“I refuse, mother. I refuse to be in the same room as that man,” she hissed into the telephone.

“Petunia, dear, I want a portrait of my daughters...and their husbands...with me and your father. You’re coming! No if’s, and’s, or but’s!”

Petunia muttered something about a butt, for sure, but luckily Mrs. Evans hadn’t heard her.

“So tomorrow at 1! Wear your best!”

“Mum, I always wear my best. You better make sure James Potter knows not to wear a bloody dress. Those freaks like their dresses.” Petunia then hung up with a click. The freaks and their dresses!