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.
Torn by dumbledorefluertwins
Chapter Notes: This fic is completely different to my other post-Hogwarts, it's much darker and has no actual action, so if you're looking for gripping Death Eater battles then read a different fic. As always, constructive criticsim is alway welcome in reviews.