"Death is the dropping of the flower that the fruit may swell."-Henry Beecher
Petunia Ivy Dursley nee' Evans was many things. Good Lord, you could call her plenty of other things too, but never could you accurately judge the cover of her battered and ordinarily-looking book.
Vanity and bitter jealously may have warped her heart until it was hollow, nevertheless, it did not mean Petunia did not care for her sister, her family.
Buried in the deepest depth of her heart, Petunia the little girl who had yet to face rejection, missed her baby sister.
Petunia, the eldest daughter still even after their death, craved the love and attention of William and Rose Evans.
Petunia hated, feared, craved, and longed for the touch of magic that was literally fingertips away from her touch.
A small part of her detested her husband, Vernon, though an even larger part loved him just the same.
Dudley Vernon Dursley was an enormous child with a red squashed face and a loud pair of lungs. Sweat clung to Petunia's overly thin neck in the late June heat but staring into the blue eyes of her child, her son with wispy blonde hair she found for once her heart unaching.
The moment was shattered four hours later when the quiet whines of Tulip Marigold Evans greeted her mother after following her elder brother out of the womb. Tulip Evans with her tuft of Strawberry-blonde hair and soft looking features caused Petunia to cry with heartbreak and relief.
In the Highlands of Scotland, the magical school of Hogwart's self-updating book glowed with a newly registered name.
Tulip Evans.