Petunia and the Little Monster

October 1975 (3)

The memory came suddenly, rumbling through her thoughts with images of gangly pre-teens, one hazel-eyed and the other grey-eyed, mocking Severus at the train station.

Specs and Sneer – James Potter and his companion.

Petunia almost laughed. That had been years – years! – ago and they hadn't changed at all. And most ridiculous of all, he was still in love with Lily. His obsession actually rivalled the wretched boy's.

Whatever trace of mocking laughter had been tickling her throat extinguished at that realisation. Lily had not one but two people who had steadfastly loved her for years without her having to do anything to encourage them. While the only person who had ever shown Petunia any sign of affection was an ocean away.

As always, thoughts of Eugene hurt. It was a small scratch that had become infected over time, oozing yearning and bitter loneliness with every day that passed. Petunia wished she could simply bathe in the hazy memories of their shared summer, of Ivy's glittering scales, golden sunlight kissing equally golden hair, warm eyes and lips ... But whenever she tried they turned more flimsy, losing temperature and structure, overtaken by all her more recent encounters.

And she wished she would blame James Potter as much as she blamed herself.

"So, what's her deal? You find out yet?"

"As you see, our dear Pet is a bit prickly," James answered. "But I'm sure she won't be able to resist our charm much longer."

"Even a lump of dirt has more charm than you," Petunia spit.

"Ah, how you wound me." He pressed a hand against his chest in exaggerated theatrics. "Of course I know how much you prefer that mud clinging to you, but I would follow suit if you only allowed me ..."

His friend laughed, actually looking honestly amused at the utter bullshit James was spouting, encouraging him further.

"I would get on my knees, but sadly my clothes aren't as ... hardy as yours, not that it detracts from the farm-hand appeal you've got going."

Unknowingly or not, he had managed to poke one of Petunia's biggest insecurities. A hot flush crawled across her face while she tried to ignore the fact that she had exchanged her fine skirts and printed blouses for something that could just as well double as a potato sack. From a young age Petunia had always taken care to dress appropriately and, if she was honest with herself, as pretty as she was able, trying to enhance her appeal. And now ...

"Oh, she's blushing, Prongs."

"Told you she wouldn't resist much longer."

Petunia stepped closer, ignoring the fact that despite both of them being a year younger than her, James was almost her height while his friend was even a bit taller. She wanted to slap the big grin off his face, kick him in the shin and then grab a handful of piss-coloured leaves from the ground and mash them into his stupid mouth so he wouldn't open it again in her presence.

Instead she took a deep breath, gulping the cool air as if it was water and she was stranded in a desert, allowing the earthy taste to ground her.

"How often do I have to repeat myself? Go back to waving your stupid stick around, annoy Lily with your childish advances and leave me out of it."

"Speaking of stupid sticks – where's yours?"

Petunia blinked before redirecting her focus to the tall, handsome friend when he addressed her directly for the first time. Something was hiding in his eyes, something harsher than the dismissive wall of iron he was presenting behind dense, black lashes.

And it was almost enough to make her step back.

He continued when Petunia didn't answer: "Or are the rumours actually true? Are you ... a muggle?"

Years of interacting with the wretched boy, hearing his condescension every time he said the word, had made Petunia quite adept at reading tones. And even though there was nothing more than casual interest in his voice, Petunia could almost feel this stranger's contempt wrap around her neck like a satiny-soft choker he intended to draw tighter and tighter.

If she would let him.

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"She likes saying that," James mock-whispered to his friend.

"I think you'd do well to make it our business. If it's true you can use every friend you can get – not all students are as nice as Prongs and me."

Maybe he intended it as a warning, but all Petunia heard was a threat.

"What are you talking about?"

James was the one to answer her. "Well – remember our dear pal Snivellus? His House is a bit, well, touchy when it comes to magical lineages. And if you truly don't have any – and no magic on top of that ..."

"Your stay here could very well become uncomfortable," his friend finished.

It wasn't the first time Petunia had heard about blood-purity – she still remembered when Lily had said something about it, years ago in their kitchen while she was lamenting over the wretched boy. Petunia even remembered worrying for a second about Lily, about the fact that her sister didn't have magical parents ...

But now was actually the first time Petunia transferred that same fear onto herself.

Of course she had known that she didn't fit in here, of course she was aware that the teacher pestering her at every meal or the fact that barely any students spoke to her were because she didn't have magic like them.

Though somehow she hadn't made the connection that ignoring her might not be the worst thing that they could do. That being magicless was even worse than having no magical parents.

That she was much more vulnerable here than Lily, with a wand and surrounded by people, had ever been.

"Hey, where are you going? Padfoot just told you that making friends would be smart!"

Petunia ignored James, ignored the scoff she could hear from his friend while her feet carried her down towards the forest, towards the stone-hut.

She needed to see Aspen, she needed to feel the wind under his wings and know that she still had an avenue of escape. She needed to see Hagrid, stand next to him so she would be hidden in his gigantic shadow, just a slip of a girl no-one would pay attention to.

Breath spiked in her lungs as if the air had grown into a mesh of splintered ice, the coolness that had soothed her heated temper a few moments ago now chilling her down to her bones.

She had felt stranded, isolated and lost since coming here.

But never before had she felt this alone.

❀

A bit of my personal headcanon for anyone who is interested: I don't think Sirius is actively discriminating against muggle-born or muggles, at least in his opinion he isn't. But the effect of being raised in an environment where you learn from the moment you can talk that some people are worth less, or not even 'people', is difficult to shake off without a drastic realisation or exposure. All his friends are wizards, his best friend is from a long pureblood line with wealth and fame so he never really had a reason to examine how he's actually treating them.

Hope this explains why his portrayal from Petunia's perspective comes across as antagonistic.