The Growing Pains of Family
Veronica had never been one to enjoy the company of children. In her previous life, she had been the eldest sibling, and while she loved her family, the reality of being the oldest—especially with younger siblings—was a responsibility she never particularly relished. When she became Petunia, she assumed the role of the older sister once more, but this time, there were unique challenges that she had not anticipated.
Lily.
Lily was, without a doubt, the embodiment of everything Veronica had avoided in her adult life: innocence, boundless energy, and the chaos of being around a child who didn’t know the limits of her own power. The magical power that Lily wielded with such ease was the hardest part. Veronica—now in the body of a 9-year-old—couldn’t escape the constant reminder that her sister was different, special in ways she wasn’t.
As a child, Lily would spend hours in the park, and Veronica found herself trailing behind, keeping a watchful eye as Lily jumped higher on the swings than any child should, her tiny feet seeming to barely graze the seat before she was soaring back into the air. The magic was always so blatant, so unavoidable—and no matter how many times Veronica tried to ignore it, there was no getting around the fact that she was living in a world where magic was very real, and her sister was a witch.
Lily’s magic would show itself in bursts. Flowers blooming under her hands, sparking lights that seemed to appear out of nowhere, or—more dangerously—her temper tantrums. Those tantrums were becoming an increasingly serious problem. Every time Lily got upset, the world around them seemed to react in kind. The electric circuits in the house had been fried at least three times since Veronica had “become” Petunia. Each time, it was Lily’s emotions—her wild, uncontrolled feelings—that caused the disruptions. The first time had been an accident, the second time a little more suspicious, and by the third, Veronica was struggling to keep her temper in check.
She could almost feel her past self—the adult Veronica—starting to creep through the cracks of her new 9-year-old shell. The frustration she felt toward Lily wasn’t just about the inconvenience; it was the reminder that she was, once again, the responsible one, the one who had to clean up the mess, make sure no one found out about the magic, and shield her sister from the consequences.
The worst part was that Lily didn’t mean any harm. She was just a child. A child who, even now, was unaware of the depth of the power she wielded. A child who thought it was normal to make sparks appear between her fingers or to make things levitate when she was upset.
But Veronica—Petunia—wasn’t the same person she had been in her previous life. She didn’t know how to navigate this new dynamic. She loved Lily, but it was hard not to feel overwhelmed by the sheer responsibility that came with being the older sibling. Especially when, deep down, Veronica resented the fact that she had to be the one to hold it all together. In her previous life, she had made the conscious decision never to have children. She had seen the struggles, the emotional upheavals, the exhaustion that came with being a parent. And now, here she was—forced into the role of a sister, but one who was bound by the constant reality of magic. The dynamic was suffocating.
With no internet, no phone, no TV, and no computer to escape to, Veronica was left to her own devices in the most literal sense. The house was small, the days long, and the silence of the 1960s only served to amplify the growing tension she felt between her and Lily. It didn’t help that the Evans household was stuck in a time before the conveniences Veronica had taken for granted in her previous life. The only escape she could find was in her writing.
Her love of stories and books hadn’t disappeared just because she found herself in this strange new life. If anything, it was the only thing keeping her sane. But there was one problem: she didn’t want to just write for the sake of writing. She had no desire to craft a grand novel—at least not yet. She needed money, and the only way she could think to earn any was to send short stories to the local papers.
Eileen had been the one to suggest it. She’d seen how miserable Veronica was at times, trapped in a life she didn’t want and unsure of how to navigate the strange new world she found herself in. So, she suggested using a pseudonym to write for small publications. Eileen had given her a small potion to help with inspiration—nothing too powerful, just enough to clear her mind and get the words flowing—and Veronica had taken to it, penning short stories in secret.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a start. And for once, Veronica could lose herself in the worlds she created on the page, worlds where magic wasn’t a problem, where her role as an older sister didn’t come with such crushing responsibility. In those moments, she was no longer trapped in the body of a 9-year-old girl. She was a storyteller, free to weave her own narratives.
The stories she sent out were modest—nothing too flashy—but it was something. And though the income was barely enough to buy a few extra treats from the local market, it was enough to give Veronica a sense of control in a life that otherwise felt out of her hands.
Yet, despite her quiet rebellion in writing, Veronica still had to face the reality of being Petunia. She couldn’t escape the constant presence of Lily, who was both innocent and maddening, and who seemed to be increasingly aware of her own burgeoning magical abilities.
One afternoon, as Veronica sat in the corner of the kitchen, scribbling down an idea for a new story, she was interrupted by a loud whoosh. The sound was so sudden that she nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned to find Lily floating in mid-air, her hands clenched in excitement as she twirled and spun in the air above the kitchen table.
“Lily!” Veronica snapped, standing quickly and rushing to steady her. “Not again! You can’t just—”
But Lily was grinning from ear to ear, her blonde hair flying around her face as she giggled. “Look, Petunia! Look! I’m flying!”
Veronica sighed, rubbing her temples. “You can’t keep doing this, Lily. You know what happened last time. The circuits are still fried from your last adventure.” Her voice was sharp, but there was no malice in it, just the exhaustion of someone who had learned to live with the constant weight of responsibility.
“But it’s fun!” Lily protested, her feet kicking lazily at the air. “I like it. And it’s not my fault. I just feel it.”
Veronica’s heart softened despite her irritation. She knew Lily didn’t mean to cause problems. She just didn’t understand. Lily was a child, a magical child, in a world that wasn’t prepared for her kind of power.
“I know,” Veronica muttered, reaching up to gently pull Lily back down to the ground. “But you have to be careful. Magic isn’t a game, and you’re going to hurt yourself one day if you don’t learn to control it.”
Lily’s grin faltered for a moment, the playful energy dimming as she looked up at her older sister. “I’m sorry, Petunia.”
Veronica’s heart squeezed with a mix of frustration and affection. Lily was sorry, but sorry didn’t stop the consequences of her actions. And Veronica didn’t know how to handle it. She wasn’t a parent, and she certainly wasn’t prepared to deal with the complexities of magical children. But she was stuck. And she was the older sister.
For the next few moments, they stood in silence, the weight of their unusual sisterly bond settling between them. Veronica didn’t know how to help Lily with her magic, and she didn’t know if anyone else would. But in that moment, all she could do was take a deep breath, let go of her anger, and remind herself that she wasn’t alone.
For all the frustrations, the chaos, and the confusion, there was one thing she knew for sure.
She loved Lily. Even when it felt impossible.
And somehow, that was enough to keep going.
Petunia had always been the practical one. In her previous life, she had found comfort in the routine of adult life—everything in its place, everything under control. Now, living in the body of a 9-year-old girl, her sense of order had been completely upended. With Lily’s magical accidents happening regularly, Petunia was close to her breaking point.
Thankfully, Eileen and Severus had become a lifeline. Without them, Petunia was sure she would have cracked under the pressure. Severus, despite his youth, had already developed a maturity beyond his years. He had always been the protector in his household—taking on that role with a grim seriousness ever since his early childhood. His natural sense of responsibility, especially towards his mother, had carried over into his relationship with Petunia. He often gave advice or offered solutions to the latest magical disaster that Lily would cause, sometimes without even being asked.
For example, when Lily’s magic caused a flowerbed in the Evans’ front yard to grow rapidly, spiraling out of control and almost overtaking the entire garden, Severus was the one to intervene. Calm, precise, and far more composed than Petunia could manage, Severus knew how to diffuse the situation quickly. He would always be the one to steer Lily away from the more dangerous side of magic, his voice steady as he reminded her to focus and control herself.
Eileen, too, had become invaluable to Petunia in ways she hadn’t expected. The woman had found a way to navigate the complexities of their magical world—keeping her secrets while being open enough to help Petunia and Lily. Eileen had even started to spend more time with Mr. and Mrs. Evans, explaining magic in a way that was subtle yet informative. At first, the Evans had refused to accept that anything unusual was happening. But once they had seen Lily’s magic up close, and with Eileen's gentle nudging, they had slowly started to come around.
The conversation was difficult at first. Eileen spoke cautiously to the Evans parents, never revealing too much at once, but enough to show that there was more to Lily’s oddities than could be explained away by mere coincidence. She had shared small, almost casual tidbits—like how certain objects in the house would move when Lily was upset or how she could make plants grow faster when she was happy. At first, Mrs. Evans had been delighted by the notion of magic, while Mr. Evans had been more skeptical, though not unkind. As the weeks passed, however, the Evans began to accept this reality. Magic wasn’t a myth, and their daughter—Petunia’s little sister—wasn’t just imagining it.
But as much as Petunia appreciated Eileen and Severus’ help with Lily’s magical escapades, there was a growing frustration within her that she could no longer ignore. It wasn’t the magic itself that bothered her—it was the fact that everyone around her seemed so enthusiastically accepting of it. The Evans were enchanted by the magic, their eyes wide with wonder whenever Lily made something levitate or caused an unexpected burst of sparkles. It was as if they were seeing the world through rose-colored glasses, treating every magical mishap like an amazing gift from the universe.
Meanwhile, Petunia—the older sister, the one who was supposed to be the responsible one—was watching the chaos unfold and feeling more and more disconnected from her family. Her parents, whom she had hoped would understand how difficult it was to live with a magical sibling, were instead just as enchanted by it as Lily was.
Petunia’s frustration grew with each passing day. Her parents were no longer simply tolerating Lily’s magic; they were encouraging it, fascinated by every display of it. She could barely hide her irritation when they would fawn over Lily’s latest “trick,” treating every spark of magic like some kind of grand revelation. The more they praised Lily, the more Petunia felt invisible.
“Petunia, look at what Lily can do!” Mrs. Evans had exclaimed one evening, clapping her hands together in delight as Lily made a flower bloom in seconds, the petals unfolding with a burst of color. “Isn’t it amazing? She’s so gifted!”
Veronica—Petunia—had tried to smile, to muster the enthusiasm her parents expected from her, but the truth was, she was exhausted. She didn’t want to see magic as some novelty, some spectacle. She didn’t want her little sister to be celebrated for something that constantly made life more difficult, especially for Petunia, the one who was left to clean up the messes, both literal and emotional.
Her parents didn’t see it like that. To them, Lily’s magic was a miracle, a sign that their little girl was special. Petunia had tried to explain her side, tried to voice her frustrations about how hard it was to live in the shadow of magic—how it made her feel powerless, like she was constantly falling short of expectations. But every time she opened her mouth, her parents’ excitement drowned her out. They didn’t understand. They didn’t see what she saw.
“I just don’t get why you don’t think it’s exciting, Petunia,” her mother said one afternoon, after another of Lily’s spontaneous displays of magic. “She’s so talented, and you just... don’t seem to care. I don’t want to hear any more of this negativity from you. You should be proud of her.”
Proud. The word echoed in Petunia’s mind as she stared at her mother, feeling more and more alone. She didn’t know how to explain it any better. She wasn’t jealous of Lily, but the constant barrage of praise for every magical display, no matter how small, grated on her nerves. Petunia had no interest in magic; she just wanted to survive it. She wanted to feel like she mattered in her family, not just be the one to manage the chaos.
In the quiet moments when she was alone, when she could finally breathe, Veronica would write. Writing was her escape, her way to channel the tension, to release the frustration she couldn’t speak aloud. The stories she wrote were always filled with magic—ironically, they were often about worlds that were far more magical than her own. In her stories, magic wasn’t a burden. It wasn’t something that caused destruction or confusion. In those pages, it was controlled, beautiful, and free.
She wrote under a pseudonym, sending off short stories to local publications in hopes of making enough money to gain a sliver of independence. The stories weren’t much yet, but each time she sent one off, she felt like she was reclaiming a part of herself. She wasn’t Petunia Evans, the older sister doomed to clean up after her younger sister’s magical disasters. She was Veronica, a writer, creating worlds where magic could be wielded with purpose and grace.
It was a small escape—perhaps even a foolish one. But it was hers.
As Petunia watched Lily once again marvel at her newfound magical abilities, her heart clenched. There was love in her frustration. She couldn’t deny that. She loved Lily, even when it felt like she couldn’t handle the chaos. But what was she supposed to do? Her parents were enchanted by magic, and Lily couldn’t help but show off every day. Petunia felt more isolated than ever, her own discomfort a silent scream that no one seemed to hear.
Eileen had once said that family was about finding balance—understanding each other even when they couldn’t fully share each other’s experiences. But what if the balance was tipped so far that Petunia felt like she was living on the edge of something she couldn’t control?
Magic wasn’t just about spells and wands; it was about people, relationships, and how they were shaped by the world around them. And Petunia wasn’t sure she had the strength to navigate this new family dynamic.
The only thing she could do, at least for now, was keep writing. Keep carving out her own space in a world that seemed more chaotic with each passing day. In her stories, she could make sense of it all. But in her real life? She still wasn’t sure.