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31_days2007-04-20 12:04 am
lady-faefeather.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-04-20 12:04 am
April 20 [Harry Potter] Ruminations
Title: Ruminations
Day/ Theme: April 20: Sisters
Series: Harry Potter
Character/Pairing: Petunia / Lily
Rating: PG
Day/ Theme: April 20: Sisters
Series: Harry Potter
Character/Pairing: Petunia / Lily
Rating: PG
It all started the day I saw her playing by the bridge, the old wooden bridge that crossed the creek in our backyard. My sister was four and I was twelve. It seems like a million years ago now.
The day was in its infancy, and the sun blazed down on the flowers throughout our backyard. Mother's flowers where renown throughout the area for winning prizes, and her creative gardening skills where unsurpassed. She had an open passion for flowers. It is no wonder she named me Petunia and my little sister Lily. This time of year always brought a colourful show; our house wore a thick cloak of pink roses sweeping across the entire backside, around the windows and over the eaves. It always made me smile to see it.
Walking on towards the back of the yard there were lilies of different colours, varieties and height, don’t ask me their names, for I haven't a clue. Mother planted them in clumps along the redwood fence, where farther down, our neighbour's walnut tree spilled over into our property. Oh, but she didn’t mind. Mother hung jasmine from pots along its strong overhanging limbs. We also had a beautiful bushy lilac residing in the middle of our yard; it grew by a spluttering fountain and a large old willow my mother ringed in petunias and pansies. Its long branches swept the ground in a canopy veil of green, creating a lovely place to dream and sip iced tea under its shade. In fantasies, I imagined taking tea with the queen. My child's mind believed the ambience certainly would have suited her.
My backyard was a paradise of normality and peace, far removed from the hectic world of school life. I sauntered towards the back of our rambling yard passed the rushing creek. I laughed with the thought of how even the creek didn’t escape my mother's floral touch, for she lined it in bluebells on both banks. I loved how it cut its way from under our neighbour's fence, through the back of our yard, disappearing in a rush of blue under the quaint bridge my father built years ago. On the other end of the bridge is where my sister and I played hide and seek. I stopped by the entrance where two junipers in large Grecian urns flanked either side; I squinted to see her.
Just before I called for her, she screamed in the tall grass that shrouded her from my view. Lily parted the green jungle jumping up and pointing her finger downward. This is where the only high grass grew anywhere on our property. We insisted father never cut that patch, our private play space.
'A fluffy grey ball ran through there!' she puffed.
I bolted to my sister. My clomping footsteps sounded loud on the wooden bridge. You would think a horse galloped over. Grace surely wasn't my strong point.
'What are you talking about? You always –' but before I could say another word I froze. Indeed, something fluffy and grey shot through the grasses and under the bridge by the creek. We made careful steps not to alarm whatever the fluffy ball could be.
'A rabbit!' screamed Lily, her flame red hair bounced in ringlets around her freckled face and sparkling emerald eyes.
‘Petuny.’ She called me "Petuny" when very young.
'It is a fat little rabbit,' Lily said smiling.
'I know dear.'
She bent down to touch it.
'Don’t! It could bite you. Your finger will bleed and you will cry to mother,' I said, trying to stop her from getting rabies. The round bunny had lop-ears and a grey velvet nose that won my heart, twitching while it stared at me. I took Lily's hand; she looked up ready to sob.
'But, Petuny, he'll be lonely. He might cry.'
I smiled at her quivering chin and watery eyes. Back then at age twelve, it always puzzled me why young children thought the way they did about wild animals, and it still perplexes me these many years later. I believe mother read too much Beatrice Potter to both of us growing up. However, sometimes I found myself wishing for my sister's imagination. I tugged her little arm to follow me back to our house. We could hear mother calling us for lunch. Soon after that clouds filled the sky and it rained for the rest of the day. Lily sat in the living room after dinner until bedtime staring out the window. The flashing lighting lit the ebon sky and Lily's mouth drew tight with worry. She turned with a downcast face.
'The bunny will be cold and he could catch his death,' she said.
I walked over to her put my hand on her shoulder, bent down and whispered.
'He's safe inside his bunny house, Lily. All bunnies live in burrows and keep warm and dry all day and night if need be.’ I smiled when she looked at me and laughed.
'Really?'
How innocent her eyes were. She hung on every word and trusted me as if I new all.
'Yes really. Now, Lily, mother and father said it is bedtime. It is late and we must go.'
We kissed father and mother goodnight and off to bed we went.
I knew her thoughts were with the little bunny. I was sure her every dream would make him a star. Although my thoughts dwelled on him, sleep found me quite fast.
The next morning, the coverlet of Lily's bed was pulled all the way back and her nightgown lay in a heap by her lamp stand. I could guess where she went. I sat up and looked through the window by my bed, which graced a view of the entire back yard. She stood on the bridge dressed in her red coat and white boots. It made me laugh because she put her yellow dress on backwards. The lacy edged apron, which should be in the front, hung from under the back hem of her coat. Oh, well at age four I guess it was a good try. She stared at the thicket, holding a branch from our yard in one hand. She poked at the tall swords of grass every once in a while.
‘That blasted rabbit,’ I muttered rising from my warm bed.
I put my clothes on in a rush and didn’t even brush my thick brown hair, something I'd regret later for my hair tangled easily. My sister had the fortunate lot in life to have beautiful tresses and eyes. Me, I was nothing special, tall, gangly, with washed out blue eyes and brown raggedy short hair that if allowed to grow long, I feared would become a bush. I envied my sister for her natural attributes, and wished on every star in the sky to wake one day with some of my own, but that day never came. I pulled on my white socks and grabbed my oxfords from under the bed. I hurried buttoning my beige cotton dress then grabbed my jacket draped over a chair by my desk. A truly muddled sight I was. Out the door, I marched as mother prepared breakfast.
The morning air was crisp and I tucked my hands into my pockets. The fresh smell of wet ground from mist that slowly rose in the morning sun caught my senses. I breathed in the new day and sighed. I loved that scent as much as freshly cut grass.
Approaching the fountain and the willow, I stopped to listen to my fickle little sister and nearly trampled the pansies and petunias on the way.
'Turn, blue!’ She waved her little hand in the air and a puff of swirling blue smoke rose from the thicket at the same time. She squealed jumping up and down in her excitement.
'Turn red!’ She waved her hand again and another puff of smoke, this time red, came wafting up through the thicket. Lily giggled, and knelt down at the end of the bridge. I knew she must have been trying to pet a rabbit. Thoughts of a swift doctor visit and her screaming in pain from a bloody bite ran through my mind.
Deciding not to alarm her, I quietly edged my way. I didn’t want her to stop what ever it was she indulged in. However, a part of me wished I never snuck up on her that day.
'Turn green, and fly!'
My thoughts blurred in a rush of emotion.
'Lily!’ She turned to see me standing there with my eyes round and bulging in fear.
'Funny Petuny,' she tittered pointing at me then snapped her head back to look at her little bunny. Only now, there was more than one.
'Look at my bunnies. They can fly and change colours. I did it Petuny. I told them to do it and they did!'
I don’t know what I must have looked like. All I remember is becoming dizzy when I set eyes upon the red, green, and blue flying bunnies. I stopped thinking. I only remember how she screamed and started to cry when she caught sight of my expression again. I grabbed her hand and shook her by the shoulders for the first time in my life.
'What are you doing, Lily? How can you do this?’ I asked her in a rueful tone. But all she did was scream and sob. I have always been in control, never have I had an outburst of temper. She was terrified of me. How could she know the real reason for my outburst? Truth is, I was terrified of her. She could cast spells. She – no – she was a freak of nature. She was a witch! I ran to the house practically dragging my screaming and crying sister behind me.
'Petuny, stop. You are hurting me! My wrist. Stop!' she cried. We reached the back door, and I released her hand. I looked down at her sobbing wet face. I couldn’t breathe, nor find any words. I felt out of control, and flung the door open. My poor mother, I can still see her shocked face, as she ran out the door to my hysterical sister. Me, I ran in the house, up the stairs and hid in my room. I never told mother or father why. What would they do, laugh and confine me in my room as a nut that sees flying oddly coloured bunnies? Of course, they would. I didn’t know what to do, but I did know one thing. This was the last time I ever shared anything including a room with my sister. This was the last day I ever held her in my heart as a sister and not a freak.
To make things worse, a little black owl flew into our kitchen one afternoon during lunch a few years later. I nearly dropped my juice, as it swooped in through the window and over my head making me duck, and finally to Lily landing in her plate. She laughed, her almond shaped emerald eyes smiled, but my mother and father were shocked and only stared, as I did. The owl dropped a letter from its beak onto the table addressed to her from a school called Hogwarts. Apparently, it was a school for witches and wizards. My father and mother were elated. They had a witch in the family how lovely they thought it all to be. Yet, I didn’t, I hated everything about this news. I remembered my fairytales and how witches were evil and had warts and turned princes into toads. What if my sister did that to me? Now it was confirmed after these few years. This made my fear of her grow deeper. Another freak in the family, I hoped she'd move in with my goofy uncle Collin in Manchester. I never knew why we, under no circumstances, didn’t visit him. "The black sheep" is what they called him. Maybe he was like Lily. My mind speculated many possibilities about my family. I always knew Lily was weird and certainly did not fit in. Now I knew why.
In the years to come, Lily and her friends, from that horrid Hogwarts, frightened me. They played tricks on me during the summer; especially the dark haired, grey eyed one with the wicked smile named Sirius. A wild streak that one had; I can't remember a time I wasn't the prime joke on display. They all took pleasure in making me scream in horror by putting giant hairy spiders in my bureau, hovering black bats in my closet or scary sounds in my bedroom all through the night. I spent much of my youth hiding under tables, staircases, or under the bridge in the yard, anywhere to evade their torture. Yes, I loathed the lot of them. As time moved on Lily became a stranger to me.
Then one unfortunate night, when I stayed over my girlfriend Eileen's, my parents were killed. Yes, various rumours spread throughout the town of burglars surprising them upstairs. Nonsense. I overheard Lily and that Potter fool talking in the garden one night when I was doing a bit of spying on them. They spoke of a dangerous character, I can’t remember his name, but I was sure they were frightened of he and his friends. I truly believed this weirdo was responsible for my parents' deaths. After the funeral, Lily and I grew even farther apart if that was possible. We never spoke again. I can't say I minded it. After all, it was a welcomed break from the torment; yet, I wanted to understand what happened to my dear parents. I knew she had answers. None of the speculation in the world by the police brought any cessation of their demise. Not for me that is. Later my neighbour told me about something she saw the night they died. She said an intense light flooded from my parents' upstairs window along with a red hue and a strange greenish scull loomed in the night sky. Ordinarily I would have thought her daft.
However, I remembered more of James and Lily's conversation. They spoke of some type of mark; I believe they called it the "Dark Mark.” It was evil written in the sky with green light by the most feared wizard in their world, Voldemort. Now I knew it was he who murdered my parents. Lily's world of wizards had destroyed my family, one more reason to hold against her.
I guess I never thought I would miss anyone after I dealt with the death of my parents. When they died, I felt alone. Back in those days, I blamed Lily for everything bitter in my life. Then the same maniac killed my sister. I can't stop shaking my head when I think of the ignorance she displayed by associating in that warped world. Where did it get her? She's dead and never a mother to raise her baby Harry. Now that’s become my job.
She could have busied herself with normal things, and married a normal man. That Potter – I – I resent him and his magic, hers too for that matter. If not for magic, everything would be different. No owls, no Hogwarts, no deranged wizards! Yet, today I look down at my baby nephew Harry, wrapped in his blanket, and could it be possible that I do miss her? When I look at him, and his large emerald eyes, I see Lily's. I am struck with her image by the bridge all those years ago. How happy she was and how she loved me and trusted me. I am drowning in the memory of her screams and crying, all brought on by me. I frightened her, her dear loving sister. I wish I had shed the armour of hatred I nurtured so closely in those days.
It is strange how she lives on through her son – so very strange; but I hate magic. I fear that evil. What will I do if he shows magic? Will I hate him for it? Will I punish this little baby boy when he is older? I can't help but tear up and look at his little face, as he smiles at me in wonderment. I look away feeling the warm tears trailing down my cheeks. Yes, I do miss her.
END
The day was in its infancy, and the sun blazed down on the flowers throughout our backyard. Mother's flowers where renown throughout the area for winning prizes, and her creative gardening skills where unsurpassed. She had an open passion for flowers. It is no wonder she named me Petunia and my little sister Lily. This time of year always brought a colourful show; our house wore a thick cloak of pink roses sweeping across the entire backside, around the windows and over the eaves. It always made me smile to see it.
Walking on towards the back of the yard there were lilies of different colours, varieties and height, don’t ask me their names, for I haven't a clue. Mother planted them in clumps along the redwood fence, where farther down, our neighbour's walnut tree spilled over into our property. Oh, but she didn’t mind. Mother hung jasmine from pots along its strong overhanging limbs. We also had a beautiful bushy lilac residing in the middle of our yard; it grew by a spluttering fountain and a large old willow my mother ringed in petunias and pansies. Its long branches swept the ground in a canopy veil of green, creating a lovely place to dream and sip iced tea under its shade. In fantasies, I imagined taking tea with the queen. My child's mind believed the ambience certainly would have suited her.
My backyard was a paradise of normality and peace, far removed from the hectic world of school life. I sauntered towards the back of our rambling yard passed the rushing creek. I laughed with the thought of how even the creek didn’t escape my mother's floral touch, for she lined it in bluebells on both banks. I loved how it cut its way from under our neighbour's fence, through the back of our yard, disappearing in a rush of blue under the quaint bridge my father built years ago. On the other end of the bridge is where my sister and I played hide and seek. I stopped by the entrance where two junipers in large Grecian urns flanked either side; I squinted to see her.
Just before I called for her, she screamed in the tall grass that shrouded her from my view. Lily parted the green jungle jumping up and pointing her finger downward. This is where the only high grass grew anywhere on our property. We insisted father never cut that patch, our private play space.
'A fluffy grey ball ran through there!' she puffed.
I bolted to my sister. My clomping footsteps sounded loud on the wooden bridge. You would think a horse galloped over. Grace surely wasn't my strong point.
'What are you talking about? You always –' but before I could say another word I froze. Indeed, something fluffy and grey shot through the grasses and under the bridge by the creek. We made careful steps not to alarm whatever the fluffy ball could be.
'A rabbit!' screamed Lily, her flame red hair bounced in ringlets around her freckled face and sparkling emerald eyes.
‘Petuny.’ She called me "Petuny" when very young.
'It is a fat little rabbit,' Lily said smiling.
'I know dear.'
She bent down to touch it.
'Don’t! It could bite you. Your finger will bleed and you will cry to mother,' I said, trying to stop her from getting rabies. The round bunny had lop-ears and a grey velvet nose that won my heart, twitching while it stared at me. I took Lily's hand; she looked up ready to sob.
'But, Petuny, he'll be lonely. He might cry.'
I smiled at her quivering chin and watery eyes. Back then at age twelve, it always puzzled me why young children thought the way they did about wild animals, and it still perplexes me these many years later. I believe mother read too much Beatrice Potter to both of us growing up. However, sometimes I found myself wishing for my sister's imagination. I tugged her little arm to follow me back to our house. We could hear mother calling us for lunch. Soon after that clouds filled the sky and it rained for the rest of the day. Lily sat in the living room after dinner until bedtime staring out the window. The flashing lighting lit the ebon sky and Lily's mouth drew tight with worry. She turned with a downcast face.
'The bunny will be cold and he could catch his death,' she said.
I walked over to her put my hand on her shoulder, bent down and whispered.
'He's safe inside his bunny house, Lily. All bunnies live in burrows and keep warm and dry all day and night if need be.’ I smiled when she looked at me and laughed.
'Really?'
How innocent her eyes were. She hung on every word and trusted me as if I new all.
'Yes really. Now, Lily, mother and father said it is bedtime. It is late and we must go.'
We kissed father and mother goodnight and off to bed we went.
I knew her thoughts were with the little bunny. I was sure her every dream would make him a star. Although my thoughts dwelled on him, sleep found me quite fast.
The next morning, the coverlet of Lily's bed was pulled all the way back and her nightgown lay in a heap by her lamp stand. I could guess where she went. I sat up and looked through the window by my bed, which graced a view of the entire back yard. She stood on the bridge dressed in her red coat and white boots. It made me laugh because she put her yellow dress on backwards. The lacy edged apron, which should be in the front, hung from under the back hem of her coat. Oh, well at age four I guess it was a good try. She stared at the thicket, holding a branch from our yard in one hand. She poked at the tall swords of grass every once in a while.
‘That blasted rabbit,’ I muttered rising from my warm bed.
I put my clothes on in a rush and didn’t even brush my thick brown hair, something I'd regret later for my hair tangled easily. My sister had the fortunate lot in life to have beautiful tresses and eyes. Me, I was nothing special, tall, gangly, with washed out blue eyes and brown raggedy short hair that if allowed to grow long, I feared would become a bush. I envied my sister for her natural attributes, and wished on every star in the sky to wake one day with some of my own, but that day never came. I pulled on my white socks and grabbed my oxfords from under the bed. I hurried buttoning my beige cotton dress then grabbed my jacket draped over a chair by my desk. A truly muddled sight I was. Out the door, I marched as mother prepared breakfast.
The morning air was crisp and I tucked my hands into my pockets. The fresh smell of wet ground from mist that slowly rose in the morning sun caught my senses. I breathed in the new day and sighed. I loved that scent as much as freshly cut grass.
Approaching the fountain and the willow, I stopped to listen to my fickle little sister and nearly trampled the pansies and petunias on the way.
'Turn, blue!’ She waved her little hand in the air and a puff of swirling blue smoke rose from the thicket at the same time. She squealed jumping up and down in her excitement.
'Turn red!’ She waved her hand again and another puff of smoke, this time red, came wafting up through the thicket. Lily giggled, and knelt down at the end of the bridge. I knew she must have been trying to pet a rabbit. Thoughts of a swift doctor visit and her screaming in pain from a bloody bite ran through my mind.
Deciding not to alarm her, I quietly edged my way. I didn’t want her to stop what ever it was she indulged in. However, a part of me wished I never snuck up on her that day.
'Turn green, and fly!'
My thoughts blurred in a rush of emotion.
'Lily!’ She turned to see me standing there with my eyes round and bulging in fear.
'Funny Petuny,' she tittered pointing at me then snapped her head back to look at her little bunny. Only now, there was more than one.
'Look at my bunnies. They can fly and change colours. I did it Petuny. I told them to do it and they did!'
I don’t know what I must have looked like. All I remember is becoming dizzy when I set eyes upon the red, green, and blue flying bunnies. I stopped thinking. I only remember how she screamed and started to cry when she caught sight of my expression again. I grabbed her hand and shook her by the shoulders for the first time in my life.
'What are you doing, Lily? How can you do this?’ I asked her in a rueful tone. But all she did was scream and sob. I have always been in control, never have I had an outburst of temper. She was terrified of me. How could she know the real reason for my outburst? Truth is, I was terrified of her. She could cast spells. She – no – she was a freak of nature. She was a witch! I ran to the house practically dragging my screaming and crying sister behind me.
'Petuny, stop. You are hurting me! My wrist. Stop!' she cried. We reached the back door, and I released her hand. I looked down at her sobbing wet face. I couldn’t breathe, nor find any words. I felt out of control, and flung the door open. My poor mother, I can still see her shocked face, as she ran out the door to my hysterical sister. Me, I ran in the house, up the stairs and hid in my room. I never told mother or father why. What would they do, laugh and confine me in my room as a nut that sees flying oddly coloured bunnies? Of course, they would. I didn’t know what to do, but I did know one thing. This was the last time I ever shared anything including a room with my sister. This was the last day I ever held her in my heart as a sister and not a freak.
To make things worse, a little black owl flew into our kitchen one afternoon during lunch a few years later. I nearly dropped my juice, as it swooped in through the window and over my head making me duck, and finally to Lily landing in her plate. She laughed, her almond shaped emerald eyes smiled, but my mother and father were shocked and only stared, as I did. The owl dropped a letter from its beak onto the table addressed to her from a school called Hogwarts. Apparently, it was a school for witches and wizards. My father and mother were elated. They had a witch in the family how lovely they thought it all to be. Yet, I didn’t, I hated everything about this news. I remembered my fairytales and how witches were evil and had warts and turned princes into toads. What if my sister did that to me? Now it was confirmed after these few years. This made my fear of her grow deeper. Another freak in the family, I hoped she'd move in with my goofy uncle Collin in Manchester. I never knew why we, under no circumstances, didn’t visit him. "The black sheep" is what they called him. Maybe he was like Lily. My mind speculated many possibilities about my family. I always knew Lily was weird and certainly did not fit in. Now I knew why.
In the years to come, Lily and her friends, from that horrid Hogwarts, frightened me. They played tricks on me during the summer; especially the dark haired, grey eyed one with the wicked smile named Sirius. A wild streak that one had; I can't remember a time I wasn't the prime joke on display. They all took pleasure in making me scream in horror by putting giant hairy spiders in my bureau, hovering black bats in my closet or scary sounds in my bedroom all through the night. I spent much of my youth hiding under tables, staircases, or under the bridge in the yard, anywhere to evade their torture. Yes, I loathed the lot of them. As time moved on Lily became a stranger to me.
Then one unfortunate night, when I stayed over my girlfriend Eileen's, my parents were killed. Yes, various rumours spread throughout the town of burglars surprising them upstairs. Nonsense. I overheard Lily and that Potter fool talking in the garden one night when I was doing a bit of spying on them. They spoke of a dangerous character, I can’t remember his name, but I was sure they were frightened of he and his friends. I truly believed this weirdo was responsible for my parents' deaths. After the funeral, Lily and I grew even farther apart if that was possible. We never spoke again. I can't say I minded it. After all, it was a welcomed break from the torment; yet, I wanted to understand what happened to my dear parents. I knew she had answers. None of the speculation in the world by the police brought any cessation of their demise. Not for me that is. Later my neighbour told me about something she saw the night they died. She said an intense light flooded from my parents' upstairs window along with a red hue and a strange greenish scull loomed in the night sky. Ordinarily I would have thought her daft.
However, I remembered more of James and Lily's conversation. They spoke of some type of mark; I believe they called it the "Dark Mark.” It was evil written in the sky with green light by the most feared wizard in their world, Voldemort. Now I knew it was he who murdered my parents. Lily's world of wizards had destroyed my family, one more reason to hold against her.
I guess I never thought I would miss anyone after I dealt with the death of my parents. When they died, I felt alone. Back in those days, I blamed Lily for everything bitter in my life. Then the same maniac killed my sister. I can't stop shaking my head when I think of the ignorance she displayed by associating in that warped world. Where did it get her? She's dead and never a mother to raise her baby Harry. Now that’s become my job.
She could have busied herself with normal things, and married a normal man. That Potter – I – I resent him and his magic, hers too for that matter. If not for magic, everything would be different. No owls, no Hogwarts, no deranged wizards! Yet, today I look down at my baby nephew Harry, wrapped in his blanket, and could it be possible that I do miss her? When I look at him, and his large emerald eyes, I see Lily's. I am struck with her image by the bridge all those years ago. How happy she was and how she loved me and trusted me. I am drowning in the memory of her screams and crying, all brought on by me. I frightened her, her dear loving sister. I wish I had shed the armour of hatred I nurtured so closely in those days.
It is strange how she lives on through her son – so very strange; but I hate magic. I fear that evil. What will I do if he shows magic? Will I hate him for it? Will I punish this little baby boy when he is older? I can't help but tear up and look at his little face, as he smiles at me in wonderment. I look away feeling the warm tears trailing down my cheeks. Yes, I do miss her.
END