20th June 1998
Petunia Dursley wiped some non-existent dust from her countertop and glanced around her immaculate kitchen. It was perfect. Everything was in its place. The weather had finally begun to warm up and the day beyond the lace curtains was bright and sunny yet returning to her own beloved home had left her restless and with something akin to anxiety wriggling in the pit of her stomach.
"It's only been a few days," she thought to herself, picking up her gloves and pruning shears headed through the conservatory to tend the back garden. She started tidying the shrubs. Snip Snip. It hadn't been the boy who came and collected them, it had been the older red-headed man who had made a mess of her sitting room. Snip Snip. He told them the war was over. They had won. Snip. The boy had lived, and now everything could go back to normal. Snip Snip. Back to normal. The shears hung in her hand motionless for a moment as she fought back the unexpected, hot tears pricking at her eyelids. Petunia suddenly knew what she wanted to do with her sunny Saturday afternoon.
o0o
As she arrived at the cemetery, she was not surprised to find there were no other mourners around. It really was very hot, with the sun high overhead and the shadows cool havens beneath the trees and beside the taller grave markers. Petunia straightened her hat and clutched her gardening tools to her chest as she walked the path toward the end of the second to last row where the grave of her sister lay. A grave she had not laid eyes on since the day it had been filled. Oh, she had been so angry that day. Actually, she had been angry with Lily since long before if she was honest, and angry for so many days after. Really she had just been put out and so cross and so very frightened for such a long time, until, this morning when she finally understood in her heart that all of this was over and life could go back to what it was before. Before a wicked man had killed her sister, orphaned her nephew and threatened the life of everyone she loved. Before a raggedy boy in the park told Lily, she was special in a way that Petunia never could be.
The white marble headstone, standing straight and proud was dazzling in the bright day. It was several minutes before Petunia realised she had been standing in front of it staring into space and mentally gave herself a shake. This place held no ghosts, no phantasms, she certainly didn't feel Lily's presence or any such nonsense it was all perfectly ordinary and she really ought to get on with it. Looking down Petunia was surprised to find despite having neglected to attend to it all these years the plot was reasonably tidy, with only a handful of weeds beginning to take hold around the edges and at the foot of the stone, a Rosemary bush which she supposed had self-seeded.
In the end, it was only the work of a few minutes to put the grave to rights, and she decided upon reflection to leave the Rosemary, it smelled lovely, and the bush had only needed a light trim into shape. She paused a second before packing the tools away. Snip snip. She took a small clipping; perhaps she could strike it and grow a bush at home.
"Vernon is sure to enjoy fresh Rosemary with his lamb roasts" she rationalised to herself as she gently wrapped the end of the sprig and tucked it away in her apron pocket.
Standing, Petunia brushed off her hands and knees and gathered her things before running out of reasons to tarry, but the unease continued to turn over in the pit of her stomach. With a sigh she let her hand rest on the cool marble, unsure what she needed or wanted to say. With all that had happened surely, there was too much water passed beneath the bridge for old hurts to be soothed or fresher grievances aired. Yet, something sat like a stone in her innards. Perhaps, there were things that needed saying.
"The war is over, and your people won. Harry lived, they tell us he's some sort of a hero if you can believe that" her shrill voice trailed off, "and I think you'd be proud of him."
Petunia patted the stone once more.
"I am sorry. Goodbye Lil." With that she left the graveside and moved toward the kissing gate, as she passed the Chapel she spied a gardener on his knees in a garden bed planting annuals.
"Excuse me," she said.
"How can I help you?" asked the gardener getting to his feet and mopping his brow with a handkerchief.
Petunia felt a blush creeping up her neck and hoped it might pass unnoticed given how red she was from the heat already. She gestured to the headstone still visible from where they stood.
"I just wanted to thank you for looking after my Sister's plot, I've not been able to get here as much as I would like and I appreciate that you kept it neat for her." The caretaker shaded his eyes and squinted in the direction Petunia was pointing.
"That's very kind of you, Missus, but we only do for the lawns and garden beds," he said as he plopped the hat back on his bald pate.
"I can't take credit for that. There was a man came, tall, thin, fella. Always grim? Had a bit of a beak? He's been coming every second Sunday, rain, hail or shine, for years to tend it. Come to think on it though; I haven't seen him these last few weeks…"
Petunia glanced down to the plastic carrier bag around her wrist only half full of dandelions and weeds as understanding dawned.
Later she couldn't recall if she said anything else to the gardener or if she had just wandered back toward the car, but as she popped her tools into the boot, she became vaguely aware of a twinge tightening in her chest. A hitch in her breath. A stinging vibration like a plucked string just behind her sternum.
She supposed it must have happened during this last battle. No one had thought to mention to her that he had died.
"And why would they?" She thought furious with herself.
Sliding into the driver's seat Petunia sat for a second, dry-eyed, as she contemplated that another of the few links to her sister and her sister's world had fallen away. Then she put the car in gear and headed home to cook dinner, Vernon would expect it on the table at six, now that everything was back to normal.