Something Doctor Shamal told him springs to mind as he sits rigidly in his estraged sister’s photoshoot perfect receiving room. Different types of flames have different aspects–abilities, yes, but also character traits. At the time, Branton had chalked it up to more of that mystical mumbo jumbo, but now he’s not so sure.
Storm types were devoted (obsessive), Mist types were insightful (manipulative), Sun types were optimistic (naive), so on and so forth, little things like that. It had seemed as legitimate as the silly color changing mood rings that had been a fad during his teenage years. His own independent (isolated) tendencies certainly match Shamal’s description of Cloud types–he’d shudder at the thought of this suburban lifestyle, settling down to start a family, if he weren’t trying to make a good impression on his estranged sister.
Or at least a not absolutely terrible impression.
“I won’t make a scene outside where the neighbors can witness,” she says, begrudgingly bringing a tea set and placing it on the table between them. Impeccable manners even if the actual well-meaning intentions aren’t behind it, “I expect you to say your piece and leave. Preferably for another two decades if not longer.”
It’s not exactly the best reception he could have had, but it’s fair enough. Certainly better than what he was expecting.
Then again, he’s not sure what he was expecting, really, hadn’t known what twenty years would do to the fifteen year old girl he’d left behind in Cokeworth. Still has no idea what it did to the thirteen year old he can’t find anything about.
Branton knows bringing up their little sister, the sister who Petunia had always been at least a little jealous over, isn’t exactly going to endear him to her. But given that he literally has exhausted all other means, well…
Frankly, he hadn’t actually wanted to see Petunia again. Not out of any ill-will–actually, quite the opposite. He knows she’s got a nice, normal life set up here, far from their Cokeworth past; far from her brother’s criminal inclinations and her sister’s magical existence. There’s no reason for her and her new family to get tangled up in this at all, not when she has no way to defend herself against it.
He expects to say his piece and leave her life again. This time for good, because Petunia doesn’t deserve this, him, showing up on her front door out of the blue.
He can’t say the same for his other sister, who stepped into an entirely different world than the one Branton did, and only ever sometimes looked back. A world where every person was armed and dangerous and capable of doing impossible things.
Well, maybe her world was a little like his.
Branton nods, gets back on track, steels himself for the final severing of ties between himself and Petunia. “Where’s Lily?” he asks, and notes the way her mouth flattens into a hard, displeased line. The way it always had after their little sister received a letter neither of them had gotten.
But he also sees the way Petunia’s eyes narrow, her eyebrows curve. Not out of distaste or jealousy or even anger. Out of confusion and then shock and then quickly hidden sorrow, “You’re thirteen years too late to ask me that,” she responds through gritted teeth. She looks away, though, lets him deal with the news without her cutting, accusing gaze.
Maybe Lily’s world was more like his than he thought.
~
A/N: Lalalala, I swear I will get to Harry soon… maybe.
JackSGreyson Says 