A/N: inspired by and written for Lordhellebore, queen of drabbles.
TREEHOUSES
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"No, you can't go. I don't want you playing there."
"Why?"
"Because!"
"But Lily goes."
"She better hadn't."
"And that boy."
"You're not going, Petunia."
Sullen, Petunia glared out of the window in the direction of the commons and what her memory knew was the now rain-soaked wood of the tree-house, hanging deliciously precarious in the branches of the pear tree.
Later that afternoon her wellies squelched through the mud of the commons anyway, flushed with cold and excitement. She stared at the construction from which a pinched face appeared. Her spirits sank.
"Fuck off," it spat. "This is mine."
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- - -
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She had sneaked back when she knew that her sister was playing with the boy and her parents were keeping a watchful eye on them. This place needed tidying up, she thought. Filled with the thrill of the twice forbidden, she hung up her blue lace handkerchief as a curtain. She spotted the initials next to the window shortly before the penknife. Both SS and LE - one etched in confidently, the other more shakily. With a sense of propriety, Petunia picked up the penknife and etched PE underneath.
Looking at their initials she slipped the knife into her pocket.
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- - -
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"I knew you'd be here!" Petunia exclaimed sharply. "Everybody's looking for you!"
His pale face was all imploring eyes.
"Don't tell!"
"Oh, but I shall," she said, though slowing, enjoying the unusual sense of power.
The boy looked around wildly, then plunged his hand into his pocket, fumbling.
"Look!"
He held out a cigarette pack.
"I'll teach you."
"They're your father's!"
She stared.
"Here."
Shakily, he took out a match, struck it, lit one cigarette and held it out.
"Go on," he said, daring her.
She tried, coughed, feeling grown-up.
She knew she would still tell on him later on.
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- - -
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"Because I don't want you to go into that part of the neighbourhood," her father said; Petunia frowned and stirred around in her peas with her fork. "We don't want you to mix with those people, that's why. Eat up."
"I k now that boy is one of them," Petunia said hotly.
"This is not about the Snape boy, bless him," her father said tiredly. "Still, we don't want either of you there. She keeps getting herself in trouble with her husband, and the area isn't very good, either. They're different from us."
"Yes, like Lily."
"They're working class, Petunia."
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- - -
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Though her mother had pointed out how kind it was that the headmaster had troubled himself to write Petunia was still hurt, and she'd gone out to spite her. A sound turned her head. She'd expected boys kicking a tin against the wall, but it was one adult, Snape, with a football. She watched. After a while, he sat heavily on the ground. Petunia edged closer. She wasn't supposed to talk to him.
"Hello."
He nodded and offered the spotless ball."Want it?"
She shook her head.
"It was for my boy, but he isn't one for football. Not anymore."
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- - -
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Next summer, she noticed Vernon from school. He was from a good family and lived in a big, clean house. They even had a TV! He was kind, and his parents dotingly approved. That their sisters both didn't almost made it necessary, and she first straddled him in his room soon after. When she came home, she felt so elated at first she attributed her sisters glum mood to her own rare triumph. Then, it registered as she saw Lily read her ridiculous books in her room alone, sullen.
Petunia sidled closer.
"Where's your friend?"
"Dead for all I care."
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- - -
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"I was thinking I could talk to your father tomorrow," Vernon said, flushed, staring at the clouds. Their ever-worrying parents would be happy that at least one of their children was in the clear, Petunia thought. If Lily were to end up with the neighbour boy, this wouldn't be certain, unless he made his way in their world. Petunia smiled.
Next afternoon, she was waiting nervously, in her best petticoat. Her day had come, she would show them her prize.
Not Vernon, but James appeared, in nineteenth century silks, his manners so polished that they shone and made Lily glow.
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- - -
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Petunia had asked to be seated at the very back, not wanting to be associated with these people. She wouldn't have come, but that was not done. Lily looked happier than Petunia had felt on her own wedding day, and why wouldn't she. A house! With servants! Petunia excused herself to get some air. She was glaring at her surroundings when a tall shape suddenly appeared in front of her.
"Sorry," she snapped reproachfully. It took a while because of the clean clothes and his expression.
"Good day," he said through clenched teeth.
"I still have your penknife," she muttered.
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- - -
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Her and James' parents dead, it was Petunia's duty to sort things out; Vernon had taken the children to his parents. Even having seen ruins before this was too much – she had walked through that door, there had been wallpaper on these walls! It was impossible to take it all in. She walked cautiously, picked up a bonechina teapot she had once admired, dropped it, and watched it crash. It wasn't important now.
Somehow, she had expected him when she spotted Severus, lurking, red eyed. Much use you were, she thought, hating him.
"There's a funeral dinner tomorrow," she managed.
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- - -
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The guests had left, only Snape had paradoxically hung back. She wanted him gone, but now, drunk, and thus finally crying, they clung to each other as though they were lifeboats, Petunia aching to feel, Severus to control. For one frenzied moment, the memory of her sister was gone, as he held her down by the neck. Then, they were lying side by side, not looking at each other. She'd stolen Lily's memory from him, if for a second, and he hated her. Petunia, too, was relieved when he'd left.
They knew that they would never see each other again.
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Fin.