ugly people

“So, you’re taking him away?” Petunia said, taken aback, and then immediately incensed. “Three years after his mother died, and from the only family he’s ever known?”
Petunia didn’t even like the boy. But it was like it was with Lily—Petunia hadn’t liked Lily, either, but Lily was her sister. Harry was her nephew. She didn’t like them, but god forbid that anyone do anything to either of them. She hadn’t liked the magical world, and she liked it less now, but here was the thing about it all: she didn’t have to. Lily was her sister, and Harry was her nephew, and that was all there was to it.

Notes:

For neosaiyanangel.

Work Text:

“Pass the gravy,” Dudley said, glaring across the table at his cousin.

“No,” Harry replied. “The gravy is close to you, you get it.”

“Pass Dudley the gravy, Harry,” Petunia said, without looking up from her dinner. She was tired—the boys were four, ready for school in only a couple months, and bluntly speaking: Petunia couldn’t wait. They were a disaster at home, always screaming and making a mess, and she just wanted to be able to clean the house in blessed silence without it being a mess not even thirty minutes later.

And today, of course, Vernon had gotten home forty minutes later than usual—which meant dinner was forty minutes later than usual, and none of them were especially happy about that, either.

“But Aunt Petunia,” the boy whined. “I can’t even reach the gravy. It’s beside you.”

Petunia looked up, realizing that Harry was in fact correct, when the gravy shook. Just a little. Just a quiver.

She looked at Harry, who was pouting, ready to screech at him when—

The gravy jug quivered some more, and then slowly, shakily, it rose in the air.

And then it started moving, slowly. Ever so slowly.

Towards Dudley.

And Dudley sat there, his blue eyes narrowed in concentration, his fist clenched around his fork and his teeth gritted, as the gravy jug sailed across the table at him and landed softly, gently, in front of him.

Her son looked up, vindictive pleasure written in his grin. “Hah,” he said, glaring at Harry. “See that.”

“Good for you,” Harry retorted, tucking back into his bangers and mash. “If you could do that always, why didn’t you?”

The two of them saw nothing amiss. That, unfortunately, was for Petunia.

Who looked across the table, met Vernon’s priggish, narrowed eyes, and knew that she was in for it.

“This is your fault!” Vernon hissed at her. The boys were in bed—Dudley had been in tears by the end of the night, Vernon having refused to play with him as was his usual, as if his son had a contagious disease, while Harry had gone with a snapped order and more curiosity and bewilderment than anything else.

Pity that magic wasn’t contagious. Petunia couldn’t help thinking bitterly. It would have solved a lot of problems, if she’d have been able to catch magic from Lily like she’d always caught the flu.

“So, he has magic,” Petunia hissed back, cognizant that the door to Harry’s closet under the stairs was just a few feet away. “I know that’s unexpected, and I don’t like it either, he’s still your son.”

“How could any son of mine have magic?” Vernon retorted, whirling on her. “How do I know he’s mine, Petunia? With you at home all day by yourself?”

“Well, first, before he came along, I worked a job, as you very well know,” Petunia whisper-shouted back. There was some part of her that wondered if she should take it as a greater affront that his initial instinct had been to accuse her of adultery—but maybe it said more that she didn’t. It wasn’t like it was the first time.

Vernon complained. He liked to complain about everything—about politics, about his workplace, about the weather, about his car, about the traffic that day, about the cleanliness of the house, about the noise the boys made, about the quality of the dinner that Petunia had spent two hours cooking before he got home, about the fact that dinner was cold even though she’d timed it to be done at five-thirty exactly and he’d worked an extra forty minutes, about Petunia’s dress, about Petunia’s make-up, about how Petunia got to spend all day lazing about while he worked—

Petunia drowned it all out. She wasn’t bothered by that anymore—this was just Vernon. Vernon was like this, and Petunia had a beautiful house in Sussex with a white picket fence, and she had Dudley, and sometimes she wondered if she even had Harry. Vernon was away at work five days of the week, and she could always find ways to keep herself busy at home.

It was the slight against Dudley that bothered her.

“And second,” Petunia continued, her quiet voice thick with venom, “Dudley looks exactly like you.”

“But he has it,” Vernon snapped back. “I—this is your fault.”

Petunia couldn’t deny that. It probably was her fault—something in her genetic code, something that had given her parents Lily and something that apparently, she had which passed down to Dudley.

This was Dudley, and that was different.

“It’s not contagious, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said bitterly. “Dudley is still Dudley—he was always Dudley.”

“We’ll have to beat it out of him,” Vernon said, slamming his fist into his hand. “Just like with Harry—and that boy is a bad influence. We’ll call social services in the morning, give Harry up, tell them how your deadbeat family left him with us, and we can focus on Dudley—”

“No,” Petunia replied, her face going numb as she heard his words.

It was odd. With Harry—well, even Petunia knew that she and Vernon didn’t treat the boy well. She wasn’t a fool. Harry wore all of Dudley’s old clothes, because Vernon said that money that he made wasn’t going to clothe a child that wasn’t his. He slept in a closet, because Vernon said that space in a house that he had bought with his money wasn’t going to a child that wasn’t his. He got less food that Dudley did, because Vernon didn’t like to feed a child that wasn’t his, and Petunia—

Well, Petunia gave both boys chores, but only Harry did them. She didn’t have the energy to chase after Dudley making him do his assigned chores, and still ended up doing them because Vernon complained when Dudley’s toys weren’t put away. (Harry didn’t have his own toys, because Vernon said that money that he made wasn’t going to toys for a child that wasn’t his).

She didn’t have to put up with this.

The thought came through with an absurd sort of crystal clarity.

It was a stupid thought, not one that happened often, but right now Petunia felt heady and reckless and angry. If she was more sensible than she was right now, she’d have talked herself out of it. She would have told herself about all the problems that would come up, with her needing to find a job when she hadn’t worked in almost five years, and the court case that would become inevitable, and the loss of her beautiful house in Sussex with the white picket fence…

But the house wasn’t hers. It wasn’t in her name. It was Vernon’s house.

She had her own house, one that was left to her by her parents. And that house was hers, free and clear, and she didn’t have to put up with this.

“No,” she repeated louder, this time with resolve. “I am not giving my sister’s son up, and no one is beating anything out of Dudley. We’re through, Vernon. I’ll pack my things, and the children and I will be gone in the morning.”

Things looked very different in the harsh light of day.

4 Privet Drive was comfortable. Petunia had been a homemaker, ever since she’d gotten pregnant with Dudley. Vernon had provided—he’d lorded it over them, complained about it, complained about everything—but he’d done it. And now Petunia was striking out on her own?

It was a personality flaw, she thought, that she couldn’t find a way to move past it. Petunia was stubborn, the kind of stubborn that meant cutting her nose off to spite her face. She’d always been stubborn, much to the despair of her parents, who had often told her that she needed to be softer, kinder, more forgiving. Boys will be boys, men will be men, you need to be soft. Just like Lily, just look at Lily. Everyone liked Lily.

Lily was dead.

Lily was dead, and Petunia was pretty sure that her stubbornness or lack thereof had nothing to do with it. Lily was dead because she’d been in a war, and being soft hadn’t done anything for her then.

Petunia had said she was leaving, and that meant she was leaving. She had said it, and she would do it, because the alternative—apologizing, saying that she’d been wrong, capitulating—was something that she was not programmed to do and that she would not do. Especially because she didn’t even think that she had been in the wrong.

That meant a night of packing, digging up the money that she kept in the house—her money, of course, money left to her by her parents—for train tickets for herself and the boys, and a day of travel. Harry, being Harry, had been grimly helpful and pulled the bags for himself and Dudley while Dudley…

Dudley had cried. Dudley had wailed. Dudley had thrown himself on the floor in the train station screaming, and it was a small mercy that Petunia was still strong enough to pick him up off the floor and haul him onto the train. Dudley had sobbed for two hours on the train, and Petunia was getting stares from the other passengers.

Petunia did not care.

Cokeworth was as miserable as Petunia remembered it to be.

It was in the northwest, a small town whose industry had first been fishing, and then had been mining, and then had been the factories. In her youth, it had been a fine enough town—the factories paid well, in those days, and there was plenty of work to go around. The houses were well maintained, the lawns kept, and the roads had been newly paved in asphalt.

Then the work started drying up. The factories received fewer and fewer orders, until there was none, and then there was no work for anyone. People went on the dole, and the young—Petunia among them—left for the big cities and better work. And pride might have kept the houses nice for awhile, but it couldn’t last forever.

Petunia’s house was in no better condition than any of the others. Standing in front of it, she only saw a shadow of the home that her parents had raised her in. The windows were boarded up, the paint on the outside of the house was peeling, the walkway was cracked, and the lawn was an overgrown mess.

“Come along,” she said to the boys, both of whom were trailing behind her. Dudley was sniffling, his nose and eyes red, while Harry seemed to be taking it all in with stoicism. “This was your grandparents’ house. Both of yours. We’ll be staying here.”

“For how long?” Dudley asked, his voice coming out raspy. “I want to go home.”

Petunia looked at him, taking in the redness in his eyes and nose, and wondered what she was going to tell him. He didn’t understand—not like Harry, who Petunia suspected might have been listening at the door, and who might have understood what he’d heard. She didn’t know.

“We’ll be staying here,” Petunia repeated firmly, fishing the key to the house out of her purse and fitting it into the lock. It clicked, and the door opened silently to Petunia’s childhood.

Everything was still there—Mum and Dad’s old sofa set, ancient and upholstered in a feminine flowery print, the upright piano against the wall, the piano bench pulled out too far and used as a coffee table. A picture of Lily and Petunia as small children, carefully posed in their nicest dresses, hung over the fireplace. Books lined the shelf in the corner, largely focused on Winston Churchill, and dust lay over everything.

She hadn’t come back for long, after Dad had died. Just long enough to clean out the refrigerator and pantry and board up the windows, and a few other sundry tasks, and she’d figured that she would come back later to clean it all out and fix it up for sale. She never did.

“Put everything down, Harry,” she said, her lips pursing as she surveyed the house. She heard the thud behind her as Harry dropped the bags he was carrying, with a small sigh of relief, while Dudley was dragging his feet sullenly over the threshold. “We can unpack our things later. There should be a shopping trolley in the closet—fetch it. We need to pick up some groceries before the shops close.”

“But why?” Dudley whined. “I want to go home.”

“We don’t have food unless we go to the shops,” Petunia replied brusquely, choosing not to address his other comment. “And we need food. So, we are going to the shops. Get the trolley, please.”

Harry was already pushing open the closet and pulling it out. Without a word, Petunia took it from him, and gestured for the boys to go back outside.

Small mercies, Dudley actually did.

The shops ten minutes down the street were empty—not that Petunia knew anyone in Cokeworth, these days. She hadn’t ever had many friends in school, and the few she had, she’d hadn’t tried to contact since she left. She hurried through the aisles anyway, throwing bread, cold cut meats, beef mince, tinned tomatoes, pasta, and a million other pantry staples into the trolley. They didn’t have the good brands she wanted, not like she would have gotten in Surrey, but she made do.

She paid with money that came from the inheritance that had come with the house. It wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, about eight thousand quid, but with the house paid off it would last her until she got on her feet again. The math came naturally, numbers running in her head as she calculated the budget she’d need to keep for the next year.

She’d have to have a job by next year, but that was a problem for later.

Harry helped her load the groceries into the trolley, barely blinking when she snapped at him to load the heavy and tinned items on the bottom with the lighter things piled on top. He complained it was too heavy for him to push, and Dudley smugly took charge of the trolley for the walk back to the house.

That had, Petunia suspected, been Harry’s intention all along. Today, she wasn’t complaining.

It was in the carpark that she spotted him. His dark hair was still too long, framing his face in a stringy blunt cut, and his nose was too big for his face. His clothes were more normal now, even if they were ratty—a t-shirt, incongruous with his black slacks and boots.

Severus Snape.

She made to avert her eyes and turn, hoping not to be caught, but too late. His beady black eyes met hers, and she froze.

He did too, his shoulders tensed.

They stared at each other.

And then his shoulders loosed, and he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Evans,” he drawled. “Back in Cokeworth, after so long?”

“So you see,” Petunia replied stiffly. What else was there to say? She hadn’t seen Snape in years—not since Lily had been sixteen or so. Or was it fifteen? “You’re still here, I see. Never made it out, did you?”

“I did, in fact.” Snape’s smile was almost smug, and Petunia’s hand itched to slap it off. “I’m a teacher, I’m only here for the summer. Whereas you…?”

“Pity for your students,” Petunia said, then turned to the boys, ignoring the unspoken question. There was no need for her to linger here, and leaving Vernon was too recent—she didn’t know how she was going to talk about it yet.

She knew she was supposed to be ashamed and embarrassed. She knew that, if it had been a woman down the street in Privet Drive, she would have led the swarm of judgmental whispers that followed her. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t want to be, and there was nothing that said she should be.

Her circumstances were different. Because there was magic, and who could understand that?

“Your husband kick you to the curb?”

Petunia whirled back to look at him, and the smirk on his face irked her. More than irked her, in fact—her hand twitched, and it was only the fact that they were in a public carpark that had her stilling it. “I left, in fact,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes. “This morning, I did, and do you know why?”

“I imagine he was as insufferable as—”

“Because of them,” she continued, interrupting him and flicking her eyes at her two boys, who were doing their utmost to freeze and disappear behind the trolley. “Because of them and their magic. Because magic is not a thing that—that normal people can live with.”

There was a second of silence. Snape glanced at the boys, seemingly taking them in for the first time, and he stared at Harry for a particularly long moment. He knew Harry, Petunia could tell. If not personally, then he knew who Harry was, and that Harry was Lily’s. The green eyes were unmistakable.

“Both of them?” he asked, and for the first time that day his words only had curiosity in them.

“Both of them,” Petunia confirmed, annoyed. “Now, we have quite a lot to do tonight if the house is going to be livable, so if you’d kindly get out of the way…”

Snape stepped aside, and Petunia nodded for Dudley to push the trolley. She turned away, refusing to look at Snape as she marched past him, and then Dudley stumbled forward, the trolley jerking forward oddly.

She turned to glare at Snape, to see him tucking something into the back of his jeans.

“Just a Feather-light Charm,” Snape muttered, refusing to meet her eyes. “It’ll wear off in an hour.”

She should have told him to take it off. She should have said that they didn’t need the help, they’d get by just fine on their own, thanks, but one look at the boys said that even if it wasn’t needed, it helped—and she did want to get home. They had dust to shake off, beds to make, and the dinner before she could even think about bed.

“I won’t thank you for this,” she said instead, gesturing for the boys to go ahead.

“None necessary,” Snape replied. “Indeed, I’d rather you didn’t mention it at all.”

They settled in.

Dudley hated sharing a room. Too bad for him—the home that Petunia had grown up in was substantially smaller than 4 Privet Drive, with only two bedrooms, a sitting room, and a single bathroom for them all to share. The tantrums had been immense, but Petunia had stood fast while Harry seemed, if anything, happier here than he had been in Surrey.

They were registered at the local primary school, the same one that she and Lily had attended. It had been renovated, some time in the years since Petunia had left, but even a month ago, Petunia would have complained loudly about how it wasn’t good enough for her Duddykins. After the month she’d had now, she didn’t care.

It was better than Privet Drive.

That sounded silly to say. She didn’t have the same kind of money, or the space, or… really, anything at all. Dudley still screamed daily. But then, it wasn’t as if Vernon had helped with the children at all in Surrey, and the lack of complaints from him was… refreshing. Here in Cokeworth, Petunia was firmly in control, for good or ill.

There was a knock at the door, and absently, Petunia opened it.

A wizard stood there, his mouth turned into a severe line.

Petunia went to close the door, but he caught it with one hand and a foot.

“Excuse me,” Petunia said, meaning it not at all. “It’s rude to barge into someone’s house.”

“What must be said is better said indoors than out,” the wizard replied, his expression unchanging. “And it’s rather warm out. Where are the children?”

“None of your business,” Petunia said, even as she stood back and let him in—to the entryway. No, she wasn’t going to have a conversation with a man dressed in burgundy robes and a pointed hat in public, but she didn’t have to invite him in, either. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Archibald Talmassons,” the man said, extending a hand. “I’m from the Ministry of Magic. Department of Family Relations.”

Petunia ignored the hand hanging out in front of her.

“Well, then.” The man dropped it and looked around, blinking owlishly in the dim hallway, taking in the yellowed, fading photographs on the walls and the dated wardrobe in the entrance. “I suppose I must cut to the chase, then. You are aware of magic?”

“With Lily Evans as my sister, how could I not?”

“Yes, well.” Talmassons looked around again, seemingly not wanting to look at her directly. “You have the care and custody of her son, Harry Potter…”

“I do.”

“Well…” The man grimaced, and Petunia realized that whatever he was here to say, it wasn’t necessarily pleasant for him. “You see, the magical world is very different than the Muggle one, and being people who live alongside the Muggle world, we have… laws around fostered children. Particularly, that fostered children should only be with a blood relative—”

“Which I am.”

“A blood relative in a stable… situation, or with a magical family,” Talmassons finished doggedly. “And with your recent… separation from your husband, it’s come to the attention of the Ministry of Magic that this is not a stable situation and that perhaps it would be better for Harry Potter to be raised with a loving, doting magical family—”

“So, you’re taking him away?” Petunia said, taken aback, and then she was immediately incensed. “Three years after his mother died, and from the only family he’s ever known?”

Petunia didn’t even like the boy. But it was like it was with Lily—Petunia hadn’t liked Lily, either, but Lily was her sister. Harry was her nephew. She didn’t like them, but god forbid that anyone do anything to either of them. She hadn’t liked the magical world, and she liked it less now, but here was the thing about it all: she didn’t have to. Lily was her sister, and Harry was her nephew, and that was all there was to it.

“Not today,” the wizard hastened to reassure her. “It seems—there is something of an argument, see, about where little Harry should go. There are many options. For now, he’ll stay with you, at least until we work that out. But I came to prepare you, and hopefully him, for that chance."

“I don’t think so,” Petunia replied coldly. “I am his aunt, and a blood relative—and how can you say our situation isn’t stable? I own this house outright, and I have enough saved to take us until I have a job, or my soon-to-be ex-husband pays support. I have priority.”

Talmassons held his hands up, a gesture of surrender, but Petunia knew she hadn’t won. “I can’t speak to that,” he said. “You’d have to speak to a solicitor for that—a magical one, that is. I was hoping to see Harry…?”

“He’s out,” Petunia said. They were only down the street, playing with a neighbour’s boys and giving Petunia a chance to meet with her Muggle solicitor about her divorce, but she wasn’t going to tell the wizard so. “Won’t be back for hours, I imagine. Children lose themselves in their games.”

“I see,” Talmassons said. “Well, in that case…”

Petunia stared at him, refusing to fill the silence.

“I’ll try again another day,” he said finally, tipping his hat at her, and then he scarpered out the door. Outside, there was a bang, like the sound of a car backfiring, and Petunia knew that he was gone.

The boys went to sleep at eight in the evening. They didn’t like it necessarily, but that was the hour that Petunia sent them to bed, having had enough of their antics for the day.

And then, she took her keys, walked out the front door, locked it behind her, and stormed to Spinner’s End.

It was little different than she remembered. The little house—barely more than a hovel—still had junk strewn across its unkempt front lawn, if only more rusted than she remembered. The paint peeling off the sides of the house when she was a child was now missing in large chunks, and several windows had been cracked. Magic or not, Severus Snape did little to better the condition of his property.

She rapped loudly on the front door, paused, and then continued rapping. She had no intention to leaving without an answer, not even if she had to stand and shout at him until he came to the door. When her hand was tired, she began kicking, and barely felt the impact through her sensible, no-nonsense trainers.

He opened the door after ten minutes.

“When people don’t answer the door,” he said coolly, raising an eyebrow at her, “it generally means they do not want to be disturbed.”

“That’s unfortunate for them,” Petunia snapped, not waiting for an invitation before she pushed her way inside. Snape’s house was dark, and a damp, herb-like odor hung in the air. “I’m not here because I want to be, Snape. I’m here because of your people.”

“My people?” Snape smirked. “Witches and wizards, you mean.”

Petunia waved her hand at him, at his clothes. Within the confines of his house, Snape was wearing a long dressing robe over regular robes, and she realized that the damp scent that hung in the air was coming from him.

Potions, she thought, a long-forgotten memory of Lily coming into her head. Lily hadn’t liked Potions particularly, but she’d said Snape was a master of them. Petunia had tried not to listen.

“Yes, you and your people.” Petunia hissed the last two words. “I had a visit from a representative of your—Ministry, today. Someone from the Department of Family Relations. He said that there are… rules, around foster children. They can only be fostered with blood relatives in a stable situation, or by a magical family. Apparently, blood relation or not, I don’t qualify.”

“Quaint.” Snape’s lips twisted into a scowl. “What he means is—well. Some aspects of magical culture are more conservative than Muggle culture. Women have greater equality in general, but family is highly prized.”

“Excuse me?” Petunia asked. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Well.” Snape gestured for her to come in, and she followed him to a squat living room cluttered with shelves and sideboards against the walls and two squishy armchairs in the centre. Books were piled high on the floor. “How shall I put it? In some areas, magical culture is almost a direct extension from the Middle Ages, where women could and did amass significant power, through study or the church or politics. There has never been any prohibition on witches studying alongside their wizard peers. But that ends with marriage—after marriage, like in later Muggle eras, a witch is supposed to devote herself to her family. Divorce is almost unheard of. A woman who has left her husband is… not a good thing in the wizarding world.”

“The fuck,” Petunia repeated, bringing it back to the issue at hand. “Lily Evans was my sister. Harry Potter is her son. I am his aunt. And you’re telling me that because I left my husband who would have, by the way, tried to beat the magic out of him, he’ll be taken away and given to a magical family?”

Snape had been tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair, but it stilled at her words. He studied her for a moment, beetle-black eyes considering, before he spoke. “He was that bad?”

“No.” Petunia shook her head quickly. Vernon had complained a lot, but that was about all he had done. He’d complained about everything, and Harry had been a favourite topic alongside the traffic, his workplace, Petunia, the state of the house, and his dinner. But he’d never raised a hand against them—or, if he did, it had been rare. She couldn’t remember.

It bothered her, that she couldn’t remember whether Vernon had ever hit the boys or not. It didn’t stop her from going on. “He never laid a hand on him, Snape. He only threatened it, and often.”

“I see,” Snape said, and his tone said that he understood more than Petunia had said.

He’d never sounded like that before. Not with her—maybe with Lily, but she’d never seen it. Perhaps this was more like the Snape that Lily had known, and never the one that Petunia had seen.

“Well,” he continued. “I do have an… idea, if you’re welcome to hearing it.”

“An idea,” Petunia said flatly.

Snape was looking away from her—quite pointedly, too. “On the whole, wizarding family law being… what it is, the best position for you to be in would be to be in a relationship. With a wizard.”

“Excuse me?”

“A temporary measure only, of course,” Snape continued. “Unmarried, it wouldn’t have much effect but to give the Department of Family Relations pause—but that would be long enough to contact an advocate to act on your behalf.”

“You want me to date you,” Petunia said, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

“Not at all.” Snape looked up. “I am suggesting we pretend to date. I am off to Hogwarts shortly in any case, which is reason enough that we will not need to be seen together often, if at all. It’s very little imposition on me but should hopefully throw enough of a wrench into the matter that a more permanent solution can be found.”

“Why?” Petunia’s eyes narrowed still more. “You despise me. I despise you. I’m a Muggle, remember?”

“But we both loved Lily,” Snape said, “and it wouldn’t be for us—it would be for her son.”

That wasn’t entirely true, Petunia thought. She’d loved Lily, but she’d hated Lily too. She’d been ferociously jealous of Lily, and she’d wanted to be Lily, but at the same time Petunia had been nothing like Lily and wanted to be nothing like Lily. Lily had always been the perfect, amazing, beautiful witch daughter for her parents, while Petunia—eldest-born Petunia—had been too sharp, too stubborn, with too few smiles for anyone. Loving Lily had never been simple, always difficult but—

When she looked in Snape’s face, she could see understanding there too. Snape had known Lily—he’d had his own complicated feelings about her.

“A temporary measure only, you said?” Petunia found herself asking.

Snape nodded. “Only a few months. Until you have an advocate.”

“Fine.” Petunia swallowed her distaste. “What’s next, then?”

“What’s next?” Snape grimaced. “I suppose I owl the Department of Family Relations, then.”

They had an interview with the Department of Family Relations of the Ministry of Magic two days later, at Snape’s arrangement. Not at the Ministry, given that Petunia was a Muggle, but in the extreme discomfort of Petunia’s own home.

It was Petunia’s house, and Harry and Dudley had been sent out to play with the neighbour’s boys again, and Petunia had taken her cue from Snape. He’d been almost contemptuous of the Ministry, sharp and cutting, and Petunia matched him.

No, of course she hadn’t mentioned anything about Severus earlier—why would she? He’d come knocking on her door, forcing himself in without an invitation, and she was newly separated from Vernon. She had two young children to consider. And how insulting it was to ask, whether it was too soon for her to move on from Vernon, and were all wizards so incredibly rude? Anyway, while it certainly wasn’t any of his business, Severus Snape was a childhood and longtime friend of both hers and Lily’s!

Between the two of them, and the mention of Lily, they’d sent Talmassons scurrying back to the Ministry, with an urgent need to seek further directions from his managers.

And then, Snape arranged for a meeting with an advocate, which Petunia gathered was a wizarding solicitor.

Amelia Bones’ office was in a quaint, red bricked house in the wizarding village of Upper Flagley, nothing like the solicitor that Petunia had hired to negotiate her separation from Vernon. She couldn’t help but look around suspiciously—for a wizarding village, everything looked much too… normal. She hadn’t had to do anything funny to get into the village, merely hopped onto a train and gotten off at the right station and hired a car for a short haul, and nothing was dancing of its own accord, changing into something else, or… she didn’t even know what she would have expected.

The office inside also looked normal, but for the parchment strewn across desks, one roll moving upwards of its own accord while the wizard at the desk wrote on it. Snape was already there, sitting languidly in one of the waiting chairs.

“I’m not late,” Petunia snapped.

He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t suggest you were,” he said, glancing at a device on the wall behind the reception desk, which Petunia realized belatedly was a clock. Glowing circles moved around the face, periodically flashing on the right time. She was five minutes early.

“Have a seat,” Snape continued, for all that it wasn’t his place to offer her one.

Petunia sat, for all that it annoyed her to listen to him.

Silence fell, interrupted only by the scratching of the receptionist’s quill against the parchment.

Ten minutes later, a witch came out from the back of the office. She was tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp brown eyes and an affable smile on her face. Her brown hair fell in frizzy curls, held away from her face with, well, nothing at all. Magic, Petunia presumed.

“Severus Snape and Petunia Evans,” she said, holding out a hand for them to shake. “Amelia Bones. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

With some trepidation, Petunia reached out and shook her hand, finding nothing there but warmth. “Petunia Evans. I wish I could say the same.”

Bones made a sympathetic noise. “Understandable. Come on back—let’s talk about it.”

Bones’ office, too, was suspiciously normal. Her desk—a battered, brown thing with a scratched, beat-up ink blotter on the top—was clear, and a cup held a mix of pens and quills. There were non-descript filing cabinets behind her, and the only difference from a normal filing cabinet was the lack of a lock. Petunia assumed she didn’t need any.

The chairs, too, were old, upholstered a rough fabric that seemed more like burlap than anything else. But when Petunia sat on it, it was both softer and more comfortable than she’d expected, which only made her squirm.

“So,” Bones asked, her eyes lingering on Snape a little longer than was warranted. “How was your journey? I imagine it was a little difficult without magic—the train lines are a little far from here—”

“It was fine,” Petunia said abruptly. “Fine. Please. I’d rather not have small-talk—it is far enough, and I do need to get home before the boys return from school today—”

“Of course.” Bones nodded, her focus turning back on Petunia. “How can I help you?”

Petunia had no idea how to start. “My name is Petunia Dursley—Evans. I was born Evans. Lily Evans was my sister.”

“Lily Evans Potter?” Bones asked, reaching for a pen and notebook. From the tone of her voice, she already knew.

“That’s right,” Petunia confirmed, and then she went on. “The night after she died—her son, Harry Potter, was left with me. He’s been living with me since then. This summer, I—I left my husband, taking Harry and my son, Dudley, with me. Dudley is magical was well—there was an incident…”

“Yes?”

Petunia shook her head. This was hard enough already, and she didn’t want to go into the details. She didn’t need to go into them, she didn’t think. “My ex-husband is uncomfortable with magic. He—well, after the incident, he does believe it exists, but he isn’t comfortable with it.”

“He’s not the only one,” Bones observed, and Petunia heard a snort beside her from Snape.

She glared at him, before turning back to the witch. “I’m not,” she admitted. “But Lily Evans was my sister before she was a witch, and Dudley was my son before he was a wizard, and Harry was my nephew before he was magical. My comfort doesn’t matter. Not when it comes to them.”

Bones studied her for a moment, perceptive, before she nodded. “Well said. And then?”

Petunia took a deep breath. “We had a visit from the Department of Family Relations. Apparently, they no longer consider my home to be suitable for Harry Potter—the representative said something about fostered children having to be placed either with a magical family, or with a blood relative in a stable family situation—”

“Not strictly accurate, but I see the picture.” Bones grimaced, setting down her pen. “Strictly speaking, the law only states that a magical foster child should be placed either with a blood relative, which you are, or with a magical family. The preference for married couples applies to both, as does the prejudice against single parents. It is outdated, particularly with recent developments in Muggle family law.”

“You’re… familiar with Muggle family law?” Petunia asked, tripping on the hated word in the middle.

“From an academic standpoint only.” Bones tilted her head slightly. “We might be different people with different abilities, but we live in the same world. How Muggle culture develops will affect us, as will changes in Muggle law. That said, I gather from your words that you never obtained any formal custody of Harry Potter, did you? No order from the Wizengamot?”

“No, none.” Petunia shook her head. “He was… left with me.”

Snape laughed, and it was an ugly sound. Bones glanced at him, frowning.

“Albus Dumbledore,” Snape explained. “He left Potter with her. I imagine he smoothed it over with the Wizengamot, and they were so grateful to be done with the war they simply didn’t think to do anything about it.”

“Ah,” Bones replied, as if that explained everything. “Well, then. The first order of business, then, will be for us to file a petition with the Wizengamot for you to have formal custody of Harry James Potter. I don’t expect it to be easy, however—the fact that you’ve separated from your husband is going to be brought up—”

“We’re seeing each other,” Snape cut in roughly. “It’s a recent thing. Petunia and I are childhood friends. Does that make a difference?”

Bones turned on him, her expression morphing. Somehow, Petunia had the thought that Bones knew perfectly well that they were fibbing, but that she didn't confront them with it. “It could. It shouldn’t, but it could.”

“Shouldn’t?”

“It shouldn’t matter who you’re seeing or not,” Bones said flatly, returning her pen to its cup with a tad more force than necessary. “It’s either in the best interests of Harry to stay with you, or it isn’t. As a woman, whether you’re married or not, whether you’re in a relationship or not, it shouldn’t matter. That doesn’t mean, however, that it won’t. The Wizengamot has a number of nasty old men, and their thinking doesn’t always progress to match the times. I’m happy to take on this matter for you, Petunia. As for my fees—”

“I’ll cover them,” Snape said.

“You bloody well will not,” Petunia snapped, turning to him. “I have money—I have my inheritance, and I’ll find work—I have enough. You don’t need to cover them.”

“You have Galleons then, do you?” Snape smirked, bringing out a small bag of gold and plopping it on Bones’ desk. Petunia knew of the currency—Lily had talked about wizarding money before—but that was about it. She didn’t know the exchange rate, or… well, anything else.

She certainly didn’t have any Galleons of her own.

“I’ll pay you back in pounds,” Petunia grumbled. “Tell me how much it is, Severus—I won’t take charity.”

Snape was lying to her about the exchange rate between pounds and Galleons.

He said that it was approximately equivalent, about a pound for a Galleon, but Petunia knew that couldn’t be true. First, she’d actually touched a Galleon, and while the precious metal content didn’t necessarily line up with the value these days, there was too much gold content in them to be equivalent. Second, she remembered Lily talking about the cost of things in the magical world, and it didn’t sound then like the value was equivalent. Third, Petunia also had to pay a Muggle solicitor to handle her divorce, and that more than anything told her that lawyers were expensive.

It was, indeed, the cost of her Muggle solicitor that made her overlook the whole matter. Vernon was being an arse, and that was very expensive—he didn’t care if Petunia had custody of Dudley (fine), and he didn’t want to see Dudley (also fine), but he didn’t want to pay any support (less fine), and he didn’t want to pay Petunia out from 4 Privet Drive (not fine). Petunia had spent more than five years in a less than happy relationship with him, and she wanted her share of the house, damn it. Her inheritance from her parents was tight enough that she eyed it constantly, and a few quid here and there…

Well.

If Snape didn’t tell her the proper exchange rate, and Petunia had said she wouldn’t accept charity, and she paid him the amount that he asked for—that was enough to satisfy everyone’s pride, wasn’t it?

Snape,

Had a meeting with Bones about the hearing. It was only a first hearing date, scheduling the exchange of evidence and setting a timetable. She called the Ministry advocates disorganized, and then she asked after you. I told her that you were at school, and we didn’t have much opportunity to talk or see each other. She gave me a funny look—I think it sets suspicion on our relationship.

It might be best for us to meet, from time to time.

Petunia

Evans,

Is it Evans now, or is it still Dursley? What a name—can’t believe you married a bloke named Dursley. How are the children?

I can get away at Halloween. Indeed, I’d prefer it. The Headmaster insists on overdecorating, and the students run amok. Cokeworth would be quieter.

You may as well call me by name.

Severus Snape.

Severus,

You’re one to talk about names. It is Evans now, thank you for asking, and Harry and Dudley are just fine. They’ve started at the local school—the one that we all went to—and contrary to the town, it seems to have improved. There were renovations a few years ago, and they’ve repainted. It looks almost nice now.

Not sure why you think Halloween would be quieter here, but you’d be welcome.

Petunia

Petunia,

“Almost” nice? That’s “almost” a compliment.

You have two children. The school has hundreds. It will be quieter in Cokeworth—we can take Harry and Dudley out for that odd Muggle tradition where they ask strangers for candy.

Severus Snape

Petunia didn’t like Halloween.

It wasn’t that she was scared of the ghosts and ghoulies. She was too old for that, even knowing about the magical world where ghosts and ghoulies actually existed. She’d never seen one.

It was more the whole idea of it—the celebration of scaring people and being scared. She wasn’t scared, but she didn’t like being scared, and the effort of putting on costumes for scaring people didn’t seem worth the candy she’d gotten even as a child. As an adult, she found no greater charm in it than before, but she found second-hand costumes for the boys anyway. She’d never hear the end of it if she didn’t take them out.

Snape showed up at sundown, for once looking normal in his wizarding robes instead of out of place, just after she’d finished wrestling Dudley into a costume of Frankenstein’s monster and Harry into a black outfit with a glow-in-the-dark skeleton. After two months, they’d settled into Cokeworth better than she’d expected. Dudley still cried for his father, at times, but it wasn’t like Vernon was trying to contact him so even that was fading away. Harry, if anything, seemed happier.

“Evans—Petunia,” he said, her name sounding awkward in his mouth. He paused, then looked at the two boys. “Boys.”

Somehow, Petunia found his obvious discomfort hilarious. A glimmer of a smile whisked across her face, too quick for her to hide it, so she turned back to the Dudley and fixed the screws that were dangling off his head.

“Harry, Dudley, this is Severus Snape,” she said by way of introduction, reaching for her coat while she was at it. “He and I are… old friends. We went to school together.”

“We saw you in the parking lot of the grocery store,” Harry volunteered, staring up at him.

“You did,” Snape—no, Severus, now—acknowledged.

“You weren’t very nice.”

“I…” Severus cleared his throat. “I suppose I wasn’t.”

“But you did magic and made our groceries light,” Harry said, still staring him down. “You have magic. Like me. And like Dudley.”

“Yes, I do.” Severus blinked, looking at Petunia, who shrugged. The boys had been experimenting more here than they had ever at 4 Privet Drive—maybe because Petunia didn’t forbid it. She never said one way or the other whether magic was real, but she didn’t see any point to denying reality. Magic was real, and what was the point of trying to hide it from them?

“Aunt Petunia doesn’t have magic,” Harry continued. “And Uncle Vernon didn’t have any either.”

“They don’t,” Severus said slowly, sounding increasingly discombobulated. “That’s right.”

“Uncle Vernon doesn’t like magic,” Harry said, sounding very conclusive about it all. “And that’s a problem, isn’t it? Aunt Petunia doesn’t like magic much either, but she puts up with it. Right?”

“Er—” Severus coughed. “Yes, I suppose that is.”

“I see,” Harry said, and then he nodded judiciously. “All right then. Can we go trick-or-treating now?”

“I want chocolate,” Dudley added. “The big ones!”

“Shoes, then we’ll go,” Petunia said, pointing, and they both pulled on their shoes and headed out the door. Children were already out on the streets—less than Petunia remembered from when she was a child or a teenager, but still enough that they weren’t alone.

“How does he know all that?” Severus asked, his voice lowered, as they followed behind. Petunia was careful to keep the kids in sight, but here on this street and this early in the night, there was really nothing to worry about.

“Kids see more than they let on,” Petunia replied, without looking at him. “More than we tell them. Is this really better than the—that school?”

“Yes,” Severus replied grimly, and he didn’t say any more. Instead, they simply followed the two boys, who had attached themselves a few feet behind another group of children and were now knocking on doors and requesting candy. Distantly, Petunia resigned herself to the fact that she’d have two very hyperactive children at home within a few hours.

“You didn’t have to come,” she said abruptly, still refusing to look at him. “Halloween aside. It’s the—the normal world. It’s not like people are watching us. Bones just asked after you, and I think—maybe in the magical one, your government—”

There was a soft touch on the back of her arm—a warning. There was a small flash of magic in the corner of her eye, and then Severus spoke. “If they’re watching you, they’d be watching you in either world. Muggle world is even easier—a few spells here and there, and they can see how “stable” you have it. Be careful wherever you go, and I’ll sweep your house for any spells or anything later tonight. Better to be careful.”

“You act like I’m a spy,” Petunia complained, glancing at him for the first time. “It’s just—a custody petition, isn’t it? Over a little boy.”

Severus shrugged uncomfortably. “Harry Potter is a… prominent figure, in our world. Lily’s death marked the end of a war—he’s a symbol of hope. I don’t know whether anyone’s watching or not, but it’s better to pretend like they are.”

“Were you always so paranoid?”

“No.”

Petunia glared at him.

“Well, I was never not paranoid,” Severus conceded, with a dark look on his face that invited no questions. “But it did grow worse over the years. It was necessary.”

“Was it?” Petunia arched an eyebrow at him, but the look he threw her was entirely serious.

“Yes, it was,” he said. “But I’d rather not answer any questions. If meeting keeps up the ruse, and the ruse is needed for the custody petition—then we’ll meet. Until your custody of Harry is secured.”

Petunia nodded stiffly, fighting with her words. She didn’t want to thank him. This was Severus Snape—they had some two decades worth of history, nearly none of it nice. She couldn’t count how many times he’d sneered at her, squirrelling away with Lily to talk about magic without her. She was only a Muggle.

But there was something different about him now. She’d noticed it earlier, but it was only now she could put it into words.

He’d grown up. He’d seen things that he didn’t want to talk about—probably in that war that he’d mentioned, the one that Lily had offhandedly mentioned a time or two, the one that Lily had died in. He’d changed. He had nuance now, and complexity.

“Thank you,” she said, the two words twisting away from her. They sounded like the opposite, and hung ungratefully in the air.

“You’re welcome,” Severus replied, and when Petunia glanced over at him, he was smirking.

Petunia,

Have not heard from you in some weeks. Send proof of life.

Severus

Severus,

It has not been “some weeks”. It has been two weeks. I’m busy.

Petunia

Petunia,

Busy with? Do elaborate.

Severus

Severus,

I found a job—it isn’t much, bookkeeping for the local construction firm. It’s a good thing I own the house outright, it would never pay the bills if I had a mortgage. And maybe if I need some work done in the house—God knows I could use an addition—they could give me a cheaper rate. It’s work, and it’s sorely needed. Even if Vernon is ordered to pay child support for Dudley, I don’t expect he’ll pay it.

I heard from Amelia. Our petition is mired in bureaucracy. I’ve been asked to produce financial records, a childcare plan for Harry, and his health records. Amelia is also arranging for an independent witch to visit and assess Harry’s living situation.

I hate it.

Petunia

Petunia,

Well that you should despise it. If it is any comfort, any witch that Amelia Bones arranged would be impartial. I do not think she would necessarily be looking at who would be able to best provide for Harry, but only satisfying the court that you can provide a suitable home. If it means anything, Dumbledore has said he would write a letter of support for you.

If I can provide any guidance: mention Lily as often as possible in your plans. He is attending Lily’s school, growing up in Lily’s hometown, in the same house that Lily did. I don’t like relying on Lily’s name—she was only a person—but they would do well to remember it anyway.

On another note, the holidays will be upon us soon. Would you and the boys like to come to Hogsmeade?

Severus

Severus,

Did you twist Dumbledore’s arm to write a letter of support?

I never thought you would have said anything against Lily.

How would we get to Hogsmeade?

Petunia

Petunia:

Perhaps I mentioned your problem to him. He wore an expression like I’ve never seen before and said that he would speak to the Ministry. But he is not the Ministry—he is influential, but the Ministry is separate.

Lily wasn’t perfect. I thought she was, once, but she was many things. She could be petty and cruel, and she was braver than she was clever. She often didn’t think things through before doing them.

Take the train to Inverness—I’ll pick you up from there.

Severus

Severus,

The boys are in school until the 20^th. Does the 21^st suit?

Petunia

Petunia,

See you then.

Severus.

Inverness at Christmas was freezing.

Petunia had expected it to be cold, bundling up herself and the boys with jackets that she’d found second-hand. She’d hated buying second-hand clothing—when she’d married Vernon and moved out to Surrey, she’d sworn she’d never do something so humiliating. And here she was, doing exactly that, because a brand-new winter jacket cost four times the one from the second-hand store, and whether they were brand new or not didn’t matter when the boys would outgrow it by next winter anyway.

Snow lay thick on the ground, and Dudley was already sticking his hand and picking up gobs to put in his mouth. Petunia tsked at him, swatting the snowballs out of his hands, but quickly thereafter gave it up as a lost cause. He was picking snow off the bushes near the station, and not on the kerbs, and it was pristine and white. It was probably fine.

One of her senses was on alert, waiting for Severus. She had no idea where she was supposed to meet him. Train stations were large, and Inverness’ was no different—while the city might not have been particularly large, it was also one of very few stops this far north. And Severus had just said he’d pick her up at the station, but didn’t say where.

She waited awkwardly for a moment or two, half-inclined to just get on a train and go home, when he appeared beside her in a woolen black peacoat, snow dotting his hair.

“Hello,” he said. “Good journey?”

“Do you not make any sound?” she hissed, one hand on her chest as she glanced around for the boys. They were still standing near her, their eyes huge, and fascinated with Severus’ appearance out of nowhere.

“More accurately, I think most people make needless amounts of noise when walking,” Severus replied, looking around them. “Come—we need to get out of sight before we can travel.”

“We’re not taking a car?” Petunia spluttered.

“No, why would we do that?” Severus set a pace that was just a bit too brisk, and the boys chased after him. “I don’t even have a licence.”

“So how are we—”

“Here we are,” he said, gesturing down an alleyway. It was dark, and it was wet, and Petunia narrowed her eyes. “Side-Along Apparation, of course. Come on, grab my hand. Boys, grab onto my coat, and don’t let go.”

“And what, exactly—" Petunia said, but she didn’t finish the sentence before taking his hand, and the next thing she knew she was being squeezed, unable to breathe, and her skin was about to pop—

And then they all tumbled out in the shadow of a huge, grey castle that Petunia had only seen in pictures before. It was Hogwarts, and sprawling underneath them was a picturesque village, the rooftops iced with snow. For a moment, all Petunia could do was stare.

It was beautiful. It was everything she’d dreamed of when she was a young girl, everything she’d wanted when Lily had gotten her letter, and everything she had been denied. She wasn’t magical, and she wasn’t Lily, and yet—here she was.

She liked it. She didn’t like that, years after the hurt, she still liked this. She’d wanted this, and she’d never been able to have this. And now, the castle and the town were right here in front of her, and she didn’t—she wasn’t entirely sure how she was supposed to feel about this.

“Severus! Who’s this?” A matronly voice rang out from behind the gates. “I rarely see you out, or with anyone…?”

“Pomona,” Severus said, and Petunia was almost surprised to hear a note of awkwardness in his voice. She turned, seeing a broad-faced woman with flyaway grey hair coming towards them. “Petunia Evans. Lily Evan’ sister, and a childhood friend of mine. And these are her boys, Dudley and Harry.”

“Are you a witch?” Harry asked curiously.

“We just appeared here,” Dudley added. “With magic. Severus is magical.”

The woman stopped, looking at them, and then glancing at Petunia, who had frozen. Petunia looked nothing like Lily, she knew, and there was Dudley, but…

Harry Potter was unmistakable.

“Harry and Dudley, is it?” Pomona said, crouching down to look at them. “And yes, I am a witch. Just like Severus. Are you two wizards?”

“We can do magic,” Harry announced proudly. “Both Dudley and me can do magic.”

“Dudley and I,” Petunia corrected. “Both Dudley and I can do magic.”

The woman stood up, looking at Severus and Petunia. Her grey eyes were sharp as she glanced between Petunia and Severus, and then she glanced back down at the boys. “Would you boys like to see some more magic?” she asked. “I have a whole greenhouse full of magical plants that do really special things that I can show you.”

Harry perked up, as if someone had offered him a puppy. “Aunt Petunia, can I see the magical plants?”

“I—” Petunia hesitated, glancing at Severus and the woman. “I’m not sure—”

“It’s no trouble, Petunia,” Pomona replied. “None at all—I’m sure we can occupy ourselves while you and Severus take a walk through Hogsmeade. We’ll just be in the greenhouses, if it’s all right with you.”

“That would be fine, Pomona,” Severus replied, and there was an underlying softness to his voice that Petunia hadn’t heard before. “If you…”

“None at all, Severus.” Pomona nodded sharply at them, and gestured for the boys to follow her. “Come along—I have three greenhouses here, see…”

Petunia waited with Severus for a moment, watching the boys scamper towards the castle, before she turned to him. “Did you plan that?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?” Severus sighed, looking towards the village. “Interfering woman that she is—she probably had it all wrong, but it does leave us free to go to Hogsmeade without having to mind them.”

“There is that.” Petunia nodded stiffly. She’d long since learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth when it came to childcare. Vernon had been a man made in the old mold, who expected the house to be neat and tidy for him with dinner on the table, and Petunia had precious few hours to herself. “Where shall we… go?”

“Anywhere.” Severus shrugged. “A walk in Hogsmeade?”

Petunia nodded, still stiff and uncertain, and she followed him on the path down towards the village.

Hogsmeade was even more beautiful as she got closer, as houses appeared on either side of her and surrounded her. The roads here were too narrow—no cars had ever driven here—and the cottages were small and quaint. Underneath her feet, she was walking on cobblestone paths, slightly uneven and bare. They had to be heated, she thought, because it didn’t seem like any snow had dared to settle on them.

Shops appeared on either side of the path. There was a clothing atelier, which had robes in the windows—there was a bookstore, and another shop that seemed to sell quills and other stationary. There was a repair shop, but Petunia couldn’t guess at what it repaired, because she didn’t recognize anything in the windows. She stared, for many minutes, at a glittering gold device that swirled with blue and green. It looked like a pocket watch, for all that it didn’t seem to have the time on it.

“It’s an old-fashioned wizarding pocket watch,” Severus explained after a few minutes. “It tells the time by the movement of the planets. Not even most wizards use these anymore.”

“I see,” Petunia replied, and then she turned away, down the street to look into the windows of another store.

It was everything she could have wanted, as a child—to be in the magical world, to be a part of it, to look and see and smell. There was magic in the town, in every window and peeking around every corner, and a long-buried child inside of her loved it. She loved seeing magic, beautiful and creative and unexpected things, and she wondered if she should, because it was also everything she’d hated as a teenager.

Hated, because it was there, but she couldn’t be a part of it. She wasn’t magical.

“Do you want to get a drink?” Severus suggested, an hour or so later. “Hogsmeade is small—I do think you’ve seen most of it, by now. There’s only houses off this main road, but the Three Broomsticks is good.”

“Very well,” Petunia said, and Severus directed her to the pub.

It was quieter inside than she’d expected—most of the students at the school had gone home for the break, she knew, but she still would have expected more regulars. Still, she sat down in a booth, and having no idea what anything was, allowed Severus to go ahead and order two pints of something called Butterbeer.

It was sweet. It was sweeter than any beer had any right to be, and Petunia didn’t like that she liked it.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Severus said, after a minute or so. He wasn’t smiling, but his words weren’t said harshly. It was a quiet observation, and that was all.

“Why did you bring me here?” Petunia asked. She wanted to make her words harder and more upset than they were, but they came out with no heat at all. She’d have to satisfy herself that at least there wasn’t any wonder, or gratefulness, or joy, or anything of the like. “Why Hogsmeade?”

Severus raised an eyebrow, and then he looked outside at the cobblestone streets. “I thought you and the boys might like it. It’s nicer than Cokeworth. And it’s good for…”

Petunia nodded. They weren’t talking about the ruse, but being seen in the magical world together was good for the ruse.

“I prefer to stay at Hogwarts, and in Hogsmeade, over the winter holidays,” Severus added, taking a drink from his pint of beer. “I’d stay the summer too, but the castle shuts down over the summer holiday.”

Petunia nodded again. “I can see why. I—always wanted to see Hogwarts. And Hogsmeade. Lily spoke about them often and described them in detail to our parents. I… was upset that I couldn’t.”

She didn’t tell Severus about the letters she’d sent when she was 12. Begging Professor Dumbledore to allow her to come to magic school too, promising to work so very hard if she could come too. She hadn’t understood, then, not really. But Lily had had magic, and Petunia didn’t.

“Lily never took you here?” Severus asked, raising one thick eyebrow.

“Why would she?” Petunia let out a sharp sigh. “I didn’t think it was allowed. All-magic village, isn’t it?”

“There’s no prohibition,” Severus replied, shaking his head. “It’s inaccessible without magic, but Lily could have taken you here if she’d wanted. Like Diagon Alley."

“I haven’t been there either.” Petunia shrugged. “Lily and I did not have the best relationship, in our teenage years. Or later. She’d have been perfectly horrified that I’m seeking custody of Harry, I think. We didn’t get on.”

“Neither did we,” Severus said, and Petunia turned to look at him. He, now, was looking outside the window. “Not after our fifth years. It was… I made mistakes. I joined the wrong side of a war—Lily was on the other side. I turned spy before the end of the war, but…”

“But things happened,” Petunia nodded, understanding better than she thought she should what it was like to be trapped by pride and bad decisions. She was paying for one of her own bad decisions right now, wasn’t she, with Vernon? And maybe she should have left earlier, but she hadn’t.

Maybe she should have tried to get over her jealousy of Lily earlier, but she hadn’t.

There were things that were fixable, and things that weren’t.

“Sometimes,” she found herself saying, “the only thing we can do is move forward and live with our regrets.”

They talked little returning to the castle and picking up the boys. Petunia looked around the castle, curious, but it was getting late and there was a night train back to Cokeworth that she had to catch. Off-handedly, she’d asked Severus why he couldn’t just transport them all back, only for the man to shake his head.

“Too far,” he explained, “with all three of you. I alone could do it, maybe with one of you, but it’s just too insecure otherwise. Magic isn’t all-powerful.”

“Isn’t it?” Petunia had asked, with a hint of snark, but she hadn’t put any force into it. She didn’t mean it, not really.

Back in Cokeworth, it was their first Christmas without Vernon, and Petunia felt it. It was there in the tree (smaller than in years past), and it was there in the lack of decorations (Petunia simply hadn’t wanted to spend the money). It was there in the positively tiny array of presents, being only two. One was for Harry, and the other for Dudley, and even those leaned towards useful things instead of toys. There was nothing for Petunia under the tree, but she hadn’t expected anything anyway.

Dudley’s face had fallen when he saw his (comparatively pitiful) gifts, but he hadn’t cried. He was beyond crying, now, and Harry only patted him on the back while he went to put their new child-safe knives into the kitchen.

“Aunt Petunia, look!” She heard the cry from the kitchen, and she leaned over to see a barn owl hovering in the window, a giant box in its talons. Shocked, she opened the window, only for it to drop the box onto the floor and wing its way back outside. It didn’t wait for her, already flying north while she craned her neck out to watch.

“What was that?” Dudley asked, having run into the kitchen in the meantime. He fell on the box, just as Harry was tearing it open. “Candy!”

The box was full of candy. Fizzing Whizzbees, Bertie’s Every Flavour Beans, some pumpkin cakes, sugar quills, and a big block of chocolate. Petunia kneeled down, sorting through it with her boys, who were gasping in delight and already shoving candy into their mouths.

There wasn’t a note. But then again, there didn’t need to be.

Petunia’s custody hearing was at the Ministry of Magic on January 21, 1985.

She’d dropped the boys off at school without a word about it, though she doubted that they were entirely clueless. As the days wore on, Petunia had gotten terse with them, the weight of the pending hearing looming over them. Harry had studied her with a worried eye recently, while Dudley had—somewhat charmingly—taken to giving her mugs of hot water with milk and sugar, which she supposed he thought was the same thing as tea.

At exactly nine on the dot, Amelia Bones appeared in her backyard and held an arm out for her to latch onto. The Ministry of Magic was in London, which was less of a problem for Petunia than the fact that it was in a magical space, and she wouldn’t have been able to get in other than with a witch or wizard. Petunia braced herself for the squeezing sensation once again, but she’d never be ready for the intense, building pop.

The Ministry of Magic was bustling, men and women wearing robes walking everywhere and pieces of paper flying, unaided, through the air above their heads. People were talking, their voices ringing in a cacophony of sound, and Petunia found herself looking everywhere at once. This was an intensely magical space, and she was fairly certain she hated it.

“Steady on, and stay close to me,” Bones said, touching her gently on the arm, before making her way to one of the stairwells in a back corner. “There are lifts, but they tend to be crowded, and right now I think you’d prefer to take the stairs.”

“Yes, please,” Petunia replied stiffly, thinking that she really did not want to be trapped in a small space with a dozen witches and wizards right now, and followed.

The courtroom they walked into was too large. Too large, and bowl-shaped, with too many people sitting in rows above them. The platform that Bones led them to had two tables, a podium set between them, and gestured for Petunia to sit on her left. Petunia sat, and Bones began pulling scrolls of parchment out of her briefcase and spreading them across the table.

Men and women both were filing into the room, all of them dressed in long, wizarding robes and many of them with pointed hats. A few of them looked at her askance, making her flush and stare obstinately back at them, but they all cheerfully went and sat down in the many rows above her. She felt like she was in a fishbowl, and the rows of people settling down around her—older, powerful, magical—made her skin crawl.

Bones didn’t show a hint of trouble, however, merely flipping through her parchment. This part of the room, Petunia thought she understood—this was where the barristers stood to give their arguments, and around them would be, then… judges. All of them.

“It’s not normally so crowded for simple custody petition,” Bones whispered to her, catching her eye roving around the room. “Normally, there would only be a small panel of three. But with Harry Potter being the child in question, there are political considerations.”

“Are those political considerations…” Petunia trailed off, not knowing how to phrase the rest of her question, but it didn’t matter. Bones had caught her meaning.

“It’s hard to tell,” Bones said, tilting her head slightly. “On one hand, Albus Dumbledore is sitting, and he’s in favour of your petition, and I’m sure I can sway more. But there are seats that are in favour of the Department of Family Relations, so ultimately, it’s hard to tell. Don’t expect a decision today—they’ll want to deliberate, and then a decision will come in writing.”

“Fine,” Petunia replied, for all that it was not fine. She wanted this ended today, with Harry staying in her care, but she would settle for being able to go pick Harry up from school today.

Bones stared at her with a beady eye for a moment, before she nodded and went back to her papers.

“I believe we’re ready to begin.” A man stood at the front of the room, dressed in green robes and a round hat. Around the room, people quieted and stared down at the bottom of the depression. Petunia fought the scowl that threatened to creep across her face, and narrowly won. Instead, she focused on Bones, who showed no hint that the intense focus bothered her at all. “A custody petition, isn’t it?”

Bones stood up, papers in hand, moving towards the podium. She set the parchment down, pinning it open with a wave of her wand, and began speaking.

“That is correct, honoured members of the Wizengamot,” she said, her voice strong and even slightly cool. “What we have today is a routine custody petition brought by Petunia Evans, for care and custody of her sister Lily Potter’s son, Harry Potter. Our position is clearly outlined in the materials that have already been provided to the Wizengamot, including Ms. Evans’ financial records and her childcare plan. As outlined in our materials, Ms. Evans is Harry’s sole remaining blood relative; she has had care of him since he was a little over a year old. She is currently in the midst of divorce proceedings from her Muggle husband, but owing to an inheritance from her and Lily’s parents, she is the sole owner of a house and has some savings. Ms. Evans is gainfully employed as an accountant, bringing in sufficient income to support herself, her son, and Harry. Harry, for his part, is enrolled in school…”

On and on it went. Bones went though Petunia’s history with Harry, Harry’s care to date, Petunia’s finances and her ability to care for Harry going forwards, the eighteen-page long care plan that she had had Petunia produce and that she had shined bright as a penny in the muck. Over and over again, Bones emphasized that Harry was growing up in the same small town that his mother had grown up in, that he was being connected to his roots, for all that Petunia thought that was a load of shite. If it weren’t for the fact that her parents’ house was in Cokeworth, Petunia would have gone elsewhere. There were better places to raise children.

But she kept silent, listening as Bones referred in no uncertain terms to the stability that Petunia was able to establish and to the appropriateness of her care plan, and then she gritted her teeth through the submissions of the Department of Family Relations, which repeatedly referred to her—with no small amount of horror—as a divorcee.

She fantasized about decking the man. Wizard or not, she was pretty sure she could put her fist through his nose before he could raise his wand.

She never would, because while Petunia was the sort of woman to dream about physical violence, she wouldn’t engage in it.

“Finally,” the opposing lawyer said, “aside from the lack of stability inherent in any single parent household, the Department of Family Relations is concerned about Harry’s involvement in Muggle culture. Harry is a wizard; his aunt, regrettably, possesses no magic at all. Harry will go to Hogwarts; his aunt has never been. Harry will be a member of our world, and Petunia will not. Being raised in the Muggle world would put Harry at a significant disadvantage compared to his peers, particularly drastic given that he is a symbol of freedom in the wizarding world, and for that reason we would support a foster relationship with an appropriate magical family.”

“Thank you,” the man at the front of the Wizengamot said, then he turned to Bones. “Any reply?”

“Yes,” Bones said, her mouth taking an obstinate turn. “I would like to clarify for the Wizengamot that Petunia Evans is not the same as any other Muggle woman. Petunia Evans was the sister of Lily Evans Potter—she is perfectly aware of the magical world, and I would also note that it appears her own son, Dudley Dursley, may also possess magic. Petunia may not have magic herself, but she has had a longstanding knowledge of and relationship with the wizarding world. Second, I note that many Muggleborn witches and wizards grow up without knowledge of wizarding culture and adapt fine. Finally, I understand from Ms. Evans that she currently has a relationship with a wizard, who happens to be one of her childhood friends, Mr. Severus Snape. I am sure that Mr. Snape would be entirely capable of providing Harry and his cousin Dudley with any education in wizarding culture that might be needed.”

The man at the front of the Wizengamot glanced over to the representative at the other table, but seemingly there was no reply necessary. “Very well,” he said, after a moment. “At this time, the Wizengamot will turn to deliberations, which may take some time. A written decision will be mailed to you, once a determination has been made.”

“Thank you,” Bones said, her voice carrying, pulling her scattered pieces of parchment together into her briefcase once again and gesturing for Petunia to pull on her coat and pick up her purse. “We will look forward to it.”

Once outside, Bones Side-Along Apparated her back to Cokeworth with a few terse comments about how things had gone about as well as could be expected. She’d send the decision along as soon as she received one, but they had good reason to hope. Petunia nodded, tired, seeing her off at the door.

The entire hearing had taken less than an hour. And yet, Petunia felt as though she’d been hit by a train, and she went in and took a nap.

Petunia,

How did it go?

S everus

Severus,

Bones said it went “as well as could be expected.” No decision yet, but Harry’s still in my care, so that is something. She seemed unimpressed at the hearing—something about how this was hardly a case for the full Wizengamot to hear, and that normally custody petitions were panels of three. There were some snarky comments about how it was a routine custody petition.

Apparently, you’ll be teaching the boys all they need to know about wizarding culture. Thought you ought to know.

Petunia

Petunia,

They want me teaching them about wizarding culture? What, they want to learn all about pureblood supremacy?

Severus

Severus

I don’t know what that means, nor do I want to.

Perhaps they thought your background would make you particularly suited?

Bones just said it to respond to some shite about how it would be “disadvantageous” for Harry not to know wizarding culture when he started school.

Petunia

Petunia,

I suppose she said what she needed to.

How is the matter with Dursley?

Severus

Severus

Not sure why you care.

Vernon and I settled. He didn’t fight me on custody for Dudley, doesn’t even want any visitation rights, and I conceded the child support in order to get a bigger payout from the house. He’d never pay child support anyway—I’d be constantly chasing him for it, so the bigger payout from the house works better. At this point, we’re just waiting for the divorce judgement to come through—should be in about six months, give or take a month.

At this rate, I might receive that before the custody decision. How long does it take the bloody Wizengamot to deliberate?!

Petunia

Petunia

No news is good news. Or at least it’s better than the worst news.

Severus

It was summer before a decision came by owl. School had let out for the year, and Petunia had found a series of city-run day camps for the boys to attend while she went to work. Overall, she thought, the boys had adapted to life in Cokeworth, and to life without Vernon. Dudley still missed his father, now and then, but certainly the relationship between Harry and Dudley had massively improved from what it had been at 4 Privet Drive.

She’d found the owl waiting for her when she came home, looking deeply displeased. It had probably been waiting for half the day, and she fixed it with a beady eye as she ushered the boys into the house. “Some of us have to work, you know,” she said to it, making sure that the boys were taking their muddy shoes off before she went to untie the scroll from it’s scaly talons.

It took off, and one glance at the letter had told her that it wasn’t from Severus. The owl was different, with a red seal holding the envelope shut, and she recognized Bones’ spidery handwriting on it rather than Severus’ dark slashes.

She didn’t open it. Instead, she put it to one side, told the boys to go play somewhere that wasn’t in the kitchen and didn’t burn the house down, and made dinner. Then, she called the boys, and they sat down at the little, rectangular table that Petunia and Lily and their parents had sat down at many years past, and they ate. Then, still studiously ignoring the letter, Petunia turned on the telly.

It wasn’t until the boys had been sent to bed and were long since asleep that she picked up the letter and stared at it. She touched the red seal absently—no one had showed up to take Harry away today, but then again, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t tomorrow. Then, she pocketed it and went to put on her shoes.

Spinner’s End wasn’t far away. It never had been—not when she and Lily were children, and it was even shorter now. A bare ten-minute walk, and she was standing on Severus’ doorstep.

Smoke was curling up from his chimney. He’d been back for a week, coming by the house only the once on a particularly bad day when both Harry and Dudley were out of sorts, just to let her know that he was indeed back for the summer. They’d agreed to talk later, and she supposed that later had become, well, now. There was a letter burning a hole in her pocket, and she didn’t want to open it.

She did have to open it, though.

She rapped on the door, and when Severus opened it, she held it up.

“The decision?” He asked.

“I assume so,” Petunia replied, rather tersely. “I haven’t opened it. I haven’t dared.”

“You?” Severus smirked. “Not daring to do something?”

She glared at him.

“Fair enough, I suppose,” he said, plucking the letter from her hand and waving her inside his house.

Petunia stepped inside, following him to the cozy, overstuffed living room where it seemed that Severus did all his living during the summers. The window was open, not that the night breeze was particularly good at dispensing the heat from the fire or the musty, slightly dusty smell of a house that had been closed for most of the year. There was a small cauldron hanging over the fire, a sickly-sweet smell wafting off the top of it.

“Potions?” Petunia asked, trying and failing not to wrinkle her nose.

“I make extra money over the holidays brewing for the hospital,” Severus replied absently, reaching for a knife to cut open the letter. “They’re always in need, and shockingly few people are qualified to make a large number of the potions they need. I happen to be one of them.”

“I see,” Petunia said, for lack of anything better to say. Her eyes were fixed on the letter, which Severus was slicing open. A fat wad of parchment came out—more than should have reasonably fit into such a small envelope—and Severus started reading.

Was a fat wad good? Was it bad? Was it anything at all?

He was tossing the pages onto the table between them as he read, but Petunia didn’t dare look at them. Instead, she waited—and she waited, and waited, as more pages went fluttering to the floor.

“It’s fine,” Severus said, nearly ten minutes later when what seemed like thirty sheets of paper were scattered on the floor.

“Fine?” Petunia’s voice was incredulous.

“They took their sweet time getting to the point, but yes, it’s fine. It’s good.” There was a rictus of an expression on Severus’ face, which Petunia was surprised to recognize as a smile. Not a smirk, or a reluctant half-smile, or a hint of amusement—a full, complete smile. “Congratulations, Petunia Evans—the Wizengamot has recognized that your blood relationship with Harry Potter, along with the fact that you’ve had care of him for the past three years, supersedes any unascertained fostering placement in the wizarding world. There’s a load of bull in there about how this would have gone differently had Harry been immediately placed in a wizarding foster home after his parents’ passing, and how Harry really ought to have been put in a wizarding home at that time—but that’s for Dumbledore to deal with. Since he’s been with you and Dudley for three years already, plus your care plan and pre-existing knowledge of the wizarding world, et cetera et cetera, you’re suitable to be formally appointed as his guardian.”

“Oh.” Petunia said, not quite knowing what to think of it. It was exactly what she was asking for, and it was even what she wanted—but to think it was over…

That Vernon was out of the picture, and that Harry would be able to stay with her, and that she was here in Cokeworth in a house that she owned outright, with a job, and even if the job didn’t pay especially well, that she had savings, and she had no more bloody court dates and…

“How much do I owe you, really?” she asked finally. “Don’t give me that—I’m not stupid enough to think that a Galleon is equal to a pound. How much do I owe you for Bones, really?”

Severus studied her for a minute, and then he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Harry stays with you, and that’s what matters, isn’t it?”

“Don’t worry about it? How can you ask me not to worry about it?” Petunia grimaced. “I don’t like owing people, Severus.”

“I imagine not,” Severus said, and this time he smirked. “But for all you know, a Galleon is equal to a pound, so unless you’re planning on inventing some numbers that I will invariably inform you are incorrect…”

Petunia shook her head, giving it up as a lost cause. The reality was that even if she might know that a Galleon was not equal to a pound, she had no idea what it was the equal to, and she didn’t want to invent any numbers. “I suppose, Severus, that our relationship… given that it was for the Ministry…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, letting it trail off into the air. She didn’t like Severus, not really. But at the same time, she didn’t not like Severus. Petunia Evans was a person who as a rule didn’t like people. She hadn’t liked Vernon, not even when she married him, finding him tolerable and amusing at best and downright horrendous at worst. And Severus—

He was funny. Sometimes, it was an ugly sense of funny, but Petunia also had an ugly, barbed sense of funny too. They were ugly people, but together their ugliness could be funny, and she liked that.

He’d taken her to Hogwarts. He’d walked with her through Hogsmeade.

“It doesn’t need to end, does it?” she said finally, looking up at him.

Severus was expressionless, his dark eyes stone, but then he blinked and Petunia thought he’d been surprised. “It doesn’t?”

“Of course, if you’d rather it did…” Petunia said hastily, standing from the cushy armchair she’d been sitting in while Severus read the decision. “I’m certainly not tied—”

“It doesn’t need to end,” Severus interrupted, his voice low, and his hand touched hers. It was warm, and for some reason Petunia had never thought that Severus Snape’s hand could be warm. “No, it doesn’t need to end.”

“Just, slowly,” Petunia replied, flushing as she reached for his hand in return. “I am barely divorced, you know. Still waiting on that stupid divorce judgement. Barely divorced.”

Severus laughed lowly, and he didn’t answer. But at the same time, he did, and his answer was in the grip of their hands held together.

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