October 1975

"I got yeh summat! Every groundskeeper should have one."

Petunia stared at the squirming bundle of black fur and gigantic paws in Hagrid's hands.

"Hagrid." Her voice sounded flat to her own ears. "Is that a puppy?"

"'Course! Look at my Fang, once he's all grown he'll help me around here. An' he needs a companion, righ'? So I got yeh one as well."

That was all nice and well but … "Why does it have three heads?"

There was a short pause when one of said heads yawned widely, showing a pink tongue and small white teeth.

"All the better, I'd say! One can bark, one can track an' one can bite, all at the same time."

As if it had taken Hagrid's words as an encouragement, the left head stretched up to clamp viciously at the space between Hagrid's thumb and pointer finger, sharp teeth gnawing furiously at the man's thick skin.

"His name is Fluffy."

Of course it is.

It seemed that the mysterious magic that cleaned Petunia's rooms was also capable of restoring things. To date, it had taken care of two gnawed-on bed posts, a shattered teapot and too many ripped-up cushions to count.

"You're a proper hellion," Petunia scolded the perpetrator, knowing it was useless. Only one head was paying her even the slightest attention, the other two were busy nipping at each other.

"If you continue like this, I'm going to cut our walk short today."

At the word 'walk' all heads lifted, black eyes gleaming with interest.

Petunia huffed. This devil incarnate didn't deserve her mirth – Hagrid had said all heads would be useful for something, but all they did until now was growling and biting, either at each other, her or innocent furniture.

Why or how he had found this creature instead of a normal dog remained a mystery until yesterday when Hagrid confessed during their shared breakfast that he might have been drunk when a fellow sold it to him at the pub.

Clipping a sturdy leather leash, ringed with pale teeth indentations, onto the collar of the middle head, Petunia led Fluffy from her rooms, making her way down the terrifying staircases that always seemed to move at the most inconvenient moments.

Or leave her stranded.

"This castle has to be one giant joke," she told Fluffy while watching the connecting staircase she had intended to take float away from her. His only answer was a renewed effort to chew through his leash.

And then, as if the universe was playing an even greater trick on her, she watched as another stairway docked onto her platform – leading directly to the pest she had done her best to avoid.

James Potter, skewered glasses and tousled hair making him unmistakable, had already spotted her. A lopsided grin stretched his mouth while he ambled over, taking two steps in one.

"Fancy meeting you here. Where's the blood-dripping bucket? Though I see you brought the next best thing to horrify students."

Fluffy let up from his leash to show six rows of gleaming teeth.

"Why don't you try petting him?" Petunia actually wished he would be foolish enough to take her up on it. As if sharing her hope, Fluffy strained against the leash but didn't bark or growl.

Maybe wishing to see the boy lose a finger was a bit bloodthirsty but something about him just rubbed her the wrong way. It wasn't so much the fact that he was the last in a long line of Lily's admirers and bothering Petunia because of it, more that he hid his suspicion behind a facade of camaraderie, easy smiles and pointed jokes.

If Petunia had been naive or desperate enough she might have actually believed his renewed approach was an offer of friendship.

"I don't think it likes me much," James said easily, glancing at the three-headed beast and the thin lines of spittle dripping from its maws.

"Appearances can be deceiving."

"On that I agree! Imagine my surprise when I found out … Petunia – Petunia Evans, was it?"

Petunia stiffened. Fluffy actually did growl.

"I knew there was something going on with you and Evans but I never would have guessed! Cousins, maybe, or coincidentally identical last names … not sisters."

Petunia steeled her spine and forced herself to keep her face blank.

What did it matter? It would have come to light sooner or later. She had never put any effort into keeping it a secret. Why should she? It wasn't something to be ashamed of.

So why did she feel like she had been caught doing something wrong?

"But honestly, can you blame me? It's just a bit strange … Evans never talked about a sister and now that you're here you don't even give her the time of day. It's enough to make anyone question all this."

"I don't understand why you think you're in any position to question me, James Potter. My and Lily's matters have nothing to do with you. Or have your delusions overtaken any common sense you've had left?"

He grinned. "Common sense is no fun at all."

Petunia swallowed, forcing her retort down her dry throat.

This was another reason Petunia had done her best to avoid James Potter.

His messy hair, his untidy clothes, his gleaming brown eyes and the constant teasing note in his voice – it was too similar. So similar that a stab of familiarity pierced her gut when he said something like this, followed by a toxic swirl of confusion, longing and anger that almost made her sick.

Of course she was aware of the differences. Where Eugene's jokes and throwaway comments were good-natured, James' held a note of mocking and superiority. But whenever she tried to convince herself that she was overthinking it, a very small voice in the back of her head piped up, telling her that Eugene would have treated her just like this, if he had fancied Lily.

James Potter was the dark mirror image of the boy she missed.

And she hated it.

"What do you want?"

"Just some clarity. You are Evans' older sister, right? Why does no-one talk about it? And why are you avoiding her?"

"Why don't you ask Lily?"

He took a second too long to answer even though Petunia already knew his reasoning. Too nervous, too afraid of annoying her or wanting to appear aloof and unconcerned with Lily's matters – whatever it was, she honestly couldn't care less about what his lovesick brain had cooked up.

"Well, you're much more interesting, aren't you? The new girl, mysterious, suddenly appearing without any warning …"

I think you're much more interesting, Petals.

She was going to be sick.

"Surely you know that you're not exactly inconspicuous – the only questions remaining are why you're here now, not as a student, and why you haven't joined Evan's gaggle of girlfriends … I can only guess that it's because of your sharp tongue but I find that –"

"Shut up," Petunia hissed, hoping the venom in her voice would actually be enough to stop him, no matter how unrealistic. Fluffy was straining against his leash. "Leave me alone, I am thoroughly sick of you and your pathetic little crush on my sister!"

"So she is your sister, thanks for confirming. Now …"

This time it was Fluffy who interrupted him with a ferocious bark, jumping up so suddenly his leash almost ripped from her grip. James took a step back, seemingly without thinking about it.

Something cruel clawed out of the confusion and helpless anger rotting her insides, relishing the way his eyes had widened.

"You better run," Petunia whispered. "I feel like his leash is especially slippery today."

Instead of running he laughed.

And Petunia's fingers actually loosened for just a second before she reigned herself in.

"I'm going to say it one last time: Stop bothering me."

With that she tugged Fluffy back and shouldered James aside, going down the stairway he had ascended to pester her. No matter where it led she would somehow find her way outside – and even if not, wandering through the castle with a three-headed dog sounded better than continuing to stay here with him.

When he answered, Petunia suddenly wished that the blood rushing in her ears had been just a bit louder, a bit more deafening.

"But bothering you is so much fun, Petunia Evans."

The next time James Potter came to annoy her, he brought reinforcements.

Petunia allowed herself a second to survey the tall boy stalking at his side. Half a head taller than James, a wavy waterfall of dark, shining hair framed a face that could have been crafted from marble, dominated by a pair of piercing grey eyes.

Her first thought upon seeing him was that he was handsome. Her second was that he was aware of it.

Petunia couldn't pinpoint exactly what led her to that conclusion; it could have been the way the clear autumn-light hit the planes of his high cheekbones just a bit too perfectly to be an accident, the way he had squared his shoulders to promote their width, the way he had lifted his chin so he peered down his aristocratic nose at the world.

Or maybe it was the way he looked back at her. Dismissive, bored, already having found her wanting. Maybe she was not worthy in his eyes because she wasn't as pretty as the girls that usually fawned over him. Maybe it was the fact that she was dressed like Hagrid's slighter, female version: thick, coarse coat, long, mud-smeared trousers and sturdy, steel-capped boots.

And then James Potter opened his blasted mouth and whatever observations she had been collecting burned up in a blaze of anger.

"Petty!"

Petty?

The messy-haired boy pranced closer, his companion following along at a more sedate pace.

"What? We can't have two 'Evans' running around, it would get confusing."

Petunia vehemently wished Fluffy was here with her. This time she would have allowed him to get one good bite in before reeling him back.

"Oh, don't act so put out, it suits you perfectly. Or would you prefer Pet?"

Maybe two.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't address me at all."

His companion laughed. "I don't think she's tame enough to be called 'Pet' yet. Might have to domesticate her a bit, Prongs."

Petunia's nails bit into her palm.

James didn't even look at his friend. "See? We all have nicknames! And we give them to our favourites – hey, you might even know one of them; Snivellus ring any bells? Horrible hair, giant nose, pants after Evans like a dog in heat?"

"Sounds like you," Petunia replied blithely.

The friend laughed. James grimaced and touched his nose, nudging his round glasses in the process.

"You haven't seen him then," he mumbled. "You'd never confused my perfect nose with that monstrosity."

Petunia had an inkling she knew whom he was talking about. The wretched boy. And now that she looked at James, standing next to his friend who was smiling maliciously at the comment, something in her brain loosened, a few pebbles clattering and causing an avalanche.

The memory came suddenly, rumbling through her thoughts with images of gangly pre-teens, one hazel-eyed and the other grey-eyed, mocking Severus at the train station.

Specs and Sneer – James Potter and his companion.

Petunia almost laughed. That had been years – years! – ago and they hadn't changed at all. And most ridiculous of all, he was still in love with Lily. His obsession actually rivalled the wretched boy's.

Whatever trace of mocking laughter had been tickling her throat extinguished at that realisation. Lily had not one but two people who had steadfastly loved her for years without her having to do anything to encourage them. While the only person who had ever shown Petunia any sign of affection was an ocean away.

As always, thoughts of Eugene hurt. It was a small scratch that had become infected over time, oozing yearning and bitter loneliness with every day that passed. Petunia wished she could simply bathe in the hazy memories of their shared summer, of Ivy's glittering scales, golden sunlight kissing equally golden hair, warm eyes and lips … But whenever she tried they turned more flimsy, losing temperature and structure, overtaken by all her more recent encounters.

And she wished she would blame James Potter as much as she blamed herself.

"So, what's her deal? You find out yet?"

"As you see, our dear Pet is a bit prickly," James answered his friend. "But I'm sure she won't be able to resist our charm much longer."

"Even a lump of dirt has more charm than you," Petunia spit.

"Ah, how you wound me." He pressed a hand against his chest in exaggerated theatrics. "Of course I know how much you prefer that mud clinging to you, but I would follow suit if you only allowed me …"

His friend laughed, actually looking honestly amused at the utter bullshit James was spouting, encouraging him further.

"I would get on my knees, but sadly my clothes aren't as … hardy as yours, not that it detracts from the farm-hand appeal you've got going."

Unknowingly or not, he had managed to poke one of Petunia's biggest insecurities. A hot flush crawled across her face while she tried to ignore the fact that she had exchanged her fine skirts and printed blouses for something that could just as well double as a potato sack. From a young age Petunia had been made aware that she wasn't as pretty as her sister. Where Lily could effortlessly charm everyone around her, Petunia had done her best to learn how to enhance her appeal. Style her hair, dress in feminine and soft clothing, pick colours that flattered her bloodless skin and pale eyes so they might look porcelain-like instead of morbid. She had learned to enjoy it, picking out skirts and dresses, even learning a bit of sewing so she could adjust hems and necklines until she felt she was the finest dressed girl in all of Cokeworth.

But now …

"Oh, she's blushing, Prongs."

"Told you she couldn't resist much longer."

Petunia stepped closer, ignoring the fact that despite both of them being a year younger than her, James was almost her height while his friend was even a bit taller. She wanted to slap the big grin off his face, kick him in the shin and then grab a handful of piss-coloured leaves from the ground and mash them into his stupid mouth so he wouldn't open it again in her presence.

Instead she took a deep breath, gulping the cool air as if it was water and she was stranded in a desert, allowing the earthy taste to ground her.

"How often do I have to repeat myself? Go back to waving your stupid stick around, annoy Lily with your childish advances and leave me out of it."

"Speaking of stupid sticks – where's yours?"

Petunia blinked before redirecting her focus to the tall, handsome boy when he addressed her directly for the first time. Something was hiding in his eyes, something harsher than the dismissive wall of iron he was presenting behind dense, black lashes.

And it was almost enough to make her step back.

He continued when Petunia didn't answer: "Or are the rumours actually true? Are you … a muggle?"

Years of interacting with the wretched boy, hearing his condescension every time he said the word, had made Petunia quite adept at reading tones. And even though there was nothing more than casual interest in his voice, Petunia could almost feel this stranger's contempt wrap around her neck like a satiny-soft choker he intended to draw tighter and tighter.

If she would let him.

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"She likes saying that," James mock-whispered to his friend.

"I think you'd do well to make it our business. If it's true you can use every friend you can get – not all students are as nice as Prongs and me."

Maybe he intended it as a warning, but all Petunia heard was a threat.

"What are you talking about?"

James was the one to answer her. "Well – remember our dear pal Snivellus? His House is a bit, well, touchy when it comes to magical lineages. And if you truly don't have any – and no magic on top of that …"

"Your stay here could very well become uncomfortable," his friend finished.

It wasn't the first time Petunia had heard about blood-purity – she still remembered when Lily had said something about it, years ago in their kitchen while she was lamenting over the wretched boy. Petunia even remembered worrying for a second about Lily, about the fact that her sister didn't have magical parents …

But now was actually the first time Petunia transferred that same fear onto herself.

Of course she had known that she didn't fit in here, of course she was aware that the teacher pestering her at every meal or the fact that barely any students spoke to her were because she didn't have magic like them.

Though somehow she hadn't made the connection that ignoring her might not be the worst thing that they could do. That being magicless was even worse than having no magical parents.

That she was much more vulnerable here than Lily, with a wand and surrounded by people, had ever been.

"Hey, where are you going? Padfoot just told you that making friends would be smart!"

Petunia ignored James, ignored the scoff she could hear from his friend while her feet carried her down towards the forest, towards the stone-hut.

She needed to see Aspen, she needed to feel the wind under his wings and know that she still had an avenue of escape. She needed to see Hagrid, stand next to him so she would be hidden in his gigantic shadow, just a slip of a girl no-one would pay attention to.

Breath spiked in her lungs as if the air had grown into a mesh of splintered ice, the coolness that had soothed her heated temper a few moments ago now chilling her down to her bones.

She had felt stranded, isolated and lost since coming here.

But never before had she felt this alone.

Petunia thought about going to Dumbledore. She remembered his grandfatherly demeanour, his eccentric clothing and twinkling eyes – and she remembered the easy lies he told in front of the council, the way he used Mr. Fudge's admiration to his own advantage without even twitching a strand of his ridiculous beard.

Petunia thought about going to Lily. About confronting this side of her sister, the popular witch with elaborate hairdos and a group of friends, the one that greeted her with a smile but never lingered for any conversation except some late evenings alone in Petunia's chambers.

Petunia thought about writing to Eugene, about letting her worries and fears spill out of her in loops of sprawling ink, only to run up to the owlery and realise she had no idea where to send them.

Maybe Hagrid. They had never talked about anything serious other than the magical creatures and how he preferred his breakfast eggs. Despite being gruff, he always seemed open and honest and maybe he would be able to tell her more about the situation, as someone who was also obviously an outsider. But therein laid the problem – he didn't have authority in the castle nor an insight into the social machinations. He was almost like a hermit, living in his little hut and not interacting with anyone except Petunia, the creatures and some evenings when he made small talk with other teachers, stilted and grasping too-small cups between his gigantic fingers.

For one insane second Petunia thought of the wretched boy.

And immediately discarded the thought, but apparently Severus shared some characteristics with the devil – think his name and he shall appear.

"What does Potter want from you?"

Her heart stuttered somewhere in her chest as Petunia whirled around, one hand instinctively shielding her throat – maybe so he wouldn't notice the way her pulse was jumping against the thin skin there.

"You – what are you doing here?"

Severus looked around in a quick dismissive glance, as if it was completely normal to ambush her in a dark corridor after everyone had already disappeared into their common rooms before his hooded eyes refocused on her, ignoring her question.

"Tell me."

Petunia ignored him in turn. "So you do attend this school, seeing as you're sneaking around like some kind of spectre. Almost could have fooled me – haven't seen you since getting off that train."

"Why is Potter talking to you?"

If there was a personification for a one-track mind …

Petunia yielded, though without any grace. She was startled, tired, her mind had turned brittle and crumbled at the edges like a cake left out too long ever since she had realised how precarious her position here was. And she really didn't have the fire necessary to keep her anger alive and hot after days of it kindling out.

"The same reason you do, Severus. Find out why Lily is bothered by me and then punish me for complicating her life."

Obsidian eyes turned even darker. "Punish? How?"

"By pestering me."

Something in the tense line of his shoulders uncurled only to firm up in offence a second later.

"I'm not pestering you."

Petunia just looked at him. How dense was he?

"I'm not here because of Lily," he corrected himself after a beat of uncomfortable stillness.

"No, you're here because of Potter."

Silence reigned for a few seconds before he glanced around and started walking off, without any further warning.

"Hey!"

He whirled around. "What?"

Yes, what?

"Stop ignoring what I'm saying."

"Then say something worthwhile."

Oh, you little … "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? I haven't seen hide nor hair off you since I've come here, not even around Lily!"

"So?"

"So, usually you're following her around like a – something's up."

An emotion flashed across his face, something dark and twisted. "None of your business."

"Why did you come talk to me then? I wasn't the one ambushing you after dark!"

"No reason."

"Nonsense."

"Just wanted to see what Potter …"

"I don't care about Potter!"

He scoffed. "But you care about me?"

Petunia froze.

No … of course she didn't. She was just overwrought, a bit too tense after days of thinking about the silent threat she had been made aware of, the filter between her thoughts and her mouth skewed into a strange direction because it was late and he had surprised her.

"I don't," she finally settled on. "But the last time I didn't care about your moods I almost lost Aspen."

There was an almost imperceptible flinch. "That won't happen again, so keep your pointy nose out of my matters and leave me the hell alone."

"Fine! Don't lie in wait for me in dark corridors then!"

"Won't even think of it," he bit out and stalked off, the robe of his school uniform flaring behind him like some strange black cape. Only at the end of the corridor did his steps falter, slowing until he looked back one last time.

"I mean it. Don't come looking for me and, whatever you do, never talk to me."

Petunia wanted to throw an insult at the back of his head but he had already disappeared around the corner, his steps echoing strangely from the domed stone walls.

Petunia only realised she was trembling when she stepped back into her room, welcomed by soft music tinkling from the strange old-fashioned gramophone, the only way she had found to put Fluffy to sleep. Leaving the letter to Eugene on her desk she raked her fingers through her hair, catching on clumps she hadn't had a chance to detangle yet.

Remember our dear pal Snivellus? His House is a bit, well, touchy when it comes to magical lineages …

Why the hell had she even talked to him? Severus was connected to the problem – had some naive, stupid part of her really thought that she could turn to him for help?

And since when had she come to think of him as someone who would help?

Angry at herself and the situation, Petunia ripped her brush through her hair with more force than necessary, relishing the sting on her scalp.

Just because he was the reason her trial went well didn't mean that she should forget that he was also the reason it had even taken place.

Whatever you do, never talk to me.

"Don't worry," Petunia hissed into the darkness of her chamber. "It won't ever happen again."

Did anyone actually miss Severus? Just curious ^^

Concerning Sirius here is a piece of my personal headcanon no-one asked for: I don't think Sirius is actively discriminating against muggle-born or muggles, at least in his opinion he isn't. But the effect of being raised in an environment where you learn from the moment you can talk that some people are worth less, or not even 'people', is difficult to shake off without a drastic realisation or exposure. All his friends are wizards, his best friend is from a long pureblood line with wealth and fame (James Potter) so he never really had a reason to examine how he's actually treating them.

Hope this explains why his portrayal from Petunia's perspective comes across as antagonistic.