June 1972

Sunlight dappled through the leaves above her head, painting a dancing mosaic of gold onto Aspen's rubbery, black skin. It looked a little less glossy and oily than usual and Petunia was worried that it might be drying out because of the summer heat.

Should she bring him to cool down in the brook instead? This was what she did on those few especially hot days this summer, when the shed got too stuffy for him to sleep. It would have been hard to miss that Aspen was no friend of heat and sunlight, preferring the cool shadows of the forest or nighttime. Thankfully, what he was suffering through was an English summer: apart from a handful of dry heat waves it consisted mostly of cloudy skies and summer showers.

She glanced at the rope in her hands, its fibres spun so tightly it felt smooth in her palms. But would it aggravate his sensitive skin regardless, rubbing it raw and bloody?

Aspen didn't notice her worries, calmly butting his nose against her chin and temple, a huff of his icy breath cooling the little dots of sweat at her hairline.

"I'm afraid to hurt you," Petunia explained to him, gripping the rope tighter. It was smooth, but his skin was as well. It looked thin and delicate, stretched tight over his even thinner and more delicate frame, each rib and sinew outlined starkly. What if she broke his bones? Petunia certainly wasn't heavy-set, but she was nonetheless a tall girl, and her weight reflected her height.

But feeling Aspen nuzzle the fine hair at her temple, she conceded that he was quite tall as well. Thanks to his steady exercising in the form of nightly flights and hunts and his increased supply of meat as a consequence, he had hit a growth spurt that saw him more than a whole head taller than her. Petunia knew that he would get taller still, if Eugene was to be believed.

If he hadn't grown so much, Petunia would never even entertain the idea of trying to ride him.

Taking a breath to fortify her nerves, Petunia smoothed the blanket she had draped over his spindly back. Aspen was already used to its presence, as she had introduced it a month ago, letting him get comfortable with the feeling of something on his back and skin.

"Alright, don't be surprised," she told him, slowly looping the rope around his bony chest. Aspen didn't startle, calmly breathing against her neck. "I just want to make sure there can be no accidents."

Once the rope was securely fastened around him, Petunia tied the other end around her waist, tightening it around her thighs as well. The rope bunched the fabric of her white sundress but she ignored the wrinkles she would have to iron out.

For a second she stared at the rope hanging in the warm summer air between them, painted in sun spots that made it glow. It connected the two of them almost … almost like a string of fate.

"Sometimes …" Petunia whispers. "I wonder what would have happened to me if I hadn't met you, Aspen."

What if her mother had decided that not only Lily but also Petunia was too young to witness the death of her Grandmother? What if she had found Lily and Severus that day in the forest before ever laying eyes on Aspen?

What would have happened to her, drowning in jealousy and bitterness, with nothing to set her apart, to give her solace and distraction? Nothing that offered her at least a slight glimpse into the world her little sister would always be part of, a world that had closed its doors for Petunia?

Who would she be, now?

A slight pinch on her scalp redirected her attention. Looking up she saw a strand of her pale hair tangled around the sharp hook of Aspens' nose bridge. He had noticed it as well and stilled, waiting for her to untangle it, afraid to hurt her if he moved his head.

Petunia felt herself smile.

"I'm glad I found you, Aspen."

Petals,

How did your first try go? I need some details, and fast - I already imagined at least a hundred scenarios this could have gone wrong and I'm not sure you'll be as interesting if you're squashed into a pancake.

Now that I wrote that, I think I'll have to skip breakfast.

Hungry and sincerely,

Gene

Eugene,

Don't skip meals.

It went alright, I secured myself and Aspen didn't leave the ground. Learning to steady myself while he gallops is my first step at the moment.

And I regret using only a blanket as a saddle, your Grandmother didn't understate the comfort of a Thestral's back in her notes.

Sincerely,

Petunia.

Petals,

No need to mind my delicate sensibilities, call it what it is: those aren't notes but a rant. A rant about the superiority of comfortable, feathered Hippogriffs as opposed to invisible skeleton-horses.

As a celebration of your continued survival, I'll eat my weight in pancakes today. Only the mother of all stomachaches can stop me now.

Best,

Gene

Eugene,

Rant or not, those notes are very precious to me. So, thank you.

Petunia stared at the drying words on the clean paper before glancing at Krampus, who was busily grooming his feathers. She didn't know what else to say. One part of her was struggling with even the little two words she had already written - thank you .

Consciously thanking someone, it turned out, was almost as hard as apologising. It made her feel vulnerable and unsure of herself. As if she was turning her back to something dangerous, open to attack and not knowing whether it was coming or not.

Her pen, the one with the expensive ink, left an indent in the side of her fingers, her pale skin turning from red to a yellowish white under the pressure. Petunia barely felt it.

She couldn't deny that she was … grateful. More than grateful. Without Eugene, without his Grandmother lamenting the fact that Thestrals were not only aesthetically unpleasing but also not bred for comfort, she would have never even thought about riding Aspen. In her head, the possibility of flying was always something she considered reserved for people like Lily. People who were born special.

But now she knew better. Thanks to him.

Petunia tried to swallow her anxiety as if it was an unappetizing morsel sitting on her tongue. The pen clattered from her hand when she forced herself to relax and Krampus' orange eyes focused on her at the noise.

He must think she had finished as he stretched out his clawed foot and hooted impatiently. Petunia didn't let her fingers falter when she folded her very short letter and fastened it. She didn't allow herself to look away as she was watching Krampus sail off her window sill into the greyish light of dawn - carrying her first words of sincere thanks away with him.

Petunia was certain that the first time Aspen's hooves left the ground while she was seated on his back would always be crystal clear in her memories. The rush of euphoria mixed with raw nerves, the dizziness as the forest grew smaller beneath her, the whistling of wind around her ears, the sting of her hair whipping into her cheeks and eyes.

And the laugh that bubbled out of her chest as she was suddenly weightless. As she was flying!

Aspen threw his head back proudly, his wings spread impossibly far, billowing like two black sails on either side of her. She felt his sharp ribs poke her inner thighs with each of his inhales and thankfully she had used enough padding this time that the protruding ridges of his spine were only a dull pressure.

Her trembling fingers clenched the rope so tightly she was sure that an impression would be left in her flesh.

Glancing down towards the ground, she saw the rustling trees of the forest, bathed in pale moonlight. Petunia had never realised that her small patch of forest was shaped just like a bean. Her family's house on top of the hill looked like it was owned by dwarves and not humans from her vantage point. She could see the framework her father had set up over the summer, outlining where he intended to try and build Lily's fireplace, but it looked too small. Everything was too small and far - and new and exciting.

Her eyes were tearing up and Petunia wasn't sure if it was because of the biting night winds or the emotions clogging her throat like a cork, leaving everything to bubble faster and faster in her stomach with no outlet.

Being up here was scary and unimaginable and exhilarating. It was the best feeling in the world.

Petunia didn't need magic, or a special school or a stupid broom to fly, to leave the confines of gravity and the ground. She only needed Aspen.

And someone who had thought of her enough to look through his Grandmother's stuff until he found what he was looking for.

July 1972

Summer break rolled around and with it, the return of Lily.

She bustled back into Petunia's life with an abundance of annoying stories and high-pitched exclamations of awe when she spotted their father's attempts at building her fireplace. "Dad! This looks amazing! It's so tall!"

It looks very small from Aspen's back , Petunia thought uncharitably while surveying the unfinished chimney running up the outside of her house. The bricks were layered a bit uneven and she could spot where her father had used too much plaster, but all in all it turned out a lot better than could be expected. At least it was mostly straight.

"I'll try to finish it before winter," her father said, patting Lily's hair affectionately. "Then you can invite all your Hogwarts friends to visit you."

Lily was almost bouncing in place with excitement. "I can't wait! I recently made friends with two other girls. We never talked that much until those boys in my House tried to pull a childish prank on the girl's stairway. All of us got stuck together and so we talked almost all night before …"

Petunia tuned Lily's gushing out, her mind automatically wandering back to the thought she hadn't wanted to contemplate any longer.

Two months .

Two whole months before she would hear from him again, before another letter would arrive.

It's not like there was ever a set time , Petunia tried to remind herself. Sometimes more than a week had passed before she got a letter from Eugene and she had never felt this … unsettled. Unreconciled.

But somehow simply knowing how long she had to wait changed it. Like an impatient itch in her mind that she couldn't scratch and that distracted her constantly.

The reason she hadn't accompanied her mother to pick up Lily in London for the summer vacation was Eugene. Or more to the point, his absence.

He was already in Romania. Petunia had to look up on a map how far away that was from England, before admitting to herself that there was no way Krampus would be able to fly the distance just to bring a few letters.

He was far away in Romania. Together with his father and a colleague with a strange name (something like Hidgebit or Ridgebridge), he would be spending his vacation in a Dragon Sanctuary.

If it hadn't meant she wouldn't hear from him, Petunia would surely have marvelled more at the implication. Dragons! She had read about them in her 'Fantastic Beasts' book but knowing that Eugene was actually going to see them somehow made it more real.

Petunia wondered if she would ever get a chance to see them as well.

Being a muggle, probably not.

Lily's laugh directed Petunia's attention back to her sister and father who were grinning at each other. Her father, who had never once assumed that maybe Petunia had someone who could visit her through the fireplace as well. Because Petunia wasn't magical, wasn't special, so she had no need for a wizard fireplace.

"Mary told me that we need to get it registered with the Ministry of Magic so it can be connected to the Floo Network," Lily continued, their father nodding along in obvious interest. "The Ministry is apparently really large, she told me they regulate everything from things like magical pets and fireplaces all the way to catching dangerous criminals! Sev once told me about a wizard prison called Azkaban …"

Magical pets … to criminals .

Petunia's heartbeat started echoing in her ears.

They regulated magical pets? How?

Was Aspen considered a magical pet? And if so what would happen if a wizard ever found out Petunia, a muggle, was taking care of him?

Her throat was too dry. She had to get out of the sun. Without another word, Petunia whirled around and walked inside the house, consciously not looking at the small garden shed she knew Aspen was currently slumbering the midday heat away in.

I should take him to the brook later , she thought, her mind drifting in different directions like fog in the wind. The weather is too hot today .

What would happen to her if someone ever found out about Aspen? What would happen to Aspen? And Eugene, who had helped her?

Petunia couldn't convince herself that the wizards would simply leave her in peace should they find out. They guarded their streets with magic and their books with teeth - they wouldn't leave something they considered part of their world in a muggle's care. Especially not something as wonderful and magical as Aspen.

No, they could never find out.

For Petunia, more than a simple bother, Lily's return also represented something she had dreaded: taking a break from her midnight flights. Sharing a room with Lily meant Petunia wouldn't have any opportunity to sneak out, as her little sister would surely notice.

So instead of spending her night riding the wind and touching the stars she stared at the shadowed ceiling of her bedroom, trying to find a pattern in the slowly peeling wallpaper.

She was trying to distract herself from her thoughts. No longer were they whirling around Romania and two months - instead the image of magical police men coming after her flashed through her mind whenever she blinked.

Lily was lying in her own bed, toying with her wand and glancing at her older sister. She obviously wanted something, but Petunia wasn't keen to find out what it was.

"So … the letters," Lily finally started, "They're all from that boy?"

Petunia didn't take her eyes off the ceiling turned blue by the moonlight. If she tilted her head just right one of the darker discolorations looked almost like a hoof print. "What boy?"

"You know, from the station. Gene Scamander."

Petunia bit down on the impulse to correct her. He was called Eugene .

When she realised she wouldn't get an answer, Lily continued. "Did you know that he's the son of a famous author? Apparently everyone at Hogwarts knows about him."

Petunia still didn't say anything but she didn't turn away either. Encouraged, Lily sat up, her emerald-green eyes sparkling. "But even though he's somewhat famous, he's not conceited at all. He's always with different friends - even some outside of his own House. Actually, he might be the only one I've seen hanging out with all Houses, even Slytherins. I don't really talk about it, but it's somehow strange now that Sev is in Slytherin and I'm in Gryffindor. We don't see each other that much, and when we do hang out everyone else is always staring."

Petunia made a non-committal noise. Her mind was flashing back to the confrontation she had witnessed between Severus and the two boys at the station. They had talked about 'Slytherin' as well.

"No-one likes Slytherins, but it's really bad in my House. It's ridiculous - sure, most of them are mean and sketchy, but Sev isn't like that at all. I don't know why he got Sorted there."

Petunia scoffed silently. The wretched boy? He was mean and sketchy alright - but never towards Lily.

It wasn't the first time Lily talked about Hogwarts Houses but it was maybe the first time Petunia didn't immediately tune her out. Usually as soon as the word 'Hogwarts' left her lips, Petunia rolled her eyes and busied herself with something else. But this time … "What House is Eugene in?"

Lily blinked. "Hufflepuff. That's usually where all the nice students are. Not that Gryffindors aren't nice," she quickly corrected herself. "But Hufflepuffs are nice to everyone."

Nice to everyone.

Petunia swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. Was the reason that Eugene talked with her simply because he was a 'Hufflepuff'? Was it innate kindness that forced him to write the letters and help her out?

I think you're much more interesting, Petals.

A stuttering breath reached her lungs when the memory of his voice flashed through her mind.

No, if he was only treating Petunia with compulsive kindness, he wouldn't go so far as to give her his grandmother's notes. It was no casual courtesy - it had to be more.

It had to be.

Two months …

"There's also Ravenclaws, they're nice as well but in a more polite way? Like, if you need to find something in the library …"

"Let's sleep," Petunia interrupted her. "It's late."

"Oh." Lily blinked before slowly lying back down. She twisted her wand a few times between her fingers before carefully setting it on her night table. "Good night, Tuney."

Petunia grit her teeth against the impulse but in the end one word still slipped out: "Night."

August 1972

Dead, glassy eyes stared at her from the lump on the forest floor, soft brown feathers rustling in an evening breeze. The chicken's neck hung at an awkward angle, leaving its head almost upside down.

The longer she stared at those small, unseeing eyes, the colder Petunia's neck got.

"Aspen … where did you get this?"

His ears twitched at her tone and his wings tightened against his flanks. That probably wasn't the praise he expected for bringing his biggest bird yet, but Petunia's worries overrode her tact.

"I know you didn't catch this in the air. This is a farm animal. I told you - no owls, no chickens or ducks!"

Aspen snorted and nudged the dead chicken closer to her. A fluffy feather tickled his slit-like nostril and he sneezed.

Usually Petunia would have smiled but right now her face was pale and drawn. "Farmer Wilson will probably think it was a cat or fox, but it's not safe to get that close to other humans. I can't be the only one with a dead relative in all of Cokesworth and someone might be able to see you and then …"

… and then the wizards would come and take you away from me. And put me in wizard prison.

Whenever Petunia took Aspen flying, she would only do so at night, above the empty fields, never close to town or during daylight. Because even if most people were unable to see Aspen, she would still very much be visible. And some small part of her, the part that realised that 'muggle' wasn't a nice word, the part that warned her every time before the wicked boy had cursed her in the past, was sounding the alarm even before she had heard Lily talk about this Ministry.

She could never be found out - Aspen could never be found out. Which was why he couldn't start targeting livestock. The magical folk might look down on normal people, but Petunia knew better. No matter how clever and magical Aspen was, his leg would get caught in a 'muggle' trap just as surely as any fox'.

Just picturing it made something sharp and nasty wash up her throat. The dead chicken at her feet morphed from an innocent lump of soft feathers into something ominous and frightening.

Petunia's voice was different, more fragile, when she spoke again. "Don't go to the farm again …"

"What are you doing?"

Petunia froze.

"Is that a dead chicken?"

Petunia's pale blue eyes met black ones at the other side of the clearing. The wretched boy was standing in the trees' shadow, his grey and washed out clothes almost melting with them, his hair as stringy and long as always. His pale face was haggard and she could read the distaste in the furrows around his lips.

Aspen was standing right next to her. Petunia's heartbeat was throbbing in her ears. Would the boy see him?

But Severus continued to focus on the chicken, eyes switching between her face and the ground.

He can't see Aspen , Petunia realised and was almost swept away by her giddy relief.

She didn't trust Severus. He was the lovestruck fool with a vicious streak that followed after her little sister and he hated her. If there was something he could hold over her head, something that he could use to hurt her as 'revenge' for her presumed misdeeds against angelic Lily, he would no doubt do it. So he could never know about Aspen.

She had waited too long to answer him and the wretched boy came over, avoiding the sun-soaked grass in the middle of the clearing by sticking to its dark edges. As if he was afraid what the bright light would reveal.

"Did you kill it?"

Petunia didn't look at the dead bird. "No, I found it."

His black eyes narrowed. He had stopped close enough that Petunia could just make out her own pale face reflected in them. "I don't believe you."

She tried to mask her nerves with exasperation. "Why bother asking, then?"

"I wanted to know if you would lie."

Annoying git.

His eyes were drawn to the chicken again. "A waste."

Petunia opened her mouth to snipe back, when his words registered. A waste? Of what? Life? Food?

Petunia tried her best to not notice his sunken cheeks and bony hands. She knew as well as anyone in town did that his family was poor - wretched poor - but she didn't know if it was to the point of starvation. Didn't his father have a job at the local incineration yard? Did he waste all his salary on booze so that there wasn't much left for food?

Or was she reading too much into the boy's casual remark?

"Who were you talking to?"

Petunia's heart skipped a beat in panic, all thoughts about his family situation forgotten.

His eyes were like two splinters of frozen ink, unmoving and cold, their sharp edges cutting at Petunia's composure.

"Myself." Her voice didn't sound as steady as she would have liked.

Severus surveyed the shadows all around them, his gaze ghosting over Aspen without seeing him. What was he looking for? "Lie."

"What do you care, Severus?" Petunia exploded, masking her fear with fury. "Go back to simpering around Lily and leave me alone!"

His eyebrows twitched down but before the expression had time to form, he had already whirled around, hiding it. His steps were bigger as he stalked off, still sticking to the tree line, his narrow shoulders stiff - and then he disappeared between two oaks, as quietly and quickly as he had shown up.

Something ticklish touched her foot and Petunia looked down to see Aspen roll the chicken closer again. Petunia huffed in annoyance, but didn't kick it away. "Eat it, at least. Then it won't be a waste."

A waste … was the wretched boy really starving? Or was he simply looking gaunt because his growth spurt was stretching him?

Petunia found herself glancing at the place he disappeared. Why had he been here in the first place? The wretched boy never - never - talked to her without motive. He always either wanted to humiliate and ridicule Petunia or defend Lily.

But this time had been … strange. There'd been neither insults for her nor praises for Lily.

It didn't sit right with her, as if it was a small fishbone lodged in her throat, that didn't loosen no matter how often she swallowed. And no matter how often she thought about the emotion that had shortly flashed across his face before he was gone, the more she couldn't figure it out.

Because if Petunia didn't know better, she would almost think that he had been … sulking.