Author's Note: If you have read this chapter previously, you'll notice that it's been rewritten to leave out Draco teaching Petunia over the summer. When I first began this story, it was intended to be connected with another Drarry story I planned to write, but I don't know if I am still interested in writing that other story, so I've decided to detach it and let it stand on its own. :)
Trials
Snape drummed his fingers on his desk as he waited for the Dursley woman to answer his summons. There was nothing for it but to face her and make a decision.
She was nothing like Lily. And yet, Lily, he knew, would be there the moment he opened the door, staring back at him through Petunia's eyes, triumphant and cold.
Well, let her. He'd use Petunia for his own purposes, and then Lily would see how her revenge would backfire.
"I've paid my debt to you," he whispered, clenching his fists. He took a deep breath. He went to the door.
"So, you've decided to face me after all, Severus? And what do you have to say for yourself?" The thin, pointy-faced woman said haughtily, as if she had been rehearsing these words. He looked her up and down with exaggerated distaste, and stood aside to let her into the office. She blushed as she stalked past, and he took a sadistic pleasure from this as evidence that she had felt the sting of his dismissive expression.
"How did you create that Patronus?" Severus immediately asked. It was clear this was the only topic that had been on his mind for the last two days, when Petunia had been wandering the halls staggering from one disastrous humiliation to the next.
"How did I what?"
"The Patronus. From your wand. Surely you remember."
"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about. If this is some sorry attempt to set me up with some sort of crime so you can have me booted out of here, I promise you, it will not work! It will take more than persecution to get me out of Hogwarts, Severus, and when I tell my nephew Harry-"
"You mean to say you don't even remember casting a spell? It came seeping out of your wand, clear as day. It rose between us just before your headache. Do you remember now?"
He was waiting, for Petunia must have looked shocked as she realized what he was referring to. The silvery, blue smoke…could that have come from her?
"That was a-a what did you call it?"
"Patronus," he repeated patiently. "It's called a Patronus, and it is a very powerful spell, used by magical people to protect themselves in times of intense fear and dismay. You've heard of dementors?"
"Yes…" she frowned, still trying to put it all together. She'd cast a spell?!
"Yes, your son had a run-in with them. The Patronus charm is how your nephew saved him, staving off the dementors until help could come. It is no simple trick, Mrs. Dursley. In fact, it takes several years for even some of our best students to master, and Potter himself went through some extraordinary effort to learn it. You must have been taught it somehow. Tell me, how did you manage it?"
"I…I don't know," she said finally, deciding that the truth was the best strategy, until she could figure out a way to make this work in her favor. "I've never done it before."
"Never?" Severus questioned, clearly implying that she might be lying.
"No, never, sir, as I said. I have never even heard of it, and I certainly have not seen it."
"But you implied," he persisted, leaning forward and peering at her as if at an animal specimen in a lab cage, "that you had some skill when you came here. So you must have done something like it before, Mrs. Dursley."
"No, I have not," she answered defiantly, looking nervous. "That's why I'm here, aren't I? To learn how to do it."
"I see you are carrying your sister's wand," he said after a silence. "How did you come by it?"
"It was a gift," she said flatly. He waited, but she gave no further explanation.
"Look here," she said forcefully, attempting to stare him down, "How I obtained my wand -" he sneered at the word "my" "-is irrelevant, and you're clearly stalling. I've proven to you that by merely having it in my hand and being presented with the opportunity of using it, I am capable of performing magic. Which leads me to the overwhelmingly obvious conclusion that, had such a simple gesture been presented to a so-called 'Muggle' ever in the past hundred years, you and your self-serving, conceited little world of weirdos might have a very different population at this school than the selective one you've been enjoying."
"I see…" Snape did not bother to take this bait, although she was certain he could have come up with this or that or the other detailed argument as to why, again, Muggles had never been permitted at Hogwarts, and she had been ready for that fight. But he seemed interested, and, despite herself, her heart pounded, excited. The fact was, she shared his curiosity, and it was almost contagious, the way he was turning it over in his head, the shrewd possibilities she just knew he was greedily considering. Could it be that he would actually change his mind?
After a long silence, during which Petunia shifted her stance from one version of defiance to another, Snape finally looked up again. When his eyes fell upon her, they seemed almost to look through her, and she felt he was still very lost in thought. The animosity that had been so thick between them had momentarily, at least, receded.
"It is very unusual, of course, to take on adult students, skilled or not. Hogwarts does have a reputation to protect."
"Oh, of course," she replied, soaking her voice with sarcasm. She imagined dozens of little robed and queerly dressed children eagerly discussing their prospects of studying at Hogwarts with their equally strange parents, as excited as if they were about to be admitted to Oxford, and rolled her eyes.
"For that reason, I think some discretion would be best. Where there is no prior policy in place, one must be careful about setting a precedent before the possible repercussions have been thoroughly discussed and examined by all who hold stake in the future of the decision."
"Blah, blah-blah, blah. Just spit it out, why don't you."
"Yes," Severus mused, not even appearing to register her rudeness. "Discretion." He stood up. "That being said, I've decided to take you on for some private training. I at least would like to discover more about the anomaly. You'll have to stay for a little while longer, as this may take some time. I have a lot of information to gather, and you'll need to be compliant and answer all my questions and follow all my instructions to the line."
"You talk about me as if I were a science experiment."
"That's exactly what you are, and it would be a pity on you if you were to forget it. But you're getting exactly what you wanted, aren't you? You're going to study magic, after a fashion, just like your little sister." He sneered, but she did not notice.
Having nothing to say to this, she was trying very hard to hide her rapture as realization of her victory hit her. After all this time! Oh, if only Lily were still alive to see! They might still be close again…
"Very well, Mrs. Dursley, you are our first Muggle student," he said, almost amiably, and she did not bother to berate him for using the "M" word. "Now I suggest you get some rest. Oh, and we'll be moving your quarters, of course, out of the Hospital Wing. I'll want to know if you suffer any more headaches, and any other physical symptoms, but I think there is no immediate danger other than some discomfort which will, I would postulate, fade with time. Unless you have any personal concerns about your health?"
"None…I don't think I need medical attention at the moment, and something tells me even if I did, it would not be your doctors who could provide it."
"Very well, then, Petunia. Step outside and give me a moment; I'll take you to your new quarters myself."
She stood struggling with herself for a moment, and he looked up.
She tried, just for a moment, to see him as a Headmaster, and not that greasy, wicked little boy who had stolen her sister from her years ago. And she tried to see herself as the younger version of herself, having arrived fresh after having received an affirmative answer to her letter requesting admission. She opened her eyes.
"Yes…sir," she said softly, and it felt so good.
Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Hogwarts is an ancient institution with a dignified and distinguished history. As a student at Hogwarts, you agree to uphold the reputation of this school with conduct befitting of its prestigious legacy. This contract will serve as a binding magical and legal agreement upon your signature; please read carefully and thoughtfully before signing.
By signing this contract, you indicate your understanding and acceptance of the following:
-You are hereby admitted under probationary status as a student of Hogwarts, and your admittance may be revoked at any time, for any reason, with or without warning.
-Your probationary status renders you ineligible to apply coursework toward a diploma, degree, certificate, or any other terminal condition, until such time as your status is adjusted
-You are not guaranteed any adjustment of status
-You may not fraternize with any Hogwarts students below seventh year
-You will exercise discretion when discussing your studies with any other students, faculty, or members of the outside community
-You will dress and behave in a manner appropriate to your age and station
-You will complete all assignments, practice modules, and regimens provided in your course of study diligently, obediently and without fail
-You will observe any and all other behavioral and academic restrictions determined by the Headmaster
-This contract may be added to or otherwise altered at any time and as many times as necessary throughout the course of your studies at Hogwarts and, if so altered, will be preceded by due notice.
If you agree to these terms, please sign and date below.
Petunia had written her signature while reading the contract. There was no need to hesitate; if Severus thought a paragraph or two of legal jargon would scare her away, he did not know her very well. As soon as she had written the date, the scroll of parchment had shimmered and, levitating before her, re-rolled itself, disappearing with a crack!
She took a deep, shaky breath, and let it out slowly.
A smile spread across her face.
She giggled, chuckled, laughed out loud and squealed with pleasure.
"Oh, Lily, look at this room!" She could hardly help herself; ever since she had stepped out of the carriage that took her to the gates of Hogwarts, she had found herself spontaneously talking to Lily, almost as if they were still children again, still close, before all that had happened. In fact, since Vernon's death, she had felt, oddly, closer to Lily than ever. Although her anger was not gone, she found the ritual comforting. She simply had to tell someone!
The room had been made up for her somewhere near the kitchens and, as she had been told, Hufflepuff House, although she had not yet been to see it. It was also strategically placed near enough to the dungeons, by way of both the stairs and a back hallway entrance, so as to keep her near to Snape's house of Slytherin, where her lessons, the Headmaster told her, would mostly be taking place. Standing up and walking around in a kind of hushed awe, Petunia examined and relished every object, every decoration, every corner of her quarters.
For all his severity, Severus had chosen well and, she suspected, had the room well prepared for its new occupant. A four-poster bed with hangings, just enough for her to stretch out upon, was pushed against the side wall, so that she could walk around it to the other side of the room and sit by the window that looked out onto the green…To see the students if I wish, she thought, impressed.
Was it kindness that had given him this insight, or cruelty? She supposed it didn't matter, deciding that the effect would be up to her. By the window and chair was a small, circular table, glass-covered, with old but distinguished ornate sculpture gracing its four elegant legs. Another chair sat on the other side, although she doubted he actually expected her to have visitors. More for appearances than anything else, she guessed, but still…it was a nice touch, to have it there, just in case…
Across from her bed there was enough room to walk between the bed and the bureau, which had shelves and drawers and cupboards that swung and opened out, some with hooks for jewelry or cushioned areas in which to stick pins. In the center of the bureau was a round mirror face, with, strangely enough, two small curtains of silk that could be drawn across a brass bar to cover it. Several cloth bags of what looked to be grooming supplies sat in baskets on the bureau, and she thought this gesture had the unmistakable touch of a woman's good sense. Interesting, that…
Next to the bureau was a private bathroom that was quite small, but also very nicely set up with a standalone wash basin and a tiny bathtub with a set of clear curtains and cloth ones. She could tell from the exposed piping in the bathroom that the room must have originally been meant for janitorial purposes, which meant of course, that someone had taken great trouble to make it hospitable for its guest. On the opposite wall from the bathroom and within reach of the bed was a study desk with a bookshelf, and a few books and mostly decorative items in it.
On the desk were a set of what appeared to be old-fashioned ink bottles, and a number of feathered quills which she instantly took out and lovingly admired. They had different plumes that seemed, along with the size and shape of their points, to suggest different purposes. One drawer on the desk was about as long as a post mailbox, and she slid it open to find it empty, but unusually dark. Several sheets of parched paper, like old-fashioned stationary, had been neatly arrayed in a pile so that a few of the corners fanned out, and she had two actual scrolls, blank, tucked into the nook.
On the bookshelf were a few books, an ornate bookend, and a snowglobe with a queer little village in it. At the touch of her fingertip, the snowglobe sprang to life with glitter swirling around, and with another touch, soft instrumental music played, of varying genres, but always gentle and without words. Studying music, perhaps? Inside the other drawers were some jars, bottles and boxes of things that rattled or slurped or sludged…she left those alone.
Finally there was crammed against this wall a small wardrobe that looked as if it had seen better days, and upon opening it, Petunia was tickled to find a long set of black robes. Her mouth dropped open as she contemplated actually wearing it within sight of others, and she quickly closed the door, but not before noting that there appeared to be other items of clothing in the wardrobe; she would have to explore them later.
In the midst of the floor was a round, rope carpet of many colors that she could have sworn had been square and red with end tassels a moment before, but she was so taken with all the details of the room that she pushed this to the back of her mind. Looking around at the walls, there were a couple more bookshelves with only a few books on them, and paintings of beautiful landscapes she did not know. Her eyes rested upon one: in it, a beautiful young girl, just at the point of coming of age, knelt in the ground beneath a tree, a unicorn lying in her lap as she fed it an apple.
Petunia could not take her eyes off this picture; she stood for a whole ten minutes or so meditating on every feature of the girl, taken with how alive she looked, the flush in her cheeks, the utterly contented smile of complete absorption, and most of all, the strange quality of being both childlike and womanly at the same time, frozen, frozen in time at the place of all possibilities, while a magical beast glistened, his head probably warm, leaning upon her lap, the two of them swallowed by the deep green of the hidden forest…
Something, a soft, chiming sound, came from her desk, and she gradually pulled her gaze from the picture to the desk where, it appeared, an unnoticed piece of parchment seemed to have been placed upon it, and now glowed in time with the soft chime.
Mesmerized, Petunia approached the desk and, touching the glowing paper tentatively, picked it up. It was something between a map and a schedule, she found, upon closer inspection. As if someone had been sitting there for hours, in careful, exquisite calligraphy, a detailed map of the main sections of the school were labeled, and in the dining hall, which now glowed green, the words "Evening Meal" were being scrawled and erased over and over, also in time with the chime.
Her eyebrows knitted. Was she meant to join the other students in the dining hall? But Severus's preoccupation with discretion…still, she had to eat. Petunia suddenly realized she was mightily hungry, and could not remember her last real meal. She thought perhaps it had been on the train, when she had really been too nervous to eat anything. Beginning to resent Severus anew, she reopened the wardrobe, pulled out the black robe, and, taking a deep breath, adjusted it in front of the mirror.
She was surprised to find that the mere addition of the robe did wonders to her appearance; while she thought it was odd to see her own face staring back at her, uncertain and awkward, from above them, she otherwise should fit right in. Even if I do look like one of the professors, she mused. Well, at least it would allow her to explore…wouldn't it?
"Here I go," she said, and opened the door.
The smells from the kitchens had been seeping in for a few minutes already, she realized, as she closed the door behind her, and then frantically checked to make sure the key Severus had given her would work. Being so close to the kitchens, she could hear a kind of musical, rhythmic clatter and bustle. She walked down the halls, trying not to trip on her high heels, which had never given her trouble in all the years since she'd begun wearing them at the age of sixteen.
Remembering that the kitchens were run by-she gulped-those awfully ugly "elves," she hoped she would not run into any and sped up her pace. It was not long before she heard the sounds of students entering the great hall, chatting happily amongst themselves as she stopped just behind a great door frame and looked out.
After it seemed the crowds going in were dwindling to the last stragglers, she gathered her courage and carefully followed them at a distance until she could get a glimpse inside the great hall. The sight that met her eyes looked exactly as it had been described by Lily to their parents; exactly as she had imagined it all these years, long after Lily had stopped talking about Hogwarts to her, terrified of enraging her further.
Rows and rows of students sat at long, medieval-esque banquet tables, and the tables were covered…covered with all sorts of food, colorfully displayed. Candles floated above their heads in the vast, spacious ceiling, both terrifying and beautiful, and above them, what looked like the dark night sky. Looking back into the room, she saw the happiness of the Hogwarts students; no one seemed to be eating alone, none without some kind of sparkling engagement, whether arguing, laughing or listening. And she could not help but notice that not one of them looked even close to eighteen.
Lifting her eyes as she scanned, she noticed the long table at the far end, with the teachers, and Headmaster Snape himself, sitting in their midst. From the distance he appeared to be concentrating on his food, although it looked like one or two of the other instructors were talking to and over him. What would he do when he saw her? Would he sneer? Invite her in? Scowl and gesture for her to disappear?
Not wanting to catch his eye, she began to back away, resolved to find some other means of procuring sustenance. She turned around, but not before accidentally catching the eye of someone else, someone who was standing, not sitting, with a group of other students who all looked just a little taller and more self-assured than everyone else. The young woman who had noticed her had long, full, almost bushy hair and a sharp expression; Petunia had a feeling she did not miss much. The girl was looking at her rather curiously, and almost looked as if she were about to start walking in her direction. A couple of the others standing with her, one of whom, Petunia now realized, was young Mister Malfoy, began to turn when they saw her looking toward the door.
Petunia did not give them a chance to see what the first girl had been looking at; she spun on her heel and began to walk quickly back toward where she'd come. Food would just have to wait; she did not wish to be caught by anyone just then.
Shortly after she'd found her room again and closed the door breathlessly behind her, there was a small knock just on the outside. Her heart beat a little quicker; the knock was not recognizable. In fact, she considered, it was rather Muggle-like to knock on a door, wasn't it? Surely if it were the Headmaster, he'd have found another way to announce himself. She paused and held her breath, hoping whoever it was would go away.
On the third knock, she opened the door.
The young woman from inside the hall was standing outside, her arms filled with a tray of piled with utterly delicious-looking dishes, and wearing a shy, apologetic smile.
"Mrs. Dursley? Good evening. I'm Hermione Granger, a friend of your nephew's."
Petunia merely gaped at her, her mind clicking away, thinking about how impossibly fast the girl had appeared outside of her door, and loaded down as she was; then she remembered where she was. She must get used to such odd impossibilities.
"I'm-I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"No, Mrs. Dursley, I don't think we've ever formally met, but I could not help but guess it was you. I keep in regular touch with Harry-" the girl seemed to stop and shake herself, as if remembering why she'd really come; "-I noticed you in the hall just now, and thought you might like to join some of us for supper."
"I'm not hungry," Petunia lied, her voice coming out rather petulant.
"Well…it's just that, some of us-a small group of us, you know, were going to have supper privately, as, you know, it's rather noisy in the great hall, and anyway, we're a bit older than everyone else there…you see, we didn't really get to finish our seventh year, because of the violence at the school, and so some of us have returned for some final studies. We take night classes," the girl called Hermione explained, as if this would somehow change Petunia's mind.
"Privately?" She asked, understanding that the girl was politely suggesting she might feel a bit out of place.
Well, you do, she told herself practically. There was no point in pretending otherwise just for her pride; she did have to eat, and anyway, she was now, officially even, an actual student of Hogwarts. When in Rome, I suppose…
"Where?" She asked.
"Just down this way," Hermione said, looking absolutely elated that her invitation was being considered. "There's a room just off the kitchens where we've had a table set up, and I can show you where you can easily find a meal if, like the rest of us, you'd like to avoid the great hall once in a while, although of course you're welcome to eat there if you choose-"
"I'm sorry, Miss Granger," Petunia interrupted, closing her eyes. "But just how do you know all this?"
"Oh…well, it's not that I've been prying or anything…"
"Not that I mind, you understand, but I'm just curious. I haven't exactly spoken to anyone about being here, and that includes my nephew, although I did tell him I might make the trip. I'm just trying to understand how you seem to know so much about why I'm here-"
"Mrs. Dursley, it's me who should apologize," Hermione answered genuinely, clearly ignoring the weight of all she was carrying as Petunia watched her arms lower the tiniest bit and readjust the tray. "I'm rather good at paying attention to what goes on around here; it's just something I do. It drives Harry and Ron crazy! Although it's come in quite handy in some tight spots, and so I rather think someone's got to do it. No one's really told me anything, although I thought I've noticed you around a few times. There was…er…a rumor about a bathroom in the Hospital Wing."
Petunia sighed.
"Yes, my wonderful entrance. Well, I suppose it would be rude to refuse; thank you very much for the offer. I don't mean to seem so…so reticent," she faltered, realizing that she sounded a little haughty and trying to make up for it.
"Not at all! I'm glad you'll join us." Hermione positively beamed, and with a nod of her head, said, "right this way, Mrs. Dursley. And you'll get to meet some of Harry's other friends," she added, obviously thinking this a plus. Petunia sighed again, but silently, and gratefully closing the door, followed the girl with the tray of food.
As promised, Hermione led her past doors and halls of what appeared to be storage areas, cool rooms and pantries, until they came to a small, cozy kitchenette that had been attached to a modified dining room. A beautiful, long cherry wood table that could seat probably up to twelve stood in the center, and several students already sat there, talking around mouthfuls of food.
There was a very blonde, thin boy with a kind of adult-like posture standing presumably over his place at the table, looking at a young boy with red hair who looked just a little familiar. When she entered behind Hermione, he turned toward them and, seeing her, smiled the kind of shallow smile young people who had been raised in high society gave to adults. She nodded and tried to smile back.
"Hello, Mrs. Dursley. My name is Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. Come have a seat," he said charmingly, coming around the table and pulling out a chair for her next to him. Relieved, she took her seat.
"Thank you. Don't mind if I do."
Hermione plopped down on the other side next to the young man with the red hair and, she now saw, sprinkle of freckles, and pushed the tray of food into the middle of the table, taking some of the plates for herself with a satisfied expression. The red-haired boy looked at her, a secret glance of some kind passed between him, and then turned his attention to Petunia.
"'Lo," he said, somewhat rudely she thought, around a leg of poultry. He suddenly jerked as if he'd just realized he were sitting on a very hot bed of coals, swallowed, wiped his hands on his legs, and half stood to offer his hand over the table. "Ron Weasley. Harry's mate. We've met before-sort of," he finished awkwardly, as Petunia distrustfully gave him a limp hand.
"Nice to meet you," she said flatly, and did not try to smile this time, but he did not seem to notice. She looked around and saw a young woman with blond hair who smiled serenely at her.
"Luna Lovegood," Hermione said by way of introduction, and the girl nodded. She looked all right, Petunia thought, if a little awkward.
"Where's Neville?" Draco asked.
"Dunno," said Ron. "Should be here any minute. Said he had to drop off something for the Headmaster. Was awful proud, too."
"I'm here!" a blustering voice said, startling Petunia, as a tall, lanky young man with short, dark hair stalked in through the kitchenette, taking off a long jacket from over his robe and setting down a box of potted plants as he took a seat next to Luna.
"Oi," the boy called Ron said, mouth again full.
"Hi, Neville," said Hermione and Draco.
The blond girl smiled again.
The boy called Neville, whom Petunia thought looked rather smart and grown-up, hastily pulled out his chair and sat down, settling himself, before suddenly looking up and seeing Petunia there with some surprise.
"Good evening," she said first, picking up a fork and a moist-looking meat pie. "I'm Petunia Dursley. I trust you know my nephew, Harry Potter."
"Of course I do! Neville Longbottom. It's-nice to meet you, Ma'am," he stammered, instantly getting up to take her hand, and she thought she rather liked his manners. He sat back down with a mixture of embarrassment and interest, and quickly turned his attention to the others, as if trying to gauge their expressions for how he should react.
"I ran into Mrs. Dursley on my way," said Hermione without batting an eyelash, "and invited her to join us."
"Good you did," said Neville. "I imagine Harry would hardly like it if any of his relatives were here and we did not make ourselves known. I'm sorry we didn't know you were here sooner, Mrs. Dursely."
"I only just arrived," she began to explain, after swallowing what tasted like the most exquisite bite of food she could ever have imagined.
"Something to drink, Mrs. Dursley?" Draco asked, getting up.
"Yes, I'd love something cold, whatever you're having, thank you," she said, and he went into the kitchenette.
"As I was saying, I only just arrived, and my first day was spent in-in the Hospital Wing," she said carefully, remembering Severus's admonitions to be discreet.
"The Hospital Wing? That's hardly a good place to start," said Luna.
"Yes, I'm afraid I was a little bit…in shock, you might say."
"Hang on, aren't you a Muggle?" Neville asked.
Hermione put down her fork and gave him a stony glare.
Petunia, stiffening, looked down at her food and took another bite, collecting herself. Don't be rude, don't be rude, don't be rude, don't be rude…she chanted to herself until she'd swallowed.
"Yes, I do think that's the word that's been used to refer to me in the past," she said, calmly enough, and glancing up at Neville, was secretly pleased to see he looked abashed, his cheeks bright red.
"And now, for an encore, Neville, how about you sing us a rousing chorus of The Werewolves and the Wee, Wee Bairns?" said Draco.
Ron gave a small snort into his mug, and Petunia, not understanding the reference, nevertheless could not help finding this shaming amusing.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Dursley," said the young man so genuinely that she instantly forgave him. Such a nice boy, so like Dudley when he was younger, a proper, proper young man…
"Not at all, Mr. Longbottom. You didn't mean any harm."
"No, Ma'am," he said gratefully, his cheeks still pink. "What I meant was-"
"Yes, being at Hogwarts is taking some getting used to, and it was a bit of a shock at first, especially since the first thing that greeted me was a-my goodness, I can hardly make myself say it! A-"
"Ghost," Draco finished for her. "Myrtle," he added by way of explanation to the others.
"Is that her name?" Petunia shuddered. Although the memory was still horrific, she was getting some kind of obscene pleasure from talking about it, especially with those sympathetic young faces turned to her, looking horrified on her behalf. And honestly, there must be something in the food, because she was really in quite a good mood, all of a sudden…
"Oh Myrtle. Myrtle, Myrtle, Myrtle," said Draco, shaking his head.
"They call her Moaning Myrtle," Ron added. "And she certainly plays the part."
"Oh she does, she does. We've got some 'history,' her and I," Draco continued, and Petunia felt that, like her, he was pleased at having a story to tell to a willing audience.
"She's harmless, though," said Neville.
"And quite sad, actually," Hermione pointed out, looking slightly irritated.
"Sad or not, it can't have been nice to meet her on your first day at Hogwarts, especially if you aren't used to magical things happening all the time to begin with," pointed out Luna.
"Wait, didn't you say the Hospital Wing? That's not her normal haunt," Ron frowned.
"Oh, knowing Myrtle," said Draco cheerfully, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, "She probably wanted to get first look at the newcomer. Just think, Mrs. Dursley," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and grinning ironically, "She made a special trip up to that bathroom, just for you."
"I'm honored, obviously," she joked, and was pleased when they laughed.
They were a strange bunch.
They made reference to incredible stories that she didn't quite understand, but could see that they had all been through something together…something terrible. She thought of Harry, and noticed how many times her nephew's name came up in conversation. Often, some incredible act of bravery was attributed to him, and it seemed that all would have been lost, had not Harry done this, or that, or the other. She tried not to be jealous as she thought about her own son, Dudley, and wondered if he would have done half the things Harry was said to have done, had he just had the opportunity.
She also thought she noticed some kind of interesting dynamic between Draco and the others. While the other four seemed very much at ease, Draco always seemed to be trying just a little too hard to impress them with his words. They seemed to tolerate this well. She thought he had rather the attitude of one constantly trying to apologize for something, something…but though she listened, she could not find out what it was. Also, it was clear that Ron and Hermione were the closest of all to Harry, and she eventually remembered having seen the red-haired boy in a flying car at some point, but much younger…
Also, someone named Ginny was mentioned quite a bit as if she usually joined them, and she gathered from the conversation that Ginny was Harry's sweetheart, and also Ron's sister. Interesting…
"Tell me about the night classes," she had asked at one point, her meal finished, and her plate and utensils forgotten as she leaned forward, looking to Hermione.
"They're mostly with Lupin," Hermione explained. "Even though we've all been able to more than qualify for our various jobs-I'm at the Ministry of Magic, for instance-" she looked rather proud here-"we were given the choice to formally complete our studies and get our diplomas. Most of us took it. I suspect partly because it's hard to say good bye to this place," she concluded fondly.
"And really, with all that the war did to this school and so many families being affected by it, there were so many loose ends to tie up to get back to any sense of normalcy," put in Luna. "We were just a few of them."
"But I was under the impression that Hogwarts did not accept adult students," Petunia persisted.
They looked at each other.
"I don't know that there's any actual policy about that," Hermione answered, frowning, while the rest seemed to defer to her. "Although I've never actually seen any other adult students here-"
"Pardon me, Mrs. Dursley, but are you-are you studying at Hogwarts?" Ron piped up, looking as if something had just clicked into place. All their faces looked expectantly to her at this, clearly more interested in her answer to this question than in anything else that had been said that evening.
They were all seventh year and over, after all, Petunia considered.
"Well, yes, actually, I am."
A few impressed gasps and "Blimey's!" were uttered, and a small warmth crept into her cheeks, but she was not as embarrassed as she was proud.
"I hardly know what to ask first!" admitted Neville. "Not that it's any of our business," he added hastily.
Draco was silent, and he seemed very interested in moving around a remnant of food on his plate, all of a sudden, but she guessed that he was waiting for her to decide how much she wanted to tell.
"Well, it's quite a story, really," Petunia said thoughtfully, feeling awed by the reality of her situation anew. "The truth is…the Headmaster…he thinks I have some ability," she finished a little lamely.
"There's been evidence," Hermione guessed.
"Yes."
"You know for sure?" said Ron, before being nudged roughly by Hermione.
"The headmaster saw it himself," Petunia answered.
There was silence at this, and a newfound look of awe on their faces as they regarded her, which somehow made her sit all the straighter, and Petunia momentarily forgot the age difference between them.
"I knew it," Hermione whispered after a moment, positively glowing with pride. "I knew they were wrong about Muggles. They're wrong about so many things, when it comes to anything biological…"
"Well, they're not wrong, are they?" countered Ron. "She's not a Muggle, obviously."
"Then why didn't they detect her sooner?" said Neville, also apparently taken with Hermione's hypothesis.
Ron shrugged.
"They missed her, is all."
"There's a very simple answer, actually, but the Ministry's been ignoring it for years. My dad has reported incidents of Muggles performing magic since The Quibbler's early days…"
For some reason Petunia did not understand, no one said anything to this, and they all seemed to be ignoring Luna.
"Let me guess," said Draco, his eyes narrowing. "Headmaster Snape wants to find out exactly why you're able to perform magic, and he wants all the credit for himself. I bet he's keeping you here as his personal test subject… no offense, Mrs. Dursley."
"He does know Snape pretty well," Ron conceded.
"I'm not offended, I think," Petunia smiled.
"Well, it's just like him, but in a way, you couldn't be in better hands, so I say let him," Draco said simply.
Hermione looked a little concerned.
"Doing anything with Headmaster Snape can be pretty intense. I think it's wonderful you're studying at Hogwarts, Mrs. Dursley, and I just hope, whatever he puts you through, you won't give up. If you should need any help, any help at all-"
"Oh no you don't, 'Moine," said Ron. "You let her do the work she's got to do on her own. No interfering. You'll skew the results."
"Don't be so insensitive," she snapped back, and the two of them began a bickering session that took them out of the conversation.
"I appreciate the offer. I'm sure I'm in good hands."
"I'd love to talk more sometime," said Hermione again, as she was walking Petunia back to her room later. "And of course, you're welcome to join us any time you want some company for supper again. We meet there a few times a week…" Petunia unlocked her door and, wrapping her robe protectively around her as a nervous habit, she thanked Hermione and smiled shyly. She was not sure, she thought, watching the girl retreat happily in the direction of the Great Hall, how often she might want to take her up on her offer, but it was nice to know the option was there, and it was nice to have the problem of meals solved.
Upon entering her room, she instantly noticed it had already changed…again
On her desk appeared to be some large, greenish glass bottle, the soft light of the room making a prism of colors on the wall next to her bed. Around the glass bottle top was wrapped a colorful, frayed yarn knit into a ribbon. The bottle appeared to be filled with some dark, thick liquid. Next to it, on the desk, was a small parchment that had, in very neat, small handwriting, instructions:
Drink entire contents before retiring.
Picking up the bottle and examining it, Petunia got an eerie feeling.
Then her eye caught the larger parchment with the map and the schedule on it, for a new line now glowed green under the title "Agenda." It read:
Tomorrow, 7:00 a. m., Dungeon Classroom 4B.
