Working Title: Bonds Not Broken
The bonds of sisterhood, while eternally strained, never quite manage to break. No matter how much you wish they would.
November 5, 1980
The house was quiet. Oddly, so, Petunia thought. Somehow, having a playmate seemed to tire Dudley out more than anything she'd tried, and with Vernon out . . .
The house was quiet. The past five days had been.
She hadn't known what to think of it at first, of course. She'd just thought it a bit strange. Then she found the boy on her front step, and read the letter that Dumbledore man had left. Suddenly, everything had made sense, in a terrible sort of way. Her sister, the sister she fought with, had called a freak, the sister she'd proclaimed she could never love, that she hated . . . Her sister was dead.
That thought hit the thin woman with enough force that she sank onto her and her husband's bed. She thought, after taking in the boy, and having known for nearly a week that Lily was gone that it wouldn't have as much impact. But it did. Maybe even more.
She'd said she hated her. Sweet, kind, perfect Lily, the one that everyone loved. The one Petunia had loved, before all that nonsense came along and tore her away. All that magic Petunia couldn't protect her little sister from. And now she was dead, leaving Petunia to take care of her son, to raise him.
Why couldn't she hate her?
Petunia had always held that she, at the very least, cared nothing for her sister. At most, she loathed the girl. But all it took was a closer look than most people were willing to take to realise what a lie that was. To realise, as Petunia was now, just how much she'd hated not having Lily in her life.
On the dresser sat an old, large wooden music box, overflowing with letters Petunia had received over the years.. Notes from old friends, a love letter or two from when she attended nursing school, pages from her parents . . . and at the bottom, a bundle of unopened novels Lily sent. Every single one, from the time she was eleven to June 15, 1979. A few half-started notes Petunia had hesitantly thought of sending were folded in, as well.
On the shelf above the dresser sat a collection of family albums and yearbooks. Each had a photo on the spine. Three had Lily in them. Even in Petunia's closet, she realised, as she turned on the light and stepped inside, showed how much Lily had been a part of her life, even when she'd denied it. Party dresses they'd bought in the summer, giggling, the few times they managed to get along. An old careworn plush bear on the shelf above the clothes hanging up. It had an eye missing, and Petunia remembered clearly cheering when she cheated to win it at the fair, while Lily distracted the vendor.
Around Petunia's neck sat a round locket, with two locks of hair inside. One red, one blonde. Both belonging to an Evans sister.
Petunia slammed the closet door. Lily was dead. She was dead, gone, blown up because of her nonsense! All that had made Lily, striking, beautiful Lily wonderful killed her. Her magic, her rich husband, her stupid witch school with it's stupid Dumbledore. It all killed her and left Petunia to pick up the pieces, to fix everything.
Like she always had. Like she would.
Petunia stormed down the hall and into her son and nephew's nursery. The Potter boy was already awake, staring out the window at the trees swaying in the back yard. She snatched him up and he didn't make a sound. She stormed down the stairs, and opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs. Cleaning supplies. She set the boy down and pulled it all out.
Soap. She picked up the bottle and Harry, and filled the sink, putting both in. She scrubbed the boy until he turned pink, then rinsed him off. He didn't make a sound. Petunia didn't care. She dressed him again, and set him down on the cupboard floor. She locked the door. The magic couldn't get to him there, no one would look there for him. That school, that Hogwarts couldn't kill him if he just stayed there. He wouldn't die like Lily had if the magic couldn't find him.
Petunia put the cleaning supplies away under the sink. She walked into the living room. She stared at the photographs lining the walls, of herself, her husband and her son. Of the family she had, so very like the one Lily had given up. She hadn't been there to protect her from the magic, and it killed her.
At that, Petunia Evans began to cry.
