Petunia was always the worse sister - not as pretty, not as kind and especially not as magical as Lily. Jealousy and bitterness rule her life, until one fateful encounter changes her destiny ...
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Petunia was always the lesser out of the two Evaness...
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Petunia Evans was an observant girl.
She had discovered from a young age that staying quietly in the background allowed her to listen in on others undisturbed, her presence thin, pale and easily forgotten. She knew a lot of things a girl of twelve had no business knowing and had realised things that no child should ever realise.
Like the knowledge that she was the less favoured daughter.
Petunia also knew that 'muggle' wasn't a nice word, though no one had ever really explained its meaning to her. She simply knew because the wretched boy's eyes gleamed with dislike whenever he addressed her as such. The last time he had sneered the word between crooked teeth, her shoes had suddenly sprouted roots and Petunia had had to scramble to get them off before she was completely immobilised. While she lay sprawled on her back they had burrowed into the soil brutally, like questing fingers scrambling into soft putty, upsetting grass and earth alike in violent heaves, all just a few inches from her tender, socked feet.
One thing Petunia had yet to learn was how he was doing it. No matter how much despise and hatred she directed his way, no matter how many frightening scenarios she wished on his head, nothing had ever happened.
But one thing she knew about him was that he too, like everyone in her life, preferred her younger sister over her.
Even God preferred Lily. He gave her beauty, with big green eyes and flaming curls, catching the light of the afternoon sun like a halo of fire. Petunia, in contrast, looked as if all colour and liveliness had been leached from her, wispy, blond hair hanging down in limp strands and watery eyes an undefined shade of grey-blue. If Lily was an explosive meld of fire and ocean, Petunia was the bleached driftwood at its shores, overlooked and corroded further with every new tide.
Petunia got nothing. Not even a nice name.
Though that spoke more of her parent's favouritism than God's. Of course they never admitted it, but whenever anything happened they didn't suspect Lily and instead questioned her first. Petunia had heard the term 'older sister' enough times that she almost broke out in hives whenever they uttered it now.
Petunia, as the older sister you should take care of your little sister.
Petunia, as the older sister you can't be mean to Lily.
Petunia, you're the older sister, you shouldn't be jealous.
What about Lily then? What were her tasks? Shouldn't she also take care of Petunia? Mind her feelings?
Instead Lily liked flaunting her specialness whenever she discovered something new only she could do. Like just this second, on the crest of a low hill behind their house, sunlight caressing Lily's hair until it glowed with small, orange embers as magic was woven between her fingers.
The wretched boy was walking toward them behind her back, like a scarecrow come to life, prowling the fields in search of a princess, in search of Lily, until he finally found her.
And Petunia was forced to just stand and stare, stare as Lily twirled a flower above her palm, the small, white petals unfurling, nature obeying her as if she were a goddess, as if she was above all others, as if she was above Petunia.
A talent so unique, so fantastical, that every child would dream off it. And the one who had been gifted with it was Lily, of course. Because life hadn't given her enough.
The wretched boy arrived at Lily's side, his usually bottomless eyes, hollow and black, now soft like they only were when he looked at Petunia's little sister. Brisk wind tousled his greasy hair, long and unkempt and the threadbare clothes that were obviously not meant to be worn by him, but Lily never seemed to mind. Petunia on the other hand did, not that Lily had ever heeded her warnings.
Maybe she knew that he was one of her most loyal knights, always ready to spring to her aid with his freaky powers, and it outweighed him smelling of mothballs.
Not that Lily lacked protectors, everyone always much too ready to come to her defence, to excuse her faults ...
Not like me, Petunia thought. She only had herself to rely on. Who else would protect her if she didn't do it?
In a small corner of her mind Petunia allowed the notion that maybe Lily didn't mean to torment her. But the thought wasn't long-lasting, banished by her rising anger, hidden in a dark recess of her brain to be forgotten.
Even if Lily didn't mean to, she had done it often enough and watched Petunia blow up just as often that she should have stopped by now.
But Lily never did. Their parents thought Lily constantly seeking Petunia out was a younger sister trying to befriend her older sister again, after their once good relationship had been torn apart like delicate lace, unravelling at the seams long before the final rip.
In Petunia's opinion it was far from the truth. Because now all she saw when she looked at Lily was a conceited brat showing off. The remnants of Lily's gap-toothed smile, her pudgy fingers clinging to Petunia's sleeves and the smell of chalky baby powder were replaced with the scene in front of her: Lily, beautiful, magical Lily, bending nature to her will with wide eyes and a bright smile while Petunia was forced to watch, useless.
The only way to wipe that smile off Lily's face was to call her out. And so Petunia did.
"Freak!"
The wretched boy's expression fell quicker than Lily's, hunger and fury awakening in the abyss of his eyes, the softness fleeing his face and leaving harsh plains and sharp teeth in its wake.
"You're a freak, Lily!"
For a precious second Petunia tasted the satisfaction of seeing Lily's smile vanish, of watching the small flower curl up once more, magic leaking from her grip. And then the wretched boy raised his hand, bony fingers pointed at Petunia and she turned around and ran, not wanting to be around for his revenge, his righteous defence of poor, poor Lily.
Grass ripped underneath her hasty steps, a twinge in her sides when her breath turned hot in her throat, the smell of pollen and fresh green sticking to the roof of her mouth. But Petunia didn't stop until she had crested the small, rolling hill, out of sight of Lily and the wretched boy both.
She knew when she was overpowered and outnumbered. Petunia wasn't a fool who didn't learn her lesson.
Sweat glued some of her thin hair to her forehead but she combed it back behind her ears, allowing her scratchy breaths to slow in tune with her rabbiting heartbeat. It wouldn't do to look too unordered.
There weren't many things Petunia could control in her life, too young for most important decisions, but she always took care of her appearance and demeanour to the best of her abilities. And she would always look out for herself.
