After so much unexpected heat for Britain, the heavens finally broke to release a torrent of rain. The arid soil greedily sucked it away to the distant water table below, refilling itself so the dried-up, near-dead flowers could finally drink something that hadn't been sourced from a kitchen sink, the only puddles forming on the impenetrable tarmac sidewalk. It was a gift to the dehydrated flora and the animals who grieved over the dry stream beds. She held her hand to the cool window pane, watching her breath condense around her outstretched fingers.
The sun rises as a canopy of gold, bright amid the dark, heavy clouds, bidding the stars to take their timely leave. As darkness surrenders, every colour changes from tinges of charcoal to a vibrancy only dampened by the constant, unrelenting downpour of rain, but she revelled in it. With the rain came new beginnings. Rain washed away human sin and left one clean and fresh to start again.
She pulled back from the window. It was small and yellowing around the edges, but it was something unequivocally hers, something no one but she used. In some respects, she had become too attached to a window of all things, but with the window came dreams of fleeing, escaping the life that she had unfortunately been burdened with.
Using an old, frayed hair tie, she pulled her hair, a tangled mess, into a ponytail before sitting fully on the poor excuse of a bed she slept in. The base was made from old milk crates that had been around longer than she had been alive, and the mattress was wafer thin and lumpy, but she didn't complain. Complaining meant beatings.
Speaking of.
She winced as she moved to sit with her legs over the edge of the makeshift bed, pain blossoming across her ribs. She called out a name in a soft, quiet voice that now didn't sound like her own.
"Arawn"
He was there in an instant before her eyelashes could even touch her cheeks with a blink. She didn't have to utter a word to him, their bond made it so he just knew, and within half a breath, he had taken her physical pain away with a click of his fingers.
"It is nearly 5 am, mistress," he said, his voice steady, a constant comfort to her even back in her younger body of 11 years of age, "We must leave now."
She nodded and stood, looping her arm through his. He was taller than her back when they were behind the veil, back when she truly was dead. But now he towered over her more petite frame. She felt dwarfed by his size, and a new sense of protection and comfort came with it. She moved in closer to him, and with a click of his fingers and a quiet crack, they were gone.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
At precisely 6 am, one Petunia Dursley promptly woke up without the aid of the alarm clock on her bedside table; realistically, it was only there for show. She gently kissed her husband's cheek and pulled the cover over him just a little bit more. He grunted slightly and continued snoring.
She left the bedroom, softly closing the door behind her and quietly opening the door directly across the hall. Here, she watched on for a heartbeat as her son peacefully slept in his bed. She tutted quietly as his hot water bottle had been knocked out of his bed and onto the floor sometime during the night.
She silently entered and exited the room, taking the now cold hot water bottle with her. She stopped at the bathroom to do her business and apply her makeup. She could never be seen without makeup. What would the neighbours think? In the mirror, she watched as her eyes hardened with contempt at the thought of her next task. She had to wake the brat.
She made light work of the stairs, unlocking the cupboard door in the wall that the staircase made right next to the kitchen door. She issued three sharp knocks before she barked out her order.
"Up. You have 3 minutes for the bathroom, and then you are to start on breakfast. Gardening will not be done today; I don't want you muddying my house. Instead, you will clean the attic." Were the horse-like woman's demands before she entered the kitchen to brew a pot of much-needed coffee.
After 5 minutes, she realised that she had not heard or seen the brat leave or run up to the bathroom as she usually would, so she stood up from the kitchen table and swung open the cupboard door. A flash of well-timed lightning lit up the room briefly, but it was long enough to recognise that the small space was empty and had been for some time.
Her eyes widened an impossible amount, and if anyone had witnessed it, they would've sworn blind that her eyes would fall out of her head.
In a panic, she raced upstairs, something she usually would not be seen doing as she deemed it unladylike. However, she crashed into the main bedroom, promptly startling her husband awake, who gasped like a fish out of the water before he struggled to sit up. Finding he was too overweight, he settled on half sitting, half laying, using his beefy elbows to prop him up, despite how tumultuous that position may have been.
"Good God, woman!" he nearly yelled, slowly going red in the face, both from the efforts of trying to stay somewhat upright and from the anger of being awoken at such an hour, "what the Hell are you playing at?"
Petunia heaved a breath, half air and half panicked sobs.
"Oh, God, Vernon", she almost wept, "the girl" her words trailed off in a tiny wail, and Vernon's chins wobbled dangerously. He was beginning to get vexed.
"Oh, for goodness sake, woman, spit it out", he demanded, wanting to get one more hour of sleep before leaving for work.
"She's- she's GONE, Vernon."
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
YOU ARE READING
Snakes and Ladders (Fem!HPxLM) (DISCONTINUED)
Fanfiction-DISCONTINUED- After the Triwizard Tournament, Hazel Potter goes through an early inheritance brought on by now being considered an adult through the tournament. Through this, she learns secrets Dumbledore never intended for her to know and she vows...
