Thanks for all the nice comments!
Just a side note concerning Bilius: I never found any official information about him apart from him being Ron's uncle. So I made him younger than Arthur by a few years (Arthur is born in 1950, the Bilius in my story in 1956).

December 1972

Petunia wormed her way through the crowd, wondering when she had become so accustomed to this place. The high echoing ceiling, the white smoke curling towards it only to disperse into the intangible scent of wood and ash and the washed-out bricks surrounding her on all sides were such a familiar sight she didn't glance twice at anything - not even all the magic. Screeching animals stuffed into too-small cages, luggage that defied the rules of gravity and of course, the flood of children of all ages wearing ridiculous pointy hats, rushing from the train to spend Christmas with their families, nothing warranted more than a glance.

And then there was her, Petunia, a thin, unremarkable girl in the middle of it all despite not having a lick of magic herself. But though she might not have magic, Petunia had a goal, a reason for being here, and it carried her through the mass of students with purpose and well-placed elbows.

Today she would tell Eugene about the newly installed, magical fireplace. And then he would know that there was a way for them to meet up that didn't involve Petunia sitting in a stuffy car for hours or walking through any walls.

Maybe, for once, they would see each other for more than a few minutes.

Despite her determination, Petunia felt her stomach turn with nerves.

What if he has no intention of meeting up? What if he doesn't care that her fireplace is now magical? What if …

A head of sunshine curls glinted in the mass of pointed black hats, catching Petunia's attention more surely than a lighthouse at night. Eugene .

Her feet carried her forward, her worries for once forgotten. It felt like a long time since she had last seen him and her stomach bubbled not only with nerves, but also excitement.

When she got closer, the crowd parted and Petunia recognized two familiar faces next to Eugene. She still distinctly remembered the red-haired boy, Bilius Weasley, because of the scandal she had believed him to be involved in before realising that Eugene was having her on. His other companion had left less of an impression, though she didn't have any unpleasant feelings towards him.

Still, she would have preferred to find Eugene alone.

"Hello."

Eugene whirled around, his typical, too-wide grin splitting his features. His honey blonde hair was as tousled as always, looking even more untidy because a few strands were noticeably shorter, as if someone had clipped them off at random. "Petals! You're here!"

Petunia only nodded, not sure what she should say. She had only come in the hopes of seeing him? She had missed him?

There was no way she would ever utter those words.

"I remember you," Bilius hummed instead of a greeting. "The penpal, right?"

"Nice to see you again." The third boy smiled, revealing soft dimples and big teeth, and Petunia remembered his name - Frank.

Looking at him she replied: "Likewise."

Bilius crossed his arms behind his head. "Well, this is awkward. We were just talking about Gene's other ten penpals …"

Eugene huffed an unruly lock out of his face. "Would you stop already?"

"Why don't you understand my disappointment? We were all wondering who was sending you so many letters, there were all kinds of rumours going around," Bilius whined. "Secret fiancee, undercover work - I personally thought you had finally landed yourself in real trouble and were keeping track of whoever you offended, but …"

Looking Petunia up and down, he sighed.

Some of the bubbles in her stomach popped and Petunia felt the corners of her mouth drop. The fabric of her coat scratched her palms while she clenched its hem in her fists. She was dressed quite nicely today, an outfit she had taken a long time picking out - a pristine wool dress and her favourite blue scarf, which she had freshly ironed just yesterday.

So, how dare this boy look down on her? Taking a breath, Petunia was just about to comment on his obviously mended jacket, when Eugene chuckled. "You would have preferred if I landed myself in trouble instead of me finding a friend?"

"It's just so … mundane! Boring." Bilius pouted. "You making friends is nothing new."

Petunia swallowed her scathing remark. It burned her throat on the way down before souring her already strained stomach.

Eugene making friends was 'nothing new'. She didn't want to acknowledge it, but the words just kept echoing in her head, refusing to be ignored. She almost didn't register that the conversation was still continuing.

"You shouldn't joke about getting in trouble." Frank's friendly smile was gone. "Considering the current situation …"

"Alright, I get it, everyone is sensitive." Bilius rolled his eyes, while pointing his chin at Petunia. "Does she look like one of them to you?"

Frank frowned. "Don't joke about that."

Petunia felt the corner of her eye twitch. One of whom? Bilius had loaded the word with even more distaste than she was used to from Severus when he called her a 'muggle', so she didn't fool herself into thinking it was something nice.

"Petals is too pretty, she wouldn't fit in with that rot," Eugene interceded, his tone easy-going but his smile not as wide as usual. "You should really stop, Bill."

Bilius huffed. "Okay, fine, sorry. I'm just annoyed that everyone is pussy-footing around the topic …"

Eugene leaned closer to Petunia and she could smell a slightly spicy scent from him. Was he wearing cologne?

"Don't mind him," he stage-whispered. "Bill's just miffed because now there is another baby to keep him awake."

And with just those few words the atmosphere suddenly lightened, as if an invisible, heavy veil had lifted.

"Rub it in, why don't you! As if one teething toddler wasn't enough, they decided to pop out another one. I'm not going to get a wink of sleep this holiday, I can already tell," Bilius lamented, his tone still annoyed but different than before. Less provoking and more mellow. "And I don't believe for one second that he's supposedly so well-behaved and -"

"Bill, I think I just spotted your mother," Eugene interrupted.

"What? Where? Guys, can I stay with one of you?"

Frank tilted his head. "Why? I thought you missed your family?"

"I'm definitely not missing the two newest additions!"

Eugene chuckled. "I thought you said little Bill is cute?"

"His name is William! Stop making it sound like he's my son, I know that you're the one behind those rumours!" Looking around in something approaching real panic, his voice turned beseeching. "Please, Gene, Frank?"

Eugene shrugged. "Sorry, I don't want to incur Mrs Weasley's wrath should I keep you from her loving care during Christmas time. And I remember something about a family celebration …"

"What about you, Frank?"

Bilius stared imploringly at him, but Frank shook his head. "What he said."

"Oh, come on." Bilius even cast a fleeting glance at Petunia, but seemed to realise he would receive no help from her. His blue eyes turned from big and pleading into narrowed slits while his focus switched back to his friends. "I'm going to test my newest toys from Gambol and Japes on you two!"

Eugene grinned widely. "Thanks for the warning."

"Oh, bug off. Anyway, I don't spot Mum anywhere, were you - "

"Billy! There you are, I've been looking all over for you."

Turning around, Petunia saw a tall woman with luscious, dark hair coming their way. She was wearing a very stylish coat with a giant collar and leather applications that accentuated her slim waist. She smiled at the other two boys when she stopped next to them, revealing straight, white teeth. "Gene, Frankie, both of you are looking splendid next to my useless spawn."

"Mum!" Bilius blushed, his skin matching his fiery hair.

Eugene grinned while Frank nodded politely. "Mrs Weasley."

"Hush with that Mrs, it makes me feel so old - just call me Ella. And who is this? Your new friend?"

Petunia suddenly found herself the brunette's woman's focus. She had the kind of energy that Petunia found intimidating, not at all softened by her baby-blue eyes or red-lipped smile. Despite there being no outward resemblance, Petunia was reminded of her history teacher, a petite and frail woman that looked like a bag of bones held together with paper-thin skin - and who scared even her most unruly classmates into compliance with one steel-eyed glance.

"She's Gene's friend," Bilius answered the tall woman, who must be his mother, sounding slightly peeved. "We've only met twice."

"My name is Petunia Evans," Petunia introduced herself, doing her best to mind her manners. "Nice to meet you."

The woman continued to smile at her. "What a polite little lady. Maybe you can teach these useless boys some manners, Merlin knows they need it - I obviously failed at hammering them into my son's thick skull."

"Mum!"

"If you don't want me to embarrass you in front of pretty girls you shouldn't have made me come find you. Artie and your father are waiting out front."

Bilius hesitated for a second. "What about …"

Mrs Weasley interrupted him. "No, your baby nephews are still at home, you'll have a reprieve until we arrive. If you're lucky, Artie will drive and get so caught up with his new muggle car that he'll get lost on the way."

Bilius gave an audible sigh of relief which made his mother's eyes twinkle. And then her smile turned a smidgen wicked. "Have you invited your new friend to the celebration yet?"

Bilius' sigh got stuck in his throat and turned into a strangled cough. Eugene started laughing.

Mrs Weasley tsked . "This is what I meant when I said no manners. Dear, we're having a small celebration to welcome a new family member and every one of Bill's friends is invited. If you have the time, do come by. A bit of leisure and fun is what we all need right now - and what better occasion than more family?"

A sliver of panic shot down Petunia's spine like red-hot liquid. "I don't know if …"

"No excuses, joy should be shared, especially in hard times. And the more people who wish little Charlie a happy start for his life, the better. Both of you are coming, right?"

Her last words were directed at Frank and Eugene, who nodded. "Wouldn't miss it, Mrs Weasley."

Mrs Weasley didn't remind him that she wanted to be called Ella, she just hummed in satisfaction. "Good boys, the both of you. What about you, dear?"

Finding herself the focus of piercing, blue eyes Petunia nodded out of reflex. "I - yes, of course … Thank you for the invitation."

"How nice! The more, the merrier. Now, we really should get going before Artie finds the one button that will make that contraption implode - and no matter what your father says, I'm sure there is one. You know how muggles like their explosions."

Bilius groaned. "Mum …"

She shot him a glance that suddenly looked less cheerful. "Yes?"

Bilius swallowed his original words. "Nothing. See you at the party, Gene, Frankie … Petunia, I guess."

Petunia blinked at his rudeness but before she had truly processed it, his mother clicked her tongue. "Don't call it a party, it's a small get-together at best. I'm looking forward to seeing you next friday, children, no need to bring anything but yourselves."

She gave them all a brilliant smile before turning around and striding through the crowd, her shoulders pushed back confidently. The mass of students split before her so easily, her wide steps never once faltered. Bilius gave an awkward half-wave before quickly trailing after her.

"Well, now you'll get a chance to meet little Billy." Eugene turned to Petunia.. "He's just as curious as big Billy, but he gets points for looking a lot cuter while puking all over me."

Frank laughed. "Couldn't agree more."

Eugene grinned at Petunia. "Bill is under the impression that the best way to build a tolerance is to get completely sloshed."

"And we're usually the ones who have to clean up after him."

"By now we probably know more spells to get spots out of uniforms than the house elves," Eugene mused.

Petunia wanted to ask what 'house elves' were but she couldn't bring herself to do it, especially in front of a wizard she barely knew like Frank. Instead she cleared her throat, deciding to switch the topic back to something she had wanted to tell Eugene from the beginning. "It's a good thing our fireplace is now magical - for coming to the party, you know."

Frank frowned. "Magical? You mean, you're connected to the floo network?"

A small blush crept up Petunia's cheeks and she internally cursed him for being here. Her favourable first impression of him was slowly tipping towards the negative. "Yes, of course I'm talking about the floo network."

Eugene ran his fingers through his hair, combing a few chopped strands away from his twinkling, brown eyes. "That's great, Petals. You can simply tell it to take you to the Burrow on Friday."

"The Burrow?"

"I can't tell you who to credit for the name - Bill's home has just always been the Burrow."

It made it sound like he lived underground, but Petunia decided to keep that thought to herself. She was concerned with more important things anyway: how to casually bring up what she had been coming here to say all along.

Gathering her courage inside her chest, Petunia was suddenly aware of every single breath she took. Breathing shouldn't be something she had to consciously think about, right? Her ribs were too tight. Was her voice high-pitched?

"Yes, it's truly practical for visiting others. Maybe …"

We can meet up now. Somewhere that's not this cursed station.

But no matter how often she shouted the words in her head, Petunia's lips refused to move. They were numb and heavy while the tightness spread from her chest to her throat, cutting off any words.

A golden strand fell into his face and tickled Eugene's nose. He blew it away with a chuckle. "Now that you can floo, I have no more excuses to keep you away from the Hippogriffs. Just a warning, if you realise they are more comfortable than Aspen - and you will - I take no responsibility."

Petunia blinked.

"Who's Aspen?" Frank asked.

"Sorry, that's strictly confidential between Petals and me."

"Ugh, you can be such a git. I don't really care anyway."

"Sure you don't."

"Yes!" The word had burst from her lungs in an explosion of relief before Petunia even registered that she had opened her mouth. Flushing, she tried to take a deep breath and calm down. "I mean, yes, seeing the Hippogriffs would be nice."

"You say that now, but they can be real divas. Way worse than Billy."

"Tuney! There you are!"

Petunia's head snapped around at hearing that familiar voice echo from far away. And truly, almost hidden behind a few taller students, was Lily, her flaming hair bursting through the mass of black uniforms like a signal flare. Catching Petunia's gaze she started waving her arms above her head.

"We're leaving," she called across the crowd, unaware or uncaring of all the people staring at her.

Petunia quickly turned back to Eugene, not wanting anyone to make the connection. "I should get going."

"I'll see you Friday, Petals."

Petunia was sure that her heart had developed a strange kind of hiccup because something was definitely wrong with the way it skipped a beat at hearing those words. Eugene was grinning at her, his usual smile spreading his lips just a tad too wide. It looked just right.

"Tuney!"

Not wanting to make a fool of herself further, Petunia quickly turned away and hastened to where she could spot her sister jumping up and down.

She would see Eugene again - soon! And not in the bustle of a million other people enveloped by scratchy steam from a locomotive. But somewhere called the Burrow (which still made her picture some kind of animal den).

Petunia heard Frank ask "How does she know Lily Evans?" behind her, but for once in her life she didn't care.

She had better things to worry about - like the question of what she should be wearing to a witch's party.

Petunia straightened her skirt for the sixth time, making sure that all the ironed folds laid neatly against her legs. The fabric felt soft and cool against her fingertips and she took a deep breath to calm the skittering nerves that were humming like electricity just underneath her skin.

This was the first time she'd been invited to someone's party. No matter that it had been a very casual invite and she barely knew anyone here - Petunia wouldn't allow herself any blunders. Her appearance had to be immaculate. For that reason, Petunia had combed her blonde hair into a stylish updo that looked too old for someone her age, but she found that it gave her a grown-up and serious air. She had even stolen some of her Mum's pearly lipstick and applied it in secret. It felt sticky and strange on her lips and she had to constantly remind herself not to lick it off absentmindedly.

After confirming that everything was in order, Petunia grabbed a hand of the fine powder which was stored in a floral vase next to the fireplace. The grains rubbed against her skin and a few tumbled through the gaps between her fingers, dusting the carpet at her feet.

Petunia tried to recall everything Mrs Snape had told her the first and only time she ever used the magical fire. Speak clearly, keep your arms by your side and your eyes closed.

Looking at the small flame she had coaxed to life with a lot of patience and fire-starter, Petunia straightened her shoulders and threw her handful of powder into it. Immediately the fire whooshed higher, glowing bright green and bathing her face with a wave of dry heat.

Just take a step .

Closing her eyes, Petunia stepped forwards until she felt ash crunch underneath her soles and the prickling of the flames licking over her.

"The Burrow!"

Something invisible grabbed her intestines to drag them away while the floor dropped from beneath her feet. Instead of falling down, she was falling up and then direction lost all meaning. Petunia wasn't sure where she was, or where she began and ended - but before panic could get a hold of her, it was already over. Gravity snapped back like an overstretched rubber band, and she was whole again.

Gasping for breath, Petunia stumbled forward, soot covering her formerly pristine shoes. Lifting her head to get her bearings, Petunia realised what she had just stepped into: chaos.

The room before her was filled with a mass of people, young and old, most of them red-haired. Chatter was bounding from the low, wooden ceiling in such volume that Petunia almost felt as if she was in the middle of a bazaar. The smell of food and wine was overpowering, the spices lingering in the air and covering even the smoky smell of the merrily crackling fire behind her. Suppressing the urge to sneeze, Petunia looked around, feeling out of place. Somehow she had not given any thought to what she would do once she was at the party. All her thoughts had been occupied with her appearance and how to get here in one piece.

"Ah! You must be one of the Fawcett cousins, am I right? This way, this way."

A merry, young woman in a knit sweater had bumbled up to her, grabbing Petunia's arm and towing her away from the fireplace, which looked very old and was almost completely caked black. "Gotta keep that space free for any other arrivals, you understand. The Fawcett girls are out back, I think, should we go look for them? Oh, and how impolite of me, my name is Molly, Molly Pre- Weasley."

Petunia was overwhelmed, her gaze flickering between the pudgy hand holding her arm and the red-cheeked smile directed at her. The woman couldn't be much older than twenty and had a friendly, round face dominated by apple-cheeks and warm, hazel eyes. Her hair was a brilliant shade of red, a bit more orange than Lily's but just as eye-catching.

"I don't know any Fawcetts," Petunia finally managed after the woman had towed her almost through half of the crowd. "I'm a friend of Eugene."

Molly stopped. "Eugene? Oh, you mean Gene. Sorry for the confusion, dear, I think Gene's in the kitchen with Billy. That rascal is trying to get his hands on some apple-wine while no-one's looking. This way, dear."

They changed direction, Petunia feeling more and more like she was a small child with the way she was being led around. The trip through the chimney had loosened her tight hair clips and her formerly neat hairstyle now looked as if she had run through a hurricane. Not only her shoes but also her cheek held a smear of soot and if Petunia could have seen herself in a mirror she would have surely had a minor heart attack - all her hard work and carefully planned appearance were now moot.

They left the tight squeeze of strangers behind and came into a room that was filled with the clattering of plates and whistling steam from a tea kettle.

But despite the noise, it was empty. Petunia watched with wide eyes as one of the dirty plates stacked next to the sink dunked itself into the water and was cleaned by a scrub brush that no-one was holding.

"Huh, they were here just minutes ago. Wonder where they ran off to … If Bilius actually managed to get some wine, he's probably hiding. Not that I can blame the boy, his mother scares even me sometimes."

Petunia was barely listening to Molly. In her mind she suddenly saw herself, standing in front of her own sink, her fingers pruny and white from the sudsy water while she scrubbed plate after plate. Her shoulders twinged with discomfort while some spongy food residue got caught underneath her fingernail and a shudder of revulsion ran up her arm.

Petunia blinked the images away, but the feelings remained like a phantom lingering in her flesh. Her eyes cleared and she looked from the self-cleaning plates to the red-haired woman next to her - and abruptly found everything about this jovial young woman uncomfortable. Her self-knit sweater, her dimpled smile, her warm eyes and her easy posture were now screaming of superiority and arrogance.

Look how easy my life is , it all seemed to say. Look at what you will never have .

Petunia shouldn't have come here. Eugene was hiding somewhere with his wizard friends and stolen wine while she was trapped in the self-reliant kitchen of an arrogant witch.

"Anyway, dear, can I get you anything if we're already here? Something hot to drink? Anything to eat?"

Petunia wrapped herself in cold rejection to ward off the sting of jealousy which was prickling and biting her all over. "No, thank you."

"You sure? Not to brag, but I made my famous home-baked mince pies just for today. My Artie can't get enough of them."

"No, thank you," Petunia repeated.

"You're thin as a stick, dear, a bite of meat wouldn't go amiss …"

"Mollywobbles!" A red-haired man burst into the kitchen, looking harassed while he clutched a wailing infant to his chest.

Mollywobbles , Petunia thought with a bit of gleeful malice, what a horrible nickname …

"Your Great-Aunt pinched his cheek and now he won't stop crying," the man continued, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses sliding a bit further down his freckled nose.

The witch sighed. "Muriel, again. She just can't help herself around the babies. Well, give him here."

Petunia saw her chance to escape both the witch and the magic kitchen, when the woman cradled the (admittedly cute) baby and started humming a lullaby. No longer under her gaze, Petunia quickly passed the young man still standing in the doorway and rejoined the bustle in the living room.

Raucous laughter enveloped her, courtesy of two tall, ginger men in the middle of the room who were re-enacting some kind of scene that involved a lot of bumping each other's chest. Petunia tried to stay on the edge of the crowd and let her eyes flit over the room, careful that she didn't lock eyes with anyone, afraid of being accosted and towed away again.

The ceiling was wooden and low, trapping the scraps of conversation right above her head. Colourful knick-knacks were displayed in tall shelves, from expensive china plates to children's drawings and dried-up potted plants. A plush seating couch was pushed against one of the walls to make space, the red upholstery so faded in places it was almost white. But despite being old, it didn't look shabby or cheap but simply … comfortable. Well-loved.

Petunia finally spotted a quiet corner, almost hidden behind a bookcase and a bigger, equally dead plant, separated from the biggest hubbub. Only two old men were sitting there, playing a game of chess.

Petunia walked over while taking a deep breath - and almost started coughing at the spicy burn suddenly assaulting her throat. Glancing at one of the silver-haired men puffing on a wooden pipe, she settled for a shallow inhale instead.

Should she go home? Or should she search for Eugene and his friends? She had only just arrived, but she also had no idea where she should even start looking for him in this unfamiliar house … Petunia only realised she must have licked away some of the lipstick when a nasty taste spread on her tongue.

"No, you old codger, you have to keep an eye on his queen! Don't you dare send me to my death!"

Petunia flinched at the violent exclamation and whirled around to stare at the two old men. One of them was chuckling and stroking his bushy moustache. "Your pieces are quite temperamental, Sep."

The other man puffed on his wooden pipe. A dense cloud hovered around him, slowly sending thin, grey spirals towards the low ceiling. "Best they tell me instead of simply walking to their death, like yours have all evening."

Moustache hmpfed . "I don't like to be interrupted."

"It shows on the board."

"Oh, be quiet and just make your move."

The man took a deep drag of his nasty pipe. While his burnished hair was streaked with silver and thinning, his brown eyes were twinkling with a childish spark. "Well, what do we think?"

"Move me! I can corner his tower!"

Petunia felt the blood leave her face in a rush while her eyes almost bugged out of her head.

Had one of the chess pieces just talked?

"No, move me! I want to kill his knight!"

And now another one …

"That would be suicide mission," the man huffed good-naturedly.

"Don't move me then," the piece - a carved, wooden man on a horse - quickly switched tact.

Petunia just stared at the board, feeling a bit woozy. Maybe it was the cloying scent wavering all around her, or it might have been the fact that an inanimate object had just talked. A small piece of wood had just talked!

And no one else seemed to find it surprising.

I have to get out of here.

Her feet were already carrying her towards the only exit she could see, a door on rusty hinges which were almost hidden beneath twinkling fairy lights. Bursting through it, a curtain of ice-cold air slapped her face and froze her lungs, clearing her thoughts.

Panting, Petunia found herself on a low patio overlooking a very unkempt garden, twilight darkening everything around her because no lights were turned on. But she was blessedly alone out here, no red-haired witch and no old men around to disturb her further. Probably no-one wanted to brave the December cold for no good reason.

Feeling that she had very good reasons, Petunia slowly sank down onto a creaky deck chair, suppressing a shiver when she felt the frigid wood kiss her thighs through her neat skirt. She wasn't dressed for an outdoor party.

But she didn't feel fit for the indoor party taking place, despite her meticulously chosen and appropriate clothing. Inside she would be confronted with self-washing dishes and talking chess pieces. Out here … she was alone.

But Petunia couldn't lose the feeling of alienation. Everything that she'd seen was just so strange and freaky.

And fantastical , a small voice whispered inside her head.

Shaking that stray thought away, Petunia leaned back and gazed at the evening sky in an effort to calm her thoughts. It spread above her head, dyed a yellowish blue at the horizon before the colour darkened to a bluish grey directly above her head. Slowly she let her eyes wander, on the search for that first twinkling star.

If chess pieces could talk, what else did? The cutlery? The furniture? Petunia scoffed at the thought. No matter what, she was sure that her creaky lawn chair wouldn't suddenly start spouting stories.

"You!"

Petunia jumped up as if she'd been bitten.

Her breath was stuck somewhere between her chest and throat while she whirled around in search of whoever had talked. But no matter which way she looked, Petunia couldn't spot another soul.

She was all alone out here.

And despite that, the voice repeated: "You!"

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold air raced down Petunia's back, all the hairs on her body standing up.

Who had just talked to her? She hadn't imagined that raspy but strangely high-pitched voice. But where had it come from? The shadowy garden was empty except for two tall trees rustling in the wind, a creaking swing set, and a chicken coop almost hidden behind the wild, untamed weeds growing all over.

"You! Daft cow!

Remembering her earlier thoughts, Petunia glanced at the old lawn chair. Surely not …

"Tosser! Down the bridge! Where is it? Old git!"

Petunia whirled around again when she heard a rustle behind her, as if someone was making their way through the tall grass - but she couldn't spot anyone in the darkness.

"Is someone there?"

The grass at the edge of the patio suddenly parted. Before Petunia had a chance to do more than stumble back, a black shadow jumped onto the deck.
Petunia almost fell over her own feet before being stunned mute.

Hunching before her was a ferret. A ferret as big as a mid-sized dog, wearing a sparkling collar decorated with rhinestones and a leash.

"What …"

The ferret opened its mouth, showing small, sharp teeth and a pink tongue. And then …

"Manky girl, lazy sod, piss off!"

… it started talking.

For a second, Petunia seriously considered if she wasn't going crazy. First the chess pieces, now an overgrown ferret … it was just a bit too absurd.

The ferret continued: "Trollop! Plug-Ugly! My apples!"

"We're both insane," Petunia told it, almost convinced by her words. Animals weren't supposed to talk - but neither were chess pieces. Still, it being so clearly bestial but still capable of the human tongue made it somehow worse. The chess piece had been small and made out of wood, but this … creature was clearly alive, full of warm blood and breath.

Breath it used to cuss her out. If Petunia hadn't been so freaked out, she would have been offended.

"Give it! Prat! Where is it?"

"Where is what?" Why was she even engaging it? But the question had slipped out before Petunia had given it any thought. Morbid curiosity was battling with her hysteria and slowly winning.

"Slag!"

"Excuse me?"

"There's no need to be offended," a much more gentle voice sounded from behind her. "She doesn't mean it."

Petunia turned around. A boy about her age was stepping onto the patio, with fly-away white-blond hair that dangled all the way to his shoulders and big, pale eyes. Even more unusual than his hair was his outfit, a horrid combination of eggplant-purple trousers and a ghastly orange tunic. A pheasant feather was tucked behind one of his ears, jutting out above his head, the tip bobbing in the icy wind.

This day had become so strange, Petunia was barely flustered anymore. "Who are you?"

"Xenophilius Lovegood. The pleasure is all mine."

"Petunia Evans."

Xenophilius - a ridiculous name if Petunia ever heard one - nodded towards the oversized ferret. "Like I said, she doesn't mean it. You have to forgive her."

"Wanker!"

"As do you," Petunia put in snidely. The new insult was obviously meant for him. For a second she wondered if all these words were familiar to the wretched boy, or if the ferret knew a few that his drunkard father didn't.

"She's so mean because her ears are infested by Wrackspurts. You should hum the song so they don't try to infest you, too."

Petunia blanched. Infested? Infested by some strange magical disease or thing that might already be latching onto her? "What song?"

He blinked at her with his big eyes, as if she had just asked a very stupid question. "Your favourite one, of course."

"My …? I don't …" Petunia barely knew any songs. It wasn't something she spent a lot of time on, preferring silence over most music. Her panic started bubbling up when the boy took to humming a lively tune. "What song is that?"

He stopped for a second. "Obviously the one with the donkey."

Petunia couldn't remember any of the songs she knew containing lyrics about a donkey but in her desperation she didn't waste any more thoughts on it. Instead she just followed along with the boy's humming, her voice thin and brittle. She couldn't remember the last time she had hummed anything .

He finally stopped and Petunia breathed a sigh of relief. "Are we safe now?"

"Yes, until the next rainshower." He leaned his head back, looking at the clear evening sky. The ridiculous feather almost slipped from his ivory hair. "So a while still."

Feeling a bit faint, Petunia collapsed back into her rusty chair. She had read the book from Eugene's father from front to back so many times she could recite entire passages but apparently there was still a lot she didn't know. "I've never heard of these … Wrackspurts."

The boy nodded sagely, still staring at the sky. Petunia couldn't fathom what was so fascinating about it, the first star was still hidden, making it a monotone flat of dark blue. "Most wizards haven't."

"Dirty minger! You hid it! Dead from the neck up!"

Petunia glanced at the ferret, suddenly too exhausted to take offence. "I've never heard anything about this thing either."

"She's a jarvey. Ms Black keeps her to hunt the gnomes in the garden. Illegally, of course, but they run rampant in these parts."

"Ms Black?"

He pondered this for a second before saying: "She's been Mrs Weasley for quite some time now."

Petunia remembered the kind but intimidating woman she had met at the station. "Why is it illegal?"

Xenophilius shrugged. "Because the ministry said so."

"Why can it - she talk?"

"Why shouldn't she talk? It would be strange if a jarvey can't speak."

"But … it's an animal!"

"She's a jarvey," he corrected.

Feeling as if she was talking in circles, Petunia gave up. Somehow since she had arrived at this house of insanity her energy was steadily depleting. She didn't even have it in her to get mad anymore. So what if the stupid ferret could talk? Let it. It didn't have anything to do with her, not really.

"Lazy sod!"

Xenophilius suddenly sighed very deeply. "Nargles, Wrackspurts, Heliopaths, Slashkilters … There are so many fascinating creatures that get overlooked by Magiozoologists."

Petunia had never heard of any of those. And she also didn't know what a magic-zoo-whatever was.

"Overlooked by whom?"

"Magiozoologists. Most of them aren't that well-known, except Mr Scamander. Did you know that his heir is here today?"

Petunia immediately sat up straight, staring at the boy who cluelessly continued: "I asked him if he could convince his father to publish another book, focusing more on the less well-known creatures. He promised me he would ask. Very nice, indeed. He scolded the Weasley boy when he made fun of me."

Petunia didn't care about any of that. The only thing she wanted to know was - "Where did you find them?"

Again, he blinked at her with his owlish eyes. "They're in the shed, just over there. Can't fathom why, the boxroom is a much warmer hideout, but they wouldn't listen to me …"

Petunia had already stood up, furiously straightening her skirt and blouse. She knew where Eugene was! Now this horrible evening would at least have a nice ending.

"Old hag! I know you!"

She glanced at the ferret before turning towards Xenophilius. "I'll be going. It's getting cold out here."

"Hmm, you're right, now I feel it too. But I'll accompany her a bit longer." He nodded toward the ferret. "She so rarely has someone to talk to."

"Pisspot!"

Petunia found the shed Xenophilius mentioned around the corner of the house, diliplated and rusty. It was shaped like a big tube that had been sliced in half, the corrugated metal sheets gleaming in the low light.

Even standing a few feet away, she caught the tail end of a lively discussion, Bilius' voice loud enough to carry outside despite the closed door.

"… either that, or a squib. Anyway, it's strange! You never asked?"

"No. And I don't get why you care so much."

It was the first time Petunia had heard Eugene sound like this. Fed up. Impatient. There was none of his usual good cheer colouring the words.

"Because you don't! That's really strange. You don't care at all, Gene, and it's your 'penpal' we're talking about. Aren't you curious?"

Petunia froze, her fingers hovering above the door handle.

Eugene's penpal - they were talking about her.

"Why would I be curious about that?"

Bilius scoffed. "Because it's a big deal. Because you should be curious if you give a damn."

"I must not give a damn then."

Petunia fisted her trembling hand. Pain laced through her jaw like a sharp spike because she was clenching it too hard.

"Just let it rest, Bill," Frank's voice cut in. "I think you're a bit tipsy. It's Gene's friend, doesn't really matter to us …"

"It obviously doesn't matter to him either!"

Petunia whirled around and stalked away, fearing that she wouldn't be able to fight off the tears if she heard anymore. A hot lump was clogging her airway, making each breath of cold air burn in her throat as if she was inhaling acid.

She wouldn't cry. It wasn't worth it.

She just wanted to go home. Back to where neither chess pieces nor ferrets talked to her. Back to her normal life, her normal room in her normal house, where cutlery didn't wash itself.

Back to her room, where all the letters Eugene had sent her were carefully kept in a box under her bed. All the letters that had led her to the delusion that he might care for her.

You don't care at all, Gene, and it's your 'penpal' we're talking about …

I must not give a damn then …

It obviously doesn't matter to him …

No matter how much she tried to banish them, the poisonous words kept echoing inside her head on repeat, whirling round and round until Petunia wanted to bash her skull against something to let them out. To return to just a few minutes ago, when she had still believed that there might be someone out there that liked her. Her, Petunia, the mundane, stuck-up, mean sister.

I think you're much more interesting, Petals …

But she couldn't turn back time or erase her memories. Maybe a witch would have been able to, would have been able to right all the wrongs by simply waving a stupid stick.

But Petunia was no witch. And so she stood in a dark, overgrown garden and did her best to fight down her sobs.