The Legend of Lily and the Muggles
March 13th, 1982
To her credit, Petunia Dursley made a mean cup of tea.
Sadly, that was one of the few nice things Lily had to say about her sister.
The two of them were sat facing each other in the living room of Number 4, Privet Drive. Despite the cushy beige armchairs, the sisters were sat tensely, unable to relax due to the thick tension in the air. The television, an ugly brown model that couldn't have been more than a year old was showing some news program, where a bleary-eyed reporter was going on about some plane crash in America. Petunia's son was upstairs, sleeping off a tantrum. Lily had decided not to inflict her sister on Harry, who was spending the day accompanying James and Sirius around Diagon Alley.
Lily coughed. "Is that a new dress, Petunia?" she asked, unable to think of anything else to say that wouldn't upset her sister.
"Vernon brought it as a Christmas gift" replied Petunia, tersely "I needed one for the company party."
"How was that?" Lily asked, not really curious.
"What do you think?" her sister grunted, "A bunch of old farts talking about drills, their wives trying not to look bored, the head honcho's son over in the corner making himself sick. How do you think it was?"
Lily turned defensive: "I was only asking!"
Petunia drummed her fingers on the arm of her seat. "We can't all have exciting lives."
Lily sighed. This thing. Petunia would never get over this thing, the fact that she had magic and Petunia didn't. It had ruined their relationship – which caused endless trouble for their late parents – to the point that it took them both turning nineteen (growing up in other words) for them to be able to stay in the same room without screaming insults. And she pitied her sister, truly pitied her – but it wasn't Lily's fault that they had been born different. And it was hardly her fault that Petunia had chosen to marry a whale and confine herself to…this place.
"Exciting is the wrong word" she said, "I'd love a bit of peace and quiet. I thought certain things would quieten down after the war ended, but if anything, the Ministry's been even busier."
"I thought you weren't employed, officially" Petunia stated. Was that satisfaction Lily could detect in her tone, perhaps in recognition of Lily also being de-jure a housewife?
"I'm not, officially" Lily snarked, "But unofficially I've been roped in to do 'public liaisons' at the Ministry. Old Bagnold thinks that given the good will I've got from putting down that bitch, all but the pissiest of the purebloods are likely to listen when I talk. Even the French are listening, since apparently they're also not fond of that family."
"I assume she wants to get re-elected?" Petunia asked.
Lily grunted. "She's a politician. That's all they ever think about."
"Harsh boss?" Petunia queried.
"Grumpy, arrogant, rude" Lily listed, "But not that bad. More competent than the last at least." She placed her finished cup onto the living room table, a piece of bleached white furniture that wouldn't have looked out of place in a mental asylum.
Petunia grinned. "Then you should count yourself lucky" she said, "You have a woman who is apparently 'not that bad'. We have Thatcher."
"Mmm. Yes, I've heard about her" Lily said, "But I would have thought you and Vernon were all for her – I could have sworn your husband's a Tory through and through."
"Not quite." Petunia leaned forward – apparently, she approved of discussing muggle politicians more than magical ones (always the gossiper!) "Vernon switches between supporting the Tories or Labour like Dudley does nappies." She laughed, a throaty cackle that reminder Lily of younger days. "Which is a good description for both of them to be honest – nappies! Because they both smell like shit."
"Wiz-" Lily stopped herself mid-word and changed her terminology; "The 'other' Britons, my folk, don't really have parties in the same way. We have voting 'blocks', united by one major issue and disunited on a hundred others."
"Sounds like the Irish" Petunia muttered.
"What?"
Petunia flapped a hand: "Don't worry about it. Continue – not that I care about this nonsense."
"I'm not sure if its better or worse than the Commons" Lily confessed, "There's less…division I suppose, though the Wizengamot is pretty conservative as a rule so I suppose their wouldn't be anyway. But there's more individual corruption, members can get away with a lot more – I don't want to think about how many are on the payroll of Malfoy, or the others of his ilk that escaped Azkaban."
"You've mentioned Malfoy before" Petunia mused, "Is he one of 'his' people?"
Lily grimaced. She remembered that particular conversation well, for it had been the one time in recent years that her sister had shown genuine, terrified interest in the wizarding world. "Yes. Not the worst, but he is one of them."
"I thought you said your husband had thrown them all in jail." Petunia only gave the barest hint of a smirk. "Must not be so great a…what did you call it, an Auror."
"Bitchiness doesn't suit you Tuney" Lily said, pointedly; "And you know full well that James is only one of several dozen Aurors; not even one of the most prestigious outside of the business on Halloween. Alastor's the one who filled half the cells in Azkaban, bless him."
"How many are at large then?" Petunia said, her tone more reasonable for once.
"A few" Lily replied, "None of the truly dangerous ones – aside from Greyback, but we think he's fled to the continent. The rest are in Azkaban, or dead, or in a few cases confined to house arrest if they were under the age of conviction."
Petunia's eyes narrowed. "No chance of them trying to come here, right?"
"None, Tuney" Lily said, genuinely trying to be reassuring – she might have considered her sister often ridiculous, but she couldn't fault her for worrying about revenge seeking lunatics. She'd met a few. Killed one of them, even.
Bellatrix's last word echoed quietly in her head.
She ignored it. "These are the kind of idiots that consider muggles beyond notice. Like cats or dogs at best, and you don't go after someone's dog to get revenge."
Petunia sniffed. "And your friend?" She said friend in the manner that one described the contents of a toilet. "How is she doing after the incident in November?"
"Alice is good" Lily replied, grateful for the change in topic; "Back at home with Frank and Neville, she was only under the Cruciatus-"
Petunia shivered.
"-for half a minute. She was more annoyed by the state of her house – the two of them have actually given up on repairing the old one after what was done to it, so have torn that down and built a new one. A nice cottage, looks a bit Swiss."
Petunia leaned in, suddenly curious: "Talking of houses, how's Cornwall?"
Lily smiled. "Falmouth is lovely. Right by the sea, filled with art galleries and theatre groups – James and I took Harry to a pantomime of Cinderella just before Christmas."
Petunia smiled indulgently; "Very traditional – Vernon and I took Dudley to a production of Aladdin."
Huh. Lily would not have expected Petunia's husband to be able to watch 'all that tosh'. Perhaps she had misjudged him?
"-more professionally done than yours I imagine."
Lily sighed.
Perhaps not.
"Little Whinging is close to all sorts of amenities" continued Petunia, "Vernon's work, the local primary – the centre of London's only an hour away and there's a lovely zoo in the other direction, which I'm sure Dudley will enjoy when he's older."
Lily sighed again; "I'm sure that's very convenient."
"It will be" Petunia shifted in her chair, resembling nothing so much as a very full and very smug cat.
"Of course," Lily said, squeezing in to get the last word despite the fact that it was highly immature; "If I want to go shopping, all I have to do is jump into a fireplace."
Her sister scowled – Petunia opening her mouth to snap back a comment…
Only to be cut off by a loud cry from upstairs. As if on cue, perhaps sensing the tension from below him, Dudley had woken up. Petunia leapt to her feet, with a cry of "Diddykins!"
Lily resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow and looked at her watch. She grabbed her coat and bag, checking that her wand remained tucked in an inside pocket of the former. Then she marched into the hall, glancing at the retreating figure of her sister.
"I'll have to nip off now, Tuney!" she called, "I'm due to meet up with James in 20 minutes!"
Petunia's voice echoed from down the stairs. "Very well – Ssh! Ssh Diddykins, it's okay! – I'll see you in two months to visit Mum and Dad's grave. Don't forget."
"I'll be there!" Lily said. Then she tugged open the door, walked into the afternoon breeze, closed the door behind her, and strode off back to where the world made sense. And some idea of tasteful décor.
Lily wasn't actually due to meet James for another hour but needed to visit Diagon Alley for unrelated reasons anyway, so apparated there once she found a convenient alleyway. While not quite back to its pre-war condition (one could still see the dents), the street was filled with cheerful and smiling shoppers going about their days. Coloured banners and streamers still hung from several shops, as did a hundred paper lanterns. The exception was Gringotts naturally; the bank looked as it always had, all white and imposing marble, guarded by a pair of goblins who if anything looked even more stern than usual.
Or perhaps they were just constipated?
Guessing that James would be in Quality Quidditch Supplies, Lily ducked away from that shop, trusting the hood of her coat to keep her distinctive hair hidden. She'd rather not have it known publicly where she was going – it had been hard enough to convince those close to her that "Yes, this is necessary". She veered off from the main street near the Gringotts entrance – stepping around a pile of baskets and cauldrons half-barricading the road – and strode through the dark iron gate into Knockturn Alley.
On her first trip to Diagon Alley, so many years ago now, Knockturn had been described as the dark side of the main throughfare. Professor McGonagall had been rather insistent that it was not worth the visit – which in hindsight, might have been as much to do with the coming of the Death Eaters as much as anything. Seeing it now, Lily was driven to disagree with her old Professor – calling this place the 'dark shadow' of Diagon Alley implied a level of grandeur and life that was not present. Many of the buildings here were demonstrating signs of subsidence and rot, leaning at such angles that Lily was surprised even magic could keep them up. The cobbled street was more dirt path than proud paving, and the buildings clung close together. The only signs of life were the occasional figure skulking in a doorway or peering through a window the colour of mud.
This was not Diagon Alley's dark side, it was Diagon Alley's shadow – a weak, pathetic thing, slithering at the borders of actual civilisation.
It was not the first time Lily had been down this street, so she knew how one needed to act to stay unbothered. Confidence was key – if the grimy men and women lurking believed that you were not affected by being here, they were unlikely to start anything. Not looking anyone in the face was also a good idea, as was keeping your features and valuables hidden in general. She'd chosen her coat carefully for this purpose: it was a large design, of muggle make but not obviously so, altered with a few charms and potions to conceal the wearer's appearance. Lily had brought it (and then messed about with it further) shortly after the attack on the Longbottom House, understanding more than ever the value of going unseen. Previously, she would have been able to borrow James' invisibility cloak, but Dumbledore was still busy examining that.
Lily idly wondered what was so special about that cloak, compared to any other.
Further down the alley, the street widened up somewhat. The buildings, while still grimy, showed more signs of former grandeur and wealth, even if that was now a distant memory. Some of them even looked like they could still be lived in, though it was surprising what wizards could put up with. Among them was the building Lily was looking for, a medium sized shop with large opaque windows filled with dubious artifacts – Borgin and Burkes.
Lily tugged open the door and strode inside.
The interior of the shop matched the exterior. Dark shelves and tables were covered with a host of strange artifacts, while even more curious things slouched in corners or on walls. A withered hand, clutching at air. A half-broken hand mirror. A row of House Elf heads. A pile of rust that might once have been a sword. A large cabinet, big enough to step into. A tray of shiny black beads. Naturally, everything was covered in a thick layer of dust – though when dealing with magical artifacts, that was sometimes comforting to see.
A dark wooden desk had been pushed against one wall. Alone of all things in the room, it appeared to have been dusted in living memory. Lily made her way over to it, and firmly pinged the brass bell for attention.
"Just a minute!" cried an aging voice from another room.
Lily waited patiently, trying to keep her distance from anything that looked hungry.
An old, stooped man stumbled into the main foyer from a side door. With him came the smell of grease and cheap booze. He peered suspiciously at Lily – "Who's there?"
"Amaris Gamp" Lily replied confidently, knowing full well that the actual Amaris Gamp was long dead; "I'm here to pick up my parcel, Borgin."
Mr Borgin, the sole owner of the shop following the death of his partner, raised an eyebrow. "Ah, Mrs Gamp – forgive me" he said, half-bowing; "I did not recognise you under the hood."
"You know full well how important it is to remain unrecognised" Lily replied, speaking in a lower voice than usual; "Especially in these times."
She did not know who Borgin thought she was under the hood. Probably some pureblood, mayhaps one of the wives of men now serving time in Azkaban. It didn't matter, so long as he didn't recognise her as Lily Potter, nee Evans.
"Your parcel is in the back, Mrs Gamp" said Borgin, his dark eyes glittering; "Allow me to just fetch it…" He staggered back towards where he had entered, leaving Lily alone again with his menagerie.
While waiting for him to come back, Lily examined a few of the things on display – even dark artifacts could be interesting provided one kept their distance. Two things in particular caught her eye: what appeared to be a brass astrolabe, of the type ancient mariners would use; and a small, beautifully designed puzzle cube, made of ivory and an unknown dark wood.
Despite her curiosity, she did not risk touching either of the artifacts. She quite liked having all ten fingers.
When Mr Borgin returned, he was clutching a wrapped paper parcel, tightly wrapped with string and twine. He placed it on the desk and gazed expectantly at Lily.
"I apologise for the delay, Mrs Gamp…there were unexpected difficulties getting your items into the country." Borgin mimed an explosion with his hands. "I will have to ask for a slight addition to our original price…"
Lily had half expected this and prepared accordingly. "Very well" she replied, drawing a small bag from an inside pocket, placing it down on the table and then opening her purse; "Your original price of 50 galleons and an addition of ten percent. I trust that will suffice?"
Borgin clearly heard the threat laden in her sentence. He smiled in a yielding manner, pulling away the bag with thick, grasping fingers; he counted out the extra, then pushed the parcel across the desk towards Lily.
He smiled again; "A pleasure doing business with you Mrs Gamp, may our paths cross again sooner rather than later." His grin faintly reminded Lily of that of an anglerfish, who had just caught lunch. "Please take a catalogue on the way out, perhaps Borgin and Burkes has something else you might fancy."
Lily did not reply, though she did take a catalogue while heading to the door.
Lily took a side route to re-enter the main alleyway, only taking off her cloak and stuffing it into a conjured bag once she was positive she hadn't been followed. She ran a hand through her hair, brushing out the few twists that had appeared since she entered Knockturn. After all the time in Diagon's shadow, the light of the sun was harsh against her eyes.
As she strode through the afternoon crowd towards Quality Quidditch Supplies (where she guessed James would still be), she heard the occasional whisper in the crowd –
"Did you see her?"
"That's Lily Potter!"
"I heard she gored Lestrange's eyes out!"
Lily ignored them. After four months, she'd managed to zone most of the comments out.
James and Harry were standing by one of the entrances to the shop, tucking into a pair of ice creams. Or at least James was tucking into it – Harry was giggling madly, having managed to smear chocolate over most of his face. He saw Lily and rushed towards her, gabbling something that sounded like "Mama!"
Lily scooped him up with one arm, enjoying the fact that he wasn't yet too heavy for that. "Heya scamp! Did you and Daddy have fun today!"
"We were just admiring the Cleansweep Seven" James grinned, swaggering over; "Not available for sale yet, but when it is – ooo, what I'd do to get my hands on one…"
Lily raised an eyebrow; "What's wrong with your comet?"
James looked offended, as he often did when Quidditch was involved. "Nothing! The Old Girl's just isn't getting any younger, and I was thinking it might be time to let her retire…"
"Maybe for Christmas" Lily replied, non-committedly. She shifted the chocolate-smeared Harry to better manage his weight; "Ooo, you have got big, haven't you?"
"Icecream!" Harry said, helpfully.
"Mmm, I can see that" Lily replied, wiping off a bit that had somehow got on his nose; "But you and Daddy have been very naughty – you didn't get Mummy one."
"Well!" James interrupted, "We can't have that! Parlour's this way, run by this Florean bloke…"
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