'Tell Me Pretty Lies,' by moongirlel

Chapter 27: A Brother's Love

[my tears ricochet - Taylor Swift]

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Before Hogwarts
Fri. 13th May 1988 - 5:55pm...

"Aunty Petunia?" I rub my hands together, walking around the counter and into the kitchen.

"What?" Her expression riddled with loathsome as she turned to face me.

My hair still drenched, cheeks damp with mud, and dried blood covered my hands down to my wrists.

Her face didn't twitch, or indicate any signs of sympathy for me. I stood in silence.

"Well? Aren't you going to apologise? Me and my husband payed handsomely for you to attend that school! To be a normal girl! But here you are... wasting our time." She paused, snapping the tea-towel she held down to her side. "You're just like my sister."

"I'm glad..." I mumble.

"What did you say?"

"I said, I'm glad that I'm like her, and not you."

Pointing a crooked finger at me, she stumbled forwards. "You don't wish to me like her. A witch. A traitor to this family - My family. Don't you dare ever use those words in front of me again!"

I open my mouth, but my head snapped to the side before I could speak. The raw throbbing sensation arose in my cheek, and down to my jaw.

I gasp quietly, lifting my hand to the burning in my cheek.

Petunia lowered her hand, "Go get washed. You'll smell up my beautiful kitchen."

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Harry didn't arrive home until after dinner, which Petunia made me miss, again.

Vernon had forced him into after school sports, football to be more precise. He didn't enjoy it, but Vernon still made him go every week on a Friday afternoon.

I still didn't understand their obsession for us to be 'normal.' For us to live these perfectly unrealistic, and unhealthy lifestyles under their care. Because, once we slip up, or defend ourselves, they lash out on us.

I sat on the floor of the bathroom, staring at the shower for ages, and then at the bathtub.

I was never taught how to wash my hair.

Petunia would always do it for me. Call me dumb, like Dudley always would do, but there are loads of everyday tasks which have been hidden from us.

They were to make me and Harry look stupid - A chance for them to begin an argument over the simplest of things.

This year, after me and Harry celebrated our twelfth birthday together (alone in our shared bedroom at midnight), he promised to me he'd do everything in his power to look after us.

To look after me.

We're going to be thirteen in two months time: a year of his promise was already over.

He told me a few more years for us to live through, and as soon as we become sixteen, we were running away and never coming back.

"Somewhere like Scotland, or Ireland. Perhaps we could travel by boat, or one of those old carriages?" He had suggested.

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The bathroom door creaked open, and Harry tiptoed in. He closed the door without a sound, kneeling down on the floor next to me.

"Hey," He whispered.

I focus my eyes onto him, giving him a small smile.

"Come on, get up."

He held out his hand for me to take, and I accepted it. "How was football?" I ask, and he rolled his eyes.

"Brilliant." He remarked sarcastically. He has always been the more outspoken one of us.

He lead me over to the bath, and turned the water on. "Who did you fight?"

"Mikyla... She tried to drown me, calling me a witch."

He laughed, but stopped immediately when he seen I didn't. "Sorry... She shouldn't of done that. Did Petunia-"

"I got expelled. And now they're sending me to a cheaper public school, all because I fought back."

Picking up a facecloth, he wets it in the sink. He guides me to sit on the edge of the bathtub, running it down my face. "I got kicked out of football, apparently there's a height limit now."

We both laugh.

After Harry finished washing my face, he paused to adjust his glasses. The flimsy tape between them barely managing to hold it together.

"I read up in the library how to wash curly hair," He spoke, testing the running water. He fixed the warmth, his smile bright.

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I let my hair air dry, occasionally scrunching it up in my hands. Me and my brother changed into our pyjamas, and hid in our bedroom.

Not long ago, I overheard Vernon complaining about how he wished we could still fit into the broom closet down the stairs. He hated how much space we were now taking up, after we moved into Dudley's second bedroom.

Harry rummaged through his football bag, and sat next to me. His hand in a fist, he pushed it out in front of me.

I scrunched my nose in confusion, "What's this about?"

"Open it."

I pry his hand open. Lying in the palm of his hand, a golden flower necklace.

"I found it while I was sitting on the bench during practice. I cleaned it, it reminded me of you." He explained, crawling behind me to put it around my neck.

"Do you think it suits me?"

"Definitely," He answered back, without any hesitation.

"Thank you, Harry."

"No problem."

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[Jane's Necklace]

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