For the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.
Holyhead Harpies, Beater 2
Mandatory: Write about a character forced to fight for their family. Must include the word "pawn".
Optional: (word) freedom, (dialogue) "What makes you so sure it was me?", (color) steel grey
Thank you to my wonderful teammates for beta-ing this!
Petunia sits up in bed, frowning. She isn't surprised that the clock shows that it's half past three in the morning. This new home that Hestia has set them up with is nice enough, but it feels wrong. A full night's sleep has become a distant memory.
She climbs out of bed, her bare feet sinking into the tacky orange carpet. Vernon has suggested they have tile put in, but Petunia doesn't care. This isn't her home, and it's pointless to try and make it live up to her high expectations.
She doesn't bother to change out of her pajamas. Once, there was a time when Petunia wouldn't be caught dead wearing pajamas outside of the bedroom. Now, however, she doesn't care anymore. The old Petunia has been left behind at her beloved home on Privet Drive.
Her husband's soft snores can be heard in the hallway, and she resists the urge to scowl. As much as Vernon hates change, even he has managed to fall into a routine with this new life. Petunia never will. Her thoughts return again and again to Privet Drive and the freedom she had within her own home.
She shakes her head. She can't think about that anymore. It doesn't matter how miserable she is; she is the backbone of this family, and her family will fall apart if she lets the despair overtake her.
It isn't surprising that she wanders into the kitchen. No matter where she is, the kitchen is her safe haven. There's something calming about even simple tasks of rearranging the pantry and the spice rack. It's familiar and allows her to forget that her world has been turned upside down.
She loses herself in her task. By the time the kitchen clock shows that an hour has passed, the kitchen is completely different; it looks more like her kitchen back at Privet Drive, minus the atrocious mauve and bronze wallpaper and the weathered wooden counters. Petunia scowls. She doesn't want it to remind her of the life she cannot return to.
As she prepares to rearrange it again, she hears a noise outside. Petunia freezes, her body growing rigid. She listens, trying to convince herself that it's just a wild animal. They are safe here. It's just her imagination.
The sound comes again, closer now, and Petunia shivers. That is not some pitiful dog looking for scraps in the bins. That is the sound of footsteps.
She grabs a knife and moves closer, painfully reminded of those horror movies Dudley loves so much. How many times has she screamed at some ridiculous heroine not to investigate the strange noise?
As she hears the front door burst open, she scurries back into the kitchen, still clutching the knife for dear life. Heart racing painfully, she presses her back against the wall, carefully craning her neck to peer through the doorway. A lone figure stands in the living room, looking around. His face is obscured by a mask, but Petunia sees the wand in his hand. She may not know who he is, but she can guess why he's here. The Dursleys had been warned the so-called Dark Lord might view them as leverage against Harry and send someone to capture them.
The figure moves through the living room. He pauses for a moment to examine a family portrait that rests above the fireplace. "Filth," he growls, removing the portrait and letting it drop onto the tile floor. The glass shatters.
A small whine escapes Petunia's lips, and the masked man stops. His head turns towards the kitchen, and his eyes— as grey as steel and just as cold— find her. "I hear your sister at least put up a fight," he taunts. "You're making this too easy."
Your sister.
Petunia feels her blood grow hot. Lily had known the risks of fighting this war. She had been a willing pawn who had sacrificed herself.
It isn't fair; she hadn't asked for this life. Why should she be dragged into this war that has nothing to do with her? If witches and wizards want to kill one another, that's fine. She only wishes to be left out of it.
"I only need one of you alive," he adds. "Think your boy will squeal like a pig when I hurt him? Looks like one, don't he?"
Her lips curl into a scowl, and she lets out a snarl. Maybe she isn't anything like Lily, but she realizes they have one thing in common now. There is no way in hell Petunia will let this man hurt her son. If she has to die like Lily, she will gladly do it, but she refuses to go down without a fight.
The man chuckles, quickening his pace. Petunia trembles. She wants to run upstairs and lock herself away with her family, but she knows what that wand can do. The moment her back turns, she won't even see his nasty little spells coming. Running is not an option. There is no choice left but to fight; her family's safety depends on it.
With a cry, she lunges forward, raising the knife. The sudden action seems to catch the intruder off guard. By the time he manages to raise his wand, Petunia's knife sinks into his shoulder. He screams, his wand falling uselessly to the floor.
"You bitch!" He shoves her, and she stumbles back, yanking the knife from his shoulder in the process. "You'll pay for that!"
Petunia doesn't give him the chance to pay her back. Before he can reach for his wand, she's on him again, plunging the knife into his neck. She never would have thought she could be capable of this, but adrenaline and a determination to protect her family push her forward.
"I may not have magic," she says, her voice cold and calm, contrasting with the way her hands tremble, "but I do not need it to keep my family safe."
In one fluid motion, she yanks the knife out and kicks his wand roughly, sending it skidding beneath the sofa. She doesn't take any delight as she watches the blood spray from his neck. She only feels relief. Her family is safe again.
"You bi—" His words die as he groans, trying in vain to cover the wound.
"A Muggle could fix that for you without magic," she says. "Pity you think we're so inferior."
His mouth opens and closes wordlessly. Petunia watches a moment longer before deciding he'll never reach his wand before bleeding out. Muttering under her breath about unexpected visitors always being the messiest, she retreats into the kitchen to gather the cleaning supplies beneath the sink.
…
By the time Vernon comes down for breakfast at six in the morning, Petunia has managed to clean up most of the mess. She isn't sure what to do with the body, but Hestia is supposed to come by to check on them before noon. If anyone knows how to treat a fallen wizard's corpse, it will be her.
"Too busy cleaning to remember breakfast again, dearest?" Vernon asks, offering a booming laugh. "Really, Petunia, if you just settle— What is that?"
Petunia looks up from the bloody mop water. Her husband stands in the doorway, his jaw slack and eyes wandering over the scene before him. Really, he's lucky he's here as late as he is. If he'd seen all of the blood instead of the few remaining pesky streaks, he might have a heart attack.
"One of them came," she says. Now, her bravado falters ever so slightly. There's the faintest quiver in her voice. "There was a fight."
"You killed a man," Vernon says, his face turning a sickly pale.
"What makes you so sure it was me? It could have been Diggle."
"Petunia, you're covered in blood."
She glances down. How she never noticed the warm blood soaking through her pajamas is a mystery. "I need more bleach," she says. "Do you have time to pick up some before work, or should I wait?"
Vernon sputters for a moment. Slowly, his face regains its color. A furious shade of red stains his skin. "There are supposed to be things up to protect us! You, know… the..." He trails off, seemingly unable to bring himself to say that word that has been taboo for so long.
"Magic doesn't mean safety," she says simply.
Her husband stares at her for a moment longer before nodding. "Right… Bleach…"
Petunia sighs, slumping forward slightly. "I think we'll have to move again."
When her husband leaves, Petunia resumes her cleaning. The adrenaline has long since worn off, and she's trembling now. Still, she smiles.
This isn't her war, even if it's taken so much from her. None of that matters, though. She may have lost her beloved home, but she has kept her family safe.