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PART ONE — April 1967

 

They called her Horse-face.

Mummy said they only called her that to get to her. She said that the children at school were actually just jealous. But she knew this to be false; she had nothing to be jealous of. It was just the sort of thing mummies were supposed to tell their daughters when they were being bullied.

Of course, she was not completely hopeless. She had a few things going for her. For example, she was the elder of two siblings. Her parents were both still alive and happily married to each other. She was from the right part of town. And … Well, that was it, really.

And it was nothing her sister did not have, aside from being the elder sister, which was more of a curse than a blessing, if one were to ask her. She was constantly being compared to her younger sister, and everyone always expected her to be better simply because she had two and a half years on her. And she did try to be better. For one thing, her bedroom was immaculate. She helped her mum with chores around the house day in day out without her having to ask. Her schoolwork flawless, and her handwriting was so neat it looked done by an adult …

It was not enough. It was not the area of perfection everyone paid attention to when assessing her and Lily. They never got that far.

No, they saw Lily’s face, and Petunia’s, and drew their conclusions based on that. And based on that, well, Petunia lost. By a mile. She had pale grey eyes and frizzy shoulder-length blonde hair that made her appear permanently worn and washed out. She had a large forehead and overlong neck, and, deep down, she considered herself lucky for not being compared to a giraffe. To make matters even worse, she was so thin she looked underfed, leading her classmates to believe they were far poorer than they actually were.

What made it even more unfair was that her sister had a long face as well, but that she, of course, did not resemble a horse, and nobody called her Horse-face. Perfect little Lily was too beautiful to be met with such insults. Perfect little Lily with her bright green eyes and auburn hair that shone brighter than the fallen leaves in autumn never looked pale and washed out. No, she had enough colour in her face for the both of them.

It was a cruel trick from God, to distribute beauty so unevenly over the sisters. It almost made her wonder if there even was one …

The comments got to her, obviously, despite Mummy’s warnings not to let them. She simply could not help it; every time she looked in the mirror, she saw a horse staring back at her. Every time she did her hair to try and make herself look presentable, she knew it was a waste either way. She could braid it ever so nicely, but the girls would still see her face. No bangs were large enough to hide it. And if she did not put in any effort and let it fall down straight, she would be teased for looking as though she came from the wrong part of town. They would tell her she resembled a homeless man as well as a horse.

And perhaps she did.

And perhaps that was what lay in her future.

But she did not want to give them the satisfaction of seeing it become reality. Not yet, anyway. Not if she could help it.

That, above all, was what pushed her to work harder in school. It was what drove her to perfectionism, and it was why she so quickly became known for her attention to detail.

Despite it all, she was not a bitter child. Rigid, yes, in a way, but her precision and attention to detail also allowed her to see things others did not. She could stare at the skies for hours on end just to notice the subtle shift in colour. Blue turned grey turned black. Then, a storm. Afterwards, the sky would clear again. The sun would poke its head through the layers of grey-white and greet the world, and Petunia would be there to greet it back, with her bare feet in the damp grass, taking in the earthly scent the rain left behind. She would smile and feel the sunlight dancing on her skin. But she did not go out just for the sun; she was there on rainy days as well, and on days the ground was covered in a thick, white, crunchy blanket, and on days it was littered in golden leaves. Leaves that came from the trees, further afield. Leaves that somehow always managed to find their way to the front door of her family home. Leaves that clung to boots. Leaves the wind blew indoors. Leaves Mummy brushed aside with her broom. Leaves that disappeared in bins or went right out the door again.

She had taken one of those leaves from the bin one day last autumn, and she had brought it up to her room to put it on display on the shelf she kept all of her treasures. It held her diary, her favourite pencil, even the ribbon she had once been gifted by Aunt Stephanie, which did not match her hair at all but was too kind a gift to throw out.

And now, it held the leaf. It still held it, even after six months, without any signs of decay. It was still that mesmerising shade of dark red that made her think of – yes, of her sister’s hair, indeed. Lily’s strands she loved to comb through.

And that had to be why she had picked this one out of all those other leaves she could have taken.

She missed her sister. Perhaps that was silly to say, since they saw so much of each other. Certainly no less than last year, or the year before that, or indeed any year she could remember. She saw Lily before school, and she played with Lily after school. She caught glimpses of her whilst at school, too. That was no different. That had not changed. She did not miss her sister because they no longer saw each other; she missed her because Lily had changed. Not even in behaviour, because she remained the playful child she knew her to be. Carefree, a little reckless … No, what had changed was the very air around her. It seemed to bend to her will a little more with each passing day.

It had started about a year ago now, or, really, that was just when Petunia started to notice. In retrospect, it had always been there; the air around Lily had been static for as long as she could remember. It had started out rather small, with objects disappearing from Petunia’s room. Objects Lily liked. Her dolls, for example, would be in Lily’s bed the following morning, but she could never catch her sister in the act of stealing them. There were other things as well. Windows and doors that closed without her touching them, drawings that seemed to move, books that flipped their own pages …

Then there were the animals. Even the most skittish ones had no fear and approached her as if she was one of their own.

Then, a few months ago, they had been playing out by the swings, and Lily had fallen and scraped her knee. She had cried, at first, as any normal child would, and Petunia had rushed over to her to comfort her. But in those few seconds it had taken her to reach her sister, her tears had disappeared. Instead, she had been staring at her wound in concentration, as if inspecting something far more interesting than blood. And sure enough; within seconds, the mark had disappeared into nothingness.

And Lily had smiled that wide-eyed innocent smile of hers and jumped back on her feet to continue playing.

From then on, she had really started to pay attention to what happened, and she began to notice it all the time. The wind did not move Lily’s hair; it moved the way it wanted to. The sun did not burn Lily’s skin. The ugly dresses passed down from Petunia were somehow too small for her, but shoes she desperately wanted seemed to grow or shrink just enough to be a perfect fit …

And just last week, Mummy had brought home a bouquet of flowers. Lily had been greatly interested in them, and Mummy had kept telling her not to go near, but Lily had refused to listen. Inevitably, she had knocked the vase over.

But it had not fallen. It had refused to shatter on the floor. Yes, refused – it had slowed down mid-fall, as if alerted by Lily’s shriek, and landed softly.

Petunia had watched from across the room. She had just stared as Mummy told Lily to be more careful. That she had got lucky this time. That there were more pretty flowers outside for her to play with.

But Petunia knew it had not been ‘luck’ that saved that vase. She did not know how, but Lily had stopped it.

And she had tried to talk to her parents about it, but they had just waved it away with a laugh and told her she was overthinking it.

She knew that, too, was false. they were underthinking it, just as they did the bullying.

But it did not matter. She had pieced the uncanny details together to form the big picture, and it was only a matter of time before she had gathered enough evidence to be believed.

So she stood at the edge of the playground, arms folded tightly over her chest, watching as her younger sister skipped across the grass. She was waiting for her to do something creepy. Something she could replicate at home, and that could impossibly be dismissed – so not the way she ran around barefoot. Lily only ever wore shoes in winter, saying she disliked the way they restricted her feet from feeling the ground below. Petunia was inclined to agree (she, too, preferred to feel the dew on the grass), if not for the peculiar way the grass always seemed to bend over before Lily’s foot ever touched it. It was something that went unnoticed to most people.

She hated it. She hated herself for not being able to just not notice it, too. She hated how focused she was on the little details around her sister and hated how she could not write it all off as ‘overthinking’. Hated that she had no escape from this.

Lily called out for her just then, snapping her back to the present.

‘Tuney, come on!’ She waved her over. ‘Play with us! You could be the mum!’

Petunia’s grip tightened on her arms. ‘I’m too old for that, Lily,’ she called back, and though Lily’s smile fell, she did not press. She ran back to her friends, no doubt to tell them Petunia was not interested, and they had to find someone else to be the mum.

It was not her age that prevented her from playing, however, nor was it the game; she loved to play mums and dads, and Lily knew she did. They often played it together, as she considered it to be good practice for when she would be an actual mum. So it was not the fact her little sister was in on the game, either – it was that she was in it so effortlessly. All the other children adored her. She really was perfect little Lily. And Petunia? Petunia was Horse-face.

It was not fair, having to be a jealous spectator, watching her sister play. She never should have come in the first place.

So she left, and she went home, and she helped Mummy with the housework for the rest of the day. It gave her something to do, to put her mind off things. And yet she could not help but wonder if Lily could make the dishes wash themselves, if she could make the sheets fold themselves, if she could have the table set itself, the meal cook itself …

What all could she do?

She lay in bed that evening, unable to catch her sleep. She thought of what had happened that morning. She thought of what had happened all of the last year. She turned in her bed and stared at the door. Could she … ?

Open, she thought. Open up.

To her great surprise, it did. It opened. Her excitement did not last long, however, for Lily came in after.

She sighed but quickly masked her disappointment. ‘Can’t sleep?’

Lily climbed on her bed, shaking her head in answer.

‘What’s the matter?’

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, her big green eyes examining the room. Then, she whispered, ‘Are we still friends?’

‘Of course we’re friends, don’t be silly.’

‘But you wouldn’t play with me today.’

‘I told you, I’m too old for that stuff now.’

‘No you’re not.’

Petunia sighed, feeling a twinge of – something. She could not name it. She tried to find the right words to explain it.

‘You’re just … different …’

‘Is that bad?’

‘Sometimes it is,’ she said quietly. ‘People don’t like different.’

Lily tilted her head, a curious expression on her face. ‘Do you?’

‘Do I what?’

‘Do you not like it? That I’m … different?’

The question caught her off guard. She loved Lily. Of course she loved Lily. There was no denying that. She loved her with all her heart. But as of late, with those odd moments, those details that grew out to be such major events … inexplicable major events …

‘I just don’t want you to get hurt,’ she said, reaching out to brush a strand of Lily’s hair behind her ear.

‘I won’t get hurt. Not when I have you.’

She smiled her bright, innocent smile, and it made Petunia’s heart ache. She smiled in return. She wanted to believe that she could protect Lily from whatever strange things were happening around her, but she knew she could not.

‘You will always have me,’ Petunia said, her voice trembling slightly. ‘And you know what? We’re best friends.’

Lily leaned in for a hug, which Petunia gladly returned, if only so she could hide her face.

‘You’re the best, Tuney.’

‘You’re pretty great too, Lily.’

 



 

PART TWO — September 1970

 

Almost three-and-a-half years later, Petunia was back at the edge of that playground, watching her sister with just as much intensity as she had back then. Only this time, Lily had not come to play mums and dads. She had not come with the other children. She was not barefoot, and the grass did not move aside for her.

She sat on one of the swings, gently swaying back and forth. In front of her stood that boy from Spinner’s End, the one she had been with almost every day for over a year now. The ball of grease trying to pass for a human being had marched into their lives and kept watching Lily as if she were some kind of rare gem only he had discovered, and took her with him. Swept her away with stories of – of that world, and all those strange tricks he showed her: the floating leaves, the sparks from his hands … Tricks she copied so effortlessly. Tricks Petunia could not copy, no matter how hard she tried.

She hated that boy. Hated the way he looked at her as if she was somehow less because she could not do what Lily did. Hated that he kept insulting Petunia with words she did not understand. But above all, she hated how Lily listened to him, hung onto his every word. He was a leech, sucking them all dry. And it hurt to be sucked dry. Because this leech was not sucking her blood, it was sucking on the bond she had had with her sister. She could feel it shatter every time they talked, and she saw Lily’s eyes glass over, because obviously, whatever Petunia had to say was of no importance to her. It hurt when she would interrupt conversations to announce she had invited the Snape boy over, or that she and her ‘Sev’ were going to the park, or to the lake, or to any of the other places they had once considered theirs.

It hurt in a way that made her feel very small, as though she was slowly being erased from this world, as though she no longer mattered. And she knew why: Magic.

That was the word Lily used for her – peculiarities, after that Snape had taught it to her. It was a word Mum and Dad copied. They were of no use, not any more. They had been on her side, once, before the boy happened. It had not been long after that midnight visit. Mum had witnessed her do the impossible herself; she had come to the park where Lily and Petunia were playing, to let them know to come home straight away, because they had to visit Grandma Evans, who had been poorly at the time, and Lily had flown off the swings. Literally flown off. It was the first time Petunia had seen her do it so openly, and Mum had been very upset with her. She had forbidden her from doing it again, which, in turn, had upset Lily …

She had not listened, of course she hadn’t. Perfect little Lily made up all her own rules, so she had continued to do it whenever she and Petunia had been on their own. Petunia had tried to stop her, of course, so often, but Lily did not care for warnings … and then that boy had seen her do it …

She had not stopped since, she would not stop … And Petunia could just tell it would end badly. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday …

But things were different now. Everything was different. Mum was no longer upset when Lily did these things; she was proud. Lily was special and perfect and Petunia, well, she was not special. She was not perfect. A new school, new classmates, yet she was still Horse-face. And no longer did Mum console her when she came home crying about her day; she was too busy praising Lily for doing something unnatural.

That was how it was now. Everything always circled back to perfect little Lily. And her perfect little ‘magic’. It was the topic of nearly every conversation in the house. Magic this, magic that …

Lily’s laugh sounded through the air, and she snapped out of her thoughts. She sat in the grass now, that Snape boy to her side. He had said something to make her laugh, to make her eyes light up in the way they had so often done for Petunia, back when she had still cared for her big sister.

There was a sudden pang in her chest, sharp and hollow and threatening to spill over in tears. She blinked it away, refusing to reach up a hand to wipe at her eyes. It would cause more to come. She could tell. And she would not cry. She would not.

Lily was telling the boy something now, gesturing wildly with her arms. She could not remember the last time she and Lily had sat down together, just the two of them … that night in her room? It had been one of their last.

But she still kept the leaf on that shelf. She still held true to the promise she had made. She was still there for Lily to come back to. She was still her best friend, even though Lily had made another. Even though Lily –

Did she ever stop and think about her? About all she had before that boy came to take it all away?

Maybe once, Petunia thought bitterly as she turned her back on them and walked away. But not any more.

 



 

PART THREE — August 1973

 

It was about three years later, again, and her world had long since fallen apart. First, that boy, yes, but the professor had made it all worse. The letter. The trip to that – that diabolical alley and the stuff for sale there. The hideous pointy hats Lily now wore with pride and the way she was always just behind on what was fashionable and ended up just borrowing Petunia’s full wardrobe whenever she was home for the holidays (because her own consisted of nothing but wizard’s robes these days).

And her parents did nothing to stop it. ‘She’s only here for the holidays’, they would say, or, ‘You should be kinder to your sister’. They always had something to say about what Petunia was doing wrong these days, and that only intensified whenever Lily was around. They had even told her, last Christmas, that they had failed to get her what she wanted because the funds had had to go towards Lily’s Christmas gift: more books on spells and potions and whatever.

Lily had even told Petunia she was sorry about her gift, but she had not put an end to it and had even dared rationalise it. ‘You’re just not like me’, she had said, and the words had hit her harder than a slap. What had cut even deeper was the truth in them. Petunia was not like Lily. Not special. Not magical. Not anything. Just Petunia. Plain, ordinary, ugly, horse-faced Petunia.

She was clenching her fists now, her nails biting into her palms as she thought back to it.

In a way, she was happy to be home alone today. In a way, she wished Lily would leave come September and never return at all. They were no longer the siblings they had once been, and every day, she doubted more and more if they had ever actually been close or if it had all been but a figment of her imagination. But then she caught sight of the leaf upon her shelf, that lay untouched for years now, but she could not bring herself to throw away, and her chest tightened with that dull ache she could not seem to lose.

She checked the time, looking at the heart-shaped clock that hung above her bedroom door. It was getting later, and she still had not readied herself in full. She had raced back upstairs after arguing with her parents – they had wanted to go out, as a family, just the four of them. Petunia had refused. She had not told them why; it had been a clever little test from her, to see if they remembered.

They had not. They had called her ungrateful, and now they were out with Lily.

Petunia suspected that was what they wanted most, anyway. They had asked her to come because it was right to, because it was proper. They would never openly admit to favouring their youngest.

But the message was strong enough for Petunia, because today was the day her exam results were released. They should have known the date. They should have known how much this meant to her. They should have waited, at the least, until she had returned. Maybe then she would have wanted to join on the family trip.

Maybe.

Because the trip itself was not exciting to her. Not any more; there had been a time when she would have given anything to see that magical world, a time when, undoubtedly, she would have forsaken her exam results to go to that alley and get Lily her school supplies, just for the glimpse it gave her at what Lily was off to in September.

But she was not that person any more, and that was why she had to go. She had to leave this place behind, and all the memories that came with it.

She would be fine – better, even – on her own.

So she had signed up for a typing course down in London. It was not exactly glamorous, but it was something, and the change of scenery would do her good. Her parents agreed with as much, though Petunia knew it was just because her not being there would mean more time to spend with Lily.

She hoped it would lead to something more. That she would meet someone who took her for who she was. Someone who saw her as more than the sister of the girl who could do extraordinary things. Someone who would not even dream of making her feel second-best.

It was not likely to happen, with how she looked, and she knew that. But, as they say, a girl can dream.

She put on the flowery dress she had picked out for this moment and made the most of her unwilling hair before leaving her bedroom behind.

Lily’s bedroom was just down the hall, and upon seeing the door, she was overcome with the same heartache again. Just last year, when Lily had come back from her first year at Hogwarts for the whole summer, she had sneaked inside when she had been out with that Snape. She had not meant to – she cared greatly about privacy, and she was of the opinion that if she wanted Lily to start respecting her privacy, then she had to respect hers in return – but the door had been open wide and it had been so tempting … she had written it off as payback. Simple retribution for when Lily and that Snape had gone snooping in her room and found that horrible letter she had written to that horrible man, Headmaster of that horrible school.

She closed her eyes. She could feel the thrill of it again, of sneaking into her room. She had not been in there in so long. She took a few steps towards where she knew the door to be. Would the dolls be gone? They had still been there last year. But last year, her walls already had been red-and-gold and not the deep purple they had been for all of her childhood. Lily was growing up, and she was growing into a perfect little witch.

Her trunk had stood prominently in the room last year. Would it be there now? Her bedside table had held her wand – the wand she remembered picking up. The disappointment of how it felt in her hand still rang true now. It had felt the same as the wand she had crafted for herself, back when Lily had first got that letter, and she had still hoped to acquire a place at the school for herself.

A simple twig, and nothing more.

She had flipped through magical books with oddly long names she still remembered clear as day, such as Curses and Countercurses: Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying, and Much, Much More or Powers You Never Knew You Had and What To Do With Them Now You’ve Wised Up.

She remembered picking up The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. She remembered the moving pictures inside, pictures that told her how to hold her wand and how to move in order to perform spells.

She remembered imitating the stances she saw on the pages, doing the same movements as the drawings had shown her. It had not been all that hard. It had actually been rather simple. Just move the wand, say a few words. Of course she could do that.

So she had focused on the pillow and done the swish and the flick, and she had half-whispered the incantation … and nothing had happened, so she had repeated what she had done and had said, a little louder this time, and with more conviction, ‘Wingardium Leviosa!’

She opened her eyes. She still remembered it so vividly. It had not worked, of course, but Lily had seen her. She had come home. She had gone up to her room. She had seen Petunia do that.

Never before had she been so embarrassed. She had not even looked at Lily for the remainder of that holiday.

She shook her head, turned, and went down the stairs.

That all lay in the past.

She left the house. It was hot out, as was to be expected; they were in the middle of one of the worst heatwaves in recent times, the papers said. She was inclined to agree. The sun burnt on her skin, and her dress already clung to her body due to her own sweat. She suspected she was running a sunburn from her head down to her toes in this weather. Lily had no such trouble, of course, not even in this dreadful heatwave. She simply waved her little magic wand, and all was well.

She reached her school and went inside, grateful to get away from the scorching heat (even if inside was not much better, it did not have the sun making it worse. Still, the oppressive atmosphere from the built-up heat was suffocating).

She walked up to the table in the centre of the hall. Behind it sat kind Mr Miller, who looked her up and down briefly before asking, ‘Surname and exam number?’

Moments later, she held the big brown envelope in her own shaky hands. She turned away from the table and took a few steps towards the wall. There were others in the hall with her, ripping open their envelopes and squealing in delight at the typed sheet within. Some stood with disappointed faces and hunched shoulders.

She pulled out her own sheet after another brief hesitation. She smiled, scanning the results. She had done well. She did not know why it came as a surprise; she had always been meticulous in her studying, and the seven Passes at O level that glared back at her from the paper only proved that her hard work had not been for nothing.

In a way, it really was a shame to leave it all behind so soon. Perhaps Sixth Form would have suited her, perhaps not. There was no telling either way.

She had made her choice.

 



 

PART FOUR — June 1977

 

It was just under four years later, and Petunia was back at home again. Well, it wasn’t home. Not really. But it was her parents’ house, and that was where she was. And not for Christmas, either, which had become the only time she visited after packing up and leaving. This time, she had come because her mother had asked her to. That was all. She owed her, in a way, for leaving so quickly after the funeral a few months ago. So she had come. Even if she had only been asked to come because Lily was coming back from that awful school. ‘It would be too big a shock if you’re not here’, she had said, because it would ‘be her first time back home without Daddy’.

And it would be, but that was hardly Petunia’s fault. Lily had chosen not to come back for Easter, preferring to spend it with one of her girlfriends in some far-off place with snow. If she had come back, the summer would not have been as ‘shocking’ for her, and Petunia would not have been asked to give up her own life for her sister, again.

The kettle whistled sharply, cutting her thoughts away. Why her mother still turned her nose up at electric kettles was beyond her, but that was just one of her many odd quirks. She had been that way for as long as Petunia could remember.

She poured herself a cup and left the sugar and milk for what they were. Though she would never admit it to her boyfriend, Vernon, she liked the bitter taste. She relished in it. It made her feel right at home, more so than anything else ever could.

It was about as unLilyish as possible.

She tightened her grip on the cup, feeling the heat seep into her skin. Lily. Perfect, brilliant Lily.

She and her mother could be back any moment. She looked out of the window to see if she could catch a glimpse of the family car yet, but there was nothing out there but the sound of children laughing in the distance. Carefree. Happy.

She closed her eyes and leaned against the counter. She allowed herself to sink into a memory, to go back to a time they had been carefree and happy together, with Lily’s copper locks dancing in the sunlight … they had played in the park together, spent their every waking moment together …

The sound of a car pulling up to the house stopped her and brought her back to the present. So much had changed since those days when they had been young. So much was different now. She was not fully sure where it had gone wrong.

The car doors slammed shut, and moments later, the front door opened. Hushed whispers filled the hallway. Footsteps. Petunia did not move, though she had opened her eyes, staring intently at the door in front of her.

It opened. Lily entered. If she was shocked by Petunia’s presence, she did not show it.

‘Petunia …’

Petunia did not respond. She took a sip of tea, staring her sister right in the eye, as if daring her to go further, to talk.

‘It’s been a while,’ Lily tried again, her voice tentative, because she knew. She knew what she had done yet could not bring herself to say it. Instead, she asked, ‘How are you?’

It was almost offensive.

Petunia laughed. How was she? Abandoned and alone, dragged upcountry by her mother to console her sister after she left them all to rot over Easter.

She put the cup down with a clatter, still not looking away from her wide, green eyes. If they were going to play this game, she could easily play along.

‘I’m fine.’

Lily shifted uncomfortably, biting her lip the way she always used to do when she was nervous. ‘Tuney, I –’

‘Don’t.’

But Lily did not listen.

‘– I miss you.’

‘I’ve been busy. Work’s picked up.’

‘How long will you be here for?’

‘However long it takes for you to convince our mother you don’t need me here to process his passing.’

‘Oh. I see.’

Petunia hummed. ‘So? How long will you need?’

She shook her head. ‘You can go if you want. I’ll – I’ll write to you. Maybe I could even visit? Or we could spend Christmas at your place? I could come back for you.’

Petunia’s lip curled in disbelief. ‘Christmas? You think I want you at my house for Christmas?’

‘I just thought –’

‘You thought wrong.’

‘But don’t you want to make up for the lost time?’

‘Whose fault is it we have lost time at all? Not mine. I’m not the one who left.’

‘That’s not fair –’

‘Isn’t it?’ Petunia spat. ‘You left. You stayed away last Easter. You missed his funeral. You don’t spend time with us any more. Not with me, at least.’

‘I thought you were the one who didn’t want to spend time with me,’ Lily countered, her voice small.

‘You’re right. Because I’m done.’

Lily’s eyes turned downwards. ‘Done with what?’

Petunia shook her head. ‘You don’t even see it, do you? Everything is always about you. Perfect little Lily and her perfect little life … Mother asked me to drop everything, to be here just because you supposedly need me. Because his passing had to be so traumatic you can’t cope without your big sister holding your hand –’

‘That’s not – !’

‘Let me finish! Because I’m sick of only being here for you, of doing everything for you and getting nothing in return!’ She was angry now. Very, very angry. ‘But I’m just supposed to be fine with it all, aren’t I?! When I say something about it, I’m wrong. I’m difficult, bitter, cold; the one who can’t just smile and be happy that you’re off with your magic and your friends and your special world!’

‘I never meant for things to get like this.’

‘Perhaps not. But it changes nothing. I’m still the problem. I’ve always been the problem because you can’t be arsed to do something about it.’

Lily looked back at her, her green eyes wide and filled with tears she was trying hard to hold back. ‘You’re not a problem, Petunia. You’re my sister …’

Petunia did not respond. She was still furious, her hands trembling slightly. Lily really had nerve, talking to her, crying, as if she was the victim in this all. The silence seemed to stretch out and last an eternity.

‘I’ll go,’ Lily said at last, wiping a tear from her cheek. ‘If that’s what you want.’

Petunia averted her gaze at last, picking up her cup again and focusing on the liquid inside. ‘Do whatever you want,’ she said. ‘You always do.’

‘All right,’ she whispered.

Footsteps left the kitchen, but Petunia did not look up until she heard the door close. Her tea was growing cold, but she could not bring herself to drink it. Lily’s voice still echoed in her mind. Lily’s teary face kept floating in front of her eyes. Her baby sister. She was the elder of the two. She was supposed to protect her. She had promised to protect her …

Perhaps she really was the problem.

 



 

PART FIVE — November 1981

 

Four years went by. Four years in which she buried her guilt and her doubt beneath a deep layer of hatred. Four years in which she told herself that she did not care about her sister. Four years in which meetings always ended in disaster – and though she always vowed to make up for what had happened, she never did. She never apologised. She never talked things through.

And now it was too late.

That was what shot through her mind as she lay in bed, her husband to her side. In the background, she could hear crying, but not Dudley’s. It was too distant to be Dudley’s. It was that other boy, yammering about his mummy and his daddy, both of whom Petunia could not provide. She had tried her best to be a good substitute at first. She had raised the funds to purchase a cheap second cot within a day and placed it in Dudley’s nursery. Dudley just had to share his toys and his clothes and his dummies … She had tried to be accommodating. But the boy kept waking up at night, crying out for his parents, and it woke Dudley up. There had been no other option but to move him to the living room, where he cried himself back to sleep whilst they lay in their bedroom with not a care in the world …

She looked to Vernon. He truly had no care in the world. He slept through the cries. But she? Not a chance.

The living room was not a permanent solution, and they knew this, but so long as the baby kept crying at night, sharing with Dudley was impossible. Sleeping in their spare room was impossible. Vernon had suggested using the cupboard under the stairs, and yes, it was rather spacious, and big enough to fit the boy’s cot and to stand in as an adult to change his nappies … but a cupboard? Petunia did not like the thought of sending her sister’s son to live amongst the spiders.

Her sister’s son.

Him being with her, living here, permanently, made it very real. Which was why she could not ignore him no matter how hard she tried. And she did try. Very hard. She had tried to distance herself from the matter at hand ever since that baby arrived on her doorstep, ever since she read that horrible, horrible letter. Tried to convince herself, to no avail, that he was just another baby, not family – but those eyes! She could not ignore how green they were, how much they reminded her of Lily. So she had done her best to avoid looking into the eyes of the girl she had once called her sister and best friend at all, though she had known it was something she could not forego forever.

And when she finally had, when she finally looked into those brilliant green eyes, she broke down. She had seen her sister in that boy, and she had held him close and told him it would all be all right soon … even though she knew it would not be all right, ever.

That had been yesterday. The boy had been inconsolable since. Somehow, it had only made matters worse.

She sighed and turned over in bed. The funeral was tomorrow. That had to be why she was having such trouble sleeping. She had been invited, but she had not wanted to go. Still did not want to go. Going, again, would make it real. Going would make it final. But Vernon, that awfully pragmatic man, had insisted. ‘It’ll look bad if you don’t’, he had said with that gruffy voice she had come to depend on so much lately.

And she could not argue with that.

And so it turned morning. She put on the dress they had rented for the funeral, and Vernon put on his suit, and they dropped the boys off with the kind old lady that lived just down the street (she had newly moved in just a few days ago, but was a sweetheart and agreed wholeheartedly to watch the boys when they were away), and they got into the car, and they drove and drove and drove until they reached their destination. And Vernon got out of the car, but Petunia stayed seated, deep in thought.

Because this was not happening. It was not real. They were at a chapel, at a funeral, yes, she could live with that – but it was not her funeral. It could not be. Lily had to be alive somewhere, laughing because they all fell for her trick …

‘Are you all right, love?’ Vernon’s voice came from her left, and she looked up to see him crouched beside the car, his hand resting lightly on her arm.

Petunia nodded stiffly. She could not speak. If she spoke, if she let out even a single word, she might break down. And she would not allow herself to break down. She could not allow herself to break down in front of all of these – these wizards. Because that was what the other attendees were, there was no doubt about that; robes and wands and pointy hats speckled the field outside the chapel. Freaks, the lot of them. She and Vernon were the only normal people here.

She got out of the car. She wanted to turn away, to march back to her normal, respectable life with her husband and son. To forget she had ever had anything to do with this cursed world. But her feet would not move, and even if they did, it would be of no use. Privet Drive was no longer untainted. That boy lived there now. That constant reminder that she was not her sister. That she would never be her sister.

She should not have come. Who cared about appearances when it came to these people? They did not fit in with this crowd. And yet she walked beside Vernon and entered the chapel. She took up her seat at the very back, her hands clenched tightly around her purse. It, besides Vernon, was the only thing grounding her.

For now, at least. She had been asked to say something, and she had prepared a note. Not that she wanted to read it aloud. She had not been able to put it into words the way she wanted. But she had still brought it, even though she had declined the invitation to speak.

She opened her purse and stared at the note, the words staring back at her, gripping her heartstrings.

I hate to make this all about me, but who am I supposed to talk to? What am I supposed to do if there’s no you?

She swallowed the lump from her throat and looked around the chapel. She recognised none of the attendees. Well, one; the witch who had given Lily that letter was here. As was – her breath hitched – Severus Snape. That awful boy had not changed one bit. He had the same oily hair, the same face. The same dark eyes that met hers for a brief moment. They were blank, but something was buried beneath them. Guilt. Regret. She knew that feeling all too well.

She looked away. She did not want him to think she wanted to talk to him.

The service started when everyone was seated. The funeral of Lily and James Potter. Her sister and that wizard boy. The one she had never really known, never cared to know. They had met. He had been at Vernon and Petunia’s wedding, and she had seen him when she had introduced Lily to Vernon, and she had brought her boyfriend along for it. Neither meeting had gone well. ‘Third time lucky’, or so the saying went, but she had never wished him death. Murdered, the letter had said. Blown up by that evil guy that fancied himself a lord.

The words had been so cold, so impersonal, as if announcing the death of a stranger. And she supposed, in some ways, she was just that. A stranger. A girl she had known in a distant past. A girl with red hair, the colour of autumn leaves and wide, curious eyes in a shade of brilliant green. A girl who could make everyone smile without trying. A girl who ran through the grass, barefoot, chasing butterflies on a summer afternoon.

Lily was dead. Her baby sister was gone.

But she had left a long time ago. The woman who lay in that coffin was barely recognisable to her.

The service ended, and people began to drift away, some casting her curious glances as if wondering why she had bothered to come.

Petunia followed them to the exit, Vernon in tow. But as she turned to leave for good, something stopped her. She hesitated, casting one last glance at the coffin, at the flowers, at the pictures …

And she felt nothing. No sadness, no remorse, no pity. No loss.

Because if this funeral had made anything painfully clear, it was that Lily had chosen her world – and ordinary, plain, boring, horse-faced Petunia would never be welcome in it.