Disclaimer: I'm too young to be Rowling so there is sadly no way Harry Potter is mine…

MINI CHALLENGE

Team: NORTHERN LIGHTS

Standard (1000-4000)

Prompts:

Michael Afton: (Dialogue) "I always come back!"

Mike Schmidt: (Restriction) Takes place during the graveyard shift (specifically midnight to 6 AM)

(Jeremy Fitzgerald: (Restriction) Takes place during 1987)

Word Count: 3529 :-D

Beta: Claude Amelia Song, MarkReed

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WORKING THE GRAVEYARD SHIFT

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The clock was ticking and it was only a few minutes to one o'clock. She had been up all night and, since shortly after midnight, she had sat at the kitchen table, silently staring at a glass of Scotch. It had only been filled with two finger breadths of alcohol and was gleaming golden in the candle's light – the only light in the nearly pitch-black room.

Outside, a storm was howling, shaking the trees and plucking the last leaves off the branches. The electricity had stopped working hours ago, yet, at this time of the day – in the middle of the witching hours – no one seemed to care.

She reached for the glass on the table, running her finger along the rim while she absently looked into the darkness.

"You promised," she said while the church's bell tolled once for the full hour and then fell silent.

"I promised to come," was the answer. "And I came."

It was a statement, an oath and an unshakeable fact since 1981.

"It's been six years," she said, ignoring the statement. "Don't you think you should have either found a way to actually return now or never come back?"

"I always come back!" the answer was harsh and cold and certain. "I did before and I always will!"

She had believed those oaths once, but now, tired and heartsore, she wasn't sure if she could do it again. She shook her head, her brown locks falling into her face, suddenly looking less like carefully arranged permanent waves and more like the wild and natural curls they were.

She had been sitting awake in the middle of the night, every year like clockwork since 1982. And every year, she had heard the church bell tolling hour after hour, waiting and waiting with an unfulfilled promise still ringing in her ears.

"Not like this," she countered and then trailed off when she looked up towards the fridge, where a calendar was pinned to the wall.

"He's going to turn seven and three months old today," she said. "He's seven and so wild, so untameable, just like you have been once."

The answer was a laugh. "I wasn't that wild!"

The clock ticked. It was one fifteen. One hour and forty-five minutes until three and the beginning of the devil's hour.

"He's so much trouble," she said, staring at the Scotch and ignoring the previous objection. "The boy… he turned his teacher's hair blue a few weeks ago, and just last Christmas, he shrunk that hideous jumper Mother made for you when you were his age. You loved that thing. My son… Dudley… he hated it and the boy… well, I guess he hated it, too." She shook her head. "You should have been the one to try and make him wear it."

Another laugh. "I hated that jumper. If I could have shrunk it, I would have. I wore it because Mother made it for me and because she was so proud of it. But I didn't like it. It was the worst thing she ever made, Tuney."

At that, a silent tear ran down Petunia's face.

"Was it worse than the scarf I made you when I was ten?" she inquired. "You wore that thing even later, much later, after we stopped speaking when you were fifteen."

'You wore that thing until the end,' she thought and didn't say. 'Until six years ago when you came here and started lying to me.'

Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face because the answer was a sigh.

"You were my sister, Tuney," was the sad answer. "Of course, I'd wear it, even if I thought it was awfully scratchy and looked like a rag."

Another silent tear ran down Petunia's face while she sat there, silent and in darkness. Then, her face twisted with rage. The window rattled and the candle on the table flickered. On the kitchen counter, the clock proclaimed it a quarter until two.

"Your sister." There was fury in her voice, fury and hurt. "If you had been my sister, you wouldn't have lied to me!"

"I've never intentionally lied to you," was immediately countered. "We're sisters. We…"

"You promised me that you would return to life just like you promised once we would always be best friends!" Petunia cried. "And like back then, you broke your promise! Back then, you forgot me because I wasn't as shiny and new as that boy and magic and now–!"

"That doesn't mean that I didn't care about you." The interruption was only a whisper. "It just meant that I was young and dumb and fascinated with a world I was suddenly a part of while you weren't. I just wanted to see it. I wanted to see what adventures were waiting there for me, but, please, Tuney, believe me, returning home to you and our parents was something I loved as well!"

"But you were never my best friend again!" Petunia slammed her hand on the table. The Scotch in her glass shook with the power of her blow. "Just like you've only returned as a nightmare right now!"

She trailed off and another tear slid down her cheek. The church bell tolled two. One hour until the next witching hour.

"There's a little, seven-year-old boy sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs out there," she whispered and gestured towards the hallway. "He's been tucked away by me and has been sleeping since I put him back to bed less than two hours ago."

She glared at the glass of Scotch in front of her. "He's been screaming and crying his eyes out when I tried to relocate him to the second bedroom upstairs last week."

"Tuney," the words were soft. "He's–"

Petunia gritted her teeth for a moment before more words burst out of her mouth. "He's been screaming for six years, Lily!" Her hands shook. "Screaming for you! Dreaming about your end because you want to begin again and return! Afraid of green light and no matter what I do, I can't get him to sleep outside of that damn cupboard!"

She reached for the glass and clutched it with both hands for a moment before forcing herself to let go of it with one of them. Then, she took a deep breath, lifted it to her lips and took a sip.

"I tried," she said. "I tried so hard to hold out and wait for you. I've been sitting here, year after year, waiting for you to fulfil your promise, and yet, here I am, after six years, still guarding a child from a nightmare I can't stop because of you!"

"Tuney," the voice was pleading. "I'm sorry! I just need a bit more time! I told you I will come back! I just haven't found the right way, yet! I've been asking around, researching… I'm not done yet, but I heard there's a promising runic combination that–"

"You promised me years ago that you were close to finding a way," Petunia interrupted the explanation. "All your spells–" She spat that word with fury in her voice. "–and potions and magic – and yet, I'm still here, in the middle of the night, awake and begging it to end. You promised, Lily! You promised me years ago you'd find a way–"

"I did!" She was interrupted. "And I will! I just need a bit more time to make it happen!"

For a moment, the only thing that could be heard in the kitchen was the howling of the wind outside. The clock tolled. It was two thirty. The candle on the table flickered.

"I can't do that anymore, Lily," Petunia finally said, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "You promised me in 1981 you would return. I need you now. I need you back." A tear slid down her cheek. "I'm at the end of my rope and the only one that might be able to help me is you. Stop bringing nightmares and come back – if not for me, then for the boy!"

Because Petunia had long since given up hope when it came to her sister's willingness to return for her.

"I always come back!" The wind howled outside and the window rattled. 'Just not the way I promised,' those words were unsaid and yet, still heard.

Petunia looked away. "You haven't yet in a manner that mattered."

"I'm trying my best! And I'm here right now, aren't I?"

"Only as long as you're able to keep the boy trapped in his nightmare," Petunia countered icily.

She ignored the quiet gasp and instead added, her voice hard and accusing. "I hate you. I hate you now and I hated you when you were young and left me without giving me the ability to follow you."

She took another sip of the Scotch before putting the glass back on the table. "I had to accept that you would never willingly return to be with your boring, normal sister. I had to accept that you were the apple of our parents eye, the witch, while I was just plain old Petunia. And in the end, I had to accept that no matter our former closeness, magic was more important to you than I ever was – but that doesn't mean that I have to accept that you're here now, terrorizing the boy with nightmares because you're afraid to be forgotten!"

The wind sighed. "Are you really blaming me for leaving you behind even if you would've done the same if you could have, Tuney?"

"I wouldn't have left you," Petunia countered, furiously. "You were my little sister, Lily. You were my responsibility."

Unlike Lily, who had turned away from everything their parents had ever treasured about a normal life, Petunia had always taken her responsibilities seriously.

A low humming noise broke the silence of the kitchen. Petunia ran her finger along the rim of the glass. Outside, the storm had picked up further. The clock ticked. It was two fifty, ten minutes until the witching hour started.

"Whatever," Petunia said. "It doesn't matter now. It's over and done with. Let me wallow alone! The boy is safe; that should be enough for you!"

"Safe isn't the same as being with his mother." The window shook when the wind slammed against it. The candle flickered. "I'm not leaving him!" There was fury in the air.

Again, the window shook with the power of the howling wind.

Something clattered. It sounded as if the wind had pulled something loose outside. The church bell tolled once, twice, thrice. The nearly burned-down candle flickered wildly. Wild shadows rose from the streets to dance in the dark.

From the hallway, a scream could be heard.

Petunia sighed and picked up her glass of Scotch.

"He's awake again," she said, though there was nothing else she did except to take a sip from the Scotch.

"He should be sleeping." There was concern in that exclamation, but Petunia ignored it. "Tuney! He shouldn't be waking! I'm not ready! I still need to talk to you! I need to–"

Petunia took another sip of the Scotch and then interrupted. "You woke him, like you always do, Lily." The candle flickered, nearly going out in the non-existent wind.

At that moment, the door to the cupboard under the stairs slammed open and a little boy tumbled out into the hallway. He fell to the floor and sat there for a moment while sobbing before he stumbled to his feet and then turned towards the kitchen.

Unsteadily, he entered the candle-lit kitchen, his hands rubbing his eyes while tears ran down his face. Without a word, nearly silently crying, he stumbled towards the kitchen counter, took an empty glass that had been standing next to the sink and filled it with water from the tap.

Petunia reacted only when he stumbled blindly back towards the hallway.

She put down her Scotch, reached out and scooped the child up and onto her lap.

The boy clung to his glass of water, holding it with both hands while staring blindly at it, not even reacting when he came to rest on Petunia's lap.

For a moment, he stared at the glass of water while tears ran down his cheek.

"Take a sip," Petunia instructed. "And then take a deep breath and put the glass down."

The boy ignored her and continued staring at the glass in his hands.

The window shook when the wind tried to break in again. The candle flickered. The clock ticked until it was a quarter past three. Outside, the shadows were dancing. Inside, only the aunt and the nephew were silently sitting at the kitchen table.

"Boy," Petunia finally said. "Take a sip!"

This time, the boy lifted the filled glass to his lips and took a sip. Then, he took another and another. Only then, he slowly took a deep and shaky breath before he put the glass down onto the table and turned away from it to hide his tear-stained face in Petunia's blouse.

Outside, shadows seemed to dance wilder in the darkness. The night seemed alive, with schemes and long-forgotten ghosts roaming the streets.

One of the boy's now free hands reached for her and grasped her blouse.

Petunia ignored it. Instead she let go of the boy with one of her hands to reach for her glass. She lifted it to her lips, and this time, she took more than a sip. They were alone in the kitchen.

"The green light, again?" she asked, her voice surprisingly steady. The clock was ticking.

The boy in her arms hiccupped, his hand clutched Petunia's blouse harder.

"Mummy screamed," he finally told her while hiccupping again. "And someone laughed."

Petunia hummed. She put the glass down and ran her finger along the rim of it. A hum could be heard even though the storm was raging outside, and the shadows were dancing. The clock was ticking until it was half past three.

"Did she?" she asked, not looking at the boy on her lap. "Turn around and take another sip of water."

For a moment, the boy's hands tightened on her blouse, then he slowly let go and did as he was told.

Petunia watched him while he clung to the glass with both hands, her face expressionless, her finger still running along the rim of her glass.

"Why did the man laugh while Mummy screamed?" the boy finally asked, his eyes on the glass in front of him.

Petunia hummed. The kitchen was silent and the candle was flickering and burning low.

"Because some people do that," she finally told the boy. "It happens. Some people aren't nice. They like hurting others."

"Like Dudley?" The boy inquired and Petunia chose to ignore that in favour of lifting her glass to her lips and taking another sip of Scotch. The clock was ticking.

"You should be asleep, boy," she said when she put the glass back on the table. "You're seven and too young to be awake at that time of the day. School starts in a few hours."

The boy just looked at his glass, clutching it harder to his chest. "Can't I stay awake, Aunt Petunia?"

Petunia gritted her teeth. "No," she decided. "School is important. You'll go back to bed and you will sleep. And later, you'll go to school."

The seven-year-old looked away from the glass and towards the window where the shadows were dancing in the street. His face was pale and there were tear tracks on his cheeks. The clock showed that it was getting closer to a quarter to four. "I don't want to sleep anymore, Aunt Petunia," he finally confessed. "What if the man comes back and laughs while Mummy screams again?"

"Your mother doesn't scream," Petunia countered coolly. "She never screamed. But she sang. She liked to sing, even though she was horrible at it. If you'd have heard her singing without knowing that she was singing, you'd have thought she was screaming."

"Oh," the boy said and contemplated that before he whispered. "And what if the green light comes back?"

"Then you should remember that your mother loved everything green," Petunia said. "She loved her eye colour; she would have loved yours, too."

"So, she would have loved that green light, too?" the little boy asked and his hands shook.

Petunia hummed. Her finger traced the rim of the glass. The window shook and the candle flickered. In the background, the clock was ticking.

"She most likely wouldn't have resented it as long as you were safe," with that said, she gestured towards the glass in the seven-year-old's hands. "Empty that and then go back to bed."

For a moment, the boy still clutched the glass to his chest, then he nodded and lifted it, tilting it until he could empty it. When it was empty, he put it down on the table.

Petunia immediately reached for the boy and lifted him from her lap to put him back onto his feet.

"Bed, now," she said and then stood up to lead him back to the cupboard under the stairs.

She opened the half-closed cupboard door, pushed the boy inside gently and then reached inside to tuck him back in.

"Sleep now," she said. "You have school in a few hours. You need your sleep."

The boy nodded, but Petunia still waited until he closed his eyes. Then, she waited another few minutes until his breathing evened out to sleep.

She closed the door to the cupboard under the stairs again and returned to the kitchen.

There, she swooped her glass off the table and emptied it with a single gulp. The clock showed it was three fifty-five. The candle flickered and the wind howled.

"Is it that what you wanted with your attempts to return to the living, Lily?" she asked icily, her voice full of accusation. She stepped up to her counter and pulled out the bottle of Scotch. She refilled the glass so that it had two finger breadths of Scotch in it. "Do you like causing nightmares for a little boy?" Her gaze centred on the depths of the night and the storm beyond the window. She was watching the dancing shadows and schemes, the long forgotten ghosts of the past. "Is this really what you wanted?"

"Tuney… I'll return to life, I'll come back…"

Petunia scoffed.

"Keep your oaths, sister of mine," she said. "I've heard your lies one time too often."

"I'm not lying, Tuney! I just need more time to get it right! I told you, I found that runic array! I need to refine it and then–"

"And then you come back next year, so that the little boy in the cupboard is plagued by nightmares of your death again - just like you have been doing it for the last six years!" Petunia countered harshly.

She took another gulp of Scotch. Her gaze still on the storm outside.

The window shook with the power of the howling wind. The low burning candle flickered. The church bell tolled once.

"Tuney!"

"No!" Petunia slammed the glass onto the counter. "No, Lily! It's been six years, and yet, here I am, forced to take the graveyard shift like clockwork every year because of you and your wish to live again!"

The grip on the glass turned her knuckles white. "You've been torturing a little boy with nightmares so that you're not forgotten, Lily – all because you're clinging to the idea that you could return to the living! You want the boy to remember, because you know that I won't let you torture me so that you can stay connected with the living world! Accept it, sister! You're gone! You won't come back, no matter your lies! I've had enough!"

The church bell tolled twice.

"Tuney, please! I know I haven't returned like I said, yet, but I promised–"

"Hallowe'en is over, Lily," Petunia interrupted the exclamation, her voice cold and full of old resentment and fury. "All Saint's Day has started. Leave your promises where they should have stayed all along. The past is in the past! If you continue, the boy will wake in another two to three hours with the same dream again. Leave him be! Leave me be! You're gone and your oaths are broken."

The bell tolled thrice.

"I promise, Tuney, I will come back!" The wind howled and the candle flickered. "I need to come back! I will always–"

"Don't," Petunia countered. "And don't bother lying anymore! The boy had enough nightmares thanks to your selfishness. After six years, I know better than to believe you. Enough is enough! I want you gone! And I want you to never return here again!"

The church bell tolled for the fourth time.

The window rattled. The candle flickered, sputtered and finally died. Petunia picked her glass back up and turned around. She took a sip while looking at the dark and empty kitchen, with the candle on the table painting the air above it with a single wisp of smoke. It was four o'clock. The witching hours had ended.

Well, I guess that was Petunia and (maybe?) ghost Lily.

I hope you liked it.

Over and Out.

Ebenbild