I surveyed the parchment with my bright green eyes, checking it over once again for the slightest hint of a miscalculation. Even though I’d left muggle primary school, Aunt Hermione said it was still important to learn algebra. The shining black ink stood out clearly on the faded yellow parchment, the complicated sums in perfectly straight rows and columns. Satisfied with my work, I rolled it up and began to ascend the large staircase of the house to my aunt and uncle’s room.

I knocked twice on the door and entered to where my aunt was brushing her long, bushy brown hair, getting ready for work.

“Daisy! You’re up early. It’s not even seven yet,� she said, a smile lighting up her face.

“I brought the algebra work, I think it’s all right. Where’s Uncle Ron?� I asked, handing her the parchment. She took it with another smile and gently placed it on her dresser.

“I’ll check that through when I get back. Your uncle’s at work, dear. He got called in early; there’s been another riot up in Manchester. People still aren’t happy with the plans to build another wizard hospital there.�

“I don’t see why they don’t just carry on using St Mungo’s,� I said. Aunt Hermione smiled.

“It’s got too small, dear. Anyway, I’ll be back at around one for my lunch break, you can look after your mother and Harriet until then, can’t you? Sam and Josh are at grandma’s.�

“Sure,� I said, but inside I was shouting in protest. I was fed up of this; I was only fourteen! Yet, I had more responsibility then most adults! I just wanted to be normal.

“You’re such a good girl, your dad would have been proud,� Aunt Hermione said, kissing the top of my head and hugging me tightly.

“No he wouldn’t. If he was here to be proud, mum wouldn’t be ill, so he’d have no reason to be proud.� She laughed slightly, but I could see tears forming in her eyes at the mention of my dad, her best friend.

“He would still be proud, Daisy, he’d be proud to see what a talented young woman you’ve become, and what good care you take of your sister.� She stroked my dark red hair gently, still hugging me, then stepped back and Disapparated.

I was alone. Like every other day. My father, Harry Potter, had killed Lord Voldemort. He’d saved the world. He married my mother, Ginny Weasley, and they had me, Daisy Marie Potter. I have my dad’s bright green eyes and small stature. I have shoulder-length red hair, like my mum, but it’s much darker, almost black, like my dad’s. Just like Dad’s, it’s difficult and is always in a mess. Apart from my eyes, I’m quite plain. I could probably make my self pretty with make-up, but I’m not that sort of girl.

When I was five, however, my dad went missing. His body was never found but his wedding ring was sent back to Mum, with a note from a group of Death Eaters that claimed they’d taken revenge and killed him.

My mum was pregnant at the time with my younger sister, Harriet July Potter. Maybe it was because my mum was so stressed in the pregnancy, or maybe it was just meant to be like that, but Harriet is Autistic. She can be quite difficult to look after sometimes, but we manage.

Mum hasn’t been the same since my dad’s death. She got very ill and now spends her entire day in bed, getting up only to use the bathroom and to wash. She doesn’t remember that dad is dead a lot of the time; she asks for him and sometimes talks to the wall, thinking he’s there. Other times she remembers what happened, and she cries and cries, for hours at a time, just sobbing into her pillow.

All of my dad’s money was left to me and Harriet, but the Ministry says that because mum is still alive, I can’t spend any of it until I come of age. Uncle Ron comes out with some very colourful language when reminded of this because he was never very rich in the first place, and trying to support his own family, as well as me, mum and Harriet is very difficult. That’s why Aunt Hermione has to work too, and I have to work at a local muggle supermarket on the weekends to try and earn enough cash until I’m seventeen.

I don’t go to Hogwarts. I can’t. I have to stay here and look after mum and Harriet. Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione are always trying to persuade me to go, and I really would like to but who’ll look after my family?

Sam and Josh go. They’re my Uncle and Aunt’s sons. Sam is sixteen and Josh is twelve. They both have wavy brown hair and are very tall. Sam is very skinny and has a long nose and Josh has the body of an athlete, which he is. He’s a Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team at Hogwarts.

That’s another thing. Everybody expects me to be a great Quidditch player, just like my parents were and just like my grandfather. But I’m not. I’m scared of heights and can’t catch a ball to save my life. I don’t like watching it either; it’s too fast and the rules confuse me.

I heard high-pitched screaming from downstairs and my eyes went wide as I saw that it was seven minutes past seven. How time flies when you’re revisiting the past…

I raced downstairs to the kitchen to where Harriet was sitting at the table. She likes things to be at the same time everyday, you see. And while she can wait a couple of minutes, if she has to wait too long, she starts screaming loudly. She always has to have her breakfast at seven.

I ran past her, pulled the larder door open viciously and quickly grabbed a bowl, spoon, milk and a pack of cereal. I dropped them down in front of Harriet and as quickly as the screaming started, it stopped, and she began to pour herself some cornflakes.

“Harry? Harry? Is everything all right? Harry!� I groaned at the sound of a woman’s voice, calling down from upstairs. Harriet’s shouts had awoken Mum. I ran up to her room and threw open the door.

“Oh, hello, Daisy. I thought it was your father,� she said cheerily. At first glance, my mum doesn’t look ill; she still has flaming red hair and a bright smile on her face. But then if you look closely you can see the dullness behind those once beautiful brown eyes, the paleness of her skin and her skeletal body.

“What was all that about? I heard screaming.�

“It was just Harriet, mum. I forgot about her breakfast.�

“Oh, I see.�

“What do you want for breakfast?� I asked. She thought for a moment, a smile playing on her lips.

“I’ll have some toast, with raspberry jam and orange juice. It’s my favourite.� I nodded and left the room.

When I entered the kitchen again, Harriet was just finishing her cereal, eating each cornflake one by one, the way she does every morning. As I searched around in the larder for Mum’s breakfast, I talked to Harriet.

“Do you want to draw after breakfast?� Harriet loves drawing. She can draw anything in amazing detail and proportion. But, she can’t imagine much, so she has to be looking at something. So, all her drawings and paintings are rather bland; just the terraced houses of London, the furniture and people inside our house. She has a photographic memory and only needs to look at something for a few minutes, then she can draw it exactly as it is, down to the tiniest detail.

“Yes.�

“What do you want to draw?�

“A picture.�

“Yes, I know, but what do you want your picture to have in it?� I asked patiently.

“Some…some…� She struggled to find the words, and pointed to the bowl of fruit on the table. She can find it hard to communicate sometimes.

“Some fruit?�

“Yes, some fruit. Three apples and an orange and a banana and two plums.� I nodded and spread the raspberry jam on the toast.

“I’ll set that up for you when I give mum her breakfast.�

“At twenty minutes past seven o’clock?�

“Yes.� I loaded the breakfast tray and took it upstairs to mum’s room. I opened the door and entered, walking over to where my mum was sitting, staring at the wall, a large grin on her face.

“Mum?�

“Oh, hello. Oh, you brought me breakfast! How did you know that raspberry jam was my favourite?� I gulped as I set the tray on her lap. She smiled up at me.

“Those beautiful eyes! Your dad had eyes like that.� I nodded, pulled away and then did a double take. She’d just talked about dad in the past tense. I held my breath. Either she’d got better, or she was about to start crying.

The bubble of hope that had just swelled in my chest burst suddenly as my Mother began to sob into her pale, calloused hands.

I left silently. It was no use trying to comfort her, she’d be crying for hours, maybe even days now. I felt angry bitterness erupt in my throat. Why did this have to happen to me? To my family? Aunt Hermione said that my dad used to joke that the Potter family name was cursed. I was beginning to think it was.

I plodded down the stairs and set up a still life for Harriet, at exactly twenty past seven, like every morning. I sat and watched her draw, a glum look on my face, tired already.

This was my average day. I followed a strict timetable and kept my emotions hidden. And that’s it, apart from weekends when I work. I don’t have friends. Friends come around to your house, but how could they come around to mine? They would have to trail around after me as I would try to keep my family happy. I can’t go to Hogwarts, so Aunt Hermione got a special permission slip which means I can practice magic at home.

I wanted to go to grandma’s today, but then there wouldn’t be anyone to look after mum and Harriet.

Don’t get me wrong, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione are amazing at looking after us all. They are so loving and caring. But the boys can never be bothered to put up with my sister’s demands, or my mother’s crying.

I had grown up like this, so I was used to it. But that summer, everything was turned upside down.

The warm summer sun beat down on my back as I helped my aunt and cousins de-gnome the garden, putting my frustration into every throw. They never went very far though; like I said, I’m no good at sports. Ahead of me I could see the tree house that Uncle Ron and dad had built for my cousins when I was four; I could smell the sweet-pea’s that grow up it and I could hear the faint buzzing of a wasp somewhere nearby.

“The point is to try and throw them over the fence, Daisy,� said Sam, smirking as I threw a rather fat gnome pathetically. I scowled at him as his brother sniggered.

“Boys, not everyone can throw as far as you two. Besides, she did get it over the fence,� said Aunt Hermione, sticking up for me at once. She was right; I had thrown the stupid fat gnome over the fence, just not particularly far over.

“Yeah, but mum, she’s meant to be good at sports, her parents both were-�

“WHY DOES EVERYONE THINK THAT I’M EXACTLY LIKE MY PARENTS!� I stormed off, leaving the stupid prats speechless, a gnome in each hand. I thundered into the kitchen, making strange growling noises in frustration. I can have a very short temper and will often stay in a mood for days, until the person who has upset me apologises.

“Are you angry?� questioned Harriet, studying my face intently, her blue eyes piercing.

“Yes, I am. I’m angry with Sam and Josh.�

“Is that why you were yelling? Are you mad now?� This would have been obvious to anybody else because of the look on my face and my clenched fists, but Harriet can’t read body signals or expressions. She just knows that when someone is angry, they shout, and when someone is upset, they cry.

“Yes. What are you drawing?� I asked, not wanting to try and explain why I was angry.

“A picture.� That’s always her answer. I have to word things exactly right if I want a proper answer.

“What is in your picture?�

“A clickie.� That’s her word for a toaster, because it clicks when the toast is done. Aunt Hermione insists that we have lots of these odd Muggle things when a wand would do the job much quicker and much better. I smile, but then remember that she can’t tell that smiling means I like her picture.

“Your picture is very good, Harriet, I like it a lot.� She nods and goes back to her drawing, shading it in perfectly. She doesn’t acknowledge my sad face as I look at the sister who can never show me love back.

I trudged upstairs to my pale-pink bedroom and lay on my bed, closing my eyes and sighing heavily, trying to calm down. I don’t know how long I lay there, but my mind went back to those few memories I had with my dad in them.


“How old are you today?� he quizzed, grinning down at me as I sat in my bed.

“I’m five!� I squealed with delight as he picked me up and spun around.

“Yes, you are! You’re getting so big that soon you’ll be going to Hogwarts!� I laughed and tugged on his ebony hair. “C’mon, let’s go and wake mummy up and then we can open your presents!� he said, carrying me through to the master bedroom where my mother lay, a smile on her perfectly chiselled face, her slightly-rounded tummy-

“Daisy?� My eyes flickered open and I turned my head to see my aunt coming through the door. I smiled weakly at her.

“What’s wrong, honey? The boy’s were only teasing and they’re very sorry.� Yeah, right, I thought viciously.

“Everyone expects great things from me, but I can’t do great things. I have to stay here and look after mum and Harri,� I said miserably, twisting the corner of my duvet around my finger.

“Oh, dear, you don’t have to stay here-�

“YES I DO!� I yelled, sitting up and trying to make a break for the door. I wanted to be alone; I wanted to sulk for a while. Aunt Hermione held me back calmly.

“Your uncle and I are perfectly capable of taking care of your family, what do you think we’d do, let them fend for themselves?�

“What would you do for money? We’re barely making ends meet as it is.� Aunt Hermione bit her bottom lip and looked away.

“Daisy, it isn’t fair that you should have all this responsibility. Please, go to Hogwarts, Uncle Ron and I will work something out. I can push for a raise on my salary-�

“You already have, twice. They said they’d fire you if you asked again,� I interrupted, sending telepathic death threats to her boss. She continued more firmly.

“-so could Ron. We could use the school fund to get your books and equipment and we could probably sell a couple of things-�

“That’ll only work short-term-�

“-and cut down on buying things we don’t need.� I looked at her and shook my head.

“It will never work.�

“Don’t lose hope, Daisy,� She pleaded. I looked over at my bedside table where there was a framed photograph, taken a week before my father disappeared. In it, my dad has his right hand on my mum’s very pregnant stomach and his left on her shoulder. They’re both smiling and laughing and mum has colour in her cheeks. I’m standing just to the side of mum, my chubby cheeks raised in a smile, squinting at the sun. This photograph doesn’t move. I wanted to capture that precious moment forever and so I refused to allow the film to develop in the potion.

“I haven’t lost hope,� I whispered, looking into my dad’s still face. “What if he’s still alive? We could find him, he’d come back and mum would get better again. We’d get the money and we could get our own house and I could go to Hogwarts and-�

“Daisy, he isn’t coming back. He’s dead,� whispered Aunt Hermione, her chocolate-brown eyes filling up with hot tears.

“But, if a body was never found…� She sighed, and a lonely tear rolled down her cheek.

“No, we know that he’s dead. You know the clock on grandma’s wall? Ever noticed how I’m on it and Aunt Fleur and Angie and Bianca, even though we’re only related by marriage?� I nodded slowly, already knowing what she was going to say. “Your dad used to be on that clock as well.� We sat there together for another hour, crying into each others arms, remembering the family, my family, which was brutally torn apart.

“That’ll be three pounds and ninety-seven, please,� I said, watching the gang of boys closely, looking out for any unpaid sweets slipping sneakily into their pockets. One of the boys was looking at me oddly, as if trying to remember something.

“Yes? Can I help you?� I asked as politely as I could, though it’s always hard when someone’s staring at you. He looked like the spoilt, yet rough sort. You know; gelled-up hair, gold chains and rings and a diamond stud earring. We want so many more young thugs like that, I thought sarcastically.

“I ‘fink I’ve seen you in the village. Don’t ya’ live up on that hill? The one ya’ can only see if ya’ look real hard and is really hard ta’ climb up?� I silently praised my Aunt’s muggle repelling charms.


“Yes, I do. Why?� he smirked.

“Oh right, so yar’ the one with that retarded-� I didn’t let him finish his sentence. I had no idea whether he was about to refer to my sister or my mum (both are joked about by young ASBO’s), but I didn’t really want to find out.

“DON’T YOU DARE EVER LAUGH AT SOMEONE WHO HAS SPECIAL NEEDS! I DON’T LAUGH AT YOU BECAUSE YOU LIVE ON THE PETERS ESTATE! THOUGH I COULD, IT’S ONLY TRASHY PEOPLE THAT LIVE OFF CRIME AND DRUGS THAT LIVE THERE!� I was rather satisfied to see that the boy was cowering in fright, helped by the flickering lights.

“AND DON’T YOU EVER LET ME HEAR YOU USING THAT WORD AGAIN, YOU HEAR? IT’S A FLITHY WORD, JUST LIKE YOU! YOU COULD JUST AS EASILY HAVE BEEN BORN-�

“Daisy! Calm down, you boys – out, now. Don’t bother coming back again, you’re barred.� It was Mrs Conlon, the elderly shop owner, the one who always seemed to have a power over youths that came into the shop. The boys scarped out, sniggering. I wanted to race after them and punch them hard, it’s just a pity I have possibly the weakest punch in existence. Instead, I placed my elbows on the till and my head in my hands, breathing heavily. Mrs Conlon placed her warm wrinkled hand on my shoulder.

“Dear, don’t listen to them. One day, they’ll be faced with problems of their own, most likely when they leave school at sixteen with no GCSE’s under their belt. Then they’ll know better then to laugh at other people’s misfortune.�

“I can’t do this. It’s too hard. I’d quit, but we need the money,� I said bluntly. Then I let out a great moan of annoyance. “The little prats ran off without paying! Oh god, what am I going to do?� I said frantically, losing my head completely.

“Calm down, dear, I know their mothers. I’ll chase them up about the money and about what they said. You were right to shout at them, they deserved a lot more if you ask me.� She began to walk over to the display stand which held sweets where the boys had carelessly dropped several on the floor.

“There was a time when you could give them a good clip ‘round the ear, that’d sort the youth of today out, like I was telling Doris yesterday-� But I wasn’t listening to her. I felt strangely dizzy and my hands were shaking slightly. I stood up to go and help her and felt myself falling. The last thing I remembered was the tiled floor and Mrs Conlon still talking about Doris. Then everything went black.

*~*~*

“Daisy? Da-a-ais-sy…� My Aunt’s cooing voice made me blearily open my eyes. I found myself lying in an uncomfortable bed in a painfully white hospital ward with my entire family (bar mum and Harri) around me.

“Oh, Daisy, you’re awake!� My Grandma beamed down at me, her grey hair up in a bun. She looked very tired.

“What… what happened?� I asked, squinting as I sat up. The bright white walls stung my eyes.

“You collapsed, dear.�

“Well yes, I gathered that,� I said irritably to my Aunt. “Why?�

“Cause you’re a psycho,� muttered Sam, just loud enough for me to hear. He was probably annoyed that I was wasting time when he could be playing Quidditch. Git.

“The Healers think that you’re under to much stress, kid. They say you have too much responsibility. I’m sorry, Daisy, we do try but-� I interrupted Uncle Ron.

“Don’t worry about it. When can I go home?� I saw everyone look at each other hesitantly. “What? What’s wrong? I… I can go home, can’t I?

“Of course you can, honey!� exclaimed Aunt Bianca a little too quickly.

“Then why isn’t anyone telling me when I can go home?� Aunt Bianca looked at her husband, Uncle Charlie. Who looked at Uncle Bill. Who looked at Aunt Fleur. Who looked at Uncle Fred. Who looked at Aunt Hermione.

“Oh fine. Leave it to me!� muttered Uncle Ron. “Daisy… the Healers don’t want you going home until you’ve relaxed a bit.� I shrugged.

“I’m relaxed now.� He was definitely under pressure now; even Snobby-Sam and Jack-arse-Josh looked uncomfortable.

“Yes… but… they want you to go to Hogwarts for a bit-�

“NO! I bet they didn’t say that, you all made it up to try and get me to go! Well I’m sorry, but it’s not going to happen! My place is at home with mum and Harriet – I can’t leave them! You and Auntie wouldn’t be able to cope!�

“No, no, we wouldn’t. BUT, when the newspapers heard about you collapsing…� He chucked an issue of The Daily Prophet onto my lap. On the front page there was a rather embarrassing picture of me when I was about three, a bowl of spaghetti in my hair. Above that was a large, bold headline.

HARRY POTTER’S DAUGHTER COLLAPSES DUE TO STRESS – THE MINISTRY ARE TO BLAME.

“Oh,� I said, rather shocked. Then my feisty temper came back up again. “So what? The Ministry won’t do anything-�

“Oh, yes they will. Or have, rather,� Uncle Bill grinned, his scars stretching across his face.

“What? What have they done?� My Grandma smiled.

“Well, dear, they’ve given Hermione a raise, as well as Ron; they’ve assigned a Healer to the house-�

“A free one,� interrupted Aunt Hermione, beaming. My Grandma continued, still smiling pleasantly.

“Yes, a free one-�

“She’s fit as well!� smirked Josh. Everyone ignored him.

“A free healer to be there twenty-four hours, seven days a week so that Hermione and Ron can continue to work and they’ve agreed to let you have access to quarter of the money your father left you, which is a lot.� Everyone smiled at me expectantly.

“Are you all mad? Do you really think that I’ll go to Hogwarts just because we can afford it now? I’ve already told you, I want to stay at home with Harriet and mum. I don’t want some stranger looking after them. She doesn’t know how to cope with mum and especially not Harri! She doesn’t know the routine, what Harri means by certain words, how to stop her from getting upset and, most importantly, Harri won’t trust her! You know how long it takes for her to get to know people – she didn’t talk to Auntie Katie for weeks when she got married to Uncle Fred!�

“We know, we know, that’s why special conditions have been made. You’ll be allowed to go home at weekends via Floo and Hermione won’t work until Harriet does trust the new Healer. She’ll still get paid, though,� said Uncle George. I shook my head in disbelief, almost laughing.

“No way, that’s still five days a week when I don’t get to see Harri or mum, that’s five days when Harri will be confused and upset.�

“Please, Daisy, please go. I can cope with it, and Harriet will get used to the new Healer,� pleaded Aunt Hermione.

“No. No way. Absolutely not. There is no way on earth that I’m going.�

Alfred Whitney hobbled down the dirt track, his warm brown eyes crinkled in delight. It was such a beautiful day. His old Labrador, Jip, trotted loyally at the old man’s side, stopping occasionally to sniff at clumps of grass.

The birds sung happily in the trees, the sun beat down on Alfred’s bald head and the sky was a clear blue, a few wispy white clouds on the horizon. His roughly carved walking stick made small thunks against the ground.

Jip gave three small barks. Alfred turned around. The dog was nowhere to be seen.

“Jip! Heel!� Alfred called out, frowning in confusion. It wasn’t like Jip to run off; he was always such a shy, well-behaved dog. He walked into the forest as he had assumed that was where Jip had run off to. Probably after a rabbit, or something.

After walking through the dense forest for ten minutes or so, he saw the familiar black tail of Jip, poking up from the ferns. He could hear the dogs sniffing, and could smell a rancid, rotting odour, like meat gone way past its sell by date. Alfred pulled back the ferns with his walking stick, and stared in horror at the sight before him.

***

I blearily opened my eyes to the sound of sobbing. I groaned. Mum again. Wait; no… it was coming from downstairs. I swung my legs out of the bed trying to place the voice. There were lots of them. As I got dressed (I had been discharged from the hospital a couple of days ago) I managed to make out my Uncle’s voice, my Grandmothers and Sam’s. I went downstairs into the kitchen. Everyone was crying. Even Sam and Josh.

“What? What’s happened? What’s wrong?� I asked, beginning to panic. Aunt Hermione walked over to me, tears rolling down her cheeks. She placed a warm, comforting hand on my shoulder and bent slightly, so she was down at my level.

“Honey… I’m so sorry… I… Oh, Merlin...� She sighed, closed her eyes for a moment then opened them again, looking straight into mine. “Early this morning, a Muggle was walking his dog and… and he found… he found your Father’s body. He’s been dead a long time.� I felt hollow. Even the slightest hope I’d had of my Dad coming back and solving everything was gone. Every dream I’d had since he’d gone missing was just that, a dream. I shook my head slowly, looking vacantly into space, refusing to believe it was true. But it was.

“I want to see him.� Aunt Hermione shook her head.

“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea at the m-moment. Like I said, he’s been there a long t-time… they said that he’ll look better for the f-funeral, though. You can see him then,� Aunt Hermione said, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Are they… are they sure it’s-?� Uncle Ron nodded.

“It’s him.�

“Oh… excuse me.� I walked upstairs slowly, placing a shaking hand on the banister. I suppose I was in shock. I couldn’t believe it. I sat on my bed and looked at the bare floorboards. I was still shaking. I turned my head and looked at the photograph; my dad’s face seemed to leap out at me, grinning happily. I could hear him, in my head. Laughing. And then, it all came crashing down on me. There was no chance he’d come back. There was no chance I’d hear him laugh again. He was dead, and had been for years. He’d been left to rot by the Death Eaters. I lay down and sobbed into my duvet, crying for every feeling that I’d bottled up since I was six. Every hardship I’d had to endure. Every responsibility I’d been burdened with.

I didn’t hear anyone come into my room. But I felt their hand on my shoulder. I heard their hushing, soothing voice. Smelt their warm, friendly scent.

“You’ll be alright, flower.� I gasped and pushed myself round.

“Dad?� There was no one there.

***

“Daisy?� I sat up and looked at Harriet, who was standing in the door way. Expressionless, as usual.

“What?� I asked grumpily. I’m usually very patient with her, but there’s only so much a thirteen-year-old can take.

“Did you hear about Dad?�

“Yes, of course.�

“Is that why you’re crying? Are you sad?�

“No, I’m over the moon. I’m crying with laughter,� I said sarcastically. I knew even as I said it that it was a mistake. Harriet doesn’t get sarcasm.

“Why are you laughing?�

“I’m not really, Harri, it was a joke. I am very sad.� I hesitated. I knew that no one had come up because they thought I needed to be alone, but the truth was, I desperately needed comfort. A hug, a kind word, anything.

“Harri, can I give you a hug? Just this once?�

“I don’t like people touching me.� I nodded sadly, feeling stupid for even asking.

“Okay. Do you want to do some drawing?� Harriet nodded and I began to set up a still life for her, tears still falling fast.

***

“I’m not going.� I couldn’t believe it. We were about to go to Dad’s funeral, and they were still trying to get me to go to Hogwarts.

“Oh, please, Daisy, think about it! We can cope now- oh! Here’s the Healer!� My Aunt rushed to the door to welcome in the Healer that would be looking after my mum and Harri while we were at the funeral. The moment she stepped in I hated her. I hated everything about her – from her sunny smile to her polished shoes. I hated the way she was so cheerful, even though it was perfectly clear we were off to a funeral, what with the ebony black of our clothes.

“Where are they? I think you better introduce me to them, so they’re not too frightened.�

“I hope you know what you’re doing,� I called from the other side of the room, giving her a death stare.

“I assure you, I do. I completed a three year training course on mental disorders.� I didn’t think three years was enough. Anyway, you couldn’t just study Autism and assume to know everything. You couldn’t read my mother’s habits out of a book. My Uncle came down with Harri.

“Ginny is asleep upstairs, she shouldn’t wake up, but if she does, just use this mirror to contact me. This is Harriet. Harriet, this is Gemma, she’s going to be looking after you for a couple of hours.� Harriet looked at Gemma with wide eyes, panic evident in her face. She began to blabber nonsense, along with her fear.

“Stranger-danger, mustn’t talk to strangers, not happy, bad thing, not happy, bad day, stranger danger, don’t eat anything, don’t talk to strangers, not happy, not happy, not happy, not happy, NOT HAPPY!� She crouched down on the ground and put her hands over her ears, rocking backwards and forwards, still mumbling.

“I told you this was a bad idea! Can’t we take her with us?� I yelled at my Uncle. He shook his head.

“The new surroundings might upset her. Crap, I don’t know what to do,� he groaned, watching my sister roll around on the floor.

“What, and Harriet is going to cope with that woman? Harriet! It’s okay, the stranger isn’t going to be here!� I tried desperately. She didn’t even seem to hear me. Stupidly, I reached out and touched her arm. She screamed and lashed out, hitting me with such force I stumbled into the wall.

We all left the room to wait for her to calm down. We locked the door and waited for the shouts, screams, crashes and bangs to die down.

“I think we should risk it,� I said to my Uncle.

“Risk what?�

“I think we should take her to the funeral.� Uncle Ron sighed, as if he was going to disagree, but, to my great surprise, he nodded.

“Yes, I think so too, now. This Healer thing obviously isn’t going to work.�

“Then let me stay,� I pleaded, looking into his deep blue eyes. I knew that the entire room was watching me.

“Your dad would have wanted you to go,� he said quietly, his eyes looking very glassy.

“But he’s not here. He’s the reason I can’t go.� Uncle Ron sighed and closed his eyes. He placed a warm hand on my shoulder. I shivered, remembering the fantasy I’d had earlier.

“We’ll figure something out. It sounds like your sister’s calmed down. We’d best get to the funeral,� he turned to Gemma.

“Can you stay just for today? Just to look after Ginny?� She nodded. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. I still didn’t like her though.

We went back into the kitchen to find my sister drawing the chair she’d broken on the wall. I suppose she couldn’t find any paper.

“Harri? D’you want to come with us?�

“Do you mean Dad’s funeral?�

“Yes.� How did she know it was a funeral? Maybe she listened in.

“Can I bring some paper?� I nodded.

“Okay. Are we going now? How are we getting there?�

“The Ministry gave us some cars,� I said and she nodded as she followed us outside, three gleaming Ministry cars waiting for us.

***

“He was always cheerful. Funny, how even in the very midst of the war he could always joke about. Many of you will remember his famous April fool’s in his seventh year,� chuckled my Uncle Ron, tears creeping down his cheeks. “Only he could come up with that… all I can remember was the thousands of posters around everywhere, a picture of Voldemort in a ballerina’s outfit.� Everyone chuckled softly, their eyes distant and far away.

“No, I’m wrong there. I bet loads of people could think of it, but only Harry actually had the guts to do it. He was always so brave… rash most of the time, yes, but amazingly brave. Always willing to put others before himself, always willing to make sacrifices, always willing to be a martyr to his cause.

“But do you know what’s most sad? What’s most sad is that the war was long since over when he was kidnapped. All he ever had was a few years of peace. The rest of his life was just suffering. I think, in our hearts we always hoped that one day, that brilliant skill of surviving even the toughest situations he had would come through, that he’d turn up on our doorstep with a big grin on his face and say, ‘Sorry it’s been so long, guys, Snape really is a git, isn’t he?’. But, he didn’t. I guess his luck finally ran out. Now, he can at last sleep peacefully.� he finished the last speech of the ceremony and stepped down from the podium.

I won't even go into what it was like seeing him in the coffin. He looked so peaceful... and so cold. Emotionless. Lifeless. Not the dad I remembered.

Uncle Ron, Remus Lupin, Uncle George, Uncle Fred, Granddad and Uncle Bill carried the coffin on their shoulders out of the church. A new, fresh grave had been dug with a grand marble gravestone, donated by the public.

Dad was lowered in. Before he was buried, I gently placed a large daisy, one of the big ones Aunt Hermione grew that could be the size of dinner plates, on top.

“Daisy?� I turned, and to my surprise found Josh behind me, with an uncharacteristically caring expression.

“I… I just wanted to say. I’m really sorry. I remember your dad. He always used to tell me off for calling him ‘Uncle’; he said he hated that word. I never found out why. But really, what I remember most was his fantastic stories. And how he would answer every question we had, even when it was past our bedtime. Honestly, if there was anything I could do… I’d do it.� I gave him a watery smile.

“Thank you,� I said, my voice going unusually high. I hugged him fiercely. For all I complained about my cousins, they were kind at heart.

I received many more speeches similar to Josh’s at the reception afterwards, but none really touched me like that one. I sat at one of the small wooden tables that had been set up in the community hall across from the church, gazing out the window towards the graveyard.

“Hello, dear.� I looked up at the young, brunette witch that had just sat opposite me. She smiled kindly at me.

“It was a lovely service, wasn’t it? I’m so sorry, I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Chloe. Chloe Price. I was friends with your dad at Hogwarts.�

“Funny… I’ve never heard of you before…� I said, suspiciously.

“Really? How odd. So tell me, what can you remember about your daddy?� she spoke in such a patronizing voice to me that I took an instant dislike to her.

“Not much…� I lied. I didn’t feel like sharing my precious memories.

“Come on, there must be a lovely little memory tucked in there somewhere!� She tapped her head with a finely manicured nail. “What kind of person was he?�

“Surely you’d know, being an old friend of his?� this stunned her into a silence I think. It was only then that I noticed the Quick-Quotes Quill and notebook on her lap.

“YOU’RE A JOURNALIST!� I roared, bitter rage and fury overwhelming every other emotion. The whole room went deathly silent (How ironic… I thought dryly) as everyone turned to look at us.

“Well… I-um… no, well, that is- not really...�

“HOW COULD YOU! You put him through hell when he was alive and you can’t even leave him alone now he’s dead!� With that, I left; racing frantically to the graveyard, where a slumped down at my fathers grave, the fresh dirt staining my clothes. With a shaky hand and tear filled eyes, I traced the words on the grave stone.

Harry James Potter
1980-Unknown
Beloved Friend, Devoted Father, Brave Solider.

I sat outside, underneath the Crabapple tree in the centre of the garden, peacefully reading an old, battered journal. This journal had been pressed into my hands by my Uncle Ron, saying that it had been found in my father’s coat pocket.

Ginny has just told me that the baby will be a girl. I want to name her after my mother, but I don’t want her to be in the limelight more than she needs to be when she’s older. The name Lily Potter, or even Lillian Potter, will just yell out daughter of the Chosen One.

We’re going to ask the Ministry to ensure that every photograph of her is blurred so that hopefully she won’t be recognised at Hogwarts, apart from when a teacher calls her by her second name, of course. But then, I suppose ‘Potter’ is quite a popular name, so maybe even that won’t matter too much. I’m not sure our request will go very far, but it’s worth a shot.

I think we’ll name her after a flower, after Mum, but not Rose. I’ve never liked that name. It seems too… fake. Obviously Narcissa and Pansy are out of the question. I would quite like her to be called Daisy. It seems like a cheeky, lively name, and that’s precisely what I want my little girl to be – full of life.

I’ll have to ask Ginny about it, though. At the moment she’s coming up with really bizarre names that all have random and pointless meanings. I knew getting her that baby name book was a mistake.

I laughed softly, vaguely wondering what my name could have been if Mum had chosen it from her baby name book.

…and that’s what I want my little girl to be – full of life.

I felt guilt rise in the pit of my stomach as I heard the words echo in my head. He did desperately want me to go to Hogwarts… I can remember him telling me stories of it, his face alight with excitement… he loved it there and wanted me to love it too…

Well it’s too late! I told myself stubbornly. I wasn’t eleven anymore, the chance had come and gone.

But they would still let you in… I shut my eyes tight, desperately trying to block out my own, unwanted thoughts. I opened them, and flicked to the next entry in the book.

Ginny’s now in labour and… I’m terrified. Horntail? Easy. Voldemort? Piece of cake. Wife in labour? A completely different story. The Healers won’t let me in, for Merlin’s sake! What am I supposed to do? Sit there and twiddle my thumbs? They should know that leaving me outside the room, which they keep rushing in and out of with panicked looks on their faces, isn’t exactly helping my nerves.

It’ll be worth it though, when little Daisy’s born. Watching her grow, say her first word, take her first steps, go to Hogwarts –

I slammed the journal shut and stared at the red cover. My dad, at some point, had written on the front ‘Harry’s Journal – not a diary, a JOURNAL.’

Could I really go to Hogwarts? What was stopping me? Obviously Harriet and Mum… But hadn’t I been assured that they would be looked after? Hadn’t I been told that the family would take it in turns to use their days of caring for them? Hadn’t I been told that I could come home at weekends and Hogsmeade days? But always there was that lingering doubt at the back of my mind, a doubt that I hadn’t expressed to anyone, not even my Aunt… I didn’t think I’d be able to fit in there.

Sure, I’m friendly enough; I have loads of Muggle friends down in the village. But would people at Hogwarts be able to see past the oh-so tragically burdened daughter of Harry Potter? Would the teachers understand that no, I didn’t want to talk about my problems? Would they understand about Harri and Mum? Something told me that none of these questions had the answer “yes�.

…go to Hogwarts. I nodded my mind made up. I got up and marched into the kitchen, where my Uncle Ron was setting up a still life for Harri.

“What’s up, kid?�

“Are you sure that Harri would be looked after? That you and everyone else would take turns to take care of her?�

“Yes…� said Uncle Ron slowly, as if not really daring to believe what I was saying.

“Then… I’ll do it. I’ll go to Hogwarts.�

***

I hadn’t been able to go to Diagon Alley. As I’d got out of the Ministry car, a reporter had seen me and as Uncle George always says, they must breed or something because one soon becomes twenty.

Because of this, only Aunt Hermione went into Diagon Alley to get my things. But once it was obvious that neither Uncle Ron nor I were going into the Leaky Cauldron, the reporters decided to harass her instead.

This meant that I wasn’t able to choose my wand, something that I was very disappointed about until Uncle Ron came up to me, carrying a beautifully carved oak box, about the size of a thin shoebox.

“Daisy… we weren’t going to give you this originally because we thought, as you weren’t going to Hogwarts, it would just upset you… And really, you were fine borrowing Hermione’s for lessons… but, we’ve decided that it’s not right to leave it to go dusty in this box, and you’re the one who should have it.� He handed the box to me and I opened it curiously. Inside the box, which was lined with purple velvet, was a wand. I gasped.

“Is this-?� My Uncle nodded.

“Your dad’s wand, yes,� he said, his voice breaking a bit. I smiled at him, and he smiled back. He understands because he goes through the same thing as me. Sometimes, people don’t have to be talked about to be remembered.

***

The fireplace in the Entrance hall burst into bright green flames as my Aunt Hermione and I stepped out, brushing the soot from our shoulders. A smiling Professor Tonks stood there, ready to greet us.

I didn’t get the train because Aunt Hermione didn’t want other students asking me about the funeral, or my dad – at least not while teachers weren’t around in case I got a bit… annoyed. I’ll get the train next year though, once the novelty’s died down a bit. Uncle Ron says that it will after a while.

“Hello, Daisy. It’s so nice that you could join us this year!� Tonks said to me cheerfully.

“Hello, Tonks- er… Professor,� I replied, blushing a little at my mistake. She laughed.

“You can call me Tonks when we’re on our own, but not in front of other students, okay?� I smiled and nodded. It should be Professor Lupin, really, but seeing as he teaches here as well, she uses her maiden name to avoid confusion.

“The first-years will be here soon, you’ll be sorted with them; the older students are just coming into the hall now,� said Tonks. I turned to Aunt Hermione and hugged her tightly.

“Ron and I are so proud of you! Have a wonderful time and don’t worry about Harriet or your mum, we’ll take good care of them.�

“Thank you,� I whispered, my eyes going watery.

She left as the first-years came in. The looked at me curiously, each one of them looking either terrified or excited. I felt strangely numb. I barely listened to Tonks’ speech; I knew it of by heart anyway; when she’d first got the job of Deputy Head, she’d practiced it for ages to me and my cousins to see if it sounded right. She led the way into the hall and I trailed along at the back of the first-years. I could hear the other students muttering and whispering, some even laughing. I knew that I must look funny; a tall, thirteen-year-old witch being sorted with a bunch of first-years. I felt too nervous to be embarrassed though.

The atmosphere changed completely when Tonks called out my name.

“Potter? Daisy Potter?�

“No way…�

“I thought that she refused to come to Hogwarts?�

I shuffled over sheepishly. Tonks smiled at me reassuringly, as did Lupin up at the head table. I felt warmth pass through me at their kind faces and I sat on the stool with a strange new confidence. Tonks place the hat on my head, but it didn’t go over my eyes like it had with the other students. I shut my eyes anyway so that I didn’t have to look at that terrifying sea of students, all craning to get a good look at me as if I was an animal in a zoo.

“Aaaah, Daisy Potter… I’ve been waiting for you to come here for a long time…� said the Sorting Hat in my ear.

“Now, let’s see… The obvious place to put you would be Gryffindor; you have amazing determination, my dear, and will go through anything to help others. And bravery, lot’s of that, but that doesn’t necessarily mean Gryffindor… You have a temper – oh, yes! A fearsome temper! But you can also be very patient when the situation calls for it… That’s interesting… You have doubt in yourself, you don’t think you can live up to your parents. Oh trust me, with brains like this you will do… Your biggest quality, however, is your burning desire to do good for other people, even if it means sacrificing something for yourself… Well, there’s only one house for you – HUFFLEPUFF!� I opened my eyes as the Hat roared out my house and the Hall gasped in surprise and shock. I knew they expected me to be in Gryffindor but I didn’t care.

I grinned manically and practically skipped down to the Hufflepuff table, overwhelmed at the thought that I might not turn out how everyone expected me to. I sat at the Hufflepuff table, the Hufflepuffs themselves cheering and shouting loudly, looking over at the dumbfounded Gryffindors smugly.

I found myself laughing – I’m not quite sure what at, but it felt so good. For once in my life, I was not forcing out a laugh, nor was it a small giggle. I was actually laughing loudly and excitedly, my stomach beginning to hurt from laughing so much. The cheering died down as the sorting continued, but the smug grins and respectful glances at me did not.

As the feast started, a dark-skinned girl with the most gorgeous long black hair came over to me, smiling kindly. She held out her hand, and I shook it as she introduced herself.

“Hi, I’m Libby! It’s great to see you here in Hogwarts, let alone Hufflepuff! I expect you’ll be in my dormitory, because we’re the only third year dorm to have a spare bed.�

“I’m Daisy- well, you already knew that, but it’s so nice to have someone introduce themselves without gawping at me. Libby’s a lovely name – is it short for something?� She blushed slightly and nodded, grinning embarrassedly.

“Yes, it is. It’s short for Liberty – don’t ask, I have odd parents. My brother’s called Paris! I don’t know what they were thinking when they named us – d’you mind if I sit with you? I want to know what this new dorm member’s going to be like.�

“Sure,� I laughed, gesturing to the seat next to me.

“Do tell me to shut-up if I start rambling; I do it all the time, and I usually say something really embarrassing – I have a big gob like that. This one time, me and Jenny, oh, you don’t know her, she’s in the same dorm as me, and you too, hopefully, she’s really nice, any way, me and Jenny…� As I sat there, listening with amusement to Libby’s monologue, I felt the true warmth and friendliness of Hogwarts pass through me; from the delicious food served in the fine plates in front of me, to the amazing chanted ceiling currently showing a glorious sunset.

Maybe life with a depressed mother and an Autistic sister doesn’t have to be so bad after all. Maybe I could live freely like others. Sure, my life is a lot more complicated, but I can deal with it. All I know at the moment is that now, I don’t feel so torn.


The End.