Here's the smell of the blood still: all the
perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little
hand. Oh, oh, oh!
Lady Macbeth,
From Macbeth, by William Shakespeare
SinThere are many stories in the world, stories of valour, stories of life, stories of blood written on innocent human hands.
Petunia Evans reads one such story, the Macbeth, her favourite play. Page after page of Macbeth's life, Lady Macbeth's cold schemes, and finally destruction and insanity in the end.
Petunia vaguely wonders if these stories come true.
Petunia has just come home from college, proudly bearing her certificate. Everyone lauds her as a genius, as brilliant at English Literature and Shakespeare, except at her own homestead.
The family without her, is a happy family, the ones whose pictures grace the covers of the women's magazines her mother buys. With her, the family is just another mundane family.
She knows she doesn't belong among them.
But she tries hard to be one of them. If not, then at least a shadow that clings to them.
But Lily makes sure she isn't there. Every family photograph has Lily in it. But when she steps in, it's like someone ruins the frame.
And all because of Lily.
"Lily's getting married!" beams her happy mother. Petunia smiles politely, wishing Lily the best.
Her mother doesn't care about the tell-tale bump in her dress, or think about the new grandson who will be born in another four months.
" We have to go shopping for my wedding dress!" Lily says to their, no, her mother.
" Of course, darling! And we will also have a lavish celebration."
Petunia remembers her own frugal wedding, a few guests, a simple dress and an intimate dinner.
Her mother never went shopping for a dress with her.
And why was that? Oh, because Lily was to graduate that day from Hogwarts.
It was always because of Lily.
Petunia wakes up in a cold sweat. She feels a presence in the house, something choking her. She feels something sorrowful crawling the passages, weeping out her sister's name.
She pats the month-old child next to her, and ventures out of the room, seemingly unafraid. But her bone is chilled, and she feels hazy and terrified.
Then Death itself appears in front of her, with blood eyes.
Petunia almost falls.
Where is Lily Potter? He hisses like a snake, whose potent venom compresses Petunia's throat.
"I don't know." she practically screams, but comes out as a pitiful whimper.
So you are her sister. Pitiful, you are not like her.
" What are you?"
I am Lord Voldemort. He laughs an eerie laugh, something you hear in the sickened dreams of human monsters.
I shall spare your life, muggle, if you give me information about her.
Petunia shivers. Her sister, how can she tell him about her? After all, her sister is running, running from him.
Interesting, you don't like your sister, do you? Hasn't she ruined your life?
" How do you know?" Petunia asks him boldly, her voice quivering.
How would you like me to take her life away, just like I can take yours now, in a trice? Tell me about her, now.
Petunia keeps silent.
Don't you have a son? She can hear the smirk in his voice. No, not her child.
Lily has destroyed every memory of hers. Petunia makes her choice.
She gathers courage and tells him all about her sister, and the baby she carries.
As he leaves, she bites out words in anger. " Kill her, if you see her again."
Voldemort's mouth curves in a sinister smile, and he is gone.
Petunia wonders if Lily will ever be gone.
The bawling children had finally fallen silent, and waves of gentle sleep gradually overtook them.
Petunia takes a breath, and falls into a large, comfy sofa. She is angry, very angry.
Her sister was her nemesis, now she is saddled with her son. The same emerald eyes, asking her questions. She doesn't understand why they bother her so much.
After a tiring day, she finally finds time to read a book. She rummages through an old, unused pile of books. Books cherished, but forgotten over the course of years.
Petunia picks up an old dusty volume. It is Shakespeare's Macbeth.
A gust of wind blows from an open window, scattering the loose pages, which have turned yellow in just a few years. Like Petunia, who had aged almost overnight.
Petunia picks up the lost remnants of her bitter times, and suddenly glances upon a page. In it, Lady Macbeth has become insane, and she sees blood everywhere, even on the walls.
Suddenly, in a frozen moment, Petunia sees his face in the window, and then, he is there no more.
Petunia is stunned, and she lets the book fall from her hand. The wind makes the pages swirl around her guilty form, like torrents.
And the Petunia sees red. Red, crimson, vermilion, all staining the walls. Staining family pictures and ornaments, and also staining her hands.
Petunia screams in agony, and runs from one room to the other, to find each awash with blood. Lily's blood.
She scrubs the walls with her bare hands, and all she can get rid of is the dirt. But not the blood.
Petunia falls to the floor, hovering between lunacy and sanity, between remorse and glee. And all she can see are tainted hands. Petunia realizes that the sin of Lily's death will always weigh against her.
From that day onwards, the sin of murder stains Petunia's life with the fear of blood.
And nor does she read Shakespeare again.