Fading Flowers
Harry had, by now, gotten used to his school setting and the subsequent bullying that came with the accidental magic that happened around him and his cousin gathering forces against him. Sora, of course, tried his best to defend him when magic couldn’t, and now the small boy was left alone. It was lonely, but it was better than going back to the Dursley’s every day with bruises. Not only that, but Sora would also heal the bruises left by Dudley while at home. His aunt and uncle would merely excuse the happenings to the neighbors as “playful roughhousing”, but Sora always went off about it when they were safely within the Station of Awakening. Sora wanted to tell someone, anyone, who would listen that Harry needed help, but thought better of it. What proof did that have other than the bruises that Dudley would place on him? Harry was so young that he doubted anyone would believe them, especially when the adults had not really laid a hand on Harry. It was more neglect than anything.
Sora had seen the hatred in the woman’s eyes every time she looked at her nephew and wondered why the relationship of this family had turned out as it had? He had access to Lily’s memories, but some of it was hazy, especially with how far back it went, but from what he could see, the two sisters had been close once. Lily and Petunia had been the closest of friends when they were young and then things had turned sour. Sora could only guess that it was because of magic, because in the rare instances he and Harry had witnessed her interacting with other children, she didn’t have the same look in her eye of hate and fear like when she was looking at Harry, though there were some looks of disapproval she had given. Still, Sora thought that more because she didn’t like other bratty kids in general.
Still…
Was jealousy all it took?
Then again, Riku had gone on an almost year-long rampage after his initial lust for power because of jealousy and fear, so Sora could say with confidence that it was probably the same for Petunia. But if that was so, then maybe there was a way to change her mind? After all, if even the hearts and minds of the former Organization Thirteen members could be changed, then surely she could too? Or, at least, he liked to hope that it was the truth. Sora sighed as he watched through Harry’s eyes, seeing the stern older woman go about her daily housework.
Sora desperately wished that he could manage to help her change her mind because, at the end of the day, she was still Harry’s family. They shared blood. He didn’t want Harry to grow up hated by the only relatives he had, only to grow to hate them too. Sure, they may not see eye to eye and they may never agree when it comes to magic, but there was love between the sisters once and if it hadn’t been for jealousy, they may still have been close, or at least still talking, when Lily had died. Then maybe, just maybe, Petunia wouldn’t keep looking at Harry like he was something she desperately wished to keep hidden. One night, Sora was teaching Harry more of his magic from his Keyblade when he stopped suddenly, the thoughts of Petunia still on his brain. Harry looked at him in confusion, tilting his head.
“What’s wrong, dad?” he asked and once again, Sora’s heart clenched at the words. He still wasn’t used to Harry calling him that, and it still made his heart warm. Pushing the feeling to the backburner, he knelt down and beaconed the boy closer. Harry walked over curiously, settling into the hug that the older male gave him.
“Dad?” he asked again and Sora patted his hair.
“Harry, what do you think of your aunt?” he asked softly and felt the boy in his arms stiffen slightly before clinging harder to his clothes.
“She doesn’t like me…” he whispered to him softly, burying his face into Sora’s shoulder. “She doesn’t like me and I don’t know why. She and uncle Vernon don’t really care about me no matter how hard I work or what I do.” Harry said softly, his body starting to tremble slightly and tears welling up in his eyes.
“Did I do something wrong?” He asked Sora softly and that had the Keyblade Wielder immediately pulling away, shaking his head.
“No, Harry! You did absolutely nothing wrong, so don’t ever think that you did!” he explained, looking the boy directly in the eye, vaguely remembering that he needed to get Harry some glasses.
“None of this is your fault. It’s just…complicated. Your mom was fighting with your aunt when they were young and now I think she doesn’t know what to do with her feelings. They never got to make up so I think it’s making her angry to think about it.” Sora explained gently and hugged Harry close.
“But why did they fight?” Harry asked and Sora winced.
“Well, from what I know, it was because your mom had magic and your aunt didn’t. It scared your aunt at first, but I think it was because she didn’t have it too and she got angry, lashing out at your mom. That made them fight and then she didn’t want anything to do with magic.” He explained gently but refused to lie. Harry whimpered and hugged his father close.
“So she’s mad because I have magic and magic made her fight with my mom?” Harry asked shakily and Sora nodded.
“Yes, but that’s not your fault. You were born with magic and there’s nothing you can do about that.” Sora said reassuringly, rubbing the boy’s back soothingly. “It was nothing that you did that made her angry at you, but I don’t think even she knows why she’s really angry with you.” Sora explained and Harry looked confused at him.
“She doesn’t? But why? You already know about them.” Harry asked in confusion and Sora simply nodded. Hmm, how to explain to a young Harry that not everyone was as honest and in touch with their feelings as Sora was? Especially not adults.
“Hmm…well, I know a lot about how people feel and sometimes adults don’t really think more about how they feel. They have other things on their minds, so they don’t really think about what they feel after they feel it.” He said softly, trying not to excuse her behavior, but to explain why she might behave the way she did.
“Then do you think we should tell her?” Harry asked softly and Sora nodded, looking him in the eye again.
“Do you want to? This is your family, so if you want, I’d like to try and help you. Maybe I can help her realize your feelings.” Sora replied and Harry looked at him, wide-eyed.
“R-really? But you’ve never talked to Aunt Petunia before!” Harry exclaimed. “And what if it doesn’t work?! What if she gets mad and she hurts you?! I don’t want her or Uncle Vernon to hurt you!” the boy cried, feeling tears threaten to tumble from his eyes and clung to the one he saw as his father. Sora blinked in surprise before cuddling his son close.
“I won’t let her. I don’t think that she will, but don’t ever doubt that I won’t protect you if things go wrong, alright? If she gets mad we’ll find somewhere else to live or try and find more of your family that will take you in, but for now, let’s just try and hope that all will go well, okay?” he asked, hugging Harry close and murmuring softly. The boy nodded, his trembling slowly subsiding, and he sniffled quietly. Sora smiled and continued to rub the boys back until he quieted before pulling away and wiping away the child’s tears.
“Do you feel better now?” Sora asked and Harry nodded, blushing a little at the fact that he had cried in front of the other, but also relaxed in knowing that Sora would never tease him about it. Sora smiled and hugged him tightly for a moment before letting go.
“Good. Now do you want me to continue showing you my magic?” Sora asked and Harry’s eyes brightened happily, nodding enthusiastically.
“Yes!” he said happily. Harry hadn’t quite gotten his magic to manifest yet, but there had been small bursts of odd occurrences that happened around him. Sora remembered Lily calling it “accidental magic” and it was common for growing, underage wizards so he wasn’t worried. They continued through the night and Sora continued to distract the young boy while he himself thought over what would happen when they finally enacted their plan.
*
They had decided to wait for the weekend to enact their plan as Harry usually didn’t have any time during the week. After primary school, he would be stuck doing chores until dinnertime, then was usually ushered away into the closet for the rest of the night, so the weekend was the best time, specifically Saturday morning. Saturday, Vernon and Dudley would sleep in, the two Dursley males saying it was a well-deserved rest from their long, hard week while Harry and Petunia were up early to do some morning cleaning and preparing breakfast. This would give Harry and his aunt some time to talk privately without fear of interruptions. Sora told Harry to start with her first, since she would most likely be able to convince her husband and son afterwards and because she was least prone to laying a hand on him, a look of hesitance always in her eyes.
Cleaning and breakfast was always a quiet affair between the two, Harry learning quickly through the years so his aunt’s snippy commands came less and less. They moved fluidly and without hesitation, already accustomed with the other’s preparation routine and no words were said between the two. Harry normally thought of this as his favorite time of the day. No one was yelling at him, and there were no odd looks from his aunt as he went about the morning, occasionally even getting a glance of approval from her when he did something well or without a mistake. He was afraid that after this talk, that would go away, but he had faith in his father. As Sora stated before, he was usually right about matters of the heart, having proved himself several times with others at Harry’s primary school, so he steadied himself with a breath before he broke the carefully maintained silence of the morning.
“Aunt Petunia, why do you hate me?” he asked softly, a spike of fear lancing through his chest as he did so. He stared down at the potato he was peeling in his hands and didn’t dare look up, but he heard the small, shocked intake of breath from his aunt and could almost feel the woman’s gaze burn into the back of his head.
“Wh-what? What sort of preposterous thing are blathering about now?” the woman snipped, attempting to hide the tremble in her breath. Harry steeled himself in place, though he wanted nothing more than to run and hide and forget that the conversation had ever taken place. He could feel his father feeding him little encouragements and words of praise through their bond and used them to calm himself down.
“Was there something that I did wrong? I’ve been trying for a long time to make you happy with me, but nothing works. Can you tell me what I did wrong?” he asked softly but firmly, finally having the courage to turn around and look the woman in the eyes. His aunt stood, blue eyes wide and mouth gaping, her face practically bloodless in shock.
“I-I…Y-you…” she stuttered, seemingly unable to form sentences for a moment before she finally composed herself, the vulnerability in her eyes vanishing and replaced by ice once more. “I have nothing to explain to you, boy. Now stop jabbering and continue what we’re doing! And remain silent! You don’t want to wake Vernon or my little dudykins!” she hissed, glaring at the green-eyed boy in front of her, but Harry would not back down, not now. He wanted, no, needed to hear this from her. It was one thing to hear it from someone else, but it was another to hear it directly from the source and if this was what it took, then so be it, even if his heart leapt into his throat at the next words that left his throat.
“If you don’t want me, then why not send me away? Why keep me even though you don’t want me? If it was nothing I did, then why?’ he asked, a small plea in his voice and his hands shook. The woman once again scowled, but now there was something akin to fear in her eyes. Sora wondered if it was because of magic or because of something else?
“You have no idea what would happen if you were to be given away! You would probably spread your freakishness somewhere else! At least here with me, you can do no harm and I can keep my sister’s menace contained.” She hissed, her voice raised now, but still quiet enough not to wake the other occupants in the house.
“Are you afraid of me? Why? Were you afraid of my mum too?” Harry asked and as soon as he did, the woman looked as if she had been slapped. She recoiled from him and leaned heavily on the counter behind her, a hand clutched to her heart and the other across her mouth as if to stop herself from screaming.
“A-Afraid? Of you?” she laughed, a little hysterically, but the terror was evident in her eyes. Terror and anger.
“My perfect sister.” She snarled to herself, hand over her mouth and her words dripping like venom. Her eyes were now cloudy and lost in memory. “Our parents were always so proud of her! It was always Lily this, and Lily that! Well, I was the only one who knew what she really was! She was a freak! A monster! And of course she couldn’t just be the only one, now could she? She just had to find another and then spawn you! Her freakishness spread and now we’re stuck with you!” she ranted, barely keeping her voice to a minimum. She turned to look at him again and her hatred burned in her chest. Her eyes. Lily’s eyes. Even now, they were watching her, judging her, mocking her for everything she would never be. She hated it! She hated how this made her feel! Even after she thought those feelings were long gone and buried, they were resurfacing now with a vengeance and it was all because of those eyes that wouldn’t stop staring at her!
“You are here because I am fixing her mistake! This freakishness cannot continue! Not in my house and not with me! Never again!” she practically screeched and glared down at the boy who was now in arms-reach of her. Harry felt like fleeing in terror, but still didn’t run. He could feel Sora was close to taking control just in case they had to run for it, but Harry was close to something! He could feel it! He was so close to making his aunt tell him how she felt!
“You were jealous of my mum, weren’t you?” he asked her, eyes wide and a little more breathless than he meant to be, but that was the fear that was still clogging his throat. The woman froze, a calm before a storm and the very air was electrified in the stillness.
“What?” she asked softly, voice breaking. “Wh-what kind of nonsense-!“ she started, her rage building up again, but was cut off as Harry forged ahead, words rushed in fear that he may never have the chance to speak them again. He knew that Sora had warned him against using any knowledge of magic or Lily’s memories against his aunt since it would be suspicious that he knew anything about that, but Harry was willing to try it! Maybe it would work!
“You were jealous because you couldn’t do what she could, weren’t you? You were afraid because she was different and loved for it and you weren’t. Is that why you don’t like me? Is it because I’m like her?” he asked, words in a rush and his chest was now heaving with the speed at which they flew out and the burst of emotion that came after it. He could feel the tears well up in his eyes and swim in his vision as he stared up at the shaking form of his aunt.
“No! No, it isn’t! She was a freak! A monster! She ruined my life! Our parents were always just so proud of her even though she was a freak!” the woman practically screamed and Harry flinched, but continued, now feeling the buildup of heat that always came before his magic set off accidentally. He had been attempting to get it to manifest at will like Sora had explained his mother could, but he had never gotten it to happen when he wanted it to.
But he hoped that it would work now.
“I’m sorry that I was born like this. But this is how I am. This is how my mum and dad were too.” Harry said softly. He held out a hand and with a small boost of power from Sora, a small flickering flame emerged from his palm. It was a flame about the size of a candle flame and flickered softly in the palm of his hand with a gentle warmth. His aunt watched in fright but made no other move. He stared down into the depths of the flame, feeling more than the magic running through him. This magic was something that was passed on to him by his parents who loved him, who cared for him, who died for him. He also felt the strength that his now adoptive parent was sending to him, and it made him smile lightly.
“Stop.” Petunia choked out. But Harry shook his head, looking up at her.
“I’m sorry you don’t have magic too.” He apologized softly.
“Stop!” she croaked again, tears welling up in her eyes as she stared at the flickering flame in his palm. Gazing at her gently, he held the hand without the flame out to her.
“Mum still loved you. She missed you.” He whispered, tears now in his eyes. “She missed her Tuney.” And finally, the dam burst within the woman who had tried so hard to repress her true feelings for years.
Tuney.
A little pet name for her true name.
Lily had too short of a name to give a pet name to, but she had always insisted that she liked it like that anyway.
Just Lily.
Lily and Petunia.
The two flowers that grew from the garden of Evans.
They had been close as children. As close as any siblings would be and they spent their childhood days in each other’s company. Back then, Petunia could honestly say that she loved her sister. Little Lily, her sweet baby sister, was such a kind soul. She loved the world and all its wonders wholeheartedly and never failed to share her wonder with her elder sister. They had their share of spats, of course. All siblings did, but they never lasted long and they were soon back to being the best of friends. Petunia knew, growing up, that she was not as pretty as her sister, not as smart, but she still tried her best. She put effort into her studies when entering primary school and had tried doing things that would make her look more appealing to the public eye. It had worked at times, and other times it hadn’t, but she had learned from books, magazines, and gossip that being a certain way, being normal, being a perfect lady, was what made them attractive and so Petunia went with it. And it had worked. She was praised for being the perfect little lady, doing the housework correctly, greeting guests politely, and for knowing how to follow a recipe. Petunia glowed like the sun under the praise and eagerly sought to teach her younger sister this too. She wanted to teach little Lily that this was how they could make it in life and continue to grow together.
Of course, the world was not so kind.
Petunia taught her sister to keep the house, to greet guests politely, to cook in the kitchen, but Lily had never caught onto it as well as Petunia had and it frustrated her. That was about the time that things started to happen around Lily. Saltshakers would move, dishes would rattle, the flowers would grow and wilt rapidly. It was a frightening sight to behold and there was a slight terror that Petunia could see in the guests’ eyes when they witnessed what had happened. They girls were ushered away by their parents in a rush, but not before Petunia caught the tail end of the hushed exchange of words.
“What a frightening child!” she heard the woman whisper quietly to her husband and Petunia’s heart sank. She knew that not everyone was a nice person, her parents had told her that from a young age, but she didn’t expect it from friends of her parents. Maybe that’s why she was warned? Either way, she had to protect her sister, so she ran up the stairs and to Lily’s room and stood in front of her, arms crossed. This talk would be unpleasant, but it needed to be said since their mother and father would say nothing about it themselves.
“Lily, you need to stop doing what you’re doing! It isn’t normal!” Petunia ordered, trying to sound stern, it seemed to work as the small redhead before her winced slightly, looking down in shame.
“I-I didn’t do any of that, Tuney!” Lily protested weakly, but Petunia was not having any of it.
“Yes, you are! This always happens around you! And you have to stop! Can’t you see you’re scaring the people around you?” Petunia reasoned and Lily sat bold upright, eyes wide in shock.
“I am?” she asked, voice almost a whisper and Petunia nodded, feeling a sense of satisfaction that she had managed to convince her younger sibling.
“Yes, so you need to stop, alright?” she said again, more gently this time and she sat next to her sister. Lily nodded, trembling slightly from unshed tears and Petunia brought the younger girl into a hug, whispering to her comfortingly that everything would be alright when the strange things stopped happening. They would be happy again when things went back to normal.
Days, weeks, months passed, and the happenings didn’t stop. That wasn’t to mean that things hadn’t gone back to normal in their household. On the contrary. Nothing ever rattled or moved, or levitated again within the house and their parents had relaxed once more, guests remaining unaware that anything of the sort could happen within the walls of the home, but no, the happenings had not stopped. In fact, they had only worsened over time. Instead of heeding the advice of her older sister and stopping her weirdness then and there, she had continued. She insisted that if she practiced with it, harnessed that power, she would be able to use it better and control herself, much to Petunia’s dismay. This clashed with the older girl’s thoughts on the entire subject and rubbed against her anxiety that they would be found out and ridiculed again. She, eleven going on twelve, had firmly subscribed to the notion that if she just remained as normal as possible, then her life would turn out completely fine and wonderful, but Lily’s newfound oddities clashed with that ideology and dream. She needed to stomp that silly notion of “controlling” that oddity of hers out of her before it was too late. That idea needed to die once and for all.
That day, the sisters fought.
That day, Petunia used the harshest word she knew against Lily.
That day was the first time she had called her sister a freak.
And it was that day that she lost her sister for good.
‘It was all that boy’s fault!’ Petunia fumed in her room, nursing the wound she had gotten from the fall of that branch. It frightened her. It frightened her terribly. It was even worse that it was because of the very odd ability that her sister had, but it was in the hands of that odd boy they had met in the park. He was the one that put all those ridiculous thoughts into her sister’s head! He was a bad influence and would only serve to make things worse.
In a way, she was right.
Time passed and as she went from eleven to twelve and she focused more and more on practicing her own normalness and discouraging Lily from using her oddity and talking to that boy. Sadly, that only seemed to push her sister away more and in time, the younger girl was using her abilities more frequently, making plants grow and wither at will, snapping twigs, and almost levitating when she jumped to her jump rope. It set her teeth on edge until her world was once again flipped when Lily turned eleven. The morning started as usual, breakfast around the table in the quiet stillness of the quiet summer morning. There was a distance between the two girls as they ate, their father between them and at a loss as to how to mend their relationship. The silence was stifling, but was broken moments later by the mail slot creaking. It was normal for Petunia, but then it wasn’t when a single letter was passed to her sister by their shocked mother.
A prank.
A joke.
It had to be.
No doubt from that boy.
That was what she thought (pled) in her mind, but was disproved when not even a day later, a woman dressed in a rather ornate looking purple robe came bearing the news.
A witch.
Her Lily was a witch!
Things changed in the house after that moment, and in Petunia’s mind, it was not for the better. More objects moved, but she was not reprimanded for it. Now she was praised for her control and their parents gushed about it endlessly. Petunia hated it. Now, no matter what she did, it was never enough for their parents, Lily had outshone her, eclipsed her entirely with her nowfound place in another world entirely and she hated it. She hated it, and then she feared it. That final confrontation with Lily and that boy had ruined everything for her. She saw the look in his eyes and knew that he wouldn't hesitate to use it again. From that moment on, she knew she had lost her sister for good. That witch was not her Lily. Her Lily would never have been a witch or watch as she was hurt by the same powers that she was trying to control.
Years passed and the sisters grew apart. Every year a little further until they were both out of school and Petunia herself had already married Vernon Dursley. The man had made quite the impression on her parents and they approved of him as he had promised to always provide for her. Not only that, but he was also against the idea of magic like she was, but grew more so and took his wife’s side in her vehemence against her sister. Lily continued to try and contact her, but Petunia wanted nothing to do with her, not even as the woman announced that she too was getting married, to another wizard of course, and would have a child of her own a year later. By then, Petunia was already far along in her own pregnancy with her own child. Throughout the seasons, the Christmases and New Years and weddings and the eventual funeral of their parents did the sisters talk. Petunia thought she was over the empty space her sister occupied in her heart, but was once again proven wrong on an early morning on the first day of November.
Dead.
She was dead.
Her Lily flower had withered along with her husband and now her son was all that was left.
Petunia had raised her voice several, if not countless times in her life, but never had she screamed as she had that day, not even at the death of her parents. The grief and anger crashed through her as she held the child in her arms, letter open and words burning into her. Her sister, killed by a dark wizard who was after the child. She died for him and now Petunia was tasked to care for him. The child awoke and so did the rest of the residents of the house, causing chaos, but it was all lost to the woman who was still struggling to swallow the words. The agonizing, grating, bitter tang of grief gave way to numbness, but then quickly transitioned to rage.
‘It serves her right!’ she thought first, though the sour taste of a lie washed through with it. If it weren’t for that evil magic, she would still be alive! Poor, foolish, freakish Lily had died by the thing she had strived to control and perfect and now there was nothing left of her. Her anger swelled and Petunia felt like she was drowning in it. Anger at her sister, at that magic school, at their stupid war, and their stupid evil magic burned like bile in her throat. The bundle in her arms cried pitifully and she finally had the sense to look down at the child, her nephew, and all the acrid acid felt suddenly frozen in her throat. Her eyes. Lily’s eyes. beautiful and as verdant as a rolling hill and the garden they used to keep together. She hated them. She loved them. Of course the boy would inherit them now in an extended vigil his mother kept over her sister.
With this, she shut away that feeling of love, of grief, of fear, and let her anger take control. She would raise this boy right like Lily never had been. Magic would not take him like it had taken her sister if it was the last thing she did. It was a promise she was determined to keep, but as those green eyes looked at her now, pleading and asking for her silently for something she wasn’t sure she could give, she could only sob as that grief and fear burst forward after lying dormant for so long.
Loud, thundering steps were suddenly heard descending the stairs at the commotion and making their way towards the kitchen and the door swung open to reveal a very frazzled looking Vernon Dursley.
“Petunia? What is all this racket so early in the morning?” the man demanded, eyes landing on the tearstained face of his wife, then on the boy beside her, still holding the fire in his palm out to her.
“Boy! What do you think you’re doing?! Do you see what you’ve done?! You’re upsetting your aunt with your freakish magic!” the man roared, stomping towards the child, face red, but stuttered to a halt when Petunia moved to stand between the two.
“P-Petunia?” he asked, confused, now not knowing what to do at his wife’s weary and wrung out expression. She simply shook her head and wiped her eyes.
“It was nothing, Vernon. Please go back upstairs and I’ll prepare breakfast.” she said quietly. Vernon moved back, too confused to do anything but comply, and walked back out, wondering what had changed so drastically since yesterday. From behind them, Harry could only watch in awe. His aunt had protected him? On the inside, Sora let out a sigh of relief and his grip loosened on his clothes that he had been gripping anxiously, ready to hop into Harry’s body should anything go wrong. But it didn’t.
“A-Aunt Petunia?” Harry asked nervously, hand now clasped in front of him. the woman turned to look at him, grief still etched into her face and she made a move as if to reach out, but seemed to think better of it, her hand falling to her side.
“Just...go to the guest room. Breakfast will be soon..” she murmured, turning her gaze back to her preparations.
“I...er...yes, Aunt Petunia…” Harry said softly at Sora’s urging to leave and left the room, walking past his cupboard and to the rarely used guest room, sitting on the small bed in the corner. he curled up and drew his knees to his chest, heart still rabbiting in his chest and emotions turbulent.
“Dad?” he asked quietly and Sora was quick to respond.
“Yes Harry?”
“Did it work? Are things going to get better now?” he asked, hope rising in his chest.
“Yes, Harry. I really think it will.”
*