Set Your Spirit Free by hestiajones
Summary: A desperate housewife. A forward female knight. Spice Girls. Petunia Dursley's thirty-eighth birthday is about to get interesting.

This is hestiajones of Hufflepuff writing for the 2013 Great Hall Cotillion. My chosen pairing is Petunia Dursley/Hestia Jones. Yes. Tuney and Me.
Categories: Humor Fics Characters: None
Warnings: None
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes Word count: 4003 Read: 1676 Published: 02/22/13 Updated: 02/22/13

1. Chapter 1 by hestiajones

Chapter 1 by hestiajones
On the morning of Petunia Dursley’s thirty-eighth birthday, she was cleaning the kitchen of a house somewhere in England.

There was no cake because of various reasons. For one thing, both her husband and son had entirely forgotten that the day was supposed to be something special. Said husband was in the master bedroom, snoring. Said son was in the next room, watching telly. The volume was too loud, which was normal for him. It wasn’t normal for the two other people in the room with the son. They came from a world where, at the tail-end of the twentieth century, the television was an object of limitless wonder. So, no, they didn’t complain about the volume even if it had crossed the point where it could be classified as noise pollution.

Petunia could complain, but she didn’t want to upset Dudley, who was the son. She didn’t want to upset Dudley because he’d had precious little to enjoy in the last five months - the poor boy had been uprooted - and because she didn’t want family drama to entertain the other two people. Of late, she’d started to burst into tears every time a disagreement arose in the family. Her family wasn’t the type that thrives on rows between the members. She wasn’t the type who liked having an audience when a row did occur; she intimately understood that watching others’ misery often produces an irresistible, vindictive pleasure (for how many times had she experienced it whenever her neighbours at Privet Drive fought?). These two people never looked away whenever Petunia burst into tears for reasons stated above. As if that wasn’t enough to make them repulsive in her eyes, they were also the other big reason why there were not even birthday wishes that day. They were, after all....

Petunia vigorously rubbed the plate in her hand with a dishcloth. Her train of thought was about to reach that point. For years, even with her nephew living under her stairs, she’d tried her best to forget she knew about their world. Then, the nephew got the letters. Then, her sister-in-law blew up like a balloon. Then, Dudley got attacked by demons because of the nephew. Then, the headmaster came. Then, suddenly, they were packing up and leaving their beloved home. She gave a dry sniff. It really was all a bit too much, a bit too unfair.

Or was it? She put the plate in its proper place, dried her hands on the apron and wondered what use it was to struggle. She’d almost shifted her inner monologue to a different topic when laughter rose from the other room like a snake and slithered into her head. Her anger returned as the face of the person who’d just laughed swam into her consciousness. Round face. Pink cheeks. Grey eyes. Full lips. Tiny nose. A mole just above the left eyebrow. Uncontrollable amount of black hair. Probably ten years younger than her. Blunt. Irreverent. As adept at cooking with that stick as Petunia was at the art with her hands. Could punch a man if she had to because she had (probably) bullied Dudley into teaching her boxing. Often stayed awake whole nights for guard duty and slept like a log the next morning. Always brought up Harry because she knew it made the older Dursleys uncomfortable. (Dudley was getting more and more interested in his cousin’s life now that the poor boy didn’t have any comic books to read.)

Petunia loathed her.

She didn’t mind the other one too much. Dedalus something. An excitable fellow who was only too eager to help Vernon whenever the car needed to be washed, an activity that was taken up more and more often, now that Vernon didn’t have a job any longer. Even so, he and the woman together symbolised everything that had gone wrong with Petunia’s life: her perfect, secure, normal life. She’d had a home; her husband a plush job; her son a promising career in boxing. But now, they were constantly on the run, hiding from a bunch of maniacs they should have had nothing to do with in the first place.

And her birthday had been wiped off her family’s memory. She sniffed again. Those two hardly allowed them to go out without one of them tagging along. She supposed if she revealed the significance of the day, at least Dedalus would offer to help her shop for cake ingredients. But she’d rather die than be seen in public with a man who paired his embroidered forest green suit with a violet top hat.

Well, at least she still had something she could control. There was this kitchen. Although tinier than Privet Drive’s and horribly under-equipped, it was her domain. The woman, although she was quite good at household chores in her own short-cut, abnormal way, let Petunia take over such duties; Petunia liked to believe it was because the former didn’t want to trespass her territory.

So, when the woman opened the door without warning and danced her way in, singing –If you really, really, really wanna zig-ah-zig-ahhh!”, then with a wave of her wand, vanished the thickening grime on the floor that Petunia had been rubbing at for five full minutes in mere seconds, she lost her temper.

–Oh, for Christ’s sake, leave me alone!” she yelled, eyes welling up with tears.

The door snapped shut of its own accord. The woman was staring at her. –I was just trying to help,” she said calmly.

–I don’t need your help,” cried Petunia, who had flopped down on the nearest chair and started to cry in earnest.

–Uhm.”

The woman made no move to comfort Petunia, though the volume of the TV was gradually receding from the kitchen.

–I just came to get crisps,” she said after a while. –That big tube thing you were saving up for Dudley. He lost a bet.”

–Oh! Oh, so now you’re teaching him how to gamble!”

–Uh. No? He was the one who initiated the whole thing,” she replied. To Petunia’s annoyance, she neither sounded sorry for her nor contrite for encouraging a young boy to place bets. In fact, she appeared to have lost interest in Petunia’s nervous breakdown; the latter could now hear her rummaging the cupboard for the crisps. –You know those Spice Girls? They’re a lot of fun. We don’t have music like that. Do you listen to them?”

No, Petunia did not listen to juvenile, irresponsible crap.

–I like the blond one.”

Petunia didn’t care.

–I mean, I generally prefer redheads,” she continued, –but Dudley has apparently got dibs on Ginger Spice. Ah! Found it.”

Petunia looked up to remind her to share the tube of Pringles Sour Cream & Onion with Dudley. It was the only one left and goodness knew when they’d be going to the shop again.

–Besides,” the other woman said, turning around and facing her, –I guess I’ve got used to blondes.” For a moment, she stared at Petunia. Then, as though shooing away a particularly unpleasant thought, she shook her head and opened the door. Immediately, the tiny room was overwhelmed by music that was at once insanely happy and ridiculously trite (which was the standard impression the music of that era left on Petunia), but when the door shut behind the woman, quiet reigned again.

Though she’d never admit it, Petunia Dursley was often secretly thankful that Hestia Jones was around.





During the hour that passed between the point where Hestia had left the kitchen and Vernon entered it, a chain of petrifying theories bloomed inside Petunia’s citrus-addled brain. (She really liked the smell of that disinfectant.)

I like the blond one.

Right. Petunia hadn’t been a popular person at any phase of her existence. She could count the number of people whom she could count as proper friends; all four of them were morally upright, socially acceptable ladies like her. None of them had ever looked at a group of girls and said, –I like the blonde”. Or –I like the brunette”. Or anything in that vein. Sure, they admired a girl here of there for their choice of clothes or jewellery, or social standing, but such lucky creatures were not like liked.

I mean, I generally prefer redheads but Dudley has apparently got dibs on Ginger Spice.

So, Dudley liked a Spice Girl. That was expected! Not all boys may listen to the Spice Girls, but one only had to glance at the sky-high hemline of their dresses to know that any teen-aged boy would want to have dibs on one. (Perhaps, not the member who always wore tracksuits or other sensible attire. Petunia felt kinder towards her than the others.) Why, in God’s good name, would the Jones woman compete with Dudley over a girl? What did she mean she generally preferred redheads?

Besides, I guess I’ve got used to blondes.

And what was that all about? Why had Jones followed up that pronouncement with that ... that gaze? Why had she shaken her head?

Petunia put down the potato she’d been about to peel and clapped a hand over her mouth. –N-no,” she stammered. –What am I thinking?”

It couldn’t be. Jones belonged to a different generation. Maybe they were more generous when it came to using the word –like”. Maybe, she meant she liked red-haired men; since there were no men in the Spice Girls’ band, her default option was Ginger Spice, whom Dudley had claimed. Maybe, she’d met some blond bloke nearby and taken a fancy to him.

Maybe, she’d meant Dudley.

For some reason, that thought was more appalling, so she was most thankful when she went repeated the analysis of Jones’ words and it didn’t add up. Jones hadn’t been referring to Dudders. She’d meant...

Vernon?

–What’s for lunch?” her husband demanded in a sour voice as he swept into the kitchen. He hadn’t shaved for three days; his eyes were puffy with too much sleep; his breathing was clearly audible.

She told him. He jerked his head to show approval and exited.

It couldn’t be Vernon.

Dedalus had greying black hair.

So, it was...




–Petunia,” said Jones. –This is delicious.”

Vernon said nothing. Dudley was deep in conversation with Dedalus, as usual; their topic that day was Gameboys. Only Jones was beaming at her, from across the table. Petunia flushed.




Her hands were shaking as she tried to rinse the dishes. There was no mistaking it. Jones was being extremely kind to her. Was this a change in behaviour triggered by some epiphany in the kitchen that morning? Was this because the sight of her tears had caused anguish in Jones’ heart? Or had Jones been acting different lately and she, Petunia, had been too self-absorbed to notice? She began to flip through the pages of her memory - which she prided on for its precision - and examine Jones’ recent treatment of her.

Her findings were remarkably unsettling.

For one thing, Jones hadn’t been mentioning her nephew at all. Secondly, she’d told Petunia three days before that her cheeks had filled out, making her appear younger. Lastly, why, just the previous day, Jones had commented on the quality of Petunia’s hair. What business had she noticing these things when Vernon, Petunia’s own husband, hadn’t bothered? In fact, she was apparently the only person who had noticed.

Unbidden, a vision started building itself in Petunia’s mind, piling brick upon brick of colours: Petunia was in a Spice Girls concert. She was on the stage, her shiny blond hair in high ponytails, her body robed in a tight, glittery white dress, the soles of her shoes impossibly high. She swayed in a way she hadn’t imagine her bones and muscles could create. Someone in the crowd was shouting that they loved her. She raised the microphone high in the air, her hips gyrating, and slowly lowered her head. Then she saw who that someone was.

–Hey, d’you need any help?”

With a yell of fright, Petunia dropped the bowl into the sink.

–All right,” Jones snapped as she strode into the room. –You’re not yourself. Just go and watch the telly or something. I promise you, no Spice Girls.”

Please go away, she wanted to say, but all she could manage was, –I’m-I’m fine.”

–Are you?” Jones said incredulously. Then, to Petunia’s mortification, Jones grabbed her arm. –Just go and relax, okay?”

–I’m relaxing,” Petunia said. She’d tried to sound irritable, but her voice came out as a squeak.

It was Jones instead who snapped convincingly. –Can’t you not be thick for once? Merlin. GO!”

Startled by her reaction, Petunia scrambled from the kitchen. In the living room, Dedalus was entertaining Dudley with a few magic tricks; Vernon was considering them with narrowed eyes. In an effort to recover from her currently flustered state, she went to sit next to her husband.

–Dear,” she began, –how was the food?”

He grunted something that may have been a compliment; he was too preoccupied with his son to give her his full attention. So, she shifted her focus on Dedalus and Dudley, and wondered why she wasn’t as bitter. The wizard was making three rows of matchsticks march to and fro across the surface of the table. Her son would lean back a little every time the matchstick army passed him, but he was also enjoying the display.

–You know what day it is,” she murmured.

–Mmpf.”

–It’s my birthday.”

Vernon shifted. –Happy birthday,” he muttered. –Sorry, I didn’t get you anything. Not that I could have got you anything, even if I had remembered, what with these lunatics taking over our life...”

Petunia had stopped listening. She was trying to remember the previous year’s birthday celebrations. Vernon had given her an expensive silk scarf in a colour that didn’t flatter her. Marge had sent a card, along with some cash for Dudley. Dudley had eaten most of the cake that she’d made in the morning, in spite of his diet. The year before that, Vernon had got her a gold watch that was too chunky for her bony wrist. Marge had sent a card, along with some cash for Dudley. Dudley had eaten most of the cake that she’d made in the morning, in spite of his diet. The year before that...

–Dudley!” Jones called from the kitchen. –A little help here, please.”

Petunia watched her son jump up and head for the kitchen. Dedalus must have felt Vernon’s impotent death-ray vision on Jones’ behalf, for he got up as well and followed Dudley in. For a long time, neither husband nor wife spoke, lost in their own contemplations. Vernon finally coughed and struggled out of the sofa, then teetered on his feet. Petunia waited hopefully.

–I wonder if the car’s got dirty again,” said Vernon, before leaving her to herself. Then she, too, left with an audible sigh.




‘Cause tonight is the night when two become one.

It was a dark and stormy night outside the window. Petunia watched slanted lines of water ceaselessly pass by the tiny gap.

I need some love like I never needed love before.

She was curled up on the floor of the cellar. There were no comfy mattresses in her prison. Her powerful, long-lasting, glorious golden hair was the only cushion that gave her comfort.

I had a little love. Now I’m back for more.

Suddenly, the rain ceased. The sky cleared into a serene blue. Petunia sprang up, wondering if this was the sign she’d always been waiting for.

Set your spirit free. It’s the only way to be.

A voice was calling out to her. Wiping crystal tears from her eyes, she slipped her feet into a pair of tall boots with feet-high soles, zipped the boots up, and then proceeded to peep from the window. It was a knight, whose armour was glinting in the sunlight, whose unicorn was glowing like pearl.

–Petunia,” the knight said, –I’ve come to rescue you.”

–Oh, I love you, Sir Jones,” Petunia wailed.

–And I, you,” responded the knight, taking off her helmet.

Petunia’s cry of joy woke her up. She blinked.

Are you as good as I remember, baby? Get it on. Get it on.

–Oh no...”

She slapped herself about four times and yelled, –Those bloody Spice Girls!”




With every intention to throw a tantrum the size of the Himalayas, Petunia stormed into the living room, but it was only Jones there. She was watching the telly and singing.

‘Cause tonight is the night when two become one.

The promised tantrum had flown to the tip of her tongue, yet Petunia could not get it out. Jones, who seemed to have sensed her presence, turned around and nodded. –Had a good nap?”

–Why - why are you concerned?”

–Am I?” Jones said, and then she laughed and returned to the video on the telly. –Hey, Petunia, come here and explain something to me.”

Against her better judgment, Petunia complied. She was curious as to what she could explain to someone like Jones. –What is it?” she said as she sat down, in what she hoped was a curt voice.

–See,” Jones said eagerly, –look at that. The girls are walking slowly, right? And in the background, it’s like ... like the world’s rushing past at the speed of light. It’s like magic, isn’t it? How do the Muggles do that?”

Petunia snorted. –We don’t need sticks and silly words to do our brand of magic,” she said smugly, as though she herself had added all the visual effects to the video.

–Uh huh.”

Petunia jumped as an inverted top hat materialised out of air and landed on the table; this was followed by a gasp when a rabbit rose from the hat, regarded the two of them with a politely puzzled expression, and then gambolled away.

–I hear that’s the best Muggle magicians can do,” Jones whispered next to Petunia’s ear. The latter recoiled. –Merlin, Petunia. Why are you so bloody frigid?” Jones sounded exasperated. –I wasn’t trying to get a snog out of you.”

What little colour had remained on Petunia’s cheeks was now gone. –That’s not funny,” she snapped.

–What? Women snogging?” Jones asked. She switched off the telly and faced her. –Of course, it isn’t funny. Snogging is serious business.”

When Petunia didn’t reply, Jones raised an eyebrow. –Don’t tell me you and that grumpy man you call your husband have never kissed. Actually,” Jones winced, –don’t say anything. The mental image is too much for me to take.”

–Vernon’s a good man,” Petunia said defensively.

–Yeah ... right. Is he a good lover?”

–Of course!”

–Well, okay, I know you have had sex because of Dudley,” Jones replied to Petunia’s horror, –but I mean to ask if he’s passionate about you. Does he caress your neck after it? Or tell you he loves you when you least expect it? Or, you know...” She gestured something which made Petunia blush fiercely. –Because if he doesn’t, I have to tell you, woman, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

Petunia almost asked her if Jones was prepared to show what she was missing when Vernon came in through the front door and said, –The car’s as good as new.”

–Do you want to take your wife out for a drive?” Jones asked him.

–What!”

Jones didn’t repeat. She simply waited for the answer.

After blubbering incoherently for a while, Vernon rudely replied, –As if you lot will let me go for a drive!”

–Dedalus will accompany you.” That was all Jones said.




The drive was eventful, what with Dedalus giving instructions about where to go and where not to go and Vernon getting increasingly aggravated, but Petunia took no notice. She was drinking in the sunset in front of her as though she’d never see it again. When she had been younger, she had often dreamed of marrying somebody who’d surprise her with flowers, or let her cuddle up to his strong, hard chest, or drive off into the sunset with her. Of course, her sense of propriety only took her into the company of those who were too serious, too proper to drive their well-maintained car into sunsets; neither did they have strong, hard chests.

That was another reason why she had envied her dead sister. She got the magic. She got the lover, too.

But, what if her life was on the verge of turning around? What if Jones ...?

–No, we aren’t going to take the ruddy long way round!” Vernon erupted.

When they finally got back, Petunia was exhausted. She wanted to escape to the bedroom again, though she wondered if Vernon would let her have the peace she craved. With a twinge of regret, she realised her husband could annoy her. She’d always been too devoted to be offended by him in any way.

However, when she opened the front door and saw what was inside, it was as though she’d been given a new life. There were paper streamers everywhere; a huge, sparkling banner that read –HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MUM!” covered half the wall on one side, and Dudley was waiting shyly with a large, oddly shaped cake.

–Yeah,” said Jones. –That cake looks like a potato. You’re cutting it with this,” she added, holding out the potato-peeler she’d always found hilarious.




Later that night, Petunia couldn’t sleep. After much tossing and turning, she got out of bed and quietly headed for the living room, where Jones was on guard duty. She found the woman gazing at the telly, which was on mute.

–Hestia,” Petunia said softly, when there were about seven feet’s distance between the two of them.

Jones turned around. –Hello,” she said.

–I just wanted to thank you,” Petunia said, unable to advance any further.

–Oh, thank Dudley,” Jones said, grinning. –He remembered and wanted to give you a surprise.”

–Yes, but you helped.”

–Yeah. I guess I did.” Jones paused, and then said, –Weird, though. Nothing in this world infuriated me more than your family a few months ago.”

Petunia didn’t know how to react. In the end, she bravely attempted a smile. –Well, your kind has infuriated me for ... years.”

They stared at each other.

–War changes our lives, I suppose,” said Jones. Petunia nodded. –Speaking of which, I’d like to join the fight. I enjoy protecting you lot, but this is not where I belong.”

Her mood had changed so suddenly that Petunia didn’t feel welcome anymore.

–And I have a girlfriend I can’t see because she’s Muggle-born and has to hide in another country with her family.”

Now, Petunia definitely had to leave. –I’m sorry,” she muttered. –I hope you all get out of this alive and well.”

Jones nodded. Petunia knew she was dismissed, but something made her halt. It was a part of her that had been suppressed ages ago when her sister joined a world she couldn’t. A part of mischievousness. –Is she a redhead?” she asked.

Laughing, Jones said, –Yes, but I’ll ask her to dye her hair blonde when we meet. If we meet.”

–You will,” Petunia promised, before she went back to her husband, a little melancholy, but also a thousand times lighter.
End Notes:
I wrote this for the fun element. Hope you enjoyed reading. The song lyrics quoted are from Spice Girls' Wannabe and 2 Become 1.
This story archived at http://www.mugglenetfanfiction.com/viewstory.php?sid=92594