'And he's the best fuck that ever walked. He's beautiful - rich, in money and everything else; he's a rockstar to boot, trapped in the body of a fighter. And how he fought; at a state of turmoil with himself - somewhere inside his soul that only she...
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'You poor thing unable to understand a mere woman... no daughters to relive your cravings—no babes to stop your satirical chatterings, why should I pay for all your shortcomings. You in your broom-stick and sheet have crackers and ashes within you. I in my rags and my trimmings have a little silver lamp in my soul and to keep its flame burning is all that I ask. That I pray. My friend—my dear friend all the same.'
The girl walked across the dimly light room, careful not to wake her sleeping brother as he suffered from nightmares enough, and she did not wish for the little sleep he did get to be interrupted. She had an incredibly close bond with her brother as he was the only family the pair of them had in this miserable life. Since childhood, she had always felt responsible for him, and the bond they had established left no room for secret-keeping. He trusted that he could always confide in her, her protection ceaseless in the way she wished someone had done for her growing up.
It was a terribly lonely experience growing up the way she did- spending days longing for her parents to hold her and reassure her that it would all be alright.
The Dursley's were among the coldest people she had ever had the displeasure of meeting. Instead of caring and nurturing for their niece and nephew in the way the law professed they should, they neglected and abused them, leaving Hera to raise her younger brother whilst still being a child herself. She had hoped that she had managed to shelter Harry from the Dursley's severity in the hopes that Harry would be able to preserve and cling onto his childhood for as long as he could. Harry got in trouble a lot as a child, things that were out of the ordinary that would leave her back bruised and blue, her cheeks soaking up the acid tears that fell.
She lied for him in the hopes that he wouldn't have to.
Petunia was particularly cruel to her, her unforgiving eyes scrutinising every little movement. Despite the unwavering hatred she had for anything associated with the name 'Potter', it did not relent her desperate attempts to mould Hera into her idea of the perfect woman. And for a woman like Petunia Dursley, that meant teaching a previously loquacious child that her voice did not matter and was best unheard. Petunia had been a self-deprecating woman, one whose reputation meant everything to her.
It was a great relief when her Hogwarts letter had arrived; it was the opportunity she has been unknowingly waiting for her entire life. And though it wasn't easy to leave her younger brother in an abusive home while she pursued her education, she knew she had to do it. Even years later, she struggled to forgive herself, and it had taken its toll on her first few years of education too. What was supposed to be a blissful experience was instead two years filled with dread and anxiety, her entire time spent worrying for him and her mindset constantly dispirited.
