Petunia was always the worse sister - not as pretty, not as kind and especially not as magical as Lily. Jealousy and bitterness rule her life, until one fateful encounter changes her destiny ...
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Petunia was always the lesser out of the two Evaness...
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Her fingers were shaking so fiercely Petunia feared the precious paper would rip between them before she could open the letter. It was cool to the touch and Petunia felt strangely removed as she unfolded it, as if her hands were piloted by someone other than herself. When she saw that familiar, unorderly scrawl something rushed through her body, making her light-headed as if she had just taken a deep lungful of air after holding her breath for a long time.
Her eyes flew over the first lines before she gave it any conscious thought.
Petals,
I miss you.
I don't usually ponder a lot before writing stuff but just starting this first paragraph took me ages because there is so much I want to say to you but I can't seem to find the right words to say it. I wish you were here or that I was with you and I could just look at you, because I'm convinced that would make everything easier. But instead I'm staring at this stupid blank paper and feeling like an idiot. Maybe I should doodle a bit so it's not that intimidating anymore – what would you like to see? I know from a confidential source that I'm quite the artist when it comes to buttcheeks.
On second thought, I'd rather not have the first thing you see when you open this letter be a pair of buttcheeks – no matter how perfectly drawn. Just imagine I sketched pretty flowers around the margins or something, I'm a bit reluctant to attempt them. Something tells me my doodling skills are not that easily transferable to a more refined subject.
Well, at least the stupid paper isn't blank anymore. I already made a fool of myself, so what else should I write down for you?
I hope you're smiling. I always hope you're smiling, even when I can't see it. You have the most perfect smile in the world, Petals. I miss it. I miss you.
Ivy misses you too. She's really gotten quite cranky, always snapping at everyone. Once she even tried to make a break for it, almost flying from my dad's suitcase but he was quick enough to prevent it. It actually wouldn't have been the first time something like that happened, so he has some experience.
What else? My uncle and aunt are sickeningly in love as always which usually just makes me roll my eyes but now makes me furiously jealous which then makes me feel pretty icky because that sounds like I'm pining for my own aunt or something. But you know what I'm trying to say – I just wish you were here so we could be even more sickening and give them a taste of their own medicine. My nieces and nephews are cute enough I guess and my hair-braiding skills were highly appreciated. You have their thanks.
New York is interesting. Definitely different from Dorset and even London. Lots of people and lots of different ideas – and it's strange that when they're talking about the war it's in a 'what a shame' way instead of a 'hope I'm still alive next year' way. It must all feel very distant and harmless to them and maybe that's exactly what my Mum wanted when she brought us here, that we would feel the same: safe. But honestly, I just feel like a coward and like all of these people are willfully ignorant because it's not their problem so why should they care. It makes me mad and I don't like feeling that way – sometimes I just want to go back to England but I know it would kill my Mum.
Now that this letter has turned wholly depressing I'm even more tempted to scribble something silly. I hope you'll forgive me for this poor attempt – it was supposed to be a petunia but it looks like a generic flower, which, let's be honest, is not the worst outcome.
I hope you're happier than I am. I got your letter – and give my thanks to your house elf, you've got to tell me all about that, he's very politely waiting for me to finish agonising over what to write to you. Anyway, it seems like a lot happened while I was gone and all I can really say is that I know you can do whatever you set your mind to. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise and don't let other people dictate your wants and your future. You should be proud of who you are and what you have accomplished, not ashamed because of it. Really, who else can claim to have tamed a wild Thestral as a child? Who else can brag that they got invited to Hogwarts, and not because you got a letter when you were eleven like everyone else but because you were chosen specifically?
Don't let them put you down. You're strong, Petals, you always were, from that first moment you stared me down in that dusty bookstore and silently dared me to make a misstep. Do you still remember the first time I visited your home? We sat on the couch and were watching telly and you told me about space and electricity and cars and toasters ... for me, that sounded like real magic. Something that was refined over generations of trial and error and inquisitive minds, something anyone can learn about and do if they have enough passion. If that teacher is so hellbent on finding out the differences then tell him about those things.
I wish I could tell you that I'll be back soon and that we'll see each other again but I'm not sure what will happen. But that you found a way to get your letters to me means the world. I'd love to hear more about what you're experiencing, what you're doing – how is Aspen? How do you get along with Hagrid? Are those little twerps still bothering you? And if so, did you already kick them in the nards?
What a beautiful sentiment to end this letter on. But I fear if I don't stop now I'm either going to write continuously more and more inane stuff or give doodling another try and I don't think either of us really want that.
