March 1976

The first words out of her mother's mouth should have been predictable.

"Your sister?"

Petunia swallowed. Her throat was a bit raw, maybe from the trailing smoke in the air, maybe the first signs of a cold or maybe she just imagined that the words scratched like steel wool as she spoke them. "Lily wanted to stay at Hogwarts."

A miniscule pause, a too slow blink and then her mother rallied herself. "Oh. Well, I'm glad you made it. We've missed you."

"Yes." Another swallow, still painful. "I missed you too, Mum."

"How about Severus?"

Petunia shook her head.

"Both of them stayed behind? Why?"

Lily is angry and wants to avoid me and Severus has no reason to return to Cokeworth if she's not there.

"I don't know."

"This will certainly be a first – Easter without the whole family! And what am I supposed to do with her presents? We wanted to have a small celebration for her birthday, I already prepared the cake …"

"You could owl it."

Her mother laughed, nervous and feeble. "Yes, those owls … to be honest with you, I can never quite bring myself to think of them as anything but animals. Always afraid they'll rip down the curtains or leave droppings on the carpet. Don't you agree?"

No. "I suppose."

"Do you think you could bring the presents when you return?"

Petunia thought of cold green eyes, of a back being turned and Lily walking away, eager to leave her behind.

"I'll show you how to mail them."

"That's nice of you. Now that it's just the two of us, do you want to get a cup of tea?"

Petunia's steps faltered. "What?"

"We talked about a trip to London last time, don't you remember? Well, we're already here, let's make the most of it."

Petunia followed her mother as they walked from the station, feeling slightly dazed, her feet prickling as if they had fallen asleep. Her mother chose a small coffee shop close to King's Cross station, the prices as well as the very British decor designating it as a tourist destination.

Her mother's lips twitched at the menu but she ordered tea and scones anyway, settling down in the Union-Jack-patterned armchair she had chosen. Petunia was perched stiffly at the edge of her own seat, feeling a bit like one of the dolls she had liked to play with as a child, her limbs following the motions of sipping her tea mechanically, her skin cool and pale like porcelain.

Conversation drippled not in a steady flow but in leakages, a gush of words interspersed by stiff pauses as soon as the topics of her mother's work, their garden back home and Petunia's father's new car were exhausted.

Her mother resettled her limbs and cleared her throat. "Tell me, how is that young man of yours?"

Petunia's cup froze before reaching her lips. "Eugene?"

"Yes, I think that was his name. I've only met him that one time while picking Lily up from the station, I remember you seemed very close. But I've never heard anything about him since then!"

The words felt like a bee landing on her arm, a still panic, no wrong move allowed, the sickening anticipation of a painful sting that might or might not come making her fingers clench.

"I …"

"Is he also at Hogwarts? Lily said something about a shared club, I recall."

"No, he – actually, he graduated last year."

"A bit older, then? Good, good. In fact, men mature more slowly. God knows I had to pick my battles with your father when he was young." Her mother shook her head in fond remembrance. "And what about now? Does he have some wizard job lined up?"

"He's in America. Visiting his extended family."

"America!" Her mother patted her patriotic chair as if to reassure herself that she hadn't been spirited away at the mere mention of it. "Wordly man, your Eugene. When will he be back? You should tell him to bring you some of the latest fashions from New York!"

And there was the sting. "I don't know."

"He didn't tell you?"

"He doesn't know either. His family – his Mum, because of the war …"

"Oh."

The atmosphere settled with something heavy and invisible, fears unspoken. Her mother was the first one to pierce it. "You've broken it off then?"
"What? No!" The fina china clattered loudly when Petunia set her tea down. "I'm waiting for him to come back."

If possible the air became even thicker, almost nauseating to breathe. Her mother frowned, her eyes cooling from their amiable temperatur.

"Petunia. You're no naive little girl. Waiting is … When your father went to war, it was very difficult for me. Not knowing when or if he would be back, I was living in constant uncertainty. It almost broke us and when he did come back both of us had changed. I couldn't recognize the scarred man who returned where before I had sent off a carefree boy … and your father had to deal with my bitter regrets, with me accusing him of wasting my youth waiting for him. If you hadn't come along, I'm not sure if we would have pulled through that phase."

"That's not the same!"

"You're right, it's not. There is no military keeping him, so what's stopping him from coming back to you?"
"I told you, his mother –"

"If he is old enough to dally with my daughter, he should be old enough to make up his own mind. And if he did and decided where his priorities lie, where he is most needed –"

"You're being unfair! I can't ask him to choose between his mother and me! You're twisting the situation."

"Am I? Your young man is expecting you to wait for him even if he might not return, or come back years from now. It is irresponsible. I would even say it's cruel. How long have you known each other, how deep are your feelings? Can they endure? Is it worth it?"

Petunia could feel her own claws unsheathe in her anger, in her desire to defend herself in the only way she knew how – by inflicting wounds just as deep.

"Why do you assume I want to know what you think, Mum? I have never once talked to you about my relationship with Eugene and suddenly you act like you care, as if your opinion should sway me. You don't even know him and you're already judging him? I met Eugene when I was twelve! We've known each other for years and he was there for me when you weren't, when you weren't concerned about me at all!"

Her mother's stern gaze wavered. Petunia could hear her mother's throat audibly rasp as she cleared it.

"I … Petunia, I'm sorry. You're right, it's unfair of me to judge him so harshly without ever really meeting him. I'm only concerned for you, I don't want you to come to regret … But it's your decision. I won't interfere or say anything else."

The smile on her lips looked fragile but Petunia took it for the peace offering it was.

Petunia indicated the empty teapot sitting between them. "Another one?"

"Oh, yes. I saw they have an excellent selection of Earl Grey's. And I still haven't told you about that time Farmer Wilson's cow escaped!"

Their conversation navigated back to the safer shores of Cokeworth gossip, shallow as those waters were, and Petunia tried to leave her mother's words behind in the icy depths they belonged to.

And whenever they bobbed to the surface, Petunia did her best to drown them back out.

April 1976

The first place Petunia searched out after stepping off the Hogwarts express and taking an invigorating if freezing evening flight with Aspen was neither the sanctuary of her own chamber nor Hagrid's invitingly glowing hut, but the kitchens.

The magically appearing doorknob felt smooth and cool against her fingers as she tugged it open, the scent of warm spices and the snicking of chopping knives inviting her. Only as she stepped through the open portrait into the room did Petunia realise she was almost alone.

Pitts, scarred and with his ears pressed close to his head, was sitting in a corner, potatoes peeling themselves all around him and Petunia could hear slight rustling from the barrels the elves slept in but the only other elf sitting prominently in the middle of the kitchen, knives flying behind him with a mind of their own, was an unwelcome one.

Dark, tattered rags, an almost sickle-sharp nose and stick-thin arms holding a bottle – Kreacher.

He had looked up at her entry, their eyes meeting. Petunia brazed for a cutting comment, a snide remark but after a few seconds of indecision he simply lifted his bottle and took a deep drag.

"It clattered," he told her.

"What?"

Only after she answered did it occur to Petunia that he might have been talking to himself. But he didn't acknowledge her, continuing to talk.

"The tea clattered, it clattered quite clearly, Kreacher heard it. It was time."

Petunia glanced at Pitts who gave a quick shake of his head before hiding more deeply behind his floating potatoes, clearly frightened or uncomfortable.

The knives behind Kreacher chopped more wildly, some wandering off the chopping boards to embed themselves into polished table-surfaces, others attacking the already minced ingredients until there was only an indistinguishable pulp left.

"It clattered. Mistress was right, Mistress is always right, this is an honour, a very high honour …"

Petunia should leave. To be completely honest with herself, she knew what had compelled her to come here, and though she enjoyed the house elves' company, her true objective had been Eugene. She hoped a letter from him had arrived while she'd been away in Cokeworth, a letter that would finally put that voice in the back of her mind to rest, the one that had started out sounding like her mother but had over the two weeks morphed into her own.

She should leave but something about this situation just felt wrong, a long fingernail of discomfort scratching over her ticklish neck the longer she took the picture in front of her in. Kreacher looked … miserable. Drunk, muttering to himself, teetering on his little wooden stool and his magic obviously not exerting the flawless control Petunia was used to from house elves, his eyes focused on something she couldn't see.

"Mistress is right," he was now repeating. It sounded like he wanted to believe his own words. "Mistress is always right, it is Kreacher who's foolish, the tea clattered, there was no mistake, Mistress is right …"

"Kreacher."

His eyes flicked up again at Petunia's sharp call. "Blim's Mudblood, must be, Kreacher doesn't know the name, not pure, dirty, dirty, dirty …"

Petunia felt a sliver of surprise. She knew that 'mudblood' was certainly no compliment but it also held a different meaning than 'muggle'.

Lily was one, she had magic. Petunia didn't.

"Your water is boiling," she told him instead of correcting his assumptions. "And your onions are quite thoroughly chopped."

The words took a few seconds to compute but then he turned around abruptly, a hissed sound of distress echoing from the high ceiling.

"Master Regulus' dinner! Foolish Kreacher, stupid Kreacher, incompetent Kreacher –"

The house elf had grabbed a big metal ladle and was clubbing his own head with it with every self-directed insult, Petunia flinching at the sudden violence.

"Stop! What –"

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" But of course the house elf didn't listen to her, his hits only increasing in strength. Petunia heard something crack.

Not giving herself a moment to hesitate, she bridged the distance between them, ripping the ladle from his spindly fingers before it could come down on his skull again.

"'Master Regulus' still needs his dinner," she huffed. "Who will do it if you are unconscious?"

For a tense moment they stared at each other and then Kreacher turned back to his bottle, mumbling once more. "Dirty mudblood, touching Kreacher … Of course Kreacher will make Master Regulus dinner, no-one else can do it …"

He slipped from the stool and snapped his fingers. The knives stopped attacking the furniture and the mush that was all that was left from the onions, instead floating in an orderly row. The ladle was tugged from Petunia's hand by invisible strings, returning to Kreacher's open palm.

He didn't start hitting himself again. Instead he directed the kitchen as if it were a concert and he was the conductor, whisking, slicing, frying and boiling at the same time. It was strangely hypnotic to watch and Petunia wasn't sure how much time had passed before a voice behind her called.

"Petunia Evans! I hope you had a safe return and pleasant journey."

"Blim." The relief in her tone was unmistakable. "Where have you been?"

"A lot of students had to be settled, their rooms tidied and their luggage put away," Blim explained. His eyes ghosted to Kreacher's curved back. He stepped closer, his voice suddenly lowered. "And I believed it best to afford some privacy."

"What happened?"

"Some Houses have old traditions they uphold, the Black's among them."

"Traditions?"

Blim laid a slender hand on her own, leading her further away from Kreacher, who had pointedly not turned around.

"In some Houses, the house elves, once they reach a certain age, are beheaded and their heads are stuffed and mounted. To be displayed is the very highest honour such a house elf can hope for."

"No."

"Kreacher's mother – I believe the Blacks have a rule about tea trays, once a house elf can't carry it noiselessly …"

"Stop." Petunia felt light-headed. She was about to be sick, nausea clamping her tongue as effectively as her shock. "This – no."

Blim looked remorseful. "It was not my intention to disgust you, Petunia Evans. My apologies."

"Don't apologise! Just – how can they …" Her gaze flicked to Kreacher. "How can he …"

Blim patted her hand. "It is an honour."

"No," Petunia protested hoarsely. "It's horrible."

"Here," a piece of paper was pressed into her hands. "For you, Petunia Evans. Do not burden your thoughts with Kreacher's affairs. There are much more joyful things to contemplate."

Petunia recognized the letter paper, of course she did. It was all she had been thinking about, all she had longed for, in the last week. But now it felt almost like a mockery, something so flimsy and see-through, without its own warmth or pulse. She wanted Eugene, here, with her. She wanted him to hold her in his arms and tell her that it was horrible, that they would do something about it, that he was there for her. That she wasn't alone in this.

She unfolded the letter, quickly reading the first few sentences until she saw what she had been hoping for.

I miss you, Petals.

But why didn't those words fend off the loneliness like they used?

"Are you making a habit out of this?"

Petunia didn't receive an answer as Severus simply shouldered by her into the room, though this time he sidestepped Fluffy's ambush with a mocking sneer.

"Don't just barge in here!"

"Don't wallow in the doorway, then."

"I'm not – what do you want?" Suppressing the urge to slam the door, Petunia let it fall closed, shutting her in with the wretched boy. Maybe she should have been surprised to find him in front of her personal quarters, again, at night, again, but all she really felt was exasperation.

"I found out where they go."

Petunia frowned. "What?"

"Lupin, Potter and his unbearable friends, I found out where they go and how to follow them."

Petunia crossed her arms. "How?"

"That's not important, what's important is that I can finally get proof!"

Petunia grabbed Fluffy's collar before he decided to make a second attempt at Severus' heels. She didn't even have to bend down to do it anymore and for a distracted second she wondered how big Fluffy would grow.

"How did you find out?"

"You're such a relentless – what the hell does it matter?"

"I know you, Severus," Petunia said and wanted to scrape the words off her tongue the next second. Quickly she continued before they could solidify between them, taking on more meaning than they deserved. "And something is up."

"I followed them, while you were gone frolicking with all the other muggles back in Cokeworth."

Petunia ignored the dig with clenched teeth. "You've followed them before."

"I was more persistent this time."

"How so?"

"I let them know I was there."

That seemed remarkably stupid to Petunia. "If they knew you were there, they wouldn't have done anything."

"I intended to make them nervous. And it worked."

Petunia narrowed her eyes. "That seems highly unlikely."

Though she did remember the passive aggressive way Potter had reacted to her simply reading a book. Maybe he was prone to suspicion and overreaction.

Why that would motivate him to reveal anything to the wretched boy still didn't make sense though.

"It doesn't matter if you think it likely," Severus scoffed. "I know how to follow them. Black told me."

Petunia flinched. "Black?"

Black as in House Black, as in the family that believed beheading and stuffing those that tended to them was a reasonable course of action, those same people that held 'old-fashioned values' when it came to blood purity? A purity Severus didn't have, as Petunia knew.

"I already verified his words," Severus continued. "And he was telling the truth."

"What words?"

"Every month, Lupin disappeared by the Whomping Willow and I was never able to find where he had gone. Turns out, it is the tree itself."

Petunia's thoughts were briefly derailed from their suspicious tracks by this new piece of information Severus dangled before her like a delicious morsel. "The murder tree?"

"Black told me that there is a knot on the trunk that they prod with a long stick and which makes the willow as tame as a puppy." He shot a dismissive glance at the slobbering Fluffy. "A well-raised one."

"And it worked?"

He looked down his long nose at her. "Yes."

"That makes no sense."

Severus drew his cloak tighter about his shoulders. "I don't care whether you believe me or not –"

"It's not about believing you," Petunia interrupted him. "It's about this Black character. Why would he tell you anything? And the truth nonetheless?"

"I annoyed him."

"That's ridiculous. So annoyed he decided to confide in you? To what end?"

"Black is an arrogant, sadistic tosser who can't imagine anyone outsmarting him, though he is thick as a brick wall. He doesn't know that I know what they get up to."

"That makes even less sense." Petunia bit her lip but the slight sting didn't stop her words. "You said he's sadistic and the things I heard about the Black family – if he was annoyed, he wouldn't do anything to help you, quite the opposite."

Severus was apparently fed up with her quite logical reasoning. "What does it matter why he did it? He told the truth!"

"It matters because this is simply too suspicious! Don't tell me you plan to act on his words?"

"Of course I do! Why would I bother verifying them otherwise? I'll finally be able to prove what Lupin is and then he'll get expelled, maybe Potter with him –"

"You're insane! You'll trust someone that hates you –"

"Shut up!" Severus had come closer, trying to loom over Petunia though they were similar in height. His next words were sharply pronounced but silent. "He didn't lie. That's all that matters."

Petunia took a deep breath. Why did she care anyway? Let the wretched boy fall into whatever trap Black had thought of, let him suffer at their hands, what did it matter to her? She should simply leave him alone, as he so clearly wished, and send him off to his doom with well-wishes and good riddance.

"How do you see this working out?"

"I see a chance to finally fight back," Severus said, his tone intense but still barely loud enough to understand. It was oddly intimate. "A chance to cut them deeper than they could ever hope to hurt me, to tear them apart at the seams and show everyone their rotten insides."

A bolt of understanding shot through Petunia. She should have known what, or who, this was about, would always be about for him.

"Everyone meaning Lily?"

He stepped back as if the name had physically pushed him. "Everyone meaning all those imbeciles that fall over themselves trying to integrate with them, all those teachers that laugh off their cruelty as 'childish antics' and … Lily."

Petunia stared over his shoulder, somehow not wanting to see his face as he admitted it. "Don't do it. Whatever Black hoped to accomplish by telling you, it won't end well. If you'd thought about it for more than a second you'd realise this as well."

"I have thought about it for more than a second," Severus growled. "I thought about it while you were playing happy family in your picture-perfect house, I thought about it since the first time I've seen Lupin disappear around the full moon. Don't try to lecture me, Evans, when you know nothing at all."

Petunia watched without another word as he swept from her rooms, the door falling strangely silent despite his dramatic exit. Fluffy pressed two of his noses against her hip, nudging her when she didn't move. Something churned in the pit of Petunia's stomach, something she wouldn't call worry but which felt remarkably like the time she had seen a white dog disappear after a black-eyed creature.

This wouldn't end well.

Hundred candles bobbed above Petunia's head, flickering and illuminating the sprawl of the Great Hall and the students seated within it for dinner. It shimmered on the cutlery, the glaze of the roast, a golden haze layered over hair and skin, and reflected on Potter's glasses whenever he turned his head just so.

He was presiding over the middle of the Gryffindor table, his face skewered in disgust while he said something that might have been 'Beans, again?'. His pretty dark-haired friend, flanking him on his right, laughed while the slight, blonde boy on his left immediately started nudging the bean bowl away from them. And sitting across from him was Lily, her red hair gleaming in the candlelight and a small smile gracing her lips while she pointedly didn't pay Potter's theatrics any attention, instead talking with one of her own friends.

"Is dinner not to your taste, Ms Evans?"

Petunia ripped her gaze away to look at Professor Flitwick. "Oh, no, it's fine."

In truth, it was delicious, culinary perfection as she had grown used to from anything the elves touched. But no matter how nicely buttered the beans were, tonight everything tasted like dust in her mouth.

"I'm simply not hungry."

Professor Flitwick nodded kindly. "Maybe a bit of broth, to rekindle your appetite."

Petunia forced herself to smile. "I might pass by the kitchens later if I'm hungry. I like to visit Blim and he always tries to fatten me up."

Professor Flitwick seemed bolstered by the news. "That's excellent. They're such caring creatures, it's truly a pity that their efforts are so rarely acknowledged."

Petunia hummed in agreement, though for once the topic of the mistreated house elves wasn't enough to divert her, her eyes again wandering to the Gryffindor table. There was one conspicuous absence and Petunia was sure she wasn't the only to have noticed.

Severus didn't stick out of the crowd like Potter did with his loud voice and mirror-like glasses, wild hair and even wilder limbs. Instead the wretched boy sat tucked into himself at the far corner of his own table, the shadows reaching him from the walls, buffering the light of the flames. It was too dark to make out his features in detail but Petunia was almost certain he was staring at the same empty spot that had caught her attention.

Remus Lupin wasn't here. And the moon warbling behind those glittering and attention-catching candles on the magic ceiling was full and perfectly round, like a pearl.

It turned her stomach. The rest of the meal she didn't eat much more, instead pushing her food from one end of her plate to the other, only stopping when she noticed that the scrape of her fork made Professor McGonagall wince.

When the first students got up, Petunia followed suit, leaving the Great Hall with its enticing aromas and romantic lighting that hurt her eyes. Severus had vanished like smoke, not that Petunia would have approached him, especially not while he was surrounded by his housemates. She hadn't seen him since that night he had stormed from her room.

She should be relieved that he had cut her from his strange revenge plans, not that she had ever been especially involved. All Petunia cared about was if Lupin was actually a werewolf and what that could mean for other creatures. Was he the only one allowed to attend school? And if so, why?

But no matter how hard she tried to swallow that information, treat it like a delicious treat, her mind spit it out every time, chewing over Severus' words instead. If Lupin was truly a werewolf and Severus intended to prove it, then tonight …

Taking a shuddering breath, Petunia headed for her quarters. She almost hoped that Fluffy had ripped something apart, anything to take her mind off the course they were treading but he was unusually well-behaved when Petunia clipped his leash at one of his collars for his evening walk. He didn't even try to run away or chew her fingers once.

The castle had emptied since Petunia had left the Great Hall, most students in their common rooms as curfew was just around the corner. She walked the silent hallways, her steps echoing from the cold stones surrounding her when she heard voices.

Angry, familiar voices.

In another life, she would have scoffed and walked away. This night she hushed Fluffy and crept closer to the niche the voices were coming from.

"You did what? What if Snivellus actually goes there?"

"So? He deserves a scare for always sneaking around. He'll finally leave us alone."

"A scare? Padfoot, you know that Moony could really hurt him!"

"It's only Snivellus."

There was a short silence. Petunia feared that she had been noticed, that the way her fingers clenched the leash had made the leather creak or that her breathing had grown too fast. But then Potter's voice sounded again, strained with false patience.

"What about Remus? Do you think he could live with himself if he injured – or killed – someone? Especially while he's in this state?"

Another bout of silence. "He doesn't like Snivellus either."

"That doesn't matter! You know how he views himself, how he struggles, how could you do this to him?"

Petunia didn't bother listening to the rest, one word echoing inside her head.

Killed.

Or killed someone, he said. Not someone, but Severus. The wretched boy. Bane of her existence since that first day at the playing ground when he had emerged from the bushes like an emaciated woodland creature that was better left dwelling underground.

Petunia had never liked Severus. From the first time he had fired a curse at her and made her run away to the time he had betrayed her to the Magical Ministry, making her lose Aspen. He was unbearably annoying, from his unrelenting worship of Lily, the little care he showed himself to his constant suspicions. With his stupid stringy hair that definitely needed regular washes, his too large nose and his scary eyes, his crooked teeth and blood-less lips, not to mention his character, everything about him was repulsive. She was quite sure that no-one would miss him, at least not with any real depth. Lily would probably cry and tell stories about their shared childhood, but her thoughts wouldn't be on the boy he currently was, or on the one he could become. Petunia wasn't sure if he had any friends but couldn't imagine it, the wretched boy lounging around and laughing about stupid jokes with faceless mates. His parents … the less said about them, the better.

No, no-one would really miss Severus Snape. If he were to die that night, alone underneath a tree and falling to claws and teeth of one suspicion that had proven true, would anyone even notice?

So why was she running? Why was her breath scratching against her throat like a grater, why were her legs burning as she pressed another burst of speed from them, why was her skin sweaty but cold, the night air an icy slap against her face as she left the castle through giant doors.

Why did she alone care?

Thank you so much for reading and leaving reviews! I read all of them multiple times.

Concerning this chapter, I'm a bit apprehensive about my portrayal of Sirius because I know he is such a beloved character in the fandom (with good reasons). In my story I very much lean into his upbringing and more callous nature, which is introduced in canon. About the whole incident with Remus and Severus I quote Sirius in TPOA: "It served him right," he sneered. "Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to ... hoping he could get us expelled …"
We also have Remus' words about it: "Sirius thought it would be – er – amusing, to tell Snape all he had to do was prod the knot on the tree trunk with a long stick, and he'd be able to get in after me."
I'm sure there are many different versions of this incident other lovely (more talented) authors have come up with, but in mine Sirius does not consider Remus' perspective enough and cares even less about Severus' safety. I hope this doesn't read as unrealistic :)