Petunia and the Little Monster

September, 1971

She learned many new things about the little monster. It liked to follow her around when she was outside and if it wanted to run it would nip at her heels. Once Petunia started walking faster it pranced next to her, throwing its terrifying head in delight. It also liked to be touched, especially its thin neck and chest. The touch should be careful stroking, as anything heavier seemed uncomfortable to its cold, rubbery skin. The only part it wanted to be vigorously scratched was the place the flimsy mane grew out of. It didn't like when Petunia got too close to its thin stomach, and while it allowed her to touch its legs and wings, it didn't seem to especially enjoy it.

After a few trial and errors Petunia figured that it ate meat, almost exclusively and no matter the type or quality. But its favourite seemed to be chicken.

If it wanted to appear bigger and imposing it would flap its wings open and stretch them high above its head. Petunia had seen this only once, when a neighbourhood dog had come too close to her. The little monster had lowered its head, raised its wings and made a strange sound somewhere between a neigh and a hiss.

She started taking daily walks with the little monster after school. As she couldn't take the little monster up to her room, Petunia had ventured into their old garden shed and cleaned out an area where she built a small nest out of old tarps. The little monster usually slept there but spent the rest of its time outside, waiting on her route to school or playing in the forest by itself.

Petunia was quite surprised when one day after her walk she returned to her room and saw a big owl sitting outside her window.

She hadn't expected another letter - she hadn't asked a question in her last one and she couldn't fathom that someone would write her without a need to reply.

Maybe he wants compensation for his help. Petunia felt sure in her guess, after all he had to have a reason to contact her.

Not giving herself any time to think about it further, Petunia opened the window and took the letter fastened to the owl's leg before quickly ripping it open.

Petals,

Of course he's a clever bird, he was raised by yours truly after all.

Blinking, Petunia read on.

How did it go with the Thestral? You can't tell only half of the story. You might not know, but people have money riding on this. There's not much in the way of entertainment around here if you're not a huge fan of Quidditch.

Good luck with the lawsuit,

Gene

Petunia read the few sentences twice more, before heavily sitting down at her desk. She felt strange, a part of her was actually disappointed that her expectations weren't met - she had been sure the letter would contain some request other than for her to tell him what happened. Another part of her was quietly elated, and that scared her much more.

She shouldn't build expectations for people, only for them to never meet them. The boy was overly casual, maybe helpful, but still a wizard. Not someone that she could ever understand or ... befriend.

In truth, some of Petunia's loneliness was self-inflicted. She was prickly and easily peeved and didn't want to cater to anyone, because she felt she should look out for herself as no one else did. The first few years in school she hadn't bothered to make friends, because she spent all her time playing with Lily - who was much prettier and nicer than her classmates anyway. When Lily discovered her magic and the sister's relationship broke apart, Petunia was already isolated.

She had tried once or twice to build a connection with some girls her age, but each time it failed, either because they couldn't stand Petunia or because Petunia felt they didn't live up to her image of what a friend should be.

The fantasy of a penpal had actually been something she idolised, because it meant she wouldn't have to be directly involved. She didn't have to face anyone, a safe barrier of ink and paper between her and her potential friend.

Folding Eugene's letter closed, Petunia hesitated for a second.

He's a wizard, she reminded herself. But even though he had magic, like Lily, Petunia strangely didn't feel as resentful of him. Maybe because she had never compared herself with him or maybe it was because he hadn't flaunted his magic in front of her, she couldn't really say.

Opening yourself up is just asking to get hurt.

Petunia considered for a moment. Maybe she wouldn't open herself up then. Just treat it as a casual correspondence, a hobby to pass the time - exchanging letters with a wizard. She wouldn't invest any emotions or hope into it.

Coming to a decision, she picked up a pen and began formulating a response, retelling how she had found the little monster again.

And if she never got another reply, she wouldn't take it to heart.