the family potter
dirgewithoutmusic
Summary:
Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look and not touch.
The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they'd had a shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said 'freak' and Lily had hissed 'better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy--'
And now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily walked the halls of the Godric's Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry's always had.
She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up the hall the opposite way. "I think he's asleep," James mouthed over Harry's tousled head. His hair was the same mess, his head bent down as he peered at his sleeping son.
Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. "James," she said. "How are we going to do this?"
Notes:
To answer the prompt:
procraesthetics said:
I wonder what would happen if Dudley grew up in the wizarding world but still as a muggle? like kind of reverse AU where his parents are dead and he has to go to Lily for whatever reason? do you think he would become bitter like Petunia about magic?
(See the end of the work for other works inspired by this one.)
Work Text:
Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look and not touch.
The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they'd had a shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said freak and Lily had hissed better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy--
And now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily walked the halls of the Godric's Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry always had.
She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up the hall the opposite way. "I think he's asleep," James mouthed over Harry's tousled head. His hair was the same mess, bent down to peer at his sleeping son.
Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. "James," she said. "How are we going to do this?"
"Oh," he said. "Hey. Don't you cry, you'll start them off-- unless you need to cry, I mean, you go ahead, hey, sweetheart, hey, it's alright, you just let it out." He stepped forward, shifting Harry gently to his other shoulder, and pressed his forehead to hers. "We tuck them in, okay, that's what we do next. Then we go to our own bed, okay, and go to sleep, and when we wake up it'll be a new day."
"A new day," she said. "Another day-- James, that's the-- I'm so tired."
"So let's sleep. It'll look better in the morning," he said. "And if it doesn't look better this morning, it'll look better in the next one."
"You promise?"
"Better than that. I'll show you. Every day," he said and kissed her cold forehead.
--
Dudley had not shown up on the Potters' doorstep with the milk bottles. Lily had gotten a phone call from the landline she still had installed in Godric's Hollow, about an accident, and she had gone down to the Muggle police station to identify the bodies.
