a perfectly normal witch

“Please, Aunt Petunia?” her niece tries again, making her eyes as big as possible - a trick she knew for a fact the girl used when she wanted something from her (which Petunia fell for more often than she’d like to admit.)
“Fine,” she hisses. Alright. So the girl was a witch. So she had to go to that freakish school and learn to turn teacups to frogs or whatever it is that they got up to there. That didn’t mean she couldn’t be nice and normal and respectable, couldn’t she? Petunia would make sure her niece was the most normal, most respectable of the lot of them, the freaks be damned.