Perfectly Peculiar
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
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Why do these things always happen to me? I just wanted to live a normal life. I wanted to have a happy life. A perfect life. But everything always goes wrong. Just when I find a perfect man, everything shatters.
I finally met him. The man of my dreams. He liked everything I liked, and had the same opinions I had. We were meant to be. And when I take him home to meet my parents?
They're dead.
I knew what happened. I knew the moment I saw my horrible sister sitting on the scorched couch, crying.
The expensive vases were smashed, and the paintings were burned. The curtains were ripped from their hangings, mangled like they'd been through a wood chipper. The furniture was strewn about, as if it'd been throw through the air. The family photos along the mantle were gone. Every one of them, burned to ashes, or ripped. Wait, no. Actually, there was one left.
And what happened to it you may ask? What happened to the one picture left? That last remnant of our parents? She kept it. My bloody sister kept it.
She sat on the couch crying over it, and then stuffed it in her pocket. I didn't get one last look? I didn't get something to remember them by?
It was her fault they were dead! She was one of them. And they were the ones that killed our parents. So why did she get their photo? Why did she get to remember the people she killed?
It wasn't fair. I never got anything. Not ever. I was the eldest; I was supposed to be mature, and supportive of my younger sister. How could I? She was a freak. And not just because of the magic. She was freakishly perfect.
Perfect. It was something I'd always wanted, but never had. She had perfect hair, shape, complexion. She had perfect grades, personality, and she even had perfect friends. I was the imperfect daughter.
I'm not pretty, I'm not smart, and I have no friends. So why do I even try? I wanted a perfect life, but I'd never have one. Even after she was dead, she continued to plague me.
And you remember that last picture of our parents? Of our family? I never saw it again. As the years went by, their faces grew more and more blurry, until… I couldn't see them anymore. My parents were gone. They're only shallow blurs in my memory, now.
And it was all her fault.
Lillian Isabella Potter's.
AN: This is a one-shot told from Petunia Dursley's point of view, I think you realized by now (hopefully. I don't know what inspired me to write this, but I like writing things from another point of view. I like thinking that Petunia might not be such a bad person, or like Peter had his reasons. I guess I like showing people how some things aren't always as they seem, right? I thought this was a rather good one-shot (for me). Well, I hope you liked it.
Edit: All I edited was the part that said 'Vernon Dursley, so you wouldn't know right away who it was.