Fooling around in Potterverse. Which isn't mine.
I was going to have Petunia respactably marry into a respectable wizarding family. Turns out she's not interested, the minx.
Notes on the update: I've finally managed to rewrite and complete this story. As of now it is a one-shot, though it does take place in a particular part of the Potter-multiverse. In this section Tom Riddle has been ...detained. Anyway. It turned out rather cheesy, I think, but a glas of very dry Muskateller will probably balance that.
"I said," Petunia repeated in a clear, firm voice "that I am getting married to my girlfriend. Anouk and I have been dating for almost two years now. We feel that it is time to make it official."
Anouk squeezed her hand: You are doing great, Hon.
Petunia Gladys Evans, called 'Tuney' by her family and 'Flower' by her girlfriend squeezed back: I am not the one with the problem here, love.
That was certainly true: The Persons With The Problem were, clockwise: Mr Harold Evans, her father, Mrs Harold Evans, her mother and the new Mrs James Potter, her younger sister. These people, her closest kin, her flesh and blood, her bloody family were looking at her with, also clockwise: Bafflement, bafflement, and bafflement-turning-into-dislike. Lily was the quick mind in the family. James Potter, also present, was keeping any thoughts that he might have had to himself, as befitted a young wizard of his station.
Lily had mentioned (described, told them all at great length about, bragged, and then bragged some more about) James's family. Not that they could understand the structure of wizarding society, of course, but- Rose and Harold Evans had understood all right: Their little witch, their perfect little Lily-Flower had made a good match. Lily always did well in everything. Petunia didn't care; life with her family was rapidly becoming her past, and the past did not matter. What mattered was here and now. Specifically, telling her family that their spare daughter was getting married, and then moving on to a perfect life with Anouk and music.
She blushed a little. Anouk and music in one and the same sentence made her blush, nowadays. Her girlfriend had seen to that.
..0..
Today was Lily's 18th birthday, but the party was in honour of Lily's recent graduation from Hogwarts as well. Which meant that the house was going to be full of people who could not be bothered to deal with muggles, or so Petunia would have thought. Later in the evening she would distinctly hear one of them pointing out household items to another one and attempt to explain them, thereby amusing several others. Whatever. Petunia was above people who couldn't be bothered with manners. She was 19 years old, thought of herself as realistic, and had trouble living with it. As a young girl she had cherished dreams of becoming a ballet dancer, until an unexpected second growth spurt had ended that. 15 year old Petunia had been devastated. She had always been short and skinny. She should have stayed short and skinny, Lily had! Her mother's only comment had been:
"I told you that you are taking after your father's side of the family, not mine." Her father had grunted. Being the tall, bony and blonde one he obviously couldn't blame the 'mule' on his petite, curvy wife.
The mule had dealt with the disappointment. Her parents, bless them, had bought her a piano, reasoning, undoubtedly, that it was another proper girlish interest. After all, Tuney had wanted to become a dancer because that was what girls dreamed about, right? Normal girls at any rate. Imperfect girls that weren't Lily.
Petunia had accepted that she would have to play music instead of turn into it and set to learn playing the piano. Luck, her genes, or maybe the Muse had rewarded her stubbornness and, through a series of unremarkable incidents, led her to a new love. Opera.
Rose Evans was the first to regain control over her vocal cords: "Two years! You have been... like... this! For two years."
It was all Petunia could do to not glance at herself and then enquire politely what her mother might have meant. I've always been like this, mum, she thought. Just like your Auntie Mabel who is supposed to have spend her life in mourning for some bloke who fell in WWI. Auntie Mabel had died a year ago, at which point Anouk had put two and two together and surprised her girlfriend by obtaining four. A visit together to see Mabel's 'roommate' of three decades had proved her right.
"Petunia?"
Petunia turned around: "Oh, Severus. Fancy meeting you here. Hello."
"How are you Petunia? It's been forever and a day."
Severus Snape, also known as 'Lily's best friend' or 'the boy who wouldn't notice a fully grown Petunia' had talked to the Other Evans Girl. Petunia, on her way to buy some last-minute items for her sister's birthday party, considered the possibility that the world had gone mad.
"It's been a while, that's true," she finally managed to answer. "What have you been doing with yourself, Severus? I was sorry to hear about your father, by the way."
Not particularly convincing, as condolences go, but Severus himself had disappeared from their neighbourhood a year before the elder Snape had died, and, as far as she could tell, never turned up again, not even for the funeral. In fact, Severus did not seem interested in wasting time or breath on his father: "Oh, I managed to sell the house at an acceptable price. I have apprenticed myself to a very good Portions Master from Denmark. I live there, now."
"Really," she asked, as she knew the rules of conversations that you couldn't avoid. "I 'd ask you where in Denmark, exactly, but seeing as I know nothing about that country I would just be wasting your time."
"Your version of small talk is most refreshing, Petunia. What If I do not mind explaining everything at great detail?"
I mind, Petunia thought. Proper behaviour be damned. "See this basket, Severus? It is meant to be filled with groceries and returned home as soon as possible. We are preparing Lily's birthday party."
"I know that. I am staying with your family for the weekend. In fact, your mother asked me to help you, but you had raced out of the house before I had a chance to carry that basket for you. Do you mind," he asked, and took the basket before Petunia could answer.
Petunia considered the matter and decided that she didn't mind after all. Why should she? Severus Snape had turned up, completely out of the blue in order to carry her basket to the grocer's and back. Fine. He was telling ridiculous stories about her mother asking him to help her. Also fine. The Queen had invited Petunia for tea. Happened all the time, she was sure. Petunia Evans was 19 years old and random manifestations of the madness of the entire world was not going to trick her into caring for anything or anyone. She was over that.
The world took note of her determination. It didn't have anything to do on that day, so it decided to fool around. Hadn't there been a song, a couple of years ago? All you need is-
.o.o.
"I have been in a very happy relationship for two years, if this is what you mean," Petunia now told her mother, thinking that her parent was going to start wringing her hands, any moment now, she knew it. Like a character in a silly novel. They had always been like that. Walking clichés: The father, something fairly important in a fairly important factory. The dutiful wife and mother. Both of them children of simpler workers, climbing into the cushier parts of the middle class, where they had promptly found out just how much of what they'd known and enjoyed was now considered crude.
This was nothing they talked about, of course, but Petunia had understood it by instinct. Her mother loved to wrinkle her nose at her own mother (The least she could do, after the latter's utter lack of kindness when she had become pregnant with her first child).
She had always known that her parent's weren't happy; she had always understood that in her parents' half-frozen existence Lily had been the proverbial ray of light. What Petunia also knew was that there were people like them in every bad story she'd ever heard. The good-daughter, bad-daughter number that had been the bane of her existence?
(Her parents' resentment of her stemmed from the fact that they had been forced into this marriage after Petunia's conception. Though knowing that would only have confirmed her in her opinion.)
It was a cliché out of a stupid fairytale, or several of them. No wonder Lily had married out and away.
(Mrs. Evans never talked about how she and Mr. Evans had met. The latter was starting to admit that young Rose Barber had not been 'asking for it', as he had then maintained.)
Their family was embarrassing and they dealt with it by making Petunia feel ashamed of herself. Ashamed that she wasn't pretty, wasn't special, did nothing to alleviate the grey monotony of their lives.
(Sadly, blaming their misery on their first child had proved to be some sort of common ground for them. The other thing they had in common was the fervent wish to build a life that was nothing like their respective parents' lives.)
Petunia was dimly aware that she had tried to satisfy her parents. She had tried being good. See her diligence and sense of duty. Obedience, even. She had tried being special. See her attempted dancing career. She had tried being pretty. Never mind how she had tried that. She needn't have tried. Well, no, that wasn't true. Petunia had achieved a lot for herself. It was just that her parents had not been interested in that. They had wanted Petunia to achieve a lot for them. To turn into another image of her mother in her youth, as Lily was. To be another princess from a fairy tale, for that was how they, walking clichés that they were, thought about Lily.
In fairness, Petunia had had the same fixations as her parents. She, too, had always seen herself for what she wasn't instead of what she was. Anouk, on the other hand, had seen her for what she could become. The operative words being 'other' and 'fingers'.
o0o0o
"So, who is playing the piano in this family? It can't be Lily, I would have heard about it if she played at school."
Petunia had been lurking close to her piano like a convict who doesn't dare escape through the open door. Entertaining boring, tin-eared guests with music was her most dreaded duty as a daughter of the Evans family. Yet, now that the house was filled with strangers, she could not stand being away from it. She told herself that that was because of the many accidents that could happen. Not that she, Petunia the Muggle, could prevent people from waving around their wands, but- But this overheard snippet made her snort, ugly as that sound was. Lily play the piano, right. Lily figuring out how to make the piano play itself – yes. Lily abusing a wonderful instrument because her freakish magic interfered with record players and radios – definitely. Lily the magical scholar wasting her time on mundane culture – no, no, and never.
"You are Petunia Evans, aren't you? I am Regulus Black. My brother Sirius is a close friend of James Potter's. Are you the pianist in the family, Miss Evans?"
Petunias world view was in deep shock: A wizard had addressed her.
She was intrigued despite herself: Regulus wasn't as obviously, as obtrusively handsome as his elder brother, whom she had indeed seen around and remembered. Not fondly. Regulus is younger, give him time, she thought, and this wasn't her usual inner voice speaking. Did it mean the looks or the supercilious manner?
He has a pleasant enough voice, she decided. Nice register. Full of privilege, but not not-nice.
"Of course she is, Reg," another voice answered in Petunia's stead. "Can't you tell from looking at her?"
The interloper was a girl, a brunette of medium height, speaking with a light French accent.
"Did, too," Regulus said, but he sounded good-natured. "Miss Evans, This is my cousin, Anouk Malefoy. She is the definition of impossible but will endeavour to keep her from pestering you too much."
"Please call me Petunia. I am delighted to meet both of you," Petunia said gracefully. Unexpected attention was no bloody reason to stand there with your mouth agape, the usual inner voice said primly.
She might have straightened her shoulders, too. The brunette smiled, obviously amused: "Ballet too, Miss Evans?"
Petunia couldn't quite keep herself from staring at the girl with suspicion. French cheekbones, a turned-up nose and the obligatory sprinkle of freckles. Closely cropped kinky hair, grey eyes. Above all the unmistakable air of superiority. Come to think of it, this Regulus had it, too. What was she doing with these people? What did they want with her?
"What is wrong with my name, Miss Malefoy?" Petunia asked, defensively and unhappy about that.
"It lacks charm. So much that one might think that your parents chose it as a counterweight." Elegant French shrug.
Petunia felt an unwelcome blush spread on her cheeks. Petunia Gladys versus Lily Marion. She knew she was being stupid, but it made her feel that her parents had known in advance which daughter they were going to prefer. Unless they were metaphorically tone-deaf, as well as literally.
"Forgive my cousin, Petunia. She does not believe in the same virtues as anyone else."
Anouk laughed at her cousin: "Thank you for making sure that I don't frighten her, Reg. Now, be a dear and fetch us drinks, please. I can't apologise for my manners with you looking."
Petunia shook her head as if to dislodge the deep confusion she felt. There was something more to this discussion, yes. But what? "It's all right Miss Malefoy," she said stiffly. "It's not a name I would have chosen, myself."
"At least it does not make you sound like a mad cultist as my surname does," the brunette conceded. "Maybe we can reach a compromise," she offered now with an air of unparalleled generosity.
o..O..o
"But what about your music, Petunia? I thought that was important to you! After you've been finally accepted at a good school! Are you really giving that up now?"
This time Petunia did roll her eyes. A good school. The bloody Royal Academy, she thought. Potter's already married you, Lily dear, there is no need to pretend that you do not know the real world.
"Did I say anything about giving up music, Lily? Or do you assume that there are no schools in France?"
"France! You are moving?"
"We certainly are," Anouk told Lily. "We are moving back to Paris, I will be working at the Museum of Discrete Demonics and Petunia will be able to study to her heart's content."
"But she has been accepted here in England," Lily said frowning.
"People are allowed to apply at more than one school, Lily. I auditioned at the Conservatoire in Paris and apparently they do not mind having me," Petunia told her.
"I didn't know you'd applied in Paris."
"I didn't tell you," Petunia replied. "I was so nervous that I couldn't bear talking about it." Also, you weren't around, but never mind that. It's not your fault that we aren't close. That is, you did not start it. Just let me get far, far away from here and I will completely forget it.
"Your- Your family is all right with this?" Mrs. Evans, slow to regain her voice, was fast to get to the heart of the matter, which was Anouk's illustrious and very wealthy family. Petunia had told them in self-defense, when they had started wondering about that foreign girl. Yes, Petunia had outclassed Lily. Not that that had been her intention when she had tried to figure out what this odd girl wanted from her, at the party celebrating Lily's graduation two years ago.
"I forgot to ask you what you liked," the girl said, looking at her cousin's retreating back. "I hope you had the good sense to not provide drinks that you don't like yourself."
"My sister chose. But I will probably be all right with whatever Regulus chooses."
The obvious answer to her question was that they talked to her because they wanted to vex her, Petunia thought, but the obvious answer failed to account for the strong hint of self-mocking that she could detect in the French girl's demeanour. Wait a moment: "Are you French or is it only your name that sounds like it?"
"I am as French as the name, which is to say more or less completely. My closest relatives here in England are called Malfoy. Your sister knows the current heir from school."
Lily knows all sorts of impressive people from school, Petunia thought sourly. Aloud she said: "I expect she does. It appears that there is only one school of magic in England."
"In Britain, actually. Your magical population is quite tiny. There used to be more schools, I think, but they did not survive the competition with Hogwarts. Wizards who want to send their children elsewhere choose between Ireland and Durmstrang, wherever that is."
"You don't know on which country the school is located? Is that even possible?" It sounded very far-fetched, even for magic.
"Officially we don't. One has to get an invitation to be able to find it, and I have no idea why anyone would want one. They are even more uncivilised than Hogwarts."
Now that was something Petunia thought, too. Hogwarts was: "Uncivilised? Whatever could you mean, Miss Malefoy?"
'Miss Malefoy' burst into surprisingly unaffected laughter. Petunia smiled despite herself. Regulus returned sans drinks. "I am sorry," he addressed her, not his cousin, "but the only beverage I recognised was the butterbeer and I know that Anouk doesn't like it."
"Butterbeer? I did not see any butterbeer on that buffet," Petunia exclaimed.
The brunette chose the same moment to cry indignantly that she most certainly didn't. They then looked perplexed at each other: "Are we talking about the same stuff," Petunia asked tentatively. "Regular beer, warmed in a pot, mixed with molten butter?"
The two cousins looked first surprised, then relieved, then interested: "No. What we mean is a thin milky carbonated beverage with a little alcohol. Think of it as milk lemonade. It's very popular with children."
"My Grandmother would be horrified," declared Petunia. "Her butterbeer is warm ale with sugar, butter and eggs."
Now she had their complete horrified attention. The girl recovered first: "Ah. Like crème brûlée with beer?"
"Exactly. Crème brûlée with beer and no caramel on top."
They looked at each other. The hour was neither early nor late. The party proper was reaching the stage known as 'full swing', but none of them was particularly interested in it.
"I could order our house-elf to make some," Regulus said pensively. "He will know how to make it." He then looked at his cousin who hadn't produced any derisive sounds, not at all: "What did I say?"
"You proposed inviting a house-elf into a muggle household, thereby frightening both the elf and the occupants of the place, risking a serious incident, ministry intervention, mass obliviations, chaos, death and destruction. Really, Reg. Do you think before speaking?"
She had actually said it with a straight face. Regulus was keeping a straight face, and it was ridiculous, it had to be!
"I do not mind cooking some myself," Petunia offered. Timidly, 'cause, what if it hadn't been ridiculous? So much wasn't, even if she thought so. Lily talked about potions with a straight face. Eye of newt and wing of bat and the correct boiling and stirring of both. Petunia looked at her companions. She hoped she hadn't said anything inappropriate. The evening had just started getting nice!
"Actually, it is beastly of us to ask you, Miss Evans, but it is really not a good idea to call a magical creature into your house. A panicking house-elf could destroy every electrical appliance that you own," Anouk explained. "And Reg and I are both incapable of doing our own cooking," she added as an afterthought.
"But I really don't mind whipping up a butterbeer," Petunia-the-Culinarian assured her unexpectedly entertaining guests. "I do not have proper old-fashioned cups to serve it in, but it will taste just the same out of modern ones."
"I expect we could transfigure something into goblets," offered Regulus who wished to make up for proposing to bring a house-elf into an exploration of the Mysteries of Muggle Life. For that had been how Anouk had coaxed him into coming, or "sitting in your room and brooding won't get you anywhere, you idiot. Let's crash that party of your brother's buddy's fiancée. We might even meet someone nice there, who knows?"
"Oh, absolutely We are going to a party where all guests are British witches and wizards and we are going to meet someone new. Someone who spend their time in Hogwarts under an invisibility cloak, I expect."
"Oh, do shut up you overgrown little prat. I will be there, too, and I did not attend that silly school. Maybe some other guest will spring a surprise on you, too."
Regulus had mumbled and whined and tagged along. He tended to. Things tended to get interesting around his annoying fourth cousin many times removed. They had been surprised, too. The butterbeer had been good, nothing at all like the watery stuff of the same name that he was familiar with. Later they had congregated around the piano, where he had wisely not suggested charming the piano so that it would play by itself. Petunia had played for them, instead. Regulus was disposed to like her. He did not share his parents' reservations about all things muggle; Petunia appeared to be completely normal. And... Anouk was intrigued. Really intrigued. He did not mind that, either. He was happy to stand back a little and let her rope him into the discussion whenever she felt like it. Watching his elders flirt was a favourite source of amusement.
Anouk was interested. She had not expected anything from this evening. Regulus had had a minor disagreement with his parents. His parents usually reserving their critique for their eldest, Regulus had been surprised by the turn of events, even hurt. Sirius, in an uncharacteristic bout of brotherly concern, had suggested that the two of them tagged along to this party, if she could "keep the little oaf from sulking, that was just one of our mother's regular little attacks."
Anouk had endeavoured to cheer up Regulus, and was now reaping the reward for her altruism. Sort of. If her assessment was right then Petunia wouldn't have considered girls "that way" before, so the actual reaping would take time. (hmmmm. Reaping. This girl was so beautiful, in a snow-queen-way) Well, Anouk had time. She was digging in her British relatives' libraries for certain rare old tomes; there was a scholarly name for that activity and she was damned if she remembered it. (She so enjoyed, er, digging.)There were more memorable things in life than names. Flowers, for example. So many things one could do with a flower. Adore, touch, smell. ...she would have to keep her thoughts in check if she was to accept that Petunia would take time.
...but really who would have expected anything from the sister of Potter's intended? Nice girl, Lily. Pretty, intelligent enough to graduate as top of her year, yet curiously ignorant of the shades life offered between black and white. Not interesting.
Petunia was interesting, but she would take time. This had not deterred Anouk. She was something of a womaniser, but she prided herself on knowing that special things deserved time. The evening had progressed in a most satisfactory manner, with butterbeer, jokes and Ragtime. An inebriated Petunia had smashed the lid of the piano on the fingers of someone who had attempted hexing it. Regulus had led the poor bloke away for a healing spell and Anouk had complimented the quickly repentant Petunia on her blood-thirsty manner, thus earning herself an invitation for tea.
oOoOo
"Petunia," Mrs. Evans asked in surprise, "I did not know that you had guests."
Mrs. Evans clearly did not respect her daughter's privacy. She had hammered against the door of the girl's room and might have turned really unpleasant but for the unexpected person appearing next to her daughter.
"One guest, actually. Mother this is Anouk Malefoy, whom I met at Lily's birthday. Anouk, this is my mother."
"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Evans."
"Oh, dear me. Nice to meet you, Miss Malfoy. Are you at Lily's school? I fancy I know your name."
"That would be the British line of the family, Mrs Evans. I am just visiting. My cousin Sirius took me to Lily's party and we hit it off, Petunia and I."
"Oh, yes, Serious, of course."Mrs. Evans was getting seriously flustered. She had come up to remind Petunia of something or the other that she had to do. Finding her recluse of a daughter in company had been unexpected. Learning that Petunia's company was from Lily's world was so unimaginable that it threatened to melt poor Mrs. Evans' brain. Petunia keeping company with Lily's friends, fancy that! She retreated rather hastily. It was not as if she'd caught Petunia with a boy, after all.
Anouk relocked the door.
"Do you always spell the doors in other people's homes," Petunia snapped at her. Her mother's intrusion had done nothing for mood. At least, Anouk hoped it was that and not regret.
"I am sorry. I'll open it again if you want. I tend to do lock doors no matter where I am. I have a big family with lots of young children and very remarkable pets."
"I bet you do," Petunia said. "Dragons and griffins, I am sure."
"Cats, monkeys and birds, if you care to know. Look, I am sorry. I got carried away. I promise to sit at a distance from you from now on and we can just listen to the music. Or, if I've really made you uncomfortable I'll leave." She paused. "But I hope that it wasn't that bad. And I can restrain myself."
If Anouk had been male, Petunia would have thrown her out an hour ago, possibly after biting her tongue. Actually, if Anouk had been male Petunia would never have invited her. As it was she had. She had thought that she was pleasant and interesting. She had not expected to be kissed, of course.
But.
It'd been nice. Actually. Kiss with appropriate music in the background. Obviously, the music was not an accident. But it was nice touch, even if it was premeditated. Date-at-a-nice-place-nice.
"I don't suppose you could check if my mother's listening? I really don't need a fight with my parents."
Anouk winked with one of those stupid magic wands. Then she caught Petunia's look:
"I am sorry, you meant checking the normal way." She stood up, but Petunia caught her sleeve:
"Did you really say 'normal'?"
Anouk smiled: "I might have. It is the normal way for you, isn't it?"
"Hmph. You wouldn't catch my sister saying it, and she's part of a muggle family."
"Your sister must have had a hard time adapting to the magical world. Several people whom I like and respect have assured me that it is very hard indeed. Do you want to talk about your sister?"
"You don't want to talk at all, do you?"
"Not true. I told you, I got carried away, but I am capable of restraint."
Not that Petunia wanted to talk about her sister. Damn her mother for butting in! She could have gone on for hours without noticing that she was doing something entirely abnormal!
She looked at Anouk, who looked very nice, entirely normal, and happened to be a great kisser.
Petunia wasn't naïve. She had heard about such people before. Why, yes, it was 1977, not 1779.
"I assume that you haven't been assailed by women before," Anouk offered. She was beginning to look like a duck in a thunderstorm, Petunia thought, and giggled: "That was an attack?"
"An ambush," Anouk assured her. "Successful until your mother rushed to the rescue. Aren't you glad she did? "
If you put it this way, then: "No, I am not. Lock the door and pretend it didn't happen. And if you go too far I will bite your tongue."
"I will refrain from provoking any application of teeth that we haven't previously agreed on," Anouk said earnestly, but she still proceeded to introduce Petunia into her own edibility.
OooOooo!
"But how are you going to attend," Lily now cried in desperation. "You don't speak French, and you can't use magic to learn it!"
"Lils. You are overreacting," Potter said quietly.
"You have no idea what you're talking baout," Lily told her husband in exasperation, " but I do. French was her worst subject at school. Tuney's rubbish at foreign languages."
"A lack of incentive will often lead to disinterest in a subject," Anouk interjected silkily. "I have been teaching Petunia for a year now and I can't complain about her progress."
That tone. Thank you for giving my parents matching heart attacks, love, Petunia thought. Actually, she knew that her oh-so-detached girlfriend was angry. Anouk often was, when she appeared, or pretended to be detached.
).(
Anouk had left England in early December, citing a meeting of her extended family. They had met again in February, Anouk admitting that she'd been back for more than two weeks, already. Petunia had not been surprised; she'd been waiting to be told that that had been it for some time. ("I must be good for a beginner if I merit another round of your lessons,"Petunia had said acidly.
"It is I who should feel flattered, chérie. I thought you'd be looking for another instructor before the year was over."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, there is a number of interpretations. 'We never talk' is one of them. I prefer 'considering how much we fuck we could assume that we will like each other for other things, too.'")
What she hadn't expected was that Anouk had been waiting to be told that, too.
o..O..o
Anouk and Petunia progressed by fighting and making up, or stop-and-go:
Petunia was wary of the magical world:
"You realise that I am a witch, too, don't you darling?"
"Yes, but you are normal. You are not like my sister at all."
"Most people are neither your sister nor like your sister. How hard is that to understand?"
Lily got engaged. A burned-out Petunia agreed to get a job in London and move in with Anouk. The muses knew what she had told her parents. Anouk was happy to finally have her with her.
Anouk wasn't making progress in her library research, the owners of the libraries being happy to invite her for gallons of tea and reluctant to let her read books that they themselves hadn't known they owned ("Ruining my nerves with that awful English tea. What the hell makes you benighted islanders think that you have to pollute perfectly good tea with milk?"
"Do shut up. Your brother's hot Japanese girlfriend isn't listening. And get another job, or simply stop working, god knows you can do whatever you want.")
Petunia was still spending to many weekends with her parents, always returning tired and short-tempered. ("I can't believe her! No laundry done since the last time I did it, what they hell was she thinking? I had told her that I wouldn't be able to come for two weeks!"
"Dearest, if you insist on being their bloody maid they will try to teach you manners for personnel.")
.().
Lily got married. At the wedding the elder Mrs. Evans declared that Lily deserved happiness for being such a good daughter to her parents. The younger Mrs. Evans told her that Petunia was steadily getting worse, living in fancy flats in London and taking singing lessons instead of finding a husband who'd take her. Petunia shattered their champagne flutes with a well-executed high c, but still had a nervous break-down afterwards. Anouk told her that she had the drama queen part of singing down, and could she please resume her singing lessons? Failing at your first audition because of frayed nerves was no reason to give up, damn it. Her new personal record in ultra-marathon-hugging (UMH) was 3:55:46h.
Petunia lost patience with Anouk's complaints about backward British pure-bloods who would rather let an old book rot than donate it to a library. And she was only trying to acquire copies, for fuck's sake!
("Then take that god-damned job they offered you in Paris! What's your problem, are you afraid you'll been seen doing something serious?"
"What the fuck do you know about being serious? You won't continue singing because your bloody parents are too stupid too approve of it!"
"That's nothing to do with what I said. I am talking about your idiotic fear of commitment."
"My fear of commitment? Me? Are you out of your mind?")
The problem they'd never had was Petunia accepting her own preferences. This one the one abnormality that Petunia could accept without blinking.
("Sometimes I wonder why I ever thought that this would take more time," Anouk mused one afternoon.
"Are we talking about your way into my knickers?" Petunia enquired coldly.
"Your way out of them is rather more like it, don't you think?"
"I am experimenting, if you want to know."
"Really? Any results that you'd like to share?"
"Other than that I like what you just did with your tongue?"
"I've already suspected that."
"Suspecting is not the same as knowing."
"True.")
o.0.0.0.o
"Petunia, I hope your girlfriend has told you that if you marry into this family you will not be allowed to have your own children as even with a magical father there is no guarantee that they will have magic."
Silence.
"Potter," Anouk said coldly, "under normal circumstances I would challenge you for this insult. However, today is an important day in my life, so I will simply assume that you are talking without thinking, and that your wife never mentioned the potions she used to feed her sister when they were kids. My family was happy to welcome Petunia before any of us realised that she has a strong but inactive magical core. Something your wife has known for years."
(Petunia had had a case of food poisoning, a frantic Anouk had thoughtlessly given her a potion. She had been frightened that she had made it worse. Then both of them had been frightened when it had worked as it should.)
"Potions? Your sister is like that because you gave her potions," Mrs. Evans, she-of-the-one-track mind, shrieked at Lily.
"Mum, that's nonsense. Magic potions do not work on muggles," James muttered, and they do not work this way anyway, he did not add, because his thoughts were elsewhere, and they were troubling him. The magical properties of most potions did not manifest in the usual way but that did not mean that the ingredients couldn't work in other ways. There was a reason that giving potions to muggles was a felony: "Lily? Did you really give your sister potions? You know that that's a - You know that it's muggle-baiting, don't you?"
"It's not! I am muggle-born myself!"
James Potter paled: "Lily! If you have magic then you are a witch, no matter who your parents are. You of all people should know that."
Lily had turned a deep red: "I was thirteen! Tuney was being jealous and nasty all the time, and she kept searching my things, and, and, and Severus said that the potion wouldn't work on her, and Professor Slughorn had said it, too, so we gave her one that had all sorts of nasty ingredients. Nothing dangerous, just so that she would be disgusted when I told her afterwards. And then she started growing, and Sev said that she would have grown anyway, but I wasn't sure, so Sev suggested to test it."
That was it. Potter and the two Evanses descended on poor Lily like the wrath of god, leaving Petunia to experience her parents' displeasure from the sidelines. It was rare enough an occurrence in her life.
And it was not a pretty sight, Petunia decided after a while. If nothing else, she had been jealous, and a pest, and Lily had been fully justified in playing a prank on her: "Will you leave her alone, the three of you? It was a little fight between sisters and it concerns none of you!"
She'd have expected them to be surprised, she'd really had. After all, she just had taken her sister's side. It should have been a red day in the calendar of the Evans family. The Evans family however was more interested in berating Lily. Why am I surprised, Petunia wondered idly.
"Do we have to sit this out, Flower," Anouk asked her quietly. "Forgive me for saying so, but this spectacle lacks in interest, even if it is all about you."
Petunia grinned: "It's not about me. I don't think that it ever was."
"That's probably true. Let's go home, sweetie."
Author's Rambling:
Petunia's physical description reminds me of the first girl in my class at school (back then) who came out. She had been a rather insignificant existence at the margin of things, not unpopular, just too colourles / odd to be noticed (teenagers are cruel, but we always knew that). Interestingly, coming out did a lot for her.
Somehow, Petunia-in-my-mind highjacked my misgivings about Canon!Petunia (she turned into an abusive monster because her sister had been pretty and a witch? WTF?) and my memories of that girl at my school and made me write this Princess Charming story for her. Princess Charming being Petunia, who finds a lot of talent and beauty in herself, though I like to think that Anouk isn't too bad, either.
