Her sister had come home for the summer holidays. Petunia sat on the edge of her bed as Lily unpacked, the younger girl chattering excitedly as she put her old spell-books on the shelf, her wand unboxed and lying on the bedroom floor beside her.

"I can't believe I'm going to be in my final year! It seems like I've been at Hogwarts forever. I honestly have no idea what I'm going to do with the rest of my life." Her red hair shone in the waning sunlight, contrasting magnificently with her creamy skin. Not for the first time Petunia felt a terrible stab of jealousy, then quickly quashed it. She had learned a long time ago that there was no use being jealous of her sister. Of course, the heavy pain of envy would never quite go away, but she had finally managed to control it in the past year or so. Lily was always going to be Lily; the bright star among the murky cloudiness that made up the rest of her family. Not that her family were bad people, they were just uninteresting. Lily was the best thing about the Evans' as far back as anyone could remember.

"I suppose I should count myself lucky that I did so well in my OWLs. I love working for my NEWTs of course, but it's nice to know that I'll have some good qualifications in case everything should go wrong." The final spell-book, a potions textbook, was slotted in among the others. "How do you think your A-Levels went?"

A-Levels. They sounded so dull in comparison to Lily's wizarding tests that Petunia had the sudden urge to cry. She wasn't worried about her results, for she was clever, but her entire body still yearned to have had magical blood. She dismissed the question with a flick of her wrist. "I'll find out in a week or so."

"I'm sure you've done brilliantly." The smile was wide, white and genuine as Lily got gracefully to her feet. "Mum and Dad are going to be proud of you!"

For once. Petunia bit her lip as Lily fussed over her magical artefacts, the resentment now a fully formed ball in her stomach. How did Mathematics compare to Arithmancy? Chemistry to Potions? All achievements she ever had were marching dolefully in Lily's golden shadow. Her hand shook slightly as she raked back her blond hair. She mustn't snap. She mustn't. Outside the window, the sky was beginning to turn to the delicate pinks of sundown. A bird, perhaps thinking it was morning, started to sing – abruptly halting when the moon came into view. Petunia stared at it, wistfully. One day had almost gone, only another forty to go.

"What shall I wear?" Jerked from her thoughts, Petunia gazed at her sister who was holding up a couple of muggle dresses. "For the meal tonight? I want to look nice."

"The green one."

She had forgotten about the meal, a tradition her family held whenever Lily came home for the holidays. She supposed it was a nice gesture, but the sheer awfulness of each event always stung. It wasn't as if anything happened, but that was just it; her parents spent so long fussing around Lily that Petunia had no choice but to sit there sullenly, thirteen years old again and still ripe with jealousy. At least that boy was no longer required to come. In a flash, Petunia remembered his sneering, pale face and the dark eyes that had always studied her mockingly. The hand that always fluttered by Lily's as the girl placed her hand on the table, the expression of greed he had when Lily spoke. Lily, naturally, was blissfully unaware of the boy's feelings, calling him 'Sev' with the same affection one may use on a treasured pet. But such affection had finished between them over a year ago. They'd had a fight, one Lily had tried to explain without much success. The boy had gone bad, that's all Petunia knew. Though, to Petunia, the boy had always been bad anyway.

"Do you miss him?" The question was a surprise even to her, and sounded quite arbitrary. It was the first honest curiosity that Petunia had shown her sister for years, and it glanced harshly against the artificial niceties usually exchanged between the siblings. Lily, getting dressed, froze, though answered quickly enough to mask her surprise.

"Who?" The retaliation was light, breezy, but there was certainly a warning in her sister's tone. Petunia decided to push it – Lily was so relieved that her sister was talking to her again, she wouldn't object too much to such a question.

"Him. Snape." The name stood dangled in the atmosphere like a grotesque puppet, one whose strings Petunia insisted on pulling. Lily pulled the dress over her head, her answer muffled by the heavy satin.

"I didn't hear that."

Her face emerged, hair slightly ruffled and eyes bright. "I said no. I don't miss him. Should I?"

"No."

That pale face and dark curtain of hair. The malevolent looks he shot her whenever they met, and the stinging words that poured like poison from his lips whenever they had been alone. Petunia felt a violent twist in her stomach, her armour against the memories weakened. She was being ridiculous… Eighteen years old, almost nineteen in fact, and she was still allowing her mind to be soured over him. Yet some of the things he had said… they were still like a tender wound in her conscience, one that would throb horribly when prodded. If Lily had made her feel awful, at least she had done it accidentally. He had done it for the pleasure, and she never understood that. Rising to her feet, she slowly traipsed out of the room, muttering about getting dressed herself.

Lily didn't say anything.

2.

The meal had been the usual affair, and Petunia was glad that it was over. Her parent's conversation bubbled in the car, Lily's laughter ringing over the sound of the engine. Her little sister hadn't bothered to exchange a word with her all night, still resentful over the Snape query. Bored, Petunia had eaten far too much bread, and could only graze at her dinner when it arrived. Scolding her for being like a child, her mother had bought her another glass of wine in the hope of inducing conversation from her elder child. Petunia, drinking the wine, had not complied. She was only there because it would be too rude not to take her. She could never win. Her parents obviously didn't care that she had made the effort to come, but would have thrown a fit if she had made other plans. Feigning sleep, she rested her head on the car window. The glass felt cool against her flushed cheeks, the condensation making her skin feel dewy. A hand slipped into hers, and she peeked at Lily who was looking at her with a sad sort of love. Evidently she had been forgiven.

As she slipped into bed, she wasn't surprised that she could not sleep at all. Her eyes remained stubbornly open, her mind alive with activity. Trying to convince herself that she was worried about her results, Petunia fluffed her pillows, and rolled over with an irritated groan. Nasty and spiteful though the comments always were, at least he had noticed her.

Her eyes, which were forced closed, sprang open. Why was she thinking of Snape? Why now, and indeed why ever? He was a distant nightmare, one that would only continue to haunt her if she let it. So, she wasn't the most popular person around, but she was… adequate. She had friends, the promise of university looming in front of her, and soon she may even have a boyfriend. Someone had shown some interest recently, inviting her for a drink and once even sending her flowers. Vernon. So why was she allowing a boy, a younger one at that, affect her self-esteem so prominently after all these years? Despite what he said, she wasn't a nasty person. She could have been at one stage, but she was trying now. The blanket clung stickily to her slim legs, and with a gasp of impatience she threw it off. It was a hot night, and trying to sleep was evidently pointless. Grabbing some clothes, she slipped into them, and treaded softly from her room trying not to wake anyone. She needed to tire herself out.

The air outside cocooned her with its soft heat. Taking off her jacket, Petunia headed off to the park in a light jog, her hair falling into her eyes. Her breath cycled rhythmically, the rewarding pain of lactic acid building in her muscles and making her feel far more alive than she had all evening. The moon followed her as she moved, as if it were a kindly guardian checking that she came to no danger. The park's trees rose into her vision. Slowing down, she checked to see if the gates had been locked. They had. Sighing, she hauled herself over the fence, careful of the spikes.

There was somebody sitting on the bench. Her heart rose into her throat as she took in the shadowed frame, one she would recognise anywhere- and certainly from her dreams. It couldn't be. How stupidly unlucky would that be? It was as if he had been planted there, to mock her. Memories came flooding back to the surface, and desperately she tried to wave them aside as she reached back for the fence. This wasn't happening. She was going to go home, and get into bed and sleep. She'd had a couple of glasses of wine, so perhaps she'd forget this by morning. Her hands, sweaty with the running and panic, slid down the fence's bars. It was too much of a coincidence. She must be dreaming.

"Stay still and turn around." That voice. Any doubts she had had previously vanished like her previous sense of sanity. Trembling, and holding back the tears, she turned.

It was every nightmare she had had, wrapped in black paper and tied with a spiteful bow. His white skin shone harshly in the moonlight, his mouth twisted and ugly. His eyes, so dark, blazed with a diamond coldness. He was holding his wand to her face, every muscle tensed and ready for attack.

Seeing her face, he noticeably blanched: "You." The disgust in his voice was terrible, the disparagement as fresh as it had been a year ago. Something inside Petunia- the weak, vulnerable part- started to harden. She wasn't going to let him do this. If he wanted to hang around in parks after midnight, that was his choice. Her eyes narrowed.

"Me. And lower your wand. How would you have explained that to a normal muggle?"

He gazed at her incredulously, not lowering his guard. His face, Petunia noticed, already contained lines around his mouth and on his forehead- lines that showed clearly his bitterness with the world.

"Spying again, Petunia?"

She almost gasped at the audacity of his statement. "How the fuck would I know you were here? And lower your wand!" Her voice was beginning to get shrill. Every animal instinct inside her was ready to climb the fence as fast as possible. Her hands were clenched into fists, the nails biting into her soft palms. The beginning of tears started their familiar sting, but she blinked them back. "Why are you here?"

"I don't think that's your business." The words were released as a venomous hiss. "The question is, why are you here if you're not, as you say, spying on me?"

"Don't flatter yourself." A vicious snarl. "I couldn't sleep."

His eyes danced with contempt, and slowly he looked her up and down. "You always were and always will be a disgusting muggle. Not special." His eyes reached hers. "Not loved."

All moisture in her throat seemed to evaporate, her eyes opening wide and almost pleadingly. Every resolve she had made, every brick she had laid to keep herself together, was crumbling. Wasn't he right? She wasn't loved. She wasn't magical, perfect, brilliant. She was… she was nothing. She was hardly aware that she had started to shake. Every word he had uttered towards her came back in a swift explosion of agony. The jealousy she had finally managed to control wrestled free from her bonds, and she wanted to hit out. To hurt.

"She didn't love you, did she, Snape?"

He flinched, his mouth pursed with a thin bitterness. Petunia suddenly noticed how ill he looked, and more unkempt than usual. His robes – the robes he insisted on wearing, even in the holidays- were distinctly shabby and patched. His cheekbones stood out sharp against his papery skin, and for a moment his eyes flashed with something more than hatred. "I wouldn't pursue that line any further."

Something about him made Petunia bold. She knew, despite the brandished wand, that he could do no magic – and what would be the point of being expelled? He wouldn't be able to see her.

"She just left you to rot in your own hatred. I've heard that you turned bad. Turned bad? I think she just saw the real you. Poor Lily, she's so trusting. I expect she felt sorry for you until she couldn't stand it any longer."

He moved before she could take it in, a flash of demonic lightning so fast that he left her gasping for breath. She could feel his arm at her throat, pressing until she started to gag. Opening her eyes, she saw his face inches from hers, and he was livid. "You're nothing like her! Don't speak about her to me." The arm pressed tighter at her throat, making her choke. With the last of her strength, Petunia wrenched it from her and pushed him backwards. He stumbled, but didn't fall.

"Poor Sev, always at Lily's heels and worshipping the ground she walked on." She massaged her neck as she spoke, her voice a painful croak. "Every year getting increasingly bitter as she made new friends and her eye began to roam towards other boys. So you clung on harder, didn't you? She didn't even want you there, but you made sure you were everywhere that she was, lurking in corners and hoping that enough staring would bring her to the light."

His face was frozen in a snarl, but he hadn't moved and she noticed he was shaking. "Calling her a… a mudblood didn't turn her away, Snape. She turned away from you far sooner than that, but it was the name that finally convinced her it was right to let you go. Don't you see? My sister would never love you because…" Petunia paused. She was about to make another hateful comment, but the truth had dawned on her, and it seemed far worse. "…Because you could never love yourself."

"DON'T SPEAK TO ME ABOUT HER!" Snape shrieked, the noise inhuman. Petunia bulked, expecting to be attacked again, but instead he sagged appallingly, his face hidden by his curtain of hair. His shoulders were heaving in an awful, broken rhythm… was he crying?

She longed to touch him, just to see his face, but instead she moulded her expression into a mimic of the sneer he so often used on her. For some reason, the idea of climbing the fence and making her escape seemed impossible. It was almost as if this meeting was a closure of some kind, a last battle.

What was worse, she felt sorry for him. All power he had previously held over her had gone. He struck a pathetic figure – too thin, too shabby and too broken to incite any real fear. The sneer melted into reluctant concern. Whatever had happened… whatever he thought, she couldn't leave him like this. Softly, like a mother, she touched his elbow. "Severus. Please."

He shook her off, and tensed as if he was going to run. He was just a boy, she realised. Sixteen and already lost to himself. A desperate pity washed over her, a different enchantment coming to the surface. Whatever he had been, it was different now. She pulled at his elbow again, slightly harder. "Severus. I'm… I'm sorry."

The heaving sobs froze, and so did she, allowing the apology to hover slightly unpleasantly between the two of them. A tension filled the air, a vacuum that would allow no speech. Deliberately, terribly, Snape looked up at her. "No, you're not." Something in his eyes was calculating, and suddenly Petunia was terrified. She was aware of how stupid she had been, how easily he could just kill her- for did he have anything to live for really? She recalled overheard snatches of conversation between him and Lily. His home life had been horrible; he had always been bullied… The need to run, to flee, was now desperate. Her hand slipped from his elbow and she turned as she would from a lion. He was still too much, she couldn't… she couldn't forget…

His hand clasped around her wrist, and he pulled her forcibly towards him, his breathing heavy and laboured. Something broke inside Petunia, something that had never been explored before; it burned through her limbs, her skin abruptly sensitive to the lightest of touches. Resisting the urge to cry out, she struggled against his grip, her face flushed with an unknown emotion. "Get your hands off me!"

He pulled her closer, breathing on her neck, the sensation impossibly alluring and yet revolting to her. The number of times he had degraded her, the number of times she had lurked in shadows for him… recollections she had worked a year to suppress had opened their gates. She didn't know why. She had never known why. It had been a fantasy since she was fifteen, a shameful fantasy that both disgusted and excited her. She'd had dreams of him sneering his usual malevolence, but then finally, finally, throwing her down and showing how much he hated her…

"You really do sicken me." The feel of teeth on her flesh- a bite hard enough to hurt, but not to break the skin. She gasped, then struggled for it was all becoming too real, painfully real. She wondered, wildly, if he would like it if she cried.

"No." The answer to her internal question shocked her, but in her lunacy she put it down to coincidence. Roughly, he spun her around to face him, his lips deepening onto hers. Petunia gasped for breath, the choking sound turning to a moan she wasn't sure even came from her. His hand burrowed in her blond hair, Snape ruthlessly jerked her head back and looked into the orbs of frightened passion that were her eyes. "Pathetic." He yanked her down towards the ground, she releasing a sound halfway between a heated sigh and a scream. His light body loomed in front of her, his hair framing his thin face.

She was dimly aware that this was her last chance to leave, before anything real had happened. She knew anything would only lead to heartbreak, a pain far worse than he had inflicted on her before. Was he even looking at her, or was it Lily he was seeing? She saw him smirk and closed her eyes. She never had had anything she wanted. She wasn't sure if she wanted this. The feeling between her legs grew tighter, pressure building in such an intense sentiment she wasn't sure she could even take any more.

"You think I never knew? You think I never saw?" Dextrous fingers were at her buttons, the tone silky yet infused with the acerbic quality that was still so familiar. "When will you realise how lucky you are? When will you realise that the fantasy is so much better than the reality?"

The moonlight was momentarily dulled by a passing cloud, a light breeze tossing the leaves on every branch.

"When will you realise, Snape, that you had your chance? Why do you always follow the same cycle?"

The words were spoken gently, but Snape reacted as if they were acid. Once again his entire body clenched, but the madness, the anger had gone from his eyes. Cupping his face, Petunia kissed him. A proper kiss; gentle and sympathetic. It frightened her, but he didn't pull away. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he traced a finger down her ribcage.

"Lily." It was said simply, brokenly. Petunia felt another twist inside her chest, but stopped herself from crying out.

"Not her. Me."

The summer's stickiness had given way to a more subtle warmth. With the tip of her finger, Petunia traced his face, underlining the sharp cheekbones and the shadows beneath his eyes. She didn't trust him, but somewhere deep in herself, she didn't find him completely suspicious either. Hesitant, she pulled him in for another kiss.

This one was deeper, firmer, yet less animalistic than the first had been. Pure elation, the first she had felt in years, rose up inside her and her need was obvious. Struggling, she pulled herself out of her top and faced him bare in early hours. Please don't reject me now.

He didn't seem happy, but he wasn't furious either. Rather he stared at her with a deadened curiosity, someone who had for so long been denied what he wanted. A trembling hand cupped her breast, the nipple hardened with desire. He pinched it gently, and smirked slightly at Petunia's gasp; a smirk of success, rather than spite.

"Do you want me?"

She had sounded too desperate. Jerked from his trance, Snape's hand withdrew from her chest and his eyes locked with hers. Once again his expression was calculating, and Petunia had the odd feeling that her thoughts were being sifted through methodically and without discretion. Her breath rose sharply as he stared, willing with all her body-her heart?-for an answer.

Her top landed on her legs as Snape rose to his feet. "Why would I want anything to do with you?"

It was as if he had kicked her in the face. With one last sneering look, he adjusted his robes and glided off into the darkness. She knew she would never see him again, no matter how many nights she came to the park or walked the streets in the hope of a glance.

Her desolation, her crushed hopes. When everything reached its end, it all came down to Lily.