Petunia and the Little Monster

March 1975

Petunia found herself emotionally exhausted on the drive back, despite not really having done much. The faded upholstery of the uncomfortable car seat wanted to swallow her, every bump of the road akin to nursery rocking, the springs underneath her creaking in tune. Her interaction with Eugene had drained her emotional reserves, leaving only a breathing husk behind. She had gone from bitter and angry to relieved in too short of a time and it was as if her mind struggled to keep up.

Now it demanded a break, so Petunia found her focus on the wretched boy sitting next to her, bony shoulders curved as if to protect his body from touching anything around him.

Last year, when she had last seen him, Petunia had found herself enquiring with the school nurse. Not with any true purpose but simply a chance encounter that had evolved before she had thought it through.

And now she was compiling a mental list while staring at the boy.

Brittle hair, dry, inelastic skin, prominent bones. Yes.

Stunted growth, swollen belly or face. No.

Fatigued, irritable and apathetic. Always.

Petunia's focus lingered on the bags underneath his eyes, blood vessels showing through skin that looked too thin, almost see-through just like overstretched dough.

Then there was an almost inaudible hiss. "Stop staring at me."

Petunia blinked the haze of her contemplations away to transform her simple look into a glare. "I'm not."

His black eyes, framed by the same bluish bruises she had just been appraising, glared back. "You are."

"Am not."

"Are so."

"What would I even be looking at?" Petunia exhaled heavily through her nose, a snort she quickly deemed unlady-like and wished she could take back.

The wretched boy showed his teeth, like a rabid animal and Petunia did her best to not roll her eyes.

For a second her eyes lingered on his gums, almost bloodless, the colour of washed-up earthworms curling around his crooked teeth.

It didn't look healthy. "Have you been eating?"

The wretched boy blinked, his lips lowering. For a second there was silence between them, only filled by the low growl of the motor and the cheerful chattering of Lily and her mother coming from the front seat, something about homework.

The moment was broken when the wretched boy looked away, his eyes flitting towards the window at his side, tracing the residue of dusty rain-splotches painting the glass. "Mind your own business."

Petunia lifted her chin haughtily. "Whatever."

They didn't speak again for the rest of the drive but nonetheless, Petunia didn't feel as if her question had been left unanswered.

After all, the look in his eyes had said it all.

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The bed bounced when Lily threw herself on it, her braid flicking through the air like a red tongue.

"I knew it!"

Frankly, Petunia was a bit surprised at the ease with which Lily moved in their shared space, a freshwater fish returning to the small pond of her spawn from the adventure of streaming rivers and falls the rest of the year. The strain that had lingered between them before Lily had left for Hogwarts, birthed by Petunia's realisation of the war, seemed buried. Lily had always been much better at laying grudges to rest, forgetting unhappiness as if she simply couldn't agree with the concept.

There had been no tearful talk of forgiveness, no shouted resentment, simply falling into her childhood bed with worries left in the season they cropped up, not harvested and carried along for months on end.

Not like Petunia.

"Knew what?" Petunia replied as nonchalantly as possible and tried to decide on her own settling. At the desk, sorting her school bag? On her own bed but without any jumping and a straight spine?

How come Lily appeared much more at home than Petunia, who was the one that actually inhabited this room year-round?

"That the two of you are going out! Oh, Dorcas will eat her words!"

All contemplations of proper seating were forgotten in an instance. "What?"

"You and Gene! Come on, Tuney, you were so obvious. And he's not much better - he was so moody in school, everyone noticed, it's so unlike him!"

"Moody?"

"Yes, moody, moping, however you want to put it - Gene's usually real cheerful and friendly, getting along with everyone, even Slyhterins, but the last few months he was like a changed person, curt and silent, and we started wondering why. And I told Dorcas it must be something to do with you, that the two of you are going out and something must have happened! She didn't believe me, but now ..."

"You're talking about -" me, us, him "- Eugene with your friends?"

"Well, yes, he's kinda famous so everyone talks about him, you know, because of his Dad, but also because he's pretty popular, good-looking and nice and all. There'll be quite a few broken hearts thanks to you, Tuney!" Lily giggled as if this news should somehow make Petunia happy, and maybe it would have, out of gleeful spite, if her relationship with Eugene hadn't been so wobbly the last few months.

"Popular?"

Lily shrugged, rolling over on the bed so she could look at Petunia who still stood aimlessly next to the door. "Hmm, he has that whole 'gentle friend of my big brother' thing down pat and this is his last year, so I guess a lot of girls were hoping to take their chance and confess before he's graduating."

Something must have shown on Petunia's face because Lily quickly tacked on: "I don't think anyone actually succeeded, with the mood he was in - and after all, he has you, right?"

Petunia wished she could nod, flip her flimsy hair and declare with confidence that yes, Eugene was with her. But the reality was that they hadn't spoken since that cursed Quidditch game, they hadn't even exchanged letters. And no matter that she could still feel his warmth lingering on her fingers, they had never talked about everything that had happened in between.

"What are you doing?" Lily sat up when Petunia marched towards her desk with determined strides, like a soldier striding into battle.

"Writing a letter."

She'd rather visit Ivy sooner than later.

❀