Author's note: This brief one-shot was inspired by a deleted scene from the film Deathly Hallows (I believe it was Part I), in which Petunia reminds Harry that he was not the only one affected by Lily's death.

Disclaimer #1: I do not own Harry Potter.

I Lost a Sister

"Tuney, look at this. Watch what I can do."

Petunia hesitated. She wanted to know what her sister was going to do, but she also wanted to walk away, to turn her back on whatever strange thing Lily was capable of. (It was most certainly something that Petunia herself could never do.) Curiosity finally won, and she moved closer to where her sister patiently waited.

Lily held out her hand, palm facing upwards, to reveal the head of a fallen flower. With no apparent effort, she made the petals open and close, open and close again. There was something fascinating about this small—yet extraordinary—feat, and all Petunia could do for a few moments was stand and stare.

She finally pulled herself out of her trance to shriek, "Stop it!"

"It's not hurting you," Lily said, but she closed her hand on the blossom and threw it back to the ground.

Petunia's eyes lingered on the discarded flower, which lay there bearing no evidence of what had just happened. It may not have been physically hurting her, but it hurt her to know that there was something she couldn't share with her sister, something that she could never understand.

Lily had been doing strange things for as long as Petunia could remember. Lightbulbs would shatter if Lily was angry, or she would literally stick herself to one spot if she didn't want to go somewhere; minor scrapes and bruises would be completely gone within twenty-four hours; her hair had once grown back to its previous length the day after a truly horrific trip to the hair dresser's.

Petunia, on the other hand, had never done anything to suggest she possessed the same capabilities. Sometimes, when she was alone, she would try to make plants grow in mere seconds or slam doors hands-free, but always to no avail. These attempts were met with feelings of disappointment, which were quickly squashed and replaced with relief. After all, if she couldn't do it, she never had to ask what made it possible—although that meant she was faced with the opposite question.

"It's not right," Petunia declared. There was a short pause. Then she added, more quietly, "How do you do it?"

She could hear the longing in her own voice, and she hated it.


"We fear that which we do not understand," they say, and no statement could be truer for Petunia Dursley, née Evans. She had long since buried her childhood fantasy of being a witch underneath layers of fear, resentment, and a burning passion for normalcy. She had married a rather volatile man who shared her disdain for anything out of the ordinary, and she had instilled a strong dislike of abnormality into her son. She was damn proud of her perfectly-normal family and their perfectly-normal house. What was to be gained from freakishness? What did she care that her sister was the favoured child, that her sister had abandoned her to be part of a world she could never understand? What did she care that the Snape boy, and then the Potter boy, and then a magic stick-brandishing megalomaniac had stolen her sister from her?

And then there was the Potter spawn, Harry. She hated to look at the brat. It didn't help that he was practically the spitting image of Potter Senior. Even worse were his eyes, his mother's eyes, Lily's eyes. Her sister's eyes. Every time Petunia looked into those eyes, she remembered the letters home, brimming with excitement, the letters that Petunia had very quickly decided never, ever to read; she remembered trailing her sister and the Snape boy during the summers and barely understanding a word either of them said; she remembered her parent's pride over having a witch in the family—and that certainly wasn't her; and she remembered the—albeit very kind—rejection letter from the Hogwarts headmaster explaining that she couldn't possibly attend the school. Although he didn't know it, it haunted her, what the boy represented. He was her bitterness, regret, and loss personified.

Harry lamented that he had lost a mother, but Petunia had lost a sister.

Disclaimer #2: Seeing as parts of the flashback were directly taken from Deathly Hallows (page 533; part of Snape's memories), I would like to reiterate that I do not own Harry Potter.