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 ...
❀
Petunia was always the lesser out of the two Evaness...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Severus didn't have to search for his father's booze - the man never made a habit of hiding it, and even if he had, it wouldn't be difficult to find, having to be placed in reach of his father's ham-handed grabs whenever the mood took him.
The smell almost singed the fine hairs in Severus' nose when the stopper came loose with a small, innocent plop. The self-brewed concoction actually looked pretty, a deep swirling amber, with the golden hues of resin, but it tasted horrible, like liquid glass-shards scratching across his upper palate and down his throat.
Severus embraced the pain with swallow after swallow, turning from sips to gulps once his mouth had numbed. He welcomed the nausea churning in his gut, his empty belly roiling with the toxic fluids he was forcing down.
It only took half the bottle until Severus had to rush to the bathroom, his stomach spasming so severely tears gathered on his lashes.
He let them, having a passable excuse for their existence.
Severus wasn't quite sure if regret had a taste, but if it did then it must come close to what was currently layered in a film over his teeth and tongue while he retched loudly, alone.
Without anyone who would ever wonder again if he was eating enough.
❀
Petunia couldn't stop shivering. The air was mild, filled with Lily's drowsy breaths, a lingering smell of the dinner Petunia had missed and had no stomach for and the ticking of a clock, thunderous in the otherwise silent house.
And the clacking of Petunia's teeth. She almost expected to see her breath mist in front of her face, crystallising into ice to prove the tundra her chest had become. Instead it remained invisible like Petunia herself had lost all substance, no proof of her existence remaining.
Just as Aspen had disappeared without a trace. She hadn't even found a hoofprint to mark his steps, a few bird-bones from one of his successful hunts. Nothing.
"Stop that," grumbled Lily in the darkness.
Petunia remembered years ago when she had first heard about the Ministry, about their prison, and that old fear had rekindled with a vengeance, a simmering spark booming into flesh-searing intensity.
Where could they have taken him? Was Aspen all alone? Was he ... alive?
"Stop it, Tuney!"
Petunia blinked, her eyes dry and scratchy. She actually wished for tears to moisten them, but somehow they wouldn't come, buried beneath her shock and this never-ending cold.
In some removed part of her brain she was aware of Lily's louder voice and of her sister's bed springs protesting when she sat up, but it didn't elicit more than some quiet contemplation. Lily hadn't really spoken with her since Petunia had tattled to their parents about her secret ambitions. The sisters' interactions had been reduced to monotone nothingness ("Pass the butter" or "Bathroom's free"), not that Lily necessarily treated their parents any more warmly. But while to them she was simply pouting, for Petunia she reserved a certain type of resentment that went deeper.
