March 1972
The soles of her sneakers clapped across the dry road, the evening air smelling like pollen, sun-baked asphalt and spring. Petunia had chosen an empty strip of street far away from the busy main road, where people would be packing up for the day just about now. Petunia had made sure the street was deserted before softly whistling at Aspen, who was curiously examining an overflowing garbage can in a dingy side-alley, hidden from sight. His ears flicked and his pupil-less eyes caught the orange light of the setting sun, before he pranced over to her, his head now level with her own.
"You're definitely big enough to be flying by now," Petunia scolded him while adjusting the sleeves of her cardigan. It was warm enough that she didn't need a jacket anymore, but the sleeves were riding up exposing her delicate wrists to the still-cool air. Apparently Aspen wasn't the only one who had grown. "I think you're just too lazy."
Aspen blew some dry breath out of his nostrils.
"Don't snort at me. Don't you want to fly? I imagine it must be fabulous." And then a spear of longing and envy pierced her gut, because Lily was probably flying right now, on a magical broomstick. While Petunia was pushing their old, rusty bicycle along the asphalt, her undersized sneakers firmly planted on the ground.
This wasn't her first attempt to get Aspen to fly. The first few times she had assumed she had to get him to a higher place, like the roof, so he could jump down and flap his wings like a bird. But Aspen had morosely refused to be taken anywhere higher than a small hilltop.
And Petunia had found herself sitting at her desk, writing a letter, even though she had promised herself she would stop. That she wouldn't think about him again, much less write to him. But apparently she had grown used to finding help, to consult with Eugene if she encountered a problem.
However it had come about, the new strategy was to get Aspen to run fast and then beat his wings to take off. Following that plan, Petunia had started sprinting down the fields around her house, but Aspen just jumped and trotted and happily kept pace with her. And when Petunia collapsed into the dew-dotted grass, gasping, he affectionately nuzzled her hair, not at all exerted.
So she had taken the old bicycle out of storage as a last resort.
"You better flap your wings," she reminded him while she climbed onto the seat. It gave a protesting creak and she imagined a few rust flakes fluttering down. It had been quite a while since she had ridden it, probably back when she had shown Lily how to do it. Refusing to sink into the memories of red hair tickling her face and childish screeches of delight, she placed her feet on the pedals and pushed.
Her first few metres were a bit wobbly but then her body seemed to remember what to do and she gained speed. A mild breeze caught strands of her pale hair and pressed against her face while Petunia lifted from the seat, going as fast as she could. Aspen was keeping pace with her and she was glad to see that he actually had to stretch his legs this time.
And then his wings suddenly burst open like sails on a ship, catching the same breeze that was caressing her face. He beat them, once, twice, kicked his hooves … and then they left the ground.
Petunia almost crashed her bike, managing to put her feet down just in time. One of the pedals painfully smashed into her calf, bruising it severely. But seeing Aspen lift into the air, she didn't even feel it.
A rare smile grazed her otherwise dour lips as she watched him circle in front of the evening sky, his night-black wings catching the last rays of golden sunshine. She couldn't understand why Thestrals were always described as ghastly - in that moment, Aspen looked positively majestic.
And even though her feet stayed rooted to the dusty street, her resentment was barely a twinge. This moment felt bitter and sweet at the same time.
Just like lime , her brain supplied and the thought lingered long after she'd returned home.
Hey Petals,
Good to hear that Aspen finally managed to get his skinny behind into the air. Though I'm not really surprised that my advice was spot on, as always. Should I start offering tutoring for Care of Creatures, you think? I know a few people who might be tricked into accepting it and then I'll just get them to do my homework for me in the spirit of learning, as you have so gracefully declined to do it. Though I'm not complaining about the biscuits.
Best, Gene
Petunia slowly folded the letter, refusing to read it for a fourth time. There wasn't anything else to it except Eugene's usual casual banter and throwaway remarks. She barely remembered that once this same casualty had eased her trepidation at the thought of writing with a wizard and had helped her relax enough to ask her questions. Now it made her wonder how much he even thought about what to write her. He probably just sat down whenever he found the leisure time, scribbled a quick letter and sent it off before dedicating himself to something else.
He certainly didn't sit in his darkened room and read her letters multiple times. And he surely didn't ponder sleeplessly if he should even continue to answer her letters or not.
Despite herself, her eyes darted to her closed desk drawer. She knew what she would see if she pulled it open: a colourful little paper bag, untouched but well preserved. Petunia never took the box out or ate any of the small beans.
She just knew that they would make her sick, so there was no reason to risk it. She didn't need the thrill in her life.
It wasn't the first time that week that Petunia awoke to a dead bird on her windowsill, so she wasn't too surprised. Looking at the fragile creature, one of its wings bent at an unnatural angle and small feet curled closed in death, she almost felt something like pity.
And then she wondered what Lily would have to say if she saw it. She would probably cry or try to reanimate it or something similarly pointless.
Petunia just took it with her into the little shed, finding Aspen still asleep on his nest of tarps. He had taken to nightly hunts since discovering a use for his wings and slept more during the day, though his rhythm was quite sporadic. Petunia deposited the bird next to him, sure he would eat it once he woke up and got hungry. She herself wasn't sure why he always left his prey with her. Did he want to brag about his success or was he trying to feed her?
Walking back into the house in search of her own breakfast, Petunia spotted her mother already at the kitchen table, drinking tea and flipping through a newspaper. She looked different than usual - her auburn hair was pulled back, her light lashes were darkened by makeup and she had exchanged her comfortable 'home' pants for a sensible dress. She looked up when Petunia walked to the sink to wash her hands and gave her daughter a smile. "I left the recipe next to the stove."
Petunia didn't answer. She just dried her hands and grabbed a toast from the rack.
"I'll get dressed for school," she mumbled before quickly leaving the room. Petunia would have liked to butter her toast and maybe also drink some tea, but her desire to not spend time in her mother's presence won out. She didn't want to look at her after the talk they'd had two days ago.
"I'm going to help out in the canteen at your father's workplace," was how her mother began that discussion. "Another salary will be good for us."
Petunia had wondered why they suddenly needed 'another salary'. True, they weren't rich, but they had a car, a house and enough food and clothing. She has never felt as if there was any need to worry about money.
And then it clicked - Lily. Of course this was about Lily, the golden child, the favourite daughter, the only one special in their 'muggle' family. Now that the prospect of flying brooms, owls, expensive school books and silver cauldrons loomed in the future, her mother suddenly wanted to work again.
"You are old enough to help around the house," her mother had continued. "And as Lily isn't here you just have to take care of yourself." She sighed when Petunia stayed silent. "Don't look so petulant, I already did all those things and more when I was your age - cooking, cleaning and running errands on top of that. All I'm asking you is to make your own meal while your father and I are at work."
And when Petunia had still not said anything, her mother's voice had grown sterner. "You are learning important things for your future. I won't always be there to mother you and it's important for a girl to know how to cook. Learning now, you'll make your future husband very happy."
And at that moment something sharp took a bite out of Petunia's intestines because she knew, she just knew, that her mother would never say those words to Lily. Lily, who would have a special, magical life, removed from all those mundane worries like cooking and keeping a household.
Lily, who her mother already envisioned doing something more.
Petunia chewed on her dry toast, trying to ignore her twisting stomach and hurriedly pulled on her school uniform. She would learn to cook, but she would learn for herself. Not for her mother, not for a future husband (don't think about him ) but to treat herself well when her mother couldn't be bothered to cook anymore, now that her most important daughter was away from home almost all year.
Shouldering her bag, Petunia darkly promised herself that she would be the best cook in all of Cokeworth in the end. And she wouldn't share her food with anyone - except maybe Aspen, if he wanted a bite.
The school day crawled past her as if it had turned into a sticky syrup that simply refused to flow any faster. Petunia was annoyed with everything - the ugly glasses of her Geography teacher, the giggling girls next to her who wouldn't shut up about some singer or other, the dry scratching of chalk that crawled around her ears like an itchy bug.
Leaving school after what felt like days, a reluctant smile spread on her face when Aspen joined her halfway on her way back home, prancing out of the shadows of a big tree. His flanks were still as thin as ever but instead of only bones, Petunia imagined she could see the start of something like stringy sinews under his gleaming black skin. Maybe those were muscles he developed while flying?
"Did you enjoy your bird?", she asked, softly patting his spindly neck as he fell into step next to her. Petunia was the only one walking along this shortcut through the fields, so she wasn't worried about prying eyes. "Good job catching it, it must have been fast."
Aspen shook his patchy mane and stomped his hooves as if to agree.
Looking across the fields that had been bare in winter but now rustled like a green ocean in the spring breeze she sighed. "I'm not sure I will be as successful as you in taking care of myself, Aspen."
He nudged her shoulder.
Petunia nodded. "But I'll give it a try. After all, I'm the only one I can rely on."
Her first experiment turned out ugly but edible. Shoving a spoon full of slightly burned corn into her mouth, Petunia actually felt that it tasted pretty good. This was something she had done herself, something that was unrelated to magic or understanding death - something that no one could contest her for.
Maybe cooking would actually turn out to be a bit fun.
Lily wanted a fireplace. Petunia stared at her sister, not sure if she should be disgusted or simply astonished. Silence settled over the Evan's family living room, the aroma of sugar and tea wafting through the afternoon air but failing to soothe the atmosphere. Gregory Evans, the father of the two girls, was looking at his wife, leaving this up to her.
Lily didn't notice the shock her announcement had left. "That way, Alice can come visit me whenever she wants. And Edgar told me that every wizard is connected to the floo network, because it makes everything so much easier. We wouldn't have to drive all the way to London with the car if we had a fireplace."
Carol Evans smoothed a strand of hair away from her pale face. "Honey, that sounds like it would be very convenient, but it's not that easy to install a fireplace, especially when there isn't one in the original layout of the house …"
Lily blinked, obviously surprised. "There's no way?"
Their dad grimaced and quickly stuffed a piece of cake into his mouth.
Petunia stared at her mother, waiting for her to explain to her spoiled daughter that she wouldn't always get what she wants.
Instead their mother folded while looking into Lily's pleading, green eyes. "Let me ask around, get more information. I don't know that much about fireplaces, to be fair. Maybe there's an easier way to build one. Maybe we won't even need professionals but your dad and his friends can give it a try?"
Petunia scowled and watched as a smile blossomed upon Lily's face. A bit of cream was on the corner of her lip but instead of untidy it just made her look adorable. Her mother seemed to think the same because she smiled back and carefully wiped the cream away with her thumb. "You're twelve already, a little lady. How come you're still such a messy eater?"
Lily laughed happily, the bell-like sound tinkling through the air. It grated on Petunia's nerves like nails on chalkboard and she spoke before she could stop herself: "Lily, aren't you wondering why Mum is suddenly working again?"
The laughter tampered off and Lily looked confused. Before she could ask, their mother cut in: "I just wanted to get out of the house a bit. It's so empty now, with both of you girls in school. And this way I can see your dad at work."
Petunia fought down the impulse to throw her small cake-fork in frustration. It was obviously because her parents felt they might not have enough money to support their magical daughter, the same magical daughter that had just casually asked them to install a fireplace for her convenience!
Looking at the Victoria sponge cake in the middle of the table, Petunia tried to calm herself. This was supposed to be Lily's belated birthday party, celebrating her as soon as she had stepped through the door. Lily's actual birthday had been back in January, when she'd still been at Hogwarts, which meant all the presents and love her parents had built up since then were now showered upon her.
But Petunia wasn't in the mood for celebration. She was stressed and unhappy and Lily's presence just made everything worse. She hadn't accompanied her mother to King's Cross to pick her up this time, deciding to stay at home and away from all things magical and unnatural. But regret began eating away at her insides like a hungry swarm of ants as soon as her Mum's car had left the driveway. And now Lily was here, and Petunia had missed a chance to see Eugene, however small, and then she felt stupid for being so hung up over it. She had made the right choice, staying away. It would have just made all of her feelings worse if she actually saw him.
Not that they have exactly gotten better anyway, a traitorous voice whispered in her mind. No matter what Petunia promised herself, she still replied to every one of his letters and she still caught herself thinking about golden hair and too-broad smiles once her mind started to wander.
"I promise I'll come home for every holiday, Mum," Lily claimed. "It won't be empty then."
"That sounds nice," her mother said and her father chuckled good-naturedly.
Petunia silently stabbed her cake until it turned into a crumbling mess. Was she air? Was the house 'empty' even though Petunia was here every day, cooking her own meals in a silent kitchen?
Sometimes she wondered if anyone would even miss her if she'd just disappeared.
For a few seconds she felt just like the mistreated cake on her plate. Small and crumbling and unsightly. And then an image flashed through her mind, an image of black wings catching the sunlight.
Aspen. Aspen would miss her, he would miss having someone to accompany him on his runs, to compliment him on his bird-catching successes and scold him for accidentally ripping holes into clothes when the fabric caught on his protruding teeth.
Following impulse, Petunia scraped the tins of her small fork across her tongue. They hurt slightly but tasted sweet all the same.
And maybe there was someone else who would at least wonder if she suddenly stopped replying.
April, 1972
It was the morning of Easter Sunday when Petunia made Lily cry.
Petunia awoke to an uncomfortable tightness in her stomach and the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg wafting through the air, a sure indicator that their mother had already started baking hot cross buns.
Lily was standing in front of their shared vanity, combing her copper locks and looking at Petunia through the mirror when she sat up.
"Morning, Tuney."
Petunia pressed a hand to her tummy, the soft cotton of her nightgown bunching between her fingers. Something was wrong. Her thighs felt … sticky.
Not really giving the matter more thought, she flipped back her bed covers - and froze. Ice encased her limbs, her fingers clenching the sheets, her eyes focused on something she didn't want to see.
And then the ice shattered into shards when Lily's brush noisily clattered to the floor.
Slowly looking up, Petunia met wide green eyes in the slightly tarnished vanity mirror. Lily's face had blanched quite spectacularly and before Petunia could think further, a big tear rolled down her little sister's cheek. "Blood … There's blood! Oh, no, Tuney …"
And then she broke out in huge sobs, swallowing the rest of whatever she might have wanted to say. Petunia felt strangely numb, maybe having her sister freak out relieved her of all her own panic.
Lily's tears and snot were glistening on her face like a snail's trail while she continued wailing at the top of her lungs: "M-Mum! Mum, come quick! T-Tuney is … Tuney is hurt!"
Petunia just sat on her bed, not sure what she was supposed to do just yet. Her nausea at spotting her soiled legs was still roiling in her stomach but it had settled down enough that she could look again.
"What a mess," she mumbled, which just made Lily cry harder, something Petunia could almost admire. Lily wasn't only magical, she also had the lung capacity of an opera singer.
Hurried steps clattered up the stairs and then the door to their room was ripped open, their mother standing in the doorway, a bit of flour sticking to her fingers and apron. Her grey-blue eyes immediately sought out her bitterly crying child. "Lily, what's wrong?"
Lily pointed a trembling finger at Petunia and their mother's gaze followed her gesture.
"Oh! Oh …" Stepping into the room, she closed the door behind her before walking over to Lily. Softly she started brushing the tears from her daughter's face, leaving traces of flour instead. "Shh, calm down, honey. There's no need to cry."
Lily hiccuped wetly. "But Tuney …"
Her mother gave Petunia a smile, still stroking Lily's cheeks. "Nothing is wrong. This is something that happens to every girl when she grows up."
"What is it?" Petunia asked, feeling calmer now that her mother hadn't freaked out and frantically phoned the village's clinic.
Her mother finally walked over and sat on the edge of Petunia's bed. She didn't stroke her face though, just patted Petunia's hand, which was still clutching the covers in a white-knuckled grip. "It's something that will happen every month from now on. You'll feel unwell and bleed for a number of days, but it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with your body - quite the opposite."
"But blood means she's hurt," Lily protested. Her eyes were swollen and red but at least they had stopped watering.
"Not this blood," Carol claimed. "This blood is very special. It means that you aren't a child anymore but a young woman."
Petunia didn't feel any different today than yesterday. Except a bit more awkward. "Did this happen to you, too, Mum?"
"Of course, it happens to every growing girl."
Lily was pale again. "So, me too?"
"Yes, it will happen to you, too," her mother patiently said.
"When?" Unwillingness was painted across Lily's face.
"I can't tell you. It will happen when your body is ready."
Lily started chewing on her lip. "That's scary. Does it hurt, Tuney?"
Petunia stroked her lower stomach again. There was a strange feeling of pressure as if someone had connected a web of strings to her intestines and then pulled them tight. But it was more uncomfortable than truly painful. "Not very much."
Lily deflated with obvious relief. Her mother had a strange, wry smile but didn't say anything. "Let's get you both cleaned up. And then I'll make you a nice cup of chamomile and you girls can help me in the kitchen. Or you lie back down if you don't feel well enough." She directed her last comment at Petunia who shook her head. "Come on then."
And she stood up, leading Petunia to the bathroom to show her how to deal with the side effects of becoming a 'young woman'.
When Petunia was cleaned up and dressed, Lily was already in the kitchen, playing with strings of dough while looking at her Mum. "Can I make something other than a cross? How about a heart?"
"Whatever you want, honey," she said while kneading a ball of the same dough. She looked up at Petunia when she stepped into the room and indicated a steaming cup with a tip of her chin. "Your tea is there. How are you feeling?"
Petunia clasped the cup, letting the herbal steam wrap around the lingering traces of her anxiety. Little daisies were painted on the yellow ceramic and she trailed her fingertip over the tea-warmed pattern. 'Daisy' would have been a pretty name, and it once again made her wonder why her parents had chosen 'Petunia' instead. "Fine."
Mum smiled. "That's good. If you want, you can help me chop more apples for the next batch."
"Why are you making so many buns this year, Mum?" Lily asked, trying to arrange her dough string to her satisfaction on the flour-covered work-surface. Petunia thought she made it look like a sadly dented circle.
"I wanted to give some to our neighbours and also to Eileen. As thanks for explaining so many things about wizards and your new school to us." She slid a washed apple and a cutting board towards Petunia. "I don't know how we would have dealt with all this if Eileen wasn't there. Your teacher explained a few things, but I was still so confused when she showed up I can barely remember what she told us."
"I can bring them to Sev's house when they're finished," Lily volunteered and their mother smiled.
"Would you? I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. Make sure to thank his mother for me."
Lily nodded earnestly, her sad string of dough forgotten on the counter.
Petunia started chopping the apple, taking care to dice it small enough that it would fit nicely into the dough. It split with a crisp sound under the edge of her knife and the fresh and slightly sour juice clung to her sticky fingers.
"Wow, Tuney!"
Petunia prepared a withering glare and looked up at Lily. What was she on about now?
Her sister's gaze was firmly fixed on her cutting board though, not even noticing her expression. "You're so fast!"
Petunia loosened the grip on her knife. True, she had gotten better with practice and by now the easier things like cutting ingredients had become something she didn't even need to think about. It had also been ages since she last suffered a cut.
"Let me help, too," Lily demanded and their mother indulgently handed her another apple and a second cutting board. "This really reminds me of Potions, we always have to prepare ingredients very carefully and if we err even one inch the whole brew will be spoiled. But it's loads of fun! Just before the Christmas break Professor Slughorn showed us how to make a Hair-Raising Potion and everyone except for me chopped their rat tails too thickly and failed!"
Petunia tried to tune out her sister's tales of potions and bragging, her eyes sometimes wandering to Lily's chopping board. Lily was holding her knife strangely, as if she was operating on the apple instead of dicing it, and she carefully pierced the gleaming green skin before slowly sawing away at its flesh. Her pieces were perfectly square and uniform, but when Petunia was already finished she had not even managed to cut a quarter of her own apple up.
The dough was ready and Petunia impatiently watched her sister meticulously etch out cube after cube, her tongue pressed against the corner of her lip in concentration. The only thing that stopped Petunia from directing a snide comment at Lily was a picture that flashed through her mind whenever she opened her mouth in impatience: the big blob of tears running down Lily's reddened cheeks.
Lily had cried bitterly when she thought Petunia was hurt. She had so earnestly cried for her older sister in a way Petunia never would have been able to - for neither herself nor for Lily.
So Petunia let the matter rest, sitting in their sun-dappled kitchen, her stomach slightly cramped but her hands relaxed, breathing in the aroma of camomile and crisp apple while she watched her sister toil with her piece of fruit, not saying anything.
And when Lily's perfect apple pieces were mixed into the long-waiting dough while Petunia's turned dry in the sweet smelling air, the bitterness she expected to infest her heart was more like a forgotten aftertaste.