Chapter 2: The Loathsome Word

Petunia rose like the dead to the dinging bells of her alarm clock. She switched it off blearily, animated only by the promise of a shopping trip. Last night, the whole family had stayed up to watch the broadcast of the moon landing. Mummy had invited the Pullmans for the occasion to show off the Evanses’ new telly. Petunia remembered listening to Judi Dench’s poetry one minute and being jolted awake close to 4 AM to watch Neil Armstrong’s first steps on the moon, his already famous words transmitted from outer space and repeated by the broadcaster.

“…one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind…”

It was incredibly exciting! But then Petunia had wanted to go to sleep proper, and Mr. Pullman, a retired engineer, blocked her path, saying now she had to wait up 20 minutes longer to watch the second man walk on the moon. He claimed it was a once in a lifetime affair, like they hadn’t just watched Neil Armstrong. Even stringy Petunia couldn’t squeeze past Mr. Pullman’s wide frame, so she had been forced to wait up. It hadn’t been a total waste of time. The picture quality had noticeably improved for the second man’s go around, but as a result, nobody in the house went to sleep before 5 in the morning. Now it was a quarter to 10.

Downstairs, the telly still blared. 

She knocked on Lily’s door. There was no answer. 

“Lily, we’re leaving in 15 minutes,” she groaned, zombielike, from Lily’s doorway. There was a moan from the oddly shaped lump on the bed. 

“Pet, Lily’s tired. She can come with us another time,” Mummy yawned, coming through the corridor fully dressed for their outing. Petunia frowned, but the mass of sheets on the bed seemed to shrivel in on itself, and Petunia closed the door to start getting herself ready. It took a few minutes until she was no longer tempted to crawl back under her own covers, but Mummy let her have a few sips of coffee. She even put makeup under Petunia’s eyes to cover up the dark circles! By the time she and Mummy were out the door, Petunia felt like she had the energy to outrun the bus, which moved so slowly it wouldn’t have cost her much effort.

They got off at Tattersall, across from the bank and near the hospital. Normally this was the busiest section of Cokeworth, but the mill protest was still ongoing, attracting enough bad press that the gazette from the next town over flocked in to cover the story. Petunia had spied them from the bus window, circling the scene with their vulturous bald heads behind flashing cameras. It was no secret that British textiles were dying. Imports met the demand for inexpensive clothes, and even places like Cokeworth saw more people dressed in bright colors and bold patterns than mourning black. Three separate strangers had already complimented Mummy on her blue and green patterned dress.

After they had gotten Petunia’s uniform and P.E. kit, Mummy took her to Imago, a clothing shop founded by a Midlander who had traveled to London and tried to recreate the stylish boutiques on Carnaby street back home. He claimed he wanted to offer fashionable options to the discriminating consumer, but the truth behind the venture was a slipshod businessman thought he could make a quid pushing overstock from London further north. Wedged between a pawn shop and a launderette, Imago couldn’t replicate the flair or trendiness of London, but the residents of Cokeworth didn’t notice, the same way they couldn’t tell much of what they were being sold was last season’s vogue.

Mummy stopped in front of the store window to surreptitiously reapply her lipstick, and Petunia noticed a murky shape reflected in the glass. She turned around. 

A woman was moving between the passersby, so slim and dark a figure she looked like someone's shadow had come loose and run amok. Speak of the devil, that could only be Mrs. Snape! She really ought to be at home minding her ill-behaved son. 

Petunia studied her retreating form with disapproval. They favored one another, Mrs. Snape and her boy. It was no wonder he had painted her a witch, with her long, limp black hair and her impossibly dark eyes. The longer Petunia looked, the easier it became to believe the lie. Mrs. Snape wore the haunted look of someone whom had been dunked in the river and dragged out three days later. There was no color in her face. 

Petunia shook her head. This must be how ghost stories were born. Eileen Snape was undeniably strange, but she wasn’t a gray haired, green-skinned, wart-covered caricature. She wasn’t even dressed in black! Petunia squinted and the witchlike figure blurred into the shape of an ordinary woman from the mill housing with old, shabby clothes. This woman was nothing like Lily, Petunia noted with satisfaction. Mummy had followed Petunia’s eyes, but didn’t seem to recognize the identity of her target by her back.

“Some women will never get with the times, hm?” Mummy winked, opening the shop door. Unlike most mothers, she was a fan of the 60’s shrinking hemlines. Lily was really lucky to have the best shopper choosing her clothes. 

Petunia cast aside all thought of witches. She had wanted her shopping trip to be Snape-free and wouldn’t let the unfortunate events of yesterday ruin her special day. She and Rosie were in their element, up to their necks in mini skirts and vinyl jackets. They lost themselves in the maze-like racks of clothes. This was Petunia’s idea of magic.

Petunia latched onto her dream dress. She could look just like Twiggy in the catalogues or Veronica Berkenstein—she went to Tuft Grammar too, and now her face was stocked in every Sainsbury’s in England—the poster girl on the ads for fruit preserve.  

“Pet, no yellow.” Mummy yanked the hanger out of her hands and placed it back on the rack, flipping through the dresses until she found another bright yellow frock in Lily’s size. “Yellow washes you out.”

She stared longingly at the dress Mummy selected for Lily, and then at the dress lost to the rack. Petunia was forbidden from wearing yellow. That still left her with more options than Lily, who wasn’t allowed red, pink, or magenta on account of her hair. Neither girl was allowed orange, which Mummy said they would thank her for one day. Rosie alone could wear all the colors, but even she spurned horizontal stripes, which were permitted for Petunia alone. It was a sophisticated system.

Mummy slipped a red dress in her arms.

“There you are, love! Nice and eye catching.” 

Mrs. Evans ducked behind another clothing rack and when she reappeared, she held several packets of colored tights fanned out in front of her face. Her resemblance to Lily could not have been more pronounced, a mischievous glint playing in her green eyes. 

“When I was a girl, you couldn’t get nylons unless you knew the right people. You had to meet these old men selling silks and perfumes out of suitcases in dark alleys—”

Petunia gasped, nearly dropping the dress she was holding. Mummy couldn’t mean herself! “Risking your life for stockings sounds foolhardy and dangerous.”

“You sound just like Ned,” Mummy huffed airily. “Your dad was one of the fellas turning his head when he saw me in Nylons.” 

Pet heard a compliment and preened at the comparison. “If Daddy turned his head it was because he couldn’t believe someone would pay for the opportunity to meet trouble and advertise it to the world.” In spite of her words, she had taken the pile of colored tights from Rosie’s hands and clutched them close to her chest. 

Mummy wore a sardonic smile. “Yes, that’s the patented Ned Evans sensibility.” She scanned the store covetously, but her full arms restrained her insatiable eyes. “What would Ned Evans say now? I think we have everything.”

“Wait! I need a sensible pair of trousers too.”

Mummy had a good laugh. Petunia had gone three for three. 

The single pair of trousers set them back an hour. Petunia was too tall to buy trousers from the children’s section where they could find sizes that fit around her hips but left her looking like the Snape boy from yesterday. The women’s section offered trousers of the proper length, but they were all too wide. Mummy was grousing about the lack of a well-stocked junior’s section as a sales associate tried to advise her how to alter a pair of trousers at the waist. Realizing she wasn’t getting far, the saleswoman turned to Petunia.

“I was around your age when I started sewing. It’s a useful skill.”

The girls’ grammar school taught sewing and embroidery to ‘equip ladies for mastery of the domestic sphere’ and ‘train shrewd financial management.’ Pet was about to persuade Mummy to let her try her first project when Mummy interrupted the conversation. 

“What about those on the mannequin?”

The saleswoman’s glasses slipped off her nose. “We aren’t allowed—”

“Could you get me your manager, love?” 

As they waited, they heard shouting from the backroom and Petunia whispered her idea of trying to take in a set of trousers herself. Mummy waved her off. When the sales associate brought out the manager, he was grumbling under his breath, but the second he saw Mummy, his words slipped out of his slack jaw and his mouth set into a sloppy smile. “Of course we’ll get you the pair off the mannequin, madam.”

Mummy winked at Petunia over her shoulder. The staff stripped the mannequin and Petunia went behind a curtain to try on the trousers, which fit perfectly. Everyone told her how mature and grownup she looked standing at Mummy’s side, and the manager rung up Mummy’s purchase himself. If any mother in Cokeworth had magic powers, it would be Mrs. Evans fitting the description with her charm and not shabby Mrs. Snape. Not that anyone would dare call Mummy a witch.

When they returned home, it was nearly time for supper. 

“We should have brought Lily, we could have used the extra set of arms,” Mummy quipped as she fished for the house keys from her pocketbook. If Lily was disappointed about missing the shopping trip, Petunia hoped showing her how to do a handstand again would cheer her.

“Lily? Lily!”

Lily didn’t turn up in her own bedroom or Petunia’s.

“I can look for her at the playground,” Petunia offered. 

“You do that, Pet.” Mummy hid her yawn behind her hand and sank down on the settee. “I’m so happy I still have Mrs. Pullman’s shepherd pie from yesterday. Leave it to Mummy to save the day.” 

Petunia nodded her head and set off in high spirits, which sank the further she got from home. She hoped that boy hadn’t bothered her sister. Lily wouldn’t have had Petunia around to give her a hand.

An eerie sight met her beyond the gate. The playground was empty and the air windless, yet the swings bounced and the roundabout spun lazily, like ghost children had abandoned their play.  She chalked it up to her lack of sleep. Lily wasn’t here, yet Petunia felt compelled to linger. She crossed over to the hedge boundary where the large shrubs formed a green, flowering wall. This was where she and Lily had stood when Snape had interrupted them yesterday. The blue flower Lily had cast aside was still on the ground, mercifully untrampled. Petunia twirled it between her fingers and gingerly placed it in her open palm. It sat there like a flower should, still and unmoving under her gaze. Had she imagined it opening and closing its petals into the shape of a mouth yesterday? Maybe it had been the wind all along and Petunia had let herself be carried away on the back of her swelling imagination.   

She ought to be relieved everything was acting as it should. The last thing she needed was for an ordinary flower transform into a set of chattering blue lips. She waited a minute longer before pocketing the blossom and standing up. It was a pretty little thing. She’d press it inside of a thick book and, in the winter, when the bushes turned into a barbed blockade, it would be a reminder of how beautiful the hydrangeas looked in full bloom.

The bushes rustled and Petunia leapt back, convinced it was that boy again. She was about to give him a piece of her mind when she spied distinctive dark red hair peeking through the greenery. 

“Lily, you aren’t allowed to go into the park!” she said reproachfully as her sister crawled through the brush and onto the asphalt lining the playground, dusting off her dirtied clothes with dirty hands. Petunia plucked a leaf out of her hair with disgust. The grass beneath their feet was littered with scattered blue flower blossoms.

“I was with Severus.” Lily gestured to the empty space behind her and Petunia wished her sister could be speaking about an imaginary friend. No such luck. Instinctively, she knew in her bones Snape must be Severus. Even his name was a bad omen, like he existed to be a blade to hack at the sisters’ relationship. 

Lily frowned.

“Severus is—”

“—the wizard,” Petunia supplied unkindly. Lily didn’t take notice of the mean joke; her face split into a smile. 

“Yes, he told me all about it,” Lily chattered excitedly. “He’s the same age as me! His birthday is January 9th, so we’re exactly 3 weeks apart.”

Cynically, Petunia was tempted to ask Lily who had shared their birth month first because she wouldn’t have been surprised if Snape had made up everything about himself. He was really grasping at straws to create a connection between them. Sharing the same month of birth. Amateur. 

Lily took a deep breath. 

“And Severus explained that we’re—he and I—” she clarified, “are magic.” 

Petunia didn’t even blink. This is exactly what she had expected Snape was trying to do yesterday. Lily was scrutinizing her non-reaction.

“That’s not all! There’s a magical school where witches and wizards learn magic after they turn 11—” 

“Snape is lying.” Petunia said flatly. 

Lily’s lower lip started to tremble, out of agitation and not sadness, which was both good and bad for Petunia. It meant that her words didn’t make Lily sad, but they did stir up Lily into arguing. They might be here for awhile. 

“No—no, it’s real.” 

“Lily, there is no such thing as magic.” Her words came out with a harsh edge, but she reasoned nine-and-a-half was old enough to lay aside make believe. She folded her hands and donned the somber demeanor of a pallbearer. “You should also know Father Christmas does not exist. Mummy and Daddy buy our presents at the department store on Bonds Street.”  

“I know that,” Lily said, flushed. “This isn’t like Father Christmas!”  

“But there are elves,” Petunia said wryly. 

“Yes, there are elves, but the school uses them for—hey!”  

Petunia had started to walk towards the playground gate. Lily yanked her hand.

“What if I can prove there’s magic?”

Petunia’s heart missed a beat. For a moment she felt as though the little flower blossom in her pocket trembled, but the feeling was gone instantly and she realized her imagination was getting the best of her again. Lily would be running off to the swing set or the bushes and they would be late.

“You should start by proving to Mummy we can be home on time for supper. Then, if you want to use magic to wash the dishes, I would appreciate it.” The corners of Lily’s lips tugged down, sending the corners of Petunia’s lips upwards like a seesaw. She had finally figured out how to win this little game. “And the ironing and the dusting and the mopping!” she tacked on giddily. 

Behind her, Lily grumbled that only Tuney would turn magic into doing chores. Petunia didn’t mind. She was suddenly quite enamored with the idea of a magical house that cleaned itself. In fact, if it were a choice between having the magic power of flight or having the magic power of never needing to do chores again, the latter seemed infinitely more practical.

It was a slow, silent trudge home because neither sister felt like speaking. Petunia, in her misery, turned to Snape. He couldn’t have left the pair of them alone, could he? He was probably laughing to himself all the way back to Spinner’s End, filling Lily’s head with his nonsense. Briefly, it did cross her mind that maybe Snape believed this stuff himself if he was 9, but then she recalled the way that boy had seemed to eye her yesterday, like he wanted to get Lily away from her by design. That was not a little boy who genuinely believed in magic. That was someone who planned a set of stories for Lily alone and didn’t feel comfortable having them pass muster with someone older and more knowledgable. The longer she let her theory stew, the stronger it seemed.

Of course Snape hadn’t picked 7 or 13 to be a magical number. He picked 11, as if it were a mere coincidence that an invitation to a magical school arrived the same year someone would sit their eleven-plus exam. He couldn’t even be creative, Petunia fumed. She could tell anyone that there was nothing the least bit magical about turning eleven, as Lily would find out for herself in a year and a half. He probably went for 11 over 13 because he knew he couldn’t string along Lily for any longer.

That made her feel better. Snape knew his influence on Lily was short-lived and already wilting. Something that fragile might not even survive the summer. 

Petunia had to be careful. She knew how Lily could get. The worst thing to do now would be to agitate Lily about magic to the point where she was kept glued to Snape’s cheap lies by her own stubbornness. Petunia would be better off ignoring Lily’s newest phase. In Cokeworth, most things died without intervention.

When it was time to wash up after supper and Mummy joked that the dishes washed themselves (which meant she and Daddy took tea while Petunia and Lily washed them), Petunia didn’t even look at Lily when she handed her a dish to wipe dry, let alone ask her whether she felt like proving magic now.

Her sister’s infatuation with magic was only temporary. It was something she caught from Snape that would pass in a week or two of proper rest and good hydration. While it was unfortunate to have Lily spewing nonsense about being a witch, Petunia considered herself immune to madcap fantasies. She attacked a particularly stubborn spot of grease on the frying pan she was washing. When she had rubbed her fingers raw under the hot, soapy water, it came clean, gleaming like treasure. With satisfaction, she handed over the clean pan to Lily to dry, confident things would seem easier in the light of a new day.

Snape wasn’t going to be around forever.

❀ 

The next morning, Lily tried to race out the door, but Mummy made her go upstairs and try on all her new clothes.   

Petunia used the time to bring in the milk and the mail, which she sorted for Mummy. Bills for Daddy, an invitation—for a christening if Petunia could make it out correctly without opening the envelope—and a postcard from Uncle Patrick. 

Scotland again. 

Daddy joked the Evanses had enough photos of Scotland holidays they didn’t have to go themselves. Every year they received a new set of postcards from Mummy’s eldest brother and a stack of photographs picturing Uncle Patrick, Aunt Esther, Danny, Julie, and Keith in front of slightly different rising green hills. Years ago, she and Lily used to beg to go on holiday there too—the greenery was a novelty against gray Cokeworth—but by now both girls readily agreed Uncle Patrick had showed them every corner of the country. This particular postcard had a majestic view of Edinburgh Castle in the background.

Wish you were here…

Daddy said you only sent postcards if you wanted to boast you could afford a nice holiday. Dingy places like Cokeworth didn’t sell postcards.

Petunia made her way to the small table in the corridor and put the mail in two tidy piles by the phone. Bills to the left and, on the right, the postcard hidden by the invitation. Maybe, one day, when she grew up, she would go on nice holidays. They only went to Nan’s; no one in their family ever came to visit because Uncle Connor and Uncle Patrick claimed the air was bad. 

“Everything fits,” Lily shouted from the top of the staircase, thundering down the steps and jolting Petunia from her thoughts. Petunia could hear Mummy’s muffled voice from the upstairs loo, and she lunged towards the door. Lily’s cheeky grin slipped into a sheepish expression as she came face to face with the unexpected obstacle in her scheme.

“Ah. Do you want to go to the playground?” Lily asked her halfheartedly, like she hoped Petunia would say no. They both knew there was a chance Petunia’s presence would ward off Snape, who hadn’t wanted her around two days ago, but Petunia had already deemed keeping those two apart a lost cause.   

“No,” she answered. Lily’s face brightened immediately, and Petunia could not believe her sister was so happy to see Severus. It was almost enough to convince her a dark form of magic was at play. Petunia glanced upstairs, willing Mummy to make an appearance, but she was out of luck. Lily followed her gaze.

“You can tell Mummy I promised not to jump off the swings.”

“Good of you to promise,” Petunia replied stonily. Lily looked abashed, but Petunia couldn’t shield the door forever, so she stepped aside and Lily was off to the races. She watched her sister running down the pavement of Highcourt, straight towards the smoke of the mill chimney. From this angle, it looked like her dark red hair was its own fire pluming smoke into the sky. Petunia shut the door bleakly and trudged up the stairs to play messenger. 

Mummy was folding Lily’s new clothes and stacking them in the cupboard when Petunia shuffled upstairs with the grim expression of an emergency room doctor.

“Lily thinks she is a witch with magic powers.” 

“Oh, fun!” Mummy said listlessly. “Well, I’m glad the space race is over.” 

This had not been the reaction Petunia hoped for. Mummy had finished folding and was now stripping the sheets off Lily’s bed. 

“Hold these for me, love.” Mummy handed her a stack of fresh bedclothes and plopped Lily’s pillow on top of the pile.

“That rude boy from the playground the other day,” she began from behind the bedding. Mummy hummed noncommittally, and Petunia tried to jog her memory. “The one who said mean things to me and Lily? The one who wore strange clothes? Lily befriended him.” 

She waited expectantly, but Mummy acted she hadn’t heard a word Petunia was saying. 

“He said his name is Severus Snape.”

The news knocked Mummy off her feet. She collapsed on Lily’s bare mattress and Petunia rushed to her side in trepidation, leaving the clean sheets piled at the foot of the bed. Pet had imagined her larger-than-life mother could mend any misadventure Lily could find herself in, but Rosie Evans had her limits. She looked small and fragile on the child-sized bed, Petunia crouching next to her.   

“I knew this would happen!” Mummy cried dreadfully. 

Her words made Petunia pause. How on earth could Mummy have guessed Lily would become friends with Snape of all people? The prospect was so far off Petunia’s radar, she would have sooner expected pigs to fly. Maybe Mummy was delirious? Rosie had taken a sudden turn for the worse. Her eyes were glassy and her voice grew faint. 

“I knew my girls would abandon their Mummy!” she whispered tearfully. “I’ve always done my best. Everything I’ve done has been to protect you. But do my children listen to me? No!” She gave a single, strangled sob.

“I listen to you, Mummy,” Petunia said weakly, reaching for her mother’s hand. Her words had no effect. When Mummy next spoke, she didn’t seem to register Pet was in the room.

“The Snapes are horrible people,” Mummy said feverishly. “The mother—beyond strange. She doesn’t act human; it’s like she’s from another planet. The father, a drunk and a layabout. The son, they say he’s disturbed. The whole family is bad blood. They live in that mill housing complex—with the highest crime rate in all of Cokeworth.” 

It was worse than Petunia feared. “Should we call the police?” she asked, ready to rush down the steps and make the call. 

“No,” Mummy answered definitively. “What we need to do is ignore this!” Mummy bolted upright and her swift change in mood left Petunia completely disoriented. Petunia was about to suggest she ring Daddy’s work or even an ambulance, but Mummy’s demeanor shifted to a semblance of her usual pleasant temperament.

“If I forbid Lily to meet the Snape boy in the playground,” Mummy calmly explained, “she’ll sneak off to meet him in Spinner’s End.” Petunia could have understood that logic yesterday when she had believed something similar, but today that plan proved half-cooked and it was turning her stomach. Why would Mummy allow Lily to spend time with a boy whom she called disturbed?

“You know your sister, she’s a little rebel,” Rosie said fondly. Her tone belied the nervous air that pinched her face. Petunia thought of Mummy’s story from the other day about meeting old men in back alleys to buy blackmarket nylons before she got married. Mummy seemed uncharacteristically cavalier about her past choices in the store, but maybe her own escapades made her so sensitive to present danger. 

She patted the empty space next to her on the bed and Petunia sat down warily. It wasn’t too late to ring Daddy, but she had better be sure they had an emergency at home first. He would be cross if he left work for no reason, and Mummy was beginning to sound like her regular self. That unhealthy sheen to her skin was already gone.

“You see, Pet, Lily is anxious about you going to a different school and leaving her behind. Now she’s latched onto a new friend her own age and wants to play magic and pretend for a little bit longer before she grows up. You’ll make plenty of new friends of your own at school. Aren’t you excited?”

“I guess so,” Petunia answered tentatively. Although she had spent a great deal of time listening to stories about Tuft Grammar and repeating them so frequently that they started to feel real, she couldn’t trust she knew what was in store for her come September. She had her uniform and a box of pencils to last her the year, but still couldn’t picture herself in Ms. Sterner’s strict Latin class or sitting in the Morris-Taner cafeteria for lunch. She was nervous about school. Worse, she was afraid Mummy’s sudden recovery was not all it appeared.

Mummy took one glance at her downcast expression.

“I’m not happy with the friendship either, but trust me, Pet, it is not going to last. A boy like that might captivate a girl like Lily for a month or two, maybe longer if they don’t see each other very often, but sooner or later Lily will meet a different class of people, and she’ll be embarrassed to be seen alongside…a certain type.”

Mummy stood up and began to fit the fresh sheets over Lily’s bed. Petunia went around to the bed’s other side and tucked a crisp corner of blue fabric under the mattress.

“You know, when I was a girl, my favorite memories were playing pretend—pirates and sword fights, and expeditions to the Alps! I loved adventures.” Mummy sighed wistfully, but when she looked over to Petunia, her expression became profoundly sad, like she knew right away her daughter couldn’t recognize her mother in such a description. 

Petunia’s heart broke into a million pieces. She felt awful, like she failed Mummy.

“Lily just wants to dream of a few more adventures,” Mummy surmised, sounding older than the Pullmans or the rusted gate to the playground. “There are lots of adventures coming up, grammar school, sixth form, marriage, children. Those last two are the happiest adventures of all.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but Petunia believed her. She wanted to be just like her mum when she grew up.

As Mummy gathered Lily’s old bedsheets in her arms, Petunia fretted over her mother’s plan to corral Lily within the playground walls. That plan had already failed. She considered telling Mummy she had caught Lily returning from the park yesterday, but she couldn’t burden her with that news after her abrupt health scare. Petunia had no proof Lily’s newfound interest in make believe would take her to Spinner’s End.

Mummy carried on with the washing like nothing had happened. It should have alleviated Petunia’s fears, but Mummy had ripped the curtain back on the silly game of magic to expose a very real danger in the Snapes and their part of town, and it fell on Petunia’s shoulders to ensure no harm befell Lily.

❀ ❀

Snape’s pretend magical world was all Lily ever wanted to talk about. Petunia wished she were more like Mummy and Daddy, who could ignore Lily with polite indifference but she couldn’t seem to emulate them no matter how hard she tried. 

“Daddy—Daddy, are you even listening?” Lily cried as she stood in front of the telly. 

“Of course, poppet,” Daddy replied, appearing to stare straight through her. “I heard every word you said about the gnomes in the Wizard Bank.”

“Goblins, Daddy. Goblins.”

Mummy was the same way.

“Magic, how wonderful!” Mummy sang. “Why don’t you dust the furniture? It’s just like waving a magic wand if you pretend. Just like a magic princess, see?” 

Mummy fluttered the feather duster hither and tither with a beaming smile on her face that took all the steam out of Lily, who mopishly didn’t speak another word about magic for the entire day. Mummy couldn’t fathom how she had offended Lily, nor could Petunia for that matter, who would have gladly repeated the trick if she knew how to apply it.

It was only Petunia whom the mere mention of magic seemed to grip relentlessly. Any time she tried to read a book or magazine to drown out the sound of Lily’s stories, she couldn’t concentrate on a single word and had to put her reading material down. She despised Snape’s fake Wizarding World, but Lily seemed to care more that someone was reacting to the subject intensely and personally than whether that reaction was positive or negative. Half of Lily’s stories weren’t even about magic powers anymore. For the most part, they centered around a special world—for Lily and Snape alone—that was isolated from everybody else despite the fact that it was built around a school. The nameless teachers and students and make-believe creatures seemed to exist only as colorful backdrop for Lily and Snape’s future adventures. It was like secret fantasy language or an exclusive club for weirdos, which is how Petunia privately thought of the whole affair. 

The only good thing said for her sister’s magic infatuation was Lily had no designs to meet Snape’s mother or wander around the mill. Petunia had tested her a few times, but Lily happily admitted Spinner’s End was not magical and neither was any place in Cokeworth.

As the days passed, Petunia almost wished her sister would spend her time with Snape. Lily was driving her spare. Today was the second day of a torrential downpour and the sisters were confined to the sitting room, forced to endure each others’ undesired company. They couldn’t watch the telly. Its picture fizzled and scrambled in the bad weather. Petunia had long ago completed the puzzle Mummy had set out for the girls’ entertainment, Lily having been too distracted to contribute, and now she was left without a buffer against Lily’s tales. 

The subject at hand was one Petunia despised more than any talk of wizards. It was the other side of the coin, muggles, the people without magic. Earlier in the week, she had finally discovered what the mysterious insult meant. It was Snape’s codeword for the people he disliked. You would think the existence of witches, goblins, and elves would make ordinary people too boring to talk about, but Lily brought them up frequently for the contrast. How could wizards and witches be so special, so different, so extraordinary if there weren’t regular, normal folks to compare them with? 

“Wizards think Muggles are funny! For years, there were wizards convinced brollies were used as tiny boats if the rain water got too high for Muggles to cross!”

“Church is mainly a Muggle thing, but wizards and witches still celebrate Christmas and Easter and have godparents. It dates back from before wizards went into hiding.”

“Sev says he knew I was a witch right away because I’m different from Muggles. Most of them don’t notice much.”

Petunia snapped.

“Suddenly everyone’s a muggle to you, aren’t they? Mrs. Jenkins from the church is a muggle and Suzy Friar is a muggle and the milkman is a muggle. They used to be normal before.”

“It’s not a bad word,” Lily said hastily. “All it means is someone who isn’t a witch or wizard.” 

Petunia grimaced. She wasn’t going to touch the witch topic. 

“I think he made that word up.” She thought he made everything up—the word, the school, the fairies, and whatever other nonsense he had filled Lily’s head with—but she wasn’t willing to entertain the rest of it. Not after Lily’s previous reaction. She picked up the dictionary she had meant to show Lily and opened it to the page she had marked off, pointing to a secondary definition under mug as a noun. A stupid and gullible person.

Lily looked a little chagrined. “The Americans have a word that sounds nicer, but ‘muggle’ isn’t bad. Nobody means anything by it. I’m Muggle-born and that’s not offensive. It’s a technical term.” 

Petunia wrinkled her nose and remained unconvinced. “Well I don’t want to be called a Muggle.”

Lily didn’t say anything in response. She picked up her summer assignments, which she had left unusually late into the holiday, and began completing the maths work halfheartedly, no doubt dreaming of flying broomsticks and magic castles instead. Petunia, who had finished all her summer workages ago, picked up a novel, determined to forget the entire conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see what appeared to be a pencil floating in mid air and she turned her back to it because pencils didn’t do that. 

There had to be more to it than just stories, she thought. Not that Snape was telling the truth, but Lily wouldn’t fall for his lies so easily if he were only telling her stories. Lily's words from their last visit to the playground echoed in her mind. What if I can prove there’s magic? 

She thought back to the rumors she had heard about that boy, accounts of strange happenings where he was involved, sometimes people getting hurt or property getting damaged. It sounded dangerous. Everything Mummy told her about the Snapes was bad news. There was no telling what could happen. She couldn’t shake away the image of Mummy collapsed across Lily’s bed or Lily free falling  off the swings. 

The next time Lily went to meet Snape, Petunia would check what those two were doing and set her mind at rest.If there was nothing too strange underway, she could go back to ignoring the friendship.  

Petunia tossed aside the novel. How could she concentrate on romance with everything that was going on?

❀ ❀ ❀

Tailing Lily took no special skill. She waited five minutes after Lily left the house and then took an alternate route towards the park. She knew not to bother checking the playground. Snape wasn’t after a turn on the swings, and, she supposed, neither was Lily. 

Unlike the playground, which had a single gate and defined borders, the park was easily accessible because the city wouldn’t spend money on renovating it and it wasn’t fenced off. They had been hoping to sell off the property for years since its upkeep was a big drain on municipal finances. The park was a remnant from the days Cokeworth used to be farmland. Over-cultivation and overgrazing already destroyed much of the area by the time factories were built to revitalize the economy. When industry boomed, new manufacturing plants ate up more and more patches of earth for cheap until few plots of unsold greenery remained. The area had been neglected until the 40s when it was requisitioned for an airfield, but there hadn’t been enough acreage to complete construction and the plans were abandoned. Most of the fence that had been newly put up had been cannibalized for scrap metal, though you could still find random single pieces standing in the middle of the grass. Boys liked to dare each other to jump over it. 

Eventually, the city was forced to take responsibility for the bastardized property. They did so shamefacedly and refused to give the parkland an official name, though a rumor persisted that it was listed as Church Hill on a civic document. In Cokeworth, people just called it the park. Because it was the only park, it attracted all types. It had a reputation for strays, which was why the Evans girls were supposed to avoid it, but families would sometimes gather there and most of the homes nearby were owned by solidly middle-class people. 

Petunia entered the park from Peppercorn Lane. Wearing a red dress was a poor choice for someone trying to avoid notice, but she didn’t have to be careful to avoid notice for the moment. Lily was nowhere to be found. Aside from two teenagers who snuck out to snog, the field lay bare because the paddleboat rental was closed for the day. She looked around for some kind of clue to Lily’s location. In the absence of one, she started on the dirt pathway, walking in the opposite direction of the playground. 

She followed the winding path along the river, its waters so dark it cut through the greenery like a large black snake slithering through the grass.She had never ventured so far into the park before. The area was nicer than she expected. Everything was vibrant and lush in the summer and a smattering of wild flowers brought some color to the area. There were no vagrants or shady characters of the sort her parents told her to watch out for. In fact, she was entirely alone on the path, but that wasn’t the least bit disagreeable. 

Up ahead, the footpath and river diverged, the path heading west to eventually loop around the park and the river continuing south, down by the mill. If Lily and Snape had come this way, she should have caught up to them by now. She eyed the river suspiciously. Petunia had a wild thought that Snape had taken her sister to Spinner’s End. Implausible though the idea was, it did lead her in the right direction. Petunia considered it very likely she would find the pair hiding somewhere in the thicket of trees up ahead, which marked a jagged end to the parkland. 

Petunia gave the footpath a longing look and reminded herself she couldn’t get lost. She had the river to keep track of how to get back home, and she could still spy the chimneys of houses in the distance beyond the treeline. 

She didn’t have to go far. Lily’s auburn hair was as bright as a beacon among the green surroundings. Snape was next to her, having shed his coat in the shade. Unseen, Petunia crept as close to the pair as she dared and ducked behind a tree. She could hear a little of what they were saying. She kept still; she waited. They talked, she waited.

Petunia wasn’t sure what she had expected. She assumed Snape must be showing Lily proof of his magical world or magical powers in whatever shape that may take, but her sister and that boy were only sitting and talking beneath a tree. She thought Lily wouldn’t have fallen for a set of made up stories no more believable than Narnia or Peter Pan, yet Lily had. Snape clearly had an active imagination, she’d give him that. But it was tiring standing still behind a tree not making a sound. She didn’t know how Snape had managed to crouch behind hydrangea bushes on multiple occasions and follow someone’s conversations with the ease of watching them unfold on the telly. Didn’t he get tired? On second thought, maybe he deserved it if he did, spying like that. 

Lily and Snape started talking again and this time Petunia kept an ear out for an opportunity to leave. She wanted to go home and needed a minor commotion to make her exit unobserved. 

“Tell me about the dementors again.” 

Oh, please don’t, Petunia thought. Those things were creepy-sounding! They could only have come straight out of Snape’s head. Faceless, indestructible, soul-sucking monsters that fed on happiness. What kind of disturbed boy would conceive of such things?

“What d'you want to know about them for?” Snape asked, and it was the first time Petunia heard him say something reasonable. 

“If I use magic outside school—” Lily started. Petunia leaned closer. She didn’t believe in Snape’s atrociously named Hog School, but she didn’t want him giving her poor sister nightmares about evil creatures out to suck her soul. This wasn’t like believing Father Christmas will leave you coal for being naughty, this was something sinister. 

“They wouldn't give you to the dementors for that!” Snape declared. “Dementors are for people who do really bad stuff. They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban. You're not going to end up in Azkaban, you're too—”

Whatever Snape may have said about Lily, Petunia couldn’t hear it from this distance. She stepped up on a root to sneak a look at the pair, but lost her footing and made enough noise that Lily and Snape both spotted her.

“Tuney!” said Lily, surprise and welcome in her voice, but Snape had jumped to his feet.

“Who’s spying now?” he shouted. “What d’you want?”

Petunia was breathless, alarmed at being caught. She was so angry with Snape she completely forgot about her sister in that split second. She had never met a person in her life she disliked as much as him! Upbraiding her for spying when had done the exact same thing at the playground and called her a bad word. She hadn’t insulted him! Not yet—

“What is that you're wearing, anyway?” she said, pointing at Snape's chest. “Your mum's blouse?”

A stormy look flashed on Snape’s face. With a thunderous crack, a branch above Petunia’s head fell and caught onto her shoulder as Lily screamed. Petunia staggered backward and burst into tears.

“Tuney!” Lily yelled, but she had already turned on her heel, running back to the direction of the footpath, her shoulder throbbing. She left her sister behind, feeling incredibly foolish for being so concerned Snape would hurt Lily when she proved the one who had gotten hurt instead. 

Let Lily have Snape if she wanted him so badly. Lily would change her tune once Snape called her a Muggle. That’s what he was playing at with these games, laughing at someone he found stupid and gullible.

She ran the whole length of the park’s portion of river, and when she reached end of the footpath, she continued to follow the running water alongside the twisting streets that divided Cokeworth instead of going home. Here in the gray, industrial part of the city, the river no longer resembled a black snake weaving through the grass. It was a massive oil slick. The city’s engine had broken down and the looming smokestack in the distance was hacking away, puffing its dying breaths. Everything in this city was in a state of decay. She stood on the bridge and stared into the inky water, unable to drudge up a reflection. She didn’t want to see herself in the murky water anyway.

Petunia leaned over the railing and wondered if that sinking feeling in her stomach was what flying felt like. It was like Mummy said, she would be starting a new school, a new adventure, and it was all very exciting in theory. She would make new friends and soon she’d never have to see the likes of someone like Snape again. If Lily was scared of a made up prison with nightmarish prison guards that wasn’t her problem. If Lily had friends who hassled her over her relationship with a weird boy, that wasn’t her problem either. And if Lily got hurt—well, she had the chance to learn from Petunia’s example first. 

Her shoulder still stung and running had worsened the pain. She could feel a bruise forming beneath her skin. The whole area was tender to the touch. She plodded home and arrived in time for supper. Lily had long beaten her back, able to be home on time without Petunia’s nagging reminder. 

Lily kept shooting her sister concerned looks as Petunia pushed food around her dinner plate with her left hand.

“What’s the matter, Pet? You aren’t eating,” Mrs. Evans said, breaking away from her conversation with her husband to follow Lily’s gaze toward Petunia, who mumbled about not being hungry without lifting her head.

“A tree branch fell on Tuney when we were at the park,” Lily blurted out, darting her eyes between Petunia and her parents, whose faces mimed concern. In a more subdued voice she added, “Tuney thinks a boy from the neighborhood did it. The boy I was talking to.”  

Petunia’s head snapped up and she glared at her sister. 

“Well, that’s silly. No one can make a branch fall from a tree,” Mr. Evans chided.

Petunia grew more cross. If there was one thing she disliked as much as talk of magic, it was being called silly. And that was not what she thought! She never said Snape made the branch fall on her!

“It’s the park’s fault,” Rosie clucked reproachfully. “They ought to be pruning branches regularly so accidents like this don’t happen. You should call the park services, Ned. A falling branch could kill someone.” She shook her head vigorously. “It’s not right, not right at all.”

Ned grew very somber. “I’ll call first thing in the morning. Maybe we should take Petunia to a doctor first to check her arm.” Daddy pointed to her wrong shoulder and then clapped her on the one that had been struck, making her wince. “Where in the park was this, Pet? By the footpath?” 

Petunia swallowed nervously. “No. It was in the grove,” she said in a small voice. Where the park ends. 

Mummy and Daddy looked at her at a loss. They couldn’t call the park services on trees outside of the park’s jurisdiction. 

“What were you doing out there?” Mummy shrieked. Her face twisted like Petunia confessed to meeting the fabled tramps in the thicket for drug needles.

“It was my fault,” Lily interjected, finally clued in to the gravity of her earlier confession. “Tuney only went there to follow me.”

Mummy looked horrorstruck for one more moment before ranting about that thoughtless boy who had led her poor daughter into danger. Petunia thought she meant Lily even though Lily hadn’t been the one struck by a branch, but it was hard to tell because her mother became incoherent. Daddy lectured Lily on the importance of standing up for herself and saying no, which Lily sat through in thorough vexation, kicking her feet back and forth under the table. Lily wasn’t the type to be bossed around. Petunia knew very well that her sister always did what she wanted, whether that was jumping off the swings or going to the park, but Daddy might not have noticed.

Petunia twirled her empty fork. Although, deep down, Petunia felt like Snape hurt her, she was forced to admit there were only two options. Either Severus Snape had somehow made the tree branch over her head fall on top of her…with powers. Or, Petunia had to concede that the tree branch fell by itself, by coincidence, and had nothing at all to do with that boy. Only one of those options made sense. She swallowed all her anger and resentment. Snape was innocent. The fallen tree branch was a freak accident.

It was not so different from another freak accident that took place years ago in this very room. Petunia had been lucky not to have been seriously injured then too. When Lily was almost 3, the glasses in china cabinet shattered inexplicably. Petunia, who had been on the outskirts of the room, had gotten scratched from the broken glass, but Lily, who had been sitting directly in front of the cabinet, had been miraculously unscathed. The shattered glasses formed a circle around her, which was why Mummy had nicknamed her “miracle girl” and was so protective of her. In Mummy’s hysteria, she had actually believed Petunia had been responsible for the incident until Daddy convinced her that a four year old could not have pulled glasses off the upper shelves, let alone smashed every glass from the cabinet simultaneously; it was a freak accident the Evanses still had no explanation for. Like Daddy said, sometimes bad things just happen.

“—You don’t want to be the kind of girl who gives in to peer pressure, especially from boys. If you feel scared, cry out for help and run away,” Ned finished. Lily looked like she swallowed a slug, but Daddy didn’t see her expression because Mummy embraced Lily round the head.  

“My poor Lily-flower was scared!” she wailed.  

Petunia wanted to mention she had been scared, but shrank from it in case Mummy and Daddy thought eleven was too grown up to feel afraid. She didn’t want to be silly, which you had to be to believe in something like magic.

At last both parents moved to the kitchen to carry on their argument whether or not they still had reason to call the park services. Mummy gave Petunia the night off from washing up on account of her shoulder and Lily the night off because Mummy was convinced she had been traumatized somehow. The sisters were silent until they heard the sound of the tap and then their eyes met. Lily shivered under Petunia’s icy glare.

“Does your shoulder hurt?” Lily asked weakly.

“Yes, it does.” 

Lily flinched at the news and Petunia was struck by a sudden inspiration to catch her sister in a bind. “So what do you think?” she needled. “Do you believe Snape made the branch fall on me on purpose?”

Lily froze like a deer caught in headlights. Her dilemma was self-evident. She could deny the existence of magic and render her talks with Snape make believe, or she could admit that her new friend hurt her sister with magic. Her hesitation was answer enough for Petunia.

“I don’t care what Snape might have told you. There is no such thing as magic! The branch fell by accident and if he was laughing that he did it—”

“He wasn’t laughing,” Lily interjected firmly. “He wasn’t happy you got hurt!” 

Petunia frowned. She didn’t care that Snape had the basic decency not to snicker when she was struck by a branch. She cared what Lily thought, and she felt snubbed that her sister would prefer a reality where Snape hurt her with magic to a reality where there was no magic at all. If Lily was so stubborn she truly believed Snape made the branch fall on purpose, then why was she still willing to be his friend? The betrayal stung as badly as if Snape had actually snapped the branch. 

All over something that didn’t exist. 

Petunia stalked to her bedroom without another word. 

Snape was still rude and aggressive and volatile, but he wasn’t dangerous in the way the rumors painted him. He hadn’t tried to kill her with a tree branch for instance, not that it counted for much in being a good person. Lily had sat at home for an entire day, moping and looking adrift, but that was the extent of her magic strike.

“Do you mind if I go see Severus?” Lily had asked her before Petunia’s red bruise had the chance to purple.  

On the matter of Snape, Petunia maintained a dignified silence.

“You do what you want.”

“I prefer you spend your time as you please.”

Her passive protest made no impression on Lily, who didn’t read into Petunia’s veiled meanings or think anything of her troubled looks. It became the norm for Petunia and Lily to have relatively little to say to one another long after Petunia’s bruise had faded, and no one in the family noticed anything was amiss.

In September, Petunia entered the distinctly un-magical world of grammar school. It was as strict as Jill’s sister Becky made it sound. There was another girl in her class with a flower name, Poppy, which Petunia thought was a much lovelier name than her own, more sensible too—poppies for remembrance. Then a group of jeering boys outside the school gates nicknamed her Poppycock, which proved to Petunia there was always some awful boy waiting to ruin your day. Poppy became Petunia’s good friend along with Janie Pierce and Jill Crandon. 

As for Snape, Petunia no longer concerned herself with Lily’s affairs. There were new characters in Petunia’s life to play villains like Hattie Blight and Emma Downer. Perhaps her sister still saw him, but Lily had other obligations during the school year. The Snape boy reappeared in the warm weather, and the next year followed in much the same manner. Lily turned eleven that winter with a nice but unremarkable birthday, and Snape, the seasonal friend, seemed to return sometime in the spring with the flowers and the weeds and the chirping beetles and everything else wild. It was easy for Petunia to believe one day he simply wouldn’t appear at all. Petunia had never believed that anything special would happen the summer of Lily’s eleventh birthday and had lulled herself into a false sense of security until one summer day there was a knock on the door.