White Heather for Protection

Moving On

It was with relief that Heather returned to Hogwarts for her fourth year. She needed the classes and magic to preoccupy her time and thoughts. She needed someone who wouldn't treat her like glass, who wouldn't be afraid to disagree or argue with her.

She felt thankful to the Weasleys, immensely so. Not only because they took her and her brother in. She was certain that Mr and Mrs Weasley hadn't told anyone about what happened, at her behest. Still, they had all been very understanding of Heather's...peculiarities that summer.

They had been worried, Heather could tell. It had been a startling realisation at the time. It had been in the frowns when Heather flinched from anyone taller (which was mostly everyone) except for Rian. At first, she'd thought they were put out by her skittishness - as she herself was. However, when Charlie had started stomping around the house to broadcast his approach, everyone had followed suit.

The attention had been smothering, though. Mrs Weasley had fretted and fussed. The boys had all been tentative, even the boisterous Ronald. Even sweet, clueless Ginny had picked up on her brothers' cues. What they didn't realise was that all that had served as a constant reminder of the incident.

Eventually, Heather had retreated into her Prince's books. His sharp and cutting tongue (well, quill) remained unchanged. She sought refuge in the constancy of his prickly tone, his slanted writing. Escaping into the Prince's world had given her the space to heal from the trauma Vernon wrought.

That was thrice now that the Prince had saved her. The detection spell that identified Petunia's poisoning attempt. The Bruise Paste that healed her physical wounds. The acerbic wit that healed her emotional ones.

Heather took to carrying one of her Prince's books everywhere. His steady presence bolstered her courage. She stopped flinching at everyone and avoiding their eyes. It was when she spoke at the dinner table after an uplifting read that she realised how long it had been since she'd last heard her own voice.

Now, perhaps if she pranked the twins during the Welcome Feast they would stop tiptoeing around her.

~~~

"Would you guys stop it already?" Heather exclaimed frustratedly. "You guys have been pussyfooting about since I turned up this summer! I'm fine, no need to treat me like an invalid!" Fred and George had kept up their awkward demeanour even a month into school. She really couldn't tolerate it anymore. Even her brother had backed off, knowing how much she hated the kiddy gloves.

They looked at each other worriedly. Then, Fred seemed to come to a decision and nodded at his brother, who frowned heavily.

"It's just that...Heather, something happened to you this summer and it wasn't good. All we know is that you suddenly show up, all jittery and withdrawn, though you've mostly reverted back to your old self already."

George spoke up next. "Mum wouldn't tell us anything, but we know it's something bad. You know you can tell us anything, right? If you need to talk? We can help."

Heather stared at her friends. Her two bestest friends. They looked so earnest and worried that she felt horribly guilty for causing it. It had to be a crime to make these high-spirited people so weighed down.

There was so much they didn't know about her - so much she'd deliberately hidden from them. She steeled herself.

"Hadrian and I... Our relatives don't like us much," she began haltingly. It was strange to verbalise it. She and Rian rarely spoke of it so seriously. Levity was a coping mechanism, a way to derive some amusement.

In fits and starts, she told Fred and George of life at Number 4 Privet Drive. She spoke of the darkness and cold, the hunger and fear. Leaving out the wandless magic for now, knowing that that would be a separate conversation. Eventually, she hit upon the incident which had driven them out of their relatives' house. When she finished that particular tale without a tear shed, she knew she would be able to get past this, just like all previous trials.