Petunia and the Little Monster

September 1975 (5)

"Tuney!"

She could feel faces turn in her direction, chatter hushing.

"Lily."

Her sister looked fresh-faced and lovely as always, though Petunia couldn't help noticing how short she wore her skirt, just like the girls surrounding her, or the shimmer of gloss on her lips.

Her sister danced closer, her tone thankfully losing volume, not that everyone sitting in their vicinity wouldn't still be able to hear her clearly.

"Where are you off to? Breakfast has barely started."

"Hagrid told me to meet him at his hut."

"So early?"

Petunia didn't deign to give an answer instead glancing at the girls Lily had separated from. They were making their way to one of the long tables, all of them pretty and confident, with shining hair, swishing robes and tinkling laughs, a flock of swans gliding through the hall with a plumage of confidence and smiles.

Petunia didn't miss the fact that Lily hadn't introduced Petunia as her sister, just like she didn't miss that the girls had felt no compulsion to enquire. Either they already knew or they simply didn't care.

Or Lily had told them not to.

The suspicion was an ugly one, a festering boil hidden underneath red skin but Petunia didn't dare lace the thin layer of hope that covered it for fear of exposing it as truth.

Not willing to linger on that thought, Petunia quickly pressed her thumb into the flesh of her palm, stopping any hasty retorts from forming.

"Enjoy your breakfast, Lily."
Her sister nodded, cheerful and unsuspecting. "See you around, Tuney."

Leaving the stares and whispers behind, Petunia made her way from the Great Hall and wondered if it was better or worse to be known as Lily's muggle sister or simply a strange girl that somehow knew the most popular student at their freak school.

Hagrid's hut was at the foot of the hill the castle itself sat on, bordering the edge of a tall forest that caught Petunia's attention firmly and held it. The trees looked different from the ones she knew from the small sprawling forest back in Cokeworth, there was nothing sheltering or dainty about them. No light wound its way beneath the foliage, there was no whisper of rustling leaves or cushions of moss. Instead the trunks towered above her, thick and layered in coarse bark that looked fit to shred soft skin at the first brush, branches like grasping skeletal hands reaching for her, thorns and bristles shielding any path that would lead between the roots. It looked unforgiving, forbidding and above all else ... dark. Petunia couldn't think of another word that would aptly describe it.

"Mornin'!"

Her gaze wandered from the depth of the trees toward the mountain of a man standing in front of the small stone hut, a teacup held in his hand that would for anyone else function as a pot.

Petunia watched as Hagrid made his way over, his lumbering steps eating the distance between them at an alarming pace.

When he stopped at her side she could smell the faint aroma of leather, grease and something herbal, complemented by the spicy scent of ginger and lemon wafting from his tea.

"Good morning," Petunia returned his greeting, refusing to lay her head back to look at him.

He huffed good-naturedly. "It is, isn' it. A good mornin', I mean."

Petunia glanced at the overcast sky, a mirror to the one she had seen in the Great Hall when she had first entered it.

"Your firs' day," Hagrid continued. "Ye eaten yet?"

Petunia found herself shaking her head before the question had really penetrated all layers of her understanding.

"Come on then. We'll leave the Black Forest fer another day."

"Black Forest?"

"Black Forest, Forbidden Forest, doesn't really matter wha' ye call it, it is wha' it is: dangerous."

"Why?"

He chortled. "Because o' what's inside. I'll introduce ye someday – if they're in the mood fer it."

Leaving that cryptic statement alone Hagrid opened the creaking door to his hut, welcoming Petunia into its warm interior. There was a fire crackling in a big fireplace, bathing everything in flickering, orange light, reflecting off tools hanging from the low ceiling. Petunia let her eyes wander above everything from rakes and hoes to hunting knives and axes. Coils of rope, different lengths and thickness, looped over the beams of the ceiling like fuzzy, brown snakes and empty buckets and trays were stuffed behind bundles of tarp.

Contrary to the clutter the other side of the room contained a cosy seating arrangement, two armchairs with flowery upholstery sized for Hagrid's comfort (which meant Petunia could have used them as a bed) surrounding a low table topped with a small arrangement of daisy flowers in a vase that looked self-crafted.

Hagrid took a copper pan from a hook above the fireplace, arranging the open flames to heat the underside.

"Eggs an' bacon alright fer ye?"

If there was one thing Petunia was confident in it was her skill in the kitchen. "Do you need any help?"

If she didn't know better she would believe that she could see a blush steal across the cheeks hidden beneath coarse hairs of his beard. "That's sweet o' yeh."

Not hearing a denial, Petunia got up and inspected what passed for his spice rack, most of the jars unlabelled and filled with dried herbs that were probably harvested by Hagrid himself.

"Yer small hands will be good fer cracking them eggs."

Petunia glanced at the mittens he called his own hands, his fingers the width of sausages and could easily see delicate white shells splinter underneath his strength.

They fell into a companionable silence while they prepared their meal, Hagrid handling the flames, not faltering even if the hot licks touched his palms, and Petunia carefully cracking eggs, enough to feed a whole village, and laying strips of bacon on sizzling hot metal.

And while eating her first bites of the day Petunia reconsidered her opinion on Rubeus Hagrid - for while he was rude and borderline bestial in appearance at least he knew how to appreciate good food.

And suddenly it felt easier to ignore the whispers still echoing inside her head, easier to ignore the fact that this was Lily's place, not Petunia's. She wasn't here to be a witch or prove her worth to a bunch of teenage wizards.

She was here to learn about creatures and she wouldn't have to do it alone.

❀

For everyone who read the chapter titled October 1975: I decided to spend more time establishing Petunia's routine and her first encounters at Hogwarts instead of skipping ahead. I hope this doesn't cause too much confusion.