Work Text:
Petunia kept her eyes shut as she listened to the snuffles and grunt on the other side of the bed. Her fingers itched slightly, the skin around her cuticles as always dry and irritated. The dirty dishes sitting in the sink downstairs kept niggling at her, and she had to clench her jaw and fists in an effort to stay put. Vernon Dursley had been firm this evening as he’d told her in no uncertain terms exactly when she must be in bed and the expectations thereof. And Petunia knew it was the duty of a good wife to please her husband.
Too bad no one sought her pleasure.
~_••••••_~
Petunia felt hideous in the white gown. She loathed the plainness of her yellow hair. She was uncomfortable with the skin on display. She wished to tear the corset to pieces. Wasn’t she a modern woman? She was smart, she could have a career, she could put in the time and get a degree. Why had she said yes?!
She got a glimpse of brightest auburn, and a whiff of sweet perfume, and a knot tied itself around her bitterness and tugged. Lily Potter, nee Evans. Of course her baby sister had to go and get engaged. If Petunia delayed, she'd be regarded as a spinster, just one more mark against her to show everyone how redundant she was. The bile rose to the back of her throat and Petunia shoved it and all the thoughts down back where they came from.
She drew a smile on her face as she raised her chin, knowing her own physical limitations she kept her teeth covered. Horse faced, with a long oval shaped perimeter and nostrils apt to flare, she was the ugly one. The not-so-brilliant. She could also be the fat one, but that's what purging was for wasn't it? Vernon was smirking at her, his broad shoulders reassuringly solid beneath her hands.
Perhaps he would love her? Petunia thought to herself, daring to allow a bit of hope. Perhaps Vernon would see the worth in her so few had, and would lift her when she fell beneath the weight of her own insecurities?
But she was looking at him. And his eyes were no longer meeting her own. And she followed his gaze to the brightest of flames, and the confrontation made her inner conflagration burn all the more in shame because she the bride was still outshone by the loveliest of lillies, Lily Potter.
Petunia stared in silent resignation at Vernon’s pretentious bow-tie; even to her white-knight she was the consolation prize.
~_••••••_~
“Snape.” Petunia grimaced a smile and held out a hand. She was six months pregnant and her self-esteem had never been lower. Vernon had taken to collecting the receipts of the grocery shopping and writing notes as each box and package and peel was disposed of. He said she was letting herself go.
Not that he was one to point fingers, the firmness of his middle already giving way to a wobble and a jiggle. Petunia was sure this was just the start. For although he'd given up playing football he still ate like he was the star.
Severus Snape cocked an eyebrow at her as he stared down at her from the top of his pale and proud nose. His dark hair was silky about his face, carelessly caressing those haughty cheekbones as he shook his head and reached a reluctant hand to meet her own in a brief clasp.
“Petunia.” He drawled, eyes flicking in mild disgust to her stomach, before averting to a spot over her right shoulder. The faint vibration of the floor beneath her heralded her husbands approach, and a gruff clearing of his throat saw Petunia shifting slightly to present him to their guest.
“Please Vernon, this is…an old neighbour of mine from near mum’s, his name is…ahem…Severus Snape. Sev-s-Snape, this is my husband, Vernon Dursley. Would you…like to come in?” Petunia’s nervous smile and the calm clasp of her hands belied the pinch she felt at her back as Vernon indicated his displeasure at her guest.
“If it would not be too much of an imposition.” Snape’s dulcet tones seemed to smother her as Petunia turned and led the way to the receiving room, the parlour, and stood waiting for her guest to find a seat, and her husbands scowl and promise for later kept the small smile put on her face.
Was that a query on Severus’ face? She didn't think so, because it couldn't be. No one cares about how she was, because she was Petunia the nobody. She blinked to break the spell, and to attend to Vernon, who offered their unexpected surprise some tea and cake.
Petunia wasn't the best of cooks, but she did try her best. She had made some cookies from a recipe posted in that weeks paper, with chocolate chips and flavoured with vanilla. They were not all uniform, so she picked the best, and by then the tea had brewed so she served them – Vernon and the unexpected guest.
She noted then Severus’ clothes, long black coat and pointed leather shoes. His trousers were a dark grey, the coat cinched at the waist, double-breasted front with large obsidian buttons. He looked like an advertisement for men’s business casual, straight from a glossy magazine, and Petunia almost smiled to know just why that was. But Vernon’s eyes gave a warning and a fierce assumption directed her to blank her features and reach for polite interest.
“I see you're also expecting.” Snape intoned, and Petunia felt a jolt inside at his words. Lily was there too, ready to one-up her in this one purview she thought she would do well at. After all, at her basest she was a woman capable of being a mother. But of course Amazing Lily would probably do even this one better.
“You’ve heard the joyous news then?” Petunia asked lightly, distributing the refreshments as she struggled to seem in the know. She had not kept in touch with her family since she left home, and no one had much cared to contact her. The old hurt was squashed down firmly. Vernon scowled at the cookies, mouthed cake with their guest seeming occupied. Petunia swallowed her dry throat and winced apologetically. He'd not strike her, never hit her. But sometimes she wished he would if only for the release to emotions that would surely give.
She was not so absorbed in her thoughts that she missed the twinge of pain in Severus’ face as the skin tightened at the corners of his eyes at the double affirmation. Of course, just another mortal man; who could resist Lily’s charms?
“Indeed. Thank you for the tea, but I am here on some rather serious business, and with that he leaned back, tucked his hand in his pockets, and before Petunia could blink, a stick had pointed at Vernon, and a flash of red saw him slumped to the side on the sofa. He'd been absorbed in his snack, he never saw it coming. But Petunia turned back to Snape, her nervousness forgotten.
“How-h-…HOW DARE YOU?!” she was shaking in anger, the old companion of jealousy overcoming apprehension. “How DARE YOU USE SUCH ABOMINATION IN OUR HOUSE? BRING HIM BACK TO HIMSELF, you MONSTER.” Petunia was screeching and had stood in her anger. To have her own inability thrown in her face, one more thing she lacked, one more way she was a disgrace…
Snape held her eyes, his face unchanging. He sat still in his place, the only indication he’d heard her was a tightening of his lips, imperceptible to any but the most focused of observers. Petunia was lost in her own insecurities, and did not see any farther.
“I would apologise, but I have need to speak to you. And it cannot be in his hearing, as well you know, he is an uninitiated muggle.” And Petunia swallowed her bitter retort, for she was also a muggle, but she knew much more. Loathing for herself welled up in her chest, and she tamped it down as she clenched her teeth, resuming her place.
When she had sat once more, ankles crossed demurely, her hands clutching at her skirt as her stomach bulged unflatteringly, he cleared his throat, eyes darting about the room, as though at a loss for words. She knew it couldn’t be so. He was magic and he was male, the world was his ball, he met her eyes and tightened his gaze on hers. She blinked twice as she waited then he opened his mouth. She almost forgot her bitterness as he spoke in his deep and smooth voice. But she held onto her personal demons (or perhaps they clutched her ever close) for she knew she was almost worthless, so why to her did he speak?
“I am sure you know the wizarding world is at war. I am here because of your sister. She is…” and here he paused briefly, swallowed before resuming. Petunia knew of his feeling for her sister and knew a brief jealousy before he went on.
“The cause of the war has set his sights on two couples due not long apart to have children, and Li-your sister is one of them. You are the…offsprings only next of kin, and should anything happen to your sister – in spite of all the precautions being taken – we need to know if you can be counted on. To…do the right thing.”
Petunia’s every unkind thought about herself rushed through her mind then. This was just another confirmation. First-born, always the after-thought. It was backwards but fit her, seeing as how she was prone to bitterness. She likely deserved it. Snape waited patiently, in seeming boredom, still staring at her as she numbly thought through the possibilities.
She loved Lily, how could she not? The baby placed in her arms, squalling and wailing at a few hours old, and Petunia only just starting to speak curiously watching the red scrunched face and wispy yellow fuzz on its head, fuzz that darkened gradually to pink then orange then red. The little worshipper who toddled eagerly behind her brave big sister, as Petunia travelled the domains of the house. The youngster who was engrossed in her stories of the majestic school and the multitudes of other, stranger children. The sweet confidant in crushes and tribulations, until…she became too special. She was no longer merely prettier, merely more talented, merely more protected and coddled. She was now cemented as different and gifted. She needed help and protection. She deserved it for all that she was.
Petunia looked at Snape and nodded her assent. She loved her sister. She just wished someone existed who loved her.
~_••••••_~
Severus Snape was usually unscrupulous as he used legilemency. He typically didn't care for his victims comforts or privacy. But he felt violated himself as he was privy to Tuney’s thoughts. She fairly blared at him, her mind weak and unguarded. Surprisingly so, considering her face gave away so little. Her pain grated at him.
Snape internally cringed at her insecurities. They were a blatant reminder of his own, but hers were more cultivated. Likely a result of achieving so little, he mused. She seemed to spend all day indoors, keeping house and being a nobody. And worse, she thought she deserved it. Her whole self believed it, that she was less and thus deserved to be nothing. A chameleon, so different to the enthusiast of old. He wondered at that.
Severus remembered a young Petunia. Never so pretty as Lily, she had still seemed vibrant. That vibrancy had faded with time. Wilted into this sham of properness. Left to her own devices, unable to confide in former friends as to what was on her mind, Petunia had withdrawn into her own mind and was easily cowed by her much bigger husband into doing as she was told.
The statute of secrecy meant Petunia could not tell anyone of her own feelings of inadequacy regarding her lack of magic. Pushed to find a boyfriend because Lily was serious with Potter meant Petunia settled with Vernon hopefully, seeing as he was everything society pushed as an ideal made him her ideal. But one who didn't think it proper that a woman had a place outside her home, so Petunia had found her first compromise.
Lily confessing of James’ love for children during that first and last double-date pushed Petunia to try to get pregnant, because she could succeed in this one arena. Her husband belittling her insidiously coupled with a lifetime habit of keeping her pain close had created an unfulfilled and bitter woman resigned to her life as someone's tool. And Severus had read it all so easily in her eyes. He felt like a voyeur.
“You understand what this would entail?” He queried, still watching the pathetic wishes of a sad muggle through washed-out blue eyes, eyes that dulled ever in comparison to Lily’s vibrant green. Petunia stared blankly at him in response, and Severus decided that the discomfort and stilted conversation had reached as far as it could. He stood stiffly and Vernon suddenly came to with a snort, shaking his head in confusion before looking about to see that his wife – who hadn't permission to invite a male guest to his house – was escorting the unwanted man out the door.
He sneered under his blustery moustache, waiting for the door to shut before saying in a loud tone, “Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. And you woman! Who told you to open the door?”
Severus disillusioned himself, and shifted so he was covered by the bushes by the front stoop as he listened curiously. No other sounds were forthcoming, so he peered over into the sitting area through the window, and was met with the familiar sight of a large man cowing his much slighter wife.
Bitter recollection almost pulled him back to his childhood, before he recoiled and ground himself in the present. Petunia had her shoulders stiff, her eyes were wide and her lips almost pinching. Severus had never just looked at Petunia as a woman before, and was unpleasantly startled to find he didn't really know what she looked like.
Her blond hair was prematurely cut in a matronly style, her slender and pale neck vulnerably bare and the pulse at her throat beat starkly under almost translucent skin. Her lips softened as she opened her mouth to reply, and the pink of them struck Severus as being too vulnerable for bitter old Tuney. They looked soft, the Cupid's bow bracketed by gentle arches which would have given her face a lovely pout if only she wasn't always pinching her mouth to stay silent.
“I didn't know he was coming, Vernon dear, surely you know I don't keep in touch with…ever since we married, it's just been us.” Severus felt another bitter tug of recognition, seeing his own mothers isolation in Petunia Dursley, feeling sorry in spite of himself. He had never considered her before, except in passing distaste. This day was too full of unpleasant realisation for his comfort, and Severus wished he could just go but he faced a strange reluctance to move away before he saw this through.
Vernon scowled at his wife, his face surly and bloated as the edges of his visage darkened in rage.
“You better not, Petunia. You know your place, and you'd better not embarrass me.” He took a step closer, his bulk threateningly hovering. Petunia stood her ground, not even realising her own bravery. Severus could almost see the spirit of Lily, but this was foolhardy. Petunia was pregnant, and physically vulnerable, and no amount of bravery would give her the magic Lily had which would warrant said bravery.
“I would never.” Finally Petunia looked down, the submission pleasing Vernon. His young wife was a good sort, biddable and passably pleasing. Now he needs to reinforce her own worth.
“This house is a sty, Petunia. When was the last time you hoovered?” Vernon grunted in disgust, coughing for effect.
Petunia looked around herself nervously, promptly replying, “just this morning, but it never lasts-“
“Course it won't, not if you spend all day entertaining, now does it. And what's it going to be for lunch, I'm starving.”
“What was it you wanted? We’ve cold cuts and that leftover chicken from-“
“Just get a move on, woman! You'd think you'd lost your legs, with how you just stand about yapping. Get me something to stave me until dinner then get this mess sorted. Some woman you are, what would the neighbours say to see this mess, dust covering every surface, food sitting out mouldering, and you having friends over in the middle of the day – male friends, no less.”
Petunia was shuffling back and forth quickly, and Severus had seen enough to know he didn't want to see any more. Turning on the spot, a sharp crack broke the monotony on the quiet Privet drive, and Vernon hurried to his window even as Petunia hurriedly put together a salad and chicken sandwich, shame chastising her at her shortcomings in even this sphere of life.
~_••••••_~
Petunia’s eyes felt dry and itchy, and she wanted to lie down and give up. The two children crying for attention had long since driven her husband to go for a very early pre-work drive, and Petunia hadn't had time to close her eyes for five minutes, let alone time to mourn her sister.
There was her Dudley, warm and soft and with the eyes that looked at her as though she’d hung the moon and stars. And there was the other one, the reminder of every facet of life she'd ever failed, his poor little face puckered as he wailed for his perfect mother, unhappy with this sad excuse for a substitute when he had previously known the perfection that was Lily-
Petunia was startled to find herself crying silent tears as she was brought to face her worthlessness. She was certain even Dudley was brought to understand what he was missing out on as his cousin wailed for his perfect mother. Who was dead. Why couldn't Petunia be dead instead?
She picked up Harry, knowing Dudley was fine but for his company. Harry was refusing the food Petunia was giving, likely remembering his perfect mother’s perfect cooking and finding his aunt coming up short. She needed to get him to eat something so she could put him down to sleep. She needed the rest.
It was just her luck that when she found what worked, and hadn't yet put all the tried foods away, Vernon came home and was witness to her infraction.
“What's all this then?” He asked in a low and mean tone. Petunia kept her spine hard, her chin steady.
“I needed to know what he likes, he has different preferences to Dudley. I think I’ve found-”
“I don't care! It's a ruddy disgusting mess! Just a bit more evidence of you're laziness, now get up! Layabout, what've you done all day?!”
Petunia but her lip, then recalled her not-so-pretty teeth and shut her mouth, biting her tongue instead to stop her acidic reply. Vernon didn't need one anyway. As Harry happily busied himself with smearing a mixture of clotted cream and strawberry jam in and around his mouth, Petunia stood to tidy the kitchen. She felt an almost physical ache just knowing the mess and dirtiness being created behind her. Dudley chose that moment to let a long wail pierce the air.
“What sort of mother are you, abandoning her own child to care for a foundling? How does your heart beat in that cold chest?” Vernon was sneering as he spoke, the anger at her seeming neglect of his one and only son looming over her.
“Leave that rubbish and get him.” Vernon grabbed Petunia by her upper arm, a place unlikely to bruise and steered her in the direction of the nursery.
The abandonment of Harry in this first instance set the precedent for the rest of his stay with the Dursleys. Petunia felt pity for him, but stifled that as she stifled so much. The love she might have felt for this remainder of her sister was buried beneath the need for Petunia to keep this last place when she might be cared for, and so she pleased Vernon with her indifference.
She did little to further Harry’s comfort, let Vernon shunt him into that closet under the stair when the strange little happenings got too frequent to completely dismiss, thinking the space might even keep him safe from harming anyone. Petunia deluded herself as much as she could, but never could rest peacefully for the thoughts of Harry, and of Lily would plague her dreams.
Petunia no longer purged, and she improved in her cooking. But she continued to shrivel without, until her slender frame was more of a scrawny one, fashionable but prone to aches and pains. The grey darkening her blonde hair drove her to dye, and she settled on one boring shade, reapplied every fortnight to combat the roots.
Petunia dragged herself through her existence. She did what she was expected, kept her husbands interests and forgot her own. When Harry was due to leave her for the final time, she looked into his eyes as she was to vacate the room. Her spirit burned with the need to tell him why. But any answer was not enough, let him hate her without also pitying her for lacking the courage to do the right thing.
Petunia was a disliked woman, but any justified punishment would serve little purpose. How could you guide a person who didn't want guidance? What could you take from someone to teach them, when they loathed them self so much?
When Dudley was married and happily settled, Petunia finally sought to assuage her own conscience. She ran a bath and brought with her a razor. But even as she made the first cut, she knew she couldn't escape Lily’s or anyone's censure. So she wrapped a towel around the cowardly incision. The only bravery Petunia would ever show was to live her punishing existence rather than seek eternal rest. She was never happy.
She didn't believe herself worthy of happiness.
If only there were someone who did.