Chapter 3
Petunia slid through the doorway into a large, dimly lit, and completely empty room. Clearly it had once been a pub, with its broken tables and walls lined with dusty booths. Paper litter covered the floor, and the smell of mold was broken by the reek of old fires. The flicker of weak bulbs cast a pale, eerie glow.
Over the bar hung a large, cracked mirror, and when a few swift movements caught Petunia's eye, she swore for an instant that she had gone mad. Like the flicker of an old silent movie, momentary images passed across the mirror, reflecting a room which couldn't have been there. People in motley milled about, just as they had on that day when young Lily had darted inside, leaving Petunia on the pavement. Now, in the mirror's reflection, they laughed, talked, shouted, while a few waved their wands. Yet before her eyes, the room Petunia stood in remained silent and empty.
Not completely, though. Petunia gave a little start of alarm when the vision in the glass vanished, because she wasn't alone.
At the far end of the room a squat, fat woman lazily stirred up dust with a straw broom. Swirls gathered in the air, then settled near the woman's heavy work boots. Iron-grey curls tumbled from beneath her brightly-flowered kerchief, and her worn denim overalls were patched in vibrant colors. When she saw Petunia she gave a crooked smile, and set aside her broom.
"Well, well," she said in a mellow voice. "If I live and breathe, it's Lily Evans's sister."
Through the thick dust, Petunia fought off the all-too-familiar sensation of being nothing more than some out-of-place offshoot of Lily, the only one who mattered. Petunia swallowed all that down in one gulp, along with a mouthful of dust and pride. What did it matter? She had come for a purpose, and gotten even farther along that she imagined. Let them think as they pleased. She had no intention of leaving until she got what she wanted.
"Yes," Petunia choked out. "I'm Lily's sister."
The woman's hair seemed to curl even more tightly at the words. "I'm Pomona. Pomona Sprout. Let's get out of this crowd, and find ourselves a spot of tea."
As if in a dream, Petunia followed Pomona down a grey-shrouded corridor.
"The conference room will do," Pomona murmured. "Did you know that it used to be the ladies' lounge? My, how times have changed." From her overalls' pocket she pulled a wand, and within seconds a fire blazed high on the hearth. "I will admit, dearie, it's a relief not to have to pretend with you. One does get so tired of that." A tea service on a wheeled tray appeared before them, and from it came the most appetizing smells.
They settled themselves at a round table covered with a lace cloth. Pomona smiled and gestured towards the teapot. "Shall you be mother?" she asked Petunia, who had been waiting for the older woman to pour.
As Petunia poured out, Pomona beamed with approval. "Have a scone with raspberry jam, love. I grew the berries myself."
The scones were warm, as if right out of the oven. Spread with jam and topped with clotted cream, they would have won prizes in any London bake-off. It wasn't until Petunia started on a second cup of perfectly brewed tea that she thought of the old stories, the ones where if you ate their food, you were theirs forever. But the tea warmed Petunia and made her reckless. She hadn't come this far for nothing. She wasn't backing down now.
As if Pomona could read her thoughts, she rested her own tea-cup in its saucer. "You have something to ask me."
Petunia froze inside. It was like standing on a cliff, and if she toppled over the edge, there would be no reversal. No going back. Wasn't that what she wanted? Children changed everything; that's why people had them, after all. Not only for the love, for the happiness in their husbands' eyes, but for the change. One became someone new, and could never return to what they were.
Finally she spoke. "I want a baby. Vernon and I... it's been years. The doctors couldn't find anything wrong, so they tried things that didn't work." Something broke inside her, and tears welled up. "You can help. I know you can."
Pomona's face twisted into a strange expression as she muttered, "Would that we could help ourselves..." before recovering her placid smile. She began to rummage through the large carpet bag near her feet. "Let me see... Ah, yes. Here it is," and unstoppered the small jar filled with clear liquid. "Now, love, I need you to spit. Right in here. And be generous."
No way out but through, Petunia told herself as she spat. Almost at once, the liquid changed from clear to a milky, faintly glowing magenta.
The look of pure sympathy which Pomona gave Petunia made her stomach clench in fear. "Is it bad?"
"Hmm. Yes, and no. It seems, my dear, that your barrenness results from magic."
If Petunia thought she couldn't fall any further down this rabbit hole of madness, she was wrong. "Ma- magic?" she choked out. "But I've had nothing to do with magic of any kind."
"Well. This potion is almost never wrong." Without remarking on Petunia's stunned silence, she went on, "I'm going to have to ask you some questions, and a few might be indelicate."
Petunia was still juggling the words "magic" and "barren" as if they were balls of fire, but she managed to nod.
"How are your courses? Your monthlies?"
"Fine," Petunia muttered. Strangely enough, Pomona's questions didn't put her back up, the way the doctors' had. "Two, three days, and almost no pain."
"Scant or heavy?"
"Light, fortunately. I'm lucky in that respect."
"I see," Pomona demurred. "Have they always been that way?"
Petunia cast herself back to a time when hot water bottles and aspirin did nothing, when she lay in bed crying in pain, unable to walk to school. Mum's attempts to lace her tea with whiskey only made her groggy and even more sick. Soon Lily was old enough to understand, and Petunia hated the anxiety in her little sister's eyes as she whispered, "What's wrong? Why can't you play with me today?"
The worst was when Lily was ten, almost eleven. The year weirdness seemed to surround her like a cloud. Curled on the couch next to Petunia, she leaned her face close to her sister's and said in a small, frightened voice, "Tuney, are you going to die?"
"Silly, I'm not going to die. I just feel like it." Petunia tried to keep her voice light, but a jagged shaft of pain twisted her face anyway.
Lily placed her small hands on either side of Petunia's face. "I'm going to help," she announced. "I'm going to make it better so you won't die."
"I told you, I'm not..." But even as Petunia spoke, warmth bubbled up all through her core. The iron fist squeezing her guts slowly opened. The relentless flood receded. An hour later, Lily and Petunia had thrown on their rain boots and were dancing outside in the bleak grey drizzle, spring in their hearts.
Pomona listened quietly until Petunia finished with, "I never had pain like that again."
"I see." Pomona then fell silent, waiting for Petunia to put two and two together.
Scalding and bitter realization boiled through her. "She charmed me, didn't she? She did this." As if from far away, she felt Pomona take her hands into her tough, calloused ones, and some of the rage receded. Finally she whispered, "She only wanted to help, I suppose."
Pomona nodded. "We don't hold children responsible for underage magic. After all, it's how we discover they're witches and wizards in the first place."
"I know all this. And I shouldn't blame her. But I can't bear this any longer, Pomona. Is there anything you can do?"
A kaleidoscope of emotions played across Pomona's broad face, and she gave a heavy sigh. "I think I can, even if it breaks all sorts of rules. But Petunia, think about this very carefully. Perhaps Lily has mentioned to you already that we are in difficult times. There's a war on, and everyone's jumpy as fleas on a griddle. You seem nice for a Muggle, and I don't want to see you hurt."
Muggle. She had first heard the wordin childhood, from that grubby boy in the old neighborhood. The one who lived in a rowhouse without even a proper washroom or toilet, yet who smirked and lorded it over Petunia because he was one of the chosen ones, the magical ones, and she was not. A word almost forgotten, but which still brought the same ugly shock as when she'd heard it for the first time.
"Hurt? Hurt!?" Petunia cried out. "I've wanted a baby ever since Vernon and I got serious. It's normal - find someone you love, have his babies, raise them. How could that hurt me?"
Instead of answering, Pomona said something which sounded like a quote, or a chant. "There are sorrows deeper than you can imagine. There are sights to haunt your dreams."
What was Pomona on about? Petunia added, "If it's a matter of money, I can pay you. Pounds sterling if you like, or gold. Lily said your kind uses gold."
Pomona quickly let go of Petunia's hands, looking astonished. "My dear, what would I do with your money? And Muggle gold... no, I can't think that would work, either."
"Nonetheless—"
"Let me see. It's been so long... I have to recall how these things are done. Yes, I remember now. A favor. At some point we may ask you for a favor."
"A favor?" This to Petunia seemed astonishingly easy. "What sort of favor?"
Pomona seemed to rummage through her mind, instead of her carpet bag. "Why, I have no idea. It's not as though your people could do anything for us, could they?"
Oh, really? Petunia wanted to snap, but held her tongue. She was glad she did, for Pomona went on, "Even if it should come to that, I'd expect it would be merely a trifle. Nothing to worry about, really."
"That seems fair." Petunia's heart began to sing, So close, so close, so close.
A new tone crept into Pomona's voice, more than that of a friendly older woman. "Very well then, Petunia Evans Dursley. The choice has to be yours, freely made." She stared intently, waiting.
Back straight as a ramrod, Petunia said with determination, "I'll do it. Whatever it is, I'll do it. I want a baby."
"Very well," Pomona answered, and Petunia couldn't tell if she sounded glad or disappointed. "Now pay close attention, because you must follow my instructions exactly..."
(continued)