Lily Was Always
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.
Lily was always their favorite.
She had known that from the day that her baby sister had come home from the hospital tucked up in a blanket and wrapped in their mother's arms. She was beautiful and captivating, and all three of them were in love with the tiny little girl with the faintest wisps of downy soft red hair across the top of her head.
Petunia had loved that baby and proudly been allowed to hold her in her arms carefully propped with pillows on the sofa. She had cooed at her and kissed her tiny fingers. She had been so pleased with the new addition that it had never occurred to her to resent the manner in which her life was rearranged. That came later.
[more]
Lily was always prettier.
Strangers would stop them on the street as they walked to the store to congratulate their mother and say pretty things to the baby. They would comment on her vibrant green eyes and exclaim over the shade of her hair. They would brush their fingers over her little nose and walk away immensely pleased with themselves when the little girl in the pram indulged them with a smile.
They did not talk to the older sister that stood to the side taking it all in as a matter of course. Her baby was wonderful. She saw no reason for the rest of the world not to acknowledge that as well. The fact that there were no words for her, no smiles from strangers, no gushing over her smile or her eyes or her hair that all seemed to fade into dullness besides the brightness that was her little sister would hit home for her later.
Lily was always better at things.
Their parents would exclaim over the differences in surprise. Lily started crawling six weeks earlier than Petunia had. She said her first word sooner. She took her first steps more steadily. She learned to tie her shoes more quickly. She never crashed her bike after her training wheels were removed. Her childish scrawling pictures started looking like actual things and soon covered the refrigerator in the kitchen so thoroughly that its natural color could not be seen.
Petunia was pleased that her coaxing and practicing had paid off so well. Her little sister took her first independent steps toward her. Her first distinguishable word was Tuey. She had spent hours showing her how to work the laces of her shoes and had held on to the handlebars to help Lily balance on that first trip down the sidewalk. She reveled in being a beloved big sister. She loved to help and was fascinated that she was the one that was teaching all of these new things that her little sister soaked up as if she was a sponge.
She did not pay attention when her own pictures were covered over by the deluge held in place by magnets. She did not think anything of it when family phone calls consisted of gushing over little Lily's never ending achievements and early development. She was every bit as inclined to subtle bragging as anyone else in the house. That the stories somehow never seemed to feature her quite as often was something that she would notice later.
Lily was always special.
There was something about her sister that made her think of warm and fuzzy things. People liked to be around her, so Petunia thought that they must feel it just like she did. Outside things seemed to like to be around her as well. Petunia was certain that the flowers in the window box perked up whenever Lily took the time to talk to them. Lily was sweet and funny, and Petunia cried the day they made her leave her behind to go off to the school where no one looked at her for answers and explanations the way her little sister did.
She was six the first time that she realized that some of the things that occurred in the vicinity of her little sister were not things that were supposed to be happening. She did not talk much at school, but she did do a lot of listening. Plenty of other children had younger brothers and sisters, but they never talked about shelves rattling when they were upset or balls turning in their path to roll to them.
It was the tree in the backyard that first brought their parents' worries to her attention. She had been showing Lily how to climb (it was not an activity that she enjoyed, but her little sister had asked and learning not to indulge her would only be something that came later). Lily (sometimes impatient) had decided that the way down which Petunia was showing her was too slow and had decided to jump from the branch where she was perched. Her little sister seemed to hover for a moment before landing gracefully on her feet while her older sister stared at her in shock. She knew that that was not what should have happened. Lily should have fallen; she should have been hurt or at least had the wind knocked out of her. She should not be standing there giggling and calling her a slowpoke.
The gasp that drew her eyes toward the house came from their mother. Both their parents stood just outside the backdoor (probably come out to see what their two girls were up to). Petunia saw the shock on their faces (and the something that looked like fear) before they wiped it away and pretended that everything was normal even as they chided Lily not to do that again.
She started paying attention then. She noticed all the things that should not have been yet were. She saw the worry. She heard the admonishments for Lily to not do this and not do that. She watched her sister's frustration over being asked to hide so many things. She did not know what was wrong, but she knew that her parents were very determined that no one else find out what was happening. She was scared for Lily and of the nebulous, unnamed thing which pushed her parents into insisting on secret keeping. She wanted whatever it was to stop. She started to resent the way that Lily turned to her to talk about and show the things that she knew that their parents did not want to see or hear. She did not want to have to be scared for Lily. She just wanted it to stop, and she did not know how to make that happen.
Lily was always coming to her for help.
Then, the Snape boy came with the answers that she did not have to give her. Then, there was the teacher from that school that gave their parents answers to all the things they had been afraid to ask. They were so relieved to have an explanation that they went charging in to Lily's introduction to the magical world full steam ahead and never looking back. They filled the house with reference books and newspapers with creepy pictures that would not stay where they belonged. Lily danced around the house in excitement and chattered about this new thing or that that she had read or noticed.
She did not need her. She had a whole new world of things to learn and questions to ask where her older sister was no longer qualified to be of help. It hurt. She had put so much effort into being the older sister that she did not know what to do now that she was being left behind. She started to notice the things that she had not paid attention to before.
She began to resent the dull matter of fact way that her school supplies were purchased (after all, it was not as though she was going somewhere new and interesting). It began to bother her when neighbors and strangers alike would stop to talk to her mother and a nearly always skipping Lily about how nice it must be to have a child so excited to be going off to school. She kept a tally in her head of each and every one of them that never looked in her direction and never even seemed to notice that she was there. She pondered over the way that Lily still clung to the Snape boy even when they both knew that he had dropped that branch on her with the intention of causing her harm.
She had been replaced, supplanted, and she started counting up all the ways that it had happened far before she had realized. Lily had become the center of their world from her first breath, but she had never minded when she had been the center of Lily's. Now, she was the afterthought. She was the stray comment about we'll have to remember to take Petunia shopping for new shoes in the middle of a spending spree in Diagon Alley that got forgotten in the commotion of owls that delivered mail and sticks of wood that shot sparks out the end.
That letter from Lily's school was the last straw. She had made one last, desperate attempt to stay with her sister. If she could only go with her, then it might be that she could learn enough and do enough to be relevant to her once more. That Lily had colluded with that Snape boy to invade her privacy and read about her rejection was more humiliation than she could take. It was bad enough to be told that she was unwanted and unnecessary. Did the whole world have to know that she had made a fool of herself trying to plead her case?
Her parents spent the days that Lily was gone rereading her latest letters and wondering when they might hear from her again. The calendar in the kitchen counted off the days until she would be home, and there were times that Petunia wanted to scream at them that she was still there even if she wasn't the one that they wanted. She never said it. She kept more and more to her room to avoid the mechanical way she felt her parents asked about her day in contrast to the wonder they expressed over the things that Lily had to tell them. She found shallow friends who would never dig too deeply or ask too much or care about anything other than her ability to repeat the proper phrases on shallow topics at the appropriate times and spent ever increasing amounts of her time with them. She let herself get lost (lost herself intentionally) in the mundane and the average and put as much distance as possible between herself and anything that could challenge the little bubble that she built to keep all the ways that she was never as important or interesting or worth having attention paid to her from intruding.
Lily was always Lily.
She was just Petunia, and just Petunia she would be.
Lily was always their favorite.
She had known that from the day that her baby sister had come home from the hospital tucked up in a blanket and wrapped in their mother's arms. She was beautiful and captivating, and all three of them were in love with the tiny little girl with the faintest wisps of downy soft red hair across the top of her head.
Petunia had loved that baby and proudly been allowed to hold her in her arms carefully propped with pillows on the sofa. She had cooed at her and kissed her tiny fingers. She had been so pleased with the new addition that it had never occurred to her to resent the manner in which her life was rearranged. That came later.
[more]
Lily was always prettier.
Strangers would stop them on the street as they walked to the store to congratulate their mother and say pretty things to the baby. They would comment on her vibrant green eyes and exclaim over the shade of her hair. They would brush their fingers over her little nose and walk away immensely pleased with themselves when the little girl in the pram indulged them with a smile.
They did not talk to the older sister that stood to the side taking it all in as a matter of course. Her baby was wonderful. She saw no reason for the rest of the world not to acknowledge that as well. The fact that there were no words for her, no smiles from strangers, no gushing over her smile or her eyes or her hair that all seemed to fade into dullness besides the brightness that was her little sister would hit home for her later.
Lily was always better at things.
Their parents would exclaim over the differences in surprise. Lily started crawling six weeks earlier than Petunia had. She said her first word sooner. She took her first steps more steadily. She learned to tie her shoes more quickly. She never crashed her bike after her training wheels were removed. Her childish scrawling pictures started looking like actual things and soon covered the refrigerator in the kitchen so thoroughly that its natural color could not be seen.
Petunia was pleased that her coaxing and practicing had paid off so well. Her little sister took her first independent steps toward her. Her first distinguishable word was Tuey. She had spent hours showing her how to work the laces of her shoes and had held on to the handlebars to help Lily balance on that first trip down the sidewalk. She reveled in being a beloved big sister. She loved to help and was fascinated that she was the one that was teaching all of these new things that her little sister soaked up as if she was a sponge.
She did not pay attention when her own pictures were covered over by the deluge held in place by magnets. She did not think anything of it when family phone calls consisted of gushing over little Lily's never ending achievements and early development. She was every bit as inclined to subtle bragging as anyone else in the house. That the stories somehow never seemed to feature her quite as often was something that she would notice later.
Lily was always special.
There was something about her sister that made her think of warm and fuzzy things. People liked to be around her, so Petunia thought that they must feel it just like she did. Outside things seemed to like to be around her as well. Petunia was certain that the flowers in the window box perked up whenever Lily took the time to talk to them. Lily was sweet and funny, and Petunia cried the day they made her leave her behind to go off to the school where no one looked at her for answers and explanations the way her little sister did.
She was six the first time that she realized that some of the things that occurred in the vicinity of her little sister were not things that were supposed to be happening. She did not talk much at school, but she did do a lot of listening. Plenty of other children had younger brothers and sisters, but they never talked about shelves rattling when they were upset or balls turning in their path to roll to them.
It was the tree in the backyard that first brought their parents' worries to her attention. She had been showing Lily how to climb (it was not an activity that she enjoyed, but her little sister had asked and learning not to indulge her would only be something that came later). Lily (sometimes impatient) had decided that the way down which Petunia was showing her was too slow and had decided to jump from the branch where she was perched. Her little sister seemed to hover for a moment before landing gracefully on her feet while her older sister stared at her in shock. She knew that that was not what should have happened. Lily should have fallen; she should have been hurt or at least had the wind knocked out of her. She should not be standing there giggling and calling her a slowpoke.
The gasp that drew her eyes toward the house came from their mother. Both their parents stood just outside the backdoor (probably come out to see what their two girls were up to). Petunia saw the shock on their faces (and the something that looked like fear) before they wiped it away and pretended that everything was normal even as they chided Lily not to do that again.
She started paying attention then. She noticed all the things that should not have been yet were. She saw the worry. She heard the admonishments for Lily to not do this and not do that. She watched her sister's frustration over being asked to hide so many things. She did not know what was wrong, but she knew that her parents were very determined that no one else find out what was happening. She was scared for Lily and of the nebulous, unnamed thing which pushed her parents into insisting on secret keeping. She wanted whatever it was to stop. She started to resent the way that Lily turned to her to talk about and show the things that she knew that their parents did not want to see or hear. She did not want to have to be scared for Lily. She just wanted it to stop, and she did not know how to make that happen.
Lily was always coming to her for help.
Then, the Snape boy came with the answers that she did not have to give her. Then, there was the teacher from that school that gave their parents answers to all the things they had been afraid to ask. They were so relieved to have an explanation that they went charging in to Lily's introduction to the magical world full steam ahead and never looking back. They filled the house with reference books and newspapers with creepy pictures that would not stay where they belonged. Lily danced around the house in excitement and chattered about this new thing or that that she had read or noticed.
She did not need her. She had a whole new world of things to learn and questions to ask where her older sister was no longer qualified to be of help. It hurt. She had put so much effort into being the older sister that she did not know what to do now that she was being left behind. She started to notice the things that she had not paid attention to before.
She began to resent the dull matter of fact way that her school supplies were purchased (after all, it was not as though she was going somewhere new and interesting). It began to bother her when neighbors and strangers alike would stop to talk to her mother and a nearly always skipping Lily about how nice it must be to have a child so excited to be going off to school. She kept a tally in her head of each and every one of them that never looked in her direction and never even seemed to notice that she was there. She pondered over the way that Lily still clung to the Snape boy even when they both knew that he had dropped that branch on her with the intention of causing her harm.
She had been replaced, supplanted, and she started counting up all the ways that it had happened far before she had realized. Lily had become the center of their world from her first breath, but she had never minded when she had been the center of Lily's. Now, she was the afterthought. She was the stray comment about we'll have to remember to take Petunia shopping for new shoes in the middle of a spending spree in Diagon Alley that got forgotten in the commotion of owls that delivered mail and sticks of wood that shot sparks out the end.
That letter from Lily's school was the last straw. She had made one last, desperate attempt to stay with her sister. If she could only go with her, then it might be that she could learn enough and do enough to be relevant to her once more. That Lily had colluded with that Snape boy to invade her privacy and read about her rejection was more humiliation than she could take. It was bad enough to be told that she was unwanted and unnecessary. Did the whole world have to know that she had made a fool of herself trying to plead her case?
Her parents spent the days that Lily was gone rereading her latest letters and wondering when they might hear from her again. The calendar in the kitchen counted off the days until she would be home, and there were times that Petunia wanted to scream at them that she was still there even if she wasn't the one that they wanted. She never said it. She kept more and more to her room to avoid the mechanical way she felt her parents asked about her day in contrast to the wonder they expressed over the things that Lily had to tell them. She found shallow friends who would never dig too deeply or ask too much or care about anything other than her ability to repeat the proper phrases on shallow topics at the appropriate times and spent ever increasing amounts of her time with them. She let herself get lost (lost herself intentionally) in the mundane and the average and put as much distance as possible between herself and anything that could challenge the little bubble that she built to keep all the ways that she was never as important or interesting or worth having attention paid to her from intruding.
Lily was always Lily.
She was just Petunia, and just Petunia she would be.