P.EVANS + J.POTTER

8

P.EVANS + J.POTTER

let's see if i post this the same day i write it

also, as of one hour ago (but not in a recent chapter)... someone just guessed the traitor.. (,:

<8>
he's back

DESPITE JAMES' PROTEST, PETUNIA shoo'ed him away as she went back to her half-written paper, which luckily did not get covered by her previously spilled ink. Her words were scribbled, obviously rushed as she was somewhat panicked for her friend. Though, as she deemed it as readable, Petunia didn't pay much mind to it.

The blonde blew at the ink, hoping for it to dry faster as it was already slightly smeared near the bottom. And as she lightly tapped it, checking her finger right after — Petunia breathed out relief as she realized the ink didn't transmit to her finger.

She began to fold it neatly.

Top to bottom, once more to fit in an envelope, Petunia began to deepen the crease as she pinched the paper between her fingertips.

Until she stopped.

Petunia looked behind her.

The main light flickering — off, on, off, on — The window darkening, no longer showing the comforting snow. There was a draft in the room. Or at least Petunia thought there was. The hair on her arms raised and the goosebumps once again filled her body. The air felt thinner and much to Petunia's horror — the familiar pain hit her temples.

"James?!" Her voice was weak, unheard to anyone in the house, "... Sirius?" Her voice grew quieter, leading the girl to look around panicked.

Silence was the only thing in response to her — and as she felt unsafe in her room, Petunia ran to her door, trying to open it.

But it wouldn't budge.

Petunia pulled several times, biting back the quiver in her lip as her arm stung sourly. She knew he was here — She could feel his presence.

"Leave me alone," Her hoarse voice threatened through her tears, "Not anymore."

He hadn't responded to her, not once. But Petunia knew he heard her. Because every second, her scar burned more furiously — indicating that he was near her.

She refused to keep her eyes away from the door before her. Petunia knew if she turned around, the sight of a shadow would be right next to her — looking down at her in a threatening way.

And Petunia refused to look up at him in fear. She didn't want to show him, she was done looking afraid. So, she ignored him. She ignored the familiar feeling of his eyes burning into her, she ignored the hand that placed itself next to her pained temple.

Petunia let the blood from her open scar drop onto the hard wood flooring — she refused to move, to flinch.

"I want to see him."

she tried to fight it

But voldemort always won in the end.

darkness overtook.

And it only took a second.

petunia could hear beeps

she could hear her screams

unfamiliar voices

james

Her eyes refused to open, already being blinded by the bright lights in the room they were in. The smell of chemicals hit her nose strongly, causing her to scrunch it in discomfort. And the variety of sounds and people made her wince further — not knowing what was happening.

She could still feel Voldemort behind her, his hand staying firm on her temple as the vision was still unclear. Neither of them could see what was happening — Petunia was holding it back.

But the sound of a cry took over.

Not a hurt one, or one where someone was upset. It was young and confused, loud but innocent. It wasn't someone she knew — it wasn't familiar to her.

Petunia's eyes mistakingly opened.

And she stared at the sight before her, no longer caring about the bright lights. Because she was now distracted.

Distracted by seeing herself, but slightly older, in a hospital bed. Distracted by seeing an older James next to her, widely smiling as happy tears escaped his eyes.

But mostly, distracted by the sight of a small child laying in her arms — its cries barely getting quieter as it stared back at the older version of her.

"Harry Potter."

The words did not come from either of the people she was seeing — but from the person behind her.

Voldemort's hissed voice had just said his name, both disgust and anger filling his tone. Petunia could tell he had a deep hatred for the boy in her arms. But why? She had no idea.

Petunia could barely even think straight as she looked at him, almost admiring him in a way. He looked like her, he had her eyes. He had James' hair.

Petunia knew what this sight was.

And for once, she didn't want it to go away.

P.EVANS + J.POTTER