DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters, but I do own the plotline that you
don't recognise.
Please review with your suggestions, so I can work out what you do and don't like! Thanks. (sorry that this one is shorter, bear with me! It will get better I promise...)
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It was terrifying the next morning. I got up as usual to go and fetch the paper and milk from our clean doormat at Privet Drive. Ah... my home. They say an Englishman's home is his castle, and I am a firm believer of this. I never saw myself as a little house wife, especially as a rebellious teenager in the 70s! That all changed, when I realised I could never be like as Lily, never happy, never successful; a failure at everything I tried. If I could make Vernon happy, then he would love me and we could be happy. So I suppose my personality, and my whole perspective changed. I didn't care about freedom, my own happiness or education, or the welfare of significant minorities. 'My sister is a minority, so I don't care anymore,' I told myself angrily. I persuaded myself to hate everything that was abnormal, and lead a trouble-free life. It had worked fine for me for the past few years, why try to change now? Back to that fateful day, I opened the door and there was a basket on the doormat. Peering inside, I noticed it contained a baby and a note. 'Vernon...' I gasped, then repeated it louder and more panicky. 'Vernon! Quick!' I heard him jump up knocking a chair over, causing Dudley to cry. My baby! He would have to wait; just this once. Oh how I would live to regret that one decision. 'Petunia! We don't want the neighbours to see!' We rushed the baby back into the kitchen, just as I found my Dinky-Diddums choking on his breakfast. His face had turned blue, and he was spluttering, running himself into a frenzy. In a panic I managed to free him from his suffering, and nurse him against me. 'It's OK Duddles, I'm here now,' I soothed nervously, as his breathing grew more regular, and his face became less red. Looking up at Vernon, then shooting evils at the bundle, I asked 'What will we do with it?' I knew I would have to resent the child for what he did to me that day. Vernon finished reading the note and looked up at me. 'This is Harry, Petunia. Your sister and James...' he paused as I waited with bated breath. 'They're dead Petunia.' I felt a wash of emptiness and pointlessness sweep over me. The one time I would let this get to me. I thrust Dudley into his father's arms and pressed a tissue to my face as I ran out of the room. Dead? The true love of my life, and my own sister. Dead?
Please review with your suggestions, so I can work out what you do and don't like! Thanks. (sorry that this one is shorter, bear with me! It will get better I promise...)
* * * * *
It was terrifying the next morning. I got up as usual to go and fetch the paper and milk from our clean doormat at Privet Drive. Ah... my home. They say an Englishman's home is his castle, and I am a firm believer of this. I never saw myself as a little house wife, especially as a rebellious teenager in the 70s! That all changed, when I realised I could never be like as Lily, never happy, never successful; a failure at everything I tried. If I could make Vernon happy, then he would love me and we could be happy. So I suppose my personality, and my whole perspective changed. I didn't care about freedom, my own happiness or education, or the welfare of significant minorities. 'My sister is a minority, so I don't care anymore,' I told myself angrily. I persuaded myself to hate everything that was abnormal, and lead a trouble-free life. It had worked fine for me for the past few years, why try to change now? Back to that fateful day, I opened the door and there was a basket on the doormat. Peering inside, I noticed it contained a baby and a note. 'Vernon...' I gasped, then repeated it louder and more panicky. 'Vernon! Quick!' I heard him jump up knocking a chair over, causing Dudley to cry. My baby! He would have to wait; just this once. Oh how I would live to regret that one decision. 'Petunia! We don't want the neighbours to see!' We rushed the baby back into the kitchen, just as I found my Dinky-Diddums choking on his breakfast. His face had turned blue, and he was spluttering, running himself into a frenzy. In a panic I managed to free him from his suffering, and nurse him against me. 'It's OK Duddles, I'm here now,' I soothed nervously, as his breathing grew more regular, and his face became less red. Looking up at Vernon, then shooting evils at the bundle, I asked 'What will we do with it?' I knew I would have to resent the child for what he did to me that day. Vernon finished reading the note and looked up at me. 'This is Harry, Petunia. Your sister and James...' he paused as I waited with bated breath. 'They're dead Petunia.' I felt a wash of emptiness and pointlessness sweep over me. The one time I would let this get to me. I thrust Dudley into his father's arms and pressed a tissue to my face as I ran out of the room. Dead? The true love of my life, and my own sister. Dead?