this is a disclaimer.
that i've never been since
This is the second-to-last time Lily Evans lays eyes on her sister. She doesn't know it yet. Nor does Petunia.
The Potter-Evans wedding took place less than a month ago and it went off without a hitch: everything was perfect, the weather was gorgeous, Sirius (best man) and Marli (chief bride-encourager, purveyor of handkerchiefs, head groomsman-mocker and undisputed Queen of Bad Muggle Dance Music) worked absolute wonders from morning till midnight and no one threw up in any flower arrangements. Which is more than can be said for Petunia's wedding, but Lily mustn't feel smug; it was her and James that caused most of that chaos in the first place. (Some childish baby-sister part of Lily had believed that if she just made it difficult enough for Tuney to throw her life away on bitterness and a walrus, she wouldn't. She should have known better than to think an Evans would cave like that.)
Petunia is studying the wedding photos with an abstracted look. Lily pauses in the lounge door; she knows perfectly well the one lying on top of the pile is of her and James snogging up against the wooden churchyard gate.
Vernon the Vile and Verminous is squashing the sofa into a U and trying to pretend he's smaller than he is. He hasn't touched his tea. That's probably because he thinks the cup will bite his fingers off if his hand comes too close.
Lily is suddenly tempted to nip back across the hall and lock James in the kitchen, just in case.
"So," she says instead.
Petunia looks up. For a moment, for the briefest of instants, for less than a second, a smile nudges at the corner of her mouth. For a heartbeat, she looks like Lily's sister.
Then she wipes it off and goes grimly back to being Vile Vernon's Wife.
"Yes," she says crisply. "The funeral's on Wednesday next. Mr Garrow will read the Will in the evening -"
"Good God Petunia, I doubt Gran had anything to leave," says Lily.
"Nevertheless," says Petunia firmly. "The vicar suggested you might want to speak at the funeral but I don't think that would be appropriate -"
"I didn't kill her, Tuney," Lily snaps.
Petunia sniffs. "You've hardly seen her since you were eleven. I was surprised you remembered where to send the invitation to." She flicks her fingers at the photos on the table top. Lily shifts her weight from foot to foot and puts her hands in her pockets - wand, where's her wand?
James took it off her. Git.
"You wouldn't have come if I had invited you," she says.
"See the future, can you," says Vernon the Verminous. "Predict Petunia's every reaction."
"Of course not," says Lily smoothly. "Why, she married you, after all."
Vapid Vacuous Verny seems not to have understood that she's just insulted him. Petunia knows it quite well.
(You don't love him, Tuney, you're marrying him to spite me and to spite Mum and Dad and I can't understand what I did to make you hate me so much that you'd deliberately ruin your whole life because of it!)
"Will you be coming alone?" she says abruptly.
James' tall shadow behind her, messy-haired and steady. She remembers when he was all elbows and knees; now the strength of him can take her breath away. "I expect she can prevail upon her husband to accompany her," he says dryly.
Vernon the Vile-est and Petunia eye him up as if comparing him to some mental image of A Husband and finding him extremely lacking. Lily finds it quietly hilarious. To Tuney, she and James are "some sort of police people", dirt poor and earning nothing. The truth is, if James ever converted his parents' money and put it in a Muggle bank he'd probably make more interest in a month than that filthy drill company does in a year.
Well, p'raps that's a bit of an exaggeration. But the point stands.
"Change the reservations," grunts Vermin. His piggy eyes narrow. "Got a suit?"
A muscle ticks in James' jaw. Lily can hear his answers in her head, knows exactly all the things he could be saying, but Prongs has stood firm under worse insults than that, from school corridor to Quidditch pitch to, finally, battlefield proper.
"Why yes," he says.
Oh, she's proud of him. Petunia, plainly sensing how close her pet piglet is coming to saying something that will have both James and Lily hexing his bollocks off - always provided he's got any to hex off - straightens up.
"In that case we should probably be going," she says.
The Verminosity lumbers to its feet. "Quite. Quite."
James walks him to the door. It's not exactly far; Lily suspects he just doesn't like the idea of leaving the other man alone while he's in their house.
Petunia is watching her. "I hope you're happy," she says. "After everything."
Lily pushes her hands through her hair. Gran's dead, yes. And barely a year after Mum and Dad's car crash. And James's parents and their brief, agonising illness in St Mungo's. And there's a war on: she got married in a high-collared dress to hide the scars on her shoulders and her upper back that Mulciber put there; James will limp in the cold for the rest of his life, thanks to Sev.
But this is their house, bought to shelter and protect them, already filling up with the mementoes of their lives. They wear each other's rings; she took his name and loves the sound of it, Potter, Lily Potter, and just last night they lay on that sofa that Petunia has her hand on and did things that her sister probably doesn't even know are possible for two people to do together, and how can she stand to have that lumbering bellowing nasty-minded bully put his hands on her, anyway? How does she cope - lie back and think of England, when James traces circles over Lily's back when they kiss, and tangles his fingers in her hair, and still (two years in) won't let her take his glasses off when they make love because he wants to see her face, and shivers when she touches him and says things to her that would make a poet jealous of his way with words?
Suddenly, Lily feels a stab of compassion, and regret, and love. Poor Tuney - she's manouvered herself into this position, and she thinks somehow she's getting some sort of revenge on them all, or hitting back at her; but the truth is that the only person she's truly hurting is herself. Imagine going through life not really loving anyone, nor being wholly loved back - imagine never knowing what it's like to put your whole heart in the hands of another person, receiving nothing in return but ecstasy and devotion.
"Yes, Tuney," she says gently, and has to put her hands in her pockets again when she has a flash of what it looks like to turn her head and watch James's hands skim her waist, cup her hips in warm palms, move further down and further in - she shivers deliciously. "Yes, I am."
Petunia's eyes are very wide, as if some sixth sense has told her what her sister is thinking - as if she's caught a glimpse of what Lily feels for James, and finally understands.
Beat. Beat. Tuney licks her lips. Almost. The very world holds its breath, and -
"Petunia!" Vermin bellows. "Are you coming?"
It's like watching a mirror fall and shatter. Petunia steps over the shards without a word and turns away from her sister.
"Yes, Vernon, of course."
Lily closes her eyes. There's a murmur, footsteps, the front door closing. Brief silence. James pads across the floor; she feels his warmth in front of her, and then his thumbs smoothing her tears away. When they don't stop, he slides a hand into her hair and kisses her eyelids. Then he picks her up and holds her close and sits down with her in Sirius' favourite armchair in the study until her sobbing dies away.