Petunia Evans had never been pretty like Lily, or smart like Lily, but she had always been first.
First born, first to walk, first to cross the street by herself, and now, first to be accepted into Hogwarts.
It didn’t matter that Petunia hadn’t done any magic yet “ the Evans family was a pureblooded family as far back as any living member could recall. Every relative she knew had gone to Hogwarts. Her mother’s family had all been in Ravenclaw, and her father’s family had always been Sorted into Gryffindor. Besides, Petunia figured there were a lot of almost eleven year olds who hadn’t turned their sister’s hair green yet. And, although she didn’t believe this entirely, Petunia never dared to mention her fears to her parents. They wouldn’t understand and they wouldn’t want to hear it. To them, the word Squib was unacceptable; uncouth.
So Petunia silenced her fears and dreamt of a castle and Quidditch and spells, hoping she was wrong, and that her magic would show itself soon. This worked well enough, and her mother and father never suspected anything unusual about her.
The Christmas before her eleventh birthday, her parents gave her a small book of useful spells and an eagle quill. For school, they said with a knowing smile, handing her the neatly wrapped packages. Petunia accepted them, her worries still hidden, and took a moment’s pleasure in the fact that Lily had received nothing she could use when she left for Hogwarts.
As the end of December gave way to January, and the new year hurried along, Petunia memorized all the spells she could and practiced writing with her quill.
Finally, it was the end of April and her birthday was quickly approaching. Petunia counted down the days until May first, meticulously marking through each square on her calendar before she went to bed. The night she crossed out April thirtieth she could barely sleep, and when the morning dawned, bright and full of hope, she rushed downstairs to wait for her owl to come.
Hours passed and the crisp morning faded into afternoon. Her mother was blasé about the late arrival, and when for the first time Petunia mentioned her fears, she told her daughter not to be bothered. “I’m sure the owls have other letters to deliver today, too,” she said. “I know it’ll be here soon. No Evans has ever been a Squib.”
Hours passed, and afternoon faded into evening. Her father brushed off Petunia’s suspicions that maybe no letter was ever coming. “Don’t you worry, Petunia,” he said. “You’ll be the first of our daughters to head off to Hogwarts and make us proud.”
Hours passed, and evening faded into pitch-black night. Her parents seemed nonplussed still; neither made any comments other than ones of reassurance that the letter would surely arrive tomorrow.
That night, as Petunia climbed into her bed, unsettling thoughts filled her head. A letter should have come by now, she thought. Why would they wait? Needing to be reassured once more, she rolled over to face Lily, who was falling asleep on the other side of their room.
“Lily,” Petunia whispered. “Lily, are you awake?”
“Uh huh.”
“What if I’m…” She paused. “What if I’m a Squib?”
“Don’t be silly, Tuney. No Evans has ever been a Squib,” Lily replied, echoing her mother’s words from the morning. “So go to sleep; I’m tired.”
Petunia hesitated before asking, “But, what if I am?”
“You aren’t. I’m a witch, and you’re one too.” At her words, a pang of jealousy shot through Petunia. Lily, at only nine, was already inadvertently doing magic. It’s not fair, Petunia thought, saying nothing further.
The next day passed without any owl, as did the one following that. Each morning, Petunia would run downstairs and ask if anything had arrived for her. The answer was always no.
Still, although the week was slipping away, each sunrise would find Petunia sitting outside, her eyes glued to the sky, hoping and wishing an owl would find its way to Ms. Petunia Evans, The Porch Steps, 201 Rosemary Lane.
A month after her birthday, she stopped waking up with the sun to see if her letter had come. Petunia reasoned that it wasn’t because she was losing faith in herself, but because the owl could just as easily come inside their house. Sometimes, Petunia thought she heard the telltale screech of the owl, but it never was.
The second month went by, and by now, Petunia didn’t worry about not being a witch. She knew “ knew “ she was a Squib. She certainly didn’t need to overhear her parents talking to confirm this, but that was what she got. One night, while Petunia was walking up the stairs to her room, she heard her parents’ voices traveling from the kitchen.
“Should we tell her, Joseph?” her mother asked. “I don’t know what good it would do her.”
“It’s her right to know, Marianne. The letter arrived weeks ago,” her father replied. “McGonagall seemed to think we should tell Petunia she’s a - a Squib.”
“It’ll break her heart. We can’t.”
Her father sighed and then followed his wife out of the kitchen, turning out the lights as they left. “Then we just won’t tell her.”
At this, Petunia inched against the wall of the stairs where she was listening, not wanting to be seen by her parents. When they were safely in their room, she crept down the steps and silently made her way to kitchen. It was a few minutes before she found it. Tucked discreetly underneath a pile of bills of mail she never would’ve bothered with, was a thick envelope with her name written on it. Petunia slipped out the piece of parchment and, hands shaking, read.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Evans,
Being one of the wizarding world’s oldest pureblooded families, I would expect that you are currently waiting for a letter of acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for your daughter, Petunia.
Although I am sure Miss Evans is an extraordinarily remarkable young lady, she is not listed as one of the possible students for Hogwarts. At this time, you may have noticed your daughter has not exhibited any magical manifestations as would have been anticipated for a witch of her age. This means Petunia does not have magical blood and is not a witch.
I hope you will speak with her about what this means, and that although she cannot attend Hogwarts, as a Squib she is still undoubtedly part of the magical world.
Should Petunia wish to speak with Headmaster Dumbledore about this issue, he would be happy to oblige. You need only to respond via owl, and he will arrange to arrive at your home.
Sincerely yours,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Petunia stood stock still, staring at the letter for a long moment. A single tear trickled down her cheek and splattered on the parchment. She folded the paper up and shoved it into the envelope and back under the bills.
In a daze, Petunia wandered slowly up the stairs, nearly tripping, and into her room. She slipped under her covers and curled into a ball, this time letting all her tears fall.
“Tuney?” Lily’s voice drifted sleepily across the dark room. “Tuney, are you okay?”
Petunia didn’t respond. She didn’t want to speak to anyone now, especially her sister. She would be able to go the Hogwarts. Lily would get the castle and Quidditch and spells. She would get Hogsmeade and the best friends and the magical creatures. She would get every single thing Petunia had ever dreamed about. And it just wasn’t fair.
After the third month passed, the family made no mention of the letter “ neither the one that had come nor the one that hadn’t. They all knew what had happened and it would do no good to discuss it further. Without it being brought up, Petunia could almost forget that a letter was ever supposed to come at all. Almost.
11 o’clock of September first came and went, and with it, all her last desperate hope that somehow “ someway “ her letter from McGonagall had been wrong, and her real letter, her Hogwarts letter, had been misplaced.
Petunia never said a word about her crushed hopes that day. Not when her father gave her an extra tight hug in the morning, nor when Lily exclaimed that she would be leaving for Hogwarts in just two years. Although, if anyone had happened to look in the back of her dresser drawer, they might have noticed fragments of an eagle quill scattered among small shreds of thick, spell book paper.
That night, as Petunia lay in her bed and midnight ticked by, she realized something.
She had never been pretty like Lily, or smart like Lily, but she was still always first.
First born, first to walk, first to cross the street by herself, and now, first to be a Squib.
To Be First by solemnlyswear_x
Chapter Notes: Thanks to Love_is_4ever for betaing! =) Just a note that this one-shot is very AU, and the Evans family is pureblooded.