Dinner was a crime.
Not on purpose. Her parents were being kind. That somehow made it worse.
Lily talked about Diagon Alley like she'd swallowed fireworks and they were still going off behind her eyes. Wands, books, broom displays, Professor McGonagall, Severus knowing things. The usual.
"And Severus' mum is a witch," Lily said, breathless. "She's brilliant. Professor McGonagall said so. She did magic in the kitchen like it was nothing."
Of course she did.
Petunia mashed peas into paste.
"She seemed… brisk," Mrs Evans said carefully.
"She seemed terrifying," Lily corrected. "In a good way."
"Is there a good way?" Petunia asked, staring at her plate.
"For her," Lily said.
Mr Evans chuckled. "Well, if she's raising a bright lad on her own, I'd be a bit terrifying too."
"Some of us manage without wands," Petunia muttered.
Mum shot her a quiet warning look.
Lily deflated a little. "Tuney…"
"It's fine," Petunia lied. "You're going to castle cult school to learn death beams. Somebody has to stay here and remember how to use a hoover."
"Petunia," Dad said, gentle warning.
"I said it's fine," she repeated.
It wasn't. The word "Hogwarts" was going to be glued to Lily's name forever now.
Lily the witch.
Petunia the not.
The "normal" one.
The boring one.
After enough smiles and soothing noises, Petunia asked to be excused, escaped to her room, and shut the door behind her with the kind of quiet that meant "if I slam this I'll cry."
Her room was aggressively normal.
Desk. Bed. Books. Posters. A plant in the window that was somehow still alive.
She dropped on the bed, face-planting into the pillow, muffled a scream, then flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
"Not fair," she whispered.
The ceiling did not care.
The wallpaper did.
It pulsed.
Just a little.
Like something behind it had leaned closer.
> You're right, you know.
The voice slid into her head like someone pushing a note under a door.
Petunia sat up so fast she nearly headbutted the headboard.
"...What?"
Silence.
Then the voice again, amused, darkly bright.
> I said: you're right. It isn't fair.
She scanned the room. Window. Desk. Wardrobe. Perfectly boring lamp.
"Lily, if this is you doing some kind of ventriloquist magic—"
> Lily can't do this yet, the voice cut in. Give her a few years and a trauma quota.
I'm not her.
Her skin crawled.
"Who," she demanded, "are you."
> Nico, he said. Local problem. We met at Spinner's End. Briefly. You touched the landlord.
It took her a second.
"The tea house by the river," she said. "Severus' house."
> Not a tea house, he said. More of a 'sadness terrarium.' But yes. That one.
She stared at her own hand like it had betrayed her.
"You're in my head," she said.
> A little, he admitted. Don't be dramatic. It's just a fragment. A fraction. One sloppy kiss through skin contact. The rest of me's still living in Eileen. You got the sample sachet.
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"So I've brought home a parasite," she said. "From Spinner's End."
> Congratulations, he said. That's how plagues start.
"This is insane," she muttered.
> Yes, but functional, he said. Which is more than I can say for the letter system.
She went still.
"Letter system," she repeated.
> Owls, he said. Fancy parchment. 'Dear so-and-so, congratulations, you're special.' You didn't get one. You noticed.
Her hands clenched on the quilt.
"How do you know that," she asked, thin-voiced.
> I was glued to Eileen's nerves when McGonagall explained the rules, he said. I have context. I also have eyes. You look at your sister like someone threw a party in your house and forgot your name.
Her throat burned.
"I shouldn't be talking to you," she said. "Whatever you are, you're not… you're not normal."
> You live in a universe where a hat reads minds for a living, he said. 'Normal' is not a thing. I'm offering… alternative admissions pathways.
She almost laughed.
Almost.
"You can't give me a Hogwarts letter," she said, because someone had to maintain minimal contact with reality.
> Correct, he said. I don't control the stationery. I can't make your bloodline scream 'magic' on an exam. I can do something else.
She waited.
He luxuriated in the pause like the dramatic idiot he was.
> I can cheat for you, he said. System says 'no magic'; I say 'what if we bolt some on.'
She blinked.
"You can't bolt on magic," she said. "That's not how it works."
> You'd be amazed what works if no one wrote a rule against it, he said. Ask Voldemort. Oh wait, you can't, he's soup.
She frowned. "What's a 'Voldemort'."
> Long story short: dead problem, he said. Focus. You're Muggle. Officially. Fine. But you touched me. I live inside witches. I copy how their magic moves. I know the shape of spells from the inside. If I climb into you properly, I can act as a stolen magic channel. A fake wand in your veins.
Her stomach flipped.
"You're disgusting," she said.
> Yes, he said pleasantly. I'm also effective.
She stood up, pacing a tight line between bed and desk.
"If you're real," she said slowly, "and not me finally going mad… why me."
> Because you're loud, he said. Not with your mouth. With your everything. You're furious. You're clever. And you hate your assigned role. That combination is… very attractive to my worst impulses.
"That sounds like a recruitment poster for a cult," she snapped.
> No robes, no chanting, he said. Just a slime demon and a girl with rage issues, doing god's work.
"Whose god," she asked.
> The god of pettiness, he said. Patron saint of 'I refuse to be a side character in my own life.'
Petunia stopped.
Her heart was hammering.
"You think I'm a side character," she said.
> Right now? Yes, he said. The script goes: Lily the prodigy goes off to wizard school, has adventures. You marry some bloke with a good job and develop stress wrinkles at twenty-five. One day you'll lock a magical child in a cupboard under the stairs because you can't stand what he reminds you of.
She stared.
"What," she said flatly.
> Sorry, too meta, he said. You don't have context for that. Point is: you're on track for 'bitter normal.' I'm offering 'dangerous anomaly.' That sound better?
She dropped back onto the bed like her knees had given out.
"If you're trying to seduce me," she said, "you're very bad at flattering people."
> I'm not seducing, I'm negotiating, he said. Seduction is for people who want your body. I want your choices. Different sin entirely.
She paused.
"That's not less creepy," she pointed out.
> I didn't say it was, he replied. I said it was accurate.
She rubbed her thumb against the seam of the blanket until the skin went hot.
"What, exactly, are you offering," she asked. "Spare me the poetry."
> Specifics, then, he said.
1. You let me in properly. I expand from the tiny bit that hitched a ride to… full tenant.
2. I hook into Eileen's magic, and the other hosts I have. I copy flow.
3. When you use a wand, I shove that stolen pattern through you. You cast. Not as smoothly, not as cleanly, but enough to be undeniable.
4. You march that undeniable into the right room and ask, very politely, what the hell they plan to do about it.
"You make it sound so simple," she said.
> It's not, he said. It will be messy. You'll get headaches. You'll fail a lot. You'll scare yourself. But you will not be powerless.
She stared at the wall.
"What do you get," she asked.
He laughed softly in her head.
> The fun, he said. And the chaos. And a front-row seat to watching you kick the door that shut on you. Also, I like collecting hot disasters, and you qualify.
She choked. "I am not hot."
> Yet, he said. Give me a few years and some tailoring, we'll get there. But that's not the point. You're sharp. You're mean when you're hurting. That's useful. No one is more vicious than someone who's been told they don't belong.
Her fingers dug into the mattress.
"You keep calling this 'cheating,'" she said. "You realize that's what will get me kicked harder if anyone finds out."
> Yes, he said. It's why we don't get caught.
"And if we do?" she demanded. "What then. Ministry. Labs. Jars. Vivisection. 'Congratulations, you're our first human-symbiote experiment.'"
> Then we make sure we're too useful or too scary to poke, he said. Worst case, we go on the run. I've been homeless in worse places than Britain.
"You sound very confident," she said.
> I killed their boogeyman by accident, he said. The bar is low.
She blinked. "Killed who."
> Voldemort, he said. Don't worry. You'll learn that name in History of Magic and make the exact same face. The important part is: I know exactly how fragile things you're afraid of actually are.
She pressed her palms into her eyes.
"This is insane," she said again.
> Yes, he said. And? Staying here while Lily disappears into a moving castle for seven years is sane? It's certainly… boring.
Her chest hurt.
She sucked in a breath.
"You promise me something," she said.
> Dangerous opening, he said. Go on.
"If I say yes," she said, "you don't go near Lily. Not like this. You don't offer her this deal. You don't even hint at it. She's happy. She has what she wanted. You leave her out of your schemes."
> I don't do kids, he said instantly. She's not my type of project. She's a main quest girl. I'm side quests and corruption arcs.
"That explanation makes no sense," she said.
> It will, he said. Eventually.
"And you listen to me," she added. "If I say stop. If I say out. If I say 'no.' No games. No technicalities."
> I'm chaos, not a lawyer, he said. 'No' means 'no.' I'll complain, but I'll obey. That's the deal.
She hesitated.
"Swear," she said.
> On what, he asked. My nonexistent soul?
"On…" she thought, then hissed, "on Eileen. On Severus. You hurt them, you betray them, I turn on you myself."
He paused.
> Done, he said, more serious. They're mine too. In a different way. I don't break my toys.
"That wording is atrocious," she said.
> Yeah, but you understood it, he said.
She let out a shaky breath that might have been a laugh if you were generous.
"What do I have to do," she asked. "Specifically."
> Sit, he said. Don't bite your tongue off. Give me your hand.
She looked at her right hand like it had personally wronged her.
Then she held it out, palm up, like an idiot in a fairy tale.
"Do it," she said.
> That's my girl, he said.
Cold.
Not ice. Not pain.
Just sudden, invasive other.
It rushed up from the center of her palm like she'd pressed her hand into water that wasn't there. Under her skin, something slid, squeezing through gaps that weren't meant for it.
She gasped.
The sensation wasn't in the flesh. It was underneath that. A layer nobody gave a name to because it wasn't supposed to be touched.
Her fingers spasmed.
She wanted to yank her arm back. He held the nerves steady.
> Breathe, Nico said. You stop breathing, you pass out, I have to explain this in a dream sequence, nobody wins.
It hit her elbow, shoulder, collarbone. Thin, tingling lines spreading: up her neck, down her ribs, wrapping her spine like wires.
Her heart stuttered.
"This hurts," she gritted out.
> It's new, he said. You're stretching. The world's been using you as 'mundane human' for years. I'm updating your status.
The hum settled.
The cold turned to a thrum.
Petunia hissed air through her teeth.
Something on her wrist prickled.
She looked down.
A faint, greyish ring circled the inside of her right wrist. Not sharp like a brand. Soft-edged, as if someone had drawn a line under the skin.
It pulsed once.
Stopped.
"…Ugly," she said.
> You can glamor it later, he said. Or not. A secret bruise is thematic.
She flexed her fingers.
They felt… fine.
Shaky.
But fine.
"Show me," she said.
> Bossy, he said. I like it. All right. Pick something. Small. Non-lethal. Not your sister.
Her eyes went to the pen on her desk.
She pointed at it.
"How?" she demanded.
> Feel for me, he said. I'm everywhere now, but focus on your arm. On the ring. It's like a… extra muscle. You've never used it before, but your body knows how if you prod it. Then think 'up.' And mean it.
"You're terrible at explanations," she said.
> You got the top marks in primary school, he said. Improvise.
She inhaled.
Closed her eyes.
Felt for the hum.
There.
A buzzing, under the bones.
She pushed.
The pen scraped across the desk.
Her eyes flew open.
"Again," she whispered.
She pushed harder.
The hum surged down her arm, hot now.
The pen jerked.
Lifted.
Wobbled three inches off the wood.
Petunia made a noise she'd deny until death.
> There you go, Nico said, smug. Wizard light.
She held it there, arm trembling, teeth bared.
The strain was real. Her shoulder burned. Her head pounded.
"Feels… awful," she gritted.
> First time always does, he said. Share the load. Let me carry some.
She tried to… loosen.
Stop clenching everything.
The pressure eased. The pen steadied.
She was still there. Still holding.
But something else was braced with her.
She let the pen drop.
It clattered onto the desk.
Her heart was racing. Her palms were sweaty. Her legs felt like she'd run up and down the stairs five times.
"It worked," she said.
> Yes, he said.
"That was magic," she said.
> Yes, it was, he said. And no owl needed to be convinced you deserve it.
She laughed.
Once.
Sharp and too loud.
"Again," she said.
> Tomorrow, he countered. You'll fry your circuits if you overdo it and then we both look stupid.
"You're inside me," she said. "You always look stupid."
> Love you too, he said.
She sat there, shaking, and realized she was grinning.
Real, stupid, reckless grin.
"You're trouble," she said.
> Obviously, he said. I'm a demon slime in a nice girl's wrist. That's the definition.
"I'm not a nice girl," she said.
> Even better, he replied.
Outside her door, the hallway creaked.
"Tuney?" Lily's voice, soft. "Can I come in?"
Petunia froze.
She looked at the pen. At her wrist. At her door.
"Not now," she called. "I've got a headache. Go to bed."
Silence.
"Okay," Lily said. "Goodnight."
"Night," Petunia said.
Footsteps retreated.
She waited until they faded.
Then she pointed at the lamp.
"Off," she whispered.
It clicked.
The room plunged into darkness.
Her wrist band pulsed once, faint and satisfied.
In the dark, Nico's voice wrapped around her thoughts like smoke.
> Welcome to the wrong side, Petunia Evans, he said. Let's ruin destiny a little.
She lay back on her bed, staring into nothing, pulse hammering.
For the first time since Lily's letter, the future wasn't a hallway with all the doors locked.
One of them had slime oozing out under it, sure.
But it was open.