So… two posts in a day? Had this lying around but didn't think I was going to use it. But it helped get a jump start on the whole 'he's in my head thing.' I was going to write up a companion fic that was just about her summers… But this actually works pretty well.
That night she dreamed. Not the vague recollections of events she barely remembered. Not nightmares of things that had been. Not even blossoms of ideas and nonsense for the future. Instead she dreamed of summer.
The summer doesn't exist for Heather. At school, in the wizarding world, her parent's world - that is where she truly belongs. She had tried so long to exemplify a good child, to be perfect, to not dwell on the differences between how she was treated and how her cousin was. It made sense in a way. She could rationalize it all away by saying she wasn't really their child. But she was good. Things got better. They let others know she existed. They moved her into an actual room. She had deluded herself into thinking that meant something. She was out of their life for most of the year and on her best behavior when she was home. Ah. She did think of it as home. As if one day they'd accept her as part of the family. But this year the illusion died. Her magical life and home life were no longer separate.
Dumbledore had come and explained. The blood wards that were protecting them may have been compromised, they didn't really know. Him having a way around her mother's protection was bad enough, but since he actually possessed a legitimate claim to her life... It was a wonder he hadn't walked right in and slaughtered them all.
Heather hated her aunt more than her uncle, though he was the one who actually laid a hand on her. Grabbing her with just a bit more force than necessary, smacking her for the smallest irritation... Her aunt was the one who had stopped this happening before. Every time something odd happened, or she did something to show up Dudley, her aunt had been the voice of reason. Giving her more lessons and rules and making the box of lady that she lived in so much smaller. But because of that Heather had thought she had a chance. A chance to be something to them, to be better than what they wanted, to finally make them acknowledge her.
But as she nursed her newest bruise, and her aunt spewed venom and hate, Heather knew that had never been possible. Her aunt resented her. Her uncle feared her. And Dudley… Well whatever they had been teaching him at his school, he had changed. Grown up. She could see the shame when her uncle had shoved all her things in the cupboard and pushed her to get started on her chores. See the disgust in his eyes when she was told the school was making her pudgy and she was to be on a stricter diet than even Dudley had suffered. And she could see the regret the first time he'd passed her sitting in the park, carefully watching the neighborhood boys racing by on their bikes. But he never said anything, and neither did she.
In her mind she was miles away on the train back to school. She was in class, in the library, wandering the halls at night. As the summer progressed her aunt's words became less real. She hadn't kissed a monster, wasn't going to end up being a ten pound dockside attraction, and didn't get anyone killed. The pain of her uncle's hate and corrections faded with her weight because she wasn't really there. It was just stinging hexes and challenges with Malfoy. She didn't cook food and she didn't eat poorly. Instead it was potions she'd only take under the direst need.
It wasn't that bad, her clinical side told her. Light bruising and yelling was hardly even abuse. And anyways they could all be killed in their sleep any day now and hadn't been, so for killing a boy she had gotten off light. And Dudley and his friends didn't bother her anymore. Piers didn't flirt and 'Big D' didn't mock her. In fact one day he came back with ice-cream and gave her a cone. Just sat with her as they ate. It was nice. Like having one of her friends over. Or maybe a silent acknowledgement of what they could have been like as siblings. Summers didn't exist for Heather… but that moment lingered on. A token of the family she'd thought she had but didn't.
She actually saw the wards come down. Light wavering around the house before fading away. Dudley, oblivious muggle that he was, stood, gripped her shoulder bracingly and left her alone. She let the moment go with the house's protection. Less than an hour later the Order of the Phoenix was there. Mad-Eye, the real one, escorted her to Grimmauld place. Her dogfather's ancestral home. Everyone tiptoed around her as she continued to prevent the summer from existing. Until finally she was actually back on the train. Life resumed and Heather began questioning for the first time why she wasn't dead yet. Why she didn't actually want to die.
She woke, curled around her wand. It was dark. Bulstrode was snoring. Heather was in Hogwarts. Casting for the time, she found that it was a little past two in the morning. Quietly she got dressed and sneaked out of the dorms wearing her father's cloak. Wandering aimlessly, she tried to keep her mind empty and blank. It was early and she was tired, so it didn't take long for her to hide herself in an empty classroom.
Heather stared sightlessly at the wall. She refused to acknowledge this summer, or any of the others in her mind. Too tired to even try and puzzle out Voldemort, she focused on her breathing. She focused on her heart. Her mind was a void, and she felt nothing. For a while that was enough. Until she felt a tickling in her brain. She wasn't thinking of anything at all, but it felt like she was getting feedback. Like when Dudley's TV antenna needed to be adjusted because all that was on the screen was static. Lethargy faded and she focused her mind on the sensation.
It felt familiar. Like something she'd almost forgotten about. Like the taste of blood in her mouth. A memory flashed across her mind, cold fingers on her chin, a hand wrapped tight around her arm, a tongue in her mouth. She opened her eyes, but the angle was wrong. She was looking down at herself and suddenly she was back in the classroom gasping for breath. Heather wanted to believe it was another nightmare.
But she could still taste copper, could still feel that itch in the front of her head. And she felt angry. A burning anger that ate up all the numbness inside her. Hatred filled her, madness that she was still struggling to compartmentalize and deal with. They weren't her feelings. Fear washed her clean of that alien emotion. Beautiful, wonderful fear that made her heart race brought her to her feet, and sent her running through the halls. She held on to that fear and blocked out everything else, not caring that the cloak fluttered around her, not caring for the grumbling of the portraits awakened by her headlong flight. Heather kept a tight hold on her terror as she ran to Dumbledore. Praying that he would know how she had gotten into Dark Lord's mind.
