Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟔

From the grand house's kitchen, a sharp and distressed cry of a startled house-elf echoed, looking around frantically, searching for who had shot the arrow he had seen whizzing past him at high speed. As he turned once more, the cookies he had baked all afternoon had vanished as if by magic.

The culprit was a giggling and mischievous young girl, flitting through the rooms beneath a soft, silky invisibility cloak, hiding in closets to spy and sneaking into the kitchen to steal the last of the summer dates and all the cookies that had barely come out of the oven.

A boy accompanied her this time. A young apprentice of chaos and mischief, ready to follow in his older sister's footsteps in the art of cookie thievery.

He was short and stocky, with slender calves and hair as black and spiky as barbed wire. His mother had, more than once, nearly pulled her hair out trying to tame her son's rebellious locks.

The girl wasn't so different, pale as snow, with long, dark curls framed by eyes greener than the densest forest.

Huddled in the kitchen cupboard, listening to the elves fret over the mysterious disappearance of the cookies, she heard her mother shout, "Theodora! By Merlin's broken wand. Where has that girl gotten to?"

The boy beside her couldn't contain himself and let out a little chuckle, betraying to their mother's keen ears where they were hiding.

"I found you!" exclaimed Euphemia, abruptly swinging open the cupboard door and making the children jump like startled cats. The invisibility cloak that had covered them slowly slipping off their heads. The mother's beautiful green eyes looking shrewdly from one child to the other.

"Dear James, I regret to inform you, but you're not cut out for this," whispered the girl to her brother, giving him a pinch unseen by their mother, beneath the cloak. "In a forest, you'd be an easy catch, being so noisy."

"One day I'll be better than you!" the boy whispered back, extremely offended, from the corner of his lips.

"Dream on, goofball, dream on," taunted Theodora, darting out of the cupboard door in quick, bouncy steps. The cloak wrapped around her leaving only a floating head in sight.

She found her father in the kitchen, who looked at her with wise eyes over his square, silver glasses.

"There you are," he said. "All set?"

Theodora nodded eagerly, racing towards the living room and encountering a majestic Eurasian eagle-owl already in its cage and two heavy trunks.

She went straight for the first trunk, keeping the cloak hidden with her father's help. They had agreed that as long as Euphemia didn't know, the invisibility cloak could come along.

Sneakily, Theodora also tried to shove her bow into the trunk, only to be stopped by her father, who held the weapon firmly.

"What do you think you're doing, young lady?" he asked, looking amused. His dark eyebrows making him seem falsely stern.

"Dad, please, let me take the bow," she pleaded, pouting. "It's my birthday present, Grandma taught me how to use it. And you said I'm the best archer you've ever seen."

"I know, I know," he sighed. "But you can't take the bow to Hogwarts, Theodora. It's dangerous, it's forbidden, it's unnecessary. We don't want you getting expelled on your first day."

"But Daddy..."

"I understand, my little troublemaker, I understand," he said, embracing her. "But you have to learn to use the wand, like every wizard or witch. Your bow will be here when you return. I promise."

Much against her own will, Theodora reluctantly placed the weapon on the fireplace mantel, where it would be kept until her return.

Her dad chuckled a bit at all the drama. But he was right, she couldn't take the Bow. She was about to embark on the most important journey of her life. She was on her way to King's Cross Station, where, just like all her ancestors before her, she would cross the magical barrier that shielded them from Muggle sight, and then...

Then, she would finally catch the Hogwarts Express. The train that would whisk her away to the magical castle nestled in Scotland, where she would study in the years to come and carry on her family's legacy.

That September first morning was invigorating and golden like an apple, and as the small family bounced across the street towards the grand, grimy, bustling station, the smoke from cars and the breath of pedestrians sparkled like cobwebs in the cold air.

The large metal cage rattled loudly atop the full trolley that Fleamont, her dad, was pushing. And the white and grey owl hooted indignantly and impatiently, both at the disturbance and being kept in captivity.

Meanwhile, the younger boy managed to be even louder than the bird in his complaints.

"How long does five years take, Mum?" James grumbled, trying to outdo the other voices in the bustling station that resembled an anthill of people.

"Not too long, you'll be going too soon enough," Euphemia said, smoothing down his unruly hair to make him look more presentable.

"But five years is such a long time, isn't it?" sniffled the boy. "I want to go now! Come on, Tessa, take me with you."

Passersby glanced curiously at the owl as the family zigzagged like a gaggle of ducks towards the barrier where, at the top, read: nine and three-quarters.

"Your head won't fit in the trunk, James," teased Theodora in a mocking tone.

"Teddy," Fleamont cautioned sternly. "Now, let's go," he said, extending his hand to his daughter. "Let's cross together."

Side by side, they pushed the second trolley and gained speed. As they reached the barrier, Theodora grimaced as if she had eaten a lemon. She closed her eyes, bracing for impact... But it didn't happen... Then, she opened her eyes.

A bright red steam locomotive was parked at the crowded platform. A sign overhead read: Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock.

She glanced back and saw an iron arch where the ticket collector had been, with the words Platform ❾¾

The thick grey smoke dispersed over the heads of the hurried and curious people, who chatted while cats of all colors weaved through their legs. Owls of all species hooted cheerfully to each other.

The first carriages were already filled with students, some leaning out of the windows chatting with families, others squabbling over seats.

Her father pushed the trolley down the platform, looking for an empty spot. They passed by a round-faced boy saying, "Mum, I think I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Frank!" she heard the woman sigh.

They continued through the crowd until finally finding an empty compartment at the end of the train.

First, her father helped to get Otelo, her owl, inside and began to push and hoist the trunk to the train doors, up the stairs.

Then, when the trunk was finally safely stowed beside what would be her seat for the entire journey, they descended again to say goodbye.

"Oh, darling, I'll miss you so much," Euphemia said, tearfully, hugging her until she was out of breath.

Theodora didn't complain; she would miss them too. Especially miss scaring her little brother.

"Promise to write to me?" she asked, her voice slightly choked up.

"If you want, every day, my love," Euphemia assured her, affectionately, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

It was very hard to say goodbye to her father. Theodora had always been the most attached to Fleamont, while James had always been a mummy's boy.

"Take me with you, Tessa, please," the boy pleaded, his eyes welling up, tugging at her sleeve.

Her heart squeezed a little as she hugged him.

"You know I can't, mate. But I'll send you an owl with gifts. I'll send you a Hogwarts toilet lid."

"Theodora Leta Potter!"

"I'm just kidding, mum," she quickly interjected. But then whispered, "Soon enough, you'll be able to come with me. Until then, follow our rules, alright?"

Very reluctantly, James nodded and saluted her like one of the Muggle soldiers they saw on a poster in a leaflet on the streets of London.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

"That's the spirit!" Theodora agreed, ignoring her mother's disapproving look as she dashed back to the train.

From the window, she blew a kiss to her family as the faint mist of smoke distorted their images.

As the train curved, Theodora watched her brother and parents fade from view. The lush, bucolic landscape flew by the window like lightning. It was at that moment that the cabin door burst open with a bang, and a blond girl with a black ribbon in her hair carefully entered. Her eyes were so bright they took Theodora's breath away for a moment.

She had an angelic beauty.

Her face was somewhat familiar, perhaps from one of the elegant events Theodora's mother forced her to attend.

"Anyone sitting here?" the girl inquired, pointing to the seat opposite Theodora.

"Seems like all the others are taken." Even her voice sounded like an angel

A bit puzzled, Theodora shook her head negatively and replied, "No," and the girl sat down. She glanced at her and quickly looked away, pretending she hadn't noticed.

"Cissy!" a voice exclaimed cheerfully from the corridor, quickly approaching until it reached the compartment. This girl seemed older, with long, wavy black hair. Her dark eyes and strong jawline were very similar to the blond girl's, if not for the hair and eye colors. 

"Look, I need to patrol the corridors. So, later, if you want to see me, I'll be in the prefects' car, it's the third from the middle of the train. Andy is with her friends, so don't worry."

"Alright, Bella," murmured the blond girl, getting distracted, playing with the bow on her dress.

"Hey, who's this?" the older girl asked, looking at Theodora with curiosity and suspicion. 

"Nobody important," the blond replied, not even looking at her. 

"She doesn't look like anyone. She looks like someone." The girl approached Theodora, examining her from head to toe. "Bellatrix Black. Pleasure to meet you," she introduced herself, extending her hand. "And you are..."

But before Theodora could respond a girl with curly blond hair, pointed purple glasses, and a bright green dress burst into the compartment. "Bella, ah, there you are. Come on, Professor Slughorn is calling us for lunch in his car. Let's go."

"Alright," replied the brunette, giving one last wide smile to Theodora. "See you later, nobody." As soon as the girl left, the blond sighed and nervously swung her feet.

"Are you alright?" Theodora asked gently, not quite sure where the urge to chat came from. 

"Yes, just..." The girl sighed again in search of words. 

"Nervous?"

"Yes."

"Me too." They looked at each other once again, this time a small smile escaping from both of their lips.

"You have a lovely accent. Where are you from?" the blond asked curiously, crossing her slender legs.

"Thank you very much. I live in South Wales, atop the mountains," Theodora explained, pausing. "And you?"

She smiled slightly, revealing her perfect white teeth. "My father has a big house in Wiltshire. It's pretty cool because I can ride horses and bike nonstop. Even though Mum doesn't like it because she thinks it's a boy thing. Merlin, Mum would have a fit if she saw me now. Sorry," the blond said quickly extending her hand. "My name is Narcissa, Narcissa Black. That was my older sister."

Theodora smiled as she accepted the hand in front of her, her eyes widening briefly as she felt a slight shock through her fingers that quickly rose to her elbow and sent a shiver down her spine. It was like touching lightning.

"Theodora Potter, pleasure to meet you."

Pure disappointment shone in the blond girl's eyes, before being replaced by an expressionless mask. She pulled her hand back in disgust, as if she had touched something disgusting. Then she rubbed them in exhaustion, wiping them off. "Ah, a blood traitor. Mum said not to talk to you."

"Oh, as if that matters," exclaimed Theodora, staring at the blond girl with indignation, hurt painting her entire face. "You're just a bloody idiot, you know? So what if my last name is Potter?"

"You're a blood traitor too," said the girl, with hatred. "You're an enemy. You're a... a..."

"A what?" Theodora asked, impatient.

"A..." the girl said, searching for an offensive word. "A... Mudblood lover."

"Sorry?!"

"Yes," Narcissa said, now without much conviction. "A Mudblood lover."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" Theodora asked, confused.

"It's an insult, of course," said Narcissa, nervously. "A terrible insult. An unforgivable insult. And it doesn't matter anyway. I'm sure you'll be a Gryffindor, and then we don't even need to talk."

"And who said I'm going to Gryffindor?" Theodora scoffed, rolling her eyes so hard she nearly went cross-eyed.

"Oh, because all Potters go to Gryffindor."

"So what?"

"So what?" repeated Narcissa scandalized. "Don't you follow your family traditions? Oh, I should have known." She retorted with disgust.

"A tradition?" Theodora repeated, not understanding. "What the hell does one thing have to do with the other? Are you off your rocker?"

"Yes, a tradition," confirmed the girl, looking at Theodora seriously. "For example: all Blacks go to Slytherin. All of them. Without exception. It's been like this for over five hundred years."

"And so?" Theodora asked again, indifferent.

"And so I have to go to Slytherin too," the girl explained impatiently. "It's what my family expects from me. It's what my mother taught me since I was born. It's what I want for myself. And you should follow your family's tradition!"

"No! My dad said I can be whoever I want, and he'd love me anyway!" Theodora exclaimed proudly. "It's not something you choose, after all. And what if you don't go to Slytherin?"

"I will," the girl asserted confidently.

"And what if you end up in Gryffindor?" Theodora insisted, amused.

"No way!" Denied the girl, irritated. "That's the house of fools and blood traitors."

"Again with this blood traitors?" 

"Yes, blood traitors," said the girl, with disdain. "Those who don't care about the purity of their blood. Those who mix with Muggles and Mudbloods just like your family."

"And what's wrong with Muggles and Muggle-borns?" Theodora asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Everything," replied the girl, with disgust. "They're inferior. A threat to our world."

"Are you serious? That's ridiculous."

"Of course I am."

"So you're a bigot!"

"No, I'm a purist," corrected the blonde proudly. "I defend my blood. I defend my race."

"You're an idiot, that's what you are," said Theodora, annoyed.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. But all Theodora wanted to do was throw the other girl out of the moving train window. Maybe then she'd stop staring so arrogantly. As if she were superior. As if she could hear her thoughts.

A noise of rusty wheels scraping the corridor floor caught their attention, and a woman with smiles and dimples opened the door and asked, "Would you like anything from the trolley, girls?"

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𝟐𝟖𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟏 

𝟏𝟒 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐫 

The windows of the hospital wing trembled with the force of thunder echoing across the skies, distant lightning slashing between the clouds. It was a gloomy afternoon, even by the standards prevailing since the end of the war. 

The beds, all occupied, briefly illuminated with each lightning bolt tearing through the sky. The anguish made me pause my administration of the Wiggenweld Potion. Just silently contemplating, pondering what to do. 

The answer was almost nothing. 

Forty-eight hours of torturous work, no time for sleep or food, that would make my mother die again from sheer dismay. The Daily Prophet on my main desk persistently insisted on giving me false hopes. Hidden after the headline column, with the public execution of the last traitors, was a brief mention of the European resistance. The latest attack was in Paris before the resistance stopped. 

The Ministry didn't want to make it a big deal. If everyone thinks there's no hope left, no one would dare to try to fight. 

My teeth clenched with frustration as I returned to administering the potions. The pink liquid quickly turned green after the addition of more salamander. 

Now I needed to work on blood replacements. I didn't know if I could prepare the entire batch needed. None of the St. Mungo's patients currently had easily curable injuries. What used to be cases like unlucky people with bats coming out of their noses, or wizards who had the feat of getting a third arm, had now turned into mutilated bodies and minds broken in panic. 

Beside me was a boy. A little red-haired boy who shouldn't be more than eleven years old. He wore second-hand clothes, had countless freckles scattered across his face, and a slightly crooked nose. He could only be a Weasley. 

There was still brain matter dripping from his ears, drop by drop. 

I found a way to cancel the curse, but the counter-spell was slow-acting. I could only hope that the dripping would stop in the next hour. It was doubtful that his mental function would recover. The brain damage was severe. I couldn't measure the extent of the damage without examining him better.

But for that, he needed to wake up. And I didn't know if that was going to happen. No one from his family had shown up to claim his body. Maybe they didn't even know he was alive.

"Teddy, I need help," came a voice urgently from behind me. Three healers rushed in, one of them carrying a little girl with scratches marking her face. Blood stained her clothes and clung to her hair. She shouldn't be more than eleven, small and fragile. 

"Werewolf attack?" I asked, raising my wand to assess the damage with a diagnostic spell. The lights quickly exploded in red around her small body. High risk. In addition to contamination by lycanthropy, she was hit by a curse that ran from the inside out.

"Why isn't she two floors down?" There was a cut very close to her eyes, cutting part of her cheek and crossing her face. Preventing the scar from remaining would be a miracle. Werewolf scars are not easily healed, and bites never heal.

"We have a fighter. Survived Greyback and Rosier's curse," replied Andromeda, doing little to hide her frustration. "You've seen more cases like this than Smethwyck. You can save her, can't you?"

The third attack on a child in less than a week. I took a deep breath to control my temper. "We need to administer silver now, neutralize the mutation to remove the curse. It needs to be removed now, before her organs explode. But if you can get me the damn potions master, we can try to neutralize and I can work on the curse."

Andromeda didn't hesitate, running out the door downstairs. 

The biggest problem faced in months: the absence of an adequate potions master for our wing. When we finally got one, he was late. Thirty minutes and forty-six seconds late. 

The last one died three months ago. 

No, he didn't die. 

He was executed.

Burned alive in a public square. 

In the new government, there were no loopholes for blood traitors and mudblood lovers. And Augustus Pye's heart made the mistake of choosing to love a Muggle. Someone without magic, someone beneath a wizard. The mudblood. His lifeless body falling after the public execution exposed in the newspaper still burned in looping behind my eyelids. 

I don't know exactly when everything got so bad. When people started feeling afraid walking down the avenues and shopping in Diagon Alley. I don't know when everything my parents taught me was judged against the new world as something wrong. 

My mother's voice still echoed in my ears, haunting somewhere in my mind: "You must never, ever use that word," she said severely to me during a sunny afternoon. "Where did you hear such a thing?"