The Girl Who Lived

Mysteries to unfold

          The wind whispered, leaves rattled, and tiny droplets of dew shimmered in the predawn light. Inside of a perfectly normal house, a small girl lay huddled on an old cot. Her rickety bed trembled as she shivered and burrowed into the flimsy mattress. It was pitch black, the only discernable light coming from a pair of eyes. The girl snuggled into the night as if it was a blanket, one much better than the physical cover on top of her. But even that wasn't quite enough to chase away the chill of fear.

"Please… no. Please… don't."

Little Harriet Potter lay trembling in her cupboard, begging the dawn not to arrive.

The darkness surrounding her expanded as if by magic. It wrapped around her more tightly, comforting Harriet with its embrace. The air stirred, and the wind whistled through cracks. Dawn was still approaching, though it seemed to have slowed.

The dark's grasp was loosening, but it continued to hold on. Murmurs were heard, words of love and comfort. But the darkness continued to fade.

The girl sighed heavily and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"Goodbye," she whispered to the night.

She shifted, swinging her feet to the floor. The loose floorboards creaked under the sudden weight, and she again sighed.

Harriet truly hated that; it often gave her away when she was stirring within her cupboard. She almost wished that the house was more sturdily built, but then, she wouldn't have hiding places for her few valuable things. She hesitated a moment longer, and her hand reached for a pair of bent glasses that were lying on the floor. They were slightly crooked and taped at the nose, as though the owner had been repeatedly punched there.

Her pale hands lifted them to an equally pale and tired face before travelling downward to rub the knots out of her back. Her lumpy but thin mattress was much too small, forcing her to curl up into a ball as she slept. Of course, it didn't help that she was forced to sleep in a cupboard in the first place.

She slipped towards the hall into the dimly lit kitchen, bare feet treading softly on the tile. She continued silently to the kitchen table, hand going to the keys on the top. She headed to the front door, and with a quick motion, Harriet was outside.

She started gazing up at the multicoloured sky. Harriet inhaled the fresh air, a nice change from her stuffy cupboard. But she blinked as the sun peeped over the horizon. The wind picked up then and rattled through the trees. A dog barked from a few houses down as a single cat sauntered up the sidewalk. 

It was summer break, and unlike most children, Harriet hated it. Of course, being little more to her family – her so-called aunt and uncle and cousin – might've had something to do with that. She'd give just about anything for the next few months to melt away and for it to be September. For it to finally be time to go back to school. Not that it was much better there truthfully with the teases and taunts from the other students. After all, she was that "odd Potter girl" with the bent glasses and funny clothes. She was the outcast, the friendless freak everyone despised without really knowing why. Then, there was the fact that Dudley Dursley, a rather rotund and aggressive boy, hated her very existence. The big lout and his gang would not only harass Harriet but any and all who showed kindness to her.

Nevertheless, school was still better than here since Harriet could not escape Dudley, even in her own home.

She was somewhat safer at school; the teachers could partially protect her from Dudley. Besides, Vernon dare not harm her in front of so many witnesses.

At school, she was happy. She could escape. At least for a time.

It had taken Harriet months and various failed attempts before she knew how to braid, but she didn't stop trying; she had to learn everything on her own. And now, when she twined the strands together, she could pretend someone else was doing it for her. Someone who tied little ribbons on the ends. Someone who afterwards touched her face. Someone who whispered in her ear.