Author's Note: This is a rewrite of my story Juniper. I felt it needed to be revised and extended, and I thought Petunia deserved a whole story just to herself.

Fem Harry is mentioned in here, but it's more of a catalyst than the actual point of the story.

Chapter One

In one universe, Lily Evans and James Potter waited until they had been out of school for a good while before getting married. In another, something quite different happened.

Encouraged by fears relating to the war against the Dark Lord Voldemort, they ran off straight out of school and eloped just like so many others. They invited no one to their wedding except for their closest friends, and their families got the announcement that they were married only after the deed had already happened.

This affected Lily's Muggle sister Petunia in strange ways. Determined to be nothing like her magical and fanciful sister, she decided that she and her boyfriend Vernon Dursley were going to wait even longer before getting married.

Lily and James did wait to have a child. But eventually, they became pregnant, and because the circumstances of conception were different, so was the child itself. In the universe where they'd waited for marriage, their child had been a boy.

In this universe, their child was conceived as a little girl.

This girl would go on to be prophesied as the one who could destroy the Dark Lord. She would be born in hiding with her parents. Her family would go through great struggle because of the remarkable events surrounding her birth. She was a witch; they were a witch and wizard.

This is not their story. This is the story of Lily Potter's Muggle sister, Petunia Evans.

Petunia Evans strode stiffly into the corporation typing room. She was dressed smartly, in a drab business jacket and pencil skirt, her blonde hair up in a pristine bun, her makeup picture perfect. She somehow had managed to afford lace gloves and pearl drop earrings, stretching her meager stipend as a typist. Petunia did not consider herself an attractive woman, though she'd die before she admitted this to anyone else: her neck was too long, she was too skinny and bony, her face was too thin, her teeth were too protruding.

But she had her appeals. She wasn't pretty and bright and airy, not like Lily Potter, but she was handsome and dignified. She held a different kind of appeal.

She walked by the main secretary's desk. Annabelle Wickley, a plain but smiling girl with a round face and mousy brown hair, called to her cheerfully, "Hello, Petunia!"

"... Miss Wickley." Petunia's tone was stiff. It was far too early in the morning to be so chipper in Petunia's opinion, and in any case, Annabelle Wickley aspired to bigger and better things. She was a secretary to make enough money to pay her way through nursing school. She wouldn't last, wasn't particularly fond of gossip, and had strange interests, so Petunia had never seen any reason to befriend her.

She walked to her typing desk, sitting down primly, purposefully smoothing her uniform. When Petunia Evans couldn't see, Annabelle Wickley rolled her eyes.

Grace leaned over from the desk next to Petunia. "Did you hear Annabelle broke up with her boyfriend last week?"

Petunia leaned forward, blue eyes gleaming. She was always one for gossip, especially when it involved people she didn't like. "Really? Do tell!"

"No one knows why, but we think it's just that Annabelle has ferociously high standards. Sue saw her arguing with him in front of Grunnings Co building two weeks ago - something about drinking."

Petunia snorted. "All men drink," she said. "God knows Vernon loves his brandy. She's never going to find a man that way," she noted with satisfaction, looking over sideways at the calm and quiet Annabelle Wickley, who was on the phone jotting something down.

Petunia got to work, not wasting any time. She did her work, and she did it on time and to perfection. With her beady eyes and her eye for detail, so useful in finding and scrubbing out even the tiniest stain in the pristine kitchen inside her flat, she was an excellent typist, spotting the tiniest errors. She prided herself on that, gaining a great deal of satisfaction from her little career.

For lunch, she met Vernon, a junior executive. He was a vast, overweight man with balding black hair, a bushy black mustache, and a ruddy face, not particularly attractive. But Petunia told herself he made up for it in other ways. He was the first man ever to show an interest in her, and when she'd dared tell him that her sister was a witch he'd promised solemnly never to hold it against her that she had a freak for a sister.

They had lunch at a cafe and Petunia nodded along, listening patiently as Vernon complained loudly about everything, from the city council's progressive policies in the news to the foibles and flaws of his coworkers. At last, Petunia got her turn, and she told him all about the gossip concerning Annabelle.

"Well, she can't find someone who wants to marry her, can she?" said Vernon. "That's why she's so focused on career; she's got no one to marry." He shoved half a sandwich inside his mouth. Vernon firmly believed in married women becoming housewives, something Petunia told herself she should approve of. He wanted children, like she did; they really were a perfect match, she said to herself.

She knew he'd hoped to be married by this point, the biggest point of contention between them. But he said he approved of waiting. It was cautious. Vernon was all about caution and tradition and what made the most sense.

"She's an odd woman anyway," said Petunia, frowning disapprovingly. "All caught up in eccentric hobbies like - well, like my freak of a sister," she added spitefully.

"I'm sorry you have to work with her," said Vernon solemnly, taking her hand, and Petunia offered him a fond smile. "Could have done with a good beating as a child," he added in a mutter, going back to his food, a bit of which was caught in his mustache. "The weird ones always need the strangeness beaten out of them, that's my family's motto."

"Well, it's not mine," said Petunia, turning icy and reserved. "You know I disapprove of that sort of thing."

Vernon smiled. "Of course, my Pet," he said. "Always so compassionate. You're quite ordinary, of course, much better than your sister or Annabelle."

Vernon Dursley always made Petunia Evans feel better about herself.

She got home that evening and looked through her accumulated mail. A bill, a letter, a postcard - and she paused, freezing, staring down at the parchment envelope.

Parchment paper. Ink writing. No return address or stamp.

This could only be from her sister.

Petunia contemplated many things: not opening it, tearing it up into little pieces, stuffing it in the blender and turning the blender on, setting it on fire. No, not that last one, it would set off the smoke alarms.

Petunia huffed. "Oh, you're being silly and fearful," she told herself aloud in the quiet, eerily clean and tidy single flat (Petunia had no great fondness for other human beings and had settled for a tiny single). "Just open the damn envelope." And so she did. "How bad can it be?"

Where Lily was concerned, Petunia should have already learned: she should never ask that question.

Dear Tuney,

(Petunia made a face at the old nickname.)

You haven't heard from me in a while. We've become targets in the war, and have had to go into hiding. I went through great lengths to get this to you, you have no idea.

("You shouldn't have bothered sending it at all," Petunia sniped, telling herself she wasn't concerned for her freak of a sister in the slightest. Lily was probably exaggerating, she always did have that tendency.)

But I wanted to give you the good news! I'm pregnant, and James and I have found out it's going to be a baby girl!

Petunia's heart froze. She stared down at that last sentence. "It's going to be a baby girl."

Lily never got a response letter.

Because Petunia was eight, watching her reckless sister do impossible things with a strange mixture of disapproval and envy. She was ten, being excluded from her little sister's friendship with the other strange boy on the block. She was twelve, asking to go to Hogwarts like her sister and getting Headmaster Dumbledore's letter telling her that she couldn't because she had no magic.

She was thirteen, watching her sister climb onto an exciting train that was going to take her away with a wand to a magical castle. She was thirteen, calling her sister a freak for the first time and running in tears out of the station platform.

She was sixteen, watching her sister blossom into an eccentric witch and a bright, airy beauty. She was eighteen, watching men fall all over her sister.

She was a child, watching her irresponsible sister gain everything she had never had. She was an adult, watching her sister fall really, passionately in love with someone, and do something stupid because of it.

She was all those things in that moment, because Petunia had always wanted a child and more than anything… she had always wanted a baby girl.

Yet again, for the thousandth time, Petunia Evans had been shown up. It would be hard enough being Lily Potter's sister even as a witch. She was beautiful, powerful, kind, imaginative, moral, intelligent, and fiery when she needed to be. Lily was perfect. And even as a witch, being her sister would be difficult. As a Muggle… it was killer.

Petunia marched straight into Grunnings Co the next morning, on a mission. She walked past her usual office and right into Vernon's and said in an iron voice, "Vernon. We need to talk."

Vernon looked up from the fellow executive he'd been talking to. "Can it wait?"

"No."

Vernon was suitably cowed by her expression. "I'll be back in a minute," he muttered to his coworker, and sidled his massive girth past Petunia's bony one and out into the hall. "What is it?" he said quietly.

"I want to get married," said Petunia without preamble. "I want to get married and have a child."

Vernon was thrown genuinely off guard. "Well, that's a change of heart," he said. "What happened to caution?"

"We've been cautious long enough. It's time." Petunia crossed her arms, trying to find a way to say that she would brook no argument.

"Well - well -" Vernon blustered. "Pet, I have to ask you. That's how things are done. And you'll have to give your two week notice, and - Just give me some time," he pleaded. "I'll make sure the time is right. I'll make sure it's done correctly."

Petunia looked away, a sinking disappointed feeling in her stomach. He hadn't really refused, and so she didn't feel she could really get angry with him. "Alright," she murmured.

She should have gone to work. Instead she went outside and sat down on the front steps, looking out over the Surrey city street. She was quite sure, she thought, that if Lily had suddenly proposed to James Potter, he would have said yes.

But that wasn't okay, was it? James Potter was reckless and untraditional. Vernon was none of those things. Vernon was -

Petunia realized she was crying.

"Are you alright?" Petunia looked up and around in alarm. Annabelle Wickley was standing there, bent over in concern. "Is there anything I can do?"

For some reason, Petunia was irritated by her good will.

"No," she snapped, sound unusually nasally. "If you would please, I'd like to be left alone."

Annabelle sighed, stood, and turned to leave.

"My sister's having a daughter!" Petunia wasn't sure why she said it, why the words burst out of her mouth. Perhaps she thought of Annabelle, breaking up with her boyfriend. Of Annabelle, understanding. Perhaps.

Petunia felt mortified as Annabelle turned to her in surprise. But Annabelle didn't take the bait. She even seemed sympathetic.

"That doesn't sound so bad," she said gently, sitting down next to Petunia on the steps. "I suppose I was just surprised, that's all. You're so composed all the time, it's not like you to get so upset."

Petunia looked down. "My sister is reckless, silly, and irresponsible," she said bitingly. "Full of imagination and fancy. She eloped recklessly with her husband straight out of school. I did everything correctly and she didn't. And now, not only is she happy, but she - she has my daughter!" Petunia snapped.

"Ah," said Annabelle knowingly. "Envy."

Petunia was indignant. "It most certainly is not envy!" she said stoutly. "Envy is an ugly emotion and I don't have it!"

Annabelle looked at her with something that was remarkably and disgustingly like pity. "It sounds like your sister just has a different way of doing things from you," she said. "One way isn't better or worse than the other. You should focus on making your own life happy instead of worrying about other people's.

"If you were more like your sister, do you think you would be happier?" It was a genuine, innocent question.

Petunia frowned, troubled. "I… I don't know." Her face and her heart both said that her instinctive answer was 'yes.' "Lily's world is one of imagination and passion, reckless romance. That's not… me."

"Maybe you're subconsciously telling yourself that if you were a bit more reckless and passionate, you'd be happier," Annabelle suggested. "And what's wrong with imagination, if I might ask? Without it, we'd have no innovation."

"I'm not much for innovation," said Petunia stiffly.

"But that thing you use to type on - would it even exist without the imagination of someone?" Annabelle pointed out. "You have to admit, at least some innovation is necessary for society to function."

"So you're telling me that if I were more like Lily, I would be happier," said Petunia flatly.

"I think you need to find a happy balance - a little of both worlds. You already have one world down. Maybe allowing a bit of the other into your life would help. Not too much, but just a bit. Your sister doesn't have a worldwide monopoly on imagination or passion," said Annabelle.

"That's true," said Petunia, growing more certain of herself. Lily most certainly did not! Just because she was a witch didn't mean she had a monopoly on all of her personality traits! Petunia had been seeing herself as inferior all along, without realizing it!

Well, that could not continue.

"Thank you," Petunia allowed after a moment. "I suppose now you're going to tell everyone about what I've said."

"Oh, no. I'm not one for gossip." Annabelle smiled, stood, and winked. "Your secret's safe with me."