Chapter 33: Compassionate curses
The factory shift was as brutal as usual. They were definitely making her work for all the time off they had given her during her exams; which Petunia wished she could say that she didn't mind.
She did mind it though. They needed the money now more than ever. Lily was coming back home for the summer in two weeks and their father had lost his job. Petunia hadn't been back to Cokesworth since she had heard the news. Her father was cursing up a storm every night and for all his airs, he wasn't worth much without a job. They both knew it.
Petunia was already at her wit's end for most of the day. Vernon making passes that she should have shrugged off and they were only two days off from meeting Grindlewald. A decision was made that Petunia would be sent in. Nuremgaurd didn't want the former Dark Lord to access a wand that didn't have a million limiters on it and Petunia was inclined to agree with them.
She had read books like every else. Secretly, in the deepest crevices of her mind, she knew that was the current Dark Lord wanted to be. That charismatic and so unspeakably in love with Magic that the rest of the mundane and dull couldn't help but follow. Lord Guant was that Dark Lord when he tried to be. The kind of charismatic that Petunia shared kisses in dark corners with and would follow to the ends of the earth.
They had sent out the owls in the morning for the Wolfsbane and her stomach had curled unpleasantly at the sight. Nerves.
There was still the persistence and cold of the Dementor, who sung to Petunia like a siren song. She understood why people were not fine after Azkaban, the Dementor had made it seem that Petunia had wanted it, she wanted to give her soul for him. The wandering had gotten so bad that Petunia refused to keep a key to the potion dungeon with her anymore. Damocles had spent too many nights rescuing Petunia from opening the hatch that the wards refused to let her leave the Cottage at night. Most nights she slept on the couch in the living room as the preparation for the meeting with Grindlewald.
The only upside in all of this was her supervisor decided that Petunia was enough for trade school certification. The company would pay for it and if need be or should she so desire it an engineering university would be on the cards the following year. It finally felt like she was moving up in the world at least on her muggle side because she had definitely maximized all her blessings in the Wizard world and was probably close to doing same in her normal life.
Have you ever felt like you were living on borrowed time? That's what Petunia felt all the time. Like she was moving but not fast enough; definitely not as fast as the other people in her life.
"Do you think we should have sent already carved cauldrons?"
"With what money or time?" Petunia asked. She was genuinely curious about how he would answer. "You've already bottled truth; they can trust you."
Domacles calmed down, he breathed and reached over. "Thank you and I'm sorry about this."
Petunia shrugged it off. His apology would not get him very far today. Not when he had been privy to the conversation she had after work with Jean. Petunia shouldn't have left for the Dementor, she shouldn't have left because Domacles had called. This was something she knew. Petunia should've just put her foot down and enjoyed the rest of the day with Jean and Darren.
She had abandoned them when they had needed her the most. Regardless of how she cried and begged Jean for forgiveness, she shouldn't have put herself or Jean in that position. Where they had to talk over the phone to reevaluate their relationship.
"It's ok," Petunia said because that's all she could say. "I don't want to make that potion anymore."
The bravery she had mustered up to say those words seemed to all go away. She had been thinking a lot about what a potion as dark as the one she had created meant for her soul. Was she damning them all with her actions?
"You're being a child. Pull yourself together. You only have an hour to get him to talk and answer the questions." The Dark Lord pulled out a parchment list of questions that was neatly in bullet points.
Petunia tried not to roll her eyes or grind her teeth. The Cruciatus curse seemed to flow a little more liberally over the last few days. The last few raids had gone badly. Not that anyone seemed to think that what they were doing was wrong. No one seemed to talk on the points that there were mutters about lowering the admittance age to below seventeen.
Instead, she shrugged and took her motorbike keys from its home near the kitchen door. Vernon wanted to meet up and at least there was one person who wanted only what she could give out. Or at least that what she hoped. But before that, she owed Jean a meeting.
"Helmet!" Damocles yelled. Petunia pretended not to hear. Petunia had made the mistake of having the paper out, whose article seemed to highlight what a death trap a bike was. Now Damocles seemed convinced that he would have some Muggle at his house screaming that Petunia had split her head on some road while driving recklessly. While there may be some truth to the statement, Damocles didn't need anyone else to feed into his paranoia about Petunia's lack of safety. Petunia was a careful enough driver.
She checked the tiny storage compartment for clothes, a pair of running shoes were on top of everything and she caught the helmet that came whizzing towards her. Petunia wouldn't look up, Domacles could stew in the left-over bad energy she seemed to generate. Still, he cared, in his own weird way, he cared and that scared Petunia because how could someone care so much yet want you so very dead?
There were tears that needed to be cried and a boy who thought he was a man waiting for Petunia. Vernon lived further than Petunia was used to travelling to. He actually lived in a house, a relatively big one, in a normal suburb. One far wealthier than she grew up in.
There was a dentist office that Jean was working in over the summer. The sun was gloriously warm and Petunia's breath chocked out as Jean smiled and indicating that nothing between them was normal.
Jean never smiled at the people she liked. She took them out to strange corners of the world or underground dance parties. Jean was free, like a kite without a string and somehow she had swept Petunia up in the wind that she was flying on. Without Jean, Petunia could see the life her direction would go. It would look listless and small. Very small and insignificant.
"I'm sorry."
Jean's smile tightened. There were a million things to be sorry for. Petunia had just left and then came as she pleased.
"I don't want an apology, Evans," Jean said.
Evans, not Petunia, not Tuney or a million other variations of her name that indicated some kind of closeness. Petunia messed up badly. She knew what she did wrong because Jean didn't ask for miracles. She asked for the bare minimum. Jean asked for Petunia to be present and with her when she was with her.
They had gone through so much together over the last two years. Still all that seemed to have erased itself in light of Petunia's actions. Maybe this is what Cain had felt like when God had cursed him? A wanderer, an outcast, someone who so desperately needed life to validate their experiences.
Jean wasn't going to ask Petunia to leave Damocles. Clara had spoken about Petunia's job in worried tones to Jean. At first, Jean shrugged off the comments about Petunia's job. Clara was rich and had life figured out from a monetary standpoint. She was in no way someone who could judge what Petunia or Jean had to do in order to keep the lights on or food on the table.
However, the more Jean watched Petunia talk about her job or ignore questions about it, the less comfortable Jean felt. Petunia looked like she was keeping the bad kind of company. People that could make her disappear with a snap of their fingers. They had all trusted Petunia to be smart about it and, for the most part, their worst fears had come true.
"We will support you to leave, you do know that." Jean had only really seen the people who Petunia was a housekeeper for from afar.
Petunia sighed, "It's not that easy. I have a summer contract still with them. I promise I'll leave after it."
Jean held herself back. Petunia didn't respond well to compassion. No matter how well-meaning, that was not the route to take with Petunia. They would have to keep their distance from each other.
"Then when you're ready to leave, just call, send a letter, just don't say nothing." Jean reached out and squeezed Petunia's hand. Her rings felt warm and Petunia pulled away first with a nod. That was it, the end. No big heartbreak or a screaming match that would draw attention to what they were doing. "Also, Vernon isn't worth it, trust me, you'll end up regretting him."
A numbness settled over Petunia as she left Jean sitting on the steps of the dental practice. It was like everything her hand touched it crumbled. Which no one should ever feel like. Vernon seemed to be the only person who just wanted the bare-minimum from her and right now it was all that she needed.
He wasn't the kind of person who would be good at the happily ever after and any redeeming qualities he had weren't for her. Vernon was too similar to stand-offish purebloods she had spent the last two years around. So it may have been that familiarity that helped her stay.
Vernon was not a good man. He was not a good man to her and a terrible co-worker. Petunia hated his sister, her obsession with dogs and breeding reminded her uncomfortably of people who didn't think Jean and Darren deserved all the happiness in the world.
There was something about not loving a person that hit the soul. Maybe that's why Petunia was quiet around Vernon, when he got angry or pushy or grabbed at the wrong place and left marks that shouldn't ever have threatened to appear. No, he was never someone who should have been an option. But he clearly was becoming one because life around him was so gloriously simple that Petunia found herself staying longer and fighting less about being uncomfortable around him.
All relationships have hiccups. Or at least that's what she told herself as she found herself making breakfast in the morning before she left. As if justifying the way he threw a tantrum when she just left with a note wasn't enough. Vernon clutched onto her. It was uncomfortable but they still had to work together and she didn't know how else to leave it.
Vernon didn't like her talking to other people, so she just stopped. He wanted her out of the main factory and more than once she found herself seriously thinking about joining the secretary pool even if that was the last thing she wanted.
People don't change if they don't want to and clearly Vernon hadn't changed his colours.
A/N: Hey, all! This is going to be a longer note than usual. I'd appreciate it if you would read it to the end.
I know as a writer, my personal feelings should never influence you as the reader. The more distance I keep from my work, the less I cloud your judgement of it. However, there are a few things I feel like you have a right to know.
Rowling's recent slew of transphobic comments and actions have shattered me. They have definitely tainted my love for the series. It makes me vomit to think that someone could be so influential and yet so incredibly vile in the way their influence is used. Feminism for me always has been, and always will be, about people, to create a world where we look at people for who they are not solely what their gender expression may be. Policing people's bodies and gender identity is degrading, dangerous and speaks to an incredible amount of entitlement and privilege.
As HP fans we have always held true to the saying that "Hogwart's will always be there to welcome you home" for the first time in twelve years, I no longer believe that statement. I no longer feel welcome in the world I used to call my home.
This was literally the tipping point for me. Between COVID, my final year in undergrad, religious struggles, queerness struggles, not seeing friends due to social distancing, having to live at home and the increased awareness that politics, legislation and services always favour those they want too and devalues Black lives (even in my own majority Black country of South Africa); has utterly exhausted me. To find out the person who wrote the world that I used to seek refuge continuous to be a raging bigot just broke me.
I'm not giving up on this story, but I need you to know why the tone of it has changed from when I first starting writing it in April. In April I was hopeful that I wouldn't be spending my final year of undergrad at home, that the world was finally repairing the wrongs it had done. Now, I'm not so sure.
Someone once told me that "everyone has a limited amount of fucks to give, so use yours wisely" this is me using mine as wisely as I know-how.
Either way, updates are going to be slower as I prep for my finals at the end of November. I may upload a few one-shots due to a commitment I made earlier this year. I only have so much energy to give and right now I owe it to completing my university education.
If you have made it to the end: Thank you and all my love. I'm sorry that I don't have more positivity to give.