Viviane unclasped her satchel and set it on the coffee table. The parchment came out first, heavy and cream-colored with rough, slightly uneven edges that felt like dried skin under her fingertips.
She smoothed it flat with her palm, feeling the friction of the paper, before she laid the remaining items beside it in a neat line. There was a glass inkpot filled with liquid so dark it was almost black, a silver dip pen that caught the dim afternoon light, a shallow porcelain dish, and a needle no longer than a fingernail.
Petunia watched every movement. Her hands remained tightly wrapped around her teacup, her knuckles white against the floral pattern of the china. The tea inside had long since gone cold, but she clung to the cup as if it were an anchor.
"You only need to prick your finger," Viviane said. Her voice was calm and professional. "A few drops will suffice. Mix zem with ze ink, and zen you write."
She looked up, meeting Petunia's guarded gaze. "If you disagree with anyt'ing you are writing, cross it out. We will cancel ze clause immediately. If you are not ready, we will not push."
Petunia's eyes moved from the needle to the parchment and finally back to Viviane's face. "What kind of contract is this?"
Viviane picked up the pen and held it flat across her palms. "The first part confirms your blood relationship to Lily and establishes that you are a squib." She set the pen down. "The second part states that you wish to be formally recognised as an Evans once more."
Petunia said nothing, her expression unreadable, though the faint twitch of her jaw betrayed the storm underneath.
"That is necessary for the stipend, for the official family records, and for the magic that binds our family together." Viviane's hands settled in her lap, her posture poised. "It also means you have duties and responsibilities. The main family will provide resources, protection, and shelter, but you will be an Evans formally, not just by blood."
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked in the heavy silence. A car passed outside, the engine a low hum that faded into the distance and left the room feeling even more isolated.
"Fine," Petunia said at last. "I agree."
Viviane handed her the needle. The metal was cold and sharp.
Petunia took it without looking up. She pressed the sharp tip against her index finger, the skin resisting for a second before the needle broke through. A bead of blood welled up, dark red and glistening against her skin. Three drops fell into the porcelain dish, blooming like flowers in the white basin, before she set the needle down with a small clink.
Viviane poured the ink over the blood. The liquid swirled and shifted, the deep black consuming the red, becoming darker and thicker as they merged into a single, shimmering substance.
"Dip the pen," Viviane instructed.
Petunia obeyed, her hand trembling slightly as she held the nib just above the surface of the parchment.
"Now write this. I will say it slowly." Viviane leaned in slightly, her presence grounding. "I swear by the magic in my blood. I, Petunia Evans, have a sister named Lily Evans. We are blood sisters."
Petunia began to write. Her handwriting was neat and deliberate, the letters pressed hard into the heavy parchment. As the ink dried, the words began to glow with a soft gold light that pulsed once, like a heartbeat, before fading back into the page.
"Now: I, Petunia Evans, am meeting with a member of the main branch, Jane Evans, under the witness of Jack Keith, Elara Valcourt, Nimue Keith, and notary Viviane Beaumont."
Petunia wrote the names. The letters glowed once more, the gold light reflecting in the depths of the inkpot.
"I am now aware that I belong to the British Evans branch. I confirm my ancestry and my roots."
Another soft glow followed the ink, warmer this time.
"I wish to be formally recognised as an Evans. My blood and magic confirm that I am an Evans."
The parchment pulsed again, the light lingering a second longer.
"No one is forcing me to write this. I'm aware that I will have duties and responsibilities as an Evans. The main family will shelter and nurture me."
The light was becoming more frequent now, the rhythm of the pulses speeding up as if the magic were waking up.
"I'm an Evans. I have always been an Evans. So mote it be."
As the last line dried, the parchment glowed brighter than before. The light spread outward, deepening from pale gold to a rich, molten amber. Vines appeared across the surface, pale green and thin as thread, curling around the words and the seal forming at the bottom of the page. They held for a long moment, appearing almost like living embroidery, before vanishing entirely into the fibers of the paper.
Petunia pressed her hand against her chest, her breathing shallow and ragged. Morwenna watched the older woman closely. Petunia's shoulders had dropped, the rigid, defensive straightness finally leaving her frame as if a weight had been lifted.
Jane was grinning, her eyes bright with triumph. "Ze contract is done. Ze magic 'as acknowledged it."
Petunia continued to stare at the parchment as if she couldn't quite believe what she had done. "When the vines appeared," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "I felt something warm. For a moment… I didn't feel alone." She swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "So this is family."
Viviane picked up the parchment and stamped it with a small silver seal in the shape of a butterfly with its wings spread. The lines were so fine they were nearly invisible to the naked eye. She examined the edges carefully before setting it back down.
"I will hold ze original, but I will make copies for everyone. You and Jane will each receive one, while the original stays in the Beaumont vault." She looked at Petunia with a new level of focus, her gaze analytical.
"Your bloodline registers at seventy percent," Viviane said, studying the parchment. "That is remarkably high for a branch that has not produced active magic in generations."
Petunia looked up from the parchment, frowning in confusion. "Seventy percent of what?"
"Of the Evans magical signature. The blood remembers, Petunia, even when the magic sleeps."
Jane picked up the porcelain dish where the ink had dried into a dark, brittle crust. "Cousin. You have magic in your blood even if it is dormant. That means you must be careful with your hair, your nails, and your blood. Anyone with magic can use them against you to track you or cause you harm."
Petunia looked at the dish, her eyes widening as the reality of her new world began to settle in.
"The wards on this house protect you, and they will hold until Harry turns eleven, but you must still be careful."
Jane drew her wand with a fluid motion. With a quick flick, the contents of the dish burst into a bright flame, blue at the edges and hot enough to make the air shimmer, before vanishing entirely. The porcelain was left perfectly clean, as if nothing had ever touched it.
Petunia stared at the empty dish. "You aren't supposed to do that. Lily said it was against the law to do magic in front of me."
Jack shook his head, his voice even and steady. "The law applies to those without magic. You are not counted among them, Petunia. You are a squib, as is your son. We may use magic freely in front of you both."
He paused, his expression easing slightly. "Your husband is mundane, but as long as it remains within your household, it's permitted. His family is another matter. Magic can't be used in front of them."
Petunia's frown deepened. "How did you know Dudley is a squib? Or that Harry has magic?"
Jane touched her own eye, pointing to the iris. "The LeFay marker. Everyone in our line who inherits the family magic has green eyes. It is the same shade, bright and impossible to miss."
Petunia looked from Jane to Morwenna, and then her gaze drifted to the photograph on the mantelpiece. It showed her sister in her school uniform, her green eyes bright even in the faded, old print that had begun to yellow at the corners.
"Like Lily," Petunia murmured. "Like Harry."
Jane nodded. "Does Dudley use ze Evans name, yes?"
Petunia shook her head. "No. He is a Dursley."
Jane was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "If your son has children with green eyes, they must carry the Evans name. It is a family name, especially for daughters." She touched her own chest. "I am still an Evans. My daughter's full formal name still carries LeFay."
She looked directly at Petunia, her tone brooking no argument. "The magic runs in your blood, and you will always be an Evans. Our family is matriarchal, after all. It is perfectly normal for a child to take the mother's surname, or for a husband to take his wife's name as a courtesy."
She paused, watching Petunia's reaction. "Is your husband an only child?"
"No," Petunia said. "He has a sister."
"Then Dudley's children will carry the Evans name. It will benefit them, especially if they ever go to France. We simply cannot let the Evans name die out on your line."
Petunia looked down at her hands, her voice small and tight. "I will discuss it with my husband," she said. "Later."
The sound of the front door opening echoed through the house, the heavy click of the latch followed by a sudden burst of energy.
"Mum! I'm home!"
Heavy footsteps thudded down the hall, making the china cabinet rattle in the dining room and the spoons clink softly.
Petunia stood up quickly. "In here, Dudley."
A large boy filled the doorway. He was blond and round-faced, his school jumper appearing far too tight at the shoulders, the fabric straining with every breath. He was flushed from running, his cheeks a bright, mottled pink, and he blinked in surprise at the room full of strangers.
Behind him, another boy slipped through the door. He was much smaller, and his clothes hung loose on his frame, making him look even more fragile. His jumper was faded, the wool pilling, and his trousers were cinched with a belt that had extra holes crudely punched into the leather.
Dark hair fell over his forehead in a hopeless, messy tangle, and his glasses were held together with a yellowing piece of tape at the bridge. But it was his eyes that commanded attention. They were bright, vibrant green. Evans green.
Jane's breath hitched, stopping for just a second. Morwenna saw the flash of shock across her mother's face before it was smoothed away into a mask of composure. Petunia saw it too. Colour rose to her cheeks, and her mouth pulled into a tight, hard line of defensive shame.
"Dudley, Harry," Petunia said sharply. "These are distant relatives from France. Go play in the garden."
Dudley turned to go without any argument, eager to escape the strange atmosphere, but Harry didn't move immediately. He stood just inside the doorway, his shoulders drawn in slightly, his eyes fixed on the adults with a wary intensity. He was very still.
Morwenna recognized that stillness instantly. It was the heavy, watchful silence of someone who had learned very early that being noticed was rarely safe.
Dudley grabbed Harry's arm from the hall and tugged, the movement rough and impatient. "Come on."
Harry went, and Morwenna followed them both out into the garden. The back garden was small, consisting of a square of lawn and a wooden fence at the end where the neighbor's flowers spilled over in a messy, unkempt tangle of pink and white.
Dudley dropped his bag on the grass and looked at Morwenna. "Do you have a Game Boy?"
"No."
He frowned at her, his brows knitting together. "What do you play, then?"
"I throw knives."
Dudley's mouth fell open, his expression blank with disbelief.
Harry stood near the back door with his arms folded across his middle. He was watching her, but not her face. He was staring at her hands.
Morwenna pulled a knife from her sleeve, the release catch making a faint, metallic click that sounded loud in the quiet yard. The dark steel settled into her palm with a comforting weight.
Dudley stepped back, his eyes wide. "That's real."
"Yes."
"You can't bring a knife to..."
She threw it with a practiced flick of her wrist. The blade spun twice in the air, a blur of silver and grey, before burying itself deep into a knot in the grain at the center of the fence with a solid thwack.
Dudley stopped talking immediately. Harry stared at the knife, then at her empty hand, and then back at the fence, his eyes wide and hungry for more.
She walked across the lawn, the grass damp against her shoes, pulled the blade free, and slid it back into her sleeve.
"Show me something else," Harry said. His voice was quiet and rough, sounding as though it hadn't been used much that day.
Morwenna looked at him. His eyes were a startling, bright green even in the flat afternoon light. "What do you want to see?"
Inside, the living room had fallen into a heavy silence. Jane looked at the photographs on the mantelpiece. They showed Dudley on a bicycle, Dudley at a birthday party, and Dudley in his school uniform, grinning at the camera. There was no sign of Harry anywhere.
"He is very thin," Jane said, her voice low and dangerously quiet. "And his clothes do not fit him."
"He grows fast." Petunia's response was clipped and defensive, her posture stiffening. "It's difficult to keep up."
Jane said nothing, letting the silence stretch until it became unbearable. Petunia's hands gripped the arms of her chair until her knuckles were white. She stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor.
"You don't know what it was like!" Her voice rose, years of bitterness spilling out. "You come here with your nice clothes and your perfect French family and look at me like I'm a monster."
Petunia walked to the window, keeping her back to the room. Her reflection was ghost-like against the glass. "I had a baby. My own baby. And then one night, there was a basket on my doorstep. A baby, a blanket, and a letter." Her voice cracked, the sound jagged. "There was no money. There were no instructions. It just said to keep him alive."
Jack leaned forward, his expression serious and focused. "What did the letter say, exactly?"
"Keep him. The blood protects him. The house will protect him." She turned around, her face pale and drawn. "And then we tried to put him in an orphanage. Three times. Three different places over two years. He always came back. Someone kept bringing him back to us. The third time, there was another letter saying we had to keep him. Or else."
"Or else what?" Jack asked quietly.
Petunia looked at him, her eyes wide with old fear that had never quite left her. "It didn't say. Just: or else."
She sat back down, looking exhausted, as if the weight of the secret had finally crushed her.
"And the magic. When he was upset, things broke. Things flew. We didn't know what it was or how to stop it." She stopped, looking down at her hands.
"I took it out on him. I know I did." She looked at Jane, her gaze defiant despite the tears shining in her eyes. "But you don't get to judge me. You don't know what it felt like. You have magic, you have family, and you have money. You don't know."
Jane closed her eyes. She could feel Petunia across from her. It wasn't magic, just the raw weight of the woman herself—the exhaustion and the bitterness. She felt the fear underneath the rage and the deep, festering wound beneath the fear.
Jane opened her eyes. "You are right," she said softly. "I do not know what it was like." She took a breath, her chest expanding. "But I should have been 'ere. I should have found you long before any of this happened."
Petunia stared at her, stunned into silence by the admission. Viviane moved her hand in slow, comforting circles across Jane's back.
Jack leaned forward. "You said there was only a blanket and a letter. No money or anything else in six years?"
"Nothing. Not once."
Elara spoke for the first time, her voice quiet but her eyes sharp and observant. "The woman at Number Two. Are you close with her?"
Petunia blinked at the sudden change of subject, her brow furrowed. "No. She is odd. She has too many cats. She's watched Harry sometimes when we needed someone."
"Often?"
"Often enough."
Elara was quiet for a moment, her brow furrowed as she processed the information. "We have been near this house for two months trying to find a way through the wards. In all that time, I have felt a constant, deliberate gaze from Number Two. It is not casual. It is surveillance."
The room got quiet again for a few seconds, and Petunia went perfectly still.
"How dare they." Her voice shook with a new kind of fury, cold and sharp. "How could they watch and say nothing? How could they leave him with us and send nothing? No money, no help, just a baby and a threat and six years of silence?"
Jane's magic flared, sudden and hot, reacting to her rising anger. The teacups on the table rattled against their saucers, a frantic clinking sound. A photograph slid from the mantelpiece and hit the floor, the glass cracking sharply across the corner.
Jack took her hand firmly, his fingers interlocking with hers. "Breathe, Jane."
She took a long breath, and the cups stilled.
Jack looked at the broken photograph on the floor, then at Petunia, and finally back to Jane. He took another breath, quietly, for himself. He was looking at two Evans women with the exact same temper. He had known one for years, and he was quickly learning the other.
And somewhere out in the garden, his daughter carried that same fire in her, bright and uncontrolled, just waiting for its moment.