Don't you think it killed her? Don't you think that I of all people, loved my sister? More than anything, I loved her. She left ME! Don't you see? Don't you understand?
She left. She went off to that freak school of hers. I wanted to go, too. I wanted to be there, with her. I sent a letter to the headmaster! I wrote it, and sent it. I just wanted to be as good as her!
Lily was so perfect. Even before she left. Mother and Father were so proud. So proud. And I just wanted to be that way too, don't you see? But she didn't want me to be even as good as her. She laughed at me! She laughed at me. She and the Snape boy snuck into my bedroom and stole the letter. And they ridiculed me. And I knew- I knew! -that things would never be the same. Her magic would separate us even more.
Why should I wait? Why should I give her a chance to break my heart again and again? Better to severe the bond now, when I didn't care as much for her? Right? So I did.
It broke my heart to do it. To call her a freak. But what would you have me do? Wait for her to forget about me? No. I was too proud. I called her a freak, and got a boyfriend with a phobia for the unreal. And I paraded him home. I knew Mother and Father didn't like Vernon. I didn't even like him. But Mother and Father already didn't love me as much as Perfect Lily. So what was a little faking?
I married Vernon. Made it clear that I didn't approve of magic. Gave no doubt to the fact that I didn't care for magic. Severed the bond with my sister, right in half. This way, she couldn't hurt me. Not this time around.
I grew comfortable with this facade. So comfortable that I could no longer think back to times when Lily and I loved each other, comforted each other, played with each other. I took my facade to be real, and I deluded myself into thinking I was happy.
And then she died. I think part of me died too. Her son, Harry, came to live with me and Vernon. Vernon hated him. He was different, an aberration. He was scared of Harry. I had a son by then. Dudley. And I loved him. I knew that if I treated Harry right, then he would divorce me, or worse. I couldn't. A part of me couldn't be nice to him. He had his mother's eyes. Her piercing emerald eyes. He reminded me of Lily. So much. I'd look into his eyes and remember all I'd lost. And I couldn't. Call me a coward. But I couldn't. And to this day, it kills me