Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or CSI. They are not mine, and never will be. If by some random chance I win the lottery and manage to win enough money to buy either or both, I'll let you know.

A/N: Let me apologized before hand for the matter of dates in this story. Yes, yes, I know Sara was born in 1971 and that Lily was born around 1960, but it was important to this fic to have Sara older than both Lily and Petunia (as you shall see), so Sara will still be born in 1971, but Lily will be born 1978 and Petunia in 1975. Just push the important Harry Potter dates forward accordingly. I also know that Sara is a brunette, Petunia is blonde, and Lily is redheaded, but let's just say Sara looks a lot like her mother, Petunia looks like her mother, and Lily looks like her father. Oh, I am still working on all my other stories, but I had to get this off my chest! Thank you to Karla DeVito for making up the song for which the title comes from! Now, on to the fic!

We Are Not Alone

Prologue: The Meeting of the Lonely- 1970

It was well past ten when the woman found herself sitting at a stool in Marty's Bar in San Francisco. This was probably going to be her only night of freedom from her husband, John, in the next year. He had gone to Los Angeles that morning for his cousin's wedding, and wouldn't be back until tomorrow afternoon. She might have ended up going with him, but he refused to bring along that "crying piece of crap," as he called their two-year-old son, David, and so she was saved by conveniently forgetting to mention that her mother had the weekend, and thus was made to stay home. As expected, Judith Mason had welcomed the opportunity to babysit her grandson and look over the bed and breakfast that the woman owned with John. Now, she had escaped to the city for one night, to be free of the hits, the punches, even if only for the temporary time she was alone.

When she had first met John, he had been the perfect lover any woman could have wanted. Polite, caring, maybe a bit protective, but in a good way. That was seven years ago, and their relationship had been crashing for the past four, since about six months after their marriage. The first time he had hit her, he had been apologizing left and right, promising never to do it again. But he had lied, and it had just come more and more often. She had thought about leaving, but after she found out she was pregnant with David almost three years ago, the walls just seemed to close in closer and closer.

This night was her chance to break free, to have no restrictions placed upon her. After all, she was just twenty-four, and by no means plain looking. Her long and dark brunette hair was worn down halfway down her back, a habit formed by a preference of John's. Her chocolate eyes perfectly accented her hair and slim figure. She wasn't looking specifically for something to happen tonight, but probably would not stop it if it did.

After she had drained her second martini and was about to order her third, the man sitting next to her, whom she had barely noticed before, spoke up for the first time that night. "Can I buy that for you?" He had a strong British accent, and as she turned her head to look at him, the first thing that struck her was the intense shade of red his hair was.

"Thank you," she said quietly, and the man proceeded to buy her drink. The woman remained silent and in her own thoughts until the bartender returned with her drink, and decided that it would be polite to start a conversation with this man. "I'm Laura Sidle."

"Pete Evans."

Laura woke up to find the cheap motel room she had shared with Pete the night previously deserted except for herself. It was not terribly surprising to her, though. To Laura, it would have been more shocking to wake up to find him still there. Their polite small talk had turned into a long conversation before they had retired to their room, and in it Laura had learned that Pete had been in San Francisco for business, and was engaged to a woman named Rose back in England. He had been having second thoughts about his upcoming marriage, but did not have the courage to say this to the woman who was infatuated with him.

In turn, she had told him all of her troubles, the way John beat her, how she thought that some days she felt like she was being suffocated by the thought that the rest of her life was going to be the same as the past four years. It was a shame, really, she thought as she slowly got out of bed, that I'm married, and he's engaged.

As she walked over to the bathroom to take a shower before she headed home, Laura noticed a piece of the motel stationery that had been folded in half and left on the room's small desk. She gently lifted it from the imitation-wood surface and read the message:

Dear Laura,

While it has been a pleasure getting to know you, I regret to say that I have to attend my last meeting before I return to Manchester this evening. My time last night with you was a reminder of how it felt when I first mer Rose, and you have given me the incentive to remain positive about my wedding. I sincerely hope that you are able to successfully save your own marriage, for you are indeed a wonderful woman. Perhaps by chance we shall one day meet again, but I do not find it likely, and therefore I bid you farewell.

Sincerely,

Pete Evans

PS- Don't worry about paying for the room- I have it covered.

Laura reread the note and tried her best to preserve it in her memory before tearing it to bits and throwing them in the wastebasket. It was far too risky to try and keep. If John ever found it, she seriously did not know if she would survive, and then David would just as well be dead.

Laura looked over at the digital clock on the night stand to the left of the king-size bed. The red digits blinked from 10:07 to 10:08. She only had about five hours until John could be expected home, and she still needed to pick up David and do some work around the house. She sighed, and headed back towards the bathroom.

Two weeks later, Laura found herself in a state of panic as she threw up for the third morning in a row. She had woken up feeling utterly awful, and it did not take long for the cheerios she had forced down to be regurgitated into the toilet. Laura had tried to tell herself that she only had a stomach bug, and that it would soon pass. She was nastily reminded, however, that she felt fine after around nine o'clock, and had only had symptoms identical this at only one time previously in her life . . .

You have to stop scaring yourself like this, Laura, she reassured herself as her stomach finished its business and she splashed cold water from the sink on her face. You have to find out for sure, just to prove yourself wrong.

This it it, Laura thought as she locked the door of the bathroom stall. She had managed to go off by herself to the local grocery store during David's nap, and she needed to use her time wisely. As she slowly unwrapped the small package, she could feel the rate of her heart increasing rapidly. Please, no.

Laura remembered from her first pregnancy how long it seemed to take for the results of the pregnancy test to show, but this time felt like much longer. Besides the fact that she was standing in a relatively unsanitary and vandalized public bathroom, she knew the father, if there was one, was not John. She could never tell him that, but what lie could she tell if need be?

When her results finally did appear, Laura fell back against one of the side walls of the stall. For nearly ten minutes, many of the shoppers in the ladies' bathroom cast curious glances at the stall from which hopeless sobs could be heard.