Sunday, January 15, 1978
"What's that?"
Lily stared down at the flimsy sheet of lined paper and didn't answer. The letter from her parents announcing the upcoming marriage of Petunia Evans to Vernon Dursley lay abandoned on the table by the butter dish, along with the torn envelope it had arrived in. James picked up the note and scanned it, then folded it and handed it to Lily, frowning.
"They've moved up the wedding?"
Lily shrugged. "Apparently."
Mary looked up from stirring sugar into her tea. "Your sister and what's-his-name? Why?"
"I guess Vernon's mother is ill, which I do feel bad about, although I'm sure she's just as horrible as he is. But anyway, the wedding will be this summer now."
Lily picked up the envelope and fiddled with its rough edges. I wonder if Petunia ever worked up the nerve to tell him about her freak of a sister.
"I can't wait for the wedding," James said, adding food to his plate. "I think it'll be hilarious."
Lily didn't reply. Her breakfast sat forgotten as she tore little shreds of paper from the envelope and dropped them onto the table. A scene nagged at her memory: sitting cross-legged on her bed as Petunia sat on the floor sketching a ball gown wedding dress. I'm going to get married in June, Petunia had announced as she added a full-length train to the dress. And I'm going to have a lemon wedding cake with pink frosting, and pink bridesmaids dresses and bouquets of pink roses, and everyone will say how pretty I look in my dress.
I wonder if she still wants all that pink, Lily thought. Her red hair would clash with pink, but of course it didn't matter because Petunia had refused to have her as a bridesmaid. Who has she chosen for bridesmaids? Thinking about it made Lily realize just how little she knew about her sister's wedding. Petunia had written in the fall to announce her engagement and inform Lily that she would not be a bridesmaid. Lily, hurt and angered by her sister's decision, had sent back a curt congratulatory letter. That had been their last true correspondence; Lily had sent her a book and some chocolates for Christmas, but Petunia hadn't even had the courtesy to acknowledge the gift. I don't know why I even bothered.
"Evans?"
James touched her hand; she dropped the envelope and Vanished the shredded bits of paper littering the table.
"Yeah, it shouldn't be too bad as long as you're there to laugh at Vernon's stupid mustache with me." She took his hand and smiled, ignoring the vague sense of longing the letter had prompted. "Sirius, I don't know why you don't just get your own subscription if you're going to steal my Daily Prophet all the time. Hand it over."
The day was mild, with a weak winter sun reflecting off the snow-covered grounds. Lily and Mary decided to go into Hogsmeade, ostensibly to replenish Mary's supply of Sleekeazy's, but mostly because there was a Quidditch match on the radio and they wanted to be far away by the time it started.
"Your boyfriend is insufferable when the Cannons lose," Lily said as they emerged from the secret passageway and set off down the street.
Mary glanced sideways at her and frowned. "Don't call him that," she muttered.
"He's your boyfriend," Lily said, a stubborn note in her tone. "So I reserve the right to refer to him that way. Anyway, I don't understand why he chooses to support a team that loses almost every match. Why can't he just support Ballycastle like James?" She wrinkled her nose. "Those orange uniforms are so ugly."
"I don't think that's how it works, Lily," Mary said with an exasperated shake of her head. "Although I'm with you on the orange, it's a disgusting color. But he supports the Cannons because his uncle supported the Cannons and they used to go to matches together." She wrapped a strand of hair around her gloved finger and smiled. "I kind of like that he's a Cannons supporter, actually. It's cute how loyal to them he is, even though they don't seem to be any good."
Lily rolled her eyes. "You would think that."
"It's cute," Mary insisted. "But don't tell him I said that."
They had reached the store that sold beauty products, and they were greeted by the mingled scents of various perfumes as they stepped inside. Lily stood by the door, overwhelmed by the variety of products and the shocking pink decor, but Mary strode confidently down an aisle and returned with a large bottle of Sleekeazy's.
"What's it like to have hair that doesn't require an arseload of product every day just to look halfway decent?" she asked, casting an envious look at Lily's smooth hair before scowling down at the bottle in her hand. "Anyway, if you don't need anything, let's pay and get out of here before I spend money I don't have."
Lily followed Mary up to the counter and waited as the cheerful blonde witch rang up the Sleekeazy's.
"Your bloke didn't throw your bottle against the wall again, did he?" she asked as she wrapped up the bottle and placed it in a bright pink shopping bag. "With hair like yours, it might be time to find a new bloke if that's the case."
Mary looked back at Lily, and they both burst into laughter.
"No, he's promised not to do that again," Mary said, handing over a handful of coins. "Otherwise I really would have to ditch him, because this stuff isn't cheap."
When they emerged into the bright afternoon again, Mary nodded in the direction of the Three Broomsticks.
"Do you want to get a drink? The Quidditch game won't be over for ages, and you look like you could use a drink."
Lily frowned. "Do I?"
Mary gave her a pointed look. "You walked by a display of nail polish shaped like cauldrons and didn't even stop to look," she said, taking Lily's arm and steering her toward the Three Broomsticks. "What's wrong?"
"Nail polish shaped like cauldrons? Those sound adorable," Lily said with a sigh. "I guess I am a bit distracted. I dunno, I've been thinking about my sister ever since I got that letter from my parents."
Mary held the door open for her, then followed her inside and strode up to the bar.
"You want to talk about it?"
Lily slid onto a bar stool and smiled at Rosmerta, who waved and held up a finger before hurrying across the room to a very full table.
"Shit, we've got a code meow," Mary whispered, nodding at the table across the room.
"A what?" Lily followed her gaze and sighed. Rosmerta was delivering a tray of drinks to Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Slughorn. "Oh."
Without another word they slipped out of their seats and headed for the door, keeping their heads down until they were back in the brisk January air and out of sight of the Three Broomsticks.
"I guess this means the Hog's Head, then?" Mary said brightly.
Lily stared at her, nonplussed. "Are you kidding?"
"I never kid about alcohol, Lily," she said, straight faced. "Come on, it's not that bad. I bet Hagrid's in there, and how bad can it be if Hagrid's there?"
"I'm not sure about that logic," Lily said, but she hurried along beside Mary until they drew to a stop outside the dingy little pub.
"Just try not to annoy the bartender," Mary said. "He probably remembers me from last time, seeing as we set his pub on fire."
Lily shook her head in exasperation, remembering Mary's account of her last visit to the Hog's Head which involved an ill-advised game of Firecracker.
"Are you sure you're even welcome back here?" she asked dubiously, peering in through the window at the dim interior.
"Don't be stupid, nobody gets permanently banned from here," Mary said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Black told me Hagrid's been kicked out loads of times, yet he's always in here again the next day. Come on, I'm thirsty."
She opened the door and marched inside, and after a moment's hesitation, Lily did the same.
It was her first visit to Hogsmeade's less popular pub, and it was exactly what she'd expected and then some. A faint layer of grime coated every surface, and a smell hung in the air that reminded Lily of a petting zoo she'd visited as a child. Up at the bar, Hagrid sat sipping from an enormous glass and chatting with the bartender. The owner of Honeydukes and a wizard who worked at the post office sat a few seats down, inclining toward a radio. Lily could hear faint snatches of Quidditch commentary, and from what she could tell, it sounded as though the Cannons were losing. Other than that, the pub was deserted.
They ordered drinks and carried them to a table at the back of the pub. A door behind them stood ajar, letting in a steady stream of cold air. Lily shivered and drew her jacket tighter around herself, but as the fresh air counteracted the farm-like odor, she performed a warming charm and settled into a chair.
"All right, you said you've been thinking about your sister lately. Tell me all about it," Mary said, taking a sip of her drink and resting her elbows on the table.
"Well," Lily began, but her voice trailed off as she spotted something out of the corner of her eye.
"What?" Mary asked.
Lily tilted her head to the side and gazed across the room. "There's a goat in here," she said, a bemused expression forming on her face as she watched Hagrid give the goat a friendly pat.
"There is a goat in here," Mary agreed. "I'm surprised, but also not that surprised."
They sipped their drinks as it meandered around the room, nibbling at something on the floor and returning to Hagrid for an ear scratch. When it approached their table, Lily eyed it apprehensively, but Mary held out her hand for the goat to sniff.
"Watch it!" Lily warned. "What if he bites you?"
"He won't." Mary giggled as the goat's soft nose brushed against her fingers. "He's a nice goat, see?" She rummaged in her pockets and pulled out a box of Bertie Botts. "Can goats eat Bertie Botts?"
Lily frowned. "Somehow I doubt it."
"Hmm." Mary turned toward the bar and raised her voice. "Hagrid! Can goats eat Bertie Botts?"
Hagrid gave her a quizzical look. "Er, I s'pose they could…"
"Good enough," Mary said, shrugging and pouring beans into her hand. "I'll give him a grass flavored one. Goats eat grass."
"You're mad, you know that?" Lily shook her head in exasperation as Mary placed the bean in the center of her palm and held her hand out to the goat. He gobbled up the bean, leaving behind a ring of slobber on Mary's hand.
Mary wiped her hand on her trousers, then stroked the goat's velvety ears. "I think he's cute."
"Her name's Veraminta," said a voice behind them, and they turned to see the bartender watching them with an uncertain expression on his face. He made a clicking sound with his tongue, and the goat bounded over to him, then trotted across the pub and slipped out the back door into the garden beyond.
Mary grinned. "Veraminta's my middle name."
The bartender looked taken aback, as though he expected his goat to be the sole bearer of that name. "She must like you. Usually she bites strangers."
"I don't blame her, honestly," Mary said with a wry smile.
The bartender stood there toying with the dish towel in his hands. His eyes fell on the box of Bertie Botts on the table, and his lips twitched up into a tiny smile. Mary followed his gaze, then held the box out to him. He hesitated, then put out his hand and waited as she shook out a handful of beans. His smile widened as he selected a golden bean and popped it into his mouth. Chewing, he nodded at her before wandering back to the bar, clutching the rest of the Bertie Botts in his fist.
"That was the strangest interaction I've ever witnessed," Lily mused, taking the box and pouring some out for herself.
Mary shrugged. "I've had weirder."
"I can't believe you wasted a grass flavored bean on a goat."
"Well, I can't believe you have the same taste in Bertie Botts as a goat," Mary retorted.
"Your middle name is Christine," Lily reminded her. "Veraminta is just the ridiculous fake middle name James and Sirius made up."
Mary shrugged, her brown eyes crinkling with amusement. "Veraminta's grown on me. Now, what's happening with you and your sister?"
Lily took a sip of her drink, noticing the ring her glass had left in the layer of dust on the table.
"Nothing really. I've just been thinking, with everything that's going on…"
She fumbled for words, hesitant to speak her thoughts aloud, because after years of writing off her sister as a petty, jealous bitch, she felt foolish admitting she missed Petunia. The first few sips of alcohol were already loosening the hard knot of self-consciousness in her chest, and Mary's patient, open expression coaxed her to speak.
"I've been thinking, maybe I should try to give my sister another chance. Because if I don't, and something happens…" She let the sentence hang there unfinished as she took another sip of her drink and watched the two Quidditch fans erupt into claps and cheers after Ballycastle scored yet again
Mary picked up her drink but didn't take a sip. "That's fair," she said.
Up at the bar, the owner of Honeydukes was buying a drink for Hagrid. Once again Lily thought about the wedding dress Petunia had sketched all those years ago and wondered if the dress her sister chose would resemble her eleven-year-old self's idea of a dream gown. Will she even invite me when she goes shopping for a dress, or will I see it for the first time at the wedding? She finished her drink and forced back the sadness and regret that bubbled up when she thought about the relationship she had lost.
"Here's what I think," Mary said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she gathered her thoughts. "I don't have any siblings, so I'm probably the wrong person to ask, but I think if you're questioning it, that means the relationship isn't a completely lost cause. There might still be something there, and you owe it to yourself to give it another shot."
"I'm just afraid…" Lily's voice faltered as she recalled the last time she had spoken to Petunia: they had shouted at each other after Lily had told Vernon off for his sexist assumptions and thrown a napkin at him. "I'm afraid it might be too late."
Mary mulled this over as she drained her glass. "See, that's what Black says about his brother. And maybe it is. But I know Black still loves him. It's so obvious when he loves someone, even if it's not obvious to him."
Lily raised her eyebrows. "Is it?"
Mary nudged her foot under the table. "Oh, shut up. Anyway, he does still care, even though he says it's too late. I'm pretty sure he looks at the map sometimes just to check up on him."
The thought made Lily want to cry. She remembered the only time she'd ever spoken to Regulus; he had called her a Mudblood after she'd interrupted a fight between him and Sirius. There had been such hate and malice in his voice, but underneath all of that, was he just a boy who missed his brother?
"Don't tell him I told you that," Mary went on. "He wouldn't appreciate me talking about his feelings behind his back. Actually, he wouldn't appreciate me even acknowledging he has feelings. I dunno if there's any hope for them, but I'm just saying, if even Black has love left for his brother after everything that's happened between them, then maybe it's the same for your sister."
Lily traced the ring of condensation on the table as she mulled this over. Up at the bar, one of the men jumped out of his seat to celebrate and knocked his bar stool to the floor. Lily imagined the similar scene taking place back in the common room, and she smiled before her thoughts returned to Petunia.
"I'm afraid to put in the effort to try to fix our relationship just to have her throw it back in my face," Lily admitted. "I guess I'm a bit stubborn. And proud."
"No, really?" Mary flashed her a wry smile, then startled when one of the Ballycastle fans reached to turn up the radio and sent it crashing to the floor. The bartender levitated the radio back onto the bar, then frowned as he adjusted the volume.
"Don't touch the wireless," he muttered before returning to wiping the counter.
"Bloody hell, no wonder they come here to listen to the game," Mary said, grinning. "Rosmerta would've kicked them out by now. Hang on, I'll go get us another round of drinks."
When she returned with two more drinks, the glasses cloudy and speckled but full to the brim, Lily's mind had drifted back to the many blissful afternoons she and Petunia had spent dreaming about wedding dresses and bouquets and first dances.
"Petunia used to draw these ridiculous wedding dresses," she remarked, taking the glass from Mary and taking a tentative sip before it spilled all over the table. "They were hideous. Well, you've seen some of the gifts she's given me. Let's just say her style hasn't changed much over the years. But we used to have so much fun planning our dream weddings. It feels strange now, not being involved in her wedding planning at all."
Mary sipped her drink in silence. Over at the bar Hagrid had joined the other two men and was ordering another round for all three of them. Lily gulped down more of her drink and took a deep breath before voicing a thought that had been plaguing her for months.
"It's so stupid. I know it's stupid," she began, heaving a sigh. "I don't even know why, but it still bothers me that I'm not a bridesmaid."
"That's fair," Mary said, nodding. "Although she might've done you a favor. I can only imagine the sort of bridesmaid dresses she'll pick out."
Lily laughed. "You're probably right. This way I can at least wear a dress that's halfway decent." She glared at Mary and added, "I could wear that red dress you borrowed for Slughorn's party if you hadn't torn it."
Mary shrugged and took a sip of her drink. "It's not my fault Black tried to tear it off me. Besides, that's not really the right dress for a wedding. I'll help you find something. You'll look so good that Petunia will be jealous." She hesitated, watching Lily with a curious expression on her face. "What did you imagine for your dream wedding?"
"Oh, I don't even remember, it was so long ago," Lily said. "I was ten. I didn't exactly have realistic goals." When Mary remained quiet, watching her, Lily laughed and gave in. "I do remember wanting my wedding reception to take place in a tent, but some sort of tent with a clear ceiling so you could see the stars. I dunno if that even exists."
Mary's face lit up. "Maybe not in the Muggle world, but I don't see why you couldn't manage something like that with magic. That's lovely, actually. I love it. Black and I can get drunk and dance the night away under the stars."
Lily smirked at the joy on her friend's face, until Mary caught her looking and laughed.
"Shut up," Mary said, taking a large sip of her drink.
"Did you plan your dream wedding as a kid?"
Mary started laughing and choked on her mouthful of firewhisky. "No," she said when she managed to stop coughing.
Lily frowned. "Why's that so funny?"
"I don't know." She took another tentative sip of her drink and swallowed it before continuing. "I guess I always knew I was never getting married, even back then."
Lily paused with her drink halfway to her mouth. "Never?"
"Never." She grinned at Lily's incredulous look. "What, have we never talked about this before? I just don't think it's for me."
"Alright." Lily studied her friend's face, but there was no trace of wistfulness in her eyes, no hint of longing concealed behind her easy smile. "But maybe you'll change your mind."
Mary twirled a strand of hair around her finger and nodded. "Yeah. Maybe I will. But probably not."
The two lapsed into thoughtful silence, sipping their drinks and listening to the Quidditch commentary issuing from the radio. The announcer was describing a nasty foul against the Ballycastle Keeper when Lily set down her drink so hard that it rattled the table. The bartender paused in the middle of wiping a pint glass to give her a withering look.
"Why the fuck didn't she acknowledge the Christmas gift I sent her?" she exploded. Hagrid turned around in his seat, his forehead wrinkling in concern, but she ignored him. "It's just bloody rude!"
Mary raised her eyebrows. "I assume you're talking about your sister?"
"No, I meant Professor Sprout, actually. Obviously I'm talking about my sister. It wasn't even a bad gift. I sent her that joke book I bought this summer after we went to the beach, because my dad used to tell us those awful jokes and we'd die laughing–"
"You can tune a piano but you can't tuna fish? Yeah, I remember," Mary said, rolling her eyes.
"It came from a Muggle shop, so she has nothing to complain about," Lily continued. "Alright, the chocolate came from Honeydukes, but there's nothing magical about it. It's just bloody chocolate, and it's delicious!"
"Are you sure she likes chocolate?" Mary asked. "Her taste in most things is pretty terrible. Maybe that extends to sweets as well."
"Who doesn't like chocolate? But that's not the point. I don't care if she liked it or not. Even if she thought it was the worst gift in the world, she could've at least sent me a letter to tell me she got the bloody thing. Even if it said, Dear Lily, I hated the gift, and by the way, you're still not a bridesmaid – that would've been better than acting as though I'd never sent anything at all!"
She threw her hands up in disgust, just missing the bartender's face by inches when he came by to collect their empty glasses.
"I'm fine! Don't you need to go pretend to wash those?" she snapped when he stared at her, the glasses forgotten in his hand.
"Please ignore my friend," Mary said, flashing him an apologetic smile and kicking Lily under the table. "She's having a bit of a crisis."
"I am not having a crisis!" Lily called as the bartender retreated back behind the bar.
"See, that's exactly what someone having a crisis would say. Hang on." Mary stood and hurried over to the bar and returned a minute later with two tequila shots. "Drink up."
"No limes?"
"Does this look like the sort of place that carries limes?" Mary scoffed.
"Right, stupid question." She raised her shot glass in the air, then downed it, grimacing as the alcohol burned her throat.
"Okay, so here's my inexpert opinion, once again," Mary said, setting down her empty glass and wiping away a few drops of tequila clinging to her lip. "You miss your sister, but you also have a lot of pent-up anger at her, and nothing is being solved because the two of you aren't talking to each other. So I think you need to write her a letter and put everything out there. Tell her how hurt you are that you're not in her wedding, and that she didn't acknowledge the Christmas gift, and that she's planning the wedding you two always talked about but now you're not a part of it at all. Because she is being pretty horrible, and you have a right to be upset. But…"
She paused, studying a chip in her red nail polish before looking up at Lily with a softened expression.
"But you have to realize, she's only horrible to you because she's jealous."
"Ugh, you sound like my mum," Lily muttered.
"Well, your mum's got it right, I'd say. Think about it. You got all the good looks, and you got to go away to Hogwarts while she's stuck doing boring Muggle things, and you're Head Girl while she's just, what, working as a receptionist? Of course she's jealous. Who wouldn't be?"
Lily shook her head in irritation. "Well, it's time she gets over it. None of that is my fault! I spent so much time feeling guilty and trying to make her feel better about it, and for what? So she could call me a freak and refuse to talk to me?"
Her voice had risen until she was competing with the Quidditch game, but the bartender adjusted the volume so the announcer's voice drowned out her angry tirade. Rather than dampening her fury, this only emboldened her.
"And another thing—"
Mary heaved a sigh. "Here," she said, jamming a cigarette into her mouth and lighting it before tossing one onto the table for Lily.
Lily picked it up and frowned. "What's this?"
"It's a cigarette, Lily. You smoke it."
That little smirk is bloody infuriating, Lily thought, continuing to eye the cigarette as though she had no idea what to do with it. It must drive Sirius mad.
"It'll calm you down," Mary said, exhaling a long stream of smoke that made the air around them hazy. "And you always smoke a cigarette when you and Black have a heart-to-heart. Just pretend I'm him." She picked up her empty shot glass and waved it around as she spoke. "Grumble grumble, the Cannons, grumble grumble. Something something, suggestive little comment about you and James."
The corners of Lily's lips twitched up into a smile as she lit the cigarette.
"Does Sirius know you do such an accurate impression of him?"
"It is pretty good, isn't it?" Mary smiled, revealing a fondness that Lily knew better than to point out. "Anyway, I don't blame you for being upset. Family is complicated – really bloody complicated. But I think you two can work it out. And even if you don't, you still have the weird, makeshift family we've all somehow become."
Various memories flashed through Lily's mind: roasting marshmallows in front of the common room fire on Christmas Eve; floating in the bubbly, steaming water in the prefects' bathroom and drinking champagne straight from the bottle; spending the night of the full moon with Mary, distracting each other while the boys raced each other through the forest. She couldn't put her finger on the exact moment it had happened, but this year they had become a family, and the thought began to loosen the hard knot of anger that had formed when she thought about her sister.
Mary stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. "Come on, let's go back."
Lily glanced at the bar, where the two Quidditch fans leaned toward the radio and erupted into a chorus of cheers. "You sure? It doesn't sound like the match is going well. Sirius will be in rare form."
"It'll be fine," Mary said, shrugging. "I'll just, I dunno, play with his hair, or bring him upstairs, or hand him a drink if all else fails. He's not as hard to figure out as he makes himself out to be."
Later on in the common room, Lily sat staring at an empty sheet of parchment. She twirled her quill between her fingers as she struggled to form coherent thoughts from her mess of emotions. James's hand rested lightly on her leg as he played a game of chess with Peter. Across from them, Sirius sat on the floor while Mary ran a hand through his hair and read him bits from a Witch Weekly magazine spread open in her lap. At a table across the room, Remus helped Seven and her friends with a tricky Defense assignment, while nearby one of the first years strummed a guitar. Lily closed her eyes for a moment, soothed by the heat of the fire and the soft music and the muffled chatter of the other Gryffindors.
Taking a deep breath, she dipped her quill in the ink and held it poised above the parchment, but her mind went blank. What in Merlin's name was she supposed to write? How was she supposed to cram years of hurt feelings and regret and anger into one letter? The empty expanse of parchment taunted her, and she threw the quill down again, spattering droplets of ink across the table.
"Hey, Evans." James tapped her leg, and she looked up from the spilled ink to see him grinning at her. "What do you call a fish wearing a bow tie?"
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she shrugged.
"So-fish-ticated," he said, and she noticed his shoulders shaking as he tried not to laugh at his own joke.
"That's awful," she said, her smile widening.
He ran a hand through his hair and nodded. "Yeah, it is. But it made you smile." His eyes strayed to the parchment in front of her. "It seemed like you could use it."
She looked at his slightly crooked glasses, his untidy hair falling across his forehead, his irresistible James Potter grin, and she leaned over and kissed him. She couldn't help it.
"Love you," she murmured, adjusting his glasses before picking up her quill once again. She studied the blank parchment for a moment, then smiled and began to write.
Dear Petunia,
What do you call a fish wearing a bow tie?