Chapter One Baby Angel's Broken Wings

What sort of visions do you have of us? Lily and James Potter; steely ghosts that dance on gray clouds over the inky black sky of the Hogwarts grounds when ever poor Harry dares to dream of his fallen predecessors. Romantic enough for you? Or how about this? Lily Potter, fair soul begets attractive body. Okay so maybe that one's a bit stuck up. But it isn't far from the truth. The advantageous thing about being a "phantom", as you so colorfully call it, is that the shields people insist on putting up, don't exist. That is, with out skin, or flesh, or bone, or stealthy sentiment, every thought, and desire, and passion is revealed. In a sense, with out even trying I can read your mind, her mind, his mind.

What dose this have to do with anything? Well, to be blunt, you people have some shitty ass ideas about my husband and I. Not that they aren't wonderful, they are... too glorious in fact. We don't want to be put up on a pedestal like that. So I have made it my personal mission to set the story straight. I have fond that conveying my will to an individual to write down is the perfect way to get my point across. Oh, yes there are other ways, but they involve several difficult spells and revealing myself to my son. With all he's been through lately, I simply couldn't bring myself to do it. Besides, it would evoke some uncomfortable questions.

First thing's first; my sister. I love my sister I do, and in spite of her actions she loves me too. I know it seems very hard to believe but we were once very close, Petunia and I. I miss those days. I think the only way to really understand what happened, about how much she means to me, is to take you back with me and relive, not only my memories, but her's.

I was born Lilith Lee Sanderus in Bristol on January 9th, 1964. My mum had me in my bedroom. She was born in her bedroom; my gran was born in her bedroom and so on. It's a family tradition stretching twelve generations with the exemption of my uncles. They were triplets and had to be born in a hospital to avoid complications.

We, my sister and I, grew up in a large beautiful house with a garden in the back that seemed more like a forest then any thing else. My dad was obsessed with exotic birds, plants, trees, and fruit, anything that grew. I think he shaped me more then anyone else in my life. He use to say, "Nothing is ever wrong unless you get caught." If it weren't for that phrase, I probably wouldn't have fallen in love with James. But that's another story. He taught me to love every living thing, and consider every thing to be living. What a hypocrite.

Petunia was born when I was three. I remember anxiously waiting outside her room, desperate for a peek.

"Come on mum, please. I want to see." I said in a very whiny voice.

"No, darling, mummy's very tiered right now, so give mummy a day to relax alright?" she said in the soft voice that I would recognized anywhere.

"Please," I said again, bouncing up and down the way only a three year old could.

"I said no," she said, and this time her testiness bled through her voice.

I put on a very sullen face and slouched away with my head down and my hands in my pockets. I walked all the way to the stairs and twirled around before seating myself on the very last step, sighing.

"Lilith," I heard from the other end of the house where the kitchen was. I looked up and saw my dad motioning to me. I got up and trotted off toward him. He bent down and whispered, "Fallow me," in my ear with a smile. We walked across the dinning room to the back door and before opening it he asked me, "Do you really want to see your sister?" I nodded vigorously and he opened the door.

He walked me around the back of the house, passed the many tall graceful trees and the rock fountain in the grove of bushes and right up to a small, white trimmed window. "That's your sister's new room," he said, pointing at the window.

"Really?" I asked, "Can I look?"

"I can't guaranty that you'll see anything," he said, but then he bent down and whispered, "Just don't tell your mother."

I smiled brightly and he lifted me into the air with his strong arms and planted me down on a tap right underneath the window. The small purple flowers my father and I had planted the year before tickled my feet and made me trip. He caught me and held me like a baby for a few seconds, and I had to hold my breath to keep from laughing out loud. Back on the tap I peered through the window, and saw a small figure in my mom's arms. I looked back at my father, giggling, excitement flooding through my veins. The birds seemed to sing Petunia's praises, that small child wrapped in a light blue flees blanket. I watched her more intently then I had ever watched anything before in my life. The minutes flew by and before I knew it Dad was asking, "Ready to go back inside?"

"No," I said simply.

"We don't want mummy to see us do we? We'd get in trouble."

"No," I said again, shaking my head playfully. I insisted on taking in every thing; the smell of flowers and baby powder, the way the sun reflected off the glass, the sound of her music box playing her softly to sleep. I burned it all into my memory, and it was a long time before I would let my father bring me back inside. Despite the immersive, aw inspiring quality of the moment, I couldn't help noticing that my mother's face seemed a bit. odd. She wasn't smiling, she didn't look happy, nor did she look sad, or angry. The only thing I could compare it to was a doll's face, lifeless.

As soon as we were back in the dining room I turned to my father and said very obnoxiously, "She's my Petunia, not yours. You can't have her."

"I can't?" he said with a silly little pout on his face. "Can't we at lest share her. We'll cut her in half and you can give me the butt end."

"No daddy that would hurt her."

"Oh, are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

"Oh alright then, you can have her for a kiss," he said. I kissed him on the cheek and ran off into my room to play; completely unaware of how literal my words would soon turn out to be.

I was her first word, sort of; she was the first one to call me Lily. It stuck. For five years we were carefree and innocent together. One of my first memories of playing with Petunia was of us chasing a butterfly. Yeah, a butterfly. Petunia simply adored it. She said it looked like a monster flattened paper thin. In the summer we would plunge into an inflatable pool, spending hours in contest of who could make the largest splash, and who could swim to the other side the fastest. I would always let her win. In the winter when it rained we would curl up under the same blanket and I would read to her. Her favorite was The Ugly Duckling.

Night after night we would look up into the stars and make up adventures to rival living as a witch, marked for death by the most powerful, evil wizard ever. Okay, maybe not to that extent, but they were good. Mine were always a bit gorier then her's and her's were always a lot more mushy then mine.

So what happened? What could possibly have destroyed such a glorious vision of perfect sisterhood? That very question has hunted me for fifteen long years. Especially since I've seen what her... her hatred for me has made her do to Harry. She was never like me, Petunia. The bottom line is that she couldn't take what life gave her; she never had the support to handle it. My parents never wanted her and they diligently showed it.

They had taken steps to prevent having more children. They seemed to be of the opinion that if God had intended for us to have loads of children He would have made us rabbits. And my mother's Post Partum Depression didn't help either, not even I could count on her for much for a year or so. My mum blamed Petunia for her year in Hell, and my father just went right along. He never did have much of a back bone. He didn't hate Petunia at first, but like with all great lies if you repeat it long enough you eventually start to believe it.

I tried to protect her from it. I tried to make up for what my parents lacked. But I soon became tired of acting like her mommy. That wasn't it though. Most of it was petty, but some of it was down right cruel.

My magical abilities manifested early and by the time Petunia went to school odd happenings were common place. The children at school were afraid of me and I didn't blame them. Once, a boy called Adrian was picking on me and. something happened.

"Move over, Wicked Witch," he said, bumping me so hard I fell to the floor. "What did you have for lunch? Toto?"

"What'd you do that for?" I said, trying very hard not to revel how angry I was. 'The worst thing you could ever do in battle,' my father would say 'is give your opponent the emotional upper hand.'

Adrian gasped and backed away. "It speaks!" he said in mock astonishment.

"Shut up, Adrian! And give me back my seat!" I said, quickly loosing my temper.

"Or what, you'll sick your flying monkeys on me?" He stood up and started flapping his arms about, screeching.

"Come on Lily, lets go," my friend said, grabbing my arm, but I pulled it away from her, every one at the table was now laughing and I wasn't about to walk away from a fight.

"Aoh, s-she's about to curse me!" he said in a panicked voice, though he was still smiling. "Kill it! Kill it!" he shouted. Then he did the worst thing he could think of, and picked up a cup of water, splashing me in the face.

Every one stopped snickering and looked anxiously at me. Adrian was no longer laughing but looking very smug. I flushed a deep beat red, anger rose from the bottom of my feet to the tip of my head. My legs developed a mind of their own and before I knew it I had thrown myself on top of him. I sat on him, beating his arrogant little face in and covering my hands with blood from his nose. A teacher rushed up behind me and pried me off of him. Held back by the teacher I thought I couldn't do any thing. But I was wrong.

A wish, a simple wish to hurt him made it happen. Before my eyes he was lifted into the air, his feet dangling like chains beneath him. He stayed in the air like that for a few seconds frantically searching my eyes for mercy but finding none. With the force of a wrecking ball, I through him against the wall with my mind and watched with an insane sort of relish because this wasn't the first time he'd made a full of me in front of the school. From the kitchens an army of knives flew through the air at him on my command. They pinned him to the wall, some catching only clothing, and some cutting him so deeply that a puddle of thick crimson blood gathered on the black and white tile floor.

With the corner of my eye I saw my friend, shaking with fear and looking at me like I were a monster. The look on her face snapped me back from the edge of the abyss. Adrian dropped to the floor in a limp heap with a dull sort of thud. I stared at him for a moment with just as much fear as the rest of the school and then I bolted.

I could have been prosecuted for that. I should have been prosecuted for that. I ran through the busy streets all the way back home and hid myself in the small nook of bushes that surrounded the water fall and cried for hours. The only thing I could think of as I listened to the normally soothing water trickling down into it's small pool, was that at any moment the police would be coming to the front door and they would take me away from my family. I worried myself sick about what would happen to Petunia when I was gone, about who would take care of her.

But the police never came. Latter I found out that a wizard in the right place at the right time saw the incident. He contacted the Ministry of Magic and several Obliviators had a field day at the school, modifying every ones memory. It was very hard for me to go back to school after that, but after that no one teased me. Even though no one remembered anything, the raw fear was still there. This is why Petunia became subject to daily torment, and they did far worst to her then they had ever done to me. My stomach burned with guilt every time anyone would say something about her. And so much worst then that, the more isolated she was the more revered I became, so she spent her days looking longingly at me. To add fuel to the fire my parents sent her to a camp for bad spellers for a week; at lest that's what they had told me.

I spent as much time as I could get away with at school with her. She and I were petting a wild rabbit that had wondered on to the school yard, when a few of my "friends" called me over to join their club. When Petunia asked if she could go too they disgustedly looked at each other and said it was full. I still vividly remembered when they disliked me and in fear of them reverting to old habits I didn't dare stick up for her as they laughed in her face.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to Petunia and fallowed them across the school.

She watched me as long as she could handle, then turned to the rabbit and said, "At lest you won't abandon me." It then hopped away from her despite her desperate attempts to grab it.

She looked down at the place where the rabbit had been. "I hate animals! I hate..." but she couldn't bring herself to say the next word. Not just then at lest. So she flopped down on the grass and closed her eyes, basking in the sun. She let the soft rays penetrate her skin, it warmed her dark young spirit, embracing her the way no one else would. I say no one because even I was starting to have reservations about her. A child must be a child before he or she can give such love. Or so I keep telling myself.

Again she slipped peacefully into daydreams of better times to come. Fantasies of children laughing and playing with the sprinklers on the front lawn of a two story suburban house danced like ballerinas in her brain. Two blond little girls and a sandy hard boy, just like his father. She conjured him up in her minds eye as perfect as if he were standing before her right now. Tall and muscular, never afraid to protect her or the children from even the most trivial of foes. Clean shaven and with eyes so blue, if you looked in them too long you could drown in a sea of ecstasy. Sensitive to a fault, and oh how romantic.

She could just see the two of them sway under the stars in a gold and crystal gazebo when she noticed that someone was blocking her light. When she opened her eyes it was to find none other then Adrian and his minions.

Petunia hastily got to her feet, and looked determinedly into Adrian's cold eyes. He may have been four years older then she was, and he may have exhibited the air of a nuclear weapon, but he was a cowered. It was either one or the other with him, no gray; he'd either turn tail and run, or beat her until a teacher came to separate them. How anyone could allow such a boy to go to school was beyond her. But it wasn't that simple. If truth be told he didn't quite know why he did what he did. All he knew was that something about me... me, not Petunia, frightened him so much that he had to lash out at it. But he didn't dare touch me, because even though he couldn't remember the incident with the knives the marks, both visible and invisible, we're still there. Petunia was an easy target.

There were only three courses of action now. Fight, flight, or join. Petunia was loyal and very stubborn. She would allow no bully to bluster her, and she would grant no enemy the satisfaction of seeing her back. So that left only fight. It had been that way many times before, but this time was to be different. Something in the pit of her hearts of hearts was changing; it was weary, and fed up with blind allegiance. All it needed was one strong push, and it would snap.

Adrian was pissed about something; you could see it in those fathomless eyes of his. He said nothing, gave none of his usual witty remarks or lies but went strait to work instead. He pounced like cheetah and Petunia's head bounced off the grass. Petunia was hit again and again, and she cried my name with each blinding stab. They were so far away from the play ground that no one heard them and no one could come to Petunia's rescue. Because of that Adrian was able to do things he had only dreamed of. She began to have hallucinations of creators poring molten steel over her body, turning her flesh into a raw, black and red, bobbling, snack for gargoyles. It was the only way her brain could cope and explain the pain. For those four minutes she lived for four centuries in the seventh circle of Hell.

When Adrian finally stood to survey his handy work, Petunia was nothing more then a broken, bleeding pile twisted flesh. It was a mark of how tough Petunia was that she did what she did next. Barely conscious and hardly able to breath she uttered the most dangerous question one could possibly conceive of: "Why?"

Sufficed to say Adrian hadn't expected this. He fixed her with a stare to chill bone marrow, creating a lie as he stared Petunia down. He chose his words very carefully. "I didn't do anything to you," he said dilatorily. He kneeled down and turned Petunia's head in my direction. "She is the one that hurt you. Don't you see? Haven't you noticed? You call her name and she doesn't come. You beg for her attention and she doesn't give it to you. Personally I have nothing against you. But that one over there, that girl that is admired by so many has it in for me. And you."

"Lily's never hurt me," she said, looking at me with eyes blurred by tears.

"Hasn't she?" Adrian whispered getting even closer to Petunia's limp body. "She could hear you screaming for help and she didn't care. She staid and played with the girls that continually laugh in your face. It's easy to see that she doesn't love you. I'm just trying to help you. You see that don't you." He looked at Petunia and continued. If he played his cards right he could very well have another sycophant on his side by the end of the week. "She's dangerous, Petunia, she's different. Everything was fine until she came to this school and now nothing's right. I've never told anyone this but you have to know. A few months after she first came hear I woke up with marks all over my arms, and legs, and stomach." He lifted up his sleeve to show her the scars left by the knives that had pinned him to the wall. "I can't explain it. Only when I came to school that day everyone seemed rather afraid of your dear sister. I don't want to see you get hurt like I was, and it's going to happen if you don't listen to me. Sooner or later you're going to end up unconscious in an alley and it's going to be because of her. She isn't right! I can help you; I can protect you from her." He stood up again and watched her with feigned concern. "Think about it," he said calling his gang over with a flick of his wrist. He left her lying there, half-alive, and seriously doubting me.