Petunia and the Little Monster

October 1975 (1)

Hogwarts was strange, Petunia found herself thinking while she adjusted the sleeve of her freshly ironed jacket. A jacket that was always clean even though Petunia hadn't touched a cup of laundry detergent since she'd gotten here.

Since the first time it happened Petunia always made sure the door to her rooms was locked when she left for the day, sometimes double checking, rattling on the old brass doorknob like a paranoid old lady. But then she returned in the evening and found her paranoia justified: her clothes lying freshly washed and folded on the chair she had left them wrinkled and forgotten on, her bed covers neatly tucked in and flames merrily crackling in what had been a cold and ash-covered fireplace in the morning.

Someone was breaking in, every day. To clean.

Petunia hadn't dared to complain yet. What if people laughed at her? What if this was something that happened in every building with magic – her memories conjured pictures of self-washing dishes – and she would only prove her ignorance when asking about it, offering up a neat target for ridicule.

Petunia knew that the witches and wizards were talking about her. Eyes followed her wherever she went, hushed voices snickering and pondering who she was, what she was.

But no-one had confronted her. They might look and conspire but in the end Petunia was just one of the many mysteries this school had to offer.

Like the invisible magic cleaning her room and doing her laundry. Like the self-filling plates at every meal. Like the strange tree Hagrid had warned her to stay away from because it might kill her. Like the fact that there was only one nurse for a whole castle of students capable of inflicting horrible –

Petunia cut that thought off at the root, ripping it from her brain in a shower of unease. There was no reason for her to think about this. She wasn't in danger here, she was simply doing her job and if she stayed away from other students it was mostly because of them, not because of her.

Petunia had gotten used to eating breakfast and lunch with Hagrid, the only meal she trudged into the Great Hall for the evening dinner. She felt misplaced at the teacher's table, all the other non-teaching staff – a middle-aged man with a dust-coloured cat, the nurse with her ridiculous headdress, a hook-nosed librarian and Hagrid – taking the meals in their own chambers.

But Petunia didn't know where they got the food from. And so she sat at that cursed table, feeling eyes bore into her while she was either trying to deflect questions about Lily, or even worse, herself.

Mr Pudubec proved to be quite insistent, always finding new 'muggle' topics to pester Petunia on. Did muggle children have a fear of heights because they knew they couldn't fly like wizards could? Did muggles like to keep small pets despite eating their wild equivalent – bunnies – in case their canned peas ran out? Why did muggles worship dark creatures on one day in October while ignoring their existence the rest of the year?

Petunia had learned that non-committal hums and shrugs were the best way to deal with the man because he very happily used the opportunity to come up with more and more abstruse stories and explanations himself, leaving her mostly alone. Except he still wanted her to come to his classroom and let herself be stared and prodded at like a strange specimen.

Of course Petunia vehemently refused. She much rather preferred the muttered suspicions of the students and was not eager to give the rumours going around confirmation.

Petunia's grip tightened around the handle of the bucket she was carrying, filled with slabs of cold, red meat, when her eyes alighted on a group of girls making their way across the courtyard towards their next class.