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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The next morning was strangely serene. Her mother emerged later than usual, wan and sallow-faced, looking years older than Petunia had ever thought her. Upon seeing that the dishes were already done she gave a quiet thanks before retreating back into her rooms.
It was the same the next day, a sombre atmosphere surrounding her Mum whenever she looked at Petunia with a smile on her face but sadness in her eyes. But not once did she come to her to talk about that evening in the kitchen, not once did she hint that she wanted to unpack all the topics she had spoken off.
But there were little things. Petunia noticed that her mother sat closer to her than before at the table, when Petunia had cooked lunch her mother commented how good it tasted and that Petunia had overtaken her own skills, when Petunia wore one of her favourite cardigans her mother told her how well the cut suited her and suggested a shopping trip to London, just the two of them.
It was different from the catharsis that the eggnog and late evening had provoked but it was something, something Petunia could accept and appreciate, however small the gesture.
And she tried to reciprocate. She told her Mum more about Hagrid, about Fluffy, though she couldn't bring herself to mention those things she truly struggled with: her fear that she might be ostracised or worse because of her status. Whenever she thought of it, licked her lips and forced her teeth apart to spit out the words she would recall the haunted look in her mother's eyes, her voice filled with shattered incomprehension and helplessness.
We're not like them, Petunia, we're not like Lily, she would say in her memories and Petunia would swallow and talk about something else.
It was a strange equilibrium, not the same as the dotting and loving relationship her mother shared with Lily but something that suited Petunia, something cautious but sincere. There was a kernel of bitter hurt still buried in her heart, forgotten in daylight but creeping up in the stillness of night, when Petunia was lying in her bed and remembering how lost she had felt as a child, how her mother would give Lily toys and sweets while Petunia was 'sensible' enough to not cry. That small part of her recalled her mother's confessions not with empathy but with vengeful satisfaction, guzzling down the grown woman's hurt like a tick would blood, growing thick and fat and repulsive.
But then her Mum would nudge Petunia's favourite jam closer to her daughter's plate at the breakfast table the next morning and it burrowed back down into the darkness. And next to the bloodsoaked kernel was a small sprig of forgiveness, something delicate and only just unfurling but growing nonetheless.
Winter break passed in a strange equilibrium between the two, Petunia conflicted but at the same time strangely hopeful, in a cautious and creeping kind of way. There were no more late-night confessions but when she left for the train her mother had packed her a small lunchbox and it was the first time in a long while that Petunia could remember being reluctant to leave.
While she was on the train her thoughts turned heavy again, the traces of her elation at returning to Hogwarts slowly scraped away whenever an owl hooted or someone waved their wand around.
