Chapter 1
Death was a dick and the irony was not lost on me. That was the only reason for my current predicament.
I glared, as much as I could in this body, around at the larger smiling faces of the woman crowding me and I, Remedy Iris Dursley-Potter, for not the first time in the last 20 minutes wished reincarnation was an impossibility because going through this torture twice through childhood (let's not think of puberty at the moment) was pure and utter evil.
I winced at the horrible feeling acrylic nails digging into the delicate pale skin of my three-year-old face and pulling on it like string, I internally scowled.
I narrowed my Caribbean blue eyes and frowned, which didn't seem to have much effect in deterring the torturing hands away from my face.
I was mentally a 15-year-old (not including the years since I had been alive in this world) and was currently worried that this would cause me permanent brain damage. It could stunt my growth and that was something that I DIDN'T want to happen, at the moment I was considered a genius and I was loving it – maybe not so much now though.
A majority of the time I was unsure if this was hell and that this was something that only the evilest of minds could cook up because surely this was some sort of child abuse. I stiffened at the sight of an out stretched hand with those 'nails' entering my personal space I resisted the urge to bare my teeth and snarl at them in anger and instead sat stock still.
I only had to tolerate this for 15 more minutes and then these vultures in the form of housewives and stay at home mum's would finally be gone.
Hissing internally at the unpleasant feeling of someone's nails tugging at the strands atop of my head in a way that they obviously assumed wouldn't cause me any pain. I was going to go bald at this rate.
"You know I heard this hair colour was actually called 'Pearl Platinum'!" Mrs Piers giggled in her thick British accent. "I wish my son's hair was that unique!"
I missed my Auburn fiercely so I decided that I would do something so I don't throw a tantrum that would last through this century – I could clearly see the harpy gearing up for another tug at my hair – I forced out a yawn and blinked my eyes as if I was about to collapse then and there if I didn't go to sleep.
I drew the line at people messing with my hair and that was that.
The resounding chorus of coos clashed against my eardrum told me that the harpy was about to call my aunt/mother. Let's face it, I was there for my own birth I actually knew who my mother is. Lily Potter. My aunt is just trying to bring me up as her own daughter, so that included her pretending that weird things didn't happen around me and blamed them on Harry. My older brother/cousin. I am exactly 9 months younger than him, I was born 8 weeks early luckily for us, we had magic.
I felt the hands of my aunt lift me up and away from the vultures and lifted my so my head rested against her shoulder.
"It looks like the little angel is tired." The harpy drawled and I could practically hear her sugary smile in her voice.
"Well, she has had a very long and exhausting week this week. It is only rational that she would crash sooner or later." The – dare I say it – comforting voice of my aunt replied to Mrs Piers. I smiled against my aunt's shoulder when she wasn't looking. Praying for the vultures to just take the excuse, I nearly cried in relief when I heard them all murmur in agreement.
Chancing a tiny peek over my aunt's shoulder I could clearly see and hear the lot of them in deep conversation about something that happened on our block recently. As my aunt made her way towards my bedroom real fatigue made itself know when I looked at my bed. I was out like a light before my head hit my pillow.
A/N: I only own Remedy Iris Dursley-Potter. Everyone else belongs to J.K Rowling. The queen of writing!
