Petunia and the Little Monster

December 1973

Christmas morning was supposed to be filled with the sugary smell of baking cookies, the cold bite of frost in the air outside to contrast the cosy warmth within the house, the rustle of her father's newspaper and above all Lily's high exclamations over her presents which were always accompanied by her mother's indulgent happy noises.

Only this morning Lily was silent.

Petunia stared at Lily who in turn stared at their unaware father. Her eyes were wide, her lips were pale and the grasp around the pretty burgundy cloak her mother had taken ages to chose for her magical daughter ('Petunia, do you think Lily will like this? Is it witchy enough? I don't want her to stand out just because we can't shop in the right stores.') was so lax the smooth fabric slipped partly from her fingers to pool beneath the breakfast table like spilled wine.

Petunia's eyes ghosted to her father, trying to see what Lily was looking at. He looked like he always did in the mornings, slightly rumbled with a smattering of small wrinkles circling his eyes and his light hair matted on one side. He was wearing his reading glasses and didn't notice his daughters' regard while flipping a page of his paper with much rustling.

And that was when Petunia realised that Lily wasn't staring at their father at all but instead staring at what he was reading. Today's headline was printed thick and black on the slightly grey paper, impossible to overlook and didn't proclaim Merry Christmas tidings to suit the atmosphere, but sensational tragedy as always.

Family killed under collapsing roof, Petunia read and wondered if it was bad that she wasn't as shook up as Lily. Was she supposed to feel something other than the small twinge of discomfort, that almost originated more from thinking about something like that on Christmas instead of actually pity or shock at the misfortune family.

Was Petunia cold-hearted for not paling and gaping at the headline like Lily was doing? Or was Lily just that pure and good, that bad news no matter if connected to her or not, would always make her sad? That she could empathise with the pain of everyone, connect with everyone and get everyone to like her because she was so genuine that it just made her better than anyone else.

Petunia buttered her toast with a bit more force than necessary, her dull knife breaking through the crust and leaving a mess of dry crumbles behind. She paused above her plate, staring at the slightly blackened dots scattered over her plate as if they were a map leading her to the right answer.

"Are you alright, honey?"

For one ludicrous second Petunia almost thought her mother had addressed her before she looked up and saw her mother's eyes firmly fixed to Lily's pale visage.

"Do you not like the colour? We can surely go back and look for one you like better -"

Lily swallowed with some difficulty, finally tearing her gaze away from the newspaper and donned a smile that Petunia could see through without effort. "Mum, I love it! It's perfect for going to Hogsmeade, everyone will be jealous! Have I told you about Hogsmeade yet? It's this little town right next to the school, and it has everything you could ever wish for and this year I'm finally allowed to go! There's a store there exclusively for sweets ..."

Petunia tuned out Lily's ramblings as she had long learned to do, but her attention remained on her younger sister even when a bit of colour returned to her cheeks and her voice gained fervour.

Because once or twice Lily's green eyes ghosted back to the paper as if she just couldn't help herself. And Petunia was starting to doubt that it was simply out of Lily's perfect pity.

Because Lily didn't look sad.

She looked scared.

❀

Krampus was waiting on her window sill when Petunia got back to her room after clearing the table, his feather puffed up to bolster himself against the cold wind. It made him look almost adorable, something Petunia rarely associated with the intimidating bird, usually all piercing orange eyes, crooked beak and pointed feathers like devil's horns.

Krmapus was quick to destroy this adorable impression when his eyes spotted Petunia and he pecked the innocent glass pane in front of him with forceful vehemence. Petunia thought he might even be able to peck through if she just left him to it long enough but not wanting to test that theory at the expense of her intact window she quickly opened it, allowing him to hop inside.

The owl's hop was a bit lopsided, a package tied to one of his feet. Petunia couldn't suppress a smile when she saw it and quickly glanced behind her at the open doorway. Lily must still be downstairs, modelling her new cloak to her mother's happiness, for Petunia could faintly hear her praises echo through the house.

For once Petunia didn't feel a sting of envy but relief and went to close her door. She wanted privacy when she opened Eugene's present, not because she was embarrassed or wanted to hide it, but because it was something just for her. And she didn't intend to share any of it with her sister.

She stepped up to Krampus, who had settled down on her desk, ironically right next to the present he would be carrying back to Eugene, a present Petunia had spent long hours on.

She had knit a scarf. It wasn't the prettiest scarf Petunia had ever seen, her skills still too new to allow for any elaborate patterns but she had taken care with each stitch she added, wanting it to look neat and tidy when she was finished. On a whim she had chosen wool the colour of melted caramel, something warm she knew would suit Eugene well.

The package was square and not too heavy when Petunia went to untie it, fitting into her hand without strain. Maybe another book, she mused while flipping the wrapping paper aside - and then her eyes widened.

It wasn't a book. It was something much better - a framed picture, but unlike any picture Petunia had seen before because it moved.

Entranced Petunia watched herself sit on gold-tinted grass, slightly pressed down where Eugene had been sitting next to her just moments before. She still remembered how it had tickled her skin, she perfectly remembered the afternoon Eugene must have taken this picture without her realising. And the only reason she hadn't realised was that Ivy was curled around her, one loop of her scaled body around Petunia's waist, another around her shoulders and the final around her wrist so Ivy could rest her head on Petunia's palm. And Petunia watched as Ivy's feathers fluttered in a warm breeze, as her big eyes slowly blinked. And she watched herself, the way she smiled and for the first time in all her life Petunia thought that she looked pretty. Wrapped in Ivy, with sunlight in her hair and a smile on her face Petunia could be pretty. Maybe not as pretty as Lily, maybe never as pretty as Lily, but pretty nonetheless in her own way.

And as long as that was what Eugene saw when he looked at her, as long as Eugene liked it to the point of secretly taking a picture of her, it was enough.

And Petunia smiled and knew for once in her life that it was her pretty smile.

❀

Krampus is back - Who else missed him?