Author’s notes: I found the plot bunny here (number 195) so the credit goes to Remus’s Nymph. It’s written quite differently from my other stories. I hope you enjoy it.


“I hated you.”

A flower drops on the cold slab of stone, the only thing left of her sister. She doesn’t know what she’s doing here but here she is. Memories long gone resurface; she hasn’t thought of the past in years. She hasn’t been able to. She doesn’t want to.

“You were always the pretty one. The popular one. Even before you got that stupid letter, you were the one with all the friends, all the attention. Everyone saw you – where did that leave me?”

She remembers the laughter, pointed fingers at her and name calling. She closes her eyes, wants the memories to disappear, to be unreal, but all it does is make them crash down on her harder, faster.



“What was it about you? You weren’t that pretty. I don’t know what they saw in you.”

She trails off. Her hands are shaking, she wants to strike out. She wishes her sister would stand before her; she’d like to hurt her. She wants to give back the pain her sister caused her.

“You did it! You made them hate me! They should have seen the person I saw – if they had, they would have hated you too.”

Some part of her knows it’s a lie. Untrue.



She drops to her knees. Her heart is aching, it fills her body. Her fingers tighten to fists, so tight her fingers turn white. Her nails dig into her palms. She wants them to bleed, she wants it to hurt. Perhaps that will take away the pain. She remembers pain. A broken nose when they were angry, when they needed to lash out. A black eye when they wanted to have fun. They broke her arm once.



“Why didn’t you protect me? You were there. You should have protected me. That’s what big sisters are for, why didn’t you?”

She’s screaming now. Screaming at the tombstone as though it is going to answer her. She wishes it would.

“Then you got that letter. You were even more special. Mum and dad were so proud. A witch in the family! A witch! A witch…”

A laugh escapes her. Her eyes are wide, she looks wild. The memories overwhelm her. She wishes she had felt this way back then. She would have killed them. She wishes she had fought back. She wishes she could have called them names. She wishes she could have hurt them.

She never did.



“Did you know what it was like for me after you left? When you left me to your wolves? When you left me? They— they kicked me. Hurt me. They were worse! They said you could no longer protect me, that I was theirs now.”

She frowns. Memories keep flashing before her eyes. She can’t make sense of them, they seem unreal. She remembers lying on the pavement, kicks raining over her. Hands pulling her hair. Fingers digging through her bag, ripping her books apart. Remembers looking into the mirror and applying make-up over the blue marks on her face.



“Protect? You— you never protected me. You abandoned me. You left me to them, you always did. You hated me. You hurt me! You— you left me.”

Her voice is quiet now. There is a lump in her throat so big it hurts. She hasn’t allowed herself to cry in years. They thought it was more fun if she cried.

She remembers Vernon. He was nice to her. Another bullied child, too fat for his own good. He hated them as much as she did. He tried to protect her and she remembers thinking that was what her sister was supposed to do.

Flashes of smiles and laughter. Her parents happy; they had their true daughter home. Their good daughter. Her sister during the summers, showing off all the things she’d learned.



“All the things I couldn’t do!”

Wedding bells, her sister had been there with her husband. Her husband was beautiful, of course. Even on her wedding day, she couldn’t shine the brightest; her sister had to out-do her. She was pregnant and everyone had told her she was glowing. Their parents had been thrilled – their first grand child.

She’d told herself a lie; she didn’t have a sister. Stopped talking to her all together. Vernon had said it was for the best. Leave the freaks be.



Her palms are bleeding now but she can’t feel it. There is dirt on her skirt. She can’t see the world; she is stuck in memories. There are flashes from her child hood, before hell began, when they still lov—


She’d never loved her sister. Her sister had certainly never loved her.

“You didn’t. You wouldn’t have let them do that if you had. You were popular; you could have made them stop!”

But the memories say differently. She tries to remember her sister there, laughing with the rest. She is certain she did. Frustration rips at her; her memories don’t agree with her.

“I hate you!”

She screams, slams her fists into the ground.

Her heart breaks in her chest because she realises she never truly did.



“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

She repeats it as though it’s a mantra, as though it will be true if she says it enough times. As though her memories will change because she wants them to.

They don’t.

She remembers a particular memory. They were coming at her again, about to hit her again and she prepared her body for the pain. Then her sister was there, red hair flying wild and her body between her and them. Telling them to back off. Telling them to stop.

Her sister had protected her.



Those are not a memory. She raises a dirty hand to her face and realises that she is crying. Her cheeks are wet, so is the ground below.

The sun is setting. It feels like her life is doing the same; she wants to lie down and die with her sister.

Her hand shakes as she reaches out and touches the tomb stone. She traces the name slowly.

Lily Potter
1959 – 1981

How soon fades the tender flowers

Her chest hurts; it feels as though her heart will break. She tries to wipe the tears away.

“Why did you leave me?”

She whispers the words. They ride on the wind, carried away lightly as though they didn’t mean anything. She is alone. She’s been alone for so long. It’s all she knows.



“I loved you.”

The end

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