A/N: This was written for several competitions and challenges, most importantly for the Quidditch League. I'm Chaser 2 for the Montrose Magpies. All prompts etc are listed in the bottom A/N so as not to give anything away.

Thank you to Charlie, Lizzy and Em for being truly wonderful betas.

and now I can breathe again

'If you find yourself here on my side of town

I'd pray that you'd come to my door

Talk to me like you don't know what we ever fought about

Cause I don't remember anymore'

- Brightest by Copeland

[1st September 1971]

She hadn't really wanted it.

Petunia could see the sun creeping through the cracks in the curtains and hear the clipping of her mum's heels going up and down the stairs. Her eyes were fixed on the bag.

She hadn't wanted it.

Petunia had gotten the pink rucksack for her birthday. Lily had laughed hard when Petunia unwrapped it, both of them sharing a look. If there was one thing Petunia didn't like, it was pink. Florals and patterns she loved but not pink, never pink. Her younger sister, on the other hand, had pastel pink walls in her bedroom, so Petunia had promised to give the backpack to Lily as a gift for her first day of secondary school.

That had been over a year ago and until the night before, Petunia had completely forgotten. It wasn't like it mattered. Lily had a trunk now. Weirdos who did magic apparently didn't use rucksacks like normal people.

Last night, Lily had been so excited to finish up packing with their mum that Petunia had gone to bed early. She had stomped around her room and, when that didn't feel like enough, then dug through the wardrobe for a spare pillow to throw over her head to try and muffle the sounds of Lily excitedly talking way past her normal bedtime. That's when her hand had brushed against the shiny leather and Petunia had dragged the bag out, her stomach plummeting at the sight of it.

Now, when Lily looked at Petunia, she never laughed.

The sound of her dad's old Jaguar starting up made Petunia start and she flung the covers off. Mum was going to take Lily to London and Petunia was supposed to still be sleeping; it was just past five a.m. according to the alarm clock on Petunia's bedside table. By the time her mum had gone to London to drop Lily off and then come all the way back, it would be close to lunch.

Stumbling as she forced her feet into her slippers, Petunia grabbed the bag off the hook on the back of the door and ran down the corridor, nearly slipping down the stairs. Her dad was in the doorway and he jumped in surprise as she squeezed past him, pushing him out of the way.

"Wait!"

It was cooler than Petunia had expected, the air thick with the smell of wet grass from the rain they had been having over the past week. The car stopped and her mum rolled down the window as Petunia, hesitant now, made herself go to the car.

"I've got... something for you," she mumbled, deliberately not looking at anyone. Lily opened the back passenger door and got out.

"Pet —"

"Here. Just take it, okay? I promised, so..."

Petunia thrust it into Lily's hands and turned away, ordering herself not to cry. Lily was a weirdo; Lily was abandoning her and going off to be special. Petunia didn't care what she did. She didn't.

"Thank you. I love you."

Her sister grabbing her in a hug from behind made Petunia's heart stop. Then their mum was shouting that they were going to be late and couldn't afford to get stuck in rush hour traffic and Dad was calling Petunia to come back inside or she'd catch her death of cold.

"I love you too," Petunia whispered to herself, closing the front door and climbing the stairs back up to her warm bed. Now, it felt a little easier to breathe.

[29th November 1979]

She didn't want it.

That was the only thought that ran through Petunia's mind, amongst the ringing in her ears and blind panic. Petunia could see the pastel pink lines on the pregnancy test and hear the slow drip of the faulty tap. Vernon had been saying that he would fix it for over a month. That thought drifted through her mind and Petunia wanted to laugh hysterically. If her fiancé couldn't fix a tap — how could he raise a child?

She didn't want it.

She didn't want a baby. 'Particularly with Vernon,' echoed through her mind and she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, the bruise on her cheek still visible under what felt like half a bottle of makeup. The last thing Petunia needed was for the neighbours to talk about her and Vernon. His fist had been unexpected, their standard argument escalating wildly out of her control. Not that it was the first time something like that had happened. He had been barred from three pubs now for fighting, although she had been able to justify that — drinking and blustering, it was what boys did.

He had struck her for the first time three months ago, throwing a plate of spaghetti bolognese at the wall. 'None of that foreign crap,' he'd snarled at her.

She understood a woman's place was to support her man, but sometimes the way Vernon talked to and treated her made her feel so much less than the person she wanted herself to be.

She did not want it.

Vernon would be elated to have a baby. He would spoil it rotten and raise it exactly the way he was raised. Petunia shuddered at the thought, her eyes filling with tears. She was in her mid-twenties and whilst she had always wanted a family, she had presumed that would come hand in hand with happiness and a sense of peace. Instead, every decision felt as though she were walking to the gallows. She was trapped.

It took her some time to dig a hole in the garden and bury the pregnancy test. Petunia spent another twenty minutes weeding to make sure that Mrs Carling, who's back garden backed onto theirs, wouldn't suspect anything was amiss. Her movements were methodical, verging on robotic. Once the evidence was hidden, she went inside and prepared a meal for the slow cooker. She would feed Vernon stew tonight; it was one of the few recipes of hers he enjoyed. Normally everything required more gravy or more salt.

Then, in an effort to scrub her brain clean of the thoughts she was daring to entertain, Petunia pulled on a pair of Marigolds, got some bleach and started to wage war on any dirt that had dared to settle in her house.

Except it wasn't her house. Vernon's name was the only one on the lease. She had a part-time job, only twenty hours a week because Vernon had said he wanted his woman to be kept and not haggard, working all hours. At first, she had thought him considerate and caring. Now, she felt controlled.

But, of course, Vernon cared for her. She dressed in the dress he'd bought for her, a pastel pink, but he couldn't have known she hated pink. Then she walked to the shops, window shopping as she went.

Inside the toy shop, Petunia felt that she stuck out like a sore thumb. She kept wondering if the shop assistants were whispering about her if somehow everyone knew about the secret she couldn't bear to even think of. A new mother should be excited by these aisles, Petunia suspected. She picked up a rubber axe, waving it half-heartedly in the air. Would she have a boy, who would chase his friends and pretend to play war games in the playground?

What if she had a girl? Petunia couldn't even bear to head towards the doll's clothes. She dropped the axe back into the bucket of swords, shields and other fake weaponry and rushed out of the store, refusing to look back.

On her way home, she passed two sets of mothers pushing prams, cooing at their infants. Petunia felt a surprising flash of white-hot jealousy wash over her.

It wasn't true that she didn't want a baby. Petunia had spent most of her life planning her wedding and imagining the house she'd live in with her husband and children. It was just 'how it was supposed to be', and she liked that thought.

The more she thought about it, the more she remembered how sick to her stomach she'd felt upon seeing the pastel pink lines threatening to change her life forever. She wasn't sure the problem was with her, or the baby itself. A shaking hand brushed against the bruise on her cheek. All of her thoughts had been centred on Vernon, how to tell him, how to soften the blow — literally.

The only time Petunia had suggested they break up, Vernon had threatened to tie her to the bed. She had not brought it up again. She had thought she could work at their relationship, but the more she thought about it all, she realised was that she was not changing Vernon; he was changing her.

It all felt like too much and so Petunia headed back home and fell into her daily routine. When Vernon came home that evening, she fixed him a drink and listened to him talk in disgust about immigration destroying the country. Then, Petunia dared to interrupt him.

He gave her a look, face turning distinctively puce as he realised that she'd cleared her throat to speak.

"Oh ho, this should be good. What do you have to say? What could a little woman like you possibly know about anything that doesn't involve a kitchen or the price of shoes?" He laughed loudly at his own joke.

That laugh was what Petunia lay in bed thinking about after once again, they had argued and once again, Vernon's temper had led to his fists on her skin. He'd apologised afterwards, when she'd pinned her hair up into curlers and he'd crawled into bed, turning off the bedside lamp. There were reasons: tough times at work and he wanted her to respect him; he wanted to marry the perfect wife.

All Petunia could think was that if she became what he wanted, she'd lose herself. She didn't want that.

The alarm clock on the side of her bed showed four minutes past five in the morning when she made her decision. It had been a long, sleepless night, but she made Vernon's morning cup of tea and breakfast as always, kissing him on the cheek goodbye when he left for work.

The taxi arrived at half past eleven. The driver had to help her lift her two suitcases into the boot and Petunia kept her head high, offering Mrs Carling a tight smile and a wave as she caught her neighbour peeping between lace curtains.

"Where to, darlin'?"

"London; King's Cross please."

"Going anywhere nice?"

Petunia clutched the letter in her hand, the only letter she'd had delivered by an owl in years.

"Just to see my sister."

[Several Hours Later]

She wanted to leave.

Petunia regretted knocking as soon as her knuckles tentatively touched the wooden door. She could see the number seven hung up next to the door, but inside the house, there was no hint of movement. She strained her ears, trying to hear something.

She didn't want to do this. She wanted to leave.

There was a reason that Petunia hadn't seen her sister in years. Of course, now she tried to remember, the reasons all blurred together into a jealousy that left a bad taste in her mouth and self-righteous anger which left her feeling flushed. Lily had constantly overshadowed her; Lily had been the one who'd left to go and do freakish magic. Lily had ruined everything.

Lily had let their parents die because her magic couldn't heal them.

Except none of that was true at all.

Lily was also her sister, her only living family member. Lily had tried to write letters, countless letters, even after Petunia had moved in with Vernon and not forwarded her address. Petunia had kept every single one. Even though she'd never written back, she knew the curve of Lily's 'e's and the sweeping strokes of ink on thick parchment, unlike any other paper Petunia had touched. She knew every word of each scroll that had come attached to owls that stared moulting in her kitchen.

The one she'd been holding onto for hours was crumpled now. She'd folded it and refolded it over the past two train journeys to get from London up to Leeds and then a brief journey to a village where she'd been the only person who'd alighted. It was crisper further north, the houses hewn of grey stone. In fact, everything seemed greyer, with the sky threatening sleet.

She wanted to go home.

Turning on her heel, Petunia dug her nails into the palms of her hands and told herself not to cry. She was done crying because of her sister. The mistakes were hers, Petunia knew that, but time had moved on. Lily had moved on and was married now, before Petunia even. Lily didn't need her sister. At that thought, Petunia's hand dropped to her stomach — could she tell Lily that she needed her?

No. She was too proud and whilst that might have always been her downfall, she couldn't stop now. There was so little of her left; Vernon had chipped away at the rest of it.

"Hello?"

The sound of the door opening made Petunia turn reflexively, panicking as her eyes met her sister's green ones.

"Petunia?"

Numbly, she nodded. Lily pushed the door open wider and she caught sight of a pastel pink rucksack, hanging up amongst several dark winter coats.

"You… you kept the bag."

Lily didn't even have to look over her shoulder to see what Petunia was talking about. She just nodded slowly.

"Well, yes. It reminded me of you, and it's one of the only things I have from you. Of course I kept it. I use it quite regularly, actually. Aunty Janice knew a good buy when she saw it." Lily paused, her eyes searching Petunia's face. "Petunia, is everything okay?"

"No, no, but I… I shouldn't be here. I don't know what I'm doing; I just didn't know what to do."

Again, her hand went to her stomach as her voice went higher, words spilling out of her mouth in panic. Lily crossed the threshold, took in the way her sister's hand was cradling her abdomen and pulled her into a hug.

"It's okay. It's okay; we'll work out what to do together. What about —"

Slowly, Petunia pulled back and lifted her hair up to show Lily the most recent bruise Vernon had given her. Her eyes filled with tears as she saw Lily's immediate fury.

"I didn't know where else to go."

It took a mug of tea with two sugars, as well as Lily's constant presence, to help Petunia to calm down and stop crying. She had brought both suitcases inside, leaving them in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, and forced Petunia to sit on the lounge. The wallpaper had pastel pink flowers on it and Petunia's sobbing had brokenly shifted into almost hysterical laughter at the sight.

She had changed, but Lily hadn't changed one bit.

"You can stay here with us," Lily said firmly. "Or I'll talk to James and we can help you find a place to live, if you want to be on your own."

"No, I don't, but Lily… after all these years, you can't just —"

"I can do whatever I want," Lily said primly and Petunia rolled her eyes at the tone. "I don't know if you ever got my letters, but it's not… it may be difficult for you since you're a Muggle, Pet."

The nickname brought a tentative smile to Petunia's lips.

"I know about the war. I read every letter; I have them all in my bag. I'm not going to change overnight, Lily, but I… I need your help and I want us to be a family again. I'm so sorry for everything I did." Once she'd said it, Petunia was back to crying. "I'm sorry."

"Shhh, it's okay. Of course we're family. I'm sorry too. It'll take time, but we can work this out."

Petunia still flinched as Lily waved her wand and levitated her suitcases up the stairs ten minutes later.

"Are you sure?" she said, sitting cautiously on the bed, half expecting the springs to turn into writhing snakes. "I'm not so sure your husband will approve of this development."

"Just trust me," Lily said easily and then she frowned. "Well, trust me and don't be a cow."

"I'll do my best," Petunia said softly. It wasn't going to be easy, they both knew that, but Lily gave her another hug and this time Petunia fought back the tears and won. "I promise, I'll do my best. I want this to work, Lily."

Her sister's cheeks turned light pink in happiness, and Petunia finally felt like she could breathe again.

A/N:

- Quidditch League Season 6, Round 5. Chaser 2's Main prompt: I used the title Of Siblings and Love by AlwaysPadfoot (Chaser 1) as inspiration for my fic.

Optional Prompts: Genre - Family / Song: Brightest by Copeland / Colour: Pastel Pink.

- Round 1 of The Hunger Games: Fanfic Style - Optional Prompts: Unexpected (word), Jealousy (emotion), "I'm not so sure about this." / "Just trust me." (Dialogue), Hurt/Comfort (genre), Axe (weapon).

- Hogwarts Assignment #1 - Mythology Task #4: Write about a tumultuous relationship between siblings.