Hello! For those of you who have stuck by me during my rewriting of this story, you are incredible and I will have a place in my heart for you eternally.
For new readers, welcome! I hope you enjoy my writing.
I'm still working out the kinks of this story, but I have made some important changes to the plot and I hope that you like this revised version of Eyes Are The Windows To The Soul. I'm going to try to keep up with updates but I'm terrible and I go back to Uni in a month so they may very well be monthly updates. I am hoping that writing shorter chapters may allow me to maintain a better update schedule.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Universe belongs entirely to J.K Rowling. I stake no claim on anything except my original characters and any plot line that diverges from canon.
Delilah watched as the car backed out of the driveway. The headlights blinded her as they shone through the damp curtains that obscured the basement window. Upstairs, footsteps meagrely sounded, followed by the muffled thud of something being dropped directly overhead. Harry Potter was taking full advantage of the almost empty house. This time perhaps he would be stealing enough food for two. At the thought her middle and index fingers crossed at the second knuckle.
She could hear Harry digging through the back of the refrigerator, searching for something of questionable edibility that wouldn't be missed. And… there. The metallic clatter of the cutlery draw sliding open. He'd found something that he could stomach. Only a few minutes later the pipes surrounding her rattled as the sink was filled and the dishes were hastily, but thoroughly, cleaned. Harry wouldn't make the same mistake twice – last time the Dursleys had found the extra dish added to Harry's usual workload and had gone out and bought a lock for the cupboards and fridge. It was only recently, after Dudley had complained, that the locks had been removed.
Pounding footsteps hurried up to the second floor of the house, third if you were to count the basement, though it rarely was, and back down to the kitchen. Harry rushing to dry the sink, wiping away any evidence that he existed outside the dark cramped hole that he lived in. She could hear him raiding the pantry now, if he were quick he could run down and slip her something before their aunt and uncle were back from picking up Dudley.
However, the slender beam of light that cut through her window a moment later sent the familiar set of feet above her head into action. The Dursleys had been quick, as they often were when leaving Harry home without supervision. The girl curled around the light reflecting off of the headlights as if it were sunlight. She flinched involuntarily when the light cut off.
She would not be eating tonight. If Harry were smart he would have already hidden whatever extra food he had managed to gather up. She shouldn't be upset that he hadn't brought her anything. They both were well aware that the consequences of helping each other – which they could only imagine as neither had actually helped each other in the past few years – would not be pleasant. However, as Delilah Lillian Potter settled down to sleep, crossing her fingers, imagining waking up and finding the door unlocked and wishing for a miracle – as she had done since the first night that she had been left in the dark, damp room – she could not help but feel hurt.
It had not always been that way. Delilah could remember a time filled with sunlight and laughter and physical contact. She remembered it like remembering a dream. She couldn't describe it in detail but she knew that once upon a time she had not lived in the room with the toilet and the bugs and the tiny slip of dirty glass high up in the corner.
When morning came Delilah was awoken by her uncle's harsh voice sending shivers down her spine. Surprisingly, Delilah noticed as she listened from below, he didn't appear to be yelling at Harry. Nor did the yelling seem to be directed at his wife or son. She could hear her aunt's quiet voice promising to take care of the problem. A few minutes later dust stirred as her ceiling shook under the weight of her uncle's footsteps. Delilah counted the minutes down until finally three more sets of feet rattled above her head; two soft, one loud. With her fingers still crossed from sleep she bounded to her door, wishing again and again, like a prayer in her head, for today to be one of the rare ones. She grasped the door handle in both of her finger-crossed hands and turned.
A whine resonated through the room as Delilah pushed the door open, wincing as the sudden bright light blurred her vision, she stepped out of her room. Delilah closed her eyes, welcoming the instant relief from the harsh light. The sunlight, clouded by the glass of the kitchen window, spread across and soaked into Delilah's sun-deprived skin like warm water to a sponge. Her mouth pulled up into a giddy smile as the intoxicating warmth spread over her skin. Walking over to the cupboard behind the sink Delilah pulled out an almost empty bottle of sunscreen and began smearing the oily solution over her skin. She had learnt previously that her skin was particularly sensitive to the sun's rays – it had been pure luck that her aunt and uncle had not decided to check on her the following week. If they had they surely would have noticed the way her flaky sunburnt skin had begun to peel from her body. During that week her darkened room had felt like a blessing rather than a curse.
Hoping that Harry had missed something she began to search through the fridge and cupboards for scraps. She spotted a wrapped lump near the back and pulled it out, peeling off the plastic and scraping away a section of soft mould with her dirty, overgrown nails. Cheese peeked out, the yellow dulled and hardened at the edges, but food poisoning was a step up from starvation.
She scraped away the majority of the mould, wrapping it in the flimsy plastic that once contained the block of cheese and dropping it into the bin. It was only by chance that she noticed it – the flash of paper partially obscured under a milk carton. Reaching into the bin she pulled out two halves to an envelope.
Ms. D. Potter
The Basement
4, Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Walking outside and spreading herself out on the warm grass she carefully opened each half of the envelope and brought the letter together. Her eyes narrowed as she read through its contents. As she finished she scrunched up the paper and bit into her cheese with so much force that her upper teeth struck her bottom teeth. No wonder her family had thrown the message away, it was pure nonsense. It was a prank – a cruel joke.
Although, as Delilah lay there in the sunshine, she couldn't stop the what-if's from running through her mind. Her mind flashed back to last month when Harry was suspended for dying his teacher's hair blue. He had sworn that he hadn't actually done it, he had just imagined it happening and it had. She thought back to the night before, hadn't she wished for the door to be unlocked? But she had wished for that hundreds of times and she was able to count how many times it had worked on one hand.
Still, her fingers twisted around the paper as she read through the letter again. She let her eyes linger on the words; hope was a dull fluttering thing deep in her chest.
A sudden stir in the tree beside her startled her. The soft downy feathers blended into the tree bark and made the owl difficult to spot. Surprise crept across her face. Delilah had been under the impression that owls were nocturnal, she had spotted them often through the dirty glass of her window. Her gaze drifted back to the letter in her hand, 'We await your owl by no later than July 31st'.
"Hel–" Delilah wheezed, her voice was thick in her throat. The sound that had escaped was no louder than a whisper and rough like sandpaper. Delilah's throat burned. Her cheeks heated as she swallowed, cleared her throat and tried again. "H-hello."
The owl, much to Delilah's surprise, flew down from its branch and landed delicately beside her on the grass. It let out a soft coo and motioned to the letter before raising its leg.
"I… Okay. Stay here just a second. Please don't leave, okay?" Delilah dashed inside and grabbed a pen. She leant over the table and hastily scribbled out a response on a blank part of the letter before tearing it off.
Professor McGonagall,
I would be happy to attend Hogwarts. But I don't know how or where to buy the items I need for the school year. If you could reply with directions to the closest magic store I would appreciate it.
Thank you,
Delilah Potter
Delilah returned to find that the owl had remained where she had left it and folded her response carefully. Tugging her lip into her mouth she held out the ripped paper.
"Could you take this to Professor McGonagall for me, please?" Delilah asked.
The owl blinked and continued to stare at her, but made no move to take the letter. As Delilah chewed on her lip, the realization that she may very well be talking to a wild animal dawned on her. She went to take the letter back just as the owl leant forward and gently grasped the paper in its talons. Delilah let out a startled gasp as the owl outstretched its wings and flew into the sky. Delilah remained squinting into the sunlight until the owl was no more than a speck against the fierce blue sky, wondering if, after so long in captivity, she had lost her mind and had imagined it all. However, as she ran her fingers over the ripped and crumpled paper in her hands she let herself believe, just for a moment, in magic.
Delilah eagerly awaited a reply for one week. After a week and a half Delilah began to doubt the sincerity of the letter. When the second week came to an end Delilah knew she had been made a fool of. Certainly Dudley and his stupid friends had been behind the prank and had spent the entire time since laughing at her. How foolish his cousin must have been to believe in magic schools and witches and wizards and messenger owls.
Perhaps the owl hadn't even been real, perhaps it was merely a new toy. But Delilah could have sworn that it wasn't. It had looked at her with such intelligent eyes.
But it had been fake – the letter, the owl, everything. Delilah Potter had been foolish and naïve to believe otherwise.
The sharp piercing sound of glass being hit echoed through the silence of the room and woke Delilah Potter from her slumber. Delilah quietly moved the one seat she had, a hazardously rotten wooden box, into the corner of her room and carefully climbed onto it to peer out of the dim window. Pulling back the curtain she almost fell off of her stand. A dark shape lurked on the other side of the murky glass. Hesitantly she wiped away the layer of grime.
Her spine stiffened as she took in the intelligent eyes staring back at her. The owl, its sleek brown feathers wet from the rain, blinked at her. Squinting, Delilah was able to make out the pale envelope held in its beak. A thrill made it's way through Delilah's body as she raced around her room for a way to open the window.
Her fingers tightened around something cold and metallic as she pulled a metal rod from behind the dirty toilet in the corner. Crossing her fingers she walked back over to the window and, with one last apology to whoever was listening, swung the metal against the glass.
The glass broke relatively easily, shards flying out and landing in the grass. Delilah used the rod to carefully smash the remaining glass framing the minuscule window. One of the perks of living in the basement meant that whilst Delilah's window was located high up when looking from the inside, it was only a few centimeters off of the ground from the outside.
Carefully Delilah slipped her hand through the narrow slot and the owl dropped the envelope into her waiting palm. The owl took off into the dark sky and Delilah pulled her hand, and the letter, back inside. Delilah was surprised to find that despite the light rain outside the envelope was dry.
Clutching the envelope in her hand tightly she opened it and began to read. Ms. McGonagall had sent her a map, marked with directions to a spot in London, along with a note and a train ticket.
Miss D. Potter,
When you arrive at the specified address, ask for Tom. He will assist you. I hope that you find your way to Diagon Ally without issue.
Be at King's Cross Station, Platform 9 ¾ (accessed through the wall between platforms nine and ten) before 11am on September 1st.
We await your arrival at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Kind regards,
Professor McGonagall
Delilah stood before the locked door of her room, she closed her eyes and, gripping the handle, told herself that she was magic, that she would not be contained. The door unlocked beneath her fingers.
She walked into the kitchen and began searching the drawers and tabletops for spare change. She didn't find much, but combined with her other meagre findings it was just enough to buy her a bus ticket to London.
Mr and Mrs Dursley of number 4 Privet Drive might have been happy to say that they were perfectly normal, but Miss Potter of number 4 Privet Drive was unable to say the same.
Thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave comments.
If you are one of the readers who read the original chapters of this story please tell me if this version is better. If there were any parts of the previous version that bothered you or that you think could have been written better, I'd be happy to hear about it.
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