P.EVANS + J.POTTER

2

P.POTTER + J.POTTER

june 2nd, 1982

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        PETUNIA POTTER SAT IN A BED in the farthest corner of the room, blankly staring forward. There were people around her, people she couldn't recognize — would never recognize, no matter how many times she'd seen them. They were all a blur to her, just like the world was now.

       Loss of color, feelings leaving without a trace. She couldn't think, she couldn't remember, she couldn't speak. She was lost. Lost in herself. Lost in the mind that was no longer her own.

She felt something course through her, the harsh pain that stabbed through her just a year ago. The burning sensation as red engulfed her, the screams she let out as her body erupted from the inside. Her thoughts and memories went into a frenzy as a word was repeated at her. One, two... five.... six times.

Crucio.

The only word that still hit her mind. Crucio. Crucio. Crucio. The last thing spoken to her before she went blank.

Petunia's eyes watered as the word repeated in her head, growing louder each time. It was like it was affecting her all over again — causing a piercing pain to surround her body.

        She trembled, barely, not enough for anyone else to notice. But she did. The blonde refused to blink, to let the water trail down her heated cheeks. She couldn't cry. She wouldn't cry. Not in front of them. These people she couldn't recognize. Strangers. No.

        She sat up straight, ignoring the whispering sounds of everyone around her. She ignored the doors being closed. She ignored the crying. She ignored the footsteps.

The footsteps.

           The steps that stopped right next to her bed, soon being followed by a sound of a stool scraping against the floor as it was drug in her direction.

Then silence.

And he sat down.

         Not saying a word, he looked to her, his eyes boring into the side of her face. She did not return the eye contact. She never had before. He was a stranger. A very persistent one at that.

"Petunia Potter," He started out. Just like he always had before — she knew that, a part of her remembered that part. He had been coming every day since she could remember — almost as if he was trying to remind her. 'petunia potter' Two words that were foreign to her.

          "Harry couldn't make it today," He continued on, "Pete is watching him."

          Petunia stopped the furrow of her brows from hearing those names. Harry. Pete. He's said these names before, countless of times. But she couldn't picture a face. She couldn't even picture her face. How could she with them?

          Petunia waited for him to speak again, to ask her a question in hopes she would use her voice. Her voice. A voice she hadn't used in a year. She didn't know how. How could she? What words did she even know?