Story Title: Petunia the Petulant (Need a new name...suggestions?!)

Chapter Title: The Parselmouth Stone

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! Hope you're enjoying the budding romance finally beginning... :P

The Parselmouth Stone

A faux sunlight streamed into Petunia's room. It was her custom alarm clock, a device she had programmed herself to wake her with simulated daylight instead of sound. Although she loved her luxurious suite in the Slytherin dungeons she had missed having windows, and the constant eerie green light sometimes felt stifling. The warm, yellow light of the crystalline clock face fell on her closed eyelids, and she began to wake. Her body felt well rested; she was so deliciously comfortable she almost did not want to move.

There was a soft, chipping sound coming from her night table, and she opened her eyes to see a woody green face staring at her, warped and magnified by the glass of water in front of it. She jumped up with a small shriek. The little creature dropped what it had been holding, scurried off the table and disappeared. She sat heart pounding for a moment until she realized what the creature was. How odd…how had she not known there were gnomes inside the Hogwarts castle?

Well, what else is new? She thought as she stretched her limbs. Petunia glanced at the night table where the gnome had been and noticed that there was an object there she had not placed herself. A small, green band made of stone had been left where the gnome was sitting.

She gave it a quick poke, and when nothing happened picked it up and inspected it. It was a perfect ring of green-and-black mottled stone, polished to a luminous shine. While Petunia was no connoisseur of semi-precious stones, she was pretty sure she knew this one by its rather memorable name: Serpentine.

"Huh," she said softly, turning it around in her hand. Aside from the fact that it had not been there before, there was nothing particularly extraordinary about it. It was perfectly smooth, and she found that it fit snugly right on her ring finger. Her fingers were small, and finding rings that fit without adjustment was not her usual experience. Had the gnome made this?

She looked around the room and saw that by her library corner, a book had been knocked to the floor. It lay open, and she could see right away that it was not really a book, but a box decorated to look like one. A velvet green pouch lay next to it, and she noticed some small chips of rock that had apparently spilled from the pouch.

She got out of bed and knelt down to look. The rock chips were definitely of the same type of stone as the ring; they were jagged and unpolished, as if they had been chopped off a larger piece of rock. Fascinated, she put them back in the pouch, placed it in the book, and closed it to see what it looked like. The book was in fact titled, Serpentine: The Slytherin Stone. Turning it over, she decided that it looked like it was meant to be a gift, some quaint little piece of Slytherin pride or maybe even a souvenir.

Putting it back on the shelf, she was reminded that she still had reading to do; Professor Snape had wanted her to learn about Slytherin house.

Professor Snape!

"Oh no," she groaned, as the memories of the evening before began to come back to her. She had experienced a wonderful triumph, a true fairy tale of an evening in which she attended a ball that was put on entirely for her. All of it was perfect…and then, like a silly little idiot, she'd ruined it with a bit of drunken flirtation. She dreaded learning what he must think of her now. How unprofessional, and on such an evening!

Then another memory crept seductively into her awareness: The touch of his hands. She remembered his sensual caress of her feet, and her face started to grow warm. She must have been imagining it – had he really looked at her that way? Had he really touched her with such affection? It couldn't have been as intimate as it had seemed at the time, she told herself.

But then she also remembered his bright, piercing eyes, how they lowered when she looked into them, and the softening of the lines on his face. There was an unrecognizable expression, something she'd never seen before. Once again, she felt the light brush of his raven black hair as he bent down to tend to her. And now she was starting to feel warm in other places. Knock it off, woman! She thought to herself. That is all in your head. And look how it made you behave?

Petunia sighed and snatched for the robe she'd hung on the snake-shaped bedpost hook, wrapping it around her. The situation was embarrassing, but probably not unsalvageable. She would just have to own up to it the minute she saw him, and apologize. Then, back to work – whatever that might be now that the conclave was over. He had spoken only vaguely about it, but she knew there was more he wanted to explore with her new capabilities. He still had not explained to her his theories of what might have awakened them or caused them to exist in the first place.

After bathing in the enormous marble basin and choosing a basic skirt and blouse to wear under her school robes, she looked at the shoes that still sat by the couch where the headmaster had left them and frowned. They were fashionable enough for her evening dress, but could also be worn slightly dressed down, as well.

They were open on the sides, showing off her arches, and in the front at the toe. They were very flattering on her, and enhanced the curves of her posture. Although her feet did not feel nearly as sore as they probably would be had he not been kind enough to massage them, she did not feel like putting those back on again. She went to her wardrobe and found a pair a little more conservative instead. Then she headed for breakfast.

When she walked through the yawning entrance of the Great Hall, she was immediately greeted with light applause and a few whoops and cheers. She had expected something like this, but she was thankful that the energy was more subdued than the night before. She smiled at the students and headed for the front table, where Professor Snape was sitting with the other teachers. There was an empty chair across from him and next to Professor Slughorn.

She sat down quietly and began to serve herself some eggs, sausage and cinnamon toast – the meals at Hogwarts would completely spoil her, she knew, and she could never eat nearly enough to try everything, even if she wanted to. The teachers were discussing various people who had shown up the evening before. Snape looked at her briefly and she caught his eye, smiling apologetically before turning her attention quickly back to her plate.

"Did you sleep well, Petunia?" he asked, his voice low and lulling.

"I did, thank you, Professor." She spoke quickly from nervousness. "By the way, thank you for your indulgence of me last night. I'm afraid I might have been a bit giddy, what with the event and all that champagne – " She could feel herself blushing furiously and silently screamed inside. But Snape simply gave the smallest of smiles, his dark, sharp eyes fixed on her.

"There's no need to apologize."

"That's gracious of you," she said gratefully, and looked down at her food again. She was finding it difficult to look him in the eye, and that terrified her. Get a grip on yourself! She thought irritably. "I hope I didn't make too much a fool of myself with our guests."

"On the contrary," he said, soundly unusually good-natured, "I think they found you completely charming, and with good reason." That's an odd thing for him to say! Petunia looked up, searching his face to determine if this was meant to be as genuine as it sounded, but he merely smiled at her, raising his glass of water to her in a little toast.

"I…" she could think of nothing to say in answer.

"Oh, without question," Professor Lupin, who was sitting on Snape's left, agreed. "They adored her."

"Indeed!" said Horace Slughorn.

And the conversation continued without her, to her great relief. But she thought she felt Snape's eyes on her and avoided looking at him for the rest of the meal.

Unlike Petunia, Severus had gotten very little sleep that night. As he lay awake, he stared at the peeling, faded ceiling and called up the images of the Evans sisters over and over again. Lily. Petunia. Lily and Petunia, side by side. It wasn't that he wanted to compare them to each other; he wanted to compare how each woman had made him feel, what was similar, and what was different. He had never loved anyone since Lily, and it had been so long since the initial infatuation. His current preoccupation with Petunia felt like déjà vu.

There was red-haired, beautiful Lily, her face not flawless but still radiant, her full lips, her body a woman's body from the time she was 16. She was energetic, spirited, bright, kind, soft. Her love and loyalty were fierce – pure Gryffindor. Her anger was a flash of lightening and made anyone she glared at feel small and a little ashamed.

She was powerful in her beauty, not as a woman who was using her looks deliberately to manipulate favor with others, but as a woman who demanded respect on her own terms. Although she was obviously very attractive by average standards, her beauty was far beyond skin deep. If she had lived to old age she would still have been striking, he had no doubt. She was simply that kind of woman.

But Petunia – Petunia at first glance was not noticeably attractive by average standards, although he had since come to realize she had a striking beauty of her own. Combined with the fact that she seemed to try to take as little space as possible, and had such a somber personality, it was not hard to see how she could be so easily overlooked next to her warm, instantly likeable sister. Where Lily was all soft edges and rounded curves, Petunia was all lines and sharp angles.

Once, Severus had thought her face was hideous, mainly because he didn't like her and she was a muggle. But now he thought it was really quite beautiful, if unique. Its length gave her a stern appearance; in the fashionable clothing she wore of late, it seemed regal. Her chin was wide but small, and she had the slightest of an overbite. Her straight, body-less blonde hair accented the air of nobility, especially since she almost always wore it pulled neatly back. When he looked into those pale, sky-blue eyes nested in her sharp, high cheekbones and saw the cold determination in them, the whole structure gave the impression of rebellious vulnerability. He marveled that he had never seen it before, this one-of-a-kind, artist's-eye beauty.

As for the commonness of her personality, this he now deemed her strength. She was her own person, not to be judged by any standards other than her own, and her refusal to try to imitate or compete with her sister spoke to her fierce pride. She might really be Slytherin material, he thought for the dozenth time. She has the ambition, the cunning, the focus...

He looked at Petunia now and saw someone who would become whatever she had to in order to succeed. She was powerful in a way that Lily could never have been; kind and compassionate as Lily was, she had been shaped by the way others admired her, whether she knew it or not. Petunia's proclivity for being overlooked, much as she might have hated it, gave her an anonymity she had learned to use in her favor.

Lily, on the other hand, would never know what it was to fight to be noticed; perhaps to be respected, but certainly not noticed. She did not know how to blossom under cold disinterest. She was a short-lived flower that blossomed fully in the summer, but then died too soon. But Petunia, he mused with a bit of poetic impulse, was a wildflower that would survive in defiance of the coldest winter.

Anyone who underestimated her – as he once had – did so at their own peril. It was no wonder, in a way, that she had lived a longer life, while Lily had died tragically. He wondered how often anyone ever looked at her and saw her, not Lily's sister, or Vernon Dursley's wife. It bolstered his ego to believe he was one of the few men who might know these secrets. Vernon Dudley could not have been the only man who noticed her in her younger days. Of that, je had no doubt.

Some of this seemed silly, he thought, as the false dawn began to chase the shadows of his bedroom ever so slightly. He was waxing poetic, and perhaps it was foolish of him. What did she care what he thought? Why should Petunia value herself only as others did? She was too good for that, he thought. A noble woman, a rare jewel. She was not meant for the likes of the average blundering idiot. She deserved someone who appreciated her rarity, who would throw rose petals before her wherever she walked.

He tossed over impatiently and punched his pillow, frowning. These thoughts were juvenile and self-indulgent, but he could not seem to stop them. Now they turned to the performance of the evening before, and the expressions of pain and joy upon her face as she shared her story with a multitude that could not fully appreciate it. He had been privileged to oversee her journey, and he knew what her dance of liberation meant.

He had seen every single one of those expressions over the course of their work, as she strove to defy all his most stubborn expectations. It had awed him to see her like that, putting all of those invisible feelings into her body, into art and beauty, and making it something to be admired. He ached for her, for the challenges of her muggle life, and the incredibleness of her journey as a witch.

Had she not been able to do magic, he thought he still would have been deeply affected by her dance…although he might not have admitted it. He had been moved so deeply he had to swallow a few times, and at least once he thought his eyes might leak from the overwhelming emotions that crashed over him in merciless waves. He had been so relieved it was only six minutes, and devastated when it was over.

Had he ever really, truly been in love with Lily? He had never needed to ask this before. There had never been anyone who could compete with her in his heart. But…what if all that had been a childish crush? Perhaps the whole story he had built up in his mind about her, about the two of them together, had been the natural result of unrequited feelings, of the foolish passion of young men who declared eternal love far too easily.

He did love her, no doubt. But over the years, had that love stayed the same? Had it never matured, never desired Lily's happiness for her own sake, and not just his? He had never believed that James Potter was by far the better partner for her, not in all those years…until now. He reluctantly realized that popular and good-looking as James had been he was entirely at Lily's mercy, and she had changed him for the better. She might not have needed him, but he definitely needed her. Probably the best thing that ever happened to that shallow, stupid prick.

What about Severus? Did Petunia need him? Was there a role in her life for him to play that would allow him to show her how he felt every day, for the rest of her life?

You're getting ahead of yourself, Severus. You just admitted that your obsession with Lily should have been expired long ago. Now you're going to make the same mistake all over again?

"Idiot," he muttered.

The sun was beginning to peek through the curtains. He was aware that he had not slept once throughout the whole night. In the growing light he thought of the way her feet felt in his hands, small and warm and delicate, her skin just separated from his by the thinnest barrier of stocking, how they had responded to his firm touch. He remembered the way they filled out ever so slightly into the curves of her calves, all the way to her pale, petite thighs.

A fragile beauty, Petunia had. A fierce, defiant strength. He longed to caress her, to warm the coldness of her shape with his hands, to show his appreciation for her body and the work of art it was by kissing every part of it. He started to stiffen at these thoughts. Frustrated with this inconvenient agitation, he threw his thin bedclothes aside and got up.

That, he told himself firmly, will never do. There was no point in tormenting himself this way. Had he not learned enough from 30 years of agony? No, not this time. He would not repeat his mistake. This time, he would express his love the proper way, as selfless devotion with no expectation of reward. Having been Petunia's mentor, he would now be her champion, because no one could see her as clearly as he did. He would do everything he could to make life open all its possibilities for her, to lay the groundwork for the empire that he would help her create. She was his girl, his queen, the empress of his hard-won heart, and his fathomless love was hers for the taking whether she returned it or not.

Now Severus began his day with a new sense of purpose, sort of tragic, bittersweet joy as he looked forward to seeing Petunia once again. And so, for the second time in his life, Severus devoted himself to loving a woman he never expected to love him back. He walked around that morning in a daze, giving the merest of nods and responses to anyone who spoke to him, students and teacher alike. A few times he saw looks exchanged between some of his colleagues, especially Slughorn, Draco, Lupin and McGonagall, but he did not care if they could see his admiration for Petunia. Her happiness was the only thing he cared about now.

At the teacher's table in the Great Hall, he felt his heart leap at the sight of her coming through the doors. He swelled with pride at the applause of the students. That's my girl, he thought happily. When she sat in front of him, he was elated that he would be able to look at her and watch the variety of expressions on her face. When her eyes looked into his, he felt whole; when she looked away, he felt loss. And when she left the table he missed her terribly, and could not wait to be with her again...

Later that afternoon Petunia went and sat in the courtyard to wait for Professor Snape, who had arranged to meet her after lunch to discuss their post-conclave research. She'd spent the morning reading some of the books about Slytherin, and the time had passed quickly. Despite the awkwardness at breakfast, she could not help looking forward to seeing him again. Such a little fool, she thought, shaking her head ruefully.

Many of the students dotted the courtyard and the banks of the Great Lake, enjoying the day of balmy spring weather. She could hear shouts from the Quidditch field, where a practice was being held. Lost in thought, she began turning the new ring on her finger. Feeling whimsical, she had put it on before she left her room, and just feeling it on her hand, knowing a gnome had touched it, gave her a little thrill.

She glanced up to see Professor Snape heading toward her, his black robes billowing behind him as always, his dark eyes glittering and piercing from many feet away. His appearance always seemed striking to her no matter who else was around, and she knew she was not alone in this observation. Snape always seemed a little larger than life. The sight of him excited her, and she hated herself for it...

As he approached Petunia smiled and stood up, smoothing her skirt.

"Hello, Professor. You wanted to see me – " She stopped mid-sentence to stare at him.

Snape had frozen in mid-step, his eyes as big as lemons. His face had gone white as a sheet. He started to point at her and back away, his hand trembling. She was alarmed and began looking down at herself to see if there was something wrong, then around and behind her for some hint of danger. But Snape was definitely pointing at opened and closed his mouth a few times, and finally croaked,

"Don't go anywhere…" Then he turned and ran like a man being chased by the devil across the courtyard and up the steps of the building as students jumped aside and stared after him. Petunia found herself running after him, ignoring his instructions. Something was very, very wrong; she had never seen him react to anything like that. She had never seen true fear on his face, and until that moment, she hadn't even thought it was possible.

As she followed in his wake, her small footsteps seeming to double the distance between them, she heard him bellowing in the main hall like a madman.

"MINERVA! MINERVA! REMUS! HORACE!"

She ran into the main entrance hall where a small crowd of students was starting to gather and saw him flying halfway up the stairs as Professor McGonagall ran down to meet him.

"What is it, Headmaster?! What's wrong?" McGonagall's obvious alarm put her even more at edge. Remus Lupin and Horace Slughorn seemed to appear out of nowhere and met the two of them at the bottom of the steps. Seeing Petunia, he made a beeline toward her with the other teachers in tow. She was starting to panic. She wanted answers, but the minute she opened her mouth to ask what the hell was going on Professor Snape held up his hand.

"Don't say anything just yet. Not here." Still looking at her as if she were carrying some horrible contagious disease, he and the other teachers swept around her and herded her off to a first-year classroom on the first floor.

"What's going on?" Hermione yelled, and Petunia turned, catching a glimpse of the seventh years standing in the middle of the hallway with their wands in hand, looking ready for a fight. McGonagall shouted at them to watch the rest of the students and let the prefects know they were tending to a 'small emergency.' Petunia was doubtful anyone would believe this with the fuss they were making.

They guided her quickly into the room and closed the door behind her, then made her sit in one of the many two-short benches toward the front of the room. They all took positions around her, bringing to her mind the image of vultures about to tear into a dying animal. She was panting from the exertion of running, and her face felt hot and sweaty.

"All right, Petunia," said McGonagall, looming over her. "Sorry about this, but we need to hear you speak."

"Anything in particular?" she started to say, but jumped when all the teachers gasped and flinched away from her. They were all looking at her with pure horror and disbelief. Professor Snape, however, had the strongest reaction…he staggered back away from her again, trembling uncontrollably. The other teachers quickly realized he was not himself and rushed to steady him as he slumped onto another bench.

"Call Madame Pomphrey," ordered McGonagall, and Slughorn and Lupin called for a house elf at the same time. "Tell her it looks like shock," she added. The house elf was gone in a moment. Snape did look very much like someone in shock to Petunia. Although he seemed to be looking at Petunia, she could not tell if he actually saw her at all. All the color had gone from his face so that it had gone from white to slightly blue. His teeth chattered and his hair fell like a mop all over his face.

"Would someone please tell me what is the matter?" she said loudly, fighting her growing hysteria. Immediately Snape started to hyperventilate, and his eyes widened even more. He looked like he could not breathe and was panicking. Madame Pomphrey entered the room at that moment, equipped with a canvas shoulder bag of medical supplies.

"Let me see the Headmaster please," she barked, and McGonagall, Lupin and Slughorn made room for her, all looking terribly anxious. She tipped Snape's head back and roughly brushed his hair from his face. She felt his forehead and pulled back his eyelids one at a time, looking into his eyes. Terrified as he was, he did not seem to fight her on this. The moment she let him go he lifted a wildly shaking hand and began pointing at Petunia again. Petunia felt shame and anger flood into her face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she shrieked. Once again her voice was drowned out by the gasps and exclamations of the other teachers, this time joined by Madame Pomphrey, who squinted suspiciously at her.
"I'll get to you in a minute," she said. "Headmaster, Headmaster…" she was calling to him softly. Snape started to speak, saying that he was all right, but once again his breathing sped up like a runaway train and alarm took him over completely. "He's having a panic attack," Madame Pomphrey said brusquely, and began shouting orders to McGonagall and Remus to help her. Professor Slughorn took this opportunity to step back and sit next to Petunia – at a bit of a distance, she noted.

"Mrs. Dursley, you must be so confused right now – "

Petunia started to answer, but he quickly held up his hand. "If you please, don't say anything just yet. You see, you have been speaking another language without knowing it, a very...er, distinct one known as Parseltongue." Slughorn said this with an expression between horror and awe, which he seemed to be trying to mask very poorly. Petunia was humiliated and bewildered.

What's Parseltongue? She asked with her eyebrows angrily.

"The sounds you're making – you may not be aware of it yet – are not English. They aren't even human sounds. You have been speaking snake-language. It's given us a bit of a surpise, you see, because only – "

At that moment she heard Professor Snape. He was speaking to them, and his voice sounded completely calm and disinterested, as if there were nothing at all out of the ordinary happening. It was a startling difference from the panicking Snape she had just witnessed.

"That's better," he said, and Petunia saw that he was now sitting up and breathing normally, looking relaxed. "Thank you, Madame Pomphrey."

"Mmhmm. That will last you a little bit, but I can't keep your fear repressed for too long. It's not good. You'll need to come to the hospital wing straight away so I can treat you properly."

"I completely understand," he assured her. The tension in the room seemed to lessen considerably with this dramatic change, and the other teachers sat down looking relieved. "My apologies to you all," he told them. "I know I don't have to tell you how awful it was to hear...that kind of speech. The last time I heard it..." He trailed off, and Petunia knew he was remembering his own death.

"We know, Severus. Don't trouble yourself about it," McGonagall insisted.

"Gave all of us a bit of a shock," Remus added, laughing shakily. "But I can't imagine how much worse it was for you."

"It's all right. I just hadn't expected – and from -"

At that moment Snape looked at Petunia as if seeing her for the first time, and it seemed that he could see all she was feeling. Though she had no idea what she'd done, she felt in her bones it was something terribly wrong. It was as if just by being present she had endangered her mentor and everyone else, and now they all blamed. She noticed for the first time that she, too, was trembling a little. But Professor Snape seemed to snap to attention as he observed her. He stood quickly and came over to her, kneeling down so he could look into her face, which he cupped in his large hands. The sudden feeling of such an affectionate touch made her almost forget her fear and humiliation.

"Oh, you poor thing, you're frightened out of you mind. It's all right, Petunia, it's all right. It's not your fault." Tears streamed down her face as she looked into his eyes, which seemed only to see and care about her at this very moment.

"I thought – I thought I did something horrible to you," she blurted, realizing only now that this was the very fear paralyzing her. Impulsively she grasped one of his hands and pressed it on her cheek. In spite of everything between them, all the bad blood, the professional distance, the awkward friendliness, right now that touch felt like the most natural thing in the world...and she needed it.

All the emotions of the past few days began to overwhelm her, and she started to sob. Professor Snape responded by putting a hand gently behind her head and pulling her to him, resting her head on his shoulder so she could cry into it. He stroked her hair with extraordinary familiarity, as if he were completely experienced with comforting crying female students.

"Everything will be all right. Don't worry. It's all right. You did nothing wrong." His voice was deep and hypnotic. Between this and crying herself out, she began to feel more like herself again.

If Petunia and Snape had had the presence of mind to look around and see the reactions of the other adults in the room, they would have instantly noticed how still and deathly quiet it had begun. They might have realized that Lupin, McGonagall, Slughorn and Madame Pomphrey were having an entire conversation in silence, each exchanging significant glances with the others.

However the moment Snape released Petunia, whatever drama was happening between the others was gone. The teachers merely looked on, concerned, understanding, sympathetic.

"Well," breathed Lupin, "That was exciting."

"Indeed, and that very kind of excitement is exactly what I warned you all about in the beginning of the year, when I offered to help you process your shell shock. But did anyone listen to me? Did anyone take my offer seriously and make regular visits as you were invited to do? No, not one of you."

They were all looking rather guilty at this, and Petunia would have found it funny if she weren't exhausted.

"Never mind," Pomphrey continued curtly, gathering her things and sounding even more sternly parental, "Now you understand how serious this is. I will be following up with each of you later this evening. But Headmaster, I want to see you within the hour. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Madame Pomphrey, of course," Snape agreed.

She gave them all a quick self-righteous nod of silent judgement and swept out of the room, muttering as she slammed the door behind her, causing all of them to jump.

It took a little while, but they all eventually decided that the new ring Petunia showed them had something to do with her sudden ability to speak Parseltongue and had her remove it, which she was only too glad to do. When she next spoke, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, that's that, then," said McGonagall. "Now where did this ring come from?"

Petunia told them about how she had seen the gnome that morning and found the pouch of serpentine scattered on the floor of her room. By now everyone, especially Professor Snape, was looking at her with great curiosity, and all the fear seemed to be replaced by pure curiosity.

"How intriguing," Snape murmured, sounding a lot more like he had at the beginning of the year. "The question is, does the ring or the stone it's made from have some inherent power, or did it somehow simply trigger an ability she had all along? Curious, curious…." He trailed off, his dark eyebrows furrowing as he gazed at Petunia.

"For a moment there, I was a little worried she was…you know…possessed." Slughorn gave Petunia an apologetic smile.

"Oh, I wouldn't say we've entirely ruled that out," Snape answered matter-of-factly, "but at least now it's only one of several more likely explanations. I'm more inclined to believe she just happens to actually be a Parselmouth."

"Anyway, there have always been wizards and witches who can speak Parseltongue here and there. Thankfully, it wasn't only – " Lupin didn't seem to want to finish this.

"Yes, there always have been."

It was very obvious to Petunia that the three of them were all too happy to avoid some subject. She suspected it had to do with the 'Voil 'La Morte' character she'd heard so much about, and the violent battle last year.

"Well, this changes things. It gives us a few new leads to pursue. We have much work to do." Snape said briskly, straightening his cloak as he stood.

"Surely you're going to let the poor woman have some respite? It's been a very busy week, and she worked so hard," protested McGonagall.

"What? Oh, of course," muttered Snape. "Petunia, take the rest of the week off. We'll return to experimenting next week."

"Are you – going somewhere?" Petunia asked, hoping they did not hear the disappointment in her voice.

"No need…but right now I do have to report to Madame Pomphrey, before she invokes medical rank and has me committed to hospital. But Petunia," Snape said, seeming to snap back into the present. "I do want you to come to me if anything more unusual happens, if you have any strange dreams or trances, or anything at all."

"Understood. What about anymore gnome gifts?" Petunia almost burst out laughing at the indescribable look on his face.

"I've got to go. Madame Pomphrey is expecting me," he muttered, turned on his heel, and left, Petunia and the rest of them sitting there watching through the open door as he disappeared down the hallway.

"The students!" McGonagall exclaimed. "Oh, I've got to get back to them and calm the prefects. I wish I were better at coming up with a good story to keep them from asking too many questions. Petunia, dear, how are you feeling? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I think," she said carefully. "Just had a little scare, that's all."

"Good…I wonder if you would be so kind as to talk to the seventh years? You can tell them – and only them – about this if you feel so inclined. It concerns them, and they may be able to help quell any out-of-control rumors."

"Certainly," Petunia said, glad to have something to do and get out from under all their inquisitive stares. She got up and left, hurrying through the few students that had gathered around the door outside as Professor Lupin closed the door behind her. She thought she heard a flurry of whispers the moment the door closed- "Did you see what I saw?" "Was it just me, or..." "I'd suspected, but that was - " -but soon decided she wasn't interested in whatever that was about. She was tired and wanted think about anything but magic, just for a little while.