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Petunia was seven when Lily started school. She remembers this because it became the first in a long line of days she remembers hating her sister for.
Not that it's the first day she'd hated. But it's hard to hate Christmas, even when it does steal your birthday. It's hard to hate someone for crying about a grazed knee when you know how much they hurt. It's a bit less hard to hate her the second time, or the third, when you know she knows it’ll hurt and yet she does it anyway. Just for the attention.
Still, accidents happen. Petunia knew that. She’d tried not to hold it against her sister.
But after the third time tears turn into wonder as her skin knits itself back together and their parents hover around with grins but glances, always the glances, it had been so much harder to believe it was an accident. Petunia’s skin had never knit itself together like that, not so quickly, not right in front of her eyes. She wishes it would. Maybe then she'd have been less worried about playing around with the other kids, about breaking her arm like Gregor Carson did that time in her first week at school. His screams still haunt her sometimes, and yet he walks around like it never happened.
Petunia can't forget that easily. She never can. Her thoughts just don't go away, ever.
Like the thought of Lily’s first day of school, when Petunia was seven, the first day she can remember ever really hating her sister.
It had been pretty warm for autumn. Cloudy, of course, despite the temperature, but Petunia had still sweated part way through her uniform shirt. That might have had more to do with Lily than the weather, honestly, but it’s hard to tell.
She'd been excited all week, looking forward to seeing friends she hadn't seen all summer, hoping to get Mrs. MacElroy, who'd subbed for one of her classes the year before and who everyone had said would be staying this year. Everyone wanted her as their teacher. It had been all they'd been talking about before school let out. You find out in assembly, see, as they call out everyone's names with their classes, and then you follow your new teacher to their room. The last two years it had been very fun, and now Lily knows all about it too, so she must be excited.
She had been, Petunia is pretty sure. She'd smiled and nodded, at least, that awkward toothy smile she'd thankfully grown out of.
Anyway, the morning of Lily’s first day of school.
Petunia had gotten up so early, getting dressed and making her own breakfast before her parents even needed to remind her. She ate at the table, washed her dishes by dragging her chair over to the sink, and then made sure her bag was packed with all the new stationery and books her parents had gotten her.
Lily, on the other hand, had not gotten up early. Apparently, she had decided just that morning that school was not, in fact, something she was excited for. Their parents had both stayed upstairs - past the time Dad was meant to go to work - trying to get her to come down for so long that Petunia debated walking to school by herself.
Eventually, after repacking her bag for the fifth time, she had gone upstairs to see what the big fuss was about. Lily was crying, of course, big fat tears and waving fists. Wailing the house down.
“What on earth is she crying about?” Petunia had asked her mum. “It's school! School is good. She knows that. I told her.”
“She's just overwhelmed, honey,” Mum had told her. Dad had been over by the bed, trying to hold Lily’s arms down and failing.
“Can I go, then?” Petunia had asked. Mum was distracted, she's pretty sure, and hadn't heard her, because she remembers running around in front of her mum to ask again. It had made Lily cry harder, and then there had been a pop sound, and then Petunia's uniform had become bright orange.
Lily had started laughing, not crying, and Petunia had been so embarrassed she remembers feeling like her face was as red as her sister’s hair. She'd run to lock herself in the bathroom and desperately tried to rub the colour out, but it never left.
She hadn't had a spare, and while Lily had eventually calmed down enough to leave her room, by the time Petunia crept out of the bathroom to get out of the awful orange not-uniform (how could she go to school like this?) the upstairs had been empty. She'd tried to find as similar as she could to the uniform in her wardrobe, but nothing had really worked. School was ruined anyway. They'd definitely missed the assembly.
It was all Lily’s fault, but there she was downstairs on the couch with their mum, smiling like she'd never done anything wrong in her life, like she'd never ruined Petunia’s uniform, ruined her chances of making a good first impression, ruined everything.
And then, once Petunia had come downstairs, Mum had smiled at her and said they'd be skipping school for the day, but going to get ice cream instead.
It had been warm, definitely - probably warm enough for ice cream - but Petunia had been so frustrated and, still, embarrassed, that that had been the last straw. She'd felt her eyes start to burn, and so she'd hidden it the only way she knew how. The only way that ever worked.
“How dare you?! I thought you wanted to go to school! And now you've just ruined it?”
Lily had sat there, blinking, almost like she was startled, and Petunia had really wanted to cry then.
“And you don't even care?! What, was this your plan all along? Ruin the whole day? Why?! How could you?”
Mum had started talking then, something like it wasn't her fault or she didn't mean it, but-
“She turned my uniform orange! What am I meant to wear?!”
“Well,” Mum had said. “I'm sure she could change it back.”
That had stopped her, for a second.
“Well?” she asked Lily, still upset. “Can you?”
Lily had just mutely shaken her head.
“What good is your stupid freakishness if you can't even fix it? You've ruined everything!”
Petunia had gone back up to her room then, door yanked shut behind her. She isn't sure if they went for ice cream or not, but she must have fallen asleep, because it was Dad who had finally come in to talk to her.
All he'd said, though, was that Lily hadn't done it on purpose. How could she not have, though? All Petunia had thought about - talked about - most of the summer - was school. How on earth was ruining the first day of school NOT ON PURPOSE?!
She'd said as much, too. Dad had told her to calm down. Like he ever was.
Petunia had asked him when they expected to fix her uniform.
He had paused, as if he hadn't considered it, as if no one had thought about that, as if it didn't matter.
Petunia hadn't gone to school all of that first week. Nor had Lily. Just like she'd wanted.
When they finally did get to go to school, their parents were so proud of Lily for being normal, like it was hard. Like she shouldn't be that way all the time. Like Petunia wasn't normal, because she certainly wasn't getting praised just for going to school.
It had been awful. Her first day back, a week late, and no one had even cared.
No one except Mrs. MacElroy, whom she did in fact have as a teacher. She made Petunia sit in the back, far from any of her friends and next to the worst boy in the whole school, who’d always try to follow you into the bathroom. Mrs. MacElroy barely ever looked at the back, and when she did Petunia was always trying to get as far from that awful boy as possible, so couldn't answer her questions.
Petunia had been so excited to have her, but since they'd all picked desks their first day, since Lily had made her miss it, it had just all been ruined. Mrs. MacElroy hadn't remembered her from the year before at all. She didn't even like her.
After that, Petunia hadn't liked school very much. Still, the right thing to do was stick it out, get good grades, give your parents something to be proud of.
Except there was never any pride left for her. It all went to Lily.
It was always Lily.
Petunia hated it.
So, of course, she came to hate the common denominator. Her stupid freak sister.
Lily.
Petunia’s never remembered exactly when it was, her memories of her sister and that awful greasy boy as far from her current thoughts as she can get them at all times, but she knows the scar on her shoulder all too well. Real, normal, skin doesn't just knit itself together perfectly after every minor injury, after all.
Not that Petunia remembers it being particularly minor. That boy’s awful freak nonsense has dropped an entire tree branch on her, after all. On purpose, too, she knows it.
She had, of course, run home crying, trying to get some help.
Her mum, half-cooking dinner, had been too distracted looking at the phone over and over to offer much help. Petunia had shown her her shoulder, after all, the blood dribbling down and staining her sleeve, and all the help she'd gotten was the advice of put a bandaid on it.
As if she couldn't have figured that out herself!
Well, that had shown her. It wasn't just Lily, it was the stupid phone, no doubt her dad not calling home, that was more important than her.
Everything was more important than her. It didn't matter that Lily’s friend had caused it, that that freak had caused it, that Petunia was bleeding and would have to throw out yet another shirt-
None of that mattered. Petunia didn't matter.
She still doesn't.
(Petunia had left the house again, and gone down a familiar alleyway once she'd seen one of the neighbour cats)
(Lily had come and asked her if her shoulder was okay, and Petunia had had to hiss at her)
(making fun of her, like she didn't know, like anything was okay)
(like Dad had been home the whole time, and Mum had never been too distracted to fuss)
(like it had all worked out perfectly the first time)
Still, Petunia had acquiesced eventually. Lily’s freak powers had gotten her a fancy letter, after all, a visit from a far off school’s teacher, brand new clothes and books and all, and all the praise Petunia had never gotten.
So, she'd copied the address on the back of Lily’s letter, and she'd written her own.
Maybe the only way to beat out her sister was to do it her way. If that was what it would take, then fine. Petunia could have done that. She hadn't been too proud to admit it, then, either.
The letter she'd gotten back had been very polite. It'd even come in the mailbox the normal way so no one else would ever know.
But it had still told her she wasn't like Lily, she could never be like Lily.
Fine, then, Petunia had decided, for perhaps the final time.
She wouldn't be like her sister at all. She wouldn't be a freak. She'd get good grades, the best ones, do amazingly at her piano lessons, and she'd help out at home, and Lily wouldn't be there anyway so she'd get to have all of their parents' attention to herself.
It had been perfect, that world of her dreams.
It had been awful, living the reality.
And then Lily had told her she'd seen the letter, too, known Petunia had asked to join her- of course she'd had to call her a freak.
Of course she had. She couldn't have Lily thinking she was jealous of her, no, not like this. Not with her parents barely acknowledging her the entire way home.
Each chore Petunia did had another two hidden behind it, it felt like. Take out the rubbish once and suddenly you're picking up all the beer bottles left on the coffee table before you go to school in the morning. Help with dinner, and now you have to do the dishes too. Do some gardening in the weekend on a little bit of free time, and now Dad’s roped you into mowing the lawn.
Mum had stopped that one, at least. How could Petunia ever be a proper lady, after all, having to mow the lawn?
She did appreciate the help with the garden, though.
Not enough, in Petunia’s opinion - they'd get letters from Lily and sing her praises for a week, but Petunia helps the same way every day and barely gets a thank you.
Still, she had kept her grades up as best she could, chugged along with homework and piano all through primary school and three years into secondary.
When Lily was home, she'd stay out with friends - it was easier than having to go back to the reality that her sister could do nothing wrong.
That she could do nothing right.
And then Sunday, the seventh of June, 1998, had come.
It had started like any other Sunday; Petunia up early, getting dressed and going downstairs to have breakfast.
The first sign that something was off had been the lack of beer bottles on the coffee table.
The second was the knock that came at the door.
Petunia had opened it, greeted by two police officers who both seemed to wince as they had to look down at her. She had cleared her throat, trying to stand up taller.
“Can I help you, sirs?” she remembers asking.
“Is your mother home?” the taller one had asked.
“Yes,” Petunia had told them. “She's asleep, though, can I help?”
“Go get her,” the shorter one had said, no room for argument. Petunia had looked between them, nodded, and politely asked if they would like to come in.
Neither of them had.
She'd gone upstairs, gotten her mother, who hadn't wanted to get out of bed at all until she'd mentioned police officers.
“Where's your father?” she'd asked, then.
“I don't know, Mum, he's probably gone somewhere early,” Petunia had replied.
She thinks, though, that something in her must have known as she said it that it wasn't true. Something in her must have taken in the way her mother’s face had gone white and she'd almost sprinted down the stairs.
She doesn't remember the officers’ words past that, after all.
What she does remember is riding in the police car to the morgue.
Getting asked to identify the body, because her mother had stopped moving as soon as they'd pulled out the tray with her father’s body on it.
She'd stopped moving then, and not started back for weeks.
Petunia had done all she could do to stop herself from vibrating apart.
She'd called the church, as soon as the police officers had dropped them off home. It was all she could think of. They'd given her a time, and a date, and made appointments for Tuesday to get everything sorted out for the funeral.
And then she'd taken money from Mum’s purse, as much as was there because she'd had no idea how much it would cost and Mum had never answered her questions, and she'd gotten lost in London trying to send a stupid ruddy letter to her stupid ruddy sister.
She hadn't gotten home until almost midnight. Mum had been right where she'd left her on the couch, and Petunia had been too tired to move her.
Of course, when she was still there in the morning, she'd known she had to do something. She'd made her a breakfast of toast with jam, and fed it to her when she's done nothing but sit still.
The rest of the day had been spent calling friends and relatives and telling them Thursday, one o’clock. St. Michaels.
The rest of the week had been spent trying to get Mum to move, to eat, to shower, to do anything.
She'd gone to the Tuesday appointment by herself, with photos and a list of people who wanted to give speeches when she'd asked on the phone. The priest was very kind.
“Will your sister be coming?” she remembers him asking at one point. She isn't sure she'd replied.
On Thursday, Mum had to be wearing clothes. Smart ones. Clothes, and make up. Shoes. Earrings.
It had taken Petunia all morning to get her presentable, though at least she'd had the forethought to do her own hair first. Then, around midday, there had been a knock at the door. She'd nearly cried at the memory of the last time she'd opened it, but she'd managed to close her dressing gown around the dress she'd only just gotten on and open it.
And then Lily had been there. Barely an hour to go.
Petunia had almost cried, again, right there on the doorstep with her sister staring at her. And then Lily had hugged her, and she'd had to push her back to avoid it entirely.
But she'd gotten there- how? Why had she brought friends? Why was she here now?
Oh, she came for the funeral. No, not to help.
Just for the funeral.
And then Mum had gotten off the couch, and walked over to Lily. Lily, and her magic touch. Lily and her magic.
Lily and her magic friends, who had still been there, who had for some reason thought they could stay. As if Petunia was in any fit state for company! As if their mum was!
She'd offered Lily breakfast, at least. Some more toast.
Some more help with getting Mum dressed, at least, with her shoes and make up, before Lily had somehow coaxed her to stand.
It had somehow been simultaneously the best and most frustrating thing in the world, to see Mum and Lily walking hand-in-hand down the street.
The funeral had gone smoothly, at least, with all of Petunia’s planning paid off for the fifty or so people who had bothered to show. Lily hadn't made a speech, so Petunia had made hers on behalf of them both, and their mother.
Lily had, at least, taken their mum home while Petunia had said goodbye to everyone, including some of her friends who had been kind enough to come.
(or, as one of them jokingly tells her, to get out of a day of school)
And then Lily had said exams were on Monday. Like the first thing she could think of was her stupid magic freak school. Like she couldn't wait to leave.
Well, good for her then.
Petunia had only wished she could leave, too.
The time between Lily leaving and coming back are some of the worst weeks in Petunia’s memory. She likes to remember them as little as possible, honestly.
With her dad dead, and her mum halfway there on the couch, Petunia had taken it upon herself to try to keep them looking as normal as possible.
She fed her mum twice a day, went to school and got the best grades possible, studied for all of her own exams - all the while learning how to talk to the power company, how to keep her mum alive, and to make up excuses for why she wasn't at work.
And then it had all fallen apart.
“Listen, Petunia,” her mum’s boss has told her one time, a week or two after he'd first called. “I’ve given you time, okay? Lots of it. But I'm not made of money. If your mum’s not back at work on Monday, I'll have no choice but to fire her.”
Petunia had done her best. Her very, very best.
She'd told her mum about the threat of being fired. About the power going out. About needing to look proper for everyone that kept dropping food off, because once that stopped they were liable to starve.
She'd even talked about Lily, when none of that had worked, because her mum always seemed to perk up then.
But Monday had dawned bright and early, and Petunia had spent sunrise getting her mum dressed, forcing her to eat, and trying so, so hard to get her off of the couch.
The sun had kept rising. And rising. And rising.
Mum had never gotten off the couch.
Petunia had never gone to school.
She'd sat with her mum all day, scared somehow that after all of this she might decide she was better off with Dad.
Her boss had called at midday.
Petunia had set her mind to getting her own job, called school in her mother’s voice to tell them she had come down with an awful flu, and then… stopped.
She remembers wondering, what could I do? She'd been fifteen, after all - old enough for a job, just, but not old enough for an important one.
Besides, flu was only an excuse. She'd have to go back to school after the summer, at least.
So, she'd drawn up a spreadsheet, one eye on her mother, never moving from the couch. Costs, times, how much she would need to keep them afloat through the summer.
She'd prayed, prayed, and prayed that Lily could somehow work her freak magic and get their mum back to working by the summer’s end. If not, she'd have to reconsider.
For now, at least, she'd had a plan.
That's how she'd ended up working in the gardens of the rich part of town, doing the only marketable skill she'd ever really had.
She'd miscalculated, slightly, the day they'd gone to get Lily from the station. Mum had gotten up, at least, but a taxi all the way home was insane money they didn't have.
Moira’s lasagna was the only thing keeping them afloat the next day. At least she'd been given some of the Wakefield’s leftover dinner before she'd had to walk home.
It still wasn't enough, though. Lily had been home, finally. She'd have to pull her weight.
Mum still wouldn’t listen to her, after all, but she'd always listened to Lily. She had to listen to Lily.
The free food would run out, Petunia had known. Rent wouldn't pay itself, but her stupid catatonic mother had been too thick to see it.
She'd worked almost every day of that hot, hot, too hot summer.
Lily, at least, has started to get them food. It had made the idea of paying rent slightly less scary.
And then, suddenly, there had been a weekend with no food. Petunia hadn't had enough money for more.
She'd fed her mum the stale crackers from the very bottom of the pantry, with jam from the end of the jar, and debated how much rent was worth not eating, and decided if Lily’s note was true then starving for a couple of days would be fine.
And then Lily had been there, when she got home, starving and exhausted and way too hot, her hair still in a bun from the garden work because she'd forgotten to take it out.
And Lily had barely acknowledged that she'd just vanished! It can't have been that hard to get a job, to buy food - and then just to leave? With no warning, just a note? Just like their stupid father-
And then she'd yelled that they'd made dinner. Like that made up for it all. Like bringing her friend over here to see the state of their mother was okay. Like it was all okay.
Like her freak friend telling Petunia, in her own home, to fuck off was okay.
Petunia had been so mad she'd forgotten all about her hunger.
At least, after that, the cupboards had been somewhat-stocked instead of completely barren.
Lily hadn't managed to get their mother off the couch, though.
Petunia hadn't even realized she'd gone back to school until the pantry had been empty once more.
And then she'd been left standing there, in that stupid house, with their stupid catatonic mother, with rent due and food she now has to pay for, too, and a vague idea that what was meant to be her year eleven might have started already.
At least, when she’d worked at the Dursley’s, she got to see Vernon, who was tall and sweet and asked her in for dinner a few days a week.
They went out for their first proper date in November, and Vernon paid like a proper gentleman. He spent the entire time talking about his plans for owning a business after he finishes his degree - which, she’d known, he'd just started that year - and Petunia had been perfectly content to listen. He'll have a nice job, she’d been thinking. They'll have a nice house, one of their own, and he'll pay the bills and all she'll have to do is make sure their child is loved.
It'll be easy, she had decided.
But she still hadn't gone back to school by the time Lily had sent her a letter asking about Christmas, as if anyone had the money or time to think about that.
Lily still somehow had the gall to send them Christmas cards.
Petunia had looked at them, at the ink splatter at the corner of one of the pages, and thrown them in the bin.
Mum was still on the couch.
Petunia had wanted to shake her. She’d wanted to slap her, wake her up and never have to worry about money ever again.
But life doesn't work like that. Lily had been a fool for still thinking it had.
Petunia had turned sixteen that Christmas day. Vernon had bought her a present; a lovely vase, with some flowers to put in it.
Somehow, those flowers seemed to wake Mum up in a way nothing else had, even Lily.
Petunia had started sending her out to their own garden every week to get new ones, and slowly but surely Mum had almost started to come back to her.
She even had Vernon over to their house a few nights.
One of the best things about this was that Petunia could ask him for presents, new recipes she wanted to try, ingredients she might need for this or that, and everything had slowly gotten just a little easier.
She’d reconnected with some friends she hadn't spoken to since she left school. It felt a bit pointless to go back, at that point, but they'd all been very impressed with her older boyfriend, once she'd told them about him.
She'd told Vernon about meeting them, and he'd looked at her for a few seconds, confusion on his face, before he'd asked how old she was.
She'd laughed and asked him if he'd never been taught it was rude to ask a lady that, and he thankfully hadn't asked again.
She couldn't lose him. Not like that. Not after everything.
They’d gotten a letter towards the start of summer with the date of Lily’s last day of school on it, just like they had every year.
Petunia had scoffed and thrown it in the bin. She hadn't said goodbye, why would she want a hello?
Mum had somehow managed to go pick her up, though.
At least all Petunia had to do then was convince her to get a job.
It's almost comical, how much Lily hadn't seemed to like Vernon. At least he'd always been too busy talking to notice.
Mum got easier to convince the longer summer went on.
By the time Petunia had technically been supposed to start her sixth form, she'd convinced her, finally.
Mum went to see Lily off to school, and Petunia got to breathe.
She'd started taking Vernon lunch at school, and making sure dinner was ready for when Mum got home.
It was so, so much easier when she didn't have to work, too.
Lily came home for Christmas, Petunia is pretty sure, but she didn't see her much. Vernon liked the cookies she made, at least. Mum was functional.
No one missed her on Christmas eve, when she spent the night at Vernon’s - not having sex, of course, because they weren't married yet and that would've been improper - but just existing.
Safe.
She’d turned seventeen the next morning.
The next year, Lily hadn't been home for Christmas.
Petunia had turned eighteen, and Vernon’s family had had her and her mum for dinner.
It had been perfectly normal.
And then Vernon had proposed.
Quietly, thankfully, in the sanctuary of his empty room.
And Petunia had said no.
She's not sure why she'd declined, but she did.
(maybe she had known)
(maybe she does know)
(maybe she'd been holding out hope)
(maybe it matters that Lily had come home for the funeral)
Petunia had sent her sister a birthday present, of course, as she had every year.
She's sure it had arrived on time, too, since the funeral letter had taken four days to arrive.
(since Albus Dumbledore had replied to her much later than he'd needed to)
Lily had come home, again, and they'd started having family dinners every Friday night.
It was nice to have a night each week where Mum did all the cooking and she only had to help a little.
It had all been so… normal. So far removed from any freakishness.
So far removed from the family she had barely remembered having.
That's why she'd told Lily she'd be moving out soon. That Vernon could propose now.
Because she'd learnt the hard way that normal never lasted.
Mum had gotten sick.
Petunia had started doing all the cooking again. At least Mum had still been able to work, though.
And then Mum had come home one day from her doctor’s appointment, this look on her face like someone had died, and she'd told Petunia just who it would be.
“I've got cancer.”
Petunia had just stared at her. She hadn't needed to ask any more questions, not about that.
“We can give you money,” she'd said instead. “Once Vernon’s working, so you can pay rent.”
“Oh, Petunia,” her mum had said, and then she'd hugged her. “You mustn't tell Lily, okay?”
Petunia had scoffed.
“Like I talk to her.”
“Petunia.”
“What, Mum? She's away at her freak school. How would I talk to her, anyway?”
Mum had just sighed.
“At least tell her what you want her to wear for your wedding.”
“You tell her. I know you send letters, sometimes. Tell her it's on August eighth, she'll need a boyfriend - one who's not a freak, if it's possible - actually, tell her I'll get her a date.”
“Petunia.”
“What?”
Her mum had looked at her like they were living a thousand years apart. Like she still had any right to try to parent her after leaving her to pay their rent for a year.
“She'll have a date, I'm sure.”
“Great,” Petunia had said. “Fine. You tell her that, tell her you don't have cancer, whatever. She wouldn't be much help anyway, I'm sure.”
Mum had just sighed again.
“What do you want for dinner?” Petunia had asked.
Lily had gotten her a crockery set for that Christmas. Floral, patterned, not too horribly tacky.
It had actually been a pretty good gift.
Vernon will have been working for a year, by the time they get married. With help from his parents, they'll have their own house, Vernon his own car, and a bit of money to make sure Mum pays her rent.
It'll be everything Petunia had ever wanted.
All she'll have to do, once they're married, is ensure their child never wants for anything.
Vernon, at least, won't ever randomly disappear on her. He's happy with only one kid, so they'll never have to fight for her attention. Petunia will be a wife, and she will be a damn good one.
All that's left is seven and a bit months, and one amazing marriage ceremony.
For once in her life, it seems, Petunia has something to look forward to.
There's absolutely no way she'll let Lily ruin it for her. There's absolutely no way she'll let her mum ruin it for her.
There's absolutely no way anyone will ruin it for her.
They can't. It's perfect.
It'll be perfect.
(Petunia’s never known perfect, before)