Petunia and the Little Monster

March, 1972

The soles of her sneakers clapped across the dry road, the evening air smelling like pollen, sun-baked asphalt and spring. Petunia had chosen an empty strip of street far away from the busy main road, where people would be packing up for the day just about now. Petunia had made sure the street was deserted before softly whistling at Aspen, who was curiously examining an overflowing garbage can in a dingy side-alley, hidden from sight. His ears flicked and his pupil-less eyes caught the orange light of the setting sun, before he pranced over to her, his head now level with her own.

"You're definitely big enough to be flying by now," Petunia scolded him while adjusting the sleeves of her cardigan. It was warm enough that she didn't need a jacket anymore, but the sleeves were riding up exposing her delicate wrists to the still-cool air. Apparently Aspen wasn't the only one who had grown. "I think you're just too lazy."

Aspen blew some dry breath out of his nostrils.

"Don't snort at me. Don't you want to fly? I imagine it must be fabulous." And then a spear of longing and envy pierced her gut, because Lily was probably flying right now, on a magical broomstick. While Petunia was pushing their old, rusty bicycle along the asphalt, her undersized sneakers firmly planted on the ground.

This wasn't her first attempt to get Aspen to fly. The first few times she had assumed she had to get him to a higher place, like the roof, so he could jump down and flap his wings like a bird. But Aspen had morosely refused to be taken anywhere higher than a small hilltop.

And Petunia had found herself sitting at her desk, writing a letter, even though she had promised herself she would stop. That she wouldn't think about him again, much less write to him. But apparently she had grown used to finding help, to consult with Eugene if she encountered a problem.

However it had come about, the new strategy was to get Aspen to run fast and then beat his wings to take off. Following that plan, Petunia had started sprinting down the fields around her house, but Aspen just jumped and trotted and happily kept pace with her. And when Petunia collapsed into the dew-dotted grass, gasping, he affectionately nuzzled her hair, not at all exerted.

So she had taken the old bicycle out of storage as a last resort.

"You better flap your wings," she reminded him while she climbed onto the seat. It gave a protesting creak and she imagined a few rust flakes fluttering down. It had been quite a while since she had ridden it, probably back when she had shown Lily how to do it. Refusing to sink into the memories of red hair tickling her face and childish screeches of delight, she placed her feet on the pedals and pushed.

Her first few metres were a bit wobbly but then her body seemed to remember what to do and she gained speed. A mild breeze caught strands of her pale hair and pressed against her face while Petunia lifted from the seat, going as fast as she could. Aspen was keeping pace with her and she was glad to see that he actually had to stretch his legs this time.

And then his wings suddenly burst open like sails on a ship, catching the same breeze that was caressing her face. He beat them, once, twice, kicked his hooves ... and then they left the ground.

Petunia almost crashed her bike, managing to put her feet down just in time. One of the pedals painfully smashed into her calf, bruising it severely. But seeing Aspen lift into the air, she didn't even feel it.

A rare smile grazed her otherwise dour lips as she watched him circle in front of the evening sky, his night-black wings catching the last rays of golden sunshine. She couldn't understand why Thestrals were always described as ghastly - in that moment, Aspen looked positively majestic.

And even though her feet stayed rooted to the dusty street, her resentment was barely a twinge. This moment felt bitter and sweet at the same time.

Just like lime, her brain supplied and the thought lingered long after she'd returned home.

❀

Hey Petals,

Good to hear that Aspen finally managed to get his skinny behind into the air. Though I'm not really surprised that my advice was spot on, as always. Should I start offering tutoring for Care of Creatures, you think? I know a few people who might be tricked into accepting it and then I'll just get them to do my homework for me in the spirit of learning, as you have so gracefully declined to do it. Though I'm not complaining about the biscuits.

Best, Gene

Petunia slowly folded the letter, refusing to read it for a fourth time. There wasn't anything else to it except Eugene's usual casual banter and throwaway remarks. She barely remembered that once this same casualty had eased her trepidation at the thought of writing with a wizard and had helped her relax enough to ask her questions. Now it made her wonder how much he even thought about what to write her. He probably just sat down whenever he found the leisure time, scribbled a quick letter and sent it off before dedicating himself to something else.

He certainly didn't sit in his darkened room and read her letters multiple times. And he surely didn't ponder sleeplessly if he should even continue to answer her letters or not.

Despite herself, her eyes darted to her closed desk drawer. She knew what she would see if she pulled it open: a colourful little paper bag, untouched but well preserved. Petunia never took the box out or ate any of the small beans.

She just knew that they would make her sick, so there was no reason to risk it. She didn't need the thrill in her life.

❀