The Letters (Sirius Back/Pertunia Evans)
He knows he’s fixating.
He only got crumbles of them, and the Dursleys, they got everything after—
The Potter engagement ring. He knows she has it, and he needs to ensure Harry’s inheritance.
He tries going as the hound. But Privet Drive is too heavily guarded. He knocks over a bookcase in his fury, and his eyes land on ‘Fantastic Beasts.’
A new plan forms.
—
It takes some cajoling to get Larcy —the Niffler Hagrid lent him over the break— to give up the ring. Sirius lets him keep the hideous nametag engraved with Dudder4ever, though.
There’s a small silver box, too. It’s unexplainable, but Sirius keeps it. It’s nothing special, just a collection of letters. He should just get rid of them, yet he reaches for the first one.
It’s Lily and James' wedding invitation.
Sirius drops the card as if burned. They didn’t attend. Lily cried for days.
It keeps irritating him. Why did she bother keeping it?
He empties the box. It’s all letters from Lily.
Tuney, a boy! Vernon must be beside himself.
I do wish you’ll write.
Harry James Potter was born on 31 July, 1980.
It’s the small picture of Harry attached that breaks him. All these letters. She never responded to any of them. He’s halfway through the stack, but he can’t anymore.
It takes him days to notice how frayed around the edges every letter is. Like they’ve been read and reread multiple times over and yet carefully preserved.
He starts again.
Petunia's penmanship is economical and cruel, accusations and animosity dripping off the pages. He can’t breathe in his rage.
There’s a shopping note and he’s ready to discard it, until he spots it at the very corner, in a small script. “Harry has your eyes.”
A drawing of Harry baking for the Dursleys, his arms made of sticks.
Harry’s Hogwarts letter. Unopened.
Another hasty note: “Harry is taller than you.”
A picture of Hedwig.
He’s not prepared for the last letter. “Lily, something bad has happened. To Diddikins and Harry. Everything is wrong. I can’t do this without you.”
He doesn’t know if it's her notes or the fact that she kept everything. But he can’t hate her anymore. He just can’t. The rage isn’t there anymore.
—
On 5 May, 1996, Petunia Dursley received a massive bouquet of lilies and her long-lost box.
She doesn’t tell a soul.