DESOLATE ― ︎︎ prisoner of azkaban

‣︎︎CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO:

THE "BLOWING UP YOUR AUNT" INCIDENT OF 1993

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DAISY FIDGETED NEXT TO HARRY AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS, NIBBLING ON HER CHEEK, ANXIETY COURSING THROUGH HER VEINS.

"Get the door!" Petunia hissed at the pair. Harry squeezed Daisy's arm gently before walking to the door and opening it up.

There she stood, in her large, heartless, purple-faced glory. She scowled at Harry.

"Where's my Dudders?" She pushed past Harry, thrusting her suitcase into his arms and letting her bulldog -- the only thing Daisy particularly liked about Marge's visits, and even then, the dog was poorly-behaved and smelled of old socks -- drop to the floor. "Where's my neffy-poo?"

On cue, Daisy's brother rushed down the hall, brushing back his blonde hair with the bow-tie placed neatly around his neck. She remembered having to dress up for Marge's visits. Looking down at one of Harry's spare shirts and a pair of loose-fitting jeans, she realized she was more Potter than Dursley now. Strange.

Marge reached out to Dudley and pulled him into a tight hug and kissed his cheek soundly. Daisy fiddled with the bottom of her shirt, avoiding her mother's scowling eyes. When Dudley and Marge pulled apart, he unrolled a twenty-pound note and scoffed at Daisy when he walked past her.

"Some of us are actually worth something now," he said lowly. "If only you were better."

His words were like a knife in her heart but she tried to ignore them. Tried to focus on Harry's sympathetic gaze, walking the suitcase towards her. Marge and Petunia greeted cheerfully, and then Daisy's father entered the home, closing the door behind him.

"Tea, Marge?" He asked his sister. "And what will Ripper take?"

Ripper. What a stupid name for a dog. If Daisy had a dog, she'd name him something clever. Like Fenrir, from Norse Mythology. She'd prefer a cat though. Less trouble and smaller. She'd name a cat something sweet like Popcorn or Snuffles.

Not Ripper.

"Oh," Marge spotted Daisy's bright hair finally, a frown on her face. "The ungrateful brat who disgraces our family name. You're still here, then?"

Daisy smiled awkwardly, grip tightening on her shirt. If only Snape or Malfoy could see her now. They'd never let her live this down. Hated by her own family? Obviously.

Harry grabbed her hand gently and led her upstairs as Vernon took Marge into the kitchen.

"Don't listen to her," he said lightly as he dropped Marge's suitcase on the spare bedroom -- Daisy's old room, in fact. "You going to be okay?"

Daisy sighed, nodding. "I have to be, right? You have to get to Hogsmeade."

Harry smiled softly. "Thanks, Daisy," he pulled her into a small hug. She hugged him back tightly, wishing she could just take Harry and run away to the Burrow again. Her heart ached for the previous summer, the freedom they'd felt with the Weasley's. The love. The acceptance and belonging.

Harry pulled away after a moment and ruffled her hair, pulling her back into the hallway and downstairs. As they passed their room, she spotted her dragon stuffed animal on the pillow and longed to see Blaise again. Blaise and Theo. Her boys. She thought of Cedric too, his kind eyes and endless warmth. She missed her friends.

"You're still here, are you?" Marge grabbed her attention, but her focus was on Harry, and Daisy realized they were in the kitchen.

"Yes." Harry stated blankly, sitting down at the table. Daisy took the other seat next to him.