Chapter Text
Lily decided to wear that unflattering dress she bought on Petunia’s recommendation, in one of her great sacrifices to keep the peace between them. It was a pink paisley shirtwaist dress that certainly didn't do her any favors. And if that was the real reason Petunia recommended it, at least she wouldn’t accuse Lily of trying to upstage her today.
Petunia herself was done up in one of her most expensive dress, a powder blue number with matching kitten heels. She was self-conscious about how tall she was, although it only seemed to annoy her when Lily once mentioned she’d be happy if she could trade those few centimeters. Petunia seemed to have some sort of complex about their respective looks. Lily didn’t really get it, apart from their coloring they didn’t look that different. They were both a bit too skinny and taller than average, although Lily seemed to have lost the coltishness to her limbs her sister still had. And okay, Lily would privately admit that some of the features on her own face might come together in a way people say is more conventionally pretty than on Petunia’s (she thought it was something in the definition of her jawline) but Petunia still looked nice! Lily never was all that enamored of her own looks anyway. Maybe that would be different if she suffered one or two less comments at Hogwarts about how they were all she had going for her.
Lily joined the rest of the family in the living room when it was nearly time for Dursley to arrive. Chester hopped up onto her lap.
“Oh, can you put him up away in your room?” Petunia asked.
“What.” Lily said, clutching him protectively. Put him away? Like he’s some ugly old china?
“Vernon doesn’t like cats.”
“Dump him.” Lily was dead serious.
Petunia visibly tried to rein in her temper. She stuck her nose up, “Don’t be jealous”
“Jealous?” she was genuinely confused before she realized, “Of him? That cat hating pillock?”
“Girls,” Mum scolded. “Lily, can you take Chester upstairs?”
“Mum!” Lily said, betrayed.
“Just for tonight.” She put extra emphasis on the word. Every single one of them obviously knew tonight was special. But for some reason they were all going around pretending it was any other night that they just so happened to decide to spend days and days preparing for.
“Fine,” Lily said, bitterly. She gathered Chester up in her arms and carried him upstairs. All the while muttering aspersions against Petunia and Dursley’s characters into his ginger fur. She sulked in her room to cuddle him for as long as she could justify. At her door, she turned back to apologize to Chester again, but he was lounged out on the bed, blissfully unaware of his unjust imprisonment.
Back in the living room, Petunia directed them on where to stand, moving them about by the shoulders when it wasn't quite right. It reminded Lily of the setups for the elaborate stories her sister used to stage with her dolls.
“And Dad, if you could please avoid bringing up politics...”
“Me?” Dad said. “Well, I won’t if he doesn’t.”
Petunia pursed her lips. “Fine. Everyone just… be normal, okay?”
Lily bristled. Petunia could say whatever she liked about Lily, but how dare she talk down to their parents!
When the doorbell rang Petunia did one last check in the entryway mirror before she answered it.
“Vernon, darling.” Vernon Dursley was a twenty-five year old man with bright yellow-blond hair that looked unfortunate with his ruddy complexion. She assumed his three-piece suit was once tailor fit, but he seemed to have put on some weight around the middle from how the buttons now strained.
“Petunia, my rose. I’ve brought this for you,” Dursley said, holding out a bouquet of petunias. “Your favorite flowers.”
“Thank you, Vernon,” Petunia simpered.
Oh come on! Peonies were her actual favorite. Lily sent her mum a telling look. Mum just sent back one of warning
“And a bottle of wine for dinner! It’s an excellent vintage, if I do say so myself.”
Vernon was apparently some sort of important accountant from the city who met Petunia while he was in Cokeworth working on some sort of acquisition or something with the drill factory. Lily knew he’d just love to remind them of the details of it if asked, but she couldn’t care less. He somehow managed to make his work stories sound even more boring than you would expect.
Dursley brought up the by-election within 10 minutes. Lily was almost disappointed when her mum redirected the conversation. When Dursley started talking about cars, Lily tried to tune out completely. She wished he would just propose before dinner so they didn’t all have to sit around making idle chit-chat, and pretending this was any other night. She’d rather listen to Petunia talk about the wedding plans she’s been drafting since she was 8, than Dursley’s dreams of someday buying an Aston Martin.
Her mum went to check on the roast the second time within fifteen minutes.
“Need any help?” Lily asked. Her mum demurred, which kind of annoyed Lily because she was certain her mum was just checking to avoid the conversation too. The roast still ought to have about thirty minutes left (oh God).
There was a tapping at the window. Lily looked over and, thank God. Or rather, oh no who could have possibly been so rude as to send her a letter now?
“Sorry, I need to check on something in the kitchen.” Lily excused herself, fleeing Petunia’s glare through the kitchen and out to the back garden. The owl swooped around and landed nearby. But when Lily reached for the letter the owl snipped at her fingers. Lily craned her neck to see who it was addressed to. “Pet-” Petunia? Wait no, “Peter Evans.” That didn’t make any more sense. Why on earth would anyone be owling her dad?
“Er, stay here?” Lily told the owl. She went back inside and poked her head back into the living room. “Dad, could I borrow you for a minute?”
Her dad was on his feet before she even finished the question. “Of course, Lily.”
Once the kitchen door closed behind them, Lily told him, “Someone sent you an owl.”
“An owl? …Oh, you mean like your post.”
In the garden, the owl tried to land on her dad. He dodged it. “Bloody hell!”
“It’s trying to land on your arm. Stick it out like this.”
“You’re joking.” She tried to talk him around. “You know your great uncle Ed used to keep chickens. That nasty old rooster nearly gored me once.”
Lily had heard that story more times than she could count. “Well, they train post owls to be gentle.” Also to flee or attack when people tried to steal post that wasn’t theirs, but that would hardly help her dad feel more comfortable.
Eventually her dad flinchingly took his letter. “Can you get rid of it?” he asked, but the owl already took off.
Her dad unfolded the letter and squinted at the page, holding it closer to, then further from, his face. He patted his breast pocket but didn’t find his glasses. “Read it out for me,” he told Lily.
She took the letter, her eyes skipping down to the signature: ‘Albus Dumbledore.’ Her stomach sunk in a pit of horror. Why the hell was Dumbledore writing her dad?
“What is it?” her dad said.
“It’s from my old headmaster, Professor Dumbledore.”
“What’s he writing me for?”
“Er he says, ‘Dear Mr. Peter Evans, I have something I must discuss with you. I will drop by at 8:30 this evening–’”
“He’s inviting himself here? Today?” Dad said, incredulous. “Well, he’s not getting through our door! Who the hell does he think he is?”
It was almost unbelievably rude, but he was Albus Dumbledore. “Dad, I don’t think he meant it poorly. He’s… well, he’s an important man, the Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot.”
“...Are those words supposed to mean something?”
“He’s like the Lord Speaker of the wizard’s House of Lords.”
Her dad’s face turned in disgust, “All the more reason not to let him in. Bloody lords.” Oh right, her dad wanted them to abolish that.
“He defeated Grindelwald.” Her dad stared back, uncomprehending. “Grindelwald was a dark lord. Like Wizard Hitler!”
That made him pause, “Wizard Hitler? But why does he want to talk to me?”
Lily tried to skim ahead for the answer. Oh. my. God. How dare he? “Well, Dad,” she said. “First of all, I want you to remember that none of it is true!”’
Dad started looking suspicious, “Lily.”
“Okay fine! But remember what I said. Dumbledore writes ‘I need to speak with you about Tom Riddle. I do not wish to alarm you, but I believe your daughter is being–’ Again, Dad, remember that this is not even a little bit true–”
“Who’s Tom Riddle?”
“He’s just a friend! And I am not being ‘taken in’ by him.”
The kitchen door opened, revealing her mum. “Please, keep your voices down.”
“Rosemary, Lily is seeing some boy,” Dad said, only a touch quieter.
“Oh, Tom?” Mum said.
Her dad gaped. “‘Oh Tom ?’ what do you mean ‘oh Tom’? What do you know about this boy?”
“Well, Lily said he’s an older boy she met last spring. She visited him last Tuesday to work on a... runes project, I think she said.”
“Yes, Mum, that’s right!” Lily said.
Dad stared at Mum in disbelief. “You have to tell me these things, Rosemary! A runes project? She’s not even in school anymore!”
“We really aren’t dating!” Lily said. “We’re just friends.”
“See, now she’s out at all hours, doing God knows what with a boy who won’t even agree that they’re dating!” He turned to Lily. “That’s worse, Lily!”
“It's not like that!” Lily said. “But if we don’t act now, we’re about to have an unexpected guest!”
“Tom's coming over?” Mum asked.
“No!” They should all move the conversation past Tom, please. “My old headmaster invited himself over! I don’t want him to ruin Petunia’s big night!” she said, as if that was her main concern. “I could write him back–” she didn’t have an owl. She never had much of anyone to write, certainly never anyone who didn’t send their own. Even then, an owl couldn’t make it to Scotland, to catch Dumbledore in time, assuming he’s there. “And I’ll pop into Hogsmeade to post it.”
She convinced her dad to pen Dumbledore a quick letter. “But this conversation isn’t finished,” Dad told her.
Lily needed to get a Sickle from her room. Petunia looked fit to spit fire when she passed by her and Dursley. She opened her door a crack to slip through, as Chester tried to dart out when she opened it. The poor boy must have wised up to his confinement.
Lily got the money and apparated to Hogsmeade. Hogwarts stood imposingly on the hill. It suddenly struck her as weird to be here only for a quick errand. Any of the seven years before, she would have been back at Hogwarts to start the fall session. She hurried to the owl office. Hopefully Dumbledore would get it in time. God, she didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if Dumbledore still showed up and wouldn’t leave until he said his piece.
The woman behind her in line sniffed and muttered under her breath about “mudblood whores.” Lily kept her neck straight and pretended she couldn’t hear it, but felt near naked in her short dress.
She half-jogged back to the apparition point and returned to her room. The whole trip couldn’t have taken more than five minutes.
“There it was again,” Dursley said, the heating vent in her room carrying the conversation from the living room downstairs. “Like a car backfiring.”
“Sorry? I don’t think I heard it,” Mum said.
“Vernon, I’m sure it was just the cat. Again,” Petunia said in a tight voice. Oh, she sounded fuming mad.
Lily waited a moment for the color in her cheeks to go down and to catch her breath. Chester sat by the door, blinking at her accusingly. He wriggled rebelliously when she picked him up so he couldn’t run past her into the hall. “I’m so sorry, boy.”
The air in the living room was heavy when she returned. Her dad’s mood seemed to have taken a nosedive. Dursley was off on some diatribe about council housing. Jesus, their house was one of the prefab homes built after the war, and her dad worked on the wiring in council funded homes and estates here and in Birmingham. Her dad stared back at Dursley with his arms crossed. His face nearly blank but for the slight disgusted curl of his lip.
“Dinner’s almost ready. Why don’t we head to the table?” Her mum said, just as Dad’s mouth opened in a snarl.
They migrated over to the dining table. Her dad took his time so he could sidle up next to Lily “1926?”
“What?”
“That man was born in 1926?!” Dad said in a sharp whisper. Crap they must’ve kept reading the letter.
“Lily, could you bring out the potatoes?” Mum said.
Grateful for the escape, Lily darted into the kitchen. She shrieked, nearly dropped the plate when a blazing inferno erupted over the counter. The fireball receded to reveal… a bird.
“Lily?!” Her mum said.
“Fire,” Lily called back, heart pounding out of her chest. She realized that was far too alarming of a thing to say, “But it got better!”
That must be the headmaster’s phoenix. The bird held a letter.
“...I’m gonna go check on her,” Dad said.
He joined her in the kitchen, “Really?” He stopped short when he saw the bird. “The hell kind of bird is that?”
“It’s a phoenix. It just” she motioned vaguely “showed up in a great ball of fire!” she said. “He’s Professor Dumbledore’s, I think he’s called Fawkes.”
“...He named his fire bird after Guy Fawkes?” Her dad seemed a bit charmed by this. During the Guy Fawkes days throughout the years, Lily got the impression that her dad relished the ‘what ifs’ of Fawkes’ plot a little too much. Not that he truly wished the plot succeeded (he certainly wouldn’t have wanted the Catholics to take back over). But the three and a half centuries removed, the idea that someone very nearly blew up almost everyone in government was just funny to him.
“The letter is probably for you again.”
“Oh…” Her dad made no move to approach the bird. He laughed nervously. “You said that thing can light itself on fire?”
“Can I get it for him?” she asked the bird. “He's very intimidated by you.”
“Healthy caution,” Dad muttered.
Fawkes cocked his head at Lily.
“I’ll hand it right to him. You can gouge me if I don’t”
“Don’t encourage that!” Dad said.
Fawkes trilled out something that seemed like an affirmative. Loudly.
“Shhh!” Then Lily blanched realizing she just shushed the headmaster’s immortal, kind of sentient companion. “Sorry, there’s a muggle here,” she whispered.
“Now, did you hear that?” Dursley said from the other room. “Almost like music.”
“The radio, maybe?” Mum said.
She approached Fawkes, got the letter, and handed it to her dad. Her dad opened it and handed it back to her to read. Fawkes fluffed out his feathers in offense, making her dad flinch back. “Read it out. All of it, and no editorializing this time.”
“Right. It says, ‘Dear Mr. Evans, I apologize for the inconvenience. Would next Sunday at 7 be more agreeable for you?” It was a stay of execution, but a brief one. Lily continued, “Please give your daughter my sincere felicitations. Kind Regards, Albus Dumbledore,’” and in the interest of malicious compliance, Lily continued to read out the full signature, ‘“Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards.’”
Her dad scoffed. “What a cunt.” He recoiled when Fawkes’ head turned toward him. “I’m just saying, suppose we were busy next Sunday? He’s still inviting himself over again.” It took her dad a while to write the reply, as hesitant as he was to take his eye off Fawkes. The bird flamed away with it.
Lily finally took out the potatoes. “Oh I do hope nothing’s gone cold,” Petunia said glaring.
Dursley flourished the wine bottle. “I thought this 1953 Red Bordeaux Blend would pair well with a roast.”
They made appreciative noises, although Lily really didn’t know enough about wine for that to mean much. She usually preferred white wines.
“Thanks. What a great vintage.” Lily would eat her hat if her dad knew much more than she did about it. “Say, Rosemary, remember that one time we had that 1926 vintage? Wasn’t it crazy, having a wine so old they made it when you were too young to drink. Why, I only turned 9 that year! How old would you have been, Rosemary?”
“Well, this might not be that old of a vintage, but the wine from this year was particularly well regarded.” Dursley seemed a little abashed by his wine now.
“I think you’re misremembering, Pete,” Mum said pointedly. “This is lovely, Vernon. I’ve never had such a nice wine.”
Lily sipped her glass. It tasted like a rich people drink, but she also didn’t taste quite different enough to be shelling out however much extra for it.
Through what Lily would assume was brute will, Petunia forced the conversation back to how she probably spent all night planning. Lily couldn’t pay any attention as she fretted over what Dumbledore would say. And what her parents would say to her about Tom.
After they cleared away the meal, but before dessert, it finally happened. Dursley got down on one knee and took out a jewelry box. “Petunia, my love, will you do me the honor of becoming my beautiful bride?”
Petunia brought her hands up to her mouth like she was genuinely shocked by this development. “Oh yes, Vernon! Nothing would make me happier!”
The rest of the Evans’ pretended to be shocked as well as they passed around their well wishes. “Congratulations,” Lily said. Petunia sent her a look of loathing. But Lily hadn’t even meant for it to sound so insincere!
Lily found the conversation for the rest of the visit much more enjoyable, even if she could have recited some of Petunia’s points about the wedding from memory. Eventually, Dursley left for the night. Petunia was all smiles until Dursley’s car door snapped shut, then she turned on them, spitting mad. “What is wrong with you?! All of you!”
“Er, I had to stop Professor Dumbledore from crashing your party,” Lily said, quite certain this was a very reasonable excuse.
“Dumbledore?” Petunia looked haunted by the very name.
“He said to give you his ‘felicitations,’” Dad scoffed.
“Albus Dumbledore knew I was getting engaged,” Petunia said. She began to laugh a bit madly. And yeah, Lily did think that was pretty weird. “But why? What on earth could that man want now?” Petunia asked.
“He wanted to talk to us about some suspicious man Lily’s been seeing. He’s forty.”
“I’m not seeing him!” Lily said.
"I think you'll need to bring Tom over. We need to meet him," Mum said.
“You mean my engagement was ruined because Lily is seeing some man?" Petunia laughed shrilly. "Right, of course.” She nodded quietly to herself.
Lily almost thought that was it. Then, without warning, Petunia launched herself at Lily with a scream, grabbing a fistful of Lily’s hair. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” Lily lashed out, her hand chopping Petunia’s long neck and making her choke, allowing Lily to escape her clutches.
“Girls!” Mum shouted.
Dad sighed. “We could always try letting them fight it out?”