Heather woke to Aunt Petunia's shrill voice, screeching at her to get up. Heather groaned before pulling herself out of bed, blinking the sleep out of her eyes and pulling on a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. She exited her dark cupboard, entered the kitchen and started on breakfast. There were piles of presents stacked on the table and she knew what it meant. Dudley's birthday, and for her, a day of looking through album after album of cats that Mrs. Figg had once owned.
She focused on keeping the bacon from going past crispness and into burnt territory, where she would be very much in danger of punishment. She remembered, with a shudder, times when she was younger, when she had been new to cooking and had burnt the bacon or the toast, and she remembered the gnawing hunger she had felt, locked in her cupboard for the days afterwards. She turned the bacon over and watched as the bacon grease bubbled on the pan. She yawned behind her hand as Uncle Vernon walked into the room. He looked at her and took in her matted, messy hair and huffed.
"Petunia! The girl is going to get her filthy hair in the food!" He shouted.
Heather quickly finished the bacon as her Aunt Petunia's heels clicked closer, before she herself appeared in the doorway, brush in hand.
She clicked off the stove just as her Aunt snapped, "Come, girl!". Heather sat down and braced herself. Aunt Petunia pulled the brush painfully through her hair, before using her fingers to yank dark strands this way and that until her hair was pleated down her back in a neat braid.
"You better be grateful for this, you little wench! You're lucky I don't just shave it all off!", Petunia snarled, "Now get back to the breakfast!".
The braid was tight and uncomfortable but Heather knew better than to complain. She started on the eggs. Aunt Petunia disappeared, reappearing again, minutes later, with Dudley at her side. She placed the plates of egg and bacon on the table. Dudley started going on about the number of presents. Heather ate quickly, expecting a tantrum. Aunt Petunia promised him even more presents and Heather felt a touch of jealousy. A mountain of presents and he easily got more, while every birthday she got a pair of Vernon's worn old socks that stank of sweat, and if she dared to ask for more, she would receive a swat and a long lecture about how generous they were and how she ought to be grateful.
The phone rang and Aunt Petunia rushed to answer it. Heather started on dishes and watched out of the corner of her eye as Petunia was on the phone, her lips pursed, as they tended to be when she was upset. Heather knew this wasn't a good sign, it could mean doom for her or simply displeasure with her current conversation and either way, Heather would suffer. Her Aunt made eye contact and Heather quickly diverted her attention to the dishes. She heard the clunk as her Aunt hung up the phone.
"Bad news, Vernon," she said, "Mrs Figg's broke her leg. She can't take her.".
Dudley started to throw a tantrum, and Heather listened intently as Mr and Mrs Dursley debated where she would go. It was decided, as she couldn't be trusted alone with the house or car, she would have to come along.