Petunia and the Little Monster

July 1973

"My father has always been ... eccentric. Sometimes I'm convinced he understands beasts better than people. Might even prefer them. There are exceptions of course - my mother, me, my uncle and aunt - but in general he doesn't concern himself overmuch with others."

Petunia swallowed against her dry mouth, a strangled tangle of nerves bursting in her stomach. She knew that this was something important, something personal, and Eugene was sharing it with her.

"He never cared about his fame. He actually couldn't care less. But in that he is the only one - everyone else puts a lot of stock on it. And his reputation exceeds him. He is known to be difficult to approach."

A strange urge to be closer, to not stand above Eugene like a judging statue lest he stopped talking, propelled Petunia towards the steps. She kept her eyes on him when she carefully lowered herself down next to him, the rough stone a shock of cold against her thighs even through the layer of her dress. But Eugene didn't scoot or lean away. Instead there was a smile playing around his lips - small, and not at all like the one that she was so used to seeing, but a smile nonetheless.

"I didn't really have a concept of my father beyond being 'my father' until I was about five. I went to a friend's birthday party and instead of playing with the children, his parents talked to me the whole time, asking me about 'Newton Scamander, the famous magizoologist'. And the older I became, the more things I noticed. At first I enjoyed all the attention. It made me feel special, proud even, though being born as someone's son was nothing I had accomplished or influenced in any way. Until I realised one day that all the flattery was hollow and not meant for me. They didn't care about me, just as my father didn't care about them. If I was the best or the worst in class, the teacher would praise me regardless. If I got into a fight, the other kid got blamed before anyone even questioned what happened. It was a privilege but strangely, it was a burden at the same time. I think if my Mum were less strict, I would have turned into a complete brat."

Petunia shook her head without thinking, Eugene being the farthest thing from 'brat' she could imagine.

"Sometimes, it just all comes rushing back. The fake smiles and compliments, the hints that they would love to meet my father or visit my home with all the creatures ... and then there was you. I thought we were friends, a unique kind of friendship, and then it suddenly stopped. And now you're here, waiting for my father and ... I'm sorry for the way I acted. It wasn't fair to you."

"I'm jealous of my sister." Petunia blinked after the words had already tumbled from her lips, more surprised than Eugene. But for some reason she just couldn't stop herself. "Lily's pretty. She's vibrant and full of laughter and sunshine. She's magic."

The word sounded like a vile curse out of her mouth.

"Compared to her I was nothing. Before Aspen, I was nothing. Had nothing."

No friends, no confidence. No joy.

Petunia opened her mouth, but self-preservation finally pulled the brakes on her bitter confession.

She shouldn't be saying these things to anyone, especially not to the boy she wanted to look good in front of.

Why had she let herself go, why had she let him see her for the small-minded, black-hearted thing that she was?

Eugene leaned back on his hands, his shoulders curving so his collarbone stood out prominently. Petunia's lungs felt crumbled and squeezed while she waited for his judgement, his realisation - jealous, ugly trollop who wished she was half as good as her sister - but instead his smile widened a bit.

"Seems like we're both a bit messed up thanks to our families."

Petunia's heart started beating again. She hadn't even noticed it had stopped. "You make it sound like it's Lily's fault instead of mine."