October 1972

It was the Hallowe'en feast. Pumpkins hung in the air, dog-sized spiders crawled across the ceiling, friendly bats perched on the backs of chairs, the ghosts were putting on a death-themed can-can, and it was the greatest moment of Petuna's life.

She had been invited to sit with Poinsettia Smith and her cohort of perfectly coiffed friends. Poinsettia Smith. Sixth-year. The most admired girl in Ravenclaw. Niece of the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic himself. If you were invited to sit with Poinsettia Smith, you were assured a wide berth in the corridors, the best spot at the table, and unspoken immunity to teasing. It was like being invited to join the Rolling Stones, or T. Rex, or the Three Bad Elves. You became cool. Respected. Special.

It was more than Petunia had even begun to hope for herself. Not yet, anyway. True, she had always wanted to be special, as long as she could remember. Finding out she was magical as a child, and born of Muggle parents, no-less, had only strengthened that desire. But the fact that she, a third-year, had been invited to sit with the likes of Smith, was so far beyond the scope of Petunia's plans for herself that she was certain that her heart would give out by the end of the night from sheer joy.

Poinsettia took a long, slow sip of pumpkin juice and carefully set it down. She then dabbed the area around her mouth with a napkin, though she hadn't gotten a drop of it on her. When she noticed the other girls around Poinsettia doing the same, she followed suit. Poinsettia awarded her with a warm smile.

"You have such lovely manners, dear," she said. "That's why I noticed you. I saw you sitting with the third years and I said to myself, Settie, that girl has promise. She knows exactly how to hold a teacup. It's a dying art, you know. It's up to girls like us to preserve it."

The girls around her nodded. Petunia was in heaven.

"Do you see that boy over there?" said Poinsettia in a not-very-carefully-concealed whisper.

Petunia followed the line of Poinsettia's finger. At the end of it was a fourth year boy in Gryffindor. He had a bowl haircut and what looked like second-hand robes. His sleeve trailed across his food, knocking over a stack of peas as he brought his fork to his mouth. They bounced to the ground. The boy didn't notice.

"What can you tell me about him?"

Petunia blinked. She wasn't expecting to be quizzed on the sundry inhabitants of her school. "I'm sorry?"

Poinsettia and her girls giggled. "I want you to tell me about him. I don't know him from Merlin. I'm curious. Go on."

"I... I think his name's Arnold. Arnold Baker? No, Blake. I'm sure it's Blake. Arnold Blake. "

She glanced at Poinsettia, who was still smiling prettily, but was otherwise silent. She bit her lip, concentrating. What else did she know? She thought hard, back to a conversation she'd once had with Lily about the circumstances of her housemate's family. Surely it couldn't hurt to share a little of what she knew.

"His Mum's a tailor. Sometimes he gets letters from her at breakfast. They're about his grandfather, who disappeared a few weeks ago. No one knows where he went, but Tanzy says he ran away with a foreign witch and took the family fortune with him. That's why he's in second-hand robes." She leaned in, and so did everyone else. "His Mum can't afford to keep him in new clothes anymore."

There was a series of tiny gasps that may as well have been applause, the way they made Petunia feel.

"I'd no idea!" said one of the girls, a sixth-year with a mess of freckles and curly black hair. Petunia thought her name was Anita. Her hands were clasped underneath her chin, which made Petunia think of the statues of rapturous saints in her local churchyard.

"You see?" said Poinsettia. "What did I tell you? She's a natural."

A natural at what? Petunia felt a bit confused, even amongst the pride that flooded her for having passed this apparent test. Did she just tell Poinsettia something she didn't know? But... Poinsettia knew everything. Right?

Amidst the flurry of whispers that followed Petunia's pronouncement, Poinsettia reached across the table and patted her hand. Her perfectly coiffed black hair and dark skin gave her the appearance of a princess, the kind men used to kill each other over in fairy tales. Petunia wished with all her might that she could look like that.

"You stick with me, dearest," she said with a wink. "And between the two of us, this school won't hold any secrets."

December 1972

"Lily!" shouted Petunia. "Have you seen my robes?"

"Which ones?" shouted Lily, from her room down the hall.

"The ones Mum got me, with the purple trim! The new ones!"

Petunia carefully placed a pair of neatly-folded socks onto a similarly well-packed stack of underthings. Everything was in type-based stacks and sealed off with a time-release, wrinkle-free charm that Petunia had cast on her trunk before the holidays began with the aid of Professor Flitwick. There was a place for school robes, one for Muggle clothing, one for bedclothes, one for underthings, one for dress robes, and one for casual robes. She even had her books and other sundry supplies sectioned off so they wouldn't compress or stain anything. It was a work of organizational art. Petunia almost felt giddy looking at it.

The only thing missing was the set of beautiful new dress robes that her parents had given her for Christmas. That, she planned to lay across the top of everything else, so that it would be the first thing her dorm-mates saw when she opened her trunk.

Of course, this all depended on whether she found them before she had to leave, which was in a scant few hours.

"Dunno!" Lily yelled back. "Have you checked the closet?"

"Don't be stupid; of course I've checked the closet!"

She heard Lily slam a drawer. "Well I don't know where they are! Ask Mum!"

Petunia put her hands on her hips and marched to Lily's room. In her cardigan and winter skirt she felt every inch the poised young lady. She even wore a tiny bow where she parted her hair on the left side of her head, just like Poinsettia Smith. Petunia thought this made her look regal. Lily said it made her look ridiculous.

"Mum and Dad went to the store! That's why- Lily!"

The sight before her was downright scandalous. There were clothes everywhere. Schoolbooks in various states of dishevelment were scattered on the floor and Lily's furniture. Petunia swore she even saw loose pages sticking out from under Lily's bed. To make the picture complete, nearly everything, including Lily, was spattered in bright green ink. What her friends would think if they knew! It was enough to make her consider running away to Morocco.

"What in Merlin's name happened here!"

Lily gave her a sulky look. "Nothing! I'm just packing."

"It looks like all your ink bottles exploded at the same time!"

"They didn't!" said Lily, then paused. "Well, one did. But that's only because I dropped it. I didn't do it on purpose."

Petunia clicked her tongue. "This is why it should be legal for us to do magic outside school. There's no way we'll get this out with soap and water."

She ran a critical finger along Lily's chin, where she'd apparently attempted to rub some of the ink away, to examine the emerald spots on her collar. Lily pulled back.

"Stop it. I'll get it off once we're on the train."

Petunia blanched. "No. No, no, no, no. We'll be a laughingstock if you show up at the Hogwarts Express like... like this."

Lily rolled her eyes. "It's just a bit of ink! No one will care!"

"My friends will. Especially Poinsettia. No, this just won't do," she said, and began to busily gather up Lily's stray clothing, ink and all. "Get in the shower. Ugh, you look vile. The least you can do is get all that green off your face. You can borrow one of my dresses until it's time to change."

Lily glowered mutinously. "I don't care what your friend Poinsettia thinks," she said.

"Hmph. It's a good thing she isn't your friend then, is it?"

Petunia began to fold her sister's clothes. It was hard work, not get any stray ink on her cardigan. But Petunia was an expert at keeping up her appearance. She wasn't going to let a little think like ink stains mar her.

"Yes," spat Lily, "It certainly is."

Petunia put one of Lily's shirts in the 'clean' stack and raised one eyebrow. "What, exactly, so offends you about her? She's perfectly lovely to me. Unlike one person I could name, which I won't."

Lily turned to Petunia, her hair so mussed it looked like it was standing on end. Her eyebrows were screwed together in a perfect imitation of their father after his team lost their chance to go to Champions' League. "Are you joking? I've seen you together in the Great Hall! She treats you like a glorified House Elf! Like her little pet spy she can send after people she doesn't like!" She pitched her voice into a falsetto. "'What's Elroy Jenkins up to in Slughorn's office, 'Tuney?' 'Find out what Liza Rogers is doing with Benedict Zimmerman, love.' 'Will you do my Charms homework for me tonight, dearest, I have a headache.' 'Could you shine my shoes, pet, you're just so good at it.' It makes me sick thinking about it."

Petunia stood up so fast she could feel her spine snap into place. "She's not like that."

Lily made a sound like an angry bird. "Did you see what she did to poor Olivia Wilde after her father lost his last election? The poor girl had to wear a wig for a month."

Petunia felt her cheeks get hot. "He insulted her aunt! It was uncalled for!"

"So what? Olivia never did anything to her in her life. It was cruel and it was wrong!"

"Her father shouldn't have-"

"And what about Rogers and Zimmerman? What about that poor Blake boy? What did they ever do to her to deserve her turning everyone against them?" She raised her hand and jabbed it at Petunia's bow like a rapier. "She's a shallow cow, Petunia, and she's turning you into her!"

Petunia lifted her hand to her bow before she could stop herself and let it ghost over the fabric. Then she dropped her arm to her side and clenched her fists.

"I'm not a shallow cow and she isn't either!"

"You're right." Lily put one hand on her hip. "She's a bloodthirsty snake."

Petunia was breathing very hard. Sparkling white stars cavorted in front of her eyes like immolating dancers. "She hasn't done anything nearly as bad as what your 'friend' Sev does to anyone who looks at him wrong!"

Petunia saw a flash of uncertainty in her sister's eyes, but it was only for a split second. "If you're talking about Potter and his gang, those idiots have always attacked him first! He has the right to defend himself!"

"No!" she said. Her lips twisted. "I'm not talking about Potter. I'm talking about first years, Lily. He burned half of Octavian Wilkes's face off for knocking him over in the hall."

"That was an accident! He was carrying some Potions ingredients and Wilkes tripped him! I helped take him to the Hospital Wing!"

Petunia kept pushing. "What about that pair of horns he gave on that new Halfblood Adelphos Krill? Or the boils he cast on Daniel Peterson? Or when he 'accidentally' took the bones out of Robbie Bell's arm? I've heard they're both Muggleborn, Lily. And they certainly didn't run into Severus in the hall!"

"He doesn't- You're changing the subject!"

"Am I?" she spat. "I thought we were talking about bad influences, Lily. Before you preach to me about the company I keep, look to your own!"

Petunia turned on her heels and tripped over an especially stained wad of fabric. She managed not to crash to the floor, but the toe of her shoe caught on the sleeve and it ripped. She yanked it off the floor and brandished it at Lily.

"And if you don't want your things ruined you shouldn't throw- what is this!"

The room went dead quiet. Petunia slowly lifted the torn garment to her face. It was her new set of dress robes, just bought by mail order from the most fashionable tailor in London. She was going to wear it to Poinsettia's back-to-Hogwarts social on Saturday. The sleeve had ripped off right along the seam. It was covered in green splotches of varying sizes.

She felt her face grow cold.

"I asked you where this was and you said you didn't know."

"I didn't know! I swear I didn't!" Lily's face was green, and not because of the ink. "Dad must have accidentally-"

"Liar!" screamed Petunia, although her stomach clenched with apprehension. The air around her began to hum.

"I'm not lying!" Lily shouted back.

"You ruined it!"

"I didn't do anything!" said Lily. There were tears in her eyes now. "I'm not lying and I didn't do anything to your stupid robes! You can just fix them when we're on the train, anyway!"

"That's not the point!"

"So what is!?"

The lightbulb above their heads popped. Both girls let out short screams as a fine shower of hot glass rained onto them. The room went dim, dirty sunbeams casting shapes into sharp contrast. Lily sat heavily down on the bed and began to sob into her hands. Petunia felt a prickling in the region of her gut. She folded her arms across her chest and looked at the wall.

"Don't be so dramatic," she said.

"Dramatic?" Lily laughed derisively. "You blew up a light bulb and I'm the one who's dramatic?"

"Shut up."

"You shut up!"

Petunia drew herself up. "Fine. I will shut up. I won't speak to you until you apologize for what you said about Poinsettia."

"Get out of my room!" shouted Lily, springing to her feet. "I'm never speaking to you again!"

"I don't care!" Petunia shot back. "And I was leaving anyway!"

Lily slammed the door so hard in her sister's face that dust shook loose from the ceiling. A split second later, there was a loud "pop" and an owl appeared in the hallway, screeching as it sailed towards Petunia's face. Petunia yelped. The owl dropped a lavender-colored letter in her hand, screeched again, and popped back to wherever it had come from.

Hands shaking, Petunia tore open the envelope and read the letter inside.

Dear Ms. Evans,

We have received intelligence that you performed a Shatterglass Spell at thirty-seven minutes past eight this morning in a Muggle-inhabited area. As you know, under age wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spell work on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Under age Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C). We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offence under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

Yours sincerely,

Amelia Travers

Improper Use of Magic Department

January 1973

Though Petunia did her best to repair her dress robes, she was unable to mend the ruined seam in the sleeve to her satisfaction. It bunched whenever she shifted her weight. She knew that she should send it to a tailor to get it professionally fixed, but she couldn't bear to admit to her mother that she needed a bit of spending money to fix the gift she'd been so recently given for Christmas, nor could she reveal the warning she'd received from the Ministry. She seriously thought about blaming Lily for it all, but then the entire fight would come out, and it was certain that she would face a much harsher punishment than her sister. After all, as her mother was so fond of pointing out, she was the oldest, and she should know better. It was her duty to set an example that her sister would hopefully follow. This had merited far more than what she considered her fair share of punishments.

The green spots, at least, were removed easily enough with a few stain-removal spells. Ink was among the most common stains found on school-age children's clothing, and Petunia adored cleaning spells of all kinds. But she couldn't wear her new robes to Poinsettia's party, and had to borrow a set from Tanzy. For that, she would never forgive her sister.

When she was lying in her bed at night in Ravenclaw tower, long after the curtains had been drawn and the other students had gone to sleep, it would sometimes occur to her that she, Petunia, had been the one to ruin her robes when she ripped the sleeve with her foot. However, she reasoned, she would never have ruined them at all had they not been on Lily's floor in the first place.

Months passed in frosty silence. Petunia would sometimes see Lily in the corridors, but, unlike the last time Petunia had gone out of her way to avoid her sister, Lily was avoiding her in kind. When they were forced to see one another, they did not interact. It got to the point that simply seeing Lily was enough to make Petunia rage against the parental injustice that had so far characterized her life, along with the deep unfairness that the most impressive gift she had ever received had been ruined within days of its arrival.

If Lily felt any remorse for this, Petunia didn't see it. She stuck to her friend Severus when she wasn't with her gaggle of Gryffindor girls, making it impossible for Petunia to approach her even if she had wanted to do so. Why she wouldn't simply apologize was beyond Petunia's comprehension. She supposed it was pride.

Still. Some days, when a Pureblood failed to understand a reference to Muggle culture, or when there was another mention in the Daily Prophet of some blood-related crime, there was a tightness in her chest that she couldn't relieve.

At the end of the month, Petunia was leaving the Astronomy tower and trying very hard not to think about the news that another Muggleborn shopkeeper was found dead among his wares that morning, when she heard something peculiar coming from behind a closed classroom door.

"...there, yes, ah..."

"...good?"

Petunia stopped. Two voices in an empty classroom. Female and male. Possibly breaking the rules. Definitely doing something scandalous. Quickly, she cast a silencing spell on her shoes and robes and crept closer. She wished she knew how to do a Disillusionment Charm, but Flitwick flatly refused to teach her until she was at least in her sixth year. Old traditionalist.

"Missed you," said the boy, followed by a wet, snapping noise, like one of the giant squid's tentacles hitting the water of the lake.

"You should never have left," said the girl, her voice low and punctuated by rhythmic bursts of breath. "I told you what kind of person she was. I told you she'd cheat on you. And I was right, wasn't I?"

"Yes, yes..."

"I'd never lie to you."

"Don't stop."

Petunia was sure she knew that voice. Both of those voices. But they were both speaking just above whispers, and it was difficult to make out the faces behind the words. She'd never heard anyone talking like that, outside of soap operas or the radioplays that only started after midnight. Her skin was hot, and her hands and feet were very cold. There was a wild fluttering in her stomach that had nothing to do with the sense of triumph that usually accompanied her discoveries. Though she was still intensely curious about just who it was behind that door, she suddenly felt very strongly about being as far away from them as possible.

She backed away, nearly tripping over the hem of her robes in her haste. There was a long moan, then the girl muttered something that sounded like a name. Three syllables. Petunia, however, was too far away to make sense of it.

That night, by light of her wand, she began reading her friend Anita's collection of romance comics. She found it very difficult to fall asleep.

March 1973

"...and that Liza Rogers. Complete slag. The boys never shut up about her. I suppose that's unsurprising, as she's done it with about half of them already."

All the girls in the group nodded in agreement, or added an anecdote describing when and where Liza had gotten off with this boy or that boy. One of the girls even hinted that Liza would do it with a House Elf if it gave her a compliment. There was a rush of tittering.

"Wilde is even worse," said Poinsettia. "Do you see her over there, flirting with Blake? Disgusting. How she can sink so low, I'll never understand."

"It's not as if he can buy her flowers," said the freckle-covered girl.

"No," Petunia agreed. "He needs to buy a proper haircut before he can do that."

"Or his mother needs to find a bowl that flatters the shape of his head."

Petunia laughed with the rest of them, though something inside her gave an off-key twang. She ignored it. It was lovely to gossip in the company of like-minded friends. It made her feel like she was the one on the cover of Witch Weekly instead of the one looking to it for inspiration. And the approving look in Poinsettia's eyes whenever she reported a tidbit of overheard information was enough to make any personal discomfort worthwhile.

There was another spike of pain in her gut. It spread through her hips like hot oil. She folded her hands over her belly and tried hard to ignore it.

A stately barn owl glided over and dropped a flat square package on Poinsettia's lap before lighting on the back of her chair.

"Brunhilda!" she cooed. "What's this?"

The owl ruffled her feathers in reply. Poinsettia smiled and fed her a piece of sausage, leaving the package in her lap to glitter enticingly.

"Who could have sent this, hm?" She ran one finger over Brunhilda's neck-feathers.

"Ooh, open it!" said Anita.

"Yes, do!" Petunia chimed in.

The rest of the girls followed suit until Poinsettia, smiling like a Christmas cherub, lifted the lid off her gift.

Inside was a silver locket on a rich blue cushion. The chain it dangled from was so thin that Petunia was sure it would break when Poinsettia lifted it from the box, but it held taut. It was like a strand of silk, or the the tendril of a spiderweb. The locket was small and heart-shaped. Poinsettia opened it and a soft song played, one that Petunia had never heard.

"It's our song," breathed Poinsettia. "Tuney, darling, fasten this around my neck, there's a pet."

Petunia immediately stood, ignoring the inward groan of her midsection, and fastened the chain under Poinsettia's elaborately curled hair. Her legs shook a little, but her fingers were quite steady. When she was done, the locket rested prettily just in the shallow of Poinsettia's neck. Poinsettia patted it.

"There, now. Lovely job. Take a seat, dear."

Petunia sat down again.

"You have to tell us who it's from," said Anita.

"Check the box," she said.

Anita snatched the box before anyone else could get their hands on it. She lifted up the cushion and found a message scrawled underneath.

"To my winter flower, from Padriac, your prince." She looked at Poinsettia, as if she'd just sprouted five arms and started showering everyone with galleons. "Padriac! Padriac Haversham! He didn't!"

"He did." Poinsettia cocked her head and smiled. "I told you he would."

Anita screamed, and so did two of the other girls. Petunia frowned and looked to the only other girl close to her age, a Ravenclaw fourth-year named Circe de Aquila. Circe beckoned Petunia close with her finger. Petunia leaned in.

"They were together all last year, until he left her this summer. For that Wilde cow," she whispered. She pressed her finger to her lips and joined the other girls in their congratulations.

Petunia remained as she was. She thought back to all the times during the year she had told Poinsettia what she knew about Haversham and Wilde's relationship (including all the times they'd snuck off to the Astronomy tower). They'd recently had a very public, very messy breakup, in which Haversham accused her of cheating on him with a boy in Gryffindor. Wilde denied it, but everyone in the school knew it was true. The boy was quite willing to give the details to anyone who would listen. Besides, Poinsettia insisted it was true, and Petunia had never heard her lie about anyone. That breakup, coupled with the month she had to wear a badly-made wig after using shampoo laced with Hair-Be-Gone, had turned Olivia Wilde into a twitchy parody of her former self. She jumped whenever any professor asked her a question in class, and spent almost no time outside her dorm room. Rumor had it that she wasn't planning on returning to Hogwarts after the summer holidays.

There was another, extremely insistent wrench of pain in Petunia's middle. She was sure that Poinsettia wouldn't spread a false rumor. She would never. She might have wanted her boyfriend back, but she wouldn't do it at the cost of ruining someone else's life. Even if that person did steal her boyfriend. She wouldn't. Would she? She saw Wilde's miserable face from across the Great Hall as she ate alone, and heard her sister laugh at some joke at the Gryffindor table. Petunia began to feel lightheaded.

"...Tuney? Love, are you ill?"

"What?" Petunia looked up to see all her friend staring at her with varied expressions of concern and amusement. She put her hand to her cheek and it was cold. The pain in her middle was at a rolling boil now. She pushed herself unsteadily to her feet. "No. My... my stomach..." A stream of warmth sprouted between her legs. "I have to go to the Hospital Wing."

"Are you quite all right, dear? Do you need Anita to go with you?"

Petunia shook her head. "No need to trouble yourself. Congratulations to you and Padriac. You'll have to tell me all about him later." She forced a smile.

"Of course, pet." She waved her hand. "Go on. Don't let us keep you."

Petunia nodded and walked as fast as she could manage. Her friends watched her for a moment, then returned to their excited conversation about Poinsettia's planned date with Haversham. Once she was in the corridor, she began to run.

By the time she arrived in the Hospital Wing, blood was dripping down her leg. Madam Pomfrey was kind. She took Petunia to her own hospital bed and set up a curtain so no one could see or disturb her. She even promised to give Petunia's robes to the House Elves to be cleaned without letting anyone know what had happened, and gave her a Peony Potion to help ease the pain. But in the midst of her quiet, gentle talk about the changes her body was going through and what spells and potions were best, Petunia began to cry.

Madam Pomfrey stopped. "Evans! Are you in pain? Where does it hurt?"

Petunia shook her head and wiped her face with the sleeves of her hospital gown. "...I miss my sister."

"Oh," said Madam Pomfrey. "Oh, you poor dear. We can get her here. I'll floo McGonagall for you and-"

Petunia shook her head harder and began to sob in earnest. Madam Pomfrey patted her. Her hand was cold but steady and professional as it made wide circles on Petunia's back.

"There, there," she said. "You'll be all right. It happens to all girls eventually. And we all get through it, now don't we? You'll see. You're just a little frightened. That's all it is. You're not alone, child. You're not alone."