Chapter Text
31 July 1992
Willow Potter was awake when the grandfather clock in the living room struck midnight. She heard its muffled chimes and turned over in her bed, staring at her twin brother, Harry. He was sound asleep, his jet black hair splaying over the pillowcase like an ink spill.
Carefully, Willow righted herself and slipped out of the sheets. She tiptoed over to the small window, sitting at the desk beneath it and gazing out at the night sky. She wasn’t expecting anything, but the sight of nothing filled her with a heavy sadness.
“Happy birthday to me,” Willow half-heartedly sang to herself.
Beside her, Hedwig gave a low hoot.
“Thanks,” Willow turned to the owl. She stuck a finger through the bars of the cage, stroking the snow white feathers gently. “Last year was better.”
Willow’s eleventh birthday had been nothing less than extraordinary. It had kickstarted the most incredible year of her life. She’d never been happier than when Hagrid had told her that she was a witch. The moment was only topped by the first time she’d seen Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Willow missed Hogwarts with every fiber of her being. She missed the towering castle, with its talking paintings and moving staircases. She missed the classes, the feeling of magic flowing through her veins as she held her wand, and the soft crackle of a fire under her Potions cauldron. She missed the Great Hall, with its overflowing buffets, and walking the castle grounds, their beauty managing to take her breath away in every season. She missed visiting Hagrid and drinking tea in his cottage at the edge of the forest.
But most of all, Willow missed her friends. She missed studying with Christopher in the Slytherin common room, each refusing to leave the other alone. She missed Hermione, who was always ready to discuss a good book. She missed Ron and the dinners in which he would talk Willow’s ear off about Quidditch strategies, even though she had no intention of playing. She missed Mae and their late night gossip sessions, hidden within the curtains of their four-poster beds.
Every time they crossed her mind, Willow felt an ache in her chest.
Beside her, Hedwig gave another low hoot. Willow resumed stroking her feathers, though whispered at the owl, “You have to be quiet, or Vernon will have my head.”
The bird shot Willow a sideways glance, as if to say, “Well, then, do something about it.”
Unfortunately, Willow was powerless against Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley, the worst relatives to ever exist. They weren’t magical themselves, and they hated magic with a passion. The instant Harry and Willow had returned from Hogwarts, they had locked all of their things in the cupboard under the stairs. They had even put a padlock on Hedwig’s cage, stopping her from carrying any message to or from the wizarding world.
Willow shook her head, resting her forehead against the bars of the cage. “If I could get you out, I would. You know I would.”
Willow couldn’t do any magic without her wand. But, even if she had it with her, Willow couldn’t use it. She wasn’t allowed to perform any magic outside of school. The restriction was slowly eating away at her. Willow could feel the magical energy under her skin, thrumming with her heartbeat, reaching out to the air around her, but she couldn’t harness it. She felt like a powder keg ready to explode at any moment.
Hedwig gave a disgruntled hoot and turned her large eyes out to the window, shaking her feather indignantly. Willow turned back to her brother, watching his chest slowly rise and fall. She desperately wanted to sleep, wishing she could be just as Harry was now, blissfully unaware and calm. But Willow hadn’t been able to do that in weeks.
It had started the night they’d returned to Privet Drive. Without her wand by her side, Willow had been unable to quell the anxiety racing through her veins. She needed the wand to protect herself and Harry from Lord Voldemort, who was still out there, biding his time, waiting for another chance to regain power and attack once again.
And when she finally did collapse, her body winning out against her brain, there were nightmares. She’d had nightmares before—flashes of acid green light, screaming, a cold, taunting laughter—but those were vague. No less terrifying, but brief. The nightmares she had now were vivid. The fire spewing from her wand was a brilliant orange. Professor Quirrell's screams were piercing. Her nostrils were filled with the scent of burning flesh as she gazed down at his charred and twitching body. The Philosopher's Stone weighed heavily in her hand.
Waking wasn’t a relief. In her dreams, she was burning a man alive, and in reality, she was choking on invisible smoke.
Hours passed under the cover of darkness. Willow sat quietly beside Hedwig, occasionally stroking her feathers. She pulled out a Muggle book, one she had picked up from the “FREE” cart outside the local bookstore. Her eyes strained to read the small print in the low light of the moon, but she persevered.
The first light of dawn was just beginning to peek through the bedroom when Willow gently shook her twin brother
“Harry,” she whispered, “wake up.”
Harry rolled over on his bed, bringing the thin blankets up to his ears, still unconscious. His bangs parted in just the right way so that Willow could catch a glimpse of his lightning bolt shaped scar that sat on the right side of his forehead.
“Come on,” Willow poked at his shoulder. “I have a surprise and I can’t give it to you once the Dursleys are up.”
Harry groaned and half-heartedly raised his hand to swat at Willow, but he missed by several inches.
“Fine, then,” Willow said, stepping back and sitting on her small bed that sat opposite her brother’s. “I guess I’ll eat this delicious piece of chocolate fudge all by myself.”
That instigated the reaction she wanted. Harry bolted upright, his green eyes wide as he scrambled for his circular glasses. Once he put them on, he focused on the large chunk of fudge sitting in the plastic container Willow was holding. His mouth fell open in shock.
“How did you manage to get that?” he asked, still sounding half-asleep but full of wonder.
Willow couldn’t help but swell with pride as she recounted her genius. “When Petunia had me deep-cleaning the living room at the beginning of the month, I found some spare change and a few pounds. Pocketed it until yesterday when I ran over to the store and bought it. Then, I just hid it on my side of the drawer.”
Willow neglected to mention the overwhelming fear she’d held for the last four weeks that Vernon or Petunia would discover that she’d secretly kept the cash. She had been absolutely sure one of them would catch on, maybe from the way she coughed over breakfast or the way she smiled while cutting up the potatoes for dinner. But they never did.
Harry stared at his twin sister in wonder, and Willow gazed back. They didn’t look much alike, and with Harry growing over the summer, they looked even less so. Harry was over a head taller than Willow now and rail thin. His shirts hung off his body like he was a clothes hanger. Willow was of middling height, and while she was equally thin, she was beginning to develop curves her sweatshirts couldn’t hide. There were only two features the twins truly shared: their light brown skin tone and, of course, their famous lightning bolt scars.
“Have I ever told you that you’re the best sister ever?” Harry smiled at her, wide and true. Willow could live a thousand lifetimes, and nothing would make her happier than seeing it.
“Once or twice.” She ducked her head as she opened the container and split the fudge in two equal pieces. She handed one to Harry and kept the other to herself. As soon as Harry bit into his chunk, she did as well. The sweetness filled her tongue and she hummed in delight, savoring each bite.
“I have something for you, too,” Harry said as he took another bite. With his right hand, he opened up the small drawer in the bedside table that sat between the twin beds. He reached a hand inside and pulled out a book. “Sorry it’s not wrapped.”
Willow set down her piece of fudge to take it, grinning at the pink cover. “Ballet Shoes?” she read off the cover. “I’ve never read this.”
“That’s why I got it.”
Willow skimmed the back cover. “How did you afford it?” It was second-hand, but seeing as how the twins never got an allowance, anything from a store was expensive.
“Cat-sat for Miss Figg a few times,” Harry shrugged. “Dursley’s don’t notice I’m gone half the time, so I told her if she ever needed to go out for the day that I’d sit for her. Paid well.”
The next few minutes were spent in contented silence as the twins ate the rest of their fudge, relishing in the little bubble they had created. Even in a place as miserable as the Dursleys, their bedroom was a small safe haven, a place for just the two of them where they could hide away from everything.
It wasn’t long before there was a sharp rap at the door. “Get up!” came Petunia’s strict voice. “We’ve got a lot to do!”
Harry turned to his sister with raised eyebrows. “Any chance they remembered it’s our birthday?”
Willow snorted. “None.”
After getting themselves presentable for the day, the twins journeyed down to the kitchen, wordlessly falling into the same routine they had for every morning since they could remember. Willow began frying the bacon as Harry cracked eggs. As the bacon cooked to crispy perfection, Willow set the table and Harry placed the bread in the toaster. By the time all the Dursleys found their way to the kitchen, the food was plated and the coffee was hot.
Uncle Vernon was the last to arrive. As he plopped down into his seat, he fixed the twins with his beady eyes.
“Do you know what the secret to a happy life is?” he growled at them, stabbing at his eggs.
The twins knew better than to answer. They sat in silence, not eating their meager portions, waiting.
“A good night’s rest!” Vernon answered himself. He turned his fork to the twins, punctuating each word with a stab. “And I’m not getting it because of your ruddy owl! Third time this week I’ve been woken up at four in the morning!”
Harry sighed. Willow glanced up at the ceiling, praying for strength. They tried, for the third time that week, to explain.
“She’s bored,” Willow’s voice was carefully even. “She’s used to flying. If we could just let her out at night, then—”
“Absolutely not!” Vernon snarled, a bit of fried egg dangling from his moustache. “Do I look stupid? I know what will happen if that owl’s let out.”
He glanced across the table, sharing a dark look with Aunt Petunia. Harry attempted to argue back, but his words were drowned by a long, loud belch from Dudley.
“I want more bacon.” He set his eyes on the twins. There was a gleeful malice in his gaze. Dudley had missed tormenting the twins while they had been at Hogwarts, and now took every opportunity to gain favor with his parents and make the Potters' life even more miserable. “Pass the frying pan.”
“You’ve got to say the magic word,” Harry muttered, his voice sharp with irritation.
The effect was instantaneous. Dudley went deathly pale and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the table; Petunia’s eyes went comically wide and she clutched at her necklace; Vernon leapt to his feet, the veins in his temple throbbing.
Willow closed her eyes, dropping her head in her hands. Beside her, Harry was scrambling to recover.
“Please! I only meant ‘please!’ Really, I didn’t mean—”
“What have I told you about saying the ‘m’ word in this house?” Vernon thundered, spraying spit over the table.
“I didn’t—”
Willow knew the smack was coming, but she still flinched at the sound of Vernon’s hand hitting Harry’s cheek.
“How dare you threaten Dudley!” Vernon’s fury was like a fire, growing brighter and hotter with each second. “I warned you! I will not tolerate mention of your abnormality under this roof!”
Harry kept his head down, his cheek was a brilliant pink where Vernon had hit it. His hands were balled into tightly clenched fists, his shoulders tight and raised high. Willow lifted her head, glancing up at Vernon between her fingers and fixing him with her coldest glare.
“He wasn’t threatening anyone,” she said, slowly rising to her feet. “And the next time you lay a hand on Harry will be the last time you have hands.”
Vernon’s face, which had been nearing purple from his anger, quickly drained of color. He sputtered, beginning to spew incoherent words, but Willow turned to Dudley and Petunia, who were staring at her with mouths open, their eyes fearful.
“That was a threat. See the difference?”
Petunia swallowed and reached for her son, who was still on the ground, frozen. When she returned back to Vernon, he seemed much smaller than he had a minute ago. Not a word was spoken between them, but Vernon sank beneath her, gliding back into his chair and focusing intently on his food. Willow grabbed the frying pan and set it in front of Dudley’s plate. It hit the table with a bang.
And then she walked out of the dining room and out of the house. It was a brilliant, sunny day. Willow crossed the lawn and slumped down on the garden bench, already chastising herself. She had been incredibly stupid, letting her temper get the best of her. An outburst like that would only have poor consequences in the long run. The momentary satisfaction of bringing Vernon to heel wasn’t worth whatever was awaiting her once she returned inside.
A birthday of cruel punishment and nothing else. Of course, she had Harry’s present, which could not be discounted. But, other than that, nothing. No cards, no presents. Willow desperately missed her friends, but they didn’t seem to be missing her at all. None of them—Ron, Hermione, Mae, and Christopher—had written to her or Harry all summer, even though Ron had floated an idea of getting together at his house at the end of term.
Willow hadn’t felt this lonely since she’d started Hogwarts, and the feeling was worse here than it had been at the castle. At least at Hogwarts, she’d had her magic and her studies to keep her occupied. Privet Drive was monotonous and oppressive, each minute feeling as long as one year.
Some time later, the front door creaked open. The knot in Willow’s stomach tightened for a brief moment until she registered the soft footsteps.
“You shouldn’t’ve done that,” Harry said as he sat beside her.
“You’re absolutely right, I should’ve punched him in the mouth. That would’ve shut him up.”
Harry sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “Wills…”
“You know I’m right.”
Harry didn’t answer, and that was more than enough for her.
“How long’s it been since you slept?”
Willow’s chest tightened. “What?”
“You heard me. How long’s it been since you slept?”
“I slept last night,” Willow stared determinedly at the hedge in front of her.
She felt, rather than saw, Harry’s exasperated eyeroll. “How long’s it been since you slept more than four hours?”
Willow paused, not because she didn’t want to say, but because she couldn’t remember. She thought back, but the days and nights blurred together in a haze. The same chores, the same books, the same endless heat.
She gave up after a minute and shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“Willow,” Harry grabbed Willow’s shoulders, forcing her to face him, “this is serious. You can’t go threatening Vernon like that. And I’m trying to understand why you did because I know you know better. Now, if it’s because you aren’t sleeping, I get that. I have nightmares, too, but—”
“No, Harry, you don’t.” Willow shook off Harry’s hands. “You don’t have nightmares, not like I do. You don’t watch Quirrell burn alive every night, and hear him screaming and begging for relief, and smell his rotting flesh. I know you don’t, so, no, you don’t get it.”
Harry recoiled at her words, as Willow knew he would. She had told him of Quirrell’s death, and while he understood and ultimately supported her decision, it was one thing to know someone had died, and another to know that the person you loved most had killed them horrifically. When confronted with the details, Harry shrank away, unable to reconcile the two facts he knew to be true: Willow was a good person, and yet, Willow had murdered a man.
“Wills,” he began again, pushing through the tremble in his voice, “please—”
A twig snapped, and both twins turned to the hedge, ready to fight, and saw that—the hedge was staring back. Between the leaves and small branches, a pair of enormous green eyes sat, watching them.
The twins leapt to their feet just as a jeering voice floated across the lawn.
“I know what day it is,” sang Dudley, waddling towards the two of them.
The huge eyes blinked once and vanished.
“What?” Harry asked, though both he and Willow refused to take their eyes off the hedge.
“I said, I know what day it is.” Dudley stopped at the edge of the lawn, and while his voice was taunting, he kept nervously glancing at Willow.
“Well done,” said Harry. “You’ve finally learnt the days of the week.”
Willow couldn’t stop the snort from escaping her lips, and Harry’s eyes flicked over to her, a flash of triumph in them. From the pavement, Dudley glowered.
“Today is your birthday,” he sneered. “How come you haven’t gotten any cards? Don’t tell me you didn’t make any friends at that freak school.”
“Better not let your mummy hear you talking about our school,” Willow turned to her cousin. “She wouldn’t like that, would she?”
Dudley flushed. “What are you staring at the hedge for?” he quickly asked.
“Well, we were trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire,” said Harry plainly.
Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat face. “You c-can’t—Dad told you you’re not to do m-magic—”
“Jiggery pokery!” said Harry in a fierce voice, stepping toward Dudley and pointing at him. “Hocus pocus, squiggly wiggly!”
“Mum!” howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed back toward the house. “Mum! They’re doing you know what!”
Willow was laughing so hard, she had to double over herself to catch her breath. Harry turned back to her, his grin wider than she’d seen it in weeks.
They paid dearly for their few seconds of fun. As neither Dudley nor the hedge was in any way hurt, Aunt Petunia knew the twins hadn’t really done magic. As punishment for their respective outbursts, she sent them to work the entire day, far away from one another and with the promise they wouldn’t eat again until they had finished. Harry was sent outside, and Willow was kept indoors.
While Dudley watched television and ate ice cream, Willow scrubbed the kitchen floors, vacuumed the living room, dusted every shelf and photograph, cleaned the good china set twice, and sharpened the knives. In the afternoon, she was forced to help Petunia prepare dinner and dessert.
“This must be perfect,” her aunt kept snapping. “Tonight will be the biggest deal of Vernon’s career.”
Vernon worked at a company that sold quality drills. The Masons, a very wealthy couple, were coming to dinner, and Vernon was hoping to get a huge order from them. If he did so, not only would he get a promotion, but he’d also get a significant cut of the money from the purchase. In order to seal the deal and earn a vacation home in Majorca, Vernon had concocted a ridiculous plan. It included dramatic overtures of praise from Dudley, Petunia’s best cooking, and the Potter twins fading from existence. The Masons had no idea that Vernon’s in-laws lived with him, and he wanted nothing more than to keep it that way.
By half-past seven, everything was finished. Harry was called back inside and he wolfed down a meager sandwich of week-old bread, deli meat, and cheese. Willow nibbled on hers, the weight of the day crushing her appetite. The moment Harry had finished, Petunia whisked their plates away and shooed them out. As they passed the living room, Vernon coughed.
“Remind me, what will you two be doing tonight?”
The twins paused at the bottom of the staircase. “Making no noise,” Harry said, “and pretending we don’t exist.”
Vernon crossed over to them, drawing himself up to his full height. “Exactly.” He fixed Willow with a cold glare. “Remember—you are here because of my good charity. If anything goes wrong tonight, you’ll be out on the cold, hard pavement. Understand?”
Resentment rose in Willow, working its way steadily through her, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Harry spoke first.
“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”
Harry wrenched Willow up the stairs before she could get a word in. The door downstairs was just opening to let the Mason’s in as the twins reached their room. All Willow wanted to do was collapse onto her bed.
The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.