For 13 years, Elizabeth Potter remained in the confines of shadows. Surviving as a breath, no more than a person, she lived between the gaps of both the Wizarding and the muggle worlds.
But as a new task awakens her fastened slumber, she is thrown...
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Elizabeth Potter sat by the window of her London flat, sipping a cup of tea while watching the muggle traffic below roar past her. The wisps of steam drew from her mug into the air like little clouds. It was the time of year again when the mornings caused dew to pool upon the glass of her windows and for Elizabeth to stay in her dressing gown and slippers, while the days were were warm and indulgent, compelling her to plant colourful spring gardens on her window sills where the sun could help them grow.
It was there she sat, with her tea beside a small succulent, looking down at the people below her. Her eyes felt raw, watching the people struggle past. Elizabeth had sat and watched an entire decade pass, and yet her eyes had stopped looking, glazed over with a sort of hopelessness and longing that would never conceive. Life became hiding. Living as a dark shadow watching everything below her. It was on this day that Elizabeth stared out her window. Just like all the others. All 12-years-worth of them.
Muggle cars raced down the street. Ignorant pedestrians rushed on the sidewalks like they were racetracks and paid no attention to the racing cars. It was mundane for them. It was life. Elizabeth felt like she was visiting a zoo, peering inside of an ape enclosure, watching them live their own apish lives to a certain extent. It was fascinating. Sometimes couples strolled down the street too. They held hands, occasionally one would lean over and peck the other. People sometimes walked their dogs- sometimes it was their children. But most the time it was strangers. People who were trying to get from one place to another with no regard or notice of Elizabeth sitting by her window watching them. Elizabeth was inside the flat above, staring out at the world around her like she was trapped in a jar.
It was a small flat. It was quaint and at times claustrophobic. But when Elizabeth sat by the open window, she could imagine being outside without even having to leave. The tooting of the cars, bumbling of people, even the wind against her face made her feel like she was flying. But it was only an illusion. In truth, she felt like a bird whose wings had been clipped. Like a starving man in a supermarket. Watching. Starving for human interaction that didn't leak so far as staring out of a window everyday for twelve years.
She was not Agoraphobic. She didn't have any anxiety or issues when it came to the outside world. She craved it like veins wanting a needle. It was her duty to stay inside.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, inhaling the cool air while her hair tousled against her neck and shoulders. It was calming, like drinking a glass of cold water. It was relieving. It was fresh. She felt like a dog on a chain- freedom given to a short extent. She let the air out of her lungs only to replace it with another cool gasp. Her eyes were still closed, her arms perched on the windowsill that held her inside the house.
There were so many reasons why she was there. So many explanations that she could have given, and they'd all be the truth. That it was to keep Harry safe. That it was survivors guilt. That she was doing it for Sirius and James and the Order. Maybe the world was just a scary place? With rapists and fire, who really knew when death was going to happen?
