For the next two days, Petunia avoided school, her body still recovering from the fever but her mind gripped by a deeper fear. She told her parents she wasn't feeling well, the excuse easy enough to believe at first—her pale face, her tired eyes, the lingering warmth of her skin all supported her claim. She stayed in her room, the curtains closed, her meals brought up by her mum, her dad's concerned glances following her when she did venture downstairs. But the fear of the creatures, the fear of being thought mad, kept her from leaving the house, from facing the world outside.
In the evening, as Petunia sat on her bed, a book in her lap she hadn't opened, she heard her parents' voices drifting up from the kitchen, their tones low but clear. "She's still not herself," her dad said, his voice heavy with worry. "Not going to school, staying in her room—it's not like her." Her mum sighed, her tone a mix of concern and frustration. "I have to go back to work tomorrow, and I can't help but wonder if she's acting like this to grab our attention. She's been so quiet since Lily got back, and now with Lily gone…" Her voice trailed off, but the words hit Petunia like a punch to the gut.
Her chest tightened, hurt and frustration welling up as she clutched the edge of her blanket. They think I'm making it up, she thought, the sting of their misunderstanding cutting deep. She wanted to tell them the truth—about the creatures, the fear, the way her world had turned upside down—but she couldn't. If she told them, they'd think it was another bid for attention, or worse, they'd think she was mad, like Aunt Clara, and send her away. The thought made her stomach churn, her fear and frustration tangling together, leaving her feeling more alone than ever.
She couldn't let them keep thinking this way, couldn't risk them watching her too closely, asking questions she couldn't answer. So, at dinner that night, when her mum brought up a tray of soup and asked how she was feeling, Petunia forced a small smile, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'll start going to school tomorrow," she said, the words heavy on her tongue. "I'm feeling better." Her mum's face softened, relief evident in her eyes. "That's good, love," she said, brushing a hand over Petunia's hair. "It'll be good to get back to normal."
But as Petunia nodded, her heart pounded, the fear of stepping outside, of facing the world where those creatures lurked, a weight she couldn't shake. She didn't know how she'd manage school, how she'd keep her secret, but she had to try—because the alternative was far worse.