I will try to update this story weekly. I've received a little help when it comes to grammar and punctuation, so I'm trying to apply it to this story. I think I've still missed a few things here and there, so I will put more effort for next chapter, and edit the grammar of the past two chapters sometime soon.
Thank you for reading!
Edit: Fixed punctuation. I hope.
Lily's powers are a touchy subject in the Evans household.
Lily had been ecstatic, doing things one would only see in the telly or story books. Things would float, sparkle, dance at her tune and stop after a couple of seconds. Their parents are shell shocked and amazed, because there is simply no explanation of how or why their little girl could do such a thing, magic at the tip of her fingers.
Even in their wonder, Daisy Evans instructs her daughter to not, under any circumstance, do her "tricks" outside of their home. The petite redhead pouts at this, but doesn't fight her mother on it, and like a good child just nods her head and promises to do so.
Petunia tries to put as much distance between herself and her sister whenever the redhead "practices" with her powers. But as much as she wants to simply look away, there's always that flare of longing, of wild curiosity at the wonders her sister could do. She tries to be casual about it, still feeling uncomfortable if she so much thinks about how unnatural those little tricks were, but she's also enthralled.
There's something else, too, a feeling she can't quite explain settling uncomfortably in her gut. Jealousy that isn't her own, a disdain she can't exactly claim because, even if it is just her sister, there's a feeling of dread over her shoulders that simply snuffs out that unwanted jealousy about Lily's developing powers.
[Though it's not just that, is it? Because Lily outshines her as it is; She's the outgoing one, the pretty one, the one with magic-]
The blonde shakes her head, as if denying her inner thoughts. She's much too afraid of Lily's powers to ever want them. The thought of making things float leaves Petunia feeling sick all over again, hands twitching and green spots dancing in her eyes.
School isn't an issue at all. Petunia is still a bit of a lonely child, a bit of a snide little lady, but otherwise there isn't any particular problem when it comes to her academic life. The teachers do keep an eye on her per her parents' request, they don't exactly notice anything out of the ordinary except for her being quieter than usual in class, catching her daydreaming more often.
Petunia herself notices this, but in other ways; childish insults no longer prickle at her skin as they used to, and there's no need to talk to her classmates and friends about children's gossip when she's not interested, or ask a teacher for help when she can, somehow, remember formulas she's never seen before.
It leads to a quiet life around school, not quite an outcast as she still has her friends, and her classmates do come to her when they need help with a particularly stubborn math problem, but she feels a bit more lonely than before, a bit less there.
Pushing away thoughts of magic, of fear for herself and her little sister, Petunia smiles like the good child she is, and plays make-believe with herself, like nothing ever happened.
[She can't quite push away the feeling of dread everytime she catches sight of Lily now, nor the feelings of jealousy and regret she can't understand why she feels. Avoiding the redhead is something Petunia doesn't want to learn to do yet; Lily is still her best friend.]
It happens in the middle of class, Petunia in her usual spot near the window, eyes unfocused as the lesson washes over her and she can only look outside at the people that come and go by the pavement.
She catches a sight of black, focusing sharply on a skinny little boy, his head full of lanky black hair, wearing ill-fitting clothes.
Petunia's hand twitches, curling up in a white-knuckled fist around her pencil as a sudden stab of utter loathing, too strong for a normal child to even be capable of feeling, seizes her. Her nostrils flare with a tight breath, eyes suddenly hyper focused on the little brat as he turns a sharp corner on the street, disappearing from her view.
Her stomach coils thinking on him, lips turning into a tight line. She can't explain her anger, she doesn't even know that little boy from anywhere! There isn't a single viable excuse she can use to justify the overwhelming feeling of disgust in the pit of her being.
[Except he will take Lily away from her, with promises of castles, letters and magic.]
The throb of an incoming headache assaults the blonde, she ignores the fuzzy, unwanted images to a little boy whispering secrets to her sister, pulling her into a world Petunia couldn't be a part of.
She sees the boy again, from her spot in class, every day at the same hour.
Always with too big or too small clothes, most often than not he's wearing a long jacket that can vaguely pass as suitable, with ill contempt Petunia thinks it's to cover the moth-eaten cloth that dresses him.
He never looks at the school building, and the blonde begins to wonder if he even assists at school given how often she sees him walking around; always crossing the same street, turning the same corner. After the first week, she notices his face is always down, expression hidden under his hair.
She wonders why, even as the anger coils inside her and bubbles through her tiny body, she wonders why he looks like he's running away from something everytime she sees him pass by.
Petunia doesn't know where he goes, and isn't interested in knowing either. Lily is blissfully unaware of her sister's anger and her woes, and only grabs her hand too cheerfully each time they walk to and from school, talking about anything and everything. Like every good older sister, Petunia dutifully listens.
She does spot the boy though, in one of the rundown playgrounds by his own. She stares at him for a few seconds before turning towards Lily again, smiling and nodding and giving her hand a little squeeze. The redhead does not notice the far-away look in her sister's eyes.
Dreams are not kind to Petunia Evans.
Sleep comes easy and quick, and almost immediately she's plagued by muddy images, ghost of voices she can't quite make out and flashes of light. Most times she doesn't remember what they are about, nor what the voices say. The tendrils of that first nightmare are gone but not entirely forgotten in the nine year old's mind.
She sees the boy again, in her dreams, so alike to how she has seen him from her spot in class. He's scrawny and bitter and beaten down, Petunia does not like him, lips curling in distaste even in her dreams.
But, he's a constant by Lily's side, every image shows them together as children. Beyond that she can't see anything, everything blurry and spotty. But it doesn't matter.
She sees images of magic, sparks of golden and silver and wonder in Lily's green eyes. And that little boy looking so proud, so much like herself when she puts the stars in her sister's eyes too.
A garbled voice whispers something she can't quite understand, Lily and the boy fading from her mind as her eyes flutter open.
["Do better," it whispers. She doesn't know what 'it' is, doesn't know what she should do better.]
"Next time," Petunia whispers to herself, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes, focusing on the rays of sunlight by the feet of her bed. "Next time I'll do better."
Lily is gone, being invited to one of her classmates' birthday, and Petunia decided to go to the playground on her own, but not the one her parents think. Her steps are measured as she crosses a street carefully, passing her school building, and turning an unknown but somehow familiar corner.
She sees him within minutes of arriving at that barebones place, sitting under the slightly wet slide, hugging his knees. Before she can even think about what she's doing, Petunia starts walking towards that raggard little boy, quelling her strange disgust.
[This isn't how it happens, something says to her. He's supposed to look for Lily, between bushes and dried leaves in another park. She's not the one who should look for him.]
A faint memory of a dream prickles at her, giving the boy a name; Severus Snape. She stills for a moment, what kind of name is Severus? Petunia looks at him, somehow thinking that the name was appropriate even if it was odd. Her anger dissipates some, thinking of her dreams, of the fuzzy, mute images that flashed too fast for her to understand every night, and decides to settle next to him.
"H'lo," Petunia says softly, almost on autopilot as she tries to think about what she's doing exactly, "my name is Petunia Evans."
The boy doesn't answer, not right away. His eyes are a very startling black in color, full of suspicion and maybe a little bit of terror and shame, most likely not expecting anyone catching him here, vulnerable and alone. "..S'verus."
He's quiet, looking at her with clear suspicion. Petunia just stares at him, eyes slightly unfocused, making everything blurry. The words that come from her mouth next feel strange. "You can do magic."
Those black eyes widen in surprise at her words. He splutters for a few seconds, looks at her with something akin to disbelief, confusion, and after some tense moments...hope?
"I saw you skipping stones the other day." She blinks once, wondering where that idea had come from as she continues, "the stones would skip on their own after a while, you didn't do it on purpose."
[She saw him skipping stones with Lily, once. A stone would sink in the lake, and at his feet, a second one would jump at the lake's surface on its own, skipping a few times before sinking as well.]
Severus's eyes widen, lips moving but no sound coming from them at first. "Are you a witch?" he asks, his voice is soft like a whisper, and the underlying hope in his voice is palpable.
Petunia almost feels bad for him, almost.
"No," his hope begins to crumble, and before he can utter a single word, she adds, "but my sister is."