Petunia and the Little Monster

By LBraum

293K 15.4K 1.5K

Petunia was always the worse sister - not as pretty, not as kind and especially not as magical as Lily. Jealo... More

Author's note
August, 1971
August 1971
August, 1971
August, 1971
August 1971
August, 1971
August, 1971
Character Moods
September, 1971
September, 1971
September, 1971
September, 1971
November, 1971
December, 1971
December, 1971
December, 1971 - Christmas
December 1971
December, 1971
January 1972
March, 1972
March, 1972
March, 1972
April, 1972
April, 1972
April, 1972
June, 1972
July, 1972
August 1972
August 1972
September 1972
September 1972
December 1972
December 1972
December 1972
June 1973
June 1973
June 1973
June 1973
June 1973
June 1973
July 1973
July 1973
July 1973
July 1973
August 1973
August 1973
August 1973
August 1973
September 1973
Character Moods 2
December 1973
March 1974
August 1974
August 1974
August 1974
August 1974
August 1974
September 1974
September 1974
September 1974
March, 1975
March 1975
March 1975
March 1975
March 1975
April 1975
June 1975
July 1975
July 1975
August 1975
August 1975
August 1975
August 1975
August 1975
August 1975
August 1975
September 1975 (1)
September 1975 (2)
September 1975 (3)
September 1975 (4)
September 1975 (5)
September 1975 (6)
October 1975 (1)
October 1975 (2)
October 1975 (3)
October 1975 (4)
November 1975 (1)
November 1975 (2)
December 1975 (1)
December 1975 (2)
January 1976 (1)
January 1976 (2)
January 1976 (3)
January 1976 (4)
January 1976 (6)
January 1976 (7)
January 1976 (8)
February 1976
February 1976 (2)
February 1976 (3)
February 1976 (4)
February 1976 (5)
February 1976 (6)
February 1976 (7)
March 1976
March 1976 (2)

January 1976 (5)

1K 89 5
By LBraum

When evening came around Petunia found herself not in the Great Hall or on her way to the kitchens, but sequestered in her room, Fluffy chewing on the bed once more and her pen poised above the paper.

She hadn't known what to write to Eugene after reading his letter. Before, when she had no way to reach him, she had used her unsent letters almost like a diary, writing whatever came to mind, her concerns about Lily, her annoyance at James Potter, her happiness at aiding Hagrid and looking after the Thestrals. But now that his answer was lying there on her desk, his words echoing in her head as if he was standing behind her and whispering them in her ear she was suddenly unsure what to write.

Taking a deep breath, tasting the wax of the slowly melting candles perfuming the air, she touched the stupid, archaic feather to the paper.

Eugene,

I need your advice.

I want to help but I don't know how. I only found out that house elves exist through your letter, and everything I have learned since has upset me. But I'm not sure what I should do or if it's even my right to be upset.

What do I understand about magical creatures? What do I know about contracts and blood magic and tradition? Everything you take for granted is new to me.

Do they like serving? The house elf I met today didn't look unhappy or mistreated but it just sounds so wrong to me, to obey whatever you're told to do, to be punished for making mistakes.

And another thing I simply do not understand is the way wizards think about magic. I hate it, but I understand why the wretched boy looks down on me, why his classmates think me weak and unworthy. Because I don't have magic. And I never will.

But house elves do. Hagrid does. Satyrs and redcaps and goblins have it. So why aren't they here? Why are they below the wizards and witches? Why ...

Petunia took a shuddering breath, lifting her feather before she left an ink blotch on her expensive paper. This didn't feel right.

Instead of balling the paper and throwing it away she moved it aside, selecting a fresh, untouched one.

Eugene,

I miss you. I wish you were here with me. I'm sure all the things I'm worrying about would suddenly not seem that daunting, that the answers would come so much easier if only you were by my side.

Somehow, despite Aspen and Hagrid and Fluffy, I feel lost here. Each day I seem to learn something new and each time I don't know if what I'm feeling is wrong.

But I will be alright. I know I will because no matter what happened I always came out stronger for it. When I found out about the war, when I lost Aspen – all of it brought me here and made me into the person I am today.

And you did. You mentioned our first meeting and I sometimes wonder what would have happened if you hadn't helped me. I doubt that a finger would be the most important on the list of things I'd be missing.

I hope that despite everything you told me you can find some joy and novelty in New York, that spending time with the family you so rarely got to see is a comfort. I hope your mother is alright and that your father doesn't lose any of his creatures, even if I miss Ivy quite fiercely.

I don't know if and when this letter will reach you. You thanked me for finding a way to get them to you, but I had no hand in that and don't deserve the credit. I don't even know the house elf that you met – they decided to do me a favour without any prompting from me, despite the fact that I didn't even know they existed. It's one of the things I'm unsure how to handle. Should I continue to approach them? Leave them alone, as they are so clearly used to?

I can't wait to see you. I can't wait for you to meet Fluffy and Sepulchria and Tenebrus and the rest of the herd. There is also a herd of Hippogriffs here, which I'm sure you already know, and Hagrid is currently teaching me how to care for them as well. He was quite impressed that I'm not a complete novice, thanks to you and Icarus.

Our summer seems so long ago even though I know that not that much time has passed. Maybe we can go for a flight again when we see each other, just like we did back then.

I'm not sure if this letter will reach you, but if it does I want you to know that you are in my thoughts whatever decision I come to. But some things I'll have to handle on my own, no matter how daunting it feels.

Yours,

Petunia

Putting down the feather, Petunia allowed the ink to dry without another look at the letter, instead calling Fluffy to her side for his evening walk. The fresh air must have done her some good because as soon as her head touched her pillow sleep claimed her, dragging her into cottoned depths and mumbled promises of safety.

And in her dreams she met Eugene. In the morning she didn't remember what exactly had happened, where they'd been or what they had talked about but one sentence stood out clear in her head, as if he had actually said it to her.

Do what you feel is right, Petals.


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