Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, settings or any you recognize of Harry Potter. I am just borrowing the things of the 'Harry Potter universe' and writing about them. I thank J.K. Rowling for allowing us to do so.

A/N: Thanks a lot to Aeli Kindara, my wonderful beta!

Reflections
Petunia Dursley
I never hated Lily, not really. It was more of her world that I hated, rather than Lily herself. I wish she were still alive – I really do, no matter what I may say or do.

I wish Lily hadn't gone off at age eleven and gotten herself mixed up with magic. I thought it astonishing and even interesting, at first, but as time passed, I found myself envying her. That envy turned to jealousy somewhere along the line, but when exactly, I can't say.

I wish Lily hadn't gone off and gotten herself married to that brainless wizard, James Potter. Lily insists that he is not a brainless wizard, but I must differ. It's obvious that he hasn't been good for her. If it weren't for him, perhaps Lily would still be alive. Perhaps this . . . Voldemort . . . wouldn't have known of her. But then again, knowing Lily, she would have gotten herself mixed up with that villain anyway.

If that fateful owl had never flown through the kitchen window that day . . . I wonder, perhaps, if Lily and I would still have been the best of sisters. We certainly seemed so when we were younger. She used to be my best friend, even as she played the role of a sister. But that all changed.

I didn't really hate her world – I was only jealous of her abilities – until that day in June. A Friday, I remember. Lily had only just gotten home for the summer a few days before. It was about nine thirty at night, and we were each in our respective rooms – I was sitting with my back against the pillows, leafing through a teen magazine. Glancing across the hall, I could see her through her open doorway, lounging back with some Shakespearean comedy propped against her knees. Downstairs, Mum and Dad were playing their nightly game of cards. It had been a tradition with them as far back as I could remember, and there was a large pad of paper next to the refrigerator that held records of wins and losses since 1968. From my room, I could hear occasional exclamations and laughter from below.

Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass shattered the peaceful night. Without even thinking, I was on my feet and running down the stairs. I heard Lily's door slam behind me.

I stopped short at the foot of the stairs. A dark figure stood framed by the jagged glass remaining in the window frame. My parents were halfway to their feet when the figure raised its arm and, swishing a stick down through the air, yelled some nonsense I didn't recognize. Green light blazed against my eyes, and I heard a scream that was cut off abruptly.

I felt a firm hand on my shoulder pull me backwards, up the stairs. I nearly screamed, but a hand covered my mouth. It was small and smooth – Lily's. It was several minutes before she released me. I quickly ran back down the stairs, and my breath caught in my throat as the horrific scene met my eyes. The stranger was gone, but my parents were sprawled on the floor, eyes wide and mouths open in shock, undeniably dead. Cards were scattered around them. I remembered one of those stupid lateral thinking puzzles that Lily loved. A man lies dead among fifty-two bicycles . . .

Mouthing soundlessly with rage and fear, I wheeled and stared up at Lily. She was sitting on the third step to the top, just below the one that creaked. Silent tears were streaming down her face.

I just – burst. I remember railing at her, screaming that this was all her fault, her doing – that she had brought this evil upon us. I remember I blamed her for not saving Mum and Dad, too, although I knew she couldn't have. I remember her face, streaked with tears, expression filled with guilt and pain. I remember her absolutely silent, while I screamed and yelled. She only stared at her feet, the constant flow of tears wetting her cheeks and dripping to the floor.

That was the night I started to despise and loathe her world. How could I not, when it had taken away my family? And that cursed world took Lily from me, and I hated it even more. Lily was a precious sister, no matter what I had said to her. She was my only younger sister and I had felt a need to protect her, once – and still, if I really thought about it. Now, I'm trapped in a world of pretending and I have to feign absolute hatred toward Lily and everything and everyone else in her world. Vernon assumes I hate her.

I'm living a dull life, I know, with Vernon, whom I don't truly, genuinely love. But no, I won't ever run away. I won't start a new life. I have Dudley to take care of, in any case.

All right, I admit it, that's not the real reason why I stay. It's just – I was never as brave as Lily. She was the brave one and the friendly one. I would never have the courage to try something new or to move on after a death of a loved one. Back then, Lily would call me often, seeking condolence because another one of her close friends had died. I never returned her calls, but I knew that she was undergoing a great deal of pain and misery. I wondered why she wouldn't just leave that world. Lily was always the brave one, and I rarely saw her in tears, but in that time of chaos and destruction in her world, she seemed to be constantly crying, or so I gathered from her calls.

And then one morning, I opened the door to find a baby on the doorstep — Harry, Lily's son. There was a letter with him. When I opened it with trembling hands, I found that Lily had been killed. I wanted to scream, again. Why hadn't Lily abandoned that world? And now . . . she was dead. She wouldn't be coming back, ever again. I wanted to cry. I wished she had returned to the normal world. But I held back tears and tried to remain indifferent, treating Harry with no love at all.

Harry, to me, was a constant reminder of Lily and her death. I know I should show him more love, as Lily's son, but I can't bring myself to do that. I miss Lily so much – not that I'll show it – but I do. But for some reason, I don't feel that love for her son – only hate and disdain.

If only Lily were still alive . . .

But she's not.

And reality is the only thing that matters right now. It's the only thing that keeps me sane, I think – it doesn't matter what I want to think about. It's what I need to think about in order to be okay.

Reality, reality, reality . . .

Author's Note:

A note about the scene where Petunia's parents die: My wonderful beta, Aeli Kindara, was a huge, huge help for this scene. She actually wrote most of or almost all of that scene. So, thanks to you, Aeli, for that. :)

A note about this line: "A man lies dead among fifty-two bicycles…" It's a lateral thinking puzzle where you have to ask yes or no questions to figure out what is going on. As it turns out, the man was playing cards with some other people and got shot when he got into an argument with them. Well…a popular deck of playing cards is called bicycles – so "fifty-two bicycles" is a deck of cards.