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Perfection never mattered much to her.
After all, she had married James Potter - the boy with the too messy hair and constantly crooked glasses. The boy with the too loud and rough friends. The boys called Marauders.
But married him she had.
Lily shot him a sideways glance as he slept next to her.
Perfection mattered to Petunia, not Lily. Lily figured it had something to do with magic being so perfect. Petunia wasn't magic in the same way Lily was; she had to make up for her lack of perfection in exuberant ways.
Besides, in her own way, this was perfection.