Jean's hearing came back first. Kind of. It was like she was straining to hear everything through a heavy layer of wool, making it all come out muffled and wrong. It reminded her of days when Crookshanks thought her head was the perfect place to snooze (something which usually resulted in cat hair shoved into every orifice and a severe lack of oxygen). They came in fits and spurts, little snippets of conversation that flittered between her ears like fairies on the wind.

"…Woof!"

"Pads! Leave Elvendork alone!"

"Mrroow!"

"How long did the healers say it would take for her to wake?"

"Merlin! James! That's—that's ancient magicks! Are you SURE that's what happened?!"

"Oi, oi, oi! No suffocating the witch, thank you very much! Merlin! How do you shed this much?"

"Do you think she'll wake soon? It's been three years"

"Hey—hey! Careful with those! Ma'am Aberdeen'll skin me if I have to replace any more of those potions!"

"…He's back again"

"I'm getting my spoon"

"Ooh! Beware!…Ow! Lil—ow!—I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Stop hitting me! Prongs! Help!"

BANG!

"Guess—guess wha, Sissy? It's—it's—it's my bifday! And—and 'm dis many!"

"And how many is that, Prongslette?"

"Dat's—dat's fwee!"

"Mummy? Why's da bed wed? Did somfing 'appen? Is Sissy gonna be okay?"

"What d'ya think, Harry? Good day for the beach?"

"Can—can we go—go—go flying?"

"What about the rock pools?"

"Flying!"

"…Look what you did"

"Ah! That's ma boy!"

"Pads!"

"What?"

"Hey Sissy! Guess—guess wha? Mum—Mummy sh—showed me dis fing 'bout a pwincess who was asleep for AGES like—like you! And—and den a pwince woke her up wiv—wiv a kiss, like mwah! Unca Paddy says—says maybe it'll—it'll work wiv you too! Innit vat great?! If—if I give you a kiss, den—den you'll wake up, wight?…Wight?"

"Missy Jean should wake soon, yes, Tilly thinks so. Missy Jean is making Master James & Missus Lily worry"

"This isn't—I don't think is working, Lily. Shouldn't she—I dunno—be in Janus Thickly or something?"

"You heard Ma'am Aberdeen, James, 'if it ain't life-threatening, then get the lass out!"

"…Impressive"

"Thanks Paddy"

"It's been THREE years, Lily, how do we know if she's even gonna wake up?"

"Faith"

"Is that gonna be enough?"

"It has to be"

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before those words were accompanied by some sort of sensation of touch. A twitch of stiff fingers revealed scratchy blankets and copious amounts of pet hair, though she couldn't really move else wise. It was a funny thing really, like she was trapped inside her body and wading through layers of molasses while trying to get out.

There was…there was something fluffy & warm curled up in the crook of her neck and rumbling like a tiny motor in her ear. Another equally warm and much larger something was lain out across her feet like a living heat pack, one that rumbled & growled every so often. And were those…claws? It took her sluggish brain an embarrassingly long time to connect fuzzy-purring-clawed-things with cats.

"Mwah!" Another very sloppy wet kiss to the cheek was added to the others in the hopes that she would wake. It was a sweet gesture, she liked to think, and somewhere in the back of her brain it rang a bell. Something to do with sleeping princesses, fairy godmothers and draconic witches.

Something pricked & pinched at her arm, or more accurately, the flap of skin that lay in the crook of her elbow. Jean's arm felt stiff as if she'd been stuck in one position for too long and there was an odd feeling of being full, even though she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. It was an odd sensation to say the least.

A strange sensation had settled in her throat that itched just as much as it burned, like a lump that wouldn't move or an army of fire ants marching in formation. It curled around her neck and encircled her nape like a collar of fire. It begged to be scratched, to be quenched, for some sort of relief that would never come.

Soft hands pushed and pulled at her malleable limbs, moving them about to stimulate some sort of exercise whilst she slept. Leg bent, leg down, arms up, arms down. On and on, they went, over and over like it was some sort of strange dance that she did not know the moves to, but danced anyhow.

"Missy Jean should waken soon" A voice tittered as leathery hands brushed & tugged at her curls, she thought they might be trying to tame them in some way. Jean silently wished them the best of luck, it'd been 135 years and she'd never learnt a way to properly tame her wild mane. "Missy Jean has been sleeping for far too long, she has. Tis rude to sleep for so long, yes Tilly thinks so"

And then came smell which with the unmistakable scent of medicine, that hit her like a Stupefy to the face. The bitter tang of medicinal potions hung in the air whilst the fresh air of a herb garden floated through her nostrils. It almost reminded Jean of standing in the potion's cupboard or the numerous times she had spent waiting in the hospital wing for Harry to wake up (to the point where Ma'am Pomfrey had unofficially commissioned a bed for him).

The scent of burnt bread greeted Jean one day, and she was reminded of the numerous mornings when her absentminded father would be caught between the toaster & the kettle in an effort to get everything—and everyone—ready during the small window of the school morning rush. It never worked as well as he hoped.

She must've been near the sea because there was salt on the air, so thick that she could almost taste it. A gentle breeze buffeted at her curls and rustled the edges of her loose blankets. A nearby window must've been open too, because she swore she could hear the grating caw of seagulls calling out. Though she could've done without the accompanying wet dog scent that assaulted her senses.

Jean's nose scrunched up in disgust at the sickly sweet cheesy scent which greeted her. It was a particular kind of smell, the kind only ever associated with young children or teenagers that made you want to gag. Though it made her wonder, why did children always smell cheesy? How could one's own body odour smell so bad?

Tasting again was…weird. There was a strange sort of bitterness that hung out on the back of her tongue, acrid and wrong. At first, she'd thought it was due to whichever potion they had fed her that day, but perhaps it was something else? Could you taste your own breath?

Her tongue ran back & forth along her teeth, counting & recounting the numbered chompers just as her parents had done an age ago. Silently, she despaired over the filmy feeling which covered each tooth and the loss of her perfect dental score.

Jean's mouth felt uncomfortably dry as if she'd swallowed a mouthful of cotton balls. Her lips parted as a low groan fell from her lips, begging anyone who'd listen for some sort of relief. Not a moment later and something cool & wet dribbled across parched lips, but however tantalising it was, it was still held too far out of reach. What are you doing?! Gimme more! I'm so thirsty!

Her sight was the last thing to return, and rightfully so. But it didn't change how strange everything was. Long languid blinks revealed bright splashes of colour which surrounded her on all sides. Though they may have been somewhat muted by age, Jean still felt overwhelmed by all the brash colours.

Crusted eyes peeled open to reveal the striped duvet covering her had been commandeered by several animals. At her feet curled a black vaguely canine-shaped blob which whimpered every now and then as they dreamt. The warmth at her hips was accompanied by a pair of judgemental eyes that watched her like a hawk in that way that only felines could do. Then there was the owner of the tiny motor purring in her ear belonged to a rather pudgy-faced kitten who sat upon her chest and stared back at her, practically daring her to make him move. Jean wept for the familiarity she found in the kitten, and silently mourned the loss of her own pudgy-faced kneazle.

The far wall at her feet held a series of teal-painted cabinets which split in half to form a bench and contained signs of her current status. Ornate potion bottles sat cluttered together at one end of the bench, whilst a series of house plants sat snugly in the other corner. From the corner of her eye, she could spot the edges of a small desk & lamp hidden beneath a pile of retro magazines painted in dust.

It was dark out, but the window to her right had been propped open just enough for the witch to watch the ocean waves rage & crash against each other beneath the starry sky. Seagulls had bedded down for the night, leaving the nightly chorus to be sung by the hunting owls and dozing frogs.

That's not my ceiling. Jean's first coherent thought was confused, as crusty sleep-laden eyes languidly blinked up at the maroon-painted slats above her. Immediately followed by. I need to pee.

1 January 1984

Evans Cottage, Eastbourne

At 3 1/2 years old, Harry thought himself quite the happy young lad. He had a Mummy & a Daddy who loved him, a Nanny Tilly who was a house elf, three Uncles—Padfoot, Moony & Vernon, respectively—a pet cat called Elvendork (who'd had kittens, but they were like prickly cacti & only seemed to like Jean), an Auntie Petunia (that he never saw), a cousin Dudley (who he'd met only once) and a big sister, Jean (who had been asleep for ages).

Seated on the back porch with a glass of pumpkin juice in his hands and legs kicking absentmindedly, the little boy happily watched the seagulls play amongst the red clouds of dawn as Tilly tittered somewhere nearby and Elvendork twined between his legs. Upstairs, his parents & uncles slept on, all tuckered out from the New Year's celebrations the night before.

Mummy & Daddy said they used to live in a sweet little cottage in Godric's Hollow, back when they were all playing hide 'n seek. But then they had to move because someone had found their hiding spot, so now they lived out here, on the outskirts of Eastbourne upon the cliffs of the Seven Sisters. Though Harry couldn't remember the home he had been born to, the one they lived in now was quite nice, he liked to think.

It was small cottage that sat on the cliffs which overlooked the sea, with a big garden that he played in with his family and occasionally chased after the gnomes found in Mummy's flowers. Mummy said that this house (affectionately named the Evans Cottage) had been in her family for years, going all the way back to when his great grandparents would holiday at the beach long before the muggle world wars (there was a line of succession of home owners in the hallway).

His bedroom up on the second floor (with all the other bedrooms) was decorated in an assortment of toys and painted red & gold and used to belong to his Mummy. With its wall-lined cabinets, the big fuzzy red rug and the bed which sat tucked beneath the large bay window overlooking the sea. His toy broom took pride of place amongst the scattering of books Mummy had been teaching him to read with, and his precious toy dog sat nestled beneath the folds of his duvet.

Its twin, Jean's room, was next door and used to belong to Auntie Petunia. But where his room was painted in the colours of the rising sun, hers was that of the setting sun with teals, pinks and oranges. Her wall of cabinets was taken up by potion bottles & house plants, the occupied bed decorated in stripes and a small desk sat off to the side. Harry's uncles took the spare bedroom across the hall, its interior pretty much the same as the kids', if a little more grown up. Whilst his parents slept in the larger room at the end of the hall, the one that had belonged to his grandparents once upon a time. Tilly had her own space too of course, but it was in some magical cranny that he could never find or one that was always changing so that he couldn't find it.

With a small sigh, Harry gave his empty glass to Tilly and clambered to his feet before quietly (or as quietly as a toddler can) padded back up to the second story and made his way over to Jeans' bedroom where she was still sleeping. The creaking of the door pulled a low groan from the room across the hall as someone turned over, but otherwise he was left alone as he made his way inside where he found his big sister encircled by a halo of wild curls & connected to the medicine stand in the corner. Mummy'd said that the funny stand let her eat & drink stuff even while she was asleep, when he'd asked.

Once, when Mummy was teaching Uncle Padfoot about a muggle invention called a 'television', she'd shown him a fairy tale called 'Sleeping Beauty' (as seen on VHS) that Harry absolutely fell in love with. It was a story about a princess who'd been cursed to sleep for a hundred years by an evil dragon witch and a nice prince had woken her up with a kiss—true love's kiss—and he thought he could do the same for his big sister. Because it was the same for her, wasn't it? Jean was cursed to sleep for ages by a bad man in black; the only thing she was missing was the prince to wake her up and no one said he couldn't be that prince! Harry would be a great prince! Prince Harry the Courageous! Prince Harry the Breaker of Curses! Yeah!

"G'morning Sissy" Harry whispered as he tiptoed over to her bed and leant over the edge of the bed, trying his best to mind the temperamental kneazle tucked into her curls. "Hap—happy new year! Are—are—are you gonna wake up? Please? Tilly—Tilly's gonna make dis BIG feast! Wiv loads of food and stuff! And Unca Paddy says—says he's gonna take me flying—d'you wanna go flying too? You could come—come—come flying too if you wanna"

And so, as Harry did every day of every year since Jean had fallen asleep, he pressed a big sloppy kiss to her cheek in the hopes of waking her up. At first nothing had happened, but over the last few months she'd been twitching and moaning like she could hear him, like she was trying to wake up. But as the bespectacled toddler greeted his big sister with a big wet kiss that morning, he found himself staring back at great big brown eyes that blinked languidly back at him.

"Sissy…?" Harry breathed, not quite able to believe it. Jean blinked languidly up at him. Harry beamed. "MUMMY! DADDY! I DID IT! IT WORKED! SHE'S AWAKE!"