Petunia and the Little Monster

August 1975

Petunia twisted the fabric of her blouse so viciously between her fingers she could feel the threats of the fine material stretch and warp. Even when she loosened her grip, it remained bunched up in an ugly wrinkle.

Probably just as ugly as the one she could feel between her brows, her skin furrowed deeply, birthed of uncertainty she'd tried to hide behind annoyance.

"Remember, Mary told us you shouldn't say anything. It will only serve to incriminate you," Lily repeated. "Muggles are very rarely called into the ministry, other to give witness accounts and even then they -"

Here she stopped and Petunia didn't have to wonder why. Obliviate.

Maybe tomorrow Petunia would wake up and have forgotten everything, Aspen, Ivy, Eugene - maybe she would wake up and be Petunia Evans, freshly graduated, looking forward to her typing course in London while unobtrusively shopping for a fitting Londoner husband with a sensible imagination and big enough pockets.

The idea terrified her more than any mystical prison. Her nightmares had warped since Lily's friend, chocolate-haired and doe-eyed Mary McDonald, had regaled them with what she knew about the Ministry of Magic's justice system. About the council, about the laws and about the punishments - about a spell that was used to wipe the memories of muggles, leaving them blissfully unaware and blind.

Of course there was no question of consent or morality - those were muggles after all.

"You'll rip it."

Only Lily's voice prevented Petunia from mutilating her best blouse further, the soft patterns stitched onto the fabric scratching against her skin.

"Take a deep breath. Mary said that you shouldn't fall under the usual laws because of me. Having a witch in the family means you're already aware of magic and aren't beholden to the Statue of Secrecy. So all that's left is the charge of illegally keeping a beast -"

"Aspen is no mere beast, he's -"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure he's wonderful. What matters is that you never kept him, understood? He was wild and living in the forest and you had nothing to do with it."

Petunia was reluctant to obey Lily's commanding voice but found herself nodding anyway. Her nerves were stretched taunt, every minute spent in nail-biting anticipation winding her up just that bit further. She wondered when they would snap and if they did what would be left of her - a hysterically laughing madwoman? A crying and begging mess? Something in between?

Just when she wondered how much longer she'd have to wait - the letter had only mentioned a pickup, no time during which her escort would arrive - her mother's voice echoed from the downstairs hallway. "Petunia, there's someone here for you!"

Lily took a deep breath. "Remember what Mary told us."

All Petunia really remembered was her silent terror.

Hopefully she would still be herself when she came back.

❀

The woman who had been sent to pick her up strangely reminded Petunia of Miss Savours. Young but put together in a sensible outfit consisting of cut lines and dark fabric, no embellishment or bright colours to highlight her age. Her lips were expertly lined and fixed with an unwavering, polite smile.

In flights of dreadful imagination, Petunia had assumed she would be picked up by grim-faced men with thick bull-like necks and flinty, mean eyes. They would haul her away with bruising grips, uncaring for her slim limbs and speak not a word.

There would be a pair of cold iron manacles burning the flesh of her wrists.

Instead the young woman explained to Petunia in detail what was going to happen before offering a hand with short, clean nails for her to take. No grabbing, no hauling, no threats. Just something called 'apparating'.