White Heather for Protection

A Day in the Life

Heather Lyra Potter jerked awake with a stifled yell. She looked around the room wildly, relaxing only when she saw the other occupant in the cramped cot.

"Hadrian's here. Hadrian's safe. No need to panic."

Eventually, her heartbeat slowed to normal as she relaxed against the mattress. Taking a glimpse at an old, battered clock, she decided to let her brother sleep for a while more before waking him up.

Heather turned to face her still-slumbering brother, unaware of the horrors of her nightmares (memories). And he would remain oblivious if she could help it. Gentle fingers stroked through his unruly copper-red mane. As his hair was brushed away from his face, her expression darkened in remembrance. The raised flesh of his lightning-bolt scar was the burden her brother had carried since that fateful night.

Shaking off her heavy mood, Heather lightly nudged Hadrian awake. "Rian, time to wake up now." She smiled indulgently as her brother yawned widely and slowly blinked his eyes up at her. The last vestiges of sleep faded from his eyes and he beamed brightly.

"G'morning!" he chirped and quickly wound his arms around her for a snuggle. The siblings silently savoured the contact before simultaneously getting up to get ready for the day.

While Heather was pulling on her too-loose shirt, a loud banging shook the wooden door. The clicking of numerous locks being released could be heard before, right on schedule..."FREAKS! Prepare breakfast now!" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice broke the peace.

Heather shot a glance at her brother and they both schooled their expressions into placid compliance. They'd learnt early on that less defiance meant less pain and less hunger. As she led her brother out of the Cupboard Under the Stairs, she thought sardonically, 'Yep, just another wonderfully normal day at Number 4 Privet Drive.'

~~~

The Potter siblings had, through painful trial and error, established a routine that maximised their comfort and minimised their...relatives' ire.

Heather would be the first in the kitchen, starting breakfast preparations before the Dursleys came downstairs from their bedrooms. This was the perfect time for her to squirrel away as much food as possible without them noticing. Her finely-honed skills kept her and her brother from starving. This also had the added advantage of ensuring all the more dangerous tasks like deep-frying and chopping were completed before Hadrian's turn in the kitchen. He would, in the meantime, use the facilities as well as keep track of the Dursleys' movements.

Once the difficult jobs were done, Heather would exchange places with Hadrian. While he toasted muffins and set the table, Heather would hurry through her morning ablutions. By the time she left the bathroom, the Dursleys would have already started pigging out (Uncle Vernon and Dudley) or picking through (Aunt Petunia) their standard English breakfast fare. Ostentatiously to give a reason for being outside the kitchen, Heather would bring in the mail and newspapers from the front stoop.

Only after the Dursleys had finished their meal and all the washing up had been done – by Heather and Hadrian both, of course – would Aunt Petunia hand them the scant leftovers then banish them back to their cupboard to eat. Often times, these scraps would comprise only a soggy muffin each and a hardboiled egg to share.

When in the relative safety of their cupboard, however, Heather would produce her spoils with a flourish. This brought to the table at least double the amount originally given. Unfailingly, the lion's share would be given to Hadrian. She stubbornly ignored her brother's daily protests, refusing to let her brother go hungry.

Fifteen minutes was all they would be granted before they were dragged out and slapped (sometimes even literally, if they were slow) with a list of chores. The tasks ranged from weeding to dusting to washing to... The list went on. The siblings would work seamlessly to finish all their chores while avoiding Uncle Vernon's belt and their cousin Dudley's fists.

Unfortunately, their careful navigation around the volatile minefield would sometimes falter. On those days, they'd be subjected to whips across their backs or HH Hunting and be locked up without food. Otherwise, supper would be a repeat performance of breakfast. Then, the siblings would be corralled back into their cupboard till the next day.

~~~

Days, weeks, months, years, passed in much the same way at Number 4 Privet Drive. That day, however, was one of precious few special days. It was 30 June, the eve of Heather's birthday. Her eleventh, to be precise.