Story Title: Petunia, the Petulant
Chapter title: "The Wand"
Author's Note: My thanks to this story's loyal readers, and for the review! The writing of these chapters is not as polished as I intend when I am finished, but I have learned that if I try to wait until a story is perfect, I will never finish it. So thank you for bearing with me, and in the meantime, consider yourselves my informal betas! Let me know how you like the way things are progressing. ;) - Sincerley, QQ
The Wand
"So, what now? Giving me the cold shoulder, are you?"
Severus stood with his back to her, presumably gazing into one of those strange moving pictures that always gave Petunia the creeps, as the soft glow of a tall lamp lent the room a warmth dissonant with the chilly mood. Here she was, back again in Headmaster's office, standing once again in the oppressive air of his silent judgement while listening to the whirring and ticking of the many enchanted objects. She sounded stern and unabashed, but she was truly scared, and she hated it, and hated him for making her feel that way.
"Well I suppose I'll be packed up and sent home, now that you've lost interest in your grand experiment."
"...No, you'll not be going anywhere," he said. He did not raise his voice, and while he certainly did not sound warm, he did not sound particularly angry, either. Petunia was confused...but all she could think of to say was,
"Why not?"
"I've invested too much into-this. If I had a habit of giving up after every minor frustration, I would not have gotten very far and certainly wouldn't be Headmaster of Hogwarts." He had finally turned around, as if just now aware that there was someone else in the room. "This is your home, now. You'd best get used to it."
Somehow, the finality of this proclamation was so alarming, that Petunia did not have a chance to feel relief. It sounded like she was trapped, not forgiven.
"I'm still trying to understand what you find so egregious about seeing Mr. Malfoy and I having some lighthearted fun with our lessons. The way you're acting, anyone would think I'd been caught stealing or cheating. I wasn't aware that mirth is prohibited for wizarding students.
"What do you have to laugh about? What's funny about a middle-aged Muggle trying desperately to follow in her dead sister's footsteps, all because of a childhood rivalry? Just what is so hilarious about your continuous failure that you can carry on like a drunken idiot, all the while surrounded by the increasing swamp of filth made from the supplies given to you? I fail to see the humor." Severus was doing a good job of looking genuinely baffled, which rankled her even more than his painful insult. "Maybe you can explain it to me."
"You know," she said, after a quiet pause, "I am not going to do that. There's no hope of your understanding. You obviously have your head so far up your ass, you don't think anyone's learning anything unless there are tears, and insults, and pain involved.
"If you're not going to take this seriously-"
"I am taking it seriously!" Petunia shouted, stomping in the middle of the room with her tiny feet. She stalked up, heels clicking on the wood, so that once again she was leaning over into his face, the desk between them, just as on the night of her arrival. "How could you think I am not? Would I even be here if this weren't important to me? A woman in midlife, as you so ruthlessly pointed out, my only child gone on his own and my husband dead, to the one place full of the very people I have hated all my life?"
She might have been actually spitting in his face with her vehemence, but she didn't care. "Do you think I was just bored one day, and decided to hurtle through time and space (she flung out her arm her to illustrate her point, which unfortunately knocked the slowly rotating miniature globe off of the desk) to get here, getting sick along the way on that gigantic toy train of yours, mosey in, and ask, 'Would you mind teaching me how to be a freak like you?"
She almost regretted saying that. Almost. But Severus, rather than looking offended, appeared to find her indignation entertaining, as if he were still studying a specimen and making notes in his head. It was infuriating, and she desperately wanted not to cry as she felt the heat of her outburst rising and lodging as a lump in her throat. Severus had not moved an inch, as if rooted to the floor, spittle or no. He sneered, his thin lips twisted into an ugly imitation of a smile.
"For all I know," he said icily, "that's exactly what you did. But it's not important. You're here. May I remind you that we had an agreement, Mrs. Durlsey. I will do with you as I please, and the only thing you need to concern yourself with, is obeying my every instruction, instantly. To. The. Letter." Petunia scoffed. Severus's cold, coal-black eyes narrowed. "If you don't like my style of teaching, that's your problem." As they stared at each other, Petunia felt her rage subsiding to a more manageable intensity. These last words had gotten her attention; she could not shake the feeling that something about what he was saying was very wrong.
"You're talking about me as if you own me," she pointed out. At this, Severus actually smiled, involuntarily.
"I'm glad we finally understand each other."
"You're out of your mind. You know that." She said after a moment. They listened to the enchanted globe, which was rolling around in some dark corner of the room, apparently of its own volition. It might even be true, Petunia thought. Just who was this man? Did she really know? What was he capable of? What made her think she had any idea to begin with? Hadn't his people killed Lily? What role might he have had in that, jealously possessive of her friendship as he had been? As she entertained these morbid possibilities, she began to feel that it would be precarious to show any of the fear they now inspired anew.
"Calm yourself," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "You're no slave, no victim about to be chained in a dungeon. But we have a contract. A magic contract. Do you understand what that means?" He leaned forward on his fingertips at each end of the desk. His eyes now bored into hers, and she found it hard to continue looking into them.
"You're saying something terrible would happen to...either of us, if it were somehow broken? Like in Rumplestiltskin, or The Sleeping Beauty?"
Severus gave no indication that he knew what she was talking about.
(He did.)
"Not exactly. But that's not what you need to worry about. I don't know about where you come from, but in our world, we take oaths very seriously. We have long memories, Mrs. Dursley."
"I have a long memory, too." Again they stared at each other in stony silence. Some of Petunia's hot anger was returning, overcoming her fear. A movement on the wall behind him caught her eye, and she glanced in, that direction long enough to see a figure in one of the portraits, his hands over his mouth, presumably having just stifled a gasp. All the portraits were similarly holding their breath, as they observed the drama unfolding.
"Anyway," Petunia resumed, "Don't lecture me like I'm a child about oaths. I haven't broken any oaths. I've done everything you asked me to. Even swallowed my pride and allowed your teen protégé to tutor me like some kind of remedial moron, while you were off doing who knows what. You don't give up easily." It was her turn to sneer. "Really? You gave up from the beginning. You're so incompetent you have your own student do your work for you, just like every other academic I've ever met. But that won't stop you from taking the credit, will it."
"You are treading on very thin ice," Severus said very quietly. If he had not been truly angry before, he was now clearly becoming angry, and everything in his face, tone, and posture were unmistakably menacing. But Petunia was not finished.
"How dare you." she continued over him, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch. "How dare you suggest I'm not a serious student. Perhaps you're not a serious teacher. Did you ever think of that? Did you ever think that maybe you're better suited to being locked away in solitary research then instructing others? Did you even give any consideration to hard this would be for you, before you took me on? Or were you too busy dreaming of the honors they'd hang around your neck?"
"Don't." Severus whispered, his already pale-as-death face going white with hatred.
"Don't," she mimicked. She was not Petunia now, stalking back and forth while she mocked him. She was Mrs. Dursley again, bitter, conniving, jealous, intrusive, controlling, cruel. She'd had a lot of practice trying to make people feel small. It came to her without thinking. "Don't tell me the truth, you Muggle woman. Don't tell me about my weaknesses. Don't remind me of all my flaws. Don't stand up to me. Don't laugh. Don't make a sound. You know," she said dangerously, "I wonder more than ever now, seeing who you really are, if my sister didn't dodge a bullet when she cut you off and married that James Potter. Certainly he was more accomplished and better looking, if otherwise dull. But maybe she would have been dead sooner if she'd stayed with you."
There are moments in every major argument where things can be said that can never be unsaid. This was one of them, they both knew, and neither could hold themselves back.
"Nice. Clever." Severus spat, grinning, actually showing his teeth like a rabid wolf; Petunia herself resembled a mad rat, her face twitching and trembling with the satisfaction of having found her voice. "But you'll have to do better than that, to get to me. I'm not petty like you, Petunia." Using her first name, which he hardly ever did, seemed to accomplish the desired effect of making this unraveling insult intimately personal. "I don't want what others have, without wanting to earn it. I don't give my loyalty to anyone who tolerates me and waves wealth and security in my face. I don't insist on privileges I don't have any right to assume, or demand to be loved by people when I myself do not deserve to be loved."
"And," he finished, as Petunia also paled while this sank in, "you and I both know that among us, none of us but Lily was deserving. Unlike you, at least, I am able to live with this."
He'd struck the right chord. This was too much. Petunia had already been trembling from head to toe, as people do who have great emotional capacity, but not the practice in frequently expressing it. Now, so much resistance and indignation came up through her at these various comments both describing Severus and yet clearly attributing certain faults to her, but it was the insinuation that Lily was more deserving of love that she hurt most of all, because only she knew how untrue that was. Lily was far from perfect; in fact, her perceived likability was more a result of having been continually rewarded for unintentionally being the envy of others, seeming benevolent when she was merely simple. A river of tears spilled from her eyes onto her cheeks, unnoticed.
"Being unlovable is not something for a person to be proud of," she said, when she could muster up her speech again. "And at least," she returned, her voice shrill and unstable, "I don't hate myself so much, that I have to make sure everyone around me is just as miserable, until I push away the only people who could love me." She immediately turned after this and tried to flee, most likely in the hopes of having her cry somewhere else, but she'd forgotten that she was not in a regular office, and did not know how to get out on the circling staircase with the damaged gargoyle statue. She got to the lowest step she could, which was only the third, and then got on her hands and knees, pointlessly trying to push down on the step to make it move and carry her down, away from this horrible man, who for some reason, could stimulate both her loathing and her desperation for his approval. Getting out of there was now much more important than her dignity; she already had none left.
But of course, her efforts were in vain. Severus's shadow, grotesquely stretched and ominous, fell over hers as he came up behind her. Now, it occurred to her, she was truly trapped, and the horror of this spurred a flood of frantic thoughts. Would he hurt or further humiliate her? Might he do some awful spell, and then make her unable to speak, so he could get away with it? Might he actually even kick or hit her? In the back of her mind she doubted he was capable of that level of abuse, but in that split second instinct had taken over. She turned and cowered on the floor, her straw-colored hair falling out of its unraveling bun into her face, her small eyes watching his every movement, like a helpless rabbit. He leaned over her as he approached, his face expressionless, and with a small cry she threw up her arms to shield her face.
But Severus - gently, without fumbling, but with so little ceremony it was still a violation - reached inside her robe, pulled his hand back, and stood up, holding her wand. He held it vertically in front of his face, then turned it sideways, pretending, it seemed, to be examining it. Finally, amidst the animated whispers and murmurs of the portraits on the wall, he broke the silence.
"I remember where I saw this, now. This was Lily's wand, wasn't it." It was not a question. Petunia said nothing, still afraid, though still not knowing why. "I suppose she must have gifted it to you." Still, Petunia offered no confirmation. He slipped the wand inside his own robes into a wand-sized, slim hidden pocket, what must have been one of who knew how many. "I will keep it here with me from now on. You will earn it back. In the meantime, after a brief period of suspension, during which I suggest you...collect yourself, a loaner wand will be provided, one more suitable for practice. This I'll keep safe with me. As a favor," he added, as if he could not resist. She knew what he was really saying: she was not fit to use her sister's wand, since Lily had been a prodigy. "She clearly meant for you to have it," he continued, "so let's hope that wherever she is, is somewhere she can't see you actually trying to use it."
Petunia had slowly gotten to her feet now, the animal flight response gone. Now, she felt she ought to fight him and demand her wand back, but wasn't sure if she could summon the energy to remain with him any longer. She struggled for something to say, and then, suddenly, he dismissed her, saying, "That is all for now, Mrs. Dursley. You may go."
With a flick of his own wand the staircase turned and slid, grinding and groaning through the floor, carrying Petunia, who had almost lost her balance. He had already turned away as the sliver of space in the floor closed, and she was alone in the dark Headmaster's tower.
Petunia ran through the gargoyle-lined hallway and down the nearest staircase. Her robes flew, billowing, behind her, uncannily looking Snape-like. When she found her way blindly down the moving staircases to the Great Hall, it was empty and sounds of life had died down. It must be late; all the younger students would be in their dormitories. She fled down to green-lit dungeons, dodging two very alarmed house elves on the way, and shut herself in her own room, leaning on the inside of the door to catch her breath. Eventually the tears did come again, and she cried for a little while on her bed, cradling her head in her arms. Then she went to her desk and wrote in the journal she'd begun keeping. Finally, exhausted and full of despair, fell into a deep sleep to the serenading of the softly chiming schedule scroll on her desk.
They neither saw nor spoke to each other the next day.
