Disclaimer: I don't own Lily or Petunia…not yet anyway.
"What happened to the witch though?" Little Lily questioned from her bed. Her mother hid a small grin at her five-year old daughter.
"The witch died." Petunia declared snottily. Her mother glared at her.
"Petunia, don't say that to your sister!" she reprimanded.
"But it's true!" Petunia protested. Little Lily sat quietly in her bed, rubbing a thumb on the ear of her stuffed cat. Her mouth frowned at her sister's proclamation. Petunia had long hated sharing a room with her sister, and had been known to make sarcastic comments in the middle of story time. However, Little Lily wasn't sure if this comment was made in spite or was it one of those things that 'big girls' were told.
"Do witches really exist?" Little Lily asked. Her mother turned to her. "If they don't then where did fairy tales come from? If they do, then, then, then why do they let themselves die?" Little Lily had always been known to ponder deep things for her young age. It had caused her sister to tease her to no end. Little Lily wasn't exceptionally bright though, she was simply overly curious.
"I don't know." Her mother confessed. She leaned over and kissed Little Lily's forehead, and pulled the covers up to her neck.
"Sleep tight girls." Little Lily turned to her side, squeezing her stuffed cat.
"The witch did die." Petunia whispered. Little Lily curled into a tight ball.
Eleven year old Lily looked at her parents. Petunia looked at the floor to avoid looking at her sister. Lily tried not to be crushed. Had she ever been good enough for her sister?
"I guess this is where we say good-bye." She said, looking at her sister hopefully. Her mother leaned down and hugged her.
"Good-bye Petunia." Lily prompted. Petunia looked up and shot her with a glare. Then she opened her mouth and spoke.
"You're a freak. Why should I say good-bye to a freak? From now on you're not my sister. You're a witch and a freak. And you know what happens to witches." She said. Their mother rushed to admonish her, but the damage had already been done. Lily's green eyes sparkled with unshed tears. Lily raced to the train. She collapsed in an empty compartment and sobbed.
Petunia knew that her little sister was dead, before the boy had been dropped on her doorstep. It was one of those big sister things, something that could be hidden for years, but never fully suppressed. She knew that Lily had died. And for a while she didn't care.
It was when she was cleaning out the cupboard to stick the boy in when she found it. It was an old book of fairy tales. The same one their mother had read to them back when they shared a room. When Petunia opened the cover, the pages flipped to a story marked with a faded red ribbon. Petunia flipped to the end of the story. Written in soft print were the words:
And the witch retired into her cottage to make potions of healing for the village. And so the evil witch became a good witch and lived happily ever after.
Petunia knew that it was Lily's handwriting. She shook her head and laid the book in a box to be moved to the attic. But you were wrong Lily. You can rewrite what's written, but you can't change the ending. The witch did die.