Chapter Two
Petunia walked into the office the next day to find it full of whispers. She looked over sharply at all her usual friends, who immediately ducked away from each other and pretended to work as if they hadn't just been conspiring about something.
She walked over suspiciously. "What's going on?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing. How is your relationship with Vernon going?" said Grace coyly, mock innocent, as Sue stared from behind her eagerly.
Petunia felt her breath knocked out of her. Gossip. The proposal. The crying. She was the subject of gossip.
All of Petunia's worst fears and daydreams had been realized.
She rushed out of the office, upset, and realized she was a mess. Still more whispers would be left in her wake. What was wrong with her?
"Petunia?" Petunia looked around to find Annabelle standing there. She looked worried. "What's wrong?"
"The gossip - you must have heard it - oh, never mind, who did I think I was talking to," Petunia snapped. She looked away, uncomfortable. "They're talking about me behind my back. I've become a weirdo. And now they'll do it even more." Her tone was pained, humiliatingly tearful.
Annabelle put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," she said. "Screw what they say. I think you're really great."
Petunia turned back. "But why?" she asked, genuinely confused. "It's not like I've ever been nice to you."
Annabelle smiled. "You just have a lot of natural pride," she said. "You may exasperate me, Petunia, but I've always admired that."
Petunia looked down, swallowing a lump in her throat. She felt silly. "Thank you," she murmured. "Is this how you always felt when… when we gossiped about you?" For the first time, she felt genuinely ashamed of herself.
Annabelle gave a fearless grin. "I just pretended not to notice, not to pay any attention to it," she said. "It was beneath me."
Petunia's eyes widened. Then she raised her head. "Quite right," she said. "And it's beneath me as well."
A few minutes later, Petunia sat down primly at her desk and smoothed her clothes as though nothing had happened.
"Petunia, are you alright?" Grace didn't really care - she was just eager for something to talk with other people about.
"I'm perfectly fine, Miss Colville," said Petunia smoothly, not even dignifying her with a glimpse, and as Grace's mouth fell open, Petunia leaned over to talk with "Annabelle" in quite a friendly way instead.
Screw what they thought. Petunia was above them.
Vernon heard the gossip later and came to talk to her about it at the end of the day. "I feel it's my duty to inform you," he said, heavy and solemn, "that people have been talking about you. I'm dreadfully sorry."
Petunia lifted her head. "I know," she said. "They were quite cruel to me and I've grown tired of them."
Vernon frowned. "Pet, appearances and reputation are important -"
"I'm not talking to them and that's the end of it, Vernon!"
And Petunia was so fierce that Vernon was cowed - for now.
Petunia decided to take Annabelle's advice. She tried being romantic and creative - not like Lily, but just a smidge.
Some things were perfectly sophisticated and appropriate, but also romantic. She bought a book of French cuisine and started trying to learn recipes from it, for example. She took up listening to classical music and writing poetry. She bought a nice pink dress and a flower decorated velvet hat, and started a window box full of flowers in her flat.
She tried to show these things to Vernon.
"They're, erm - very nice accomplishments," he said. She could tell he wasn't interested, and Petunia was strangely disappointed considering how expected that was. "The cooking would be especially useful for when we get married. But don't you think writing poetry is, well, a little… fanciful and silly?" he asked delicately.
Not exactly the reaction she'd been hoping for.
"I suppose so, but I enjoy it," said Petunia coldly.
He must have been able to tell she was upset, because he said placatingly. "Why don't we go on a date, Pet? Someplace special. Your pick."
"I've - I've been hoping to do something a bit reckless. Romantic, fun, impulsive, you know," said Petunia hopefully.
Vernon frowned.
"Nothing too extreme!" said Petunia quickly. "I'm not talking about skydiving or eloping. I was thinking… perhaps stargazing, or ice skating, or a picnic."
"In nature?!"
"Yes, Vernon, that's usually where those things happen," said Petunia impatiently.
"What has gotten into you, Pet?" Vernon glared at her suspiciously. "You sound like your freak of a sister."
And that was the word that really got to her - freak.
"I am not a freak!" said Petunia heatedly. "I most certainly am not!"
"Pet, perhaps we could just go to dinner -"
"No, I don't want to go to dinner, I want to go on a bloody picnic! And I want to be bloody physically intimate with my bloody not-a-fiance!" she snapped. Then she stormed away down the crowded street, ignoring the people staring at her. They could all go hang themselves for all she cared.
"Pet!" Vernon called after her. Petunia didn't look back. Something important between them had broken. All Petunia could think was that the one man who had ever taken an interest in her was not interested in doing anything remotely interesting. She felt despair settle in.
She was nothing like her sister. That was still a fact. To say otherwise was ridiculous.
Petunia and Vernon did make up eventually. Vernon took her to lunch and held her hand, and they said they forgave one another. Vernon told her that she just wanted to be married and that was perfectly fine.
Petunia still hadn't told him about her unborn niece.
She and Vernon began a weird, on again, off again dance. Because suddenly all of Vernon's flaws were brought to Petunia in sharp relief.
His loud, boring opinions grated on her once they had been used on her. His lack of physical appeal and constant habit of stuffing his face seemed more obvious. He was constantly condescending, called her his Pet, and wanted her to give up her job. They had a whole argument about the last one once.
"I'm not having a wife who feels she has to work to earn money!" Vernon shouted. "I'm prouder than that!"
"Oh, for God's sake, Vernon, it's not about you! And I'm not asking to be a neurophysicist! I said I wanted to continue being a secretary!" Petunia had shouted back, exasperated. "And you know what? Maybe I want to continue writing! Maybe I want to have some of it published!"
"I'm not marrying some silly writer," Vernon growled.
"That shouldn't be a problem, considering you won't marry me at all," Petunia sniped.
"It's - it's not like that and you know it!" he boomed, purple-faced.
All of their arguments had become like this.
Annabelle listened patiently as Petunia recounted eagerly countless arguments. Watched her get tenser and tenser.
"You've been so uptight lately," she said. "I was going to one of my retreats over the holiday. You should come?"
"One of those hippie things?" Petunia wrinkled her nose.
"Oh, so you'd rather spend the holidays pretending to get along with Vernon in front of his parents?" said Annabelle sarcastically.
Sometimes Annabelle had good points.
"I'll pack my bags tonight," said Petunia immediately.
Petunia expected to indulge Annabelle. She hadn't expected to enjoy herself.
The retreat was quiet, surrounded by lovely gardens. She got plenty of sleep, walked around in a lovely white velvet robe, got facials and manicures and massages.
It was amazing how much better she felt.
She and Annabelle giggled together, and sampled the cuisine. Annabelle even got her to try meditation.
"This is silly and it's not going to work," Petunia announced just before they started.
"Just give it a chance," said Annabelle with a secret smile.
So Petunia did. And to her surprise, it did seem to do something. She drifted off, the worries, floating out of her head, and when she opened her eyes after it was all over, she felt much calmer.
"See?" said Annabelle. "It's not so terrible."
If Vernon was skeptical of writing poetry, he despised the idea of meditating.
"I thought we could try it together," said Petunia insistently. "It sounds silly, but it really helps."
Vernon huffed. "I'm not doing some silly hippie thing," he said flatly with utter contempt and deep suspicion. "You can forget it."
Petunia was quiet for a while. She wasn't even really angry anymore, only troubled. She imagined the rest of her life stretching out before her as a Dursley. Always a housewife, never aspiring to anything, always being talked down to, no romance or passion or excitement, never being touched, listening to Vernon complain for the rest of his life, always worrying what the neighbors were doing.
And what if they did have children? Vernon believed in corporal punishment. He also believed in strict gender roles - their daughter would never be allowed to amount to anything either.
Petunia was troubled. Did she really want to marry Vernon Dursley?