Petunia Evans And The Heir To Lestrange

Petunia Dursley was a sad pathetic woman who neglected a young child simply because of his parents and his blood. Petunia Evans on the other hand? A little girl, unhealed and not given the needed attention and love she craved. She watched her younger sister, the favorite sister, get a letter telling her she was a witch. She held magic powers. Why didn't Petunia? How come she, the first born, the one to inherit everything first in DNA, didn't get to be a witch as well?

Petunia had once loved Lily, no she always loved Lily, in her own twisted sense. Maybe she'd fight with her, yell at her, refuse to speak to her, but she loved her. She loved her enough to still put a warm cloth on her head as she slept to help with nightmares. She loved her enough to, without question, beat up Severus Snape. How could she not when Lily came home her 5th year explaining what he'd done? While he may have had magic, she had her sisterly rage.

She couldn't understand as she grew older and meaner why she couldn't control herself as much, why she'd grown to be so vile. Couldn't understand how she could ever let a child be treated in the ways he was and yet she could and somewhere in Petunia Dursley was Petunia Evans and Petunia Evans didn't like Petunia Dursley one bit.

"What have I done?" Petunia stood in shock as she look into her bedroom mirror. No not hers, but hers and Lilys. She was twelve again, how was that possible? It wasn't. Not unless her nephew had sent her back in time with magic. No.. but he was at hogwarts? It had to have been her. She saw the gold light shine through her hands as she reminisced in her younger, happier, more kinder days. "I have magic." Petunia Dursley- No, Petunia Evans had magic. She'd always had magic.