Hava Potter and When Did I Ask For This Torture

by Ravenclaw_Peredhel, TiresiasTheBlindSeer (Ravenclaw_Peredhel)

Summary:

In which I get reincarnated into Harry Potter...as Harry Potter. Or rather, a female counterpart named Hava.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm usually (or was) pretty chill.
But, I don't know how you would react, but spending ten years under the fucking Dursleys after watching my mother be fucking murdered in front of me messed me up pretty badly.
So, after ten years of hell, I decide that I really, really don't have any fucks to give, and why not spend the majority of my second life having fun and causing (mostly) harmless chaos?
Course, while a noble goal, it's kinda hard when you've got a megalomaniac super-villain out for your blood.
Too bad the 'power of love' isn't something you can bottle up and throw at him. Wait, actually...I'm gonna try that!
Shows what you know Dumbledore.

Chapter 1: FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

When I was younger, I used to binge read Self-Insert fics a lot. The SI trope was one of my favourites, especially when the character played havoc with everyone (read: Dumbles and assorted minor/major antagonists/protagonists but mainly Dumbles) and their expectations of them. 

But, as I got older, I lost interest in it, After all, I did have a life outside the fandom, and fanfiction just went on the back-burner as my life started having serious shit going down in it. 

And then, well, 2020 hit me like a bus.

Being locked up for months at a time sucked, as you know, but I got back into fanfiction, which was an absolute win. I even started writing ahain. 

And then, well, 2021 hit me with a bus. 

Like, seriously.

Early 2021, everything fine, lockdown ending, life getting back on track. I'm crossing the road in town, a horn blares, and I have 0.0000000001 seconds to stare at the metal behemoth bearing down on me. 

Then, well. I'm sure you can imagine the appropriate onomatopoeia.

Suffice to say, I'm 100% certain that I am VERY dead.

Which brings me to my current question, or rather questions. 

Where the fuck am I?

Who the fuck am I?

Why the fuck am I?

I am DEAD! 

I should not be aware.

I should not be thinking. 

I should not be floating in some nebulous, highly dubious liquid in complete darkness.

Seriously, this is creeping me the fuck out.

Like, so much.

Well, at least there's nothing in here with m-HOLY SHIT!

There's something attached to my stomach...

Okay, calm down, breathe, it's all going to be oka-I CAN'T BREATHE!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

[WE WOULD LIKE TO APOLOGISE FOR THE INTERRUPTION. OUR REGULAR BROADCAST WILL RESUME AS SOON AS THE INCOHERENT SCREAMING STOPS INTERFERING WITH RECEPTION.]

-HHHHHHHH

Okay. 

I'm fine. 

I'm fine. 

I'm totally, completely and utterly fine. 

What the hell, I'm not fine!

I'm in a fucking self-insert, and I'm in someone's fucking womb as a fucking unborn fucking foetus. 

AAAHH-okay. Stop screaming. Stop freaking out. 

This isn't going to help you. 

Now, let's see. 

You are currently a defenceless infant with no motor-skills, name , identity or life. You have no idea who, what, where, when or why you are. 

It's fine. 

Things can only go up from her-shit. 

I thinky my new mum's waters just broke. And the way my day has been, I don't think I'll be lucky enough to be born via Caesarean. 

Shit this is gonna hurt worse than that fucking bus. shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit this is gonna suck.

******************

Spoiler: being born is a fucking nightmare and hurts way more than the bus. 

I am not going to go into details.

Suffice to say, I am scarred for life from it. Moreso than from the bus.

And I am still in shock, and it's been like a month.

I haven't even processed anything that's happened around me I'm that traumatised. 

FML.

Also, why did no one tell me how badly newborn babies see? 

Everything is just blobs. 

Vaguely coloured, moving blobs. 

I can hear a little, which is good, except it's also not. 

Because, unless I've been born into the future, people don't use nicknames like 'Prongs' 'Lilyflower', 'Padfoot', 'Moony', and yep, there it is, 'Wormtail'. 

Even diehard fans don't normally call each other that. 

They're usually more original. 

I really, really, really hope this isn't what I think it is. 

"Hi Harry, hi Prongslet. I'm your uncle Padfoot."

Fuck.

I burst into tears. 

Nope, nope this is not happening. 

I'm not going to be Harry fucking Potter. 

For one thing, Harry goes through so much shit that it's not funny. 

For another, I'm female, born female, assigned female, stayed female. I like being female. I do not want to be male.

Please let this a genderbend fic.

Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. 

Please let me be a girl. 

"Prongs! Lilyflower! Harry's crying! I did something wrong!"

I'm a little too busy freaking out because I don't want to be Harry Potter to notice how panicked Sirius Black sounds. 

"Sirius." An exasperated female sigh. I'm assuming that's Lily. "Her name is Hava, for the millionth time."

Oh thank you God. I'm still crying, but now I'm fairly certain it's from happiness.

"But Harry suits her. Doesn't she look like a Harry?"

No, no I do not. 

I look like a...I don't look like me anymore. 

Anyway, I like Hava more than Harry. 

I start crying harder on purpose, and Sirius freaks. I can barely see the blob that is him moving, but I see enough for him to freak out as Lily laughs her ass off. "Okay, okay I'm sorry. Hava it is, you look exactly like a Hava, no Harry's here, no, you look just like a Hava, please don't cry, Lily, Lily! She's still crying! James! James your baby's crying and your wife won't make it stop!"

This is comedy gold actually. 

I wish I had a camera. 

**************************

Once I start processing and reacting to things, I decide that I really really like this. 

I'm an only child now, for one thing. And I basically have four parents. Five if I count Peter fucking Pettigrew, which I don't.

James is fun and awesome and I love him. I don't like being shoved into Gryffindor jumpers though. Red and gold is not my thing, but James is hilariously immature and honestly, I kind of idolise him. 

Lily is the disciplinarian of the two, but she is still an indulgent young mother, and I decide that I want to be as good at Charms as her. Like seriously, it's like magic how talented she is at them. Shitty pun totally intended. 

Sirius is the fun uncle, and Remus is the nice indulgent one. 

Peter is the one that I bite and scream at. Fuck him.

He learns to stay away from me after the fifth time I projectile vomit onto him. 

He could die right now in front of me and I wouldn't be sad. 

Actually, I would be very happy if he died - then neither Lily nor James will die, and Sirius won't go to Azkaban, and Remus won't be isolated from everyone and everything, growing slowly sadder and more unwell. 

Yeah, a lot would be fixed if Pettigrew 'accidentally' fell down the stairs. Or drank poison. Or ate it for that matter. Or got stabbed. Or hit by an AK. 

I really hope enough has changed from my birth that Pettigrew ends up dead. 

Except...that's probably not going to happen. Not when Sirius, and James, and Lily, and Remus are all willing to die for him, all assuming that he would do the same for them. Even as he passes information to the enemy, information that is getting their friends and family killed. 

When life gives you lemons, squeeze them in someone's eyes. 

What happens when life gives you Pettigrew?

I sincerely hope it involves death, specifically his. 

Because I don't have the upper body strength to squeeze Pettigrew in someone's eyes. Which would also be vile and disgusting. 

But, despite the fact that, of everyone I interact with, Pettigrew is the only one I routinely scream at, everyone merely smiles and soothes me and then hugs Pettigrew and assures him that he's probably just holding me awkwardly. I swear I can feel the Dark Mark burning me through his sleeve.  

It's most likely my imagination, and he probably didn't get the Mark, because like, how would he last so long as a spy bearing the Dark Mark. 

But still. I don't like touching his left arm.

I don't like touching him at all. 

He's worse than the other Ratman, whatisface from the Maze Runner. 

Him. I would prefer him to Pettigrew, I swear it on my life. 

****************

My first word, surprisingly, isn't an expletive. 

It should be, considering how wild Padfoot and Dad are, but I guess Mum and Moony keep them in check enough to prevent 'fuck' being the first thing I say to them.

Instead, it's 'Mama', because I'm basic like that, and also she's my favourite. 

She's so pretty, and her hair is so great and I love it so much. It's like a silky blanket, and no I don't put it in my mouth. 

Okay, maybe a little. 

It's so bright and red and smooth and soft, and my baby instincts scream at me that this is something I want in my mouth. 

So I listen to my baby body sometimes, so what. 

Her hair tastes like some kind of flowery shampoo - I think it's lily, and I'm 90% certain James gave it to her.

She doesn't seem particularly chuffed with her baby constantly slobbering all over her hair, and I wouldn't be either, but I don't give enough fucks. 

I might be slightly obsessed with my mum's hair. 

In my defense, even in my first life, red hair was a rarity. And now I'm a baby, and my curiosity is in overdrive. Sometimes I just hold her hair in my meaty little baby fist, but then I forget, and before I realise what I'm doing, I'm chewing on my poor mum's hair. 

Eh, she's in a war, she can take it I'm sure.

Anyway, if purely for her hair alone, Mum is my favourite parent. Some of it is because she's actually the more responsible one, and also does the majority of caretaking because she loves Dad but really doesn't trust him since the Cloak incident.

'Pa'foo' is my second word, this time just to piss Dad off. 

It's really funny. 

Padfoot is laughing so hard he nearly drops me, and Moony and Mum Conjure popcorn as they grab me off Padfoot and watch Dad chase him round the living room. 

Dad is...maybe a little overdramatic. 

I take pity on him after that, and 'Dada' is next. 

He's so chuffed that his chest swells out, and he spends an hour cooing and spoiling me, and then the next two hours firecalling everyone and yelling at them that I finally said Dada. 

Overreaction much?

Mum seems to agree, and I take that moment to say 'love Mama'. Because I do. I really do. Even though she was the one who's body put me through the horrific trauma of birth, I love her so much. 

She's so smart and clever and funny, and she's a really really good Mum. 

Also Dad hears and starts crying with his head in the fire as he talks to Frank Longbottom.

It's frank-ly hilarious.

**************

All in all, my first year in Harry Potter-verse (Hava Potter-verse?) is awesome.

When my teeth come in, I decide to play nice to Pettigrew. 

He is over the moon that I finally let him hold me (I still won't say his name), until I sink my five milk-teeth into his arm, right where the Dark Mark should be. 

I actually draw blood too, which I am very proud of. 

Dad and Mum are not proud of me, but I don't care. I'll bite him again if I can. 

I'm over a year old now, and I can speak almost as well as your average two year old. 

Sue me, I was highly verbose in my previous lifetime, I refuse to limit myself to the typical one year old vocabulary. Because, spoiler, it's really limited. 

In any case, I'm now quite happily settled in my role as Hava Iris Potter. 

I even have teeth again, which have unfortunately been scrubbed clean of my premature vengeance on behalf of my parents, but you can't have everything. 

On the bright side, Pettigrew's gone now, which is great because it means I don't have to look at his sneaky rat face. 

On the not so bright side, Padfoot and Moony are gone as well. Padfoot's off to an Order meeting, and Moony's not visited for ages because he's doing a James Bond imitation. Well, not really. Sorta. He's pretending to be an evil werewolf, which is...more Jemma Simmons season two actually. I wonder what Moony would think about being compared to a genius British biochemist from a TV series that won't come out for like twenty years. I hope he'd be flattered - Simmons is epic. 

I miss him. 

I guess you really can't have your cake and eat it. 

Today, I am afraid, may involve my cake being snatched, eaten in front of my face, and then vomited back up on me.

I don't know for certain what day it is, but Dad is sitting with me on the couch, bright smoke rings popping out of his wand to amuse me.

It's definitely autumn, because I've been playing in piles of red and gold leaves.

And the streets outside are busy. I can't see for certain through the trees in the front yard, but I'm fairly certain it's Samhain. 

As in, Halloween 1981.

As in, fuck my parents are going to die.

I burst into tears, and Mum comes in, deciding I'm overtired and should be in bed.

Her long hair falls over her shoulder, and into my reach. I'm so exhausted by the dread that's been haunting me for hours today that I don't even make a grab for it. I just sit quietly in her arms, tears falling silently down my face as I look over her shoulder and right into Voldemort's hellfire-red eyes. 

I'm so terrified I don't make a sound, just staring mutely at the figure gliding soundlessly up the garden path. 

He's here. 

He's here. 

It's really happening. 

I'm so terrified that I don't even react as Dad shoves me and Mum up the stairs, pressing a kiss to her lips and my forehead, smiling at me even as he turns to face certain death. He's blocking Voldemort's passage, even though he knows it's futile. 

I fix his smile in my mind, bright and cheery, even as his eyes make contact with Mum's, infinite love and sacrifice in them. His eyes aren't smiling, but somehow they don't need to. 

Dad loves me and Mum, so much that he's willing to die for us without hesitation. 

I start to wail now, my tiny body shaking with sobs, reaching against my will for the diminishing back of my father. 

My father, body squared, wand out, facing the door of what was a haven, and is now a death-trap. His hair is messy. It's sticking up at the back, even worse than usual. 

Mum has her own tears pouring down her face now, dropping me in the cot, pressing another kiss to my forehead and whispering. I don't react, even as she diverts from the movie script, even as she slices open her wrist and traces runes all around my cot in her own blood, her hand shaking, but unerring.

Even as spells light the little cottage up, shaking it to its foundations with their power, and cracks creep across the walls and ceiling, she doesn't stop. Mum traces runes of blood around me, syllables shaking with power and with her grief falling from her lips, blood sheeting from her open vein down onto her finger like some kind of ghastly quill. 

I think it's now that I realise just how strong my mother is.

Even as she hears the duel downstairs, even as she hears Voldemort snarling out curse after curse at my father, even as her heart is breaking, she takes her grief, turning it into a tool, her finger moving faster and faster. Her eyes are hard despite the devastation, and she is shaking as she traces the final rune, her face white, though whether from grief or blood loss, I can't tell. 

"Hava, my sweet, sweet baby." She crouches before the cot, injured hand held stiffly against her, still leaking blood onto her jumper. "I'm so sorry, so sorry." Her blood-free hand, shaking, comes between the bars and cups my tiny, chubby toddler face. "Shhhh, don't cry my Hava, don't cry. It'll all be fine, I promise." 

There is a soft thud downstairs, followed by a softer clatter and a high laugh. It doesn't take a genius to work out what that means.

"You can't pwomise." I observe through my sobs, my laughably small hands latching onto her wrist. "Dada dead." The words send a sharp stab of grief through me, and I can see that they do the same to Mum. 

"I know." Her voice breaks, and she gulps back a sob. "I know Hava." Something seems to change within her when she hears her husband's body hit the floor. Her voice is suddenly very calm, and very hurried, and I know that she too can hear the footsteps on the stairs. "I love you my little one, so much. Never doubt that. Never doubt that we love you Hava, more than anything else, more than life. We love you so much. Mama loves you, and Dada loves you, and even when we seem so far away, we will be with you, I promise. We will never leave you, not really. Hold onto that, Hava. We love you, we love you. I love you my precious baby. I love you so, so, so much. I'm giving you your best chance this way, it doesn't seem like it, and you won't think that I am, but this is the only way. This is how you live Hava, and I'm giving it to you. Hold onto it, please, I love you. I love you, please, live, live my little Hava. "

The door bangs open, and Mum whirls around, flinging her arms to either side as though it will stop him seeing me. "You won't get her." 

Voldemort laughs, pointing his wand at her. "Stand aside, and I will let you live, girl." She is a girl, I realise. She's so young. 

"No Mama!" I scream. I don't want to watch her die. I can't watch my mother die. 

"Be quiet Hava." I think this is the first time she's ever snapped at me, and out of shock, I even stop crying. Her attention goes back to Voldemort, and even from behind, I can see her chin going up and her arms crossing. "No."

The disgusting white snake-face creases in a scowl, which doesn't do it any favours. "I made a promise. Now, let me kill the child, and I will go. I will not touch you."

Mum laughs, and it's derisive. "I said no."

"Stand," his teeth are definitely gritted, "aside. Now. This is your last chance, Mudblood."

Then, to my utter horror and awe, Mum spits at him. 

Voldemort locks eyes with her and raises his wand.

In the split second between the curse hitting her, and death, she turns back to me. Her eyes meet mine, and she just looks at me for that tiny stretch of time, her face so full of love, that it feels as though she has given me her whole heart in that one moment.

I watch, horrified, as my mother's body hits the floor with a dull thud. Her eyes are suddenly glassy, staring at nothing, her injured arm dripping blood onto the carpet.

Sometimes, in stories, horrifying things rip screams from people's throats.

The opposite happened to me. 

I just stare at my mother's suddenly dead body, too shocked to move or even cry. There aren't even any tears, not any more. 

I expected this, I knew this was going to happen, no matter what I did. 

But the shock as I stare at the crumpled thing that used to be Mum, is like someone stabbing me over and over and over again. 

Voldemort steps carelessly over her, red eyes fixed on me.

He doesn't care. 

He doesn't care that he's about to kill a one year old, barely out of infancy and into toddlerhood. 

He doesn't care that he just killed my mother, in front of me. 

He doesn't care that in a few minutes, he has butchered my mother and father both, and used someone they trusted to do it. 

He doesn't care. 

"Avada Kedavra."

He looks at me expectantly as the light rushes at me. Almost questioningly. Like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. 

I don't see how, but the light changes direction suddenly, the runes written only moments before in Mum's blood glowing white hot, and before he can react, it hits him right in the face. 

Even through my shock and grief and horror, I take great satisfaction in how Voldemort goes cross-eyed watching the AK hit him on the nose. It seems like karma. 

It occurs to me, as his robe falls gracelessly to the ground and a black streak flies out the window and a little black shadow hits me in the head, that the Horcuxes are a very good idea. It means I can kill him again and again and again in revenge. 

It also occurs to me that the little black shadow that hit me in the head was probably what is now the Horcrux, and that I should be worried about it. 

But...Mum. Dad.

Dad is lying dead downstairs. 

Mum is collapsed on the floor in front of me. 

I'm all alone with the corpses of my dead parents. 

Now I cry, huge wails bursting from my throat as I reach for Mum. 

No one hears me for a long time, until I have cried myself out, and am reduced to staring at my mother's cooling corpse. 

Notes:

yeah, hava's just freaking out lol.

this isn't exactly crack, but hava is going to act cracky a lot of the time because she wants to make dumbles have a heart attack please and thank you.

 

Hava is a Jewish name meaning life. I figure that would be something that's on James and Lily's minds a lot.

 

And yes, I changed that scene.

Chapter 2: Fuck y'all (DUMBLES)

I've been sitting behind my mother's corpse for hours by the time someone finally comes in.

In keeping with the trend of today's luck, it's Severus Snape. 

FML.

Again. 

It's not that I don't like him as a character. 

Or that I don't respect his intelligence.

Or that I don't pity what a shitty life he had. 

But he was the worst fear of a child. 

A child he taught. 

A child under his authority. 

I don't like that. 

Sure, he was abused, he fell in with the wrong crowd, he lost his best friend, the woman he loved chose the boy who bullied him. 

But that doesn't excuse visiting abuse on children who did nothing to him. 

So, I like him as a character, as someone to think about and puzzle over.

I don't like him as a person. 

My voice is gone by now, lost in great, sobbing wails that have left my tiny body aching. 

He doesn't even notice me, even as I stand, grasping the bars of my cot and reaching for him, and for my mother. 

He just falls to his knees, tears pouring his face as he embraces my mother's body. 

Which, sure it was a sad scene in the movie. 

But like...kinda creepy no?

She's a dead body. 

The dead body of a woman who hasn't spoken to him for years. 

Who cut him out of her life for being a creep and a bully. 

And it's not like she can say no anymore, being dead. 

It's creeping me out okay?

This strange, dark man, embracing my mum's cadaver and crying, completely ignoring her silent, shell-shocked daughter in the cot behind him. 

Like, seriously. 

Okay, you were creepily obsessed with my mum, to the point of being willing to let me and my father die so that she could live, but could you maybe please acknowledge my existence mr batman?

I'm offended. 

Just because my father wasn't Snape, it appears that I'm not worthy of being noticed. 

Apparently he really doesn't think that she would prefer her daughter to be cared for, rather than have her corpse hugged. 

I'm not in the best headspace right now, so I can't really excuse what I did. 

Well, I mean I could, but I don't want to. It's not like anyone's going to care about why a child who just watched her mother die is going to act out a bit. 

I Summon him by his hair. 

First bit of purposeful accidental magic for the win!

Even though I'm still in shock, not to mention completely exhausted, and wrung out, and everytime I look at my mum it's like someone's stabbed me, I manage a half-hiccup soundless giggle at Snape's face of shock. 

"What the-"

I don't think he realised I was there. 

Because, like, seriously. Dude, you're in the nursery, were you that focused on Mum that you never noticed the cot she was lying in front of?

Some spy. 

He wrenches his hair out of my weakly grasping hand (and euch, it was greasy af), and glares at me. "Who are you?"

I almost roll my eyes, because seriously, I'm in a cot behind Lily Evans Potter, is it that hard to work out who I am? But I don't say anything. I don't think I want to say anything to him. 

He draws out of his grieving funk long enough to take in my auburn hair, and my eyes, and his face (amazingly) pales further. "Lily's daughter."

Great. 

I really don't want Snape to see me just as Mum's daughter for the rest of my life, but at least it's not 'Potter's daughter', because that could be really, and I mean really, bad. 

Thankfully, before I have to reply in a manner that is appropriate for a traumatised one-year old, there is a crack, followed by Padfoot calling for Mum and Dad. Snape Apparates away instantly, and I draw a breath of relief. 

Running footsteps stop right at the foot of the stairs, and I hear a wounded howl. "Prongs." 

He's found Dad then. A muffled sob, and then, ''Lily'', followed by "Hava!"

I hear Padfoot skirt Dad's body, and tear up the stairs, and watch the dust falling from the cracks in the walls. It's probably plaster dust. 

Voldie's death blew the whole first floor up, but Mum's protections held, and so the entire front of the cottage is open, and the side are all black and burnt. About two feet beyond me, however, it's mostly intact, save for the cracks that Dad and Voldie's battle caused, and it is from here that I watch the aforementioned dust particles fall. 

Padfoot's appearance in the half-destroyed doorway distracts me from my musing on the structural integrity of my room. He sees Mum's body and a choked-off sound slips past his lips. The tears already tracking their way down his face redouble, and he falls to his knees beside Mum, one hand gently closing her eyes as Snape forgot to.

I don't mind him doing it. 

I don't mind him touching my mother's dead body.

Mum knows him, and she trusts him. It's appropriate that her brother in all but blood should be the one to close her eyes, to see her dead body, to mourn her. And I know that as soon as he sees me, Paddy will look after me. 

I'm still pissed off about Snivellus okay?

Actually...I should totally call him that at school! No one will believe that I can remember hearing it, and it would be hilarious to fuck with them. I automatically move one hand to muffle the giggle that would come if my vocal cords hadn't been destroyed. 

My movement attracts Padfoot's attention. "Hava!" He scrambles to my cot, lifting me out, and wrapping his arms around me, rocking back and forth. "You're alive. Oh gods, you're alive. Thank you, thank you."

His grip is so tight that it almost hurts, but I don't make a sound. It's such a relief to finally have someone notice me, to be held, to feel something beyond cold, and wind, and ash. 

I'm not ashamed to admit that I started to cry silently as he held me. The last person to touch me was Mum. 

"Oh Hava, Hava I'm so sorry. I should have been here. I should have been here, but I'm here now. I won't leave you again. I'm here now."

I don't reply.  

I just close my eyes and nestle my head against him. 

Padfoot is warm, and familiar, and I've known him for all of this short second life. 

For the first time since I looked over Mum's shoulder and into Voldemort's eyes, I feel safe. 

Padfoot just sits there, rocking me gently until I fall asleep, the deep sleep of infants and the exhausted.

******************

I realise my mistake when I wake up hundreds of feet in the air, nestled against a rough brown coat and wrapped in the blanket Mum made for me. 

Fuck. 

I've lost the last of my time with my godfather for twelve years. Because I fell asleep. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Fuck. 

Fucking hell. 

I've lost Dad. I knew that would happen. I knew that would happen since I saw those red red eyes. 

I've lost Mum. I knew that would happen. I knew it would happen from the moment she stepped in between me and the Dark Lord. 

But I thought...I thought maybe I would be able to keep Padfoot.

I thought, that maybe, just maybe, he would stay. For me. 

I had a whole plan to keep him with me. 

I knew exactly how to react so that he would forget Pettigrew long enough to prove his innocence. 

But I missed my one opportunity to do so because I fell asleep. 

I start to cry again, this time out of pure irritation. 

Fucking toddler body. 

I could have slept in the hours it took Padfoot to reach Godric's Hollow, but no. 

Instead I sleep during the all-important moment that could have set my life on a happier path. 

Shit. 

Now I don't have anyone to blame for the Dursleys but me. 

At that moment, the motorbike (Padfoot's bike, Mum hexed him silly when he took me up on it, but he did it again because it made me so happy) hits the ground, and I set eyes on Albus Dumbledore for the first time. 

He looks very old and frail.

His blue eyes are dim behind their half-moon glasses.

His robes are weird as fuck.

His nose is bent as fuck. 

It's probably about as straight as him. 

I do the last possible thing anyone could expect a traumatised one-year-old girl to do. 

I laugh. 

Because the nose thought was hilarious to me. 

He looks at me quizzically, and I stare back, opening my eyes wide. 

Unfortunately, he doesn't react, which makes my half-decent, half-hysterical mood instantly go full-toddler. 

So sue me, I'm physically a toddler who just watched her mother die in front of her. 

I'm not going to stop going on about it, because I am fucking traumatised by it. 

Also, I just got a good look around me.

My new surroundings are familiar, even in the dark. 

Privet fucking Drive. 

Fuck Dumbledore. 

I don't want to live under fucking Petunia. 

I have excuses for what I did next, just like I did with Snape. 

I'm just not stating them this time. 

I scream, and his glasses shatter. "Want Mama! Want Dada! Want Pa'foo! Want Moony!"

Vaguely, I'm aware of Hagrid jiggling and shushing me awkwardly, but all I see is the frowning face of the asshole who wants to leave me here. 

I'm very worked up by now, and I'm yelling over and over for my parents and godfathers. 

Not Pettigrew. Except maybe as a chew toy and something to practice spells on. 

I do not want to stay here. 

I do not want to be left on the doorstep.

I do not want to lose my world for ten years, and my godfathers for longer.

More importantly, I do not want to be anywhere near the magic-hating, rigidly normal Dursleys. 

Not only am I Lily's daughter, and magical, but somehow I doubt that a condition like heterochromia would be endearing to them. 

It's not normal, to say the least. 

A tutting invades my little bubble of denial, and suddenly I find myself enveloped in tartan, and a smell of wood, fur, ink and something that I think might be Ginger Newts. A Scottish accent reaches my ears, a little choked but still firm. 

McGonagall.

I quiet down - there's something about her that makes me feel like I did with Padfoot. 

She was always one of my favourites. Stern, no-nonsense, and also kind. 

Additionally, she's badass as fuck. 

I like her. 

Unfortunately, as soon as I'm calm, she rewraps my blanket around me and hands me over to Dumbledore. 

Which. 

Fuck.

No.

No thanks. 

I determinedly start crying again, and don't stop until I'm back with McGonagall. 

Lets make one thing very clear, Dumbledore. 

You do not get to hold me. 

You do not get to touch me. 

You do have the power to leave me with the fucking Dursleys unfortunately, but I'm not going to make it easy for you. 

He seems to get the picture, because in the end, it's a rather bemused and reluctant McGonagall who places me gently on the steps (in a Muggle baby-carrier thank goodness), and places Charms on me, mostly to keep me safe and warm and stop me wandering off. Thank you.

She doesn't look happy about it, but she does place a gentle kiss to the top of my forehead and then place a letter on top of the pile of me and blanket. 

Dumbledore wishes me good luck and Apparates off, and I mentally cheer at how disgruntled he looks. 

The great goat, thwarted by a baby. 

Hagrid roars off, and I am left with McgGonagall, who looks very very unhappy with leaving me here. 

She looks to the left, to the right, and then sniffs. 

A tabby cat curls up next to me, and somehow it warms and comforts me better than the Warming Charms. 

I fall asleep again, even knowing that, the next time my eyes open, it will be to Petunia Dursley. 

Chapter 3: Google: Is Killing Abusive Relatives Illegal?

You know what sucks?

Your aunt opening the door and dropping the milk bottles on your face in shock. 

And then screaming when the bottles land in a pile ten feet away. 

Because, seriously, like I'm just gonna lie there and let them smash on my face? 

Hell no. 

I've already got one shitty scar on my face, I don't need another one. 

Thanks but no thanks. 

Just as I predicted, Petunia takes one look at the baby on the steps and screams for her porky husband. 

He's dark haired while she's blond, so apparently I'm in book canon as opposed to movie.

Which, come to think of it, doesn't explain the Snape crying over Mum's body, which is 100% movie canon. 

Eh, maybe it's a mix and match. 

Anyway, back to my charming new guardians. 

They stare at me for about five minutes, before remembering that the neighbours are waking up, and taking me inside. 

Vernon takes one look at the milk bottles on the lawn, at my mismatched eyes, and the lightening bolt scar on my face before folding his arms and declaring that I need to go. 

Dudley cries and pinches me (no surprises there).

But, due to some possible remnant of withered, twisted love for Mum, Petunia hesitates. 

She looks at my auburn hair, and the green in one of my eyes. 

She looks at the purple, silver and blue blanket Mum crocheted for me. 

She looks at the letter in her hand, detailing in curving, looping writing her sister's death protecting me. 

She looks at the little jumper Mum made me with a blue iris embroidered over one side. 

She looks at the one picture of her sister on the mantel. 

"She stays."

Great. 

Just what I want, to be stuck here, with these people.

But at least I'm not on the streets at the tender age of one year and three months. 

"But, Pet! You haven't spoken to your sister in years."

She folds her arms, and looks, for a moment, strikingly like Mum. If Mum was blond and looked like she was sucking on a lemon. 

"She was my sister Vernon, even if she did take up with those freaks. The girl is family, whether we like it or not. Besides, what will the neighbours say if they hear we let our niece go into the system."

And just like that, I'm a (reluctant) member of the Dursley family. 

An old mattress and a few blankets from the charity shop go on the floor of the cupboard, and I have my own room. 

It's considerably larger from the point of view of a one-year old than it is from a movie screen.

Nothing on my old room in Potter Cottage though. 

That had belonged to a family with generations and generations of money, and it had reflected that.

Larger than even the master bedroom of this utterly fake, cheap suburban house, with whitewashed walls that Mum had painted with swirls of purple and silver and blue, and dark beams across a white ceiling and a light purple carpet I sank into up to my fat little ankles.

It had been filled with toys and books and clothes, and the cot had been carved of pine wood, engraved with lilies and stags, the sheets as soft as silky clouds. 

Suffice to say, Dad was old money and knew it, and he and Mum and Padfoot and Moony had been in a fair way to spoiling me rotten. 

To go from that to the cupboard under the stairs was rather a shock, and I made sure that they knew it.  

I avoided nappy rash, malnutrition and touch starvation through the simple expedient of screaming my head off constantly. 

So what if it irritated them, they put me in a fucking cupboard after I watched my mum die. 

I think I'm allowed to cry.

I don't care what they say, I don't answer to them. 

****************

The thing is, once you reach four and are now able to go to school, it's quite hard to justify screaming your head off for every little thing. 

I had given up on it after a year to allow my vocal cords a chance to live, but the point is, that once I turned four, the Dursleys cracked down. 

Previously, I had been given decent (if a little scanty compared to theirs) meals, and allowed to do pretty much as I wanted as long as I stayed on the property and didn't touch Dudley's toys or anything that didn't belong to me. 

But now, apparently I am a big girl and need to earn my keep. 

Thankfully, I know how to read, write, garden, clean and cook from my previous life. In fact, I was rather a good cook before I was Hava Potter. 

Of course, Hava is far too freaky a name for them, so as far as I am supposed to know, my name is Iris Evans, and I am, the illegitimate child of Lily Evans and James Potter, two druggies on the benefit system who crashed their car a year after my birth and left my respectable aunt and uncle with me. 

I want to know how Iris is any less unusual than Hava personally, especially in the 1980s.

I also want to swear at them, because really?

Dad was one of the best Aurors in the country during a war, and Mum was one of the youngest Charms Mistresses in two hundred years.

And Dad was, well he was a Potter, with thousands of years of money, wealth and prestige behind his name (although it did change several times but shhhh not the point).

Not to mention, my parents were Head Boy and Head Girl of one of the most prestigious magical schools in the world. 

Methinks I smell sour grapes quite strongly here. 

Anyway, thankfully, school is easy for me, because, um, you know. I've already been through it. 

It's boring actually, so I amuse myself by daydreaming ideas for stories I will never write. 

And crafting my persona to become a neat, tidy, polite girl who isn't too bright. The teachers like me, but also despair of ever teaching me anything beyond the basics.

Great!

I'm exactly on a par with Dudley, except I'm not an overweight bully with delusions of grandeur. 

Of course, then I go home, and make dinner, always perfectly cooked, and garden, and wash the dishes, and then maybe do my homework if I can snatch enough run-down batteries for my old torch. 

What a wonderful life. 

In the mornings, I wake up before everyone else, clean the bathroom, put the washing on and make breakfast. 

I'm dressed and plumping the couch cushions by the time Petunia and Vernon come down without fail, and I always make Dudley's lunch just in time to hand it to him as we walk out of the door. 

It sucks. 

If Mum and Dad had lived, if Padfoot had stayed with me, if I had gone to any of my family's magical relatives, none of this would have happened.

I'm some sort of weird Superman character to the Wizarding World, they would have adored me. Sure wizards in general are a bit sketchy about their child rearing choices (Walburga), but I'm the Girl-Who-Lived, there's no way they would have treated me like this at all.

If I had grown up with wizards, I would have been loved, not resented. 

I would have been given a childhood. Sure I would have had to deal with the downsides of being a child celebrity, but surely anything is better than this.

By the time I am seven, my life with the Dursleys is down to a science. 

I follow my rigid schedule, adjusting where necessary for their trips and extra chores, keeping out of their way as much as possible, working just that little bit more than they ask me, keeping just below or above Dudley's level in school, and adding that extra flare to their bland English food that makes it truly delicious. 

Life has fallen into an uncomfortable, abrasive rhythm.

I'm always doing that little bit too much, always eating that tiny bit too little, going to bed those few minutes too late.

But my good behaviour has rewards, however slight. 

Occasionally, if I manage to save a little bit more money than they expected, I get to keep it.

If the food is especially well made, I might get seconds. 

Most importantly, if I keep my mismatched eyes down, and only look up through the right one, the green one, Aunt Petunia often lets me get away with more.

I get to sleep a little earlier, I get a little more in my lunch, things like that. 

It's not very Gryffindor, but I think everything in me that was Gryffindor, everything brash and brave and heroic, died that night, with my mother. 

I'm not brave. 

I'm not daring. 

I'm not honest. 

I'm not just. 

I'm resourceful, cunning, and manipulative.

There is no way I'm going anywhere but Slytherin. 

Not unless the Hat is drunk when it Sorts me. 

I'm seven years old, and I'm weeding the back garden when I turn a clod of earth particularly harshly, and almost squash a grass snake.

idiot human, it hisses, in accented English, watch what you're doing. 

I blink. 

Bloody hell. 

How did I forget about Parseltongue?

HOW DID I FORGET ABOUT PARSELTONGUE??????????

You'd think that speaking to snakes would stick in my mind. 

But no. 

No, it's apparently less important than keeping the Dursleys happy.

Bloody brain and it's bloody understandable priorities.

i'm terribly sorry, I say, and hope I'm not making a snake faux-pas, i didn't see you there. it was an accident.

you speak!

Soooooo.

It turns out the fanon of snakes idolising speakers is not too far off. 

Like...really. 

My new friend, apparently named Lysa, thinks I'm the bees knees.

Her words not mine. 

Too bad for me, Dudley sees me kneeling idly in the flowerbed and tattles on his mother that 'Iris isn't working, she's being naughty Mummy', and of course, Petunia comes out to tell me off and inform me that I have lost my dinner.

She hears me hissing to Lysa, and before I know it, her hand has made contact with my face.  

That is the first time Petunia strikes me. 

The first time she sees me doing magic since that long ago November morning.

I taste blood in my mouth, thick and salty, and feel my cheek tingling. 

Ouch. 

Lysa hisses in outrage, but before she can attract Petunia's notice again and get hurt, I hiss at her to leave.

She won't disobey a direct order from a speaker, but I hear her grumbling even as Petunia slaps me for the second time. 

I'm going to have a lovely dark bruise on my cheek tomorrow, but it's half term, so no one will notice. 

I take being locked in the cupboard again passively, wrapping myself in the purple, silver and blue blanket that is all that's left of my old life. 

Mum enchanted it, I'm sure.

It's still thick and warm, the colours as bright and vibrant as ever.

It never snags, never frays, there isn't a single loose thread.

And even though I am now seven years old, it is still just as large on me as it was when I was an infant. 

Thankfully, none of the Dursleys ever come into the cupboard, and so they haven't noticed that the blanket isn't a faded mass of wool too small to do anything but hold. 

I always hide it right at the back of the cupboard just to be sure, behind the other things on the shelf.

Over the last few years, I've tentatively managed to make this tiny, spidery place my own. 

The walls are covered with drawings I've smuggled back from school and taped or glued or Blu-tacked up, mostly just arty swirls of purple and silver and blue. I've copied the patterns from the ones painted on the wall in my long-ago nursery, as best I can. 

With the measly pennies I've occasionally garnered, I saved up enough to buy a soft lilac pillowcase and sheet, soft with age and use, not soft because they are made expensive, enchanted fabric, commissioned for James and Lily Potter's first child. 

I've used up the ends of countless felt tips and whiteboard pens and ink cartridges to scrawl thick dark stripes across the pale wood and plaster of the ceiling, the bottom of the stairs. Hardly my best work, but it imitates the ceiling of my old room well enough.

The few things I own that aren't Dudley's handmedowns are propped up on the little shelf at the end of the cupboard.

The stuffed Padfoot and Prongs that were in my cot when Sirius found me, and that Hagrid brought with him when he took me from the wreckage of my home have pride of place, still looking almost pristine thanks to Preservation Charms cast by a woman dead for more than half a decade.

My blanket sees regular use as my main covering at night, but every day I fold it up and place it here, so that Petunia's beady eyes won't see it and mark that it is larger than it was.

A pressed lily lies between the pages of a Narnia omnibus that I found in storage in the cellar - pretty, curling writing on the inside cover declares This book belongs to Lily Salara Evans. 

My ratty old mattress takes up most of the tiny floorspace, but what is visible is plain pine wood, which I have almost finished colouring with the hundred shades of purple you get fishing almost-done pens out of the bins. 

It's not much, certainly nothing on what I would have had if I had had my parents or Padfoot. 

But I have managed to take a place, however small, in the Dursley household.

I've stolen this little bit of space from them, and made it my own, made it as close to the room that was mine when I lived with magic.

When I had Mum and Dad and Padfoot and Moony.

Before Voldemort.

It's a little revenge, a little petty satisfaction to take something back from them. 

Just like levitating the pens to reach the top of the ceiling, just like wishing the dishes clean if they aren't here, just like every tiny little rebellion I've managed to work in. 

The biggest and most dangerous of all is above the shelf.

This room belongs to Hava Iris Potter

I did that over the course of four months worth of stolen minutes last year.

A piece of A3 paper I stole from art class and smuggled back under my too large t-shirt (apparently even disgusting handmedowns from my overweight cousin can be useful) and emblazoned in the best calligraphy I could achieve with my childish hands is my name.

My true name.

Hava Iris Potter. 

This is probably the most dangerous thing I could do, which is why it is hidden right at the back of the cupboard, where they will never see. 

I shouldn't know my real name. 

I've never been told it.

But I am Hava Iris Potter now, no matter who I once was. 

And I will not be silenced forever. 

Notes:

Hava's middle name is Iris, and in floriography, the blue iris signifies faith and hope. I thought it appropriate.

two updates in one day guys!

Chapter 4: Tick Tock

On the plus side: snakes find out a lot of interesting shit and are more than willing to share it with a speaker.

On the negative side: it only took the Dursleys catching me that one time for them to crack down. 

I'm lucky to get anything other than a packed lunch for school now, and Aunt Petunia watches me as we shop with a beady eye. 

Dudley has been explicitly told that 'Iris Hunting' is character building for both of us, and very good for us. 

Neither Vernon or Petunia now sees any problem with absently back-handing me now, calling me freak with a kind of vicious pleasure, as if glad to be proven that I am one of 'them'.

For all my care and secrecy, both now and before the incident, I am still a freak.

One instance of blatant magic was all it took to destroy everything I've worked for, every millimeter of ground I've clawed for over six painful years obliterated in an instant. 

One moment where I forgot, where I revelled in magic, and I am less than the mud I was previously. 

I am eight years old, and belt scars mark my back. 

I am eight years old and pressing my fingers into the bruises on my shoulder. 

I am eight years old and my lips are stained with my own blood. 

I am Hava Iris Potter, and I am eight years old, and I will my cuts closed. 

My old life seems very dim and far away now. 

Nothing matters anymore but getting through today. 

Sometimes I wonder if I dreamed everything up, but then I remember books and movies and a fandom as quarrelsome as it was united. 

I can't have dreamed all that up. 

I grip onto the fading memories, and toss an empty ink cartridge at the ceiling. "This bitch empty," I whisper to myself, "yeet." 

A cracked laugh emerges from my parched throat. 

No, I didn't make the memes up, I know that much. 

So it stands to reason I didn't make the rest up either. 

It is real, I know it is. 

In some other universe, another me exists who only knows this universe as stories and impossible dreams. 

In some other universe, I really hope my sister passed her A levels. 

I cling onto that. 

I haven't made everything up, I can't have. 

I roll over, ignoring the twinge of a partially healed laceration on my back, and stare at my shelf. 

Padfoot and Moony are snuggled in my arms, and Mum's blanket is, as always wrapped around me.

These three things ground me, when I have been stuck in this tiny space for three days with no human contact.

They are my lifeline, my assurance that, not only is my past life real, Mum, Dad, Padfoot and Moony are real as well. 

My dreams of Mum falling to the ground even as her eyes meet mine, of Dad turning to face his death even as he smiles at me, they are memories. 

Horrible memories, but they were real. 

I refuse to be like canon Harry, lockd up, ignorant of everything and everyone, without even remembering what his parents looked like. 

Mum's shampoo made her hair smell of lilies.

Dad could never remember where he put the Invisibility Cloak. 

Padfoot liked to listen to classical music even as he bopped to it and pretended it was rock. 

Moony would refuse any chocolate but Cadbury's milk on the day of the full moon. 

Mum used to sit me on her lap as she wrote pages and pages of theory letters back and forth to Professor Flitwick. 

Dad could never function until he had combed his hair back with Sleakeazy. 

Padfoot wouldn't set foot outside unless he had his leather jacket.

Moony used to read myths and folktales to me.

They were real, beautiful, flawed people, and I will not forget them. 

I am Hava Iris Potter, and I will not be drowned. 

****************

I am nine years old, and one of my eyes is swollen shut where Dudley punched me. 

It's the green eye. 

I wipe the bathroom mirror and note that, at the moment, I look the exact opposite of Harry Potter in canon. Mum's hair, Dad's eyes. 

I don't like it. 

It makes me look...different. 

More ordinary. 

My eyes are a point of pride for me. A rebellion of sorts. 

Since the incident with Lysa, I've stopped trying to accommodate the Dursleys. 

The first thing I changed was where I looked. 

Now that there is no point in trying to keep them sweet, I no longer try. 

I hold my head high and stare them right in the eyes with mine. 

They can never hold my mismatched gaze for long. 

It's too freaky for them, too unusual. 

It's my favorite part of me, other than inheriting Mum's good eyesight. 

I touch my green eye gingerly, hissing as I press lightly on the bruise. 

Eye injuries scare me. 

"Are you almost finished up there? I want dinner ready by the time Vernon gets home."

"Almost Aunt Petunia." I shout in response to her shriek. Jeez, it's like she thinks I'm fucking deaf. 

What a Karen. 

"Don't worry," I mutter as I head downstairs, "I'll call the manager for you.''

"What was that?" 

I smile innocently up at her, trusting that the bruised eye will serve to unsettle her just as much as my normal gaze. "What am I making for dinner, Aunt Petunia?"

And shall I call the manager. 

In my mind, I give her the middle finger, even as I move to start chopping a truly ungodly amount of onions. 

Well fuck you too Tuney. 

Bitch.

I am nine years old and covered in bruises. 

I am nine years old and no one notices that I am as thin as a pane of glass. 

I am nine years old, and I am still me. 

It will take more than this to change me. 

I am still Hava Iris Potter. 

They have not drowned me, not yet.

As far as I am concerned, they never will.

The onions make tears streak down my face as per normal, and I take a moment to dash them away. 

Bloody fucking things. 

I swear, they exist to cause misery. 

The juice gets into the grazes on my hand and it stings like hell. 

Hissing, I mutter the foulest curse words I know, deep under my breath. 

Fucking Dudley and his fucking enjoyment of fucking pushing me onto the gravelly pavement. 

My hands do not falter in moving the knife. 

At least like this I can imagine the Dursleys faces beneath it. 

Locked in the cupboard,  I will not have the satisfaction of pretending to commit murder.

Mum's childhood Narnia omnibus is almost falling apart. 

Padfoot and Moony's preservation charms are beginning to wear off. 

I am beginning to fear that soon, I will only have memories of them. 

But as long as I have that, they are with me.

I am still me. 

I have not forgotten. 

I am still alive, but they are dead (or as good as). I remember them, so they are eternal. 

And yes, I like Star Wars, what are you going to do? Stab me? 

I am Hava Iris Potter, and I will never be drowned. 

************

I am ten years old and cutting my hair with scissors stolen from school. 

Dudley has caught me too many times by it for my vanity to uphold me any longer.

I have always been proud of my hair, both in this life and the last. 

In my last life, I inherited my mother's blond curls, and grew them into ringlets that reached all the way to my hips. 

In this life, I have my mother's beautiful auburn waves. 

Gold-touched rubies, I heard my father say once. 

I am very attached to my hair. 

But Dudley has caught me by grabbing it ten times in the past three weeks. 

I have scabs where tufts of long auburn hair have been ripped out, and other portions of my scalp ache where my hair has been pulled not quite hard enough to yank it out. 

It is a weakness, one that I can't afford anymore. 

The hair has to go. 

I cut with precise, angry movements, despising myself for bowing to the Dursleys. 

Haven't I sworn to stop catering to them? To live up to my inheritance as a Marauder and make their lives hell?

My side twinges, and I hiss.

Dudley gets better and better at kicking every time it seems. 

I remember why I do this. 

I'm no Gryffindor, to stand against the current and fight every step of the way. 

I'm not a fighter, not a hero, not willing to sacrifice myself unnecessarily. 

I'm pragmatic, and I choose the path of least resistance, the one that benefits me most. 

The last strand of firey hair falls, leaving me with a hideously botched chin length bob. 

The girls at school will laugh, but I've never liked them much anyway. 

At least it doesn't float behind me in the breeze any longer - Aunt Petunia doesn't waste money on hair products for me.

I'm ten years old, and I sit in the darkness of my cupboard, cluching what feels like the last of my hope. 

Hogwarts and freedom seems further away by the day. 

My eyes turn to the piece of paper pinned at the back of the cupboard. 

I am still Hava Iris Potter.

I cannot forget. 

I cannot let them slip away from me. 

They are all that I have.

Mum. Red hair that smelled of lilies. Green eyes that laughed even when she was yelling at Dad for putting water over the door. Warm hugs that felt like summer picnics and still lakes and lazy days spent with family. 

Dad. Black hair that stuck up like crazy. Hazel eyes that always twinkled in a way that made you double check your drink. Overly enthusiastic hugs that reminded you of bonfire night and kicking through piles of leaves and trick-or-treating.

Padfoot. Black hair that fell in effortless dark curls. Silver eyes that sparkled and snapped like fireworks. Huge bear hugs that swamped you and made you remember the clear cold stars in winter, and hot chocolate, and the chaos of christmas morning. 

Moony. Sandy hair that fell onto his nose. Amber eyes that always had the kind of mournful look you could never deny. Soft hugs that felt like frost melting, the rivers waking up, and the first flowers in spring. 

It's strange that I associate them with seasons now. 

I suppose I have been shoving them into boxes, categorising them so that I can fill in the blanks in my memory. 

Because, as good as my memory is, it isn't perfect, and I am ten now.

Nine years is a long time even for the reincarnated.

Did Mum wear purple or blue on my first birthday? 

Did Dad give the cloak to Dumbledore before or after his birthday?

Did Padfoot wear Doc Martens or combat boots?

Did Moony give me the Ice Mice or the dolls for Christmas? 

I don't remember anymore, and it scares me. 

I touch the soft blanket, still as bright and warm as ever, still enveloping me like one of Mum's hugs. 

I am Hava Iris Potter, and I refuse to be drowned. 

************

Dudley's birthday sucks. 

I am, unfortunately, dragged along because some things never change, and Arabella Figg breaking her leg is one of them. 

Joy. 

A day spent following Dudley as he gawps at caged animal after caged animal. 

Just what I want to spend my day doing. 

I don't mention the motorbike - I'm not stupid, but I'll give canon Harry the benefit of the doubt and assume he was sleep deprived. 

Goodness know I am. 

I've not had enough sleep for my growing body, nor enough food, for years. 

I'm probably dangerously malnourished and a load of other shit. 

But, I do get a lemon ice lolly, which is surprisingly nice - I didn't like lemon flavoured things in my last life. 

One thing I forget however, is that this body is unaccustomed to sugar highs and the subsequent crash.

Which is why, when we reach the reptile house, I do something utterly idiotic. 

I speak to it. 

And release it. 

Just like in canon. 

And Dudley, not only Piers, sees it. 

I am thrown into my cupboard when we get home, after Vernon does his level best to beat the freakishness out of me. 

It takes me a while to move, and then only to wrap my blanket around me.

If what I think is right, I will be here for a while.

*************

The letter comes the day after I am let out of the cupboard. 

I am expecting it. 

Dreading it, excited, nervous. 

The whole lot. 

Green ink, honest-to-goodness parchment, even addressed with my right name. 

Miss H. Potter

The Cupboard Under The Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

SURREY

I turn it over almost reverently, and sure enough, the red seal with the four animals is there. 

Finally. 

My way out of here. 

But I took too long. 

Vernon Dursley snatches it from my hand and tears it to bits before I can blink, his face white and angry.

Fuck. 

I really hope Hagrid turns Vernon into a pig. 

Ignore Dudley, go for the big one. 

I close my eyes and try to ignore the parchment fluttering around me. 

This isn't the end. 

The letters will keep coming. 

Someone will come, eventually. 

Someone. 

Someone will take me away from here. 

Then I will finally be able to return home, to magic, to a world that knows my family. 

I am Hava Iris Potter, and I am finally ready to swim.

Chapter 5: Today I'll Fly The Fuck Away

The day after Dursley snatches my letter and rips it up in front of me, face white with anger and fear, I don't sneak out to try and get the next day's. 

He's waiting for me to do try it, waiting for me to try and get to my letter. 

I'm not gonna fall for it. 

I'm not fucking stupid. 

Also, I'm locked in the cupboard.

Not having had the guts to claim to recognise my name, or to notice that the letter had my cupboard in it means that the Dursleys never gave me Dudley's second bedroom. 

While it is disappointing that I probably won't get my letter until the 31st, I take great satisfaction in knowing that Vernon Dursley slept on the floor all night for nothing. 

He's extraordinarily disgruntled by it as well.

While I find it hilarious, I'm also very careful to avoid being in arms reach today. 

Pain and me are not friends, no matter how clingy it is or what it thinks. 

Two letters come through the door today. Dursley whizzes them up in the blender and I keep a puzzled look on my face. 

After all, I know nothing of this.

I'm not Hava Potter, waiting desperately for an escape from this hell hole, and watching my one escape route being destroyed.

I'm little Iris Evans, grateful for the generosity my relatives have so kindly extended to me, and watching my uncle and aunt act as weird as fuck. 

Like seriously weird. 

By the fourth day, Petunia’s dress is inside out for the better part of the morning, her apron back to front, and she spends most of the day cuddling and fretting over Dudley.

Vernon is at the using fruitcake as a hammer stage, 'nuf said in my opinion. 

I spend most of the time in my cupboard cackling ever so quietly at their ridiculousness. 

Because it is seriously hilarious. 

**************

I have changed things. 

The Dursleys don't want to tip me off that maybe these are actually for me (yeah good luck with that), so they refuse to leave. 

I suppose I can admire their bravery. 

But seriously. 

I'm not an idiot. I know exactly what and who those letters are for. 

On the bright side, I won't get dragged through most of Southern England in an attempt to escape people who can use magic. 

On the not-so-bright side, the time frame is still exactly the same, but it does bring some classic amusement.

My favorite episode is the Monday after that dreadful Sunday, when Vernon shoves a chair up the chimney. 

A close second?

Probably when the receipt for the shopping turns into a letter and Petunia screams, throwing it onto the ground and stomping on it so hard she breaks her stumpy heels.

Yes, while they are much harsher, I am finding my lovely relatives absolutely hilarious right now. 

Still, time crawls like syrup for me.

********

I'm serving them breakfast on the 31st of July (happy birthday to me)when there is a knock on the door (that's more like a birthday).

Not a thud, like Hagrid would have produced. 

A calm, sharp, rap. 

"Get the door." Vernon grunts, attention mostly on the platter of eggs and beans and bacon and toast and tomatoes before him. 

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." I reply quietly, putting the bacon pan back on the stove and walking to open the door. 

I won't deny that I am extremely curious as to who has come in this universe.

That is not a Hagridy knock.

Perhaps Dumbles has come to ensure that I am a perfect angelic martyr, completely ready to be manipulated into essential suicide. 

Lol, sucks to be him. 

I do not want to die again if I can avoid it. 

I pull the door open, and blink up at Professor McGonagall. 

Yes! Minnie is my absolute favourite, she's such an icon. 

Her mouth thins looking at the baggy handmedowns drooping off my painfully small frame, and my gaunt face and butchered hair.

"Hello ma'am. Are you here for my aunt and uncle?" I chirp, pasting a smile onto my face. 

I am not Hava Potter, exulting because finally, finally, I can escape. 

I am Iris Evans, looking curiously at the strange woman. 

But I am still Hava Potter, and it is time to fly. 

She forces a brief smile. "In part, yes. Why don't you take me in to see them?"

I frown, knowing that my brow furrows in the exact same way as Mum. McGonagall's face blanches. "They're eating breakfast, I'm afraid."

"Well, they will be...expecting me, I assure you." 

I shrug. "Sure, its your funeral."

The Transfiguration professor steps inside, looking disgustedly at the cheap, fake, manufactured everything inside this yucky Muggle house. 

Inside the dining room, Petunia shrieks upon seeing her, and Vernon goes purple, standing up abruptly, his mouth open to shout. 

I see McGonagall's eyes flash as she takes in their expensive clothes, their dangerously obese son, their huge elaborate breakfast, and compares it to my torn and stained rags, my dangerously gaunt frame, the lack of a fourth place, and the bruises on my arm. 

She draws herself up, and her wand appears in her hand.

With a sharp stabbing movement, she Silences him.

Eyes spitting fire, she turns on Petunia. "How dare you."

"I...I...I.." Seeing the vicious sharp-tongued woman at a loss for words, practically trembling wih fear is one of the best birthday presents I have ever seen.

McGonagall Silences her irritably, and it takes everything I have not to burst out laughing.

I really hope that her rage isn't because I am the Girl-Who-Lived.

That would suck.

"How dare you treat a child this way! A magical child! Your own sister's child. Do you know what you could have done to her? Do you?"

The spell is released long enough for Petunia to reply proudly and stiffly. "We tried to beat the freakishness out of her, but we failed evidently."

This time, the Silencing spell is so strong that Petunia's head whips back as it hits her.

I keep myself peering around the edge of the door, not wanting to draw attention to myself.

McGonagall is hissing now, like a very angry cat.

"Potter is the daughter of two extremely powerful wizards, and she has inherited that power. Magically, her natural power exeeds that of many in our world. If you had suceeded in making her supress her magic, it would either have killed her or it would have become an Obscurial. Do you know what that is?"

Petunia nods stiffly.

"It is only through some miracle the girl hasn't destroyed the entire town, no thanks to you. I was sent to take her shopping, but you are completely unfit guardians for a magical child. Hava Potter is hereby removed from your custody, and if I have my way it is permanent."

She turns and strides out, cloak billowing behind her.

Mentally, I cheer.

Finally someone gives the Dursleys the beatdown they deserve. 

Too bad McGonagall didn't bitch-slap anyone, but you can't have everything. 

She stops and smiles down at me, kneeling so that our heights aren't so painful different. 

"I'm sory for that unpleasantness. May we start again?"

I nod, and her smile becomes a little less forced. "Hello Miss Potter. I'm Professor McGonagall, a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I've come to take you away from this place."

In keeping with my Iris Evans persona, I frown.

My voice is carefully monotone. "I'm afraid you must gave gotten the wrong person ma'am. I don't know any Potters. My name is Iris Evans, and my parents were good-for-nothing unemployed drug addicts who died in a car crush and dumped me on my respectable relatives, who took me in and raised me out of the kindness of their hearts."

McGonagall's eyes spit fire again, and I instinctually shrink back. She instantly calms, holding her hands out flat before her. "I'm sorry, Miss Potter."

I open my mouth to start my well rehearsed spiel again, but she shakes her head and my jaw snaps shut. "Your name isn't Iris Evans. It's Hava Iris Potter. Your parents were good, honourable people, who died to save you. Whoever told you otherwise lied."

Then she pauses and looks closer at me. "But you already know that. How?"

My fingers twist nervously together. "I...I remember when they died. I remember, Samhain 1981, when the Dark Lord murdered Mama in front of my cot."

McGonagall's face blanches again. "Oh you poor child. You've remembered all this time?"

"I remember you. You were nice."

Gently, she pushes one strand of hair behind my ears. "I'm so sorry Miss Potter. Dumbledore should never have left you in this terrible place, and I should never have let him."

I shrug. "You can't control people."

There is a clatter from behind us, and McGonagall stands up, her wand in her hand again in an instant. "Miss Potter, get your things. We should leave before your Muggle relatives get any more ideas."

Even after knowing that the Dursleys are less than excellent guardians, she is still shocked when I dive for the cupboard and bring out a tiny bundle. "Is...is that everything?"

I check to make sure. Mama's Narnia omnibus, Padfoot and Prongs, and Mama's blanket all wrapped up in my threadbare old sheet. "I don't have much."

"Very well." She stoops and lifts me up which, excuse you much, I can actually fucking walk. "Be warned,  this isn't a pleasant method of travelling."

And we Apparate.

Fucking nightmare. 

I fucking despise and renounce Appararion and everything to do with it. 

It's like being born only more spinny. 

We appear in the back yard of the Leaky Cauldron, and McGonagall sets me down and lets me shakily press my hand against the wall and take deep, shaky breaths. "That fucking sucked."

"Language, Miss Potter." 

I snort softly and straighten. There will be no throwing up on my watch thank you very much. "I'm okay now, sorry."

She looks at me closely just to make sure. "Very well. First of all, we will be going to Gringotts Bank to activate your accounts and get as much as possible in order, as I highly doubt Albus has been taking care of your estates for you."

Estates plural? I thought the Potters only had Potter Manor and the cottage at Godric's Hollow. 

Then McGonagall taps the bricks, and Diagon Alley is revealed.

Everything falls away from my mind as I stare. 

Mum and Dad never took me to Diagon, and even Padfoot never dared to try. It was too dangerous. 

But now I can finally see it, and it is beautiful. 

The alley is bustling with people, all wearing robes and clothes varying from late 19th century to modern to early 13th to everything in between.

The shops all have signs displaying different fantastic functions, wands, potion making, books, and almost everything else under the sun.

And looming over it all, the gold and marble of Gringotts. 

Suffice to say, the movie did the alley dirty. 

McGonagall laughs softly at my amazement. "I see you don't remember Diagon, Miss Potter."

I shake my head. "It was too dangerous...I think?"

"Yes." Her voice flattens. "It was."

We make our way slowly through the frankly ridiculous crowd, and I take advantage of our slow pace to stare wide-eyed at everyone and everything.

Seriously, it's much more cosmopolitan than the books made it out to be. 

There aren't any centaurs or anything, but I see several other species rubbing shoulders quite comfortably with the wizards.

I even spot someone paler than the marble of Gringotts bank, presumably a vampire, chatting animatedly with a snobby-looking wizard. 

Maybe Harry was just that unobservant? 

I look up at the imposing facade of Gringotts and gulp.

*************

Everyone always spends way too much time on Gringotts. 

Like...way, way, way too much. 

So I'm skipping that. 

Breaking clichés and all that :)

Anyway. 

Snobby goblins, awesome roller coaster ride, spotted at least three dragons, pretty sure I spotted Hagrid, oooh shiny gold. 

Then back to drop blood on a piece of paper, oooh scary.

I'm the head of the Potter family, because I've been emancipated since my parents died.

No one said the Wizarding World was logical. And also everyone says it's illogical, sooo...

Anyway, back to what the magical piece of bloody paper said.

Mum was a Squib descendant of Slytherin (ugh tropes but whatever its cool), Dad's a descendant of the Peverells, blah blah. 

I can claim membership in the Slytherin family - technically I'm the heir because I'm the only member other than Riddle but that means fuck all while he's alive (bastard) and Peverell is basically Potter anyway so. 

At least it's not a super OP where I have like ten different houses. 

Ugh I've spent way too much time on Gringotts, moving on. 

So, being now officially filthy rich, I drag the Professor to Madam Malkin's. 

So sue me, I liked clothes in my past life, and also I despise wearing Dudley's grim handmedowns. Yuck. 

The bell tinkles as I step in, and a kind-looking middle-aged woman looks over from where she supervising a younger woman pinning the sleeve of a robe on...Draco fucking Malfoy.

Fuck, I forgot about this.

Oops.

"Hello dear, Hogwarts too?" Her eyes fall on my butchered hair and disgusting clothes and I can see her dying inside. 

I smile, and nod. "And, um, if it's not too much trouble, could I get some clothes for everyday as well please?" 

She smiles as though I've just offered her the world. "Of course! What kind do you want?" Over my shoulder, to Professor McGonagall she says, flapping her hand. "Go on and have some time to yourself Minerva. I've got this little girl well looked after."

Professor McGonagall sighs, shakes her head and moves to stand against the wall. "Madam Potter is under my guardianship for the time being Patricia. I cannot simply leave."

Madam Malkin shrugs and bustles me onto the stool, and I am eternally grateful that she leaves the tangled mess that is me being Madam Potter alone. "Arms up dearie."

I oblige, waiting patiently as she fits the everyday robes first. 

Having apparently not heard McGonagall refer to me as Madam Potter, Draco Malfoy turns his head to look at me curiously anyway. "Hello. Hogwarts as well, I presume?"

"Yep." I reply, popping the p. "Got a House you want to go to?"

A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth.

Goodness, this one is going to be a heartbreaker when he grows up. "Slytherin of course. My whole family has been there for centuries, on both sides. What about you?" 

I whistle, grinning as he winces at the sudden sharp sound. "Impressive. My family's a mixed bag. We've got people from every House, but mostly Gryffindor or Slytherin."

Malfoy frowns. "That...what family are you from?"

"That's a bit rude isn't it? Aren't you supposed to offer your name before demanding another person's? " 

I'm fairly certain I remember my parents talking about that.

Something about it being an old tradition dating back to beliefs in the fay - I don't remember exactly what it was, but something about names and fay and stuff.

I mean, he shrugs so apparently I got it right. "Sorry. I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." 

He extricates his hand to shake mine. "A pleasure, Master Malfoy. I'm Potter, Hava Potter."

Yeah the Wizarding World has the weirdest introduction system ever. Something about the importance of your family over you as an individual or some such bullshit, I don't really remember.

"Madam Potter, the pleasure is all mine." 

Thankfully, he doesn't comment on the fact that I am Madam not Mistress. 

I look at him, tilting my head to the side, and he shifts a little under my unblinking stare. "We're related aren't we?"

He scoffs. "All the Houses are related, and you're Madam Potter so of course we are."

"No, I mean closely. My grandmother was your great-aunt Dorea, wasn't she."

A thoughtful look crosses his face. "So she was." He extends his hand again, ignoring the assistant's irritated huff. "Call me Draco, Cousin." 

I grin and shake it again, noting McGonagall's expression in the background.

Clearly she is having flashbacks to Dad and Padfoot.

If I have anything to say, the combination of Potter-Malfoy will be far more chaotic than that of Potter-Black. "Call me Hava then, Draco."

I think this will be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Notes:

I'm using wizard as a gender neutral term here.
Also, I'm changing the implications of quite what Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry means.
Wizardry is general modern magic like in the films
Witchcraft is more ritualistic, older magic like in folk tales.

Chapter 6: Just My Luck That The Best People Are The Villains

"-can't possibly want to be a Hufflepuf!"

The horror on his precious little face makes me want to roll over and over on the floor laughing. 

I grin lopsidedly and toss my ragged hair. "Nah, Slytherin all the way." 

McGonagall frowns slightly out of the corner of my eye, but I brush it off.

She’s awesome, but I would hate being in her House.

Seriously, they're a load of adrenaline addicts with free reign of the school because the Headmaster is biased as fuck. 

Being a Gryffindor would be easy. 

It would set me on a path I know well, one that ends with Potter-Weasley and nineteen years later. 

It would provide safety and security. A script to follow. 

I snort mentally. 

It would be boring.

Everything laid out, everything planned, everyone open and honest and clueless and naïve. 

I watched my mother die when I was one, I spent ten years being systematically abused both emotionally and physically. 

I'm a huge ball of trauma and stress. 

I would crack in Gryffindor, having to play along for my whole life, to dance to someone else's tune. 

No, Slytherin, where the cunning, ambitious and resourceful head, is for me. 

Deep below the school, in a far more protectible place than the towers, magically at least.

A place where you don't have to bare your heart to be accepted, where you can be yourself. 

Myself is sneaky, broken, cynical and manipulative. 

The Hat will never put me anywhere but Slytherin. 

"-va. Hava?" 

I blink and refocus. "Sorry, Draco. I zoned out."

He snorts, looking me frankly up and down. "I don't blame you. You're an absolute mess. When was the last time you slept or ate properly?"

All I can do is stare.

Draco fucking Malfoy mother henning a Potter is weird as fuck.

Shrugging lightly I smile disarmingly at him. "Does it matter?"

Madam Malkin pats my arm, and I lower it with a sigh of relief.

She helps me slip off the emerald green dress she was fitting me with, and tsks again, probably over my hair. 

Believe me, I hate it too. 

I really hope there are magical hair fixes, because I desperately need one. 

Draco crosses his arms.

Somehow, my revelation of our familial status has totally changed his view of me.

I'm not just friend. I'm family. (Ohana means family, the little shit in my brain whispers)

And family is his, and his is to be protected. 

"Those Muggles obviously haven't been taking care of you." 

I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. 

What happened to me was wrong. 

But...

I am a witch, a powerful witch.

Surely, surely I could have done something about it.

Done anything but take it lying down.

I hang my head a little, more than a bit ashamed of my weakness.

"They weren't the best." I admit quietly. "But they did take me in."

However reluctantly, however much they hurt me, they took me in. 

That has to be acknowledged. 

"Well, they were terrible guardians, especially for a witch." Ah, here comes the pureblood bias. I was wondering when it would kick in again. 

I shrug carelessly, trying to avoid showing how touched I am that he cares.

McGonagall was a surprise, but Draco Malfoy, who canonically threw Harry's dead mother in his face, is a shock. "Professor McGonagall took me away from there, so I don't mind so much. I'll never go back there again."

Just then, the door opens, and a handsome blond couple walks in. 

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. 

Draco's parents. 

The first thing that comes into my head is astonishment at just how similar husband and wife look.

Like, really. 

Really, really similar. 

I blink, and decide to blame it on pureblood inbreeding to save my sanity. 

"Draco, Master Ollivander is ready for us now."

Narcissa Malfoy's voice is softer than I imagined.

It sounds like the iron fist and velvet glove of the old saying. 

My cousin, who is by now long finished with his fittings, hops down from the stool towards his parents. 

I wave at him, expecting him to swan off.

Most likely I'll see him on the train to Hogwarts. 

Then, to my everlasting surprise, he stops, and turns back around. 

Everyone in the shop pauses, and follows his gaze. 

"Hava."

I fight the urge to blush and hide away from the stares directed at me. "Yes?"

Slowly, as though he is having trouble articulating a foreign idea, his lips move.

Sound comes out. 

"Where are you going to stay?"

I look helplessly around. 

"I don't know."

"You could stay with me."

What the fuck? 

...

 

...

 

 

....

 

 

So yeah, that happened. 

 

I have no idea how any of that shit went down because I am 99% certain I was in shutdown the whole time. 

Anyway, here is a list of things I took away from that particular conversation:

- the Malfoys are willing to indulge their son in almost anything

- they also are just as family oriented as him 

- according to them, I am family

- my Muggle ex-guardians are evidently to expect a very angry visit very soon

- Lucius Malfoy was McGonagall's favourite Slytherin student due to his talent at her subject and his respect for the rules 

- Narcissa Malfoy was McGonagall's grudging favourite of the Black sisters because she was just that good at Quidditch

- And once they graduated they kept in contact with McGonagall, so she knows them pretty well

(- no, do not ask me how the death eater thing worked, i wasn't paying attention)

So, to summarise, I am now temporarily in the custody of the Malfoy family. 

It's not like I can complain - I even consented through a series of nods and squeaks. 

Also, Narcissa looks at my hair, wrinkles her nose offendedly, and announces that our next stop after Ollivander's is a hairdresser. 

Thank the Lord for that. 

***********

Ollivander is creepy as fuck.

I feel like this is never emphasized enough. 

He's not just unsettling or odd.

He's uncanny valley on steroids.

Like, his eyes...why the fuck did Harry forget to mention he has no pupils or whites?

His eyes are huge pools of silver, and it scares me just a little because that is just wrong.

How the fuck can he see?

And he looks at me with those horrible creepy eyes, and smiles, and says ahaha and I am outta here please I don't really need a wand. 

And he knows my name, and he just...is scary okay? 

Look, I died and also dealt with the Dursleys for years, I'm hardly a wimp (even though original me was a helluva a wimp), but Ollivander is over the line. 

He's just...wrong. 

Something about him is intrinsically wrong. 

It is a great relief to me when his eyes fall on Draco, and he leaps forwards with a craftsman's fervour to begin his strange measuring routine.

It feels as though a weight has passed from me when his gaze is removed, and I almost wilt with relief. 

The adults throw me worried gazes, but I serenely (hah) ignore them in favour of watching the wand choosing process.

I know what Draco will get of course - hawthorn and unicorn hair, ten inches, reasonably springy. 

He was one of my favorite characters, I know...literally everything canon. 

It takes about a quarter of an hour for Draco to find it, and I don’t even both to hide my smirk as a glowing snake curls around him from the wand top. 

Dramatic much. 

Yes, Draco and I will be very very bad influences on each other, I am quite certain. It's gonna be epic.

Then Ollivander's creepy eyes fall back on me, and I gulp. 

He tilts his head to the side and hums consideringly. "I had a wand meant for you, Madam Potter."

Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, 'supple'. 

A wand made for a hero, which I am not. 

A wand twinned with Tom Riddle's, which advantage I desperately need.

"But I do not think it is meant for you after all."

Fuck.

I need that core.

I need the extra protection. 

"I...I'm sorry sir?"

Ollivander only shakes his head and bustles away, bringing back a wand (I am captain obvious right now evidently). "Hmmm. Yew and dragon heartstring, eleven inches, unyielding. Give it a wave, go on." 

I see his eyes narrow as I take it, and I wonder if wand woods can be twinned as well as cores.

Voldy's wand was yew wasn't it?

Nothing happens. 

I have no idea whether to be glad or not. 

He only hums and brings another wand. 

And another. 

And another. 

And another. 

Sometimes, something explodes.

Sometimes, he snatches it from my hand before I can wave it.

Once, I touched the wand and it exploded - that was fun.

But then, he does the 'i wonder' routine, and brings out...you guessed it, another wand. 

"Here, try this one.''

I look with trepidation at the wand. 

I don't want a special, hero or villain wand. 

I don't want that kind of story line. 

But I did avoid the ten houses, can outvote the rest of the wizengamot, heir of the founders mess.

Perhaps this is my karma.

I look warily down at it. 

It is fairly long, with pretty swirling designs looping their merry way all around and along it, and it's a sort of reddish colour that matches my hair which satisfies my perfectionist tendencies. 

My hand touches it apprehensively, and then, feeling a rush of warmth, I hold it completely. 

Purple, silver and blue abstract swirls erupt from the tip, curling around me and spooling out to fill the shop. 

Purple, silver and blue. 

I bite my lip, feeling the tears prick my eyes. Mama. 

Ollivander nods happily to himself. "I thought so. Redwood and phoenix feather, thirteen inches, quite swishy. An excellent wand, if I do say so myself - redwood favours wizards with a remarkable ability to fall on their feet and snatch victory from catastrophe. I look forward to see what you accomplish with it."

Phoenix feather...

I narrow my eyes. 

Could he have gone through this whole rigamarole just to then swap the cores? 

Surely not.

I mean, it would be great to have the twin cores. 

But I doubt that would hap-

"Curious."

Fuck. 

Fucking hell no. 

I mean yes, but also no. 

I don't wanna face Voldy. 

Go away creepy dude who has way too much fun terrorizing tiny children. 

Let me panic over my impending destiny in peace.

************

The hairdresser takes one look at my hair and forces me into a chair. 

Mistress Malfoy (I mean Aunt Cissa as of walking down Diagon like wow fast), has come in with me and Professor McGonagall, but Draco and Master Mal- Uncle Lucy (he did not tell me to call him Lucy btw), went to look at brooms to pass the time. 

"Do you have any preferences for your hair?"

The witch holding a wand to my head sounds as if she doubts my ability to choose hairstyles that don't look hideous.

I grin. 

"I don't want it dyed, but I want it long, and a long fringe please."

The skeptical look on her face is hilarious, especially once she pictures it and realises that long hair and long grown out fringe that can be clipped out of the way (but still hide my scar) would suit me. 

Shows what you know lady. 

She rubs some foul smelling ointment onto my head, and then begins to brush it. 

Mesmerisingly, every stroke of the brush pulls my hair out a little longer. 

I lean back and watch my sorely butchered hair being brushed out until until it would reach the top of my hips if I stood up. 

The growing shit she put on my head still smells bad, but it apparently makes healthy hair grow, because my hair is now thick and lustrous and a vivid golden auburn colour that is an exact match for Mama's. 

I close one eye and stifle a hiccupy sob as Mama's face looks at me out of the mirror, younger and with higher cheekbones and flatter eyebrows, but still almost exactly like Mama's. 

Strands of hair flutter to the floor as the damaged, malnutritioned, faded hair at the bottom of my now glistening sheet is cut, and the fringe swept to the side of my face. 

The effect is instantaneous- I look hella fine. 

I laugh with delight, and bounce up to hug Aunt Cissa as soon as the last strand falls away. 

I am so fucking happy to finally have decent hair. 

It swishes beautifully around me.

Now all I have to do is pick up my awesome fancy clothes, and I am all set. 

Oh, also a pet. 

Hedwig would be awesome but like, what if I get a snake? 

A snek as done with shit as me (I know I won't find Lysa again). 

This is gonna be awesome! 

Notes:

McGonagall is friends with the Malfoys now.
It was not my idea, it just showed up.

Anyway, it's not like they interact in canon.

And yes, if the general plot follows canon, Hava's living situation will become a bit awkward following her fourth year.

Chapter 7: Snek, Snek, slythery snek

Madam Malkin is my new favourite person. 

Seriously.

I think I'm in love. 

I twirl before the mirror Aunt Cissa conjured and resist the urge to cackle madly. 

Two reasons for that:

A) it looks so fucking awesome

B) Pureblood fashion

C) insert point A here but with more emphasis

I love clothes, okay, always have, always will. 

One of the worst parts about Durzkaban was wearing Dudley’s fucking handmedowns. 

Ten years of wearing the ripped, stained oversized cast offs of a mannerless brat. 

Torture, torture I tell you. 

There was nothing I did in my past life to deserve that, and I can tell you that with absolute certainty seeing as I remember it. 

Fucking Petunia is all I can say. 

But now,  now, Minerva McGonagall, my absolute hero and idol has rescued me from that purgatorial suburbian hellscape and brought me back home. 

And here, I have money. 

Lots of it. 

More than enough to splurge on pretty clothes and jewellry. 

(I really hope the fanfics where they keep jewellry in the vaults were right)

I twirl one last time, just to appreciate the beauty of this. 

Wizarding clothes are so aesthetic, and so beautiful. 

The dress I'm wearing now is made of lots and lots of layers of silver chiffon or crepe or maybe gauze, one on top of the other until the dress is a literal floaty cloud of argent mist.

A creamy belt embroidered with silver spans my waist, cinching in the dress so that the skirts poof out in a marvellously satisfying way. 

And the dress is maxi-length, so it is wonderful. 

Little cream and silver sandals poke out from the bottom, and I grin every time I see the light glinting off the silvery snakes embroidered on them. 

Even better, I have a headband (also cream and silver), pushing back my hair from my face, and it's so pretty against the rich auburn colour. 

But best of all are the dress's sleeves. 

Full on medieval sleeves, that are fitting up until just above my arm and then billow out dramatically so that the final length is almost down to mid-calf. 

I love them so much! 

So flappy and aesthetic and dramatic! 

Perhaps the outfit is a little OTT for an eleven year old but like, wizards. 

Need I say more?

Aunt Cissa and Professor McGonagall and Uncle Lucy (I mean I'm supposed to call him Lucius but no), are all stifling smiles at my excitement, but Draco is bouncing around with me.

It's surprisingly nice to have someone else to celebrate little things like this with. 

**********

Okay, emotions, check, done with. 

I am here to fuck shit up. 

Main purpose in life. 

We walk into Magical Menagerie, and I make a beeline for the snakes at the back as soon as the adults backs are turned. 

I have no idea whether or not they will be approving of me looking at snakes, and also I'd really prefer to keep Parseltongue as my ace in the hole. 

Who knows how they'll react. 

Also, I don't like birds, okay? 

They're such a pain to look after. 

Plus, cats shed everywhere and get psycho and also have heat etc etc 

And amphibians are just (retch) disgusting.

Eww hell no. 

But snakes. 

Heck yeah. 

I crouch down in front of the fucking enormous tank, and my silver skirts flare out around me so satisfyingly that I get distracted. 

Don't judge me, the skirt is pooled around me in a perfect circle, it is so beautiful and also satisfying to my perfectionist tendencies. 

Oh, that has got to be magic.

There is no way that just happened.

It has to be one of Madam Malkin's spells. 

I need to learn that spell.

Fucking awesome. 

stupid human

I jump, having been distracted from the snakes by my beautiful shiny skirt.

what is it doing back here

i don't know

ask it

it's a human you fucking imbecile 

Oooh I really like that one.

The gorgeous green snake slaps the adder upside the head with her tail.

She continues acerbically. they cannot understand us. or were you asleep when your nestmother explained that too?

I muffle a giggle, and then eight sets of beady serpent eyes are focused on me. 

It's more than a bit unnerving. 

The green snake slithers forward, and I wave awkwardly. 

hi. 

I kid you not, the snakes all jump a whole fucking foot backwards, it absolutely hilarious. 

you speak !!!!!!

The shock on their poor serpentine faces is beautiful. 

oh great and merciful speaker, it's the sarcastic green snake, we are not worthy! forgive us our careless words, we did not know you spoke.

This seems to me like the perfect opportunity for a quote. the ability to speak does not make one intelligent.

The snakes all hiss in confusion, and it's hilarious.

If this is how they react to me, I can't wait to see everyone else when I really start messing around. 

anyway, look, I can be a nice person and move on from awkward situations, would one of you want to come to hogwarts with me? 

I had no idea that snakes had eyelids but okay. 

I cross my fingers behind my back and squinch my eyes shut, because I really want sarcastic green snake. 

i am the eldest. i will journey with the speaker to the great speaker's castle. 

Heck yeah! It's sarcastic green snake! 

"Brilliant!"

Oops, that was English. 

"Hava? What is going on over there?"

Aunt Cissa hurries over, looking at me oddly. I beam up at her innocently. "May I get the big green snake? She wants to come with me."

"She...wants...how do you know?"

Oh. 

McGonagall. 

I really really hope this goes okay. 

Wide eyed and innocent, I shrug. "She told me."

And bam. 

Jaws dropped. 

Epic! 

Oh this is so much fun! I have got to do this more often. 

"Please? She's really nice and friendly," one of the biggest lies I've ever told, "and she wants to come with me." 

Big pleading eyes. 

Eventually, McGonagall shrugs. "It is your money, and you can do what you wish with it." Her brogue is thick, and from the pallor of her face, I think she needs to sit down. 

Oops. 

Eh, she's tough, she'll be fine. 

"Awesome!"

I quickly lift her out of the tank and hurry over to the counter. 

"How much for her please?"

The poor attendant blanches at the sight of the little girl holding a metre long green snake. "Uh...uh, what breed?"

I hum contemplatively. "I'm not sure, but she's big, green and poisonous."

"Th...that's a Boomslang, miss."

"Great! How much for her?"

I think my cheerful attitude is throwing him off a bit. "El...eleven Galleons."

"Okay, thanks, bye."

Eleven Galleons hit the counter, and I run over to Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy with my new friend settling around my shoulders with a scarf. 

"Has Draco got his pet yet?"

They stare at the vivid green, metre-long venomous serpent curling around me, and I cackle inside (well, mostly).

Oh sweethearts, you ain't seen nothing yet. 

Aunt Cissa manages to shake her head. "I believe he has been distracted by your own, Hava."

I squint down at sarcastic green snake and hum thoughtfully. "I s'pose. Do you think he'll get a cool pet? I don't want her to feel lonely."

Draco takes that exact moment to hurry up to us with a gorgeous eagle owl. 

Perfect timing. 

He will make a wonderful partner in crime.  

Ah sweet innocent Draco, you have only begun to discover your power.

Join me and I will complete your training.

He stares at me and I clap my hand over my mouth. 

"Did I say that out loud?"

Now his staring is taking on a slightly worried look. "Say what out loud?"

"Never mind." I am not telling them that.

Star Wars is probably not a wizard thing.

Then something occurs to me. "So why were you staring?"

Oh fuck me what did I say now?

He's looking at me like I'm a fucking lunatic. 

"You have a huge green snake around your shoulders."

Oh yeah!

He probably isn't used to that.

I grin. "She’s a friend."

The owl takes that moment to flap it's wings, and sarcastic green snake rears up. 

food! let me hunt, speaker!

I grab her head and pull her so she’s eye to eye with me.

Several people gasp, and I'm fairly certain Uncle Lucy was one. 

the owl is my cousin's pet. you don't eat him.

but i am so hungry, speaker.

i have food. 

I laugh suddenly. 

I have food.

I have money.

I have a family. 

Things are looking up! 

First things first. 

Puppy eyes: activated.

I trot over to Aunt Cissa, brandishing my mismatched, pleading eyes at her. 

"She’s hungry, Auntie."

Everyone visibly melts. 

Score one for me! 

And score food for sarcastic green snake!

I really need to find her a better name.

***********

Draco calls his owl Hermes.

I mean it's funny that Athena's animal is now called after the messenger god, but also. 

What a boring name. 

Everything in the wizarding world seems based around Greece and Rome. 

Like, everything.

Please Draco, my favourite cousin, I am begging you, change your mind.

Choose a name...not Greek or Roman.

I, on the other hand, choose, with her help, a wonderful name for sarcastic green snake. 

I call her Yaddle. 

Not for real, lmao. 

I was highly tempted to go with Nagini for the lols, but decided I didn't want Dumbles too much on my case.

Sorting Slytherin was reasonable enough (see: abusive home), that he would probably be pissed but not jump to Tommy boy's Horcrux immediately.

Except maybe like, subconscious.

But not actively influencing me.

Living with the Malfoys, not my fault.

Minnie might get in trouble though to be fair.

Showing up with a snake, well, Mum was descended from Slytherin, it's hardly unexpected that I speak Parseltongue.

He would be mad that I had discovered it, and probably think that the Horcrux made the gift stronger (actually, probably valid), but wouldn't think it active. 

Showing up with a snake named Nagini however...

I mean, he might get a heart attack?

That can't be anything but good, right?

Still.

If he doesn't die from shock, he'll assume the Horcrux is actively influencing and/or speaking to me, and very unpleasant stuff will go down. 

So no. 

No calling sarcastic green snake Nagini sadly.

I also suggested Findis, Barriss, Indis, Depa, Amidala, Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Yarravah,  Lessa, Tris, Maleficent, Jasmine and some other awesomely awesome names, but sarcastic green snake is very picky. 

Eventually, we settled on Luminara. 

A nice, pretty name, that no one other than me will understand the reference for until 2002 at the very least. 

McGonagall only blinks at the name, which is disappointing. 

I specifically waited to announce the name until she was taking a drink. 

Come on, all that waiting, and you still don't react?

I wonder dismally if she has already become immune to my chaos. 

On the other hand, Uncle Lucy chokes on his overly expensive salad and looks at me. "What kind of name is Luminara?"

"I made it up!" 

Okay, not true. 

Big lie. 

Very big lie.

Sorry George Lucas. 

But like, in my defense, the truth is hardly an option. 

"I think it's a lovely name Hava." 

See. Someone appreciates me. 

Aunt Cissa is the best. 

"Well then, I'll change Hermes' name to Thanatos."

For a second, I'm confused. 

Then I burst out laughing. 

Luminara and Thanatos.

Light (or life depending on how you look at it) and death (or darkness, I suppose). 

Draco needs little teaching. 

speaker, give me more of that yellow egg root. 

Yeah, this Luminara is...way, way more pushy than the OG. 

Or is snake Luminara the OG in this parallel universe? 

I spear a potato and give it to her.

here you go. now shhhh, i'm trying to talk to my cousin. 

Luminara coils back around herself on my lap grumpily. it's not my fault i'm still growing.

you what now????? you said you were the oldest!

Luminara sways her head from side to side in what I have found to be the snake equivalent of a shrug. 

i am. snakes aren't popular pets. but we get sold as potion ingredients a lot - it's all most use us for. 

Okay that is fucked up. 

So fucked up. 

I think back to the tank the snakes were in. 

A jailbreak can't be that hard can it?

"Hava, please eat your lunch before you do whatever you seem to be planning."

Jeez Aunt Cissa, way to kill my mood. 

I swear, she's already got me analysed and it's been like three hours.

Draco leans across to whisper in my ear as I slump down grumpily. "We can do it after lunch."

I grin widely and begin to eat again.

What can I say, mischief gives me an appetite. 

Notes:

...I have no excuses except that Hava is Hava, and having had the experiences of her past life has helped her bounce back a lot quicker than if the Dursleys had been all she had ever known.

Also I want chaos to happen.

 

Note for those people who have no idea who Yaddle and Luminara are:
Yaddle - female Yoda. Important information is that she is female and green and awesome and Hava is a troll.
Luminara Unduli - minor character in star wars, has a more fleshed out role in the clone wars. I love her, she is beautiful and the best. Important information is that she is female and green and badass and Hava adores her as much as I do.

Chapter 8: Chaos: Unlocked

Unfortunately, Draco and I do not get to jailbreak my besties. 

It is an executive decision on the part of every adult there, and I highkey resent it. 

They're all boring as fuck, and it's not my fault if they can't see the bigger picture here. 

We would raid the evil petstore anyway, but Aunt Cissa included a caveat of 'you will not try in any way shape or form to steal the snakes'. 

Well, fuck you too Aunt Cissa. 

McGonagall takes that moment to return to Hogwarts, and I have a tiny itty bitty panic attack. 

Not much. 

It's fine. 

All is lost in the sea of chaos and mental instability that is me. 

Come to think of it, that is...probably not healthy. 

Like, at all. 

Meh. 

"Hava." I blink and look up at Aunt Cissa. "Would you want to come home now?"

Home. 

Not my home, well not yet anyway. 

Their home. 

A home they have opened to me, and are welcoming me to. 

I nod. 

It's not like I'm under any illusions that a distant blood tie is enough for them to do so for me. 

These are the Malfoys, the most deeply opportunistic characters in the series.

It's a combination of wanting to make Dumbledore look bad, indulging Draco, family loyalty and publicity. 

Draco, at least, is uncomplicated in wanting me there - he's lonely, and he values his family above all else, and I think he genuinely likes me. 

Aunt Cissa definitely likes me, and while I'm sure her calculating mind is whirring away about how to benefit from this stroke of luck, I think she also sincerely wants me there. 

Uncle Lucy, I'm not sure about. He 100% is going to milk this for all its worth - he's a consummate politician, but I also think this is partially because Draco likes me. 

Unfortunately, to get to Malfoy Manor, we have to Apparate. 

Again. 

I fucking hate that shit.

We land on a slippy marble floor, and it's only Aunt Cissa's grip on me that stops me faceplanting. 

Fucking Apparition.

Fuck whoever invented it. 

Dishonour on them, dishonour on their cow.

"Hava, are you alright?"

I grin up at her. 

"I'm great!"

There's a popping sound, and I am very ashamed to admit that I jump and cling to Aunt Cissa's hand. 

I don't shriek. 

I don't. 

Okay, so I'm 99% certain that's Dobby.

He's kinda...ugly cute. 

Except his eyes. 

Those huge peepers are fucking terrifying. 

"Dobby's masters have returned! What does the Masters Malfoys wish of Dobby?"

Dobby reminds me of something...

Not sure what...

A few bars of a song float through my head, and I hum it quietly. Maybe that will jog my memory.

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho. It's home from work we-

The seven dwarves. 

Dobby looks like a bald version of the seven dwarves! 

Holy fucking shit. 

I wonder if the Potter elf looks like that. 

What her name again???? Ummmmmm

Mipsy? Dipsy? Ditzy? 

Bitsy! 

I tug Aunt Cissa's hand. "What happened to Bitsy?"

"Who?" Her voice is amused.

"Mum and Dad's...friend like Dobby?"

Yes, the use of friend was intentional. 

I vaguely wave my hands around to create the impression of house elves.

"Ah, the Potter elf?"

"Yep."

She smiles down at me, and thankfully isn't patronising about it. "Just call her name, and she will come. It's part of their magic."

I chirp my thanks, and then Draco grabs my hand and pulls me off. 

"Come on Hava! I want to show you my room. Mother, Father, shall we meet you at supper?"

They smile and hum what I assume is an acknowledgement/assent considering his speed increases.

As he leads me through the corridors and halls, I stare round-eyed at everything. 

Malfoy Manor is much more aesthetic than the movies made out. 

Though, I suppose it could have been attributed to Moldy Voldy and his minions trashing the place.

Draco pushes open a door, and I blink. 

The room is huge, and carpeted in a deep, bright green. 

Huge windows line one wall, with a window seat running along beneath them, a bookcase tucked under it. 

The curtains have to be velvet. There is no way those aren't velvet. 

He has a four-fucking poster bed, I kid you not, an actual four-poster.

There are books and stuffed dragons and Quidditch things and also a surprising amount of wool scattered all over the thick carpet. 

It's a truly magnificent room.

We flop down on the insanely soft bed, and he picks up a skein of wool and a crochet hook. 

At my quizzical look, he explains with a bit of a blush. "I had concentration problems when I was little, so Mum taught me to crochet so I would have something to do with my hands. It's really relaxing, and cathartic."

I nod, having knitted for a good portion of my last life. 

There's a book lying on his bed, and I look at it curiously. 

A copy of Beedle the Bard, which is vaguely familiar at least. 

It was open at Babbitty Rabbitty, and memories of Mum and Padfoot arguing about it flood my mind. 

Biting my lip, I almost place it back down under the onslaught of sounds and images time locked away. 

I forgot how beautiful Mum was when she was animated and incensed. 

I forgot Padfoot's lazy grin and mischievous winks at me.

How could I forget?

For a second, I just lie there, hiding my wet eyes and trembling lip from my cousin's eyes with the book.

Then another thought occurs to me. 

"Draco."

He hums, the hook pulling more wool into the ever more intricate shape. 

"You need a nickname."

Unfortunately, he doesn't react. Damn.

"Draco is a nickname of Draconius, Hava."

Spoilsport. 

"It's not nicknamey enough."

Now, I need an original nickname for him.

Drake was pretty common. 

So was Dray. 

Actually, I saw pretty much every variation of Dra-something in my tenure as a fanfic reader. 

It has to be original...

"What about Co-Co?"

The hook misses it's target completely as he turns to look at me with an absolutely horrified look.

"Absolutely not. No way."

I laugh at him. "Too late! Luminara agrees with me, don't you precious."

The Boomslang hisses contemplatively. yes. it is suitably inane for the peacock-child

Oh that is priceless. 

Yes, Co-Co is 10000000% staying. 

"Well then, I suppose I will have to find an equal travesty of a name to inflict on you."

Damn. 

He smirks, and I hide behind the book again. 

"What about...Vivi."

I feel very justified in sitting up and grabbing his pillow to whack him with. 

"Fuck you!"

Co-Co just laughs and snatches another to retaliate with. 

I think you can imagine how this ends - with his beautiful four-post a mess, and several burst pillows. 

Poor Dobby.

My beautiful dress tore a sleeve (tragedy), but I managed to wish it fixed so it was fine.

Magic!

***********

My next act of chaos takes place at supper. 

It was planned by both my and my new bestie with great care and precision.

Uncle Lucy is sitting at the head of the tabls, Aunt Cissa on his right, Co-Co on his left, and me beside Co-Co. 

We're eating dessert because I refuse to possibly ruin a meal by being sent away for...something.

I turn to Co-Co with a grin. 

"Could you pass me a knife please Co-Co."

He smirks back at me.

"Here you go Vivi."

Just as we hoped, his parents both choke and do a spit-take. 

Choke on Co-Co, spit-take on Vivi. 

Brilliant. 

Once Uncle Lucy stops coughing, he and Aunt Cissa just stare at us. 

We can't help bursting out laughing, and they both groan, putting their heads in their hands.

"It's Sirius and Potter all over again."

Uncle Lucy looks even more horrified at Aunt Cissa's despairing remark. 

Co-Co and I high-five. 

Chaos Incident #1

Executed: Yes

Successful: Absolutely 

After supper, Aunt Cissa takes me to the room she wants my input to decorate for me.

I will be staying with them for a while, after all, as a complicated combination of blood relationship, my consent, the Dursleys abuse, Dumbledore’s neglect, my status as a member of the nobility, traditions, customs, laws and magic give them the right to take custody of me uncontested save by me for one month for every year I spent in an abusive situation - ten months. 

The room is a few doors down from Co-Co's, and almost as big. 

In the big, pine wardrobe, the clothes bought from Madam Malkin's are already pressed and hanging up, a veritable rainbow of colour and fabric.

It makes me very happy.

The walls are silver, and very pretty.

The carpet is green.

Solid silver and green covers the room, and it's nice, but it's not me. 

"Well, what do you want to change?"

I grin and bounce on my toes, and Aunt Cissa laughs. 

She is a truly brilliant decorator - I end up just telling her that I vaguely remember swirls of purple, blue and silver on a white wall, and a cot carved with lilies, dogs, wolves and deer with horns on their heads. 

After that, most of it is her, with me saying yes or no to the final result. 

I think she really likes doing this.

The walls end up magically wiped white, and the familiar swirls of blue and purple and silver curl over every inch of them.

The ceiling is charmed deep purple instead of white, and instead of black beams, the night sky in silver and blue stars shines on it. Surprisingly enough, I do like it.

Of course, she is happy to charm the curtains and the thick carpet purple, and my feet sink into a thick purple carpet for the first time since my parents death. I tear up a little. 

Even the wooden furniture recieves flourishes of swirling silver, purple and blue, which was her idea actually. 

But best of all is the bed.

It's another four poster, and the curtains and bedsheets are made purple with blue and silver swirls embroidered on them. 

But the crowning glory is the posts and canopy. 

She enchanted engraved wolves, dogs, stags and lilies onto the wood, and filled them with silver. 

Now my parents and their friends will shimmer above me when I sleep. 

The room is beautiful, and I wipe away a couple of tears when I see it completed. 

It isn't much like my old room beyond the swirls and colour scheme. 

But then, I'm not the Hava Potter who lived there anymore.

**********

With morning, comes a decision. 

I wake before anyone else, and I lie there staring at the silver dogs on the bed. 

Padfoot has spent ten years in Azkaban. 

For something he didn't do, for something he would never have done (except the killing Pettigrew part).

I have to get him out.

I have to rescue him.

But how?

How do you persuade your ex-Death Eater distant cousins/aunt and uncle that they should appeal for your ex-Order of the Phoenix godfather (who was disowned by your distant cousin/aunt's family) to be released from Azkaban where he was placed for the murder of your parents?

How do you admit to knowing about him without giving away that you actually have several extra decades of life in your memory?

After about twenty minutes of fruitless pondering, I give up and grab a book from the bookshelf Aunt Cissa stocked for me. 

It's an adventure book, about the son of Merlin who gets accused of being behind Arthur's sudden disappearance and presumed death. 

While probably not accurate at all, it's engaging, and I follow the twists and turns eagerly. 

At one point, he meets Morgana, who captures him and demands why he would kill his king, furious about her brother’s disappearance.

To prove his innocence to her, he persuades her to use Legilimency on him, and shows her his memory of what actually happened. 

I close the book and almost scream.

That's it!

I remember Siri coming into the cottage after Mum and Dad died. 

If I can show them the memory, then I could get Siri a trial at least. 

Surely?

And, well, if not I guess I'll just have to kick up enough of a fuss about it that they or someone else will anyway out of sheer exasperation. 

Did you know, I can be very very annoying?

Humming happily to myself now that I have a plan, I pull on a purple dress with blue irises embroidered round the hem. 

What can I say, I feel nostalgic today. 

Chapter 9: Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease

"Please?" 

I tilt my head to one side, open my eyes really wide, and make them just a little teary. 

"I promise, I'm not remembering wrong, I swear he wasn't the Secret Keeper, he wasn't."

Co-Co is struggling between laughter at my beautiful performance and horror at what my pleading is for. 

Thankfully for the success of my scheme, he is behind Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy. 

Uncle Lucy is just staring at me.

I'm fairly sure I broke him.

He hasn't moved since I, upon 'learning' where my dogfather Siri was, proceeded to deny vehemently that he was the reason Mum and Dad were dead, and beg for them to save him. 

In a lovely melodramatic way, if I do say so myself. Totally worthy of a movie. 

Aunt Cissa has a sparkle in her eyes, and I think I know where Co-Co got his mischief from.

Maybe the headcanon that she and Siri were close wasn't entirely wrong. 

"Well, Hava, why don't you show us your last memory of him?"

Yes! 

Yes yes yes yes yes!

Hold onto your hat Padfoot, we are getting you outta there. 

Quickly, I paste a confused expression on my face. 

"How?"

They exchange tired looks and bring me to a darkened room. 

Co-Co wants to come, but apparently this isn't something a boy his age should see, so he's sent out into the garden with his broom, sulking but with Aunt Cissa adamant that he is too young for such a thing.

I think she might be implying that I shouldn't either except it's my memory and my godfather.

Well, suck it up auntie, it's in my head and has been for years.

The room is fucking enormous by the way.

An elegant stone, well, thing that looks like an unnecessarily fancy birdbath stands in the middle of it, and the walls are lined with cabinets containing vials of glowing liquids. 

Upon looking closer, I see that each one is labelled, beginning on the left near the door with things like 'Presentation Of Draconis Lucius Malfoy - 5/6/1980', 'The Dark Lord Is Dead - 31/10/1981' and continuing on round the room.

I sneak a peek to my right, and yep, there several feet along on the right are memories so old they aren't even labelled in English. 'Tarquinus Malfoy gemoten Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff ond Godric Gryffindor - VIII/VII/CMXC Anno Domini'

If that's still several feet from the door, then...

I crane my neck, and right next to the door are memories labelled with what look like real fucking runes 

Holy shit.

Aunt Cissa clears her throat, and I spin back around.

The blush that rises to my cheeks is thankfully hidden by the darkness. 

"Do you not remember being shown the Potter Hall of Memories?" 

I shake my head. "As far as I can remember, I never left the cottage." 

And that means that no, I wasn't shown. 

Maybe Mum and Dad never thought it safe enough? 

Still, the idea of every Pureblood family having a huge room where all of their family history is stored is super epic.

Uncle Lucy sighs and motions us into the middle of the room. "Now Hava, wizards have the ability to store memories through magic, so that the memories can be preserved and watched by your descendants even millennia in the future."

It is very very hard not interject a sarcastic comment at this point, so I mutter 'no shit, Sherlock' under my breath and then paste an innocent attentive expression onto my face as he asks me to focus so that the memory can be extracted.

He does assure me that the memory will still remain with me, that the magic only makes a copy of it. 

Good.

I do not want to lose my last moments with Padfoot. 

Fuck, having his wand right next to my face is not fun, I know that canonically, he is a highly skilled duelist, and having his primary weapon so close to my face is making me kinda freak out. 

Oh gosh, that last sentence. 

I want to erase it from existence, why would  I do that to myself.

His wand pulls away from me and a strand of white follows it, clinging to the tip. 

Shit I did it again. 

Fucking kill me. 

I don't need these kinda thoughts in my head, especially not in relation to a guy who is my uncle and legal guardian. 

Someone, please, I need brain bleach.

The memory eventually snaps off, and he dips the tip of his wand into the Pensieve.

Almost instantly, the memory swirls and enlarges in the water.

Padfoot's tear-stained desperate face stares up at me, and it's like a knife right in my heart. 

I miss him so much. 

"Hava, do you want to watch the memory?"

Fuck yeah. 

I wanna see Padfoot again, and if this is the closest I can get until he's free then I'll take it. 

Aunt Cissa's lips thin. 

"Hava, are you sure? It is a very traumatic memory for you, and I'm not entirely sure you can handle it yet. Why don't you wait a little, before you see it?"

No. 

I have to see Padfoot again.

Before she can do anything, I dunk my head into the Pensieve, and-

- and I land in my ruined nursery, flakes of ash and soot and plaster swirling around me.

The white walls with their colourful swirls are stained with smoke, and the roof has been all but blown off.

What is left is riddled with cracks and holes, and black beams stick starkly out of the plaster, more of the wood having survived the blast.

My lovely soft purple carpet is covered with what has to be Voldy flakes, and I am so glad that I didn't notice them then, and am incorporeal now.

A sound behind me makes me wheel about, and my eyes land on baby Hava. 

Her mismatched eyes are almost glowing, one a hazel-goldish colour, one a bright, vivid green. 

Little ringlets of auburn hair bounce just above her shoulders, and I blink.

I forgot my hair used to curl in this life too. 

The little cardigan she's wearing, with the blue iris embroidered on it, makes me smile. 

Mum made that. 

It is still soft and warm and lovely, and it still smells like her. 

Two soft sounds of horror alert me to the fact that Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy have also landed in the memory. 

"No one ever said anything about this. " 

Aunt Cissa's voice distorts oddly in the memory I notice.

I turn to follow their gazes, and a sort of strange, sick calm falls over me.

On the floor lies a thing. 

Somehow, I had forgotten it was there.

It's a beautiful thing, with long hair the same auburn shade as mine, and vivid, glassy emerald eyes. 

A soft smile curves it's lips, and it lies awkwardly, like a puppet with it's strings cut. 

One hand lies stretched out towards the cot, like a prayer or a blessing. 

The other is clutched tight to the thing's chest, crimson blood still leaking from a long gash in its wrist. 

Quite calmly, I note that the thing's jumper is soaked with the blood.

Baby Hava chooses that moment to start crying behind me, and the sound snaps something.

I stare fixedly at my mother's corpse, at the beautiful, still face. 

My breath begins to come quicker and quicker as I stand there, frozen. 

Yes, I had forgotten about this.

"Hava, do you want to leave the memory? Come on, we can watch it again later." 

I shake off Aunt Cissa's hand, and gasp soundlessly. 

"Mama." 

Even though it makes no sense, I fling myself down by my dead mother and shake her, some long-buried instinct in me screaming that if I can just make her move, everything will be alright. 

That flash of green hadn't really hurt her, I think wildly, what happened was that no one helped her. 

My hand goes right through her.

Baby Hava's sobs are hoarse.

How did I forget this?

How did those horrific hours sitting beside my mother's cadaver not have warned me against plunging into the memory?

Was I really so desperate to see my godfather that I forgot my mother?

I reel dizzily backwards, batting aside Aunt Cissa's hand and running for the door of my nursery. 

Uncle Lucy is just a hair too late to grab me, and I clatter down the stairs.

I need to get outside, I need to get away. 

If I get far enough away then surely, surely everything will be fixed. 

My foot goes through my father's face, and I scream, falling over and scrabbling backwards.

How is that in the memory? How?

I never saw Dad dead, I only ever saw him alive and smiling, how is his dead body in my memory?

Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy catch up with me at that moment, and the memory fades away-

I fall on my ass as I scramble away from the Pensieve, my breath coming in gasps and sobs, because I saw my father dead, how did I see him dead? 

Why is my dead father in a memory of mine????

Something touches me, and I make a sort of strangled, choked-off sound, trying to scrabble further backwards, but I am against the wall. 

There is nowhere to run, I'm stuck here, I'm stuck here, with my father's body and my mother's body and why are they here, why are they here????

I spiral into a horrible cycle of panicky, nonsensical thoughts, sobbing and crying, unable to breathe or think or speak.

"Hava, Hava, Hava!" 

My name pierces through the haze, and it clears a little. 

A woman with grey eyes and pale blond hair is kneeling in front of me. 

She smiles at the dawning clarity in my eyes, and extends her arms. 

"Come here sweetheart."

I am a grown ass woman, I can take care of myself thank you very much, Aunt Cissa. 

But my body is that of a child, and (without my input or consent may I add) it crawls into her lap, clinging to her and sobbing desperately. 

"Oh Hava, I am so, so sorry." 

Why? Why is she sorry? I jumped into the fucking Pensieve. 

Uncle Lucy kneels down beside us, and awkwardly places a hand on my shoulder.

"You should never have had to see that, not here. We were supposed to keep you safe, and we haven't done that."

The novelty of having adults around me who genuinely care and like me is painful. 

What has happened to me?

Why are decent guardians suddenly such a shock to me?

I burst into tears again, but this time they are happy.

Mum and Dad are dead, but Moony is alive, and Padfoot is going to be freed, and I finally have people who care for me. 

Things are looking up.

***********

I don't tell Co-Co what happened in the Hall of Memories, and neither do Aunt Cissa or Uncle Lucy. 

Instead, they take me out onto the porch and call Co-Co over, and we all have morning tea there, sitting on cushions and watching the peacocks strut around the place.

Don't tell Uncle Lucy, but the best part of it was watching Lucius Malfoy sitting cross-legged on a bright pink cushion and drinking tea out of a mug like a common Muggle.

It honestly did so much for my mental health, it was really great. 

Co-Co thinks the same. 

We don't mention my breakdown, or what caused it, or even getting Padfoot out of hell, but about little things, and it's nice. 

It's like I have a real family once again. 

Luminara shows up halfway through, hissing irritably about pesky colourless flapping fiends that don't respect the power and majesty of serpent kind and deserve to be devoured by the venom of the king.

Which I take to mean that she had an unpleasant run-in with the peacocks and wants to set a Basilisk on them. 

I think it's entirely fair honestly. 

Notes:

Note:
If anyone finds an error with the Old English, please tell me and also tell me how to fix it. I only know Old English from the Beowulf we own which come to think of it, if the Malfoys were French would they even use Old English? Or would they use Old French? That's a thing right? When did they come to England anyway? Would they ever have used runes? Fuck, I should have put cuneiform in. Eh it's fine, she'd think them the same thing right? Speaking of which, are the Founders name in old or modern english? Should I have translated those too? Should I have translated Malfoy? Oh shit would they have used Roman numerals then? Wait did the Anglo-Saxons even use Roman numerals? They couldn't have used modern number could they? I thought our number system came from Arabic....fuuuuck I fucked up so bad.
Okay I am slightly spiralling, I'll end this here, byyeeee

EDIT:
I fixed the numbers and now we have Roman numerals for the 990 date.

Chapter 10: Oops I Fucked Up Again (But Also Not Really)

Obviously, Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy do go back and watch the whole memory before they even consider presenting it to the DMLE.

I don't. 

If all goes well, I'll see Padfoot again soon but even if it doesn't, I have other memories of him, better ones, less tainted with grief and horror. 

While it is my last memory of him, it is also the worst (even worse than the time he staggered into the house bleeding and half-dead when I was nine months old), and one panic attack triggered by seeing my dead parents is enough for me, thank you very much.

It is kind of obvious when they have watched it, because Aunt Cissa pulls me into a tight hug, and Uncle Lucy shuts himself into his office. 

Quite possibly, they want to put me into therapy, but I'm quite good thanks, and will be at Hogwarts next month anyway.

So it would be pointless. 

In all likelihood, they know this, which is why neither have said anything about it.

Either way, I'm not complaining.

I really don't want to have to explain my too-clear memories to an absolute stranger, let alone the knowledge I should most certainly not possess.

Looking at you, Horcruxes.

So I take the month before Hogwarts simply to live, to learn, grow, and laugh as I have had little chance to in this dark life. 

Also to mould Co-Co into a whirlwind of absolute chaos.

It must be said however, that he was already a gremlin before I burst into his life like the ray of battered sunshine I am. 

I merely polish and refine his natural inclination until it is a diamond of anarchy. 

Uncle Lucy quite possibly regrets agreeing to take custody of me on several occasions. 

Definitely the time we swap all his expensive magical liquor, each bottle probably older than Dumbledore, for sour grape juice.

The look on his face when he drank it was priceless and validated my entire existence. 

Aunt Cissa pretends to have no idea what is going on, but Co-Co had to get it from somewhere, and Uncle Lucy is dramatic but not chaotic, and Aunt Cissa has shown her chaotic side several times.

I am totally convinced that Aunt Cissa distracted him on several occasions, because we should have been caught so many times but never have been yet. 

Also, Narcissa was one of my favourite characters, and Aunt Cissa is in no way undeserving of moving down the ranking. 

*********

I look out the window, just in time to see a peacock walking along one of the hedges, it's absurd tail feathers getting caught by sticking up twigs every few steps.

Too bad, so sad, maybe it shouldn't walk on the hedge if it has a tail that long.

"Vivi, are you ready?"

I turn with a start. "Huh?"

Yes, very eloquent, I know. In my defense, I haven't been sleeping well recently, okay. 

Co-Co rolls his eyes. "Come on, they will be here soon."

For a moment, I just look at him uncomprehendingly, before it dawns on me.

His friends are coming today, all the little future mini-Death Eaters, the children of the current generation of Death-Eaters. 

Sometimes I forget just who it is who has taken me in.

"Oh, right, yeah." 

He looks at me with those huge slate grey puppy eyes.

Damn, why does he have to be so fucking adorable. "Are you alright?"

As far as he is concerned, I am so alright I am positively made of air.

Co-Co is little and cute and adorable and innocent, and he will stay that way for as long as I can make it so. 

Just because my (second) childhood was spent healing my own belt wounds and waking crying from memories of my mother's death, doesn't mean he should know about it.

He's my cousin, not my guardian.

I grin and push past him hurriedly. "Race you downstairs, last one down is a Bundimum."

Needless to say, I win. 

Just because he didn't think to slide down the banisters, honestly, the lack of basic adventure in that chaotic gremlin sometimes astounds me. 

Aunt Cissa takes one look at our messy clothes and windswept hair and sighs. She straightens us a bit just in time for the first person to be deposited in a whirl of magic. 

The vortex clears to reveal a girl about my and Co-Co's age, with dark brown hair cut into a bob, dark brown eyes, and a pert nose that gives her a pixiesh, mischevious look. 

She smiles brightly at us. Well, at Co-Co, and turns a polite, vaguely puzzled look on me. "Hello Dray, long time no see. And hello...."

I smile blandly at her, and Uncle Lucy buries his head in his hands behind her back. Am I really that transparent? Damn, I'll have to work harder. 

"Potter, Hava Potter. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance..."

**********

The book snaps shut and I nearly scream with frustration. 

As I painstakingly try to extract the fabric of my robe from between the pages without using magic, I happen to glance out of the window and promptly do a spit-take.  

That fucking peacock is still on the hedge, squawking angrily every time it's tail gets caught.

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with Caligula? 

I'm pretty sure that's what Uncle Lucy called the peacock anyway.

Come to think of it, that's probably why it has such a lot of problems. 

Then my current precarious position recaptures my attention, drawing it away from the bird.

Perhaps it is a little hypocritical to condemn a bird with a large tail for walking on a hedge when I am wearing what I am and climbing over the bookshelves.

In my defense, I was struck by the thought of the Horcruxes only a few minutes ago, while looking for a hiding place while Co-Co and I (and his friends, who I was very surprised to see the Patils amongst) play hide-and-seek.

There was no time to change, and I have to find the diary now, before I forget again or get found or caught. 

Unfortunately, while technically designed for play, what I am wearing was designed with running and jumping in open spaces more in mind than climbing over bookshelves.

The outfit is composed of a kirtle and surcoat, but the kirtle reaches only to mid-calf, and I have leggings beneath it so I can play and romp like a normal kid without flashing the world.

The open surcoat is floor-length, in a glorious shade of dark purple, and I love it with my whole heart. 

It just catches on books. Like, a lot.

Every last item of the outfit is in the most wonderful shades of purple and black that go beautifully with my hair and my mismatched eyes.

Highly aesthetic and surprisingly comfortable, 10/10 would wear again. 

Just...not for climbing over Malfoy Manor's towering bookshelves.

I mis-step and my surcoat catches in between Magicke Moste Eville and a title-less book made of black leather about a foot tall and three inches wide.

What the fuck kind of monster book is that?

Not gonna lie, I am so tempted to grab that and take a peek. 

It looks very interesting.

However, I am not an idiot. 

This part of the library is off-limits for very good reasons - there's a reason I'm climbing over the bookshelves rather than walking, which would trigger the Age-Line that has been there since the Manor was built.

Admittedly, that hardly makes me sound at all sane or responsible considering I am, after all, climbing over the bookshelves so that I can steal a book from the off-limits part of a Pureblood family's extensive and ancient library.

But, in my defense, I am saving the world.

Also, technically I am in my thirties mentally (does it count if 11 of those years were a repeat?) so I am an adult and therefore entitled to be able to cross the Age-Line.

Not that I'm going to test that theory by trying to cross it.

Nope, I'm taking the safe route.

A book shifts slightly and catches my trailing surcoat with fingers of paper.

Grumbling mentally, I free the pretty fabric from the pages and glance at the title.

Art Of The Inferius - Raising The Dead And Animating The Inanimate

Lovely.

Just wonderful.

It shouldn't be able to hurt me, considering that it is quite literally chained to the shelf with glowing magical chains, but I crawl quickly on anyway. 

Some things are dangerous but good for a laugh.

Some things are just dangerous, full stop, period, bottom line, exclamation mark.

That book looks to be one of them.

For a little while, I wonder why that book is on the Malfoy's shelves, but then decide it's none of my business.

Who knows, maybe Co-Co wants to be a Necromancer when he grows up and this is kept for when he is old enough to raise the dead. 

Eh, maybe not.

He wants to be a dragon tamer at the moment which is awesomely cool. I'm very tempted to join him not gonna lie.

Just, ya know, dragons. 

I would honestly kill to see one. 

There is a tearing sound, and I nearly scream in frustration as a book with what looks like human teeth bites off a corner of my surcoat. 

Fucking magical books. 

Fucking magical age lines tha-

I'm a fucking idiot. 

The only reason I'm up here is to avoid the Age line, and I'm well over that now.

Ergo, I can walk on the warded floor.

On the way down, my fingers and toes get trapped in no less than seven books.

Each and every one of which can burn in hell, quite literally, they're all magic of the worst kind.

Really, I am dreadfully curious. I have to come back here again sometime.

Now safely on the floor, I stroll down the aisle with a very refined, victorious sniff. 

My eyes skim over the shelves, filled with, you guessed it, books and books and books.

All of the darkest kind, the type which should never be written, let alone published. 

In the interest of full disclosure, I am highly tempted to read more than one that looks absolutely fascinating  

No. 

Focus, Hava. 

World to save, chaos to make, people to fuck with. 

Let's see...

Books about demons. 

Books about vampires. 

Books about raising the dead.

Books about Dark rituals. 

More books about dead things. 

Books about blood sacrifices. 

Books about Curses.

More books about rituals. 

A little black book without a title that looks cheap as fu-

Ah ha!

Looking quite unassuming and incongruent, nestled in among the evil-looking tomes surrounding it, is a small volume that looks Muggle-made. 

I hurry over and grab it off the shelf. 

Please, please, please, please, please.

Yes!

There, on the back: TMR. 

Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

Lord Moldywarts himself. 

Well, part of his soul anyway.

I have no idea what you are talking about, I do not do a totally awesome dance right there on the spot.

Yes, finally, after eleven fucking years in hell, I have my greasy little paws on a piece of the arsehole's soul. 

It occurs to me that there is another piece in my fucking forehead, but irrelevant.

Voldy will happily AK me if I need it, I'm sure. 

His face when I get back up again would be beyond priceless no doubt.

Honestly, I would pay a lot to see it, it has to be hilarious. 

"- certain of this?"

Uncle Lucy's voice interrupts my happy daydreams about immortality's benefits. 

The voice that replies is vaguely familiar, which leads me to believe it belongs to one of Co-Co's friends parents. 

"If you would only look, then you would know for certain."

A sigh. 

"But I do not wish to know, Theodorus. You know of my new ward, and what she is to the cause."

Holding my breath, I slide the diary into its former place and back into a curtained alcove, ducking behind a peacock statue just to ensure extra invisibility.

Damn, I really hope Dumbles gives me my cloak. 

Nott's voice is heavy. "You have placed yourself in a difficult situation, Lucius. Not only is she the head of one of the Families, but blood-related to your wife and son. If the Dark Lord demands Madam Potter, and the Magic judges you for surrendering her...''

"I know the risks, Theodorus," Damn, Uncle Lucy sounds pissed. I focus determinedly on the light hearted aspects of this situation. "I have weighed them up, and found then acceptable compared to the inevitable gains."

This time, Nott sighs. "By which you mean keeping Narcissa happy. I hope it really is worth it."

"Hava is...difficult, I will admit." Rude. I thought you loved me Uncle. "Her upbringing has assured that. But it is good for Draco to have a friend, and Narcissa dotes on her, and the Light will not dare attack us. Not with how and why we took guardianship."

Now Nott sounds amused. I am in awe of the way his monotone voice communicates so much. "Admit it, my old friend. You have grown attached to the child, enough so that you are willing to defy even the Dark Lord should the need arise."

Uncle Lucy is silent for a long moment. "The Dark Lord is not the Tom Riddle of my earliest memories, his actions at Godric's Hollow prove that. He spilled Pure blood, and I would not trust him near any child, let alone my heir and his cousin."

Ha!

I nearly do another happy dance. 

Uncle Lucy grudgingly admitted he's basically my dad. 

Peering out, I bless my lucky stars that I thought to replace the diary, and to hide properly.

The two men are walking slowly up the exact aisle that I was standing in only moments ago.

Sir Nott pulls up his sleeve, and frowns. "It is darker still. He grows yet stronger, and it is your ward's first year at Hogwarts soon, besides."

Uncle Lucy shakes his head. "Perhaps it is but another false alarm. If it is not, Narcissa has already arranged for protection."

"Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Crabbe and Goyle."

Oh goody they will show up eventually.

The two men draw level with me, and stop facing the bookshelves. 

"You still have it then?"

Uncle Lucy nods sharply. "If the Dark Lord does indeed return, it would be more than my life is worth not to return it to him."

Damn, now I feel kinda bad for stealing it. 

**********

I do anyway. 

See, the thing is, if I can get to Hogwarts and find Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, then I can find the Chamber. 

And the Chamber has a big-ass snake that can kill Horcruxes. 

Therefore, the quicker I find this shit the better. 

Chapter 11: Hogwarts, hogwarts, hoggy warty hogwarts

Despite me fully expecting a multitude of alarms, traps, and other lovelies, to be triggered, nothing happens. 

I scurry over to the bookshelves near the Age Line, Horcrux tucked inconspicuously into a pocket, and climb smoothly up the semi-sentient rage monster death trap. 

Hurriedly, I scamper over them until the very sinisterly (very very, I assure you) shimmering Age Line is behind me. 

Then I stop, take a deep breath, and clamber at an insanely reckless pace down the bookshelf of musty old genealogies, feet and hands unerring despite my haste. Years of evading eager Iris Hunters have payed off, I see.

Just as I reach the ground, cheerful kids' voices enter the library, and I curse. Damn, I thought they'd take longer. 

No matter. 

I slip behind the curtains of a semi-concealed window seat, grabbing a copy of Beedle the Bard on my way. 

As I settle myself, I hear the other children scatter, searching all over the library. I grin to myself, cracking the book open to a random place. 

By the time Pansy Parkinson finally pulls the curtain back, I'm halfway through 'The Fountain Of Fair Fortune'.

The look of outrage on her face is glorious. 

"Have you been here this whole time? We've been looking for you everywhere!" 

Well damn, how long did my Horcrux-napping adventure take?

I smile sweetly and stand up, slamming Beedle shut. "Pansy darling, I haven't left the library."

Co-Co comes running up, skidding to a stop with an expression of utter betrayal on his face. 

It's marvellous, and I adore it so much.

For the moment, the Horcrux hidden in my pocket slips away from my mind, lost in the euphoria of the chaos I have caused simply by hiding in the library.

How marvellous.

 

Chaos Incident #42

Executed: Yep

Successful: Hell yeah

*****************

Right so, before you start yelling at me for being an idiot, I have lots of very valid reasons. 

Many. 

A multitude. 

All with much validity. 

Most of them some variation of 'let's see how much we can piss off Babymort in revenge'.

See, good reasons. 

I sit at my desk, staring at the blank page. 

Wait no, this is a Bad Idea. 

I reach out and poke the paper. 

Nothing happens. 

Okay then, be like that. 

My hand reaches stubbornly for the quill, and I dip it in the ink before I can change my mind. 

A smirk flits across my face as I trace out the letters. 

December 31st, 1955

Today marks the end of the rainy season. 

It's been years, and not a day goes by when I don't marvel at the climate here. 

Sure enough, as soon as I pause, the ink vanishes, and reappears in another handwriting. Damn, that's fucking creepy.

I'm terribly sorry, but who are you, and why do you have my diary?

Hook, line and sinker. 

I dip my quill back in the ink, chew my lip for a moment, and then scribble out a reply.

What are you?

Papa taught me never to trust anything that doesn't have a head I can cut off.

Does your Papa have to know?

It could be our litle secret.

Well that is just creepy, and my father died years ago anyway.

What's your name, Mr Enchanted Diary. 

There is a significant pause. 

Then, slowly, a name appears.

Tom Riddle

Just before I scrawl some sarcastic remark, an idea occurs to me.

Heck yeah, this is going to be fun.

Tom? Oh Tom, how did you get in here? Did someone curse you? Can I do anything?

Who are you?

Oh this is going to be glorious.

It's Myrtle, Myrtle Warren. Oh, I've been so worried, ever since you saved me, no one has heard anything of you. 

I can see the moment his non-existent mind explodes.

Myrtle? But I kil...I heard you were dead.

How clever of him. And what a marvellous save.

Tom, are you quite alright? 

Yes, of course, but, how are you alive?

Don't you remember Tom? 

You saved me. 

This horrible old man was dragging me down a pipe, hissing and spitting like you do when you speak Parseltongue. You were dreadfully hurt trying to get me away from him. I spent weeks waiting for you to wake up. But one day, you just...vanished. 

No one has seen you since. 

What happened to you Tom?

A very long pause ensues. 

I have no memory of this.

Who was the man?

This is so fun. 

I don't know. 

You killed him, and took his House ring from him.

You said that it belonged to you by right. 

I mean, then you collapsed in a pool of blood, but it was a very heroic moment.

Please let him put the clues together.

Morfin Gaunt. 

It has to have been Morfin Gaunt, then.

The uncle who abused your mother?  

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

How do you know about him?

I grin devilishly as I dip my quill in the black ink. 

Don't you remember Tom?

You enlisted my help to look for your mother's family.

I don't remember that.

When was this?

Now, how to do this?

Hmmmm. 

Myrtle?

Warren, I swear, answer me.

That settles it. 

My name isn't Warren.

And I close the diary. 

Hava: 1

Babymort: abso-fucking-lutely nothing 

He murdered my parents, he deserves this and so much more. 

I go over to my school trunk, and open it, pulling out a crisp white shirt. 

Unfolding it, I place the diary in it, re-folding it and putting it back into its place in the middle of the 'packing' compartment of the trunk. 

Then I put it out of my mind.

He can stew over it as much as he likes. 

It was his wand that cut my beautiful, brilliant mother down like a wooden puppet, his wand that turned my mischevious, larger-than-life father into a discarded shell.

I slam the lid of the trunk down with considerably more force than it requires. 

*************

So, yeah, I'm gonna smuggle a Horcrux into Hogwarts.

It's gonna be epic.

Co-Co and I throw ourselves into an absolutely insane planning session for chaos, he for the fun of it, and me for that but also to distract myself.

Talking to Babymort left memories of my dead parents swimming behind my eyes, and I am not dealing with that thank you.

We make a peacock army, steal Uncle Lucy's hair products, lead a house elf rebellion, sneak into Knockturn and buy cursed shit, stage a hostile takeover of Malfoy Manor while Uncle Lucy and Aunt Cissa are out, and buy literally everything they have for sale in Zonko's.

Because filthy rich Pureblood privileges.  

It's beautiful. 

Anyway, I'm getting off track.

We're going to go to Hogwarts soon, which is going to be abso-fucking-lutely epic. 

But also. 

I can't wear my badass Pureblood clothes. 

I gotta wear a uniform. 

A boring uniform with a dressing gown over the top. 

Please, kill me already. 

I can't take this. 

I flop down onto the floor in a swoon, overwhelmed at the mere prospect. 

Maybe I can get a special dispensation due to surviving to my second birthday. 

Anything, I will do anything to avoid wearing that ghastly uniform. 

Literally anything in the world. 

Aunt Cissa sighs and picks me up and sets me on my feet bodily. Which like, rude. 

I'm aware I'm still horribly underweight, but that is not the point. 

"Hava, are you quite finished?"

Poor Uncle Lucy's hair looks almost grey after only a month or so of having me and Co-Co and co running around causing havoc. 

I sigh and tug on my beautiful emerald green dress. 

"Fine."

May I mention I hate Flooing? Like ugh that shit sucks. 

It's so....spinny. And sooty. And it makes me sneeze and cough and feel sick.

Blegh.

Uncle Lucy goes first, and then Co-Co grabs the Floo powder before I can be bothered to move, vanishing as soon as he hops into the green flames.

Then it's my turn. 

"Platform 9 3/4." I throw down the powder and sneeze as I start spinning.

Round and round and round and round and round. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, and hold my breath until I slow to a stop and stumble forwards. 

Of course, I trip on nothing at all, and Uncle Lucy barely catches me before I faceplant. 

He sighs, and mutters a spell that I don't catch but still gets rid of all the black soot on my pretty dress. 

I sneeze again, and grin up at him. "Thanks Uncle Lucy!"

As always, he closes his eyes and sighs, before shaking his head. "Lucius, Hava."

I only grin and skip over to where Co-Co and his besties are already gathered.

"Hey guys!'

They all wheel, and eye me warily. "Hello Hava."

What are they looking at me like that for?

It's not like I could be hiding a Dungbomb behind my back. 

To be fair, I did that a week ago, but that is not the point. 

And I wouldn't do it in public. 

Well, not to them. 

Anyway, at that moment the whistle goes, and everyone on the platforn starts scurrying.

Uncle Lucy and Aunt Cissa hurry over, and so do Co-Co's besties' parents. 

There's a flurry of hugs and kisses, and I watch quietly.

A pang of grief hits me.

Mum and Dad should be here. 

They should be hugging me and getting teary-eyed over how much I've grown. 

Mum should be fussing over how my hair is already pulling out of its braid, and Dad should be promising to send me a broom, and Padfoot should be laughing, and Moony should be sighing. 

Mum should be hexing Dad and Padfoot for being idiots, and Moony should be shaking his head at how immature they all are. 

But they aren't. 

Mum and Dad are empty shells rotting in Godric's Hollow. 

Moony is goodness knows where all alone. 

And Padfoot, dear silly Padfoot, is in Azkaban, reliving his worst memories over and over again.

I blink hard against the tears clouding my eyes. I miss my family so much. 

Then Aunt Cissa pulls me into a tight hug, and smooths down my hair. 

"I'll miss you, little whirlwind. Do try not to burn Hogwarts down before the term ends."

She knows me too well already. 

I laugh, and hug back. "No promises, Aunt Cissa."

The tears are gone.

Uncle Lucy pats my shoulder awkwardly, and admonishes me not to drive the teachers crazy if I can possibly help it. 

Damn, does no one have any confidence in me at all?

****************

Once we're on the train, it takes a while to find an empy compartment.

Crabbe and Goyle, who showed up out of thin air two seconds ago, sit next to the door, like the good little guard dogs they are.

No, seriously, they don't seem to do anything but follow me and Co-Co around.

It's kinda creepy honestly. 

At least they're dedicated.

Co-Co and I sit next to each other, like the chaos twins we aim to become, and the actual twins are near the window, because they are speedy and like the view. 

The others sit opposite us, and Pansy stomped on Blaise's foot so she could sit next to the window. 

Damn that girl is cool. 

The train begins to move, and I spot Molly Weasley all of a sudden.

She's frowning and scanning the train, and I wonder just how many fanfics were right. 

Were the Weasleys set up to meet me? 

Anyway, then I spot a woman who looks surprisingly like Aunt Cissa but with dark hair and get distracted.

Is that Andromeda Tonks?

I realise that means Tonks will probably still be at Hogwarts.

How did I forget that? 

Fuck, I'm an idiot.

Tonks is such an icon, I love her so much. 

Co-Co is gonna be besties with his cousin now, he has no choice if he wants to stay besties with me.

The train picks up speed, and before I know it, we are out of the station. 

This is it. 

I'm off to Hogwarts. 

I'm actually going to a magic school!

Me!

I wriggle a little with excitement because fuck when did I luck out enough to go to Hogwarts as Harry Potter?

Suddenly I realise that I really, really need the toilet. 

So I bounce up, and zoom out of the compartment and into the hallway. 

I look around, and then saunter down the like corridor thingymabob until I find a toilet. 

Then I come back, and find them all laughing. 

I look suspiciously at them.

Have they been having fun without me?

I plop back down in my seat next to Co-Co. 

"Whatcha doing?"

Parvati smiles at me. "Draco has been regaling us with tales of your expedition into Knockturn Alley. Care to share any more details?"

I grin and bounce up and down. 

"Right, so in Borgin and Burkes, you know, that poky little shop with all the random stuff?" They nod. Co-Co looks put out that I've taken over. Well sucks to be him, Knockturn was my idea. "I found this gorgeous necklace in there, it was so pretty and shiny and I really wanted it, but also it was kinda cursed, so I bought it anyway, cos like, I'm fairly sure I can use it for a murder attempt if I really have to, ya know?"

Pansy pales a little. "I am never accepting a necklace from you, ever."

Well, rude. 

"I wouldn't use it on you, Pansy darling."

She shakes her head. "No. Not taking any chances."

The others all nod and murmur their agreement.

I gasp in mock outrage. "How could you?"

Several eyebrows raise.

Okay then. 

Time for the big guns to come out. 

I lean back, folding my arms and lowering my head.

Then I sigh really dramatically and peek at them with watery eyes. 

"I guess it was too much to hope that people would really like me. I guess I really am just a freak."

Most of them look a little uncomfortable. 

Yes!

Serves those traitorous children right!

Theo opens his mouth with an apologetic look. "Hava, it was just a joke. Hones-"

"Hava, stop it."

Why does Co-Co have to ruin all my fun?

I sniff, and poke him hard in the shoulder, then stand and flounce over to sit by Pansy. 

"You won't betray me like that, will you, Pansy?"

She sighs, but pulls her purple skirt from under me. "It depends. How annoying will you be?"

The grin reappears on my face. "How many Pumpkin Pasties do you want?"

Pansy looks at me with narrowed eyes. "Three, and two packets of Droobles. Otherwise you have to sit next to Theo."

"Okay then." 

Good thing I remembered to put some money in my pocket. 

***********

By the time the train slows to a halt, I am bored out of my tiny little brain.

No, seriously. 

It's been like seven hours, and I don't like sitting still for that long. 

Why did I think I would be able to do this?

This is torture!

Also, I had to change out of my beautiful dress into the hideous, shapeless, disgusting, abhomination of a school uniform. 

The 'h' is necessary for emphasis reasons.

I jump out of the prison of a train, and try to swoosh my robe. 

The result is a sort of pathetic billow. 

I can feel my soul dying, and my heart cracking. 

Why would anyone do this to me?

"Co-Co, I can't do this."

He pats me on the shoulder. "I know you can, Vivi. Even the Dark Lord did."

Damn, this chaotic child knows me too well.

I can do anything he did, and I can do it better.

Moldywarts is nothing compared to me. 

I square my shoulders. "I changed my mind. I can totally do this."

Co-Co burst out laughing. 

Damn him. 

Why do I have a cousin again? Do I really need him?

Pansy links her arm with mine and pulls me towards the boat. "Don't even think about it Hava."

I pout, and poke her. The others just snort. 

Very inelegant I must say. 

By the time we reach the boats, all of my besties are no longer my beautiful besties, but elegant Pureblood Scions with centuries of wealth and power behind their names. 

I should be as well, but I can't be asked. 

Besides, I'm the Girl-Who-Lived, not to mention Madam Potter, I can do whatever the fuck I want as far as the Wizarding World at large is concerned. 

Hagrid spots me and waves enthusiastically. 

I can't help but smile. 

Rubeus Hagrid was always one of my favourite characters in the books. 

Co-Co drags me over to the boat that looks 'better' than the others. 

Damn, I forgot what an arrogant prick he was. 

Guess he didn't feel the need to be so nasty around those equally wealthy as him. 

Or maybe it's because Ron is bobbing around in peripheral vision. 

Maybe that's just his default public setting.

Luminara pokes my shoulder with her tail. That's one good thing about this uniform. The robe is shapeless and baggy enough to hide sarcastic greenie (aka the most epic snake ever aka Luminara Unduli the second) underneath it.

Why are you slowing down?

I ignore her, and climb into the boat, waving cheerily back at Hagrid.

He is the only person other than Sirius and Dad to have ever taken me flying, okay. He has a special place in my heart.

The boats, at no discernable signal, move forwards, a lantern in each one illuminating the inky water beneath. 

As we round a suspiciously convenient pile of rocks/promontory/whatever, I catch my first glimpse of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Every window blazes with light, so that the dark shape is outlined against the night sky like it's own golden constellation. 

I love it, it's beautiful, it's so awesomely awesome.

Look, it's a huge castle that's shiny, what's not to love?

But the ivy does tickle my nose and make me sneeze as we float under it.

Ignoring that, it's perfect.

10/10 would do it again.

Co-Co hops out before me, and then turns to offer me his hand. 

I can't help smiling. 

He may be a bigoted little shit but he is my chaotic cousin, and therefore my bigoted little shit.

Well, we have some time to work on it yet.

I grab his hand and let him pull me up and onto the stone quay. 

Hagrid counts us carefully, and then leads us up a stupidly long and slippery staircase to a little postern door. 

If these stairs are from the Founders era, then I'm 98% certain Gryffindor made them. 

An endearingly chubby blond boy slips and almost falls, and I'm 83% certain that it's Neville.

Is he my godbrother? 

Fuck, my brain is dead, I can't remember. 

You'll be glad to hear that he doesn't fall, but continues on. 

You'll also be glad to hear that we get inside right afterwards, and Minnie McG is there.

I smile widely at her. 

Even if I don't (won't) be a Gryffindor, she's still badass and awesome.

And she still got me out of Durzkaban. 

She's the best.

I set foot in Hogwarts for the first time, and it glows gold in the candlelight. 

Chapter 12: A (Very Bossy And Very Irritating) Thinking Cap

First off, no I do not tune out McGonagall's iconic speech. 

Much. 

Okay, I tune out most of it. 

Look, I practically memorised it, I'm not really bothered about listening to it when I can just be staring (very surreptitiously) around at an honest to goodness medieval castle.

A very, very, very cool medieval castle. 

Also, Pansy is listening intently, so like, it's fine.

If I start to miss anything important that none of us already know, she'll be sure to pinch me. 

She's awesome like that. 

Honestly, I'm considering replacing Co-Co with her as my bestie. 

Wait no, Co-Co actually does chaos. 

Pansy, awesome as she is, is more of a cockblocker not gonna lie. 

Case in point - just as soon as I make eye contact with a gorgeous painting, she pinches me, hissing under her breath for me to pay attention. 

I pinch her back, hard, because me and the portrait had a connection dammit. Our eyes met, and I sensed a soul-deep knowing, a similarity, a familiarity, a whatever else you wanna call it. 

Now I forgot which painting it was. 

Guess the connection wasn't that deep aftet all. 

Anyway, back to Pansy and her cockblocking. 

Why did she pinch me anyway? 

Ohhh, McGonagall must have finished her speech. 

Yeah, she's doing the imposing glare thingy. 

A ginger kid that has to be Ron Weasley rubs at his dirty nose. 

My eyes pan around the room like a camera, landing on the blond kid. 

That has to be Neville right?

No one else could be as endearingly adorable and snuggly and, well, cute, as him. It can't not be Neville. 

I wait until McGonagall has walked out and closed the door (not without a smile for me, which I return with a bright grin), before I tug my arm out of Pansy's and bounce over.

He turns, hearing my disgusting school shoes against the stone floor. 

The sound makes my soul wither. 

But I force a bright smile on my face regardless. 

Nev was adorable the few times we played together as sticky little toddlers. 

"H...hello, Miss..."

I stick out my hand. "Potter, Hava Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you!"

Tentatively, he accepts the hand and shakes it. "Longbottom, Neville Longbottom. The pleasure is all mine, godsister."

Yes! I was right!

My smile widens and becomes genuine. Pansy sighs behind me. 

"Well, my godbrother should call me Hava then. Not Vivi of course, only Co-Co's allowed to use that 'cos he patented it. Can I call you Nev? You look like a Nev, I've never known a Nev, but you look like what I think a Nev would be. Oooh this is so exciting, I've never had a godbrother before!"

He just blinks, slowly, his eyes wide. 

Oh dear.

I think I just broke him. 

"Pansy!" I whisper-shriek in a little panic. "How do you unbreak a godbrother!"

She sighs and links her arm through mine, pulling me away. Co-Co propels me on the other side, and I hear one of the Patil twins whisper an apology to him.

Cockblockers the lot of them. 

Unfortunately, McGonagall comes back right at that moment, and leads us into the hall. 

First things first, yes, I love it so much. 

It is shiny as hell, there are so many shiny candles! 

The roof is covered with shiny stars, and everything is so pretty and gorgeous and I love it so much!

In fact, I even manage to forget the disgusting uniform for a bit that's how awesome the hall is. 

Co-Co pinches me, snapping me out of my daze. "Focus, Vivi, please."

I stick my tongue out at him, but focus on the grubby old hat. 

Why would they make me wear that?

My soul starts to ache at the thought. 

On every level except physical I am dying right now. 

The 'mouth' opens, and it starts to sing. 

Now don't get me wrong, singing is great, I love music. 

But please, if you're going to sing, don't sing like a hat. 

Specifically, that hat.

It's literally tone deaf, it sounds like a fucking door, it makes my soul crack.

Honestly, if Hogwarts continues this sort of travesty, I may be able to make a Horcrux of my own. 

Which makes me think of the diary currently fuming and stuffed in my trunk. 

Meh, it can deal. 

Anyway.

McGonagall starts to read from a bigass list of names and I get bored.

Hannah Abbott is adorable. She's got little pigtails that bounce and she looks so scared. 

I think I'll have to give her the shovel talk if she does end up with Nev, but not gonna lie I'm rooting for Luna. Sorry Hannah, I don't know you well enough and Luna is amazing.

Oh yeah, she's coming to school next year! That'll be fun. I remember I read this fic once where Harry got sent back in time and Luna was like his bestie. 

Everyone thought they were crazy, it was beautiful. 

It's Crabbe now, so I'm 90% certain I've missed several people...yep, there's a little redhead at the Huflepuff table, I missed Susan Bones. 

Looking closer at her, I decide she looks like she could deal with my bullshit. She could potentially be friend material.

Also her aunt is the Head of the DMLE. 

And potentially my godfather's ex. Depending on how many fan theories were correct.

So Sorting. 

Lots of tiny children under a hat. 

Blah blah blah. 

Hey, that's Nev!

I watch carefully, and am very disappointed when the hat says Gryffindor. 

Look, I think he is practically an honorary badger at this point okay.

Co-Co's a Slytherin almost without thought, which was expected. 

Malfoys and Blacks have been in Slytherin for centuries, and he is descended from both. Forgone conclusion haha.

Theo's after him, Slytherin again, eeyyy bestie!

Then the Patils, one to Ravenclaw one to Gryffindor.  Bye bye. 

And more people and more people and now I'm bored. 

Pansy pinchs me just before she goes up to be Sorted. 

Rude! 

Maybe its her good luck charm. 

Nah, still rude.

I stick my tongue out at her very discreetly but she just ignores me. 

Fine, be like that. 

Finally, (finally!) McGonagall calls my name.

"Potter, Hava."

The hall erupts in whispers. 

"Hava Potter? THE Hava Potter?"

"The Girl-Who-Lived? She's at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, she looks so small."

Etcetera etcetera.

Fucking sheep the lot of 'em. 

I make sure to bounce up and sit down on the stool like I haven't a care in the world. 

I'm not going to be ordinary. 

If they think they can pull and push me around to suit their whims (DUMBLES), they've got another think coming. 

You don't get to abandon me for ten years in literal hell, and then get to fawn over and manipulate me.

The hat descends over my eyes, and I shudder at the thought of the ratty old thing on my hair.

Your hair has suffered much worse indignities than a magical hat, I assure you.

Oh fuck you too. 

Excuse me. That was most uncalled for.

I forgot it could mindread. Nope, not creepy at all. 

Now, let me see...

Hmm, interesting, very interesting 

I'm geting flashbacks to creepy old Ollivander. 

There's talent here, plenty of it, a brilliant mind and the imagination to propel it...

If I get put in Ravenclaw, I'll scream. No. I'm not answering a fucking riddle just to get to my bedroom.

No? No, I suppose not. Knowledge isn't your driving force is it. Nor is loyalty. 

Oh fuck you too you judgemental rag. I'd like to see you endure ten years of Durzkaban and see how loyal you come out.

No need to be rude. I'm simply stating a fact. You are loyal, but only to a degree. Your father now, he could have been in Hufflepuff easily, you would never lose his loyalty and trust once earned. But your mother, yes you are like her. Once lost, your loyalty is lost forever.

Is the hat just...ignoring the extra few decades in my head? 

I am. They are not relevant. I am sorting Hava Potter, not the girl you were before.

Right, good to know. Though, sorting seems very slow.

Hush child. Now where was I?

Ah yes, there's bravery, and an impulsive nature that would suit Gryffindor well, very well indeed.

I swear, if I end up in Gryffindor, I'm going to a different school. No, no Gryffindor thank you very much...

I grin and think 'not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor.' Just for shiggles. 

Very funny. 

The hat's dry tone indicates that it's not. Well, I think it is.

What is obvious, is that beneath the impulsiveness, beneath the intelligence and everything else, you hide your true self. Everything you show the world is but a mask, hiding away from even those you hold dear. You must face everything in time, my dear, including those memories you try your best to forget.

Ookay this is creepy. Not enjoying this.

Yes, I think you will do very well in SLYTHERIN!

Haha yes, sucks to be you Dumbles!

Everyone just stares at me, open-mouthed.

They all look like goldfish. 

Good luck, Hava Potter. I will enjoy seeing what you do to the school.

McGonagall retains enough presence of mind to take the hat off my head, and manages a smile as I skip over to plop down near Co-Co.

Luminara squirms around, trying to adjust to the shaking I gave her by skipping.

you need to slow down. now i'm all tangled.

Meh, Lumi can deal.

Co-Co has a bigass smile on his face as he claps my back, and Pansy doesn't even pinch me as I wiggle my way inbetween them.

On the subject of faces...

I look up at the head table, and sure enough, the teachers all look pole-axed.

Dumbles is staring at me with wide eyes, a hint of fear showing in their twinkling depths. I make eye contact, and smile, tilting my head to one side and stroking Lumi. His eyes fall on her vivid green skin and he visibily starts. 

Hava - 1

Dumbles - 0

McGonagall looks very done with everything, but she already knows I exist for chaos. 

No, the one I'm interested in is Snivellus Snape. 

And yep, there he is. 

Clad all in black, sallow skin, hooked nose, disgusting greasy hair. His dark eyes are fixed on me, and a sneer pulls up the corner of his mouth. 

He looks like he wants to kill me with blunt force trauma. 

Oh, this is going to be fun. 

Eventually, everyone stops freaking the fuck out, and the sorting continues. 

I am very bored by the time Blaise comes to sit down with us, and wave at him enthusiastically. "Hi bestie! What took you so long?"

He just sighs, and sits down, ignoring me completely. 

Well, that's rude. See if I get you a Christmas present. 

Dumbles yells his weirdass welcome speeh, and I hiss my displeasure very quietly to Lumi cos why not.

that made no sense and i dont like it. it's not my kind of nonsense, lumi, which makes it dumbles nonsense and that's not good.

A tall girl with a shiny badge on her robes smiles down the table, if a little stiffly. 

"Welcome to Slytherin, all of you. I'm sure each one of you will be a credit to our house. Slytherin has won the House Cup for several years in a row now, and we don't feel like losing that streak now."

Her cool eyes fall on me, and I roll my own. Whatever. 

I don't particularly care who wins the Suck-Up Cup this year, or the next, or the next. 

The Quidditch Cup however, now that sounds fun.

I really wanna play Quidditch.

Look, the idea of zooming around on a piece of magical wood, with pieces of metal ricocheting around trying to kill you just...it speaks to something deep within my soul. Which yes, is getting a real workout with everything that's going on.

Anyway, I ignore her and grab (very politely, I don't want Aunt Cissa to murder me, I have some sense of self-preservation) some food.

The salted pork is particularly good.

But the potatoes are awesome. 

I subtly nick some of Co-Co, who only sighs and steals my parsnips.

Meh, he's welcome to them. I hate the rotten things.

Notes:

Sorry if this is a bit hard to follow.

Hey, so you know how I was mentally dead?
Guess who got COVID. And as in actually sick with it, not asymptomatic like some lucky assholes.

I'm doing great y'all.

Chapter 13: Bottle Fame, Brew Glory Blah Blah Blah

Right, so you know how I was complaining about the Sorting Hat's singing? 

Forget it. 

That was professional opera compared to this. 

You know what I'm talking about. 

Dumbles leading us in the school fucking song. 

No. 

Kill me already.

It's disgusting, I hate it. 

But hey, at least you can choose a tune that doesn't piss you off. 

Pity you can't just Silence everyone. 

Meh, I'll take what I can get. 

Instead of singing, I hiss the words to Lumi, who hisses a critical analysis of them in return. 

Spoiler alert, she thinks Hogwarts could do better. 

I do too. 

Co-Co is side-eyeing me warily, and I roll my eyes. 

Aunt Cissa didn't want my Parseltongue getting out to early, Uncle Lucy said it wouldn't be wise, I shouldn't be so careless yadda yadda. 

Whatever. 

Literally no one but Dumbles is paying attention to me. 

Well, him and Snivellus, but I am upholding my dad's legacy and so Snape doesn't count. 

Sorry Mum, but you had terrible taste in friends as a kid. 

To almost no one's surprise, the Slytherin table is the first to fall completely silent. 

Almost every single one of them bears the same digusted expression, and honestly fair.

I don't mind the Weasley twins' rendition though. 

They always were my favourite Weasleys. 

No seriously.

Bill and Charlie almost never appear, the movies made Ron and Ginny three dimensional and irritating, and Percy has a rod so high up his arse you can see it every time he speaks. 

But the twins? They know how to have fun. 

I clap very loudly once they're done, ignoring Co-Co and Pansy trying to make me behave like a proper Pureblood lady. 

Don't get me wrong, I know how to, Aunt Cissa made sure of that. 

I just can't be asked. 

So, song done, we troop off after the prefect whatsername, Fawley or Farley or something. 

"Blaise, what's the prefect called?" I hiss in his ear  

Blaise is always the one we go to with people - his mum's assassin business turns out very handy. 

"Gemma Farley, fifth year, a good family but not a Family."

I beam at him - Blaise is epic. "Thanks bestie!"

And then pull him up to where Pansy and Co-Co are. "No troll left behind you two, remember?"

Thanks to neither having seen the glorious chaos that is Trolls, the reference is lost on them. 

Damn it. 

Honestly, I have so much on my to-do list, but taking them to see my favourite movies the second they are in cinemas is up there. 

Along with killing Voldie and gving Dumbles a heart attack. 

Also making Uncle Lucy watch Muggle TV for the lols. 

The snake (get it, snake) of green and silver and also black clad childrens stops outside a boring stretch of stone wall. 

So, this must be the entrance then? 

Prefect Farley turns back to us. "This is the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. You must remember the password, as it changes once every two weeks for security purposes."

She wheels back around (her disgusting cloak flaring dramatically, I am in awe, please oh great prefect teach me your secrets) and faces the stone wall. "Boomslang."

I shiver as Lumi wriggles in response. what is it? why is someone speaking of me like that, who is the rude person i must bite?

Pity no one else understands Parseltongue. Carefully, I stifle my laughter and hiss quietly back. chill out lumi, it's a password, she wasn't talking to you.

oh. alright then. She shuts up and wriggles around a little. 

Snakes. Gotta love the annoying paranoid little buggers. 

A bunch of childish gasps bring my attention back to the wall, and damn that is cool.

The wall is moving in response to the password, not with the stone blocks folding into each other like Diagon Alley, but fading into nothing, and on the other side, well it's hella cool.

We follow Prefect Farley in, and another round of gasps follows as the other childrens see the interior for real.

Damn, JKR really did Slytherin dirty with the description in the books.

But, to be fair, it was from an anti-Slytherin point of view. 

Anyways, you probably want to know what it actually looks like?

Haha, sucker. I ain't saying nothing. 

 

 

 

Jk. 

The ceiling soars up and up, clearly magical because um we are in the fucking dungeons you don't put a feature like that in dungeons it just doesn't work. It's vaulted and painted with a shit-ton of all these cool moments from magical history, a bit like the Sistine Chapel but with more awesome magic shit. 

The portraits move, all these cool people smiling down at the little childrens and casting spells and acting out stories, and damn I love it. 

In comparison, the walls are rather tame, plain stone, shining clean of course, covered with silver and green tapestries, mainly woodlands and night skies and seas. 

Lovely, but nothing on the ceiling. Nothing tops the ceiling. 

The only thing that has a patch on the ceiling is that one wall is completely glass, and looks out onto the lake - I can see the mer village, all lit up with whatever they use for light, and the Giant Squid's shadowy limbs when they interpose between the castle and the village. Okay, I'm in love that window is awesome.

Cool furniture, mainly a nice dark green with silver trimming, warm and soft, and the tables have snakes engraved on them. 

I like the portraits, mainly because they have cool looking people in them. 

There's one with this dude with green eyes and a snake, and he looks awesome. Actually, I'm fairly certain it's Slytherin because there's a plaque underneath and I can't see properly from here because malnutrition, but there's definitely some S's in the name.

Okay, I'll be fair, there are skulls on this random shelf that seems to have no purpose, but those are clearly just for aesthetic as they are covered in dust and spider webs, none of which move in the air currents at all. 

But it's a wonderful aesthetic, I love it a lot. 

And oh look, someone is making a speech. 

Probably a prefect. 

Meh, I can't be asked.  

Look, I am a tiny eleven year old child with malnutrition, plus a prophesised saviour and war hero.

I think I get a break. 

Pansy pinches me, but I pinch back and Lumi hisses at her, so she just drags me after a female prefect in the direction of what I assume is the dormitories with a very done air. 

Sorry darling. You ain't seen nothing yet.

"Night, Co-Co!"

He waves back with a grin, and is promptly dragged off by Theo who looks as done as Pansy. 

Oh dear. 

I think that the two have formed the Parkinson-Nott Alliance Of Sanity against the Potter-Malfoy Alliance Of Chaos. 

This could be problematic. 

Meh, I'm sure we can work around this development. 

I eye Daphne speculatively. 

Would she be a possible recruit to chaos?

It would never hurt to try...

Pansy pulls me sharply into a room, and I break off my train of thought to squeal. 

"It's so pretty!"

She winces and covers her ears a bit late. 

Oh well, she'll be fine. 

But seriously, damn I love the room.

We have a huge window onto the lake, with these gorgeous emerald velvet curtains, and awesome lights that are glowing balls of, well, light held in the mouths of these cool shiny silver snakes. 

There are several beds, all four posters made of some dark wood with luxurious velvet curtains that match the window ones. 

I love the tapestries on the walls, which are all famous witches of some kind, and the floor is covered in a softly glowing silvery rug that I highly covet for my room in Malfoy Manor. 

Desks are placed around the room, next to each bed but on the opposite side to the night stand, with our quills and inks etc already set out and school books in the shelves set in the wall above them. Our trunks are at the foot of our beds, and I really hope Aunt Cissa remembered to pack my blanket and Padfoot and Prongs. 

A big wardrobe sits next to the door, divided into four with our clothes already stored neatly (thank you Hogwarts elves), and I squeal again as a gorgeous shoal of silver fish darts past the window.

I wouldn't have chosen it, but it's really cool. 

Laughing, I run forwards and jump onto the bed with my trunk at the foot, bouncing a little.

Ooooh. It's soft. And very bouncy. 

I bounce again. 

"Hava..."

Pansy stares at me. 

I stare back. 

"Get ready for bed, firsties, you're expected in the common room at 6:45 at the latest." The prefect says, and shuts the door. 

All the other girls start chattering already, but me and Pansy don't break eye contact. 

Okay then, be like that. 

Still staring at her, I get to my feet and start jumping. 

Now, what was that song again? Something about little monkeys jumping on the bed...

Pansy's eyes narrow, and her right one twitches. 

I can tell I'm pushing it but don't care - she ain't the boss of me.

"Oy, shoes off the bed!" Daphne yells at me. 

...oops.

I jump down and kick my shoes off. 

It's probably too late to shower, so I scramble into my nightie and grab my brush from the nightstand drawer the elf has put it in. 

With a long suffering sigh, I settle back to detangle my hair, watching as the other girls all sit down to brush their hair too. 

As there is nothing else to do, we all start chatting while we brush it out, introducing ourselves etc etc 

Ugh, interacting with people.

To be fair, these are quite nice people.

Millicent's hair takes the least amount of time, seeing it's only a chin-length bob, but Pansy's doesn't take long either because she has shoulder length hair. 

Wonder when she'll cut it to the movie bob, or if she'll grow it out longer. 

Daphne's beautiful golden waterfall of hair reaches to her knees, and I'm jealous. It's so beautiful. 

Then I squint down at my own auburn hair, and decide it's not so bad. Perhaps mine is shorter, but it's a more unusual colour, and I always liked curls more anyway. 

Oh, perhaps I should talk about the other, non-canon girls. 

Yeah, that might be a good idea. 

There's Vera Blishwick and Adelaide Selwyn. Vera's quiet, with pretty blue eyes and middling long mousy brown hair, and the loveliest nose I've ever seen on anyone. 

No seriously. I love her nose I wanna steal. 

Adelaide has the most amazing inky black hair, with gorgeous little ripples in it, and her brush glides through it without catching at all, even after a long day. Her eyes are a nice laurel green, and I suppose she's pretty, but I am fixated on that glorious hair.

It's really shiny, can you blame me.

Six girls in total. 

That's all. 

Not many, but I suppose my year was born in the height of a raging war. The baby boom came after. 

We all murmer good night and lie down, the lights magically dimming. 

As always, I have to spend a good minute or so trying to convince myself that I will not open my eyes in the cupboard, but then my exhaustion kicks in and I'm asleep pretty much right after.

*************

First breakfast kinda sucks. 

It's nice, certainly much better than Dursley breakfast (burnt toast if I'm lucky), but I really do much prefer eating with Aunt Cissa and Co-Co and Uncle Lucy, just the four of us with the sun pouring in through the large windows. 

But, eh, at least the food is good. 

And oooh timetables. 

Snape glares at me as he gives me mine, but he can deal. 

I am not Dad, but if he's going to treat me like it, well, I'm going to have to retaliate. 

He's the adult in this situation, he should be the bigger person. 

I look down at the timetable and nearly drop it.

Fuck. Fuck fucking fuckity shit. 

Potions is first thing today. 

Is that canon?

The uncertainty in the thought nearly chokes me. 

Fuck, I need to learn Occlumency so I can remember everything, otherwise I'm so screwed. 

I don't wanna do Potions.

Like, sure I was great at Aunt Cissa's summer crash course, but Snape. I don't want to deal with him. He's gonna fail me cos he hates me.

Co-Co and Pansy and Theo have to drag me there, and we do get there eventually, despite my numerous escape attempts. 

Daphne and the bookends, sorry, Crabbe and Goyle, ignore us and walk like ordinary people, following the nice prefect who takes firstie Slytherins places. 

The door is very big and forboding. 

I kinda zone out, don't come at me. 

Blah blah boring boring oh look Gryffindors, I wave at the Patil twin. 

Damn they look so lonely all alone like that. 

She.

I'm so used to referring to them in the plural, as two twins, not as one singular twin. 

Like, it's gonna be a big struggle.

I perk up when Snape appears. 

While I may not like him, he has Aesthetic and Drama. 

Seriously, look at his billowy robe. 

Me want. 

Me want a lot.

Mine now. 

Gimme gimme. 

He takes the register oooooh exciting. 

And, like canon, he pauses at my name. 

"Hava Potter. Our new...celebrity." 

You know, that kinda creepy line. 

He looks at me, and I get the feeling that he sees either only my auburn hair and green eye or only my Potter features and hazel eye. 

Either Dad or Mum. 

Probably Mum, seeing as his first reaction upon seeing baby me was 'Lily's child', but who knows.

Though, to be fair, neither is very good. And regardless, I am my own chaos gremlin not a copy of either of my amazing wonderful parents.

I smile innocently at him. "Here, professor."

He hasn't done anything...yet.

The minute he does, it's full-throttle murder chaos time.

The register closes with a snap, and he leans forwards. 

When he starts speaking, everyone is spellbound, so being the contrary little shit I am, I zone out as soon as I notice. 

Oh don't look at me like that.

I know the speech by heart. 

"Potter! Are you listening?"

Damn. I jump a little. 

"Yep! Great speech sir, putting a stopper in death sounds really handy."

He scowls. Good, I've annoyed him. 

Yes I know I just said retaliation only. What can I say, antagonising Severus Snape must be genetic.

Even Mum's genes can't counteract it apparently.

"Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Oh good, they're the same questions. 

I tap my finger to my chin and hum thoughtfully. "Ummmm, a sleeping potion? Ooooh, wait no, I do know this one, Draught of Living Death!"

He nods stiffly. "Correct. One point to Slytherin."

Wow, look at all my contributions to the unending glory of Slytherin. 

"Where would I look if I wanted to find a bezoar?"

Two for two, that's good right?

Also, I just realised the quandry he'll be in if I am Co-Co's partner and fuck up. 

Take points off his own house versus taking points off of James Potter's spawn.

I don't bother pretending not to know anything this time, it's the potioneer's lifeline if something goes wrong and I've been living with Cissa for nearly a month now. She knows everything there is to know about poisons. "Well, your cupboard, unles you mean hypothetically, in which case I'd murder a goat and rip apart it's guts until I found its stomach. At which point I'd be covered in blood and possibly whatever is in the guts but also have a bezoar so we're all good."

A few of the more delicate looking kids seem a bit queasy but Snape snears. "Well then, seeing as you know so much, Miss Potter, what's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Now this is fun. 

"The name, I mean they're the same plant, so literally the only difference is the name." 

Now the 'what's in a name' quote is in my head damnit. 

He sneers. "I don't appreciate showoffs, Miss Potter."

Well fuck you too. 

Lumi moves under my cloak, and I try to hide my grin. 

See how cocky he is when she's on my desk.

Yep, it's definitely genetic.

Notes:

*shuffles awkwardly*
Um, sorry I didn't update something christmas depression something something covid something something bored

Chapter 14: Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble

So blah blah Professor Snivellus talking, blah blah blah. 

I zone out until he waves his wand and puts the instructions on the board. 

Cure for Boils. How devastatingly interesting. 

"Hey, Vivi, prep or grabbing stuff?" Co-Co has to pinch me for me to move or take an interest at all. 

"Meh, I'll chop stuff up. Aunt Cissa'll murder us if you chop."

He grins and scurries off. 

Now, I am not wrong. Aunt Cissa taught us all the first year potions already because she is awesome and wants us to be superior. 

Co-Co, being a spoilt rich kid (and yes I love him but it's true), is bad at chopping. Me, having been both an adult and a glorified slave, am a chopping protege. 

I can almost do the cool thing chefs do when they cut really really fast and it's really neat. Almost. Bitsy nearly flipped when I tried. 

Oh yeah, Bitsy just showed up one day and was like 'little mistress Hava has returned! Bitsy has missed her little mistress!' etc etc. I love her, I do, but she has dealt with generations of chaotic Potters - she is immune to chaos. Thankfully, she's at Malfoy Manor with Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy.

Anyway, where was I? 

Oh yeah, choppingness. 

I cut everything very neatly and precisely, in exactly the way it needs to be according to the instructions. Snivellus looms over me, probably to criticise, but I just smile cheerily at him and wave my suspiciously stained knife. 

Depressingly, he snorts and goes to bully Nev. What a pity. Maybe I should get Nev to pair with Co-Co, so Nev can be a bit more protected. I could go with Daphne and recruit her then!

Yeah, that's a great idea, I'm gonna do that!

"Vivi, are you almost done?"

I nod and look thoughtfully down at the two neat piles of beautifully chopped shit. 

He sees the look and instantly perks up. "What are you thinking?"

His eyes are sparkling, and he looks like he can see the chaos coming. I grin at him and gesture at the pile of ingredients. "I have an idea."

So he leans over and I whisper in his ear. It takes all of two seconds for him to enthusiastically agree. 

What can I say, he's my spoiled, prejudiced little chaos gremlin bestie.

Ever so carefully and perfectly, we put our cauldrons over the fire and start off. 

He throws my ingredients into my cauldron, and I yeet his into his own. 

We don't miss a single thing. 

We high five loudly. "Yeah!"

Then we stir. Carefully. Very carefully. Not a single slop. 

Then we yeet and high five. 

Repeat ad nauseaum. 

We both get very very bored, even though the ingredients start making satisfying plopping sounds when we yeet them. 

Finally, we're on the final stage.

Hermione's been glowering at our cavalier attitude to our education for ages, and has nearly ruined her potion several times over it. Poor thing, but not my problem. 

We yeet the final things in, and then take out our wands. 

Co-Co knows Macbeth because Padfoot and Aunt Cissa were besties. Come to think of it, I wonder how Padfoot's case has been going. Aunt Cissa's letter this mornig was hardly informative. It's going okay, surely. 

Anyway, Padfoot introduced Aunt Cissa to Shakespeare when they were teenagers, and it's Aunt Cissa's secret little thing that she adores it. 

Co-Co knows Macbeth almost better than me. 

Well, all of this is to say, we both know the witcheses poem thing that they say over their cauldron, and wrote a two-part harmony for it when we were bored one Friday. 

Taking a deep breath, we assume 'creepy' witchy poses like the actors usually do, crouched over the cauldrons like bent old hags and cackling. 

Snape turns and his eyes widen. I have no idea why. Maybe cos we're singing in his lesson? Meh, such a weird thing to get his knickers in a knot about.

Ewwww I don't wanna think about his knickers. Ugh, yuck, moving on. 

"Double, double, toil and trouble," we both have decent voices, but the important thing is that we are very enthusiastic and having a lot of fun. 

What, we're impulse controlled eleven year olds, spending time away from home for the first time in our lives and acting out because of it. You can't blame us for that.

Plus, its not like we're gonna hurt anyone.

"Malfoy, Potter.'' Snape's voice is silky and very very dangerous. 

"Fire burn and cauldron bubble!" I can't hear him, oh dear.

Look, we can't stop now. 

We sing firmly through the whole song and finally end it on a beautiful high note. It could make an opera singer cry (whether from joy or horror is up to you). 

Grinning from ear to ear, we high five again. That was more fun than making a cure for boils the ordinary way.

Spesking of, we wave our wands over the cauldrons and bam done, two perfect boil cures.

Snape looms over us. "Potter, Malfoy, what exactly was that?"

I smile innocently at him, letting Co-Co take the fore.

My bestie opens his eyes very wide, looking very innocent."Oh, it was just something my mother taught us, Professor." 

Black eyes narrow, and they glitter dangerously. "And why, exactly, would Mistress Malfoy do such a thing?"

"Well, she told us that-"

This is my cue. What, Co-Co and I are practicing twin-speak. 

"-a song is a good a way to pass the time-"

"-while you're waiting for the-"

"-potion to simmer through the-"

"-final stages. Otherwise it won't-"

"-have that lovely little power boost-"

"-that sets aside perfect potions from-"

"-merely adequate. And she knows that-"

"-we have very short attention spans. So-"

"-we need a way to not get bored and stir it-"

"-too early."

"So she came up with this!" We finish together, smiling at him. 

By now, the entire class is staring at us, most with faces of horror. 

Snape literally hisses. "I see. Far be it from me to argue with such a brilliant Potions Master as Mistress Malfoy. But the next time you two are so disruptive there will be...consequences."

He swoops away to loom over poor Nev, in a fine bad temper. 

Co-Co and I high-five. We had counted on him not wanting it to get around that he had disagreed with Aunt Cissa's methods. So we get off scot-free!

Epic!

Chapter 15: Magic Or No, School Is Boooring

Hogwarts is...okay? I guess? 

I dunno. 

School is school is school. 

Once you get used to the magic it's all kinda samey. Sit and listen to the teacher for an hour, do some homework, repeat. 

Endlessly. 

And unlike primary school, I have to pay attention now, because I was not a witch in my last life, unfortunately. 

So, anyway, the first Potion lesson passes really quickly thanks to me and Co-Co using our monkey brains to be idiots and not get blown up at the same time. 

Lumi spends the whole journey to Transfiguration hissing in my ear about how annoying our antics were to her poor delicate ears, which hurts my poor delicate ears. 

Plus, can I mention, I'm getting absolutely ripped from carrying her around all the time.

Okay, maybe not, but she's like a metre long and as thick as a (healthy) adult's wrist. I, meanwhile, am a malnourished undersized eleven year old. She is heavy as fuck. 

But she's my beautiful lazy sarcastic green snek so I have to deal. 

Also, I'm like 90% sure this is not Harry's first year timetable, but who gives any fucks? Not me!

Like....Dumbles? Uncle Lucy? Pansy? McGonagall? Uncle Moony?

Meh, the point is, I have no fucks to give. 

So, fuck the timeline up and cause mostly harmless chaos? 

Fuck yeah! Co-Co's totally in agreement, although he doesn't know about the timeline thing - only the chaos thing. 

He does have limits however, because spends the entire trip to Transfiguration glaring at me for my totally silent and unobtrusive and sneaky conversation with Lumi. Mostly because Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy made him promise and he keeps promises he makes to his parents.

I roll my eyes at him every time he sighs pointedly. Honestly, he's turning into such a cockblocker. Not that I tell him - he's eleven years old, the kid doesn't even know what sex is yet.

When we get into the Transfiguration classroom, I grin. 

McGonagall is such. An. Icon. 

She's sitting on the desk in her Animagus form, perfectly still, like the statue of a cat. 

Everyone else clatters about finding seats, but under the cover of everyone else's chaos, I tiptoe up. 

"Morning Professor."

She stares at me, hard, but I just grin and then squeak when Pansy grabs my arm. "Ouch! Pans!"

My rapidly-being-demoted-to-dubious-acquaintance friend ignores me and pulls me to the other side of the classroom to Co-Co. 

I whine. "Pans! You wouldn’t seperate me from my platonic soulmate? Even you couldn't be so cruel, could you?"

The cat looks at me with a distinctly weary eye, but I focus all my attention on dragging Pansy over to sit next to Co-Co. 

It doesn't work. 

Fuck. My. Second. Fucking. Life.

It's not my fault I'm malnourished and therefore a stringy little bean without the necessary body mass to shift a perfectly healthy, well-nourished eight months older child. 

Fucking Dursleys. I'm gonna murder I swear. 

Grumbling under my breath, I let her push me into the seat next to the wall. She slides in next to me, neatly trapping me. 

The smuggest grin ever spreads across her face. 

Bloody hell. 

I look consideringly across at where Theo has done the same to Co-Co. 

Hmmm, maybe they really have formed an alliance. 

Are they really that worried about the chaos? 

Everyone else is already sat down like the organised little scholars that they are, and it's honestly adorable. All these little tiny childrens!

Yes, I know I am a littler tinier childrens, but I can appreciate the aesthetic. 

Pansy pokes me, and I squeak. "Ow! That hurt, you absolute monster!"

She pokes me again. "Shush. You don't want McGonagall to come in and find you platonically pining for your cousin."

....damn.

I have corrupted her! 

Maybe only a little, but I still corrupted her!

I will turn my entire class of little Gen-Xs into a horde of tiny meme-trolling Gen-Zs. 

It'll be amazing. 

The cat jumps off the desk just as I start imagining Crabbe yeeting Mrs Norris through a window, yelling 'this cat empty'. 

Good thing, I was nearly in stitches. 

Pansy is staring at me in such consternation that she misses McGonagall's transformation. 

Shit, she's gonna hate me for that forever. 

Everyone else gasps and whispers, but I just grin. "I wanna learn to do that!" 

McGonagall looks at me sternly. "No, Miss Potter."

Killjoy. 

Absolute killjoy.

The fuck did I ever do to her? 

Except being my chaotic amazing self. 

Whatever. 

Then she becomes absolutely awesomely amazing and worthy of all the adulation. 

She tells us to read chapter one and take notes. Then she turns back into CatGonagall. 

And waits. 

And right on cue, Ron Weasley, ginger hair aflame, rushes in with Nev on his heels. 

I squeal. "Nev!"

The boy jumps and looks at me with something akin to terror. 

Oh no!

I wanted my adorable baby godbrother. 

Why is he scared of me? What did I ever do to him? 

I turn around to try and clamber out of my seat - Pansy won't move. 

Just as I stand up on my chair, CatGonagall turns back into McGonagall and tuts. "Miss Potter, please sit back down. Mr Weasley, Mr Longbottom, take your seats and stop dithering. If you were any later I would have been forced to assign detention."

The smol innocents look as though she threatened them with eternal torture and slide into the two remaining empty seats.

Damn, I want detention. 

I think it'll be fun. 

But also, I wanna see how long I can cause chaos and also not get detention for it. 

I privately betted way back in the cupboard that I would last longer than canon Harry. 

My alternate personality, called Avah, disagrees. She thinks I won't last a week. 

I dislike Avah greatly. 

Also, Transfiguration theory is booooooring. 

I nearly fall asleep like, six times. 

Do I give a fuck about the particles that make up a needle and how they have to be changed at the smallest level to transmute into wood? No, no I do not. 

Also it sounds like Muggle science and I am outta here, bai. 

Science always bored me. 

It's so...logical. 

***************

The first week goes by in a lightening flash. 

But like, a fun one.

It turns out I'm great at Potions and Charms, just like Mum was, which makes a lump appear in my throat that I can't swallow down. Snape seems to feel the same way, because he starts avoiding me. I guess the sight of a little red-head with green eyes bent over a cauldron brings back memories he don't wanna see. 

Astronomy would be great, except I keep falling asleep like a fucking eight-year-old. Professor Sinistra seems to have given up on me. Lol, not my problem. I know the stars and shit, just, like, not the keeping awake part. So as long as I can fill in a star chart (which I can), she can't fail me. 

Transfiguration is...meh. 

The theory makes me wanna Avada myself, but the practical I can wing it. I was the fourth person to change the needle into a match, purely because I gave up on doing it properly and wished so hard Pansy said I looked constipated. Fuck off cockblocker. 

I nearly kill everyone in Herbology. Not on purpose. I knock over a plant pot, and the plant goes crazy and tries to strangle us all. I do manage to keep my flower alive though. That's basically how Herbology goes - I'm shitty at keeping everything else alive, but I'm brilliant at keeping what I'm supposed to alive. Skills.

Quirrell's Defence Against The Dark Arts makes me so bored and headachy that I start to hold long whispered convos with Lumi about whether or not Moldy Voldy had small dick energy, and all his problems stemmed from unresolved daddy issues and a mix of the Oedipus complex and psychopathic mania. 

When he starts stuttering, I grin. Clearly Voldy can hear me. Defence becomes fun after that. Sure, I gave away one of my biggest secrets, but anyone could find Mum's connection to Slytherin if they gave enough fucks, so why not use my talent for its assigned purpose - talking to Lumi and pissing Voldy off. 

History be boring like meh. Binns needs to be exorcised like...centuries ago. 

If I read the textbook and ignore him it's great. Bathilda Bagshot has the dryest sense of humour ever, so everyone looks at me weirdly when I start giggling in class. Co-Co looks over my shoulder and then starts reading the textbook himself. It's much better than Binns, and I wonder if Bagshot had sat through him and made a textbook to make his lessons more bearable. 

I'm planning on going to Godric's Hollow anyway, may as well ask her when I'm there.

Flying is...Flying is amazing. 

As Co-Co is my awesome chaos gremlin cousin bestie, and Nev is my traumatised adorable lickle god bro, Co-Co does not steal the Remembrall, and the first lesson goes off without a hitch. 

Madam Hooch looks at me consideringly though, and asks several questions about whether I had been on a broom before. I answer, quite truthfully, that the last broom I was on was the toy one Padfoot gave me for my first birthday.

She falls silent after that and dismisses the class. 

Wonder if she knew the Marauders?

Anyway, I like Hogwarts.

Also, I have awesome friends. Nev is still terrified, but like, he doesn't look like he wants to run away when he spots me anymore. And Co-Co and Pans are like my besties. 

Life is great!

...fuck. I jinxed it didn't I. 

Ohhhhhh dear, oh no, what's gonna happen now. 

Notes:

No I am not procrastinating, what are you talking about. This is a highly punctual update.

...sorry
 

Also, I have a question for you all:
I'm considering putting this OC into several different fandoms (LOTR, Star Wars, Percy Jackson and Game of Thrones among others).
Would you rather I made a series focusing on Hava and then did a seperate series for each fandom, or would you want a mega series with this one person being reborn into a ton of fandoms and just being so done with their inability to die?
Also, comment with a fandom you'd like to see show up either way - I have plans for five or six so far, and maybe more.

 

Also, one more thing.
Rings of Power teaser.
Someone kill me. Please I'm going to die.
bEaRdLeSs dWaRrOwDaMs? pOLiTicAlLy aMbiTioUs elRoNd? gALadRiel wiTh thE fEanoRiAn stAr? sAiLor iSildur? sHorT hAiReD gEnDeR cOnfoRminG eLvEs?

WHAT THE FUCK AMAZON!!!!

Chapter 16: Consider Yourself Part Of The Family (Or Else)

Well I didn't jinx it that much I guess.

Like, okay I may have taken a leaf out of Seamus Finnigan's book (accidentally!) in Transfiguration. And blown up the snuffbox I was practising on. And gotten a lecture on the dangers of using wish magic over the methods we were taught.

But it wasn't that bad.

McGonagall is disappointed that I'm not enjoying her class because like, she does like me despite me being shitty at actual Transfiguration, but at least she's not pissed about it.

She is annoyed that I traumatised Nev and broke one of her desks tho.

He won't sit next to me in anything but History of Magic or Astronomy now, and it is very sad.

He says it's 'because I have less chance of exploding things' in History and Astronomy, and it's like bitch what. I just wanna spend time with my godbro! 

But no, apparently he doesn't like explosions. 

It's not my fault. 

I haven't even blown that much up!

Only the snuffbox in Transfiguration. 

And my potion, though it blew up right in Professor Asshole's face which was hilarious.

And my pumpkin juice (it spilled okay, and Tergeo didn't work properly)

And my floating feather (though that was in purpose cos I was bored)

And-

Okay maybe Nev has a reason to be a little bit wary. But I wouldn't hurt my bestie godbro!

The lack of trust my own godbrother has in me is very hurtful.

But on the bright side, well, I have more recruits to the Potter-Malfoy Alliance of Chaos.

Or I will. 

I just need to remember the first Gryffindor password and then I will.

In the meantime, concealing my brain wracking, I plop down next to Daphne.

"Hey Daffy-Daff!"

She gives me a withering look. "If you call me that again, Hava Potter, I will hex all of your hair off."

I gasp, clamping both of my hands protectively on top of my hair. 

"You wouldn’t!"

My beautiful auburn curls! I spent so long brushing and plaiting them this morning! 

A grin twitches at the corners of Daphne's lips. "Oh wouldn't I?"

I wail and hunker down, covering my pretty hair with my arms. "No, not my hair. Please Daphne, have mercy!"

Daphne cackles. She honest to goodness cackles.

Haha I have corrupted her!!!!!!!!!!!

It only took a couple of weeks! 

I knew Hogwarts was gonna be great.

Pansy clears her throat across the table, and when I peek at her, her cheeks are dusted ever so faintly with pink.

"Could you two be quieter in your ridiculousness?"

Daphne looks vaguely offended at being called ridiculous, but I turn around and see literally half of the hall trying not to stare at our antics. 

I can't help starting grin like a lunatic.

Wait no that sounds like I'm insulting my future bestie Luna.

A madman then.

Madwoman.

Madchild.

Whatever.

Grammar. Ugh digusting stuff, who invented it.

Anyway.

Dumbles is openly staring at me with a puzzled, faintly despairing look like I stole all his lemon drops and he has no idea how. 

Wait. 

Maybe I should do that! 

Violent hair threats forgotten, for the moment at least, I turn to my bestie Daphne. "Daphneeeeeeee, my dearest and cleverest friend in all the world, how much do you like our esteemed Headmaster?"

She looks at me like I'm an idiot. "Have you ever met a Slytherin who liked him?"

I bounce up and down, then I remember that we are still in the hall, so I lean into her ear to whisper my brilliant idea.

"We should steal all his lemon drops."

"What?" 

She looks at me like I've lost it, and Co-Co leans in from my other side.

"Vi-Vi, my dearest and most beloved cousin, are you planning chaos without me?"

I feel a pang of guilt and throw my tiny noodle arms around him, and squeeze him very tightly. 

Wait no, no guilt. I just wanna embarrass him. 

"Oh Co-Co, my platonic soulmate, I am so terribly sorry, can you ever forgive me?"

Peeling my clinging arms away easily, (which is just rude! just because I'm malnourished and tiny), he sniffs. "Invite me to you and Daphne's lemon drop heist."

Daphne looks contemplative. "And if I say it's girls only?"

Co-Co grins. "And if I come along anyway?"

Opposite us, Pansy plants her forehead against the table with a thunk and a groan of soul deep pain. "You are all idiots." Comes her muffled voice. 

We fall silent for like a beat.

And then Blaise, on Co-Co's other side starts laughing, and all four of us chaos gremlins are cackling. 

Next to Pansy, Theo buries his head in his hands. 

Poor dears.

They really should learn, to join them if you can't beat them. Eh, I'm sure they'll join us eventually.

Which reminds me!

I meant to find Tonks. 

"Bye besties, I'll see you in like five seconds."

I swing my legs over the bench and skip casually over to the Hufflepuff table, ignoring everyone staring at me.

Bitches, I've been here for like three weeks, it's almost October.

Chill the fuck out, you should be used to chaos by now - it took Aunt Cissa like four days.

To be fair, Aunt Cissa is an icon.

She's just the Best. I love her so much. Except when she sends Co-Co letters telling him to remind me to take those awful potions that the Healer said I needed to take. 

They're gross! And I'm not dying, so I don't really need to take them, but apparently being a tiny smol is illegal. 

I forcefully yank myself out of my thoughts, and scan the Hufflepuff table. 

Let's see...

Firsties there, wave to Susan Bones. She's the best. She takes no shit, and she doesn't mind sitting next to me in Herbology. Plus she knows some awesome curses. 

Hmmmm. 

No bubblegum pink hair. 

How depressing.

I guess she hasn't gotten to that yet. Pity, I love bubblegum pink. 

Ahah! There!

I skip over to where an older student is sitting with some friends (I assume). She has pale skin and fine features that I'm used to seeing on Aunt Cissa, uncannily black eyes and tight electric blue curls that fall to just above her shoulders and clash awesomely with her Hufflepuff uniform. 

"Hello." I chirp cheerfully. Cheerfully chirp? Meh, whatever.

She looks at me in confusion. "Hi?"

I stick out my hand, and she just looks even more confused. Okay, fair enough. Still, I claimed Co-Co as my cousin, it should have given her a heads up that she counts as a cousin too.

"I'm Hava. We're cousins, and you look cool. Wanna be friends?"

Tonks looks at me with utter bewilderment. She shakes my hand gingerly. "Thanks? I guess?"

"Great!" 

I plop myself down on the bench between her and some other Hufflepuff seventh year.

Unsurprisingly, both of them look very startled by this, exchanging bewildered looks over my head. I blissfully ignore this in favour of nicking a hash brown from the platter in front of me. 

Mmm delicious. And crunchy. And potatoey. 

My favourites. 

I chance a peek at the rest of the hall.

Yep, everyone is staring. Oh well.

Who cares about the sheeples? 

"So, Nymphadora Tonks. Half-blood daughter of Andromeda Black and Ted Tonks."

She frowns, her hair darkening. "Yes. You didn't need to come over here for that."

"Nope." I swallow the last of my hash brown. "Mm delicious. Anyway, why I came over here. My dad's mother was Dorea Black, so technically we're cousins, and I want family and you seem cool."

Her hair lightens again but she still looks at me warily. "My mother was disinherited for running away with my father, and your guardians won't appreciate you associating with me."

Oh for goodness sake. 

I flick my hand as if totally unconcerned by all that bullshit."The past generation's problems shouldn't have to be our problem. If Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy have a problem with me getting to know my cousin, I'll jolly well ask if McGonagall can have custody of me instead. She won't have a problem with my associating with you or with Co-Co."

After that, she seems to warm up a bit, and we're chatting away like old friends by the end of breakfast.

Great!

Also, she's epic. I knew I liked Tonks for a reason.

Next thing on my to-do list (the fixing-the-shit-storm-that-is-the-Black-family list not any of the multiple other to-do lists): get Co-Co and Tonks to get along and be cousins. 

Also come up with a name for her that fits with the theme that Co-Co and I have set up for our family. Ra-Ra? Do-Do? 

Goodness knows. She has enough letters in her name to come up with a good one surely?

But I can't think of one!!!!!

Ahhhhhhhh, emergency, emergency!

Meh, I'll get to that after I've brainstormed with Co-Co. 

Also after Potions.

Fucking Potions. It's great with Aunt Cissa, but I swear I'm gonna fucking murder Severus fucking Snape.

Notes:

Hi guys! Sorry it took long to update (again) I swear I'm not trying to make a habit of this.

Also the current vote for the series:
Megaseries - 8
Seperate series - 6

Chapter 17: Ooh A Giant Green Murder Snake

Okay, first off, fuck Snape.

I'm starting to think that the reason Canon Harry got great marks in Slughorn's class wasn't just the textbook. 

Mum was brilliant at Potions, I remember that much, and so was Dad.

Well, not quite.

Dad came from a long, long, long line of inspired Potioneers, and he could brew any potion he wanted to. 

Mum, on the other hand, was simply a genius.

She was so brilliant that Dad, who's centuries-old fortune was built upon his family's ability with potions, was in awe of her skill.

Both of my parents were exceptional, and I refuse to let them down.

I know I inherited their innate skill, and that my potions are more than up to standard - Aunt Cissa had made sure that Co-Co and I could both handle the first year potions over the summer and had made a point of commenting that I was clearly as gifted as any Potter.

I also know for a fact that Snape is incredibly and unfairly biased when he marks our homeowork.

Co-Co and I had switched ours today when we handed it in, just to check a suspicion he had been holding as to Snape's fairness or lack thereof. I had already known that - I have the benefit of knowing about seven years of Snape being a fucking cunt.

When he hands our homework back at the end of the lesson, 'Co-Co's' has a perfect mark and 'mine' has half that.

"Disappointing, Potter," he sneers at me as he drops the scroll of parchment onto the table in front of me, "coming from such a long line of illustrious potioneers, one would expect better from you."

Co-Co glowers up at Snape, and squeezes my hand. I can't help the warm glow that suffuses my tiny, wrinkled little heart at his silent defense of me.

It can't be easy to take the side of a distant cousin you've barely known over a family friend you've known for your whole life.

Then again, Snape is a dick.

Maybe Co-Co never really liked him in the first place.

He just sneers again at me and moves on, and I grind my teeth together.

I am not my fucking father, nor am I my fucking mother.

Fuck off, Snivellus.

Where does he get off hating me for something I had absolutely nothing to do with?

So what if Dad got the girl. Mum was more than a piece of meat to fight over, and anyway, bully as he was at least Dad matured and moved on unlike some I could mention.

You know, I'm not even sure why exactly he hates me.

It could be because he's sworn to protect me, trapped into an oath he doesn't want to protect the child of a man he hated.

But then it also could be because I lived, and my mother died.

To be fair though, either way, I don't give a fuck.

He's a grown-ass man.

If he's not mature enough to see that I had nothing to do with Mum choosing Dad over him, that he was the one who went scurrying to Moldyshorts with the prophecy, that it's his fault my parents are dead...

Well, that's not my fucking problem.

I stroke Lumi, who's curled around my shoulders like a fucking giant scarf. Under my robes.  

No seriously. These things are fucking huge

Maybe it's time I really live up to my Marauder heritage.

Co-Co sees the look in my eyes, and grins widely and a little madly. "Whatcha planning?"

Instead of answering, I turn my head and hiss to Lumi, trusting Co-Co to cover for me. want to curl around my desk and scare the shit out of that arse of a teacher?

In lieu of an answer, she slithers off my shoulders and onto the flat wooden surface. 

much better. little speaker is much too small to make a good resting place. 

I laugh and smooth one finger over her sandpapery scales. 

Gotta love snakes.

okay, lumi here's the plan...

Co-Co's grin is widening beside me, despite not understanding a single hiss, and a few desks over I think Hermione Granger is about to have an aneurysm.

Probably cos there's a snake on the table, not because I'm a Parselmouth - I'm being very careful, especially considering this is me we're talking about.

I feel kinda bad about her though - she's just a kid, and she was a great friend to Canon Harry. Also she's kinda lonely.

Hmm maybe I should do something about that...

Before I can follow that train of thought further, fucking Snape interrupts my brain. 

Seriously, he can go fuck himself. Not like anyone else is going to.

"Miss Potter, care to explain to me exactly why you have a Boomslang on your desk?"

I count to ten in my head, very, very slowly, and then weaponise Mum's innocent smile at him.

"Lumi was bored and cramped Professor, and I didn't want to be mean to her."

He doesn't react much to Mum's smile beaming up at him sadly, but I detect just enough of a flicker in his eyes to be satisfied anyway.

What can I say, I am one hell of a petty bitch.

Speaking of which, there is a certain diary I need to take care of. Hmmm maybe it's time I meet Myrtle.

That could be fun.

Destroying the diary I mean, not meeting Myrtle.

"Potter."

I startle and blink up at him. "Yup, sorry what?"

He sneers at me and orders me to get Lumi off the desk before he uses her for a potion.

I glower at him and start to lift my sarcastic green bestie snek, who then lunges straight for the professor.

Perfect.

He lurches back, and Lumi hisses what I manage to identify as her equivalent of laughter. 

His face is priceless, and I barely manage to keep myself from laughing even as he snaps for me to control my beast before he takes the matter of my inability to follow rules to the Headmaster.

Jokes on him, Aunt Cissa already wrote to Dumbles and got him to agree that I can take Lumi wherever I want. Turns out that a Dumbles panicking because one of his most important pieces has turned up on the wrong side of the chessboard is a Dumbles willing to allow even more than he does already.

Especially if you are said important piece. 

I look pitifully up at him, adopting a hangdog expression, one that I know Dad used on several occasions around Mum. 

"I'm so sorry sir, she's never done that before. Normally she's perfectly lovely, I swear she won't do it again, please don't send her away."

He just sneers at me. "Cease that inane babble, Potter, and deflate your head before it bursts."

Really? 

What a fucking cunt. I glower at him, trying to channel Agent May. "Whatever."

He glares back, apparently totally unaware that he's now in a staring contest with an eleven year old.

...wait, he can Legilimenise can't he! I hastily look somewhere around his ugly nose.

"The correct reply is 'Yes Professor Snape', Potter." He grinds out slowly, and I grin as a thought occurs to me.

I smile very sweetly at him, and tilt my head to one side. "Yes, Professor Snape."

And I emphasise each 's' ever so slightly, letting it linger between my teeth...just like a certain curse happy bastard who has been top of my murder list for ten years.

Snape's reaction is priceless.

He goes very pale, and then he starts trembling - with rage I think, but it could be Trauma. Which is probably really awful of me to poke at, but like he is also poking at my Dursley induced Trauma so tit for tat right.

"Detention, Potter, tonight, in my office."

Then he sweeps away.

Co-Co glowers right along with me, and wraps one arm around my shoulders. "That was uncalled for. Wait until Father hears about this, he'll put this right, don't worry."

Awww, my baby chaos gremlin cousin is growing up! It warms the cockles of my heart to feel so cared for. 

************

Anyway, after that disastrous Potions lesson (first detention for the win!), I sulk my way to Charms. 

Bloody Snivellus and his bloody vendettas against bloody dead men. 

I do, of course, perk up the second we step into Charms. What can I say, I like being somewhere my talents are acknowledged. 

Plus Flitwick is great.

And he promised to dig out the letter Mum had sent him. 

And to show me some of his photos of her.

What can I say, Flitwick is just great. 

I had not expected for him to be one of my favourite teachers, and yet here he is. 

He's almost as favourite as Minnie, and we all know how much I love her.

Like, in our first lesson, he admitted when he came over to our desk that he was so excited to finally meet the child Lily had described so lovingly in her letters.

'Why, she quite neglected the purpose of the letter in favour of you. Pages and pages of ramblings about her baby, and only a few measly paragraphs about Charms.' Then he had smiled and said that he hoped I was worth the distraction to such a brilliant budding Charms mistress.

Also he's old Flitwick, the old goblin with fluffy hair and bright eyes and green robes with a wizards hat. I always liked him better than weird suit Flitwick.

What can I say, there's a reason Charms is one of my favorite subjects.

In a transparent effort to get the ball rolling, the universe has my eyes landing on a rather lonely-looking Gryffindor muggleborn sitting all by herself near the front.

Ah ha! 

Operation Golden Trio reboot is a go 

I grin like a maniac (or so Co-Co tells me later) and plop myself down next to said Hermione Granger, ignoring Co-Co's wounded expression.

He can deal with it, he's a big boy now. 

Yep, see, there he goes, flouncing over to sit by Daphne.

See. 

He can deal. 

What a mature big boy he is. 

I smile brightly at the rather wary looking girl beside me. "Hi! Potter, Hava Potter. And you?"

She shakes my hand gingerly. "Hermione Granger."

Honestly, she's looking at me really weirdly. 

It's like I've got a snake on my....

Lumi. 

That bitch. 

I wince a bit belatedly. "Lumi's head is peeking out isn't it."

Snakes. 

There's no living with them.

She relaxes once Lumi withdraws her head, and then promptly turns her attention back to the front where Bestie Flitwick is talking at length about the Lumos charm.

Huh, weird. 

In the books, I always got the impression that Wingardium Leviosa was the first thing we learned.

Eh, this is pretty AU, let's just go with it.

I listen attentively, or as attentively as I can, and try to make as many notes as possible.

I may not have inherited Dad's predilection for Transfiguration, but I'll be damned if I let the genes I inherited from Mum go to waste.

She was a fucking Charms legend, and if all I can do for her is be good at her chosen field, you can be damn well sure I'll be brilliant.

That's the plan anyway, and it helps that Charms is easier for me than Transfiguration, which is all but impossible - too much science for my brain. Too much logic.

Dad, well, I'll just have to continue his mischief legacy instead.

A sharp elbow pokes my ribs, accompanied by a whisper to listen to the professor. 

Bitch, I know this shit already. Literally, the Lumos charm was one of the bases for Mum's thesis, she ranted about it for ages and I still remember - the last rant was October 31st, 1981.

That kinda shit tends to stick with you, ya know?

I swallow and start tracing my quill idly over the parchment in front of me, not making any marks because I haven't dipped it in the ink again, but just letting the scritch scratch distract me from the thoughts that are refusing to leave my head. I'll keep going when they aren't poking me.

Baby-Mione elbows me again, and I wince. I get that she means well, but I...I really don't think I could handle actually thinking about this any more right now. 

"Potter, you need to pay attention. This could be on our end of years!"

Oh, wow. End of year tests. 

They're always so fucking easy it's not funny like, I remember my year 7 ones, I could have done them with my eyes closed. No one really cares about them. 

I close my eyes and count to ten, then turn round to baby-Mione. "Granger, I promise that my grades won't go down, but I really can't right now."

As I thought, the subtext of I have Trauma can you stop poking at it please doesn't get picked up. She only glowers at me and it's adorable if a bit irritating. "Your grades can't get much lower the way you're going, Potter. You never pay attention in anything."

Yeah, well, that's because Snivellus is a dickhead. What's new. I shrug. "Eh, I'll do fine."

She turns primly back to look at Bestie Flitwick. "Well, even if you're doing your very best to ruin your education, some of us can't afford to ride on fame and money to get us through school."

What. A. Little. Bitch. 

Okay, like, I get it. She's eleven, out of her depth, and trying to carve out a place for herself in a world that doesn't want her. I respect her for that, don't get me wrong. But she just pushed like twenty million buttons. 

Everyone seems to be doing that today. 

 "I'm not relying on fame I didn't earn and blood money." I grit out. "Just like you, I'm relying on my brain. But unlike you, I haven't grown up with living, loving parents, only the faint memories of dead ones. When you've had your parents murdered in front of you, and you have to sit and listen to a teacher talk about something your mother was laughing about the day she was murdered, then you can judge me."

I turn back around, blinking very hard. 

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. 

Co-Co laughing, Uncle Lucy's face when he saw our peacock army, Aunt Cissa's sly winks.

Dad laughing, his head thrown back and his eyes sparkling. 

Pansy's exasperated eye roll, Blaise's smirk, the twins giggling. 

Mum sighing, shaking her head, but her mouth twitching.

Minnie's warm little smiles, Bestie Flitwick's enthusiasm, Snivellus's face when Lumi lunged at him, Dumbles's horror when I Sorted Slytherin. 

I realise that someone is talking to me.

"-otter. Potter, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

I blink and shake my head. Baby-Mione is looking at me with a lot of worry, and very remorseful. 

Somehow, I manage to toss her a careless smile, not quite my usual chaotic laughter, but it'll do. "Nah, it's fine. I shouldn't have snapped at you, I'm really sorry, Granger."

Baby-Mione looks at me with big melty puppy eyes. "You shouldn't be apologising to me. Mummy always says I say the wrong thing and hurt people, I'm really awfully sorry."

Aw.

Now there is the book-Mione I know - book-smart, a bit disconnected from the ordinary mob, a bit cold but with a fundamentally good heart. 

She's so fucking adorable I love it so much.

I hold out my hand. "Truce? I'd say friends but I don't think you lions deign to befriend us lowly serpents."

She's eleven, more book-smart than people-smart, and out of her depth. But she smiles, looking absolutely delighted, and shakes my hand. "Call me Hermione."

I shake back, smiling just as wide. Book-Mione was a marvellous friend to Book-Harry, and I really would like that friendship. "Hava."

**************

Okay, so maybe not friends so much as friendly rivals. 

But like, you gets what you gets. 

I don't think she's quite ready to be friends with a Slytherin, Hava Potter or no. 

But this is Hermione fucking Granger. She fights me to get Lumos down first, and I am mildly annoyed to say that she almost won. 

I only won because I wished her hair to go in her eyes and then cast the spell. 

Don't look at me like that! School isn't school without a bit of toxic academic competition to liven things up. 

Besides, I'm a Slytherin. Cheating is what we do best. 

And in any case, she got it fourth try so...

I just happened to get it third :)

Yeah, yeah, I'm a bitch, I know, but I was still smarting from the fame and money comment just a bit. 

Anyway, so, Charms is long over. 

We had break (Co-Co dumped water on Seamus Finnegan and it was so fucking funny); History of Magic (I busted out laughing at Bathilda Bagshot's snide comments and Binns stopped and blinked for a second and everyone died); lunch (mmm fish and chips day); Flying (I did barrel-rolls around the entire pitch and threw up and Madam Hooch nearly gave me another detention); and last but not least Herbology. 

Herbology was the most eventful mainly because I was paired with Nev. He's great at Herbology and I'm like accidents but okay, and we both have kinda shitty luck. 

I'm not disclosing details because if I bring it back up Nev is gonna go permanently silent tomato and I was just getting him to talk to me and laugh at my weirdness. Let's just say Sprout wants to quarantine me and also maybe jump outta a window. 

Anyway. Speed rerun of day over. 

Guess what now. 

FREE TIME! 

My favouritest time in the world. Apart from maybe Charms of course. 

Well, Co-Co insists on showering before we go off on my 'crazy secret adventure' which I think makes no sense. What if it involves something that gets us dirty again?

Eh, cousins. Gotta love 'em. 

Also, also, fun fact that canon never tells you and also may probably not be canon but eh. 

Outside of lessons you can wear whatever you want as long as it's decent. I have no idea who came up with that rule but I have a new eternal bestie. Unless it's Dumbles. 

Still hate the dude. 

Soooo, I shower like super-speedy and then spend like ten minutes bouncing in front of the wardrobe, trying to decide which pretty shiny dress to wear.

Vera looks at me with mild concern, but then just rolls her eyes and goes back to her homework - Transfiguration...I think. 

Meh. 

It takes me like ages to pick (I had like three changes of clothes for like a decade and they were all gross don't judge me), but then I remember my other super secret self appointed mission and everything clears up. 

The choice has been made. 

I choose........

My super awesome dress. 

The one that is mostly a nice dark purple that doesn't show dirt easily. It's got long leg'o'mutton sleeves that puff perfectly because magic, so many buttons that I nearly die, and it swishes around my calf so satisfyingly that I nearly die again. It's also like basically indestructible so there's that.

Vera looks at me weirdly again. Probably because I'm cackling and spinning in front of my mirror. 

Okay.

Let's go find Co-Co. 

I run down the stairs and end up waiting for like...ten more minutes. 

Damn. How long does it take for one eleven year old boy to get dressed? 

Okay, to be fair, wizard clothes are way more awesome than men clothes. Like, more medieval so way more variety and awesomeness. 

To no one's surprise, Co-Co tends to wear like Cavalier style clothes. It's absolutely brilliant and I love it. 

Okay, I've probably spent wayyyy too much time on clothes now. 

So anyway, Co-Co follows me curiously outta the door, and I start wandering vaguely round the dungeons. How else am I gonna find Hufflepuff and my new favourite cousin? 

He looks rather uncertain about it, but he just shrugs and lets me. Thankfully, it doesn't take long. 

We round a corner after like five minutes and bump straight into the exact same person we were looking for.

Which is good. 

Both because yay we found her and um also we may be the teensiest bit lost. 

Also when I see her, I squeal. She's dressed 90s punk and it actually suits her so fucking much I'm gonna die. Normally I hate that shit, but it looks so good!

Tonks looks at me weirdly. "Are you alright?"

Before I can reply, Co-Co does. Great! Family bonding time! "She's fine. She does this from time to time when she sees something she likes."

I finally have to stop, and take a breath. Then I expel it with talking this time. I need to strike while the iron is hot! 

"Okay, Co-Co, our other cousin Tonks, I'm thinking To-To to fit the scheme. Tonks, our other cousin Draco, you can call him Co-Co I guess."

They both blink at me. 

At each other. 

At me. 

At each other. 

Co-Co frowns. "You're a half blood."

Oh not this shit. I poke him, quite hard. "So am I dumbass." I know I swear, but I try to keep  it at least a bit more PG around kids. 

Tonks frowns as well. "Your father's a Death Eater, you're hardly one to throw stones."

Co-Co swells indignantly. 

Well shit. 

They start sniping at each other about ancestry. Someone fucking kill me. 

I groan dramatically and slump against the wall. 

This has the dual effect of releasing my irritation and getting their attention. 

Good.

I glare at both of them. "We're cousins. Family. I don't care what the last generation did or any of the ones before. This is our generation, and we get to do what we want with it." Then I stop and think about it. "Well, actually, neither of you do. You two have lost your privileges, so now I get to decide. And I say we're family, whether you like it or not, so you had both better like it."

They both stare at me again. 

"Is she always like this?" Tonks asks. 

Co-Co laughs. "Worse."

I would be offended, but like, then they start talking and then they start walking and damn. 

So all it took was me yelling and them thinking I'm mad? 

Really? 

Really?

That's so fucking rude. 

Why didn't anyone do it before?

Speaking of the previous generation, I suddenly remember a certain evil diary.

Ah yeah. Gotta get that dealt with.

I leave the two chatting away like long-lost family (ha!), and make a beeline for the dungeons. 

A very fast, very speedy beeline.

Thankfully, most people are still eating, so there are very few around to give me weird looks as I run through the corridors like there are six Fluffys on my tail. 

Potter luck strikes again, but in a good way for once. Not in a Petunia-needed-a-drink-at-3-in-the-morning-and-I was-eating-in-the-kitchen-when-I-was-supposed-to-be-locked-in-the-cupboard-for-definitely-not-magic kind of way for the first time in ages.

There is literally no one around.

Okay, partially because it's free time and most peoole are out on the grounds enjoying the rare Scottish sun, but whatever. Let me enjoy my moment.

Despite the empty halls, it is with great relief that I reach the totally non-descript wall and give the password.

Even though I feel like an idiot yelling 'Boomslang' at the wall.

I step inside, and then freeze.

Multiple older kids, who I would guess are OWL or NEWT students, are sitting around the room, looking up from piles and piles of notes and textbooks.

Shit.

Okay, nothing for it.

I start to sprint across the room, ignoring the gazes of fourteen fifth and seventh years on me.

I'm almost there when a voice reaches me. Damn.

"Potter! Potter, stop!"

Reluctantly, I come to a screeching halt and look questioningly at Gemma Farley. What a pity her name doesn't start with a J, but alas the world is full of these little unfairnesses. 

"Yeah?"

"Why aren't you outside with the others?"

Well that's a rather unfair question. I fold my arms stubbornly. "Why aren't you?"

She frowns thunderously and I shiver involuntarily - I still have issues with unhappy authority figures, but like, doesn't everyone. "I happen to have OWL revision Potter, and don't take that tone with me"

I roll my eyes and keep going. "Yeah yeah okay."

Behind me she makes a weird noise. "Hmph. So nothing's wrong I take it."

I wave a careless hand over my shoulder. "Nope. Not a troll in sight.:

"...what?" Ugh, I really need some people to get my references. Please. Just one.

Is it that hard universe?

I sigh. "Never mind. Everything's fine, it's all good."

I sprint past her, and up the hall to the first year girls room. Vera's gone thank goodness. 

In moments, I have flung my trunk open and half of my worldly belongings are out on the floor. 

Hmmm. 

Wrong book, wrong book, wrong book - there! 

I swoop down on the shirt wrapped bundle and stick it in my school bag. 

Okay.

Self appointed save the world mission is a go!

Hmmm. We need a better name.

Meh. Let's go find a bathroom!

**************

It takes me becoming hopelessly lost three times before I realise I have no fucking clue where Moaning Myrtle's bathroom is.

Damn it.

It's not like I can remember everything, and directions around Hogwarts did not rate the list for some reason. 

I slump down against the wall and gaze aesthetically out the window. 

It looks out onto the Quidditch pitch, and I can just make out little dark figures zooming around on it.

At this distance, Houses are impossible to identify without asking an older student which captain is that Quidditch mad-

That's it!

Ask older students!

I'm tiny and cute, plus the Girl-Who-Lived. 

Who's gonna tell me they aren't gonna tell me where I can find a loo? 

Haha, I would make a marvellous evil master mind.

No doubt about it.

I wander aimlessly through the corridors a bit more before I spot someone. 

It's a red-headed boy with a prefect badg- Percy Weasley!

Haven't seen him for real yet. 

I plaster an anxious look on my face and bounce up to him. "Excuse me?"

He jumps and then looks down his nose at me, which like, rude. Okay, to be fair, he's an uptight dickhead in the books and the movies, maybe he's just tired.

Also then he sees my scar and his eyes widen and fuck that, I'm so done with this rubbish.

"Yes?" 

I smile at him, tinging it masterfully with anxiety. "Do you know where the nearest toilet is? I'm dreadfully sorry to bother you, but I got lost."

For a moment he just looks silently at me, and then gives me very nice directions to a loo.

I follow them punctiliously, but I'm disappointed. 

Only a normal loo. 

Well, if at first you don't suceed, try try try again.

On the bright side, I'm on the same floor as Myrtle's bathroom, so we're all good.

I shift the strap of my satchsl and square my tiny little shoulders. 

My dad was James Potter, he made the fucking Marauders' Map.

I can find a bathroom.

**************

Turns out finding a toilet is harder than I thought.

Hogwarts has so fucking many I swear. 

Like, there have got to be like eight on this floor alone.

Finally, I see a girl who looks like a younger version of movie Katie Bell. 

She looks a bit surprised at having a tiny Slytherin come bouncing up to her and ask where the nearest loo is, but oh well.

She handles it very well.

And, when I emphasise that I really need to use the nearest toilet regardless of her hesitance to direct me to it, because I really need to goooooo.

She reluctantly points me to Moaning Myrtle's toilet, saying to watch out for Moaning Myrtle.

I thank her nicely (Aunt Cissa would murder me otherwise), and scurry off.

By the time I reach the toilet, I actually do need to go, which is good.

While picking older students' brains, I had a chance to do some brainstorming of my own, and came to the realisation that I need an excuse to find the Chamber.

After all, who knows what Myrtle could say, and I don't feel like Dumbles deciding I am basically nothing but a Horcrux and leading a witch-hunt.

So I use one of the rather nice toilets and then go to wash my hands, hoping that the sink I choose is the right one.

Yeah, there is no water. 

"That tap never works." The words are accompanied by a hiccup, and I can't help it, I jump about a mile into the air.

"Jeez, warn a girl would you?" I clutch my pounding heart dramatically, but she only grins.

"Sorry." Damn it, she's as annoying as the character.

I look at her curiously, opening my mismatched eyes wide  "I've never talked to a ghost properly before. You're very cool."

For a moment, she looks a bit offended and I curse mentally. 

But then she preens as if she's never had such a compliment in her life. "Thank you."

I tilt my head to one side á la Moldyshorts (I'm practicing okay), and look at her consideringly. "Is it rude to ask how you died?!

Look, I'm eleven, I'm allowed to be tactless.

She grins widely. "Oh it was Awful." Damn I heard the capital in that.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry." I mock turn, and she hurries on, seemingly desperate for someone to talk to. Poor kid, she can't be much older then fourteen.

"No, don't go." I turn back around, wide eyes fixed on her. She points dramatically at the sink. "I died right here. I was crying in the toilet because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses, and then I heard a boys voice, speaking some made-up language, or that's what I suppose it was."

"A boy?" I look appropriately horrified when she nods dramatically. "But this is a girls toilet!"

Myrtle leans forwards. "And that's why I opened the door, to tell him to go away. But I just saw a pair of big yellow eyes, and then," she pauses dramatically, "I was dead."

She lets out a wail and floats back into a cubicle, crashing into a toilet going by the water that is suddenly on the floor.

"Huh, interesting."

I wash my hands at a sink that works and then stroke Lumi idly as I contemplate the broken sink. 

what do you think lumi? should we do this?

She butts her head against my hand. silly little speaker, of course we should.

I laugh. alright then.

Standing very steady, and clutching Lumi in my arms like a very big, green, poisonous teddy bear, I open the Chamber of Secrets for the first time in fifty years. 

open.

It's rather anticlimatic - no floating, no light. Only the sink sinking into the floor and leaving a large, dark hole behind it.

I peer down it. 

Yuck.

The pipe is really, really, really, really, really gross. And I haven't learned scourgi-whatitsface yet. 

I nearly give up right then. It's fine.

I can wait to kill baby-Mort, right? After all, if it stays in my trunk then baby Ginny doesn't get possessed, right? And everything will be fine, right?

I start to turn away, before I remember that to have actually done any of his shit, baby-Mort had to have gone down this pipe too. 

I turn right back around and march right up to the pipe. I can do anything Moldy-fucking-Voldy did, and with 100000% more aesthetic and chaos. And if that means going down the pipe, I will go down the fucking pipe. 

It is really gross though.

I wrinkle my nose, and decide to test a fan theory/fanfic trope or two (and if I cross a finger or two as I do so, well, it's not anyone else's business). stairs

There is an awful grinding sound and I wince, thinking I've done something bad. If I just broke the fucking Chamber of Secrets I'll be so fucking embarassed I might just kill myself. 

It goes on for like five minutes, and I start to back away from the edge, but then, oh joy, the wall starts folding out into stairs like a weird fidget toy. When the final stair unfolds right at my toes, I maybe perhaps sort of whoop with delight so loudly that Lumi hisses at me and threatens to bite my face.

 So, I'm guessing the noise was the stairs? But if so, damn it took a heck of a long time - just how far down is the Chamber? Although, I guess it could just be insanely fucking old.

Does magic break down like machinery? 

Tabling that particular line of thought for now, I admit to myself that I will probably write to Aunt Cissa about it, and turn my attention back to the task at hand. 

I look consideringly at the stairs, and then at the diary. Yes? No? Maybe? Fuck it. Let's be realistic, if I don't now, when can I.

"This bitch empty." I say dramatically. "Yeet!" And I fucking yeet baby-Mort down the pipe-stairs. Ha! 

I cackle evilly (but like, I did it to an evil dude so do I cackle goodily), and then light the tip of my wand. Off we go! 

I step onto the first step and nearly fucking die. 

No, seriously. 

It's so fucking slippery. I sit down hard on the edge of the pipe.

Okay. More careful. Got it.

I stand back up (carefully!) and proceed to gingerly make my way down the gross, slippery steps. 

One step.

Pause.

Two step.

Pause.

Three step.

Pause.

Four step.

Another pause.

Five step.

Another. Fucking. Pause.

I make it to seven steps and then lose it. This is really fucking boring. 

Fuck this. 

I need something to distract me before I slip and die of boredom! 

My mind helpfully goes back to the last stair montage I saw in a movie, well, old me not me me. 

It takes a while for me to remember the tune, but then I'm off.

I even make up my own lyrics! 

"Welcome to the Chamber of Secrets

The home of a giant basilisk

Where all the people are slithery and snaky

Let's fuck up the Chamber of Secrets." 

I've made it through five more steps. I huff and wave my wand around vaguely as I think. Hmmm. 

"Lots of stairs in the Chamber of Secrets. 

Too many stairs in the Chamber of Secrets."

Ah there we go. I keep singing, making up increasingly stupid lyrics.

Damn, Mirabel had this done in like a twenty second montage.

I want a twenty second montage!

What? The movie came out like a month ago when I became Hava. Like, sure, I guess the hype probably died (ha) down after a while, but it was The Movie when I died. 

Literally everyone knew We Don't Talk About Bruno I swear. I used to sing it and it would piss Aunt Petunia off because she didn't know where I heard this catchy irritating song. It was so fucking funny, especially when she caught herself humming it.

Anyway, I sing myself sick of my altered song, the full soundtrack of Encanto, Greatest Showman, Shrek the Musical, Hamilton and Beauty and the Beast before I reach the bottom. 

It's such a vibe. The pipe echoes my voice beautifully, I love it so much. Also every time I find baby-Mort book version I kick it further down the stairs it's so fucking satisfying.

***********

So, it takes like waaayyy too long to get down there.

Halfway down, it occurs to me that Co-Co and Tonks have probably noticed my abscence and started panicking by now but eh too late now.

When I do get down, everything is gross. Yuck. 

Dead animal bones. 

Retch.  

I pick up evil baby-Mort,  snuggle tighter to a complaining Lumi and march over the floor.

Lets go kill a sixteen year old psychopath from fifty years ago and ignore the bones on the floor. 

I make it about five metres before I'm forced to revert to humming again to distract myself. 

Hmm maybe I can get a house elf to clean this up? Maybe Mopsy. 

Eh, that can come later.

It takes me way too long to reach the door, but reach it I do. 

Okay, the most important thing is that those snakes are hella shiny and it's great. 

I don't really notice much else, because then I get past the doors. 

Holy shit this is really fucking cool.

The Chamber is like as big as the Great Hall, and way darker. It's also all green and aesthetic and I love it so much. 

There's a bigass statue over on the far end and it looks like it's frowning at me.

Very maturely, I stick my tongue out at it.

I'm one of only two remaining magical descendants of Slytherin - I have every right to be here.

Statue can fuck off.

what's this? a human? i haven't seen a human in years

I jump. er, hi. who's there?

The biggest snake I've ever fucking seen comes from behind a pillar. It's really shiny green and I love it. 

Oh wait. 

I need to close my eyes! 

It's too late! I feel a strange floating sensation, and darkness begins to close in around me. 

Nah, joking. 

The basilisk, cos let's be real who else is it gonna be, looks at me curiously. a speaker. one of my human's line no less. you are very welcome here - what can i do for you?

For once, I manage to stay on track. can you bite my evil baby-mort book please?

The basilisk blinks. ...if that is what you wish, child of my human.

Notes:

Helloooo I'm back again. Sorry for the wait haha

Okay, so like, I'm in the middle of GCSEs but Mum took away my revision stuff cos I'm 'stressing too much' so I needed somewhere to put all the nervous energy and decided to bless you with this travesty that I came up with in like three hours

 

Also, about the whole series megaseries thing.
I had a thought about a thought that Fantasticoncer gave me - megaseries, but with different OCs for each one. The OCs will all be vaguely friends/related, and each fic will technically be standalone so you can skip fandoms you aren't part of.
The series will probably be like Too Many People And This Is Not How Death Should Work or something

Chapter 18: Snakes Are Weird

maybe a little to the left?

There is a loud thunk, and I wince, before the basilisk's hissing reaches my ears again. the evil book is too small for me to reach it, tiny loud human. i cannot bite it while it is on the floor.

I sigh. Damn it. 

At least she's agreed to kill baby-Mort right? She could have been very Suspicious of me and tried to kill me, but she's just vibing and going along with my chaos, and I respect that. 

But however awesome she is, the fact remains that we have a Problem (tm) in the fact that she is too big to bite baby-Mort to death while he's lying on the floor in book form, and also we are running out of time.

I've been gone for far too long by now - oops. This is taking, um, a little longer than I expected. 

Co-Co and To-To are probably panicking. 

Come on Hava, think, think. 

I scrunch up my face. What? It helps! Quite a lot actually. 

Ahah!!!! I have the best ideas! 

how still can you hold?

Bestie Basilisk treats me to a withering look. i am over a thousand years old. what do you think?

No need to be all bitchy at me, thank you very much. I am trying to save the world here. okay then, open your mouth and hold still.

She does so, and I snatch up the book and skip over to her. 

I try to impale baby-Mort on her fangs and then huff. uh, could you lower your head a bit please? i'm a bit short.

There is definitely an eyeroll there, but she does so, and I gently puncture baby-Mort with a fang. 

It squeals a bit, and leaks a lot of dark ink, and hisses some, and then it kinda just vibes. 

So, that's it I guess? Bit anti-climatic if you ask me but whatever. 

Bestie Basilisk closes her mouth and shakes her head from side to side. cursed objects taste so disgusting.

sorry.

She shakes her head. it is not your fault, tiny loud human. i am very glad that you had the insight to ask for my assistance rather than attempt to deal with it by yourself.

Honestly, she just sounds so totally unsurprised that I found a cursed book and needed it destroying. Just what was Slytherin like, honestly. 

I bounce in place, shoving newly deceased (can you even call a book newly deceased?) baby-Mort back into my bag. well, thank you very much! i'm so glad you aren't irretrievably insane and psycho! i'm hava, by the way. 

Her tongue flicks out, as if scenting the air, and somehow she looks as if she's smiling. How? How does she do that? She's a fucking snake! 

it is a pleasure to meet you, hava, distant child of my human. i am nagini.

My jaw drops open.

Nagini.

Nagini.

Voldy called his snake after the fucking Basilisk. What a fucking nerd. And a delusional dick, but also...

I burst out laughing.

I can't stop laughing. 

I keep laughing until I'm wheezing and there are tears in my eyes.

Nagini looks vaguely concerned. tiny loud hava, what is wrong? is it something i said?

With a herculean effort that no one will ever probably appreciate, I take in a huge breath and hold it until I stop laughing. it isn't you, nag-

And there I go again. 

She pokes me very gently with her blunt, very very large, nose. you are crying? 

What? no, no i'm not. i'm laughing.

But I raise a hand to my face anyway. 

Huh. 

There's wet stuff there. 

I look at my damp fingertips in confusion. 

tiny loud hava? 

A tear drips past my hand and lands on the floor.

It makes a plinky, splashy sound in the puddles of scummy, centuries-old water, and the puddle ripples and wavers.

Okay, it distracts me a bit. What, it's pretty.

It just occurs to me that I never put baby-Mort out of his misery. 

The last thing he knew was that I was saying something completely different to what he remembered and my name wasn't Warren. And then I threw him in a trunk for a few weeks and then stabbed him with Nagini's conveniently poisonous teeth. 

Damn. 

I'm so mean.

But it couldn't have happened to a better person, unless it was Umbridge. Which is debatable. 

Umbridge didn't murder my parents in front of me.

So for now she's a close second. She's not technically done anything yet. 

Not like him. 

He murdered my parents. 

But he didn't just kill them. 

He used someone they trusted, someone they loved, and came into their home, their sanctuary, to kill them.

He played with them.

I choke on something unfurling in my chest. It hurts, and it tastes bitter.

It makes me cough, and the coughs are accompanied by more water sliding out of my eyes.

Honestly, what a weird thing tears are. Why do they exist? Who's idea were they? 

tiny loud hava? what is wrong? Poor Nagini looks really worried now. Oops. 

I sniff and wipe my runny nose with the back of my hand. 

The Chamber of fucking Secrets is not the place to start spiralling about Voldy and how he killed my parents in the absolute cruellest way he possibly could because he's a fucking psychopath and being stuck under a garlicy turban and hit with snowballs is so much better than he deserves when my parents are rotting away in the graveyard of the village where they were supposed to be safe because they trusted peter fucking pettigrew and he betrayed them and led the enemy right to their door and-

i'm fine, nagini, but i really need to get back to the main school before someone notices that i'm gone.

She looks at me like I'm stupid. no you are not. what is wrong, tiny loud hava?

Called out by a giant snake in a ruined hall covered with pondweed and mould. Why is this my life? 

I ignore her. nagini, i'm fine, i really need to get back.

Snakes don't have shoulders to slump, but idk, she does something.

It looks like she does.

And she quite clearly does not accept my bullshit excuses but whatever. She points with her tail to an open archway. follow that straight on, and when it forks go left. always left and up. it is quicker than the way you came. 

I grin up at her and sniff. Gross, I'm gonna have a headache from crying now. thanks nagini!

Then I jump as her head moves closer to me. What, her eye is taller than me it's really fucking intimidating. 

She blinks, and I swear she looks like my mum when I got colic that one time just after Christmas. this conversation is not over, sad, loud hava. when you come back, we will talk about what the cursed book did to you.

did to me? I stare at her. it didn't do anything to me.

then why did destroying it make you react as if you had killed an enemy who had burned everything you ever loved?

Fuck.

I don't think snakes are supposed to be um like this.

Come to think of it, Lumi's being very quiet. I wrap one hand around her tail and squeeze ever so gently like it's one of those baby toys. 

because...

Nope. 

No thanks. 

Fuck this shit, I'm out.

I run to the archway and don't stop until Nagini's hisses are inaudible again. 

Damn that was close. 

Lumi's tail pokes me. you should not have run away.

what? My laugh is totally firm and confident. 100%. i didn't run away.

She pulls her tail out of my hands and pokes me harder. you always run away, my human. one day you'll have to face whatever it is that you run from.

WHY ARE ALL THE SNAKES IN MY LIFE LIKE THIS?

I don't need a therapist. So why are they acting like therapists? 

I ignore her all the way through the dark, dank, dusty, musty secret secret halls. I'm sneezing too loud to hear her okay.

Don't judge me.

Ow. Fuck. My head hurts. 

Okay, to be fair to it, I've put it through a lot today what with the tears and now the dust.

Still, fuck my life. 

This is karma for ditching Nagini like that isn't it. 

I'm so tired and sneezy and eye watering that I walk right into the wall.

Fuck that hurt. 

Wait.

I peer closer, and tap it with my wand.

Oh fuck.

It's a dead end.

I am a very intelligent, self-controlled person.

I kick the wall.

What? I've had a long, shitty day. 

Nothing happens obviously. 

It still pisses me off though.

Then I push. 

Still nothing. I huff and kick it again. 

oh fuck you, open.

There is a click, and I tumble head over heels forwards.

Ouch.

Also fuck.

Notes:

This one is very short because it's the only good stopping place before the chapter gets outta hand.

The next should (fingers crossed) be significantly longer.

Chapter 19: On A Scale From 1-10 This Isn't Even A 3

There is a terrible awful silence. 

There is a terrible awful noise of people shrieking in shock.

There is a terrible awful silence. 

I open one eye and peek out at the world around me. 

I'm sitting on my butt in the middle of the Slytherin common room. 

What?

What the fuuuuuccckkkkk?

I look over my shoulder. The portrait of the guy I guess must be Salazar Slytherin is hanging open, and half the wall with it, showing behind it a gaping darkness of a tunnel that stretches back into the depths of the walls.

Lumi's curling sulkily on the floor between me and the super awesome secret tunnel, hissing something about how I should slow the fuck down before I kill either her or me. 

Which. 

Fair. 

I probably should slow down, but eh. 

"Potter!" 

What? 

I look up. 

Ah. 

Oh dear.

Gemma Farley's stood over me, hands on her hips and a very intimidating frown (for a 15 year old) creasing her forehead. 

"Hi!" 

My cheerful reply does not, unfortunately, melt the prefect's frozen heart. I'd be sad but historically she's usually too busy with her own life to really get mad about mine. 

Historically meaning over the last like month. 

I can't be so annoying that I'll have pissed her off so soon right?

"Potter, what in the name of all that's holy were you doing this time?"

Er. 

I cross all my fingers and a couple of my toes. She looks mad. 

"I was wandering around and, er, got a bit lost?"

My voice comes out with a childish squeak and fuck that so much

Someone snorts, and I peek around the looming prefect to see some asshole with a face like a squashed blobfish snickering.

Rude.

I'd have liked to see you when your voice was breaking, you look like it would have been hilarious.

Gemma does not look impressed. What, it's the truth! 

But rather than rolling her eyes and moving on, like she usually does, she folds her arms and taps her foot. "How stupid do you think I am, Potter?"

...

Does she want me to answer that? 

Like, I don't think she's stupid but does she want me to answer that? 

"Was that a rhetorical question? Cos I get caught out by those a lot."

She blinks like I slammed her over the head with Snapey Snape's cauldron. "Uh..." 

Oops. 

Did I break the prefect? 

Someone sighs loudly and then comes up to us. "Sit down Farley, I know you're in charge of the firsties but in this case I'll deal with it."

Gemma's shoulders slump and she smiles tiredly at the person. "Thank you, I really appreciate it." 

She flops back down next to squashed blobfish asshole guy, picks up a bigass tome and starts scribbling frantically. Oop now I feel bad about distracting her. 

Above me, the someone clears their throat. "Do you know who I am, Potter?"

I squint. Hmmmmm.

Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Unsettlingly hard and, well, sorta blunt features. 

Not jogging any memories. 

I shrug. "Er, no."

She squats down opposite me, and laces her fingers together. "Yaxley, Claudia Yaxley. Ring any bells, Potter?"

Ah. 

The Head Girl. 

Also presumably the daughter or other relative of not-convicted Death Eater Corban Yaxley so probably not a big Potter fan.

But more importantly to me right now, Head fucking Girl.

I reach behind me and drag Lumi onto my lap, ignoring her protestations. "I really was exploring. It wasn't on purpose."

Claudia Yaxley smiles, and it isn't a very nice smile. I might just be biased though. What? Her dad/whatever wasn't even a compelling character, and he was a complete ass. "And just how, on your 'exploring', did you end up inside the walls?"

Er. 

I frown. 

This is difficult.

Saying 'the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets said this was the best way back to main school' will probably not go down well.

Saying 'I was on a mission to kill a piece of Voldy's soul so he can't come back' will probably also not go down well. 

I probably shouldn't do the Parseltongue reveal yet. 

Though it could make me some friends? Friends in high places are always good right?

Hmmmm. 

I reduce myself to a disarming shrug. "I dunno, I was wandering around and then it got dark and I was lost so I kicked the wall and it opened and now I'm here."

There is a distinct scoff of disbelief that I already associate with Gemma Farley. Rude. "It's the truth!" 

Yaxley raises on sardonic eyebrow. "But not the whole truth, is it Potter?"

Damn. 

She's got me figured out. 

That's what I get for being a Slytherin, betcha the Gryffindors wouldn't have caught that. Maybe I made the wrong choice?

Nah, at least the Slytherins have predictable loyalties, if annoying troublesome ones. Gryffindors seem to change their loyalty based on the weather (yes I am salty on canon Harry's behalf why do you ask), and I am 0/10 not here for that. 

But it does make life difficult. 

I squeeze Lumi tighter and look up at Yaxley with my big mismatched eyes, channelling Baby Yoda for all I'm worth.

Good thing all those potions Aunt Cissa has Co-Co force down my throat haven't worked their magic yet, I'm still a malnourished little bit of a thing and hopefully very cute and pathetic. 

I even manage to force a few tears! 

"I...I didn't mean to cause trouble, honest. Please don't kick me out of Hogwarts, I'll be good, I promise."

Come on, come on, come on. 

I hunch my shoulders and my lip trembles a bit. 

Yaxley visibly softens, just a bit. 

Hallelujah! 

She sighs and shakes her head. "No one's going to make you leave Hogwarts Potter, don't pretend like you genuinely think that." 

Yeah but is she gonna get me into trouble?

I keep staring up at her with my big, waif-like eyes.

The corners of her mouth twitch. "You won't get into trouble, as long as you clean yourself up in time for supper, you're filthy."

Rude, but at the same time...yeah. I'm covered in dust and gunk and pondweed. 

I scramble up and beam at her. "Thank you!" 

Trying to hug her when I'm covered in grossness probably will piss her off won't it? 

Yaxley shakes her head, but she's genuinely smiling. "Masterfully done, Potter, you almost had me. There's room for improvement, but not as much as some of your yearmates."

Wait...

She knows? 

She knows. 

(Damn now that stupid song thing is playing in my head)

Eh, she doesn't look mad about it so I'm fine. 

She reaches over me and pushes the wall and portrait back into place, where it shuts with a click. "Run along and get changed Potter, you look like a Gryffindor."

I snap my heels together and salute, then scramble off to the dorm. Behind me, I can hear laughter and a few joking comments about adopting me. 

Not aimed at my departing back, thank goodness. 

Well, I guess that went well? 

*****************

Co-Co is mad at me at dinner. 

Apparently he and To-To spent the last however long looking for me, only to come into dinner late and find me neat and tidy (and changed), eating my tea calmly as I chat with Daphne and Pansy. Well, Pansy is more there because she is vetoing any good ideas, but she's still part of the conversation. Co-Co's spitting mad.

Oops? 

But like, at least they bonded right?

All's well that ends well and stuff like that. 

Co-Co uh does not see it that way. He's really mad, and goes to sit with Crabbe and Goyle. 

Voluntarily!

They have awful manners, sitting with them is like asking to be sick! 

Okay, he's never been this mad at me before. 

Maybe it was kinda a dick move to pull on him, but some good shit came out of it!

Co-Co and To-To are officially bestie fam now, and I discovered that Voldy's a copy cat lil bitch, and I think Claudia Yaxley likes me and thinks I'm adorable. Also a bit of Voldie's soul is dead.

Win-win all round!

I mean, I have detention now. Which sucks. But like, I can deal with that. 

Right? 

Snivellus hates my butt though. 

What's the worst he can do? 

I mean, historically quite a lot, he hates me and my dad a ton and also my mum used to be his best friend? So that doesn't help? 

But no one's gonna let him do anything too bad to me right? 

I stare moodily into my peas.

Who am I kidding?

He made canon Harry's life suck just fine, and canon Harry didn't even try to piss him off just existed. 

I definitely try to piss him off. It's an unfortunate character trait inherited from Dad but it means that he really really hates me. 

It's been a month and I think he already hates me as much as he hated canon Harry by fifth year, because not only am I an obnoxious lil bitch, I look just like Mum while acting like Dad and channelling Moldywarts. 

I risk a quick peak at the teacher's table. Professor Snivellus is sitting there, glowering at nothing and stabbing his potatoes like they've suggested he wash his hair. 

Yeah. 

I'm fucked. 

Mysteriously, I've lost my appetite. Which normally would be an issue, but Co-Co's mad at me right now so he isn't going to make me eat a minimum amount of food. 

I surreptitiously push my plate away, slightly sad because the roast is delicious but also I am sooooo not hungry. 

What? If I'm going to be disembowelling frogs or something, I don't want much in my stomach to throw up. Unless it gets all over Snape of course. 

I'd quite enjoy that. 

Pansy pokes me. Seriously, what is it with her and inflicting bodily harm on me? "Are you alright? You've gone very quiet."

Huh? 

I've been in a thinking mood sure, but I've not been particularly quiet. Like, I've been talking and she's shut down at least five good ideas this meal! 

She sighs and shakes her head. "Never mind, you're clearly elsewhere this evening."

Well yeah, but like...rude. I do the mature thing and stick my tongue out at her. 

"You'd be weird too if you had detention with Snape after tea."

Daphne just shrugs and Pansy rolls her eyes.

I feel as if I've been stabbed.

The betrayal! 

My friends, my own dear friends who I thought I could trust! I cannot believe this!

Pansy rolls her eyes at my dramatics. "He isn't that bad if you're a Slytherin, or so I've heard at least. He's awful to Gryffindors, but he keeps the worst jobs for their detentions. He wouldn't waste them on one of his own."

I cross my arms. "Yeah, but he hates me. Like...he looks at me like I'm a piece of goop from one of the Weasley twins' experiments. If he makes an exception to his not hating on Slytherins rule, you can bet anything it'll be for me."

Neither of my apparently fake friends react to this.

Daphne pats me on the shoulder. "It'll be fine, he won't. My cousin Damien told me about the time that he made such a mess that Professor Snape's class had to change rooms for a week while they fixed it, and all he had to do in detention was write lines. You only had a snake that got a bit out of hand, and she isn't even poisonous yet. You'll be fine."

Wait Daphne has a cousin at Hogwarts? "Why haven't I met your cousin yet!" Does she not think I should meet him? He sounds fun!

Anyone who inconveniences Professor Arsehole is brilliant in my book. 

Pansy rolls her eyes. "He transferred, pea brain. Didn't you listen when Daphne told you about it?"

Er.

Apparently not. 

I shrug. "I've had a lot on my mind, I remember now. But, just in case I'm thinking of the wrong cousin Damien, tell me again?"

Pansy blinks, sighs, and stabs a piece of Yorkshire pudding with a lot more force than I think strictly necessary. 

Daphne looks at me suspiciously and I smile back, channelling as much innocence as I possibly can. She rolls her eyes. "One day, you're going to have to pay attention you know."

Whatever. "But it is not this day!" 

She sighs. "Okay. Fine. It's not even that interesting - Damien's father is French, and wanted his son to go to Beauxbatons. He let him come to Hogwarts on the condition that he behave himself, but last year the Potions classroom incident happened and he got someone trapped under the Whomping Willow and he accidentally cursed a Bludger and made it go right for all the windows in the castle. So he got pulled out and sent to Beauxbatons where his father can keep a better eye on him."

Alright. Now that she's said it, it does sound vaguely familiar.

In the, I've heard it before in this life way, not in the extremely minor character from canon way. 

Well, maybe I'll be fine then. 

Damien sounds like he had way more fun than I did and he still didn't have that bad detentions. 

Eh. 

Who am I kidding. I'll probably be disembowelling horned toads. Gross. 

On that happy note, I notice that people are starting to finish eating and leave. 

Brilliant. 

It's that special time of evening when those poor souls unlucky enough to get detentions are hauled off to suffer. 

When I very sneakily peer over at the teacher's table, yep, no Snape.

Wonderful. Absolutely marvellous. 

I stand up and square my shoulders. Canon Harry endured this, I can do it too. 

Okay, maybe not this exact thing, Canon Harry's poor little soul wouldn't have survived a detention in the first month, but the thought is the same. 

He survive Snape, I can too. 

Hopefully. 

"Wish me luck. If I don't survive, tell Co-Co I leave him everything but Lumi goes to Nev."

Like the wonderful friends that they are, Pansy and Daphne just laugh and me and shoo me off. 

I thought they were my friends, I thought they loved me, but apparently not. 

Tis a cruel hard world it is. 

I drag my feet all the way down the stairs, bemoaning the lack of Lumi's comfortable weight around my shoulders. 

In my head of course. I'm nuts but not that nuts. 

Well. Not quite. 

Gimme half an hour under Snape and I'll probably be that nuts. 

I eventually find myself staring up at his classroom door, despite my best efforts. 

What if I decide to transfer though? Beauxbatons? Durmstrang? Ilvermorny? Casterlobruxo? Literally anywhere my Head of House doesn't take personal offence at my existence? 

I sigh, and knock on the door, in the exact rhythm of the first bar of Hedwig's Theme. Damn, I loved that music. 

John Williams is an icon, I love him. 

Does he even exist in this universe? Cos like...he did the Harry Potter movies (among a ton of other equally epic stuff that was my lifeblood at one point), or at least like the first one or two. 

Will the Harry Potter movies exist? Or will they be the Hava Potter movies? 

Oh gosh I hope not. Some of the fanfics I saw were...well, you know how it is on the Internet. 

Thinking of someone writing that kind of thing about me or Co-Co or Pansy or Nev or really anyone I personally know is absolutely traumatising. 

No. 

No. 

Abort. 

Brain bleach, I need the brain bleach, someone help me. 

Conveniently, at that moment the door swings open, and Professor Not-Evil-Just-A-Piece-Of-Shit looms above me. 

"Ah. Potter. Late as usual I see. Well, inside, you've wasted enough time as it is."

Honestly, at this point, I'll take that.

At least he didn't curse me or assign another detention for having stumpy little legs that can't go places fast. 

I'm taking my wins where I can get them okay.

The classroom is dark, and gloomy, even moreso than usual. I guess he doesn't think a detention worth actually lighting the room up when he barely thinks a class is. 

"Sit." I go for my usual seat, but alas he intercepts me. "Not there, Potter, at the front."

Presumably the undertones are something like 'where I can keep an eye on you so you don't blow up my classroom'. Fair enough. I'm in the mood to do that, extended time with Snape really fucking sucks. 

I drop myself into the indicated chair with bad grace and watch him carefully. He's an arse. I hate him, and he usually manages to poke at my issues at least once an interaction which really makes me want to punch him. 

Or kick him somewhere he wouldn't like. 

Either'd do. 

Snape swooshes around his desk and picks up a bigass box, dropping it onto the bench in front of me with a thud. 

I blink. 

No way. 

No fucking way.

No way he actually thought of this in first year.

Wow I've really pissed him off. Canon Harry doesn't get this detention until what, fifth year? Sixth year? 

I dunno, but late in the series. 

It's the fucking detention record detention. 

Oh that's gross, I don't like that, imma have to rephrase that somehow. 

Anyway, I pretend to listen to his spiel about how I should learn something from this and blah blah blah.

I mean, I've already learnt one thing from this detention and that is that he may hate my guts but I'm still a Slytherin and therefore afforded some measure of grace because I'm not disembowelling toads or something similar. 

Also that he's a petty little bitch in the worst possible way. 

I widen my eyes at him and employ my best 'abused malnourished lost frozen poor little Victorian waif' look. "Thank you, sir! No one ever told me about my parents at school!" 

He sneers at me and I take the hint and start working. 

Eh, there's a lot worse things to be doing. 

I dunno why Canon Harry was so mad about this detention, it's kinda fun learning all the wild shit my dad got up to at Hogwarts. 

Then I pull out a card that has Peter fucking Pettigrew's name on it, linked with all three of the other Marauders and I feel like I could strangle someone with my bare hands. 

That fucking little rat. If I see him, I swear he'll regret ever being born, let alone so much as speaking to my dad.  

Okay. Maybe Canon Harry had a point when he hated this detention, seeing the name of the piece of shit that caused Mum and Dad's murders fucking sucks. 

But on the bright side, it's giving me ideas. Snape's gonna regret this detention a lot. 

Pity it's just a one off, if I recall correctly Canon Harry was supposed to be doing this for basically the rest of his school career.

I just have an evening, but I'll do my best to learn from my dad's mischief.

In a way, it's quite nice. Dad never got to teach me the ways of chaos, so this is the closest I'm ever going to get. 

Chapter 20: Eleven Year Olds Are Petty, What A Surprise

Because I'm only a lickle eleven year old, Snape can't keep me as long as he could if I was older. Thank goodness. 

So I get kicked out of the Potions classroom at half past nine and basically told that if I'm not in bed by curfew he'll be assigning another detention. 

Oh fuck you too, Snivellus. 

I may stick my tongue out at him just a little bit when the door is firmly closed and he has no way of knowing. 

Anyway, I get back to the Slytherin common room to find that Pansy and Adelaide are sat by the door waiting for me. 

They're all ready for bed, and look very sleepy but they're doing their best.

Gemma's sneaking concerned looks over at them from where she's sat with squashed blobfish guy, playing chess.

Bless her heart.

We're a problematic bunch of little shits, but we're her problematic bunch of little shits and she's always looking out for us. Even though she's probably gonna be grey by Christmas at this point.

I wave cheerfully at her, and she narrows her eyes in suspicion. 

I would say that the lack of trust hurts me, but in all honesty I've earned it, every single iota of it, by being the most chaotic child I can possibly be. I'm even sorta proud of it. 

Pansy perks up at the sight of me, clean and very much not covered in toad slime or any other unmentionable substance. "I told you there wasn't anything to worry about, didn't I. Come on, it's late."

Typical Pansy. 

I stick my tongue out at her, but follow her obediently. 

One simply does not disobey Pansy when she talks like that - that isn't how our friendship group works. Sorry, 'political alliance of convenience'.

Which is really fucked up by the way. We're supposed to be 11 for goodness' sake. When I was 11, I couldn't stay afloat in a normal interaction let alone the stinging shoals of jellyfish that is every conversation with a Slytherin. 

Regardless, within moments I am washed and dressed and in my bed, all following Pansy's didactic directions. She's very efficient like that, which is good because now that I'm away from Snape and out of the danger zone my brain is starting to torture me again, so I just follow her commands automatically. 

I keep thinking about my parents, about Padfoot and Moony and the fucking rat. About how they loved him and trusted him and how he smiled as he killed them and destroyed their lives.

He sat in the living room the day before Mum and Dad were murdered, ate Mum's cake and teased her about the burnt bits, shot prank spells at Dad, poked fun at the absent Padfoot and Moony, even tried to play with me.

If I hadn't known what he was, I would have thought him completely trustworthy. Shy and nervous, but still a good person. Not someone who could sit there and smile and laugh with people that his master is about to murder.

Not a cold blooded murderer and traitor, who's actions led to the death of so many of his school mates.

He killed my parents.

Through his betrayal, through his inaction, through his silence, it doesn't really matter. Voldemort's hand may have guided the wand but he would never have suceeded had Pettigrew not led him to our home. 

Pettigrew is the reason Mum and Dad are dead. 

And I just spent the last three hours looking at proof that once upon a time he was one of my dad's best friends. 

They literally grew up together. They slept in the same room for seven years, studied and pranked and laughed and cried together. 

They trusted each other with everything. They were as close as brothers, as close as it is humanly possible to be.

When did that change? 

When did Pettigrew go from being best friends with Dad and Padfoot and Moony to killing Dad and ruining Padfoot and Moony's lives without hesitation?

When did they start meaning so little to him? 

Why did they mean so little to him. 

Why would he betray them like that? 

Why? 

Why? 

Why? 

I fall asleep with all my jumbled thoughts about Pettigrew and my parents chasing each other around and around my head. 

***********

Needless to say, when I wake up, I feel absolutely terrible.

I slept sure, but my dreams were full of green light and my parents' voices. And other stuff. Probably. Something about rats? Rats on my parents' bodies?

I dunno, I don't really remember all that well? I know I woke up crying several times, but I managed not to wake anyone else up. It's a great skill.

Pansy rips my curtains back as soon as I groan and roll over. "Finally! Get up, we're going to be late for breakfast."

I glare at her balefully. My head aches like a bitch, probably because I spent most of the night crying, and now I feel like shit. "Go away."

Unfortunately, being herself, Pansy ignores me and rips my duvet off me. "Up. We have school today." 

"Yes ma'am."

Reluctantly, I roll off my bed and flop heavily onto the floor. It's fine, the carpet's really fucking thick.

I lie there for a while, resting my aching head against the soft carpet and trying not to remember just why I cried so much. 

Pansy pokes me with her toe. "Come on!"

It takes a lot of effort, but eventually I stand up. For once, I feel as if there's too much of me rather than too little as I usually do. 

I throw my uniform on rather more haphazardly than usual. Well, it's less throwing so much as crawling. I feel like I'm wading through treacle, every action heavy and delayed. 

I feel so shitty that I don't even do my hair properly, just shove a thick green and grey headband on to keep it out of my face. Grey's close enough to silver to pass right?

Pansy frowns as she looks at me. She, of course, is perfect, not a hair out of place, just like all the other girls. 

"Hava, are you sure you want to have your hair like that?"

I shrug. "It's not breaking the dress code. School colours, hair out of my face, all that jazz." 

She looks like she wants to face palm, but let's it pass and heads for the door. Actually, that reminds me, I need to teach her to face palm. She'd appreciate that probably.

To continue my shitty day, when we do finally get to the Great Hall just in time for breakfast, there isn't any space kept for me next to Co-Co. He's very pointedly talking to Oscar Rowle, and doesn't spare a glance for me. 

Fine. 

Be like that. 

If he's going to treat me like shit for literally saving the world from a fucking Basilisk and introducing him to our cousin, well. Two can play at that game. 

I sit down next to Tracey and pretend to take part in the conversation her and Daphne and Pansy strike up.

Honestly, I have no idea what they're talking about, but at least then Co-Co will see just how much I don't need him. He's my cousin, but I don't rely on him.

I do, however, take the opportunity to avoid drinking the shitty potions he always forces down my throat. Like, yeah yeah they're good for me blah blah. But why would I take them if I don't have to? They're gross.

Pansy and the others know vaguely that I need to take potions for some reason or other, but Co-Co is the only one of our friendship group who knows the schedule and shit. Probably because Aunt Cissa made them and is also really uptight about making sure that stuff like that is used.

I can take a day off, it's fine, I've barely skipped a day so far - that's how dedicated Co-Co's been. 

I don't really eat all that much, even though I probably should because I barely ate anything at dinner last night. But I'm not hungry at all, so I don't manage to choke down much beyond some orange juice and a slice of toast. 

As long as something goes in my stomach right? Better than nothing at least. 

Pansy glares at me but I just smile beatifically at her. What's she gonna do, really. Snitch on me to Co-Co? 

It's not like he's gonna care now that he's mad at me. He's literally 11, so he's gonna be petty enough not to give a fuck about whether I've eaten and looked after myself. 

Thank goodness. The hovering was getting kinda irritating. 

Speaking of hovering, I feel the weird prickly feeling of someone looking at me. Gross.

When I look up, weirdly enough, it's Professor Snivellus watching. It's odd because unless he's being a dick and engaging in our mutual trauma triggering exchanges, he doesn't tend to look at me if he can possibly help it. 

To make it even more unsettling, there isn't even any particular malice or malevolence or any other evil word beginning with m in his gaze. I would almost say he's approaching looking at me neutrally. 

Yeah, that creeping me out.

Today is so fucking weird, I can't deal with it.

Just as I start to get bored because everyone else has the appetites of healthy eleven year olds and I'm full, the post owls appear. 

Fucking finally.  

Even better, when I stare very hard at the flock of impending parchment and feathers, I can see Aunt Cissa's beautiful grey owl. Don't ask me what type of owl, I know jackshit about animals. 

Strangely enough, it doesn't head for Co-Co immediately as it normally would - it makes a beeline for me.

Huh. Weird. 

I catch the letter it drops easily, which is a point of pride for me because I was so uncoordinated before I was Hava but Hava is really fucking good at this shit. 

Aunt Cissa's owl (I can never remember it's name, some Greek philosopher or some random shit) then drops Co-Co's letter onto him. After me. 

Okay. I'm officially freaked out.

I turn the letter over and get even more freaked out.

Rather than the usual good quality parchment and simple wax seal, this letter's on the fancy shit with the Malfoy crest watermarked on it, and when I touch the seal it hums like magic. More weird. 

I glance down the table, and see Co-Co tearing his own letter without the same hesitation, so presumably it was a normal lesson. I turn back to mine. 

Well, Aunt Cissa's not gonna send me a cursed letter right? 

Gingerly, I pry the seal off. 

Nothing happens. 

Not a Howler then. Phew. 

The noise in the Great Hall increases, and I try not to react to it - I'm iffy about loud noises when I've got a headache. Bloody teenagers.

I unfold the letter, and then have to blink several times. Aunt Cissa's writing is pretty and curly, but also really fucking hard to read. 

Eventually, I manage to read it all.

No way. 

No fucking way. 

I read it again. 

I'm dreaming, I've got to be. But there, as plain as day, in Aunt Cissa's handwriting, black ink against creamy parchment, are the words. 

I put the letter down and blink. Then I blink again, because in putting the letter down I can suddenly see why everyone got louder. 

Staring out at me from every front page of the newspapers is my godfather's face, haggard and drawn and aged, but still the same man who rocked me and held me and sang to me. 

Sirius Black Awaiting Retrial, the headlines scream, black against the stark white of the papers.

They did it. They really fucking did it. 

I'm going to have my godfather back. 

Notes:

Hey besties, it's been a while. Sorry I haven't updated in ages, but apparently a break-up is a good way to get the writing going again. Who knew.
It's only a short chapter, but it's there.

Chapter 21: Trauma and Karma

I would burst into tears right then and there, except at that exact moment I catch sight of Professor Snivellus and suddenly it is all I can do not to start laughing instead. 

He's screwed up his mouth like someone shoved a sloe into it, and he's so mad that the lank, greasy curtains of hair framing his face are actually shaking. 

Wow, he really hates Padfoot doesn't he. 

I mean to be fair, Padfoot tried to get him to commit suicide by werewolf. At sixteen. 

Probably left him with a shit ton of trauma.

But also...I hate his guts so uh fuck him I want my godfather back. 

What? I never pretended to be some sort of tragic, gracious heroine. 

I'm bitter and petty, and I've got an absolute shit ton of my own trauma and other issues all balled up next to my heart. There's no room for his trauma when I've got so much of my own.

I fucking hate Snape, and I love my godfather and I want him back. 

If that makes me a bad person, well fuck that, I don't really care. I spent ten years in quite literal hell, and that kinda fucked me over. 

Taking a deep breath, I tear my eyes away from the satisfying sight of Snivellus so mad he's actually shaking and grab Pansy's newspaper.

"Wh-Hava! I was reading that!" 

I flap my hand at her, batting away her attempts to get it back. "I'll give it back to you in a second." Then I pause, summon my best puppy eyes and look at her pleadingly. "Please, Pansy. He's my godfather."

She freezes and stares at me for a long time, Daphne equally frozen beside her, looks of absolute horror on their cute chubby lickle faces.

Taking advantage of Pansy's moment of shock, I turn back to the paper. 

It's the Prophet, of course, though knowing Pansy she's probably got a Witch Weekly subscription as well. And possibly a Herald one too. Maybe even a Quibbler subscription come to think of it. 

She's weird like that - wants to know everything from every possible angle. 

I gently touch my fingers to the photo of my godfather. 

I've not seen or heard from him for ten years, but there he is, reduced to black and white and moving on a loop. 

His eyes stare dully out at me, hooded and with deep dark bags underneath them as if he hasn't slept in years. His sleek shining hair, that used to stand straight up like he'd been electrocuted thanks to an insane amount of hair products, is hanging limply about his face, longer than I ever saw it on him. 

He looks so tired, so drained, as if all the laughter and mischief that made Padfoot into himself has been sucked out of him along with his happiness. 

My fingers tremble where they rest on the moving image. 

It's been ten years, almost to the day, and we've both been through hell. He won't be the carefree Padfoot I remember, and I won't be the laughing toddler he remembers. 

I look down at the article below my godfather's photo.

The black letters waver and bend, and I blink hard, trying to push back the tears. I can't start crying in the middle of the Great Hall at fucking breakfast time, so I swallow and start reading. 

I just know I'm going to be getting pitying looks, because of course Mum and Dad's death comes up. How can it not?

It's literally the reason he got shoved into Azkaban. 

Well, that and they thought he murdered Pettigrew but I keep forgetting about that because he's a piece of shit and doesn't deserve to be counted as a human. 

Speaking of, I should probably sort out the rat. 

Ohhhhhhh shit, what if he's seen the newspaper?

Shit shit shit shit fuck. 

Damn it. 

I'm so fucking stupid. 

HOW COULD I FORGET ABOUT FUCKING PETTIGREW????

I shove the Prophet back at Pansy and grab my bag. "Thanks a bunch, got to run."

Before she can react, I'm out of my seat and moving very very fast and totally gracefully out of the hall. 

No one moves to intercept me, presumably thinking I'm upset about the mention of my parents. I mean, I am, but that's not why I'm leaving.

As soon as I'm out of sight of the doors, I start running. 

According to what I remember from the book, pets mostly stay in the dorm rooms unless they're owls. Right? 

At least that's the impression I got. 

Breakfast doesn't end for another half an hour, and so none of the Gryffindor boys in my year will be in the tower for a while. 

Hopefully? 

If I can get in, I learned the Petrification Charm like a week ago because Co-Co and I got bored and Pansy was trying to make us do constructive stuff. I can hopefully freeze the rat before he can do anything, and then take him to...someone. 

Probably McGonagall, cos she likes me and Snape'll do fuck all to help Sirius or me. Also McGonagall would recognise an Animagus cos she's one herself. Hopefully. 

Anyway, if that works, then I can get her to put him in a cage or something and we can fuck all the shit up. 

But first, I've got to find the fucking Gryffindor common room. 

*************

It occurs to me that I may have fucked up.

I know it's in a tower. Gryffindor Tower, to he precise. 

I know it's guarded by the Fat Lady, and both her book and movie appearance. 

I know the password for the autumn term of first year (Caput Draconis). 

But I know fuck all about how to actually find it. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck, I'm an idiot. 

I turn a random corner, run up a random flight of stairs and then get caught in the middle of the next flight of stairs as they start to move. 

This really isn't my day. 

Even though I like to think I've got a fairly good sense of direction, I'm soon hopelessly lost. 

All of the walls look the same, covered with muttering, whispering portraits that blur into a faceless mass, and the less said about the stairs the better. 

My foot goes through a stair, and I fall flat on my face. 

Fuck, it's that fucking trick stair that always got Neville in the books. 

Wonderful. 

Just wonderful. 

Cos my day could get any better. 

I sigh and pull myself up and back onto my feet.

Fuck today. I just want my godfather back. 

But it's also my fault I'm in this situation. If I hadn't gotten distracted by baby Voldy and school and my friends, I would have gotten Scabbers sooner and I wouldn't be racing to find a hidden common room with a serious time crunch. 

So I run the rest of the way up the staircase, and run up some more stairs, and turn a corner at random and suddenly, as if the universe is rewarding me for perseverance, bam there it is. 

A portrait of a lady in a pink dress. She looks like she's from around the early to mid 1500s, because she's got the stupidest fucking headdress on.

It's pointy, but not in the fancy princess way, and it's got tube veils pinned on at the back of it. 

Gable headdresses. Absolutely gross. 

Fucking tudors and their fucking fashion. I squint at the dress. 

Pink. Probably madder root dye. 

It doesn't look like it was painted to be silk or velvet, so I'm guessing she wasn't nobility or anything. Probably wool? It looks like wool. 

Which gives me fuck all about who she actually is. 

Not royalty or nobility, considering the wool and the colour, but clearly wealthy enough for a portrait.

Merchant class maybe? 

"What's a Slytherin doing here?"

I blink and refocus.

Damn. Zoning out is not an option, come on Hava, pull it together. 

"Caput draconis."

She blinks, and I cross my fingers behind my back. 

Please, please, please let me have remembered right. 

"How do you know the password?"

Oh for fuck's sake. I sigh and resist the urge to stamp my foot. 

"Does it matter? I'm right aren't I."

She narrows her eyes at me, but there's a click and the portrait swings open, staring suspiciously at me all the way. 

Before she can change her mind, I yeet myself across the irritatingly high threshold into the Gryffindor common room. 

Thank you very random and specific memory for throwing very random and specific pieces of information at me. In fifteen year old Percy Weasley's voice.

The Gryffindor common room is...well, it's Gryffindor. Red and gold everywhere, but it's not overwhelming. 

It's warm, like stepping into some woodland cottage in autumn when the fire's blazing. The couches look so squashy and comfortable, I'm tempted to flop down and sleep on one for possibly the rest of eternity. 

But I'm on a mission, so instead of getting comfortable and turning into Sleeping Beauty, I make my way confidently across the empty room, towards the stairs that I'm 90% sure lead to the boys rooms. 

They don't turn into a slide as I walk up, thank the Lord, and fairly soon I find myself in front of a door. 

This must be it. Right? 

It's got to be. 

I take a deep breath. 

This is it. 

Behind this door lies the man who killed my parents and condemned me and Padfoot to our own personal hells. 

Not personally. He didn't do anything personally. 

Voldemort killed my parents, Dumbledore left me to the tender care of the Dursleys, and the Ministry locked my godfather in Azkaban and left him to rot. 

But none of that could have happened if Peter Pettigrew had been less of a complete and utter waste of space and air and time and love. 

Because that's what stings the most. 

What he did, didn't happen to facelss strangers or his enemies. It happened to his nearest and dearest, to the friends he was supposed to love for the rest of his life. The friends who defended him and loved him so fucking much. 

He looked my parents in the eye and smiled, even as he knew they were going to die because of him. Even as he knew that Dad and Padfoot and Moony would have happily faced torture and death and worse for him, because they loved him. 

And today, he's finally going to face punishment for his crimes. 

Today, I finally get to look into his beady little eyes, and make him look at me, at the daughter of the friends he condemned to death. 

I get, well, closure I suppose. 

Revenge might be another word for it. 

Either works. 

I grip the knob of the door. 

And scream as two hands fall onto my shoulders out of nowhere. 

I whirl around, and find myself pointing my wand at the Weasley twins. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

Today is really not my day. 

The twins squint comically at me, and turn to each other.

"Fred, do you see what I see?"

"George, I think you see exactly what I see."

One flings his arm around the other's shoulder. "Is that a tiny, lickle firstie snake sneaking around outside the firsties' dorm room?"

"Yes, Forge, I believe it is."

I swallow and grip my wand harder. Why is today like this??? "I'm not here to prank or hurt anyone, I promise."

Suddenly, there are two identical faces shoved very close to mine. "Oh? Then what possible reason could a lickle snake have for being here, especially when I don't think anyone gave you the password."

The proximity is really fucking me up. I can't handle it - too many memories of Vernon fucking Dursley shoving into my personal space, demanding acts and explanations that I don't have in me, and of the pain that follows.  

I close my eyes and breathe. In. Out. 

They don't mean it. They aren't going to hurt me. 

It takes several repetitions, but eventually I manage to open my eyes, and my thoughts start to run again. 

How can I convince the twins to let me get Wormtail, their baby brother's precious pet, and curse him? 

I can't just incapacitate them and run off when they can clearly find me anywhere because of the map-

The map. 

I'm an idiot. 

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good!"

Both the twins immediately move back, confusion passing over their faces. "What did you say?"

I take a deep breath. 

I can do this. No. I have to do this. 

For Mum and Dad, dead and buried before they turned twenty two, and for my godfather who spent ten years being tortured for something he didn't do. 

Sirius' trial is being held tomorrow, and I need Pettigrew in the Ministry before then. 

This is why they always tell you not to procrastinate isn't it.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good. The password to the Marauders' Map."

They blanch, and the one on the left frowns. "How could you possibly know that."

See, the thing is - I could tell them now. Or, I could wait until they know Padfoot and Moony and then watch them die inside. 

Hell yeah - that'll be about thirty times more fun. Especially since I can then say they helped to arrest Wormtail.

"Doesn't matter. I don't have time. Just, open the map, and check the first year boys dorm."

One twin continues to eye me suspiciously, and the other pulls out a blank piece of parchment, muttering the password. 

"Just what are we looking for, ickle slithery firstie?"

My knuckles creak with how tightly I'm holding onto my wand. "A man named Peter Pettigrew."

The one looking at me snorts. "Pull the other one."

And then, the one holding the map pales. "George, I think the firstie's telling the truth."

George, I'm assuming, grabs the map and stares. "Well, I'll be-"

They turn back to me, faces pale and Fred offers his hand. "I dunno how or why you know he's there, but if he's in our brother's room that's seriously messed up, so we'll help you. What do you need?"

Wow. 

That was way better than I expected. 

I grin, and it's probably more than a little bit not quite sane and definitely showing way more teeth than Aunt Cissa would deem polite. "Make sure he doesn't get away. He's an Animagus you know as Scabbers, so he's small and fast, but he's also sleepy and dumb."

They pale further, their freckles looking almost black with how white their skin is, and the one on the left (Fred) nods. "Okay."

Thank goodness for the fact that they're so blindsided and staggering from the sheer force of my existence that they aren't arguing. 

Probably the first time someone's made the Weasley twins almost speechless since they learned how to talk. 

I open the door, and step inside. 

First off, it's an absolute fucking mess. 

Because boys. 

Gross. 

Second off, right in the middle of one of the beds, just visible on the bright red sheets, is the snoozing form of a common rat with one toe missing. 

Jackpot. 

"Petrificus Totalus!" 

And just like that, he's immobilised, and I've got him. 

Rather anticlimatic if I'm honest. 

I pick my way through the mess and pick him up gingerly. 

It's not that I think he'll bite or anything. Just that I don't want his Wormtail-ness to rub off on me. 

Still trying not to touch him with too much exposed skin, I raise him to eye level, and smile at his awful, beady little rat eyes. 

"Hello, Uncle Petey," I croon more sweetly than he's ever heard from me, "I've missed you."

Against my palm, his heart rate rockets, and I resist both the urge to laugh and the equally strong one to curl my fingers around him and squeeze until there is nothing left of the man who betrayed my parents' trust and love so cruelly. 

I turn around and make my way back to the Weasley twins, still standing stunned in the doorway, staring at the rat in my hands. 

"He was in Ron's bed." One of them (George?) croaks. 

"And Percy's." Fred (?) replies, looking horrified, for once not making a joke out of it. 

I bite my tongue. Hard. 

They're only 13 - of course they're pre-occupied with their own brothers, especially with such an awful revelation. 

Now is not the time to bring up my murdered parents and my tortured godfather, not even when surely they once slept in this very room. 

Not even when I want to stop and examine every inch of this room for the slightest trace of the time they would have spent here. 

Like the black scorch mark on the roof, barely visible but definitely there, or a crack in the window casement patched with something shiny, or...

After a moment, I let go of my now aching tongue and sweep past them. 

"Come on."

They audibly hesitate, and then the sound of footsteps follows me. "Where're you taking him?"

Even though they can't see me, I grin so widely that my cheeks ache. "To McGonagall, so she can deal with him."

To the woman who watched him grow up, and who can absolutely identify him to the Ministry. 

I stroke one fingers down the frozen rat's back. "That'll be nice for you, Uncle Petey, won't it? You haven't seen her for so long, I'm sure she'd be happy to see you."

Okay, so what if it's a little bit awful of me to taunt him like that? 

He's done so much worse to me and my family, he deserves it.

He lived in comfort with the Weasleys, pampered and spoiled, as mum and dad rotted beneath the ground and me and Padfoot rotted in our own personal hells. 

I do not squeeze his fragile little body. I do not start to cry. 

I don't. 

I can't. 

I stop. 

"Um, I don't actually know the way to McGonagall's office from here."

The twins audibly halt behind me, and after a hasty whispered conference they step up on either side of me like an honour guard. 

Or a prison escort, I suppose. 

It's quite clever of them - by surrounding me, they've made sure I can't escape or hex them or do any 'evil Slytherin' things. Not without one of them getting me. 

Huh. 

Well, there were theories that they would have done well in Slytherin. 

For a while, we walk in silence, and a stranger trio I'm sure Hogwarts has never seen. 

Two third year Gryffindors, and in between them a tiny Slytherin firstie holding a rat. 

But eventually, one of them (George?) sideyes the rat in my hands. "He was the reason You-Know-Who found you, wasn't he? Not Black."

I nearly stumble over the totally uneven stone of the floor. He didn't mean to blind side me, or be insensitive - he's just a teenage boy. 

I take a deep breath, and try to think the words out so I don't just start crying and also so that Wormtail doesn't get a tip-off of just how much I know. Just because he's frozen doesn't mean he can't see and hear, after all. "If he had nothing to fear, he would not hide."

On my other side, Fred (?) seems gearing up to ask another question but thankfully at that moment a door with a little golden plaque on it comes into view. 

Thank goodness. 

Before Fred (probably) can open his mouth, I skip forwards and bang on the door. 

McGonagall usually leaves breakfast quite early, I've noticed, probably cos she's busier than Nick Fury and Maria Hill put together. And Coulson for good measure. 

Does it count if you're technically in a different continuity? 

Before I can continue to ruminate on the very important question of whether Agents of SHIELD still counts as the same universe as the main MCU, and whether Coulson in Avengers Assemble and Agents of SHIELD Coulson should count as the same person, I hear a sharp 'Come in'.

Because my hands are full of rat (I may have used him as a door knocker just a lil bit), I gesture for Fred to open the door.

He does, and I skip in and dump the petrified rat on her desk, right on top of the papers she's grading.  "Morning, Professor!"

For a moment, no one moves. 

The twins are staring at me, McGonagall is staring at the rat, I'm staring at Mcgonagall and so is the rat. 

I immediately direct my gaze at the trophy on McGonagall's cabinet. No way I'm doing the same thing as the rat. 

The silence stretches on and on and on, as McGonagall stares. 

After an insanely long silence, even for dramatic purposes, she takes off her glasses and looks up at me with a completely done expression. 

"Miss Potter, would you care to explain to me why you have deposited a frozen rat on my desk? The last time I looked, I could have sworn you were not in my house and therefore your pranks would hopefully have been directed at someone else."

Damn it.

I flop down in the chair opposite her and shrug. "Bold of you to assume Snape will do anything but punish me for existing." Someone snorts behind me.

This time she frowns, but I can see a twinkle in her eye. "Professor Snape, Miss Potter, is your Head of House and therefore entitled to your respect. At least nominally, for the sake of my sanity."

"Ok, sure, Professor."

Note to self: don't hate on Snivellus around Minnie. 

"Now that we have that settled, would you please explain to me why there is currently a rat on my fourth year students' essays?"

The vibes are no longer vibing. 

I fold my hands very tightly in my lap so that I don't do anything I regret. 

Calm. Mature. You won't get taken seriously if you can't control yourself. 

"He killed my parents."

Oops. Slightly more emotional than I had meant to get. I blink, hard. 

McGonagall frowns, and folds her hands on the desk. "Mr Weasley, and Mr Weasley, if you could please stop hovering and either leave or sit down."

The door closes, and I don't have time to turn around to see what they chose before McGonagall looks full at me. "What, exactly, are you trying to tell me? It was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that cast the curse, as you well know."

Oh bugger bally bloody botheration. 

"It's Pettigrew. He was an Animagus, just like Dad and Sirius, and he was the Secret Keeper and he told Voldemort where we lived, and he's the reason they were murdered! They trusted him, Professor, and he betrayed them."

With some alarm, I realise I've started crying. 

I hate crying, and I've done far too much recently. 

McGonagall gets up, Conjuring a cage around the rat, and then comes and kneels down next to me. She gives me a very plain, sensible handkerchief and lets me cry into it.

It helps. I can hide my face in the vaguely mothball and heather scented cloth and pretend this whole life is just one long nightmare. 

I can pretend that I never spent a whole year with the most wonderful, loving parents and then watched them be murdered. 

I can pretend that the bastard who betrayed them is not right in front of me. 

After a while, I finally manage to pull myself back together. Sort of. Ish. 

To my surprise, McGonagall has at some point gathered me into a stiff kind of hug. Stiff because she's wearing starched clothes and holds herself like she has a metal rod instead of a spine, not because she's awkward. 

I bet McGonagall hasn't been awkward a day in her life. Even if it is weird to imagine her hugging people, but then she is Head of House and Deputy Head in a boarding school - she's probably used to eleven year old crying their eyes out. 

She pats my back, and then pulls away. "Now, how exactly do you know this?"

"I..." Well the truth isn't exactly going to work here. Heigh ho, to the age old standby of some of my favourite fics. "I have... I have dreams, Professor, and some of them come true. It's how I knew my name, and how I remembered...that night."

And as a reward for putting up with the universe completely fucking over my day, I am treated to the sight of Minerva McGonagall absolutely speechless. 

She blinks, and then I can literally see her deciding to just put it aside until such time as it can be dealt with. "I see."

Then she stands up. "Now, this is a stressful time for you, Miss Potter. If I were you, I would take myself up to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey I have recommended that you take a Calming Draught and have a nap instead of going through a full school day."

"But, where will you be, Professor?" 

She turns and picks up the cage in which I can just see Pettigrew's eyes flickering about frantically. "I owe both you and Sirius a debt, for in believing Albus over my own instincts, I let the both of you suffer. Mr Pettigrew will go straight to Amelia Bones, and I imagine your godfather will be cleared of all charges even before the trial begins."

Damn. McGonagall's fucking amazing and terrifying. 

I want to be like her when I grow up. 

What better way to learn to girlboss than from the ultimate girlboss herself? 

I jump up and hug her hard around the waist, squeezing as tight as my withered little malnourished arm muscles can get. "Thank you, Professor."

She pats my head, and then lowers the cage to my eye level. "If I were you, I would want a few well-placed last words."

Too right. Fuck damnit this woman is amazing. 

I smile sweetly and stroke his fur through the bars of the cage. "Don't worry, Uncle Petey. Those who do no wrong need fear no wrong."

And I wave to McGonagall and skip out of her office before I can start crying again. 

The twins are right outside the door, and they bow to me simultaneously. "Having rescued our family from the depredations of he who we once knew as Scabbers, we are in your debt milady. Allow us to escort you to your next destination."

Oooh we are going to be the best of friends - I just know it! 

"I've got Herbology first, if you really want to go all the way to the greenhouses."

No fucking way I'm spending the day doing nothing in the hospital wing. 

I link arms with my two new friends, who gallantly take my bag for me, and we step out in sync towards the greenhouses. 

What a beautiful day - I've made two new friends, I got a hug, Wormtail's been dealt with, Padfoot's going to be free, Snivellus is mad, and - I've forgotten Lumi. 

Fuck.

And I'm late for Herbology. 

Notes:

So I've been working on this mammoth of a chapter a few sentences at a time since the last update, and only just realised the word count - quite possibly the longest chapter I have ever written.
Maybe that'll make up for being AWOL so long? Sorry.

Chapter 22: I Don't Kill Any Plants And Also Co-Co Is Kind Of A Bitch

I am, in fact, only slightly late for Herbology.

But at the cost of no Lumi. 

My soul is withering and dying. Help me.

The lack of a metre long sarcastic snek draped over my shoulder is catastrophic. 

I skulk depressedly into the greenhouse two names before Professor Sprout calls for me. 

Even better, I only sound slightly out of breath as I respond to the register. Wonderful. 

Nev pulls me down next to him as Sprouty starts explaining what we're going to be doing. 

Love him.

My absolute bestie. My godbrother, my brother in all but blood.

Also he's fucking adorable. 

Those little chubby cheeks! I just wanna squidge him! 

He shifts slightly away from me with a wary look in his eyes. 

Damn it. 

Honestly, he should know by now I have the utmost respect for personal space. 

And I'm not being sarcastic about that, for once. I genuinely do. 

Like, okay, before I was Hava, not really. 

I hugged everyone all the time, so lockdown really sucked. There were like...three people to hug on a good day.

Anyway.

Now I've spent ten years with my personal space being invaded on a daily basis with the intent to cause pain. 

So, yeah, I have respect for other people's personal space now.

Character development!!!

Not that I don't like hugs, I love hugs, but that isn't the point. 

"Hava no!"

I blink. "What?"

Nev snatches the little trowel out of my hands. "You're cutting through the roots! You'll kill it, and it'll be useless!"

He furiously repots my pretty little Singing Daisy for me, mumbling all the while about my incompetence. 

Rude!

Aunt Petunia's garden was beautiful while I looked after it! I can do plants! Just because I'm having a bad day doesn't mean Nev can just hate on me. 

On the plus side, at least he's more confident now? 

Mostly just because he realised about a week into term that he'd have to be more assertive if he wanted me to stop blowing things up, but any character development is good character development. Right? 

Speaking of character development, actually. I wave at Hermione where she's frowning at the textbook as if it can explain why she's covered in mud. 

She's still a self-righteous little rule bound bitch, but she's getting better. I can see the awesome Hermione who trapped Rita Skeeter in a jar coming out of her shell now, and it's great. 

I sit next to her in Charms now like...most of the time, and we aren't friends friends yet but we're getting there. Sorta.

Look, I'm growing on her. Like a mushroom, annoyingly quick and impossible to get rid of, but I'm still growing on her!! It's been a shitty day, I'll take what I can get at this point okay.

It's only like quarter past nine and I've already had to face a bunch of trauma without my therapy snake. 

I'd like to see you deal with the mass murderer who betrayed your parents to their death and go on to have a completely normal day. 

On the one hand, it's good for distracting you and taking your mind off it. On the other however...fuck that. 

This is why I have Lumi. She's basically the only reason I'm existing sometimes - no way an eleven year old can deal with my baggage, and no way I'm going to Snivellus fucking Snape. 

Who also contributed to my parents deaths. 

Fucking asshole.

I didn't like him anyway, but if he'd kept his mouth shut or just plain not listened at doors then Mum and Dad would still be alive. 

Or if Padfoot had suceeded in feeding him to Moony. 

That's an awful thing to say.

Fuck, am I a terrible person? 

My brain chooses that moment to remind me that I have a piece of Voldemort in my forehead. 

Gross. 

Absolutely fucking rank. 

Disgusting, like toenails in your porridge. 

I swallow down bile and resist the urge to claw at my forehead. There's fuck all I can do about it now, I just have to wait until Voldy's back enough to throw an AK at me. 

"Miss Potter? Miss Potter?" 

Fuck. 

"Yes Professor?"

She looks at me with concern, but I summon as much fake innocence as I can and smile at her. Her eyes narrow and she clearly gets flashbacks to Dad and Padfoot's chaos. 

"Are you quite done with your first flowerpot?"

I side-eye Nev, who gives me a thumbs up as surreptitiously as he can manage. He's terrible - fucking Gryffindors. This is why Slytherin's the best house.

"Yep!"

She looks at the daisy, and pokes it a bit. "Still alive, and nothing around you destroyed. Well done, Miss Potter."

Oop. 

Damn, the woman holds grudges. It was just a tiny itsy bitsy tray of aconite!

"Thanks! I do try!"

She shakes her head. "Get on with you, you have four more Singing Daisies to repot before the lesson ends."

Oh for goodness sake. "Yes Professor."

This is really not my day is it? 

I grab the next wilted flower and dig my trowel in with a little too much gusto. The roots give way under the sharp edge of the trowel. 

Fuck. 

Nothing's going right today. 

It's as if I've used up all my luck catching Pettigrew, and therefore there's some law that says I've got to suffer the rest of the day. 

I swallow the lump of something in my throat firmly down. 

Fucking emotions, honestly. 

***************

The rest of the day is...slow.

If I didn't know better, I would have said that someone did a magic and made time slow down. 

But I asked Hermione in Charms and then Pansy in Defence and both of them said that everyone would notice if that was the case. 

So that's a no. 

Maybe today's just weird then.

Co-Co still isn't talking to me. 

Fucking petty little bitch. I can't even summon up the energy to be mad at him though, cos a) I am too tired and b) he's absolutely adorable when he's sulking. 

I do feel better now that Lumi's back on my shoulders though, well hidden under my stupidly big and baggy robes. 

I sprinted back to get her after Herbology and I'm not joking I literally felt like a knot of fucked-upness inside me eased once she curled around me again. 

Damn. Maybe I should get therapy? 

But it's flying instead and I just...I love flying. 

There's no bitter, awful memories to weigh me down in the air.

No one wants anything of me. 

Nothing that I have to do. 

It's just me. Me and the sky and the wind in my hair. 

I love it. 

Flying makes me feel free, as if I leave everything on the ground behind me, all my worries and fears and memories gone. 

For the short space of time that I'm in the air, I'm just another girl, carefree as an eleven year old should be, and it's glorious.

Well. 

Usually. 

However, Co-Co is, as I have said several times, a Petty Bitch. 

Remember the Rememberall canon!Neville got given? 

Yeah, me neither. 

But apparently he still got given it here. 

And he drops it halfway through the lesson because he falls off his broom, as he does every lesson. And Madam Hooch bustles him off to the hospital wing for the first time in three lessons - a new personal best for Nev!

Look, I love my cute adorable ickle godbro with all of my heart. But he Cannot Fly. 

Guess who picks the Remembrall up off the ground. 

Yes, Co-Co, in all his petty sulky little glory. 

Some things are just unavoidable, I suppose. At least it's not like...the diary is indestructible until the exact second canon!Harry destroyed it.

Just that apparently it's a law of the universe that Draco Malfoy will steal Neville Longbottom's Remembrall and be a dick about it.

It isn't terrible. Just annoying. 

And there's no way in hell I'm gonna get a position on the Quidditch team considering that fucking Snape is Head of Slytherin. 

Maybe I should have been a Gryffindor after all. 

That would explain why, like an absolute fucking idiot, I jump on my broom after Co-Co and zoom after him. 

Minus Lumi of course. My snakey bestie is safely on the ground in my bag because I flew with her on my shoulders once and she was threatening to find out if snakes can throw up on me. 

"Put it down! It's Nev's, you can't break it."

The wind snatches the words from my mouth and tears them into shreds, but Co-Co seems to catch enough of what I said. He grins and shakes his head. 

That little shit. "I'll put it somewhere for him to find. Longbottom could use the practice, the fat idiot.

Oookay, now I see why canon!Harry hated his guts. Entitled little so-and-so. 

"Stop being awful! I'll write to Aunt Narcissa!" 

Before you come at me, remember I'm supposed to be eleven. Yeah, I know I could use insults and threats that are wayyyyy better. 

But most of them would require swearing. And Hogwarts is like...private school vibes so swearing would be weird.

Also I'm saving them for Voldy and Umbitch. 

Co-Co sticks his tongue out at me and starts to loop the loop. 

Oh fuck him. 

This is probably why canon!Harry thought he was a little bitch from hell.

I grind my teeth together and try to match his loop the looping or at least grab the tail of his broom. 

It's not easy but it's also fun. 

Every time I try to match Co-Co, he changes the pattern so fuck him but I'm enjoying myself. And trying to rescue Nev's Remembrall of course but there's something about flying...

Eventually Co-Co seems to get infected with my dumbass enjoyment of our dumb little unintentional game and he starts to smile when I nearly swear because we nearly crashed.

Of course then he forces his little face back into the grumpy sulk but still. 

He's distracted for a split second, and I use that to snatch the Remembrall and dive for the ground. 

Look, the sooner I'm on the ground, the sooner I can get this back to Nev. 

That's all. 

Okay maybe it's a little bit because diving is the best thing to come out of brooms. 

I've always loved that beautiful, awful moment before gravity takes hold, when there's nothing beneath you and you hang weightless for what seems to be forever. But I also love the glorious, terrible fall, the wind whistling in your ears as the ground rushes up to meet you.

Before I was Hava, I used to jump off swings, again and again and again, just for that one endless moment where nothing can touch you followed by the tumbling, wild descent.

Now I don't have to.

I flatten myself against the broom and whoop as I plummet towards the ground. 

It's a long way down, but I couldn't care less when I am tumbling, crashing down from the heights back to this mortal earth. 

Then I turn my head and see Co-Co hard on my heels, grinning diabolically as he reaches out for the loose twigs on the end of my broom.

Oh fuck that. 

Trusting in the magic laid on this slender branch of wood, I pull out of the dive just before I should start to slow down, spiralling up and out. 

I don't fall. 

I shoot upwards, up so high that I'm above the tallest tower, so high I fancy I could reach out and touch the clouds. 

There is nothing so high up here, nothing but the crisp cool air and the birds, and me. 

Co-Co is still far below me, looking around in bewilderment - I went so high so fast that it's almost as if I vanished. 

I laugh and throw my arms out, gripping the broom with nothing but my legs. 

This is freedom. 

This is what I've been waiting for my whole miserable second life. 

This wonder, this glory is the reason I endured ten years of hell.

Because I knew that at the end of it, I would be free.  

Notes:

I am so sorry. It's been A Time, but have a chapter and yes it's probably going to be a two parter because Hava may be enjoying herself and forgotten the Important Plot Moment she is in the middle of but the Important Plot Moment has not forgotten her.

Chapter 23: In Which I Definitely Have My Shit Together

I, er, forgot about the Remembrall.

I don't drop it! It just...slips out of my hands while I'm busy enjoying flying. 

I do notice it's abscence though!

And fling myself back into an amazingly fun and dangerous dive, screaming down towards the ground after it at almost terminal velocity.

Unfortunately, Draco gets his grubby little paws on it before I do - being so much smaller than me, it falls much faster than I do. 

Also the school brooms are absolutely shit. Hate them, they're all jerky and on the verge of just giving up.

Tossing the sodding Remembrall in his hand like the prat he is, the little shit who is unfortunately my cousin looks up at me and grins. 

I can just make out what he says from my vantage point, still significantly higher than him because I pulled up with more than enough time to avoid slamming into him. "Catch me if you can!" 

He whooshes off.

Fine then.

Be like that. 

Bigoted, arrogant little shit. 

I zoom after him, trying to force down the manic grin I am sure is spreading over my face.

*********

So, as you can probably imagine, it doesn't go as planned.

On the bright side, I'm not in the Hospital Wing.

Co-Co dropped the Remembrall and I dived to catch it and threw it to him for the lols, then he threw it back and....

Yeah, you can see how it went. 

It's fun, zooming around in the sky, playing catch with a tiny little glass bauble that you can barely see. And we're friends again now, so the game is double fun.

Well. 

It was fun. 

"Hava Potter! Draco Malfoy! What on earth do you think you're doing?" 

There is a distinctly Scottish tinge to the shout. 

I look down, and yep, McGonagall is back from the Ministry. 

Ah. We're fucked. 

Slipping the Remembrall into my pocket, to give to Neville, I slowly descend to earth.

McGonagall looks even angrier up close. "Miss Potter, I would have expected better from you. This morning led me to assume that you understood the dangers of a magical world, and had the responsibility to obey rules set in place for your own safety. Clearly I was wrong."

Ouch. 

There's a world of difference between turning in a criminal and playing catch with your cousin. I open my mouth to protest, but McGonagall has already turned on Draco.

"And you too, Mr Malfoy! Never in all my days has a Malfoy given me such trouble. Come with me, both of you."

Her lips are pursed so thin they're almost non existent, so I hand my broom to Pansy (who is looking so absolutely done with everything) and follow McGonagall without protest. 

I am mildly concerned because it just occurred to me that I have no idea what's going to happen. McGonagall puts canon Harry on the team because she has blatant Quidditch bias and its the best, but I'm a Slytherin so...

Oh fuck. 

She's taking us to Snape isn't she. 

I'm dead. Co-Co probably isn't, the bastard likes him for some reason, but I am going to be made into potion ingredients and stored on a shelf for him to throw at hapless students who piss him off. 

I knew there was a reason canon!Harry was a Gryffindor.

We go into the school and then down the stairs and down a passage and things start to get chilly and drippy and creepy. 

Yep. 

She is absolutely taking us to Snape. 

I fall back slightly and grab Co-Co's hand. Snape sucks. 

Before long, we are outside a familiar door and I gulp. The journey to the Potions classroom took much less time than usual. 

McGonagall raps sharply on the door, and then opens it perfunctorily. 

And by that I mean she almost slams it open. Damn. She's mad. 

Snape's head snaps up at her entrance from where he's berating someone who's cauldron is currently a twisted lump of metal.

"Professor Snape, could I have a word please?"

He blinks, and then ominously looms down between the desks and out into the corridor. "I assume there is a very good reason why you have brought two of my first years here when they are timetabled for flying, Minerva?" 

His eyes land on me, and his lip curls so I instinctively sneer back at him. Co-Co pokes me as if trying to activate my self preservation instinct. 

McGonagall sniffs. I love her but I wish she were a bit less...stern? Is that the word? "Rolanda left the class unattended, and these two were playing with a Remembrall fifty feet in the air. I trust you understand how dangerous that is for two eleven year olds, Severus?"

Snape's nostrils flare, and he glares at me. Oh fuck him very much.

"I see." Oooh creepy scary ominous. Meh. "I will handle this, Minerva." 

He waits, and McGonagall just stands there. Icon. Love her so much. 

She hmphs. "I need to speak to Potter. I can wait, Severus."

Snape sneers. "Very well. If you would keep my fifth years from blowing themselves up while I discipline my students." 

He barely waits for her to enter the classroom before he rounds on me. "Potter. What were you thinking?" 

I open my mouth, but Co-Co pokes me and I subside in time for him to keep ranting. "The arrogance necessary to disobey a respected teacher like Madam Hooch astounds me, but I should not have been surprised when it comes to a Potter. Lazy, arrogant and irresponsible the lot of you, just waiting for a chance to put the rest of your compatriots at risk. Just like your father. He had no regard for the welfare of his peers either."

I perk up and smile innocently. "Did you teach my father too, sir?"

Co-Co buries his head in his hands beside me as Snape almost physically swells with fury. 

It's hilarious but as his eyes glitter with malice I realise that perhaps that wasn't the wisest thing to say. There's a malevolence in his eyes that harks back to Vernon, and he sneers before launching into another tirade filled with even more venom. 

The Dursley vibes are strong with this one, and I end up zoning out half way through just to deal. And clutching Co-Co's hand so hard he winces, though he doesn't say anything like the champ that he is. I'm sure Snape's speech was very good though, full marks probably. 

Eventually he winds down with, 'detention with me, Potter, tonight."

Ah. Shit. 

Then he spins dramatically and goes back into the classroom. 

Co-Co and I stand there kinda confused. Do we leave? Do we wait for McGonagall? 

Before we can decide, Snape returns with blobfish guy from earlier, the one sitting with bestie Gemma Farley when I had my little Horcrux-destroying adventure. 

"Flint," he says, sneering at me almost unconsciously, "Malfoy showed exceptional skill on a broom today. He is possibly the best flier to attend Hogwarts in years. I want him on the team."

...bastard. fucker. poxy cocksucker. 

I glare at him, trying to convey as much of my hatred as possible, but he only sneers with more conviction and flounces (there's really no other word for it) back into the classroom, shutting the door behind him.

Flint looks at Co-Co with a thoughtful air. "You ever played Seeker?"

My adorable little cousin nods, his face lighting up. "It's my favourite position."

"Then welcome to the team I guess. But if you turn out to be shit, you will be mysteriously confined to the hospital wing for every game, you hear me?"

Co-Co swallows and nods, and at that moment McGonagall comes storming out, fuming at the unfairness and ready to kill something. 

Awww. 

It warms the cockles of my cold dead little heart that she's so ready to fight the world for me. 

Blobfish guy looks confused, and McGonagall is too pissed to explain with any coherence (beyond semi-audible semi-understandable muttering), so Co-Co, bless his little heart, steps up. "Vi-Vi and I were playing catch with a Remembrall, and Snape's given her detention and gotten you to put me on the Quidditch team."

Poor blobfish guy, sorry, Flint, looks even more confused. "Is she any good?"

Co-Co is clearly waiting for me to explain but I am Dying right now (and not in a good way) and I just want to curl up in a corner and cry so I just hold onto his hand and stay silent. He shrugs. "First time she got on a broom she outflew my father."

Right, exposition time - Uncle Lucy is a Slytherin Quidditch legend. Regulus was Seeker, but only after Uncle Lucy left Hogwarts. He held the position from his second year to his seventh and the number of times the opposing Seeker caught the Snitch could be counted on one hand. 

He is very proud of that, hence why I know all about it. 

Poor old Flint looks even more confused now. I feel kinda bad for him - it's not his fault he got caught by Snape's anti-Potter agenda. "Then...why..."

I cackle. "Cos Snape fucking hates me, that's why."

"Language, Miss Potter." McGonagall says absentmindedly. 

Flint just stares, and Co-Co braces himself for something - I can feel the muscles in his hand tensing. 

"Canyouputviviontheteamtooshesreallygoodandimthereasonshesintroubleanyway"

Everyone stares. I er, am not sure what he said.

He flushes and repeats himself slower. "Can you put Vi-Vi on the team too, she's really good and I'm the reason she's in trouble anyway."

My heart. 

I blink back tears. 

What did I do to deserve such an adorable bestie of a cousin? 

Flint shrugs. "Potter, if you bring a broom you can come to tryouts tonight, like everyone else. If you really are that good, we go through the official channels and no one can complain."

 McGonagall cuts in at that moment, her eyes narrowed like a cat's. "I still have my Silver Arrow from my own Quidditch days. I'll happily lend it to you for the tryouts Miss Potter."

I raise my hand tentatively, hesitant to destroy the lovely mood of thwarting Snape. "Is this a bad time to mention that he's scheduled my detention tonight?"

McGonagall hmphs. "We'll see about that." And she marches into Snape's classroom.

Why is she so determined to get me onto the team when I'm a Slytherin? Not that I'm complaining, just very confused.

I think I'll put it down to convenient plot stuff and leave it at that.

Blobfis- FLINT, sorry, shrugs again. "If you show up to tryouts and outperform the others, you're on the team. Otherwise, you're on your own."

He slopes back into the potions classroom, leaving Co-Co and I once more standing awkwardly in the corridor on our lonesome.

Before he can say anything, I wrap my arms around Co-Co and squeeze. I love him so much, my favourite bestie chaos little cousin. 

McGonagall takes a while to return, but when she does there is a distinctly satisfied air to her like the cat who got the cream. 

"Your detention is with me now, Miss Potter." She says, and then looks at me over her glasses. "You will be attending the Slytherin Quidditch team tryouts as punishment for your irresponsible actions earlier, and possibly teach you the value of discipline and commitment."

Co-Co snorts, and then quickly suppresses his laughter when McGonagall looks sharply at him.

Then she comes over and kneels down before me, and there is something softer about her. "Potter," she says, "I had just returned from the Ministry when I found you and Mr Malfoy."

The bottom falls out of my stomach, and I clutch for Co-Co again. 

I had forgotten about Pettigrew. 

"And? He didn't escape did he?" My voice is thin and reedy, and very much the voice of a desperate child. 

Idon't like it. I'm fine being vulnerable on my own terms when it serves a purpose, but letting people see when I'm truly shaken? Fuck no. 

"No." McGonagall hastens to reassure me. "He is safely in custody, under an anti-Animagus ward. They will bring him out for the trial tomorrow, and when his story comes out your godfather will be free."

I burst into tears.

Chapter 24: Quidditch, Snape and Padfoot, Oh My!

Most of the time when I cry, it's for depressing reasons. 

Because everything has just become too much, and I am drowning. 

This time, for a change, the tears falling from my lashes come from an unexpected blossoming of sheer, uncomplicated joy and relief. 

So many times I have read fics where Pettigrew escapes. Where no matter what the characters do, it is futile. 

I guess I had thought that this was one of them. A moment decreed by fate to exist in every timeline. 

Perhaps it is the fact that McGonagall was there that means Pettigrew didn't escape. She's badass enough. 

Maybe she enchanted the place they're keeping him. 

I mean, probably not cos she's a teacher and the Ministry should have competent professionals but I've read too many Ministry bashing fics to have any confidence in the establishment whatsoever.

Though to be fair, canon left exactly no one with warm fuzzy feelings of trust in the Ministry. 

Fucking Fudge. 

The alliteration strikes me as funny, and I stop crying and fling myself at McGonagall. 

She catches me, slightly stiffly, and I squeeze as hard as my stringy little noodle arms will let me, which is quite hard actually, thank you very much. 

I may be malnutritioned and whatever within an inch of my life, but I've been working hard all of my life as well. I'm stronger than I look, and much tougher than a child my age should be.

Which, yknow, bad implications but it's also funny. I like being strong, sue me. 

"Thank you." I whisper into Minnie's mothball-scented shoulder, again and again. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

************

Anyway, so Tonks finds out about the tryouts. 

That's a lie, Co-Co and I run to the Hufflepuff common room and bang on the barrels until someone sends her out. 

What? 

She's my cousin. Family is the kind of person you tell about shit like this.

Okay, to be fair, Co-Co is a little hesitant, seeing as he's spent years being conditioned by his awesome but bigoted parents to be awesome but bigoted. But it's okay, because he's awesome enough that he's getting past the hating anyone who isn't pureblood. 

Which is good cos I'm not, but anyways. 

She's happy for me at least, and Co-Co is happy and I'm happy so yay more cousin bonding time even if she's gonna leave at some point soon.

Actually...

That is odd. She's in Charlie's year right? Or she was in Hogwarts Mystery at least. 

And Charlie is Sir-Not-Appearing right now so he's presumably graduated. 

Has Tonks had to retake her NEWTS maybe? But she becomes an Auror so surely not? 

"Vi-Vi! Vi-Vi!"

Someone snaps their fingers in front of my face and I zone back into the conversation, frowning. "To-To, what year are you in?"

She grins. "None of them."

Co-Co and I exchange glances and then turn our patented puppy eyes on her. 

It takes us 5.064 seconds for her to break, her smirk crumbling. Heck yeah we're good!

"I want to be an Auror, and Hogwarts has a bridging course - it means I can go straight into Auror training with recommendations from Hogwarts rather than going the long way round and dealing with all the paperwork and bureaucracy. Also means I get an extra term at Hogwarts, which is great."

Co-Co and I intensify our puppy eyes. "You're only here until Christmas?" I say, lower lip wobbling.

She sighs. "Yeah. Don't look at me like that, it's not my fault you were born late!"

We all laugh and move on. 

I'm personally very satisfied - that explains why she's here even after Charlie's not when I was sure the game had her and Charlie in the same year.

Plot bullshit. Gotta love it.

************

Obviously I can't try out for Seeker. 

Co-Co's already been given Seeker, as his greedy little heart has always wanted. 

And I'm too tiny to be a Beater. Like sure I could probably hit a Bludger if I was really pumped up on adrenaline and/or steroids but also I'm about the same size as a Bludger so, y'know. 

It wouldn't go well. 

Besides, while the positions are all technically up for grabs, you have to outperform the current team members. No way anyone is going to outdo Claudia Yaxley and Grace Vanity. 

Yaxley I had already met before the tryouts of course, and I think she thinks I'm adorable. Was it really only yesterday that I found Nagini and murdered Babymort? It feels like forever. 

Anyway, Head Girl Claudia Yaxley is one of the most badass bitches I have ever had the pleasure to meet. She can whack a Bludger across the pitch like it's a Snitch. 

Vanity is her cousin, three years younger but just as cool. 

They are like...the Fred and George of Slytherin, if you only thought about Beater skills...and ignored that Fred and George are twins.

Okay, so they're only like Fred and George in that they're really good Beaters, like really really good.

Like...insane. 

Anyway, the point is, there is no point trying to be a Beater when Claudia Yaxley and Grace Vanity are there. 

And I don't have the concentration span to be a Keeper. 

You have to be in one place the whole game! I would actually spontaneously combust!. 

So the only position left for me to tryout is Chaser. 

And I am honestly so down for that - Chaser is fun and exciting and doesn't require that much actual bulk. 

Also, Chasers seem to do the most in the books, which is a plus. I need things to do! Otherwise I'm going to wither away and die of boredom and/or consequences catching up to me.

Just hovering around in the air for the entire game and then grabbing a tiny ball seems kind of boring and pointless. 

Even if the ball is very shiny.  

Plus, Dad was a Chaser. 

It's like having a little bit of him...if I ignore the fact that I'm a Slytherin.

It is funny if I imagine a tiny Dad in my ear yelling dramatically about my betrayal. 

That's actually hilarious. 

I grin, and To-To looks at me with deep concern. "Are you alright?"

Co-Co sighs. "Don't worry, she's not grinning about the significantly older and heavier people who also want to be Chasers. She's grinning about something completely unrelated to reality."

...

Rude.

I stick my tongue out at him. He's not wrong but he's rude. 

To-To laughs slightly hysterically. "Are you sure she's only got Black blood from Dorea?"

We nod in sync. "Co-Co looked at a family tree."

It was a big family tree. A huge one. We had to weigh it down with books and then got told off by Uncle Lucy for damaging it when one of the sharp book corners tore a hole in it. 

Apparently it was a magic family tree that would never be fooled, only ever displaying the true family lines, and it's like super old or something. 

Methinks it sounds like a rip off of the cooler tapestry at Grimmauld Place, but I couldn't say that because I've never been to Grimmauld Place and therefore shouldn't know about the tapestry.

Instead, I had contentented myself with innocently asking Uncle Lucy how it dealt with adoption if it only traced bloodlines.

It had unfortunately not phased him because apparently blood adoption is in fact a thing (which is so fucked up to me - imagine getting adopted and your whole body just fucking changes like I'm sorry the body horror??? Maybe I just have trauma from getting shoved into a baby's body after dying but it still sounds awful to me). 

Co-Co sighs loudly. "Hava, can you please focus on the conversation you are having with your two favourite cousins in the world rather than whatever is going on inside your head."

I stick my tongue out at him.

*********

Okay so, tryouts are fun. 

Absolutely insanely fun. 

The other people who want to Chaser try to slam into me, but I just go up or down at the last moment and they tend to slam into a wall or another wannabe Chaser instead. It's freaking hilarious. 

One of them, a fourth year called Adrian, also thinks it's hilarious and joins me.

Adrian is rather more like Flint in build than me - heavyset and solid, good for smacking into people, rather than basically the same width as the broom itself. 

He also has a very clever and evil brain - he starts positioning himself next to me, so when I escape the asshole who tried to knock into me, they are suddenly faced with a solid fourth year instead of a tiny firstie, and then he slams into them. 

Most of them go spiralling because they are ready to knock into me rather than braced to get knocked into by Adrian.

At one point I'm laughing so much I nearly fall of McGonagall's broom. 

It's a lovely broom, so much better than the crappy school ones.

Clearly old of course, McGonagall is like eighty or something, but also just...really nice? 

It's got this kind of solid feeling to it, like it's never going to drop you. Dependable might be a better word? 

The point is I love it so much, it's so beautiful, flying on it is like a revelation and I don't think I'd give it up for a Firebolt.

Anyway, Adrian is my new best friend, I love him so much. 

Blob- DAMNIT, Flint looks between me and Adrian and the half dozen others. 

Adrian and I are grinning like the evil lickle gremlins that we are, and everyone else is glaring at us, some of them with very visible bruises. 

Serves them right for trying to bully a firstie. 

Flint sighs. "Pucey, Potter, welcome to the team. If you act like that in the games, Slytherin are going to beat Gryffindor for the first time since Weasley became Seeker."

I whoop and high five Adrian. 

Wasn't he on the team in the books? Eh, maybe, unimportant. 

I'm a Chaser, and I got a new best friend AND Padfoot is out of jail. 

Everything's going my way!

***********

Everything is not going my way. 

Fuck Snape. 

I had actually slept well that night, and if I had any dreams I remember exactly none of them. 

Then I'm not hungry at breakfast but Aunt Cissa sends me a letter reminding me to take my potions and Co-Co practically forces them down my throat and as much as I complain it's nice to feel cared abiut.

But we have Potions right after Transfiguration and I Cannot with that.

Nope. 

Fuck that. 

I love McGonagall but I am so bad at Transfiguration. I accidentally turn my snuff-box into a snake and it nearly bites Pansy before Lumi attacks it. 

So she's mad at me when we go into Potions, and also Snape is glaring at me like I'm spawn of the devil. Which is nothing new but my day had been going so well.

I think he's extra especially mad because not only do I have the audacity to simultaneously channel my dead mother, my dead father and his presumed dead evil boss, I have recently set my pet snake on him and contributed to his adolescent rival being set free (hopefully), as well as escaping his detention to destroy people years older than me and gain a place on the Slytherin Quidditch team. 

When I put it like that, I suddenly feel immensely pleased with myself.

Dad would be proud. Mum would sigh and try to tell me to be the bigger person but the corners of her mouth would twitch. 

I wonder if she could talk to snakes too? 

Anyway, today sucks because he decides to loom over the table where Co-Co and I are working, pointedly praising everything Co-Co does and criticising everything I do.

Wow he needs to get a life. 

He's literally bullying an eleven year old girl. 

What a sad fucking little man.

Fortunately, after about twenty minutes of me pointedly doing everything perfectly and Co-Co equally pointedly not doing everything perfectly, there is a sharp rap at the door. 

McGonagall sweeps in, the lines at the corners of her mouth sharp in a way that I've learnt means she's hiding a smile. 

"Professor Snape, may I borrow Potter?"

Before he can reply, my shit is packed and I am zooming to one of my favouritest teachers ever.

Minnie thanks him, and turns, walking away so quickly that my stubby little legs struggle to keep up.

"Where are we going, Professor?"

She looks down at me and smiles. "Your godfather was acquitted earlier this morning, and the first thing he wanted to do as a free man was see you. He's in the Headmaster's Office now."

I squeal and bounce a little. 

Padfoot! 

Padfoot is free! He wants to see me! He wants me! 

The walk to Dumbledore's office feels ten million times as long as it probably should after that, because I am so full of excitement and anticipation that every second seems to last as long as a minute. 

But eventually we are standing in front of a cool statue, and McGonagall snaps "Mars Bars" at it. 

Oh yeah I forgot about that. 

Why's he using a Muggle sweet? Now I'm just imagining Dumbledore in that sweet shop in Cartmel. 

Brilliant image. 

The door at the top of the stairs opens to reveal Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, looking rather more tired than is apparent from the distance of the house tables in the hall. 

He's wearing some sort of blinding neon purple and orange spangled lime green robes, but I don't have time to criticise his fashion choice because there, oh there is Padfoot. 

His hair is long and lank and tangled, his eyes sunken, his whole frame almost skinnier than mine, but he's here. 

For the first time in ten years, he's here, and he's alive, and he's real.

There is a moment of absolute stillness, where we just look at each other like deer in the headlights. 

Padfoot clears his throat nervously. "You may not remember me, Hava. I'm-"

I cut him off by dropping my bag and flinging myself at him with a shriek of complete and utter joy. "Padfoot!"

He catches me, just as he always did, not even hesitating at the green and silver on my robes, and holds me so tight that I can feel my ribs protesting. 

Do I care? No.

I'm squeezing back as hard as I can. 

He's so painfully thin, so worn, his eyes so full of shadows, but all of that can be said of me too. 

I've missed him, so much. 

I didn't even realise how much until this moment. 

"I'm so sorry, Prongslet." He whispers into my hair, rocking me back and forth. "I'm so sorry, I never should have left you."

Chapter 25: Just Some Lovely Uncomplicated Family Dynamics

Notes:

*kicks down door and drops a new chapter 5 months late with no explanation*

So anyway, we have a lovely sweet reunion full of uncomplicated love, joy and peace. 

...

Yeah, you're too good. I'm a big fat liar but we all knew that. 

Padfoot spends like half an hour just crying and holding me, apologising for leaving me and promising never to abandon me again. 

Not like I'm much better. 

To be fair, after that, we manage to pull ourselves together and I get to tell him all the shit he's missed.

He'd probably reciprocate if he wasn't uh out of the loop for the last decade. 

Anyway, he is appropriately horrified at my retellings of the Dursleys (and I do not sneak a couple of satisfied glances at Dumbledore's face no sirree), gratifyingly adoring of Lumi and very proud of my achievements. 

Mmmm validation from an authority figure. Delicious. Love it. 

He grins as I finish relating my latest prank of Snape - although I do not tell him any of the less er Dumbledore-friendly things. "Prongs would have been proud of you, pup. You're a true Marauder."

"You...you don't think I'm a bad person? Because I'm in Slytherin and I'm all...snakey?" I'm only half-pretending my hesitance, because book!Sirius had some really anti-Slytherin vibes (did he ever say anything? I can't remember - it's been ten years and my memories are fading, it's driving me insane.  What was fanon, what was canon?), and Padfoot is all I have left. 

He looks horrified. "You're not a bad person, Hava. You're a very good person, who has had terrible things happen to her. That's why you're in Slytherin, because you survived, not because it made you evil."

I sniff in a most undignified manner and wipe my nose on the back of my hand. "Are you sure?"

For just a moment, I am allowing myself the luxury of simply being held and comforted. Of being a child, protected and safe from all dangers. 

Padfoot's arms tighten around me. "Yes, pup. You're a wonderful person, and I'm very proud of the woman you are becoming. Nothing you could ever do would make me love you less than I have from the day you were born."

I narrow my eyes at him. "What about if I steal something."

"Even then." His voice is calm and sure, but there is a smile in his voice that I can just hear and it makes me feel warm and fuzzy and so safe and loved.

"Or fail my OWLs." 

"Then you retake them."

"Or injure someone."

"It happens." The nonchalant shrug should probably concern me a little (what did the Marauders DO for him to react like that), but honestly I'm just relieved.

"What if I kill someone?"

Rather than the shocked pikachu face I expected, Padfoot laughs his harsh, barking laugh, several tones deeper than it used to be. "Hava Iris Potter, I am a Black. Killing someone won't make me bat an eyelash. You can't get rid of me that easily so stop trying."

I manage a weak smile at that, but mostly I just curl into him as if that can make up for ten years without him. 

Oh how I missed my godfather.

He's skinny and a bit stinky and definitely got a couple of screws loose, but it's Padfoot. He's here.

He's alive and he's free and he cares about me. He wants me. 

It's different, somehow, from the feeling I get when Aunt Cissa fusses. Maybe because Padfoot is a connection to that blissful year where I had parents and everything was perfect.

Maybe it's a bit weird to other people that I'm so comfortable with a man I haven't seen since I was a baby, but honestly fuck them. I've got my godfather back, they can go do anatomically impossible things for all I care. 

Of course, the moment that I'm happy and comfortable, the Floo activates. 

Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy appear out of it as perfectly as ever, and Padfoot jumps up, pushing me behind him.

Very reassuring I'm sure, except that he wavers and nearly falls flat on his face as all the blood rushes down from his head and he goes woozy. 

I sigh and meet Aunt Cissa's eyes long sufferingly. 

There's going to be a lot of work for her to do to make Padfoot fit for society again.

Padfoot steadies himself and then seems to finally (finally!) realise who it is. He relaxes a bit, though not as much as he probably needs to, throwing a grin that is probably meant to be dashing at the pair.

To be fair to him, it would be if he didn't look like death warmed over. "Cissy. Cissy's pet peacock."

The snort that escapes into the silent room is absolutely not mine, no sirree. 

Completely unrelatedly I clap my hands over my mouth as McGonagall and Dumbledore exchange long suffering looks and Uncle Lucy looks murderous. 

I have to use that at some point, Uncle Lucy's face is gorgeous.

"Sirius." Aunt Cissa says coolly as she glances at me with the frown I have come to learn means she thinks it's funny but isn't supposed to show it,  Uncle Lucy echoing her a beat later. "You're looking...well."

Padfoot looks down at himself and then back up. "You've gotten better at lying."

Silence. 

More silence. 

More. Fucking. Silence. 

Right before I'm ready to jump up on Dumbles' desk and start singing 'I Came In Like A Wrecking Ball' (don't ask, I just felt the need to in that situation and don't tell me it wouldn't be funny), Aunt Cissa smiles for real and wraps Padfoot in a hug. "Welcome back to the world of the living, cousin."

I do not 'awwww' sarcastically. Well, mostly sarcastically, a little bit cos it's sweet. 

Anyway, I did not. Uncle Lucy is a big fat liar but we all knew this anyway. 

He's still pretending he got Imperiused after all. I may be living with them, and I may care about them, but they were minor villains of canon for a reason. 

When Aunt Cissa finally lets Padfoot go, it's only to wrap me in a hug too. Yay, more hugs for me! "We heard about the Quidditch team, Hava. Congratulations, I am sure you will do Slytherin proud."

The grin that spreads across my face is only a tiny little bit manic. I am very proud to be fluent in Aunt Cissa now, and this is Aunt Cissa for 'go wild and make everyone regret being born'.

Look, the idea of having free reign in flying murder netball hockey is giving me happy jitters. 

Padfoot laughs his own barking laugh at my grin and I cannot help my smile growing a bit softer. It's Padfoot, and he's laughing and I missed him. 

Okay, maybe I'm getting a bit sappy. 

Then the door bangs open and Co-Co comes charging in. 

Huh, guess Potions is over. That was Fast. 

Padfoot looks at him with deep confusion. "Cissa, did you clone your pet?"

I don't know who looks more insulted at that - Co-Co or Uncle Lucy. 

Probably because they have the exact same look of deep and utter outraged, unbelieving offense on their faces. 

Padfoot and I are just cackling, and Aunt Cissa is quietly and politely shooing Dumbles and Minnie McGonagall-my-favouritest-teacher-ever out of Dumbledore's own office. 

Did I mention I love my aunt? She's the best. 

Just as the door is closing behind McGonagall, I hear Dumbles' magnanimous voice saying, "Ah, my dear girl, what brings you here?"

Then a familiar voice replies, the words inaudible beyond 'cousin' and 'followed'. Good for Co-Co, he's getting better at this shit.

"To-To!" I shriek, and push past McGonagall to grab Tonks and drag her into the office. "Bye Headmaster, bye my favourite Transfiguration teacher."

I slam the door shut and then gesture dramatically at Tonks. "Everyone this is To-To, don't call her Nymphadora. To-To, this is Aunt Cissa, Uncle Lucy and Padfoot. Don't worry, Padfoot only wants to murder facists."

She waves awkwardly, her hair slowly turning black from its usual electric blue. "Hi, I'm Tonks."

Padfoot looks like he wants to hug her. Aunt Cissa looks awkward. Uncle Lucy looks like he smelt something bad. 

I cross over to Co-Co and make sure to stage-whisper. It's a great way to break the tension, okay. "What's wrong with your dad?''

"He doesn't like To-To's dad." Co-Co whispers back, equally loudly. Thank the Lord he got what I'm trying to do. I have trained my Padawan well!

"But To-To's dad isn't here.'' I say, looking as convincingly puzzled as I can (I've been told I come off 'pantomime-y'.

"Also,' Tonks whispers to me from across the room (ah, I love having chaos cousins), "he's one of the facists you just said Uncle Sirius wants to murder."

"Oh." I try to look apologetic and turn to whisper at Uncle Lucy. "Sorry, Uncle Lucy. I don't think Padfoot wants to kill you."

Uncle Lucy looks constipated and a bit insulted. Which...to be fair, his son and ward just made fun of him for being a facist which is true so he absolutely deserves it.

Even better, Padfoot laughs so hard that he falls over. Unfortunately, he falls onto onto my bag, and Lumi, who was sleeping curled up on top of my books inside of the bag, hisses in outrage. 

stupid human landing on me. how dare you, i shall unleash the venom of the queen of snakes on you, impudent two-legged mortal.

Okay, I may have rubbed off on her a teensy-weensy tiny little bit. 

Also, shit she can't bite Padfoot, I just got him back.

I lunge forward and pull my godfather off my schoolbag, well aware that I'm only suceeding because he's allowing me - he's emaciated from his stay in Azkaban but I am from my stay in Durzkaban.

Once he's safely away from my slightly murderous, highly venomous snake, I pull Lumi out of my bag and hold her head at eye level. no, lumi! he's mine, you can't bite him. 

Lumi looks at me, deeply unimpressed. he sat on me.

he's my godfather. he's going to look after me - it's very important that he stays alive, lumi, please.

fine, she says, sulking as much as a snake can, i shall forgive the insult dealt to me this once.

thank you, lumi, i love you forever and i'll give you as many mice as you can eat this evening!

I put Lumi down, and then look up, realising suddenly that there is a deep, echoing silence beyond Lumi and I hissing.

Padfoot is staring at me with wide eyes, and To-To's are only fractionally less huge. 

Ah. 

Oh shit. 

I forgot they don't know about my awesome snake-whispering skills that everyone hates cos trauma.

Co-Co facepalms at what I'm pretty sure is the gormless expression of dawning realisation on my face. 

I fucked up. 

Slightly (okay, okay, very, are you happy now?) nervously, I laugh. "Er, surprise? I can talk to snakes?"

For a long moment, there is only a further, incredibly, awfully tense moment. Aunt Cissa's hand moves subtly towards her wand. 

Then To-To shrugs. "I knew you were weird, Vi-Vi. You signed me up for this and after all the bullshit you've pulled this is nothing."

I manage a small, hesitant smile before Padfoot finally unfreezes.

He comes over and sweeps me into another big, soft bear hug. "Lily used to do the same thing, pup." His eyes are wet. "You look just like her sometimes."

A small part of me is practically exultant with petty joy at being confirmed - Lily was a Parselmouth! I wonder how widely it was known - and if that was why Mouldy Voldy was trying to recruit a so-called Muggleborn? 

A larger, and significantly more dominant, part of me is swept up in a wave of grief and something I cannot quite describe. This is something of Mum's.

Even though I remember the year I spent with her, it has been ten years - I have so little left of either of my parents. But the hiss that lies coiled under my tongue every time I speak, the ache in my teeth from the imperceptible vibrations, that is from my mother.

It is a connection to her. An inheritance. 

I am my mother's savage daughter, the song runs through my head, a song I thought I had forgotten. I am my mother's savage daughter, the one who runs barefoot, cursing sharp stones. 

I am my mother's savage daughter. I am Lily Evans' daughter, with her hair and her eye, with her magic coursing through my veins and lying like a shield over my body and resting heavy on my tongue. 

Padfoot has given me back a part of my Mum that I didn't even know I had lost. 

Very kindly, he does not mention the growing damp spot on his shoulder. "Did I ever tell you about the snake she set on James in the middle of Zonko's in our fifth year?"

Notes:

Housekeeping notices:
This fic is not abandoned! No fics under my new pseud are abandoned, just on hiatus. If I don't add fics to the new pseud either they haven't been moved across or they're abandoned.

Yes, I have a new pseud - I got bored of the old one. I am TiresiasTheBlindSeer now, if the three people on this website who know me IRL are reading this, no you aren't. For those who don't know me IRL, please assume the obvious reference and nothing else.

Chapter 26: Flying Murder Ball And Broomsticks!

It is with great reluctance that I decide to avoid showing Padfoot the Chamber of Secrets.

Not because I don't trust him, he canonically died for me after all, but because I don't trust Uncle Lucy. 

He is a facist who canonically opened the Chamber of Secrets to try to kill a good portion of the school and sided with a maniac trying to commit magical genocide of basically everyone who wasn't a pureblood. 

While I'm aware that we are no longer anyway near canon, it's only been a few months - I can't have changed a grown adult's views that quickly or strongly. 

While he cares for me, and he tolerates Padfoot for Aunt Cissa's sake, but I'm still under no illusions. I'm well aware that this is a man who has tortured and killed for no reason other than prejudice, and a man who can easily do so again.

I'm not going to tempt him with Slytherin's legendary Chamber, and Slytherin's monster awake.

It's too much of a risk for people like Hermione. 

Also because I might have to explain why the diary he thinks is safely hidden in his library is on the floor in the middle of the chamber with a hole in it. 

Nah. 

I'll show Padfoot some other time - worst comes to worst, I can get someone to sneak us in over the holidays.

McGonagall might let us if I say that I had a dream about it? 

It certainly seemed to work for the rat-who-does-not-deserve-to-be-named. 

Anyway, I keep my mouth firmly shut about the Chamber, and wave Padfoot off with Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy. 

He's living with them, apparently, seeing as they are his closest living relatives who aren't, er, indisposed (and by that I mean locked up in Azkaban until whatever time that Voldywoldy decides to break them out). 

Also because they have enough money that Andromeda can't get him to live with her. 

Stupid bribes. 

I mean it might also be because Andromeda Tonks (haven't met her and therefore I don't think I have the right to call her 'aunt' just yet) lives in a house that's probably a tad bit too small to fit a grown up ex-convict. 

But anyway. 

I'm a little bit uncomfortable with Padfoot living in the same house as a guy who probably cheerfully tried to kill him ten years ago, but it is what it is. 

Also if Uncle Lucy kills Padfoot, Aunt Cissa would probably end him.

And I would be very sad which would make Co-Co sad and then Uncle Lucy would feel like the worst person in the world. 

Padfoot's gonna be okay...probably. 

I smile and wave as they step through the Floo, one by one, and I keep my eyes fixed on Padfoot until the flames have swept him away. 

Unless something goes really, terribly, horribly wrong, I won't see him again until Christmas. 

It isn't really that long, not when he spent ten years in Azkaban, but it feels like a long time when it stretches out before me. 

We haven't even had Halloween yet. 

**************

I'm kind of in a daze for the rest of the day, still walking on air from seeing my godfather for the first time in years. 

He's back. He's alive. And he loves me. 

He doesn't care that I'm a Slytherin, he doesn't care about me being a Parselmouth, he doesn't care about anything except the fact that I am alive and well and happy. 

Most precious of all, besides his own unconditional love, is the little piece of my mother that he has given back to me. 

Mum was a Parselmouth. 

She too knew the sound of serpentine secrets, the taste of Slytherin's inheritance on her tongue, the feel of the phrases slipping from her lips. 

It is something that we would have shared, if she had lived. 

Our own precious little secret. 

She would have whispered in it to me at night when she came to tuck me into bed. 

I would have lisped it up at her through my teeth, tugging at her skirt. 

Maybe I would have had siblings - tiny toddling things with wide green eyes who would have hissed disjointed words at me and held snakes in their chubby little hands. 

It would have been a softer world, a kinder world. 

But it is not this world. 

In this world, my mother has been rotting in the ground for ten years with my father beside her, Padfoot was rotting in Azkaban, and I was rotting in Durzkaban. 

My mother is dead. 

The only other Parselmouth in the world that I know of is Voldemort. 

So, rather than a shared secret, my inheritance from Mum has become a memorial. 

A piece of her to carry with me always. 

Every time I hear Lumi, or speak to her, it will be like having Mum with me. 

Padfoot has given her back to me - and that is more precious than anything else he could have given me except for his own love. 

Thankfully, I only have Flitwick and Minnie left today, so I don't get told off for being in my head. 

*************

The first Quidditch practice we attend is, thankfully, a week later, three days after the Gryffindors have their first practice.

I have had time to pull my head down from the clouds and resume my usual schedule of absolute chaos. 

Also, Padfoot sent me a broom, which arrived (in true Padfoot form, at tea time, half an hour before the practice began).

I don't know much about brooms, but it's beautiful. 

Sleek shining wood, not a twig out of place, and with Nimbus 2001 written in gleaming gold on the handle. 

Nimbus 2001.

Somehow, Padfoot has gotten his paws on a broom that won't be released for another eleven months

Two of them, because Co-Co got one dropped onto his supper as well. 

What the fuck? How the fuck?

Two Nimbus 2001s in 1991. 

I think if anyone tried, they could knock me over with a feather right about now. 

Flint comes barrelling down the table, having seen the two conspicuously broom-shaped packages headed towards his two firstie team members. 

Claudia Yaxley follows him somewhat more reservedly, but I can see the gleam in her eyes as she catches sight of the number written on the brooms. 

Blobfish damnit, Flint's jaw drops. "Nimbus 2001?' He whispers, as reverently as if he had seen an angel. 

I nod, grinning. "Two of them."

"How?' Yaxley asks, her face thoughtful as her gaze flickers over me, Co-Co, and the brooms in our hands. "The 2001s aren't to be publically released until next August, Potter."

Flint shoves his shoulder against hers lightly, grinning so widely that his face seems to be about to split in two. "Who cares? We've got two Nimbus 2001s, Claudia, the Cup is ours! I can taste it!"

"I want to know who gave the brooms to the firsties," Yaxley says patiently. "I would rather know if we have to check them for jinxes."

Huh. She cares. 

"My godfather gave them to us. " I say nonchalantly. 

I can see the moment Flint realises who I mean. "Sirius Black? Gryffindor Beater '73-'77? The record-holder for the most injuries in one match? Scouted for the England team in '78?"

"Yep!' I chirp, making sure to pop the 'p'. 

Flint looks as if he has ascended into the seventh heaven. "Ask him to coach you over the holidays. Fuck that, ask if he can coach all of us over the holidays."

This is priceless. 

Apparently Quidditch transcends House divides, who knew. 

Though I wonder what Padfoot will say if I write and ask if he can coach the Slytherin Quidditch team, who count names among them that I think he is more used to seeing on arrest warrants - Yaxley, Malfoy, Vanity and more. 

"I'll ask him." I say, and that is enough for Flint, who I think might pass out if he gets any more Quidditch news. 

Yaxley looks a little concerned. "Marcus, perhaps you should sit down for a moment."

"Sit down? Sit down?? Claudia, this is our chance at winning! Our first chance since Weasley joined the Gryffindor team. Don't you want it?"

He looks so offended that I think he might explode. 

"Of course I want it," Yaxley says, as calm and unruffled as ever, though I can see the avaricious gleam in her eyes. "But we haven't got it yet. Wait until we have it to celebrate."

Co-Co sneaks a slightly uncertain look at me, as if he's wondering what he's gotten himself into. 

I shrug at him, wondering what Oliver Wood's reaction would have been if I'd been in Gryffindor. 

Were he and Marcus the same person except for their colour schemes?

Someone grabs me by the scruff of the neck and hoists me up. It's Flint, I realise, before I can panic and lash out. 

There's a manic look in his eyes, and I admit that I'm a little wary at it. "Get up Potter," he says, face still glowing with excitement, "practice starts now, we can't get complacent if we're to win the Quidditch Cup!"

Proving that she is in fact another Quidditch maniac (and not as unaffected as she seems), our illustrious Head Girl and star Beater Claudia Yaxley only sighs and moves down the table to collect the rest of the team despite their protests. 

The protests quickly die away when she whispers in their ears, presumably about the Nimbus 2001s, and I realise that I've gotten myself into a cult. 

Fuck damnit. 

None of the professors seem even the slightest bit concerned as the entire Slytherin Quidditch team basically fucking sprints out of the Hall and down to the Quidditch pitch. 

Flint is in the lead, basically dragging me seeing as he's 15 or 16 and fit, while I'm 11 and also a malnourished baby. 

I consider pointing out that none of the others have their robes or their brooms, but the moment we get to the changing rooms, they all pull shrunken brooms and Quidditch uniforms out of their pockets. 

What clever little Slytherins shitheads. 

Yaxley basically snatches me off Flint, marching me into the girls side of the changing room and shoving a tiny set of robes at me. 

"Shake them, and they'll unShrink. To Shrink them again, tap the badge on the shoulder."

Huh. 

Enchanted, rather than Charmed, I guess.

Flitwick taught us the difference in Charms the other day - Enchantments are permanent, while Charms are single-use and have to be reapplied. His class is rather a misnomer, as he teaches both Charms and Enchantments. 

Fucking wizards, is all I can say to that. Call a spade a spade, is it really so hard?

Anyway, I change into the robes fairly quickly. 

They aren't much like the movie's version - as per usual. 

Black boots, gray trousers that look rather like medieval breeches, a gray poet shirt that laces at the neck, and a Slytherin green robe with split sleeves rather like a choir conductor's that ties shut at the waist. 

It seems a bit impractical, but when I whirl and twirl and flourish (as you absolutely have to do every time you put on a new piece of clothing), nothing gets caught of tangled. 

Magic, probably. 

My suspicions are confirmed when I trip on the way out, and rather than scraping the heels of my hands I only feel a dull thud. 

Huh.

Fucking love magic. 

Can I get this on everything?

That is my last semi-coherent thought of the evening. 

Flint doesn't seem to acknowledge human limitations. 

He's a maniac in the air, and expects everyone else to be the same. 

Which, to be fair, the others all seem to be. 

Pucey, the third Chaser, seems as overwhelmed as Co-Co and I at least.

He's game when Flint is making us redo our stunts at the tryouts though, and between the three of us (or rather, Flint yelling at Pucey and I) we've soon got a few fun little strategies worked out. 

Flint has us all doing drills for like two hours, and then he releases the balls. 

Fucker. 

We're all tired now. 

Co-Co is whizzing after the Snitch, Yaxley and Vanity are fighting the Bludgers, and Flint, Pucey and I are racing the Quaffle up and down the pitch as Bletchley guards the goals. 

It's insane. 

it's overstimulating. 

It's terrifying. 

I don't have time to think or do anything but react. 

I'm having more fun than I've had in ages. 

Flying murder ball is amazing. It's my new favourite thing. 

No wonder all the others are obsessed. 

*******************

I take it back. 

Quidditch fucking sucks. 

I am all over aches and bruises when I wake up. from where I've been elbowed by the other Chasers, hit by the Bludgers, or (one very memorable time) flew headfirst into the Snitch. 

The Snitch is small, but it was moving at high speeds and so was I - there's a lovely Snitch-shaped bruise right below my eye now.

It turns out that the wards built into the robes protect your joints, extremities and other vital parts on max setting all the time, but everywhere else is fair game as long as no bones are broken - that is when the wards kick in for, say, your arm. Otherwise, the wards let everyone and everything go to town. 

So, yeah, found that out the hard way. 

Daphne snickers from her spot before her mirror as I groan and flop out of bed onto the floor. "Regret your decisions yet?"

I mumble something into the carpet that even I can't understand. 

There is a ripple of laughter around the room, and I crack one eye open to glare at Adelaide, who's bed is next to mine. 

She has the gall to be completely unaffected, and simply smile blithely at me as she picks up her brush - which runs through her hair without catching once.

Fuck her very much. 

My new nemesis is clearly aware of my sudden hatred, because her smile widens, and she hops off the bed without the slightest effort. 

She grins down at me. "Morning."

I close my eyes again. 

Maybe if they leave me here I can die in peace. 

Unfortunately, Pansy seems to have worked out my genius plan, because she and Millicent come over and literally pick me up and set me on my feet.

Now that's just rude.

Just because I'm malnourished and weigh the same as a particularly fluffy kitten. 

Pansy shoves my robes at me and I pull them on, brushing my hair and then shoving the green and silver headband onto my head to keep it out of my eyes.

Ow. 

My arms protest basically any movement, because they're a mass of bruises. 

Also I can't make expressions because of the Snitch-sized bruise under my eye.

Fucking hell, it hurts.

Pansy sighs and drags me down to the common room, where Co-Co looks to be in...annoyingly better shape than me. 

He looks fine! Completely fine!

What the fuck kind of bullshit is this????

I stumble across to him and bury my head in his shoulder. "Kill me now. I can't do this."

"Stop being dramatic, you're fine." My very loving and sympathetic cousin says, pushing my head upright. 

He pauses, and frowns. "Hava, why do you have a huge bruise under your eye?"

"I flew into the Snitch remember?"

"No, but I did too, and I'm fine."

Fuck. 

What?

Bullshit. 

I'm calling absolute fucking bullshit. 

What the fuck?

"Let's see." Yaxley apparently heard us, because she comes and squats down (excuse me! I'm not that short!), and stares at my face.

She frowns too. 

"You flew into the Snitch?"

I nod. 

"And that gave you that?"

I nod again. 

"Where else are you hurt?"

I shrug. "Everywhere?"

The most unimpressed look ever appears on Yaxley's face. "Everywhere."

I nod. Again. 

"Is that usual for you?"

I think back to Durzkaban. I nod. 

Bruises were the least of my problems, but it was a rare day when I didn't have at least a few on my body. 

"Have you been to see Madam Pomfrey?"

I shake my head. 

Yaxley sighs a very long, very put upon sigh. "Alright. Come with me, Potter, you can have breakfast later."

Great. 

Can I not have a normal day????

************

Madam Pomfrey is...basically exactly the same as the movies. 

Good. 

I liked her. 

She even gives me breakfast in bed while she runs tests, though I'm still not sure why she needs to do the tests. 

It's just a bunch of bruises, which is, yknow, normal after getting hit by a bunch of murder balls. 

Yaxley hasn't left either, sitting on a nearby bed as she munches some toast. 

Apparently she's got a place at some fancy Italian university to study Healing next year (and yes, wizards have universities - wonders never cease), and so Madam Pomfrey says she can stay for learning purposes. 

Great. I'm a textbook now. 

Pomfrey comes back at that moment, frowning. "Madam Potter, I'm going to need to ask you a few questions, is that alright?'

I nod. Again. Seems to be all I'm doing today. 

"Are you related to the Blacks within four degrees?"

"My grandmother was Dorea Black."

I have no idea how the degrees shit works, but Pomfrey accepts it without anything else, so I assume I answered okay. 

There's a bunch more questions, mostly about families and medical history and shit, which are kinda boring if I'm honest. 

Finally, finally, however, Pomfrey sighs.

"Very well, thank you, Madam Potter. You may go to your first lesson now."

She gives me something to drink that tastes like marzipan and makes the pain and stiffness from my bruises melt away, and then says she'll get back to me within the week before kicking me out. 

Yaxley walks me to Charms, lecturing me idly about the various types of plays that Chasers can pull off if they try. 

It's interesting enough that I'm almost sad to wave goodbye as I slip inside Charms just as Flitwick finishes the register, Lumi wriggling away in my hood.

Chapter 27: It Rhymes With 'Thriller' But It Starts With 'F'

Notes:

Hello, I don't want to revise anymore because I did way too much at school, so here you go, have about 40 mins worth of unedited typing.
If there's anything drastically wrong, please yell at me (in short words because I'm very tired and my brain is dead)

The next week is...surprisingly uneventful. 

Snape avoids me after the whole Lumi fiasco (also after news leaked out of my teary and very affectionate reunion with my godfather who has a grudge against Snape), by which I mean he makes pointed comments adressed ostensibly to the whole class and otherwise pretends I don't exist. 

It's giving me fond memories of the Dursleys, bless their shrivelled little hearts. 

If only I could have sicced a snake on them too, it would have made my life so much easier. 

Although they don't have the trauma that Snape does surrounding snakes, so maybe it would have just made my life harder. 

Especially seeing as just happening on me gossiping with a snake was enough to send Aunt Petunia into a screaming fit and slap me. 

That is...a thing actually. 

It occurs to me that if my mother was a Parselmouth, and Slytherin was a Parselmouth, it stands to reason that there were other Parselmouths in between. 

Is magic necessary to be a Parselmouth?

Like, it is an inherently magical thing, but there were a lot of fics that had Squibs (like Petunia) still have very small amounts of magic - just not enough for a Hogwarts letter. 

The point being, could my aunt talk to snakes?

It's not like she wouldn't have been aware that Mum could, not if Mum had been as curious as me (and she must have been, from what I remember).

Especially once she found out she was magical, Mum must have done everything she could to try and find out what magic she could do. 

So Petunia must have at least recognised it - at least known that it was something Mum could do. 

Is that why she reacted so badly? Unresolved trauma from the death of her sister?

Or was it that she could understand what we were saying? And hated the reminder that there was magic in her veins too?

Did she hear my soft whispers and the snake's replies, and then remember that it was not something normal people did?

Did she feel the magic lie heavy under her tongue and in her teeth, and take in a breath to use it, before she remembered that she had chosen a life of painful normality?

Did the reminder that she has magic, but not enough, never quite enough, burn in her throat?

I ponder it for a little while before ignoring it and returning to the potion Co-Co and I are working on.

Petunia Dursley was a desperate, lonely girl but she she became a bitter, twisted woman.

I can feel sorry for the girl who wanted nothing more than to feel the wonder of magic, but the woman who looked at her sister's child and locked that child in a cupboard deserves none of my pity.

The same blood flows in my veins as in hers, and she starved me, beat me, lied to me, and verbally abused me every day that I was under her 'care'. 

No matter her backstory, I cannot excuse that. 

Actually, I wonder if I can press charges?

I'm surprised McGonagall hasn't done so yet actually. I'll ask her. 

Fuck. 

I stopped stirring and the potion has gone from a perfect lavender to an acceptable-but-not-perfect mauve. 

Co-Co glares at me from where he's painfully cutting the Shrivelfig into perfect cubes.

Double fuck. 

I can't lose my favourite (tied with To-To) cousin his perfect Potions grade.

*********

Transfiguration is, of course. way better than Potions. 

In a way. 

I hate Transfiguration, but I love McGonagall. 

I love Potions (or at least, I did when it was Aunt Cissa teaching me) but Snape can kiss my malnourished arse. 

Fucker. 

Like, sure, maybe he has trauma and a tragic origin story, but so do I - and you don't see me bullying eleven year olds for existing. 

Yet. 

I'm fairly close with some of the little buggers like Dean Thomas who won't fucking shut up about West Ham.

No one cares about West Ham, even in Muggle England. 

Okay, like over 700,000 people care about West Ham, but that's not relevant. 

I just want Dean Thomas to shut up about it for five fucking minutes. 

Draw something instead, that's useful, stop talking about your fucking football club for like one second.

Anyway, the point is, Snape has no fucking excuse to be such a little bitch and he can piss off. 

Even Slughorn and his sucking up would be preferable. At least Slughorn has good food, Snape just has a bad attitude. 

"Hava Potter, pay attention or so help me."

I jerk upright at Pansy's venomous hiss, and smile winningly at McGonagall who is looking at me expectantly. 

"Sorry, what? My brain didn't process."

McGonagall sighs and repeats the question. 

Great. 

Now my favourite teacher is annoyed at me. (Yes, she's my favourite, although Flitwick is rapidly starting to challenge her. Dumbledore can still fuck himself in his wrinkly arse, as can Snape)

To make up for disappointing her (it's not my fault my attention span is so terrible), I work extra hard on the spell she has us practicing. 

It's the Switching Spell, which I know is probably really useful, but I can't get my head around it. 

Like, sure, I can just wish it to happen, and it'll happen. But the whole idea of Transfiguration is that understanding the magical theory behind the spell allows you to do it better and with greater control. 

That's the part I struggle with. 

But I soldier gamely on because Minnie McG is the bestest professor ever (apart from my honorary uncle Remus Lupin of course, but Remus Lupin has not contacted me since I was one - though I have seen brief glimpses of him on occasion, always looking as if he desperately wants to talk to me but doesn't dare, and looking shabbier and shabbier each time, poor guy).

By the end of the lesson, I have managed to swap: my nose and Pansy's, the leg of my chair and the leg of my desk, my hair and Pansy's, my ink and Hermione's, and exactly 1/5th of the boxes we were meant to be switching. 

Suffice to say, Pansy is not at all happy with me, and McGonagall is looking very long-suffering. 

It's not my fault I didn't inherit Dad's Transfiguration skills! I'm trying at least. 

"Pans," I whisper as McGonagall starts to dismiss the class, "I've got a question to ask McGonagall after class, can you wait for me and be moral support?"

I get a withering look in return. "Why can't your self-proclaimed platonic soulmate be moral support for you?'

"Because he's too chaotic to be good moral support."

Yes, I am aware of the irony. My Padawan has learned far too well. 

Also, it's not just that. I am fully aware that if Co-Co heard what I wanted to ask McGonagall, he'd be the best moral support. 

He'd just also try to murder the Dursleys and I don't want my favourite (apart from To-To) cousin to go to Azkaban for murder at the tender age of 11. 

So, Pansy it is. 

I'm not sure how much of that comes across to her, but enough does that she sighs and rolls her eyes and agrees. 

We hang back as everyone else leaves, and when the classroom is empty I make a beeline for McGonagall.

Miraculously, even Hermione hasn't stayed behind to ask questions as she normally does - maybe she's still in a huff because apparently Switching black ink and purple ink does something funny to them and now her nice, professional black ink has a distinctly hot pink tint that even McGonagall can't get out. 

Oops. 

In my defence, it was an accident. 

Anyway, McGonagall looks up with some trepidation as I approach her, but she must have seen something on my face, because her expression quickly changes. 

She puts down her quill and folds her hands, looking at me calmly. "What is it, Madam Potter?'

For a moment, I hesitate. 

Even Co-Co doesn't know the full extent of what I went through at the Dursleys, nor does Padfoot, or Aunt Cissa or Uncle Lucy. 

The person who comes closest is sitting right before me, but it occurs to me that Pansy doesn't really know - only that my guardians were incompetent enough that I'm living with the Malfoy. 

Do I really want Pansy to know?

But it'll probably all come out eventually anyway, and I sort of trust Pansy to at least support a fellow Slytherin (if not her beloved and irritating friend who I like to think she cares about).

"What is happening to the Dursleys, Professor?"

For a long moment, McGonagall is still. 

Then she sighs. "I will not lie to you, Potter. Nothing has happened to them yet."

It's like a blow. "Nothing?"

My voice is very small, and I hate it. Fuck that. 

McGonagall sighs again. "I have spoken with your guardians, and we have agreed that the decision should lie with you - when enough time has passed that you can bear the weight of it."

"I can bear the weight now."

"No." And McGonagall's beady eyes are very soft. "You cannot. This year has already been eventful enough - give yourself time to adjust to the magical world before you decide on your revenge."

Yeah, I can see the logic. 

As I am, I am an emotional eleven year old with a shit ton of trauma. 

If we take it to court, I will most likely have to be face to face with the Dursleys again - and that is something that I can't handle. 

Just the thought of Vernon setting eyes on me makes me want to hide so far underground that I come out in Australia. 

Slowly, I nod. "Okay. Bye Professor."

Pansy and I turn to go, but McGonagall calls me back. 

"One more thing, Potter."

"Yeah?"

Something glitters in her eyes, and she smiles at me. It is not a particularly nice smile. "You may feel that nothing is being done, but remember that with every moment that passes, their fear of some unnatural retribution grows. By the time you are prepared to face them once again, they will be mere shadows of themselves."

Suddenly, I can see how this woman was on the frontlines of a war. 

I grin. 

"Thanks Professor."

McGonagall really is the best.

**************

It is Yaxley who takes me to the Hospital Wing again. 

I had thought it would be Farley, seeing as she is in charge of the firsties, but maybe I've already traumatised Farley enough that the Head Girl has had to step in. 

If that's the case, I send a silent apology to Farley. 

Hope she's okay, its her OWL year, she doesn't need a mouthy little eleven year old stressing her out too much.

Eh, she'll be fine, OWLs are like GCSEs and I got 10 of those without revising. 

"Hi Madam Pomfrey," I say cheerfully, plopping down on the bed I had used before. "How much am I dying."

"There is nothing physically wrong with you, Madam Potter." Pomfrey says, looking a little exasperated already. "I ran several tests, and from what I can see, it merely appears that your wards failed. Your Quidditch captain may want to check your gear for sabotage."

Ah. 

Fuck. 

Well, at least its not some sort of strange magical disease that is going to kill me slowly but surely. 

Though that would have been really interesting. 

Also, I know who most likely tampered with my wards - and his name can be rearranged into Tom Dildo Ram Lover. 

Probably should have expected that to be honest. 

"Why did you ask if I was related to the Blacks then?"

Pomfrey sighs. "The Blacks are notorious for their inbreeding, which has led to less visible side effects than their infamous madness. One of these is a tendency to haemophilia, something which your paternal grandmother Dorea suffered from. I was concerned that it had gone unnoticed in you due to your...subpar previous guardians."

Huh. 

Fancy that.

Inbreeding has consequences. Thank heaven that my mum was not a Pureblood.

Although..."Is that why Dad was an only child?"

"Yes." Pomfrey says, looking a little troubled. "Dorea had...difficulties. She was advised not to have children at all, so your father's existence was a veritable miracle."

Fuck. 

Poor Grandma Dorea. 

Oh well, one of my dad was probably enough children for anyone. 

"Did you know her, Madam Pomfrey?" She did call her by her first name, after all.

Pomfrey smiles a little. "We were friends in Hogwarts, though we were in different houses and drifted apart later. She was forever getting into duels with your grandfather, so it surprised exactly no one when they got married straight out of Hogwarts - all she would ever talk about for years was Charlus Potter and how much she hated him with his stupid hair and his stupid smile. "

Two generations in a row hating each other and then getting married straight out of high school and not divorcing. 

Although my parents were killed at 21, so maybe they would have gotten divorced.

I bloody well hope that no one expects me to have a UST ridden rivalry and then marry my schoolyard rival the moment I graduate.

Like, sure, little mini-me's would be great (and I died before I could have any last time), but I want a bit of a career first. 

And some fun. 

Travelling, dating around, living the student life but with oodles of money, completely Voldy-free life. 

I'd rather not have kids before I have an actual life.

That's all future-me's problem though, and therefore irrelevant. 

Equally irrelevant is the fact the Voldy is once more trying to kill me - it is, after all, hardly new information. 

All he's wanted to do for over a decade is kill me. 

The important thing is that someone knows my grandparents and is willing to tell me about them. 

I bounce up on the bed and grin maniacally. "Can you tell me more?'

Yaxley excuses herself, as Pomfrey agrees, and I squeal loudly enough that she flinches. 

My family have all been dead for years. 

They are bones in the ground, or dust. 

But here, in this way, I get a little piece of them all back - and I can imagine what it would have been like in a kinder world, where at least some of my beloved dead were still here. 

**********************

Co-Co and To-To take the news that someone is trying to kill me surprisingly well. 

And by that I mean that Co-Co runs off to try and kill them back, and it takes pretty much our whole friend group sitting on him to stop him from trying to fight someone who is presumably much more powerful and skilled than he is. 

To-To goes very quiet and gets what Co-Co informs me is the exact same as my plotting face. 

It's kinda scary, but when I try to imitate it, my now second favourite cousin informs me that I can only do it unconsciously, otherwise I look like a constipated duck. 

Fuck. 

When did he get so good at all this chaos business?

Pretty much all of our friend group starts plotting revenge, and I'm kind of concerned, if I'm honest. 

They are devious little shits, and some of the stuff they're coming out with is...really really dark. 

Guess that's what growing up in the same circles as the Death Eaters does to you.

It's endearing that they care that much about me though.

The thing that surprises me is Flint and Pucey, who share a deeply concerning glance and then go on what can only be described as an Inquisition-inspired rampage. 

I didn't think they would have cared, but they inform me that an attack on one member of the team is an attack on the whole team, and as the smallest I am the weakest link and therefore must be protected the most. 

Okay, this would have been great about a year ago, but whatever. 

It still warms the cockles of my cold little heart. 

They care enough about me (or at least about their adopted baby Chaser) that they're stalking around the school like an honour guard, glaring at anyone who looks sideways at me. 

Along with the rest of the Quidditch team.

And all my Slytherin friends.

And To-To, who is tentatively accepted by means of being my cousin. 

And Neville, because he's my godbrother. 

And Hermione, who hexes Vanity until she apologises for calling her a Mudblood. 

And the Patil twins, because we were friends with them before Hogwarts.

And Susan Bones, who I've been trading curses with in DADA when Pansy's not paying attention.

If I'm honest, I get kind of teary when I realise all the people who are ready to be murderous on my behalf after only one to three months of knowing me. 

House unity for the win, am I right?

It just took a murder attempt to do so - which is a lot less than it took canon!Harry to get House unity. Not that he ever really did - there was no Slytherin representation after all. 

He didn't have any non-Gryffindor close friends either - the closest would have been Luna. And he didn't even meet her until 5th year.

I am doing so much better than him. 

Look at all the multi-coloured friends I have after a month!

They end up taking shifts, like they can protect me from the nebulous someone who is trying to kill me. 

It's rather sweet, but I can't help wondering if they would still do so if they knew who the true culprit was.

I'm not sure I want to know. 

Definitely not going to ask them, because I'm pretty sure Vanity would try to kill me if she thought it would win her favour with the Dark Lord. 

She might not, you never know, but I'm not going to test it. 

It's kinda nice being protected for once, even if it is kind of smothering. 

Aunt Cissa sends a letter informing me that I had better still be taking my potions, and that she has commissioned warded Quidditch gear for me that she has been assured is impossible to tamper with, as well as a promise that whoever tried to kill me will regret it.

Uncle Lucy signs it and adds a postscript that he, and no lesser lawyer, will be personally prosecuting whoever is found to have been responsible.

Hmmmmm, we'll see about that, considering my suspicions of the culprit. 

Padfoot sends his own letter with death threats to whoever is responsible, a ramble about his latest therapy session (as he had thought that the memories he recovered of the time I threw up on Dad would be appreciated - which they are), the news that he has hired four private investigators to find out who tried to kill me, another apology, another ramble about the haemophilia bullet that I dodged (apparently most of his family had it and my generation is just lucky enough to have outbred enough to have avoided it) and a postscript that he's made contact with Remus and will introduce us shortly. 

It's a very nice letter. 

I appreciate the death threats on my behalf very much. 

Oh, and he also has about two pages where he tells me stories about my grandparents - both sets, though he was obviously more familiar with Dad's parents than with Mum's. 

There's also some death threats against Petunia, which I appreciate very much. 

Fuck her. 

And her husband. 

Dudley becomes okay, I guess, but he's still an arse and pulled my hair out in clumps. 

So fuck him, but I don't hate him as much - in his own way, he's suffering at his parents' hands as much as I did. 

It isn't his fault that he is what they made him. 

Doesn't mean I don't hate his guts though - I'm a Slytherin, not a Golden Boy Gryffindor.

I've got a license to be mean and petty, it's the badge on my robe.

Chapter 28: This Is Halloween (This Is Halloween)

Notes:

ah yes, a Halloween chapter in May.
But it was this or revision, so enjoy!

The thing no one ever told me about Flying is this (well, two things actually) - there is theory involved, and Madam Hooch likes seating plans. 

She pairs each Slytherin with a Gryffindor, presumably in a vain attempt to further House unity. 

Hermione is sat beside Co-Co, and I don't know which of the two is more upset about that. It's kinda funny. 

Seamus Finnigan and Vera are paired together, and really, could Madam Hooch have tried a little less hard to blow up the classroom?

Neville and Pans work well with each other, even though Pans is as abrasive as they come.

I am put beside Ron Weasley. 

He's tall, gangly and freckly, and clearly uncomfortable with being sat next to a Slytherin. 

Unfortunately for him, I am agressively friendly and really enthusiastic about flying. 

The combination eventually leads him to first acknowledge my existence, then reply to me, then become civil, and finally to hold a full, friendly conversation with me. 

It takes from mid-September until the end of October, but I manage it. 

By the time I slam my bag down on the desk on the 30th of October, enough progress has been made that he looks up with a bright grin. "Morning Hava."

"Hey Ron." I say, returning the smile with my own. 

It's infectious, endearingly so, and he's adorable.

"Did you see the Cannons transfer in the Prophet this morning?" He says eagerly, almost bouncing.

I frown thoughtfully. 

I have not got a Prophet subscription - too much effort. I just steal someone else's when I want to read it, but today I hadn't bothered. 

It had just felt like too much effort the day before Halloween. 

But Ron's vibrating with excitement, and I can't bring myself to burst his bubble.

"Gorgovitch?" I say, taking a stab in the dark - Gorgovitch is mentioned in relation to the Cannons at one point, right?

He shakes his head, almost vibrating. "Gorgovitch is the weak point in the Wasps, Hava, keep up. Gudgeon transferred this morning! He was Gryffindor Seeker when Charlie was a First Year, and Charlie modelled himself off him."

"Is Gudgeon good, then?"

Ron nods enthusiastically, and I mindlessly join him in celebrating the potential turn in fortune for his er, unfortunate team. 

Though, I'm not entirely convinced of that. 

I distinctly remember reading the Cannons' Harry Potter Wiki at one point, and I remember an entry about Gudgeon, who had done so badly that the fans were threatening to turn him into a toad.

Or something. 

It was over a decade ago that I read it. 

"Quiet, Potter, Weasley." Comes Madam Hooch's voice. 

Ron blushes, and I just grin at her. "Course, Madam Hooch."

She's weak to my puppy eyes I've noticed, and to my best impressions of Dad's cheeky grin.

A little bit of digging revealed that she was a Gryffindor Chaser from 1971-1976, which meant that she was probably getting nostalgic flashbacks from when Dad was a snot-nosed fellow Chaser.

Or maybe just flashbacks. 

Anyway, the point is, she visibly softens, and turns to the board to begin the class without any further telling off (she has a history of point-taking).

Ron grins and high-fives me under the table. "Bloody brilliant."

I grin back, ignoring Pansy's pointed sigh of exasperation.

Harry and Ron's friendship was one of my favourite things about the books, and I had been gutted when I realised that my choices had taken us on different paths.

Luckily for me, it appears that Harry and Ron are fated to be friends in any world.

*****************

I am back at Godric's Hollow.

Mum is rushing upstairs with me in her arms, and Dad's brave smile is disappearing around the corner.

His hair is messy and sticking up, and his glasses are crooked, and Mum's hair is soft in my grip.

I cry and reach for him, desperate not to lose my father again, not again, please not again.

Instead, I watch in slow motion as a vivid green curse soars through the air and hits him right on the forehead, where my scar is. 

Dad collapses, and my scream is not that of an infant or a child, but of a woman, a woman with blond ringlets and brown eyes. 

It is a woman who died eleven years ago, a woman who doesn’t know James Potter, but Dad is dead, and she cannot stop screaming, reaching for him over Mum's shoulder, and she is running towards him, surely she can stop it in time.

His wand clatters limply to the floor from his suddenly slack fingers, and me, me who died, me from before Hava, is kneeling beside him, trying to wake him, do something, anything. 

But he still lies stiff on the floor, the light dying in his eyes, the warmth fleeing his inert shell.

There isn't a mark on him, and I shake him, trying to shake him awake, but my foot goes through Dad's head instead, again and again and again, and I can't stop, because Dad shouldn't be here. 

Then Lily collapses before my cot, and Hava cries, a tiny tot with tears and snot pouring down her face, and that's me. But it isn’t, because me with blond hair, me who isn't Hava, is watching the movie in the cinema, and crying.

Why am I crying, I don't know these people?

They're just characters in a book in a movie.

They're figments of my imagination. 

They aren't real!

Mum's blood pools over the floor and reaches my feet, and it soaks my blond ringlets, turning them crimson.

I laugh, high and cold, and there is no air in my lungs, because I am crying, but I am laughing, and I can't do both.

I am Voldemort, Voldemort is the shell of flesh around me, and me that died is gone, and Hava is crying in front of me, but he vanishes, and suddenly I am just a mewling, screaming wisp of a spirit, hovering over Lily Potter's dead body.

She is sprawled over the floor, in a pool of red blood, and it is still leaking from her wrist, covering her in a shroud of vermillion, spreading to encompass the cot that baby Hava is in.

I have no mouth, but I still manage to cry, and to beg her not to die, and to lift her and rock her body, and suddenly I am Severus Snape, and my mother's body twitches, and her eyes glow red. 

And she reaches into my mouth Snape's mouth, and pulls out his heart my heart.

It is beating sluggishly, slowly, dripping red over the floor to mingle with the red still pouring from her wrist.

Then her mouth opens, revealing rows and rows of rotting teeth, black and brown and decayed and all razor sharp, and she bites into it, blood spurting out around the teeth.

Something else rips from my mouth, but this time it is a scream.

I scream and scream and scream, and I wake myself up screaming.

My throat is raw and rough with my screams.

I come back to myself in fits and starts.

First comes touch, the soft feeling of fabric clenched in my fists, the tickling of my fringe against my face.

Then the thick, sour taste of sleep in my mouth.

On its heels follows a soft voice, whispering comfort and reassurance into my ears.

After that, my mind clicks back into gear, and thought returns. 

I open my eyes with an effort, blinking away the yellow sand at the corners and flinch back. 

All of the lights are blazing, and every girl in the Slytherin first year dormitory is awake, Pansy and Daphne curled into my bed with me

It comes to me as a great surprise to discover that I am clinging tightly onto Pansy, tears pouring down my cheeks.

"Hava, what happened?"

I shake my head, burrowing deeper into her shoulder, but the words spill out anyway. "They died. They died again. Why do they keep dying?"

Suffice to say, no one sleeps particularly well the night before Halloween.

After the third time I wake up screaming, a yawning and rather snappish Daphne suggests that I just get a Dreamless Sleep potion if any of us are to sleep at all. 

Rather than wake any of the prefects, or, Merlin forbid, Snape, I call for the little house elf who was a peripheral prescence in my infancy. 

"Bitsy."

Despite the oddness of whispering into empty air, she appears almost instantly, looking with deep concern at me.

"Sweet Little Lady Hava should be sleeping at night, not calling her elfses."

I smile disarmingly at her, ignoring the eye roll and the fact that she dealt with Dad and Padfoot for their entire lives and knows exactly what I am up to. 

"Of course, I know that dearest Bitsy. I was wondering if you could give me another Dreamless Sleep potion? Just to help me get to sleep tonight, that's all, so I can stop waking up the rest of my friends."

The old elf looks suspiciously at me, but produces a vial reluctantly. "If Sweet Little Lady Hava calls Bitsy again, Bitsy will say no more potions and talk to Sweet Little Lady Hava's guardians"

After she disappears again, Pansy practically forces it down my throat. 

"Now sleep," she says forcefully, though it is somewhat lessened by the yawn that overtakes her as soon as the words leave her mouth. 

She and Daphne stay in my bed however, and as I drift off I cannot help the warm feeling in my cold little heart. 

***********

I wake up on Halloween feeling like shit, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, ecumenically and grammatically. 

Even the old joke can't raise my spirits. 

Pansy and Daphne have to basically drag me out of bed, and then I get a good look at their faces and feel even worse. 

Both of them have deep circles under their eyes. 

Actually, so does everyone in the dorm. 

I start to apologise, but Pansy clamps her hand over my mouth. 

"Shut it." She snaps. "You can only finish that sentence if it wasn't an apology for having trauma or existing."

When she takes away her hand, I shut my mouth with a clack before I open it again. "Thank you."

My voice is so soft that even I can barely hear it, but I can tell that my friends (and how strange is that, to think that Harry Potter's closest friends are Slytherins) have heard it, because Pansy's eyes soften and she smiles - just a brief twitch of the corners of her lips.

Then she sniffs, and manhandles me down onto the chair as she starts brushing my hair and Daphne rummages through my wardrobe for a clean set of robes. 

Just as my hair is brushed and braided into something that keeps it out of my face (I can't see, and can't be bothered to look), there is a knock on the door.

Millicent, as the only one fully dressed, gets selected by the force of silent glare to be the one who answers it. 

Fuck. 

It's Snivellus. 

"Potter's godfather has arrived to take her out of lessons for the day." He says, cold and disdainful. "Please inform her, Miss Bulstrode."

Ah.

Fuck. 

Millicent shuts the door, and Daphne throws the school robes back into my closet before I can summon the energy to object. 

I close my eyes and try to summon up the energy to pick something for what I assume will be a visit to Godric's Hollow - what else could it be on Halloween? 

When I open them, however, it is to be greeted with the sight of Daphne standing before me, holding something that I can't quite identify beyond black. 

She and Pansy half wrestle it onto me, and I vaguely identify it as some sort of dress. 

I manage to make up my mind to do something nice for all the other girls, for putting up with me. 

Then I am dragged out by my two friends, and Snape raises one sardonic eyebrow. "Miss Greengrass, Miss Parkinson, what do you think you are doing?"

"Accompanying our friend." Daphne says bravely, but her bravery is not appreciated by Snape. 

"Your...friend," he says, the sneer almost inaudible to his credit, "will have no need of you, Miss Greengrass. Or you, Miss Parkinson. I should turn my attention to preparing for my lessons, were I you."

Even in my funk, I can feel them hesitating, so I squeeze their arms and let go. "Thanks guys."

Snape turns on his heel and walks away, and I follow him as quickly as I can. 

Which isn't much, considering I am exhausted and in a mood where I am struggling to think, let alone move.

I follow him up to Dumblefuck's office, feeling doubly down. 

Of all days, today had to be the day that I have to interact with Snape outside of lessons. 

But, it is what it is. 

I follow him through three hundred million corridors, and then to the iconic griffin statue ('Blood Pops'), and through the door.

Inside the office, my eyes are drawn unerringly to the walking fashion disaster that is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore - today wearing a black robe covered in eye-watering orange and purple depictions of witches, brooms, cats, cauldrons and other stereotypical halloween-type imagery. 

Yikes. 

The second thing that I see, is a head of dark curls and familiar grey eyes. 

Within moments, I am across the room and have flung myself into my godfather's arms. 

"I've got permission from Cissa and Dumbledore to take you out of school today, pup." He says gently. "We can go to Godric's Hollow, if you want, or we can just go away from everything for a bit. What do you want?"

I hesitate for a moment.

"Godric's Hollow." I never got to say goodbye to my parents. It would be nice to have that. 

Padfoot nods, and then gestures to the Floo. "Malfoy Manor first, pup. Cissa and her pet want to see you for breakfast."

So we Floo to Malfoy Manor, and I tumble out into Aunt Cissa's arms. 

The scent of ice and mountains and snowdrops surrounds me, cool and sweet and clear.

 I curl into her and cling like the monkey I should have been (if the world were just).

She hugs me back, whispering comforting nothings into my hair - reassurances, death threats to whoever tried to kill me, yknow, that kind of thing.

It's nice to have that. 

I huddle into her, breathing the scent of her perfume and hiding under the dramatic swoop of her robes. 

If I close my eyes, I can pretend that I am hidden away from the world, and nothing can touch me. 

That is an illusion that I lost before my second life began, but it is nice to pretend.

Aunt Cissa is my aunt, not my mother, but she is the closest thing that I have to one. 

It's rather a sad state of affairs that my father's cousin who joined WizardHitler's death cult, and with whom I have stayed for about a month, is the only woman who has cared for me since 1981.

Well, her and McGonagall, but McGonagall gives more grandma vibes.

When I eventually emerge from my refuge, it is to an awkward Uncle Lucy, who puts both of his hands on my shoulders in a sort of semi-hug, and congratulates me on making the Slytherin Quidditch team. 

I appreciate that he doesn't mention the less serious things, although I do not appreciate his warning to stop irritating Professor Snape, for the sake of my own continued wellbeing. 

I can look after my own wellbeing perfectly well, fuck you Uncle Lucy. 

If I want to make Snivellus' life miserable, I think I'm allowed to. 

At least I'm not a grown-ass professor bullying a bunch of eleven year olds. 

Although...I probably should hold off on the pissing him off. He does save canon!Harry's life a bunch of times. 

I don't want to lose that particular safety net. 

Also now I feel kind of guilty. 

I half-heartedly promise to stop initiating clashes with my Head of House, and I can tell all three of the adults in the room spot the loopholes. 

They don't say anything though, and we all go through to breakfast in the conservatory. 

The moment we walk in, I spot a familiar, slightly ragged, very tired figure. 

He turns, looking very very very awkward indeed, and waves even more awkwardly. 

"Hello, Hava," he says hesitantly and with great reticence, "I don't know if you remember me-"

At that point I cut him off by shrieking and flinging myself at him like I'm a bowling ball and he's the pins. 

"Moony." I whisper, and do my level best to strangle him with my skinny little pathetic noodle arms. "Moony, I missed you."

I can almost feel Uncle Lucy's desire to pull me away from the werewolf, and Aunt Cissa's very polite disgust, but hey. 

They took me in. 

They can deal.

Also it's really funny that they're having breakfast with a werewolf. 

I'm not sure why, cos they canonically had Greyback in the Manor, but they are clearly only putting up with him for me and Padfoot. 

Maybe I should take slightly less evil joy in their discomfort, but it is a product of bigotry and I'm trying to make them be nicer people. 

It's good for them!

Also, I appreciate them doing this for Padfoot and I.

It's just funny.

*****************

Godric's Hollow is much as I faintly remember it - the quintessential small English countryside village.

The kind that show up on postcards and chocolate boxes. 

I have faint memories of walks through it, though of course almost the entirety of the first year of my life was spent in the little cottage and protected under the Fidelius. 

Walks were rare, brief, and full of watchful vigilance - but treasured 

They happened enough that I retain a vague memory of the village. 

It is much the same as it was, sleepy and quiet. 

But in the square, just as it was in the books, there is a war memorial. 

As Padfoot, Moony and I walk towards it, it transforms. 

Now, it holds a man with messy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a brilliant smile, and a little baby with the same smile as the woman. 

Dad, Mum and me. 

I drift closer, almost spellbound. 

Is this what the Wizarding World think of when they imagine the Potters?

A happy little family, frozen in a single moment, simultaneously revered for their sacrifice and immortalised as if that sacrifice had never happened.

Is this what I could have had?

I had it once, and oh, how different everything would have been if I had kept it. 

As I come closer, the illusion fades away. 

The sculpture has clearly been made with skill, but skill can only capture so much. 

Dad is handsome and boyish, but no more than that, nothing more than a young man, all the force of his personality missing.

The glint is absent from his eye. 

Mum looks softer than she ever did in life, like someone has carved all her edges away to make her seem like an angelic wife and mother. 

I cannot smell the lilies in her hair. 

Both of them are...lesser, frozen shadows of the people they once were. 

Even I...was I truly ever that small?

There are no shadows in my eyes, no scar on my forehead.

I look like any other baby. 

This is not a memorial to my parents' sacrifice. 

This is the Wizarding World's delusion. 

It is them pretending that everything is fine. 

"Pup?"

Padfoot's soft voice is accompanied by an equally gentle hand on my shoulder. "We don't have to stay, if you don't want to."

For a moment, I am startled. I forgot that he was there. 

Then reality reasserts itself. 

This is difficult for him and Moony too - but they are doing it for me. 

The least that I can do is make it as easy as possible. 

I blink away tears that I didn't realise were there, and turn to slip one of my hands into each of theirs, ignoring Moony's hesitation until he grips my hand back. 

"Can we...I want to say goodbye."

Padfoot nods, and the two them lead me away from the awful caricature of what could have been. 

***************

The graveyard is small. 

Cramped, even. 

We enter it through a little kissing gate, showered with the falling leaves as Padfoot's head brushes the hedge that bows over the top. 

It takes us some time to find my parents. 

We see Peverells, Potters, Boneses, and more - even a Dumbledore or two. 

But not my parents. 

Not until enough time has passed that I am no longer feeling the urge to turn around and curse that fucking awful monument to the Wizarding World's delusions into a thousand grains of dust.

It is Moony who finds it, his hoarse voice calling for us in a whisper.

Padfoot almost races over, falling to his knees before the grave.

I walk much more slowly. 

The longer I take, the more it feels as if it could all be a bad dream. 

A dream that lasted a decade, but a dream all the same.

There are flowers on the grave.

A shared one, a single headstone. 

In loving memory of James and Lily Potter

27 March 1960 - 31 October 1981 & 30 January 1960 – 31 October 1981

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death

Wordlessly, Padfoot hands me a wreath - fire lilies, white chrystanthemums, hydrangeas and red roses. 

A flower for mum and dad. One for grief. One for family. And one for love. 

I drop to my knees and place it carefully on the grave, brushing away the other flowers that are all dead and rotting. 

"Hi Mum, Dad."

For a long time, I can't think of anything else to say. 

What is there to say?

They aren't really here. It is only their bones, slowly rotting away to nothing, uncaring that the child they gave their lives for is weeping above them.

But eventually, I manage to find something to say. 

"I love you."

It takes so much just to say those few words, but after that, it is like a dam has broken. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I miss you. I know I shouldn't remember you, but I do. I miss you so much. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's my fault. You didn't have to die. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, I miss you so much."

After that, I am crying too hard to speak anymore. 

*****************

When we get back to Hogwarts, it is almost tea time. 

We spent less than an hour in Godric's Hollow, all told - but it had been so emotionally exhausting that Padfoot had made the executive decision to take us all to the cinema. 

He and Moony had let me choose which movie to watch, and the only one I recognised was Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. 

So I picked that for the nostalgia. 

We had our bodyweight in popcorn, I think, and equal that in soft drinks. 

It was nice - quiet, and companiable, just enjoying the movie. 

A good way to bond with my honorary uncles again. 

Prince of Thieves was never my favourite Robin Hood movie (that would be the Disney one or Men in Tights, of which only the Disney one is currently extant, and I am so dragging my snotty Slytherin clique to watch Men in Tights when it comes out), but it's good. 

Comfortable, like a well worn shoe.

After the movie, we had lunch in my parents' favourite restaurant - a tiny place run by a Squib couple in the magical village of Camelot, called Queen Mab's Kitchen.

It's adorable, almost fairy sized, with the most gorgeous furniture that seems grown out of the ground and delicate china with moving flowers and plants on them.

The light is low even at midday, with floating bright gleams that remind me of fireflies but are far more insubstantial. 

It's like being in a fairy cavern. 

I love it.

Mum and Dad had good taste. 

Padfoot makes sure to order me Mum's favorite (pumpkin soup with fresh buttered bread filled with nuts, and served with cold buttermilk) followed by Dad's favourite dessert (fruit salad carved and arranged into the sculpture of a lily - Dad was such a sap). 

Delicious, every bite, and bittersweet - it's something back of my parents that I should have never lost.

I should have grown up coming here, and should have considered my parents' favourites boring, should have had my own favourites, and known the menu like the back of my hand. 

Yet another little thing that Voldemort stole from me, another tiny cut that stings far worse than it should.

Padfoot and Moony both have the same as me, and all three of us are very quiet, 

After that, we wander around the magical district of London, browsing and shopping to our hearts' content. 

Or, rather, Moony and I browse, and Padfoot buys everything we look twice at. 

Damn him, who let him out of the house without a minder? 

All I can say is that it is a good thing the Blacks are filthy rich, and that Featherlight Charms exist.

By the time I Floo back to Hogwarts, the only thing on my mind is bed. Or hiding in the Chamber, where no one can find me. 

Unfortunately, when I step through the Floo having had a teary embrace with both of my godfathers, Dumbledore is waiting on the other side. 

Fuck him. 

He is holding a silvery bundle of...something in his hands, his eyes grave.

Is that what I think it is? 

"Your father left this in my care before he died, my girl," the goat says softly. "It is long past time that it returned to you."

It is. 

Fuck yeah. 

He's now above Snivellus in my mental rankings of teachers, and only just below Squirrelly Quirrelly. 

The Invisibility Cloak is mine two months ahead of schedule - and while I'm well aware it's because he's scrambling to regain control, it's a fucking Invisibility Cloak. Anyone would be over the moon. 

It also means that the castle is now open to me at night.

************

The only downside is that Dumbles makes me go to the feast. 

Great. 

Just what I wanted to do. 

Not. 

Whatever nonsense he may spout about honouring Mum and Dad's sacrifice by not hiding away, I know that they'd understand me not wanting to people. 

If I wanted to hide away in the Chamber and tell Nagini and Lumi stories about my parents, you can be damn sure that Mum and Dad would have fought Dumbles to make sure that is what I could do. 

Still, he's Headmaster, so what he says goes.

I sit next to Co-Co and try to ignore everything going on around me. 

My cousin is the best. 

He piles food onto my plate, blocks anyone who tries to talk to me, and best of all Lumi slides out of his robe and across my shoulders. 

I would have taken her with me today, but Boomslangs don't do well with Floos, so Co-Co looked after her for me. 

The familiar weight of her across my shoulders is really really nice. 

The food is hearty and good - potatoes, beef, yorkshire puddings. A simple, comforting roast like my first family (before I was Hava) used to have on Sunday evenings. 

Co-Co couldn't have known that, of course, but he still managed to pick out food that would cheer me up. 

What did I do to deserve such a great cousin? 

Just as everyone starts reaching for sweets, and I start to settle down, the doors bang open and in rushes Quirrel.

Fuck. 

I had hoped I'd been able to avert this. 

As the hall erupts into chaos, I grab Co-Co's arm. "Remember when I told you what I said to McGonagall about dreams?"

He is as white as a sheet and trembling, but he nods. 

"Good. I had one that says we've got to take Ron Weasley and look for Hermione Granger."

"Now?" My cousin's voice cracks a little, but I do him the kindness of ignoring it and nod enthusiastically. 

He takes a shuddering breath and then sighs. "Well, Mum would kill me if I let you go off on your own."

So off we go, weaving our way through the panicking students towards the distinctive bright red hair. 

The whole way, I am praying that our brief, tentative friendship forged over our enthusiasm for flying is enough to drag him with me.

If it isn't, I bet the twins will. 

They keep popping up every now and then, trying to get me to tell them how I knew the password for the Map. 

I haven't told them, of course. 

I'm planning to wait until I can get them into the same space as Padfoot and Moony.

But their interrogation sessions have also turned into chats and prank planning sessions, so I'd say we're good enough friends that they could come troll-hunting. 

Look, I just feel like minimum 1 Weasley is necessary for this particular sidequest.

Notes:

So this got, er, a bit unwieldy.
I've split Halloween into two chapters, but it might take a hot second to get the next chapter up because I should be revising, I just cba.

Also, there are a bunch of comments that I need to reply to.
Sorry about that, I promise I will get to them, and I will always reply to comments - it just may take a while.

Chapter 29: Sheer Dumb Luck

Somehow (I'm not quite sure, considering the number of panicking children in the hall), I manage to get across to the Gryffindor table without getting trampled or spotted by Pansy. 

Three guesses which of the two was more difficult, and the first two don't count.

Thankfully, Vera's unintentionally distracting all of my dorm mates by having tripped over, and the older members of the aggressive protect Hava squad (read: the Slytherin Quidditch team plus Farley), are all absorbed trying to look after the rest of Slytherin House as well as presumably assuming that someone else is looking after me.

Well, another member of the Quidditch Team is looking after me - Co-Co! 

I giggle, and tap Ron on the shoulder. 

He startles and whirls around, and nearly clocks me in the face.

Thankfully, I have very good dodging skills, for which I refuse to thank fucking Petunia and Vernon Dursley.

Fuck them. 

I mentally spit upon their graves (but not their mother's graves because that would be disrespectful to the icon that Grandmama Evans presumably was), and then grin at Ron. 

"I heard you were mean to Hermione in Charms today, and she's been crying in the bathroom all afternoon. She doesn't know about the troll, and I thought I should go and rescue her, but couldn't get any of the other Slytherins to come along on a stupid, reckless stunt like this. So I came to ask for a Gryffindor's help!"

Ron seems to be taking a moment to parse through this, but his first order of business is to stutter, and then point at Co-Co. "You have another Slytherin right there!"

I shrug and do not start cackling at him missing the veiled insult. "Co-Co's my cousin and basically my twin-seperated-by-birth-and-branches-of-the-family-tree. He doesn't really count. And all quests need at least 3 members to qualify, you know."

Yes, that was ripped from Percy Jackson, so what? 

"Pardon me, Fred," says a familiar voice, "but I do believe I heard a lickle snake trying to tempt our baby brother astray."

"Pardoned, Fred," I say, turning around and grinning as I cut off George's reply to Fred's comment. "Feel like coming troll hunting and saving a damsel-in-distress?"

The sparkle that lights in the eyes of both twins is nothing short of unholy, and I resist the urge to cackle. 

They exchange a glance and then bow in unison. "Your wish is our command, o great lady of the serpent den. Who do you wish us to save?"

"Hermione Granger. She's crying in the bathrooms and doesn't know about the troll." I say, curtseying back (the most flamboyant one Aunt Cissa taught me because the twins love that shit). 

Then we turn and march for the bathrooms where I know we will find Hermione Granger and undying glory. 

Co-Co is at my side, as he ever is, loyal little minion, then the twins behind us are frogmarching their still confused brother. 

Ah, this is the life. 

I lead my little army up the stairs and salute Percy Weasley cheekily as our staircase swings away from his - and his little trail of frightened Gryffindors. 

If only I had a picture of his face, upon seeing three of his brothers running around with two little Slytherins - the Girl-Who-Lived and the only son of his father's arch enemy. 

Hey, I can use a Pensieve! 

I'll show it to Padfoot when I see him again. He's gonna love it!

Great mini-prank!

Then I lead my minions up and around until we have to hide behind a statue in an alcove due to...footsteps. 

Severus Snape sweeps past us, billowing ominously and in a way that makes me really jealous of his drama. 

Damnit, if only he didn't hate me - then I could learn his secrets. 

It's not even all my fault! He already hated me, and I just retaliated. 

Life is so fucking unfair sometimes, don't you think? 

There is literally no one else I know who billows that dramatically. 

Anyway, once he's gone past we all pile out of the little alcove and the Gryffindors start being all oh Snape hmmm he's looking a bit evil. 

As the two resident Slytherins, Co-Co and I should probably say something but I feel excused from defending Snivellus ever and Co-Co is apparently resentful of Snivvy bullying me. 

So neither of us say anything. 

He does bring this kind of shit on himself to be entirely honest. If he didn't look evil all the time, he wouldn't be suspected of being evil all the time.

After a couple minutes, we remember we're trying to save a damsel in distress and hasten forthwith to the toilets wherein we know the said damsel can be found. 

Luckily for us, we get there before the troll.

Co-Co and Ron awkwardly hover at the door, while the twins laugh at them and follow me inside like my own ginger honour guard.

Hmmm maybe I should make an evil cult of gingers. 

Take over the world through our power of soullessness and therefore our immunity to Dementors. 

Except the cult would be like...me, the Weasleys, and Susan Bones and that's too small of a cult for my tastes. 

Go big or go home, that's what I always say!

In case you've noticed, I very rarely go home. 

I tap on the cubicle door. "Hermione? Charms Bestie? You in there?"

There's a muffled sniffle. "Hava?"

"Yep!" I bounce up and down on my toes. "We came to rescue you because there's a troll on the rampage and we thought you might like to avoid being maimed or seriously injured."

For a moment, there is only silence. I can feel Ron and Co-Co exchanging glances at the doorway, and part of me cackles at being so annoying that even the Malfoy-Weasley feud is overcome. 

The bolt slides back and the door opens. 

Hermione's eyes are red and puffy and she looks like crap. "Where were you today? I ended up next to Weasley in Charms and he was horrible.''

Ah, there's the Hermione I know and love - no concept of any world outside her own. 

"I was visiting my parents' graves with my godfathers," I say as obnoxiously as I can manage, because if I don't inject as much aggressive, peppy, false cheer into it I will start to cry again and that is terrible for a troll-fighting chapter. "Because today was the anniversary of the day they died - in one hour, actually. But anyway, Ron is very very sorry for making you cry - look, he's even come to help rescue you from the troll!"

She looks towards the door, following my finger, and sees Ron awkwardly waving. 

The twins and Co-Co are looking at me with a fair bit of concern, but what's new. 

Co-Co's nose wrinkles at that moment. "Urgh. Weasley, when was the last time you washed your socks? I know you live in a hovel most of the time, but Hogwarts is a castle and there are standards."

Fuck. 

Before Ron can retaliate, I leap forwards and drag both boys into the classroom by their collars. 

Only the element of surprise lets me do so, but it works. 

"It's not Ron's socks, you snob," I hiss. "It's the troll."

Ron and Hermione pale, Co-Co looks annoyed (haha, he has reached the point of not caring!), and the twins exchange gleeful glances. 

I find myself bouncing eagerly on my toes. 

Today has been absolutely shitty - Padfoot and Moony did their best to make it less so, and I appreciate their efforts, but it is still the anniversary of the day that everything went to hell in a handbasket and I lost my parents. 

And got a bucketload of trauma on top of getting killed mid-pandemic and dumped as a baby in another universe.

So the prospect of having something to take out all my pent up, compartmentalised emotions on is quite nice. 

It does smell absolutely awful though.

dearest darling lumi, I whisper, careful not to attract the attention of any of the Gryffindors - this is not a conversation I want to have just yet.

Thankfully, Co-Co distracts them with talk of what are we going to do aaaaa - bless my cousin. I can see in his eyes that he isn't actually panicked, he's just growing into his gremlin-ing. 

what is it? Lumi hisses back warily. 

when the big smelly troll comes into the bathroom, can you bite him for me? pretty please? 

Her head sways back and forth consideringly. with venom? 

yep!

Lumi nods. alright then. i haven't bitten anyone for ages. 

Hmmm, is my snake a psychopath? 

Eh, she listens to me, and is usually really good, she can do a bit of murder as a treat. 

At that moment the troll comes in. 

Hermione looks like she's about to faint, clinging onto Ron, bless her, who's clinging right back. 

The twins, however, are digging around in their pockets, and Co-Co has his wand out and his head is cocked in a way that I recognise from Aunt Cissa's Badass Lessons.

She called them self-defense lessons, but there were some pretty nasty curses in there so I'm calling them Badass Lessons. 

Co-Co is definitely running through all the curses Aunt Cissa taught us, bless his evil little heart.

Lumi, my beloved, streaks forward in a blur of bright green and latches onto the troll's ankle. 

It howls, and she lets go at once, hissing about how gross and disgusting the troll tastes. 

Oops. 

She'll be mad at me for ages now. 

Then I realise, oh fuck, the troll is mad. 

It starts swinging at us, and I panic. "Arresto Momentum!"

It works. Kinda. 

The club slows down enough for us to scatter, and it hits the cubicles instead. 

Even slowed down, there is enough force to absolutely destroy the cubicle Hermione is in. 

Fuck.

This was a terrible idea. 

The twins start lobbing stuff that explodes, and Co-Co yells a few curses that sound suspiciously like the ones Aunt Cissa told us to keep for emergencies.

The troll looks a bit woozy and a lot angry and also in a fair bit of pain. 

Eh. 

Hermione casts that spell for the bluebell flames, and honestly the sight of the troll panicking with it's head wrapped in bright blue flames is quite funny. 

I cast a nasty little cutting curse Uncle Lucy taught me when he found me wandering around the manor after a nightmare.

It opens a disgusting, already festering gash in the troll's neck and I am quite proud of my handiwork. 

Then the club comes toward me and I have to dive out of the way, and by the time I'm back up everything's a mess.

The twins and Co-Co are casting some curses I'm fairly sure are not in any textbook at all, Hermione's using spells from the first year textbooks to surprising effect, and Ron is on the troll's back with his wand up its nose. 

Another unchangeable thing then. 

I scramble to my feet and decide, fuck it, it worked in one world why not this. 

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The club floats up gracefully out of the troll's grasp - and then bashes it upside the head two or three times. 

Too much? 

Nah, it was kinda fun. 

The troll groans, sways, totters, and then falls with a resounding thud. 

For a moment, everyone just stands there, looking at the troll. 

It looks kinda sad,  if I'm honest - covered in cuts and welts, the bite from Lumi already swelling up, Ron's wand sticking out of its nose. 

Maybe we went a bit hard. 

Ron drags himself up from where he landed, a little bit away from where the troll did, and tiptoes forward to pull his wand out of its nose. 

"Gross." He says, looking at the unnameable substances covering the already old wand. 

I wrinkle my nose. "Wipe it on the troll, not your robes."

What? 

It was something that really bugged me in the moviem 

Ron obliges, muttering something about not needing another mother, and Hermione taps me on the shoulder. 

"Hava?"

"Yep?" I say, popping the 'p'. "Whadya want?"

She shrugs, awkwardly. "Just, um, thank you. You didn't have to come for me, or try to befriend me or anything. Thank you."

I grab her and pull her down into a hug. I need hugs after today. "Don't worry about it. I'd do it for any of my friends."

"Sounding very Hufflepuff there, Vi-Vi." My cousin says, but I am very proud of him - he's barely sneering at the Weasleys and Hermione. 

Character growth! 

I pull away from Hermione, who's looking dumbstruck at the idea that anyone at all considers her a friend.

"Alright, we should probably leave before-"

Too late.

Fred cuts himself off with a sigh as the sound of running feet becomes audible. 

I sigh too, and let Lumi slither up my arm to settle around my neck as she usually does. 

McGonagall, Snivellus and Quirrel run in, looking like the hounds of hell are behind them. 

Quirrel, fuck him, lets out a little shriek at the sight of the troll and I cannot help my snicker.

Great disguise but also what a useless teacher. 

Snape looks instantly at me like 'you little shit, I know this is all your doing'.

And, to be fair it is, but fuck him. 

McGonagall takes one look around her and draws herself up in outraged horror. "Just what do you six have to say for yourselves?"

I step forward before anyone else can, blessing my dishevelled appearance. 

"It was my fault, Professor." I say meekly, looking up at her with my big mismatched eyes and sniffling a little. "I had a...I heard Hermione was crying in the toilets, and I was so scared the troll would hurt her - I...I couldn't lose anyone else on Halloween, and I..I didn't think. I'm sorry."

Co-Co, bless him, chooses that moment to come and fold me into a hug, glaring at Professor Snape, and I turn my face into his shoulder. 

My own are trembling slightly I know, because this was a heck of an emotional day and I am so fucking tired. 

I just want to lie in bed and cry until I have no tears left. 

McGonagall and Snape and Quirrel are all silent for a moment, and then McGonagall sniffs loudly. 

When she speaks again, her voice is a little choked. "I quite understand, Miss Potter. But this cannot happen again, do you hear me? In such a situation, I expect you to inform a teacher in the future. Now, 50 points, I think, to each of you - for sheer, dumb luck."

I peek at her, and see her eyes shimmering a little. 

Ah. 

I may have triggered her own Lily and James trauma by invoking mine. 

Oops. 

Sorry.

Then I do the maths - 2 Slytherins - 100 points - 4 Gryffindors - 200 points. 

Fuck. 

Okay - I am never taking any Gryffindors on any adventures again. 

Slytherins all the way - I want to win the House Cup or die trying. 

Snape sneers audibly. 

Ah, fuck him. I peek at him and hide a grin to notice that he too looks shaken. 

I feel no sympathy for poking his Lily trauma the fucker. 

"And yet they still broke several school rules, and needlessly endangered themselves. Miss...Potter cannot be allowed to get away with whatever she pleases due to events that took place ten years ago."

Fucker. 

I glare at him, but he ignores me. "Detention for all of you, tomorrow and Saturday, I think. For empty headed idiocy."

Yeah, definitely fuck him. 

"And 25 points each from the elder Messrs Weasley, for not setting a better example to younger students."

Double fuck him, but at least Gryffindor only has 50 point more than us from this adventure. 

McGonagall looks outraged, but I can see her visibly decide not to fight with another teacher in front of 6 students. 

We are ushered out of the toilets and back to where the feast has restarted in the Hall. 

I position myself behind Quirrel, having a whispered conversation with Lumi about my deep desire to see Voldemort in drag and forced to dance the can-can, as well as other delights that have got to be insulting to his forties sense of masculinity.  

It is the anniversary of my parents' death, and no one could blame me. 

The occasional twitch and hiss from the turban is deliciously satisfying to my vengeful little soul, and thankfully the Gryffindors are aware enough of my issues with the evening that they walk ahead with McGonagall and leave me to walk with my bestie-cousin-who-is-basically-my-twin-at-this-point. 

If it has the additional bonus of hearing Snape occasionally twitch at the hisses from his position behind me, well, fuck him very much. 

No sympathy. 

**********

There are some things that you cannot do without becoming friends. 

And, in any world, fighting a troll together qualifies.

The twins and Ron officially become part of my army. 

Ahem, sorry, my friend group. 

Or protection squad. 

Or both. 

Maybe both - people who like me enough to stop me trying to kill myself. 

There's basically every Slytherin in my year, the Patils, Susan Bones, Neville, Hermione, To-To, the Slytherin Quidditch team, and now the twins and Ron.

Mmm I love my friends. 

Even though the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team is dubious about the twins - especially Yaxley and Vanity.

They're constantly side-eyeing them, and I see Vanity palming her wand like...every time the twins smile.

Particularly Fred.

Mmmm, Beater rivalries. Delicious.

It's kinda funny if I'm honest.

It even makes up for the letters I get two days later from all four of the adults who have a vested interest in me - Padfoot, Moony, Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy. 

Clearly, Co-Co snitched. 

They're very nice letters, really, full of concern and worry about my state of mind and my body. 

Padfoot is threatening me with a bodyguard, Moony's letter comes with accompanying chocolate, Uncle Lucy is promising to have the Board go after Dumbledore for his negligence, and Aunt Cissa has a list of curses for me to learn. 

All four are just...so...sad. And worried about me. 

I feel bad for making them worry. 

Also - now I'm being threatened with therapy. 

Emotions. 

Disgusting. 

It's much better to watch the Beater rivalry unfolding in front of me, and enjoy my successes. 

As things go, I think everything's going pretty well. 

House Unity is going brr, I've found the Chamber of Secrets, vibes are vibing, everything's going great. 

Even if Nagini is heavily disapproving of my 'foolhardy recklessness and lack of care for my own safety'. 

Apparently she thinks I can be sneakier and more careful about causing chaos. 

Joke's on her, I'm having fun. 

Notes:

So I promised myself not to update in the middle of exams.
But its the 29th of May and chapter 29 and I just HAD to.

Rip my grades!!

Comments welcome! I will chat back because I am procrastinating my revision!

Chapter 30: The Rest Of The Year Is Going To Be Really Boring After This

Notes:

*sidles in 3 months late with everything on fire and slides you a chapter apologetically*

After Halloween, everything else seems kind of flat. 

Not only are we all a bit tired from our adventure, I at least am definitely processing some trauma. 

I'm not 100% sure how much is from ten years ago, and how much is from the troll incident, all I know is that I am not a happy bunny. 

Everything's fine though, even if Co-Co keeps tattling to the adults and Nagini is threatening to follow me around through the pipes to look after me. 

Like, I'm not happy. 

I'm not thriving. 

But I'm coping, and really that's all one can ask for. 

I've also got a bunch of really good minions friends, a lot of great older minions concerned adults, and two dangerous snakes. 

I'm also on track timeline-wise which is great. 

The courtyard incident still happens (though it is me, Co-Co and Pansy, and the book Snivellus confiscates is a copy of 250 Hexes The Average Wizard Should Know), and I still find Filch and Snape bandaging Snape's wound. 

Please appreciate my sacrifice, by the way. 

Snape's legs, even if they weren't mauled by Fluffy, are not something anyone's poor innocent eyes should ever be subjected to. 

One can never unsee that. 

Pansy has little pity for me, but the rest of the first years do. 

All the older members of my bestie squad just laugh at my pain. 

Probably because they've had to deal with Snape for longer.

Poor them. 

Anyway, the point is, we are on track. 

We are doing good. 

Which means that the next big thing coming up is the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. 

Which is going to be fun, especially because I have no idea how it will go - there's so many changes to the line up after all 

Also because it was narrated from the point of view of Harry, so it was mostly 'here's a great thing the Gryffindors did' and 'wow the Slytherins are evil'. 

Not particularly helpful for tactics - especially because I feel like a lot of the Slytherin tactics are probably different to accommodate a smol Chaser and two large ones, instead of three hulking Chasers. 

Oh well. 

It'll be what it'll be. 

Just fingers crossed that I am as much of a cockroach as the original Harry and don't die when Squirrel starts going jinx-happy.

Fuck him very much, I'm a traumatised 11 year old, where does he get off doing that?

Though I suppose that he is the Big Bad Villain, so a fairly obvious character beat would be not hesitating even with children. 

Also, he did try to kill me as a baby. 

So it probably makes sense. 

I just wish I could go 5 minutes without a near death experience . 

Or rather, considering that Murderball is Murderball, 5 minutes without a Voldy-related near death experience.

Fuck him with a rusty spork. 

A hand waves in front of my face, breaking my train of thought. 

I glare up at the hand's owner, but Flint (who I have finally managed to stop mentally referring to as 'Blobfish') simply looks at me unaffected. 

"Ready Potter?"

There is a look on his face that suggests that if I am not ready I had better be ready within 0.0001 seconds or he will make me. 

Remembering that discretion is the better part of valour, I grin up at him "Ready!"

He visibly softens. 

Ha! The power of adorable strikes yet again!

I am undefeatable and abusing my power to within an inch of its life. 

"Okay, team," he raises his voice. Everyone shuts up and looks at him. "If you're going to cheat, do it better than last year. We have a great team, and if we play our cards right we can have the Cup for the eighth year in a row. Fuck Gryffindor!"

"Fuck Gryffindor!" Everyone yells enthusiastically back. 

Wood could take lessons in motivational speaking from Flint - short, sweet, and giving the team a goal to focus on.

Also audience participation.

I love audience participation. 

We all quiet down, and wait for the last few moments before the game begins.

Weirdly enough, when it does, I really enjoy the zooming around the Quidditch pitch in formation bit. 

The wind is whistling through my hair, the ground has fallen away, and it is just me and my teammates and my broom. 

And the adoring screams of the crowds. 

Which is fun. 

For like ten seconds and then it gets annoying.

Can they fucking shut up?

I like adulation as much as the next person, but they are loud. 

Anyway, Hooch is all, "I want a nice clean game."

And we have the captains shaking hands yadda yadda yadda. 

You know the drill. 

It's covered in every Harry Potter book and every Harry Potter fic. 

I literally cannot be asked to go over it again. 

While Hooch monologues and the captains glare at each other, I zone out of the pre-game formalities. 

They are kinda irrelevant after all.

The Gryffs wear red and gold where we wear green and silver of course, but otherwise our Quidditch uniforms are identical (and very gorgeous).

Not the cheap, overly saturated colours of the movies either, but deep, warm crimson paired with rich, opulent gold for the lions - and cool, glimmering silver for us with intense, dark viridian. 

Mmm delicious.

Say what you will about the Wizarding World, but they can do clothes.

I wave at Fred and George, who wave back cheerfully, and then grin as Adrian nudges me and whispers for me to 'stop fucking fraternising with the enemy, Potter'.

Obviously, I ignore him. 

Partially because they're my friends damnit, and partially because the stifled looks on Vanity and Yaxley's faces are hilarious. 

There's three girls hovering together who must be the Chaser dream team Wood was so proud of in the books.

They are much slighter than Flint and Adrian, but then I'm even smaller than them so glass houses and stones and all that.

Honestly, I'm worried about Co-Co more than anything else. 

He looks very small and very nervous, and of his knuckles are white on the handle of his broom. 

Poor Co-Co.

Not that I blame him - Roxanne Cole, the fourth year Seeker the Gryffs scrounged up has her face screwed up determinedly and is glaring right at him. 

Yikes. 

Anyway, then the balls are released and then I have literally zero time to think after that. 

Canon!Harry, in his ivory tower of Seeker-ness, may have had the time and space to comment calmly on everything that happens in the game in a coherent manner for J.K. Rowling's readers. 

Being a Chaser, I am moving every single second that God gave, keeping aware of opposing Chasers, the Quaffle, the Bludgers, the Seekers, the Beaters, and my fellow Chasers. 

Oh, did I mention, we can't talk in mid-air. 

The wind is too loud and everyone moves too fast. 

Instead, we have to rely on pre-determined signals and a lot of lip-reading and pulling faces.

So, yeah, it's a lot. 

Like, a lot, a lot. 

It's also really fucking fun, I'm having the time of my life. 

Flint's favourite tactic is a refined version of the chaos Adrian and I caused in tryouts - me flying alone with the Quaffle looking oh so tempting and vulnerable, the Gryffs swoop down to try and nab the ball, I soar up as Flint and Adrian smash into the Gryffs with a thud.

Damn if it isn't hilarious every time. 

Especially because they still. fucking. fall for it.

Probably because they still decide to try - because I'm much, much easier to get the Quaffle off than the solid, impossibly strong Flint and Adrian, and there's always the tantalising possibility that they could get away with it before my knights in shining Quidditch robes smash them. 

It's not happened yet, because I'm just that good and my Nimbus 2001 is just that little bit more responsive than they think.

Thank goodness for that though, because troll bonding experience or no, the Weasleys are maniacs with a Bludger.

Vicious little ginger buggers (affectionate - but slightly less so after the third time I have to nearly drop the Quaffle as I dodge a ball that could have gotten my head).

Wood is literally foaming at the mouth from his position at the hoops, yelling curses and orders to his team that are either relayed by the Beaters or swept away by the wind. 

He takes a swipe at me once when I try to score, but I just dodge, throw the Quaffle to Flint and thumb my nose at him.

It distracts him enough that he doesn't notice Flint until he scores. 

Ha. 

Take that. 

Co-Co and the Gryffindor Seeker are circling lazily around above the scrum of the game, lucky bastards.

This is a lot more fun though, to be fair. 

Just as we set up our favourite little trap again, though, my broom jerks. 

Then it just shakes and shakes and shakes like a bucking horse. 

Fuck. 

Fucking fuckity fuck. 

I glare down at the teachers' box. 

Fuck Squirrelly Quirrel.

"Potter!" Flint's voice comes faintly to my ears. "Quit fooling around! Get in position!"

Before I can reply, my broom starts to loop the loop. 

I drop the Quaffle. 

There's no time to see who catches it, I'm too busy clinging on for dear life. 

Fucking hell, how did Harry ever get in the air again after this? 

This is terrifying. 

The ground and the sky are just swirling about me like I'm the little model in the centre of a snowglobe that's being violently shaken. 

Hopefully by this point someone will have realised that I am not in fact having a laugh in the middle of the game, but am in mortal danger because someone is bitter he couldn't kill a baby. 

To be fair, I would also be very embarrassed and try to fix the job I fucked up too, so I suppose I can't really blame him for that...

Nope, I decide, as my broom starts to roll in 1080° turn after 1080° turn. 

I can absolutely blame him for trying to kill an eleven year old before she can even play a single Quidditch game.

Sour old so and so. 

It's not like I'm not helping his House towards victory over Gryffindor, you'd think I'd get ten minutes of peace at least for that. 

No House loyalty at all. 

Someone grabs me about the waist and I totally do not scream and panic.

I bite them. 

Not today Voldy. 

You don't get to 'rescue' me and then accidentally drop me or something. 

And anyway, even if he does, I'll throw up all over him first.

They don't let go, so I bite harder, until I taste blood. 

"Ow!" Comes a familiar voice. "Stop biting me you feral little urchin, I'm trying to help you."

I let go. 

Oops. 

Yaxley hauls me onto her broom, muttering under her breath about ungrateful little so and sos. 

I ignore the mutterings, because she is taking me away from my jinxed broom and towards the blessedly sturdy floor. 

It does briefly occur to me that Yaxley is old enough to possibly have been converted to the snake cosplay cult, and maybe I shouldn't be so quick to trust her in the middle of an attempt on my life by the OG snake cosplayer. 

But it was her who helped me last time, and if an inner circle Death Eater like Snape wasn't contacted then the school-aged daughter of one won't have been. 

Anyway, I like Yaxley, she's cool. 

Looking up, I can see the rest of the team  (and a few Gryffs and Madam Hooch) chasing my possessed broom about the pitch. 

Now that I'm away from immediate danger, it's quite a funny sight. 

Especially because, from what I can make out, Flint and Wood keep shouting conflicting orders and stopping to argue about it. 

***********

They catch my Nimbus in the end, of course, after about fifteen minutes of increasingly amusing shenanigans.

Madam Hooch looks it over and tuts a few times. 

"Jinxed." She announces shortly. "And quite shoddily too. Shouldn't hold very tightly - I imagine it's been slapped on top of the existing enchantments rather than woven into them."

Dumbledore strokes his beard, blue eyes still twinkling away. "A relief for our young Madam Potter here, I imagine. Minerva, please contact the investigators assigned by Master Black to Madam Potter's case, they should hear it from us. Shall I postpone the game, Rolanda?"

"No need." She taps my broom with her wand, mutters a few words I can't quite make out and then looks sharply at it before handing it back to me. "There you go, Potter. Take a lap around the pitch."

I throw one leg over my broom, glaring up at where Quirrel is sat in the back of the teacher's box, just behind a slightly crispy Snape. 

Fuck both of them.

Kicking off, I can feel a little resistance in the charms, but it soon wears off.

By the time I have flown all the way around the Quidditch pitch, it is as though nothing has ever happened to it. 

Madam Hooch nods sharply. "Good as new. Back on your brooms everyone, we don't have all day."

And the game starts again. 

Quirrel doesn't dare do anything more, possibly wary of being set on fire by a particularly enthusiastic twelve year old, so the rest of the game is uninterrupted.

We win, of course. 

It's a close run thing because, Slytherin dirty tricks or not, the Gryffindors are just as good as we are.

We pull ahead in the second hour, thanks to Yaxley nailing Wood in the stomach with a Bludger, and then the Gryffindor Chasers redouble their efforts - which does cause us some concern because a couple of time they're fast enough to evade Flint and Adrian in our signature trap.

They still have to get past Bletchley though, so it about evens out. 

In the end, Co-Co and Cole have a deliciously dramatic race for the Snitch. 

Co-Co grabs it right before Cole can, thanks to his Nimbus 2001 being that little bit faster and more manouvrable than the Nimbus 2000 her father gave her. (No I'm not being paid to advertise Nimbus)

Fuck yeah. 

Slytherin glory all the way.

The afterparty is, naturally, positively incandescent. 

The best parties are thrown by Hufflepuff and Slytherin, everyone knows that. 

Ravenclaw and Gryffindor just don't have the space for proper parties in their ivory towers, not like we do.

There is alcohol, but sadly it's enchanted so no one underage can touch it. 

We grotty little minors have to content ourselves with Butterbeer and pumpkin juice and other non-alcoholic drinks. To be fair, they're still delicious. 

And not being intoxicated means that we can laugh at the older students who are trying desperately to keep their composure and not humiliate themselves in front of the younger children. 

To be fair to them, most of them have kept the imbibing to a minimum, seeing as they are Slytherins and have some self-control.

At worst, there's a few stressed seventh years giggling tipsily in the corner, and they are quickly escorted out by their roomates. 

It's all very civilised, though I have the feeling it'll be less so once we go to bed. 

I mean...it's Slytherin, there's a rigid system for everything. There's probably a timetable down to the last five minutes. 

Everyone wears dress robes because they're just extra like that, so of course everyone has at least three pairs in case of unexpected parties. 

Slytherins. 

It's a very fun party though. 

Not only because, as a member of the winning Quidditch team, I am a guest of honour. 

It's great fun. 

Canon Harry really missed out when he picked Gryffindor over Slytherin, I am having the time of my life.

This is amazing, fuck yeah Slytherin.

I salute the silent portrait of my distant ancestor where he watches over the chaos, and get a slight twitch of his lips back. 

********

As you do, I sit bolt upright at about three in the morning with the sinking realisation that Squirrelly Quirrel will probably be making his move now. 

I mean, to be fair, he didn't in canon. 

But in canon, Harry never had an overprotective godfather to set four private investigators on the tail of whoever tried to kill him.

Pressure has been applied and something's got to give - and luckily, I know the direction it'll fall out.

No way I can let Quirrell sneak off into the night with the Philosopher's Stone. 

Yes, I should probably get an adult but it is the middle of the night. 

Also, I may be a Slytherin but that just means I understand the rules and how to bend them. 

Hero must face villain in increasingly high stakes situations. 

It's like a law of the universe. 

And I'm not going to wait around the universe to force it - that's just going to be messy and unpleasant. Or, rather, even more messy and unpleasant. 

If it's going to happen, I'd rather have some control over where and how it happens.

At least I know what I'm walking into with this (apart from whatever is guarding the Stone at the end of the course, considering the Mirror of Erised is still somewhere in an old classroom). 

Steeling myself, I slide out of bed and over to my wardrobe, thanking my lucky stars that all the others are so tired from the party that they'll probably sleep through the castle falling down.

I pull out a sturdy woollen top, equally sturdy breeches and some tall leather boots that are meant for riding but will do equally well for hero-ing.

All in shades of white of course, because I understand visual coding and archetypes and if I'm going to be the hero you can be damn sure I'll look the part. 

The clothes are all charmed against dirt and stains because wizards are gonna wizards. 

Over it all I swing an open, calf-length surcote dyed an iridescent pearly colour that disguises the slightly metallic shimmer of a built-in Shield enchantment. 

What? 

I'm paranoid, my guardians are paranoid, it's justified, I'm not dying if I can possibly help it. 

Then I braid up my hair and pin it to the back of my head, so it's out of the way of grabbing, pulling or fire. 

Or anything else. 

I shove my broom into the pocket of my breeches (God bless built in Shrinking charms) and look at myself in the mirror. 

Mmm yes visual coding is absolutely there. I look fabulous and heroic and innocent and all the other things the young, orphaned heroine should be.

Let's go fight the guy who killed my parents. 

Taking a shaky breath, I grab Dad's cloak from where I hid it under my pillow and drape it around myself as Lumi slithers around my neck.

No way I'm going to have a Neville repeat.

As silently as I possibly can, I tiptoe out of my room and down the stairs. 

The common room is dark and quiet, almost empty save for the odd snoring sixth or seventh year. 

Ever so carefully, I make my way through the room, and out the door.

No one so much as stirs. 

Easing the common room door shut behind me, I pause and listen. 

Nothing. 

A little more hastily now, I walk off, through the corridors and up the stairs until I'm in the Entrance Hall. 

No one will be looking for me now. 

I run. 

Up the stairs, and up again, and up and up and up.

Finally, after what feels like forever, I am standing in front of the door of the third floor corridor. 

I turn the knob. 

The door doesn't move. 

For a moment, I wonder if I have the wrong night. 

Still, better to do some reconnaissance, even if Voldy isn't here. 

"Alohamora." I whisper, and slip inside, pushing back the hood of my cloak. 

Useful it may be, but it also obscures my vision a bit when it's up, so I'll take being a floating head over being unable to see.

There is the three headed dog, fast asleep. 

There is the trapdoor, closed. 

And there is the harp in the corner, playing soft, soothing music with no one at all plucking the strings.

I take in a deep, slightly-not-at-all shaky breath. 

This is it then. 

Ever so carefully, I tiptoe over to the trapdoor and start to lever it open. 

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

I do not shriek as I whirl about, but it is a close thing. 

Behind me is Co-Co, sleep-mussed and bleary, in a haphazard mix of nightwear and adventure-worthy clothes...and Pansy beside him, arms crossed grumpily in an equally eclectic outfit and...Neville?

I blink. 

Neville is still there, plump and blonde and trembling and determined. And so are Pansy and Co-Co.

Oh no. 

"Nothing. Go back to bed."

Co-Co folds his arms too."No."

Oh for heaven's sake. 

I whirl on him. "Draconis Lucius Malfoy go back to bed this instant, and you too Pansy, and you Neville. I mean it. This is not a game."

"Yes, I know that." He rolls his eyes, and I can see the tremor in his hands that he tries to hide. "We all know that. We're here to help you."

"No! It's dangerous, go back to bed."

Ignoring my hissed whispers, Co-Co sits on the edge of the trap door and prepares to push off. 

He grins at me. "Bold of you to assume you can get rid of me now, Vi-Vi. You've been stuck with me since Malkin's."

And he drops out of sight. 

I shriek and scramble forward. 

Yes, I do technically know what's down there but it's Co-Co and a long fall and what if. 

So I fling myself down without a second thought, landing with an audible whump on a bed of surprisingly soft vines.

Co-Co is, thankfully, right there. 

He's a little pale, but still determinedly watching me. 

There's a quiet shriek, and Neville plummets down, landing face-first in the vines. 

He's followed by Pansy, who groans a little as she lands, and then sits up. "Hava, this had better be worth it. What are we even doing down here?"

"Exploring!" I chirp, with my brightest smile.

All three of my best friends look at me with withering disbelief. 

Pansy sighs, her eyes rolling upwards to the trapdoor above us. "Pull the other one."

Then they all stare at me with sharp, heavy eyes. 

Oh fuck them. 

I squirm a little under those gazes, and then do what I do best - deflect.

"Maybe you should tell me how you followed me in the first place."

Co-Co smiles. "If we do, will you explain why we're here?"

They all look at me expectantly. 

I hold out for exactly fifteen seconds. 

"Fine. Tell me."

Pansy smiles and smooths her tunic. "It's dangerous to wander around the castle on your own, especially at night. Draco knows what you're like. He had me put a charm on the door of our room so I'd know if you went wandering in the middle of the night - then I agreed to wake him up, and Neville made us promise to get him too. Your godfather sent us mirrors to communicate and everything. So that way we could make sure you were safe. Why are we here of all places?"

Oh. 

Oh. 

I blink a few time. 

They care. 

They all care so damn much. 

Letting the air out of my lungs in one big whoosh, I lift my head to meet their eyes. Here, at least, they deserve the truth. "When Voldemort killed my parents and failed to kill me, he didn't quite die. He lost his body but he didn't die."

Co-Co, of course, interrupts me. "That isn't possible."

"It's Voldemort." I snark back. "He's a special little snowflake like that. Anyway, he left me with a...connection of some kind to him. I can see into his mind sometimes."

"In dreams? Like the one about Pettigrew?"

I spare a moment to despair over that stupid lie. It's so going to come back to bite me. "Yes, like that, but not entirely. I can't really explain it. The point is, Dumbledore hid the Philosopher's Stone in Hogwarts and Voldemort wants to steal it. He also wants to kill me which is why everything keeps going haywire in Quidditch. But it also means that Padfoot's investigators are on his tail, so he's panicked and is stealing the Stone tonight and I have to stop him because of some stupid prophecy."

Silence. 

Then Neville raises his hand. "Uh, guys, not that this isn't interesting and very scary, but I think this is Devil's Snare."

Oh for fuck's sake. 

I try to face palm but my hands are wrapped in vines. 

Of all the idiotic things to forget. 

That'll teach me to show off with all the plot points I inexplicably know. 

I can't move.

Fuck. 

Fuck I can't move. 

I can't move I can't move I can't move icantmoveicantmoveicantmoveicantmove

"Lumos Solem!" 

Neville's voice, scared and faint but determined, accompanied by a blaze of light like the sun at midday.

Oh, bless our little Herbology genius.

The vines writhe back, leaving all four of us gasping, but no longer wrapped in deadly strangling things.

"Come on," Neville says faintly, staggering to his feet, "Devil's Snare doesn't stay down long."

Co-Co and Pansy have to grab my arms and drag me away, because my legs won't work properly. 

I'm still shaking, my brain slowly leaving the endless loop of help I can't move.

We somehow all bundle through the door, slamming it shut behind us on the slithering, slimy vines that are following us. 

Then all four of us slide down and just sit on the ground, and we breathe. 

One obstacle down, fuck knows how many to go.

Fuck Dumbledore. 

Really, truly, fuck him. 

Manipulative old coot. 

Something slithers around my shoulders, something heavy and round, and I nearly scream, thinking the Devil's Snare has somehow gotten through the door.

what happened, silly human. you woke me up

Oh thank goodness. 

I lean my head back against the door.

we nearly all died, lumi

She seems remarkably unbothered by that, and it settles me somewhat. 

Glancing over to the side, Co-Co and Pansy are no longer phased in the slightest by my ability to chat to Lumi like any old person on the street, and Nev is only slightly side-eyeing me. 

Eh, he'll be fine. 

Standing up, I clap my hands together and paste on my best smile. 

If they are here because of me, then the least I can do as quest leader is to try and keep the mood away from utter despair. 

"Great job guys," I cheerfully chirp (chirp cheerfully?), "no one died. 10 points to Neville!"

Surprisingly, Neville seems less than happy about that. 

Maybe its because the bar was so low? "No one got hurt either!"

Still nothing. 

Oh well. 

I turn and scan the room. 

Empty, save for the locked door and the flock of glittering, flying keys.

"Okay, next challenge on tonight's show - who can find a key to match the ominous locked door?"

Pansy groans, the sound that marks her homicidal urges returning with regard to me. 

Nev whimpers. 

Poor Nev. But it'll do him good.

Co-Co comes to stand next to me and scans the keys with a Seeker's eye.

Oh it is on. 

Cousin vs cousin, Malfoy vs Potter, Slytherin vs...ah damnit, I'm also a Slytherin. 

"There!"

Oh for-

Damn Co-Co and his suspiciously good Seeker eyes.

I reach into my pocket for my broom, but Pansy beats me to it. 

"Accio key!"

That'll never work, but I don't say anything, working instead to get my broom from where it has stuck on a loose thread inside the pocket. 

There'll be time enough when the key...soars...right to Pansy's outstretched hand. 

Oh fuck her very much. 

Why did she have to be all smart about it?

Then the other keys come pelting after it, like a very sentient, very heavy hailstorm. 

Fuck. 

"Run!" I scream, and we run. 

It feels like that meme with the huge umbrellas on the beach, if the umbrellas were angry keys.

Why does this feel very Alice in Wonderland?

Anyway, we run, getting nicely bruised and scratched up I'm sure, but we get to the door. 

Pansy fumbles with the key for an awful, horribly long minute, but then it turns and we run through it. 

The keys thud against the door, but can't get through. 

Once more, we slide down with our backs to the door and take a moment to recover our breath. 

This does not bode well for the boss fight at the end, but it is what it is. 

Oh fuck what's next? 

Chess. 

I'm fairly sure it's the chess.

As if in response to my thought, lights flick on. 

Unlike the other room, this one is not empty.

A life-sized wizards chessboard is set up, complete with pieces. 

There are piles of rubble to the side, presumably from previous games. 

I wonder if any of them hit Quirrelmort. 

Then I remember that this all happening before Christmas means that he'll never get hit in the face with snowballs by my favourite twins. 

Eh, you win some, you lose some.

Fuck, I hate the chess bit. 

It's too tense and just...yeah, it sucks. 

I love McGonagall but she's fucking terrifying.

Sometimes I can't see my teachers fighting in wars, and then there's shit like this. 

Then I can't see how they took so long to end the war. 

"What is that?" Co-Co says, looking pensively at the great stone figures. "Because it looks like a monument to chess, rather than dangerous."

I swallow. "It's dangerous alright. We're gonna have to play a game against life size, violent chess pieces to reach the other side."

Pansy side eyes me. 

Fuck. 

"Dreams." I say, shrugging apologetically. 

She rolls her eyes.

"Is this a bad time to point out that I can't play chess?" Nev ventures, his face paler than ever. "I'm like really, really bad."

That was the wrong thing to say.

Slytherin has a whole chess tournament. 

Because it's Slytherin. Everything is organised. Side effect of being a house full of sneaky snakes with a plan for every possible contingency. 

Chess is a really good game for like strategy sneaky snakey stuff, so it's basically Slytherin's signature game. 

Kind of. 

Along with Monopoly. 

Anyway, the point is, there's three Slytherins here. 

I'm decent at chess. Like, somewhere on the higher end of average.

Co-Co and Pansy can go toe to toe with some of the OWL and NEWT students. 

"Not to worry, Longbottom," my cousin says, sounding more toff-like than ever before, "Pansy and I shall handle this."

(I would like to note here that Co-Co and Nev have been on first-name terms for over a month.)

So we take our places. 

The chessmasters as queen and bishop (one guess who was the queen, and it wasn't Pansy), me as a knight, and Nev as a nervous, rather confused rook. 

White moves first, the huge stone pawn making an awful grinding sound that leaves your teeth aching. 

It's not at all pleasant, but you get used to it eventually, to the point where you barely notice how awful your teeth feel.

Anyway, it's better than being dead or injured. 

Even though I knew it was coming, it's still a shock the first time a piece is taken. 

The pawn leaps on its foe and beats it into submission just like in a schoolyard tussle. 

When it stops, the piece it took is just dust and rubble.

None of us startle enough to fall off our squares, but at least one person squeaks. 

Fuck. 

That's more violent than I had imagined. 

Co-Co and Pansy spend a fair bit of time arguing over strategies, but they do well. 

Really well, actually. 

Between them, we hold the line against a chess set enchanted by Minerva freaking McGonagall. 

Nev and I mostly do what we're told, though I do occasionally point out pieces that they've missed in their grand pans. 

It's going okay. 

Just as I'm hoping that the combined brains of three Slytherins will let us get out of here without doing a Ron, we come to an impass. 

Black's king is in check. 

But the black queen just moved back to the last free square around him so we can't checkmate him. 

Fuck. 

I stare up at the featureless, crowned head. 

Probably there's space for a metaphor here, but I'm not currently available to think of metaphors and witty remarks.

Slightly to the side of me, our chessmasters are arguing. 

I don't listen. 

I know what they're arguing about. 

I know how it will end because fuck the universe but some things are constant and one of them is this.

"-can't stop me." Pansy snaps. 

Then, very calm, as poised and elegant as any debutante, she walks over to face the queen. 

Her knees are wobbling when she stops, but she holds her head high and looks at me with a wry smile. "Try not to do anything stupid, Potter?"

My laugh is wet and shaky, but I nod. 

The black queen picks her up and dashes her head against the marble of the chessboard. 

All of us scream. 

I nearly run off my square, to fling myself down beside Pansy, to do something, anything.

She's just lying there, still and silent, with blood slowly matting her hair as the black queen stands triumphantly over her. 

Co-Co, a dark rage in his eyes, takes three deliberate steps to the newly freed square and glares at the king. 

"Checkmate." He announces, as coldly as either of his parents in a rage. 

The king crumbles away into a pile of rubble.

As soon as he does, all three of us run for Pansy. 

She's unconscious, we can tell that much, but she's breathing and nothing seems to be broken. 

The blood is mostly coming from a cut under her fringe, shallow, when we manage to stop the bleeding long enough to look at it. 

She's alive. 

That's really all we could have hoped for. 

"We have to keep going." Nev ventures after five minutes or so. "The faster we stop...You-Know-Who, the faster we can get her help."

Bless him. 

Bless his optimistic little heart. 

Co-Co glares again, this time at Nev, who shrinks back. "We can't leave Pansy all alone! What if something happens to her?"

"I'll get Lumi to stay with her." I cut in, before a fight can start. "Lumi can look after her perfectly well - you know there's very little that will tangle with a Boomslang once their venom has come in."

lumi, look after pans for me, will you? just until we come back

She agrees, and slithers from my shoulders to curl about the unconscious girl.

It takes another five minutes to coax Co-Co away, but we manage it. 

The three of us run through the door only to be greeted by a truly noxious stench. 

I'm fairly sure I'm not the only one who narrowly avoided throwing up. 

There is a roar, and we scatter by instinct.

A troll.

Whatever Quirrel did in canon, he did something else this time - or its been longer and the troll had time to recover. 

Either way. 

Fuck. 

"Sectumsempra!" I yell. 

It barely scratches the troll, but it roars and turns its attention from the boys to me. 

Uh oh. 

Please plot armour, be of use. 

Spells. 

Spells, spells, what spells do I know? 

My brain is whited out because of the horrific stench and the fact that this huge thing is backing me into a corner. 

Fucking Dursley trauma. 

Dursleys. 

I'm Harry Potter. 

Harry Potter could do things. 

What things did he do? 

Only one thing comes to mind. 

"Expelliarmus?"

It's more of a question than a spell. 

The club loosely flops out of the troll's hand, rather like a dead fish, but it's better than nothing. 

I take a breath and try to think of another spell, but before I can do so, the club floats up and up and up and then comes down hard on the troll's head. 

It groans and falls down with a thud. 

Co-Co is standing behind it, wand out, looking pale and determined. 

"Hey!" I say, trying to keep my laughter this side of hysterical. "That's my thing!"

My cousin shrugs. "Well you weren't doing much."

I splutter indignantly, not really forming sentences. 

Co-Co just looks at me smugly. 

"Guys. Uh, guys." Nev waves his hands. "Can we go? Things to do. Trolls to avoid."

We run. 

Past the troll, far bigger than the last, and into another bare stone room. 

For fuck's sake, this is getting boring. 

On the table before us are, as expected, seven bottles of varying sizes with a scrap of parchment before them. 

Co-Co picks it up and reads it out. 

At that very moment, I realise that we are well and truly in trouble. 

Because it's definitely what it was in canon- but I've forgotten the answer.

"It's a riddle." Nev says with interest. "I like riddles!"

Well good for him.

I hate riddles. 

Riddles suck. 

As in Riddle the guy and riddles the thing. 

Both of them. 

All of the above. 

Blech. Disgusting. 

Just like Voldy's snakeface that we'll be facing in like a short time.

As Co-Co and Nev bend their heads together over the riddle, I try not to think about Pansy, all alone on the cold stone floor back there, with only Lumi to watch over her.

She'll be fine  

A completely ignorant and unprepared canon Harry defeated Voldemort and lived to tell the tale. 

I know so much more than Harry, I have learned more, trained more - I'll be fine. 

We'll all be fine. 

We shall defeat Mouldy and be back in time for breakfast, or maybe even a midnight feast. 

"This one!" Co-Co announces.

I whirl around to face him and Nev. "Huh?" 

They start to explain but it washes over me. 

It's probably very interesting, but all I can think about is the fact that he is just behind that curtain of dark flame. 

Nev pushes the bottle into my hand. "Here. Co-Co and I have had our share. Finish it."

Acting almost on autopilot, I bring it up to my lips and empty it. 

The potion tastes like nothing at all. 

Just cold. 

I put it down very carefully on the table. 

"You guys don't have to come you know? It's not...if things go wrong, Pansy might be the lucky one. I can't- I don't want to lose you."

It's as terrifying a thought as what lies through those flames. 

Co-Co scoffs, and Neville only manages to muster a weak, tremulous smile. 

"You're my godsister, Hava." He says softly. "The deal is that we look after each other, just like our parents did before. Besides, I owe him a debt for my own family."

Oh dear. 

My cold dead heart. 

It's melting like the Wicked Witch. 

Co-Co rolls his eyes again. "We're family, all of us. It's what we do. Come on."

And one by one, the three of us step through the flames. 

They tickle, more than anything else, and they are also freezing.

Like, really, really, really cold. 

It feels as if we are walking under an icy waterfall in winter.

Once the shock of the cold is over, I look around the room. 

It's your basic stone chamber, only with creepy black flames covering the single entrance - through which we have just walked. 

There are no windows. 

In fact, there is nothing at all. 

Only a stand like Fawkes' in the movies, tucked into the far corner.

A large bird, with beautiful red and gold and purple plumage, is perched on the stand with a glowing crimson stone in one claw, flapping its wings and shrieking.

Each flap sends walls of flame towards the figure before it - of which little can be seen due to the shapeless black robe it wears, save for the strangely bulbous shape of a familiar turban.

"Quirrel is the Dark Lord?" Co-Co hisses incredulously to me.

I shrug. "Kind of. It's a long story."

Before anything else can be said, Quirrel turns around. "Hava Potter. I had wondered when you would arrive - and with such an...unexpected entourage."

He turns and begins his monologue

I swallow and open my mouth. 

The first attempt at speech is such a failure that the only thing to issue forth is a strangled whimper - thankfully too quiet for anyone else to hear. 

Not because my voice is gone. The fire did nothing to it. 

No, it's because I am so fucking terrified that I am this close to losing control of my bladder and running away screaming. 

Shaking, I close my eyes. 

I'm here now. 

I dragged the others into it. 

There's no going back. 

With the greatest effort anything in my life has ever taken, I force myself to stop shaking and clear my throat. 

"Hey, Squirrel," I interrupt him, clear and confident enough that Aunt Cissa wouldn't be able to find a fault in it. "I want to talk to Tom."

Everything stills.

Quirrel stares at me, his face white. 

"Wh...what?" Probably the first genuine stutter he's produced all year. 

Now that he's on the back foot, I feel much better. 

"I said, I want to talk to Tom. Chop chop, middlemen are boring."

I stand there expectantly, smiling and pretending that my heart is not fluttering in abject terror.

"Well?"

Quirrel hesitates. 

"Hava," Neville whispers, so quietly I'm almost not sure he's spoken, "what are you doing?"

I pat his hand, pretending not to feel how clammy it is. "Don't worry. It's all going to be fine."

"Let me see her." Says a hissing voice, that sounds like it's owner has had either no water or too much strong alcohol. Or both.

"But Master-"

"I said, let me see her."

Slowly, reluctantly, Quirrel turns around.

He reaches up his hands and begins to unwind his turban.

It falls away easily, leaving a smell like month-old roadkill.

Underneath, the face of Tom Riddle is as crusty and gross as any nightmare could conjure up. 

It looks like month-old yoghurt left out to mould and rot. 

It looks like clay that's dried and cracked.

It looks like something that crawled out of the darkest pits of Hell. 

It looks like something all three of us are going to have nightmares about for a very long time.

With great effort, I swallow down my instinctive reaction as everyone else gasps or flinches back. 

To be fair to them, they were not prepared the way I was.

After another totally not shaky breath, I summon a smile that is very confident and not at all fragile thank you. 

"You didn't age well at all. Does wraith-hood not agree with you, Tim-Tom?" My voice is singsong and inimitably childish and I can tell it really pisses him off. 

I can almost hear his teeth grinding from here, before he smooths his face out into a smile that would be charming if he wasn't, yknow, a decomposing snakeface on the back of a teacher's head. "You are impressive, Hava Potter. Very impressive indeed. The power you must possess to achieve as much as you have so young must be immense."

"Thanks." I curtsey sardonically. "I try to be better than you at everything. It's surprisingly motivating."

Tim-Tom forces a laugh. 

"Motivated, indeed. You know, you could be great indeed, Hava Potter. Fetch the Philosopher's Stone from the phoenix, and I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams. You may become the general of my armies, if you wish. The world will be at your command, should you join me."

Oh, I forgot about this. 

Just before the rage coalescing in my stomach flies up through my throat, Co-Co's hand slips into mine and squeezes. 

I swallow.

Keep my head. 

I have to keep my head. 

Just like Voldy a few seconds ago, I force a laugh that fools no one. 

"Join you? Okay, first off, I do my own thing. Second off, you killed my parents. Bitch."

"You were a baby, why would that matter to-" He stops himself, and tries to smooth his face out (once again failing). "I am sure we could work past that unfortunate happening."

"Nope." I smile at him, the kind that feels like fangs and blood in against my tongue. i'm kind of holding a grudge about that, you see.

so, he hisses back, and I can't help my giggle at Squirrel's disconcerted twitch, quirrel was not imagining things. you are a parselmouth. 

no shit, sherlock. 

He hisses wordlessly for a moment and then regains control of himself. you were prophesied to be my equal, and i see that you truly are - join me, hava potter, and i will give you everything you had ever desired. i can even give you back your parents.

"No thanks." I say, in plain, mundane old English. It clears my head in a way that the heady magic of Parseltongue cannot. "That sounds like necromancy and I'm pretty sure it's illegal."

He smiles. It is not a nice smile. "Magic can do many, many things, Hava Potter. Hogwarts cannot show you even the beginning of it...not the way that I can."

"Then get the Stone yourself. If you're so magic." Neville whimpers at that, and Co-Co pinches me. I'd almost forgotten them, everything focused on the man who killed my parents.

"I cannot."

"Why?" I ask innocently.

"The phoenix dislikes me." He grits out, clearly regretting the choice to try and get me onside.

I hum thoughtfully. "Well, I heard that phoenixes only dislike bad people. That doesn't make me want to trust you."

With great effort, Voldemort forces yet another smile to his cracking, decomposing snakeface. 

"Good and evil, my dear girl, are arbitrary. There is only power and those too weak to seek it."

Oooh I remember that quote!

Tilting my head to the side, I pretend to think. "Nope, I'm trusting the phoenix thanks."

"Damn you," Mouldy snarls, "get the stone you stupid girl."

I toss my head. "Well now I don't want to."

Weirdly, being petty and childish at him makes me feel better. 

Tim-Tam Tommy hisses at me again, and then Quirrel points his wand at me. 

"Incarcerous."

Oh for fuck's sake.

A fuck ton of ropes spool out of his wand and wrap around me. 

One of them forces itself between my lips like a gag.

I topple over and land on the floor, unable to move in my cocoon of evil hemp.

Mentally, I start cursing - the Muggle way, not with magic. I haven't worked out wandless magic yet. 

Huh. 

At least I know I can annoy him.

Nev and Co-Co scream, bending over me and trying to pull the ropes apart.

Voldemort's eyes turn to them. 

"Neville Longbottom." He says consideringly. "The prophecy that drove me to Hava Potter's door could have applied to you too. It does not have to, however. Get me the stone, and I will make you my most favoured lieutenant. I can heal your parents."

Why is he so focused on everyone's parents?

Is it his own unresolved mummy and daddy issues?

Nev is white and shaking and utterly terrified. 

I'm not even entirely certain he's processing anything at all anymore, he looks so scared. 

His big eyes are fixed on the nightmarish face hissing at us, and there are silent tears leaking out of the corners of them. 

For a long, terrible moment, I think he will bend to Voldy's will and take the stone. 

I could not even blame him for that. 

He is only 11, and fully-trained Aurors are terrified of the thing facing us.

But then, oh then. 

Then his eyes slide to meet mine, and beneath the stark terror I can see the hero he will one day become.

Still white, still shaking, he stares at me. "I won't."

"What did you say?" Voldemort's voice is silky and dangerous.

Tearing his eyes from mine, brave, stupid, wonderful, Gryffindor Neville meets the hellfire red eyes dead on. "I said, I won't get the Stone. Get it yourself, Voldemort."

He is clearly still terrified beyond belief. 

But he stands firm and his chin is raised defiantly. 

Voldemort snarls at him, almost like an animal. "Stupid boy."

A flick of his wand, and Neville flies through the air to smack into the stone wall of the chamber with an awful thud.

I scream.

Co-Co screams.

Voldemort's eyes turn consideringly to him. 

"Draco Malfoy. Your father and grandfather served me well and faithfully, yet here you stand with traitors to our kind. I am a merciful man, Draco Malfoy. Get me the Stone, and all will be forgiven."

Co-Co just looks at him silently. 

I can see his hands trembling, but his face is as set as Aunt Cissa's when she's in a temper. 

"What do you say, Draco Malfoy?" Voldy pushes. 

More silence. 

And then Co-Co shrugs. "No, thank you."

"No?"

My cousin nods. 

"You dare to refuse me?" Voldemort demands. 

Co-Co cocks his head to the side as he considers. "Yep. I'm not my father, or my grandfather. I'm Draco, and my loyalty is spoken for."

There is another long silence. 

Then a cruel smile spreads across Voldemort's butt-ugly face. "Make him, Quirrel."

The wand raises, and I try to flop over to Co-Co, to get between him and the curse I know is coming. 

Because my dearest cousin's loyalty cannot be repaid with a torture that drove trained warriors mad. 

Because Pansy is lying somewhere back there bleeding and Neville is lying on the floor so still and so pale. 

Because I can't lose anyone else today.

There was no need. 

The wand-tip swings round to point at me.

"Crucio." Quirrel says calmly. 

The world goes white. 

And.

I.

Scream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don't know how long it went on for. 

Perhaps a century, a year, a month, a day, or a minute. 

Perhaps not even that. 

When the pain eventually stops, I can taste blood in my mouth. 

I am face down on the floor, and there isn't anything in my body free from an awful, bone-deep ache. 

"I will ask you one more time, Draco Malfoy. Get. Me. The. Stone."

The stupid, creepy voice. 

Why won't it shut up. 

I lift my head. 

My eyes are bleary, but I can just make out Co-Co, wide eyed and shaking, staring past me at Timmy. 

He swallows, and hesitates. 

Looks at me.

Looks back at Mouldy. 

Looks back to me. 

I shake my head. 

He squares his shoulders. "I said no."

There is a moment where everything is completely silent, and then Voldemort whispers something to Quirrel. 

"Imperio." Quirrel says calmly, and Co-Co's eyes go blank.

I scream again.

"Let him go! Let him go, let him go, please let him go!"

Voldemort just laughs at me. "Enjoy the show, Hava Potter. You should be used to it by now."

I thrash about, trying to get free, but the ropes are too tight and I am so tired. 

But I can't lose anyone else. 

Co-Co turns around, and begins walking towards the phoenix's nest, as calmly as if he were strolling through the library at home. 

silly little speaker, look at you all tangled up

Lumi.

i leave you alone for five minutes and look what happens. 

lumi, why did you leave pansy alone

If snakes could roll their eyes, Luminara would. you needed me, silly little speaker. of course i came.

I manage to wriggle my head to be level with hers, blinking away the tears that start to my eyes because of allergies. Uh huh. Definitely. 

Both Voldy and Quirrel are avidly watching Co-Co walk to an imminent fiery death, and so I am, for the moment, unguarded. 

Unguarded with my Boomslang - who's venom has just come in. 

lumi, get me out of these ropes and i will give you three rats a day for the next month.

She hisses consideringly. okay. hold still, silly human. 

Very carefully, she bites down on the first rope. 

It sizzles and withers away in almost no time, and I nearly cry. 

faster lumi

She mutters something about impatient silly humans, but the next two ropes are gone in half the time. 

And then my arms are free, and I wriggle out of the ropes around my legs. 

Then I look up.

Co-Co is so close to the stone now, his hand is reaching out, the phoenix is rearing up with a screech on its lips. 

Somehow, I will never know to the end of my days how, I move.

I fling myself bodily at Quirrelmort, pressing my hands to both of their faces.

Co-Co cannot die. He can't. 

Quirrel screams as he starts to sizzle, and Co-Co stumbles backwards just at a wave of flame bursts forwards from the enraged phoenix.

I go limp with relief.

Co-Co's okay.

He isn't dead. 

He's alright.

That was a bad idea. 

Quirrel grabs me and flings me across the room. 

Ow. 

I didn't go very far, but I still hit the floor pretty hard. 

Raising my head, I see the monstrous thing making its way towards me. 

Both faces are red and blistered like a boiled lobster, and full of murderous rage. 

Oops.

How did canon Harry do this again? 

Taking in a deep breath, I sit up. 

Voldemort points Quirrel's wand at me. "What was that? What did you do?"

Looking down the line of the wand, I find myself strangely unafraid. 

I've already died once anyway. 

At least this time, I can go out doing something worthwhile. 

I raise my eyes to Voldemort's, to find them red and streaming as if he had hayfever.

Instead of replying, I just laugh at him. 

He snarls. 

"Crucio!"

The pain returns, and my laughter turns to screams. 

I scream for what feels like all of time, no time at all, a minute, an hour, a century, every century...

It ends. 

I am shaking and shivering on the floor at Voldemort's feet. 

Like a pathetic little animal. 

He laughs. "Just like your parents. They did snivelling and begging too. Don't worry, Hava Potter. You'll see them very soon."

Then Quirrel shrieks, and Voldemort curses in the same breath. 

Their leg lifts and shakes, and I see Lumi, her fangs buried into the ankle. 

Almost, very nearly, I laugh. 

She is going to complain about the taste of that for the rest of eternity.

Bless my spoiled, sarcastic little familiar. 

I stand up, ignoring the curse that smashes through my left knee and wrap my hands about Quirrelmort's throat.

After all, I don't need my knee to hold on. 

Just my hands. 

This time, I don't let go. 

I hold on, despite the curses flung at me. 

Whatever he does, I just have to hold on. 

I hold on as he screams, as his flesh blisters and reddens and goes black, and finally crumbles away into ash. 

Until Quirrel is nothing more than fire whitened bones, and Voldemort's howling spirit has fled.

Until my mother's protection has once again vanquished the monster she died to save me from.

As everything goes dark, the last thing I see is the phoenix bending over me and weeping. 

Isn't that a year early? Is all I manage to think before the soft darkness rolls over me and I know no more.

Notes:

Hey guys, it's been a while.
A levels are over, results day has been and gone (I got 3 As and 2 scholarships yay), I got 2 new jobs at once, fought with my parents to the point of nearly getting kicked out, and my church has disintegrated so spectcularly it might go to court. It's been an interesting few months.
Anyway, sorry about the long delay, but it did turn out that this chapter was posted on the 3 year anniversary of this work first being published, so hey, happy third birthday Hava I guess?

Chapter 31: Aftermath (OR a bunch of conversations)

When I wake up, I am decidedly not in my cupboard. 

Huh.

Odd.

I blink.  

Then again. 

Finally, my eyes come into focus. 

The Hospital Wing. 

I'm at Hogwarts. 

Weird. I'm early. 

I'm only...no...no I'm not. 

I'm eleven. 

Tim-Tam Tommy just went for the Philosopher's Stone and I stopped him.

So, yeah, I am early in that I defeated Voldy for the second time about half a year before canon Harry does. 

But not in that I'm at Hogwarts.

I'm supposed to be here. 

As I arrive at that conclusion, it occurs to me that there is someone sitting beside my bed. 

I frown at them. 

Mmmm something shiny in the middle of a bunch of fluffy white stuff. 

And sparkly blue below that. 

Ah fuck. 

Dumbledore. 

I paste on my prettiest, girliest smile. "Hello Headmaster. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Do not frown at Dumbledore. 

Do not mentally call him a goat. 

Do not make eye contact. 

I stare at the crooked bridge of his nose and do my best not to frown. 

It's really hard because my head is pounding the way it does when you're bent over the toilet after a night out. 

"Good afternoon, Hava." The goat (damnit) says placidly. "How are you feeling after your little adventure?"

My self control only lasts so long.

I raise a sardonic eyebrow at him and look down at the many, many bandages wrapped around me. 

"Like a megalomaniac tried to finish the job he bungled when I was a baby." I pause, just long enough to make my point. "Professor."

The twinkle in his eyes dims somewhat. 

Good.

"Ah, yes. Well, what happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret. So, naturally, the whole school knows." He smiles. 

I don't smile back.

If he isn't smart enough to realise that it's going to make Slytherin really Interesting for the next little while, that's his problem.

It's also unfortunately my problem. 

Hey, at least I'll have my squad? 

The silence stretches out, and I look placidly at the old goat's (damnit again) forehead rather than his eyes.

I say nothing.

Dumbles' smile fades entirely, and he turns to the literal mountain of sweets and cards by my bed. 

"Tokens," he says, smiling that Richard Harris smile, "from your friends and admirers."

Even though I know it's probably silly, I raise my eyebrow again. "The friends who grew up hating Muggleborns and are probably mad I offed their cult leader twice? Or the ones who've only read the adventure books about me and think I was Sorted wrong?"

Okay, a little heavy there. 

I backtrack as Dumbles stares at me. "Er, I mean, how sweet! That's so thoughtful of them!"

Note to self - when in the Hospital Wing, do not talk to old goats because whatever Madam Pomfrey's given me has completely fucked over my filter.

Thankfully he seems to decide that it's not worth getting in a spat with a still malnourished eleven year old and soldiers on. 

Well, props to him I guess? 

"I see your friend Mr Malfoy-"

"Cousin, sir," I break in. "He's my cousin."

Okay, yes, I'm being a little argumentative, so sue me, I have a headache and I'm tired and Dumbles is so much effort.

Dumbledore closes his eyes and then opens them with yet another Richard Harris trademark beard smile. "Your cousin, then, Mr Malfoy has saved you the trouble of opening your Chocolate Frogs."

Yeah probably, he's determined to get another Merlin to see if it's true that each one of him has a slightly different face. 

Weird obsession but who am I to judge? I've got a snake cosplayer obsessed with killing me.

Dumbles is watching me quietly. 

Oh, yeah. 

What was I supposed to say here? 

Mmmmmm....

Aha! I got it!

"Where is Draco? And Pansy and Nev? Are they safe, are they alright?" Wait, wrong franchise. Meh, close enough.

Dumbledore smiles, seemingly reassured by my display of empathy and concern. 

He leans forward and pats my hand, giving me a great closeup of his dark circles and bloodshot eyes - not something I ever want to see. 

Not my fault if he's fucked up his sleep cycle.

"All three of them are just fine, and making a full recovery. You need to look after yourself, my dear girl, you took several nasty curses down there."

Yeah no shit, I'm pretty sure Pomfrey had to regrow my entire lower body considering the literal textbook's worth of Dark curses Mouldy hit me with. 

But also, I'll be fine. 

I have main character plot armour. 

Actually, that reminds. "What about the Stone...Professor?"

Once again, I leave his title off just long enough for it to be awkward.

It's the little things in life. 

The goat (fuck DAMNIT) smiles benevolently down at me again, patting my head like I'm three.

Rude! Just because I'm malnourished and tiny (which is YOUR fault Dumbles).

He blithely ignores my Very Intimidating Glower, though his calm facade falters a little as Lumi makes her way up my body to rest her head on my shoulder. 

Wow reptile discrimination much, Professor. 

"The Stone has been returned to my friend Nicholas, as he has finally been convinced that the safest place for it is, in fact, with its creator."

Huh. 

That was...not how it went in canon. 

Didn't Flamel die? And there were a bunch of fics where Flamel didn't even know Dumbles destroyed the Stone, and then a bunch more where he gave Dumbles a fake cos he didn't trust him, and I'm pretty sure there's one where he was evil and helping Dumbles take over the world- 

I put a stop to that train of thought pretty quickly. "So they'll be alright then? Mr and Mrs Flamel?"

"Both of them will be just fine, dear girl." Dumbledore says patting me on the head AGAIN.

Okay. 

Weird. 

Really, really weird. 

A thought occurs to me. "Professor?"

"Yes, Hava?"

I drag my eyes away from his twinkling ones. "How long will it take Voldemort to come back?"

His face goes slack with shock. 

Wait, fuck, I'm not supposed to know that yet. 

What the fuck has happened to my brain?

I manfully (womanfully? childfully?) refrain from facepalming. 

"Why would you think that, my dear?" Dumbles says, his eyes narrowing a little. 

Fuck. 

Fuck uh oh this is bad abort abort. 

Mind racing, I shrug. "Well he clearly wasn't dead all those years that everyone thought he was so I doubt he's dead now. He has the vibes of a cockroach."

"A cockroach?" 

Ha! I've reduced the great Dumbledore to repeating my words!

"Yeah. Really annoying, and really really hard to kill."

He blinks and stares at me as if he's never seen a child before. "That is one way to phrase it, I suppose. But, to answer your question, I do not know how long it will take Voldemort to regain his full strength. With any luck, you will be grown up the next time you face him."

Mmmmmm probably not. 

That would be nice, but I doubt it - and besides, I want to beat canon Harry's time. 

Defeating Voldy before I come of age is a nice, normal goal. 

I want to get a good grade in being Harry Potter, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve. 

Seemingly a little disturbed by my (somewhat) thoughtful silence, Dumbles once more forges on with this car crash of a conversation. "Hava, do you know why Professor Quirrell couldn't bear to have you touch him?"

Yes. Obviously. 

I've seen the movies and read the books and all the fanfics (or, a lot of the fanfics, no one could read all of the fanfics and some of them were...yeah). 

Widening my eyes, I shake my head. 

Dumbledore comes and sits on the side of my bed. 

There is a sheen to his eyes, and his voice is gentle. "It was your mother's work. She sacrificed herself so that you could live. That kind of powerful, ancient magic leaves a trace."

Remembering what canon!Harry did, I move my hand towards the stupid lightning scar under my fringe, blinking away the tears at the reminder of just what my wonderful, incredible mother achieve. 

The goat shakes his head. "No, it cannot be seen. It lives in your very skin."

Swallowing, I twist my fingers together, before I reach to stroke Lumi's scales. 

The warm scaly roughness is familiar, and grounds me a little.

"What..." I swallow again, trying to force the words out past the lump in my throat. "What is it?"

Looking at Dumbledore, I could almost believe that he's truly on the verge of tears. 

10/10, great acting. 

"Love, Hava." He says softly. "Love."

******************

The first people to visit me after Dumbledore are, of course, The Adults. 

Padfoot, Uncle Lucy, Aunt Cissa, Moony and Minnie McG. 

They file very seriously into the room and sit in a half-moon about my bed looking very solemn indeed. 

Ah shit. 

I smile my best smile, but it comes out quite weak. "I'm alive? It's fine?"

Minnie puts her head in her hands. 

Uncle Lucy rolls his eyes to the ceiling.

Moony looks like he wants to cry. 

Padfoot tears up. 

Aunt Cissa folds her arms. "No. You should never have gone down there, especially with only other children as your companions!"

Oh. 

Oh. 

She's mad about me bringing Co-Co. 

"I'm sorry." I whisper meekly. "I shouldn't have roped Co-Co into it. I never meant for him to get hurt, it was-"

"His decision." McGonagall says firmly. "But one of the four of you should have thought to fetch an adult. Did it never occur to you to go to your head of house?"

Aunt Cissa nods along with her, so - huh. She's mad about me getting hurt, not about me getting Co-Co hurt?

I shrug.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." And in my defence, it had - get in, get out, easy-peasy. 

McGonagall glares at Padfoot. "Do you understand how it feels now, Mr Black?"

My godfather slides down in his chair. 

Ha, karma. 

She's going to be throwing all the Marauding he did in school in his face for as long as I am shenanigan-ing. 

So for the rest of forever, basically. 

Then that glare is turned on me. 

"Do you have any idea," she says frostily, "how abominably stupid all of that was?"

I mean...yeah. 

I was well aware of it, I just did it anyway.

Her eyes narrow, but it is Aunt Cissa who starts to lecture. 

She is sitting up very straight and very proper. 

Oh shit, I'm in Big Trouble. 

Honestly, I kind of tune out the telling off - it's mostly, 'that was really stupid and you could have gotten killed and be more careful, none of us want you to be hurt, we were all really worried'. 

Aw, they care!

Also I'm fairly sure they had a fight with the goat on the way in. 

There were definitely raised voices outside of the door, at least, so either they were fighting Dumbles or they were fighting each other. 

I'm going for Dumbles, it's funnier. 

Aunt Cissa's method of telling off is so much better than the Dursleys - she doesn't raise her voice, she doesn't call me names, she just lists the things I did wrong and why they were wrong, and is very clear that most of the reason I am in trouble is because of the potential harm to myself and that they are all worried about me. 

In a very calm, measured voice that does not hit any of my buttons at all because most of them are based around adults looming and shouting. 

Wow, she's a great person, I love her, even if now I'm feeling guilty for fulfilling my prophesied role. 

"-ever, ever do that again. Do you understand? You are a child, it is not your job to save the world. You are here to learn and to enjoy yourself, and that is all."

Then Aunt Cissa leans forwards and wraps me in a hug. "Please, look after yourself. None of us could bear it if you died."

Her hug is really, really nice, all soft and warm. 

My fists are clenched in her robes, but she doesn't seem to mind that I'm probably crushing the soft fabric. 

She is just whispering comfort and reassurance, and holding me closer as I cry into her shoulder. 

I can smell her perfume - all ice and mountains and snowdrops, cool and sweet and clear. 

When she finally lets me go, I am instantly snatched up by Padfoot. 

"Be careful, Prongslet, please." He whispers, a broken little thing that hits what is left of my cold dead heart like a sucker punch. "I only just got you back. I can't lose you again."

I wrap my arms around him. 

He's skinnier again, and there's a lankness to his hair that suggests he's barely looked after himself. 

Ouch. 

A pit of guilt wells up in my stomach. 

"I'm sorry Padfoot."

I can't say I won't do it again. 

I have to. 

As many times as it takes until Voldy is dead. 

But I am sorry. 

***************

Co-Co sneaks in shortly after I wake up again for the third time in four hours. 

The sun is finally up, and the nightmares that plagued my sleep are mostly shoved to the back of my mind where I don't have to think about them. 

He looks pretty much all better, his hair styled, his robes immaculate.

There are dark circles under his eyes though. 

When he sees me awake, he bursts into tears and throws his arms around me. 

"I'm sorry." He gasps. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Oooookay. 

The pit of guilt returns, and now I'm no longer hungry. 

He was a child before. 

Now I've gone and traumatised him. 

"I should be sorry, Co-Co. That was my fight and I dragged you into it, and I'm sorry. There's nothing for me to forgive, but I have so much to ask your forgiveness for."

He sits back and looks at me, frowning. 

Then he pokes my forehead. 

"I muscled my way in. My fault. And it meant that you couldn't focus and it meant that you had another weakness for him to leverage and it meant that you got tortured and I'm so sorry."

By the end of his mini-rant the tears are back, and he's gasping for breath.

I grab him and pull him into another hug. "It wasn't your fault, Co-Co. He would have done it anyway. I am so, so glad you were there with me because without you I don't know what I would have done."

He shakes his head, a growing wet spot soaking through my Pomfrey-approved hospital gown. 

"I was so scared. You were just lying there, screaming, and your eyes. When he stopped, you were so still I thought he'd killed you. I thought I got you killed."

I tighten my arms around him. "No! No, Co-Co, you were the reason I survived. You gave me a reason to keep going, to pull myself back up and face him. Thank you. Thank you."

Anyway, as you can imagine, we both end up crying quite a bit. 

After what feels like hours but can't be more than twenty minutes, we eventually move past the tears and apologising. 

Promptly, as if on cue, two more heads pop around the curtain. 

I shriek, and Co-Co winces as most of the sound goes right into his eardrum. 

Pansy and Neville laugh and come to join us on the bed. 

"Finished sniffling and sobbing then?" Pans inquires haughtily, looking none the worse for her midnight adventure. 

I cackle, and then wince as I realise (though none of the others will) just how much it sounds like Voldy. 

"Yes. And, Pansy, Nev, I'm sorry. I'm so glad you guys are alright."

Pans sniffs, tossing her head. "Of course I'm fine. I can't believe you three had all the fun without me."

"Fun?" I repeat, horrified - that's my level of humour, not Pansy level humour. 

"Yes." She says, dangerously close to pouting. "Neville and Draco formed a club and refuse to let me into it!"

"A club?" Is this what Dumbledore felt like?

I turn and glare at the boys. 

Co-Co just grins at me and doesn't say anything. 

After about three seconds, Nev buckles. "We made a traumatised children club - members you, me and Draco."

...

Fuck yes I've been a terrible influence!

Pansy actually does pout when I start to cackle. 

She folds her arms. "Next time you have an adventure, I insist you leave one of the boys behind instead. It's not fair I get the injuries without joining the club."

Okay, fair. 

She's also traumatised, but she's not Voldemort-traumatised so I stand by Nev and Co-Co's decision.

Now she's borderline sulking, so I hastily promise that next time we are all in a near death situation I'll leave one of the boys behind. 

That placates her somewhat, but now Co-Co and Nev are arguing about who. 

They're all faking it, I can tell. 

There is a stilted air to their arguments and Pansy's complaints.

There are dark circles under their eyes and a pallor to their skin that speaks of sleepless nights. 

Their eyes are older than eleven, with shadows no child should have. 

The pit of guilt swells wider in my stomach, but there is nothing I can do about it - what's done is done. 

I slump back against the hundred and one pillows Madam Pomfrey propped me up with. 

"Thank you guys. Really. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Pansy sniffs. "Probably blown the school up, knowing you."

Okay, yep, she'll be fine.

They all will eventually - given a bunch of therapy and possibly some cathartic Voldy murdering.

**************

My army, sorry, my friends come to visit me, one after another once Madam Pomfrey deems me recovered enough. 

Surprisingly enough, even Yaxley doesn't seem to much mind me having fought Mister Pureblood Agenda. 

Maybe I'm just that adorable. 

Instead, she just sits at my bedside and gives me more lessons in being the most Slytherin-y Slytherin that I can, as if nothing has happened 

I do ask her about, yknow, the awkward situation of me having twice defeated the guy her family is culting after. 

She only smiles the mysterious little smirk that every Slytherin seems to master sometime around OWLs. "A problem for if he ever truly returns, don't you think Potter?"

And that is that. 

Which, is ominous, but also good. 

Yaxley is so cool, and I was lowkey (okay, highkey) worried she wasn't going to talk to me ever again. 

The rest of the squad visits one by one, and there are so many of them that I nearly cry. 

So many friends, so many people who care about me. 

Even Susan Bones shows up, giving me a list of curses that she thinks I could stand to learn. 

The whole Quidditch team shows up, of course. 

Flint only cares that I'm out of practices for the next month or so, and spends most of his visit fighting with Madam Pomfrey about whether or not I can be excused for 'light drills'. 

She says no of course. 

It's fucking hilarious. 

He winks at me as she frogmarches him out. 

Pucey shows up with a chocolate replica of my Nimbus 2001 and a promise to protect the real thing from the overenthusiastic Flint. 

Vanity and Bletchley both hug me and make me promise not to go haring off on my own again. 

It's really nice. 

I like people caring about me. 

**************

The twins visit as well. They march over to my bed in lockstep and then peer closely at me with narrowed eyes. 

"You know George," says George,

"Yes Fred?" replies Fred. 

"I think the reason our favourite little snake didn't take us on her adventure was because she doesn't want us to get the House points."

"And I think you're quite right Fred." Says Fred. "Slytherin pride and all that."

Okay, fair. 

But also, rude. 

"I took Neville!"

Look, I should absolutely get points for that - canon Harry's first interhouse adventure was the battle that got Sirius killed, unless you count the Tournament (which I don't).

"Yeeessssss." George draws the word out. 

"But Neville is only one person."

Okay fine. 

I laugh, and their faces break into freckled, earnest grins. 

"That's better." George says, satisfied. 

"Yes, it is. You were looking a bit peaky, little snake." Fred pats me on the head. 

"Sunshine and laughter, that's what you need." George writes out a prescription and hands it to me. 

Then Madam Pomfrey chases them out when they try to set up a few Quidditch drills in the Hospital Wing.

When they visit again, they are toting a toilet seat between them. 

At first Madam Pomfrey tries to stop them getting in, but after George demonstrates all the disinfectant spells he used on it, she relents. 

They ceremoniously present it to me, with a Slytherin-green ribbon wrapped about it, and inform me that the rest of the toilet awaits me as soon as I am recovered. 

I laugh so hard that Madam Pomfrey comes hurrying over to check none of my injuries have re-opened. 

Bless them. 

*******************

Snape comes at one point. 

He scowls and barely looks at me the whole time, dumping a stack of parchment and books on my bedside table. "The work you have missed, Potter. I expect you to have reached an acceptable standard in every class by your return to the life we mere mortals lead."

Huh. 

That's...almost nice, for Snape standards. 

He didn't even insult me. 

Wow he must be feeling bad that he completely failed to protect me on any level despite being my literal head of house and despite the literal oath he swore to do so.

Sucks to suck bitch.

I almost decide to poke, but then remember that I had promised Aunt Cissa to stop at least starting fights with my teacher.

And I probably owe her a good deal of behaving considering the scare I gave them all.

So I smile and do not set Lumi on him. "Thank you, Professor, I'll do my best."

Wow look at my self control. 

Look how polite and sweet I can be to people I hate. 

Behold the bountiful vistas of my Slytherin-ness.

Thank you very much Claudia Yaxley. 

He looks at me suspiciously, but I just look at him with wide eyes from behind my hair. 

Thankfully he only turns and walks out without another word. 

Good, I don't want to play nice with him for much longer, he's like...third most hated behind Umbitch and Tim-Tam.

I watch his robes swirl around the corner, and once more lament the fact that he's such a butt that he's never ever going to agree to teach me how to do that

*************

Ron and Hermione show up at some point, peering around the curtain like they aren't sure they're meant to be there. 

I slam shut the potions textbook and grin at them. "Hi Ron, Hermione!"

They aren't my best friends like they were Harry's. 

That place has been taken by Co-Co and Pansy and Nev, who literally walked into fire with me. 

But they are still my friends. (Ha, take that canon Harry, I can make inter-house friendships)

And also I'm glad that they are friends, and that they aren't lonely without Harry there to glue them together. 

That they have each other, and I haven't abandoned them to some sad lopsided duo that doesn't quite work. 

Also I'm fairly sure they've got Nev so, maybe they just need those prophecy-kid vibes to make their initial friendship work.

Oooh, that reminds me. 

"Thanks for setting Snape on fire!" 

Hermione stares. "How did you know?"

I could tell the truth?

Nah. 

Too much effort. 

Plus Hermione would want to know about the theory of transmigration and fucking hell imagine her trying to go into LOTR or something. 

I shrug instead. "Dreams. Slash my scar. But really, thanks."

She blushes.

"I didn't even get the right person."

"Who cares!" Ron says enthusiastically. "You set that greasy git on fire!"

"But I attacked a teacher for no reason. I'm going to get expelled!" She buries her head in her hands. 

Oh shit. 

I forgot about that weird fixation.

"Nah, they wouldn't expel you for that. Besides, I agree with Ron. Snivellus absolutely deserved to get set on fire."

Hermione looks like she wants to sink through the floor. 

Ron looks like I made his day. 

**************

Eventually, Madam Pomfrey releases me from her domain. 

Under strict orders not to overdo it, but freedom is freedom.

I am only allowed to watch Quidditch practices from the first month, but Flint promises that I'll be fine. 

Then he and Pucey rope me into what they say is a bunch of team-building exercises in the common room, but seems a lot like board games. 

Not that I'm complaining. 

Lessons...go. 

They're fine. 

Kinda meh? Like, yes I'm learning magic but also I just fought wizard-Hitler.

Everything else kind of pales beside that. 

Still, it's nice to have a routine back, rather than lying in the Hospital Wing waiting for friends to visit - and having to motivate myself to catch up all the work I missed. 

That was such a bitch. 

I hate having to actually do stuff. 

All the teachers are really nice to me though (except Binns, who probably doesn't even know who Voldy is, and Snape, who would rather die, though he is weirdly neutral which is basically him being nice).

The only sour spot is the Slytherin common room, which is....yeah. 

Most of my year and the squad are fine with me, but there's quite a few older year who are, er, frosty at best. 

No one's trying to curse me though! 

And I'm still part of Slytherin rather than being ostracised, so take that canon Harry! 

Do better. 

*******************

nagini

The basilisk shifts a little, wrapping me more tightly in her coils. what is it, child of my human?

I yawn and turn my face into her scales - they smell faintly of saffron and old parchment, a warm, comforting, slightly sweet scent. 

Since coming face to face with Tim-Tam Tommy, I haven't felt properly safe anywhere and it has wreaked havoc on my sleep cycle. 

Most nights I startle awake after almost no time at all, heart racing, waiting for something to jump at me from the shadows. 

Sometimes I fall asleep again, maybe for a few minutes or an hour at most, but most nights I just lie there, clutching my wand, trying not to scream. 

But Nagini smells, and feels, safe. 

If there is anywhere in the world I am safe, then it is here, hidden in my ancestor's secret hideaway, protected by one of the most dangerous magical beings ever to exist. 

So I am relaxed, and even a little sleepy. 

what did you wish to know? Nagini prompts me patiently. 

I yawn again.

Trying to think with my brain so foggy is like trying to run through quicksand. 

Oh yeah.

where does your name come from?

Partially because I want to know more about Nagini because she's great, partially because I want to see if I can take the mick out of He-Who-Has-No-Imagination even more. 

Nagini hisses thoughtfully for so long that I start to think she's forgotten about the question, and is just trying to lull me to sleep. 

It would be like her. 

Eventually though, she speaks again. 

my human's grandmother, was a naga from the holy river, who married a Speaker from the hot lands this side of the ancient sea. their hatchling, my human's mother, fled here when the moors took their nest, and my human's daughter named me for his grandmother.

I cannot help thinking that the daughter must have had a really terrible sense of humour or been really young. Nagini from naga? Really?

Still though, there are more important things to focus on. salazar had a daughter?

yes, silly child of my human. your line and the false hatchling's line both come from her.

Great. 

I had really hoped our last shared relation was the Slytherin himself because I want as little shared blood with him as possible.

Blegh. 

Yet another yawn forces its way up my throat and out of my mouth and Nagini hisses. 

enough chatter, child of my human. sleep now and i will watch over you.

I curl up into a little ball as she wraps me a little tighter in her coils, warm and heavy and comfortable - like the world's most dangerous weighted blanket.

night, nagini.

A fond hiss that sounds almost like laughter. sleep well, child of my human.

I slip down into soft, blessed darkness and nothingness. 

For once, there are no dreams to chase at my heels until I jolt awake. 

There is only silence. 

Nagini is a good dream guardian.

Chapter 32: Christmas time!

Notes:

yes yes a Christmas chapter in September

I spend the rest of November and a good portion of December still in that awful haze of post-Tom trauma. 

Sleep is only possible for extended amounts of time if I'm near Nagini, and she's not a permanent solution so I'm fairly sleep-deprived. 

The others are struggling too, Nev and Co-Co and Pansy. They're jumpy and twitchy and pale, and like me they all have dark purple bruises beneath their eyes. 

But we are all cuddled and coddled by the squad (and our respective adults, though that's more long distance), and the teachers go easy on us. 

Our classmates don't quite know the details of what happened, but thankfully they just give us space.

Slowly, ever so slowly, we pull ourselves out of the haze. 

Pansy first, then Co-Co, and then Nev and finally me, coming down from the painful, jittery hyper-awareness and easing somewhat into a semblance of normality.

By the time we're going home for Christmas, we are pretty much all better. 

Or, pretending to be, which is basically the same thing. 

Right?

I found a bunch of silencing wards in a runes textbook and carved the shit out of my bedpost so now no one can hear if I have a nightmare. 

No repeats of Halloween and the first few weeks I was back in the dorm, because that was unfair as all get out to the other firstie girls. 

Now I can scream and cry as much as I like and it won't disturb any of my friends. 

Which is great until I realise the other girls are still getting woken up by Pansy, so then I show her the ward book. 

And then I realise the boys are probably having the same problem, so I give it to them too. 

Suddenly, all the first year Slytherins and Gryffindors seem a lot more well-rested. 

Modern problems require modern solutions!

Anyway, I probably shouldn't have spent so much time down in the Chamber because all of my squad were like 'where did you go we're so worried' and so I had to reveal the Room of Requirement like half a decade early. 

Stupid speed running. 

On the plus side, we now have a fun hideout à la canon seventh year. 

There's hammocks and books and practice areas (and a door to the Room of Hidden Things because the RoR is just that cool) and hangings in the colours of every house. 

Take that canon. 

I spend a fair amount of time looking through the room, trying to find the Diadem. 

No luck yet, but I'm not disheartened because that place is bigger than Liverpool Cathedral and Westminster Abbey put together and hit with an Engorging Charm.

It's a fun way to pass the time, and it's a nice bonding experience for all of the squad. 

That in itself makes giving up the RoR early worth it - there are so few things in Hogwarts that aren't segregated by houses.

We get to spend time together and learn fun new things and teach each other curses and other handy little spells. 

It's a glorious way to spend the rest of the term (once the Traumatised Children Club + Pansy is halfway able to do life again).

*****************

We go home for Christmas, Co-Co and I. 

Most of Slytherin does, because this may not be a stupidly OP lords and ladies fic, but wizards are still extra enough to have all the parties. 

I'm so excited, this is going to be like two straight week of pretty dresses and pretty houses and pretty music and pretty like, everything. 

Say what you will about the Wizarding World, but their aesthetic is unmatched. 

On the way back, the squad all squeeze into one compartment, though it requires Claudia Yaxley (aka the baddest bitch ever after Aunt Cissa and Mum) to Expand it for us. 

No really. 

There's the entirety of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, most of the First Year Slytherins and a few other Slytherins, a bunch of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and Nev and Hermione. Ron and the twins are staying at Hogwarts because Mr and Mrs Weasley decided to have a spontaneous trip to Romania to visit Charlie. Fun. 

Anyway, even without the only other gingers in the squad (except Susan Bones) that's like...a lot of people. 

Hehehe I have so many minions in my cult. 

Take that, canon Harry!

I'm getting a better grade than you in being you. Nyeh. 

The train ride back is nice. 

We all end up (somehow) around one ginormous table, playing games and chatting for the entire ride. 

Hermione, Justin (no I have no idea how we ended up friends) and I introduce everyone to Irish Snap. 

It's glorious. 

The chaos, the shrieking, the blood. 

A lot of the older minions friends get to practise their Healing spells, including To-To who is almost vibrating every time she remembers her Auror entrance exam is in January. 

Her hair colour changes each time too, and I feel vaguely bad for her parents this Christmas.

After the third dislocated pinkie, Yaxley puts her foot down and announces that we are playing something different and nonviolent. 

Spoilsport. 

Just because she's Head Girl and really cool and awesome doesn't mean she can stop us having fun. 

She does pull a bunch of food out of her bag though, so we reluctantly forgive her. 

It's really, really good food, by the way, we aren't just a bunch of tiny little gremlins that buckle as soon as something vaguely edible is waved in our direction.

Okay, maybe we are, but a) some of the gremlins are pretty big and b) once again, its really really good food. 

I think Claudia bribed the House Elves.

Once our stomachs are full, we are all miraculously so much more amenable to a Head-Girl-Approved game. 

Which is much more boring but oh well. 

I guess bribery is actually really efficient.

**********************

All of the adults are waiting on the platform for us - Aunt Cissa, Uncle Lucy, Padfoot and Moony, and a couple I assume are To-To's parents. 

Moony and Padfoot look so much better. 

Like, their letters over the last couple of months have been sounding happier and happier but now I can see them and they look so much more like the men I remember from my pre-orphan days.

They've filled out, their clothes are nice, they look clean, and just generally healthier...

Oh my gosh, Aunt Cissa totally adopted them. 

I jump off the train with a shriek, launching myself towards them. 

Padfoot catches me like the best godfather that he is, and spins me around and around. 

He couldn't do that at Halloween, even though I'm a bit less emaciated now than I was then.

I cling to his neck almost hard enough to strangle him and squeal in his ear. 

"Padfoot!!!" 

He laughs and clings back, and I do him the courtesy of ignoring the speck of dust that must have gotten into his eye.

There's some eyes turning towards us, but I ignore them. 

Not their beeswax, not my problem. 

Someone pokes the back of my calf, and I strain my neck around to see Co-Co standing behind me with his arms folded. 

Uncle Lucy and Moony have vanished, presumably to grab the trunks we may have slightly abandoned. 

Aunt Cissa is holding onto Co-Co as tightly as Padfoot is holding onto me, so presumably that's why Co-Co looks disgruntled. 

Or maybe it's just because now I can look down at him. 

I cackle at my beloved, worstest cousin. 

Padfoot swings me around until I'm perched on his hip like a toddler. 

Rude. 

But also ha!

Aunt Cissa gets a gleam in her eye like she wants to try that, but I don't think Co-Co would appreciate that. 

She seems to come to that decision too, and instead comes over and wraps me in a fierce hug. 

Over her shoulder I can see the other couple holding To-To tightly, so yep, yet another point on my perfect score of charactef identification. 

After a few minutes of waiting for the Tonkses to get through the joy of having their daughter back, I finally (finally!) get introduced to Andromeda and Ted.

Ted is very nice and chill, and very nicely and chill-ly ignoring of Uncle Lucy's general existence, who does the same thing right back. 

Wow that is some glorious tea. 

(I would like it noted that I support Ted in this tea, even if I may have forcibly adopted Uncle Lucy he is still a wizard facist, I'm just trying to rehabilitate him)

Andromeda on the other hand, is kind of like Aunt Cissa. 

Well, yeah, they are sisters, but you know what I mean. 

She's also poised and elegant and quiet in a way that makes you very aware that she's grown up with free access to one of the Darkest libraries in Europe. 

Obviously I fall in love immediately. 

All of the women in my family are so cool, how am I possibly supposed to live up to that? 

She seems to like me though, which is great, and tells me to call her Aunt in about five minutes flat. 

"Alright, Aunt Andie!" I chirp, and her eyes visibly soften. 

Then To-To comes bouncing over to Padfoot and I wrap my arms more tightly around his neck.

Cousin or not, there is no way she's stealing my godfather.

******************

We all go back to the manor together, except for the Tonkses - they're the only ones who don't live there. 

After a moment's thought, I decide against suggesting they move in. 

It might be too much at once for Uncle Lucy's facist little brain. 

We'll work on it.

Considering he's already cohabiting with Moony, a werewolf; Sirius, a blood traitor; and me, the poster girl for the Light, I have high hopes.

Maybe. 

The important thing is that my favourite people are all together.

Well, all my favourite people who are alive. 

To distract myself from that particular thought, I propose another prank war. 

Away from the adult ears of course - which really just means Aunt Cissa, and Uncle Lucy because it's politer to leave him in ignorant bliss.

Co-Co and I against the last men standing of the Marauders. 

It's absolute mayhem, and covers the entire manor for a full week. 

We turn the main stairs into a slip-n-slide under our opponents, stage a hostile takeover of the kitchens for a foodfight, balance buckets of water over doors, startle each other awake with the most unholy noises, fake hauntings, and do pretty much everything else you could possibly think of. 

Uncle Lucy only gets caught in the crossfire a few times, but he's clearly learned since summer and just casts a Shield Charm and goes on with his life. 

Mad respect. 

Eventually, a few days days before 'the season' (and by that I mean two weeks straight of parties) begins, Aunt Cissa puts her foot down.

No more pranks.

It's time to get ready for high society. 

One dance montage, one ettiquette montage, and one decorating montage, both the manor and I am unrecognisable. 

Also, I would like it noted, those montages suck. 

I take back wishing I could learn through one of them. 

*********************

The first party of the season is the Malfoy one. 

Because the baddest bitches (Aunt Cissa of course, not Uncle Lucy) get the best bad bitch rights, presumably. 

Not all of the events are themed but the most extra ones are so of course Aunt Cissa always sets a theme, which this year is the heavenly bodies.

Because Aunt Cissa always goes all out for the theme, she insists that the peacocks be charmed the colour of the night sky, with the eyes of their tails acting as the stars. 

I think it sounds fucking amazing personally. 

So does Padfoot. 

Co-Co and Uncle Lucy do not. 

Which is how we ended up in a Western movie-esque standoff in the gardens two hours before the guests are supposed to arrive. 

All the peacocks are grouped behind Uncle Lucy, and they are still pure white five minutes behind Aunt Cissa's schedule. 

Co-Co is peering from under Uncle Lucy's spread arms, cuddling one of the peachicks as if he can hide it inside his cloak. 

Padfoot and I are sitting on a nearby bench eating popcorn and cackling, because we both get to be less helpful with the preparations thanks to ✨trauma✨.

So that means we can watch and laugh, wrapped in thick fur cloaks, as Aunt Cissa tries to get past her husband to Charm his peacocks. 

"For Merlin's sake, Lucius." She snaps the third time she fails to shoot a spell past his Shield and outstretched arms. "We do this every year! It doesn't hurt the peacocks at all."

Uncle Lucy is, of course, this close to outright pouting, only restrained by the knowledge that Padfoot would never let him live it down.

Co-Co has no such inhibitions and is staring with wide, tragic eyes at his mother. 

"But they can go with the theme this year without being charmed, Mum." He tries, using the patented puppy eyes I taught him. 

The horror on Aunt Cissa's face is akin to Uncle Lucy's expression when she informed him she would be Charming the peacocks this afternoon. 

"Draco, Lucius," she says very calmly, putting away her wand and folding her hands, "you both know very well that one of the highlights of our parties is always the peacocks. People expect them to fit the theme. Are you really going to defame our good name merely for your petty scruples?"

Ouch. 

And so it goes on. 

And on. 

And on. 

It's hilarious. 

Mostly because the whole time this is going on, the house elves are quietly popping in and Charming the peacocks behind the Malfoy's backs. 

Padfoot and I can see from our vantage point, but neither Co-Co nor Uncle Lucy notices. 

It's glorious. 

Aunt Cissa was my favourite for a reason. 

Eventually the peachick in Co-Co's arms is the last one standing, and his face as it changes colour is indescribable. 

He screams even higher than Flint when I scratched him in Irish Snap. 

It takes him nearly a full minute to form a full word. "Dad! Dad!"

Uncle Lucy whirls, horror coating his face at the sight of the desecrated bird.

He drops to his knees beside Co-Co, ignoring the snow soaking through his robes. 

They both hover over the little night-sky peachick, making noises of grief and utter despair. 

"It's alright." Co-Co whispers to it, his eyes tearing up, "we'll look after you. We'll fix this somehow."

The peachick is quite happy of course, honking to itself and looking curiously at its fun new feathers, but Uncle Lucy and Co-Co are acting like its the end of the world. 

They haven't even realised that the rest of the peacocks are also Charmed. 

Aunt Cissa rolls her eyes to the sky and turns away to the next item on her agenda. 

Just as Padfoot and I are about to follow her, Bitsy pops in and hands us more popcorn. 

"Sweet Little Lady Hava's Scary Lady says that Sweet Little Lady Hava and Naughty Grown-Up Puppy should wait a little longer to see the good part."

The popcorn is flavoured with cinnamon and cloves and something else that makes it taste exactly like Christmas. 

Padfoot and I are halfway through it when one of the peacocks (probably Caligula) gets bored enough to stalk past Uncle Lucy and Co-Co. 

Apparently this is finally what it takes to break the tunnel vision on the baby peachick (which Co-Co and I are fighting each other to name). 

The high-pitched scream of horror that issues from Co-Co and Uncle Lucy at once is nothing short of pure art.

Aunt Cissa is the best, I love her so much. 

*************

Two hours later, everything is ready, and everyone is dressed on theme under pain of Aunt Cissa's disapproval. 

Sirius decided to just be the night sky because it meant he could wear all black and loom ominously.

He even added a few little spells so that he could blend with the shadows better and then tested the effect on Uncle Lucy.

We heard his shriek from behind four closed doors.

Never let it be said that a Marauder passed up an opportunity for chaos.

Moony got away with coming as an eclipse because he's a little shit like that. 

You always forget that he was part of the Marauders because he's so calm and put together, and then he pulls something like this. 

He's a bit pale because we just got past the full moon, but he just fits the costume more. 

Bless Uncle Moony and his chaos. 

Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy are constellations, in gorgeous matched robes of midnight blue with jewelled stars of red and blue and white and yellow scattered over the flowing fabric. 

Both of them have had their pale hair pinned up with jet and black diamonds and equally dark sapphires, and visually it's fucking insane. 

I love it.

Co-Co and I pled our case to the all powerful Aunt Cissa to be the Sun and Moon and won. 

He's the moon because he's a pasty little blonde and I'm the sun because I'm a ginger, and it's very fun. 

Co-Co's robes are made in the classical fashion, somewhere between a chiton and a toga because wizards clearly have a very bastardised idea of fashion history and also love their mythology so we're some sort of idea of sun and moon deities? 

Except usually the sun is male and the moon is female (ie Helios and Selene), its just that our colouring wouldn't work for that so it's even more of an accuracy fail for the wizards than usual.

Anyway, his robes are the same pale silver-gold as the moon, with the lunar phases embroidered in gold and silver thread at his neck and wrists and the hem of his robe. 

Somehow, because of insane magical tailoring, they shimmer and coruscate as he moves, throwing light very much as the moon itself does.

The crowning glory of his costume though, is the headpiece. 

Each phase of the moon has been meticulously wrought in white gold and blackened silver, and then affixed in a glowing arc above his head, shimmering and scintillating entirely separately from his robes. 

It's fucking amazing.

My robes are more Greek in their style, though not entirely accurate. 

Like, clearly someone was thinking about a chiton while making it, going by the dozen gold and citrine and ruby brooches holding it shut at the shoulders and upper arms. 

The golden girdle tied about my waist, and the bat-wing kind of soft excess of fabric at my sides also keeps with the idea of a chiton. 

But it's sewn shut at the sides rather than pinned, and the many layers of fluttering skirts kind of ruin the image. 

It's a great effect though - reds and yellows and oranges layering together until I feel like a moving furnace.

Like Co-Co's, my robes throw their own light as I move. 

It's fantastic. 

Golden serpents with ruby eyes twine their way up my arms (allegedly because that's what you wear with that style of robe, but I think it's just to remind everyone what House I'm in), and a larger, thicker serpent curls about my neck in an endless filigreed loop.

And, of course, I have an entire sun made of gold and citrines and topazes and rubies and yellow diamonds.

It's nestled into my hair, which has been pinned and piled up into something between Marie Antoinette and a Roman statue thanks to magic and a hefty dose of hairpins.

Which are gold, and each one tipped with a different fiery gem. 

Of course.

I told you nothing was as extra as wizards.

Aunt Cissa checks us all over, and then hurries us over to the great doors of the manor where we'll wait to greet the guests. 

There's something warm and fuzzy that forms in my chest at the idea that Padfoot and Moony and I are considered part of the family enough to be part of the reception group, rather than just left to mill around in the ballroom as exceptionally early guests. 

Thinking about it, that's probably my cold dead heart melting a little bit.

A faint crack comes to our ears, followed by the quiet scrape of the gates swinging open across the piled snow (the hinges, of course, don't make a sound).

Here comes the first guest.

There is a muffled shout, followed by an angry honk. 

I glance up in time to see the corners of Aunt Cissa's mouth twitch up ever so minutely.

Clearly the guests have fallen foul of the peacocks - which conveniently blend into the dark hedges with their new colouring. 

The on-theme silver lights that line the path up to the doors of the manor don't really do much for the rest of the gardens so the peacocks are really just unstoppable. 

Oh well, it's still better than the man eating plants everyone know to expect from the Parkinsons and Longbottoms.

Those are harder to fit into a theme, which is probably why they never have a theme.

I blink as the guests finally finish walking up the drive. 

Someone's wand is only just vanishing, so presumably they are the one who fell foul of the peacocks. 

Considering the amount of pink, that's probably Umbridge. 

Suddenly I am unspeakably grateful for the comforting weight of Lumi on my shoulders (charmed to match the colour of my costume of course).

She comes closer, and yep, that's her.

Her robes are flowing pale pink, presumably imitating...something, but mostly it just makes me think of a pile of thrown up candy floss. 

Her arm is threaded through a very average middle aged white dude's. Oh dear someone had to be in a relationship with her? 

Or is that Fudge? 

And are the two things mutually exclusive?

Ew that's an awful thought. 

Bad brain, no, no, abort, abort.

Fuck, where's the brain bleach.

I squint very surreptitiously. 

Yknow what, maybe that isn't Fudge, maybe its some random poor schmuck who has to deal with her.

His robes are not lime green and pinstriped and he has no bowler hat.

"Ah, Minister, how good of you to come." Uncle Lucy begins. 

Fuck. 

Chapter 33: Party in Malfoy Manor

Notes:

First week of uni just ended, so have some complete and utter nonsense.

Uncle Lucy beckons me forward. 

Suppressing my sigh, I paste what is rapidly becoming my signature, pretty, childish smile onto my face. 

I bob a quick curtsey to the overgrown baby with an equally overgrown idea of his own importance. "It's an honour to make your acquaintance, Minister."

He pats my head awkwardly. 

Fuck him. That took Bitsy hours and a shitton of magic to do, if he's messed it up...

"What a lovely child. You've trained her well in the short time you had, Lucius. Terrible business with those Muggles, terrible, terrible."

A soft, girlish giggle. "Oh no Minister, you did your best. You can't blame yourself for things," here she throws a pointed look at me, "that took place under your predecessor's purview."

The man visibly puffs up. 

"Quite right, quite right, thank you Dolores."

Eugh. 

Aunt Cissa takes that moment to direct the Minister to the ballroom (presumably before Padfoot, Moony or Co-co lose it and do something that Uncle Lucy's vaults will regret).

She does it so very nicely that I don't think he realises he's being got rid of.

Unfortunately it isn't much of a reprieve. 

Almost before they've left, Crouch is stalking up to us, glowering furiously at each and every person in our little group - the (not) Death Eater, the (actual but also ex) Death Eater, the (unmarked and also ex) Death Eater, the (ex) future Death Eater, the (not) Death Eater's goddaughter and the werewolf. 

Dunno which of the adults he hates most. 

He clearly doesn't want to be here at all, not just by his face and body language but by the fact he didn't bother to dress up. 

Wanker. 

Why did he have to show up and make everyone miserable instead of just his psycho of a son?

Like, yeah blah blah, he wants his career back, but why does he have to ruin my evening in his attempt? 

I sigh (in my head!) and smile prettily at him. 

Can I blame him for being an opportunist, when I would have done the same?

A invitation to the Malfoy Yule Ball is, after all an invitation to the Malfoy Yule Ball, where the cream of society will mingle in the opening ball of the season. 

One of the best events for politicking in the whole of the magical calendar.

Crouch, as much as I despise him for what he did to Padfoot, is smart enough to know that.

I can give him that and be magnanimous enough to see that he is acting in a way that pretty much any other person would in his situation. 

Nah, I still hate him and wish he wasn't here to ruin my evening further.

Fucking politicans. 

At least him not wanting to be here makes his greetings very short and curt, so we only have to deal with him for about thirty seconds. 

Then the Notts arrive, followed by the Patils and then the Goyles. 

After them, Susan and her badass monocled aunt Madam Bones arrive. 

Fuck yeah.

Out of my merry band of minions, Susan isn't the closest to me (that would be the Traumatised Children Club + Pansy, and maybe To-To) , but we're friends and like to trade knowledge of curses.

Anywhere Susan is, is a place that's bound to be fun.

Plus it's always good to have another non-Weasley ginger around.

I grin semi-acceptably at them, and risk waving to Susan. 

Aunt Cissa's eyes narrow, and Uncle Lucy sighs, but they let it slide.

Padfoot and Moony, of course, don't care, and surprisingly enough, Madam Bones barely bats an eye.

Susan smiles back, though she doesn't wave. 

She's dressed as a red star, her bright hair tumbling down her back like flames, dusted with some kind of charm that makes it glow like living flames.

Her robes too shimmer and flicker, layers of diaphanous red and orange and yellow that swirl about her until she seems like a living fiery star.

Honestly, I'm mildly jealous, that costume is awesome. 

"You look great, Susan!" I chirp - though my enthusiasm is, for the first time this evening, not feigned. 

She smiles back, more reserved, but no less genuine, as the Malfoys and Madam Bones exchange polite, stuffy greetings. "So do you - I love the headpiece."

Aunt Cissa clears her throat. 

"Mesdames Bones, allow me to introduce my son, Master Draco Malfoy, and my ward, Madam Hava Potter. I believe Sir Sirius Black and Mr Remus Lupin are known already to you?"

Madam Amelia Bones, stately in robes of spun white that gleam like the purest starlight, with white gems woven into her hair, inclines her head. "An honour to make your acquaintance, Madam Potter and Master Malfoy."

Her smile is cordial, but it warms as she turns to Padfoot and Moony. "It is a pleasure to see you two once more, after everything."

There is something very distant in Padfoot's eyes as he bends to kiss her hand, but it is Moony who speaks, his voice very soft. "The feeling is mutual, Amelia. There are so few of us left that it is good to see a familiar face."

I wonder what the story is there, beyond the obvious assumption that they're part of Dumbledore's cult of flaming chickens.

That's my last coherent thought for a while, as the next guest arrives and the Boneses make their way indoors.

After that, everything turns into an indistinguishable mass of people.

I've gotten used to bigger crowds since arriving at Hogwarts but this is still overwhelming. 

So many faces and voices and names in quick succession, it all kind of blurs together. 

My pretty, childish smile is pasted onto my face with superglue, and my knees ache from bobbing adorable curtsies. 

Nev and his grandmother show up at some point in the haze.

We are all very well behaved, thank you very much, and I don't even try to make him jump at all.

Mostly that's because there's loads more guests arriving and it's 'polite' and 'the done thing' to greet each guest at the door, which is fucking exhausting. 

There's just no time for chaos and proper greetings - by which I mean fun ones rather than 'how do you do' or 'lovely to meet you' or 'what a nice evening'. 

I close my eyes for a moment, before I reopen them and promise myself that we'll indulge in some fun when the guests are all here.

*******************

After the last guests (the MacDougals) arrive, we finally get a break.

Only for as long as it takes to make our way into the ballroom, but a break is a break and I'm glad of it. 

Maybe Co-Co and I dawdle a little, but it's nice and quiet in the halls, unlike the music and laughter and chatter emanating from the ballroom.

It's a good thing though, because almost as soon as my foot touches the floor, I'm being mobbed. 

Not by eager fans or politicans, thank the Lord. 

That could have led to some unpleasant explanations for why Aunt Cissa taught me the Discorporation Curse. 

No, I'm mobbed by the Slytherin Quidditch team. 

Technically. 

In practice it's mostly just Flint with everyone else hanging around awkwardly. 

"Potter." He says breathlessly, eyes wider than I've ever seen them. "Hava, please, your godfather is right there."

For a moment I consider being well and truly evil. I consider smiling and refusing to introduce them. 

Not because of any particular animosity towards Flint - in fact, I quite like him - but just because it would be funny. 

Then I remember that's a very Voldemort thing to do. 

If it were physically possible, I would be glaring at that stupid scar now. 

Fucking horcruxes. 

Just to spite Tim-Tam, I hook my arm through Flint's and drag him over to where Padfoot is looking very bored indeed talking to some dude about import taxes. 

Wow he moves fast, we've been in the room for all of thirty seconds.

Time to do two good deeds at once - rescue Padfoot and put Flint out of his misery. 

I pause right before we get there and shake my arm out of Flint's.

No use complicating introductions beyond what it has to be. 

He seems to get my intention, and quickly draws Yaxley and the others into a Very Intense Conversation. 

Don't you just love Slytherins. 

Pasting that stupid smile on my face, I aim it right at the random side character before turning it on Padfoot.

"Good evening, godfather." I chirp. 

He smiles politely back. "Good evening, Hava. Sir Shafiq, allow me to introduce my goddaughter Madam Potter."

The newly named Shafiq smiles and nods to me. "A pleasure, Madam."

"And Hava, this is Sir Shafiq."

I bob an 'adorable' curtsey. "The pleasure is mine, sir."

Blah blah blegh.

We make small talk for a little while before Sir Shafiq takes pity on the clearly impatient eleven year old and excuses himself. 

As soon as his back is turned, I grab Padfoot's arm. 

"Come on, you've got some fans to meet!"

He doesn't say anything about my sudden loss of manners because Padfoot is an icon like that.

Instead, he tosses me a fond smile and offers me his arm. "Very well, milady, off we go."

Very pompously, we process over to the rest of the team, who are very conspicuously busy with their own conversation. 

As we near, they break off, turning their faces expectantly toward us, and I grin.

So Flint isn't the only one.

"Sirius," I say in my best posh voice, "allow me to introduce the Slytherin Quidditch Team. Master Marcus Flint - Captain and Chaser; Mistress Claudia Yaxley - Head Girl and Beater; Mistress Grace Vanity - Beater; Master Miles Bletchley - Keeper; and Master Adrian Pucey - Chaser. Everyone, my godfather - Sir Sirius Black, previous Gryffindor Beater."

To my godfather's credit, he doesn't bat an eye, even when I introduce Claudia, who's father gave him at least one of the scars he hides under his robes.

And they, each one starry-eyed at the prospect of meeting a Hogwarts Quidditch legend, don't seem to give a flying fuck about his blood politics either. 

Ha! Take that canon. 

There's a round of boring curtsies and bows and how-do-you-do's, before Padfoot claps his hands together with a grin. 

"Alright you lot, Prongslet informs me you want to talk Quidditch?"

Flint's eyes light up, and even Padfoot takes a step back. 

*******************

In the end, it takes Aunt Cissa coming over to remind Padfoot, Co-Co and I to socialise, before we stop talking Quidditch.

By that point, it's not just the Slytherin team gathered around Padfoot's impromptu lecture. 

Oliver Wood (of course), gravitated over the moment the word 'Quidditch' was spoken out loud, followed by his Seeker Roxanne Cole and a Chaser - Katie Bell, I think?

There's a bunch of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws too - though I don't know them as well as the Gryffindors, who we've already played. 

I can see both the Ravenclaw Beaters, Inglebee and Samuels, plus their Seeker Ethan Hitchin and their Chaser and Captain, Cedrella Murton.

All three Hufflepuff Chasers are there - Amelia Gray, Heidi Macavoy and Malcolm Preece, as well as one of their Beaters, Anthony Rickett.

Miraculously, everyone's amicable as we obediently scatter throughout the room

I'll take the win. 

Quidditch truly does bring everyone together. 

When I voice that to Aunt Cissa though, she only sighs. 

She does promise to talk to Uncle Lucy about inviting all of the Hogwarts teams at some point though if they all idolise Padfoot so much (even the Muggleborns, which is great progress), so she's still my favourite.

We walk very politely and appropriately over to where Uncle Lucy and Co-Co are making very boring conversation with the Minister, a man who looks way too much like Claudia Yaxley not to be related to her, and a couple of other random dudes. 

I'll eat my hat if most of the forearms in that group don't have a Dark Mark. 

Judging by the quickly hidden sneers turned on me as Aunt Cissa brings me forward, I'm right.

Sneaking a quick glance up at her face, I can see that her jaw is set and her eyes are holding their gazes with enough challenge to start a war. 

Fuck yeah, I love Aunt Cissa. 

She smiles coldly at the sneering men. "Gentlemen."

"Mistress Malfoy, Madam Potter." They murmur back.

Very pointedly, she does not introduce me to them. It's a snub that even I can notice.

Instead, she turns to Co-Co. "Draco, why don't you take your cousin and amuse yourself outside with the other children for a little?"

She doesn't have to say it twice. 

In a flash, Co-Co and I are making our way through the milling adults, towards the huge French doors that are open onto select areas of the garden. 

It takes a while though, because there are so. Many. People.

Boring adults, mostly, and a lot of the older Hogwarts people.

It's mostly Slytherins, but there's a hefty helping of the other Houses too - even Gryffindor.

Speaking of Gryffindor, oh look, it's Nev!

I grab Co-Co's arm and drag him over. 

"Hi Nev!" He looks at me with narrowed eyes, but doesn't so much as take a step back, even though we appeared out of nowhere.

Yay progress!

Facing Tommy boy was good for him, even if it did traumatise him a bit. 

I launch myself at him in a flying tackle hug, and to his credit he just catches me and then pats me on the back before releasing me. 

He's gotten used to me, which is good because I'm nowhere near as bad as the rollercoaster ride ahead of him.

"Good to see you, Longbottom," Co-Co says in his haughtiest, poshest voice. 

Nev shakes his head, but is appropriately formal back until Co-Co breaks character and cackles.

And to think, at this point in canon Co-Co was using Nev as target practice. 

I bounce up on my toes and clap my hands together to get their attention. 

Nev looks a little wary, and a familiar sparkle appears in Co-Co's eyes. 

"Guys, I'm bored."

The sparkle grows in Co-Co's eyes, and Nev groans. 

"What are we doing now?" He says, with a long, tired sigh. 

I grin, trying my best to keep it this side of maniacal. "So glad you asked, dearest godbrother. Let's take this outside, shall we?"

Nev rolls his eyes and Co-Co cackles as I loop my arms through theirs and lead them out of the French doors into the gardens.

It's nice and cool outside, though not cold because Aunt Cissa basically enchanted the entirety of the manor's grounds so it wasn't freezing outside. 

There's still snow though, go figure.

So for a few minutes, we muck around, throwing snowballs and trying (and, unfortunately, failing) to build snowmen.

It's Christmas, there's snow, and it's also not freezing - it's like, basically the law that we have to play in the snow for a bit. 

After a snowball nearly destabilises my hair, however, we stop messing about before we face the wrath of adults who wanted their children to last at least ten minutes without ruining their costumes.

We all collapse down on one of the benches, which is pleasantly warm and snow free because of course it is. 

Co-Co turns his head a little to look at me.

"So, what are you planning?"

From Co-Co's other side I hear the long-suffering sigh Nev perfected some time around Halloween. 

He always brings it out when he thinks I'm about to get us in trouble - and in my defense, we've only gotten in trouble for things like the troll and the Philosopher's Stone.

Most of the time it's fine. The worst I've ever done to him (besides the whole Traumatised Children Club thing) is singe his eyebrows a bit. 

Thankfully, Co-Co elbows him hard, and the sigh is overtaken by an indignant shout as he shoves Co-Co back. 

Well, at least he's capable of holding his own? 

I wait patiently for them to stop their little bitch fight and turn back to me. 

"We're going to set the peacocks on Umbitch."

Co-Co cackles, and Nev looks wary. 

He swallows. "Hava, Umbridge is the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. She's known for making scenes if anything isn't to her liking."

"Oh, right." I say, mock penitently. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise...you were so boring! Come on Nev, live a little!"

"Yeah, we've only got maybe another year before we'll stop being able to get away with 'not realising' our surroundings. Besides, Hava's the Girl-Who-Lived, she could probably murder Umbridge and go free."

Co-Co's speech does not seem to inspire much enthusiasm in Neville. 

He just buries his head in his hands and sighs his patented sigh again. "This is why you didn't look for Pansy, isn't it. You knew she'd be the voice of reason."

"Voice of reason for what?" 

Ah, fuck. 

We all turn around so sharply that I fall off the bench. 

Pansy cackles, but helps me up. "Voice of reason for what?" She repeats, as soon as I'm vertical again. 

We exchange glances, but she folds her arms and we decide that discretion is the better part of valour. 

"Hava wants to set the peacocks on Umbridge." Neville blurts out, very kindly taking the fall. 

Silence. 

Not even Pansy's 'I'm disappointed in you' sigh. 

Oh shit, we're in so much trouble. 

"Umbridge," she says slowly, "Umbridge. The weirdo with the bulgy eyes and the eyewatering pink robes?"

We nod. 

More silence. 

"Alright." She claps her hands together briskly. "What's the plan?"

For a moment, there is just shocked silence. 

"She's like...obsessed with order and the rules and being in control and stuff." I venture, making sure not to mention that the plan had not existed until approximately now. "So I figure if she gets the slightest whiff of something against her precious rules, she'll come charging out like a troll on a rampage, regardless of whether it's in her authority or not. And if the peacocks are coincidentally gathered there..."

I trail off dramatically, before I realise I have to ruin it to assuage my burning curiosity. "Also, why did you agree? Usually you'd tell us to be better Slytherins and stop getting into trouble."

Pansy sniffs and doesn't answer for just long enough to make it clear that she's only answering because she feels like it. 

"Firstly, her very existence is a crime against humanity's eyes, look at her. And secondly, she's currently in the middle of a lawsuit with my father, because she found out about his less savoury deals, which would have been fine if she didn't think that he owed her a discount on some house because she works for the Ministry. Thirdly, I don't like her." Okay, that makes more sense. 

Co-Co shrugs. "Fair enough. Let's go find the peacocks!"

We wander off, Neville looking like he wants to say something (probably about the fact that Pansy casually told us her father's corrupt) but subsides with nothing more than his patented sigh. 

It doesn't take us long to find enough peacocks. 

Most of them are gathered near the gates, presumably because they worked out that people were arriving through the gates, but haven't quite realised that there are no more people coming. 

Bitsy and Dobby bring us some locusts, which we set out in a Hansel and Gretel style trail back to where we want them to go. 

"I would like it noted," Pansy remarks as we watch the emu parade of peacocks following the line of locust corpses, "that you guys shouldn't expect me to be getting in trouble with you all the time. Someone has to be able to provide an alibi."

We all make noises of duly noting, because Pansy is the only reason we haven't gotten caught twice as much as we do. 

Her alibis are the best, because she can lie the best - Theo and Daphne, much as I love them, look too suspicious, and the less said about Crabbe and Goyle the better. The older Slytherins are all so unhelpful as well, because they all say that true Slytherins 'shouldn't need someone else to cover for them'. 

Liars, they just think it's funny. 

Eventually, when enough of the peacocks have congregated, I am sent through to the ballroom. 

For a moment I think she's vanished somewhere (broom closet with the Minister??). 

Then I spot the familiar shade of pink, bobbing along near the outskirts of the party, in the wake of Fudge's pontificating. 

Actually, that reminds me, I gotta come up with a nickname for him.

Budget Coryo? Nah, no one would get it until Hunger Games came out. Cornelius Bedelius? Nah, that implies too much competence. CorneliSus? Meh, not really. Nelly Belly? Eh, could use some work. 

I give it up, and start to wander around looking very concerned. 

When I reach Umbitch, I do my best to glue my picture perfect puppy eyes on. 

"Excuse me, Ma'am?" I venture, looking as worried and pathetic as I think I can get away with. 

She almost sneers, but then turns it into a smile that's so much worse. "What is it darling?"

Blegh. 

The willpower it takes to control my instinctive shudder is mad. 

"Have you seen my guardians? Master and Mistress Malfoy?" I widen my eyes and look even more worried if I possibly can. "There's something weird in the gardens."

Hook. "What kind of strange?"

Ew, I didn't even know human vocal cords could make such saccharine, fake sounds. 

"There's...funny noises, and..." I trail off. 

Line.

"And?" She prompts, leaning down towards me. 

I can't even afford to take in a steadying breath she's so close to me, but I do it mentally, and tighten my grip on Lumi's tail ever so slightly. 

Then I lower my voice and look around, whispering it to her the way a proper child does - a little too loud, a little too obvious.

"And it almost sounds like, like voices."

Sinker.

Her eyes widen, a glint appearing in them even more unnerving than Mouldyshorts' face. 

I make a mental note to tell him that next time he tries to kill me, because it'll piss him off. Most likely I'll have to wait until fourth year though, because there's no Diary Tom would know who she is. 

"So, could you help me find my guardians? Please? I don't like it out there."

Her smile widens so much that I wonder with morbid fascination if it'll go all the way round her face and her head will fall off. 

Wouldn't that be a treat for everyone. 

Sadly, she does not die. 

She pats me on the head, and I swallow down the urge to set Lumi on the fingers that dare to disturb Bitsy's hard work. "No need to bother them, dear. Your guardians are very, very busy keeping this party going smoothly. So, let's keep this a secret between you and me, and I'll go fix it for you. How does that sound?"

I nod and thank her, and watch her vanish in the direction I pointed, mind whirling.

Hmmm, so she's hoping to catch whoever it is 'in flagrante delicto', so to speak. Maybe the fanon idea of her blackmailing everyone is right? 

What was that thing everyone called her funny quills? 

I can't remember. It's gone, lost somewhere in my head.

After like 2 seconds, I give up and follow Umbridge out. 

Her footsteps are easy to follow in the snow, and I make sure to step in them, minimalising any crunching from my own steps. 

I wait for the ribbon marking the end of the garden's public areas to stop vibrating from her passage before I duck under. 

Then I make a beeline for the hedge I know the rest of the Traumatised Children Club (+ Pansy) is hiding behind. 

It's a good hedge - thick enough to hide us from the casual eye, but with just enough holes that we can see through if we put our minds to it.

Umbitch, of course, didn't notice even the slight crunch of the snow under my feet, too intent on the moving mass before her.

As I said, it is strange. 

It is making funny noises. 

Some of them even sound like voices. 

It's dark enough (and the peacocks are close enough to a bush) that it isn't immediately apparent that they are peacocks charmed to resemble the night sky, rather than, say, a cloak charmed to look like the night sky. 

Eyes ablaze with triumph, Umbridge brandishes her (surprisingly stubby) wand. 

Whatever spell she used, it was silent, so all we can telk is that it absolutely pisses off the peacocks. 

For a moment there is nothing but silence. 

Then the mass seperates into about a dozen fuming birds, who all launch themselves at Umbridge with one mind. 

Kinda like the centaurs in book 5 if they were angry peacocks instead. 

She shrieks once, so loudly my eardrums nearly burst.

Then they are on her, pecking and scratching and generally trying to finish the job they began when she arrives.

It's glorious. 

We all have a good (quiet) giggle, watching her practically dancing from one limb to another, shooting spells at the peacocks that so nothing (of course, Uncle Lucy couldn't bear for his peacocks to be hurt). 

One of them lands on her head and steals her stupid pink bow, but is so heavy that it overbalances her. 

She and it fall back into the snow with a similar surprised squawk.

Co-Co and I exchange a silent look, agreeing that's probably Caligula. 

Karma's a bitch, Dolores. 

"Dear, dear, whatever is the matter, Senior Undersecretary?"

Ah fuck. 

It's Uncle Lucy.

The peacocks take one look at him and let go of Umbitch - a few of them still with eye watering pink cloth in their beaks. 

That'll probably be lining a few of the nests in a bit, I silently bet with my alternate personality Avah, who thinks they won't deign to sully their nests with anything of Umbitch.

"Master Malfoy!" She manages, before she collects herself a little and hauls herself upright. "These...these birds attacked me for no reason at all. I was simply minding my own business, and then I was mobbed!"

Uncle Lucy's eyes glitter, and Co-Co and I exchange a silent high five. "Minding your own business, Dolores? In this part of the gardens?"

The ribbon showing the public area of the gardens is quite clearly several yards away. 

She flushes a little, frantically straightening her robes and her hair - though both are rather a lost cause, thanks to the peacocks. 

"Well, I, I was concerned for your ward. It was she who sent me out here!"

Fuck. 

We exchange glances, but before we can do anything, Uncle Lucy offers Umbitch his arm. "I am sure it was merely a misunderstanding on the girl's part. She was raised by Muggles after all. Do allow me to escort you back inside, where we can deal with the issue in more comfort."

She makes that awful trademark giggle, and takes his arm. 

"Of course Master Malfoy." Ergh, she's simpering at him. "One can hardly blame a child for following what it knows, though you and Mistress Malfoy have done such a good job with her that one would hardly think her Muggle-raised at all."

They are out of sight before Uncle Lucy replies. 

A moment later, they are silhouetted in the open doors. 

We all sigh and relax. 

Then Pansy giggles. "That was fun."

"Yep."

Nev looks a little pale, but he just grins a little. 

I sigh and stretch. 

Why is it that being an awful little Slytherin is so fun?

Before we even start thinking about moving (look, Pansy cast a Cushioning Charm, and we're comfortable), Uncle Lucy reappears, hooking aside the bushes with his cane. 

Fuck. 

He must have realised we were out here and handed Umbitch off to Aunt Cissa. 

"Do you realise how lucky you are that Senior Undersecretary Umbridge chalked it up to an accident?"

We all nod, even if the little bitch inside me is longing to point out that the reason she chalked it up to an accident was because we planned it to appear that way.

He points at the door. "Back inside, all four of you." 

We walk in silence, two abreast, following Uncle Lucy like a bunch of penitent ducklings.

Thankfully, no one seems to notice our entrance, too busy talking and dancing and having a good time. 

Bless Aunt Cissa's ability to throw parties. 

Less thankfully, Uncle Lucy leads us over to an out of the way corner containing none other than Madam Longbottom.

"Whatever has happened now?" She demands, looking us over. "None of them are hurt, but I heard the most tremendous sound outside."

Uncle Lucy sighs. "I apologise, Madam Longbottom, it appears my children have dragged your grandson into their schemes and set the manor's peacocks on the Minister's Senior Undersecretary."

I hang my head.

Public telling off. Blegh. 

Plus Neville's gran in canon was...yeah.

By some miracle though, Madam Longbottom just shakes her head with the corners of her mouth twitching.

"Well, there's no denying you're a Potter after that, girl. Exactly the kind of thing your father used to do when he got bored at events."

The little twitch dies away and her eyes grow misty. "For a moment, I thought it was James Potter and my Frank out there. You're good for Neville, if nothing else, the boy is far too shy for a respectable Longbottom."

Nev blushes but only glowers silently.

She sighs and then turns to Uncle Lucius, pointedly turning the conversation to some bill or other being debated in the Wizengamot.

For a long moment, all four of us just stand and stare at each other.

But neither of the adults turns back around.

Did we...did we just get away with it? 

Considering Aunt Cissa and Padfoot are still half-heartedly apologising to Umbitch for her ruined (not even on theme) robes, I'd say we did.

Fuck yeah.

It probably helps that no one likes Umbitch, to be fair.

Even the psycho blood purists find her irritating, and everyone else knows she's like...devil spawn. 

The only person who has any use for her right now is Fudge, because he needs at least four sycophants around him at all times to prop up his ego.

We slink off into a corner with some snacks, where we can chat shit without getting told off. 

It also provides us a glorious view of the dance floor. 

So many pretty dresses (and robes because the best thing about the Wizarding World is that looking fabulous isn't reserved for women) swirling about following the music. 

It's almost hypnotic.

Despite the presence of Certain People, this is one of the best parties I've ever been to. 

Of course it is, Aunt Cissa planned it. 

I snuggle further down into the window seat and steal a tiny cake from Nev. 

Ahh, this is the life.

*********************

When the last guest leaves, Co-Co and I flop face down on the floor and stay there. 

Fucking wizards. 

I'm so tired I could sleep for a week.

Except I can't because there's another thing tomorrow. 

Blegh. 

Who decided that this was a good idea?

I wonder how soon I can get viable Skiving Snackbox-esque stuff off Fred and George.

Like, sure, I could make it myself, but why would I? 

I know that the terror twins will perfect them in a few years, so why would I waste my time on a place where my talents don't lie? 

Particularly when I remember that I'm trying to speedrun canon while also outdoing Mouldy in school and getting scouted for a professional Quidditch team if I possibly can. 

As well as starting my own cult (joking - or am I?) and causing mostly harmless chaos. 

I just don't have time. 

So instead of trying to work out a viable option, I drag myself to my room and Bitsy helps me change into my lovely, dramatic, Gothic nightgown.  

Then I fall asleep to the soft sound of Padfoot and Moony squabbling over who gets to read me a bedtime story.

Notes:

I would just like to remind everyone that Hava is constantly wandering around with a metre and a half long Boomslang slung over her shoulders. Anyone who talks to her has to look down at a tiny ginger child holding onto one of the most dangerous species of snake like a comfort teddy, and 99.9% of them don't know she's a Parselmouth.

Also - not 100% happy with my titles here. I want a halfway point between canon and the lords/ladies fanon. Right now I'm going with families rather than houses, and with sir and madam rather than lord and lady. Members of old families are master and mistress, and people who are not from 'families' are mr and mrs/miss. Sir is really annoying me though, so if anyone has any suggestions do let me know!

Chapter 34: Merry Christmas And The Return Of The Daily Grind

To say that the next two weeks are hectic is like saying Hogwarts has a few safeguarding problems. 

Technically correct but woefully understating the issue at hand.

There is a ball/gala/thing every. single. night. 

And sometimes there's tea parties and brunch as well, never mind the ballet and the theatre and the Christmas markets and the family traditions.

One day we go to five seperate events, each of which requires a different elaborate outfit and a different etiquette montage.

Nuf said. 

Even Padfoot's flagging, and Moony begs off after the third day. 

Fuck him very much. 

He just waves us off and spends his days closeted up in the library, smugly doing research for his doctorate (which, of course, he only got funding for after Padfoot secretly persuaded Aunt Cissa to secretly persuade Uncle Lucy to secretly have a word with the Dean of Underhill over their fortnightly game of magical golf - don't we love corruption)

But finally, it is over.

We come back from the Ministry gala on Christmas Eve and flop into our beds, with the blissful assurance that tomorrow we have absolutely nothing at all scheduled. 

The 'season' is over. Thank fucking goodness. 

I sleep well and deeply for the four hours that I get before Co-Co jumps right onto me with a shriek at five in the morning. 

"It's Christmas! Wake up! Wake up wake up wake up!"

Blegh. 

Rather than waking up, I kick out, and he topples off my bed with another shriek and a crash that probably shakes the whole Manor. 

For a (comparatively) small boy he sure falls heavily. 

Instead of the melodramatic tirade I expect however, I hear a deep, unfamiliar chuckle. 

Or, well, I hear the tirade but the chuckle kind of takes all of my attention because it's too low to be Aunt Cissa and doesn't sound anything like the men in the Manor.

What the fuck?

I sit straight up, all sleepiness gone. 

There, in the doorway, is a strange man. 

He's probably very tall, but hunched over and leaning on a cane. 

Pale eyes, pale hair, and a familiar chin...

Fuck. 

Abraxas Malfoy. 

I claw for some semblance of the sweet, innocent girl that everyone loved so much at all this Christmas's events. 

"Are you Co-Co's grandfather, sir?"

Hmmm, that might have been a little bit too much. 

But he laughs, so it can't have been too bad. "Lucius warned me about you, little Madam Potter. Take that insipid look off your face, it doesn't suit you."

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuckety fuck. 

I can't help it, the sweet wide eyed look melts away into one that I just know resembles a deer in the headlights. 

Thankfully, before anything else can happen, Co-Co finishes groaning melodramatically and bounces up like a delayed rubber ball. 

"Vi-Vi, this is my granddad! He brought presents! Come on, Mum and Uncle Sirius and everyone else are waiting!"

Well, if Padfoot is waiting calmly and hasn't come charging in to rescue me, it should be fine. 

Right?

Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that Abraxas, regardless of his presumed status as one of the first Death Eaters, won't try to kill the Girl-Who-Lived in front of his grandson. 

Probably. 

Hopefully.

It's fine. 

Everything's going to be fine. 

Co-Co interrupts my internal pep talk by throwing my house robe at my face.  "Hurry up!"

Just to annoy him, I take my sweet time putting on my robe, sliding one night gowned arm into the pale purple and blue brocade after another, fiddling with the sash until it sits just right, adjusting the silver lace at the collar and cuffs, and half a dozen other things that my sleep addled mind comes up with.

It puts the most hilarious impatient look on his face, but has the net result of him ending up physically dragging me downstairs at top speed when I'm finally ready. 

Which isn't the most fun because I'm still so sleepy, but at least it takes my mind off the fact that we are being slowly followed by one of Tim-Tam's school mates. 

So, you know, Co-Co is kinda helping. 

Even if I'd rather walk down the stairs on my own at my own speed (or slide down the banisters) but you win some you lose some. 

We slide to a halt in the family parlour, gasping and disheveled from the speed of our trip. 

All of the adults are there already, wrapped up in their house robes with their hair loose and unbrushed. 

Clearly I'm not the only one who Co-Co surprised at silly o'clock in the morning, seeing as they all jerked awake as we entered. 

Padfoot stifles a yawn as Aunt Cissa opens her arms.

I hug her because I like hugging Aunt Cissa. She doesn't smell like Mum (too cold and crisp where Mum was all flowers and fire) nor does she feel like Mum (too upright and starched where Mum was slouched and soft) but she is a mother. She feels like a mother, and that's almost enough. It has to be enough because that is all I have. 

So I hug her just as tightly as she hugs me, offer a brief one to Uncle Lucy, and then jump onto Moony. 

He catches me and squeezes me before Padfoot snatches me off him. 

I end up curled up on Padfoot's lap because fuck it I lost too much godfather time while we were both going through hell. 

Now I'm going to spend as much time with him as I can to make up for it. 

He doesn't seem to mind at all, unsurprisingly. 

Moony and Co-Co sit one either side of us and I am supremely happy as we all get settled. 

Especially because Mr Quite-Probably-Evil-Minion is on the other side of the room from me, with all of the presents in between us.

There's loads. 

Like, actual tons - because not only is there my family, there's also my growing army of minions. 

My favourite, though, are Padfoot and Moony's, which are ranked together because if I pick a favourite they'll just fight over it.

Moony gives me an album with photos of Mum and Dad, and their friends and families, each photo labelled meticulously so I can match faces and stories to names as I would have if I'd had anything approaching a normal childhood.

And Padfoot gave me a case full of vials with glowing strands of memory inside them - everything he could remember Mum ever telling him about Parseltongue and the Slytherins, and a few memories of Mum and Dad from before they left school that he thought I would like. 

I don't cry, but it is a very, very close thing. 

Padfoot and Moony are both misty eyed too, so it's fine, and even Abraxas Malfoy just pretends not to look at us three all huddled together on the couch and pretending not to cry.

They both fail when they unwrap my presents - the slightly threadbare stuffed versions of them that still bear faint traces of Mum's magic, as well as a 12th century Byzantine copy of Anna Komemne's Alexiad (the magical version) for Moony and a collection of legends (Muggle and magical) about Anansi the Trickster for Padfoot. 

It was a wrench deciding to give stuffed!Padfoot-and-Moony up, but I have the stag and the blanket still and they have so little. 

The tearful hugs I receive more than cement my decision. 

I gave Co-Co a bunch of super rare Tibetan Yeti wool for him to crochet with, and he squealed so loud I think my eardrums popped, so at least it was well received. 

Just for the record, he earned it, he got me a book about Boomslangs that was written by a Kgalagadi Parselmouth in the 3rd century.

Fuck yeah, that's awesome.

Cissa and Lucy are extra, of course, and shower me with as many extravagant presents as they do Co-Co - because all of that money has to go somewhere I suppose.

Nev's present turns out to be a beautiful purpley flower with white edges in a pretty pastel purple pot.

His accompanying card wishes me a merry Christmas, and informs me that the flower is a Starfighter Lily and it made him think of me because I would absolutely try and fight the stars given half a chance. 

The fact that this is not accompanied by an injunction to restrain myself from fighting the stars is, clearly, an indicator that he is being converted to my side. 

It takes me a minute to remember that I sent him a Mimbulus mimbletonia several years early. 

Oh good, he's got a present that's equal to the one he sent me (I hope). 

Co-Co, it turns out, got a cutting of a Venomous Tentacula, with the explanation that this particular one bit Neville and it reminded him of Co-Co. 

Yup, I've definitely corrupted Neville. 

Aunt Cissa looks a little worried, but Co-Co just cackles with a worrying glint in his eye. 

Ah, they grow up so fast. 

Pansy, being very sensible and normal, gives me a beautiful silver locket with an 'H' picked out on it in pale sapphires and diamonds and amethysts. 

In one half is a photograph of our whole friendship group in the Room of Requirement, and in the other half is a photograph of baby me and Mum and Dad. 

She got it from Padfoot and Moony, her card explains, and felt that this would be a present I'd appreciate without enabling me. 

For a moment I feel bad for booby-trapping her card with glitter the way I did everyone else's, but then I remember how freaking much effort it was to embroider that shawl with semi-decent pansies and I feel less bad. 

There's still a package from the Weasleys, I am surprised and touched to see. 

No jumper of course - I suppose that, unlike canon, Mrs Weasley knew she didn't need to push herself to provide a family for a lonely orphan, not when the Malfoys have already given me one. 

But Ron and the twins have clearly befriended me enough that the Weasleys have sent me sweets and a lovely scarf, knitted in blue and purple and silver. 

Wow, Mum's colour scheme must have been really deep rooted if people are still adhering to it now. 

Co-Co peers over my shoulder as I stroke the lovely, soft scarf. "Who's that from?"

"The Weasleys." I say absently. "I guess the twins really did adopt me."

There is a collective gasp of horror from every blond male present. 

Actually, that's a lie, Co-Co's used to my association with his mortal enemies, now he just glowers vaguely at Ron and the twins. 

Uncle Lucy and Abraxas Malfoy look utterly shocked though. 

"Weasleys?" Uncle Lucy manages, his nose wrinkling dramatically as if the very word pains him to say. 

Fucking hell, I forgot how awful and prejudiced the people I live with are. 

Padfoot, Moony and I exchange long-suffering glances. 

"Yes, Weasleys." I say, folding my arms and staring challengingly up at him. "The twins and Ron are my friends."

"And Arthur and Molly are mine." Padfoot says, waving around a scarf that must be from the Weasleys if he's using it to punctuate the point. "And Moony's. So what are you going to do about it?"

Fuck yeah, I love having a godfather. 

Uncle Lucy subsides at that, and Abraxas is clearly not invested enough to argue over it. 

I mentally move him from Abraxas to Malfoy for that display of assholery though. 

The rest of my presents are mostly sweets and chocolates and other fairly generic presents from other friends - as well as some fans. 

Padfoot confiscates the one box of spiked chocolates at once, thankfully, but otherwise pretty much everything is safe. 

There's also an absolute shitton of cards

One in particular takes my attention.

It looks custom made, rather than Yule or Christmas themed. 

It has a fishbowl in the centre, full of clear water. 

Inside the fishbowl is a flower petal that floats down to the bottom of the bowl and becomes an adorable goldfish, each tiny scale outlined in golden ink. 

After a brief pause, it swims upwards, and becomes the petal again as it reaches the top. 

Then the petal begins to float down, and the whole cycle begins again. 

It is a pretty, whimsical enchantment, magic done for the joy of it.

I open the card, curious. 

Inside, it takes me a moment to decipher the over-elaborate script with its lurid violet ink. 

My dear Madam Potter, 

For seven years, I had the pleasure of being not only a professor but also a mentor and, I daresay, confidant to both your mother and your father. 

They were, both of them, extraordinarily gifted students, and from conversations with my former colleagues and pupils I hear that you have inherited their brilliance. 

Indeed, your guardians inform me that you are as gifted at Potions and Charms as your dear mother was. 

Had I remained at Hogwarts after 1982, I would have been not only your Potions Professor, but your Head of House - a wasted opportunity which I shall long lament. 

While you do not know me, please allow an old man to extend his wishes for you to enjoy a very merry Yule and Christmas. 

Yours faithfully,

Master Horace Slughorn

I turn the card over to look again at the front. 

The petal sinks, becomes a fish, swims upwards to become a petal, and sinks again. 

A lily petal, I realise. 

Of course.

I vaguely remember the scene where movie Slughorn told canon Harry about it - a gift from my Mum, a piece of beautiful magic that died with her like so much else. 

What was it, I wonder, about the changes I made that moved Slughorn reach out to me so early?

Was it my Sorting? My affinity for the subjects my mother favoured? My attendance at so many high society events? 

Or maybe it is just that I resemble Mum more than Harry. 

Maybe he saw a photo of me in the Prophet, and saw Mum. 

Maybe it's just an old man reminiscing about a talented, favourite pupil, who died so tragically and so young. 

It occurs to me briefly to wonder if Slughorn knew about Mum's...particular flair for languages. If that was why a man who, regardless of what he said, put so much stock on blood had favoured a Muggleborn (no matter how talented) so much.

Then I realise I'm being utterly cynical, and also that Mum was way, way too smart to let someone like Slughorn know something like that. 

He probably wants me to write back though. 

Meh, future me problems.

So I set the card aside and turn to the next one. 

***************

The rest of the Christmas holidays go quickly. 

Well, I say that. 

We have a week after Christmas. 

I suppose it kinda makes sense though - Hogwarts dances to its own tune, of course its term times are a little weird. 

A three week Christmas holiday instead of two is great though, so I'm not complaining. 

It's just enough time to recover from the insanity of all those parties.

I'm on edge for about half a day before Aunt Cissa takes me aside and tells me that Uncle Lucy got a Vow out of his father not to hurt me the moment Abraxas returned.

That helps quite a lot. 

Of course, there's probably loopholes if he really wants to hurt me, but that he agreed at all is reassuring. 

I'm just really hoping that he actually was on some health retreat and not secretly poking around the woods in Albania.

It's fine. 

Everything's going to be fine.

Padfoot does have a Quidditch day, halfway through the week, mostly because he promised me and I turned puppy-dog eyes on him until he gave up trying to get out of it. 

It's mostly the Slytherins, naturally, but a fair number of the rest of the teams turn up. 

Wood and Marcus actually get on fairly well when they aren't on opposing teams we realise, once Padfoot has mixed us all around. 

It is, we quickly realise after that, an absolutely terrible thing. 

No one should ever leave those two in a room on their own, the world will be taken over and turned into a monument to Quidditch in five minutes flat. 

Other than that absolutely terrifying realisation, the Quidditch day is a great success and everyone agrees to do it again next holidays - although maybe at someone else's house, considering that Abraxas Malfoy has to be carefully managed the whole day by Uncle Lucy and Aunt Cissa so that he doesn't come face to face with any Muggleborns. 

Padfoot is a great teacher, and I think all of the Quidditch teams become slightly less antagonistic. 

By that I mean the Gryffindors decide that possibly the Slytherins are not the root of all evil, and the Slytherins reluctantly admit that perhaps there is a chance that the Gryffindors are not just muscle bound idiots. 

Fred and George are the Beaters on my team and they spend most of the day acting like my impromptu bodyguards - it sends Padfoot absolutely spare, it's hilarious. 

I haven't told them that Padfoot is Padfoot of course, I'm waiting for a good time to drop that particular bomb. 

But it is...nice to just play Quidditch with my friends and rivals, especially because it's hilarious to see them all basically worship the ground Padfoot walks on.

Ah, the unifying power of Quidditch. 

The rest of the remaining week of the holidays is comparatively calm. 

Out of respect for the exhaustion of the adults, Co-Co and I refrain from causing the absolute havoc we did over the summer. 

It's nice, if a little boring, to just stay in the manor and explore the library and have a calm few days.

Co-Co's grandpa moves from Malfoy to Abraxas the day before we leave. 

He's not so bad, I decide. 

Rather like Uncle Lucy, just older and grumpier and giving less fucks. 

Which is valid, he's still kinda greenish from the Dragon Pox, I would also give less fucks in his position.

He probably needs a very, very long time before I can properly rehabilitate him, but we've got a truce for now so I'll take it. 

Also he bribed me with sweets. 

Slytherins, gotta love em. 

Or hate em, but I'm a Slytherin and that's too much effort. 

******************

 

The train ride goes fairly quickly, because apparently being apart for even a week gives all of our little cult plenty to catch up on. 

Also there's new members, so that means a Lot to catch them up on - and yes, most of the new members are Quidditch players, but I see no problem with this. 

Murderball is awesome and it's a great way to make new friends. 

To-To, sadly, is not coming back - she's gotten into the Auror course she wanted, and the last time I saw her (two days before the holidays ended) she had eyewateringly bright hair to celebrate.

It kept changing colours like fireworks, with little flashes of light and everything.

Everyone else is here though, rosy cheeked and bright eyed from the week of rest we got after the insanity of the Christmas party season. 

Having learned better from the last train ride, no one suggests Irish Snap.

We have a quick round when Yaxley leaves for the loo though, and it goes fast enough that we are playing Blackjack perfectly innocently when she gets back.

She eyes everyone suspiciously but doesn't say anything, thank goodness.

We deal her in when we start the next round, and so we pass the rest of the train ride fairly quickly. 

The only slow part is my total failure to convince Hermione of the importance of Quidditch in making friends, and everyone just laughs at me for it. 

What's the point of having minions if they aren't even going to be sycophantic about it?

Flint leans over and squishes my cheeks, laughing at my best attempt at an intimidating glare. 

I bite his fingers and Yaxley has to cast three charms on herself before she can stop laughing long enough to stop the bleeding.

By then, the train has arrived at the station. 

We climb out, shivering in the nighttime chill, despite our robes, cloaks and Warming Charms. 

The Thestrals pulling the carriages, I am interested to note, are very much visible to me. 

It appears that, unlike for canon Harry, killing Quirrel counted for me. 

I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. 

Nev and Theo and Yaxley can also see them, so she ends up helping Farley to bundle us into one of the carriages. 

It isn't that the Thestrals are scary - it's just what they represent, really. 

Not a great start to the term at all, but it's quickly forgotten about as soon as we arrive up at the castle, glittering and shimmering against the sky as if it were made of magic. 

The absolutely wonderful feast to welcome everyone back also helps a good deal. 

Just like canon Harry, I adore treacle tart.

*******************

We quickly fall back into the routine of term time, though I do miss the easy access to snacks at all hours of the day. 

Actually, that reminds me, I should probably get on finding the kitchens. 

Noting it down on my growing to-do list, I continue on with my life. 

Mostly, I'm good now. 

The Traumatised Children Club + Pansy has regular meetings in the RoR which are basically group therapy sessions (three guesses who's idea that was, and the first two don't count). 

Lessons...well, they go.

Defense has been taken over by a rotating list of the rest of the professors, which happens so smoothly that I suppose at least one previous Defense professor must have failed to last the year as well.

Most of them (including, to my eternal outrage but also complete lack of surprise, Snape) are quite good - but there are always the outliers, like Binns, who never shows up and Trelawney, who just sadly predicts how each of us will fall foul of the Dark Arts.

I, unsurprisingly, will fall once more to the Killing Curse.

Co-Co will be drowned by Inferi.

Pansy will become a werewolf.

We bundle Nev out of the classroom when her eyes turn to him, but we can still hear her voice murmuring about the Cruciatus Curse.

Besides that (which is quickly sorted by the parents of our whole cult coming down on the school like a ton of bricks), everything is, weirdly enough, fine. 

Quidditch is going great, my cult is growing (plus I'm becoming better friends with Susan after Pansy refused to sit next to me in Defense if I poked her one more time), I'm getting great marks in class, even Nagini's noting how my control of spells in Parseltongue has improved (mostly thanks to the brilliant book Co-Co got me).

So there's nothing wrong per se.

Technically, it's better than nothing wrong, technically I'm now living the life.

It's just that everything seems so much flatter without a megalomaniac out for my blood.

The nightmares come back. 

Not like they did after the Stone incident, with all the ways I could have failed my friends replaying constantly in my mind. 

No, now we're back to the old standbys. 

Mum and Dad, mostly.

A little bit of Padfoot and Moony. 

A lot of Mouldy Voldy.

A bit of the woman who is less and less recognisable as me.

Occasionally Pettigrew turns up and laughs over everyone's bodies. 

Most nights I startle awake in the wee hours, as still as stone, with tears running down my face and a silent scream caught in my throat. 

Crying gives me the most awful headache, so most of the time I'll get up to find some water.

And I'll take the Cloak because I don't want to run into anyone. 

And after that, well...

The castle doesn't have the best security system, and I like to have a bit of a wander before I try to sleep again - it gives me the illusion of distance from the nightmare. 

So, more and more, I'll spend an hour or two exploring the castle before I return to bed.

No one can see me under the Cloak, after all, and on the few occasions I accidentally encounter anyone, most detection spells slide right off it. 

It's deliciously freeing, to just do whatever and go wherever. 

By whenever my nightmares peter out, I'll probably know the castle almost as well as the twins.

It is on one of these nighttime explorations that I stumble upon the Mirror of Erised.

Quite by accident of course - I had no intention of getting caught by whatever spells are laid over it. 

Not like canon Harry, who would have wasted away sitting before the pale imitations of his parents without Dumbledore's intervention. 

After all, my whole schtick is that I am better than canon Harry. 

I don't really think about the Mirror though, which is my problem. It is justified in my defense, considering that in canon it had been moved by the end of the Christmas holidays. 

Anyway, the point is, I am entirely unprepared when I dart into a classroom and shut the door on Mrs Norris, who is one of the few beings that can reliably sense me under the Cloak.

So when I turn around and see the familiar tall mirror just standing there, it doesn't occur to me to do anything but look into it. 

Leaving the Cloak in an untidy heap on the floor (sorry Dad), I drift towards it, trying to ignore the ball of fluttering nerves in my stomach. 

What if I'm too different from canon Harry?

What if I can't see them?

One step, and then another, and slowly I draw closer towards the Mirror. 

There is the inscription, in an awful Gothic font that's practically illegible. 

There is the ornate frame. 

And there is the glass within the mirror, with my face slowly becoming clearer as I approach it. 

Hardly breathing at all, I stop before the Mirror. 

For an awful, silent moment, there is nothing at all save my own reflection. 

I remember Dumbledore's pronouncement that the happiest man in the world would see nothing more than his own reflection in the Mirror. 

Surely, surely, I can't be happy?

What if the Mirror is broken?

Thankfully, before I can spiral too much, something comes into view. 

One shape, then two, and then more, and more and more.

There is Mum, with that little stain of ink on her cheek, and Dad with that one piece of hair that always sticks up. 

They are smiling, smiling and crying and eyes so full of love and grief that my heart breaks all over again. 

They look so young, barely older than Tonks, too young to have fought and bled and died. 

My eyes blur a little, but I blink the moisture away as fast as it comes. 

There are more people. 

A fierce looking woman with Dad's nose and Padfoot's eyes and my hairline, who isn't smiling or crying. 

Her eyes are filled with pride though, and she is nodding as our gazes meet, her arm threaded through that of a man with Dad's hair who is openly sobbing. 

My grandparents, I realise, Dorea and Charlus Potter. 

And a man with the same nose and cheekbones as Mum and I, but with Petunia's colouring.

He's standing next to a flame-haired woman with Mum's eyes, who's insubstantial hand is passing through my shoulder as she tries to embrace me. 

Behind them are more people, more and more and more. 

I don't know who they are, but I know bits and pieces of them. 

Eyes and ears and fingers and noses and freckles, shared among us all a hundred times over. 

All of these people, who have given a part of themselves to make me, the last, lonely little patchwork of all of their lives.

I draw nearer to the mirror, wondering if the red haired, green eyed women in the mirror all had magic on their tongues. 

If I hiss at them, will they hiss back?

Will I be able to feel the magic pass through them as I feel it pass through me, the ache in my teeth and the heady tingle on my tongue?

What about all the men and women with those clever fingers and that messy hair? Or the ones with the glint in their eyes and the sharp, pointed noses?

What else do I have from them that I can never know because there is no one there to tell me?

I press against the glass as if I could fall through it like Alice, drinking in as much as I can of my beloved dead.

Notes:

The amount of self restraint it took for me not to do that meme of Harry seeing the Dursleys in the Mirror and being confused before he sees himself creeping up behind them with a chainsaw was...a lot. More self restraint than I will ever have again in my whole life.

I apologise for the decrease in quality of the last few chapters

Chapter 35: Mirror Mirror, On The Wall

Notes:

Any dialogue you recognise is from the Philosopher's Stone books by JKR or the Philosopher's Stone movie.

In the end, I sit there for so long that it takes the dawn light flashing off the mirror's surface to remind me to leave. 

As much as I'd like to sit there with my family forever, life goes on without me - and they'll always be there if I want to see them again. 

I pause. 

Stupid enchantments. 

I won't be going back to the Mirror, of course. 

I won't. 

That's what canon Harry did, and I'm better than him. 

So I won't go back. 

No matter how much I want to. 

No matter how much I want to just follow that gentle, almost non-existent tug, that promises warmth and relief - that feels like a mother calling in her child from play for a warm meal and a soft bed. 

It nags at me all day, and makes me downright unpleasant to be around. 

The sleep deprivation probably doesn't help. 

I snap at Pansy when she points out I haven't brushed my hair, and get into an argument with Co-Co when he reminds me to take my potions at breakfast, and nearly make Hermione cry in Charms.

And that's only the first few hours of the day. 

I thunk my head down on the bench as I settle next to a sullen Co-Co in Potions and prepare for things to go to hell.

Which they do, of course, spectacularly.

I may or may not have gotten into a shouting match with Snape after he made some comment about my potion. 

Which may or may not have derailed into more, er, personal insults. 

And may or may not have garnered me a week in detention for finally (finally!) calling him 'Snivellus' to his face. 

Worth it?

Probably not, but I'm too tired to give a fuck.

Every brain cell that usually goes towards my brain-mouth filter is currently directed towards reminding me that going back to the Mirror is a really, really bad idea.

Especially seeing as my week of detention starts tonight, and Snape's face promises me absolute hell.

*************

I go back to the Mirror that night.

Honestly, I deserve a treat after the absolute shitshow that was my detention - fucking Snape made me collect newt's eyes and preserve the jelly stuff inside.

If you have never done that before, let me tell you, it is one of the worst things ever.

Gouging eyes out of dead newt's heads and then popping the eyes and blegh. What a tosser.

Then, I had another nightmare, which meant I was going to be wandering around the castle for another few hours anyway, so why shouldn't I go and look at the Mirror again?

Obviously I wouldn't go back again after that. 

I just need to see my family once more - just one more time. 

The last time. 

One last glimpse of them.

I want to see them alive and happy and smiling and proud of me. 

Is that really such a crime?

To cling to the last dying ghost of what I should have had?

I end up sitting before the Mirror until dawn again, and have to sprint back to the dungeons before the early risers catch me. 

Once again, I'm in a terrible mood all day, and feel like I'm wading through mud just trying to think. 

It's...probably what I deserve for sitting there from one in the morning to six, but it's a price I'm happy to pay.

When my parents gave their lives to steal even a moment more for me to live, what is a few nights of uninterrupted sleep?

How could I possibly complain about that next to their sacrifice? 

I'd feel like the worst sort of brat if I had the gall to compare the two. 

So I go to sleep that night 

When the regularly scheduled nightmares wake me up, I shrug on my dressing robe and slip my feet into my slippers. 

Then I grab the Cloak and head for the Mirror. 

I don't even bother to get a drink or wait for the post-nightmare trembling to fade. 

Seeing my family again is more important than the petulant demands of my body. 

I even leave Lumi behind, not wanting to be distracted by my well-meaning but unhelpful familiar. 

She's fast asleep in her terrarium, and doesn't even stir as I leave the room. 

No one does when I wear the Cloak - it's weird like that. 

Co-Co and I tested it. It doesn't silence the sounds I make, exactly, but it...discourages people from noticing them. 

Dad should have told me that, I think. 

It shouldn't have been experimentation with my distant cousin that let me find that out.

Fucking Dumbledore shouldn't have given it to me. 

Dad should have given it to me, should have told me tips and tricks handed down from generations of Potters and Peverells. 

I have so little, so very very little of my family. 

Is it any wonder that I am clinging so tightly to the Mirror's illusion? 

I don't think so.

I think that the Mirror is there to give me a tiny glimpse into the life I should have lived. 

Into the family I should have had. 

I hurry through the corridors, barely avoiding Peeves in my haste to reach the Mirror. 

I nearly trip over Mrs Norris, but am going so fast that she quickly falls behind and loses me. 

Even her meows fade in the distance. 

After only a very short space of time (or was it a very long one?), I am back outside the familiar door. 

I reach out and turn the knob, carefully, ever so carefully. 

Equally carefully, I open the door and slip inside. 

It wouldn't do for anyone to see the door open and close of its own accord. 

I don't want to be interrupted. 

The door snicks shut, and I sigh. 

The Cloak hits the ground again (sorry Dad, but you're more important than any fusty old heirloom).  

I turn towards the mirror, and then stop. 

There's someone else there. 

Tall and skinny with ginger hair and horn rimmed glasses. 

What the fuck is Percy Weasley doing in front of the Mirror of Erised? 

Actually, what the fuck is Percy Weasley doing crying like his heart is broken in front of the Mirror of Erised?

My instinctual outrage at someone else beating me to the Mirror fades as soon as I see the tears.

I look at him, wondering how his dearest desire could possibly make him cry like that. 

He wants to be Minister or something boring like that doesn't he? Surely the sight of himself in Fudge's bowler hat and lime green robes can't induce tears. 

Oh, actually, that might be it to be fair. I'd certainly cry if I saw myself dressed like Fudge. 

Which reminds me, I still haven't come up with a stupid name for him. 

Fudge, not Percy Weasley.

"What do you see?" I ask curiously, because I have no filter and no social boundaries. 

(And maybe want to know if it's really Fudge's bad fashion sense)

He sniffs and wipes his eyes, apparently enough of a 15 year old boy to feel embarrassed at being caught crying by a younger child. "Nothing. What do you see?"

For a long moment, I pause. 

I drift closer to the Mirror and brush my fingertips against the cool glass - against my mother's hand. 

So close and yet so very, very far away. 

"My family." I say softly, blinking back my own tears. "All of them, so real, so alive that I can trick myself for a moment into thinking it's more than just a reflection."

There is another long pause. 

It stretches on for so long that I wonder if he's fallen asleep. 

But then he sniffs loudly and his feet scrape on the floor. "I see my family too. They're uh, they're happy. Thriving. The Burrow's been fixed and Dad's shed has been enlarged and-"

He falls silent. 

I look over my shoulder to see him blush a bright red that rivals my hair. 

Aw, Percy Weasley has a heart. 

Actually, my own heart is thawing, that's such a sweet wish. He just wants his family safe and well and secure. 

It occurs to me, as I turn to face him fully, to wonder if that's his drive to work at the Ministry - to help provide for his family.

Then I feel kind of bad for assuming he'd see himself as the Minister for Magic or something. 

I stare right up into his eyes, taking full advantage of the fact that when people look into my eyes they find it weirdly hard to to look away. And they usually listen better as well. 

"Don't be embarrassed." I say, as gently as I can muster. "We have the same wish - yours is just possible."

It hurts to say, to remind myself that my whole family is dead and I am alone in the world. 

But this isn't about me. 

It's about a boy who's a bit stuffy and stuck up and full of himself but who, in the end, just wants his family to be happy. 

I should have remembered Deathly Hallows - that Percy, for all his faults, always has the character to come back and apologise. 

He sniffs and dashes his hand across his eyes. "Thanks, Potter."

His voice is stilted and a bit stiff, but I can see that he's genuine.  

I watch him turn to go, and then pause. 

He turns back around and comes to place a hand on my shoulders as seriously and pompously as ever. 

"Your wish isn't impossible either, Potter. It just has to change form a little."

Then he basically runs away from the embarrassing heart-to-heart with an eleven year old. 

That was weirdly sweet.

Bless his little cotton socks. 

I watch him go before I turn back to the Mirror. 

Just one more night to bask in the pale reflection of my family's love. 

Tomorrow, I won't come back. I just want one more night.

I settle myself down on the floor, watching as my family fade into view with brilliant, tearful smiles.

Dad flops down beside me and throws an arm about my shoulders that I can see and not feel. 

Mum sits down on my other side, her lips drawing back in a soundless, magicless hiss. 

I don't know what she's saying, but the tears in her eyes and her brilliant smile translate well enough. 

The others are there, each and every one of them, so many that the Mirror cannot show all of them - just faces in a crowd that I cannot quite make out. 

Dorea Black kneels down behind me, places her hands on my shoulders and says something I will never hear - but her eyes are blazing with pride and love, so I understand it.

She stands and moves away, leaving space for Charlus to come and throw his arms about me. 

He's still weeping after three nights, and I cannot feel his embrace. 

But my reflection does. She smiles, and turns around to hug him back. 

We stay like that for a while, and then my grandfather lets go, retreating to stand with his wife.

I lean into my father's embrace and smile at my mother. 

She tuts soundlessly and brings out her wand to dry the wet spots my grandfather's tears have left. 

Her father leans down to press a kiss to my head, and then he looks up, meeting my eyes. 

His are mismatched too, one the same pale almost colourless blue as Aunt Petunia's, and one a deep dark brown that Dudley inherited.

He smiles at me, throws his arms around Mum and me and then stands again. 

He makes a whole production of it though, first one leg and then the other, and when he finally draws himself up he winces and holds a hand to his back. 

I can just see him complaining that he's too old to be lounging on the floor with Mum and me, that he needs a new back, all the usual old man complaints - and I can see the satirical twinkle in his eye as he does so, flipping his hair which is so pale a blonde that I can't tell whether or not its greying.

Then my mother's mother elbows him and sinks down beside me and Mum with a laugh. 

She tosses a look at my grandfather as if to say 'see how easy it is'. 

I laugh, and my parents laugh with me. 

The door opens.

For a moment it doesn't register, I am so lost in the world the Mirror has conjured. 

But then - "Back again, Hava?"

I whirl, barely noticing the tug in my heart as I tear myself away from the vision of my family. 

Dumbles. 

In a nightgown with a robe and a stupidly long cap on top.

He looks tired and a little bleary eyed, and like an old, weary grandpa. 

I'm instantly suspicious.

But I just blink wide eyes at him. 

There is a script to follow, after all. 

He walks closer, folding his hands across his stomach like some faux-pious abbott. "I see that you, like so many before you have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, sir." I say, casting my eyes down.

He comes closer and pats my head (fuck him. "But I expect by now you've realised what it does?"

"It shows us what we want...what we really want." I say, turning back to face the Mirror. "That's why it shows me my family."

Through the thicket of my beloved dead, I see the skin about his eyes tighten a little. 

Hah! 

"Yes," he replies, still keeping his wise old grandfather front up. Luckily for him, he cannot see my family rolling their eyes. "The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. It shows us nothing less than the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts."

I reach out and brush my fingers over my parents' faces. "That can't be good for you sir, surely. It just sets you up to be disappointed."

What? I'm not gonna follow the script completely, my whole thing is I'm better than canon Harry. 

Dumbles looks startled. "Very insightful, Hava. No, the Mirror gives us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible. That is why tomorrow it will be moved to a new home. And I must ask you not to go looking for it again. It does not do to dwell on dreams, Hava, and forget to live.''

I look once more at the mirage of my dead family. 

For once, I know Dumbles is right. 

Even if I'm fairly sure he's set this whole thing up so he can double check my deepest desire is something suitably pure and heroic - like the wish for a family. 

I know he did this in canon, but I have the feeling that here it's a lot more important because he wants to check the little Slytherin hasn't developed a taste for world domination or anything. 

Which, to be fair, I kinda have. It's just not the most important thing in my life. 

Standing, I go over to pick up my Cloak, mentally apologising to it and my dad for leaving it in a heap on the floor for several nights in a row. 

Just before I swirl it about my shoulders, I remember one last part of the scene.

"Professor Dumbledore?" I catch his eyes and hold them, and am delighted to discover that even The Great Albus Dumbledore seems to find it hard to look away.

He smiles indulgently at me. "Yes, Hava?"

"Can I ask you something?" 

"Obviously, you've just done so." He smiles, that irritating 'I'm Albus too many names and titles Dumbledore, I'm so much wiser than you peons' smile. "You may ask me one more thing however."

I fake embarassment at falling for the verbal trap, which elicits yet another of his annoying smiles. "Do you...do you see your family too?"

He looks taken aback, but musters a (slightly less patronising) smile. "In a way. I see myself holding a pair of thick woollen socks."

"What does that have to do with your family, Sir?"

I don't expect him to answer, but for some reason he does. "They were the last gift my sister ever gave to me. No one has ever given me socks since."

Aw, I actually feel a little bad for him. 

Nope, this guy has been plotting my death since I was 1, remember. 

"Do you mean Ariana, sir?" I say as sweetly as I can manage without it being ridiculous.

He looks taken aback, and his eyes automatically flick away from mine. 

Ha! 

As if I could be a Legilimens at eleven. 

"Where did you hear that name, Miss Potter?" His voice is still calm and wise, his eyes still twinkling, but the fact that it's back to Miss Potter makes me cackle inside. 

I just widen my eyes further and look as little and pathetic as possible. "I read it in a book about you, sir."

Dumbles visibly relaxes and comes over to pat my head. "Yes, it was Ariana. She died quite young, and I am afraid I have always felt responsible for it. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get some sleep? You have a long day ahead of you."

************

I don't go back to the Mirror again.

Dumbledore's probably moved it by now. 

But Percy Weasley's words had reminded me of something. 

My parents and grandparents are dead, and there's nothing anyone can do about it (I try to silence the tiny insidious whisper that reminds me about the Resurrection Stone about a locket and a diadem and a cup that haunt my dreams of quirrel's turban weighing down the back of my head and whispering poison in my ear why did no one mention this did canon Harry deal with this because it isn't life, what the stone grants)

You can't live in dreams forever, and you can't get the dead back. 

My family, my parents and grandparents, are dead and gone and that is that.

Nothing can change that. 

But you can build a new family. 

I have that now, with Padfoot and Moony and the Malfoys, and I can't lose it.

Besides, I have a new friend now. 

There's something about being ensnared by a magic mirror that really draws you together.

Kind of like fighting a troll together. 

Fred and George and Ron are utterly baffled at Perfect Prefect Percy's friendship with a rule-breaking, backchatting Slytherin firstie. 

Huh. I've collected all the Hogwarts Weasleys. 

Well done me. 

Chapter 36: It's All Fun And Games...

Chapter by TiresiasTheBlindSeer (Ravenclaw_Peredhel)

The Room of Requirement is my favourite place in the whole entire universe. 

I love it so much. 

It's the absolute best.

How does anyone ever survive life without it? 

Pansy pokes me. "Get off the floor, Hava."

I roll over so I can stick my tongue out at her and she sniffs. 

We stare at each other in a tense, Mexican standoff style silence, me lying spreadeagled on the floor and her standing over me, hands on her hips.

The silence slowly spreads throughout the chatter of the Room, until you could have heard a pin drop - which is unusual when all of us are hanging out in here. 

Co-Co pokes me in the cheek, which would be cheating except that he then stands up and does the exact same thing to Pansy. 

Sometimes I think I taught that child too well.

Before either of us can retaliate, Marcus comes up behind him and pulls him away from our staring contest. 

Ha! He's invested! 

It's deeply satisfying because just last week he scoffed at Grace and Fred's staring contest and called it juvenile and we got into a fight. 

Well, I say we got into a fight. It was more me insulting him and him picking me up by the scruff of the neck like I was some sort of weird kitten. 

I bit him though, so it's all good, even if a freshly inducted Percy did heal the bite in 0.3 seconds flat. 

What isn't good is that I lose the staring contest. 

Fuck. 

Pansy's so good at them that I can't outlast her.

Also, I would like it noted, I have a handicap - people struggle to look away from my eyes, so I automatically lose almost every staring contest I take part in.

Stupid eyes. 

Pansy smiles, the sharp victorious one that could cut you in two, and offers me her hand. 

I take it and let her pull me up, as begrudgingly as my petty little body is capable of. 

Stupid staring contests. 

Stupid malnutritioned little bodies that are stupid and light and even when you go deadweight everyone just picks you up anyway.

The twins come over and sling their arms about Pansy, offering her medals and prizes and a Kappa? 

Percy is instantly behind them, twisting their ears up. "I hope you two haven't snuck a Kappa onto Hogwarts grounds."

"No, no." Fred assures him.

"We would never." 

"Hagrid on the other hand-"

"He may have found Kettleburn one for our lessons."

"And given us a look when we asked."

"Which we did very nicely, we're not animals."

They are both shaken by the ear for that. "Leave that Kappa alone, you hear me? Or I'll write to Mum."

Both Fred and George groan at that, twisting away from their brother's pinching fingers.

"There's no need to bring Mum into it, spoilsport."

"Yeah, tattletale."

Something glints in Percy's eyes and his hands twitch. "What did you call me?"

Clearly the twins have no sense of self preservation whatsoever because they immediately repeat themselves. "Spoilsport.'' "Tattletale."

The whole Room goes silent again, everyone watching with bated breath. 

It feels like one of those movies where the scene is slowed down for dramatic impact and all you can hear is a heartbeat.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum. 

Ba-dum.

Then the tension snaps, and Percy lunges for the twins.

By some miracle, he misses, and they immediately turn on their heels, sprinting away with Percy hot on their heels.

Oh this is going to be great. 

Everyone clears out of their way, some with rolled eyes, some grinning, some already cheering one brother or another. 

"Aren't you taking any sides, Ron?" I have to scream to be heard, but he hears me well enough. 

My second favourite ginger (after Susan) shrugs with the same sharp smile the twins employ so often. "I'm the youngest brother, it's my job to egg them on and be annoying."

So Co-Co, Ron and I stand on a tall box in the centre of the crowd and scream insults and encouragement at the running brothers. 

No hexes are thrown, yet, but Percy's starting to look awfully purple and he just needs a-

Right as things are getting interesting though, a loud bang cuts through the din. 

A sharp voice breaks the ensuing silence - Claudia's of course, wand still out from letting off the bang. "Alright, that's enough. Weasleys, stop it. Potter, Malfoy, baby Weasley, grow up."

Wow. 

And I thought Claudia liked me. 

The twins stop running so fast that Percy cannons into them and all three hit the floor in a groaning mess of tangled limbs. 

Claudia rolls her eyes. 

"Very funny. Weasley senior, I know we're having downtime but you are a prefect. Please at least refrain from physical altercations. Weasley twins...I'm not even going to try."

Fred and George grin from ear to ear at this compliment. "We're honoured, your majesty."

"Yeah, highly favoured."

I'm so jealous, why has Claudia not gotten this fed up with me yet? To be fair, they've had two more years than me two annoy her. 

She visibly counts to ten, before she holsters her wand - presumably so that she has a harder time cursing the twins if they keep being annoying. ''Enough. It's eight thirty already, and the first years need to be in bed soon. Yes, that means you too Hava, I don't care if 'your scar told you to', if I find you in the common room one more time I'll put you in detention with Snape until you're a hundred."

I take it back. 

I have absolutely gotten her totally fed up with me. So much so that I don't utter a word of protests, and I even leave the Cloak in my trunk as I go to sleep that night. 

See? I can be obedient. 

Kind of.

***************

As we're leaving the hall after breakfast a few weeks later, Hermione pops up beside me. "Hava?"

"Yep!" 

She holds out a package, in a Royal Post parcel not brown paper and string. 

"My parents sent the clingfilm you wanted." Then she pauses and looks at me with suspicion clearly apparent in her eyes. "Why did you want so much?"

Crap. 

I smile and shrug as disarmingly as I can. "Muggle-raised, remember? I can't get my hands on it living with the Malfoys, and I missed how useful it was."

Her eyes narrow, but she hands it over. 

"Don't do anything...stupid with it, alright?"

Taking the package, I press a Galleon into her hand, as agreed upon (this, I would like it noted, is nowhere near the actual Galleon-Pound conversion rate, Hermione is just a terrifying negotiator). "I solemnly swear I will think through anything I do with it, Mione. Thank you so much! I owe you one!"

Something softens in her eyes and she pulls me into a tight hug. 

Awwww. 

My cold dead heart warms a little, and I hug her back. 

Hermione gives great hugs. They sort of swallow you up into a boa constrictor hold of warmth and affection, even though she's barely taller than me. I love Hermione hugs so much. 

"I asked Mum and Dad to put some sweets and other things in for you," she says as she pulls away, looking a little embarassed. "Things you probably can't get in the dungeon Malfoy lives in."

Co-Co, summoned by Hermione's uncanny ability to hit him where it hurts yet again, makes the expected sound of outrage. "It's a seventeenth century manor house, Granger, not some eleventh century half rotted crypt! Not that I'd expect a M-"

He shuts his mouth before he can finish the word and flushes bright red at the glare both Hermione and I are sending at him, daring him to finish the sentence. 

Obviously, he does not, just purses his lips and remains pointedly silent

Good. 

We've trained him well. 

Score for the anti-facists! 

Even better, the near miss distracts Hermione from her suspicion, and I can make my escape before she gets back on the bandwagon of 'what borderline illegal things do you plan to do with this Hava'.

I take the package to my dorm to open, because I'm annoyed at Draco for still being a racist little-

He's my cousin, and I love him, but right now I feel like he's that one racist grandpa everyone has. 

The kind who says this or that African country was fairly bought and won't hear otherwise no matter how many arguments you bring to the table. The kind who sees colonialism as good because it civilised the natives and raised them from the squalour of their ancient customs. The kind who insists he isn't racist and then complains about refugees ruining the country in front of your refugee father.

You know. 

The kind you deal with under sufference, and a lot of alcohol. Which I cannot currently have because I am physically eleven years old and in a boarding school. 

So no, I'm not feeling very charitable towards Draco at the moment. 

It's good that he's learning to think before he speaks, but I hate that the 'M' word is still such an integral part of his vocabulary that it takes conscious thought to not use it.

Fuck that. 

Pansy joins me after a moment and sits there silently until I'm done glaring my pillow into submission.

"Are you ready to be sociable again?"

I don't say anything. 

She pokes me. "Hava. Use your words."

I stay silent. 

Pansy keeps poking me because one of the few things she took from my chaos gremlin lessons was the importance of persistence. Unfortunately. 

She keeps poking me for so long that eventually I give in because clearly I taught her too well. 

"Draco-" Pansy chokes because I have never ever called him Draco, "nearly called Hermione the 'M' word so I'm mad at him."

Silence.

I know Pansy doesn't quite see the problem with the concept, but she at least thinks that the M word is rude and uncouth and would never stoop to using it. It's only been about six months, so I've not managed to completely change her mind, but she's had enough of a character arc that she at least understand why I'm pissed at my former favourite cousin. Especially because she respects Hermione as a fellow force of nature (those two are terrifying on the rare occasions they team up together).

She sighs a long-suffering sigh that nearly matches Nev's patented one for drama, and picks up the parcel Hermione gave me. "Open it and see if that cheers you up. Dray's a work in progress, we all know this."

Damn. 

Pansy knows me too well. She knows that there's nothing more fun than ripping open parcels and presents.

So I tear into it with my nails (and teeth in places - Hermione's parents wrap parcels as well as some people wrap presents), ignoring the handy flap at the top in favour of trying to make a new hole in the centre of the parcel. Stupid plastic doesn't want to rip.

When I finally get into it, four rolls of clingfilm tumble out immediately, as expected.

They are followed, however, by a shower of little things I hadn't even thought to miss until right now (and a few that I was quite happy to have left in the 90s last time)

Sweets, crisps, hair bands, those little butterfly clips, a foam lizard on a wire, a pack of highlighters, the prerequisite toothbrush and toothpaste from her dentist parents, and lots more little cheap things that make my cold, dead heart melt.

Pansy lifts a crisp packet up by the corner and I cannot help my laughter as her lips purse disdainfully at the loud colors and the foil and the obvious fakeness of it all. 

"You...ate this stuff? And didn't die?"

Wow. No faith in me at all. Where's the love Pansy?

Actually, that reminds me - Pansy needs a nickname. 

Pans is out. Obviously. Everyone calls her that. 

Ansy? Sounds like Anansi. I thought Anansi was hilarious but she'd hate being given a similar name to a spider. 

Sy...Sia? No, that's a singer. 

I've got it!

"Nancy!" 

Pansy stares at me, an inqusitive furrow between her brows. "What?''

"Nancy." I say firmly, delighted with it. "That's your nickname! Draco is Co-Co, Neville is Nev, and you're Nancy."

For some reason, it does not seem to alleviate her confusion. 

"How did you get Nancy from Pansy?" I open my mouth to explain, but she shakes her head. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

Because I can be respectful and obey other people's boundaries, I do not try and explain how I came up with her nickname. 

Instead, I grab a packet of Star Wars BBQ Doritos and rip it open. "Try this!"

The horror on her face is comical. I don't think she looked so scared when she...in the chess...on our Excellent Adventure. 

But she trusts me (kind of? I think?) and takes a single Dorito pinched between her long nails with only one long, suspicious look at me. "If I die from this Muggle poison, I'm coming back as a ghost to haunt you for the rest of your life and ruin every prank you attempt."

Then she nibbles off one corner looking like she's eating something she watched Snape poison for me.

I stuff two or three Doritos in my own mouth and watch. 

She keeps looking suspicious until she's swallowed, and then she shoves the rest of the Dorito into her mouth and reaches into the bag for more. 

"Huh. It's actually half decent." High praise for someone who was looking at it like sentient slime three seconds ago. 

I watch her devour half of the bag in about ten seconds flat. 

Oh shit I've created a monster.

***************

Time passes. 

Patience is key in pranking - if I strike while everyone remembers my Muggleborn bestie handing me a parcel of clear Muggle origin it'll be obvious that it was me.

So we leave it, for a full month and a half. 

I'm so proud of our collective patience.

And by that I mean, Nancy hides the clingfilm until she decides enough time has passed. She doesn't even let us bribe her which is terrible. 

What kind of friend refuses bribes? Honestly.

But we keep busy enough.

Or rather, we keep Hermione busy enough. 

Pansy adores the things that the Grangers sent through, and now she may be slightly addicted to Doritos. 

So Hermione has to keep supplying her with them via her parents - and Hermione is no one's fool. She's charging almost twice the price plus posting plus her parents' labour. 

If she doesn't go into politics when we graduate, she's totally going into business. That girl would make a terrifying CEO. 

And because Pansy is newly obsessed with Muggle junk food and fads and stuff, and she's one of the 'popular girls', everyone else in our year is also now obsessed. 

Heaven forbid the denizens of Hogwarts think for themselves. 

Justin and a couple of others do their best to capitalise on this madness, which quickly spreads to the upper years (thank you Fred and George and Marcus), but Hermione basically has a monopoly on it. 

I think she may have threatened to curse Justin if he kept trying to pinch her customers. Or something. He won't stay in the same room as her for more than thirty seconds anyway, and he goes pale every time they make eye contact so she definitely did something.

Part of me wants to know what her parents think about their daughter suddenly wanting enough junk food and random paraphernalia to supply most of a boarding school. I really want to meet them now, they've got to be so cool.

That isn't all that happens, of course.

Padfoot starts sending me photos of Grimmauld Place - they are fixing it up so its habitable again. 

Apparently Malfoy Manor is becoming a little small for Padfoot, Moony and all three adult Malfoys. 

I'll wager my right foot the problem is Abraxas bloody Malfoy and his stupid Death Eater-ness.

Co-Co is absolutely devastated we won't be living together anymore once his parents' guardianship of me comes to an end and I pass into Padfoot's custody. 

Honestly? I'm somewhat sad to have less Co-Co time, but I'm also quite happy not to have to spend a full summer with so many facist adults.

And it will be nice to be an only child for once. 

Plus, well, I remember what is kept in Grimmauld Place. 

Any chance to stab more bits of Tim-Tam Tommy is appreciated.

***************

"I still think this is a bad idea."

Co-Co pokes Nev in the side. "Shut up, it's not a bad idea as long as no one catches us."

Nev shuts up, mostly. 

He rolls his eyes and mutters about how he doesn't know why he puts up with us. 

"Because my parents made us godsiblings!" I say brightly. "You can never escape!"

My long-suffering godbrother only sighs his patented sigh as we shuffle along under the cloak. 

Nancy is with Theo and Ron in a room just off the Slytherin common room to give us a solid alibi when Snape inevitably tracks us down - we've planned it out and everything. 

We will have been playing Monopoly the whole time, complete with arguments and friendships breaking.

See, we can plan ahead! And learn from our mistakes (the Incident involving me, Zacharias Smith, a fitted sheet and the Whomping Willow can never be repeated under any circumstances). Look at us, we're so mature and everything. 

Kind of. 

We shuffle slowly around the corner and then halt. 

There it is - our goal, our final boss, our destination...the door of Snape's classroom. 

I reach into my satchel and pull out the clingfilm. "Everyone got everything?"

Co-Co grins like the evil little shit he is and waves his huge jar of honey. Nev, looking like he regrets ever being born, weakly hefts his bag of flour. 

Part of me feels bad for dragging him into it, but the rest of me remembers that he is perfectly capable of telling me no - and has done so on several occasions. So if he didn't want to be here, Nev would not be here. I suppose that's the downside of helping him speedrun his character arc. 

We stay under the cloak while we set the prank up, because the cloak has some weirdass suspiciously convenient properties. Like encouraging people not to notice anything suspicious. So, as long as we're under it, it's like 40% less likely that anyone will notice anything. 

Hopefully. 

Nev always snorts at that point because he's well aware that my luck cancels most things like that out. 

Like I said, there are downsides to forcibly speedrunning someone's character arc.

We pull two buckets from my satchel (bless the Undetectable Expansion Charms), and fill one with the honey and the other with the flour. 

Now for the tricky part. 

We've been practicing for a while though, so I have...a little faith in our ability to do this.

I pull out the first roll of clingfilm and Levitate it out from under the Cloak. As it reaches the top corner of the doorway, Co-Co casts a Sticking Charm, and it catches the end of the roll exactly right. As I move it to the other corner, the clingfilm unfurls in a billowing, plasticy curtain. 

Yay!

Co-Co casts another Sticking Charm as the roll reaches the other side of the door, and Nev casts a Cutting Curse right afterwards - he's scarily good at those. It's absolutely great, because no one at all expected shy little Neville Longbottom to be so good at Cutting Curses. Claudia actually pinched herself when he got the spell first time, and you know how hard it is to flap the unflappable Head Girl. 

So then we repeat all the way down the door, until it's all covered with the clingfilm - and even better, it blends in with the rainbow effect of the wards so well that you almost can't tell it's there!

Co-Co and Nev Levitate the buckets out from under the Cloak and balance them up in the shadowy vaults of the corridor where no one ever looks, and no one will be able to see anything even if they do look. I would have Levitate one of the buckets, but when we practiced I had the least stamina in keeping the spell going (which was super embarrassing).

We step back to admire our handiwork, and then retreat behind a corner so we aren't likely to get caught in the splash zone.

"Now we just have to wait." Co-Co sighs, his attention span even shorter than mine. 

Thankfully, at that moment, Snape comes flapping around the corner. 

Even on a Saturday, he's dressed in his severe teaching robes and has a stack of parchment in his hands with potion ingredients piled on top of it and more floating in a trail behind him like little lost ducklings.

He's paying more attention to keeping them all balanced than he is to where he is walking. 

Excellent. 

He seems to have let his guard down since my parents left school and the Death Eaters went underground.

Even the twins don't seem to have gotten him on the alert.

That's a him problem. 

We all hold our breath, peering around the corner as if the solid stone wall provides any more protection than the Cloak possibly could. 

He keeps going, his robes billowing like he's a real life Dracula, not paying attention to anything other than the parchment in front of him...and walks right into the clingfilm.

Co-Co and Nev cancel the charm on the buckets, which tip over and douse him in honey and flour.

All of the various things in his hands and floating behind him crash to the ground or plaster over him, sticking to the gooey honey as if it's glue. 

Silence. 

He seems so surprised that for a moment he just stands there, stuck to the clingfilm like a giant fly. 

Then he pulls away with an awful schlooping sound like a boot out of mud. 

He looks down at his hands, covered in honey and unmentionable things with an expression so blank that it's almost thoughtful. 

"Potter." He says, so quietly that we almost miss it. 

Oh shit. 

He's mad mad. 

Damn, if I wasn't actually to blame I'd be almost offended he picked me out so fast. What about Fred and George?

Nev plucks at our elbows, and we run.

Bless Dad's magic cloak and it's ability to muffle the noise we make. 

We race down corridors and stairs, trusting desperately in the Cloak to keep us alive and not bottled up in a hundred different jars in Snape's office.

Bet he'd pick the ones with bits of me in them to throw at hapless students who piss him off. 

There are pros and cons to being Slytherins. Lots of them. This is a great example - pro: we know the dungeons really well; con: Snape knows them better. 

But we do have the cloak. Bless the generations of Potters and Peverells who used and abused having an Invisibility Cloak.

We sprint past the stretch of wall that leads to the common room and whip around the corner to see the closed door of the room Nancy and Theo are creating our alibi in.

Co-Co throws open the door and we pile in, Nev taking the time to shut it very, very quietly. 

Just before he shuts it, the sound of the password to the common room being snapped out reaches our ears - good. It'll delay him if he has to search the common room for us first. 

I shove the cloak into my bag and latch it closed so that even Snivellus' beady eyes won't be able to see the slightest hint of silvery fabric. 

Pansy shoves piles of money into our hands and points out our assigned totems as Theo and Ron jabber away about the various highs and lows of the game we missed. 

Just as we all take our seats and Nev rolls the dice (to general groans and hisses), the door bangs open and in comes a dark figure that seems to suck the light and joy out of the room. 

Is it a Dementor? Is it Umbridge? No, it's Snape, his robes and hair shiny and sticky, his face red with anger and exertion. 

Ha. 

"And what, exactly, do we have here?" Ooooh shit, it's the quiet voice. The one that only comes out when its really, really bad. 

I mentally cross myself - doing it physically would be basically an admission of guilt. 

Co-Co, who's the best at looking innocent, blinks wide grey eyes up at him. "We're playing a Muggle game that Hava introduced us to, Professor. It's called Monopoly, and you-"

"I know what Monopoly is!" Snape snaps. 

We all stare at him. 

Theo, the only one who hasn't yet been involved in pranking him, ventures a timid, "Are you alright, Professor? You look a little...ruffled."

He ignores the question like the rude bastard he is. 

"Why are you playing in here rather than your common room, which is a single door over?"

I look at him like he's stupid, which comes very easily, and gesture to the two Gryffindors in our midst. "Because we have Nev and Roonil."

"Roonil." Heh. He looks like he regrets ever coming into the room. 

I smile Mum's shit-eating smile up at him, watching something wither and die in his eyes as it does every time I do a Mum thing (hey what if I do a Petunia thing? what would he do then?) "Roonil Wazlib. It's his nickname."

Ron tries very hard to look like this isn't news to him. I don't think he succeeds because Snape throws one look at him and then turns his black gaze back at me.

"His...nickname."

Oh fuck yeah, it's on. "Yeah, it's something your friends call you-"

"I know what a nickname is!" 

Silence. 

Heh he's so pissed. 

Everyone else is sending me looks of 'are you trying to get killed you absolute idiot' and, no, no I'm not, he wouldn't actually kill me. I think. 

Snape collects himself with an effort and turns to Pansy as possibly the sole voice of reason in the whole room. 

"Regardless of Potter's...insolence, Parkinson, where was Potter ten minutes ago?"

Nancy looks him right in between the eyes. "Professor, we have been here for two hours. Draco has lost Mayfair to me three times and only recovered it twice. Theo has taken all the stations, Hava has been in jail six times, and Neville is about to hit my hotels and give me all his money. Please may we continue playing."

Silence. 

We all stare at her in complete and utter awe.

I mean, I knew she had balls of steel but this is on another level. Damn. 

Snape looks suspiciously at the board. 

This is the risky part. 

With any other teacher we could have just flung everything about the board and called it a day, because either they're too wizard-raised to understand Monopoly or they like us enough to give us a pass. 

But Snape is both Muggle-raised and the founder of the Hava Potter Hate Club (other members include Voldemort, Quirrel, Umbitch, and various future Death Eaters in the upper years as well as Zacharias Smith after the Incident). 

Hence why Nancy and Theo had to actually play the game to give us a solid alibi. 

Why did we decide to prank Snape if it was going to be so difficult, I hear you ask. 

Because I fucking hate him, that's why. 

He deserves to have his day, week and year ruined. Fucking abusive misanthropic unwashed racist facist incel. 

I'm holding a particular grudge right now because of my last detention when he made me scrub the floor of the classroom on my hands and knees, while he kept up a running commentary of hate on Dad. Please appreciate the sheer willpower it took for me not to either ask him why he never mentions Mum or indulge that one thing I saw on the internet about Harry assuming he liked Petunia. 

By some miracle I didn't, and so I lived to take my revenge - which may be short-lived, going by his expression.

Thankfully, the Monopoly board seems to convince him and he stalks out of the room. 

Thank goodness that everyone else is getting Muggle things off Hermione, otherwise he'd go right to me as the only possible source of clingfilm. How convenient.

We all slump down into our chairs in the same motion.

For like 30 seconds there is dead silence as we contemplate our near miss.

Then a thought strikes me. "Ron", I say curiously.

"Yeah"

"Why did you all stay at Hogwarts over Christmas? I would have thought your mum would be thrilled to have you all back"

Ron sighs. "We were going to, Mum had it all planned out, Ginny was over the moon. But Charlie, he's training to be a dragonologist you know, went and got hit by a a raging Horntail."

Ohhh shit. Was that in the books? I can't remember.

"Like...burned?"

"Nah." Ron looks serious. "The tail. Went straight through him, was unconscious for two weeks while they sorted his spine out. Mum and Dad had to leave Ginny with great aunt Muriel and go to Romania in case he didn't make it."

This so was not in the books what the fuck. "But he's alright now?"

'Yeah he's fine. Couldn't walk for a month while the nerves settled, but he wrote to me last week!"

What the fuck. 

Theo awkwardly pats Ron on the shoulder and says he hopes Charlie gets all the way better soon. Nev looks at us all like idiots, so clearly it's just the Slytherins who didn't know. 

Now I feel bad. 

Silence reigns for another few minutes, as everyone runs out of things to say. 

After a while, because we have nothing better to do, we keep playing the game. 

I win, although Theo very nearly eats me alive and Pansy nearly upends the board when he bankrupts her.

Notes:

Okay, so we only have one or two chapters left of Hava's first year now - would you rather Hava's story stayed in one work or was split into a series?

 

Also, yes, behind the scenes Malfoy Manor is turning into a borderline war zone. They have barely civil meals together under sufferance (and fear of Narcissa Malfoy). Some day I may write the adults' view of this year because it is Interesting, but it's also a lot less fun than Hava's. And there's way more politics and racism.

I would like to apologise to Tim-Tams. I love them, and nicknaming Voldemort 'Tim-Tam Tommy' is by no means a reflection on Tim-Tams. I would kill for a good Tim-Tam right now, it's so hard to get them in England.

Were the Star Wars Doritos around in 1991? I couldn't actually find out. Does anyone know?

Finally - you will notice that there is now a series for Hava! If there is anything you want to see in Hava's universe - ie deleted scenes, other points of view, other ways things could of gone, or anything else you can think of - do let me know! Currently the only other work is a one-shot of Snape being his own dramatic, creepy self (affectionate and derogatory simultaneously) - I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 37: Until Somebody Gets Hurt

Chapter by TiresiasTheBlindSeer (Ravenclaw_Peredhel)

Notes:

So as you may have noticed i took a bit of a break, to write a quick asoiaf oneshot abt rhaegar being a mix of aerys and aegon iv and his kids thwarting him. It spiralled kinda outta control and is now nearly 100k words of every way the westerosi gender dynamics suck with extra snippets incoming, but the main fic is done so the plot bunny is appeased and i can finally come back to hava. Sorry about that!

Co-Co and I don't go home for the Easter holidays. 

We hadn't been planning to anyway, most people stay at Hogwarts to focus on their revision. But three weeks before the holidays we had recieved four seperate letters from Padfoot, Moony, Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy - all four telling us to stay at school. 

Apparently there had been a big dustup with Abraxas Malfoy about Moony, and it got nasty so now Padfoot and Moony and I definitely need to move out as soon as Grimmauld Place is habitable. 

Great. 

Now we're stuck at Hogwarts wondering if anyone's going to be hurt in the intervening months before we get back. 

Wondering if anyone has been hurt already and they just aren't telling us. 

Ah, the joys of stuffing two Death Eaters, a blood purist, a blood traitor and a werewolf into the same manor house with only a few house elves and peacocks to keep the peace. 

It worked for a time but is clearly falling apart now that I've punched Voldy in the face and Padfoot isn't playing the fainting damsel every two seconds anymore.

The actual not going home is alright though, because staying for Easter is like...Hogwarts tradition, and the teachers know it. They absolutely pile on the homework, because they are evil evil people who take joy from our suffering.

When I inform Minnie McG of this however, she just laughs at me. 

Fine. 

Demoted from favourite professor. 

Professor Flitwick is now my favorite professor, even if his essay is longer, because at least he was nice about it and didn't laugh at my pain. 

So I do his essay first. It helps that I actually like Charms and understand it. Charms comes easily to me - Transfiguration really doesn't. Half the spells only work if I give up on doing them properly and just wish them done. And the less said about the theory the better.

Who cares about precisely how we're rearranging the substances within the object we're Transfiguring? 

I throw down my quill and don't even care that it splatters ink over my stupid Transfiguration essay. Fuck Transfiguration. 

McGonagall is wonderful and I love her, but I hate her subject so much. 

"Okay," I announce, "time for a break. I'm bored."

Nancy and Theo exchange a glance and groan. Co-Co perks up. 

Guess which one is my favourite. 

No one else even reacts, not even Daphne. Wow. Traitors. 

This is why I should have been in Gryffindor. Then I would have had the twins to aid and abet all of my mischief making, instead of the dead silence of the Slytherin Common Room. 

Judgemental elitist asses. 

At least they've given up caring. Even Claudia's too deep in NEWT revision to do more than cast a disapproving look at me from the table she and her scary friends have commandeered in the centre of the room. 

She's got a place at some fancy Italian uni for healing next year, and when I say she's stressed about her grades now, she is stressed.

In case she manages to muster the effort say anything, I grab Co-Co by the wrist and drag him out of the room before Nancy or Theo can start a bitching war. Again. 

Or before some of the older Slytherins can decide that the fallout for lynching the Girl-Who-Just-Lived-Again is worth it. Slytherin's been dicey since word spread about what happened down in the dungeons, and Claudia can only protect me for so long. 

I'm spending as little time as possible in the common room, just to be on the safe side. If they can't see me, they can't hurt me, right?

"Where are we going?" Co-Co asks brightly, "and who are we pranking?"

Ah, I knew there was a reason he was my favourite. He's the best. "Gryffindor common room, and everyone."

"The whole school?"

"Yep!"

"Brilliant." His eyes take on a faraway look as the cogs start turning in his little head.

I drag him up the stairs and through miles of corridors and around suits of armour and ghosts as best I can, which isn't very well considering he's so much heavier than me. Thankfully he's still invested enough in the outside world to indulge me. 

We do cannon into an invisible Peeves at one point, but I tell him we're planning chaos and havoc and he lets us go without even grabbing our noses. 

Peeves adores me, for reasons that have nothing to do with the big bag of Muggle water balloons he mysteriously got hold of. They did not come from Hermione's store of Muggle contraband, nor did I give them to him. 

Eventually, we get to the Gryffindor common room, and stand as politely as we ever do before the portrait hole. The Fat Lady glowers at me suspiciously. "Password?"

I shake my head and beam at her as brightly as I can physically manage without magic. Her glare deepens and she crosses her arms. "No password, no entrance."

Co-Co glowers back at her, muttering something about the flammability of portraits and curses that can get past the protective charms. Isn't my cousin adorable?

"I don't want to get in though." I chirp. "I just want to talk to someone. Preferably my godbrother, but a prefect will work."

She sniffs, but seems to consider it worth it if it will get me away from her. She doesn't seem to like me for some reason, can't imagine why.

There's a pause, before the portrait swings open to let someone out. And hey presto, it's my favourite ginger prefect!

"Hi Percy!"

For some odd reason, he looks at me with suspicion deeply apparent in his eyes. "Hello Hava. What do you want now?"

Wow. 

Where's the love? The trust? What is wrong with everyone?

I force back my tears of betrayal and force a smile onto my face to hide my heartbreak.

"Do you know if Nev's in the common room? I just wanna talk to him, I promise."

Somehow, impossibly, the suspicion increases. But the power of my adorable eyes once again wins out and he vanishes back inside the portrait hole, to reappear moments later with a reluctant looking Nev.

My godbrother looks at me with almost more suspicion than Percy. "What is it?"

I clasp my hands together beneath my chin, bounce on the balls of my feet, and smile innocently at him. 

Unfortunately, Nev has already spent far too much time with me and just waits me out. Damn him. 

"We're going to do another prank," I give in, "do you want to join in? We had such fun with the last one!"

Nev is shaking his head before I even finish the first sentence. "Meeting up with me is just going to make it more complicated. My heart can't take too much adventure in one year Hava."

Okay, there are pros and cons to this. 

Cons: my godbrother is being a cockblocker spoilsport partypooper.

Pros: he's getting the dramatic bug! 

I sigh. "Fine. That makes sense, I guess. Have fun being boring."

"Thanks." Nev says unironically. "I will. See you at lunch."

And he steps back inside the portrait. Percy gives me a narrow eyed glare. "Don't do anything Fred or George would do, Hava. And nothing that will hurt anyone."

"No promises." I say blithely. He rolls his eyes and flounces through the portrait hole, which swings closed behind him with a snap. As soon as it's closed, the Fat Lady starts to shoo at us to get out of lion territory. 

I stick my tongue out at her and start to hiss my irritation to Lumi who'll just agree with me and offer to bite her, unlike Co-Co who'll get all nerdy about her. 

Unfortunately, Co-Co is still right next to me, and he pokes me hard the moment I start to speak Parseltongue in public. Rude. I probably have a bruise now. This is bullying.

He says its because he doesn't want me discovered (apparently he's worried about the general public ostracising me while the cultists worship me which is...a valid fear), but I think it's just a habit by now. Or maybe Nancy's influence. Nancy pokes me a lot. 

But by then we're away from the portrait so he stops poking me and I stop bitching to Lumi and we amble through the corridors in companiable silence until we get to the Room of Requirement. We rock-paper-scissors it and I win, so I pace back and forward in front of the tapestry three times. I want the room where you can find everything that was lost.

The Room of Hidden Things forms, and we dart inside. There's sure to be something here that we can use! Or at the very least something that can give us some excellent ideas. 

I am also looking for the Ravenclaw diadem. Canon Harry found it on his first trip into the Room of Hidden Things, but unfortunately that particular bit of luck hasn't fallen to me.

If it's some bullshit rule of the universe like I can't find the diadem until sixth year I am going to be so mad. Mouldyshorts is going to be dead by sixth year and I refuse to accept anything else.

Fuck the timeline and I want to beat canon Harry and all that. 

There are a few bits of jewellery, all beautiful and lovely in their own right. A few tiaras, and some that look almost exactly like the diadem because I'm pretty sure they're replicas.

This is because the one time I brought one out and asked Gemma, who wants to be a jeweler, she started talking about the hallmarks of various periods and stuff. Something about metal concentrations and processes and jewel faceting. I don't know, I didn't understand half of it. I'm sure it was interesting though. 

Anyway, I still have no luck this time sadly. One day I'll find it. I'm contemplating kidnapping the Grey Lady and bringing her in here because I bet she could sniff it out in a moment. I'm kinda stumped by the logistics of kidnapping a ghost though, so it's a plot for another day. 

Co-Co finds a cool old book that is definitely not cursed or written in what looks like blood. Not human blood though, or unicorn blood, so it's all fine. It's a weird kinda blueish-greyish colour that makes me wonder if it's mermaid blood. That's gotta be illegal, right?

Neither of us dies or gets zapped by the book, and Bitsy doesn't come popping in in a tizzy about Sweet Little Lady Hava being in danger, so we figure it's all good. Maybe the Room negates Dark magic? Or, most Dark magic anyway, the diadem is still Horcruxing. That's super powerful so it probably is a little too much for the Room to handle? Meh, magical theory is future Hava's problem.

There's an absolute ton of cool stuff in the book, though some of it is cursed to not be able to leave the book, because when we try to copy a few things down our quills don't work and the ink runs and when we keep pushing the parchment catches on fire.

Stupid bloody copyright enchantments. Memorisation it is. No way we're taking the book out of the Room in case the Room is the only thing keeping it from cursing us. 

We find a fairly innocuous looking potion that makes the voice go high and squeaky, so Co-Co memorises the instructions and I memorise the ingredients and then we write to Padfoot to ask him if the potion's okay to use. After the last time we accidentally used some super obscure and insidious Dark magic in a prank, we want to be double sure it's all good. 

If only because I think Aunt Cissa might murder us if she gets dragged to the school again because we're in the hospital wing. Self-preservation and all that. 

There's nothing to do after that but go back to the Slytherin Common Room and keep revising and doing revision essays. I am very, very bored. 

My Charms essay was done the day after Flitwick gave it to us, and my DADA essay only took a couple more days. DADA is a piece of cake now, the other teachers are rotating through teaching it in their spare periods so it's all very curriculumised and I am definitely bored with it now. 

Even Flitwick didn't appreciate my argument that defeating Tamariddle twice should have given me an automatic NEWT in DADA. None of them seem to appreciate my prowess. Even Dumbledore only smiled and patted me on the head. Fuck the system.

Madam Hooch only gave us about ten inches on our favourite move, and I wrote about the fake-out Adrian, Marcus and I like to use that all the other teams are still falling for. 

I'm not doing my Astronomy or Transfiguration essays until I absolutely have to, and I really don't want to write about those stupid singing daisies Sprout wants a whole foot on. 

So that leaves Potions and History of Magic. I start to plod my way through the book chapters I need for my essay on the historic applications of Wiggenweld and wish I was old enough to drink caffeine without everyone jumping down my throat. Or alcohol. Or both. It probably doesn't count as mixing alcohol and drugs right? That's not what that means, I'm fairly sure.

********************

Three days of torturously boring essay writing and revision later, I've finally finished my Potions essay and Padfoot's letter arrives along with the usual package of sweets from Aunt Cissa. 

Padfoot writes that he happens to have seen a copy of that book in the Black library as a kid, and that while the book itself was written by a Dark wizard, the things in it are relatively harmless - it's less of a grimoire than a really cursed textbook. He's double checked with Moony and everything, it's fine for us to use as long as we substitute a few ingredients out. 

Fuck yeah. 

I shove my hair up into a messy bun secured with my wand, shrug on the thick black brewing robes Aunt Cissa gave me, and follow Co-Co to an empty classroom where we can start being nefarious where no one can see.

Nancy does actually go with us this time because she's finally reached the limit of her concentration and is also worried about us blowing up the entire school if she doesn't keep an eye on us.

Nev stays away for the same reason. Apparently he doesn't want to tempt fate or something. Honestly, I only blew him up a few times! Some people have no trust in their godsisters. 

It's surprisingly easy to make, though the fumes make us all giggly and silly for a good few minutes and let me tell you, a Nancy without her impulse control is Scary. Sadly, she won't let us get her high with the magic-helium fumes again once she stops being giggly. 

She has a 'reputation' to keep up, and doesn't want us ruining it. Or whatever. 

As we leave the room, she points two fingers at her eyes and then back at us. "No one gets hurt, and I knew nothing about this, okay?"

We nod and she vanishes around the corner. 

Brilliant. 

I tug Co-Co to the stairs, and then up them until we reach the Great Hall. Just outside it, we huddle in a tiny alcove and I throw the Cloak over both of us. 

Bless the generations of previous Potters and Peverells who must have also used Death's Cloak of Invisibility to prank their fellow students. The Cloak falls over us so neatly that it has to be used to this.

We sneak down the mostly empty aisles and uncork the little bottle. It'll take a while for the fumes to reach the whole Great Hall, so we leave it neatly on a windowsill near the head of the Gryffindor table. 

The windowsills are always super cluttered with stuff, so no one's going to notice it for ages. 

We sneak back out, and up to the Room of Requirement where most of the rest of our merry cult are hanging out. And by hanging out I mean revising and doing their homework in interhouse communal stress.

Co-Co and I exchange a look. This heavy atmosphere of stress and panic is good for exactly no one's mental health and wellbeing. They could all do with a break, and then some food, and some laughter, and then they'll be able to concentrate better. Maybe we can even get the rest of the cult to the Room of Requirement and we can all revise together. That might be nice!

So we play a round of Irish Snap because Claudia isn't there to tell us all off for endangering the sanctity of our hands. Then we all troop down for lunch. 

Co-Co and I hang back a little as everyone rushes into the Great Hall. His shoelace is undone, and my hair is finally coming out of its bun, so we have a fair excuse for taking longer than everyone else. 

It isn't an actual school rule that you have to be presentable for meals in the hall, but it's expectation. Most people give themselves a once-over before going in because Hogwarts is 'the best wizarding school there is' and has standards and stuff. 

So we are right in the doorway as we hear the first startled, high pitched shrieks. Then the next and the next. We peer in around the giant doors. 

The teachers are all sat uncomfortably straight, clearly trying to keep their dignity despite the squeaks that leave their mouths every time they open them. All except Flitwick. He's laughing at them all heartily, sounding only a little different to the way he usually does. 

Well, my favourite teacher's enjoying it, that's definitely a plus. And Snape storms out of a side door shortly after we look in, which is even better. He's got to hate this. 

Half of Gryffindor is yelling at the Weasley twins, no doubt assuming that this is all their fault. Percy is stood right over them, shouting. 

It loses a lot of its force because they are all squeaking like mice, and keep stopping to clear their throats. Also Fred and George are looking a little baffled, but also taking shameless advantage of their super high voices. 

It's all hilarious. 

The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws have been got by the potion as well, and the Slytherins are starting to go. This is almost as funny as the teachers' table, because the Slytherins are almost as precious as the teachers about their dignity. 

It's deeply satisfying to see Warrington squeaking like a fairy, and I wonder if there's a spell that has similar effects. Look, the idea of people suddenly squeaking miserably as soon as they start to hurl blood-based slurs appeals to me.

I like some non-harmful vigilante style justice. And harmful vigilante style justice. I'm not too picky, me. 

We watch as the last bastion of good manners in the hall dissolves into alarmed squeaks and giggle. Oh, this is priceless.

"I suppose you thought that juvenile piece of idiocy amusing, Potter."

Oh shit. There's only one person in the whole school who pronounces my surname like that, squeaky voice or not..

We whirl and all the laughter dies. 

There, in all his greasy git glory, is Snivellus Snape - and he's pissed.

Fuck, we are so dead.

I don't think even Aunt Cissa could save us now.

Chapter 38: So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye

Snape does not murder us and hide the bodies. It's a close run thing though. I can see the killing instinct in his eyes. 

Instead he just gives us detention. A lot of it. 

He only docks three house points (one for Co-Co and two for me), because the only thing more important than sticking it to James Potter's daughter in Snape's eyes is winning the House Cup and sticking it to Gryffindor as a whole. 

So he takes it all out on detentions. Co-Co only has to write lines for a few evenings seeing as he was clearly 'dragged into my nonsense' and was practically innocent in all of this.

Honestly, at this point I don't even bother to call favouritism, it's gone so far beyond that. 

I have detention up until exams start (because the school has policies about detention during exam period apparently), which gives us about three weeks of Snape-induced torture. Wonderful. 

He starts off with making me clean desks and cauldrons by hand, but gives up on that when I'm pretty evidently perfectly fine with that kind of chore. Thank you Dursleys, said no one ever. 

So then he has me puncturing newt eyes and extracting the juice from them for various potions. That also only lasts a few evenings before he realises that I have basically no reaction to the grossness. 

Look, when you've spent hours as a child sitting beside your mother's corpse, when you've spent ten years being beaten and turned into a virtual slave, when you've burned a man to death with your hands while being tortured and having Dark curses thrown point blank into your body - eyeball juice has nothing on that. It has nothing even after just one visit to Nagini Sr. in her Chamber of Ew. 

And sure, I could pretend to be grossed out and unsettled by his punishments. But its frankly much funnier to have no reaction to things that he is clearly expecting to traumatise me. 

The growing frustration in his eyes is glorious, it's literally feeding my inner gremlin, especially considering that he's stipulated that Lumi cannot enter his classroom anymore and I haven't yet gone to Dumbles to get it overturned. 

I have confidence that between them Padfoot and Aunt Cissa can sort it though, apparently there's laws about separating familiars from their witch or wizard. 

Also, I'm still trying to revise and keep up with my homework and social life while Snape is putting me through the detention version of I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here.

It helps when Flint has practices though, because even Snape is too obsessed with winning the Quidditch Cup to keep me in detention then. Practices are getting great, especially because most of the school's players are now in the cult so we schedule a lot of joint practices now. 

I'm still tired though. And a tired Hava is a Hava with even fewer inhibitions than usual. So yes, I'm taking great joy in just stonefacedly rolling with Snape's detentions. 

Apparently staring dead into his eyes while I gut various animals is unnerving, who knew.

Well, I knew.

People find my eyes creepy and weirdly hypnotising so if I'm acting creepy on top of that it's even better. 

It's glorious, because Snape is clearly regretting every life decision he ever made that led him to be trapped in a room for hours with a creepy child but is also too proud to rescind a single detention ever. 

I'm not trapped in there with him, he's trapped in there with me. Sometimes I play up Mum's mannerisms or Voldy's, just for the shiggles. 

Do I feel a little bad for pushing his trauma buttons even after I promised about five different people to stop? No. He's still a raging wizard nazi and a bully, and he terrifies Nev. 

This is revenge on behalf of my favourite godbrother. What kind of fucker bullies an eleven year old for something they had no control over? 

And yeah, sure, he's keeping me alive because of love for Mum or something. But he still hates my guts, I can take care of myself, and frankly Mum wanted nothing to do with his 'love'.

To give you an idea of how our detentions usually go? 

Let's talk about the time he made me skin, debone and gut Boomslangs. Probably some sort of veiled threat to Lumi now that I think about it. 

It's not a lesson, which means I can wear my own clothes. So I show up in flared jeans and a gold and brown patterned blouse that brings out the faint golden tones to my hair. It is an almost direct recreation of an outfit Mum is wearing in a photo Padfoot gave me of her at 14. 

Like I said, psychological warfare. I'm not trapped in here with him, he's trapped in here with me. I'm even sacrificing my usual colour scheme for this. 

His expression stays blankly hateful as I walk in, but I can see the way the line of his shoulders tightens ever so slightly by the faint ripples it sends down the fabric of his robes. Point to me!

We're starting strong. 

"Good evening Professor." I say politely. There's nothing that annoys him more than being unable to tell a Potter off. "I'm here for my detention."

He seems torn between staring at me and looking anywhere but at me, which evens out to him glaring at my forehead. It's very funny. 

Seeming to realise that it's not intimidating me (after Mouldywarts's disgusting face, Snape isn't even in the top 20 anymore), he points to a pile of dead snakes on a desk and tells me to skin, gut and debone them.

Which is...fairly par for the course? I'm getting good at ingredient prep now so he's really just doing me a favour. It's going to be hilarious when he realises why my potions have taken a leap from good to exceptional. 

The snakes are Boomslangs, I realise as I get closer. I'd recognise those greens and purples anywhere. Point to Snivellus. That's just low. 

For the first time I am glad that Lumi isn't allowed in these detentions. you'd go nuts at this bestie, I murmur under my breath as I pick up the first snake. not that i blame you. this is so fucked up.

"What did you say, Potter?" He snaps. Hehe, Snape snaps. 

I smile innocently at him, tilting my head to the side ever so slightly, lingering a bit on each 's' to pass my lips. "Nothing, sir. Just talking to myself." 

He blanches a little. Another point to me. I catch his eyes and hold them as I activate my secret weapon - the dimples I got from Mum. 

There we go. "You have a job to do, Potter." He says, his eyes glazing over a little. He doesn't look away though - recently I've found that people find it hard to break eye contact with me. And yes, I'm abusing that. 

I take pity on him and look down. "Yes, sir."

Skinning the Boomslang is easy enough, he was near his shed when he was killed.

Deboning less so but I've cooked the kind of fish you have to debone enough that I know how to do it. Fuck the Dursleys. 

And gutting? Easy, therapeutic. Almost mindless. 

I peek up to see Snape marking papers with a thin black quill that splatters viscous red ink everywhere with each stroke. He's scowling and pressing so hard that the poor abused nib is going to break soon. 

One guess why. 

Looking back down at my second Boomslang, I consider having some fun with them. After all, being a Parselmouth has to have some perks right? 

Snakes listen when I speak. They obey me. Would they do so after death? 

I open my mouth and feel the magic gather heavy on my tongue. 

That would be kinda creepy though - and I don't know if it would count as Dark Magic. Magical gifts are funny like that. 

Best not to risk it. 

I start to just chatter away in Parseltongue instead. Complete nonsense, mostly just telling the dead snakes about my day and the adventures Susan and I had in the kitchens, and the Exploding Snap game between The Traumatised Child Club + Pansy, and the giant game of Blind Man's Buff I roped the cult into playing. We stopped after Susan bit Theo though because Claudia and Percy are spoilsports.

Every now and then I sneak a glance up. Snape is changing colours like a chameleon.  It's glorious. 

I'm keeping quiet enough that I could believably say I am trying to be subtle - but Snape can definitely hear me. Which would be a problem if I didn't know he'd given Mum her first snake so he pretty clearly knew about the whole Parseltongue thing. 

So I can play on his Voldie trauma and his Mum trauma at the same time! Two birds with one stone!

He lasts for exactly six snakes, before he snaps and tells me to get out. 

I smile, thank him for his time, and walk out with blood streaked all over my blouse. Boomslang blood is as red as human blood, hence the unusual amount of mess. 

As I walk down the corridor, I can hear things smashing behind the closed door. 

Lumi slithers out from an empty classroom, and I kneel down to let her wind her way up my arms to settle in her usual place across my shoulders. 

did you defeat him? She asks as I continue down the corridor. 

of course i did. 

If a snake could sigh exasperatedly, Lumi would be the master of it. that explains the sound of things breaking then. 

*******************

Exams...go.

I don't know, what are you supposed to say about exams? Especially first year exams, I really didn't have to revise as hard as I did.

Honestly, the most exciting part is that I get my evenings back because of the school policy about detentions during exam periods.

As fun as it is unnerving Snape, it was getting a little repetitive and his detentions were getting a little more inventive. I was getting actually worried the time he brought out Filch's manacle set. That hit a little too close to home and he saw it.  

The important thing is that I'm fairly sure I did better than canon Harry. Not only am I more invested in my studies than in the megalomaniac out for my blood, but said megalomaniac is not currently on the rampage. 

So my life plan is on track. I'm going to be an Auror or a teacher and have entirely functional kids without a drop of Weasley bloo in them and canon Harry will look at my life and weep. 

Anyway, people like Percy and Claudia are Stressed, understandably. Marcus and Oliver couldn't care less of course, as long as they win the Quidditch Cup, but the majority of the fifth and seventh years in our ever-expanding group are wretched messes. 

Nancy has to take Hermione aside and prohibit her from selling anymore energy drinks before someone explodes from too much caffeine and stress and sugar. For once I restrain myself and don't poke Hermione's baser businesswoman instincts, though Fred and George have no such inhibitions. 

She limits her sales to three cans per person per week, and sends her prices skyhigh which is such a Hermione compromise. I love her so much. 

When we're all grown up, she's going to be so scary. 

Then, of course, our own exams hit and her business begins to be mostly ignored in favour of frantically going over every exam after the fact. 

I say mostly because it's Hermione. She can't let even the smallest succes out of her iron grip. So she keeps it running. 

What her parents are thinking about her becoming a black market Muggle contraband dealer I have no idea. Aren't they respectable dentists? Eh, not my business or my problem.

And honestly? I'm having a ball. My evenings are free again, everyone is getting more and more stressed which means they're getting more and more ridiculous, and all this free time means its way easier to sneak off to the Chamber and have Nagini time.

She's found me some Parselmagic books, which I am slowly slogging through. The spells themselves are easy enough. I just say them and they work. Bam. Like magic. 

The problem is the pages and pages of theory that go with each spell and are light-years ahead of my level. 

I want to do the spells though, and Nagini had insisted I read the theory if I'm going to be casting dangerous advanced spells. 

A deal is a deal, so Lumi and Nagini sit there and judge me as I cry over stupid centuries-old magical theory. 

On the plus side, I now know some awesome spells and my theory knowledge has been solidified enough that I am breezing through the written exams. The practical exams go pretty well as well, though I do have to rely on some hefty wish magic for Transfiguration and I know Minnie's taken marks off for that. 

Mostly I'm good at practical exams though. Especially Charms. Charms was a breeze, and I saw Flitwick's eyes glinting suspiciously which means I reminded him of Mum again. That's always a good sign academically, right? 

Anyway, once the exams are over, we can turn to the most important thing.

The final Quidditch match of the year is Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin. It was supposed to be in November, but both Co-Co and I were mildly indisposed because of the whole Tim-Tam affair. 

So it's been rescheduled to after exams. Because everything that wizards do makes sense. Obviously. 

We absolutely destroy Hufflepuff, for the record. Well, that's maybe a slight teensy little lie. It's a close match. Very close. 

They may be twenty or thirty points ahead of us because our Keeper, Miles, has a cold and is stressed so is on less than his best game. Very disappointing Bletchley. But Co-Co catches the Snitch so it's all good.

Ravenclaw still wins the Quidditch Cup though. Fuck them. The Quidditch players in the cult are all noticeably cool towards the Ravenclaws for a few days after that. 

Hermione doesn't get it until Claudia asks how she'd feel if every Ravenclaw beat her academically. Then she recruits Ron into working out a way to hit the Ravenclaws where it hurts - in her black market Muggle contraband business. 

Those two are going to be terrifying businesspeople when we grow up.

***************

The exam results come out for us lowly non OWL or NEWT students a week before the end of term. 

Hermione beat everyone at everything, of course. Except Nev won in Herbology and Co-Co in History of Magic, and I did tie with Co-Co for best marks in Flying.

I've done decently, I decide. Snape almost failed me out of spite but couldn't quite get away with it. All of my other marks are good! Well, except for Transfiguration, but that's because I suck at it. McGonagall knows I tried. 

Charms is definitely my best subject, the only person who beat me in Charms is Hermione, which I'm super proud of. And for the rest of the subjects, I'm somewhere between good and average. 

Honestly? I'll take that. As long as I beat Dildo Lover in OWLs and NEWTs I'm happy. Well, and murder every bit of his torn up soul but I think that goes without saying.

Susan and I go on more adventures exploring the castle. We bump into Sir Cadogan at one point, which is fun because we can absolutely abuse the power of being 'fair young damsels in distress'. He's totally humouring us, so everyone's having fun.

Ron and Hermione and Nancy and I keep running Hermione's business, which is booming. She's doing amazing. We've already gotten to 5th year Hermione who's giving no fucks and I'm so proud of us. 

The cult in general all spend time together, in the Room of Requirement or out on the grounds, or in the kitchens. 

But mostly I spend time with the Traumatised Children Club + Pansy. We sneak into the Forest at one point, and Nancy and I pet a unicorn. We do have to set Lumi on an Acromantula, but otherwise we come out of it entirely unscathed. 

I bring them down to the Chamber and introduce them to Nagini which goes fairly well once they stop screaming. Co-Co is very disappointed in me for keeping such a big secret, though I make it up to him by letting him loose on the family trees and the various books and stuff that Warty didn't manage to pillage. 

Nagini thinks we're all adorable, and is very sad that I'm the only one who's happy to hug her and curl up on her. Don't get me wrong, I entirely understand why the non-Parseltongues don't want to be very near the big dangerous snake. 

But I know her, and someone in the mists of time did some skeevy magic that bound her to my bloodline, and she's warmy and comfy and smells nice. Nagini's like one of my favourite people ever. 

Lumi loves her too, which is a huge green flag. If Lumi isn't on my shoulders then she's usually down in the Chamber talking shit with Nagini. I love my snake besties so much. 

And then, almost before we know it, it is time to go. 

The House Cup goes to Slytherin because we worked fucking hard for it and there isn't any Golden Boy Gryffindor to justify Dumbles taking it off us. 

It's a delicious feeling, and I feel a pang of sympathy to the canon Slytherins who never got this. 

Sure, they were bigoted little shits who'd never been forced into treating other people like people, but they were still children. Dumbles could have given Harry and co points at any time before the feast. 

I cut off my well-worn rant there. In this world Dumbles hasn't, obviously. 

All is well with the world. 

We all gorge ourselves on Hogwarts cooking one last time, and sleep soundly in Hogwarts beds one last time. 

Everyone is a little bleary-eyed in the morning, because the feast had gone super late. I'm also fairly sure that the of-age students had had a few illicit parties after we'd all gone to be, but that's their own business. Nothing to do with me. They've all clearly just eaten bad food and spontaneously gotten headaches.

After that it's a whirlwind of last minute packing, finding the socks that had fallen under the desk and the jewellry that is hidden in the bedclothes and half a hundred other things that got forgotten last night. 

Then it's down to Hogsmeade and onto the train almost before I'm fully awake.

Once again the whole cult piles into a single compartment. There are...significantly more of us this time. The Prefects and Claudia take it upon themselves to Expand it, and also connect it to another Expanded compartment just so we have enough room for all of us without breaking the space-time continuum. Or something. 

Apparently it's theory that's taught in third year, so the lowly infants can't possibly comprehend it.

We do not play Irish Snap for the sake of Claudia's sanity, but Exploding Snap is perfectly fine, and Hermione's just gotten a load of Muggle board games. 

Scrabble is an instant favourite, as is Cluedo. Monopoly is dominated by Ron and Justin until someone notices that they're cheating and then there's almost a double murder.

The train pulls into the station almost before we realise. 

It feels like we've just eaten lunch, but there is the platform crowded with parents and guardians and siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins. 

So many people, all of them peering eagerly in as the train passes them, looking for their child or children. 

I hug everyone in the compartment, which takes long enough that the crowd in the station has thinned somewhat. You can even see the ground now! I decide to pretend that that was my plan all along, because I am a sneaky Slytherin who is always plotting. 

Everyone looks at me disbelievingly for that, which feels very insulting, I flounce out dramatically and then throw myself off the train, and into the crowd.

I'm small enough to weave my way through it without issue now that it's thinned a little, so it takes me almost no time at all to find Padfoot. He's standing with Moony and Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucy, which is wonderful. Even better, they've got Aunt Andie and Uncle Ted and To-To, and Abraxas Malfoy is nowhere in sight. 

I take all of this in in the space of time it takes me to fling myself bodily at my godfather. "Padfoot!" I shriek at the top of my lungs.

He startles, but he catches me and swings me around and around and around until I'm shrieking with delight and dizzy. "Prongslet! You've grown so much!" 

"Sirius." Aunt Cissa scolds. "You'll make her sick spinning her like that after she's eaten!" Then she leans over to wrap one arm about me. "Welcome back, Hava."

I hug her back, and then draw away quickly as Co-Co comes screaming in. To-To laughs, her hair turning a mocking shade of silver as she waves to the still slightly glum Weasleys leaving the train. They'd wanted the Cup so bad, but sucks to be them!

"Grimmauld Place is done now, Prongslet." Padfoot says cheerfully, transferring me to his hip. "We can move there and get out of Lucy's hair!"

Uncle Lucy sends an unimpressed look to him as we all move towards the barrier. Apparently we're going for a family lunch. Nice! 

I squirm until Padfoot lets me down, and launch myself at To-To. My favourite cousin! She's going to tell me all about Auror-ship!

Notes:

And that's a wrap for Hava's first year!

Next up - summer holidays and Grimmauld Place, and we all know what waits there...

Chapter 39

Chapter by TiresiasTheBlindSeer (Ravenclaw_Peredhel)

Lunch happens at a wizarding restaurant that can only be described as 'swanky'. Or perhaps, 'posh' or 'ludicrously expensive'. I'm sure this is such a surprise to everyone involved (not). 

Uncle Lucy would probably break out in hives if a meal cost less than the annual income of a small sovereign state - people might start to think he was poor! The horror! They might start to associate him with the Weasleys!

I wonder if the snobbery came from Abraxas Malfoy or his mum. Or both. It could be both. Stupid entitled classist pricks. 

The Malfoys aside, it is actually a really nice lunch. At least the exorbitantly expensive things the Malfoys prefer are enjoyable as well as being stupid wealth flexes. 

Also they pay for it. Aunt Cissa says it's 'her treat', so I'm fairly sure she just wants an excuse to buy a stupid amount of food without looking like it's all for her. Something about women and attractively small appetites and society and stuff. 

It sounds like Gone With The Wind if I'm honest. 

She spends the whole lunch gossiping with Aunt Andy anyway, so it's not like anyone would notice how much food she ate. Maybe it's because she's super good at eating it so slyly that you barely register it. 

Co-Co and I get to catch up with To-To, who dazzles and horrifies us with tales of Auror training. 

It gets a little awkward when she enthusiastically tells us she is studying under Mad-Eye Moody. Aunt Cissa jumps in with a comment about remembering how Padfoot had bitched about working under him, which is all well and good. 

The problem is that Padfoot has never backed down from a challenge in his life. So he looks down his nose at everyone and retorts that unlike some people at this table he was never arrested by Moody. 

Yeah. 

Suffice to say we are all quite quiet for a minute.

***************

After a lunch in which by some miracle no one gets cursed, we leave for Grimmauld.

I've been assured that the handful of things I forgot at Malfoy Manor instead of packing away after Christmas have already been brought to my new room. Because it's Aunt Cissa telling me, I believe her. 

We appear with a crack on the front step.

I have only a moment to glance curiously up at the elaborate be-gargoyled facade of the literal freaking mansion smack bang in the middle of a random street in London (only the Blacks) before Padfoot is hustling us inside, almost vibrating with exitement. 

Inside, it looks nothing like the movie. Clearly, everyone has been very busy. 

Don't get me wrong, it's still got that weird Victorian-esque look, which has always puzzled me because the Statute came in during the 17th century so surely we should have more 17th century Muggle influence than late 19th? Ah well, a mystery for the ages I suppose. 

Anyway, Padfoot being his darling dramatic self has kept the old timey aesthetic. But everything has gone from narrow, creaky haunted house to grand, sweeping haunted mansion. It's now all rich reds and golds and dark woods, with great gold-framed mirrors and portraits on the walls.

Everything feels very Roccoco and lavish and I am in love just standing in the hall. 

Behind me I can hear Co-Co muttering something about To-To being glad she'd never seen it before Uncle Sirius got his paws on it. 

"Well?" Padfoot says, bouncing on his toes. "Whaddya think, Prongslet? We can change it if you want of course, it just had to be habitable before we brought you here."

I look up at him. Clearly this has taken so much time, money and effort. But he'll throw it away in a moment if I so much as look askance at a chandelier. 

Fuck. There's so much dust in my eyes. Really, there was only one possible answer. 

I launch myself up at him again. He catches me, and laughs, and I can feel him relaxing. "You like it then? It's not too much?"

"I love it! It's so extra, it's amazing, I want to stay here forever!" 

Padfoot laughs again. He does that a lot now. "Wait until you see your room."

So then nothing will do but for us all to troop up several flights of stairs to the room that has been designated mine. It's just across the hall from the one with his name on it, which gives me the warm fuzzies. This is the family floor, and he's put me on it. 

My door is the same dark wood as the rest of the house, with a silver plate engraved with my name in fancy penmanship right at adult eye level. Hava Iris Potter, it announces to the whole world.

I blink back tears. What I wouldn't pay for the Dursleys to see a room in a literal fucking mansion with my name on it when they had begrudged me a measly cupboard.

Padfoot opens the door, and I cannot help the gasp that escapes me. 

It's almost an exact replica of my room in Godric's Hollow. White walls with silver and blue and purple swirls tumbling across them, a ceiling with those black beams that had almost faded from my memory. Thick purple carpet, so soft that I sink into it almost to my ankles.

Not everything is the same, of course, it is a girl's room not an infant's.

There is a four poster with lilies and wolves and dogs and stags hidden throughout the intricate woodwork, and blue hangings embroidered with familiar constellations. My old blanket is spread over it, looking as if it has only just been finished, not hidden in a cupboard for a decade.

In between the black beams, the ceiling has been charmed the same deep purple as my room in Malfoy Manor, the stars gleaming across it exactly the same.

There is a huge bay window, with a window seat and soft purple drapes with silver tassels.

The Narnia omnibus that had once belonged to Mum is sitting on a stuffed bookshelf. Next to the bookshelf is a heavy, dark wardrobe that could fit anyone's Narnia dreams. 

There's an honest to goodness terrarium with Lumi's name on a little silver plaque that matches the one on my door. It's got a freaking cat-flap (snake-flap?) so she can get in and out without waiting for me.

When I reach a trembling finger out to touch the wall, it doesn't melt away like a dream as I had half expected it would. 

"It's like your room in Godric's Hollow." Padfoot explains, almost shyly. "I know you remembered some of it, but I wanted to give you as much of it as I could. It's not much to make up for everything that I missed, I know."

Oh, dear, someone hasn't dusted. I don't bother jumping up at Padfoot this time. 

I just wrap my skinny noodle arms around his waist and squeeze. "It's too perfect for words." I whisper. "Thank you, Padfoot."

His arms come around me and squeeze gently back. "Anything for you Prongslet."

Vaguely I can hear Aunts Cissa and Andy marshalling the others away. I don't really care. I just stand in my very own bedroom and cry silently into my godfather's stupidly expensive robes while he cries too and my snake slithers over us, so panicked at the tears that she forgets to be sarcastic.

I miss Nagini. She's so much better with tears than Lumi. Lumi always loses her head when I cry, but Nagini's sat through generations of Slytherin's descendants in their tumultuous teenage years. 

She's experienced. 

Also there's something about being wrapped up in the coils of a thousand year old incredibly dangerous magical snake that makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. Nothing can touch me when Nagini's got me.

Padfoot is no mean hugger though. I love him so much. 

When we've cried ourselves out, we make our way down to the dining room.  Not the kitchen, where everyone ate in the movies - and the books...maybe?

An honest-to-goodness dining room, all gold and burgundy and ruffles. It's all roccoco-y, like some of the big houses you could visit in my last life. 

I can't tell if Aunt Cissa had a hand in the design choices or Padfoot just decided he liked the vibes. Maybe both? They're cousins after all.

Apparently everyone is staying for supper and Uncle Lucy's crappy facist dad isn't invited. Even better. 

And Kreacher is not cooking. I'm mildly disappointed by that until I remember that Kreacher hasn't had his character development yet and so would be more likely to poison us than make the delicious things the Deathly Hallows described that always made me hungry. 

Bitsy has cooked instead, a full roast with trimmings and dessert to follow, with fancy red wine for the adults and less fancy (but only slightly less) unfermented grape juice for us children.

Oh, and by 'roast' I mean a roast suckling pig. With an apple in its mouth. Wizards do nothing by half. 

Padfoot and I slide into our chairs silently, and everyone else has the grace to pretend they don't see our suspiciously red and swollen eyes. Co-Co is next to me, which I suspect is Aunt Cissa's doing, and he just pats my shoulder awkwardly. 

"Will you do the honours, Sirius?" Aunt Andy asks, in the tone that says 'this might sound like a polite request but is not an option'. I imagine it's caused a lot of squabbles over the years considering Padfoot's understandable aversion to authority.

By some miracle, he decides not to start a fight just yet. Maybe he wants to taste the food first. Maybe he's tired too. 

Regardless of the reason, he obediently reaches for the giant knife (that looks suspiciously...un-knife-like and also has the sketchy vibes that means it's probably cursed somehow) and starts to carve neat slices. Very neat, actually.

He's very good with a knife. I wonder if he can teach me to fight with knives. 

"You first, pup." Padfoot slides the meat onto my plate at the same time Aunt Cissa leans over to spoon the sides onto it. 

It's a very pretty plate. Or, rather, a very fancy one.

Gold rather than silver because Padfoot might die if he doesn't remind everyone that he's a Gryffindor every five minutes, but still stamped with the Black crest like the fancy plates and goblets in the books. 

It's a bit dark, what with the ravens and everything, but just like the first time the other me saw it, it's so fucking cool. Whichever Black came up with it was onto something.

Co-Co pours sauce on top of everything, thoroughly covering the crest from my view. "Are you going to eat or not?" He says impatiently. 

I blink. 

Everyone's plates are full and everyone besides Co-Co and I is eating. Oops. I need to stop zoning out - what if it happens when I'm in danger? What if...

Before Co-Co can tattle on me to Aunt Cissa, I pick up my (very fancy) knife and fork and cut myself some of the roast pork on the plate. It's almost the best thing I've ever tasted.

"You like it?" Padfoot asks, something fragile and young gleaming in his eyes. 

I nod. I can feel Uncle Lucy cringing but it was nodding or speaking with my mouth full. Him being such a stickler for etiquette is on him. 

My godfather's shoulders relax a bit. "That's good, that's..." His voice trails off, and his eyes go misty, a bittersweet little smile ticking up the corners of his lips. When he speaks again I can barely hear him. "It's a Potter favourite, you know."

"Really?" I say, willing my voice not to shake. It's almost embarrassing how desperate I feel for anything connecting me to my family when I only knew Lily and James Potter for a year.

He shakes his head a little, and seems to come back to himself. "Yes. Your grandmother used to order it for supper every time we came back from Hogwarts. Bitsy makes it the same way she always did."

I look at the carved up pig in the centre of the table with new eyes. Every time Dad left Hogwarts, he would know to expect this meal waiting for him at home with his parents. 

Maybe if things had been kinder, I would have known too.

"Can we..." My voice dies away, and I can't force any more words out. 

Thankfully, I don't have to. "Of course, Prongslet." Padfoot says, his voice hoarse. "Of course."

Co-Co momentarily abandons the food he had been inhaling with all the enthusiasm of a pre-teen boy (and the manners of a Malfoy) to squeeze my hand.

He does it again after To-To whispers in his ear, so I assume that the second is from her. I aim the best smile I can muster down the table at her.

"This is lovely, Sirius." Aunt Cissa says, putting down her knife and fork. "Do you think Bitsy could be prevailed upon to give the recipe to Dobby?"

"Oh not Dobby, Narcissa." Uncle Lucy says, with only the slightest hint of a groan in his voice.

Silence. 

I don't know why everyone is silent, but I'm curious so I follow along.

There is a pop, almost unbearably loud in the confines of a room so quiet a pin could be heard dropping.

"Is there a problem with Dobby's cooking, Master Malfoy?" Comes a voice I only vaguely recognise. 

Uncle Lucy visibly pales. "I, no, of course not, Dobby."

"Master Malfoy does not wish to register a complaint with the quality of Dobby's work?"

"No," he half-shouts, before catching himself and speaking as blankly as any good Pureblood. "No, your work is as excellent as ever Dobby."

The huge eyes narrow, and Dobby smiles with teeth that look...did he have that many teeth before? Were they quite that sharp? What the fuck?

"Very well. Dobby shall dust Master Malfoy's dressing room." And on that surprisingly ominous note, he vanishes with another pop.

The room seems to warm up again, and everyone picks up threads of abandoned conversations. There is a distinct air of forced joviality now though.

Okay, what the fuck. 

I lean over to Co-Co. "I'm confused."

"One doesnt insult the quality of a house elf's labour, remember." He says, but in the way you do when you're telling someone that yes your shoes go on your feet not your hands.

I try not to let it get to me. "Why not?" 

"The contract, remember." He rolls his eyes. "Do you want to have to fight a house elf for insulting their honour?"

I roll my eyes back, he can be such a twerp sometimes. "Muggle-raised, remember."

No one lets me forget it either. There's so much that I'm supposed to know automatically the way everyone else does, and then when I don't everyone looks surprised.

Like, sure I spent a few months with the Malfoys and my infancy with my parents. That does fuck all against an entire childhood with the Dursleys. 

For all intents and purposes I'm a well-informed Muggleborn 

Co-Co still looks at me like I'm mad. Great. "You spent months at our house. You had hours long conversations with our elves and Bitsy!"

"Yeah," I don't snap at him, but I do revert to yeah over yes, hang Uncle Lucy's sensibilities, "and I never came across this."

My cousin is still looking like I'm a few marbles short of a set. 

Great. 

But eventually he does relent. "Well I guess everyone does try to avoid it."

That's...probably the best I'm going to get tonight. Co-Co hates apologising or being wrong. 

why has the peacock child upset you. has he insulted us? must i claim recompense for his slight?

Ohh shit. I grab Lumi's head before she can start a fight with Co-Co. no, no, it was just a friendly spat, no one needs to fight lumi, everything's fine

you are sure? no one has offered us insult? Her eyes scan about the table hopefully. 

i'm sure. please don't bite anyone

Ted shudders a little as my eyes turn towards him. "Sorry, but am I the only one who thinks thats a little creepy."

It's a fair enough question, if a little hurtful. If I weren't a Parselmouth I'd think it was creepy too because snakes can be creepy. Also there's a lot of people with Parseltongue related trauma thanks to Mouldy Shorts. 

If he only thinks its a bit creepy that's actually kind of a win.

Unfortunately, Lucy takes it into his head to take offense to it like the good little Slytherin Pureblood cultist he is.

I'd blame the wine, but it's more likely to be the brainwashing and decades of habit.

"Of course someone like you would think that." He says coolly, the exact tone you use when you want to goad someone into losing their temper.

Equally unfortunately, Ted did not elope with a Black and escape with his life without being able to read a room. 

His usually jolly eyes narrow. "Someone like what, Lucius." 

Okay, now I understand how he survived the last war. Uncle Ted has balls of steel.

"Someone who was not raised in our world and doesn't belong to it," he pauses, making deliberate eye contact, "Ted."

"Oh," Uncle Ted says lightly "I didn't realise i had to apologise for being slightly unsettled when the last Parselmouth i saw using the ability was your boss."

Uh oh. 

Lucy's spine straightens noticeably. "I was Imperiused." He snaps. 

Ted scoffs. "Pull the other one."

And then it devolves into a brawl that would make any extras in a bar scene proud.

There's a lot of curses.

Not just from Ted and Lucy, though that is shaping up into a truly fun duel. 

Cissa tries to cast a shield for Lucy and Andy tries to curse him because apparently they both noted Lucy as the weak point. Then they start bickering because Cissa is ruining Andy's fun and Andy's husband is trying to curse Cissa's husband. 

By the time Aunt Andy has gotten around to yelling, "Well if you didn't want me to curse your husband for being a bigot then maybe you should have married a competent one", To-To has dragged Co-Co and I under the table where all three of us can watch in some sort of fascinated horror. 

Aren't these supposed to be the adults? 

When one of Aunt Cissa's curses leaves a scorch mark in the wallpaper, Padfoot snaps. "Stop ruining my dining room!"

That does absolutely nothing of course, except garnering him a snapped 'stay out of this Sirius' from all four of the adults involved in the cursing. 

He ducks a stray...was that a Blood-Boiling Curse? and yelps. "You can't boss me around in my own damn home!"

Brilliant. Just brilliant. 

I've not even gotten to sleep in my nice pretty room and the house is already about to be cursed into a million pieces. Is this what they were doing while we were all at school?

Eventually, Padfoot casts...something and everyone stops casting curses in favour of casting...rubber ducks? 

The sheer confusion stops the duels in their tracks. Well. I guess pranks spells can save lives - or at least houses. 

"I think it would be best if you left, cousin." Padfoot says, his voice about as warm as Black Lake in February.

Aunt Cissa's head is held as high as ever of course but her lips are pursed in what I assume is frustration or disappointment. 

"Yes." She replies, just as warmly as Padfoot. "I think that would be wise. Come, Lucius."

Co-Co manages to get in a quick hug for To-To and I before he has to follow his parents through to the Floo - both of them with noses in the air. I think that is what one calls departing in high dudgeon. 

As the sound of the Floo dies down, Aunt Andy stands. "I think we should retire as well, if you don't mind Sirius."

"Be my guest." He says sulkily, looking at the scorch marks on the wallpaper. 

We wait until they too have departed (through the front door because apparently the mere thought of leaving the same way as the Malfoys is too much right now), before leaving the dining room to tomorrow's Padfoot and Hava.

"Well," he says with incongruous cheer as we head upstairs, "that went well."

I stumble on the stairs. "I'm sorry it what?"

Padfoot steadies me, and keeps heading up unphased. Wow, so glad my godfather cares about my mental and physical wellbeing.

"Nothing broke that couldnt be repaired, and we didn't need a healer. By Black standards that's excellent." Wow he should not be that cheerful about it. What the fuck Padfoot. 

Out loud I convert it to something less likely to get me told off for language

"Well," he says, still obnoxiously cheerful, "if you want context, just wait for the full family meeting"

I definitely screech then. "The what?"

"Full family meeting." He repeats blithely. "Haven't had one for a while. I've sent the notice out, we should be ready in a month or so. Dont worry we'll have plenty of warning before they all descend."

My brain pauses. 

Hava.exe has stopped working. 

"We?" 

Padfoot opens the door to my bedroom. "Well yes, you're Dorea Black's granddaughter and my heir unless i have children of my own. You're coming."

He should so not be this chirpy about it. 

"Oh great." I groan, flopping face down onto the bed. Wow it's soft. Is that magic or just a good quality bed?

Padfoot just laughs at me and pats my shoulder. "Chin up pup, you'll learn some good curses."

Well, that's one consolation. 

Also I bet I can scare the socks off of a bunch of them with Lumi.

Notes:

The thing with Dobby - if you insult a house elf's work it could constitute an insult to their honour and then could either judge themselves freed and leave OR could fight for the insult and no one wants to fight a house elf because you WILL lose. (Trying to skew he elf-wizard relations a bit so it's less problematic)

So my parents are confiscating all devices for the next week, but I'll be back to respond to comments next Tuesday! See you all then!

Chapter 40: What Rhymes With Killer? Locket?

Chapter by TiresiasTheBlindSeer (Ravenclaw_Peredhel)

The next day, Padfoot sits me down in front of the family tree tapestry and teaches me everyone still alive. 

He starts with Co-Co's grandparents because we're likely to meet them first. Cygnus Black and Druella Black nèe Rosier, parents to three daughters of whom they only publically acknowledge one. What with Bellatrix being in prison and Andromeda marrying Ted. In my head it's kind of funny that the daughter they're proudest of is the one in prison and the one they take issue with is the only one with a functional life who's actually done really well with herself (Aunt Cissa doesn't count because I love her but *gestures at the whole Death Eater thing* not functional). 

They mostly live in Spain, and travel around Europe, but come to England when it least suits their daughter and son-in-law. "They haven't been back this year yet," Padfoot says mock thoughtfully, "but I reckon it's because they don't want to be in the same country as Abraxas if they can possibly help it."

"You already know Andy, Cissy and their kids, so we don't have to cover them." He waves a hand blithely towards where Aunt Andy is freshly restored to the tapestry with Uncle Ted, To-To gleaming defiantly below them and the Malfoys one branch over. Oooh isn't that going to annoy some people.

Padfoot's parents are (fortunately) both dead, as is his brother (most unfortunately) - which reminds me to grab the locket as soon as I can.

He hurries on from Regulus so fast that my head almost spins. Not that I don't understand of course. I do him the courtesy of pretending not to see the emptiness in his eyes as he stares at his brother's picture even after his cane is pointing at a previouslt blacked out picture.

"When dear old Grandad ruled the roost, Marius was persona non grata for the high crime of not being born with magic. He would never have been invited. Now that the roost is mine however, I make the rules, so Marius and his family are coming."

So then he explains to me in great detail about Marius, his Muggle wife Ana, their daughter Miriam, her husband Rob and their children Lauren and Caleb. "And Lauren Wallace," he says gleefully, "has just gotten her Hogwarts letter." 

We both pause for a minute imagining everyone's faces upon meeting Marius Black's family. It's going to be horrible, I can't wait, everyone's going to hate it so much. Co-Co might actually cry. 

Not that making my cousin cry actual tears is a motive for anything. Of course. It'll just be a fun bonus. Because I'm not mean. Just, what's the word, opportunistic. 

I slump further down in my armchair as it becomes apparent that Padfoot is not going to stop infodumping about his relatives. This is going to take forever. Also I swear they all have the same name. Cassiopeia, Andromeda, Hesper, Cygnus, why do they all sound like pretentious loony sots? 

Oh yeah because they probably are. 

Not Aunt Andy of course. She deserves better. But the rest of them are. 

The whirlwind tour of his family ends (finally) with a face I recognise from the Mirror of Erised, a woman with the same eyes as Padfoot but full of something fierce and blazing. That's Dad's nose, and the same hairline he passed to me. 

I've seen her before, standing amidst a throng of people in the Mirror of Erised.

"I saved you the best for last, Prongslet." He says softly. "Meet your late grandparents, Dorea and Charlus. It's Dorea's blood that got you your invite to the hellhouse."

I follow the golden line joining them down to the familiar face of my dad. He's grinning out of the tapestry at me, hair askew and eyes glinting wickedly. Joined to him is Mum, scorch marks all around her but still defiantly there. 

And then, below them, I can see myself. Scrawny and tiny, mismatched eyes and wavy hair. Thread gleaming with newness - presumably my image only just produced after Dad had been restored to the tapestry.

"And that's everyone." Padfoot says. "I'll make you some flashcards to drill with."

I groan and flop down onto the floor. Kill me now.

Padfoot pokes me with one toe. "Oh don't be like that. Better to learn them all than get cursed right off the bat for mixing them up, and you know it."

Fuck him very much. No one made him do this to me. 

I could have just not been invited. Like, I'm a Potter. And a halfblood. I like the vibes of the Blacks but on the page as nutters to laugh at, not to get locked in with them. 

**************

One good thing about Padfoot deciding to call a family meeting (I say 'deciding', but really Aunt Cissy threatened him into it because it's the 'done thing'), is that Kreacher perks up a bit. Which probably isn't a good thing. 

I don't trust him yet, he hasn't had his character arc. He's probably happy because the people who want to cut his head off and stick it on a wall are coming and he'll get to bask in the presence of people who aren't bloodtraitors, filthy halfbreeds, mudbloods, and what have you. 

Look, I can't remember all the names he calls us. There is a very long list. 

The point is, he dials everything back by like...a tiny bit. Maybe half a very small something. 

Which reminds me about when Kreacher became nice in the book, which reminds me about the locket. 

Fuck. I surreptitiously turn the house upside down.

There is only one teensy-weensy problem with Grimmauld having been renovated. 

The locket is gone. 

Sold? Thrown out? In a vault? Nicked by Kreacher? 

Who knows. Sirius won't even have registered its existence among all the other dubiously cursed things in this house. It's vanished. Possibly for good.

I flop down on my bed and bury my face in my pillow so I can have a good old scream without Padfoot or Moony hearing. 

I can't even ask about it because then I'd have to explain why I know about it. Yes I could bring up the dream lie I used with Minnie, but I'd rather not fall back on it too often. Keep it for when I really need it instead of abusing it so people stop believing me.

The locket is probably up in the attic anyway,  Padfoot said that's where he put all the stuff that was still technically family heirlooms and shouldn't be gotten rid of because of bloodline enchantments and stuff.

Also because he didn't want to go to Azkaban again for possessing that sort of stuff and selling it on. 

That's fine then.

I just need to get up into the attic. It's locked and warded to high hell because Padfoot and Moony actually have common sense when it comes to warding unlike Dumbledore. 

And yes, I have tried. 

Several times.

Cue the montage. Except not actually because it's kind of embarrassing and there has to be some benefit to being an unreliable narrator.

Somehow they've included a ward against the Cloak and Parseltongue stuff. Damn it. I guess that's the downside of living with people who knew what Mum and Dad could get away with. 

On the other hand, Padfoot can't deny me anything, and Moony struggles almost as much. 

I give it two hours tops before they buckle and let me in the attic.

****************

It takes approximately four days before Padfoot caves to my pleading and lets me go up there. 

He even gives me rules about it - no touching, no bringing Lumi up there, no going up there without him or Cissa or Andy, no speaking to anything, no eye contact, if he says run then run. 

Geez. What the fuck is in that attic? 

But I really have to get up there, so I promise faithfully to keep to the rules. There's only the slightest twinge of guilt knowing that I really have no intention at all of keeping some of them. I will have to touch the locket at least twice, and I will have to speak to it to open it so that I can kill it. 

So that's two of the rules that I'm going into this intending to break. Provided the locket is there - if it isn't then I'm well and truly fucked.

He believes me at least, his shoulders easing down. "Alright, thank you pup. Now - Cassiopeia Black?"

I groan. These pop quizzes have been going for ages. "Sister of Dorea, Marius and also one of the butts we don't like who is thankfully dead. Pollux, I think. Cursebreaker, randomly produced Araminta Meliflua one day and never elaborated. Very scary." Or something. He'd had a slightly haunted look as he'd eyed her picture so I extrapolated. 

"Good. Araminta?" He claps his hands and rubs them together as we walk up the stairs to the attic door. Great. So glad to know he's sympathetic to my suffering.

"Mid-forties, used to be a journalist, got blacklisted for campaigning to legalise Muggle-hunting." I pause, still not quite sure Padfoot isn't pulling my leg with the next bit. "Then had a complete change of heart and married a Muggleborn right at the height of the war and now writes for a Muggle paper? I think?" 

Padfoot grins, and unlocks the attic door. "Perfect. Don't question Araminta on it, alright? She's touchy about her 'sketchy past' as you would put it."

Considering what a 'tame' family dinner looked like last week, I'm going to take 'touchy' as 'violently compartmentalising', emphasis on the violently. What the fuck kind of family is this anyway? 

The door eases open soundlessly. It would be way more aesthetic if it creaked ominously but I suppose that Padfoot has just had the whole house overhauled so presumably that includes oiling all the hinges. 

Maybe its more atmospheric this way? Soundless doors can be creepy too after all, if you can't hear what's coming into the room with you.

I can already hear the faint sound of a woman shouting some very rude words indeed. Goodness gracious, bless my soul, what terrible breeding to use such crass insults. 

...it's funny. It's a joke.

Walburga's so proud of being well-bred and Pureblood so me thinking that she's being ill-bred-

You know what, never mind. It's not funny anymore. 

I grab onto Padfoot's hand as we walk up some more stairs. If there's any more it'll be worse than the Chamber of Secrets.

"Hesper Black?" 

Really Padfoot? Now? 

To be fair it does distract me from the rickety stairs. I mentally flip through all of his relations. "Local cryptid?"

Padfoot laughs. "That'll do."

The stairs end here, and we come out into a room as big as the Great Hall and full to the brim of stuff. 

The closest thing to us is a portrait that racks the screaming up by pretty much all the notches the moment she sees us walking in.

Okay, you know what, I get it. Walburga's...yeah. 

She's not ugly ugly. Or rather, I can see where she once was actually beautiful and that makes everything worse. 

Her face is so lined and twisted with hate and anger that her skin looks like rotten crepe paper stretched over a wire frame. Also she must totally have died of liver problems because it is sallow. 

The worst part? She looks exactly like my godfather. The same eyes, glaring darkly at each other, their brows furrowing in the same way as they scowl the same scowls at each other. The same lips twisting into the same ugly sneers. The same hands clenching into the same fists. The same muscles ticking in the same places, on the jawlines that could be Switched without anyone noticing a thing. 

They are so similar it's almost creepy (until you remember the inbreeding).

On my worst days I can look in the mirror and be comforted because I could see the parents who loved me enough to die for me in every part of my face. My parents live on in me, protect me, their love enduring beyond the grave, settled into my bones. 

But when Padfoot looks into the mirror, he won't see the last lingering remnants of the beloved dead. He will see his nightmares set deep into his body where he can never escape them. It's like the Dursleys being graven into my innermost parts, like being Aunt Petunia's twin instead of carrying only the faintest resemblance to her. 

Oh, Padfoot. 

"Huh" I chirp up to Padfoot because otherwise I'm going to do something drastic. "I'm guessing that's the token evil stepmum." If he wasn't faced with the literal spectre of his past, I think Padfoot would have noticed the tremble in my voice. As it is he doesn't, thankfully. 

"No, just my actual mother." He heaves a dramatic sigh as he stares down at the screaming portrait. 

Under ordinary circumstances I would call out his melodrama but I really can't blame him. She's awful. And he's pretty clearly using melodrama to cover his trauma. Oh shit I feel bad now, this is my fault, he wouldn't even be up here if I hadn't badgered him. 

"Not how it works." I say as firmly as I can manage. 

Padfoot tilts his head curiously at me. It's a very dog-like move.

Emboldened, I continue. "Mothers are good, and stepmothers are evil. All the stories say so." Thank goodness I'm an eleven-year old, I could never have gotten away with this logic otherwise. "Grandma Dorea was your mother, she's your evil stepmother. Fairytale laws observed."

It's cracked logic, but it's logic all the same as far as I'm concerned.

I observe with great delight that I have succeeded in rendering the Everything-Ist Portrait (TM) entirely speechless. 

She's just sputtering uselessly and soundlessly as Padfoot roars with laughter. 

Excellent. 

There is a faint sense of warmth and familiarity and a creeping...ahah! While Padfoot is busy wiping his streaming eyes I grab the gleaming locket from its place dumped in a box of presumably cursed jewellry beside Walburga's frame and shove it inside my pocket. 

Her beady eyes follow the motion though, and she opens her mouth to start screaming. Oh shit. 

Shit shit shit shit. Padfoot can't know about the Horcruxes yet. He'll go all Responsible on me and insist on helping me and he doesn't have plot armour like I do. 

If he starts spelunking into places like the Gaunt Shack there's a not-insignificant chance that he could meet Dumbledore's fate. I'm fine, I'm the main character and I have an insurance policy in the form of a Horcrux allowing me to die once with no consequences. Well, under certain circumstances, but my point remains - Padfoot has no such protection. 

He is not getting involved in this, not when I just got him back. 

All of this goes through my head in a split second. Before Walburga can do more than silently open her mouth, I make eye contact with her.

Even an evil probably cursed portrait can't quite look away from direct eye contact with me apparently. Good. Thank you weird creepy eye thing that I need to look into at some point. Please let this work.

shut up, I hiss, pushing power into it as hard as I can. There's so much magic on the tip of my tongue when I speak Parseltongue, surely some of it can spill out into the world around me?

By the way she gags and chokes on air, I'm right. Fuck yeah. 

Oh fuck now my head's spinning. Hmm. Maybe that wasn't the best idea. The portrait has gone to opening and closing her mouth silently now, her eyes bulging in a way that would be dangerous if she were flesh and blood instead of paint, so hey, it worked. But it definitely took a lot of energy. 

Wow. 

A lot, a lot. I feel kind of terrible.

Padfoot stops laughing in favour of staring at me. "Hava, what did you do?"

Oh. That's the stern voice. That's the voice of Padfoot Being A Responsible Adult. 

I lower my eyes and scuff my toe along the floorboard. Huh, that stain is a funny colour...let's not think about it too hard. 

"Just testing a theory." I mumble down to the floorboards. 

He still hears it of course. "Hava, you gave me your word you would not interact with anything up here."

Oh fuck I did, didn't I. 

Great, I'm not getting back up here for donkey's years, am I. But hey, at least I've got the locket.

He takes my hand and marches me down the stairs, pausing to lock every door and replace the wards. I stare at the floor instead of trying to see and hear what goes into the wards, guilt pooling in my stomach. It's worse because I know I'd do it again, no matter how much it upsets Padfoot and scares him becayse it's better than losing him to a Dumbles suicide quest.

We go into my bedroom, and sit down in the window seat. It's soft, and brightly-lit, and nothing like when the Dursleys would draw the curtains so that Vernon could beat me in the cold kitchen without any of the neighbours seeing and calling social services. 

Padfoot wouldn't do that, I remind myself. He's angry, he's upset, but he won't hurt me. 

"I think I'm justified in saying that you are grounded for a week, young lady." He says, his voice trembling a little. "Do you agree?"

I nod. Lumi slithers out of her tank and makes her way up my leg to curl in my lap. She likes the ruffles on this dress - says they feel like slithering over grass without the dirt. silly human, why do you always get into trouble the moment i let you out of my sight? 

Padfoot continues on obliviously, because he doesn't speak Parseltongue. ''I don't want to be unreasonable, but you need to understand, the things up there are dangerous Hava. Interacting with them could get you killed or worse, and I will see you hurt over my dead body. If I can't trust you to keep your word then you can't be up there."

I nod again, holding onto the end of Lumi's tail. I can't look him in the eyes even though I went into this knowing that this would happen. "I'm sorry, Sirius."

"Look, just promise me you'll leave the attic alone now. You've had a look, you've satisfied your curiosity, and you damn well nearly got Cursed for it. Please, Hava." I look up, startled to hear his voice crack. Oh shit, this is worse than I thought. I'm a terrible person. "So many people have died, I don't want you added to the list."

He's not crying, but his eyes are suspiciously bright. He's trembling as well though he's trying very hard to hide it by folding his hands together like some sort of wise old storybook enchanter.

There's really only one reply I can make to my godfather looking like he's seen a ghost. "I promise, Sirius. I won't go back in there."

And this time I'm keeping my word.

"Thank you." He says, exhaling all at once. I can still see his hands trembling. 

He opens his arms and I cannon into them as best I can from my awkward position in the window seat...after Lumi has vacated my lap to the tune of many complaints. Padfoot hugs aren't quite Nagini hugs, but they are pretty damn close. 

"I'm sorry, pup." He whispers into my hair. "I don't know how to be a parent. But I can't lose you too so I'll do my damn best."

Oh. This man. He deserves better than me pushing all his triggers like he's a lift and I'm a toddler just tall enough to reach the buttons. "You're doing amazing, Padfoot." The lump in my throat stops me saying much more. Hmm, maybe that's the dizziness. 

*****************

In the middle of the night I sit bolt upright in my bed. 

Oh shit. 

I forgot about Kreacher. 

He's obsessed with that locket. What if he knows where it is? 

Oh I'm so fucked, I should have thought this through way better. 

I scramble over to the trunk. The locket's still there. Good. He hasn't found it yet. And there hasn't been a house elf on the rampage because 'Master Regulus's locket has disappeared' either. 

Okay. 

Right. I sit cross-legged on my bed and start trying to plot. In canon Kreacher was on their side as soon as they promised to destroy the locket and murder Voldie for good. 

Could I get away with that? Maybe? But then I'd have to be alone with Kreacher at some point. Without Bitsy finding out because she has a sixth sense for Potter nonsense, and she will put an end to my Horcrux hunt before you can say 'Robinson Crusoe'. 

I mean, it's a big house. 

Surely there's a little corner somewhere you can have a secret conversation with an evil racist elf without your godfather or nice not-racist house elf overhearing? 

Also I don't want Kreacher to fucking murder me and he really might. 

You know what, that's enough planning for one night. Canon!Harry just went along Jon Snow-ing his way through life and everything turned out okay for him. The universe can contrive for Kreacher not to kill me before I explain my plan to him. Surely. 

There's only one other problem (psyche, I guess that was not enough planning for one night).

lumi, I hiss, lumi wake up.

She grumbles unintelligibly for a minute before I get back a what do you want at this time of night, silly human?

I make the executive decision to ignore the sentiment behind the words and take them at face value.

how the fuck am I supposed to destroy the locket now? I hiss, trying not to sound frantic or panicky. I don't think I suceeded judging by the way she leaves her warm comfortable tank to come and drape herself over me like the snake version of an electric blanket. i'm eleven, even if i could cast the killing curse or control fiendfyre i'd get flagged up by the trace on my wand.

get another wand. She says like I'm an idiot. Which...is fair in most situations. I have actually thought this one through though for once.

i can't, I reply very calmly (100% you should definitely believe me). the potter stuff is all locked away until i'm of age and padfoot would notice if a black ancestral wand went missing. 

Lumi sighs which I didn't know snakes could do until I met Lumi. Look, she was sarcastic green snake before she was Lumi for a reason. very well then, silly human, how else do you destroy a horcrux?

basilisk venom. I say promptly. This, at least, I know. i've seen theories about dementors but they arent proven and i don't want to go near a dementor.

Which is entirely reasonable for anyone I'd say. Every now and then I remember the Ekrizdis lore and that one fic where it turned out he was still alive and Azkaban is a space ship and there are demons involved. 

Suffice to say, I have a lot of Azkaban/Dementor/Ekrizdis nightmares. 

and you know nagini killed the diary. Lumi says, vainly trying to keep me on track. You'd think she'd have given up by now. 

Or maybe she's trying to be Nagini 2.0? Nagini's disturbingly great at managing me. So much so that one has to wonder how chaotic Slytherin himself was, and what the generations between he and I were like.

Bet Mouldyshorts never got Nagini hugs though. 

Ha. Fuck him.

Lumi pokes me with her tail. 

Oh, right, Nagini eating DiaryBabyMort. yeah, and it was awesome.

well then, Lumi says like it's obvious, which it probably is. get the feline abomination woman you like so much to sneak us into the castle. we can kill the chain and visit nagini at the same time.

My eyes narrow in her general direction (it's dark okay, I can't see her too well). you just miss nagini, I say - you know, like a hypocrite.

i do. Lumi says entirely unabashed like she hasn't straight up adopted Nagini as her grandma/role model/personal saint. she is a true queen among serpents, i have much to learn from her. also i do not have to keep you alive on my own when she is around. it is much less stressful, because you may be a speaker but you are very young and silly, my human, and you nearly die too often for one snake to keep you alive.

Wow. Rude, much? But also kind of unavoidably true. I do get into a lot of trouble, which does stress Lumi out, and Nagini does help as much as she can when we're in Hogwarts. 

But still. Rude.

I decide to ignore the rude in favour of the important part. i miss nagini too.

A lot, actually. I just want a Nagini hug. I'd even put up with her trying to give me therapy. 

the first sense you've shown in a while. Lumi sighs again. and probably the last for another year.

Lumi's plan is great, I guess.

It's just - what if I can't think of a reason to get into Hogwarts? If McGonagall doesn't let me slip away?

Fuck, will I have to keep the locket in my trunk until September? 

Nah. I'm sure there's something around here that can destroy a Horcrux. 

Something that hasn't been locked up in the attic with all the other dangerous things by my reasonably paranoid godfather.

Hm, I may not have thought this through properly.

If I hadn't blown it on the first trip into the attic I could have pinched the locket as well as something to destroy it. 

As it is, I'm fucked if I can't get us into Hogwarts - it'll be about the same length of time as the canonical camping trip from hell in book 7 and look at how the trio fell apart. I only just got Padfoot, I don't want that to happen to my shiny new only slightly-cursed home.

Well, if ifs and ands were pots and pans, and all that.

go back to sleep, Lumi says irritably. you make no sense at night and you keep zoning out. my suggestion was perfectly good, as you will realise in the morning, silly human.

She stays as I curl back up in my bed though, stretching out beside me. Just as I'm slipping down below that strange gap between sleeping and waking, I feel the end of her tail slipping into my hand. 

****************

Vi-Vi,

Not much time to write.  Disaster struck. Mum's parents are back from Spain. 

Are fighting with Dad's dad, insisting on visiting Grimmauld, and maybe seeing you as a prospective granddaughter-in-law. Am suffering greatly.

Might need the cavalry. Or assasination aid. Or a kidnapping. 

Summer now very bad. Pity me. 

Co-Co

Ah crap. I guess the Horcrux destruction is taking a back burner for now. 

"Susan!" I yell down the hall. Her head pops out from the library where she'd been spying on Padfoot and her aunt. "Plotting time!"

Sometimes it's nice to have a pushover for a godfather - you can argue that it doesn't count to break your grounding if he's inviting his friend over instead of you inviting yours. And he can agree. 

No, I'm not abusing that fact at all. 

It's just incidentally nice for me to have Susan around. The fact that he likes having Susan's aunt around is the main point. 

"What are we doing?" Susan asks curiously, coming to peer at the letter over my shoulder.

I grin. This is going to be fun. Some uncomplicated chaos is just what the doctor ordered.

From her position around my shoulders, Lumi sighs. 

Notes:

Alright what the fuck happened to the black family in 1992? I was looking them up to see who i could possibly squeeze in and like ten of them died in 1992 what the fuck happened did they hear about the basilisk and spontaneously combust or something?

 

Also Hava and Lumi in this chapter - its been three days without Nagini and already I'm about to kill everyone in the room and then myself.

Chapter 41: what's worse than one racist grandparent? THREE racist grandparents

Chapter by TiresiasTheBlindSeer (Ravenclaw_Peredhel)

Notes:

Family meeting incoming! Not quite here yet, but we start it in this chapter!

Susan frowns as she scans the letter. "It's family business, Hava." She says. "I really don't think we should be getting involved. The Blacks can get touchy about things like that."

I look at her with my best unimpressed eyebrow raise. "Come here a minute." I say, grabbing her wrist and dragging her back to the library. 

We peer around the door frame. Padfoot and Amelia Bones are sitting exactly where we had left them, heads bent over some rare legal tome that holds precedents Susan and I are too young to know about - which means it's either really sexual or really gory, or both. 

They're both entirely oblivious to everything, so it's lucky for them that we have some level of integrity (and by that I mean Susan has some level of integrity), or we could probably get away with a lot. 

They've been going back and forth about one line for the last twenty minutes, occasionally Summoning another book to back them up - without breaking eye contact. This is not the first time this has happened since I've been back for the holidays. Last time they were talking for three hours. 

Apparently the Black library is an excellent resource for the Head of the DMLE. I call bull. 

So does Susan. 

Amelia says part of the reason for her visits is trying to get Padfoot back into the Auror Corps, and to let Susan have some time with her friends.

More bull.

Much as I love Susan and she loves me, Hannah Abbott is her bestest friend to end all best friends, much as Co-Co is for me. 

I've seen Co-Co twice since we got back from school, and Susan has seen Hannah once. We've seen each other four times. 

Susan watches them silently for a minute, her usually reserved aunt's eyes flashing, Padfoot's brow furrowing. Even Amelia Bones's usually perfect bun is frizzing a little, and she's undone the top button of her high-collared robes. Padfoot has kicked off his shoes. 

Oh, and did I mention that they're sitting on the couch? 

Susan sighs. "Point taken. Alright, what are we doing to make a bad impression on your cousin's grandparents?"

I grin and turn around. Right before us is the fireplace, totally unguarded and totally usable. The Floo powder is even out, glittering a tempting green from its ornate pot. It's like they want us to go adventuring around the Wizarding World while their backs are turned. 

All we have to do is go through the Floo, kidnap Co-Co, bring him back here and we can just have fun. Simple. Easy. Daphne can't even bully me for it being excessively complicated. 

I get two steps towards it before Susan is grabbing me by the back of my dress like I'm a naughty kitten that needs to be scruffed. "No." She says flatly. "You absolute lunatic. No." 

Wow. Spoilsport. 

I thought she was down for chaos. And she is, but I forgot one key thing - she also has a healthy sense of self preservation. Which is such a killjoy sometimes. 

I let her drag me into the library, even though ordinarily I would be scrabbling to make her stop interrupting Padfoot and Amelia because we have a bet going that sometime soon their arguments are going to turn into something else and Susan is screwing with the results.

Cheater. 

"We are going to go to your godfather." She says, pulling me inorexably deeper into the library. "We are going to get him to take us through the Floo, because I know you and you'd take us off course to Knockturn Alley for a laugh if it got into your head."

Nothing like being called out to ruin your day. I sigh, and tug away from her. What is it with, well, literally everyone around me and thinking I can't walk under my own power? Or, at least, not trusting me to walk to the right place. 

"Aunt Amelia!" She calls out. The arguing promptly stops. "Sirius?"

Two heads pop up from the couch. Padfoot takes one look at my face and groans. "What did you do now, Hava." He turns to Amelia Bones. "Mels, I am so sorry for whatever has gotten into my goddaughter's head." 

 Wow. 

Rude. 

Where's the trust?

Also - Mels. Called it. They have nicknames now.

"Co-Co asked for help!" I defend myself. "I'm being a good cousin." 

Padfoot groans even louder and slumps back on the couch, his hands coming up to cover his face. "Pup, stop doing things that mean I have to be a responsible adult. I hate being a responsible adult."

There is a sharp pop, and Kreacher appears with an envelope in his hand.

"A letter from Miss Cissy to Nasty Blood Traitor Master." He mumbles to the carpet. Padfoot takes one look at it through his fingers and starts banging his head against the back of the couch. 

Madam Bones just looks amused at his torment, smoothing the flyaways back into her bun and settling the sharp pleats of her robes back into their usual shape. "I believe that is the cue for Susan and I to leave you to it, Sirius." She says, checking her watch. "I have to be back at the Ministry soon anyway."

Oh.

I slide my eyes sideways to where Susan looks a little crestfallen. Ha! I told her we should have just gone straight through the Floo. Now she won't be part of the chaos. 

"Can't I stay, Auntie?" Susan asks as Madam Bones stands up. "Please? We were going to see Draco, I just didn't want to go through the Floo without telling you first."

Madam Bones shakes her head. "No, Susan, you have not been invited to visit the Malfoys. We can arrange a playdate another time but I have a meeting in twenty minutes and you have homework to do. Say goodbye now." 

Glumly, we hug and say goodbye. I promise Susan to tell her all about whatever happens in my next letter or the next time we see each other - whichever one comes first. She tells me to give her regards to Co-Co, which I promise to do. 

Padfoot comes up just then, the opened envelope in his hand. "Cissa's invited us over for tea, pup." He says, his mouth twisting like he's bitten into something sour. "From the sounds of it, her parents are being themselves, so brace yourself." 

Oh great. 

Whatever that means. 

Considering that Abraxas was Like That and the Malfoys got on with him pretty well, Cygnus and Druella must be Awful. 

Padfoot turns to Madam Bones. "It was good to see you, Mels." He says, kissing her extended hand. "I'll send the books on to Bones Place shall I?"

"That would be most appreciated." Madam Bones returns, a smile touching the corners of her lips. "Until next time, Sirius." 

Then she is hustling Susan into the Floo, and Padfoot is hustling me upstairs so we can change for afternoon tea because apparently what I'm wearing won't do. Fucking Purebloods. I like clothes but this is going too far.

I get into pretty green robes with golden vines embroidered on every flounce and wrangle my hair into a neat French plait. Padfoot hands me a cloak as I come out, a cornflower blue one with lace and ribbons galore on it. He's changed too, into formal afternoon robes instead of the casual ones he'd been wearing before. 

Fucking wizards.

We troop down the stairs, through the Floo and come out in Malfoy Manor to Co-Co's anxious face. "Vi-Vi!" He shrieks, and cannons into me. 

I, of course, end up on the floor, or I would had if Padfoot hadn't been prepared and caught me. 

But I bounce up again, throwing my arms around my favourite (except To-To) cousin. "Co-Co! I missed you!"

"Orion and Walburga were like that as children when they were separated, you know." Comes an unfamiliar male voice. 

Padfoot's groan and Aunt Cissa's longsuffering 'I did not know that Father', are enough to clue me in. As is Co-Co's quiet squeak of horror. 

I peek up from his fluffed-up hair.

Yep. 

There are two unfamiliar people standing with Aunt Cissa. The guy looks a bit like Padfoot, and the woman has the same hair as Aunt Cissa. 

They both have sour lines graven into their faces as if neither have ever learned how to smile genuinely. Polite smiles, scowls and blank masks only. 

"Ew." Co-Co says with feeling. "She's my cousin."

I nod emphatically. Disgusting. 

We recieve only two looks that say very clearly 'we are indulging the silly little children'.

"Perhaps now." The woman I assume is Druella says. "But it is a very distant relationship and you may feel differently later."

"Have you considered it, Sirius?" The man asks. 

"Nice to see you too Aunt Druella, Uncle Cygnus." Padfoot returns with his trademark 'fuck you' smile. "I'm very well, thank you for asking, how are you? And no, Hava will make her own choices when she is of age."

The man and woman look dubious. "Potters are notorious for their ill choices." Druella says, her lips curving into a moue of disapproval.

Cygnus nods beside her. "Just look at that one's father. All of Wizarding Britain, centuries of pure blood, and he settled on a-"

"Why don't we retire to the conservatory for tea?" Aunt Cisa interjects hastily. 

Damnit!

I wanted to curse him. 

Or set Lumi on him. 

Either. Both. I'm not picky.

Padfoot lets go of his wand, looking as disappointed as me.

Oh well. I'm sure there will be plenty of other opportunities.

I console myself by imagining what curse I could use as we all trail into the conservatory. 

There's so many rare plants in here that I reluctantly give up the idea of cursing anyone in revenge today. If a single leaf is damaged, Aunt Cissa will be out for blood. I am not risking that today thank you.

"Here, let me look at you properly." Druella says, settling herself onto a delicate little chair and gesturing to a spot on the floor immediately before her.

I reluctantly move to stand in front of her with my hands clasped in front of me.

"Where's your pet peacock today, Cissy?" Padfoot asks as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

The smile he gets back could have cut diamond. "I am afraid Lucius and Abraxas had prior committments today." Aunt Cissa says stiffly.

Co-Co sighs, no doubt bemoaning that neither of them had thought to rescue him as well.

I would make a smart comment but Druella chooses that moment to grab my chin and pull me closer to her. 

"Pretty little thing, aren't you." She says idly. No doubt trying to imagine what incest babies with Co-Co would look like.

I can just see Padfoot and Aunt Cissa exchanging glances behind her. 

Aunt Cissa clears her throat. "Mother, perhaps-"

"Let her." Cygnus says sharply. "There is no better eye for bloodlines than your mother's."

She subsides, and a pit opens in my stomach. Oh that's not good.

Aunt Cissa is a badass, anyone who can silence her is Dangerous. I didn't like these two anyway. 

"Yes, very much a Potter," Druella muses, her nails digging into my cheek as she peers at me, "I do believe she does have Dorea's nose."

Cygnus scoffs, his eyes lingering on my hair. "A faint resemblance, if at all. She takes after Charlus if anything - that's his mother's hair." 

I meet Sirius's eyes from across the room and we share a mutual moment of disgust. He grins at me and nods. Fuck yeah, here we go.

I pull away, ignoring the sharp red lines of pain that erupt on my face from Druella's claws. "Actually, I look like my mother." I say, smiling Mum's smile at them. "And I came here to see my cousin. Good day, sir, ma'am."

They both stare at me in shock. I can just sense the incoming lecture on manners. Oh great. 

Time to fall back on one of my favourite messing with people tactics. They're old enough to have known human Tom right? 

I stroke Lumi's head idly as I curtsey, tilting my head to the side. It's something about the eyes I think - it took a while to get it down, those curious eyes that had looked down at me as he had tried to kill me. I managed it by the time I was ten, though I hadn't really used it on the Dursleys. I use it shamelessly at Hogwarts. 

It has exactly the desired effect. Cygnus stutters, Druella does a double take, and they are both struck dumb. 

I take advantage of their silence to grab Co-Co's wrist and drag him out of the room. 

***********

Unfortunately, no matter how much chaos we cause, nothing can stand against the inexorable Family Meeting. 

The day dawns disappointingly bright and clear. If I'm going to be the main character, you'd think the weather could at least be appropriately grim and disgusting to match my mood. What is the point of everything if you can't have a bit of pathetic fallacy?

But I digress. 

We have breakfast in our PJs, which is nice. Padfoot let me pick breakfast, so I picked scrambled eggs and baked beans because they're familiar and nice and they feel like not psycho creepy car crash people. No I'm not nervous at all. 

We eat in silence, and then Moony bids us a very cheerful goodbye as he goes off to spend the whole day being a super nerd instead of having to deal with Padfoot's psycho relatives 

Padfoot and I wave him off like we do almost every morning, but rather more glumly than usual. What I wouldn't give to have a convenient doctorate to be working towards instead of having to deal with Padfoot's relatives.

As soon as he's Apparated away, we climb back up the stairs to our rooms so we can get dressed.

It's a whole production, to the point that Bitsy has to help me with the million trillion pearl buttons up my back, and let's not even think about my hair.

Actually, I take it back. We're doing this. Because I look awesome and it's the one good thing coming out of this fucking car crash. 

I'm wearing a long, swooping wizard's robe. The good kind, not the pathetic stupid academic gowns they gave the poor children in the movies and inflict upon us poor innocent students here. 

It's as black as what's left of Voldie's soul, with an epically high collar that makes me feel like some sort of Victorian femme fatale vampire lady. The skirt is not full, but it's heavy, and it sweeps behind me on the ground with all the drama my cold dead heart could want. 

The sleeves come down to points over my middle fingers, in very dramatic witchy fashion. And best of all, it fastens up the back with an absolute ton of pearl buttons which are a pain to do up but look fucking awesome.

I'd tried to wrangle a cloak with a Dracula-style collar out of Padfoot, but he'd pointed out that unless something went really wrong the car crash was happening inside. So no cloak, which was very sad.

So sad, in fact, that Padfoot had bent to my teary, soulful eyes after twenty-three seconds and promised to get me the cloak after the car crash is over.

Spine of steel, that one. 

Because I'm a kid, I shouldn't really be having an updo at this kind of thing...but because I'm Madam Potter I can get away with it if I want. 

Because wizard etiquette rules. 

Disgusting.

We compromise, with half of my hair curled and flowing free, and the other half piled on top of my head. Padfoot gave me some really fucking awesome hair pins to go in it - jet and black diamonds, an heirloom of some sort.

I'm about 70% sure they're cursed. But like...some sort of 'you gotta be a Black or else you'll regret putting your sticky little paws on it' curse. Which isn't better but it's a little safer for me than another kind of curse. 

Thank you, Grandmother Dorea.

Not that Padfoot would let a curse with a chance of hurting me within halloing distance. 

I'm pretty sure he gave them to me to make some sort of point. 

The point is I look fucking awesome and I love it. 

Not just because it makes me feel like there is armour between myself and the ensuing car crash. Power dressing does wonders for your ability to deal with car crashes. I can be Madam Potter and not Hava, and enjoy the mess this is destined to be without it affecting me. 

A rap on the door. "Pup?" That's Padfoot's voice. "Are you ready?"

No. Of course not. 

Bitsy adjusts a final hair pin, and then pokes my hair to test if it moves. It doesn't. Good old magic - better than hairspray. She nods. "Yous is ready, Sweet Little Lady Hava." 

I slump down in my chair, and she hauls me back up by the collar of my fancy ass robe.

Then she hands me Lumi, who slithers into her accustomed position on my shoulders - that had been Padfoot's main argument against giving me a Dracula collar cloak, and damn him if it hadn't worked.

I need my emotional support sarcasm snake okay? Especially when I can't get to Nagini easily (and what the fuck is my life that it takes a freaking Basilisk for me to feel safe).

The hint is duly taken. I stand up and open the door. 

Padfoot is just as splendidly and gloomily dressed as me, in high-collared black robes with the Black crest in...that black thread is shimmering suspiciously. I don't even want to know what it is. Knowing wizards it'll be something that'll blow my mind and I don't have time for that today. 

He holds out his hand. "You look splendid, pup. Knock their socks off yeah?"

I nod and take his hand. We walk down the stairs in silence, just the swish of our robes and Lumi's idle hissing. Sometimes Padfoot asks me what she's saying, but not today. 

His lips are thin. 

We stand, still silently, in the hallway in front of the door. Despite the house's makeover everything suddenly feels very creepy and Gothic. Vampiric. Interview with a vampire-esque. Stupid Lestat. I hate internet fun facts.

"You look good." I venture after a few minutes. "Intimidating. Like you're about to go and murder a bunch of people."

The corner of his mouth twitches, but he stays pale and grim. "I feel like my mother." Awkward silence. Which is weird because that has never happened with me and Padfoot before. It's always been easy. His shoulders slump a bit. "I appreciate the sentiment though. Thanks, pup." 

His hand moves up like he's about to ruffle my hair, but it freezes halfway there, no doubt anticipating Bitsy's revenge should he mess with her masterpiece. He settles for resting his hand on my shoulder instead. 

Usually visitors can come in through the Floo, but this is Official Family Business. Or something. 

So through the door for each and every one of them it is. I draw my shoulders back and tilt my chin up, doing my best creepy Gothic child (aka Wednesday Addams) impression - the Voldie and Bellatrix impressions can come later.

Padfoot's helped me with the Bellatrix one, and he kindly brought down Walburga's portrait so I could get live reactions for my Voldie one.

The knocker falls hard against the door with a sharp rat-tat-tat. Padfoot nods to Kreacher, who swings it open without even his usual cursing. Apparently Padfoot cosplaying as his mum is enough to mollify him for the day. 

It's the Malfoys, of course. 

If it were just Co-Co and his parents I could probably get away with greeting Co-Co like I usually do, but Cygnus and Druella are looming over their shoulders, so Co-Co and I just shake hands awkwardly. Better not to give them any ideas, or excuses for shipping. 

I cannot believe Drarry shippers exist in this world. And they're blood supremacists. Which is sad because I read some good Drarry fics in my time and now fucking Cygnus and Druella are ruining everything. 

Back to Drapple, I guess.

Kreacher, wearing a clean uniform and not muttering for once, leads them through to the Central Hall. That's just a fancy way to describe the gilded cage we all get locked in for the duration of the meeting. So basically until Padfoot decides to let us go. 

The windows are magical ones so you can't escape through them, the walls are covered with portraits of past Blacks, and the less said about the indelible scorch marks on the floor and vaulted ceiling the better. It does have really nice chairs though. The good kind, that you can sink into. 

Apparently it had been hard wooden ones before because old Arcturus liked keeping everyone uncomfortable in the hope it would remind them to keep their tempers.

Padfoot prefers the approach of making everyone too comfortable to fall asleep, and also because it'll be funny to see them trying to keep good posture in the most ridiculous overstuffed chairs we could find. 

After the Malfoys come two old women, one of them so wrinkled up that she looks like a disdainful nut. All you can see of her face is wrinkles and two disapproving, beady little eyes. Irma Crabbe, and her delightful mother-in-law Violetta Bulstrode, as Padfoot had related to me during our info dump. 

Both of them had hated each other's guts, but they had hated his grandfather Pollux more so apparently they live together and torment his portrait and each other. I think one of them might be my grandmother or great-grandmother somehow but I'd zoned out by that point if I'm honest. 

Then Cedrella and Septimus Weasley, with their eldest surviving son, and his family, all of them absolutely delighted to be here and causing trouble for the more conservative Blacks after so long. 

Cenric Weasley and Peony Weasley nee Blaylock are quiet, with familiar quirking grins. More importantly, they have the cutest little four year old, Cedrella II. She's adorable and I love her so much at first glance. 

But then Kreacher opens the door right into Septimus's back so Bitsy hustles them all down to the Room Where Shit Happens and the hallway is clear for the most scary-looking vampire horror movie Addams family type woman I have ever seen in my life. 

Her salt and pepper hair is pulled up and back in a bun so tight I wonder if the smoothness of her skin comes from the facelift that has to be giving her. She has black eyes rather than Black eyes (I know, I'm hilarious), the deep dark kind that look like they're hiding monsters under their smooth surface. 

Her robes are like spun shadow about her, even to the point of looking a little...blurry where they pool about her feet, as if they are trying to escape and rejoin their brethren in the shadows that seem to be lengthening about her. 

Kreacher is bowing so low his nose is touching the floor. 

Padfoot bows to her, and kisses the hand that is imperiously extended to him. "Aunt Cassiopeia." He says. Ohhhh shit it's her! "How good of you to come." 

She raises one perfect eyebrow at him, the kind that says 'we both know just how fat that lie was', and does not reply. Instead, those black, black eyes turn onto me, scanning me from head to toe. I can almost feel them lingering on Mum's hair and the Potter features and everything that screams just how much I don't belong with the Blacks. Holy fuck is she scary.

"You don't look much like Dorea." She says. I do my best not to glower at her, and to my surprise there is the slightest flicker of amusement. "Though you have her frown, I see." 

She sweeps another disdainful look at Padfoot and vanishes down the corridor to the Room Where Shit Happens. 

Well. 

That happened. 

Then the Tonkses arrive, followed by Lucretia and Ignatius Prewett, with Callidora Longbottom hot on their heels. Barty Crouch, thank all that is good and holy, did not deign to respond to his invitation with anything except a stock letter saying, essentially, I am a Very Busy and Very Important Man please write to me again later. 

Good thing no one actually wanted him there. 

Hesper Black arrives dressed in what looks like a 1920s male suit, pulls a face at Kreacher, shakes Padfoot's hand and vanishes into the Room without another word. Padfoot shrugs when I turn my 'what the fuck' face to him. "She's just like that." He says, and turns to shake Araminta Meliflua's hand. 

She's got the same black eyes as Cassiopeia, but softer features, and dark brown hair cut into That One Long Bob that all the female anchors have now. She's also wearing a Muggle pantsuit. 

Fuck yeah, she seems awesome. Her husband, Archie Platt, is wearing a Muggle suit, and their eight year old sons Charles and Christopher are looking judgementally at the horror movie style environment. I mean if their grandmother is fucking Cassiopeia Black, it makes sense for them to be unimpressed with the creepiness. 

She's fucking terrifying. 

Then there is a long break, so long that I start to wonder if anyone else is coming. And if maybe someone should be in The Room Where Shit Happens to stop 'shit' from being murder - I can almost feel the glares if I think hard enough. 

But right as I'm about to start shifting from foot to foot, the knocker goes again. Kreacher mutters as he opens the door this time, pulling it so slowly and somehow managing to make it creak despite the hinges being shiny new and so smooth even tiny me can move the heavy door without difficulty. 

Colour me suspicious of Kreacher. 

It has what I presume was his desired effect, the group of people on the front door all look kind of spooked. It...probably doesn't help that Padfoot and I look like something out of the Addams Family - or maybe some creepy horror movie. Or vampires. 

And Lumi probably doesn't help. 

Most of them are wearing entirely normal Muggle clothes, nice ones, but distinctly Muggle. Suits, skirt suits, and a frilly dress for the girl I assume must be Lauren. The only one in robes is the greying man with Padfoot's eyes. 

He walks in without hesitating, tipping a sardonic smile to Kreacher before holding his hand out to Padfoot. "Marius Black. Nice to finally meet you, Sir Black."

Padfoot takes the hand and shakes it. "Please, call me Sirius. Sir Black was Grandfather and I think we can agree that neither of us wish to take after him." Then he uses his other hand to bring me forwards. I grumble a little, playing up the sulky kid because I can see the two children's eyes about to pop out of their heads. They snigger a little at my misbehaviour, and the tension in their parents' shoulders eases ever so slightly at the display of kidness. "This grumpy pants is Hava Potter, my goddaughter and provisional heir, and the granddaughter of Dorea. She's just finished her first year at Hogwarts."

Marius's smile tightens a little at the mention of Hogwarts, but his expression stays mostly open. He bends down to shake my hand, and his eyes warm a little bit as he looks at me. "Nice to meet you, Miss Potter. Your grandmother was the only one of my siblings to stay in contact after I was disowned. You took after your mother more than her, I expect, but you have the exact same way of holding yourself."

For a moment, we're just silent. His eyes are misty, no doubt recalling the good old days before he was outed as a Squib. Whether that means they were actually good or just...well...Black, is something I don't want to think about too hard. 

Then he straightens, and half turns a little to gesture at the uncertain-looking couple behind him. "This is Miriam, my daughter, and Rob Wallace, my son-in-law. The two rapscallions with them are my grandchildren Lauren and Caleb, and this," he pauses to hold out his hand. The greying woman takes it, tucking herself into his side with a shiver, "is my Ana."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you all." Padfoot says, bowing to them. They all look a little bit freaked at the very wizardly solemn wizard acting very wizardly at them, but it is what it is. I can get away with not acting like a horror movie extra because I'm still a kid but he really can't. "Please, follow me, we are very nearly late." 

Wow, way to go Padfoot. You sound even more like a creepy horror movie character. 

But we all trail down the hall after him like good little horror movie characters. Or ducklings, if you prefer a less morbid analogy. 

I find myself next to Lauren. She's very young-looking even by my usual standards, with big blue eyes and fluffy brown hair and the cutest little rosebud mouth. I can see Marius (and presumably the Blacks) in the lines of her face, but puppy fat still obscures a lot of it.

Still there's enough of a resemblance to set Padfoot's hell relatives squawking. 

"Hi." I venture. "So, you're going to Hogwarts in September?"

A shy little nod.

Oh she's precious.

Mine. 

She's my baby. 

No one at school is going to touch her. She's so sweet. New favourite cousin, sorry Co-Co. I need to start thinking of a nickname for her.

My brain goes to Lav-Lav at once. Ew. No. Ri-Ri? La-La? Oh that's kind of cute actually.

"Grandfather told me a bit about what he could." She says softly. "But he never went to Hogwarts. What's it like?"

I beam at her. "It's wonderful! You'll love it. The staircases move, and the portraits will help you if you get lost, and-"

"Pup." Padfoot says. 

Oh. Right. 

I wink at her. "Sorry, gotta be serious now."

She giggles, a tiny little sound that is almost a hiccup. 

Padfoot opens the door to The Room Where Shit Happens and we are hit by a wall of sound.

Notes:

My plan for the cygnus and druella introduction in the notes was literally 'Cygnus and druella are like aw so cute you know thats what walburga and orion were like as children and hava and coco are straight up screaming'.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Yknow, I Think Someone Might Wanna Check Death - It Seems To Be Malfunctioning
• Part 1 of Hava Potter and Endless Chaos