Petunia and the Little Monster

February 1976 (4)

The Hogwarts library had held an unspeaking allure ever since Petunia first learned of its existence, while at the same time being intimidating enough to keep her away from its doors. She knew the library was intended for students, for wizards and witches, not for her, a groundskeeping apprentice and muggle.

But when she finally took that step over the threshold, being enveloped in the muted sounds of flipping pages and low murmuring, the smell of old leather and paper and the dust motes dancing through slanting beams of light welcoming her like miniscule fireflies, the anxiety sloughed off her shoulders as if it had never existed in the first place.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a book."

The woman sitting behind the giant oak desk next to the entrance reminded Petunia a bit of Mrs Fairweather, her old teacher. It was not so much the outer appearance – Mrs Fairweather had always bundled her light hair into a sensible bun and would not be caught dead wearing a hat with that many feathers – but more the expression in her eyes, the way she held herself; as if she was bracing for any matter of stupidity and already contemplating the best way to snip it in the bud.

"Yes, I imagine most everyone who comes here is."

Petunia did her best to ignore the barb. "I'm not familiar with – is there a filing system?"

The woman's nails clicked against her polished desk in one smooth ripple. "What are you looking for?"

"Anything about werewolves. The more specific, the better."

"'Essential Defence against the Dark Arts' has a chapter on them. As does 'Cunning Creatures - How to Survive and Nap Before Dawn'. But I would recommend 'Furry Foes and Moonlit Battles: A Guide to Outsmarting Werewolves' if you're looking for a book with singular focus."

"Yes, that sounds ... good."

"I don't have it, it's not yet returned. You can get one of the other ones or you can ask the student who is holding onto it – without even giving notice."

Petunia felt a sliver of trepidation. "Who has it?"

"Severus Snape."

❀

Petunia blinked at the fingers closing around her upper arm, tight and pale and surprisingly fine-knuckled.

"How many times," Severus hissed. "Do I have to tell you not to come here?"

Petunia barely listened to him. When was the last time someone had touched her? Petunia remembered touching Lily, quite similarly to the way Severus was clutching her right now, tugging her away from the eternal twilight he seemed to reside in, but when was the last time someone had initiated touch with her, extended a hand? No matter that it was in no way a gentle or warm gesture it still managed to paralyse her as if his hand was clamped around her neck instead of her arm.

Moreover, she couldn't remember ever touching the wretched boy or being touched by him in turn.

It must have happened of course, they've known each other almost six years – but when?

"I know you're unusually slow but even so I shouldn't have to repeat myself three times to get this across – Don't. Come. Here."

Petunia's foot bumped against the first step of the stairs ascending back to places where Hogwarts was flooded with laughter and light and she could feel her crooked toe smarting, jarring her out of whatever spell she had fallen under.

"Let go of me!"

Severus sneered and flung his hand away. "With pleasure."

Petunia rubbed against her sleeve, hoping to chase the phantom sensations of warmth, pressure and human contact away. She was here for the book.