Petunia and the Little Monster

July 1973

Petunia quietly watched as Lily was engulfed by poison-green flames, her long hair floating and her face looking eerie for just a second before she was gone. Off to visit one of her Hogwarts friends, Petunia hadn't paid attention to which one.

Tearing her eyes from the now empty fireplace, Petunia glanced at the floral vase next to it. The address on the thin scrap of paper seemed to be burning the inside of her mind, etched in white-hot letters. The fireplace was beckoning her, its blackened bricks like a dark promise whispered in her ears.

You can see Ivy again, you can play with her and hear her call you, if you just take a step, it seemed to say.

But Petunia hesitated to take that step. Not because it was the house of an unknown wizard or because she was apprehensive of learning that Ivy might be thriving, even without her.

No, Petunia was hesitating because it was Summer Break. And if Lily and the wretched boy were home from Hogwarts, then surely he would be as well.

The fire Lily had painstakingly coaxed to life was still merrily burning, small bright sparks crackling in the still air like taunting snickers, but the colour was slowly bleeding back to orange, gold and flickering red. Petunia stared at it and suddenly felt her resolve strengthen as if to spite the mocking flames.

So what if Eugene was actually there? She would just ignore him, or treat him with schooled politeness if he tried to talk to her. Petunia had long ago cast off his influence like a snake would old, useless skin. Meeting him wouldn't impact her one way or another.

Repeating it a few more times in her head so she'd start to believe it, Petunia scooped a handful of glittering powder out of the vase and threw it into the hungry flames. They exploded with a whoosh into green, flickering tongues, stretching for her, and Petunia heeded their call, stepping inside the fireplace, burning wood crumbling beneath her soles. Prickles ran up her limbs while she tightly closed her eyes and recited the address she already knew by heart.

The by now almost familiar sense of vertigo assaulted her, scrambling her senses and stirring her essence and just when Petunia felt it was unbearable and that she would lose herself, it all came crashing back and she was whole again. Stumbling forward she coughed at the ashy film clinging to her throat, while blinking her eyes open.

Petunia's first instinct told her that she was in a kitchen - a strangely antiquated kitchen with open fires and cauldrons instead of gas-stoves and pots and open brick walls that were dark and undisturbed by windows. The only illumination came from the bright flames behind her, bathing everything in a sinister, greenish glow. Taking a few steps away from their dry heat, Petunia inspected the objects arrayed around her. Instead of sugar, salt and flour the wooden shelves held arrays of dried flowers and potted plants and a large table dominating the middle of the room was laden down with raw, bloody meat. If Petunia hadn't been familiar with the metallic, strangely sweet smell because of regularly feeding Aspen with the same, she might have felt sick when the aroma lingered around her nose.

Before she could reach the door at the other end of the room, it burst open, a woman carrying an empty bucket bustling inside. She stalled when she saw Petunia, who had frozen in shock.

It wasn't that the woman looked intimidating, quite the contrary. She was wearing a high-collared, grey dress that was last in fashion around the time Petunia's mother had been born, faded and worn with frequent use. Her frizzy hair was held in two lopsided buns on the sides of her head, the original strawberry-blond colour blinking through between strands of grey. Just like with Newt, Petunia found it hard to pinpoint the woman's age; there were a few lines etched around her thin-lipped mouth, but not enough to actually consider her old-looking. A smear of dirt adorned her rather plain face, no rouge or lipstick giving her a bit of liveliness.

It wasn't her appearance that caused Petunia to freeze. It was the fact that Petunia had expected to encounter Newt (or even Eugene) but not a stranger.

But why shouldn't she? It wasn't like she had announced her arrival in any way ... to think of it, it was actually very rude of Petunia to just burst into someone's home through a fireplace, without proper invitation or even prior notice ...

"Oh." The unknown woman broke the silence first, setting down her bucket with a hollow clatter. "You must be the girl Mr. Scamander talked about."

Upon hearing this Petunia slightly relaxed and gave a polite smile. "Hello. My name is Petunia Evans. I'm sorry for just coming in like this ..."

"Bunty Broadacre," the woman introduced herself, giving a smile in return. "Don't be sorry, Mr. Scamander assured me that you're always welcome. You're looking for the Occamy?"

Petunia nodded and felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach that eased her tense nerves like running a soothing palm down Aspen's flank. Was it really this easy? Would she really see Ivy again in just a few fleeting moments?

And then another thought crept in. What if Ivy didn't recognize her? Or what if she didn't want Petunia anymore, now that she was with a Magizoologist like Newt, who surely knew a lot more about her care than a muggle girl reading his book?

Bunty of course didn't sense Petunia's worries. She exchanged her empty bucket for a new one that had a tin lid, which she flipped open for a second. A round brown pellet floated from the container as if it was weightless and Petunia followed its wobbling trajectory with wide eyes. Bunty quickly snapped the lid closed again with a resounding clang. "I'll take you to them on my way to the Mooncalves. It can be a bit disorientating out there."

Petunia was just debating if she should ask what the woman meant or if that would come across as too ignorant when she had followed her through the doorway and the question became moot.

Petunia was inside a labyrinth. A labyrinth of criss-crossing stairs that led up and down into endless darkness, open doorways interspersed between them, offering disorienting glimpses into new worlds.

Petunia was reminded of Newt's suitcase, while she numbly followed behind Bunty. The woman didn't comment on Petunia's stunned expression, a business-like briskness to her steps that didn't allow the girl to linger in front of any of the doors. But it was still enough for brief glimpses and a bubbly, excited feeling tickled Petunia's chest at each new world she caught sight of.

One of them was covered in frost and snow, a chilling gust blazing across Petunia's exposed skin when she walked in front of it, while the next one greeted her with a blast of heat that almost singed the fine hairs off her arms, while smoke hid everything but the brightly glowing lava from view through the doorway. A thundering waterfall, whose noise drowned out the echo of Petunia's steps and whose spray soaked the front of her shirt was next, only to be replaced by grainy sand when she walked by an endless, red desert.

And then her eyes glimpsed something through the next doorway and her feet simply stopped as if they had been caught in tar.

The most fantastic displays of nature, contained in a wizard's maze, hadn't made her breath catch as effectively as what she was currently staring at.

The biome behind the arched bricks showed a wide, sprawling plain with softly rustling grass and wildflowers. A bright blue sky complimented it, looking endless and cheery.

A creature was reclined on the grass, its head, front legs and giant wings that of an eagle while its body and hind legs resembled a horse. Sunlight was caught in its pure black feathers and fur, making its beak and eyes stand out in startling yellow.

But the strange, majestic creature wasn't what Petunia was staring at. No, all of her attention was fixed on the golden-haired boy patting its neck.

Eugene.

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