Work Text:
“Would you be a dear and get the tea service from the kitchen, Petunia?”
“Of course, Mother,” Petunia Evans replies.
She leaves the front room of her childhood home, where her parents still live, and heads for the kitchen. She pauses when she reaches the large mirror that hangs in the hall, her pale eyes raking over her appearance. Her make-up is minimalist; she uses it to enhance her natural features. She doesn’t cake it on in garish layers as some women do. Her blonde hair is swept up in a neat chignon. It draws attention to the alabaster skin of her elongated, elegant neck.
Her robin’s egg blue dress has a fit and flare silhouette with a full circle skirt that emphasizes her tiny waist. It’s feminine and fetching and flattering on her figure. The simple pearl earrings and the single strand of pearls at her throat are a perfect complement to her dress.
It’s all paint and spackle to hide how much she’s hurting on the inside.
If she looks the part, if she says the right things, if she smiles the right way … then maybe, just maybe—
It’s never going to happen, the voice in her head says. Stop wishing for impossible things.
“Petunia!”
“I’ll just be a moment, Mother,” Petunia says as she enters the cheerful yellow kitchen with white floral curtains that she learned how to bake and cook in. It’s one of the very few things that her mother has said she does better than Lily.
Lily doesn’t do her own cooking at all. Lily attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and consumed catered meals three times a day for years. Lily has an important job at the Ministry of Magic doing Alchemical Research where they overpay her so much that she dines out for every meal.
It’s pathetic to consider her cooking skills a victory over Lily’s given the circumstances. Petunia is well aware of that. But, at this point, Petunia will take any victory she can. Even if it’s only a victory by technicality.
“It’s half two. Lily will be here soon. I’ll be right down!” her father says from upstairs.
Petunia flinches and wraps her arms around herself in a hug. It does nothing to fight off the chill that the words created; it feels like winter just frosted her innards. She bites the inside of her cheek and refuses to let the prickling in her eyes become tears. Her father didn’t come down when Petunia arrived and she’s been here for an hour. He didn’t call a greeting to her or ask how she’s been and what she’s been doing. He didn’t— Well, she should be used to that by now, shouldn’t she?
She should be accustomed to the disappointment after living with it for a decade. Somehow, it takes her by surprise every single time. Her foolish, useless heart keeps hoping that, surely, this time will be different.
And then it never is.
“I can’t wait to hear about everything Lily—!”
Petunia purses her lips, even though she knows doing so reveals her overly large front teeth, leaves the tea service in the kitchen and exits her childhood home without telling her parents goodbye. If she had known that precious, perfect Lily was going to drop by today, Petunia wouldn’t have bothered stopping in at her parents’ house at all.
The last thing she needs is to have her parents’ love for their youngest daughter rubbed in her face again. Petunia doesn’t know if they can say or do anything to hurt her even more than they already have, to make her feel even more unworthy and overlooked, but she’ll not give them the chance to do so.
It’s torturous to know for a fact that her parents love her despicable sister significantly more than they love her. All because their precious, darling Lily can use magic. Because, somehow, Lily isn’t a Squib like the rest of them are.
Lily can use magic. Petunia can’t. Not all daughters are created or loved equally.
Their parents don’t even try to hide their blatant favoritism, which is humiliating.
Petunia wishes that she could hate them. It would be so much less painful if she didn’t love her parents as dearly as she does. The torment would end if she could just— Why can’t she hate them? Why?
She folds her hands together as she walks so that they won’t shake. She keeps a polite smile on her face, even though she doesn’t feel happy. She mustn’t make a spectacle of herself. She mustn’t do anything to set the busybodies in the neighborhood on herself like a hunting dog chasing down the scent of its prey.
“Tuney!” a cheerful voice calls from the walk behind her. “Are you leaving? I just got here!”
Petunia halts, her heels clacking sharply against the pavement. She despises that childish nickname. Yet, no matter how many times she asks Lily not to call her it, Lily persists in using it. It’s infuriating. Lily should have respected her wishes, like any decent person would, the first time that Petunia asked her to stop. Of course, such things as basic common decency and respect for her older sister’s wishes are apparently beneath perfect Lily, who can do no wrong in their parents’ eyes.
“I have plans,” Petunia replies, forcing herself to turn around.
Someone might be watching; there’s no excuse for rude behavior, especially not in public. Petunia is well aware that how others perceive her affects her reputation. She will not have all of Cokeworth gossiping about how she snubbed her perfect, pretty sister in the street. Even here, where she rarely bothers to grace them with her presence, Lily is beloved by the neighborhood.
It would take years for Petunia’s reputation to recover. If it ever did at all.
Lily blinks her vibrant green eyes, tilts her head of radiant red hair, and then says, “You have plans?”
The words hit Petunia with all the force of an out-of-control lorry.
Lily, the perfect little wretch, doesn’t have to say anything else for her message to come across loudly and clearly. She’s surprised that Petunia has plans, essentially stating that she can’t believe anyone would willingly want to spend time with Petunia. It hurts, even though it shouldn’t after all of these years.
Ever since Lily received her acceptance letter to Hogwarts, there’s been a vicious, sharp ache inside of Petunia. It hasn’t eased at all in the intervening years.
Both of their parents are descended from Squibs. So, why … why did Lily get access to her magical core while Petunia didn’t? Why? What is so bloody special about Lily that she was welcomed into Avalon with open arms? Why did Lily get to attend Hogwarts while Petunia had no choice but to attend Muggle schooling? Why did Lily get the opportunity to become a New Blood, while Petunia is still nothing more than a Squib?
Petunia has kept every sacred magical holiday since she was a child. She has, as much as is possible in the Muggle World, followed every custom and tradition that she can.
And yet … and yet.
Almost all of existence favors Lily over her. It’s an agonizing truth Petunia can’t escape or forget.
“Yes, I have plans. I wasn’t aware that you intended to visit our parents today. I couldn’t possibly cancel now. It would be horribly rude,” Petunia answers, barely keeping control of her tone and facial expression. Someone might be listening. Someone might be watching. She mustn’t lose control. Petunia’s reputation in the neighborhood as a respectable young woman is something she refuses to surrender.
Lily smooths her beautifully styled hair with her left hand, flashing a ring with an obnoxiously large emerald on it. “Are you sure you can’t stay? I have so much to tell you!”
To gloat about, you mean, you wretched little snot, Petunia hisses in her head.
It figures that Lily has swanned home, deigning to slum it in the Muggle World with her Squib relatives so that she can brag about landing some wealthy fool as a spouse. Everyone is so damnably obsessed with her sister that Lily probably managed to snag a Viscount, at least. Petunia absently wonders how long it will take for the poor sucker’s rose-tinted spectacles to shatter.
Petunia, better than anyone else, knows that Lily is far from perfect.
“Please stay, Tuney!” Lily wheedles as she flashes her engagement ring even more obviously than before. “I’m sure whoever you have plans with will forgive you for canceling.”
The absolute presumption of the comment, the expectation that Petunia will obediently alter her social calendar at the last minute solely because Lily has told her to, is the final straw.
Petunia might not have been able to attend Hogwarts, she might not have Sorted Slytherin where she belonged, and she might not have sharpened her wits and tongue in the dungeons of the castle against titled wizards and witches, but that doesn’t mean Petunia is defenseless. Lily isn’t the only daughter of the Evans family who can wound someone with a smile and a few words.
Petunia smiles at her dearly detested sister and says, “I’m spending the afternoon with Severus. We’ll have to catch up another time, Lily.”
The happiness drains out of Lily’s face and eyes in an instant. She turns an unflattering, sickly shade of white. It clashes horribly with her cream summer dress. “What?” Lily rasps.
“Do excuse me. I don’t want to be late,” Petunia says, relishing in the pain, grief, and horror that’s painted across Lily’s face for everyone to see. She turns away from her sister, the skirt of her robin’s egg blue dress twirling at her knees, and walks away.
Lily should have been more careful if she wanted to keep her oldest toy. Instead, she carelessly broke it and Severus Snape’s trust in, and affection for, her by casually saying, “Don’t be such a Snivellus!” two summers past.
Petunia knows exactly how it feels to be addressed by a hated nickname from Lily’s lips. But that was the first time Severus experienced it. Petunia could practically see his rose-tinted spectacles shattering before her very eyes.
The afternoon sun is warm but the breeze helps mitigate the heat. It carries the scent of flowers as she passes several front gardens on her way to Severus’s house, which doubles as his owl-order potions business. Petunia does his bookkeeping and tends the garden on his property that’s for the ingredients he uses in his potions. It’s one of the few magical endeavors she can perform as a Squib.
Tension eases out of her body the farther away she gets from her parents and Lily. Perhaps … perhaps, it would be best if she didn’t visit her parents for a while. It’s not healthy for her to return there time and time again, hoping fruitlessly that things will change.
If they can’t see her or love her because the shadow of perfect Lily’s greatness is so vast, then—
“It’s their loss,” Petunia whispers as she steps onto the porch of Severus’s home. It’s several streets over from Spinner’s End, where his childhood house resides.
Severus opens his front door before she can ring the bell.
“Good afternoon, Miss Petunia,” he says with a crooked smile.
Severus is not, by any definition of the word, handsome. He has sallow skin, shoulder-length black hair, slightly yellowed teeth, and a large, hooked nose. But none of that matters to Petunia. She knows all too well, thanks to her wretched sister, that a pretty exterior doesn’t equate to a good personality. Obviously, the same is true in reverse. Severus might be bluntly honest, often without a hint of tact, but he isn’t cruel. He’s intelligent and ambitious and completely devoted to the people who win his affection—right up until the moment they betray him. At which point, he cuts them from his life entirely, like a surgeon removing diseased flesh.
He hasn’t spoken to Lily since she called him that horrid name.
Petunia relishes in that knowledge, recalling how Lily reacted to the news that Petunia has plans with Severus, who walks past Lily now as if she doesn’t even exist if they happen to be in the same location.
Lily should have never spoken that awful, insulting nickname if she hadn’t wanted to face the consequences. Even Petunia, who has an exceptionally low opinion of her sister’s self-control and tact, was stunned into silence when the cruel nickname spilled from Lily’s lips. After all of the times that Lily complained about the Marauders when she came home for summer breaks, after all of the stories she recounted of them tormenting Severus with bullying antics that would have seen them expelled from any Muggle school of any repute whatsoever, for Lily to call Severus that despicable name the Marauders used to publicly mock and belittle him was beyond the pale.
“I didn’t mean it,” Lily sobbed as Severus stormed away with a wounded, betrayed look on his face.
“Then you shouldn’t have said it,” Petunia replied before leaving her stupid, younger sister to sob on the lawn.
Petunia knows, better than most people, that nothing in life hurts quite as much as when someone you love and trust is careless with your heart. A thoughtlessly spoken sentence can gouge wounds that never heal into someone’s mind and emotions.
Severus has had a tough life.
His mother, for some Morgana-forsaken reason, married an actual Muggle. As a result, Severus spent years of his life proving himself to Mother Magic and earning the right to be considered a New Blood. He’s the first Paterfamilias of the House of Snape.
It is agony indescribable to know that some purebloods betray magic and leave Avalon behind when Petunia has spent her entire life being as faithful as she possibly can to no avail. Of her own accord, on her own merits, she will never be welcome in Avalon.
And she doesn’t even know why.
That, more than anything else, tears her confidence and self-perception to shreds every time they start to scab over.
“It’s good to see you,” Severus says, his dark eyes fond as he looks at her.
“Good afternoon, Mister Severus. I’ve been looking forward to your company since our last outing,” Petunia says with a genuine smile on her lips.
Severus began courting her three weeks ago. It’s … an adjustment. She never once even dared to hope that a wizard, even a New Blood, would consider courting a Squib’s descendant. After Lily’s Hogwarts letter came, Petunia never let herself dream that she might have a place in Avalon, even if it’s one without magic.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Severus says. His gaze runs over her and a small smile appears on his face. “You look lovely today.”
“Thank you, Mister Severus,” Petunia replies softly, refusing, once again, to let the prickling in her eyes turn to tears.
When she visited her parents earlier, she fully intended on informing them of her courtship with Severus. But her mother had started chattering almost immediately about a dinner party she recently attended, and then segued into details of a pureblood gala Lily wrote her a letter about before Petunia could get a word in edgewise.
In the end, she kept her mouth shut and her news to herself.
Mother won’t even care, will she? There’s no point in telling her, she thought tiredly not long before her mother sent her to the kitchen to fetch the fancy tea service that was apparently reserved for perfect Lily’s arrival. Petunia’s presence, it seemed, didn’t rate her mother’s full hospitality and intricately iced biscuits.
And in the hour that Petunia was visiting her parents, her mother didn’t make a single comment about Petunia’s appearance, even though she put a special effort into looking nice for her upcoming outing with Severus.
“I’m glad the weather held,” Severus says as he casts a gaze at the white clouds in the sky. “I feared I might have to plan something at the last minute.”
“Then I’m glad the weather held as well. I know you dislike disruptions to your plans,” Petunia says, curious about what he has in mind. Surely, given his comment, it’ll be something outdoors.
Severus closes and locks the front door behind him and offers her his arm. The first time he did it, Petunia almost burst into tears. At this point, the ‘Miss’ title he addresses her with is just a courtesy; she doesn’t have even that lowest of titles to her name, the same title her awful sister proudly wears and will surely trade in for an even grander title soon if the gaudy ring on her left hand is any indication. Yet, if this courtship is successful, if she and Severus decide to commit themselves to one another, she will be Missus Petunia Snape in the future.
It’s dangerous to hope after a lifetime of disappointment. Yet, she finds herself hoping all the same. Because one of the very few magical endeavors a Squib’s descendant can take part in is a magical bonding.
Petunia doesn’t even care that it will surely be simple with few guests if it occurs, the complete opposite of the lavish, well-attended bonding ceremony that assuredly awaits her sister. Being found worthy of a bonding ceremony at all, when Petunia has been found unworthy of Avalon despite her best efforts her entire life, will be a memorable blessing that she will never forget nor disrespect.
“I hope you’ll enjoy what I’ve planned,” Severus says with a hint of trepidation.
Petunia remembers the picnic he took her on, the time they went riding, and the afternoon they spent window shopping in the magical village of Appleby. None of their outings have cost much money, but Petunia doesn’t mind. She is well aware of how Severus grew up in the depths of poverty. It makes complete sense for him to be mindful of his spending.
Besides, the monetary worth of an outing has no relation to its quality. Some of the best things in life are free—companionship, conversation, and care. Even if it’s a stroll along the river, even if it’s viewing the public flower gardens, even if it’s flying a kite in the park, Petunia will be happy.
“I’m sure I will,” Petunia replies with a smile.
Severus treats her with respect and great care. His dark eyes watch her with a marked fondness. And if Severus ever compares her to Lily in his mind, it’s obvious that Petunia isn’t the one found wanting, since he continues to associate with her.
That’s all Petunia needs to know.