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“Yvonne, you’re back.” Petunia’s voice trembled slightly, her eyes carrying a flicker of panic and helplessness, like a lost kitten.
Petunia was sitting on the sofa in Yvonne’s living room, hands clasped tightly together, visibly ill at ease.
“You had a fight with Mrs.
Evans, so you came to hide at my place.” Yvonne, just back from class, was a little surprised to find Petunia in the house.
Yvonne walked to the kitchen, poured a glass of water for each of them, then carried the glasses over to Petunia.
“Have some water.” Yvonne pressed the glass firmly into Petunia’s hands, the tone leaving no room for argument.
Yvonne knew what Petunia needed right now was calm and comfort, not more accusations and quarreling.
“Mrs.
Evans does care a great deal about what other people think, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about you.” In the light of the late afternoon, Yvonne sat down gently beside Petunia, their shadows stretching long across the floor.
“Her way of caring might feel more like an invisible shackle to you — a heavy burden.
It binds your heart, keeps you from breathing freely, keeps you from truly being yourself.” A deep look of longing flickered in Yvonne’s eyes, as though passing through a tunnel in time and returning to some distant past.
There, in a corner forgotten by the years, Yvonne found thoughts of parents from a previous life.
“She genuinely hopes you can live a happy life.
It’s just that, in her view, a woman’s happiness always seems tied to marriage — to a good match, and a child of one’s own.” Before crossing over into this unfamiliar world, Yvonne had not been British, and had not been a soul belonging to this era.
Like a leaf drifting down, Yvonne had fallen by accident into a time and place entirely foreign.
In this world full of an alien feeling, Yvonne often felt a loneliness and confusion that was hard to put into words, as if an invisible barrier stood between Yvonne and everything around, making Yvonne seem so out of place in this age.
The time spent with Petunia, the bond built with her, was the only close connection Yvonne had to this time and place.
“Ask Mr.
Evans for help.
Mr.
Evans will support your decision.” Petunia blinked, a look of confusion passing through those eyes.
“My decision?
Have I actually made a decision?” Petunia murmured, as if asking the question of oneself, or of the silent night sky.
“Haven’t you already made up your mind to raise this child alone?” Yvonne could see, beneath Petunia’s resolute exterior, a heart trembling with the fear of being unable to have children.
As for the option of marrying Snape, Yvonne understood clearly that even if Petunia truly wanted to marry him, Snape might not accept.
“Don’t you think this decision is too rash?” “It’s not really rash.
Didn’t we sit down together that day and talk it through, imagining all the difficulties we might face?
And weren’t most of those difficulties ones you could accept?
Weren’t they difficulties we could solve together?” “But — but I don’t trust myself.
When things actually happen, can I really face them head-on like I said I would, and find every possible way to deal with them?
What if I shrink back in the face of difficulty, what if I let you down, what if…” Yvonne knew well that Petunia’s heart was tangled with conflict and resignation, the eyes always revealing a thread of confusion and unease.
Every time an important decision came along, Petunia would hesitate, unable to make up one’s mind.
Perhaps, perhaps what was still missing was a catalyst.
A catalyst would appear, and it would help Petunia resolve and face the choice with courage.
But Yvonne never imagined that the catalyst would come so suddenly, and in a way so heartbreaking.
It was the seventh day of Petunia’s stay at Yvonne’s.
Sunlight slipped through the gaps in the curtains and fell in shifting patches across the cozy living room.
The telephone rang suddenly, shattering the quiet of the morning.
Yvonne got up to answer it, and heard a grave and urgent voice on the other end of the line.
The color drained from Yvonne’s face in an instant, and the receiver in Yvonne’s hand seemed to grow impossibly heavy.
Yvonne turned around and looked at Petunia.
“It’s the Police Station.
They said…” Yvonne relayed what had been said on the other end of the line to Petunia.
After hearing it, Petunia felt the whole world spin, as though everything had collapsed around her.
Tears broke free and streamed down her cheeks without restraint.
It was as if all the strength had been pulled out of her; she crumpled helplessly to the floor.
Her arms wrapped tight around her knees, her head buried between them, tears flowing without check.
Her heart was flooded with fear and despair, as if the whole world had lost its color.
Mr.
and Mrs.
Evans had died in a chain-reaction traffic accident.
When Yvonne heard this news, a wave of dazed disorientation rose up inside.
Yes, how could Yvonne have overlooked this?
Harry Potter, the boy destined to change the world, had already been born into this world.
And the tragedy of Lily’s death was now only a short time away.
Yvonne should have realized: if Mr.
and Mrs.
Evans were still alive, Harry Potter would likely have been sent to them, rather than placed in the care of Petunia, who had already left home.
Yvonne’s heart filled with self-reproach and regret.
If Yvonne had been more careful, could this disaster have been averted for Mr.
and Mrs.
Evans?
Supported by Yvonne, Petunia walked with unsteady steps, each one seeming to carry the full weight of guilt and grief.
The eyes were hollow and adrift, and in Petunia’s mind the heated argument with Mrs.
Evans played on and on.
Again and again Petunia asked: why had things spiraled into that emotional storm, why had the bond between family members been torn apart by the quarrel.
“Why did I fight with Mum?
Those sharp words, like the edge of a blade, cut through everything between us.
Why did I give her the cold shoulder after the fight?
Why do my last memories of us have to end with that argument, instead of all the warm and happy times we had?” Petunia’s heart was consumed by endless regret, and tears fell like beads from a broken string.
Overcome with grief, Petunia finally could not bear the torment any longer, and the body went limp, collapsing into Yvonne’s arms.
Yvonne held on tight, trying to offer some measure of comfort through warmth.
In the days that followed, with Yvonne and Ruth by her side, Petunia struggled through handling the funeral arrangements for Mr.
and Mrs.
Evans.
Holding back the grief, Petunia turned over each small memory of time spent with her parents again and again, trying to find some solace within them.
Petunia personally chose the cemetery plot for her parents and arranged every detail of the funeral, determined to let them feel, even in another world, her love and devotion.
As for Lily, Petunia’s heart was filled with endless worry and anxiety.
Petunia had tried countless times to reach Lily, but there had been no reply at all.
Lily had vanished from this world as if gone entirely, and that left Petunia feeling furious.
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