Hurt Lingers 2
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me.
There are certain tasks in life that must be completed even if one is in the midst of grieving. It may seem a painfully mundane truth, but it is a truth all the same. The world does not stop turning merely because one has suffered a loss. One cannot cease to be practical merely because one no longer possesses parents. There are always things that one must do.
[more]
She had packed up the place all on her own. Vernon had suggested that there were auction houses that handled that sort of thing, but she had declined to take his hint. She had merely reminded him that there was no way of knowing what manner of unnatural things Lily might have left there over the years, and her husband had become tightlipped and furrow browed as he told her he was sure that she knew how best to proceed with arrangements.
She knew how to handle Vernon. He was easily steered when she bothered to put forth the effort and a week tucked away with her thoughts while she sorted her way through the meager physical reminders of times that could no longer be hers was worth making the effort. She promised not to overdo (her back had been troubling her for most of the second trimester of her pregnancy and the entry into her seventh month showed no signs of stopping the chronic ache). She had no true intention of lifting anything more substantial than a tea kettle, and only her unborn child was privy to the things she told the empty rooms and furnishings that would shortly belong to another.
She was there to remove anything that might be considered personal while deciding if there was anything that she simply could not do without keeping. The latter was not particularly likely - she was not the sort that was attached to things like chairs merely because a great aunt had once rested on its cushions. Her memories were her memories, and they would remain unchanged by new ownership of the dining room table.
She hadn't waited long before setting the wheels of a sale in motion. There was, to her mind, no purpose in drawing things out into a lengthier process. Unlived in houses were notorious for developing a number of problems, and there was no reason to think of trying to keep the place. She and Vernon were quite comfortable in their home, and she was equally certain that Lily and her husband were well settled wherever it was that they chose to dwell - she wouldn't know; she had never been invited. On that point, at least, she had never been compelled into competition with her younger sister. She had had her mother's undivided attention on the subject of the fitting up of the home she and Vernon had saved and saved to make the down payment upon; Lily had never invited their parents to see wherever it was she had settled either. It had always been an inconvenient time or just so much simpler for Lily to come to them.
She wonders if her parents had ever truly realized just how shut out of her daily life their favorite child had made them. She never asked them; it hadn't been worth the inevitable admonishment that she just wasn't making enough of an effort to "understand" that would have followed. She supposes it doesn't really matter - no doubt they would have decided that precious Lily must be doing it for the best. That's all over now.
Petunia had buried her parents as she did most things in her adult life - without her sister at her side. That certainly had not been her preference - having a seemingly never ending line of her parents' friends and neighbors and distant cousins asking after Lily instead of expressing their sympathies. It was as frustrating as it was strangely typical of her life. That she had bitten her tongue and managed to navigate the day with a functional, polite smile on her face was nearly a miraculous occurrence.
She couldn't be certain whether or not Lily had known in time (a part of her wants to believe that she would not have simply ignored the news no matter how enmeshed in conflict or whatever it was that she was doing she was). She really has no way to know whether or not Lily had known until Lily deigns to tell her. She's sure that there will be self-righteous words (and accusing looks if her sister decides her chagrin warrants an in person confrontation) heading in her direction; she is equally sure that she has decided that she simply does not care. Lily really has no room for complaint when she has shut herself off from nearly all normal methods of communication. The post office box is the only means that Petunia has at her disposal, and she carries no responsibility for how often Lily may or may not bother to check it.
Her parents were practical, at least, and had always left the legalities in Petunia's name to handle - she was, after all, the one that was consistently present. Therefore, Lily may complain all she likes later, but Petunia was well within bounds to make decisions as she saw fit. She had sent notifications of the sale the same way as the news of their parents' accident and notice of the following arrangements. She couldn't expect her to wait around forever for a response.
Petunia is many things, but a fool is not one of them (no matter what her sister's beastly friends might have to say on the matter). She knows that there are far more dangers out there than Lily had ever owned up to in her conversations with their parents (the conversations that Petunia had to listen to whether she wanted to or not if she was to keep any sort of peace in their family). Her sister is involved in something dangerous. She goes without communicating for ever lengthening stretches of time. She will not feel guilty for not seeking approval.
She divides the pictures equally because she feels that that is only fair and graciously mails Lily's share along with the brooch that their mother had always insisted was to be Lily's keepsake of their grandmother. There is a particularly ugly vase that their mother never put out in the public rooms of their house but used instead for keeping cut flowers on her bedside table. It was a Mother's Day gift from her daughters from ages and ages ago. Lily had been three and opinionated and determined that that was what their mother needed even as their bewildered father had tried to talk her into something with a less abrasive pattern. Petunia had taken her sister's part not because she liked the vase herself but because an ominous rattling sound had started up amongst the glassware when Lily had gotten upset, and Petunia had already started running interference with the strange things that happened around her baby sister by then. Their father had conceded defeat and purchased the vase for them to gift.
She packs it up surrounded by Christmas paper for padding because that is the only thing available in the house and mails it along to the post office box as her last act before shutting up the house and leaving for home. It is the only concession to sentiment that she makes.
She returns home and enjoys her husband telling her how much she was missed. She sets herself back on task of preparations for the arrival of the baby. She places the box she brought home with her in their attic. She never displays the pictures that had graced the walls and mantel of her childhood home. She keeps them - tempted as she is to toss them in the bin or let them feed the fire in some sort of show of independence from her past - but leaves them put away. It may be that there will come a day when time and distance will change her feelings and pictures of two little girls with their arms twined about each other won't cause her pain.
This is not that day.
There are certain tasks in life that must be completed even if one is in the midst of grieving. It may seem a painfully mundane truth, but it is a truth all the same. The world does not stop turning merely because one has suffered a loss. One cannot cease to be practical merely because one no longer possesses parents. There are always things that one must do.
[more]
She had packed up the place all on her own. Vernon had suggested that there were auction houses that handled that sort of thing, but she had declined to take his hint. She had merely reminded him that there was no way of knowing what manner of unnatural things Lily might have left there over the years, and her husband had become tightlipped and furrow browed as he told her he was sure that she knew how best to proceed with arrangements.
She knew how to handle Vernon. He was easily steered when she bothered to put forth the effort and a week tucked away with her thoughts while she sorted her way through the meager physical reminders of times that could no longer be hers was worth making the effort. She promised not to overdo (her back had been troubling her for most of the second trimester of her pregnancy and the entry into her seventh month showed no signs of stopping the chronic ache). She had no true intention of lifting anything more substantial than a tea kettle, and only her unborn child was privy to the things she told the empty rooms and furnishings that would shortly belong to another.
She was there to remove anything that might be considered personal while deciding if there was anything that she simply could not do without keeping. The latter was not particularly likely - she was not the sort that was attached to things like chairs merely because a great aunt had once rested on its cushions. Her memories were her memories, and they would remain unchanged by new ownership of the dining room table.
She hadn't waited long before setting the wheels of a sale in motion. There was, to her mind, no purpose in drawing things out into a lengthier process. Unlived in houses were notorious for developing a number of problems, and there was no reason to think of trying to keep the place. She and Vernon were quite comfortable in their home, and she was equally certain that Lily and her husband were well settled wherever it was that they chose to dwell - she wouldn't know; she had never been invited. On that point, at least, she had never been compelled into competition with her younger sister. She had had her mother's undivided attention on the subject of the fitting up of the home she and Vernon had saved and saved to make the down payment upon; Lily had never invited their parents to see wherever it was she had settled either. It had always been an inconvenient time or just so much simpler for Lily to come to them.
She wonders if her parents had ever truly realized just how shut out of her daily life their favorite child had made them. She never asked them; it hadn't been worth the inevitable admonishment that she just wasn't making enough of an effort to "understand" that would have followed. She supposes it doesn't really matter - no doubt they would have decided that precious Lily must be doing it for the best. That's all over now.
Petunia had buried her parents as she did most things in her adult life - without her sister at her side. That certainly had not been her preference - having a seemingly never ending line of her parents' friends and neighbors and distant cousins asking after Lily instead of expressing their sympathies. It was as frustrating as it was strangely typical of her life. That she had bitten her tongue and managed to navigate the day with a functional, polite smile on her face was nearly a miraculous occurrence.
She couldn't be certain whether or not Lily had known in time (a part of her wants to believe that she would not have simply ignored the news no matter how enmeshed in conflict or whatever it was that she was doing she was). She really has no way to know whether or not Lily had known until Lily deigns to tell her. She's sure that there will be self-righteous words (and accusing looks if her sister decides her chagrin warrants an in person confrontation) heading in her direction; she is equally sure that she has decided that she simply does not care. Lily really has no room for complaint when she has shut herself off from nearly all normal methods of communication. The post office box is the only means that Petunia has at her disposal, and she carries no responsibility for how often Lily may or may not bother to check it.
Her parents were practical, at least, and had always left the legalities in Petunia's name to handle - she was, after all, the one that was consistently present. Therefore, Lily may complain all she likes later, but Petunia was well within bounds to make decisions as she saw fit. She had sent notifications of the sale the same way as the news of their parents' accident and notice of the following arrangements. She couldn't expect her to wait around forever for a response.
Petunia is many things, but a fool is not one of them (no matter what her sister's beastly friends might have to say on the matter). She knows that there are far more dangers out there than Lily had ever owned up to in her conversations with their parents (the conversations that Petunia had to listen to whether she wanted to or not if she was to keep any sort of peace in their family). Her sister is involved in something dangerous. She goes without communicating for ever lengthening stretches of time. She will not feel guilty for not seeking approval.
She divides the pictures equally because she feels that that is only fair and graciously mails Lily's share along with the brooch that their mother had always insisted was to be Lily's keepsake of their grandmother. There is a particularly ugly vase that their mother never put out in the public rooms of their house but used instead for keeping cut flowers on her bedside table. It was a Mother's Day gift from her daughters from ages and ages ago. Lily had been three and opinionated and determined that that was what their mother needed even as their bewildered father had tried to talk her into something with a less abrasive pattern. Petunia had taken her sister's part not because she liked the vase herself but because an ominous rattling sound had started up amongst the glassware when Lily had gotten upset, and Petunia had already started running interference with the strange things that happened around her baby sister by then. Their father had conceded defeat and purchased the vase for them to gift.
She packs it up surrounded by Christmas paper for padding because that is the only thing available in the house and mails it along to the post office box as her last act before shutting up the house and leaving for home. It is the only concession to sentiment that she makes.
She returns home and enjoys her husband telling her how much she was missed. She sets herself back on task of preparations for the arrival of the baby. She places the box she brought home with her in their attic. She never displays the pictures that had graced the walls and mantel of her childhood home. She keeps them - tempted as she is to toss them in the bin or let them feed the fire in some sort of show of independence from her past - but leaves them put away. It may be that there will come a day when time and distance will change her feelings and pictures of two little girls with their arms twined about each other won't cause her pain.
This is not that day.