Warnings: Petunia POV. Post James/Lily death
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~*~*~*~*~*~
They were dead.My sister and her husband were dead.
The only thing they left behind was their boy, that boy Harry. And a few pictures that had moving people in it. I knew those pictures. Lily had shown me once in a while, when we hadn't been fighting.
And they were moving.
The picture of Lily and her husband and several other people I didn't recognize. One had a mass of thick black hair, obviously uncombed. Another was small and fat; his mother didn't have very good etiquette. And the last was so skinny and bone-like; must be cursed. I knew none of them… didn't want to know in fact.
Vernon had said good riddance; that the world was cleaner with the two of them gone. Normally, I would have agreed. Because I hated her. Hated her and her kind. Abnormal, sickening, evil. They had done nothing but cause trouble for mother, father, and me.
And they still loved her better than me.
I could tell.
They didn't pay attention to any of my achievements. I had hundreds of friends who were clamoring to be part of my exclusive group. My beauty was flawless, next to none. I was the bloody May Queen! I even had the richest boy in school paying attention to me.
They still didn't do much but pat me on the head.
I had always hated her. She monopolized their attention, stealing the limelight that rightfully belonged to me. It had always been Lily this and Lily that.
Never Petunia.
They even forsake my fifteenth birthday in order to celebrate her acceptance into that school.
But…
I can't help but look at the pictures again.
Why?
I don't know.
Maybe because even after all that, she was still… she was still my only sister. The only other person that shared the same genetic plans as me. The only woman whose blood flowed the same as mine.
And she was dead.
Those words sound so strange.
Vernon had always said that whoever dies, it means they deserved it in some way. He never elaborated, but I suspect that he also had some wiz--- freakish relatives also. He never liked me talking about Lily.
He never even wanted me to mention her name.
I try not to, but when she's the person I've hated my whole life, it's hard not to rant on.
There I go again; my fingers are actually touching her face. I'm so worthless sometimes. It's not as if I actually ever liked her. She was just there. And then she married that man… what was his name? Oh yes, James Potter. Horrid, simple, and disgustingly abnormal name.
And they produced a kid… a kid called Harry.
Nothing like by darling Dudley.
And he had to have her eyes. Those green shades of hers that echoed in my own eyes. I was always proud that my eyes were a more *normal* green. Hers was a dark, dangerous green that everyone gushed were like emeralds.
Cheap baubles, if you ask me.
But I'm getting off the point.
'They' had brought Harry and left him on our doorstep, like some package to be taken care of. Mind you, I don't like the little brat at all, but it's something cruel to leave a baby on a doorstep in the middle of the night.
So here he was.
Vernon had wanted to put him in the orphanage immediately, but for once, I put my foot down. He was, after all, one of our relatives. I didn't want anybody nosing their little nasty curiosity in our lives. It would ruin both of us if it went out that we abandoned a baby in an orphanage.
Ruin all of us.
Dudders doesn't like Harry all that much. He wouldn't touch Harry for the first week; after that, he would poke Harry at every chance he got. Normally I would just let him be; the little tyke needed some sort of release of frustration that surely came out of having to share the house with one of her kind.
But again, I stopped him when he got too rough. The boy, after all, was still a baby. I couldn't let anything really bad happen to him. Just little things that may leave a bruise here and there, nothing more.
Besides, Dudley is a lot smarter than the boy. He knows how bizarre Harry is.
And once again, I realize that Lily's dead.
Dead and left us with a baby that's nothing like us.
How am I supposed to raise Lily's son?
The brat's nothing like any of us; trying to make him like us will only bring shame on the family. Treating him the same as Dudders would only spoil the little monster. A moment of kindness and the entire flock of vultures would descend, if you know what I mean.
He has the same eyes as her.
The same green, intense eyes as her.
I find myself picking Harry up, using flimsy excuses, in order to stare into those eyes. Because, after all, they were green. And they were hers.
You have eyes like your mothers.
Lily's eyes were in there. And somehow, I couldn't bring myself to poke out those eyes with the butcher knife, like I've always wanted to do since we were little. No, correction, ever since she turned eleven and received that blasted letter.
This was their fault.
That infernal school, that bloody boarding school called 'Hogwarts'.
If they hadn't insisted on making her a… witch. Then none of this would have happened. If they hadn't insisted on taking my baby little sister… none of this would have happened. If they hadn't taken her, I would be sitting right now in the kitchen, drinking our tea together, gossiping about our husbands.
And she wouldn't be married to that freak, Potter.
Her eyes were green.
Lily had Harry's eyes. Or Harry had Lily's eyes. Either way, they were despicable. Horribly, horribly, despicable.
I hated that Potter.
And Lily too.
But, then again, they were dead.
~*~ FINIS ~*~
I don't particularly like Petunia Dursley, but she did have her sister die on her. There are few people in the world who can say with absolute truth that they wouldn't care if someone of their blood died. It would be horribly callous to even say that she wouldn't care.
Anyhoo, they *did* take care of Harry when they could have given him away to the orphanage.