Chapter Text
On the night Petunia Elizabeth Evans is born, the rain falls in sheets. As her mother screams and gives one final push, the hospital lights flicker off. Her father, pacing in the hallway as fathers do, cuts a sharp glance to a passing nurse.
“The storm,” she explains. “It can’t be helped.”
Before Jack Evans can worry much, the light returns, and a second nurse pokes her head out of the birthing room with a tired smile.
“Mr. Evans,” she calls. “Come meet your daughter.”
“She’s perfect,” Violet Evans whispers to her husband when he arrives, gazing down at the little bundle of life in her arms. “Absolutely perfect.”
The baby cries, as if in premonition, and then the nurses are taking her away to be cleaned and examined and placed in a bassinet in a row with other newborns, something that Violet protests. Jack takes her hand, reassuring her that their child will be safe. The doctor gives him a look that seems to say mothers, so emotional, and something in Jack bristles. He had not before considered himself in any way feminist, a fact raising two daughters will irrevocably change.
In another room, Petunia has ceased crying, almost as if she knows it will do her no good.
~
For just over a year, Violet and Jack dote on Petunia. Their sweet, beloved firstborn, so quiet and easygoing. Jack’s parents, who live just a few blocks over—no-one leaves Cokeworth, not unless they’re lucky—visit daily to fawn over her clearwater blue eyes and thick brown hair. She is an unremarkable child, but she is her parents’ whole world.
~
Lily Josephine Evans is born on a sunny day in midwinter. Petunia is not there, having been sent to her grandparents to stay for the duration of the labor and birth. She’s fussy for once, though Grandma Elizabeth rocks her gently and Grandpa Henry sings, his voice a low timbre.
When Lily breathes her first breath, the lights do not flicker, but the windows burst open suddenly, letting in a draft of desperately needed cool air. The nurses scramble over themselves to apologize, but Violet and Jack aren’t paying attention. They are rapt, once again, by the sight of a daughter.
Lily screams.
She is a loud child, in contrast to Petunia, full of so much more life. She shines—there is no other word for it—and if her parents were in love with a daughter before, this is pure devotion.
Lily has red hair and green eyes and she learns to stand far sooner than Petunia ever did, learns to walk and talk with the same speed.
“She is a blessing,” they say, “A gift.”
“Absolutely perfect.”
Neither of them notice their attention slipping from Petunia until, by the time their eldest is old enough to notice, it is too late.
~
Babies grow into girls and the girls turn out to be strange. Not overtly so, not enough to frighten, but strange nonetheless, odd in ways that have their parents worrying and the other kids avoiding them. They keep the worst of this secret from their parents, not because Lily wouldn’t like to tell, but because Petunia insists they do not.
Lily floats, a few feet off the ground at most; she burns things with a look and makes flowers move in the palm of her hand. Petunia’s clothes stitch themselves right again; her doll clothes change color and pattern when she grows bored of them; her hot cocoa is never cold.
“It’s magic,” Lily says, all daring and righteous.
“It’s just a quirk, is all,” Petunia corrects. “Magic isn’t real.”
And Lily does not contradict—Petunia is the eldest and they were raised not to argue, besides—but she stomps her feet about it a bit, thistles blooming raw and purple where her shoes press down the earth.
~
Petunia is ten and Lily is nine when the Snape boy from across the tracks calls them witches. Lily grins and Petunia frowns and drags her sister away, but they run into him again and again until it’s Petunia who throws up her hands and says:
“Prove it, then!”
He does, healing Lily’s skinned knee with a few flourishes of his hands that Petunia strongly suspects he added to look impressive.
“See!” Lily beams. “Magic is real, Tuney.”
“Tell us everything,” Petunia demands, ignoring her, hungry and eager and imagining herself a little bit special.
Snape—Severus, she supposes—does.
~
Now that Petunia knows what is going on, she’s much more comfortable with their talents. She likes everything in neat boxes, classifiable, and magic is no different. Who cares, anyway, if the kids at school whisper behind their backs, talking about the time Lily literally gave Hugo Taylor smallpox or how Petunia, whispering gossip to Heidi McClair, could be heard by everyone in the building. Severus says they are going to Hogwarts and that none of the muggle—not magic—kids matter.
Petunia agrees.
~
It begins like this: Petunia and Lily are in the living room avoiding the heat, playing house, when a knock sounds at the door.
“I’ll get it!” Petunia says, in her responsible-big-sister voice, and Lily drops her dolly on the floor. She only plays house when Petunia makes her; she thinks it’s a stupid game and she doesn’t like dolls, anyway, would much rather go tramping down by the creek or biking through town, taking turns on their one bike with its pink flowers that Severus refuses to touch.
Petunia opens the door to a tall, intimidating woman. Her dark hair is pulled back in a stiff bun, and she wears a suitjacket, carrying an umbrella with a bird’s head engraved on the end. Her eyes are sharp, looking straight through Petunia to all her secrets.
“Hello?” Petunia’s voice sounds small. She isn’t frightened, but she does want so terribly to impress this woman, who looks prim and proper and untouchable.
“Greetings,” The woman inclines her head in an old-fashioned, almost familiar way. “I am Mary Poppins.”
“From the movie?” Lily exclaims behind her.
“Book,” Petunia corrects. “It was a book first.” She looks up at the woman. “And she isn’t. She just has the same name.”
Mary Poppins hmms. She looks past Petunia, to where her parents have just arrived.
“Mr. and Mrs. Evans, I presume?” She extends a hand daintily for each of them to shake, then steps inside without invitation. “Madam Poppins. I am here to offer your daughter a place at a prestigious school.”
Behind Petunia, Lily sucks in a breath. Petunia knows what she’s thinking. Severus had said a letter would arrive by owl, but what else could this be?
“Our daughter?” Dad repeats.
“Oh, Lily,” Mum breathes. “That’s wonderful.”
Petunia grits her teeth and decisively does not say a word.
“Lily?” Mary Poppins surveys the girls before her. “Oh, she’s too young to be invited to our school just yet. I am looking for a Petunia Evans. Am I correct in assuming that would be you, dear?” She addresses this last to just Petunia, and Petunia nods, not trusting herself to speak.
“Oh.” Mum looks taken aback for a moment before she smooths her face over. “Lovely,” she says brightly. “I confess we had no idea Petunia was doing so well in her studies.”
Petunia huffs under her breath. She’s not, is the thing. She’s a completely average student, just like how she’s a completely average daughter and will probably be a completely average witch, now that she thinks of it.
Mary Poppins catches her eye knowingly, as if commiserating, and Petunia brightens slightly. Maybe not. Maybe they’ll like her in the wizarding world. Maybe they’ll like her even better than Lily.
Petunia does not hate Lily, of course; she’d just like to have one thing that Lily is not better at.
“What exactly is this school?” Dad asks, as if to cover for Mum’s miss.
“We’d best sit down,” Mary Poppins says, and commandeers the conversation, steering them to seats so that Mum and Dad are in armchairs across from Lily, Petunia, and her, who take the couch. “Hogwarts,” she explains then, and Lily gasps, bouncing gleefully. “Is a school of magic.” Mum and Dad frown and she turns to Lily. “I take it you have already heard of Hogwarts?”
“Sev told us all about it!” Lily announces, taking the conversation back from where it had been centered on Petunia for once.
“Sev?”
Mum sighs.
“Our daughters have this friend—”
“He’s not my friend, Mum,” Petunia interrupts. She tolerates him, is all.
“He’s a wizard,” Lily confides. “He told us everything.”
“I see.” Mary Poppins frowns thoughtfully.
“He’s also ten,” Petunia adds quickly. “And he doesn’t know everything.”
“Magic, though?” Mum says. “I don’t understand.”
“Have your daughters never done strange things? Or had strange things happen to them?”
Mum falls silent, considering. Mary Poppins reaches into her pocket and pulls out a letter.
Ms. P. Evans, The Middle Bedroom, 7 Elder st., Cokeworth, Midlands.
It’s real.
Mary Poppins explains everything, mostly things, admittedly, that Severus had told them.
“Are you a teacher, then?” Mum asks. “At this… Hogwarts?”
“No,” Mary Poppins smiles softly. “Just an old acquaintance of the Headmaster’s.”
But none of that really matters because Petunia is going. She’s leaving Cokeworth to become a witch and nothing has ever been so lovely and so scary all at once.
~
There’s a spot out by the river that is theirs, as much as anything can be. The small clearing’s mostly hidden from adults and bigger kids, since you have to crawl through a gap in the bushes to get to it; because of this, it’s missing the cigarette buts and broken beer bottles that litter most of this patch of trees outside Cokeworth. Petunia, Lily, and Severus meet there to talk about magic.
“I got my letter,” Petunia announces proudly the moment Severus slips into the space. His eyes widen with an envy that he quickly schools.
“Show me,” he demands, a little greedy, and Petunia does, if only to show off. Inside the thick envelope is a letter detailing her acceptance and a list of required items. Severus takes in the pages as though they’re the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen. Maybe they are; Petunia’s seen the way people live on the other side of the tracks. While he reads, Lily fiddles with a thread on the hem of her dress. She’s been quiet lately; maybe, Petunia thinks smugly, because she is for once not the best of them. Mum and Dad have been showering Petunia with extra attention; their eldest, magical daughter, off to a prestigious school.
“It’s real,” Severus breathes, handing back the pages, holding them as carefully as one might a butterfly.
“Of course it’s real,” Petunia snaps. “Did you think I wasn’t magic enough to get in?”
“Course not,” Severus shrugs. She narrows her eyes, not quite believing him.
“Don’t fight,” Lily whines.
“We weren’t,” Severus says quickly. He’s always so ready to please her sister. Petunia wonders if he has a crush; knows Lily would never choose a boy like him, so poor and ugly.
“Do you have to go?” Lily bursts suddenly. Petunia softens.
“I’ll be back for break before you know it,” she reassures. “And I’ll write you so many letters, and then—” Though she doesn’t like the idea. “And then you’ll join me next year.”
“But what if I don’t?” Tears glitter in Lily’s eyes. “What if I’m not magic enough to go to Hogwarts?”
Of course. Lily wasn’t upset about Petunia leaving. Petunia pulls away.
“You’ll be fine,” she says curtly. “They’d be idiots to not accept you.”
Lily nods, wiping at her eyes. Severus is watching her with alarm, as though he doesn’t know what to do about a crying girl.
“You’d better be in Slytherin,” he blurts. Lily laughs a little. Petunia rolls her eyes.
“You always say that.”
“But it’s true,” Lily agrees. “That way we stick together.”
“You don’t know for sure you’ll get Slytherin,” Petunia counters.
“It’s the best house,” Severus says. “We have to.”
~
Petunia dresses up for Diagon Alley; a striped shirt that isn’t hand-me-down and flared jeans, with her favorite bag, a purse embroidered with flowers that is just big enough to hold the new little notebook she got at the corner store with the last of her pocket money. The drive is long and boring, the two and a half hours stretching out. Lily reads a book. Petunia goes over the supply list a dozen times, imagining what kind of places would stock such goods. Out the windows, the grey-green of the midlands becomes the grey-brown of London.
The Leaky Cauldron, it turns out, is a small, dingy pub that only Lily and her can see. Madam Poppins prepared them for this, told them how only wix—the word for magical people—can see the place initially, but that if she or Lily point it out, their parents will be able to as well.
The Leaky Cauldron isn’t much nicer inside; all stone brick, the tables worn and fireplace blackened. The people there—a toothless barman, a wart-covered witch, a wizard with beady eyes—do not give her much hope for the rest of the magical population. There is even a pair of what can only be goblins in the corner, watching the newcomers and muttering to each other.
Thankfully, they’re in the pub for barely a moment. Lily barrels forward, leading them out the back door to the little courtyard Madam Poppins mentioned; a cramped space that reeks of smoke and old beer. A middle aged, portly wizard, waits there, leaning against one of the brick walls.
“Muggles?” He asks in a bored monotone.
“I’m a witch, actually,” Petunia sniffs. The wizard mutters something under his breath, turning to the wall and drawing his wand. He taps his wand against the brick in a pattern that Petunia makes sure to memorize, and the wall opens up into a huge archway. Beyond the archway is a wild, curving street, with leaning, lopsided buildings and crowds of strange people.
Petunia hates the messiness of it all, but she can’t help the giddy excitement bubbling up in her chest. Lily grabs her hand and tugs, and for once Petunia lets her hold it, lets her drag her ahead, gaping at all the wondrous things.
“Wait!” Mum calls, and Petunia halts at once, forcing Lily to stop. “We need to stick together.”
“Mom,” Lily complains. “We weren’t too far. And look, there’s an ice cream shop!” She points to a pastel yellow building whose sign reads Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour.
“Ice cream isn’t on the list, Lils.” Petunia reminds her firmly. It doesn’t make sense to do everything all out of order, anyway.
“Later, Lily,” Dad says fondly, and she subsides with a pout.
They follow Madam Poppin’s directions down the twisting street, past buildings of all shapes and colors, to the bank which looms large and pale at a fork in the road. Gringotts Bank reads the etching above marble pillars, and Lily cranes her head back as the pass beneath it, enough that Petunia worries she’ll tip over. She yanks Lily’s hand sharply and her head snaps down to take in the interior: mosaic floors and heavy chandeliers and gilded ornamentation. Dust motes catch on the light streaming down from high-up windows; the only other light source are the many candles that flicker at the counters. And at the counters, more goblins than one can count, all dressed like business men, all busy at their work.
“Goblins!” Lily exclaims.
“It isn’t polite to point,” Petunia chides.
At the counter, the teller asks for her name and carefully weighs out the allotted money for her new school supplies. Dad hands over some pounds to be exchanged, as well. The wixen currency is fat and shiny; little bronze ones engraved with goats and larger silver ones engraved with a strange, winged creature. The teller notices their awe and smiles, revealing two rows of sharp teeth. It’s a kind smile, nonetheless.
“The smaller ones are knuts and the larger ones sickles,” he explains. He opens a drawer and takes out a gold coin, sliding it across the table to Lily’s reaching hands. “This is a galleon. 29 knuts to a sickle; 17 sickles to a galleon.”
Lily rolls the coin in her fingers, green eyes wide. Petunia can’t help looking too, watching the gold catch the light.
“I’ll take that back,” the teller says after a few moments, holding out a grey-green hand. Lily hesitates, and his smile shifts, no longer kind at all. Lily drops the coin back onto the counter, and its clink is drowned out by the many sounds around them. “Thank you.” His smile softens again, but Petunia no longer trusts it.
The bright midday light is blinding when they emerge from the dim bank. Petunia stands on the curb with her family, blinking and gathering her bearings.
“Ice cream?” Lily prods.
“Not on the list,” Petunia repeats, crossing her arms and frowning at her.
“Petunia,” Mom says warningly.
“We could get ice cream and eat it while we pick up your supplies,” Dad suggests, as if it’s so simple to diverge from the plan.
“I don’t want ice cream,” Petunia says sullenly.
“You don’t have to get any.” Lily rolls her eyes, a motion miraculously missed by either of their parents.
“I won’t.” She’s fuming. It’s supposed to be her day, and it’s still all about what Lily wants. “I’ll go get my stuff by myself. You all can go get ice cream.”
Say no. Say I can’t go on my own. Don’t ruin this. She looks to Mum, trying to convey with her eyes what she means. I want you with me.
The furrow in Dad’s brow clears.
“Alright,” he agrees easily.
“You’ll be fine by yourself?” Mum asks, but she is already turning away.
“I’ll be fine,” Petunia agrees, eyes burning. Dad hands over the little purse of money after taking out a bit for the ice creams, and then they are leaving, disappearing into the thick of the crowd.
Petunia stands alone on the cobblestones, blinking back tears. She refuses to cry in public, so she takes a few deep breaths and digs her nails into her palms and does not scream.