Eyes

I look at him and I see her.

Not her as she was later on, after she'd whored with that abomination, Potter, and whelped this brat she's saddled me with.

No, when I look at him I see her as she was before. Before there were wands and charms, before silly sparks and ridiculous robes. Before that, when she looked up to me, her big sister. I could do no wrong then. I chased her, and took her dolls for my tea parties, and told her she couldn't play with me because she was too little. It was awful of me, really, and I would be scolded dreadfully for it. Still she watched me from between the stair balusters, up on the step where I could only see her feet and her little red head bending over them to peer at me, until I relented and told the dolls to budge up and make room for her.

***

I see him watch me when I give Dudley his breakfast, his eyes not asking or expecting anything but the dry toast on his plate. Mostly I ignore him – doesn't do to encourage the boy. He used to infuriate my Vernon with his sly looks, until finally Vernon beat that look out of him. I was relieved, really.

It's just that once in a while his eyes take me back to northern England, to Manchester where we lived. She watched me play on the swings while she sat on the bottom of the slide, then she would plead and beg me until I pushed her on the swing high, high in the air. She loved going up high, and her cheeks would be pink and her eyes sparkling when she came down again.

Once she fell off the swing right at the top of its arc. I pushed her too hard, but she'd begged me so much I'd convinced myself it was okay and she was strong enough to hang on. But she was still too little, only six. She didn't fall, though. She sort of floated down and landed on her feet, then fell over onto her bum in surprise. I rushed over in a panic, thinking she had broken her ankle and what would Mummy say? But her eyes looked up at me in wonder, and once she'd gotten over her shock she begged me to push her up again.

That awful boy ruined it all. He used to watch her in school from across the play yard, and I complained more than once to the teachers. They passed it off and patted me on the head, but he found out somehow and kept his distance. But then one time he came to the park when we were there playing on the swings, and bold as brass walked right up to us and told her the most ridiculous nonsense. I told her sternly to leave him alone, but for the first time she didn't listen to me. Eventually I was forced to follow her to keep her from getting into trouble as she followed him around, peppering him with questions. He swaggered and smirked at her rapt attention as he looked down at her with his indecent black eyes.

Time and again after that he came up to us at the park, spouting his nonsense and lies. Each time she turned from me and gave him all her attention, despite my insinuations and bitter complaints, until I couldn't stand going anymore. Finally I told her I was too old for parks. But really, I couldn't bear seeing her look up him with the wonder she used to give solely to me, with the sparkle of pleasure and laughter that we no longer shared.

***

There is no wonder in his eyes. There never was. He won't fall in with a bad crowd and go off to listen to their nonsense like she did – we won't stand for it. We've taken care that he will never fall off a swing and float to the ground. He wouldn't dare, he knows what would happen. We're raising him up right.

What would I do if I saw that same sparkle in his eyes? What would Vernon do?

I still see her sometimes in my deepest dreams. I startle awake, my chest tight, as I wonder what I'd give if - abominations and indecencies and lousy choices aside - if her beautiful, brilliant green eyes would sparkle at me just one more time.

Just not through his.