February 1976

Remus Lupin … It took a few seconds for Petunia to place the familiar name – light brown hair, sickly complexion, silvery scars – and then a few more moments for the implications behind Severus' taunt to sink in.

"You're serious."

"Of course I am." Disdain was written so plainly across his features that he might as well have etched the word onto his forehead. "It's quite obvious, once you think about it. I just need to prove it."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you need to prove it?"

"Because he's dangerous."

"He hasn't harmed anyone."

"Yet."

Petunia frowned. Severus was many things, but certainly not altruistic. Which could only mean that his fervour to label Remus Lupin a werewolf was fueled by something else, something shady and more small-minded, something like revenge – or jealousy.

"Is he involved with Lily?"

The wretched boy scoffed. "And you dare call me obsessed."

Who else was Severus focused on … Petunia remembered the first and only time he had approached her since she had been at Hogwarts, his face drawn and flickering with too many repressed expressions for her to fully decipher them, but motivated to pester her because of one person.

"Potter?"

Severus froze.

"That's it, then. He's what, Potter's friend maybe, and you want to hurt him because of it?"

"He's a dangerous Dark creature that could rip you open from throat to hip if the mood took him," he hissed, his sibilant anger only letting Petunia know that she had hit the nail right on the head.

"He seemed quite normal to me. A bit flighty, but certainly not murderous."

"He – you talked to him? When?"

"On the train ride. And once while talking Fluffy for a walk." Petunia paused. Now that she thought about it, there had been something strange about him. Not only did Fluffy react to him with previously undisplayed eagerness but he also … "Seems to hate werewolves."

"You talked about werewolves?"

"He called them evil, bloodthirsty beasts."

Severus looked smug. "Self-aware, isn't he."

"Why are you so sure he is one?"

"It's obvious," he repeated, immediately frustrated again. "Anyone with half a brain cell could come to the conclusion, him and his little friends are certainly not as stealthy as they believe, but no-one pays any attention!"

"Stealthy?"

"Once a month, on the night of the full moon, he creeps from the castle and disappears by the Whomping Willow. And the next few days he's usually too sick to attend class and no-one sees him around. And Potter and his little lackeys are the only ones swearing up and down that he only has a cold or Vanishing sickness, and sometimes they even sneak out after him, I've seen them!"

The Whomping Willow, that's where Petunia had encountered him the second time, sweating and twitchy and certainly looking sick. But … a werewolf?

"What does the book say?"

"What book?"

"The one you haven't returned yet, the librarian was a bit cross."

Severus already opened his mouth to answer before his eyes narrowed on Petunia, studying her face like it was a map to hidden treasure. "Why do you care?"

"Pardon?"

"Why do you care about Lupin and the book and werewolves all of a sudden?"

I want to learn more about them, Petunia thought. I want a chance to interact with them and ask why they are being shunned and banished to the forest, and now you're telling me that there might be one right here in the castle …

"I'm curious."

"Curious," he repeated, drawing the word out.

"Yes." Petunia frowned. "What's it to you?"

"You're curious about werewolves and I need someone to help me prove that Lupin is one."

She didn't like what he was indirectly asking and she liked the expression on his face even less. Something satisfied but at the same time sinister, all that was missing was that he rubbed his hands and gave an evil laugh to complete the picture.

"Why do you need to prove it?"

"Well, I think everyone deserves to know, don't you? Their lives are endangered simply by attending class and no-one thought to inform them. Surely it won't reflect well on the Headmaster. Can you imagine the fall-out of keeping such a thing a secret?"

The Headmaster … Dumbledore. Dumbledore, who had given Petunia, a muggle, the opportunity to come here. Dumbledore who had allowed Aspen to integrate into the Hogwarts herd.

Dumbledore, who was recruiting students and dragging Lily into the war.

"Give me the book and I'll think about it."

Severus considered her for a few long seconds. "I'll get it to you. But don't even think about coming here again."

Petunia rolled her eyes and turned away, not wasting any time on some kind of insincere farewell. Her head was already humming with all her different thoughts, none of them standing out clear enough to give her something to hold onto as she made her way up the stairs, leaving the cool dungeon air and the wretched boy down in the echoing darkness.

In order to avoid Potter, Petunia had first forced herself to familiarise herself with all the areas he was most likely to bother her; on the moving staircases between classes, somewhere on the grounds when the weather was tolerable, the Great Hall for snacks and leisure or lounging on various window-sills, balustrades or low walls like a cat waiting to ambush guileless passers-by.

The weather was grey and cold, slush soaking the grounds and winds whistling around the high towers in a shrieking melody, slate clouds reflected in frozen puddles. So Petunia opted for the Great Hall, passing through the open doors to be welcomed by low chatter and the crackle of a merry fire in the giant fireplace warming the room with an orange glow and banishing the wet coldness to the corridors outside.

Potter was sitting amongst a huddle of boys, two of whom were playing that strange talking chess game Petunia had first encountered in the Weasley's sitting room. One of the players was the dark-haired pretty boy, Sneer, and his opponent was the one she had been looking for: Remus Lupin, dressed in a cosy, mustard-coloured sweater and nibbling at one of his nails while his brown eyes were focused on the board.

They hadn't noticed her entrance and Petunia quickly walked to the table farthest away from the fireplace, as it had the least students sitting around, positioning herself so she could keep watching them across the hall without being conspicuous. Big bowls of fragrant tangerines, golden walnuts and polished apples were placed among the long tabletops where students had spread homework and games in equal measure. Petunia received a few stares but she opened the book Severus had finally delivered and burrowed between its pages until she felt the attention lessen.

Only then did she look up to observe Remus.

He didn't look ill or twitchy. The full moon was still more than a week away but he appeared bright-eyed and focussed on his game, there was no sweat on his forehead or tremble in his hand when he commanded one of his figures. He wasn't especially tall or broad for a boy his age but neither was he small or flimsy. He actually looked very average apart from the light scars marking his face.

Petunia glanced at the page she held open.

To become a werewolf, it is necessary to be bitten by a werewolf in their wolfish form at the time of the full moon. When the werewolf's saliva mingles with the victim's blood, contamination will occur.

The silvery lines certainly didn't look like a bite, but they did appear animalistic. Like scratch-marks. In the past, Petunia might have dismissed the possibilities out of hand, apart from a bear there was no animal she could think of able to inflict such marks, but now she knew that even the placid woods and fields of England were teeming with creatures out of fairy tales. Maybe it had been a werewolf, but it could just as well have been a multitude of other clawed beings.

The book didn't give her enough information to go on, no deciding characteristic apart from the fact that werewolves were forced to transform once a month and would usually suffer in the days before and afterwards.

She'd have to observe him closer to the full moon, when Remus' body would either betray him or Severus' paranoia would be proven wrong.

"Well, look who's here."

Petunia's eyes flew up only to connect with hazel ones crinkled in amusement, round glasses reflecting a sliver of her own pale face.

Of course.

"Missed you, Pet. What are you reading?"

Petunia slammed the book closed and tugged it against her chest but a hand snaked around her wrist before she could stand up and walk away. Potter sat himself onto the table as if he couldn't see the bench.

"A secret? What is it? A hundred ways even muggles can bewitch wizards? How to get curves?"

His provocation forced Petunia to react, her glare spitting lightning. "How to kill obnoxious brats without leaving evidence."

"A girl with a dangerous mind. Not as boring as you look, you always surprise me."

"Pity, you're exactly as unbearable as you look."

He laughed and his hand relaxed his grip. Petunia shook him off but before she could act he leaned forward and stole the book from her arms in one whip-like motion. Hopping from the table and dancing out of her range he held it up to his face to read the title.

"'Furry Foes and …'" His smile fell away. "Werewolves? Why are you reading up on them?"

Because Severus is quite convinced your friend is one of them.

"A pack lives in the forest."

"So? You want to offer yourself as an appetiser?" His voice sounded forced.

Petunia knew she didn't have to explain herself to anyone, least of all James Potter, but still she had to bite her lip to keep the excuses at bay. The more she said, the more suspicious it would seem. So she stood up and rounded the table, ripping the book out of his slack fingers.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm simply worried. A thin thing like you, and not even a witch, they'd pick their teeth with your bones and won't get a decent meal out of it."

"I don't see how that concerns you."

"Oh, this again." He rolled his eyes, his easy cheer feeling natural once more. "I'm looking out for you, Pet. Didn't I say we should become friends? I'm pretty sure I did. And then you stomped off as if I had pissed in your porridge."

"I would have felt less disgusted if you had."

"Ah, I missed this. Where have you been hiding, hmm? You and that dreadful dog-thing, where is it by the way?"

"Beneath the table, waiting to bite your ankles clean through."

"See, there is a sense of humour behind all those frowns and pinched lips. But seriously, you should get werewolves out of your head. Nothing good can come from it."

"I don't have to listen to you."

"Promise me."

What the – "No."

He sighed, as if deeply disappointed. "You know what's really sad, Pet? Muggles. And how little power they have. If one crossed my path, brooding over something I don't want them to, I could wipe the thought clean out of their head and there is nothing that they can do to stop me."

Petunia froze.

"Truly sad, don't you think? They wouldn't even notice. Pitiful. But I'm glad we're friends. I'll look out for you."

Something curled inside her stomach, something vicious and sour, as if she had drunk a gallon of spoiled milk, and Petunia couldn't determine if she was sick or enraged, her breath heavy on her tongue. "I'm not your friend. You're conceited, horrible, drunk on power you like lording over others because that's the only way you feel you're worth something, you think threatening me makes you stronger or better?"

There was a moment of silence where they just stared at each other before Potter smiled. "What a poisonous mouth. Get rid of that book, alright?" Potter waggled his finger as if Petunia was a misbehaving pup. "It's for your own good."

And then he turned away and strolled through the hall back to his table, where people welcomed him with broad grins and waggling eyebrows.

Petunia just barely stopped herself from throwing the heavy book against the back of his head.

"He's such a – such a horrible, egoistic, ignorant and disgusting boy, I wish I could just strangle him!"

"Ms Evans …"

"Call me Petunia."

"We could serve beans for dinner. I've been told Master Potter harbours quite a dislike towards them."

"Good! Beans, all kinds of beans, is there something he's allergic to?"

"Ms Ev- Petunia Evans, we can do no harm against our masters."

Petunia uncrossed her arms to wave Blim's concerns away. "Fine, I know, I know. But if you'd heard him today – he was threatening me! He told me he would wipe my mind and …"

Her voice petered out, losing steam as the true horror of those words really sank in.

And there is nothing that they can do to stop me.

"Perhaps we shall stop using the softener on his sheets. He'll sleep in scratchy bedding from now on, Petunia Evans."

A small smile snaked onto her face, even though her mood leant itself more towards gritted teeth and helpless tears. "Thanks, Blim."

"Maybe some dessert will cheer you up." Blim snapped his spindly fingers and a huge bowl floated towards them from one of the kitchen tops. "This is my newest creation: chocolate fudge with crackling berries and a sprinkling of dried Alihotsy."

Petunia took a spoonful only to startle almost off the low stool she was sitting on when the small fruit popped in her mouth, little fizzles running over her gums and tickling her throat. The cloying taste of chocolate was lightened by tart sweetness, perfectly complimenting the other.

"You have a real talent for this."

"You honour me, Petunia Evans. It is but a small trick."

Petunia took another spoonful, finding that the crackle of magical fruit between her teeth was chasing the lingering bitterness away.

"Here, I'm certain this will lighten your mood." In that magical way of his Blim reached behind him only to offer up a letter that hadn't been there a second before. "Master Scamander sends his regards."

The spoon clattered from Petunia's fingers in her haste to rip the letter from Blim's hand and open it, the paper smooth and cool against her skin. Eugene's familiar script greeted her, all narrow lops and crowded letters. Without thinking about it, Petunia started reading.

Dear Petals,

I hope you're doing well. I think about you often and am currently wondering if you managed to escape the epidemic of runny noses and sore throats that usually follow winter at Hogwarts – a giant stone castle is quite impressive, but when it comes to indoor heating you muggles are far ahead compared to us.

Concerning your question, I was aware of the rumours that werewolves live in the Forbidden Forest but that's exactly what I thought they always were: rumours. I'm still not quite sure if Hagrid isn't simply having you on, I can't imagine anyone allowing such dangerous creatures to be so close to the students who are only learning how to use magic to defend themselves.

On the other hand, it's Hogwarts, and danger always felt more like an elective rather than something we should truly avoid.

Sadly my knowledge concerning werewolves is lacking in details. My father is always much fonder of those creatures that won't try to converse with him, at least in words. Though he did establish a registry with the Ministry in an effort to help them be more visible and present, I'm not sure if it actually helped (though, don't tell him that).

My best advice is this: if you encounter one, stay far away from their teeth and definitely do not agree to a moonlit stroll. Or if you do, bring your cerberus and Hagrid with his crossbow, at the very least.

We were invited to an actual ball last evening, can you imagine? With dancing and even more ridiculous robes than usual, though I'm sure that's impossible to picture without actually seeing it. Everyone was acting as if we had jumped centuries and then they complained about how old-fashioned we Brits can be …

Petunia startled when a loud noise of displaced air rustled the small hairs on her forehead, her eyes flicking from the written words to the figure that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the kitchen.

It was a house elf Petunia didn't know yet. His posture was slightly stooped and his nose impressively hooked while his expression managed to be haughty despite wearing rags even more rundown than the other elves in the kitchen, almost black with soot and so baggy they slipped off his bony shoulders.

"What brings you here?" Blim had stepped forward, herding the other elf away from the bustle in the middle of the room – and closer to Petunia. "Your master –"

"Master Regulus requires his favourite dinner at least once a month. And Blim'll just mess it up."

"The menu for this evening is already decided –"

"You think Kreacher would cook for all those dirty mudbloods? Kreacher will only prepare his master's plate."

"It's against the rules …"

"Those are not the rules of my masters."

With those words the new elf sniffed and hurried towards a stove, already pulling ingredients from invisible pockets in the folds of his tattered clothing.

"He seems … energetic."

Blim sighed and leaned against the table Petunia was sitting at. "Kreacher is very devoted to his family, and especially their young master."

"They must treat him well then."

Blim's large ears twitched. "Perhaps."

The elf – Kreacher – turned around to summon a knife at that moment, spotting Blim next to her. Small eyes flicked over Petunia, taking her in from her tightly pulled-back hair to the soles of her large boots, before dismissing them with a curled lip.

"Maybe he would like the Quibbler," Petunia suggested but Blim was already shaking his head.

"You would do well to leave Kreacher to his devices, Petunia Evans. For your own sake."

"Why?"

"The House Black, it is a very honourable and old family, established over generations of wizards and witches. They hold certain … values."

The implications hit Petunia immediately. Months ago she would have taken a few breaths, a few blinks to fully digest the words, but now she had grown used to the casual mention of the blatant purism that seemed to penetrate all layers of this society, from the Ministry to the students – the only thing that shocked her was that it even extended to the house elves.

Petunia had always viewed herself in the same line as them, as the redcaps and satyrs, the half bloods, like Hagrid, and the other beings that had been declared as unworthy and beneath the wizards. She felt a certain kinship to Blim and his friends, and the kitchen had become her refuge, a place to talk freely and be safe from judging eyes. It was the only one apart from the solitude of her rooms or the freezing pastures and stables Aspen was housed in during the cold season. Hagrid's hut had felt less welcoming ever since Petunia had learned of Dumbledore's hand in Lily's decisions.

But now even here, even the beings she had thought even more oppressed and pitiful than her, would judge her because of who, of what, she was.

"Once you have composed your reply, let me know. I will deliver it for you promptly."

Blim's words managed to rip Petunia from her contemplations. Only now did she notice that she was crinkling Eugene's precious letter between her fingers absentmindedly. Quickly she put it down, smoothing out the creases carefully.

Though there was one, or quite possibly some, house elves that would spit at her feet and curse her to her face, there were those like Blim, who had taken it upon himself to play courier for Petunia and Eugene since the first letter from America had been left in her room. Or the ones like Pitts, who had suffered far worse at the hands of others than Petunia ever had.

She shouldn't write all of them off just because of one she hadn't actually talked to.

Her fingertips stilled against the soft paper, alerting Petunia to the fact that they had been faintly trembling before.

If Kreacher dismissed her existence, then she would do the same to him.

"Thank you, Blim."

Petunia was faintly pleased to see that he accepted her thanks with barely a flinch. Maybe it wasn't only her that cherished her time in the kitchens.

Petunia had witnessed many strange things since her first night at Hogwarts. Ghosts, ephemeral but able to talk and interact with the world around them, suits of armour that sometimes shifted as if in boredom, little fluttering lights that clung to the rafters with a mind of their own, but nothing had felt as incongruous with the world as she knew it as this.

Moulded from the darkness around him stood the wretched boy. Greasy hair, dark eyes that seemed to swallow the flickering candlelight, swathed in those black robes that only reinforced the impression. He was glaring at her as if she was the biggest idiot he had ever encountered, nothing unusual, but he was doing it while standing at the doorway to her chamber, at night.

Which was highly unusual. So unusual that Petunia wasn't quite sure how to react.

"If you're just going to gape, at least let me in. I can't be seen here."

Somehow she found some words, though they sounded incredulous to her own ears. "You're serious."

"Do you know me as a joker?" And without waiting for Petunia to come to grips with the situation he shouldered by her into the room. Though he didn't get far.

A black shadow bolted from the darkness beneath Petunia's bed, gleaming teeth ripping into the sweeping material of Severus' robes, almost tearing him down.

"What the – Get your freaking dog away from me!"

Petunia was sorely tempted to let her 'freaking dog' do as he pleased for at least a while longer. But the shock of Fluffy's sudden attack had at least jared her rigid limbs back into motion. Closing the door, she called once sharply "Fluffy" and when his ears pricked towards her she started humming his usual melody. With great reluctance one head after the other let go of the seam of Severus' robes, leaving a generous amount of slobber and small holes behind. Severus flicked the fabric angrily before taking a few deliberate steps away from Fluffy and the bed, closer to her desk and the lone candle atop it.

Petunia tapped her leg until Fluffy sidled up to her side, both of them keeping the intruder fixed in their lines of sight. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you not to come to the dungeons again."

"So, the next logical step is to come to my room? At night?"

"It's barely evening."

"It's a quarter past eleven!"

He scoffed, as if that wasn't a completely reasonable point. Before Petunia could sneer right back, he changed the topic. "You're packing?"

Her open suitcase laid on the floor beside her, the sleeve of one sweater dangling where she hadn't folded it neatly, a clear enough answer. "Holiday's start tomorrow."

"Obviously."

"So obviously I'm packing."

"Why would you wish to go back to Cokeworth? Especially now?"

To catch her breath, to have a break from spectacled wizards, magic and werewolf conspiracies.

"None of your concern."

"You'll miss the full moon."
"It won't be the last one. And," Petunia licked her dry lips, forcing herself to continue. "I believe you."

A pause as molasses eyes focussed on her, glittering with malicious, syrupy glee. "Already convinced?"

"Potter saw me reading the book and told me to get rid of it. Threatened, really."

"He did what?"

"Told me I should get rid of it."

A strange tension clouded the air, something static that made her skin feel tight and her eyes dry.

"You said 'threatened' –"

"It's suspicious," Petunia interrupted Severus' low hiss. "I expected him to not care or laugh it off as one big joke. But the way he acted, he could just as well have spelled out that something about the topic makes him nervous."

"Of course it does, Lupin is one. And they frolic together every full moon."

Petunia rubbed her arms, glad to be rid of the simmering tension. "Like I said, I believe you. Or at least that there's something strange going on."

"And you're leaving."

Petunia narrowed her eyes. It sounded like an accusation. "Yes. And I'd like to finish packing, so if there's nothing else at this ungodly hour …"

"Prim and proper priss," he muttered mockingly, loud enough that Petunia was able to hear it.

"Out!"

Fluffy started growling, maybe reacting to the annoyance in Petunia's tone and Severus gave the three-headed dog an apprehensive glance.

"Fine. Have fun with the other cows back in Cokeworth."

And with those charming words he swept from the room as dramatically as he had entered it.

Good riddance.

But the thought rang slightly hollow.