My Angel Sister

July 21, 1994

Dear Diary,

That boy came in mumbling on about dememtors, or whatnot. I swear, he is a menace on our household. One day we will all wake up with our throats slashed or worse because of him. But I couldn't stand to let Vernon throw him out onto the street. And it wasn't because I had promised that fool Dombledee or whatever his name was. It was because I couldn't let my last remaining tie to my baby sister go so fast.

We were always the closest of sisters. She was about five years younger than me, so we didn't always understand each other perfectly, but neither of us cared. I went through everything first, and was glad of it, because then I could make sure it was safe for my little angel sister. When she was born, I was never jealous of the attention that Mum and Dad gave her, but, according to them I would go in there and make sure she was alright, and when she started crying I would pick her up, put her in my lap and start reading to her, and immediately she would start gurgling with joy. She always called me Petty, and I always called her Lils.

As we grew older, we only grew closer. Our dad would come home, pick us both up at once and twirl us around. He called us his little flowers. I never minded having to share his attention with Lily, though. I would take her with me everywhere with me, and so it became common to see us together, and whenever she was sick, people would notice, and tell me that they hoped she would get better soon. Everyone loved her. But nobody loved her more than me.

Back then, I was popular, and she was the cute little sister that all my friends wished that they had, rather than their own bratty little munchkins. When I went on a date with a guy, she would wait up in my bed, and I would come in, wake her up if she fell asleep, and tell her all about it, and when someone said something mean to her at school, I was the one that she would come to when she cried, and I would always be there to comfort her. When there were thunderstorms, she would come in and snuggle under the blankets with me. And I thought it would be that way forever.

But then she received that letter to that school. She had been so excited, and I, naively, had been overjoyed for her. I had gone with her that first time to get her books, and I had been so intimidated by everything that I hadn't known. That wasn't the way things were supposed to be. I was supposed to know everything before Lily. I was supposed to always be there to help her when the road got rough. And once she got that letter and left, I couldn't anymore.

I still remember the day she left for the first time well. We both cried a bit, and I chose to drive her to King's Cross. That hour or so at the station is among the worst memories of my life. In the car we were fine. We talked a little, listened to music, just basic girl stuff. She promised to write about everything that would happen, and I thought that everything was going to be okay. But when we got to King's Cross Station, we couldn't find the platform. We spent about forty five minutes looking for before Lily decided to ask someone who had an owl. They directed her to run through the barrier. She passed through just fine, but when I tried to get through, to say goodbye to her, it wouldn't let me. That gate symbolized the relationship between my sister and I after that day. I would always be trying to help her, or at least be a part of her life, and she would always be just behind the locked barrier.

She did write me, I'll grant her that. But what she did write only made me feel even more inadequate as an older sister. When she managed to be the first to get her feather to fly in her charms class, I wasn't there to tell her how wonderfully she was doing. When that Potter boy turned her hair pink and purple, I wasn't there to help her plot revenge. When someone called her a mudblood, I wasn't there to stroke her hair, and tell her that it all would be okay, and that it didn't matter what those people said, because I loved her. Slowly but surely, bit by bit, I was losing my baby sister.

When she got home that summer, I had expected it to be like she had never left, but it wasn't. She would talk to me, but we were no where near as close as we had been when she left. Rather than come and talk to me, she would write to her friends. Rather than hang out with me like she use, she would spend all her time working on essays and reading her textbooks. I don't resent her for working hard. At that time, I knew her as well as she knew herself. I knew she couldn't stand to fail. I just wished she would spend some time with me again.

The next time she went to King's Cross to catch the train, she didn't even bother walking to the platform with me so that she could say goodbye. She just ran off to join her friends, and left me standing behind, like an unworthy sinner on Judgment Day.

The letters slowed, and then finally stopped. She couldn't be bothered to write to me anymore, after all. I was only her older sister. Her friends were more important. I remember waiting and waiting for a letter to come, and it never came. My little sister and I had finally blown apart.

That next summer when she came home, I didn't want to see her, talk to her. I still loved her more than anything, but I felt like a failure. She was the apple of Mum and Dad's eyes, just like she had always been the apple of mine.

Finally, I blew up at her. I couldn't stand having her around, and yet not being able to talk to her like I used to. I told her that I never wanted to see her again, that she was a freak, and I hated her. I didn't mean any of it, I swear. I was just, well, angry. Angry at her, yeah, but angry at myself more. Because I knew that if I was a good sister, I wouldn't feel so angry and left out.

I agreed to marry Vernon Dursley a week later. I didn't really love him, but he was nice enough, and I wanted to get out of my house as soon as possible. I didn't invite Lily to the wedding.

Than, in her sixth year, our parents were killed. I didn't know who did it at the time, but I figure now that it was the same man who killed Lily and her husband. The man who has returned. I was angry with Lily again, because I figured that she had something to do with their deaths. I told her I wished that she would rot in hell for what she had done to this family.

I didn't hear from her again until I got the wedding invitation. She and that Potter boy were getting married. I wanted to go, but Vernon says that she was a disgrace to my family, and I should pretend she didn't exist.

The last time I saw her was when she sent me an owl requesting that I meet her. I did, but I didn't tell Vernon about it. I knew he wouldn't approve.

She told me that a madman named Voldemort was after them and their infant son, and that they were going to have to go into hiding. She apologized for everything that she had ever done, and told me that that was probably going to be the last time we ever saw each other. I didn't care though. I was still angry with her, and I told her that if she died, she deserved it. Two weeks later, we woke up to find Harry on our doorstep.

There are so many things that I have done that I regret. But I never should have let go of Lily like that. I should have done my duty as older sister, and tried to keep her safe.

Lily, if you can here me up in heaven, please listen to me. Lily, I forgive you. I beg of you to forgive me. I know I did so much wrong, but I can't change any of it, no matter how much I wish I could.

I've never been the kindest to your boy. I've tried to convince Vernon not to be so hard on him, but he won't listen. I sorry, Lily. But I've tried to raise him with the morals that defined you so perfectly. Your son is a fine boy, Lily. You would be proud of him.

Petunia Evans Dursley