Hello there!
Thank you so much for clicking on this story. Welcome to my very first dabble into the world of fanfiction. I hope you'll enjoy it!

Before posting the story there were a few things I wanted to address to avoid any confusion.

Canon:

A character that is probably considered OC will play a big role in this story. While his existence is canon, we don't know his name, his birthday or his character. Which means I basically had all the freedom in the world to mold him myself. (Which means that if we ever learn more about his canon counterpart I will probably have to amend a few things *sweat*.)
Otherwise I do my best to keep the story canon-compliant, especially when it comes to the timeline. I had so much fun doing research for this story I actually have a whole file filled with random character's birthday's.

Petunia:

I always had a soft spot for villains, and while Petunia Dursley is as unlikeable as one can get - taking her grudges out on a helpless child who is dependent on her care - Petunia Evans' fate is quite pitiful.
Please keep in mind that I don't intend to character bash anyone, especially not Lily, but as this story is told from Petunia's point of view everything is going to be colored in her opinion and how she perceives other's actions. So while people might not be truly vicious or mean-spirited, they could appear as such in Petunia's mind.

With all that out of the way, happy reading!

August 1971

Petunia Evans was an observant girl.

She had discovered from a young age that staying quietly in the background allowed her to listen in on others undisturbed, her presence thin, pale and easily forgotten. She knew a lot of things a girl of twelve had no business knowing and had realised things that no child should ever realise.

Like the knowledge that she was the less favoured daughter.

Petunia also knew that 'muggle' wasn't a nice word, though no one had ever really explained its meaning to her. She simply knew because the wretched boy's eyes gleamed with dislike whenever he addressed her as such. The last time he had sneered the word between crooked teeth, her shoes had suddenly sprouted roots and Petunia had had to scramble to get them off before she was completely immobilised. While she lay sprawled on her back they had burrowed into the soil brutally, like questing fingers scrambling into soft putty, upsetting grass and earth alike in violent heaves, all just a few inches from her tender, socked feet.

One thing Petunia had yet to learn was how he was doing it. No matter how much despise and hatred she directed his way, no matter how many frightening scenarios she wished on his head, nothing had ever happened.

But one thing she knew about him was that he too, like everyone in her life, preferred her younger sister over her.

Even God preferred Lily. He gave her beauty, with big green eyes and flaming curls, catching the light of the afternoon sun like a halo of fire. Petunia, in contrast, looked as if all colour and liveliness had been leached from her, wispy, blond hair hanging down in limp strands and watery eyes an undefined shade of grey-blue. If Lily was an explosive meld of fire and ocean, Petunia was the bleached driftwood at its shores, overlooked and corroded further with every new tide.

Petunia got nothing. Not even a nice name.

Though that spoke more of her parent's favouritism than God's. Of course they never admitted it, but whenever anything happened they didn't suspect Lily and instead questioned her first. Petunia had heard the term 'older sister' enough times that she almost broke out in hives whenever they uttered it now.

Petunia, as the older sister you should take care of your little sister.

Petunia, as the older sister you can't be mean to Lily.

Petunia, you're the older sister, you shouldn't be jealous.

What about Lily then? What were her tasks? Shouldn't she also take care of Petunia? Mind her feelings?

Instead Lily liked flaunting her specialness whenever she discovered something new only she could do. Like just this second, on the crest of a low hill behind their house, sunlight caressing Lily's hair until it glowed with small, orange embers as magic was woven between her fingers.

The wretched boy was walking toward them behind her back, like a scarecrow come to life, prowling the fields in search of a princess, in search of Lily, until he finally found her.

And Petunia was forced to just stand and stare, stare as Lily twirled a flower above her palm, the small, white petals unfurling, nature obeying her as if she were a goddess, as if she was above all others, as if she was above Petunia .

A talent so unique, so fantastical, that every child would dream off it. And the one who had been gifted with it was Lily, of course. Because life hadn't given her enough.

The wretched boy arrived at Lily's side, his usually bottomless eyes, hollow and black, now soft like they only were when he looked at Petunia's little sister. Brisk wind tousled his greasy hair, long and unkempt and the threadbare clothes that were obviously not meant to be worn by him, but Lily never seemed to mind. Petunia on the other hand did, not that Lily had ever heeded her warnings.

Maybe she knew that he was one of her most loyal knights, always ready to spring to her aid with his freaky powers, and it outweighed him smelling of mothballs.

Not that Lily lacked protectors, everyone always much too ready to come to her defence, to excuse her faults …

Not like me , Petunia thought. She only had herself to rely on. Who else would protect her if she didn't do it?

In a small corner of her mind Petunia allowed the notion that maybe Lily didn't mean to torment her. But the thought wasn't long-lasting, banished by her rising anger, hidden in a dark recess of her brain to be forgotten.

Even if Lily didn't mean to, she had done it often enough and watched Petunia blow up just as often that she should have stopped by now.

But Lily never did. Their parents thought Lily constantly seeking Petunia out was a younger sister trying to befriend her older sister again, after their once good relationship had been torn apart like delicate lace, unravelling at the seams long before the final rip.

In Petunia's opinion it was far from the truth. Because now all she saw when she looked at Lily was a conceited brat showing off. The remnants of Lily's gap-toothed smile, her pudgy fingers clinging to Petunia's sleeves and the smell of chalky baby powder were replaced with the scene in front of her: Lily, beautiful, magical Lily, bending nature to her will with wide eyes and a bright smile while Petunia was forced to watch, useless.

The only way to wipe that smile off Lily's face was to call her out. And so Petunia did.

"Freak!"

The wretched boy's expression fell quicker than Lily's, hunger and fury awakening in the abyss of his eyes, the softness fleeing his face and leaving harsh plains and sharp teeth in its wake.

"You're a freak, Lily!"

For a precious second Petunia tasted the satisfaction of seeing Lily's smile vanish, of watching the small flower curl up once more, magic leaking from her grip. And then the wretched boy raised his hand, bony fingers pointed at Petunia and she turned around and ran, not wanting to be around for his revenge, his righteous defence of poor, poor Lily.

Grass ripped underneath her hasty steps, a twinge in her sides when her breath turned hot in her throat, the smell of pollen and fresh green sticking to the roof of her mouth. But Petunia didn't stop until she had crested the small, rolling hill, out of sight of Lily and the wretched boy both.

She knew when she was overpowered and outnumbered. Petunia wasn't a fool who didn't learn her lesson.

Sweat glued some of her thin hair to her forehead but she combed it back behind her ears, allowing her scratchy breaths to slow in tune with her rabbiting heartbeat. It wouldn't do to look too unordered.

There weren't many things Petunia could control in her life, too young for most important decisions, but she always took care of her appearance and demeanour to the best of her abilities. And she would always look out for herself.

Simply because no one else ever had.

The strange, magical letter had arrived this morning during breakfast, causing her parents to break out in laughter and Lily's pretty face to be wreathed in smiles.

It didn't look that extraordinary, the paper already yellowing and the contents lacking any personal touch, simply an admission paper and a list of necessary items to be bought.

But it had been brought by an owl. An actual, living owl, an animal unsuited to the Evanesses domestic kitchen, its bright eyes and sharp talons belonging to the nighttime wilderness - and fairy tales.

And now Lily's life had turned into exactly that, a tale of wonder and magic, while Petunia was a forgotten footnote of mundanity and bitterness, maybe serving as a shadow to contrast Lily's brightness. The boring, elder sister … maybe even the evil sister .

Her knife sunk into the warming butter, gliding easily, the lack of resistance unsatisfying. Petunia glared at it in resentment, pulling her rounded knife free and carving into the smooth surface, again and again, until it had lost its form, too marred to be disfigured further, nothing left to serve as an outlet for her frustration. For just a tiny fraction of a second, Petunia wondered if the knife would sink as easily into her own skin.

The happy chattering of her parents and Lily became too unbearable, and Petunia pushed her chair back with a clatter, fleeing up to her room, hoping to leave her thoughts with the destroyed block of butter in the kitchen.

The expensive piece of paper was where she had left it, centre-stage on the scratched desk, catching a stray beam of early sunlight and gleaming like ivory - a lot better looking than that yellowed piece Lily had been clutching like it was made from spun gold.

It was the most expensive paper Petunia had found, one she had bought with her little pocket money for a future special occasion, maybe a letter to someone important. The idea of a pen pal had always appealed to her, the distance and cloak of paper and ink allowing for anonymity that was tempting to someone who liked to hide her weaknesses.

But now Petunia had a new use for her parchment. Contemplating, she sat down at the desk she shared with Lily, twisting a pen between her fingers. She wanted the letter to be perfect and so wrote a few drafts, discarding and starting anew multiple times. Finally she reached for the nice paper, which felt unduly heavy in her pale hands. Taking a deep breath she started writing.

Most honourable Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry,

My name is Petunia Evans and I am twelve years old. My younger sister recently received a letter to attend your school and I wanted to let you know that I dearly wish to be a witch as well. Though I might lack my sister's natural talent, you have my honest promise that I will be the most hard-working student in school. I will dedicate myself to the magic studies and make you proud if you give me this chance.

Please Mister Dumbledore let me attend your magic school and learn how to become a real witch.

Sincerely,

Petunia Evans

Finished with her work, Petunia read it over one last time before she carefully blew the ink dry and folded it up. Surely the headmaster would not already be biassed towards Lily - he hadn't even met her yet. He would be fair and give Petunia a chance. She hadn't done anything to not deserve it after all.

Lily and the wretched boy were ridiculing her.

"You begged to be a witch? Thought you said Lily was a freak!"

"You snooped through my mail?" Enraged, Petunia glared at Lily, who was once again standing behind the wretched boy.

"Lily didn't snoop, I saw the letter myself!" The wretched boy sneered, his thin lips appearing even more bloodless as they stretched. Like a pair of wiggling maggots in his thin face.

Liar .

"I can't believe a muggle actually managed to get a letter to Hogwarts!" He laughed, but it was grating and metallic. "You don't even have an owl! Must be a magical postman working somewhere around here who didn't know it was you who had written the letter."

Petunia stayed silent, not willing or knowing how to refute. All she knew was that she had done something with hope in her heart and with her best effort - and now her sister's best friend was mocking her for it. Laughing at her. And Lily just stood next to him and looked at her with her typical pitying eyes.

And that look fanned Petunia's fury, even more than the wretched boy's words.

What right did Lily have to pity her? Just because she inherited the nice hair and unique eyes and Petunia hadn't?

Just because Petunia wasn't special and no one was even willing to give her a chance, no matter how hard she tried?

She hadn't done anything wrong. None of these were her fault, it was simply as if a greater power was set against her in all things.

She felt the burning behind her eyes but willed herself not to cry. She hadn't cried when the headmaster's letter of rejection glared back at her and she wouldn't cry now because of these stupid children . When everyone was against her she had to stay strong and take care of herself.

And 'strong' in Petunia's mind was often equal to 'angry', as she allowed its heat to burn heavier emotions like sadness and vulnerability to ash. Instead of crying she preferred to fight, always with venom-laced words, because her arms were too weak and thin for conventional defence. But her mind was agile and worked quickly. She had always noticed things, picked up on subtle signs or simply been quiet and well-behaved enough that no-one realised she was listening to their gossip. And this helped her to determine her opponent's weak spot.

Like right this moment. The wretched boy was not only smitten with her sister but the whole town liked to talk about his family, usually with a hand pressed to their chests in shock but spiteful glee in their eyes …

When the words burst from her clenching throat they weren't elaborate or subtle, but a blunt knife could hurt just as much as small needles if one pressed it into the wound with enough determination. "I might not have an owl, but at least my father doesn't hit me! At least my mother loves me!"

The last line was a lie in Petunia's mind, but the wretched boy wouldn't know that. His usually sallow face had turned red in rage and his dark eyes were wide open, their black depths spelling death. With trembling lips his hands flew up, as if someone pulled the strings of an especially skeletal puppet, jerky and abrupt.

Petunia didn't stick around to find out how he wanted to punish her. Instead she whirled around and once again ran away, her longer legs letting her escape his wrath, the only price she paid were smudges of dirt on her shoes.

Sometimes, the wretched boy and Lily liked to rely on their specialness too much. Hurting him wasn't something Petunia needed magic to do. And reality wasn't something magic would protect them from.

And even though Petunia was disadvantaged, she was never weak.

Petunia was an observant girl, so understanding death took her only a number of days where other children might have struggled with the concept for years, as she had already lost the protective veil of childhood naivety.

It was the week after her grandmother had died that the realisation really hit her, sitting in her room and coming to grips with the fact that she would never see her grandma again.

Lily had still been considered too young, coddled by her mother and not allowed to suffer any frights, banished from the side of their grandmother's sickbed when the end had made itself known. Petunia had insisted on staying and her mother had given in after a quick, distracted glance, her concerns spread thin with her own mother dying. So Petunia stood next to the bedside like a waxen figurine, her fingers curled into a tense fist as her grandmother's chest slowly stopped moving.

Her grandmother had always been a pillar of Petunia's emotional attachments, out of her whole family resembling Petunia most both in her strict character and her tall, thin stature, topped by a nest of very light hair, thinned by age. She might have been the only person in the whole world who tolerated Petunia best out of the two Evanesses girls, always praising her for her straight posture and good manners, while she was exhausted by Lily's playful and over-exuberant nature.

Looking at her now, still and pale, was a surreal scene. One moment she had been a person, able to talk and breathe and think and suddenly she just … wasn't any longer. Petunia was too unarticulated to put the feeling into clear words, but it was as if her grandmother had stopped being her grandmother and instead had turned into an inanimate object. She was still there but not in any way that mattered.

Petunia had been so frightened by the feeling that she had slumped to the floor, her suddenly sagging knees visible enough that her mother reacted and ushered her out of the room stained with death. She had told Petunia to watch over her little sister and not to come inside again.

Now, almost a week later, Petunia was sitting in her and Lily's shared room, slowly turning an elaborate brooch in her hands. Muted light caught in the facettes of the little stones, sparkling across her walls but Petunia was in no mood to watch the breath-taking display. It was only now that she fully understood what had happened that day, the implications stirring and turning in her mind, restless until she was finally able to accept it. The finality of that last breath … her grandmother was dead.

She would never pat Petunia's hand again, or give her one of those too-tough mint humbugs she liked to hoard in her purse as a reward for a good grade.

Petunia would never see her again.

And it was only now that Petunia rested her head on the desk and quietly allowed herself a few tears.

Lily and the wretched boy had entered the forest bordering the field they liked to play in. It wasn't a deep or big forest, growing in the dip between the hills as if it wanted to hide from sight, but it made finding her more difficult. And that was exactly Petunia's task this evening, ordered by her mother to find Lily and bring her back in time for supper.

Summer was still reigning with fireflies and a soft breeze, but the shadows stretching beneath the trees like long, dark fingers were cool and deep. Petunia tugged her thin cardigan closer around her chest, and waded into the shades, wrapped in the scent of firs and moss. Branches and leaves crinkled under her too-thin soles, the long hem of her dress catching on small branches and thorny brambles. Why Lily always liked to play and hide here out of all places would remain a mystery to Petunia, who usually wasn't brave or foolish enough to venture into the forest. Lily had tried to entice her once or twice, but back then Petunia had been the one to decide where they would play, as the older sibling.

And now there was no more reason for them to play together.

The cold had started to leak through her layers when Petunia finally heard a rustle to her right, a relieved breath escaping her lips. The forest wasn't big enough to house anything larger than a fox and all animals would flee at the racket Petunia had made while traipsing through its depths - the noise had to come from Lily.

Petunia was so sure in her assumption that when she found the source of the noise and herself proved wrong, her thoughts stalled for long seconds.

It wasn't Lily. It wasn't an animal either.

It was a monster.

A small monster not higher than her hips, wobbling on four skinny legs with oily black skin stretched tight over a skeletal frame, each rib starkly outlined. Two flaps of loose skin hung down on either side of its emaciated torso, black veins faintly shimmering through. Its skull was long and separated by a row of sharp teeth, exposed because its lips weren't long enough to completely cover them, two milky-white, pupil-less eyes just above the fangs, thankfully not facing Petunia.

It was ugly. Horrible. Unlike anything Petunia had ever seen before.

And then it moved, nosing against the ground and Petunia startled out of her frozen state, still at a loss. Should she cry for help? Run away? Throw a rock at it?

Petunia wasn't moving and the little monster paid her no attention, its long neck with a smattering of stringy hair hung low to the ground.

Time seemed to both slow and quicken, every small movement of the creature sending Petunia's heart racing again, the blood rushing in her ears, muting everything else. It was only when she heard her sister's voice from somewhere behind her, hazy as if through rushing water, that she snapped back to awareness.

"Tuney? What are you doing here?"

Petunia took a deep shuddering breath, the knowledge that she wasn't alone anymore thawing her enough to move - but she still didn't take her eyes off the little monster, fearing it would attack her as soon as she turned away. It might be small, but those teeth and dead eyes looked vicious.

"Is something wrong?" Lily entered her peripheral vision, appearing confused, her light brows furrowed. The wretched boy followed in her wake like a scavenger trailing the scent of a fresh kill, his long face only portraying annoyance and suspicion.

But neither of them acknowledged the little monster. They didn't even glance at it, even though it was pawing the dirt just a few feet away from them, small hooves scratching against dry flakes of earth.

Petunia raised a shaking finger, not sure if in warning or calling for help. "There …"

Lily looked at the space she had pointed at, her confusion mounting. "What? What are you looking at?"

"Just ignore her, Lily. Why are you even bothering with that muggle?"

"She's my sister, Sev, stop saying that."

"It's the truth though. She is a muggle."

Petunia couldn't believe that they would choose to bicker in this situation. They were completely ignoring the little monster!

A certain possibility suddenly lit up Petunia's mind, her eyes widening a fraction more. Maybe … maybe they weren't ignoring it? Maybe they didn't even realise it was there?

Instead of further frightening her, a strange, hopeful feeling started bubbling up in her stomach at the prospect.

"Don't you … see it?" Petunia whispered, interrupting their spat.

Lily once again glanced around her while the wretched boy snorted disdainfully. "See what? There's nothing here."

They couldn't see it … they couldn't see it! Only she, Petunia, was able to see the little monster!

Her heart started beating faster, this time not in shock and fear but elation, a prickling feeling spreading from her toes all the way to her scalp.

Lily could twirl flowers and the wretched boy might turn her shoes into shrubbery but they couldn't see the little monster - only she, Petunia, was able to! It only showed itself to her, she had a talent neither Lily nor the wretched boy could claim, for all their usual flaunting and bragging.

For once Petunia was the one who knew something they didn't, for once she was chosen instead of Lily.

And all her shock was suddenly wiped away, a honest smile spreading across her face for the first time since Lily had discovered her magic.