After a long hesitation, Mr.
Dursley abandoned his plan to propose.
“I’m terribly sorry, Petunia.
I truly…
truly do love you…
but I also truly cannot bring myself to accept…” His fingers drummed absently against the table, a true portrait of the unease churning inside him.
His eyes were full of guilt and pain.
Petunia’s eyes welled up instantly.
Yet Petunia held composure, not saying a single word to make Mr.
Dursley stay.
Because Petunia understood: that was respect — for both of them — and the line Petunia’s own pride would not let be crossed.
Petunia gently dabbed at the corners of those eyes, pressed a faint smile onto those lips, then turned and walked out of the café with quiet grace.
Petunia resigned from the clerical job in London and returned to Cokeworth.
With Yvonne’s gentle encouragement and the deep comfort of both parents, Petunia made it through those dark days, slowly, over the course of several days, recovering some inner calm.
In Petunia’s heart, there was resentment toward Lily.
But reason said that resentment was entirely pointless.
Just like any child, Lily had no say in what family to be born into, or what abilities to possess.
Reason said so.
It made no difference.
When Lily actually appeared in front of Petunia, anger flooded in all the same.
And so, after rushing through dinner in a mechanical, perfunctory way, Petunia hurried back to the bedroom and pulled the door firmly shut.
“Petunia…” Lily’s voice drifted through the air, but it couldn’t catch the figure already retreating down the hall.
Lily stood there, gazing after Petunia, and a wordless helplessness welled up inside.
A few days earlier, after opening the weighty letter from Mrs.
Evans, whatever calm Lily had managed to hold onto had shattered completely.
Lily knew.
Petunia’s relationship — one that should have been something sweet, had dissolved into nothing because of Lily’s identity as a witch.
That guilt pressed down like a stone, heavy enough to make breathing difficult.
Lily had tried to make amends through words, pouring apology after apology into letter after letter.
Every single one had disappeared without a reply, as though cast into still water.
Seven years of estrangement had left Lily with no idea how to apologize to an older sister anymore.
From the moment Lily set foot in Hogwarts, the distance between them had grown.
In the Muggle world, they had never been especially close, but at least they had maintained the basic warmth that sisters were supposed to share.
Now they were like two stars drifting steadily apart, each spinning alone, the gap between them widening with every passing moment.
What cut deepest was that this estrangement had always been Petunia’s choice, not Lily’s.
Whenever Lily tried to close the distance, a small new magic trick to make Petunia smile, or some breathtaking story from Hogwarts, Petunia would simply turn away.
Once, that coldness had filled Lily with a loss that was hard to name, shot through with flickers of anger.
But as time passed and Lily grew older, Lily began to look at it differently.
Petunia’s coldness was not without reason.
It came from somewhere deep: an awkwardness, an unspoken jealousy.
Lily began to wonder whether all those attempts to share and delight had been causing pain without Lily ever meaning to.
That late-arriving understanding didn’t make things easier.
If anything, it made Lily more careful and more uncertain.
Lily was afraid that every move, every word, might graze the raw places in Petunia’s heart all over again, afraid of making another mistake, of driving the fracture even deeper.
— The next morning, Petunia left the Evans household early.
These days, Petunia worked as a baker’s assistant at a place called the Delicious Bakery, only fifteen minutes on foot from the house.
Part of the reason for the early start was, of course, to avoid Lily.
Petunia needed time to think.
To figure out how to face Lily.
“Good morning, dear Miss Evans.” The first person through the door of the Delicious Bakery that day was, as always, Uncle Jack, the kindly baker, warm smile already in place, as if the morning breeze itself had softened just by being near him.
“Good morning, Uncle Jack!” Petunia’s voice rang out clear and bright.
Walking to the sink, Petunia slipped on the clean white baker’s apron with practiced ease, its edges swaying gently with each movement.
Mr.
Evans had suggested finding a new clerical position.
Petunia declined.
Instead, Petunia had stumbled upon the Delicious Bakery, noticed the help-wanted sign in the window, and after a pleasant interview with the owner, Grandma Susan, had walked away with the job.
— Problems always have to be solved eventually.
After a full day’s work, Petunia finally made up her mind: it was time to sit down with Lily for a real conversation.
Petunia was no longer a child.
The relationship with Lily needed to be faced with maturity, with clear thinking.
The bond of blood wasn’t something that could simply be cut.
Thinking back on all the efforts Lily had made over the years, something complicated stirred quietly in Petunia’s chest.
Lily had always tried to win Petunia over, through one approach or another, even when those attempts brushed the sore spots without meaning to.
But Petunia also understood now that Lily longed for family, and genuinely cared about an older sister.
Just a little clumsy about it.
Then there were the parents, who hoped the two of them could get along better.
Petunia didn’t want to make things harder for them.
And finally, there was that failed romance.
The root of the problem wasn’t Lily.
It was that idiot named James Potter.
When the four of them had been together, Petunia, Mr.
Dursley, Lily, and Potter, Lily had been perfectly composed and warm.
Before Potter had even opened his mouth, the air between them had been easy and peaceful.
It was all James Potter’s fault.
That thought stripped away a great deal of the hostility Petunia felt toward Lily.
Perhaps James deserved some credit, then, a fitting “tribute” for the contribution made to this story.
➤ Next: A Conversation Between Sisters