Disclaimer: Not mine. (I used to see "I don't own Harry Potter", and go, "If they don't own any Harry Potter books, then why the heck are they writing fanfiction? And why the heck are they proclaiming it to the world?") Um… yeah. Never mind.
Summary: It wasn't hate. It never was. It was the witchcraft and the death and the love and the lovely, handsome boy who stole her sister away. And it was the baby who was every bit of it all, but needed to be none of it.
A/N: I've always thought (or hoped) that there was another side to Aunt Petunia. Well… even if there isn't, it still makes a darn good plot bunny.
"And what the ruddy hell are dementors?"
"They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban," said Aunt Petunia.
Two seconds' ringing silence followed these words and then Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harry's brain reeled. Mrs. Figg was one thing--but Aunt Petunia?
"How d'you know that?" he asked her, astonished.
Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsey teeth.
"I heard--that awful boy--telling her about them--years ago," she said jerkily.
"If you mean my mum and dad, why don't you use their names?" said Harry loudly, but Aunt Petunia ignored him. She seemed horribly flustered. (OotP, pp. 31-32)
S h r e d
Contrary to popular belief, Petunia Evans did not hate her sister.
Oh, she loathed her for being magic. Despised her for being a witch. But she did not hate her.
Witchcraft was a nasty, impractical practice. It was dangerous, unregulated, and uncontrolled. It was too metaphysical, too non-existent yet existent enough to exist. She'd always known that much.
It was unpredictable. It tore apart families. Two sister, once the closest of confidantes, lost touch between months of school abroad and brand new worlds. Terrible worlds.
Oh no, Petunia wasn't jealous of her sister. Never. Lily had always been the pretty, lovable one. The passionate one. While she'd just been the tall, skinny giraffe in the background, with plain grey eyes and mousy brown hair. Genetics could be so cruel. But that didn't matter so much, because this precious, popular, perfect girl was hers – her sister, her friend, her best friend. And for someone like Petunia who'd never – who couldn't afford to expect as much, that, that was enough.
-
Contrary to popular belief, Petunia Dursley did not hate her sister.
She still loathed her for being magic; still despised her for being a witch. But she still didn't hate her. Never.
Witchcraft was still nasty and dangerous and unpredictable. She had proof now, too. Like that war going on… the magical war. Maggie Broderick had been buried two weeks ago. She'd known her since the 4th grade. On the news it had been a homicide – call the number on the screen if you had any idea at all of her killers or their motives. They didn't mention that she'd died without a mark on her body.
She knew people were dying. So many of them. They were terrible deaths, and there were terrible battles. Fought with magic. You couldn't see it, but it was there, deadly and real.
This world also brought along boys. Boys with lovely laughing eyes and unkempt black hair and knobby knees who told her all sorts of stories about soul sucking demons and goblins that could make her laugh and cry and maybe… just maybe… love.
But then he took Lily away to a far off village (like from a fairy tale) and they didn't hardly visit anymore, not even during the holidays. And he became that nasty boy who loved her sister and stole her heart.
-
She hated this world, this wizarding world. She hated it, she really did.
She'd lost a sister to it, completely and utterly and totally. One that she never saw anymore, but missed every time the mail arrived and nothing came but bills and advertisements and if she was lucky, a harried letter of condolences and bad news.
And then she was dead.
Dead before she could apologize for quietly hating her world behind her back, before they could laugh like they used to and before they could compare babies and spoil them rotten.
She was buried and mourned, and Petunia put the funeral notice into the shredder, wiped her tears on Dudley's chubby cheeks, and loved him with all she had because… he really was all she had.
The next day there was a boy on her doorstep. He had green eyes, but looked like Him, and she couldn't bear to love him because she'd loved once, and look at what had happened.
And damn it all, damn heaven and hell and eternal flame and all, it was not going to happen again.
So she took him in, and raised him well; without her cursed love, and without his cruel world.
Because contrary to popular belief, Petunia did not hate Harry Potter.