Petunia and the Little Monster

August 1974

Petunia cradled the cup in her hands, letting the tea warm her fingers through the barrier of porcelain. Eugene had given Petunia 'her' cup, the one with only one small chip at the edge and delicate forget-me-nots painted across its smooth surface.

The familiar sight gave her no comfort at the moment.

"War?"

Eugene remained silent. Maybe because he had already repeated it two times. Maybe because he didn't know what to say.

Maybe because there was nothing more to say.

Petunia's skin was twitching, her exhausted muscles trembling. Coldness was spreading deep inside her bones, despite the warm tea she was sipping and the scratchy blanket Eugene had draped over her dirty skirts. (One of her favourite skirts, forever ruined by mud and grass - blood and memories.)

Her toe had turned into a dull, throbbing ache that proved harder and harder to ignore with every second. Maybe it was because of the waning adrenaline or shock. Petunia didn't know and couldn't bring herself to care.

The wizards were at war with each other.

Petunia's perceptions of war were very limited, to things she learned at school and the uneasy glances her parents had sometimes exchanged when they remembered something they never talked about. Petunia knew that her father had been drafted for the last war, had been enlisted when he was barely older than she was now - but it had always seemed so far away, something that was long past and wouldn't touch her life. He never talked about it and when he limped slightly as the weather turned especially cold, everyone in her family acted like they didn't notice.

But now ... there was a war. A war that had turned a nice outing with Eugene into a scenario that Petunia would surely revisit in her nightmares.

The giant figure, shrouded in spells, the sheer panic and chaos that had surrounded her, her heart trying to rabbit out of her chest, the pinch in her throat while she was running all alone, thinking she would never find a way out ...

A hand covered hers before her shivering would make the hot tea splash onto her clammy skin. The hand that she had so happily held hours mere hours ago was now scratched up, dirt crusted underneath his nails. Eugene's skin felt just as cold as hers.

"This war ... who's fighting?"

His fingers twitched, his hand clenching slightly around hers. "Maniacs."

Petunia stared at him until he continued, his voice raw. "They want to topple the government and rule instead. They have certain ideas about who should and shouldn't be allowed into our society."

This sounded frighteningly familiar. The things Lily had told her about her school, that she feared for Severus ... "Blood-purists?"

If Eugene was shocked that she knew about it, it didn't show in his face. Instead it was lined with exhaustion and something harder. His eyes were almost black in the low light filtering into the room they had decided to curl up in, limping inside from that secluded street in Dorset until they felt safe, encased by these familiar walls.

"Yes. They're fanatics and dangerous. There have been multiple attacks and they seem to be escalating. But I never thought they would set a giant loose at the World Cup ..."

Memories cascaded over Petunia, her slim shoulders curving under their weight. This was the room where she had first arrived all those months ago, with the big fireplace that allowed her to floo in. It was used to store and prepare food for the magical creatures and had become something of a home-base over the months of visiting Eugene and Ivy. But now its brick walls felt as if they could crumble around her, the shelves and jars around her replaced by shadowy figures, the crackling of the fireplace behind her sounding like screams and roars.

Eugene's thumb stroked across her palm, the motions slow and calming. Petunia met his eyes and tried to steady her heart.

She was back, she was safe. Nothing could have followed them.

Something about what Eugene had just said was nagging at her mind, as if her brain was chewing over his words and something got stuck in its teeth.

Eugene never thought something would happen at the World Cup ... but he had known that it was a remote possibility.

And he had never mentioned it to Petunia. In all their time together he never even hinted at something darker going on in his world, whenever they met they talked about Magical Beasts or their family or interesting human inventions.

Never about war.

"Why have you never told me?"

There was a beat of silence. "I hoped you would never need to know."

Never need to know? Even though Petunia wasn't a witch, her most important touchpoints, Aspen, Eugene (Lily), were all deeply entrenched in that world. How could he think to keep this quiet? Why did he think this wouldn't concern her?

A small suspicion festered in her heart, making her sick. She pulled her hand away. "Because I'm a muggle?"

"Because you should never get involved with it. I thought ... that maybe I could keep you safe."

"How would ignorance keep me safe?"

Eugene didn't answer. Petunia took a deep breath and sipped at her tea, hoping the familiar motion would settle her. It was bitter on her tongue, a fuzzy residue lingering behind that made her mouth curl. "How long?"

"Petals ..."

"How long?"

He rubbed his face. "Maybe three years. But it was never like this before."

Three years of war, and Petunia hadn't even known.

Eugene was one thing, but why had Lily never mentioned anything? If not to Petunia then at least to their parents? Surely this was more important than her stupid Potions assignment or meeting up with her friends.

Memories creeped up out of Petunia's subconsciousness, little snippets of situations she had never really connected. Mrs. Weasley at the train station when she had invited Petunia to her home and lamented the 'hard times'. Bilius and Frank's comments about getting in trouble that hadn't made much sense to her.

Lily's face when she had looked at their father's newspaper.

How come Petunia had never really questioned any of it? Did she willfully keep her eyes closed to the harsh reality that lurked in those wide green orbs, Bilius' scornful voice, Eugene's evasions?

Did she simply refuse to acknowledge the danger?

Petunia stared down into her tea as if it held all the answers but the only thing she saw was her own murky reflection, swimming and trembling on the opaque surface.

Eugene had lied to her, by omission. He had kept her in the dark and her biggest worries before this day had started was if their outfits would clash, if she would understand the game, if they would somehow keep her out of their world because of her status ...

All that faded in comparison to the reality of what had happened. Not even once had Petunia thought she had reason to fear for her safety.

Because Eugene had failed to warn her.

She didn't know what she was supposed to feel. Maybe outrage, maybe an echo of that same fear that had propelled her across the field, maybe even a smidge of tired understanding, but somehow everything was dulled. All she truly perceived was her aching toe.

Somehow it felt like there was only one thing left for her.

"I'm going home."

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