Petunia marvelled at the spread before her, delicate silver racks holding toasts which were an even shade of gold, jam and butter placed in delicate little porcelain dishes, grilled tomatoes and crispy hash browns sending curls of steam into the air, the aroma of rich gravy and beans teasing her nose while her eyes wandered over sausages and eggs, everything looking picture perfect.
"Ah, is this her?"
Petunia glanced up at a man wearing a vest that was a few sizes too small, the wooden buttons straining and allowing everyone a glimpse of the mustard-yellow dress shirt he wore underneath the chequered garment. His face was jovial and somehow reminded Petunia of a clown, with a red-tinged nose, bushy bundles of light hair above his ears and big, blue eyes. He thrust a hand into her face causing her to reel back.
"Phineas Pudubec, Teacher of Muggle studies, pleased to make your acquaintance! To actually meet a muggle in the know and of all places here in Hogwarts! Marvellous, truly marvellous!"
Petunia tried to hide her startled apprehension behind a blank look. "Petunia … Evans."
"I'm aware, there has been talk of a new member joining the staff table this year, a new position even, something to do with the creatures? No matter, I'm much more interested in your nature, Ms Evans! You're a true muggle? No squib, no magical parents whatsoever?"
Petunia would have been relieved by the fact that he ignored her last name and didn't make any mention of Lily if the man hadn't instead decided to focus on her non-magical status of all things.
"I don't see how that's relevant …"
"Oh, how could you, of course, but a muggle at Hogwarts is an event once a millennial, and never has one been employed! The opportunities – you just have to come to my class, let my students ask you questions about being a muggle, how you eat and work and tell the time – of course, as this is my field of study I know a lot already, canned peas are truly a marvel, so quaint and practical at the same time, so muggle, you understand my meaning, but hearing from the source –"
"I'm afraid I won't have the time." If her breath actually held the temperature Petunia could hear in her tone her tea would turn to ice in front of her.
"Surely a few hours –"
Petunia stood with a clatter, the breakfast spread in front of her untouched. For a second she thought about grabbing a dry toast just to eat something before dismissing the thought, as it would be too obvious to this clown that she was fleeing.
And she wasn't running from him – she was simply unwilling to entertain his ridiculous babbling any longer.
"Good day."
Leaving him with that curt goodbye Petunia made her way back through the tables slowly filling with students, firmly keeping her eyes on the wide double doors at the other end of the hall, ignoring snippets of conversations fluttering around her head like twittering, annoying birds.
"Who's she?"
"Didn't you hear –"
"She flew –"
"Without a broom, I saw it myself –"
"Oh bollocks, you're talking out of your ass –"
"Isn't she the one who was with Hagrid and all the firsties?"
"Why is she at the teacher's table? Dumbledore already introduced our new dark arts teacher and it certainly wasn't this beanstalk!"
"I think I heard someone call her Evans?"
"You're getting more ridiculous by the second –"
Petunia was so focused on her escape – and secondarily on keeping her face impassive, as if her ears were blocked and protected – that Petunia almost missed the significance of the flare of red entering her vision, curls like living fire spilling over black robes.
"Tuney!"
She could feel faces turn in her direction, chatter hushing.
"Lily."
Her sister looked fresh-faced and lovely as always, though Petunia couldn't help noticing how short she wore her skirt, just like the girls surrounding her, or the shimmer of gloss on her lips.
Her sister danced closer, her tone thankfully losing volume, not that everyone sitting in their vicinity wouldn't still be able to hear her clearly.
"Where are you off to? Breakfast has barely started."
"Hagrid told me to meet him at his hut."
"So early?"
Petunia didn't deign to give an answer instead glancing at the girls Lily had separated from. They were making their way to one of the long tables, all of them pretty and confident, with shining hair, swishing robes and tinkling laughs, a flock of swans gliding through the hall with a plumage of confidence and smiles.
Petunia didn't miss the fact that Lily hadn't introduced Petunia as her sister, just like she didn't miss that the girls had felt no compulsion to enquire. Either they already knew or they simply didn't care.
Or Lily had told them not to.
The suspicion was an ugly one, a festering boil hidden underneath red skin but Petunia didn't dare lace the thin layer of hope that covered it for fear of exposing it as truth.
Not willing to linger on that thought, Petunia quickly pressed her thumb into the flesh of her palm, stopping any hasty retorts from forming.
"Enjoy your breakfast, Lily."
Her sister nodded, cheerful and unsuspecting. "See you around, Tuney."
Leaving the stares and whispers behind, Petunia made her way from the Great Hall and wondered if it was better or worse to be known as Lily's muggle sister or simply a strange girl that somehow knew the most popular student at their freak school.
Hagrid's hut was at the foot of the hill the castle itself sat on, bordering the edge of a tall forest that caught Petunia's attention firmly and held it. The trees looked different from the ones she knew from the small sprawling forest back in Cokeworth, there was nothing sheltering or dainty about them. No light wound its way beneath the foliage, there was no whisper of rustling leaves or cushions of moss. Instead the trunks towered above her, thick and layered in coarse bark that looked fit to shred soft skin at the first brush, branches like grasping skeletal hands reaching for her, thorns and bristles shielding any path that would lead between the roots. It looked unforgiving, forbidding and above all else … dark. Petunia couldn't think of another word that would aptly describe it.
"Mornin'!"
Her gaze snapped from the depth of the trees toward the mountain of a man standing in front of the small stone hut, a teacup held in his hand that would for anyone else function as a pot.
Petunia watched as Hagrid made his way over, his lumbering steps eating the distance between them at an alarming pace.
When he stopped at her side she could smell the faint aroma of leather, grease and something herbal, complemented by the spicy scent of ginger and lemon wafting from his tea.
"Good morning," Petunia returned his greeting, refusing to lay her head back to look at him.
He huffed good-naturedly. "It is, isn' it. A good mornin', I mean."
Petunia glanced at the overcast sky, a mirror to the one she had seen in the Great Hall when she had first entered it.
"Your firs' day," Hagrid continued. "Ye eaten yet?"
Petunia found herself shaking her head before the question had really penetrated all layers of her understanding.
"Come on then. We'll leave the Black Forest fer another day."
"Black Forest?"
"Black Forest, Forbidden Forest, doesn't really matter wha' ye call it, it is wha' it is: dangerous."
"Why?"
He chortled. "Because o' what's inside. I'll introduce ye someday – if they're in the mood fer it."
Leaving that cryptic statement lingering behind Hagrid opened the creaking door to his hut, welcoming Petunia into its warm interior. There was a fire crackling in a big fireplace, bathing everything in flickering, orange light, reflecting off tools hanging from the low ceiling. Petunia let her eyes wander over everything from rakes and hoes to hunting knives and axes. Coils of rope, different lengths and thickness, looped over the beams of the ceiling like fuzzy, brown snakes and empty buckets and trays were stuffed behind bundles of tarp.
Contrary to the clutter the other side of the room contained a cosy seating arrangement, two armchairs with flowery upholstery sized for Hagrid's comfort (which meant Petunia could have used them as a bed) surrounding a low table topped with a small arrangement of daisy flowers in a vase that looked self-crafted. A small puppy was dozing beneath it, floppy ears hiding the folds of its small, creased face.
Hagrid took a copper pan from a hook above the fireplace, arranging the open flames to heat the underside.
"Eggs an' bacon alright fer ye?"
If there was one thing Petunia was confident in it was her skill in the kitchen. "Do you need any help?"
If she didn't know better she would believe that she could see a blush steal across the cheeks hidden beneath coarse hairs of his beard. "That's sweet o' yeh."
Not hearing a denial, Petunia got up and inspected what passed for his spice rack, most of the jars unlabelled and filled with dried herbs that were probably harvested by Hagrid himself.
"Yer small hands will be good fer cracking them eggs."
Petunia glanced at the mittens he called his own hands, his fingers the width of sausages and could easily see delicate white shells splinter underneath his strength.
They fell into a companionable silence while they prepared their meal, Hagrid handling the flames, not faltering even if the hot licks touched his palms, and Petunia carefully cracking eggs, enough to feed a whole village, and laying strips of bacon on sizzling hot metal.
And while eating her first bites of the day Petunia reconsidered her opinion on Rubeus Hagrid - for while he was rude and borderline bestial in appearance at least he knew how to appreciate good food.
And suddenly it felt easier to ignore the whispers still echoing inside her head, easier to ignore the fact that this was Lily's place, not Petunia's. She wasn't here to be a witch or prove her worth to a bunch of teenage wizards.
She was here to learn about creatures and she wouldn't have to do it alone.
After their shared breakfast Hagrid led her from his hut, dew and mud clinging to his ridiculously sized boots the further afield he walked. He'd thrown a moleskin coat over his broad shoulders as a small drizzle had started up and offered Petunia one of his spares, though she had to hold up the slack material lest it drag behind her like a mantel.
She felt like a ridiculous child dressing in her father's cloak.
"Ye'll need some sturdier clothes," Hagrid told her. "None o' tha' fancy stuff yer sportin'. It'll get ripped up in a jiffy an' ye'll see every speck o' dirt."
Petunia was suddenly all too aware of what she was wearing, a long skirt made from soft cotton dyed a shy green and a flowing shirt with a bell-collar. Yesterday she had stuck out because she wasn't dressed like a wizard and now she was unsuitable because she wasn't dressed like Hagrid.
"Ye can get yer clothes in Hogsmeade – Dragonskin's good fer fending off temperatures an' teeth alike, but it's pricey."
"Teeth?"
"Well, some of the little ones can get a bit snippy." He laughed as if this was funny. "But no worries, ye'll learn all the quicker fer it."
"So you have Dragonskin clothes?"
"No, I've no need fer it, my hide's thick enough."
Petunia felt something inside her mind ping at the information, as if his words had plucked one string in a wide web of thoughts, vibrating but faint and almost invisible. Before Petunia could trace where it led her, they stopped in front of a small dirt path leading between the trees and her attention focused on the woods in front of her.
Here the forest didn't appear as forbidding, the firs were smaller and interspersed with lighter birch and oak trees that contributed a soft blanket of leaves over the ground and allowed strings of silver rain to trickle down like glittering garlands hung from the sky. It felt … less oppressive. But it was still towering and impressive nonetheless.
"I thought we would save the Black Forest for another day?"
"Ah, this hardly counts as part o' it. An' ye should know where ter find your charges."
Hagrid led her between the trees, following a well-trodden dirt path until the foliage parted in front of them, unfurling like two green wings to present Petunia with a wide clearing fenced in by wooden rails.
And inside them were Thestrals.
Not just one or two but a whole herd, big and small, all of them with gracefully curved necks and attentive, white eyes. Wings stretched lazily, manes were shaken and soft huffs could be heard.
"Here we are. That's the lof of 'em an' your main responsibility from now on. Not many folks tha' can see 'em an' even less who aren't worried about gettin' bad luck by bein' around 'em."
Even though there was no outward difference in colouring or size Petunia could immediately spot Aspen, lingering on the edge of the herd, his slim head turning her way at hearing Hagrid's voice. Maybe it was the edge of the bone ridge above his slitted nostrils, maybe it was the delicate curve of his spine, maybe it was just a sense of familiarity and home in those milky pupils.
"See the big one in the middle? That's Tenebrus, the alpha stallion an' the darker one nex' ter 'im is the lead mare, Sepulchria. They're the ones who you'll have ter convince so they'll let yeh close ter the foals."
Both the Thestrals he had pointed out were already looking her way, teeth glinting silvery between the grey, too-short lips. There was no sense of aggression but of consideration and Petunia once again wondered how smart these creatures had to be. She felt as if they already knew her purpose for coming here, that Petunia would be the one to fetch and feed them in the future.
The mare was the one who stepped forward first, delicate legs finding easy purchase in between shining wet leaves and small, pale mushrooms as she made her way over. Her wide wings were held tight to her torso, a sharp contrast to the lazy slouch Petunia was used to from Aspen, the tips of his wings often dragging next to his feet when he was walking slowly and on soft ground.
She came to a stop in front of Petunia, her head towering and a cool breath causing the hairs across Petunia's forehead to scatter.
Petunia was aware that the sight in front of her could be considered frightening, the tall creature with corpse-like skin and protruding bones stepping so close to her, sharp teeth and pupil-less eyes catching the muted light, but for Petunia it would always be linked to comfort. It reminded her of Aspen, of long flights with starlight glittering across his hide, of the small shed in her parents' garden where she would hide and talk to him when he was still small enough to fit, the scent of ozone tingling in her nose.
"Hello."
The mare, Sepulchria, huffed deeply and lowered her head until her eyes were almost level with Petunia's. Up close Petunia could spot the differences between her and Aspen, his eyes were more elongated while hers were rounder, the ridge parting her draconian face was slimmer and sharper and her thin, grey skin was slightly patterned with miniscule creases around her ears.
She was beautiful.
And then she nudged Petunia's shoulder carefully and a smile spread over the girl's lips. Slowly lifting her hand she let her fingers run down the valleys of Sepulchria's cheek ending in soft pats on her skeletal neck.
"Good job!" Hagrid's booming voice startled Petunia out of her trance-like happiness. "Didn't even need the treats."
At the word 'treats' the mare's ears twitched and a lot more heads lifted in the background.
Hagrid sighed. "Bugger."
Something light and airy fluttered inside Petunia's stomach when the herd started moving closer, all of them enticed by the promise of treats and maybe slightly by Petunia's presence, by the girl that was new in their midst.
Her eyes instinctively searched for Aspen, finding him towards the back of the group, playfully nipping a smaller Thestral in front of him into a faster gait.
He was no longer that shivering little monster she had stumbled across in the forest, he looked self-confident and tall as he trotted with them, one among many and not alone any longer. He was among his kind, among family, maybe these were his aunts and cousins and grandparents.
And even though Petunia's heart felt full while she watched him, a small needle pricked against it as if it wanted to leak the warmth from the organ, again and again.
In the past they had only had each other, Aspen had relied on Petunia for companionship, food and protection. But now … he had found his own space and Petunia felt left behind and lost.
Because while Aspen had found his place, she was still an outsider here. She didn't really have anyone and she wondered if she would ever fit in the way he did into this magical world. Would she find companionship and acceptance here among these witches and wizards who looked down on muggles? Petunia was reminded of this morning, of the teacher who had singled her out simply because he had never talked to 'someone like her' before, of Lily as she had made no effort to keep Petunia or talk to her in any depth, happy to send her off, out of the Great Hall brimming with all her classmates.
That's not fair, Petunia tried to tell herself. It wasn't Lily's job to take care of her, she didn't have to include Petunia or run after her like Petunia was a wayward child. Petunia was the older sister, she'd known how to take care of herself for longer than Lily could remember.
But the feeling itching underneath her skin remained, the knowledge that she hadn't felt welcomed but singled out, the whispers of the students still ghosting around her ears.
Something soft brushed against her palm and Petunia blinked back into the present to see that Aspen had joined Sepulchria in front of her, his snout carefully bumping her fingers. Petunia acted on reflex, allowing her hand to tangle in his flimsy mane and scratch against his cold skin. He gave a soft huff.
Maybe she hadn't been abandoned yet, maybe Aspen would always find space for her. Her breathing turned easy as she allowed petting him to soothe her own worries, watching as the Thestrals mobbed Hagrid for pieces of cold meat with Aspen at her side.
But a small part of her knew that it couldn't change the fact that she hadn't been accepted by anyone but a group of magical creatures.
Yet.
Hogwarts was strange, Petunia found herself thinking while she adjusted the sleeve of her freshly ironed jacket. A jacket that was always clean even though Petunia hadn't touched a cup of laundry detergent since she'd gotten here.
Since the first time it happened Petunia always made sure the door to her rooms was locked when she left for the day, sometimes double checking, rattling on the old brass doorknob like a paranoid old lady. But then she returned in the evening and found her paranoia justified: her clothes lying freshly washed and folded on the chair she had left them wrinkled and forgotten on, her bed covers neatly tucked in and flames merrily crackling in what had been a cold and ash-covered fireplace in the morning.
Someone was breaking in, every day. To clean.
Petunia hadn't dared to complain yet. What if people laughed at her? What if this was something that happened in every building with magic – her memories conjured pictures of self-washing dishes – and she would only prove her ignorance when asking about it, offering up a neat target for ridicule.
Petunia knew that the witches and wizards were talking about her. Eyes followed her wherever she went, hushed voices snickering and pondering who she was, what she was.
But no-one had confronted her. They might look and conspire but in the end Petunia was just one of the many mysteries this school had to offer.
Like the invisible magic cleaning her room and doing her laundry. Like the self-filling plates at every meal. Like the strange tree Hagrid had warned her to stay away from because it might kill her. Like the fact that there was only one nurse for a whole castle of students capable of inflicting horrible –
Petunia cut that thought off at the root, ripping it from her brain in a shower of unease. There was no reason for her to think about this. She wasn't in danger here, she was simply doing her job and if she stayed away from other students it was mostly because of them, not because of her.
Petunia had gotten used to eating breakfast and lunch with Hagrid, the only meal she trudged into the Great Hall for the evening dinner. She felt misplaced at the teacher's table, all the other non-teaching staff – a middle-aged man with a dust-coloured cat, the nurse with her ridiculous headdress, a hook-nosed librarian and Hagrid – taking the meals in their own chambers.
But Petunia didn't know where they got the food from. And so she sat at that cursed table, feeling eyes bore into her while she was either trying to deflect questions about Lily, or even worse, herself.
Mr Pudubec proved to be quite insistent, always finding new 'muggle' topics to pester Petunia on. Did muggle children have a fear of heights because they knew they couldn't fly like wizards could? Did muggles like to keep small pets despite eating their wild equivalent – bunnies – in case their canned peas ran out? Why did muggles worship dark creatures on one day in October while ignoring their existence the rest of the year?
Petunia had learned that non-committal hums and shrugs were the best way to deal with the man because he very happily used the opportunity to come up with more and more abstruse stories and explanations himself, leaving her mostly alone. Except he still wanted her to come to his classroom and let herself be stared and prodded at like a strange specimen.
Of course Petunia vehemently refused. She much rather preferred the muttered suspicions of the students and was not eager to give the rumours going around confirmation.
Petunia's grip tightened around the handle of the bucket she was carrying, filled with slabs of cold, red meat, when her eyes alighted on a group of girls making their way across the courtyard towards their next class.
Lily was in their midst, her hair braided elaborately away from her glowing face and something inside Petunia's stomach curdled like sour milk when she realised that Lily wouldn't have been able to do this by herself.
One of her friends must have braided it for her.
No longer did Lily run around with pigtails and grass-stains on her knees but with pretty tights beneath her too-short skirts and hairstyles fit for a princess. Petunia knew that Lily had grown up over the years, she hadn't been ignorant to the changes her little sister went through, but somehow this environment, Hogwarts, brought another aspect to the forefront.
Here she wasn't Lily, the youngest daughter and apple of their parents' eye. She wasn't Lily, popular among the neighbourhood elders for her cheerful disposition. She wasn't Lily, envied by all of Cokeworth's students for attending a fancy boarding school.
Here she was Lily, the witch. Admired, well-liked by students and staff alike, always surrounded by a gaggle of her pretty friends, being teased by boys and emulated by the younger girls.
And Petunia knew that Lily the witch didn't know what to do with her muggle sister.
The only time the two of them talked was in Petunia's room in the evening after both were finished with their tasks for the day. Sometimes Lily would spot Petunia at dinner or on her way to class and wave or greet her, but they never really interacted outside the privacy of her chambers.
And sometimes … Petunia held still as she watched Lily walk by in the distance, giggling and talking with her friends, her emerald eyes glittering without lingering on Petunia for even a second.
Sometimes it was like Lily didn't even see her.
Petunia didn't know any magic. She didn't know any of those people that belonged to Lily's world.
She was the intruder, the foreign element infecting a perfectly working system.
Maybe she should have expected it, maybe she should try to understand and accept her sister's position.
Instead she grew resentful.
Petunia hadn't used Lily to get here, she hadn't even planned to come, it was a trick of fate (and the wretched boy) that brought her here. Why should she feel bad, why didn't she deserve to be here?
Why was she made to feel like this?
And why didn't Petunia simply go over there and be the one to confront Lily, talk to her in front of her gaggle of friends, let all the students scampering around know that there was truth to those rumours that claimed there was more than simple acquaintance between the two of them? Let everyone know that Lily had a muggle sister cleaning up after magical beasts and taking her breakfast in a stone hut on the edge of the grounds.
"Hey!"
Petunia looked behind her, her eyes catching on a boy separating from his group of friends – the mirror to Lily's own clique, the popular boys to her popular girls – and making his way over the lawn towards her.
When he came closer Petunia could make out his messy dark hair, round glasses, loose red-gold tie … her memory started clattering like a rolodex flicking through persons she might know.
"Hey," he repeated once he was within easy talking distance. Petunia stayed silent, every instinct she had honed telling her that she shouldn't trust his easy friendliness.
"I'm James, James Potter."
Petunia narrowed her eyes. "And?"
He whistled. "Prickly, aren't we?"
"What do you want?"
"I'm just curious."
"About?"
"You." He slouched a bit, casually hooking his thumbs into his pockets. "You're wandering around school but you're not in class. You sit with the teachers but you don't teach."
Petunia tightened her grip around the bucket handle until the metal cut into her palm. "I'm not a student or a teacher."
"Hmm. Is it true that you're a muggle?"
Petunia's blood froze in her veins.
"Moony thinks it's impossible because of the wards but it's what everyone's saying."
When the silence turned brittle, he continued: "Did you do something? Are you like Filch, punished to clean up Thestral shit until you're old and grey?"
For one crazy second Petunia was tempted to grab a handful of slimy, cold offal from her bucket and smear it into his smirking face. But then her gaze halted on the innocent, wooden stick in his pocket.
So instead she turned around and started walking away. If she couldn't beat them, she would avoid them.
"Hey, come on, don't ignore me."
She could hear his steps following behind her, his looping gait speeding up to keep pace with her longer legs after a few seconds.
"Alright, don't answer then, there's something else I'm wondering about: what's up with you and Evans?"
Petunia paused.
Ah, ammunition. How nice of him to be so quick to get to the real reason for pestering her. And of course this was about Lily – she shouldn't have been surprised.
When Petunia turned around to face him she took another few moments to really look at him, letting her eyes wander over his coat that was obviously new and expensive but in need of adjusting and correct buttoning, over his messy hair, strands criss-crossed and tousled heavily, finally ending at his hazel eyes, which were glowing with something that was balancing on the fine edge between mischief and malice.
"What does it matter to you?"
He shrugged. "It doesn't really, just curious, like I said."
"Curious," Petunia repeated softly, her eyes honing in on the way his shoulders slightly curved, his shoe prodding the fallen leaves on the ground.
"Yeah."
"I don't think that's it."
He blinked, obviously not expecting Petunia to contradict him. This time she continued before he could answer.
"Your little crush is quite obvious."
He sputtered. "My what?"
Petunia gave him a second, watching the blush rise on his cheeks while the easy smile finally fell away. Something about this felt very familiar to her but she ignored the itch of recognition, not willing to ponder on it. He was not the first boy that had bothered her because of Lily and he would not be the last.
"I don't have a crush on you!"
Petunia rolled her eyes. What a moron. "I'm talking about Lily."
"I – I don't like Evans either!"
Sure, you don't.
These boys usually fell into two different categories: those that wished to promote themselves to Petunia and gain her trust so she would say something nice about them in front of Lily or those that were Lily's proclaimed white knights and who didn't like the way Petunia was treating her little sister. Severus was the prime example for the second mindset.
Petunia didn't quite know in which category James Potter would fall – for now he was most probably just testing the waters.
But that was no reason to let him get away with it.
"I don't know who you're trying to convince. Like I said, it is obvious. I'm sure she knows as well … tell me, is that the reason she's avoiding you?"
"She's not avoiding me!"
"No? It certainly looked like that to me, but what do I know? I'm only here to pick up Thestral shit after all."
His eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"Well, Lily always had a soft heart, I'm not surprised she hasn't shattered your illusions yet. You think you're a big deal, a false perception that is fueled either by popularity or, more likely looking at you, it's because you're rich, but in the end you can't hide that you're just a pathetic little boy panting after your precious Evans and bothering anyone who has even a smidgen of contact with her. I don't want to know what you put any of her male friends through. You should be glad that Lily is patient, even with hopeless cases like yourself, because I'll tell you now that I certainly can't be bothered."
Petunia's voice had remained even throughout her small tirade, her infliction not changing once from pure derision, but she watched greedily as the breath of the boy before her sped up, his chest rising more quickly with every sentence she spoke.
It was only when his fingers twitched towards his pocket that she parted her lips again. "And if you think of drawing that stupid stick of yours I can assure you that the next time it will be Lily saying those words to you instead of me. And I believe that would hurt a whole lot worse, now don't you?"
When he didn't answer or draw his wand, Petunia gave a short nod. "Nice to make your acquaintance, James Potter."
With a last dismissive glance she turned again, intending to resume her walk towards the forest to finally feed the Thestrals, when her eyes got hooked on a figure in the distance, hair braided into a red halo.
Lily was standing alone in front of one of the entrances back into the castle looking towards Petunia and her visitor. When she saw Petunia staring she lifted a hand in a small wave before disappearing into the building.
Did Lily stop because of Petunia? Or … because of the boy?
And why hadn't she come over?
"Merlin, you should go up against Padfoot one of these days, he likes verbally skinning people as well."
It seemed she had given James too much time to get his bearings, the false cheer in his voice almost convincing if it hadn't been for the slight breathlessness.
Petunia refused to look at him again, instead she resumed walking away. Her hand had begun smarting from the weight of the bucket.
"What, no parting jab?"
"Goodbye," was all Petunia offered.
Lots of love! Let me know what you think ^^