Petunia and the Little Monster

January 1976 (4)

The kitchens were impossible to find and Petunia wondered if it was on purpose. Unseen and unheard, the house elves hidden away someplace no-one would accidentally stumble upon them, someplace it would be hard to check on.

Someplace dark and dank, deep in the bowels of the castle where the stones emitted an unmistakable chill throughout the year and there was a smell of wet dust in the air.

"What the –"

Petunia whirled around, her eyes widening when she saw the tall, slim figure just behind her, the dark of the school uniform blending into the flickering shadows all around and only leaving the white of his eyes as two pinpricks glaring out at her.

Before she could open her mouth Severus continued: "What the hell are you doing down here?"

But Petunia's attention had switched, from his furrowed brows and snaggle teeth bared in a grimace to the scone he was holding in one hand, a smear of jam on the tip of his long fingers.

"Where did you get that?"

"You better go. Now."

"I'm looking for the kitchens."

"I don't care what you're doing, just go."

"Do you know where they are? Where did you get the scone?"

He snarled. Severus actually snarled, as if he were a rabid dog. "You insufferable, obnoxious, stupid — why are you looking for the kitchens, and here of all places?"

Petunia sniffed. "I wager the dungeons would be quite a good place to keep hundreds of servants."

Severus just blinked and then pinched the bridge of his gigantic nose, leaving a trace of sticky red behind. "There are no servants here, but do you know who actually lives in the dungeons? Slytherins. A whole lot of purebloods who would surely give a muggle like you a warm welcome."

Something shivery ghosted down Petunia's arms, the same feeling she got when she had walked through a spiderweb in the woods and was now certain an eight-legged insect was crawling beneath her collar right this second.

"Leave," he repeated for the third time.

A muscle in her jaw ticked and Petunia forcefully unclenched her teeth. "Show me the kitchens."

There was a standstill, a tense moment in which Petunia was sure he would just turn around and leave and why would the wretched boy care what happened to her anyway, the last time they talked it was horrible and fraught with antagonism ...

And then he did turn around and walked away. Her shoulders lowered and she couldn't determine if the loss of tension was owed to relief or disappointment.

"This way."

It took Petunia a bit too long to realise he wasn't simply leaving her behind and she had to widen her steps to catch up despite her long legs.

Their trek through the castle was silent, neither of them looking at the other. Maybe Severus was embarrassed to be helping her, maybe he was silently resentful. Petunia on the other hand didn't want to chance losing his cooperation.

They finally stopped in front of a baroque still-life painting, the corridor around them empty but filled with light spilling from a few high windows.

"Tickle the pear."

"What?"

Severus grumbled and leaned forward, his fingers brushing across a pear, the paint yellow and ripe, spilling from a basket of similar fruits. Before Petunia could question him there was a whispering, high giggle and the pear transformed in front of her eyes into a golden door handle. Not giving her any time to come to terms with the fact that a part of a painting had just transformed and materialised in the real world, Severus grabbed the doorknob and opened the painting as if it was a door, leading her into the room beyond.

It was a gigantic hall, almost as big as the Great Hall, with a curved ceiling high above and a giant brick fireplace throwing heat and light towards them. Mountains of glittering cutlery, brass pots and pans and shining porcelain crockery surrounded them, looking a second from tumbling down on their heads. At the back of the room was a strange wooden construct consisting of a multitude of empty barrels which had been connected with walkways and planks, almost looking like an oversized children's playground. Long tables spanned the big room, a mirror image to the ones Petunia had gazed upon so often while sitting at the teacher's table in the Great Hall.

And it was empty.

"Happy now?"

"Where are the –"

There was a pop of displaced air and then: "Master Severus! Would you like another scone? Maybe some more jam?"

A creature had appeared between them from thin air. Petunia gaped at it, noticing the ears that were almost pig-like in shape but bigger and slightly floppy, the long, beaked nose, the thin limbs and hunched figure, the potato sack it was wearing like a toga. The top of its hairless head barely reached her ribs.

"No, that's fine, Blim," Severus mumbled before shooting a glare at Petunia. "Happy now? Don't go into the dungeons again."

But Petunia wasn't paying him any attention. "Your name is ... Blim?"

"Blim, Hogwarts house elf, at your service, Miss Evans," the house elf said, sketching a deep bow.

For the first time Petunia realised that she had been so caught up in her indignation about the treatment of yet another magical and sentient species she came across and then preoccupied with running around like a headless chicken searching for its coop, that she had no idea what to do now.

What was she actually doing here?

The house elf looked back at her, with big and intelligent eyes, appearing eerily human while at the same time completely alien.

"I ... thank you. For helping me. For cleaning my room and ... for delivering my letter."

"It was our pleasure, Miss Evans. We were all delighted by the tasty cookies you left for us! No-one ever gifts us anything, for obvious reasons."

"I ... I can make more, if you want."

"Oh no, we could never accept such kindness! We are here to take care of you, not the other way around."

Petunia swallowed, looking at the spotless kitchen around her. "You cook here? For everyone?"

"One of our duties, yes."

"Maybe I can come by again? I like cooking," Petunia said and immediately felt foolish. What was she trying to accomplish here? When she had left breakfast she had been fueled by her past realisations, by the memory of satyrs saving her with their music when moments before they had been treated like cheap entertainment, of sitting opposite Xenophilius while the taste of melting ice cream lingered on her tongue, talking about so many creatures that had been robbed of all rights, of the realisation that she herself was also categorised among them, a muggle, useless, weak, lesser ...

And now she was standing here in front of this well-mannered elf that reminded her strangely of a butler but was dressed in rags and half-naked, whose voice was kind and soft but his skin stretched taut above skeletal shoulders and bony knees.

And she was talking about cooking?

But the elf didn't look offended, quite the contrary. "Of course, Miss Evans, whatever pleases you! We would welcome your company."

Petunia nodded numbly, suddenly longing for a quite corner to sort her thoughts. "I'll come by this evening."

"Certainly. Master Severus, Master Regulus already left but he instructed me to tell you –"

"Later," Severus interrupted sharply, shooting a glare at Petunia and whirling back around to the entrance, his school cape billowing quite spectacularly. He didn't bother with any goodbyes, simply strutting off, leaving Petunia to stammer as polite as a parting as she could before following after him. When she was back in the corridor she only saw a flash of his uniform as he disappeared around a corner, leaving her behind.

Maybe it was for the best. Petunia didn't know what she would have said if he had questioned her what all this had been about.

Mostly because she herself wasn't completely sure – yet. 

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