Petunia and the Little Monster

September 1974

Petunia's memories of her only visit to Diagon Alley were of a chaotic, colourful mess of people and new impressions, bouncing wizard toys, buildings bowing to the sky and snippets of conversations about things she thought only existed in fairy tales. Though she'd been unaccustomed to it, the memory wasn't necessarily bad, leaning more towards a balance of trepidation and wonder.

But stepping onto the cobbled street now, Petunia couldn't mesh reality with those pictures in her memories.

Diagon Alley was almost empty. Only a handful of people hastened by, their heads lowered and collars propped up as if to ward off any curious gazes. Some of the once brightly coloured storefronts were closed and covered in a layer of grime, the bulbous windows dull and empty. The road winding like an intestine through rotten flesh was shaded by lopsided buildings with faded lettering and peeling paint. A few fluttering papers were nailed against unlit lampposts, and Petunia risked a closer glance at one of them only to reel back when the picture of an unkempt woman snarled at her.

Wanted posters, she realised and hastened her steps, feeling eyes prickling along her skin like the legs of small, crawling insects. Petunia wasn't sure if the feeling originated from the animated pictures or the few people around who surely noticed how out of place she looked with her frilly dress in this grey world. Maybe she should have taken the time to at least don a jacket, if not change altogether. But it had been an impulse that brought her here, not a well-thought-out plan.

Thankfully the bookstore wasn't too far, though Flourish & Blotts looked a lot more deserted without the wizards crowding in front of it like they had years ago to get Newt Scamander to sign their books. Instead Petunia made her way inside unobstructed, warm air smelling like dry paper and old ink enveloping her while the bell above the door tinkled softly. At first glance the store appeared just as empty as the street outside, high bookshelves obstructing her line of sight. She could hear fluttering pages somewhere to her left, maybe the storekeeper or a customer, but Petunia ignored the sound and searched for the bookshelves that held volumes about Magical Creatures, just like that first time.

Walking between the packed shelves her gaze snagged on one book above her, chained and furred. Nostalgia swept through her mind with unexpected force and she almost expected to hear a familiar voice behind her.

But the store remained still except for the muted page-rustling and the almost inaudible groaning of old wood. Petunia forced her eyes away from the book that was almost a creature in itself and instead started studying the spines and titles around her. Some of them were obviously old and precious, real leather embossed with gold foil while others more closely resembled cheap comics, with thin paper covers and bright, painted monsters on the front. The titles were wide-ranged as well, from Beast Legislations, History of Magical Creatures to the taming or killing of the same, but nothing stood out to her as being specifically about the human-like creatures until her wandering finger halted above one spine.

"Beings or Beasts?"

The book was bound in faded cloth and smelled faintly of mothballs. Green ink had soaked into the yellowed fabric over the years, making the words on the cover almost unreadable. Petunia couldn't even decipher the name of the author.

Carefully she freed the book from its tight squeeze and brushed a layer of dust from its cover. The binding creaked when she opened it and carefully flipped a few of the brittle pages, her eyes roaming over the tight script.

What is a beast and what is a being? What deserves to have its voice heard and be protected under the laws of our society and what deserves to be slain and hunted?

Burdock Mundoon, Chief of the Wizard's Council in the fourteenth century, was the first to tackle this difficult question, deciding upon a simplistic differentiation: Whatever creature walks upon two legs would henceforth be granted the status of 'being', all others to remain 'beast'.

Madame Elfrida Clagg, Mundoon's successor, made an attempt to redefine the differences in hopes of forging closer ties between different breeds of magic users (a necessary cause, as despite widespread Wizard superiority, some creatures such as House Elves or Goblins possess much more powerful magic than any wizard could ever hope to achieve without a wand). Madame Clagg declared all those capable of human speech as 'beings', unwittingly banishing many intelligent creatures that spoke their own tongues.

Over the next four centuries many new definitions were introduced and subsequently abolished, resulting in strained relations between all magical factions that were not helped by Goblin Uprisings or the Enslavement of House Elves.

How should a Troll, who walked on two legs and could utter simplistic words but had the intelligence of a gnat and the bloodthirstiness of a rapid werewolf be defined? How should a werewolf, who remained on two legs and sentient but for a portion of the month, be defined? How should a Centaur, intelligent and capable of magic but walking on four legs, be defined?

It wasn't until 1811 that a definition was found that most of the magical community found acceptable. Gorgan Stump, the newly appointed Minister of Magic at the time, decreed that a 'being' was 'any creature that has sufficient intelligence to understand the laws of the magical community and to bear part of the responsibility in shaping those laws'. Stump thereafter created the divisions of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that still exist today.

Trolls were judged not to comprehend any words even though they spoke them, therefore reclassified from 'beings' to 'beasts' despite their two-legged gait. Merpeople were defined as 'beings' for the very first time in history. Fairies, pixies and gnomes, contrary to their humanoid appearance, were placed firmly in the beast category.

But not all troubles were that easily solved. Centaurs refused the 'beings' status after centuries of being called 'beasts', werewolves meanwhile are being shunted between the two divisions to this day, while some extremist clamour that 'Muggles' should be -

"This is a store, not a library, young lady."

Petunia flinched and looked up. She had been so absorbed in the text that she hadn't even noticed that a man had walked up to her. His stern gaze was magnified by a pair of thick glasses that meshed well with his ocher sweater-vest and greying hair, the ink-stains on his fingers declaring him as belonging just as firmly in this store as the books all around her.

"Either buy it or put it back," the man grumbled now, his gaze darting over her outfit, no doubt noticing the fine material of her dress - as well as the obvious lack of any pockets to carry money in.

A strange mixture of anger and embarrassment was creeping up Petunia's neck, leaving unsightly, red blotches in its wake. She hadn't taken any money with her in her haste but even if she had wanted to, Petunia would have been unable to get her hands on any wizard currency.

Swallowing her shame and resentment, Petunia straightened her back and lifted her chin while slowly closing the book, careful not to crinkle the pages.

Before the man could say anything else, a delicate jingling sound disturbed the air, catching both of their attentions. 

"Mr Blotts," someone called from the front of the shop and Petunia frowned while the old man groaned.

"Good day," he told Petunia, a clear dismissal, before walking away, muttering under his breath. And despite herself Petunia was quick to follow him, the interesting book for now forgotten.

She recognized that voice.

❀

Forgive this (very slight) cliffhanger! Some of the text Petunia is 'reading' is referenced from the 'Fantastic Beasts and where to find them' book published by Bloomsbury. No Copyright Infringement intended.