A week and a half into living someone else's life for them, you are still adjusting. Lily's memories, the iron-clad knowledge that she's gathered throughout her short lifetime is thumping its way through your head. Yesterday, you looked at a sock drawer for more than two seconds and remembered how you - Lilyv - had pushed Petunia into it in a fit of anger two years ago.
Besides superimposing your brother's face onto Petunia's whenever you saw her, things had been going well. You had calmed somewhat, and your parents dismissed the bookcase breaking at the time of your tantrum as a fluke.
You didn't bother to correct them.
Having magic was appealing, and that was what made it dangerous. You didn't trust people with that much power in their hands and that included yourself.
Unfortunately, you'd forgotten how little agency children had.
Two days ago, Lily's parents discovered the letters you had squirreled away beneath yourher bed and decided to drag you and an unwilling Petunia - "Mum, I don't want to deal with Lily's freaky magic stuff! Why can't you go without me?" - to take a trip to Diagon Alley, in London.
You would have protested, would have kicked and screamed and lied about the magic that has made itself at home in her life and her body, had made the silverware float up around your head and dye Lily's shirt a soft pink, like Joanna'syour favorite sweater.
But Lily's parents looked so relieved that they finally had a name to put to yourher eccentricities. Their eyes lit up and the house was filled with exclamations of delighted surprise, of a knowing tilt to their smiles.
"Our little girl is magic! of course!" Lily's mum trilled, hugging a letter to her chest with a whimsical smile.
Her pop - Walton, you don't get to call him anything else - twirled you around the room in his arms.
Their excitement caught you off guard. How could they just believe this? Was a few letters really all it took?
Petunia had scowled at the distraught looks you were throwing her from the door frame of the living room.
"Don't be so thick, Lily. There was always something about you."
.
.
.
They plan a trip into London, and everything goes perfectly.
You stare out the window, wordless, throughout the entire journey. Staring out into the slate sky is easier than thinking about the impossibilities that you are about to witness, as well as the ones that you can create.
The power in this body scares you. What's more, the fact that you can't seem to control it is infinitely terrifying. The possibility of lashing out and hurting these people - Lily's family , who you owe so much to, even if they may not know it, is heartbreaking in it's likelihood.
Lily's childish memories and the convictions that she's held onto all her life are hard to let go of. They continue to plague you restlessly and cut off your memories of your younger brothers' face. You smother your tears and the guilt.
Now isn't the time.
Arriving in London is a mundanely breathtaking experience and the biggest relief of your life.
You, Petunia and Lily's parents manage to get to the muggle address in the letter. It takes you all another fifteen minutes of wandering back and forth along the street to enter any of the shops, because nobody but you can seem to see the rickety little pub settled right between a bright boutique and a homely looking bookstore.
Finally, you take pity on them and open one of the scuffed wooden doors. Petunia's eyes suddenly flick up to the black sign swinging in the breeze and you can see her eyes trace over the curl of the letters. Leaky Cauldron.
Lily's mum - Iris, you had learned this days ago when she signed a teacher's note for you and reprimanded you for daydreaming in class - looks at the newly revealed pub in wonder. She and Lily's father wander inside and indiscreetly wonder aloud about the magical properties of the area.
You notice the bartender, who introduces himself as Tom with a gap-toothed grin, chatting with your parents knowingly. A few of the customers glance at your and the Evans' muggle attire but take no notice beyond that.
Petunia hangs back, then squeezes past you and moves to stand next to Walton. He idly puts his arm around the shoulders of her butter yellow sweater and she presses into him, shivering.
In contrast, you take off your windbreaker.
Finally, Tom escorts the Evans and you to another discrete entrance and taps a brick wall several times with his wand, a simple looking stick of wood a few inches shorter than his fore-arm.
Your head spins as the bricks disappear and you step into a world that shouldn't exist. This is the proof you needed to know that you aren't insane, nor are you dreaming.
You don't feel real. You've entered a parallel universe within a parallel universe.
Inception, you think, dryly.
The whirls of flying broom and owls instead of machinery are uncomfortably familiar. But the weather is just as dreary and cloudy on the other side. In some ways, it's exactly like London. Like Cokesworth.
This grounds you.
It's a relief, to know that wizards can't change everything. That their reality isn't fully immersive, and that nature is still a force that is beyond their control. They may be powerful, but magic isn't might, and there are forces of nature even they don't dare touch.
You glance around at the petticoats and the robes that surround you. A pair of wizards nearby are greeting each other with a warm hug. There's a steady crowd of people all along the avenue, exiting and entering the various storefronts. Even a few families enjoying the parlous and restaurants.
Just like London, you think grimly, stepping forward like a soldier going to war.