Petunia Evans

The kitchen was warm, too warm. The kind of stale heat that made the air feel heavy, like it was holding its breath.

Petunia stood at the sink, drying mugs with shaking fingers. Lily and her friends were laughing in the living room, muffled bursts of chatter, records spinning low in the background. She could hear Lily's voice weaving through it all.

And then Vernon walked in.

He didn't speak at first. Just leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes were sharp and ugly.

"I saw you," he said finally.

Petunia's hands stilled. "Saw me what?"

"Walking home. With him. That boy."

She didn't look at him. "His name's James. He's Lily's friend."

"I don't give a shit what his name is," Vernon snapped. "You were with him."

"We were walking," she said, forcing her voice calm. "Nothing happened."

Vernon took a step forward. "You looked happy."

Something flickered across her face, too fast to name. She turned, ready to tell him to leave it, to go, but his hand lashed out, catching her shoulder and shoving her hard into the cupboard door.

She gasped, more in shock than pain, and then, something new washed though her. Something quiet but boiling. She pushed him back. Shoved him with both hands.

He blinked, surprised, and then furious. "Don't you dare—"

His palm slammed into her chest, and she flew backward into the wall with a sickening thud, knocking a framed photo off its hook. She crumpled to the floor, gasping. For a second, everything was quiet.

"Get out," she said. So soft, even she barely heard it.

Vernon froze.

"Get out," she repeated, louder, clearer, something burning in her throat now.

Vernon stared at her, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he turned, stomped through the house, and slammed the front door so hard the whole house shook.

Petunia didn't move. She stayed curled up on the floor, breathing shallow, one hand clutched to her ribs. She didn't know how long she lay there before she heard footsteps.

"Sounded like there was a war in here," someone said, half-laughing.

Petunia looked up, squinting.

Marlene McKinnon stood in the doorway. Blonde hair messy and pinned back with too many clips, eyeliner slightly smudged, socks mismatched. Loud, blunt, and, Petunia had decided early on since Marlene had glared at her, probably Lily's most annoying friend.

Their eyes met. Marlene's grin faded in an instant.

"You alright?"

Petunia forced a smile. "Yeah. Sorry about that. My boyfriend and I clash sometimes."

Marlene blinked. Then, without a word, crossed the room and filled the kettle. "I'm making you tea."

"You don't have to—"

"Don't argue. I make excellent tea." She rummaged through cupboards like she owned the place. "Where the fuck do you keep the good mugs?"

Petunia blinked. "Top left."

Marlene snorted. "Figures. Always the top bloody shelf."

Petunia stayed on the floor, watching her. "Did Lily send you in here?" she asked eventually.

"Nope. She thinks I went to get biscuits." Marlene plopped the mugs down. "Which I will do. Eventually. But first, you and me. Tea and gossip." Petunia didn't respond.

Marlene looked over her shoulder. "You really okay?" Petunia hesitated. Then nodded, once.

Marlene didn't push. She just poured the tea, loaded it with sugar, and sat cross-legged across from her on the floor.

"You know," she said, sipping. "I always thought you hated us."

Petunia raised an eyebrow. "I did."

She had hated Lily's friends, not for the reasons Marlene thought however. She hated them because after meeting them Lily had begun hating her.

Marlene grinned. "Love the honesty."

"You're not what I expected," Petunia said quietly.

"Ditto. Thought you'd be a stuck-up cow." Petunia couldn't help but snort at that.

Marlene beamed. "There she is." And just like that, the sharp edge dulled a little.

The air softened.

Petunia drank her tea.

The sound of the front door opening again was like a trigger. Petunia's shoulders tensed the moment she heard her mother's heels on the hall floor, clipped and certain. Marlene must've felt the shift, because she went still, tea halfway to her mouth.

"Petunia!" The voice cracked through the kitchen like thunder. Petunia stood up slowly, as if bracing herself for an impact she'd known was coming her entire life.

Her mother stormed in, lips pursed and face flushed. "Vernon just left this house in a state, Petunia. What in God's name did you say to him?" Petunia blinked, stunned by the in a state part, and didn't have time to answer before the rant kept going.

"You embarrassed him and yourself. I cannot believe you'd treat someone who actually cares about you like that." Marlene stood too, but Petunia gently motioned her back.

"You never even try to be like Lily, do you?" her mother snapped, now pacing like she needed somewhere to throw all her fury. "Lily would never behave like this. She has friends, a future, she's kind. You just sulk around this house smoking like some washed-up—"

"Mum," Petunia said quietly, "please."

"No. I'm sick of watching you ruin what little dignity this family has left. First complaining constantly about not going to school, then your sulking, and now Vernon? He's the only thing about you we've ever been proud of—"

"Okay, what the actual fuck?" Marlene cut in, stepping forward with a kind of fire Petunia hadn't seen in someone, at least not for her.

Petunia's mother stopped mid-rant, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

"No, excuse me," Marlene snapped, arms folded, voice loud and cutting. "Your daughter's boyfriend—ex, I'm assuming physically hurt her, and you're mad she didn't apologize to him? Are you serious right now?"

"That's none of your business," her mother hissed.

"She's my friend," Marlene shot back. "That makes it very much my business."

"You're no friend of my daughter's," Mrs. Evans sneered. "Clearly, you're just like her. Trouble. And Lily doesn't need either of you ruining her future." Marlene's mouth dropped open in pure offense.

Petunia, finally, felt the tiredness break into something else. She opened her mouth to speak, but her mother turned on her heel and stormed out before she could say a word. The slam of the front door was the second one that morning. This time, it didn't rattle the house. It just echoed.

A head peeked around the kitchen doorway. "...so," Sirius said, leaning in, "do you always host morning dramas, or is this, like, a special occasion?"

James followed, eyes wide, worried and slightly amused. "We heard shouting, and then more shouting, and then Marlene shouting, and it felt rude not to eavesdrop, honestly."

Marlene rolled her eyes. "You two are the worst."

Petunia looked at them, Sirius in his leather jacket, half-buttoned shirt and chaos incarnate, and James with his still-bedheaded curls and mismatched socks, blinking like he didn't quite know where to put himself. And something strange happened, she laughed. It started small, almost a snort, and then bloomed out of her, loud and ridiculous and completely unexpected.

James grinned immediately. "See? Told you I'm good company."

"You're not," Marlene said, sipping her tea again.

Sirius sauntered in fully now, stealing a biscuit off the counter. "Evans, Petunia Evans, you are infinitely more fun than Lily described."

"Don't call me that," Petunia said through a smile.

"Which part? Evans or Petunia?"

She side-eyed him. "Yes."

Marlene nudged her. "They're idiots, but they grow on you."

"They're like mould," Petunia muttered.

James gasped. "The romance of that comparison. Truly."

"Actually," Sirius added, pointing at her with his biscuit, "I think I like her more than you, Prongs. She doesn't even pretend to like people."

James looked personally betrayed. "Uncalled for. Rude. Hurtful."

Petunia smirked. "You'll survive."

Sirius slung an arm casually over James's shoulder. "You know, I think Petunia should join the band."

"We don't have a band," Marlene said.

"Exactly," Sirius replied. "Step one: form band. Step two: let Petunia be the cool, chain-smoking lead singer. Step three: profit."

Petunia raised a brow. "I don't sing."

"Even better. Mystery angle."

James flopped into a chair and looked up at her, still grinning but softer now. "You okay?"

Petunia hesitated, then nodded. "Working on it," she said. "But yeah." And somehow, despite everything, her bruised ribs, her mother's words still echoing, she meant it.

The four of them were still in the kitchen, crowded around mismatched chairs and biscuit crumbs, when Lily walked in. She took one look at the scene, Petunia leaning back against the counter, James sitting with his chin in his palm looking up at her, Marlene and Sirius laughing over something probably ridiculous, and froze.

"What's going on?" Her voice was sharp. Too sharp. Petunia's smile dropped before it could fully form.

James straightened in his seat. "We were just—"

"I wasn't talking to you." Lily's eyes locked on her sister. "Petunia?"

"I didn't realise I needed your permission to exist in my own kitchen."

"Oh, don't start." Lily's arms crossed. "I know you, remember? This is just like you, soaking up attention the second you feel left out. Making everything about you."

Petunia flinched. Marlene opened her mouth, ready to snap something back, but Petunia shook her head once.

"Right," Petunia said quietly. "Of course." She left her tea where it was, pushed past the table, and walked out of the kitchen. No storm, no shout. Just a slow retreat.

Vernon. Her mum. Now Lily.

She didn't hear footsteps behind her. Just the sound of Lily arguing, the edge of guilt finally creeping into her voice, and her friends trying to reason with her. It was distant, too distant, like the sound of voices underwater.

She walked faster.

The front door opened. Her shoes hit the pavement. A sob pushed its way out before she could swallow it, and it was too loud. Ugly. The kind of sob that shook her whole body. She wrapped her arms around herself and kept walking, head down.

She didn't see the boy until she crashed into him, nearly knocking his book out of his hands.

"Bloody—whoa there." He caught his balance quickly. Blonde, pretty in a storybook sort of way, with too-white teeth and a voice like silk trying a little too hard. "You alright?"

She swiped at her face. "Fine."

"You don't look it."

"Thanks."

He tilted his head. "That's not sarcasm I'm unfamiliar with."

She blinked at him.

"Gilderoy," he said, offering a hand like they weren't both standing on a residential street while she was falling apart. "Gilderoy Lockhart."

She shook it before she could think better of it. "Petunia."

"You, uh... want a cigarette?" She hesitated. Then nodded.

They walked until they found a quiet patch of grass near a park fence, backs to the world. He lit hers first, then his own, inhaled like he was being saved.

"My mother's going to kill me," he said.

Petunia raised a brow.

"Smoke's bad for the lungs," he said in a mocking sing-song. "So is having dreams that don't involve being an international star of some kind."

"You an aspiring actor?"

"I'm not aspiring anything. That's the problem."

She took a long drag. "Parents are the worst."

He glanced at her. "Yeah?"

"She wanted me to marry the man who just threw me into a wall."

"...Christ."

Petunia laughed bitterly. "You asked."

He laid back in the grass, exhaling slowly. "My mum... used to tell everyone I was gifted. Said I was destined for something huge. I used to believe it."

"You don't anymore?"

"I peaked at nine." He shrugged. "Now I'm just... average. And she can't take it. She stares at me like I've failed her by not being brilliant."

Petunia looked at him. Really looked. "Yeah," she said softly. "I get that."

He didn't say anything for a minute. Just nodded and stared at the clouds, cigarette glowing in his fingers.

"Hey," he said eventually, "you want to keep pretending we're strangers who don't have responsibilities and aren't tied to people who want us to be something else?"

She smirked. "That's the most attractive thing anyone's said to me today."

"Well, I do try."

They sat in silence, not heavy, not uncomfortable. Just smoke and wind and the kind of quiet that comes after everything's broken open.

Petunia didn't feel better. Not really.

But she didn't feel alone either.