November 1975

Winter creeped across Hogwarts and the grounds in small, silent whispers. Branches were laid bare where before they had been clothed in the most vibrant shades of orange, gold and red, a few snowflakes fluttered down that melted before they even hit the ground and a cutting wind whistled that hurt the lungs when breathed in and left a taste of frost on everyone's lips.

Petunia slid another blanket across a smooth, high back, the stool underneath her feet wobbling dangerously while Sepulchria nosed at her pockets, hoping for a treat. Hagrid didn't even have to lift his arms above mid-waist to drape the giant skeletal horses in their winter gear, hefting the blankets as if they didn't weigh more than a piece of tissue.

The tranquil melody of hooves scraping through frost-hardened dirt, huffing breaths escaping slitted nostril and branches rustling against each other was interrupted by Fluffy's incessant, high-pitched barking, all three heads focused on the darkness between the dense trees with raised hackles. Fang, Hagrid's boarhound puppy, was huddled behind the tree trunk both dogs had been tied to, quiet and small in stark contrast to Fluffy's excitement.

"Must be smellin' the werewolves. Got 'im all riled up, the little thing," Hagrid mused while glancing at Fluffy. "Spirited, ain't he?"

Petunia nodded, her thoughts wandering back to the strange feeling itching at the back of her neck. She felt watched.

"What's botherin' yeh?"

Petunia looked up from smoothing the blanket for the third time, feeling caught. "Nothing important."

"Ah, that's not nothin'. What is it? Fluffy givin' yeh trouble? If he's too much bother, I'll let 'im off inter the forest, he'll learn manners there, sure as shootin'."

"No, Fluffy is fine." Petunia ran her teeth over her lip, catching on a piece of dry skin. A small sting and the taste of copper lingering on her tongue as she dabbed it against the spot was all that remained a second later. "I'm just … The students here. I'm not like them."

Hagrid shrugged, hefting a new blanket. "Ah, don't yeh worry, lass. 'Never be ashamed,' my ol' dad used ter say, 'there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin' with.'"

Petunia blinked as Hagrid pulled a flask from one of his multiple pockets, taking a pull and exhaling a plume smelling like smoke and rum. "Small man, me dad, could pick 'im up when I was six an' put 'im down wherever I wanted. But great mind."

Petunia wasn't sure what to say. It was the first time Hagrid had ever spoken about his family and something niggled at her to stay silent.

The big man patted the Thestrals' shoulder, his careful touch belying his size and strength. "He's the reason I can see 'em. Died when I was still in school. At least he wasn't there fer me expulsion."

"Expulsion?"

"Well, was a misunderstanding is all. Snapped me wand, though. Dumbledore salvaged wha' he could, lemme stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore. Saved you as well, didn' he?"

"What do you mean, a misunderstanding? You were expelled anyway?"

"Ah, was already a marvel tha' I could attend Hogwarts in the firs' place. Shoulda seen me dad's face when the letter arrived, never seen 'im so happy."

Petunia frowned. "Why?"

Hagrid mirrored her confusion, bushy brows drawing together to merge into one black, hairy caterpillar. "Far as I know I'm the firs' half-giant ter ever attend. Was a bit up in the air, I wager."

Everything paused. The Thestrals pawing at the smattering of leaves on the ground, Fluffy's energetic barking, the aroma of snow and pine wafting through the air, the creaking woods and rasping branches. For just a second everything appeared still and silent.

And then came the memories. The screams. The wide-eyed faces, the pale and tear-stained cheeks.

The ground vibrating beneath her feet.

Hagrid was still talking. Petunia heard him faintly, as if her head had been pushed under water, filtering his deep voice into a rumbling backdrop.

There had been fog all around her, twisted silhouettes running and stumbling. She shouldn't have looked behind her. Her toe smarted with phantom pain.

But she had looked. And she had seen a monster.

A giant.

And now here was … a half-giant. Close enough to touch her, to grab her head in one gigantic hand and crush it.

"Me Mum – well, she thought me a bit small. Left when I was three, barely remember her. Think she went back ter live with her tribe."

A shuddering breath reached her lungs, piercing in its intensity. There was a half-giant right next to her … but it was Hagrid.
Hagrid, who shared his breakfast with her. Hagrid, who had given her a three-headed monster dog and decided to name it Fluffy. Hagrid, who had made her an ugly hat out of felt now that the months had turned colder. Hagrid, who had never said anything about the fact that Petunia wasn't waving a wand around like everyone else.

Petunia had to swallow against the bile creeping up her throat, against the fear clogging her windpipe.

She was fine. She was safe.

"Other students were a bit afraid o' me. But I was managing quite well, got some spells down and befriended the creatures here. Really glad Dumbledore allowed me ter stay at Hogwarts. And' now I've a student of me own! Never woulda thought."

And then he beamed at Petunia, apple-checked and squint-eyed. Suddenly breathing was easier. Suddenly she didn't have to struggle to see Hagrid, her mentor and not Hagrid, the half-giant.

They were one and the same. And he didn't mean her any harm.

"You're a good teacher, Hagrid."

"You're makin' me blush, lass. Don't let those kids bother yeh – they never liked me much because I was different but I found friends here in the forest. There's always someone on your side if yeh only look fer 'em, even in unlikely places."

Petunia glanced around at the forest surrounding them, rough tree bark interspersed by green veins of climbing ivy and dark, rustling shadows. For just a second she imagined that she saw a pale flash of something moving in the thicket but it was gone before she could be sure.

Her eyes refocused on Hagrid as he outfitted the next Thestral, tugging straps tight so the blankets wouldn't slip off if the herd decided to go for a flight. Fluffy was throwing himself against his leash with a vengeance, small, furred body straining in eagerness to tear away and chase whatever phantoms he saw between the trees.

A small smile tugged at Petunia's lips, almost hidden by her scarf.

Unlikely places indeed .

The magic cleaning Petunia's room was apparently a fan of the Quibbler.

At least that was the only explanation Petunia could think of for the fact that her newest edition always seemed to disappear for a few hours after it was delivered. And then she turned around and it would lie on her bedside table, each corner neatly aligned as if it had never been anywhere else.

"Can Magic read?"

Fluffy didn't have an answer, one of his heads was busy chasing his tail while the other two tried to nip the unruly head's ears and stop him.

"I didn't think it could but what other reason would it have to steal my magazine? It's not like it needs a deep clean before being returned to my room or anything."

Thinking about the magazine, Petunia pondered if maybe she should lend it to Hagrid now that she was aware of his heritage. Xenophilius wrote a lot about giants and maybe Hagrid would find it interesting.

Her thoughts were redirected when she spotted the strange tree in the distance, thin, skeletal branches sprouting out of thick knots that looked like wooden ulcers. Sharply outlined against the murky morning sky, Petunia recognised it instantly and planned to alter her route. Hagrid's warning to stay away from this specific tree still echoed from the depth of her thoughts whenever she spotted it, something ingrained in her memory because she had found it equally ridiculous and frightening at the time.

A tree able to kill her. Perhaps she should have gotten used to the idea by now, surrounded by moving staircases and floating ghosts, with a three-headed dog slumbering underneath her bed and literate magic stoking the fire in her room and now borrowing her magazines.

But it was just something so against the principles of her childhood, this murderous tree. Trees were steadfast, a monument of nature that changed with the seasons, sometimes bedecked in lush green, others in dry gold and then naked and only decorated with glittering icicles and blankets of snow. They were rough against her skin but stable when Petunia had wrapped her thin limbs around them as a child, straining her feeble muscles in an attempt to climb before her task suddenly switched and she was the one remaining firmly on the ground while trying to get Lily down, who only laughed like a wood-spirit, twigs forming a crown atop her flaming hair.

Her memories dispersed when something moved against the silhouette of the tree, peeling away like an ink blob separating from the quill, dripping along the still dark landscape.

A person. Someone had been hidden against the trunk of the tree and was now walking away from it – towards her. Long arms and slightly hunched shoulders, tresses of hair that caught the first traces of morning light in a mixture of brown and bronze, down-cast eyes hidden in the shadows of his face.

Petunia stalled, for no other reason than her surprise. Usually she was alone on these morning walks, the grounds still and silent as a tomb, frozen grass crunching underneath her feet while her breath billowed in streaks of white in front of her face. She had never spotted anyone else – it was too early for the students to be up or the teachers to prepare for classes, not even the first hints of breakfast could be smelled inside the empty halls.

But now there was a silhouette, as silent as her and coming from the tree she had never seen anyone close to.

Maybe they would have passed each other, quietly and unnoticed like two ships in the night, if Fluffy hadn't tensed from heads to tail, vibrating with barely leashed eagerness. And then he started barking like he usually only barked in the forest, without restraint or sense, teeths snapping, spittle flying and his paws burrowing against the earth in an attempt to rip free.

The boy flinched and looked up so fast Petunia felt a sympathetic twinge in her own neck. Startled brown eyes met hers and she blinked as recognition washed through her.

She knew him. He was the boy from the train, the one with the light scars and cryptic remarks.

The sting of Fluffy's leash against her palm startled Petunia from her surprise and before she could think about it further she lowered herself and started humming. The melody sprung from the recesses of her mind, maybe unearthed by her childhood memories of hands sticky with raisin and knees scratched from bark, but she couldn't remember the words.

Fluffy calmed with each low hum, his straining back relaxing, his ears flopping instead of being pinned and his barks lowering to growls and finally unhappy grumbles.

The boy – Remus, his name was Remus, she remembered – cleared his throat. "That's impressive."

Petunia spoke between the soft vibrations coming from her own chest, her eyes warily watching Fluffy's body language. "Music of any kind calms him."

"That's … certainly interesting. How did you find out?"

"When he stopped ripping apart my pillows because one of those portraits started singing."

He blinked, obviously unsure what to say to that. The silence stretched before he cleared his throat. "Well, enjoy your walk …"

"How did you survive that tree?"

Petunia could see the way he tensed, as if her words were a blow he hadn't braced for. "What?"

"I know it's dangerous. No-one ever even gets close to it – but I saw you."

"Oh." He gave a strained laugh, nerves sprinkled throughout like garnish atop a cake. "You must have been mistaken."

Petunia just looked at him. Now that it was steadily getting lighter, she noticed a few more strange things about him. He was pale, but not the kind of paleness many of the students here suffered now that the sun was hiding behind ever-lasting clouds and fog, instead it was the kind of pale accompanied by shadows under his eyes, bloodless lips and an almost greenish tinge around his nose. His hair was lumpy as if he hadn't washed it in a long time and Petunia could see crusted sweat on his collar, wrinkled as the rest of his clothes.

He looked sick.

"Are you alright?"

"Oh yes, just a bit of a sleepless night, took a walk to clear my head. I was passing the Willow, might have gotten a bit too close, but I'm lucky I guess."

He was lying. Even if Petunia hadn't seen him step away from that tree with her own eyes, the way he was fidgeting, rubbing his palms against his thighs, the way his voice sounded forced and jovial so unlike his appearance, would have tipped her off.

"Better get back to bed, might still catch a few hours if I skip breakfast," he babbled. "The fresh air really made me feel loads better – well, anyway."

He took a step closer, intending to walk past her and Fluffy snapped out of his daze for only long enough to growl at him. He gave another forced laugh. "Seems he doesn't like me much."

"Fluffy doesn't really like anyone," she mumbled, though Petunia was surprised at the vehemence he showed this boy in particular. Something was wrong.

She watched as he walked across the field, his steps hasty and his exhales leaving a trail of condensation in the cool air like a path leading to the answer before those too dispersed into nothing.

She hadn't really given her short encounter with Remus much thought after she had left the train, too many things demanding her attention, her introduction to Hagrid, her reunion with Aspen and mostly finding a rhythm with the steady beat of Hogwarts' bustling energy. Now she regretted that she couldn't recall more of what they had talked about.

His form disappeared into one of the big arches bracketing Hogwarts inner courtyard and Petunia was just about to turn away when another figure separated from the darkness of the stones and bricks, back straight and thin and a coat billowing behind brisk steps like the wings of a scavenger bird.

And Petunia was sure she would never mistake that figure for anyone but who it was – the wretched boy.

December 1975

The exhaust leaving the train billowed against the curved ceiling of the station like fumes against the inside of a dragon's belly, bloated and washed-out red. The noise fit as well, a low rumble and hiss of wheels across steel, overtaken by the murmur of a multitude of voices falling into a rhythm like the rushing of blood when the train stopped with a screech.

Petunia found their mother before Lily did, as she didn't have to say goodbye to anyone or extract promises for correspondence over the holidays. She had exchanged her Christmas presents before she had left Hogwarts, a knitted teapot warmer for Hagrid and a few of the rock cakes she had baked with him for the invisible magic in her room, together with a small thank-you card. She had felt slightly ridiculous as she had put it on her desk but she figured in the worst case she would find it exactly as she had left it – and in the best case the magic would know that she appreciated its efforts.

"Petunia! You look well, how are you?"

Petunia felt a fleeting, sardonic smile adorn her lips at her mother's greeting. "I'm fine, Mum. That's a nice coat."

"Oh, thank you. An early present from your father – you know how he is, said it made no sense to wait until the end of December to gift me something I could use much earlier."

Petunia nodded in agreement while feeling strangely stiff, unsure how to act, as if someone was drawing a cast around her limbs, firming up with every second.

"So, how was the magic school? Did you make friends?"

"I'm not really close with any of the students, but there's a half-giant and an invisible cleaning service I feel quite grateful for."

"How … quaint. It's very novel to hear you speak of such things." Her mother gave a laugh that sounded almost nervous. "Usually your sister is the one with the fantastical stories. Where is she, by the way? Did you sit together on the train?"

"Lily should be here soon, she's saying goodbye to her friends."

"Good, that's good. Well, I'm glad the both of you will be home for Christmas, it will be like before, all of us together. And maybe you can take this chance to speak to your teacher, I met her at the market the other day and she was telling me about your potential. I know you're doing this thing right now, but it's important to be realistic …"

"Mum!"

Lily emerged from the crowd with a bright smile and arms laden with packages, her luggage trailing behind her like a lost puppy.

"Oh Lily," their mother gasped and extended her hands. "What's all this? You're packed like a mule!"

"Just some things from my friends. I can't wait for Christmas!"

This time her mother's laugh was light and effortless. "You're still like a child, no-one would believe that you'll turn sixteen soon!"

"I know," Lily beamed. "I can't wait. Let me just shrink this down so I can pack it away."

"I thought magic was forbidden outside of school?"

Lily gave a negligent shrug to Petunia's statement framed as a question. "There're so many adult wizards around, the trace won't pick it up just yet. I have to be careful at Cokeworth because it's mostly muggles but here it should be fine."

Muggles .

Something cold trailed down Petunia's neck. Lily had probably used that word before and she simply couldn't remember. Maybe she was overly sensitive because she had been made aware of her status as a non-magical person repeatedly while she was at Hogwarts.

She had no reason to be shocked. For Lily it was just another word like 'bread' or 'house', something short, simple and precise to describe a certain thing. A human with no magic.

The rest of her family.

"How practical! Really, it's a shame you're not allowed to use this at home, it would certainly make things a lot easier."

Lily had shrunk her packets down and was clicking her trunk closed, dusting her knees off when she stood back up. "I know, right? Thankfully it will be lifted once I'm seventeen. Then I'll bewitch the whole house so all the chores will do themselves, Mum."

"That sounds wonderful. Alright, we should get going, where's Severus?"

Lily's easy cheer faded into something colder. "He's not coming. He wants to spend the holidays with his new friends."

"But – it's Christmas! Surely his family …"

Lily started walking. "I don't know, Mum! Ask him yourself."

Her Mum blinked at Lily's back before transferring her questioning gaze to Petunia.

"What's going on? Did they have a row?"

"I'm not sure, Mum, I haven't talked to him in a while."

"Seems like it's a touchy subject. I do hope that Eileen is aware that Severus is not coming … wouldn't want her to think that I just left him here at the station because the kids aren't getting along at the moment."

"She's surely aware."

"Yes, she must be," she muttered, adjusting the sleeves of her new coat. "He wouldn't skip out on coming home during Christmas without warning. Well, let's catch up to your sister, shall we?"

"Yes, Mum."

Petunia tried to leave the feeling of hurt behind with the smoke curling against the ceiling, each step smearing a trace of it against the floor. So what if her Mother had not once asked her about the half-giant? So what if she was the only one to flinch when the word 'muggle' had left her sister's lips?

So what if she was once more the one trailing behind, an afterthought despite all the new things she had learned, all the new opportunities she had thought herself in possession of?

She had to make a place for herself here just as she had to at Hogwarts. The role of dutiful eldest daughter was ill-fitting, as if she was slipping into an old skin that stretched tight across her features, forcing her eyelids to lower, her perspective to narrow and her mouth to distort around the words she was expected to say.

She felt changed. Her short nails, her sloppily pulled back hair and the coarse jacket she was wearing in place of her fine blazer, and what had her mother said when she had first seen her?

You look well .

Petunia should take it as a compliment instead of the empty platitude it had tasted off, the greeting one would offer an acquaintance and not family. Something inside her chest loosened, her feet no longer dragging and weighed down.

She was changed and she looked well. She wasn't a daughter returning to her home, she was a guest, a visitor, here during the holidays and gone again, off to build her own life, choose a new home, maybe a new family.

Petunia was on the path to becoming an adult and she would accept the hardships accompanied by freedom.

There were very few occasions Petunia could remember witnessing her mother drunk.

Her father had an excuse. Sometimes he would feel blue, her mother had explained when Petunia was young, and then he would sit in the living room with a bottle clutched between his hands as if it was the only thing tethering him to the sagging couch he was sitting on, the only thing that kept him from sinking down into it, sinking deeper and deeper until he was enclosed in darkness. Her mother would drop hints about the war, about his scars and Petunia would learn to associate the two things – alcohol and trauma, never alcohol and fun.

Her mother on the other hand had no such excuse. What were the woes of a housewife, really, compared to those of battle-scarred men? She would indulge in a small sip of brandy in the evenings, once Petunia was already in bed, or on those occasions she had a convenient justification – like eggnog on Christmas. Surely no-one could accuse her mother of being dramatic or neglecting her duties if she was simply indulging in holiday festivities and having one glass too many while in good spirits?

And so Petunia somehow found herself sitting at the kitchen island, watching her mother go from senseless mumbling to deep and thoughtful staring into the distance. Lily was reading one of the books her friends had gifted her, one whose cover she had quickly hidden against her chest in a happy embrace and ran off to her room to look at before Petunia could catch a glimpse of it.

Her father had grumbled when he saw Carol Evans teetering unsteadily as she had cleared the table of the Christmas feast and had retreated to the bedroom, leaving Petunia to help clean up.

Her mother's muttering ceased once more, her unfocused gaze centred somewhere on the sink filled with dirty dishes. Her next words were surprisingly clear.

"Petunia … you've grown."

Petunia blinked, startled out of her silent musings. It was the first time her mother had addressed her since they retreated to the kitchen.

"Time sometimes seems to slip away. I still remember when I was lying in that hospital bed with you … did I ever tell you how I came up with your name? Outside the window … the whole room was drap and bleak and smelled of those sharp tinctures they would smear onto the wounds, I don't recall what it's called but it burns your nose something awful. I felt wretched, torn apart and weak and you were so small and red, but there was one spot of colour in that whole cursed room and it was a pot of petunias on the window ledge. They smelled nice and you smelled nice and you were the colour in my life and so I named you Petunia."

Petunia could do nothing but stare.

"You were so small … I would hold you in my arms during those first weeks, always afraid that you would somehow get lost because you were a quiet baby, never fussing … and then you were a quiet toddler and then there was Lily … and suddenly you were not only quiet but well-behaved and so strict with yourself and you had already grown up while I looked away, and I lost you, you got lost because I had let go …"

"Mum …"

"Being a parent is hard. You never feel like you're doing enough. And then you realise there is a limit to the things you can do."

Petunia breathed against the tightness drawing her mouth together, flooding with saliva as if she had bitten into a lemon.

"Your sister … I lost her as well. I lost her the moment that letter arrived here, that letter that spoke of wands and cauldrons as if those things are somehow real . How can I compare to her magical castle? I can't teach her how to brew those concoctions, I can't teach her to fly. And why should she learn how to ride a bicycle when she has a broom? Why should she learn how to cook if she can just magick herself a meal?"

"You taught me, Mum."

A bitter laugh. "Did I? I certainly never did enough. I always relied on you to be sensible when you were a child yourself. I forced you to grow up too soon. And now you don't need me anymore, you haven't needed me in a long time. When was the last time you told me something because you were afraid or wanted advice? The only thing I can think of is that god-forsaken war … and what did I do? I worried for your sister. Why should you have been involved? Lily is the one … I lost you. I lost you both. And it's my fault."

"You didn't lose us, Mum. We're both still here, aren't we? Lily is simply fascinated by all those things because she's young but she doesn't love you any less because of it. And I …"

Her words petered out. What about her? Petunia recalled her conviction at the station, that she would loosen the ropes that kept her bound here to this family and this house, that she would shrug off the mantle of eldest sister like a caterpillar leaving her pupa behind and emerge anew.

Silence settled around them. It wasn't strained but it wasn't peaceful either, a strange moment in between where it felt as if the whole world consisted of that small kitchen island they were both clutching.

"I'm always making mistakes when it comes to the both of you. I want Lily safe but I feel that I have driven her even closer to danger by forbidding her from joining that war. I want to take care of you, but every time I try I seem to push you further away. I talked to your teacher – I told you, already, and I want to see you happy, I want to see you comfortable, somewhere you belong. We're not like them, Petunia, we're not like Lily. She sees it and I see it as well and you always were a smart girl, always knowing more than you should, I have no doubt that you see it clearest of all of us. Why make life so difficult for yourself? Why not make yourself a nice home, with a nice man and a family for yourself, a job that has nothing to do with monsters and giants and invisible people? I told you, I did, back at the station, I wanted to tell you but you looked at me as if I – as if I disgusted you …"

Petunia swallowed repetitively. "You don't disgust me, Mum. I just – I'm good at it, dealing with all the monsters and giants and invisible people. I take care of them and they take care of me in turn. I've been doing it since I was twelve."

"Twelve," her mother mumbled. "Since you were twelve … and yet you never told me. Never told us. You felt you had to keep it a secret from me, your own mother, because you didn't trust me, you didn't rely on me … you never have, not since you were a child. Not since Lily was born."

Petunia wanted to say that it had nothing to do with Lily but that would have been a lie.

"Your grandmother warned me, you know. Do you still remember her? My mother. Strict and hardened after my father's death, but she was sharp, always knew things she had no business knowing. It was hell when I was a teenager and trying to keep secrets … she would simply look at me and then that frown – the same one you inherited, the one that always told me that she knows. And she did know, and she was right, she told me: 'Carrie, you can't love children differently unless you want them to think you don't love them equally'. But I did, because you were so different from each other and I didn't know how to love you any other way but I ruined it, like she knew I would. I should have never let go, like in those first weeks I should have listened to my gut and remembered that feeling, keeping you close, always …"

"Mum." Petunia fought against her bile. "Mum, drink some tea. Everything's fine. I'm here and Lily is safe. We're simply growing up. You haven't lost us."

Her mother's shoulders fell as if Petunia's words were more burden than reassurance. "You don't need to placate me, Petunia. That's not the role you should have had, you should have been comforted and not forced to comfort me, not forced to console and swallow the truth so I'd feel better. I messed it all up. Sometimes it feels as if you're more mature than me, and how horrible of a feeling is that, that my daughter is more of a grown-up than her own mother …"

"You said it yourself, Mum, we were always different. Maybe I'd always be like this, no matter what you did."

"No. No, look at Lily, not even two years younger but I spoiled her, I spoiled her like I should have spoiled you."

"Lily was always more energetic …"

"I failed you. There is no need to lie, because I realise this myself, Petunia."

For one instance Petunia wondered when the last time had been that her mother had called her 'Tuney'.

Her mother wiped at her eyes, a quick, furtive movement. "I should be off to bed, I'm not feeling too well. Leave the kitchen be, I'll take care of it tomorrow morning."
Petunia simply stayed seated, numb.

"You can forget all I told you, Petunia. Don't let my burdens become yours. Simply know that I do want what's best for you, though I haven't always shown you that I do. But I also know that I have forfeited every right to meddle in your life – that I lost it long ago. I don't expect … I should go. I feel like I have talked quite enough, don't you?"

She gave a hollow laugh as she left the room, the stairs creaking beneath steps that sounded too heavy for her slim stature. Petunia continued staring at the seat where her mother had sat, her mind blissfully blank. There was no rush of anger, no needles of hurt, no simmering unquiet of insecurity. Simply nothing.

And somehow she found herself standing at the sink, washing dishes in repetitive motions while leaving her thoughts empty until there was nothing left to do and she withdrew to her childhood bedroom, chasing dreamless sleep.

The next morning was strangely serene. Her mother emerged later than usual, wan and sallow-faced, looking years older than Petunia had ever thought her. Upon seeing that the dishes were already done she gave a quiet thanks before retreating back into her rooms.

It was the same the next day, a sombre atmosphere surrounding her Mum whenever she looked at Petunia with a smile on her face but sadness in her eyes. But not once did she come to her to talk about that evening in the kitchen, not once did she hint that she wanted to unpack all the topics she had spoken off.

But there were little things. Petunia noticed that her mother sat closer to her than before at the breakfast table, when Petunia had cooked lunch she commented how good it tasted and that Petunia had overtaken her own skills, when Petunia wore one of her favourite cardigans her mother told her how well the cut suited her and suggested a shopping trip to London, just the two of them.

It was different from the catharsis that the eggnog and late evening had provoked but it was something, something Petunia could accept and appreciate, however small the gesture.

And she tried to reciprocate. She told her Mum more about Hagrid, about Fluffy, but she couldn't bring herself to mention those things she truly struggled with: her fear that she might be ostracised or worse because of her status. Whenever she thought of it, licked her lips and forced her teeth apart to spit out the words she would recall the haunted look in her mother's eyes, her voice filled with shattered incomprehension and helplessness.

We're not like them, Petunia, we're not like Lily , she would say in her memories and Petunia would inhale deeply and talk about something else.

It was a strange equilibrium, not the same as the dotting and loving relationship her mother shared with Lily but something that suited Petunia, something cautious but sincere. There was a kernel of bitter hurt still buried in her heart, forgotten in daylight but creeping up in the stillness of night, when Petunia was lying in her bed and remembering how lost she had felt as a child, how her mother would soothe Lily with toys and sweets while Petunia was 'sensible' enough to not cry. That small part of her remembered her mother's confessions not with empathy but with vengeful satisfaction, guzzling down the grown woman's hurt like a tick would blood, growing thick and fat and repulsive.

But then her Mum would nudge Petunia's favourite jam closer to her daughter's plate at the breakfast table the next morning and it burrowed back down into the darkness. And next to the bloodthirsty kernel was a small sprig of forgiveness, something delicate and only just unfurling but growing nonetheless.

Winter break passed in a strange equilibrium between the two, Petunia conflicted but at the same time strangely hopeful, in a cautious kind of way. There were no more late-night confessions but when she left for the train her mother had packed her a small lunchbox and it was the first time in a long while that Petunia could remember being reluctant to leave.

While she was on the train her thoughts turned heavy again, the traces of her elation at returning to Hogwarts slowly scraped away whenever an owl hooted or someone waved their wand around.

I want to see you happy, I want to see you comfortable, somewhere you belong. Why make life so difficult for yourself?

Petunia's gaze was focused outside the window, shapes flitting by behind the glass like ghosts during twilight, indistinguishable and silent. Was she making life unnecessarily difficult for herself? Was this quest nothing but a twisted form of self-torture, something she forced herself to do not because it was something she wanted or needed but because she wanted to prove to the world that she was just as good as Lily, just as justified to be here as her sister who had been born to it?

Hadn't all this started with Aspen, who Petunia didn't approach out of compassion and love but out of competitiveness with her little sister, out of a desire to best her and do something Lily couldn't? And had her path ever diverted from that original desire, had she ever managed to find the junction where Lily didn't factor into her decisions?

Why not make yourself a nice home, with a nice man and a family for yourself, a job that has nothing to do with monsters and giants and invisible people?

Would Petunia be happy like that? Would she feel more welcomed, more right , in a small flat in London, styling her hair to the latest trends, buying expensive purses and finding a man who earned enough to allow her to raise a family, who'd leave her alone during the day so Petunia could cook and nurture and clean? Was that the role she was meant to fill, the woman-shaped hole waiting for her away from magic and creatures?

It wasn't the monsters or the magic that scared Petunia – it was the people using it. The students, those that talked about blood and purity, the teachers who pestered her to speak about her upbringing and her very nature as if it was something so far removed from them to be completely different.

Was she deluding herself that she was going where she was meant to be as the train rattled along the tracks carrying her ever forward, the vibrations running through her until she felt rattled down to her bones. And no matter how long she stared through the fogged up glass, she didn't find her answer.

Hogwarts welcomed her with a winter landscape that looked like it could have sprung from the pages of a fairytale, every tree sheathed in pure white, untouched planes of snow glittering like diamond dust in the low light. The sky itself was robbed of all colour, snowflakes so small they were close to powder drifting through the air in such quantity that there was no telling where the ground ended and the sky began.

Hagrid's hut fit neatly into the picture, a solid oasis of warmth and stone amid the delicate, crystalline beauty of winter. A stream of fluffy smoke trailed into the air from the chimney and orange light spilled from the windows onto the path, illuminating the clumps of ice clinging to Petunia's boots and the ends of her coat when she knocked on his door.

It was pulled open and Hagrid beamed at her when he saw Petunia standing before him, the skin around his dark eyes crinkling and his beard hopping like a hairy animal when the corners of his mouth tugged up. "Lass! Yer were missed somethin' fierce."

Before Petunia could ask she heard Fluffy's incessant barking echoing through the small room. Hagrid rolled his eyes. "You'd think I was starving 'im the way he's goin' on. Had ter carve a flute jus ter get some peace an' quiet around here."

"Oh." A small huff travelled up Petunia' throat, something equal parts exasperated and fond. "He gets easily riled up."

Hagrid grumbled in agreement. Fluffy pressed forward between his gigantic legs, small body shaking with aggressive energy. Only when he threw himself against Petunia's shins but didn't snap at her did she realise that she was wrong.

It wasn't aggression. Fluffy's small tail was wagging.

"Don't know wha' he'd do without yeh."

Petunia's breath stuttered. Her eyes were wide when she looked up but Hagrid didn't seem to realise her shock. He asked about her holidays and her family and when she would come by to cook breakfast again but Petunia was barely aware of the things she was saying. She could feel the press of Fluffy's small and warm body, a spot of heat in all this frost that steadily thawed through her stupor.

When she fitted him with his leash and led him back to the castle he went eagerly, fighting through the heaps of snow with all his might as if there was something precious he had to reach, as if the struggle was worth it to walk beside her.

Maybe it was simply her emotional state from overthinking everything during the hour-long train ride but Petunia felt lighter, as if a weight had been pressing down on her chest for days without her even noticing it was there until it was gone. She could breathe easier, her steps didn't fall as heavily and her shoulders straightened.

When Petunia opened the door to her room her gaze darted towards her desk without conscious thought, to the place she had left the rock cakes and the letter for the magic taking care of her. The baked goods were gone but a clean white rectangle of paper caught the first spills of moonlight, gleaming silver and cold.

Disappointment spread through Petunia when she realised that the food had probably been cleaned away before it could attract bugs but her card had been left untouched. Offering her feelings and giving thanks was something that she still struggled with and having it so clearly ignored ached in a small, sore spot somewhere behind the soft tissue of her lungs.

When she stepped closer, intending to pick it up and throw it away, erase all traces of her misstep, she lifted her hand only to freeze.

It wasn't her letter waiting for her. Petunia had merely folded a piece of paper but this was a real envelope, heavy and expensive looking. And across its front was a familiar sprawl forming two words that clenched around her heart like a fist.

To Petals.

Aaaand cut ! *laughs wickedly*

But the chapter is already long so - forgive me? Please?