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"Where do you think you're going?"
Harry Potter stops in his tracks, and backs away from the patio door. He mustn't have seen me sitting here.
"I'm going out to the yard," he says. "Dudley said I could play tag with him and his friends."
I shudder at the thought of Harry playing tag with Dudley. I avoid looking at him directly—the boy makes me nervous, so much so that I'm sweating, and I feel as though I've swallowed a rock. He is so much like his mother, and I can't help but think it's unwise to deny him what he wants. It was definitely unwise with Lily. I down another large gulp of wine before I speak.
"No, there are dishes to be done," I tell him. Unwise it might be, I still have to think of my son. I'll happily take Harry's wrath if it means he stays away from my Dudley.
"Can't I do them later?" He's young, only seven, the same age Lily was when everything started to change.
"No, they need to be done now."
Harry groans and storms off to the kitchen, dragging his feet behind him in a way that will likely leave a mark on my wooden floors. I feel my resentment growing towards the boy who destroyed my hope that life after Lily would be less stressful.
Being born was the first thing Lily did to change me.
I became a big sister that day, and according to Mum, I immediately loved the responsibility. Lily gave me a purpose, because I suddenly had someone to protect, a person who needed me.
We were only a year apart, close enough to be twins. Mum would always tell us how alike we were. She said she didn't know what to name Lily until she was born, and then suddenly it was clear. "She's a flower too, just like you."
I protected Lily with everything I had. I would hold her hand when crossing busy streets. She would wake me up when she had nightmares, and I would sit with her in bed, reading stories until she fell soundly asleep. I would even check under her bed or in her closet to assure her that there were no monsters or ghosts there. She was always so afraid. I would hold her until she stopped crying, and tell her everything would be okay, because ghosts and monsters didn't exist. Even if they did, I would have never let them hurt her.
Strange things would happen to Lily. When Mum and Dad said Lily couldn't bring any chocolate to school, she opened her lunch box in the cafeteria to find it filled to the brim with Hersey's Kisses.
"How did you get those?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I just wanted them really badly."
It didn't make sense, but I didn't care. It was kind of cool, and she was happy to share.
When Lily got the highest score in class on her spelling test, a jealous classmate, William, laughed and told her she was an ugly bookworm. The next day, William reached inside his backpack for his homework, only to withdraw a handful of worms. The teacher was not amused, William didn't get any credit for his homework, and he never made fun of Lily again, at least not to her face.
"He thinks I did it," she explained in the car ride home, when Mum asked why she was upset.
"Well, certainly that's not possible," Mum said, oblivious to the hint of smugness in Lily's bright green eyes.
Then there were things even Mum and Dad couldn't write off as coincidences. The red dress Mum bought her to wear for holiday pictures became her favorite shade of purple after washing, and her hair would grow back unusually fast after a haircut. Her dessert would visibly expand on her plate, and she could jump from the swingset and land so softly, avoiding any cuts or bruises.
When I asked her about it all, she evaded responsibility.
"Weird things happen with you, Lily," I told her. "How are you doing it?"
"I don't know," she said. "I can't control any of it." I wanted to believe her, so I did.
That's why it hurt so much when I broke my ankle.
xXx
Breaking my ankle was the second thing Lily did to change me.
When I was eight, and Lily was seven, my ankle broke while playing tag. We were barefoot in our yard and I was chasing her. I was about to catch her, but then I fell. My body suddenly catapulted into the ground, and I heard my leg break before I felt it. I looked back to see what I had tripped on, but there was nothing there. Then I looked at Lily, and that's when the pain kicked in. It felt like my ankle had been sawed off, and the look on Lily's face showed a flash of guilt. I don't know which one hurt more.
I shouldn't have tripped. My ankle wasn't supposed to be broken, and I knew that Lily had done it.
Mum and Dad were angry when I told them what she had done, but not at her like they should have been. They were angry at me for making up such cruel lies.
"Lily would never do that," my Mum told me. "It was an accident."
I knew it wasn't.
"She's a flower, just like you." I felt like a fool for having believed Mum's words, sick to my stomach as I recalled Lily repeating them back, as if she took pride in being like me. I was ashamed of how much time I'd spent caring for her, assuming she needed my protection. She was not a flower. Flowers were harmless and delicate. Lily was not.
After that, I stopped being her protector, and I became afraid of her, constantly nervous in her presence. I would feel my blood pressure rise whenever she would ask me to read with her, or check under her bed for monsters. There was a monster in her room, and it had always been there. I didn't need to check.
When she received that Hogwarts letter on her eleventh birthday, our parents were so proud. "We have a witch in the family! How wonderful!"
I tried to tell my parents that it wasn't wonderful that their daughter was a freak, but all they did was give me a patronizing hug and tell me to try being happy for her.
"You're just jealous," was what Lily told me, and I hated her for saying that because it was true—I wanted to be a witch too.
It didn't make sense that I hadn't gotten a letter, so I wrote to the Headmaster asking if I could attend Hogwarts with Lily. He said no, because I didn't possess any magical ability. I didn't belong in the Wizarding World.
It couldn't be true. Flowers that didn't belong were called weeds, and I was not a weed.
I tried to make chocolate appear in my lunchbox, but I couldn't. When a classmate told me that I looked like a horse, I imagined her waking up with a tail, but she never sprouted one. I would wish for my clothes to change colors, or for my hair to grow back after Mum cut it too short, but I couldn't make anything happen.
Then I jumped off the swingset at school, and landed hard on the ground instead of softly like Lily would. The bruises that followed were ugly, painful reminders that I was not magical like my sister.
When she arrived at home for Christmas holidays, she immediately came into my room and rushed into a hug. I froze and felt like my chest was going to collapse in panic—my body's reminder that she was capable of hurting me. My arms hung limply by my sides when she hugged me, unwilling to return her affection, and the hurt I saw in her eyes both scared and satisfied me.
We didn't speak much over the holidays, but I would sneak into her room to steal her spell books and potions notes. Although I hated her for being a witch, I couldn't help my curiosity.
I would stay up late, reading her books under the covers of my bed, my lantern illuminating mysterious incantations I'd never heard before. Wingardium Leviosa. Accio. Alohamora.
With every new spell I learned, my fears grew stronger. It seemed that witches and wizards had a spell for everything. There was so much they could do to non magical people, and we'd be defenseless. That's when I realized that I didn't just want magic, I needed it. It was the only way to protect myself from creatures or ghosts, or monsters like Lily.
Then I saw the words Furo Potentia scrawled across Lily's old and tattered copy of A History of Magic.
Furo Potencia, meaning "steal power", is a curse known to remove one's magic in order to transfer it to another being, usually the curse-performer. Banned in the 17th century, using this curse will earn a witch or wizard a lifetime sentence in Azkaban.
My jaw dropped. Maybe I was a witch, and Lily had stolen my magic.
The more I thought about it, the clearer it became. I just knew it was what Lily had done. If she could break my leg, she could curse me, and if she had cursed me, she could undo it. I could get my magic back.
Even though it was the middle of the night, I stormed into her room to demand she put it right.
"Lily," I growled as I shoved the door open. "I know what you did!"
My words woke her up, and she wearily pushed herself up to a seat and rubbed her eyes. "Sorry, what?"
I squinted at the book to read her the spell, even though she obviously already knew it. "Furo Potentia. I know that's the one you did, and I want you to fix it."
Lily's eyes widened when she saw the book I was holding. "Where did you get that?"
"Didn't want me to see it, did you?"
"Don't take my stuff! And I didn't do anything!" Her voice had a forceful plead to it. "They don't teach us spells like that anyway—"
"ADMIT IT!"
At that moment, the door burst open and Mum appeared. "Petunia!" she shouted in a dreary rage. "What in the heavens are you doing yelling at this hour?"
I turned back to Lily. "Tell her what you did," I demanded.
"Nothing!"
"She cursed me, Mum!"
"NO, I DIDN'T!" screamed Lily. I felt my fists clench and my chest tighten as her voice pierced the air between us. Lily scared me when she was quiet, but it was even worse when she screamed. I settled my nerves by reminding myself that she'd never hurt me in front of Mum.
"Oh, stop arguing, girls. I hate to see you two like this," said Mum in a trembling, tearful voice. "My beautiful flowers."
"She's not a flower, she's a weed," I said, anger dripping from my voice. For the first time, I wanted to hurt Lily. Before, I had taken pride in my restraint—I never laid a finger on her even when she had broken my ankle. Fueled by my nervous fear, I screamed, and hurled the book at her head.
Mum gasped and Lily shrieked as the spell book flew toward Lily's face like a cannon. Then, right before it hit her, the book curved to the left, missing her head by mere centimeters.
"I knew you could control it!"
I met Lily's insidious glare, her green eyes penetrating mine like daggers, and I barely heard Mum speak.
"Apologize to your sister, Petunia."
"Why?" I asked, without breaking Lily's eye contact.
"For being so cruel!"
I turned to look at Mum, flinching under her irate stare. Standing between the two of them as the object of their anger made me want to cry. I had no reason to apologize, so I turned and left the room, slamming the door on my way out.
That's when I knew the rift between Lily and me was irreversible. She'd taken something essential from me. Because of Lily, I'd never know what it would be like to be a witch, and I'd never be able to protect myself against one. Throwing a book was the most power I'd ever be able to assert over a magical person. It was as good as nothing.
xXx
Dying was the third thing Lily did to change me.
My heart rate skyrocketed, and my breath got stuck in my throat when I heard the late night knock. I opened the door to see Dumbledore, and suddenly, I was holding a one-year-old boy in my arms, and learning that I would never see Lily again.
Grief gripped my body so intensely that I almost dropped the child. I'd never have an opportunity to make amends with her. Resentment filled me to the point where I wanted to drop the child, because of what she had done to me. Fear plagued me when I looked at the child and saw her eyes, because I knew immediately what the boy was capable of.
Her death changed me because I became the guardian of her son. She wanted me to be his protector, but I knew that like his mother, he didn't need protection. I had my own son to care for, and although I couldn't change what Lily had done to me, I could still stop her son from hurting mine.
"Where's he going to sleep?" asked Vernon, looking at the boy with narrow, suspicious eyes.
"In the cupboard under the stairs."
It was the best I could offer, because just like a weed, he didn't belong here.
My eyes jolt open at the sound of Dudley's scream, and I shake my head to orient myself to my surroundings. I must have accidentally fallen asleep. I immediately peer into the kitchen to see the stack of dirty dishes still untouched. With a groan, I rise to my feet, and the half-full wine glass that had been resting on my lap spills onto the fabric of my sofa. My jaw clenches in anger. It's all the boy's fault, if he didn't make me so anxious I wouldn't drink so much wine, and fall asleep at odd hours of the day. For a moment, I think about practicing restraint, but ultimately figure it's best to save the effort for my conversation with the boy.
Before I exit through the patio door, I grip the glass tightly and throw it against the wooden floor. The sound of it shattering makes me feel powerful.
Dudley is standing in the yard, arms crossed, with his friends positioned behind him like bowling pins. He is staring right at Harry. His face is red in anger, and even from here I can see the veins in his neck swelling with fury.
My heart rate has already picked up, and I'm panicking. I bury my panic and storm out into the yard.
"Potter!" Dudley looks immediately relieved at my arrival. He is a sweet boy, and doesn't deserve whatever Harry's done to him. "Why are you out here?"
Dudley cuts in before Harry can respond, answering my next question. "He pushed me! We were playing tag, and he pushed me to the ground!"
My heart breaks for poor sweet Dudley, and I can sense that he's scared.
"You tripped! I wasn't even near you!" shouts Harry.
"Don't lie," I tell him. "It's not good to tell lies."
"I'm not lying!"
"Go back inside, finish your chores, then stay in your room for the rest of the evening," I tell him. He turns toward me, and stomps toward the door. I catch him before he passes and grab the collar of his shirt. "And if you hurt my son, I'll hurt you."
He looks me right in the eye, and it's all I can do not to look away. I see anger in his eyes, and I can hardly breathe because I know how dangerous that can be. I am immediately reminded of Lily, and the way she could send a knife through my heart with her serpent-like glare. It makes my hair stand on end, and my palms sweat. He really does have his mothers eyes, and I hate him for it.
I let go of his collar, leaving a sweat-soaked handprint on his chest, and I am thankful when he breaks my gaze to trudge toward the house with slumped shoulders. I don't tell him about the broken glass.
Dudley and his friends have already resumed their game of tag, and I am confident that they won't ask Harry to play again. I feel my heart rate returning to normal, but I'm still on edge. Even in death, Lily still haunts me, always showing up where she doesn't belong like a determined weed. I must stay vigilant, pruning the garden of my family so Dudley, my flower, can fully bloom.