A/N: This was started when it was 70 degrees out (I live in Michigan. It's April. This is the hottest it will ever get before summer), and I was sitting on my porch – like Petunia, yay – and yeah. I had a headache, so this isn't as good as I could possibly make it, but...accept it.
I OWN NOTHING. :(
She sighs.
She's sitting on the porch, her oh-so-plain brown hair billowing out behind her, her eyes searching the parking lot, hungrily, but for what, Petunia Evans doesn't know.
She regrets her every word. She regrets holding the grudge. She regrets it all. Regret, regret, regret.
It isn't her fault. Any person would be jealous of Lily. Lily this, Lily that, it was all about Lily. Lily was perfect. Lily had the hair, a gorgeous fall-leaf red shade. Lily had the eyes (Petunia had read a note Lily was sent—they were described as 'emerald green diamonds,' cheesy as that was). Lily had a boy pining after her, pining after her for six years and counting, even while she was incredibly cruel to him (no matter how much Lily said he deserved it). Lily had it all. And then, of course, she turns out to be a witch. Lily was special.
No one cared for plain old, simple Petunia.
But it wasn't Lily's fault, reluctant as she is to admit it. It wasn't and it isn't and it never will be. So whose fault, exactly, is it? No one's, no one's fault. Why couldn't they just be friends?
That is her fault.
Freak.
Every pair of sisters get into rows. 'Freak' is used in some of those rows. But she could understand why 'freak' hurt Lily so badly, that one day six years ago.
It took her six years to notice this?
Six years?
She pushes back her hair, fingering the pencil she held in her hand. Passing it left hand to right, right hand to left. And thought some more.
She'd apologise. Petunia would apologise to Lily. It was simple, and yet it wasn't. This was a huge, huge grudge. Lily, kind as she was, probably wouldn't accept it – Petunia wouldn't. But there was also the fact Petunia'd get embarrassed.
She hates to be embarrassed.
But the guilt. The guilt she can't stand, she won't stand. There was too much of it, having never apologised.
It was one word. One word. Five letters.
Large impact.
Ugh.
Absentmindedly, she grabs the sketchbook she'd brought outside. Nobody would've guessed it, but Petunia Evans loved to draw. She didn't have to think then – whatever came out after she was done making lines and dashes and circles and squares and all kinds of shapes was good enough for her.
And she sat.
And she drew.
And she sat some more.
And she drew some more.
The hand did all the work, not her.
Half an hour later, the pencil is placed down on the cold concrete, and the sketchbook is dropped.
Oh. That was why she was jealous.
It was the Snape boy. Severus Snape, the boy who lived – well, she didn't know where he lived, but it was too close. Lily hung out with him all the time. Well, up until this summer. This summer, no matter how many times he came to the door, Lily wouldn't talk to him. Lily wouldn't look at him.
Petunia felt sorry for Snape, but also jealousy. And also hate.
He called her a witch. She didn't know it meant a witch as in a magical witch, a witch for Hogwarts, but it sounded mean. "Lily, you're a witch." How dare he say that to her little sister!
Lily, though, was interested. Petunia, at the time, thought it was all made up nonsense – there was no such thing as magic. She was rational. She grew mad at how he was telling her little sister lies, but also jealous at how much time she spent with him. Why couldn't she pay that much attention to her?
Why couldn't he pay more attention to her?
Why can't anyone pay more attention to her?
She sighs again, grabs the sketchbook, and runs inside.