A/N: Trust me, you will never find a Petunia story with a bigger twist. If I'm wrong, sue me - my total bank balance to date is 22 pence, three smarties and a piece of fluff ;-) I'm becoming obsessed with writing about Petunia Dursley. No, I'm not entirely mad (although I'm getting there fast) - I think she has great potential. No, honestly, I do. Yeah, well, anyway, read this and see if you agree with me. Or something…
Disclaimer: S'all hers
I Never Said Goodbye…
Peace. My last few moments of glorious sanctuary before it all begins again. Any moment now Vernon's new company car will purr into the driveway and I'll watch through the window as he unloads Dudley's school things from the boot. They'll walk up to the front door and I'll rush to meet them, all smiles and gushing joy. They'll be fooled by it, of course. They always are. Even my own husband doesn't take the time to examine what lies behind this cheery façade.
Lily always knew. Even as a tiny tot, she could always tell when I was hurting inside. She would rest her tiny cherubic face on my knee and stare at me with those soulful green eyes. I never knew where she got those eyes from - not her father, nor her mother was responsible for them. Pretty, pretty. Angel child. Fire sprite. My own, sweet Lily-Loo.
Her story is more tragic than mine, because she was innocent, and mine was all my own fault. I deserved no sympathy and I got none. I fend for myself; always have. I don't need anyone's pity. Her whole life was a romantic tragedy. Mine was a mess.
It all began on my first day at Hogwarts. Surprised you there, didn't I? Yes, hard though it is to believe, I am no ordinary muggle. I was a weedy little thing, with stick insect limbs and straggly hair. The sorting hat put me in Ravenclaw, which I was glad of; I had always been something of a swot and a bookworm.
From my newly acquired seat at the Ravenclaw table, I surveyed the rest of the Great Hall. My eyes were immediately drawn to the Slytherins, of whom I had heard so much spiteful gossip already.
And there he was.
A dark, smouldering presence, seemingly out of place among the spotty, lanky teenagers around him. Thick dark locks, and a faint trace of a smirk playing on his lips as he conversed with his neighbour. He had an aura about him. That of one who knows and is known and is confident of his place in the world. He, the commander, held his pathetic legionaries in his thrall, exuding power. There was a trace of something else as well, something mysterious and unfathomable.
I nudged the girl next to me, a plump, freckle-faced specimen by the name of Rosie McKinnon, whom I had met on the train. "Who's that boy?" I muttered, pointing furtively.
"I dunno. Weird looking, isn't he?" she replied, in her customary, down-to-earth manner. I nodded and continued to stare at him surreptitiously.
It wasn't hard to find out more about him. He was the most talked about, sought after boy in the school. His name was Tom.
Over the years, I watched him date, and dump, every girl in the school over the age of thirteen. There was even a rumour that he had slept with several of the female teachers, although I tried to ignore that one.
I was never terribly pretty, but as I grew up, I learned to cover that fact with layers of makeup. I admit I was popular, but never one of those ditzy, clothes obsessed girls. I waited until he had dated every more beautiful girl in my year, and I hoped it would be my turn next. Call me stupid, but I thought I could change him. Make him mine.
During my fourth year, My friend Rosie and I held a joint party in the Ravenclaw common room to celebrate our fifteenth birthdays. Most of our house showed up, and lots of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs as well. There was music, food and some of the boys had managed to smuggle in some Butterbeer and muggle alcohol from Hogsmeade.
About halfway through the evening, the tapestry that covers the common room entrance swung back, and a group of 7th year Slytherin boys swaggered in, Tom included. Every female head in the room turned, but he seemed not to notice. He left the group and sidled over to me.
"Looking good, sweetheart," he murmured. Dumbstruck, I was sure my racing heartbeat could be heard by everyone within a five-mile radius, I giggled helplessly.
He draped his arm loosely around my shoulder. "How's the birthday girl doing then?"
"Fine," I drawled, trying to look seductive and fluttering my eyelashes.
"How about we get you a drink, eh? You look like you need one."
***
Of course, that was it, wasn't it? I was sunk.
I woke up the next morning and he was gone. The curtains around my four-poster were drawn, but in the darkness I could still make out the faint indentation on the pillow where his head had lain.
Just as he had done to so many other girls, now he had done to me.
A few weeks later, I missed my period. I stole a pregnancy test from the hospital wing. You all know what I'm going to say next. It had to be positive, didn't it?
I still don't understand it. Why me? He had slept with a million and one other girls, but I had to be the one to get pregnant.
For him, I was just another ditzy tart. He probably doesn't even remember me now. But that one night, that one stupid, drunken mistake changed the whole course of my life. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if he had passed me by. How my life would have turned out. I wouldn't be living as a muggle, anyway.
I kept it a secret for as long as I could. Somehow, I thought it would go away if I didn't think about it. I had always been skinny, so it didn't show for ages. They found out eventually though; they had to. By that time, I was about six months gone.
They expelled me. Said I was a "bad influence". I never even got to take my OWLs.
My parents were muggles anyway and they were very supportive. I thank God for that fact, because I couldn't have managed without them. We agreed that they would look after the baby as though it was their own. They had always wanted another child after me anyway. The child would grow up thinking they were its parents and I was its sister. It was only logical to do it that way.
It was a girl.
I called her Lily. Lily Joanne Evans.
She was the only thing that kept me from going mad as I tried to adjust to life as a muggle. She had my red hair. I loved her so much, though I had to hide it, pretending to be her sister. We were happy.
Then, when she was eleven, she got her Hogwarts letter. Funnily enough, it had never even crossed my mind that she would be a witch, even though both her parents were magical.
It just didn't seem fair. She was going to have the life that I never had.
I suppose I was bitter, jealous perhaps. As she grew up, she and I drifted further and further apart. I married Vernon, just to get away from that house and from her. She was so happy in her magical world. Why was I left outside in the cold?
She married James Potter when they were just twenty. I didn't even go to the wedding. Just after I gave birth to Dudley, they had a son. My grandson, Harry.
Then they were killed. Oh, I knew all about the Dark side. I just didn't know how bad everything had got. I didn't know how closely she and James were involved in the battle. I only found out when Harry was left on my doorstep. I pretended not to care.
It's all Harry's fault. Lily and James were only murdered because of what he is. He's special - not just an ordinary wizard. The irony is that he doesn't even know what he is yet. He'll find out soon enough though. I suppose one day he'll find out who his grandfather was as well. There'll be an outcry in the wizarding world.
Famous Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, related to Lord Voldemort.
It's Harry's fault that my daughter died. I can never forget that, yet I'm expected to take care of him. I have to. Dumbledore made me take him in, as much as I was loathe to.
My baby Lily. I did love you. I still do. She never found out that I was her mother. She died thinking I didn't give a damn about her.
I never even said goodbye…