Chapter Text
This is my letter to the world
That never wrote to me
- Emily Dickinson
~ Part 1 ~
They were running, again. A day didn’t pass by when they did not run.
The girl didn’t know why, of course. She was only five – far too young to understand what it meant to be hunted, to live with fear stitched into every footstep. Too young to understand that her mother was a criminal, the most wanted witch in all of Great Britain. Too young to understand that because of who she was, she might never be safe.
One day maybe, she would understand.
They were sitting by a fire, the girl right next to her mother, slowly falling asleep on the young man’s shoulder. She liked the young man – Barty. His arms were covered in strange tattoos, swirling in dark ink. Her favorite was the snake. She’d seen it before – on her mother’s arm, and on the scary men who never smiled.
She wasn’t very fond of them, the Lestranges. They scared her with their dark eyes and scary looks. Plus, they weren’t nice with Mother. They were always arguing, and the girl suspected that it was somehow her fault.
There used to be another man, once. She didn’t remember him, not exactly – a laugh, a pair of green eyes, the same tattoo as the others. She doesn’t even remember his name.
Suddenly, they heard screams coming from the dark forest. That wasn’t a good sign, it was never one. The girl knew what it meant: bad guys. The kind you run away from. Mother took her immediately behind a large stone and told her to hide and not make a sound. Or at least that’s what she thought Mother said, she couldn’t particularly hear her with the screams.
She never liked the fighting and the screams. During those moments, she always wondered if they were going to catch them. She didn’t even know why the bad guys were after them. She knew Mother and Barty and the two others had done some bad things too but surely they weren’t evil, were they?
Would they go to prison? What would happen to her then?
The girl covered her ears, trying to block out the screams. Hands on her ears, eyes pressed shut, she didn’t realize someone was coming her way.
It was too late when hands seized her, one pressed hard on her mouth, the other trying to hold her.
Cassiopée woke up, breath ragged, her hair sticking to her cheeks with sweat. The same dream again. Always the same. Faces she couldn’t place, a voice she couldn’t remember but knew in her bones. Were they memories, or just fragments of her imagination tormenting her? She wasn’t sure anymore. She didn’t even know who these people were.
Mother was most likely dead. Cass didn’t have a mom, not anymore, not ever, that’s why she was in this godforsaken place. Barty – she did remember someone named Barty with tattoos everywhere but she had most likely seen him when passing by one of London’s ill-famed streets. As for the two others, she had no idea who they were.
She could still hear the screams. She would always hear them. Her life was paved with screams like trees alongside a path.
“Time to wake up! Oi, Riddle, you better be up now!” someone shouted through the bedroom door. Mrs. Powell of course. That old bitch, Cass thought. It was just 7 p.m. On a Saturday. Which happened to be her birthday.
Her 11th birthday. How could she have possibly forgotten her birthday?
She quickly got down from the bed, passing on a knitted sweater and tying up her black curls into a ponytail before hurrying down the stairs.
January 13th, 1991,
Wool’s Orphanage, London, Great Britain
53 years separated him from the last time he had been staring at the orphanage’s doors. 53 years and a lot has changed since then. Too many people had died, often those who didn’t deserve it.
53 years later, Albus Dumbledore was once again staring at those metallic doors. He sighed and entered the building, ready to change the fate of the wizarding world once again.
Sitting by the table, trying to have her breakfast without having it kicked down or stolen again, Cass was eating some toast. The other kids ignored her today – better than being their target. She could still hear their whispers behind her back, like ghosts in her mind.
Her eyes are so weird… I don’t like the way you look at me today, Riddle… Do you think she’s gonna attack us? Have you heard what she did to Jack’s rabbit? Dead in the attic, bleeding and organs missing! The day after, Rose found a liver in her bed and Jack an eye in the pocket of his coat…
She really had done that. Not that she was particularly proud of it, but Jack and Rose were both complete jerks who wouldn’t stop picking on her. They had poured mud and rainwater on her coat the other day, and Mrs. Powell had beaten her for getting her clothes dirty. So, she had simply wanted to teach them a lesson, and the rabbit happened to be there. Now, they kept their distance. They feared her. It was fine – fear was better than pain. There were rules at Wool’s Orphanage that you needed to pick up fast if you wanted to survive.
- Stick to yourself. You can’t rely on anyone else.
- Don’t expect anyone to show up asking for you. Kids like them don’t have families.
- Hurt people before they hurt you – the one Cassiopée relied on the most.
She always does strange stuff, you know… I heard that she talks to snakes… Some say she does satanic rituals…
Weirdo… Loser… Freak…
They were right, of course. She was a freak. She did things that she couldn’t possibly comprehend but that seemed to come naturally at her. Making flowers bloom. Appearing suddenly in her room when trying to hide from the other kids. Making her pencils change color or a book fly. Talking to snakes. Having crimson eyes.
The Headmaster was waiting in the hall of the orphanage for someone to show up. Of course, he didn’t expect Mrs Cole to still be in charge of the establishment - was she even still alive? - but it did feel strange to see someone else come down the stairs. The blonde woman presented herself as Mrs Powell.
“How can I help you today? Are you here to adopt?” she asked
“Not exactly, no. You see, one of the children's parents had her enroll in my school and I am here to pick her up. It seemed like she was supposed to stay here until her 11th birthday and then be transferred to another family,” explained Dumbledore.
“Ah yes, I see. Who are you here for exactly?” asked Mrs Powell, guiding him to her office.
“Mrs Riddle-Black.”
“Ah.”
“Is there a problem? Did she do something?”
“Well, we can’t exactly prove that it was her, but let’s say that she does create quite a few problems. The other kids don’t really like her,” she clarified.
“Is she being a bully? Because that will not be tolerated in my school.”
“I can’t really say that she is a bully herself, it is more like the other way around. Well, let’s find her, shall we?”
“Riddle!” Mrs Powell called out from the opposite side of the dining room, somebody at her side, “Someone here to see you!”
The other kids raised their heads, wondering if she was going to leave the orphanage. It was unusual for kids to be picked up by long-lost family members, and Cass was sure she had no one left. She didn’t deserve a family.
So why would anyone come for her? Was Mrs Powell trying to get her into a mental institution, like some kids had promised she would do?
The stranger was an old man with a long white beard and odd clothes that made him look like he had just gotten out of a 1950s black-and-white movie. She felt a twist in her throat, the man looked somehow familiar.
“Good morning Cassiopée, and happy birthday,” he said.
“Who are you?”
“Riddle, don’t be insolent! Where are your manners, young lady?!” Mrs Powell yelled at her.
“Sorry,” she mumbled “Hello.”
“Don’t worry, it’s all right. My name’s Professor Albus Dumbledore. Mrs Powell, would you mind leaving us alone?” he asked.
“Of course. Why don’t you go into her bedroom? Riddle, take the Professor there, will you?”
Cass nodded, before guiding the man to her room. She sat on the bed while he took the chair, staring at her eyes. She looked away, embarrassed. Damn eyes. Why did she have to have red eyes? Couldn’t she just have brown eyes, like everyone else? But of course no, she had to have such weird eyes.
“What do you want with me?” she finally said, breaking down the silence. “You said you were a professor, are you going to put me into an asylum then? I bet that’s all they’re waiting for.”
“Put you into an asylum? Dear God no! Why would I do such a thing? No, I am the headmaster of a school called Hogwarts. And your parents have enrolled you there.”
“I am to go to your school, then? What if I refuse? I could go to a school here.”
“Well, you see, Hogwarts is a special school. One for people like you.”
“For freaks you mean. I am not going to a special institution!” she cried.
“Oh dear, no you aren’t. It is a school for wizards and witches,” he said, accentuating the last words as if it was some sort of grand thing and not a weird fantasy.
She couldn’t hold back a laugh anymore and burst out. “I am sorry, but a school for wizards? Next thing I know you’re going to tell me that vampires are real.”
“Well, actually … You can do things, can’t you? Things that the other kids don’t understand.”
“Yeah but … Magic? I mean that’s just a fairytale thing. It’s not real,” Cass protested.
“Oh, it very much is. Let me show you,” said Dumbledore.
He took out a wooden stick and pointed it to a paper crane on her desk. The crane seemed to come to life and suddenly started to fly around the room. Cass followed it with her eyes shining with amazement.
“How did you do that?
“I told you. Magic,” he said simply. “And you can learn how to control it.”
“At your school? Hock – whatever?”
“It’s Hogwarts, but yes,” he corrected gently, his lips twitching with amusement. “So, what exactly can you do?”
“Well, I can make small things fly sometimes or clothes change color but I don’t control it. I can make people do things for me, or hear their thoughts but it is never clear, just blurry and distorted. Oh, and I talk to snakes too. That’s the only thing that’s regular.”
“Alright, it’s all very common. Except for snakes maybe. I should probably tell you about your family now.”
Family? She had a family? That felt strange. All her life she found the idea of a family unfamiliar, as if she had never had one. She could only remember blurry faces, shadows of memory, silhouettes of her past. Girls like her didn’t have a family.
She sat straight, adjusting her skirt, before reporting her full attention to the Headmaster.
“Eleven years ago, the wizarding world was at war. Divided between light and dark forces, between those who fought for freedom and those who wanted to separate wizards. The leader of the dark forces called himself ‘Lord Voldemort’ and in order to achieve his goals, killed hundreds of people with his army, the ‘Death Eaters’. Eleven years ago, he was vanquished when trying to kill a baby.”
She nodded slowly, unsure of what to do with this information.
“Your mother,” Dumbledore said carefully, “was Bellatrix Lestrange.”
The name echoed in the room like a curse.
“She served Voldemort faithfully – one of his most trusted, and most feared.”
Cass didn’t flinch. Maybe she already knew, deep down.
“And your father was…” Dumbledore seemed to hesitate for a second. “Voldemort himself. His real name was Tom Riddle.”
“Oh,” she said. Just that. As if it explained everything about her and nothing at once. “Are they dead?” she asked.
“Voldemort disappeared and is believed to be dead by most people. I personally think he’s still out here somewhere… As for your mother, she’s in Azkaban.”
“Azkaban? What is that?”
“It’s a … prison for wizards. It is impossible to escape from it and is reserved for the worst criminals.”
So, she did have a family. Who turned out to probably be one of the worst possible. Why was she not surprised? Her parents were criminals, at least according to Dumbledore.
“So what am I to do then?” she asked him. “Stay here after school?”
“Oh no, you still have some family left on your mother’s side. They should be expecting you by now, I think.”
“Really?”
She had people waiting for her? Actually wanting to have her? To be in the same room as her? She didn’t know it was possible. If I want it to last, if I want them to keep me, she thought, I’ll have to do anything I can to please them. I promise I won’t be a disappointment. Not this time. Whatever it takes.
She would always be a disappointment.
Dumbledore nodded, before leaving her to pack her luggage while he went downstairs to sign the discharge paper.
She didn’t really have anything to pack. A few clothes, a diary with a bunch of pens, some books, and the paper cranes that she had made. That was all she had, her small world contained in a brown leather suitcase.