The heat of summer was on the house, baking the shingles and shimmering almost visibly in the garden. Its white picket fence politely requested privacy from the neighbors without walling out their friendly approach. Two low benches sat in the shade of the apple trees, with a granite birdbath between them. Rows of tomato plants, squash, rhubarb, and fresh herbs lined up neatly in rank and file, pristinely tended in their damp beds.

Kneeling among their green leaves, Petunia Evans was hard at work keeping them that way. A small basket sat by her left hand, and she used a gardening fork and her gloved hands to work loose the tiny weeks that sprung up overnight.

Petunia was not a particularly attractive girl, and at thirteen, she knew this already. Everything about her was too thin – her bony features were too hard to hold the eye, her long neck gave her an unfortunately birdlike appearance, and her blond hair was washed-out, thin, and non-descript, despite all of her efforts to style it. Without her looks to fall back on, she knew what she would need to be to get a good husband, and even at thirteen she was focused on it – dutiful, attentive to detail, hard-working. The garden, for instance, was her responsibility, and she tended to it daily, despite the brutal heat.

"This is boring," came the inevitable complaint from the benches in the shade, where Lily lay watching her sister. A discarded dime novel sat with the pages open in the dirt beside her, its spine cracking. Lily's head was pillowed on her arm, her vibrant red hair spilling loose over the painted wood. "It's too hot to be gardening."

Lily was eleven, and the darling of the neighborhood. Cheerful, bubbly, and vivacious, she sailed through life on charm and wit, effortlessly winning over all of the people around her. It fell to Petunia to look after her from time to time, to keep her in check when her wild visions and mad schemes might otherwise lead her into trouble. It was sometimes frustrating, but that was another of the duties Petunia accepted as part of her lot in life.

"After we've finished with our chores, maybe we can do something a little more fun," she offered as consolation to her younger sister, who gave a little pout, then rolled over onto her stomach to gaze at the beetles crawling across the leaves of a tomato plant. Lily's moods were dramatic, but died quickly. It was the fire in her nature, their father always said with a smile. Lily was fire, and Petunia was earth, solid and dependable.

"I'm going to go get some lemonade," Lily declared after another moment or two of silent waiting. "I'll bring a glass for you." She pushed up to her feet and ran into the house without waiting for a response.

Petunia looked up to watch her go, smiling slightly. Lily could be annoying and overly enthusiastic, but it was impossible not to love her. She just reached right into a person and took hold of the heart. She was too good a person to dislike, and shone too brightly to ignore.

The sun baked down on the garden, and Petunia felt its heat on the back of her neck. It was not comfortable, but she was comforted by it. The familiar sensations reached into her and calmed her: the warmth of the summer noon, the coolness of moist dirt through her gloves, the tickle of sweat that gathered at the nape of her neck. They were the little discomforts that let her know she was accomplishing something, and without their irritation, she could not feel the same satisfaction in her work.

"Petunia!"

Petunia looked up at the voice from the house, shrill and excited; it took an instant to decide that the tone was happy rather than terrified. Carefully, she climbed to her feet, pulling off her gardening gloves. "Lily? Is everything all right?"

Lily's face appeared in the window, and she flapped a piece of paper at Petunia. "Petunia, come quick! You have to see this!"

Petunia moved tolerantly towards the house, pulling the screen door open and carefully latching it behind herself again. "What is it, then?" she asked as Lily threw herself at Petunia.

"It's amazing!" Lily said. "It came in the mail today. It's for me!" She pushed the letter into Petunia's hands and bounced on her heels impatiently as Petunia looked down at it.

Dear Miss Evans, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment…

Petunia flipped to the next sheet. Plain black work robes, protective gloves, Toil and Trouble: A Beginner's Guide to Potion-Making, a cauldron, a wand…

"Lily, you can't think this is serious?" She looked up to see her sister's face shining with clear delight – obviously, Lily did think it was serious. "This is ridiculous. It has to be a joke. There's no such thing as magic, or witchcraft, or whatever."

Lily's face fell for a brief second of disappointment, but it did not last long. It flared, as it did so easily, into anger. "You're jealous!" she declared. "That's what this is. It's jealousy. You just aren't special like I am!"

"Lily, don't be ridic – "

"Don't call me ridiculous!" Lily stomped a foot, her eyes flashing with anger now. "I'm a witch, and I'm going to learn to do all kinds of wonderful magical things. And you're going to be stuck here forever with your boring gardens and cleaning and a fat, stupid husband. And you don't want me to be happy!"

"I don't want you to get hurt, Lily!" But her sister's words stung, though she struggled not to show it. They were too close to what she already knew; having it pushed in her face hurt.

"Leave me alone!" And with that, Lily snatched the letter out of Petunia's hands and turned to run up the stairs towards her bedroom. Petunia stared after her, then turned away and thumped the heel of her hand down onto the table firmly. It didn't help any with her frustration. She lowered herself to sit, propping her chin in her hand, and waited for her parents to get home.

Lily did not emerge from her room for the rest of the afternoon. Petunia, growing edgy before long, went over the kitchen in a thorough cleaning pass. She was on her hands and knees on the tile floor when she heard the car pulling into the driveway, and lifted her head.

"Daddy!" Lily was already tumbling down the stairs as the front door opened, and Petunia climbed to her feet, dropping the sponge into her bucket and reaching for a towel to dry her hands.

"Punkin!" Their father was a big man with a deep, full voice, well suited to laughter. There was delight in his voice now as he greeted Lily, and Petunia stepped out of the kitchen to see him scoop her up in a hug. "Petunia, darling. You girls have a nice day?" He placed a kiss on the top of Lily's head and let her feet land on the floor again.

Before Petunia could say anything, Lily was overflowing her enthusiasm at her father. "Look what came today, daddy!" She held out the letter, which was already beginning to look pliable; clearly, she'd been reading and rereading it all day. "Isn't it amazing?" she pressed, bouncing and twisting her head to read it from beside her father.

"Let me read it over first, love, then I'll tell you," their father promised. Petunia waited with her lips pressed together for him to read the letter and explain to Lily. He finished the first page quickly enough, then flipped to the second page. His eyes brushed down it.

"Well?" Lily demanded after a minute. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"Oh, Lily, honey…" Their father took a deep breath, and Petunia felt first a stab of deep satisfaction at the fact that Lily was about to be shut down, and then a deeper stab of guilt. Lily was her sister, and this was a cruel sort of joke to play on such an imaginative girl. But her father went on: "This is a big decision to have to make. We've already made plans, and –"

"Are you both insane?" Petunia couldn't hold it in; the words were forced out by shock. "This is ridiculous! There's no such thing as magic! You know that! It –"

"Petunia, if you can't be helpful, you can go to your room," her father said firmly. Petunia could only stare at him. "This is about your sister, not about you. I don't want you being unpleasant about it."

The injustice of this stung horribly. Petunia didn't say anything, unable to muster words. As she stared, her father turned back to Lily and said, "We'll have to find out more about this school, and try to decide whether it's really best for you."

"But daddy…"

"Lily." Her father's voice held an edge of warning. "This is something we'll need to discuss with your mother. No arguing."

Lily pouted. Petunia could only stand there. Something was clearly wrong with the universe, that she could stand there and have all of this happening in front of her. Nothing like this took place in reality. Her father didn't accept nonsense as if it were everyday. Things like this didn't happen.

"For now," her father went on, "why don't you wash up and help your sister get some dinner started."

Ah, yes, the one part of this that did seem perfectly credible. Once again, Lily was the special one, off on another new adventure. And once again, Petunia was expected to carry on, to keep up the day-to-day actions in her own little circle of routine and normalcy. For a moment, the desire to do something insane seized her. She wanted to turn, to stalk out the front door, to leave the house until late at night, to force everyone to come looking for her, to worry about her.

She knew, though, that it was not in her nature to do so. And so she stayed quiet, and moved back into the kitchen, where the relaxing rhythm of chopping vegetables could soothe her.

She didn't stay downstairs for the evening discussion between her parents and Lily. Her day had seen enough surreality, so after she finished eating, she excused herself and went up to her room, where she turned on Radio 1 and threw herself onto her bed. She wanted to call someone who would sympathize with the complete absurdity of her life at the moment, but something prevented her. She could hear the quiet voices of her parents downstairs, and Lily's voice rising occasionally in emotional counterpoint. It was all so ridiculous.

There was no such thing as magic. Why was everyone treating this as if it were reasonable? It clearly was not. And even if it were – the thought hovered in the very back of her head, despite her efforts to stifle it – even if it were true, it was unfair of them to talk about letting Lily go and not her.

She didn't want it to be real. She didn't want to consider that magic might be real. The world was too complicated for Petunia as it was; she worked very hard to keep it reduced to terms she understood, and once again, Lily was trying to force a whole new realm of possibility onto her. If magic were real… what could a person do with it, really?

A squeal of clear glee came from downstairs, and Petunia rolled over onto her stomach to gaze at the floor for a moment. She didn't know what had been said, but she could guess, and she grabbed a pillow, pulling it over her head and burying her face in the mattress to shut out the world. Why, of all the sisters in the world, did she have to be stuck with Lily?

The next day, her father took Lily into London. Petunia stayed at home with her mother, handling the laundry. Eventually, they stood together in her mother's bedroom, Petunia sorting through socks and her mother at the ironing board.

"Mother?" Petunia dared to bring up the subject, timidly.

"Mm?"

Petunia rolled two socks neatly together and placed them in her father's pile before speaking. "That letter – the one for Lily, yesterday – did you know…" She trailed off, searching for the right way to ask. "Well, did you know that those things were real?"

"Oh, no," her mother said with a soft smile, turning the shirt on the board and running the iron over it in smooth motions. "They apparently go to great lengths to make sure non-magical people like us don't learn about their world. Your father exchanged a few letters with their Deputy Headmaster last night."

"But–" Petunia was about to protest, but was distracted by this news. "Wait, he exchanged – how?"

"By owl," her mother answered. "Apparently, that's how they communicate. Owls carry letters remarkably swiftly between two people."

Petunia's hands were still now, but her mother was still working calmly. "So – you think this is all real?"

"I do," her mother said. "But we'll know for sure today. Your father took Lily in the get her school things. There is a street in London, hidden, where they should be able to buy everything."

"Then you're letting her go?" The words were out of Petunia's mouth before she could stop them, herded out by a sharp wave of bitter jealousy.

Her mother looked up at that, her eyes resting on Petunia. They were green, like Lily's, and the reproof in them stung Petunia. "Darling, this is an amazing opportunity for your sister. We've always known she has gifts beyond most people. This is a chance for her to realize their potential. Your father and I are thrilled that she'll have that opportunity."

"Thrilled? Mother, she's a freak! Even if this is true, that's what they're saying! She's a horrible, wrong freak!"

The slap was not entirely unexpected, but it stung horribly. For an instant after contact, Petunia's face felt numb, and then it flared with heat; she could feel the outline of her mother's hand, and lifted trembling fingers to touch her cheek. A dot of moisture marked the spot where a fingernail broke the skin, drawing out a trace of blood. She stared at her mother, whose face was set and furious.

"Do not ever let me hear you speak like that about your sister again," she said, and her voice was quietly angry. "She is your sister, and there is nothing wrong with her. She is simply talented in ways that none of us could ever hope to be."

Petunia couldn't respond. It was the first time that she could remember either parent hitting her, and on top of the day she'd been having, it felt like one betrayal too many. She couldn't find any words to respond, so she simply turned and walked from the room, not stopping until she was in the yard.

It was another hot day, with the sun beating down on the grass. Petunia stood on the brick patio, feeling the heat falling roughly on her skin. After a moment, she moved into the garden, lifting her basket and gloves on the way. Kneeling between the tomato plants, she ran her fingers through the cool dirt and let herself be pulled back into their small world.