations for the ritual was nerve-wracking. If he made the slightest mistake, then he would harm his friends and that is something Harry would never be able to forgive himself. Fortunately, nothing went wrong during the most stressful part: carving the mark.

Harry chose a rarely visible place for his mark, the left side of the chest, right above the heart. He would never admit it, but he took two vials of calming draught in order to ease his nerves for the part he had hated the most from the whole process. He was proud to say his pulse didn't tremble once while carving the mark on his friends' chest, despite of the blood that freely poured out of the bleeding wound. During the process, his magic itched to heal the damage, almost circumventing his strict control. Compared to that, marking his chest was a piece of cake.

Now, they were on the last part of the process, the blood sacrifice. Even though it sounded quite morbid, it was the easiest part. His friends only had to finish the last detail of the mark by themselves. A sign of their willingness and loyalty.

The moonstones surrounding the group lightened up when the moon reached the desired position. It was time. Harry traced his finger on his mark, opening a new wound. He gritted his teeth when he felt liquid fire burning the wound and a strange sizzling hiss evaporated the blood. After a second of agony, the pain stopped as suddenly as it started.

Harry looked at his chest and saw a pitch-black mark. It was done.

The light of the moonstones increased and he felt his magic communicating with the ones surrounding him. It was an indescribable sensation. He could feel his friends' wild emotions and pure euphoria. Luna's giggles broke the silence and she hugged the closes person to her.

Harry allowed the laughter that was bubbling on his chest to escape and joined the high spirits around him. They were safe and that was the only thing that mattered.

25th of December 1994, Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey

Petunia Dursley stared at the almost naked living room with an inscrutable expression. How did her perfect life turn out like this? What did she ever do to deserve this?

She sighed and took a bite of her dinner. With a heavy heart, she looked at her husband.

Vernon was not doing well. He lost so much weight, which she would have appreciated years ago, but now, it was only a reminder of their misfortune. After he was freed, he was unable to find a job thanks to his criminal record and their savings were long gone. The only source of income was, ironically, Petunia's housekeeping and baking skills. She had to swallow her pride in order to make a little money just to keep paying the expenses. This was not how she imagined her life would be like when she got married.

She could clearly remember those uncertain times and her ambitious, if a bit frivolous goals. Petunia married at the tender age of twenty with a man who was fourteen years older than her but offered the stability and normalcy she desperately craved. Admittedly, she didn't love Vernon at first, which may or may have not been related to her husband's blatant unattractiveness. However, he was the man who remained at her side despite of the freaks that refused to leave her life and always offered her a shoulder to cry on when life overwhelmed her. And most importantly, he loved her as she was. Marrying Vernon Dursley was a decision Petunia would never regret.

However, she would eternally curse the day on which Harry Potter arrived to her life. Thanks to that freak, her life was going to hell!

"I wonder what Dudley is doing right now," Vernon said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. His dinner remained untouched in front of him.

"I am sure he is having fun," she murmured, trying to ignore the sharp pain in her chest at the memory of her only son.

"Who would have thought Dudders would leave the nest so young? ...He no longer needs us, Petunia."

Her husband's words hung in the air, creating a tense atmosphere. This was not something she wanted to talk about, ever.

Dudley matured so much, but he had yet to forgive them. Petunia ignored that little detail until it was no longer so insignificant, until the day Dudley decided to leave the house. She wasn't blind, she knew what her son was trying to do but she pretended not to notice until it was too late. How could she ever forget that day?

Her sweet Diddykins arrived home early, for a change, and gave them the paperwork they needed to sign for him to study abroad. A scholarship to Exeter was not something to scoff about and any other parent would be proud of their children achieving so much on their own. Petunia was not any other parent. She was a mother that knew she was losing her only child and didn't know how to fix it.

For a few days, she seriously considered the idea of simply not giving Dudley the authorization to leave, but Vernon stopped her. For the first time in months, her husband showed interest in somthing. Unfortunately, his newfound interest in their son's education went against her own needs as a mother, which led to one of the worst fights in their sixteen years of marriage. It was terrible, especially because Vernon put into words her worst fears. Fears she tried to ignore for years.

To put it in simple words, they would lose Dudley if they denied him this opportunity. He would resent them even more, and when he was of age, he would inevitably leave without turning back. She knew this, which is why she wanted to have her son close while she could. However, Vernon had a point. If they allowed Dudley to have time for himself, his anger would run out. At least that is what they hoped. She had no argument against her husband's logic and signed those bloody papers. Reluctantly, with tears streaming down her face, and with such a shaky handwriting the ones who reviewed them would think she either had Parkinson's disease or signed in the middle of an earthquake. But she signed them.

With a heavy heart, she realized Dudley spoke to her more in those three months before his departure than in the previous year. Vernon was right, their son just needed time alone. In the end, she decided it was for the best. Despite of not having her son during the Holidays, it was better if he was not present to see his parents' shame.

They could no longer tolerate their lives in Little Whinging, especially not her! Her blasted neighbours rejoiced on their misfortune, always gossiping about them and taking advantage of their situation. They gave her generous tips for the baked goods she sold, if a few pence can be called so, rejoicing on the humble facade Petunia needed to wear in order to earn her living. It was humiliating! It was something she could no longer live with so she wouldn't. Thankfully, Vernon supported her decision to leave.

Selling the house would give them enough money to start a small bakery in Acton. Thankfully, they managed to find a small two-bedroom flat, which fitted perfectly with her plans. Yes, it would be hard to start again, but they desperately needed to do so. Besides, they had each other and they would somehow make it work.

Unlike Vernon, she wasn't surprised when Marge stopped talking to them when their disgrace began. That awful woman always hated her, always calling her a gold digger behind her back and giving her that ever-present disapproving frown. Petunia was definitely not surprised by her sister-in-law's indifference and barely concealed contempt when Vernon tried to contact her. Marge would probably ignore them until they were stable once again and she felt lonely enough to pay them a visit and pretend she helped them all along. That harpy!

"We were wrong, don't you think?" Vernon asked out of the blue, interrupting her sour thoughts.

"What do you mean?" Petunia muttered in an almost robotic tone and winced when her husband's already tired visage withered under her blank stare.

"Harry Potter." That name was enough to rekindle her anger. What was Vernon trying to do my mentioning that freak? "What if we treated him as a family? Hear me out, Petunia. I know you and your sister had a big fight because of her husband, I know you are scared of magic and so am I. But what if we had treated the boy as your sister would have treated Dudley if something happened to us? We both know Marge would never raise a child, so it was either your sister or an orphanage."

"What makes you think she is better than me?!"

This was utterly unbelievable! Her own husband was comparing her to the oh-so-perfect-Lily!

"I never said she was better than you, Tuney," he sighed, rendering her speechless with that old nickname that she so fondly loved and gained much mockery from the neighbours. "I had time to think about this. Remember that day? When Dudley was a few months old, we went to that office party and I drank too much but didn't let you drive. We almost crashed that night. The Potters would have taken Dudley and raised him as their own."

"We don't know that," Petunia tried to argue, but the knot in her throat was not helping. Besides, her anger was brusquely extinguished by shock.

Since when Vernon had a high opinion of Lily's husband?

"Raising a child as he deserves is the right thing to do. It has nothing to do with affection, just with being normal."

With those words, Vernon left the table. His dinner was still untouched.