Breaking the chains that held me
Three weeks had passed since the violin incident that had left Petunia Evans in a deep slumber, confined to a hospital bed, surrounded by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft beeping of machines. Her grandmother, Daisy Evans, was a constant presence by her side, clutching Petunia's hand as if to tether her spirit to the world. Daisy had always been the gentle heart of the family, nurturing, and supportive in the face of the cold reprimands from Petunia’s mother, Rose Evans.
As Petunia drifted in and out of consciousness, she fell into vivid dreams—dreams that transported her to pivotal moments in her past and potential futures. In those dreams, she witnessed herself as a disappointment, constantly overshadowed by the brilliance of her magical sister, Lily Evans. Insecure and bitter, she watched her jealousy morph into a toxic bitterness that left scars in its wake.
There, suspended in a hazy ether, Petunia saw her youthful self affected by her mother's suffocating expectations. Rose fed her insecurities with guilt, effortlessly manipulating her emotions with barbs that stung like the sharpest thorns. She even envisioned herself deftly dodging the sting of her mother's veiled criticisms—particularly about her strawberry allergy, a constant reminder of her inadequacies—serving to further isolate her.
As the visions unfolded, Petunia aged, overtaken by regret and resentment. She married Vernon Dursley, a man who mirrored her own shortcomings and compounded them tenfold. Despite giving birth to her son, Dudley, she felt the discontent gnawing within her. Dudley became her only salvation, her son meant the world to her, then came Harry Potter hatred growing in her as she looked at his green eyes so much like his mother, even as she refused to confront the bitter truths of her own heart. She was trapped in a cycle of neglect, hounded by the suffocating memories of her sister’s talents and the ghost of her grandmother’s warmth.
Time slipped by, darkened by grief and loneliness. Her husband and son’s deaths had shattered her, distancing her from the past that was once filled with familial love and warmth, stability, plunging her deeper into an abyss. Convincing herself that she deserved such a fate, Petunia tried to focus on gardening, tending to flowering plants that reminded her of happier times. She picked up her neglected violin again but only to remember the sting of her mother’s rebuke “ you’re not good at the violin Petunia”, and though her fingers found the strings once more, her heart struggled to produce the music.
Then came Raven, a darkened soul removed from the world Petunia knew. He was a Death Eater, yet he saw in Petunia a flicker of light that he longed to nurture. Their love blossomed in the most unconventional of gardens, illuminating her life with healing and understanding. They danced together in a small wooden cabin, his arms wrapped around her like an unbreakable promise. “I love you more than the world itself, petals,” he whispered, eyes sparkling with a mix of adoration and reverence.
“I love you too, my Raven,” she replied, her spirit lifting like the dawn breaking over a horizon. And in the warmth of their embrace, Petunia felt a flicker of happiness and belonging for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. But just as quickly as it had begun, the dream unraveled, leaving her breathless.
Petunia’s eyes flew open. The world around her was starkly different than the warmth of the cabin she had just left. She gasped at the familiar sterile scent of the hospital room. She was back in the present, her hands trembling as she looked down, their youth preserved.
Her gaze shot up to meet her grandmother’s tearful eyes, and an overwhelming sense of relief flooded over her. Daisy’s presence was a balm, soothing the jagged edges of her broken spirit.
“Grandma, what happened?” Petunia asked, her voice a fragile whisper, trembling with fear and hope.
“Petunia, my darling,” Daisy whispered, tears beading in her eyes. “You scared me half to death. I didn’t know what was happening. You were playing so beautifully, and then—” She choked on her words, looking away for a brief moment before looking back at Petunia, who was still trying to process what had just happened.
Petunia glanced around the room, her mind fuzzy. She could still feel the echoes of that haunting melody lingering in the air and the warmth of the snow that she and her friends had played in earlier that day. A thrilling yet overwhelming feeling washed over her. “What happened, Grandma? The violin… I was playing the violin,” she managed to croak out.
Daisy let out a shaky breath as she grasped Petunia’s hand tightly. “You did, sweetheart. You played a tune that no one had ever heard before, and then… blood started coming from your nose, and you fainted. The doctors say you were in some kind of trance.”
Petunia frowned, trying to remember the moment she played. An image flashed in her mind—a glimpse of a figure standing at a distance, watching her with kind eyes. The sensation of loss crept in again, pushing through her thoughts like a wave. “Grandma, I heard someone… a voice. It said something to me.”
“What did it say?” Daisy inquired, leaning forward. Then petunia realized that she can’t tell her grandmother about the future so she lied “I don’t remember the words, but… it felt important,” Petunia replied, her voice shaking. “And it felt… familiar.”
Daisy’s expression softened, and she brushed a lock of hair away from Petunia’s forehead gently. “Maybe it was someone’s ghost trying to connect with you we can’t understand this phenomenon yet but maybe someday you will understand.” She paused, as if contemplating whether to share her thoughts. “You have a gift, Petunia. Music flows through you in a way that’s rare, and it can connect to things far beyond this world.”
Just then, the door creaked open, and in walked Emma and Yvonne, their faces pale with concern. Upon seeing Petunia awake, their eyes lit up, bringing a wave of color back to the room. “You’re okay! We were so worried!” Emma exclaimed, rushing to Petunia’s side.
“What happened in there?” Yvonne asked, her voice trembling. “You were playing like a real pro, and then everything went dark, and we… we didn’t know what to do.” Yvonne started to tear up.
“I think—I think I heard something,” Petunia said, her heart racing. “When I played the violin, I felt like I was connected to someone. It was like they were telling me something important. Something… about a dangerous game? But it was so powerful, and then I just lost myself in the music”
She trailed off, the memories swirling around her like a storm.
Daisy squeezed Petunia’s hand tighter. “It’s alright. You’re back now. Just focus on getting better. We’ll figure out what this all means together.”
As the girls began to chatter about the snow and the cake, Petunia felt a flicker of normalcy returning. But a lingering sadness walked alongside the happiness as she thought about the voice and its significance in her new reality she was trying to remember who is Raven? Why can’t she see his face in the dream? and What dangerous game was it referring to, and why did it resonate so deeply with her?
Xxxxx. C
The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains of Petunia Evans’ hospital room, casting long shadows across the sterile white walls. Flowers, wilted and forgotten, adorned the windowsill; remnants of well-wishers who had since moved on with their lives. Petunia, at eleven years old, had experienced more than many could fathom. After weeks in a coma, she had awakened to the realization that the world around her had continued to spin while she lay helpless. Her thoughts, however, remained tangled in a chaotic web of anger and resentment.
As she sat with her friends Emma and Yvonne, laughter erupted in the small room, but it felt foreign to Petunia. She watched them closely, recalling their earlier conversations about things she could not connect with anymore—school, homework, boy crushes. They were light-hearted, innocent, and she felt heavy with bitterness.
The moment was interrupted when her parents, Rose and Harold Evans, stepped into the room. A mix of anticipation and dread washed over her as she noticed how tense they appeared, their faces betraying acknowledgment of the distance that had grown between them.
"Petunia!" Her little sister Lily came bounding in, all chubby cheeks and sun-kissed hair, and wrapped her arms around her. It should have felt good, this embrace, but instead it only deepened the chasm in Petunia's heart. She didn’t return the hug, staring past her sister, her anger thickening like fog around her.
"Bye, Petunia! We're gonna let you have some family time," Emma and Yvonne said, exchanging brief glares at her parents, before slipping out of the room, leaving the air filled with an uncomfortable silence.
“Why did you come?” Petunia shot, her voice tight and strained. The question hung in the air like a dare.
“To see you,” Lily piped up innocently, her face a mix of worry and confusion.
A bitter laugh spilled from Petunia’s lips. “Oh really? Because in the last three weeks, you never even came here to visit. Funny, isn’t it?”
“Petunia, we were—” Rose began, but her words were cut off by another round of mocking laughter from Petunia.
“Were what? Too busy? Or maybe you just didn’t care?” The words flowed from her mouth with a venom she barely recognized as her own.
“Petunia, we—” Rose began, but Petunia cut her off, the rage boiling over.
“ Shut up I’m done hearing your lies and excuses!” she screamed, the sound echoing against the sterile walls of the hospital room.
“Petunia, listen,” Rose said, her voice trembling. “You need to know that we love you. You didn’t eat strawberries that day.”
“Strawberries?” Petunia scoffed. The very word ignited a fury within her. “Tell me, Rose, did you wish for me not to wake up? Is this why you baked that strawberry cake on my birthday, knowing full well that I’m allergic?”
Silence hovered in the air, thick enough to cut. Rose opened her mouth, but no words emerged.
Petunia leaned forward, every syllable dripping with derision. “Oh really? What was your intention? Baking that cake with my name on it when you knew I couldn’t touch it? Looks like you wanted to kill me after all.”
“That's not true!” Rose protested, her voice rising defensively. “I only baked it for Lily because it was her favorite—”
“There you go!” Petunia laughed harshly, the sound echoing off the walls. “You just admitted it! All for your precious Lily!”
Lily shrank back, eyes wide with terror as the family drama unfolded before her.
Harold finally intervened, the tension making his voice hoarse. “Petunia, you’re being unnecessarily harsh. Do you have any idea how worried your mother was?”
“Oh, Harold Evans, for a second I thought you were mute,” she retorted cruelly. “You’ve chosen the right moment to speak up. Where were you before my coma? Reading your newspaper, pretending everything was fine as I faced daily abuse?”
“Enough!” Harold’s voice rang out, authoritative yet helpless.
Petunia’s cold laughter filled the room. “Enough? You should have thought of that before. I’ve had enough of receiving scraps of love from you both.”
“What do you mean, Petunia?” Harold asked, confusion lining his features.
“It means,” she declared, her voice steeling with resolve, “that I am done with you. I’m disowning you.” The words struck like a clap of thunder, echoing in the small room.
Harold’s mouth flapped open like a fish out of water, shock painting his face.
“I’m going to live with Grandma, and there’s nothing you can do about it,” she said, her voice unwavering.
“Petunia, you can’t do this,” Rose cried. “You’re just a little girl!”
Petunia waved her mother off as if dismissing a common fly. “I can and I will.”
In a swift, primal movement, she picked up a vase from the bedside table and hurled it, shattering it against the wall mere inches from Rose. “Get out! You’re not welcome in my life!”
Harold leapt forward, but Petunia seized a food tray and flung it at him, the clang of metal against metal piercing through the air. “Didn’t you hear me? Are you deaf? I said get out!”
Her heart pounded in her chest, a volcano of rage erupting as she finally unleashed years' worth of pent-up fury at the family that had neglected her.
In that charged moment, as Petunia stood amidst the plaster dust and potential violence, she felt something shift within her. No longer was she the silent girl hiding behind her mother’s skirts. She had woken from her coma, and with it, she vowed to rid herself of the strain of familial ties that had suffocated her for far too long.
“Leave,” she repeated, her tone no longer frantic but calm and determined.
Trembling, Rose clutched Lily’s hand and turned to leave the room. Harold, still reeling, followed. And for the first time in a long while, Petunia felt a flicker of something new: the promise of a life free from the chains of her childhood, an escape that swept away in the currents of her newfound strength.