I just can't seem to get this chapter to work! In the interest of progressing with the rest of the story, here's a less-than-satisfactory Chapter Three!

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For years, Petunia forbade herself to think about the letter, but an incident that occurred when she was eighteen years old forced her to relive those unpleasant memories. She was in her bedroom, studying for a shorthand correspondence course, when Lily pranced into the room and thrust a letter under her nose.

“Petunia – look! Me, a witch!” Lily’s face was alight with happiness. “Magic and wands, spells and broomsticks!” she rhapsodized. “Can you imagine?”

Petunia could imagine. She wondered fleetingly if Lily remembered the letter she had received so many years ago – the letter that was currently residing in an unmarked box on the uppermost shelf of the wardrobe.

“Will Mum and Dad let me go? You’ll help me persuade them, won’t you, Petunia?” Lily gazed earnestly at her sister.

“Don’t be foolish, Lily,” Petunia said crossly, shoving aside her shorthand notebooks.

“P-Petunia! Aren’t you happy for me?”

“No, Lily, and frankly, Mum and Dad aren’t going to be pleased either,” Petunia said callously, hoping to dash Lily’s hopes with cold-hearted sensibility.  

“Why shouldn’t they be happy for me?” Lily stammered, crestfallen.

“Why should they be? I’m warning you, Lily: don’t you dare breathe a word to them about it!”

“But I have to write back!”

“You don’t have to do anything, Lily. Nothing good can come of this.”

“You’re just jealous!” Lily hovered on the verge of tears.

“Jealous? Jealous?! Jealous of a freak, Lily? That’s what you’ll be – don’t tell them!” Petunia hollered after her.

Seething with rage, Petunia returned to her shorthand; disjointed thoughts racing through her mind. Show them the letter, Lily, she taunted. Let them be livid. Let them renounce you and cleave to me, ever the obedient…if they only knew…  

Yet three scant weeks later, the Evanses -- Petunia included -- found themselves in King’s Cross. Contrary to Petunia’s expectations, Mr. and Mrs. Evans were thrilled, and, for this, Petunia could never forgive Lily. As her parents bade their youngest daughter a tearful farewell, Petunia hung back, their embittered diatribes echoing in her memory, warping themselves into an angry villanelle –

“Why, Petunia? Why would you sabotage this for your sister?”

“What has Lily ever done to you?”

“You tried to stop me from going, Petunia.” 

Seven times, the family convened on the platform at King’s Cross and sent Lily forth, an envoy to another world. Seven summers bloomed and wilted; Petunia’s hatred fermented.