Chapter Text
It had arrived early.
Why it had arrived so early had been both a mystery and a mild annoyance. But there it had sat, on the window ledge that framed her kitchen sink—a large brown package tied neatly with twine, serving as a temporary perch for the ruffled brown owl that sat atop it. Petunia had been equal parts unimpressed, surprised and scandalised. She’d swept into the kitchen with rollers still in her hair and a toddler on her hip. Fearful of what her neighbours would think, she’d shooed the dozing bird away with a tea towel and hastily snatched the package, fumbling with it one-handedly, almost dropping it into the sink. It had been heavier than she’d thought and it rattled as it slid from her hand and onto the countertop.
She’d known who it was from—the owl had been proof enough—and that alone demanded that she see to it immediately. But the floor above her creaked as Vernon rolled out of bed and Dudley began fussing. She’d awoken late that morning, and she cursed her sister as she placed Dudley in his highchair and began preparing breakfast, all the while eyeing the inconspicuous package while frying the eggs and boiling the kettle. She’d whipped up breakfast in record time and fixed Dudley with his own little serving of porridge and sliced fruit. Handing her son a plastic spoon, she left him to feed himself and turned her attention back to the damned thing still taking up space on her kitchen counter. Listening to the pipes groan as the water ran in the bathroom upstairs, she didn't waste another moment, snipping the twine and tearing through the wrapping with an unsettling mixture of anticipation and trepidation.
She’d stared at it in shock for far too long.
It was hideous, exactly the kind of thing that Lily would have thought she would’ve liked. It was a somewhat large vase, longer than her forearm and girthy in width. A twisting, cylindrical monstrosity of lightly coloured glass.
Petunia hadn’t known what to think, not quite able to comprehend the object that laid in front of her—the supposed gift. She’d stood there feeling all too numb and terribly uneasy, until her husband came trudging down the stairs and into the kitchen. She froze at his sudden appearance, wide eyed and attempting to hide the package and its content behind her back as Vernon came rounding the corner, cursing her sister once again for the umpteenth time that morning.
Vernon’s eyes had first landed on their son—covered in mush and sucking on his spoon—and then the handfuls of squashed banana flung onto the nearby floor, before finally landing on his unusually harried wife and the package that was far too large to hide behind her back. Torn parchment scattered the countertop and a few scraps littered the floor. Petunia spluttered at the mess and dove to begin cleaning away the sticky mess of fruit, giving her husband a clear, unobstructed view of the unexpected parcel.
Vernon frowned, lowering himself into his seat, “what’s all that?”. He eyed the package suspiciously, reaching over to pluck the sticky utensil from Dudley’s hands before he could send it sailing across the room, “bit early for the post, isn't it?”. Petunia popped back up from across the table, her head just brushing the wooden edge, sending a roller flopping forward onto her forehead. She huffed, brushing it back into place while wetting a tea towel to wipe Dudley’s porridge covered face. She gave a muttered response, head bowed and avoiding Vernon’s eyes, busying herself with her son. “What?”, Vernon prodded, not having heard her properly, frown deepening as he tucked into his breakfast.
Petunia huffed a deep sigh and turned back to the stove to finally fix herself a cup of tea. “It’s from Lily”, what point was there in beating around the bush? Behind her she could hear Vernon splutter, choking momentarily on his eggs. Her foot brushed against a scrap of wrapping on the ground and she glared at it in offence.
“Why the– what the bloody hell is that witch sending us now!”.
Petunia rolled her eyes at the wording of it. He made it sound as if Lily and her were in the habit of exchanging mail—how ridiculous. Petunia dipped her tea bag into the boiling water and turned back to the parcel.
“It’s a vase”, she grumbled, spying an envelope that had gone unnoticed, hidden beneath the box that the vase was securely tucked into. She slid it out with the tip of her finger and turned it over in her hands, examining the familiar handwriting on the front. Tuning out her husband’s voice, she opened the envelope to reveal a jolly looking Christmas card. She opened it and scanned its written contents, the corners of her mouth tugged downwards as she did so. It was–all things considered–an ordinary Christmas card between sisters. It wished her and her family a pleasant holiday before briefly detailing the recent happenings of the Potter family. Petunia scoffed at the first mention of her brother-in-law and promptly skipped the subsequent paragraph and cut straight to the end. Lily had written, asking of the wellbeing of her nephew, and other mundane inquiries into Petunia’s little slice of suburban paradise. Glowering, she read the last line before tossing the cheerful waste of paper to the side. “It’s a Christmas present”.
“Who in their right mind sends a Christmas present in October!”, Vernon sneered.
Petunia sighed, feeling far too tired for someone who’d gotten a full nine hours of blissful, uninterrupted sleep. Vernon continued his muttering as Petunia nibbled on two slices of toast. He continued his muttering as he finished his meal and began readying himself for work. Still muttering under his breath, he kissed both his wife and child goodbye, but not before demanding that the damned thing be thrown into the trash before he got back from work.
With her husband out the door, Petunia sat at the table rubbing her temples, attempting to subdue the oncoming headache. Dudley offered her a toothy smile and Petunia responded with a tired one of her own.
Despite the unexpected start to the morning, there was no point in wasting the day. So, Petunia got to work.
She cleared the breakfast table and swept the kitchen before ascending to the second floor of the house with Dudley in tow. Changing out of her night gown and plucking the rollers out of her hair, she reappeared in the kitchen, dressed and ready for the day. Despite the light drizzle of rain that was beginning to fall from the sky, she decided to attend to the bushes in the backyard, rather than deal with the vase still sitting on her kitchen counter.
Placing Dudley in his play pen, she arranged a stylish wide brimmed hat atop her elegantly curled hair and made her way towards the garden shed to retrieve a pair of shears.
As she’d approached the back fence with the shears in hand, she passed by the kitchen window and doubled back upon noticing that something had fallen into the flower bed below. She hurried over to the window, affronted by the sizable dent in her orange pansies. It was another package, one that was roughly the same size as the first one that had arrived just that morning.
Anger had sparked and sizzled beneath her skin. That blasted owl must have dropped it! Feeling as though steam would soon begin billowing out her ears, she snatched the package off the ground and stomped her way back into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind her with a bang.
Not caring for the state of her counters, she’d flung the shears onto the clean surface and made her way to the dinner table. Grinding her teeth she ripped off the soggy wrapping without an ounce of care. She yanked off the twine and wrenched open the box, and for the second time that morning, Petunia froze.
Inside the box was a large bouquet of flowers.
Her anger had evaporated like steam, and she’d found herself stunned. The flowers were vibrant and colourful, not a single petal out of place. Taken back by the contents of the second parcel, she reached out a hand to stroke one of the glittering petals. She’d wondered how on earth it had arrived undamaged—and in a box that had been dropped by a half-witted bird no less. And then as suddenly as her anger had been replaced by astonishment, her expression soured. She had forgotten that her sister was a witch.
Annoyance crept back into her as she grasped the bouquet and pulled it free from the box. She held it at arm's length, examining it with a critical eye.
The flowers themselves were undeniably beautiful, large pink and white stargazer lilies surrounded by blooming petunias in every shade of pink and purple. Petunia struggled to swallow around the knot that formed in her throat. The flowers seemed too perfect to be real. Tearing her gaze away from the bouquet, her eyes landed on a folded piece of paper at the bottom of the box. With trembling hands, she unfolded it.
Dearest Petunia,
I hope you are still as fond of flowers as you were when we were children.
These flowers will never wilt, nor will they ever die, they will be forever in bloom.
Your loving sister, Lily
She stared at the message addressed to her in her sister's slanted handwriting. Her hands shook as her eyes traced the curve of each letter and the familiar way she’d written her name.
Petunia turned her attention back to the bouquet still held aloft in her left hand.
She hated it.
She hated it, she hated it, she hated it.
They were hideous. The colours didn't match, the vase was gaudy and the lilies were too big, overshadowing the petunias and swallowing them up.
She dropped them, letting them fall unceremoniously back into the box. She slammed the lid back on, undoubtedly crushing the flowers in the process.
She packed them both into boxes and shoved them into a dark, dusty corner of the attic.
With trembling hands she’d cleaned up the kitchen once more, removing any and all traces of her sister from her life. Once it was done and the room was spotless, Petunia took a deep breath, and did her best to breathe.