Petunia was always the worse sister - not as pretty, not as kind and especially not as magical as Lily. Jealousy and bitterness rule her life, until one fateful encounter changes her destiny ...
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Petunia was always the lesser out of the two Evaness...
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Blueish afternoon light was dusting Petunia's school desk, highlighting all the slight scratches and nicks in stark relief while almost obscuring the little notes other students had carved into its surface.
Petunia paid them no mind, not someone who would ever follow suit and leave such a visible mark of her presence in a place she felt no real connection to. Usually she liked to sit in the front, where she wouldn't be distracted by other students, but this time she had taken the opportunity to settle towards the back, hoping to read the Quibbler without catching her teacher's notice.
Not that she really had to worry, Mrs Fairweather was very occupied with the usual sermon that she had been preaching for the last few weeks. You'll all be graduating soon, this is your last chance to make something of yourselves, think about your futures and what you need to do to become accomplished ...
Petunia clutched the illegal gains in her lap, the colourful magazine cover clashing harshly with the dull fabric of her school skirt. She had yet to figure out if Xenophilius actually followed any kind of schedule for his publishing, as this wasn't the first time his little grey owl, looking like a dust bunny with wings, had ambushed her at school. (Not like Krampus, who had in the past either dutifully waited for her at home or arrived before Petunia left the house.)
But until now it had turned out fine. No teacher would ever suspect rule-abiding Petunia Evans of doing something bad, so getting permission to excuse herself and catch the owl to quickly stuff a few pence into the bag tied to its foot and grab the Quibbler had worked out just fine. Petunia would just like to be able to anticipate it.
Maybe Xenophilius simply followed his own schedule and whims, writing whenever he found something he wanted to write about.
This time the front page was covered with some kind of love scandal, a kissing couple sketched in exaggerated detail under the sparkling title 'Alluring Danger: Veela spotted in inner circle of French Ministry! Lock up your monsieurs!'
The woman was drawn with long, flowing hair and a wasp-waist that would surely not be feasible in reality while the man was barely visible safe for shiny black shoes and a bob hat.
Petunia glanced up at Mrs Fairweather ("You will all soon have to make an important decision, don't waste these last few months of your education ...") before slowly opening the unobtrusive black notebook she had taken to carrying around. Finding a free space Petunia quickly scrawled a note: Veela? Creature or type of witch?.
Petunia had grown to treat the Quibbler almost like a reference literature, always reading it with one hand poised above her notebook, ready to jot down whatever caught her interest. By now she had pages worth of observations.
Once or twice she had been tempted to stuff a small letter into the coin-bag along with her payment, just a few questions that Xenophilius would surely be able to answer. But whenever she opened the drawer with her letter paper, the ones she had bought months ago with a different recipient in mind, she just couldn't do it. It would almost feel like ... betrayal.
