Summary:Hazel Potter failed to be murdered. This made a lot of people very upset, but they don't matter much. What DOES matter is the scary man knocking on the door ten years later; who is he? what does he want with her? and why is Aunt Petunia so scared of him?
Note for Spring Fling readers: I would be flattered to the hilt if you were inspired to make a remix fic, so consider this permission to do so! Just give me credit where it's due, of course.
Chapter 1: In the BeginningChapter TextOn the night before all of Wizarding England celebrated, celebrated so hard that even Muggles noticed, two men met at a ruined house. One of them clutched a baby girl to his vast chest, wrapped tightly in a tartan blanket; the second man was the girl's godfather, and he insisted that the larger man surrender the child. But the larger man had orders, orders to take her to a third man, immensely powerful and wise. Irritated, the second man demanded to know where he waited, and disappeared into thin air as soon as he had an answer, though he left behind a large black motorbike for the first man. Bemused, but too distraught and too busy trying to hide it from the infant, the large man did his best to calm the child, settling her into his arms as he boarded the bike and puttered away. He didn't go far, only to another house in the village, to wait for a day and a night away from this scene of death...
The night after that, the wise old man was conversing with an old lady... "Hagrid is bringing her here," he said gently, staring at a darkened Muggle house.
"Is that wise, Albus?" she replied anxiously, looking over her square glasses at him. "Hagrid, well, he's..."
"I would trust him with my very life, Minerva," he countered firmly, unshaken in his belief.
"Well, yes, his heart's in the right place, but-" A faint crack cut her off, and both wizards turned, drawing wands. "Sirius? Sirius Black?" she gasped in surprise, though her wand did not waver.
"Professors." Black looked haunted, angry and grieving as he fixed his staring gaze on Dumbledore. "Sir, listen carefully. Lily and James... they were killed last night, You-Know-Who did it himself."
"Yes." Albus had lowered his wand and was gazing back, a kindly expression on his aged face. "You should hear the rumors, Sirius..."
"Rumors!" He waved them off. "Listen, they were betrayed! I was supposed to be their Secret Keeper but Lily convinced James to make Peter their Secret Keeper instead! And that dirty little rat betrayed them!"
"Pettigrew?!" She sounded shocked again. "But I... he would... he's your FRIEND!"
"WAS my friend," Black replied grimly. "Hagrid should be on his way if he hasn't been here already, he's got my bike. Neither of us wanted to risk little Hazel with a portkey, you understand..." He looked to Dumbledore, that angry stare hardening. "I'm going after Peter, of course, but if something goes wrong... if I can't come back... you need to know that he's an Animagus. His animal form is a rat." He laughed bitterly. "Fitting, is it not?"
The old wizard bowed his head. "I know I cannot stop you, Sirius. Be careful, and godspeed. Hazel will want to know her godfather in time, I'm sure."
Of all the things he could have said, this alone made Black pause. "...I'll be careful..." He bowed to them both and stepped away, but hesitated again. "Oh, one more thing. Tell Hagrid he can keep my bike, at least until I come back for it." IF I come back for it, he didn't add out loud. With that he disappeared into thin air once more.
"Albus..." The scope of the betrayal was too enormous to comprehend, even for her. "Do you think...?"
"...that Peter could have betrayed them? It is difficult to imagine, but... but if it had indeed been Sirius, would he have wasted time coming here? Would he have allowed Hagrid to take little Hazel? No. If Sirius was the traitor he would have finished the job, or done his best against our stout gamekeeper." He shook his head sadly. "We must indeed consider that Peter Pettigrew betrayed his friends to the Dark Lord, Minerva. Keep a close eye on the news, especially anything concerning Sirius. Voldemort will not be gone forever, this I promise you."
Minerva had flinched slightly at the mention of that dread name, but she nodded in agreement. "Even if he's not gone for good, we have this night, at least... we must not waste the time Lily and James have given us..."
In the distance, a motor rumbled, and soon the large black bike came into view. It landed with a screech of tire on asphalt and puttered to a stop before the two wizards. Hagrid left it idling quietly, and shifted his bulk off the bike, cradling the baby to him.
"Hagrid. At last." Dumbledore sounded relieved. "Were there troubles?"
"Nossir, no... nossir," the giant replied sadly, sniffling. "Got there 'afore th' Muggles could swarm th' place. Met Sirius Black, 'e tried a' take lil 'Azel 'ere but I wouldn' let 'im. Not when it's yer orders, sir." He held the bundle out for them. "Laid low at ol' Professor Bagshot's place 'n took off at sundown, lil' tyke fell asleep over Bristol, she did..."
They all stared at the sleeping baby in her tartan blankets, and Minerva's eyes went to the distinct lightning scar on her forehead, visible even through the thick black hair. "Merlin's beard, is that...?"
"Yes, that is where Voldemort's curse hit and rebounded. She'll bear that scar forever."
"I don' see why yer gotta leave 'er with these blokes," and Hagrid waved a massive hand at the sleeping house (Minerva ducked out of reflex, though she was nowhere near). "She's already famous, yaknow! Oughter be brought up aroun' her own kind 'n all."
"It would not behoove anyone were Hazel Potter to be raised a child celebrity," Dumbledore replied gravely. "Think, Hagrid! Famous for her parents dying, for surviving such a horrible event! No, I've already discussed this with Professor McGonagall; unpleasant they may be, her Aunt and Uncle are the best people to raise her, the only family she has left."
Hagrid could not argue that, so after planting a whiskery kiss on the sleeping girl's forehead, he walked her up to the doorstep and carefully set her down. Dumbledore followed, placing an envelope within the blankets. For a second they stood there, hovering over the Girl Who Lived, then they walked back to the street.
"That's that," Dumbledore said simply. "We've no further business here, not for quite some time. Let us join the partying, yes?"
Hagrid made an unhappy sound; he didn't seem to want to celebrate very much at the moment. "'m gonna take Sirius 'is bike back," he mumbled, turning towards the hulking machine.
"Ah, that won't be necessary, Hagrid. Sirius himself was here some minutes ahead of you, and he wished for you to hang onto it for now," Dumbledore insisted with a smile. "If you'd rather not keep it near the castle, I'm sure Arthur Weasley would be overjoyed to care for it in the interim."
"Ahh, yeh, good thinkin', Professor... G'night..." The giant man mounted the bike and quickly took off, rumbling away into the sky. The two Professors walked to the middle of the street, Dumbledore murmuring good luck to the sleeping infant, and they too disappeared in a swirl of cloaks.
Hazel Potter remained asleep, the sole oddity on the aggressively normal Privet Drive. She turned about, one hand finding the letter and holding onto it. It would be years before she would learn she was special, that she was destined for more than this Muggle street, that she was famous for something she had no control over. Before the meaning of the lightning-shaped scar would be made clear to her…
Chapter 2: The Mystery BeginsSummary:Hazel Potter still hasn't died yet. Will wonders never cease?
Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextNearly ten years had passed since little Hazel Jade Potter was left at her relatives' doorstep, and Privet Drive was still aggressively normal as always. Nosy housewives, over trimmed gardens, badly watered lawns and ostentatiously clean cars for every house. And in the smallest bedroom of Number 4, ten-year-old Hazel dozed away, eyelids twitching slightly as she dreamed about a flying motorcycle and enormous hairy men. It was an oddly comforting dream, one she'd had before, yet she never remembered any details upon waking.
And like most mornings, she was rudely awakened by her Aunt Petunia rapping on the door. "Brat! Get up this instant!" came her shrill, barking voice. "We've got to get ready for Dudders' birthday!"
Hazel groaned and fumbled for her glasses. "'m 'wake," she mumbled, finding them and putting them to her face. Irritably she shoved thick bangs out of her eyes, not for the first time wishing her hair would settle down. But it never did. There had been a time when she was dragged to the barber quite frequently, but it never did any good, not even when the day came that Petunia shouted that her hair would be tamed once and for all; there followed a furious half hour with scissors and razor, until poor Hazel was practically shaven bald. Yet the next morning it had grown back exactly the way it had been, perhaps even thicker and wilder this time as if to spite her aunt.
That wasn't the only weird event in her life. Strange things happened around her all the time, especially at school, like when she turned her teacher's hair blue. There was also the time she had simply found herself on the roof, trying to escape the school bullies. Dudley sometimes defended her, weirdly enough, but he couldn't always be around when the meaner girls set their sights on her. As a consequence Hazel was quite good at running and escaping, athletic despite her small size, and tough enough to put up quite a fight if cornered; her tormentors delighted in pinning her down and pulling her hair, especially since word got out about the barber incidents. It was only when the meanest of them had her skirt catch fire that the worst of the abuse went away, of course.
Yet it was always Hazel who was blamed for these events, of course, because she was 'different' in a way that no one could name. Though she was never beaten at home, her aunt and uncle weren't above verbally abusing her, or simply making her watch while they spoiled and pampered Dudley. And as she considered all this, while glaring at herself in the cracked mirror Petunia had reluctantly put in her room, she promised herself she'd be better one day, she'd rise above all this aggressive normality and be as weird as she liked. She glared especially at the scar on her forehead, and brushed her hair down to cover it; she'd been told it was from the car crash that killed her parents, a bald-faced lie if ever she heard one, but they got angry when she tried asking further, and she was strictly forbidden from asking about her parents in the first place (or about anything really). She'd never even seen pictures of them.
The glare softened slightly as it shifted to the goldfish bowl with a little red guppy, probably the only hand-me-down from Dudley she had ever appreciated. She liked animals, she was good with them, and it was the only 'normal' enough thing she was allowed to enjoy under the Dursleys' watch.
"Are you up yet?!" came her aunt again, rapping on the door. "You need to get the bacon ready!"
Hazel sighed and reached for the can of fish food. "I'm feeding the fish!" she replied sourly, sprinkling some flakes into the fish bowl. She waited for Petunia to clatter back downstairs, then started getting dressed.
She wanted a pet snake, had wanted one ever since she learned she could talk to them, one afternoon in the garden. But she knew it was no good. If they found out she could talk to snakes, she'd be locked in her room forever. With a sigh she finished getting dressed, frowning at the badly-shrunken cast-offs from Dudley before stepping out and slipping quietly down the stairs. She was scolded for making too much noise, for asking too many questions... Yet for all that, she always suspected that something made them hold back from how truly nasty they could be. Maybe it was the fact she was a girl, or maybe it was the odd things that always seemed to happen when she was stressed, angry or scared. Whatever it was, she was truly thankful for it.
"About time!" Petunia growled from the stove as she came into the kitchen. "Never should have let you keep that mangy thing, all the time you waste on it..."
Hazel scowled fiercely, and somehow bit back the retort that seethed at her lips. Instead she took a few breaths and composed herself. "I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia," she said meekly, before going over and getting ready to cook breakfast, washing her hands and wiping a pan off. Not that it was necessary; between herself and Petunia, the house was always spotless from top to bottom. That was something they could work together on, at least; Petunia was slightly less unpleasant when there were chores to do and Hazel could keep her head down and act busy. She had also learned, early on, that being polite and falsely respectful was sometimes enough to stave off the worst of their dislike for her, and it was quite ingrained by now.
Breakfast was ready by the time Vernon and Dudley shuffled in, though settling at the table was a task considering the immense pile of presents. Dudley threw a fit when there weren't as many as he wanted, and with all the commotion Hazel was free to get seconds of bacon and eggs when no one was looking; they couldn't see her plate over the mound of gifts, and she was always hungry, after all. She put the leftovers away in a tupperware while they were fussing over Dudley some more, and looked up as the phone was ringing. Her aunt answered it, and as the brief conversation went on her lips went thin from displeasure.
"Bad news, Vernon." Petunia set the phone back in its cradle and shot a glare at her niece. "Mrs Figg broke her leg, can't leave the brat with her today." Hazel didn't mind Mrs Figg; her house smelled of cabbage and old people, but her cats were nice enough. "And no, we can't leave her with Yvonne either, she's in Majorca," Petunia insisted even as Vernon was opening his mouth.
"Marge is out of the question too," Vernon muttered, stroking his mustache and glaring madly at his niece, "not after what happened last time..." She did her best to compose her face in an innocent, thoughtless look, but inside her heart raced. She never got to go with them on Dudley's birthdays, and they flatly ignored hers except to throw socks at her head. 'What happened last time' was that Hazel had been chased up a tree by Marge's bulldogs, one of them grew spots, and the racket had drawn attention from the neighbors. And there was nothing Vernon and Petunia hated more than people noticing their freak of a niece.
"You could just leave me here," Hazel mumbled, a pleading look on her face. "I'll be good, I swear..."
"I'd sooner take you along than leave you alone in this house!" Petunia snarled, panic and fury getting the better of her. Dudley wailed, but there was nothing else for it. And that was how Hazel found herself squished to the side of the back seat of the Dursley car, on the way to the movies that day.
"How's your snake doing, Piers?" she asked at one point, looking up at Dudley's friend. She could tolerate Piers; he had a snake at home and he didn't mind letting her or Dudley play with it. Usually getting along with her would be enough for her aunt and uncle to make Dudley ditch one of his friends, but Piers was too cool for that and he insisted quite loudly against it. He had a big snake and a big screen TV, and a satellite dish and his parents let him collect playing cards. Dudley thought playing cards were beyond cool, but gambling was taboo in the Dursley household.
The movie was some American cowboy flick, Hazel was too busy eating popcorn and hotdogs to really pay attention. They went home afterward, where she helped make meatloaf and was grudgingly allowed an extra half a helping for not being a nuisance all day. That night, after everyone else was asleep, Hazel lay in bed and thought about the last twelve hours, feeling her full stomach and allowing herself a smile. Tomorrow would make up for it, she was sure, but at least she would sleep well tonight. Out of nowhere she remembered the huge black dog that had used to come around Little Whinging now and then. She'd first seen it when she was roughly five, and though it shied away from her and everyone else, it never quite left. She remembered the first time it had ever let her pet it, how it had rolled over and whined for more belly rubs. Unfortunately Vernon had scared it off, and she'd been punished as usual, and that was the last time she'd seen the big dog.
As sleep overtook her, her last thought was a vague hope that the friendly dog was okay, wherever it was…
Notes:I'll be mostly following the book, with a few things out of place here and there. This is my first HP fanthing and it hasn't been beta read, so please be honest if you choose to leave a word or two.
Chapter 3: Professor SnapeSummary:Scary man in black! Petunia can't handle it! What do??
Chapter TextHazel was only sent to her room twice over the next month and a half, and she could feel Vernon and Petunia's disapproving glares less and less. It was partly to do with her managing to not act out, and partly to do with her simply not being around the house as much. The summer holidays were here, and her and Dudley both played outside as much as possible. She had mixed feelings about the upcoming fall season; she'd be going to state school and getting away from her tormentors, finally, but the uniforms were drab and gray, and she suspected Petunia would simply dye a bunch of Dudley's old things to match instead of buying proper clothes for once. She wasn't looking forward to getting older in a couple years, and having to go through all those changes with the indifferently hostile Dursleys.
She missed seeing the great black dog, and wished she could find more snakes in the garden. The drab streets and parks around Little Whinging felt small and familiar, for the first time, though she didn't dare go beyond by herself. All her young life, strangers had seemed drawn to her, bowing or waving or shaking her hand, all very oddly dressed, and her relatives always overreacted if they found out; every time it happened, she felt like they were staring at her scar the whole time, and they always seemed to disappear the moment she looked away. All this, along with the odd incidents, and the Dursleys' furious paranoia about anything remotely odd... every time she considered it, she got a funny feeling in her chest, and her scar would tingle slightly. At the very least it made her leery about going too far by herself.
A few weeks before her birthday they all went into London, so that Dudley could be fitted for his new school uniform. Normally Hazel would be left with Mrs Figg for trips like this, but the old lady claimed to be quite ill over the phone, so they had to bring her along with great reluctance. London was huge and exciting, and there were so many people, and she stuck close to Aunt Petunia for fear they'd leave her behind for spite. It wasn't a total loss though; Dudley caught sight of one of his friends in a sprawling pet store, and Hazel spent a few quiet minutes with the snakes and reptiles in their glass cages. Back home in Surrey, seeing Dudley parade about the living room in his new clothes that evening, while Petunia sobbed and Vernon looked on, misty-eyed with pride, was almost too much to bear, and she had to step outside before the laughter escaped by itself.
Nothing else interesting happened until the day before her birthday, except that she noticed her aunt and uncle whispering to each other a few times, and they'd always stop before she could get close enough to overhear. It made her think they were talking about her, but why, she could hardly imagine. And today, though she'd not know it, her life was going to change forever. It started with a knock on the door, over breakfast. "Get the door, Dudley," Vernon rumbled from behind the paper, "must be the mailman."
"Make Hazel get it," Dudley whined through a mouthful of toast and jam, as if his food would run off were he to turn his vast back on it.
"Get the door, Hazel."
"Make Dudley get it," Hazel replied, just to see what would happen.
"Get the door, brat!" Vernon snapped, swiping the newspaper her way. She ducked it with a laugh and ran to the front, pulling the door and expecting to see the mailman with a package. What she saw instead was a tall man in a severe black suit, pale-skinned and greasy-haired, looking down at her over his hooked nose. Caught off guard she could only gape up at the man, and his thin mouth curled into a cruel sneer.
"Who's at the-?" Petunia griped, coming up behind Hazel. She stopped in her tracks with a horrified gasp, though, and whatever she was holding fell to the floor with a clatter. "YOU!"
The man's sneer became even crueler, and he pushed past Hazel as if he hadn't seen her. "Petunia," he growled, voice low and silky, yet she felt the animosity and danger all the same. "How long it has been..."
"You- you don't belong here!" Petunia gasped, nearly as pale as the strange man, clutching her chest and groping for the wall. "Get, get out! Get out now!"
The hook-nosed man sneered at the rigid cleanliness around him. "I have no wish to be here, Petunia, as you very well know," he replied in that low voice of his. "Let us get it over with, shall we?" Again he swept on by, and Hazel looked at her aunt, the fear and confusion in their faces matching one another for once. Hazel made for the stairs at once, to hide in her bedroom until the man left, but she was stopped at the foot. "No, Miss Potter, this concerns you exclusively," came the man's voice, "come in here at once."
Her heart racing, she went to the dining room instead, and found the man standing stiffly in the center, regarding Vernon and Dudley with contempt. "Um... who are you?" Hazel stammered out. "Sir?" she added as an afterthought, unsure what prompted it.
His gaze swept back to her, and she noticed he had deep black eyes, cold and angry. "I am Professor Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House, and Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he replied, slowly and distinctly. Vernon went purple with rage and rose to his feet, but Snape flicked a black stick of wood that came from nowhere, and Vernon fell back, mouth gaping but no sound whatsoever coming out. "I have no wish to dither, Dursley, this is even more unpleasant for me than you can possibly imagine!" he snapped.
Hazel wasn't listening, however. Her mind was a whirl of memories. Witchcraft? Wizardry? Every unexplained incident of her past, every punishment, every promise she made to herself of greatness and destiny, talking to snakes... it all came to the fore. "Sir? Do you mean that I... I'm a w- a witch?"
"NO!" Petunia screamed, throwing herself forward. "No, you hear me?! I won't have it, we won't tolerate that rubbish in our house!" It was alarming to see the normally poised woman act so distraught and angry, to see her clutching at the back of a dining room chair for balance. "We've tried to stamp that out of her! She's not a-"
Again, Snape's wand flicked, and Petunia's diatribe was cut off as abruptly as Vernon's was. "You can no more stamp out wizardry in a person than you can put out the sun," he sneered, though as he turned back to Hazel his sneer softened, very slightly. "But... yes, Miss Potter, you are indeed a witch. I'm glad I didn't have to explain it further." He drew a heavy envelope from within his coat and handed it to her; it was made of parchment instead of regular paper, she noticed right away. "Sit down and read this, all will be explained."
Furiously doubting that everything could be answered in those pages, Hazel nonetheless did as she was told, sitting at the table and examining the letter. It was addressed very specifically:
Ms. H. J. Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Somewhat awestruck she pried the envelope open, pulling two sheets of parchment out.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer)
Dear Ms Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
A spidery signature followed, and at the bottom: Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress
The second page, as promised, was a list of books and supplies she would need, signed by a Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus, Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions.
"Where am I supposed to get all this?" she asked, looking up at Snape. They had a month or so yet, but she hardly knew London...
"I have been tasked with assisting you in this matter, Miss Potter," Snape replied. "You will come with me to Diagon Alley, and we shall procure what you need." He looked down at the Dursleys, and that cruel sneer resurfaced. "I trust your guardians have no objections?"
His wand flicked, and Vernon and Petunia gasped for breath. Hazel suspected it was for effect, though. Vernon got to his feet, face still purple. "It's rubbish, I tell you, but what else could we expect considering who her parents were? That filthy layabout father of hers in particular!"
"What? Who my parents- you told me they died in a car crash!"
"...as useless as James Potter was, even he would hardly be held up by a 'car crash'," Snape drawled, looking and sounding disdainful. "Have you lied to her about everything? "
"I told you, we had to stamp it out!" Petunia snapped, still sounding angry and frightened. "You, you lured my sister away with your dirty ways! We would've been fine if you hadn't been there, creeping around! Spying on us! You were both freaks, you're all freaks! I told our parents, but no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of her! Proud to have a witch in the family!" Hazel had the impression that Petunia had kept a great deal bottled up inside, and it was all coming out now; she felt like she was witnessing something indecent, but curiosity and a burning need to know kept her in place. "Then she met that Potter boy at school! Ohh, I bet that burned you up when she threw you aside for him , didn't it?! When they got married and had that brat there-" she gestured wildly in Hazel's direction, though she wasn't looking at her.
"It burned even worse when they were murdered by the Dark Lord," Snape interjected, and she saw lines of pain and grief in his face. "Car crash, indeed... Miss Potter, your parents were heroes to the Wizarding world, they stood up to the Dark Lord, defied him and his followers. Even your father..." For the first time his gaze softened as he looked at her. "You'll hear this a lot in the days ahead, but you look so much like her... you even have her eyes."
"My mother's eyes..." That was a wonder in itself, but something else caught her attention. "Um, sir, sorry, but... who's the Dark Lord?"
Snape shook his head. "I knew I would have to explain things... listen closely, Miss Potter, for no one likes to use his name. It was..." his voice dropped to a whisper, and she had to lean closer for fear of losing it. "...Voldemort..." He forced the name out like it choked him to even consider, and he took a deep breath afterward. "I can explain more later, Miss Potter, for now we must get going."
"I'm telling you she's NOT!" Vernon roared, scrambling to block the way out. "We're not paying for it! We won't allow that poppycock beneath our roof, you hear me! She's abnormal enough as it is...!" He looked at Hazel like he wanted nothing more than to beat the witchcraft out of her, but she forced herself to stand firm and glare back. "We've been too soft on you, girl, but that ends today! It's the cupboard and the belt for you, no more wandering about! Keep you inside... locked up for good…!"
Fear and anger abruptly coalesced into raw fury at the threat of being beaten and locked away, and Hazel felt a blazing heat, hot enough to burn away years of ingrained manners in a single flash. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" she screamed, clenching her fists and glaring so hard at her uncle she felt her eyes might pop out. "I've had it with you all, HAD IT!" The light bulbs above them exploded, glass shattering everywhere; Snape snapped his wand out again, catching the shards, but Hazel didn't notice. "When I come back I'll, I'll-!"
"-enjoy a quiet, relaxing summer break, like any other student at our school," Snape broke in calmly, putting a hand on her shaking shoulder. "Breathe, Miss Potter. It will not do to threaten your relatives now." He looked back to Vernon and Petunia. "She will learn control at Hogwarts, among other things. It is important for young witches and wizards, especially those who live out in the Muggle world. I'm sure you don't want any more of these incidents, hm?" Again he flicked his wand, and the broken bulbs repaired themselves, flew back into their fixtures.
Hazel was calmer now, but still angry. "You've known... you knew this whole time... and you lied to me...!" she seethed, taking a furious glee in watching them both flinch back from her. Uncle Vernon was right, things were going to change, but not in the way he wanted. She took another deep breath, doing her best to master her anger. "Professor Snape, may I change clothes before we leave?" Not like she had anything decent to wear anyway, but she had to be by herself for a few minutes, and dashed out before he could reply.
In her room she buried her face in a pillow and screamed, then let it fall so she could punch and kick it, growling and snarling, wishing it was her aunt and uncle she was maiming, mangling... Soon she calmed down, and found something new to wear before stepping back downstairs.
Downstairs, nothing had changed, except Dudley seemed to be stuffing his face at the fridge while his parents stared stonily at Snape. "What else do I need, Professor?"
"Nothing, Miss Potter." His gaze lingered on her ill-fitting clothes, and he gave Vernon and Petunia one more withering glare before leaving the room. "Come with me." She followed him outside and through the gate, standing beside him on the sidewalk. "Grip my arm, now." He put his arm out and she clung tightly to it. "This will be unpleasant, I suggest taking a deep breath. One... two..."
Then everything twisted in on itself and went dark…
Chapter 4: Diagon AlleySummary:There's been a whole different world out there, right under Hazel's nose, where she fits in better than she ever could have imagined. How will things change with a different guardian to show her around? Hint: quite a lot.
Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextWhen things untwisted, Hazel found herself still clinging to Snape's arm, this time to keep herself from falling over. "What was that? " she gasped, trying to keep her feet. Her stomach roiled, and she was glad she hadn't eaten yet. "Where are we, sir?"
"London, of course." That sneer was back, and she was starting to learn that this was bad. "Come along." He led the way to the street, and pointed out a dingy old pub, rather shabby on the outside. "This, Potter, is the Leaky Cauldron. Remember it well."
Hazel glanced around; they seemed to be the only ones who could see it. Everyone else walked right by, and even if they were looking its way their gaze clearly slid right over it. "Is it supposed to be famous, then?" She wondered if tetanus was a wizarding concern...
Snape just smirked and led them inside. It was even shabbier, if at all possible, though it seemed busy enough, and her skin tingled slightly as they crossed over the threshold. The bartender, a bald and hunchbacked old man, looked up at their entrance. "Ey, Professor, pour ya anyfin'?" he asked, glancing at Hazel with a friendly smile. "An' fer yeh, lassie?"
Snape hesitated, then shrugged and looked resigned. "Two butterbeers, Tom," he replied, crossing to the bar and sitting down, sliding four silver coins across the bar. Tom brought two cold bottles up and popped their caps off, and Hazel accepted hers with a smile. She made the mistake of brushing her hair aside to drink from it, though.
"Tastes like butterscotch," she decided after a long, pleasant sip. "But it's got a kick. I like it." For a second she was oblivious to the sudden silence, until she noticed Tom staring at her forehead. "Um..."
"Merlin's beard," he breathed, unable to look away. Abruptly there were tears in his eyes, and he shuffled quickly around the bar to grab her hand and pump it up and down. "Hazel Potter! In my pub, MY pub! Welcome back, Miss Potter!" Bewildered, Hazel could only look up to Snape for guidance, but the Professor rolled his eyes and mouthed 'just get it over with' at her before turning away to look down at the bar itself. She was quickly the center of attention, and she felt quite silly in her oversized boys' clothes as what seemed like every witch and wizard in the pub swarmed over, all of them wanting to shake her hand.
Just get it over with, Snape had said. So she hitched an awkward smile on her face and did the best she could, shaking hands and enduring claps on her back or shoulder, muttering 'Hello' or 'Yes, I'm back' to every one of them. It made her sick on the inside, to think that this was all because of what happened to her parents; she wanted to be famous by herself, to be recognized for her own achievements! Not for the reflected moon glow of Lily and James.
One or two of them she recognized as having approached her before, and this time she understood why they had been so furtive at the time. She wished they would be furtive again now. Eventually a young-ish wizard approached from the crowd, nervous and wearing a turban and smelling strongly of garlic. He gave Snape a fearful look and focused on Hazel. "My dear Miss P-Potter, such an honor... Q-Quirinus Quirrell, at your service, I'll be one of your P-Professors at Hogwarts..."
"Nice to meet you, Professor," she replied, thinking he didn't seem like much of a professor. From the corner of her eye, she saw Snape sneering again, and felt better about her unkind thoughts. "What do you teach?"
"D-Defense Against the D-Dark Arts," he stammered, "though you might not need it, eh?"
Snape abruptly stood up. "Enough." The room went dead silent again, and Hazel marveled at how easily Snape took command. "Potter, grab your drink, we must move on."
"Gladly," she replied, taking her barely touched butterbeer. "Um, nice meeting you all... Professor Quirrell..." Quickly she retreated after Snape, nervously reaching down to make sure her things were still there. Words failed her, so she resorted to swearing. "Shit... is everyone going to be like that, sir?"
"Most likely," he replied, that sneer taking on a mocking quality that she hated having aimed at her. "You are the Girl Who Lived, after all..."
"Well I don't want to be her, then!" she snapped, stamping her foot. "I want to be famous by myself, not for my parents being murdered by Volde- er, by..." She'd forgotten she wasn't supposed to use that name, and faltered.
"Most refer to the Dark Lord as You-Know-Who, or He Who Must Not Be Named," Snape replied mildly. They were behind the main part of the pub, and he drew his wand. "And, Miss Potter, do mind your language whilst at school. We don't appreciate foul-mouthed hooligans."
"Oh... sorry, sir." She watched him tap at the wall, and gasped as it opened up before her, revealing a vast crowded space with witches and wizards everywhere. Storefronts lined every wall, there were carts and stalls cluttering the side streets. "Wow... sir, where do we start?" Cauldrons, owls, quills and parchment...
"At Gringotts, of course." Hand on her shoulder again, he led her through the crowd, and she was glad for his firm grip; she was sure she'd get confused by herself and quite lost in the crowd, and she patted her hair down over her scar. Soon they reached a massive, snowy white building, with sturdy bronze doors manned by-
"Don't stare," Snape muttered, squeezing her shoulder. "It's just a goblin." She tried to look away, but the short body, clever face and little beard, and long-fingered hands were hard not to stare at. The goblin met her gaze as they approached, and merely grinned nastily as he bowed and held the door for them. Inside were silver doors, and these were engraved with the following words:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
Her skin tingled again as she read the words, and it made her shiver in response. "Show respect, Miss Potter, and mind your hands. The goblins are a prideful people who hold themselves apart from wizardkind," Snape explained as they were bowed through these doors as well. A vast marble hall stretched before them, with hundreds of goblins filling in ledgers, counting stacks of money, or assisting wizards. Gems, coins, more money than she'd ever imagined. But why were they here?
Snape led the way to a free counter, and the goblin behind it eyed them gravely. "Good morning," Snape began, maintaining eye contact with the goblin. "I am Professor Severus Snape, here to assist Hazel Jade Potter in withdrawing from her vault."
The goblin eyed Hazel, who sighed and swept her hair aside to show off the scar. To his credit, the goblin showed no reaction. "You have the key, sir?" he replied in a raspy voice, to which Snape held up an elaborate gold key. "I am required to test the girl, as well. Standard protocol for the old vaults, you understand." The professor merely nodded, and the goblin hopped off his stool, gesturing for them both to follow him to a private room. They were joined by a second goblin, bearing a heavy sheet of parchment and a curious, dull knife. "Write your full name on this parchment, Miss Potter, then Griphook will pierce your palm. Three drops of blood will suffice." Blood magic? Nervously she took a quill and signed her name, Hazel Jade Potter , to the parchment.
But she was uneasy about allowing another to harm her. "I can do it myself," she said firmly, reaching for the knife. Griphook glanced at the older goblin, who merely shrugged, then he handed it over to her. It was heavy, for such a small knife. She drew it firmly across her palm and held her fist over the parchment, squeezing; there was a flash of pain that faded as quickly as it came, and exactly three drops of blood fell to the parchment. Curious at the lack of pain, she opened her hand; there were bloodstains, but no wound, not even a scar. "Wow..."
Below, the parchment had absorbed the blood entirely, and her signature glowed white. More words appeared in the middle of the parchment:
POTTER HEIR CONFIRMED. VAULT ACCESS GRANTED.
ADDITIONAL LINEAGES DETECTED: BLACK, GAUNT, LONGBOTTOM
POSSIBLE ANCESTRAL LINEAGES: SLYTHERIN, PEVERELL
"A Slytherin heir, eh? Interesting…" Snape cleared his throat, and the goblin nodded sharply, pulling the paper out of sight even though more words were appearing. "Anyway, your heritage is no longer in doubt," he went on with a grin. Hazel gave the knife back, noting that it bore no stain of her blood. "We'll leave the ancestral vaults for later, then. Your parents arranged for a secondary trust vault to carry you through school, Miss Potter, and we shall head there now."
"Who else can access this trust vault?" she asked curiously, rubbing her palm. "And what else was being written there?"
"Nothing that need concern a mere student," the goblin answered as he checked some other papers. "As for access. Your godfather, Lord Sirius Orion Black, was endowed with access to the trust vault, as well as some of the lesser family vaults. As well, the Hogwarts headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, and whoever your Head of House may be, will be able to draw from the trust vault in case you incur some debt at school, or if supplies must be acquired in your absence."
Godfather? She didn't notice Snape's face grow stony at the mention of that name, and she shook off her confusion. "This is a standard arrangement for students, I presume?"
"Indeed," the goblin nodded, "and it will be lifted under three circumstances. Your graduation, your expulsion, or your formal abandonment of the school." There was no judgment of any of the presented outcomes in the goblin's demeanor, but she was obviously determined to graduate. "Now, if we're done here, Griphook will escort you to your vault." Hazel nodded, and they all left the room, back to the busy main hall.
Griphook led them through another door and a tunnel, to a rickety minecart. "Apologies, Professor, but as you en't the lassie's proper guardian yet, we gotta leave you behind," he said to Snape. Snape nodded and held out the key for Hazel; she took it and climbed into the minecart after Griphook, and they were off.
Hazel laughed aloud at the wild ride, and Griphook cackled along as the cart zoomed around corners and jumped the rails at times. The cold air didn't bother her a bit, and she was disappointed when the cart came to a stop. She climbed out, and Griphook pointed to a recessed door with a keyhole. Key in hand she unlocked and opened it, revealing towering piles of gold, silver and bronze coins. "Galleons, sickles and knuts," he explained smugly, as Hazel gaped at all of it. "Seventeen sickles to a galleon, 29 knuts to a sickle!"
"That's 493 knuts to a galleon, then," Hazel replied automatically, doing the math in her head. All this for school? What was the rate of inflation around here anyway? "I, um, I don't have a bag, or a wallet, or..."
"Not to worry," and Griphook held out a rough canvas sack. She smiled and thanked him, then turned and shoveled money into it as fast as she could. It didn't seem to get any heavier, and the pile didn't seem to get any smaller. Once she thought there was enough she turned back to Griphook, who was indifferent to the sight. "All done?" She nodded, and he grinned again. "Before we head back up, I could show you yer family vaults..." She considered it, but shook her head; Snape was probably getting anxious without her, and she'd seen enough gold today. "Suit yerself."
They whirled back up top, and she nodded to Snape for waiting. On the way out she bought a proper wallet, black dragonskin that was bigger on the inside than it seemed, but small enough to easily fit in a pocket or bag; Griphook explained that when she was a little older she could connect the wallet directly to her trust fund, which was an interesting thought. Also on the way out they encountered a truly enormous man with long, shaggy hair and beard, wearing what seemed to be furs and rough denim.
"Afternoon, Professor Snape," he said airly, waving a dustbin-sized hand at them. He glanced down at Hazel, and his eyes widened. "Izzat you, little 'Azel? Bless me, it is, innit!"
"We were sorting out her finances, Hagrid," Snape replied coolly. She noticed he didn't smirk at the much larger man, and noted it for later. "What brings you here?"
"Ah, gettin' a lil' somethin' special fer Dumbledore outta vault 713," he replied with a wink. "Ach, where're me manners! Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o' th' Keys 'n Grounds at Hogwarts," he told Hazel, offering his hand down.
"Hazel Potter," she replied with a smile, reaching up on tiptoes and giving his finger a squeeze. "I guess I'll see you at Hogwarts, then?" She certainly would, if he was gamekeeper, in charge of fantastic magical creatures.
"Righto!" Another goblin was gesturing impatiently, and he chuckled. "Welp, gotta go. Look after yerself, 'n don't let them muggles git ya down!"
Back outside, in the sunlight, Hazel frowned. "Sir, um, what's a 'Muggle'?" she asked shyly, curiosity overcoming the ingrained command not to ask questions.
"It is a wizarding term for non-magical people," Snape replied. "Someone born to a wizarding family but without magic is a squib, and wizards born to muggles are known as Muggle-borns. Some call them mudbloods, but that is highly offensive and disparaging, and I will not tolerate such attitudes at school." He looked down at her. "I'm sure you have more questions, Miss Potter..."
She had rather a lot of them, and they all jumbled up, demanding to be asked. "Um... one of the goblins mentioned Houses? What are those?"
"The four Houses of Hogwarts," Snape explained as they walked away from Gringotts. "Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. Your parents were Gryffindors, and rather proud of it. Most of them are, though."
"And what are the differences?" she went on, curiosity all over her face.
"Well, Slytherin House values cunning and ambition, the thirst for greatness," he explained, again putting a hand on her shoulder so they would not get lost. She listened intently, one hand caressing the edge of her wallet for something to do. "Ravenclaw values intelligence, curiosity, the pursuit of knowledge. Hufflepuff prizes hard work, fairness and firm ethics in life, and Gryffindor emphasizes valor, bravery and chivalrous behavior."
She considered this for a long moment. "Sir, that sounds nice and all, but we all have our flaws, right, sir?"
Snape nodded in agreement and approval. "Indeed. Gryffindors can be hot-headed, arrogant and selfish. Ravenclaws, disconnected, isolated and also arrogant. Hufflepuffs tend to be naive and lacking in self worth, though they rarely suffer arrogance like other Houses. And Slytherins have been known to let their ambitions and thirst for greatness get the better of them, and many Dark wizards were a part of Slytherin House."
Hazel considered all this as well. "Was Vol- sorry, You-Know-Who a Slytherin?" For a second she thought she had asked a bad question, for Snape had stopped walking and seemed troubled, but then he nodded slowly, and pressed on. "Sorry, sir... well, I think I'd fit into Slytherin or Ravenclaw, to be honest. All that about being brave and chivalrous, or ethical or any of that..." She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "And you're Head of Slytherin House, you said before?"
"Indeed I am." He looked around, and leaned in close. "Also, I would keep to yourself what that sheet said about your possibly being descended from Salazar Slytherin. Would-be heirs to the great families are a knut a dozen, and even if you have his blood, it is likely quite diluted by now after so many years."
"Yes sir." She frowned at the reminder of that bloody parchment. "Professor, the blood magic wasn't finished before that goblin took it away. What else could it have told us?"
"Just information about your magical core, I'm sure," he replied, waving it aside. "Most wizards and witches are gray, meaning they are equally inclined to Light or Dark. Only a very few lean so strongly in either direction as to cut themselves off entirely from the other. I expect your parents would have ordered a seal put in place on your core, which is common for newborn witches or wizards; it keeps your magic under control until you learn to control it for yourself."
Hazel instantly hated the thought of her full potential being locked away, and privately resolved to have it lifted as soon as possible. "And does this seal lift in time?" she asked, putting her true thoughts to one side for now.
"Your core will be gradually unlocked as you progress through your education at Hogwarts, of course. And one way or another it will disappear entirely on your seventeenth birthday. I assure you, this is quite common, or else school would be even more dangerous than it already is." By now they had arrived at a dusty, quiet shop in an isolated corner of Diagon Alley. A peeling gold sign indicated it was Ollivander's, Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 BCE. "Every British witch or wizard gets their wands here, Miss Potter." They stepped inside, and a tinkling bell sounded somewhere. The place was dusty, and it felt ancient; Hazel's skin tingled yet again, a sensation she was starting to associate with the presence of powerful magic. Inside it was tiny and cramped, a single rickety chair sitting in the center, and tall shelves crammed neatly with hundreds, if not thousands, of wands. Tentatively, she sat in the rickety chair and waited; Snape stood by the door, still as a statue. She wanted such self-control one day.
"Good afternoon," came a soft, elderly voice. Hazel jumped slightly, standing up and turning to see who spoke. An elderly man with wide eyes and tufty white hair stood in the shadows, peering at her with a piercing gaze. "Ahh, yes, I've been waiting for this day. Hazel Potter." He stepped forward, making no sound at all, and she realized the floor was thickly carpeted. "You resemble your mother very strongly, you know. It feels like yesterday she was in here with her parents. Ten and a quarter inches, swishy, willow with a dragon heartstring core. Excellent for charms."
He came closer still, and she wished he would blink. "Your father, now... eleven inches, mahogany, also a dragon heartstring. Excellent for transfiguration." He was so close now, she could see herself in those misty eyes. Naturally he looked up to her forehead. "Ahh..." A thin white finger came up, but she jerked away before he could touch her. "I regret to admit I sold that wand, you know," he went on, as if nothing were amiss. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. An extraordinary wand, one of the finest I've ever made... and it chose an extraordinary wizard..."
"What do you mean, IT chose?" Hazel demanded, more sharply than she meant. She didn't know why this old man unnerved her so, and Snape was no help. She looked his way, but he was inscrutable as ever.
Ollivander followed her glance, and his thin lips twitched upward. "Ah, Severus Snape. African Blackwood, nine and a half inches... Petrified Gorgon hair? For the core?"
"Yes sir," Snape replied, and Hazel was struck by the note of respect in the man's voice. "One of the last wands your father made, as you remarked at the time."
"Ah, yes, yes indeed..." The old man looked unhappy for some reason. "I'm glad it has served you so well, my boy, but Gorgons were always too dark for me, and difficult to harvest from as well." He waved the matter aside and focused on Hazel again as he pulled a measuring tape from his pocket. "Now, my dear, your wand arm, please."
"Er..." She was right handed, so she held her right hand out. The tape began measuring her from multiple angles, and she scowled as she raised her arms, though it darted up to her head, then her nose and legs and feet...
"As I was saying, the wand chooses the wizard," he went on as the tape wrapped around her chest in three different places (causing more than a tinge of red) and he flitted back and forth among the countless boxes. "These days I use dragon heartstrings, unicorn tails and phoenix feathers, and no two wands are alike!" He brought a seemingly random wand over, as the tape measure fell to the floor. "Here, my dear..."
She took the wand and flicked it, but nothing happened, and he pulled it back. "Not to worry, try this one-" but no sooner was the new wand in hand than it was snatched back. Wand after wand, and the old man grew livelier as the pile of rejected wands (or was she the rejected witch? she thought glumly) rose one by one. Eventually he paused over a particular wand. "Hmm... Holly, fourteen inches, phoenix feather... well, why not, a powerful wand indeed..." He brought this one over, and immediately she felt something…
She waved it through the air, and a half-hearted stream of green and silver sparks sputtered forth. "It feels better, but something's off," she told the old wand maker, holding it up to peer more closely. "I can't tell what's the matter…"
"The core is good, but the wood, the wood disagrees," he explained, taking the wand back and running the tip of his own wand down the side, extracting the core from the bottom. Thus began another adventure, this time with the old man inserting the phoenix feather core into wand after wand. None of them felt quite right, and by now he looked troubled again. "My dear, there is but one thing left… but if I give you…"
He disappeared and did not emerge for some time, and Hazel fidgeted until he returned. "I never thought I would sell such a wand as this," he murmured, inserting the core into the fourteen-inch wand, which was a pale cream color with streaks of pink and orange that looked like flames. "Elder, my dear, and with this particular core…"
Reluctantly he offered her the wand, and she accepted it. A hot thrill shot up her arm, and she gasped as it suffused her chest; the merest flick sent green and silver sparks everywhere, and she laughed as the heat dissipated, leaving her trembling with anticipation. "This is it!" she cried aloud, staring at the flaming wand in her hand. "This is my wand!"
Snape clapped quietly, but Ollivander looked even more troubled than before as he got ready to sell her new wand. "Elder and phoenix feather, a powerful combination indeed… Is it a coincidence? Most interesting, either way… Seven galleons now, Miss Potter."
"Sir? What's interesting?" Hazel asked, counting out seven of the large gold coins.
"Miss Potter, I remember every wand I have ever sold. Every. Single. Wand." His eyes seemed to bulge out even farther. "The phoenix who gave the feather in that wand, also gave a second feather. Just one other feather. Thirteen and a half inches, yew... the same wand which gave you that scar..."
"That... that's just a coincidence, it doesn't mean anything..." The elation she felt at finding her wand drained away, now that she knew who had once held the wand's brother.
As if sensing her trepidation, Ollivander smiled gently and handed her the wrapped box. "Perhaps, perhaps not. Remember what I said, Miss Potter: the wand chooses the wizard. Elder wands are powerful, incredibly so, and will only choose a very unusual witch or wizard of equal strength, with a mighty destiny ahead of them." He and Snape exchanged a grim look for a split second. "You have the potential to change the whole world with that wand, I'd stake my very life on it..."
"Um. Thank you, sir." Eager to get going, she turned and walked out, followed by Snape. Out in the sunlight again, she released a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "What a creepy old man! I can't believe he tried to touch me!"
"He is a widely respected wand-maker, Miss Potter, every wizard in Britain has been under his scrutiny at some point," Snape interjected, though he seemed to need a few moments to compose himself. "Come, you need robes."
"I need some regular clothes too," she grouched, but she followed him to Madam Malkin's anyway. "You're not coming in?"
"Do you really need help being fitted for robes?" he replied, though he didn't seem to be mocking her. "Be at ease, Miss Potter, Madam Malkin is a professional. I'll be seeing to your books." He went off to another shop, and she walked inside, where a short, plump witch dressed in mauve gave her a kindly smile and ushered her onto a stool, next to a boy who was in the middle of it with another witch.
He was blonde, with a pale and pointed face, and she rather thought the swept back hair didn't do him any favors. "Hello," he said, noticing her stare. "Hogwarts as well?" She nodded silently, wishing to get this over with, and he nodded back. "Father's getting my books, Mother's looking at wands. I wish we could get brooms, I'll drag us to look at some if I have to."
"Yeah, me too, flying is fun," she replied, mostly to distract herself. She wondered which witch in the crowd they'd passed outside was this boy's mother. "I just got done buying my wand. Fourteen inches, el- elm and phoenix feather. Ollivander's kind of a creep, I thought." Remembering the way Ollivander reacted, she suddenly decided it was wise to hide the fact her wand was made of elder.
If he noticed her slip, he didn't say anything. "Well, he knows his stuff, even Father won't say a word against him." This boy put a lot of stock in his father's opinion, it seemed. "You don't play Quidditch, do you?"
"Not yet." She was good at sports, whatever Quidditch was she'd find out soon enough. "It sure looks fun, though, hm?"
"Too right!" the boy agreed. It was amazing how easy ignoring the witches was, now she had someone to talk to even if most of it went over her head. "It'll be a crime if I'm not allowed to play at Hogwarts, Father said so. Know what House you'll be sorted into?"
"I'm hoping for Slytherin, but I'll settle for Ravenclaw if I have to," Hazel replied, glad she'd asked Snape about the Houses. "I'd leave if I wound up in Hufflepuff though, wouldn't you?" That brought a genuine laugh from the boy next to her, and she smiled at him.
"Ah, there's Father." A tall, stern-looking wizard in rich black robes had stepped into the store. "I'll see you on the train, hopefully, hm?" The witch finished fitting him, and he shrugged out of the robe and hopped down. "What's your name, anyway? I'm Draco, Draco Malfoy."
"Uh." She was saved the necessity of replying when Snape arrived as well. "Oh, hi, Professor!" Snape was shaking hands with Malfoy's father, though it looked a bit strained to her. "Did you get all my books already?"
"Yes, Miss Potter, they're waiting for us at the Cauldron," he replied smoothly. At the mention of Potter the boy whirled back to stare; even his father was arching a curious eyebrow. She scowled darkly back at them, but remembered Snape's words and sighed, flipping her head so her hair flopped away from her scar.
"The Girl Who Lived..." the elder Malfoy murmured, and something unpleasant glittered in his eyes. "Well met, Potter. Have his robes sent along, Madam." To his credit, Draco didn't fall apart with awe and admiration, though his gaze did linger on the scar before he turned and followed his father out.
"And that's you done then, dearie." Madam Malkin hadn't reacted at all, and totted up the measurements with an expert eye. "Mhm, mhm. Shop next door's got some casual things if yer lookin' to spruce up." She looked up at Snape. "Ya said yer had rooms at the Cauldron, then? I'll have her things sent along when they're ready then."
"Thank you, Madam." Hazel settled up, counting out more galleons and sickles, then followed Snape back outside. "Professor, I think I would like to 'spruce up', like she said."
"Not a bad idea," Snape agreed. The next building held more clothes, skirts and shirts and pants, things she was used to from living with Muggles. She was chiefly interested in buying new underthings, though the thought of having her own clothes all to herself was rather powerful, and when the witch attending her fell over at the sight of her scar she wasn't above leveraging that for a discount on her purchases. She walked out feeling like a new girl, in a shirt and pants that fit for once, sharp black boots and a red leather jacket. Somehow the witch had talked her into taking an expanding bra, which she swore would come in handy in the years ahead; flushing brightly she had stuffed it to the bottom of her bag just to shut the woman up.
"Look sir, this has a moving image," and she held out one of the t-shirts she had bought. "Isn't that fascinating?" It was a winged golden ball, fluttering here and there on a green background.
"That's a Snitch, Miss Potter," Snape explained, eying the shirt and shrugging. "Moving pictures aren't so special in our world." He pointed out several posters on a nearby wall, and sure enough, they were all moving about. "Take care not to wear it around the Muggles, understand?"
"Yes sir." She put the shirt away again and followed after. "Sir, what's Quidditch? That Malfoy boy mentioned it..."
"You ask me that with a Snitch shirt in your bag?" He sounded amused, and she flushed again. "Quidditch is a sport, Miss Potter, played on broomsticks. Each House has its own team, and I hold my Slytherin players to a very high standard indeed." The amusement faded from his face as he spoke. "It is not for every student, Miss Potter. Players must maintain team practice with their classes and academic schedules, not to mention the actual matches, and if your grades slip we will NOT hesitate to pull you off the team. For these reasons, Quidditch is only available starting in the second year."
The rest of the day passed by, with Snape making sure she got her school supplies, and she bought a few extra books at the bookstore. Store by store her list was whittled down, until she was glad that Snape had arranged for everything to be sent to the pub; lugging it all about would have broken her back! Fortunately he also suggested a magic trunk, similar to her wallet, and in honor of her birthday the next day he bought her an owl as well, a snowy white bird she wasn't sure what to name yet. Owls were useful, she learned, as they kept after pests and could deliver mail or packages to any witch or wizard in the world. Hazel thought they were pretty, especially hers, and wasted no time bonding.
Finally they had dinner at the Leaky Cauldron, and Tom insisted it was on the house and that she eat her fill. Being able to eat as much as she wanted was a novel experience for Hazel, and she did so quite happily, though mindful of her table manners of course.
"The day after tomorrow, you must return to your relatives," Snape explained after they were finally finished. Hazel groaned in dismay, and Snape smirked. "Fear not, Dumbledore sent a letter setting new expectations for your room and board. You will not face the sort of trouble you have been used to." That wasn't so bad, she decided. At least she didn't have to spend her birthday there. "Now, I must return to Hogwarts to prepare for the term. Do not stray out of Diagon Alley until it is time to return to Surrey, am I understood?" He waited for her to nod nervously. "Good. If your relatives prove difficult when the time comes to leave, send an owl. We'll see to it."
"Thank you, Professor." She meant it, she realized. "Um, Professor? I've been wanting to ask all day, but... you... knew my parents?"
He was silent for several moments, then he nodded reluctantly. "I did," he explained slowly, his expression unreadable. "Your mother and I received our letters at the same time, much to your Aunt's dismay, and we left together for Hogwarts. She was sorted to Gryffindor, of course, and I, to Slytherin." A pause, and he sipped his drink. "She was... she was brilliant, Miss Potter, all her teachers said so. Your father, though..." A dark shadow passed over him, and he scowled deeply. "He was a troublemaker and a bully, though he knew when to shape up for the faculty. His so-called friends were just the same..." The scowl grew uglier still. "Were it not for that messy hair of yours, you'd be Lily's spitting image..."
Hazel reached out and put a hand over his. "I'm not my parents, Professor," she promised, looking him in the eye. "I'll be a better person than my father, okay? I won't be a bully or any of that." A small voice told her he couldn't have been so bad if her mother had chosen to marry him, if they had defied Voldemort until he felt the need to personally deal with them all, but the burning hatred in Snape's face told her to ignore that voice for now. "You just watch, I'll be in Slytherin, and then I'll show you. I'll show you all!"
Snape was silent for so long she feared she had finally offended him, struggling with long-buried emotions, until he sighed and covered her hand in turn. "Very well, Miss Potter," he said quietly, mastering himself. "We'll see when the term starts. I must go." He squeezed her hand, then stood and left without another word.
It wasn't until much later that Hazel realized she'd forgotten to ask about Sirius Black. She lay awake wondering about the man, who he was, who he had been to his parents. Was he one of James' troublemaking friends? Or an acquaintance of Lily's? There was no knowing, not from here, and she fell asleep eventually.
Notes:Why elder? Because elder wood is *beautiful*. Observe: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/69/9a/67/699a675b1f2e5bc904e3b81ee1e2deb4.jpg And there's no rule I've ever seen that said there could only be *one* elder wand.
Regarding my update schedule, I've got the first year all written up and am making good progress on the second year. I plan on keeping up a buffer of sorts in case I lose the muse, so barring something big happening there won't be any lack of Hazel's adventures for a while. Hopefully!
Chapter 5: Birthdays & BeginningsSummary:Glasses, trains, and redheads! oh my! What sordid mummery awaits our intrepid heroine now?? Hint: the type that comes in twos.
Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextOn her birthday, Hazel stumbled upon an optometrists office, and wanting new glasses she wandered inside. The receptionist smiled and asked if she had an appointment, and it didn't matter if she hadn't one because she was seeing the wizard within a few minutes of filling out the intake parchment. The wizard waved his wand and muttered something she couldn't catch; everything went white and buzzy for a moment, and when it faded the wizard was shaking his head sadly at the results. She picked out some frames, round like her old ones but lighter and made of metal, and when she put them on it was like she'd been blind her whole life. Had her eyesight really been so bad? How could she play Quidditch like this?
It was three galleons, and she decided to pay extra for a permanent Impervius Charm and a permanent Unbreakable Charm, so it was fifteen in all; money well spent, in her opinion. Walking out with her new glasses and new clothes, she really did feel better, and celebrated with some ice cream from a big shop in the middle of the Alley. While she was there she caught sight of a great mass of cheerful red hair, and giggled as she watched them all arguing and laughing. There was a tall, middle-aged wizard and a plump witch who she guessed were the husband and wife, and twin brothers, not much older than her but already tall and burly. A gangly boy who seemed about her age was the brunt of many jokes and pranks from the twins, and a shy little girl hid behind her mother, not saying much at all. An older boy rounded out the group, just as tall as his father and quite full of himself indeed.
She watched all this from behind her hair, endlessly fascinated with wizarding families but too unsure of herself to get involved. At least until the gangly boy happened to notice her and her Snitch shirt. "Hey, nice shirt," he blurted out, ambling over and standing there awkwardly. "You're into Quidditch, then?"
"Um." Unsure how to reply, she fumbled at the truth. "I, I bought it on a whim, actually... never heard of it before yesterday..."
"Oh, a Muggle-born, then?" He sat down without asking, still staring at the fluttering Snitch. "What's it like out there anyway? Without, you know..." He made an awkward waving motion with his hand, and Hazel giggled.
"Well, we get along, believe it or not," she replied airily, deciding to play along for now. "All our pictures stand still though, it's kind of boring!"
"Whoa, for real?"
"'Ere bro, who ya messin' with?" one of the twins declared out of nowhere, sitting down at the other side.
"Makin' friends wi' some girly, looks like," the second twin observed sagely, taking the opposite chair. The gangly boy flushed an alarming shade of scarlet and muttered under his breath, and Hazel giggled again.
"Now boys, don't go bothering strangers," the matron said sternly, likewise appearing. She favored Hazel with a motherly smile. "I'm so sorry, dear, they're a handful and a half, I'll have them off here in a jiffy-"
"Oh no, ma'am, I don't mind at all!" Hazel replied without thinking, and to her surprise she found it was true. She knew bullying, and this wasn't that. The woman's husband came up as well, asking about Muggle things, and she struggled to answer his questions and keep track of the others at the same time. "Er, no sir, it's a telephone," she tried to explain at one point, using the word slowly, "they use electricity, see..."
"What'd she say? 'Lectricy?" A twin shook his head in bemusement. "What mad things will these Muggles come up with next..."
Slowly she learned that the parents were Arthur and Molly Weasley, the youngest was Ginny, then Ron was the boy who'd first approached her, and he was starting his first year just like her. Fred and George were the twins, third year at Hogwarts, and the prissy one was Percy, who was in his fifth year. Two more older brothers, Bill and Charlie, were absent from the boisterous gathering.
"And who're you, then?" Fred asked out of nowhere, favoring her with a goofy grin. "Not anyone can lure ickle Ronnie-kins in..." Ron swatted at him and he just laughed, but Hazel froze again.
'Just get it over with,' she told herself sternly, clearing her throat and sitting up straight. "I am Hazel Potter," she replied stiffly, looking down her nose at Fred like she'd seen Snape do at times. She wasn't tall enough and her bangs got in the way, but it had the intended effect of silencing him. And everyone else too; every single redhead was staring at her in awe for a full three seconds.
"No way!" George insisted, leaning forward and peering more closely. "Where's 'at scar then?" Another irritable sigh, and she flipped her hair back; she was going to get a lot of practice with that move, she realized apprehensively. They all gaped at her scar instead. "Blimey, it IS her..."
Molly recovered first, clearing her throat loudly. "Alright, that's enough, all of you!" she insisted loudly. "Hazel, dear, such an honor, truly, but we've got to get going! Come along!" She chivvied the brood up and away, and they did so reluctantly, glancing back at her repeatedly. "Good luck at Hogwarts, dear, we'll see you on the train!"
"See you," she called, waving at them as they departed the ice cream shop. She was glad the shop was mostly empty, though the owner came out and asked if she really was Hazel Potter, and insisted that all her ice creams were on the house. Naturally she accepted; who in their right mind would say no to free ice cream? In all, it was the best birthday she'd ever had. Before heading back to the Cauldron she bought herself a dark red leather messenger bag, enchanted for more space on the inside of course, for carrying all her books and quills and parchment and things. It had lots of spacious compartments and pockets, and matched her new clothes too.
The next day she had no idea how she was to get back to Privet Drive, but she had her things packed into her new trunk anyway. Tom knocked, and explained a car was waiting for her outside. She thanked him and finished, then dragged trunk and owl cage down the stairs and out the front door. Sure enough, an old fashioned sedan was idling quietly at the curb, and a pair of gruff wizards were waiting for her. Her trunk was packed away in a flash and she was in the back seat just as quickly, the owl next to her hooting curiously. The seat was much wider than it appeared from outside, she noticed. "Who are you from?" she asked. "And, um, can you drop me off a few doors down from my house, please? My aunt and uncle..."
"Ministry security," the wizard in the passenger seat grunted as the driver pulled away smoothly, angling through traffic with magical ease. She closed her eyes and tried dozing off, though apprehension at returning kept her from truly nodding away. "We're here," the same terse voice grunted, and she opened her eyes reluctantly. Sure enough, they were back on Privet Drive, and she stepped out with dread in her chest. Vernon had swore to make things worse for her, but Snape had promised it would be dealt with...
To her dismay, Vernon and Petunia were waiting at the door as she struggled up the sidewalk. "Get inside, girl, don't let the neighbors see you!" Petunia hissed, beckoning her on. She sighed and dragged her trunk and cage up the walk and into the house, and stood there glaring at her aunt and uncle. Vernon glared back, but turned and rumbled off, determined to ignore everything abnormal. Petunia stood there, glaring down at Hazel's new clothes and school things. "Just because we've agreed to let you stay does not mean we'll put up with any more nonsense," she finally declared, her voice clipped and terse. "You're to leave your... school things... in your room until it is time for you to leave, is that clear??"
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Hazel replied, thinking that wasn't so bad. "Um... I need to let my owl out at night, if that's okay? Otherwise she'll make a mess, see... of course I'll clean up after her..."
The very idea of owls seemed enormously offensive to her aunt, but she grit her teeth against the notion. "Just- don't let the neighbors see!" she snapped. "Now what are you waiting for? Get this rubbish upstairs!"
To her surprise, as she was heaving the trunk across the living room, Dudley appeared from the kitchen and stood before the stairs. "Oh, you're back."
"Not for much longer," she grunted, heaving at the trunk. It wasn't heavy, of course, but it certainly was bulky... "Leaving in September, just like you!"
"Oh." He stood and thought about that for a long moment. Hazel did nothing to interrupt. "Do you need help with that?"
That was not something she'd ever expected from her brutish cousin, and she couldn't help but stare. He turned red beneath her gaze. "...I mean, if you want," she mumbled, unsure what else to say. She let him take the other end, and they dragged it on up, aunt and uncle staring silently after them. Hazel got the door open, and they let it down at the foot of the bed. "Well.. thanks, Dudley..."
"Sure." He seemed at a loss for words. "Are, are you really a witch?"
"...yeah, Dudley, I really am a witch."
"I think that's cool," he admitted in a very quiet voice, after glancing back at the door. "Don't tell Mum I said that, though. Do you... know any spells?"
"No, Dudley, not yet." She planned on reading her books though. "If I learn anything safe I'll be sure to show you next year, though, okay?"
"Okay." With that he lumbered out of the room and downstairs again, and Hazel, feeling extremely nonplussed, shut the door behind him. That was incredibly weird, she decided, as the sound of Petunia blubbering over what a gentleman her son was drifted up...
For the most part she kept to her room for most of August, coming out only to eat and to go outside. Her aunt and uncle had apparently decided to ignore her completely, though Petunia didn't object when she offered to help with the dishes out of habit. That was all she did, and nothing else was asked of her, and that suited her just fine. The rest of the time was spent reading, particularly her Potions book; if she was going to be in Slytherin House, she had to try to impress Snape, who was Head. A History of Magic was mostly dry, but she learned about a Saint Hedwig while flipping pages at random, and decided that was a fine name for her new owl.
She had also gotten a few extra books, Modern Magical History and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century , because there supposedly was information about herself and her parents in there. One of the books had a picture, of two adults and a swaddled-up baby. The man was tall, handsome, with messy black hair and a cocky smile; the woman was willowy and incredibly beautiful, with red hair and green eyes. Hazel's breath caught in her throat as she saw those warm eyes smiling up at her, for they were indeed very much like her own eyes. The rest was like something from a distant memory, a vague account of that Halloween night of 1981 when Voldemort murdered her parents and tried murdering her too, only to fail and die instead.
That explained why she'd never liked Halloween, then. It explained the creeping unease and near physical illness she felt when that day came around, and she shivered at the thought of how, even after so long, some part of her recognized the incredible horror she'd suffered and survived. As usual, all she could recall was a flash of green light in her mind's eye. It almost made her regret buying the books.
She tried writing letters with Hedwig, one to Snape to reassure him she was safe and not being pestered or locked up, and another to the Weasleys to thank them for their time on her birthday. The reply from Snape was brief and terse, acknowledging the missive and wishing her well in her first days at school. From the Weasleys, however, she received a cake, a sweater and a long rambling letter, about what an honor it had been meeting the Girl Who Lived, more apologies for how rowdy the family had been, and a wish that the sweater would fit. It was thick and comfy, with the letters HP in yellow on a green background. She was touched, and wrote back immediately to thank Molly for the gifts and to say that the sweater fit perfectly. The cake was also delicious, and she nearly made herself sick trying to eat it all in one sitting.
The last day of August came around, and she went downstairs that evening. "Uncle Vernon?" she asked, standing just outside her uncle's field of view as he sat watching television. He grunted in reply, not looking away from his show. "Um, tomorrow's when I have to be in London, so... could you..."
"Can't they send a taxi?" he growled back.
"No, actually, I wouldn't be asking otherwise," she replied patiently. "I'm sorry, sir, honest, but..."
"Where is this ruddy school anyway?" Vernon growled again, turning to look at her for the first time.
"I... I don't know, actually." She pulled out the sheaf of parchment her ticket was printed on. Platform nine and three quarters, it said... "I just have to be at King's Cross tomorrow at eleven, is all, the train leaves from platform nine." Not a total lie, after all.
"Vernon, we did have some last minute things for Dudders," Petunia suggested hesitantly. "Remember? He's ripped his uniforms already and he can't go around in mended things on his first day..."
"Alright, alright!" he snapped. "Fine, girl, since we're to be in London anyway we'll haul you over!"
"Thank you sir," she murmured, nodding and turning to go back upstairs.
She slept poorly and was up at dawn, too worked up to try sleeping again. She showered quickly, pulled some of her new clothes on and her glasses, made sure everything was packed. Hedwig flapped back in, hooting sleepily, and she made sure she took some water before locking her cage. The room was clean enough, save for the goldfish bowl. That would have to stay. She'd have to remind them to look after it. When the others rose she went downstairs to breakfast, toast and hash and scones. "Don't forget to feed the fish," she remarked at one point. Petunia sniffed, and no one else said a word. "And change his water once a week, too."
"Yes, we read the bloody manual!" her aunt snapped. That was as good as she'd get, she decided.
An hour later her stuff was put away in the car, and they were off. It was a tense, silent drive, and she could tell they were relieved when King's Cross came into view. Dudley helped her with her trunk again, and stood there trying to think of something to say until Vernon blew the horn. "Good luck, H- cousin," he muttered, already turning away.
"Thanks," she replied, to Dudley and Vernon both. Finally she turned and looked around. There was platform nine, and platform ten. What about nine and three quarters? She checked her ticket again, and it still said nine and three quarters.
"Oh, Hazel dear, ye made it," came a cheerful voice. She turned and saw the Weasleys, with Molly at the head. "Not to worry, it's just through the wall there," and she pointed at the solid brick barrier. "Watch the boys here, okay?" Percy, then Fred and George all went through, and made it seem easy enough. "Okay dear, you go before Ron. Take it at a run if you're nervous..."
"Thanks, ma'am," she replied, getting a firm grip on her trolley and picking up speed as the seemingly solid wall loomed ahead. Just before she struck it, a burst of steam obscured her vision, and when it cleared, there it was. A massive scarlet steam engine stood at the head of a long line of passenger cars, there were wizarding families everywhere, students and parents and animals alike.
"Oi, clear off," came a voice from behind, and she kept moving toward the train.
"Gran, I've lost me toad again," a slightly overweight boy was saying to his grandmother, who was a formidable-looking old woman with a stuffed vulture on her hat. She pushed on by, looking for an empty compartment, but didn't find one until near the end. Now she had to get her trunk up the steps.
"I can't wait to get older," she muttered, taking Hedwig's cage in one hand.
"Oi, Potter, we got it," came a Weasley voice, and the twins easily heaved it up the steps and into the luggage compartment. "Cheers, eh? We're gonna meet with Lee, he's got hisself a giant spider!" They disappeared again, and Hazel settled in for the ride up. She'd guess they were heading north, from the way the train was oriented.
The door opened again, and the youngest Weasley boy appeared. "Mind if I join you?" he asked. She shrugged, and he flopped onto the seat across. "Blimey... I still can't believe it's really you, you know. I grew up hearing about you!"
"I didn't do much, honest," she protested, shrugging again. "I mean, I was only a baby, wasn't I?"
"Ahh, yeah, I suppose. Still though, you're the Girl Who Lived! People are gonna be all over you!"
"You'll help me hide, won't you?" she asked anxiously, and they both laughed. "I've read a few books, you know, Modern Magical History and such, but..." She shook her head. "Look, don't make a big deal of it, okay? I hate it, I really do."
"Fair enough." Ron shrugged it off. "What else did you read?"
"Some of our class things, especially the Potions book," she replied. "I met Professor Snape over the break, he helped me to Diagon Alley and all that, he's the Potions Master at Hogwarts." She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "He's scary, but kinda cool too."
They were interrupted by a snack trolley, and Hazel was so hungry she bought two of everything. Ron gave the snacks a longing look and fumbled for his bag. "Ugh, corned beef again," he moaned.
"Corned beef? Gimme that," and she reached her hand out, offering a chocolate frog in trade. Ron shrugged and took it, and she wolfed the sandwich down in three bites. "Mm... never got enough of this back home." She couldn't eat fast enough, and Ron could only stare in awe.
"Did the Muggles starve you, or have you got a hollow leg?"
The door opened again, and the chubby boy from before was standing there, accompanied by a bossy-looking girl with lots of bushy hair and large front teeth. "Hello, have any of you seen a toad? Neville's lost his," she explained in a voice as bossy as her appearance suggested. They both shrugged, and her eyes fell on Hazel. "Oh my! Are you-?"
"Yes, I'm Hazel Potter," she grumbled, flipping her bangs back to show off the scar. "If you're just gonna stare at me, piss off." The girl huffed and stormed off, but Neville lingered.
"You really haven't seen a toad? His name's Trevor," he mumbled, not looking at either of them.
"No, sorry." On impulse she pointed at the seat by Ron. "It'll be easier for him to find you if you stay in one place, so just sit with us until he shows up." Happy to follow orders Neville sat down carefully, and Hazel offered some of her food. "Your name's Neville?"
"Yeah, Neville Longbottom." Ron introduced himself, and they all nodded to one another. Ron asked Neville about Quidditch, and Hazel was happy to listen in while they jabbered away. Then the door opened yet again, and three boys muscled inside. Hazel recognized one of them as Draco Malfoy, but the other two, who were big even for their age, hulked behind him and she didn't know them at all. But she knew their type: minions.
"Ah, Potter, I heard you were down here," he said smoothly, ignoring Ron and Neville for the moment. "Care to join us up front?"
She swallowed a mouthful of cauldron cake before she could reply. "Sorry Draco, I'm already all settled in," she said apologetically. "You can sit here if you like, but there's not room for all of you."
Draco looked carelessly at the two boys. "Eh, whatever. You two, keep my seat warm." They muttered something and slouched off, and Draco sank gracefully into the seat by Hazel. "That was Crabbe and Goyle, by the way." His gaze drifted disdainfully over the other two. "You're a Weasley, I can tell, and you're..."
"Longbottom, Neville Longbottom," Neville replied heatedly, "and my blood's as pure as yours, Malfoy! So's his!"
"Boys!" Hazel snapped loudly, thumping the seat with her fist. "Leave that pure-blood rubbish outside. My mum was Muggleborn and she stood up to Voldemort himself!" They all flinched back at the name, but she was too teed off to care. "If you're gonna sit in this compartment, you keep that in mind. I don't judge by blood purity, and you shouldn't either! It's just like the Nazis!"
"Who are the Nazis?" Draco asked, brushing his hair back into place but making no move to get up. Hazel sighed and started explaining World War II and the German fascist movement, and Ron and Neville listened in as well.
The door opened yet again, and the bushy-haired girl was back. "Neville, is this yours?" she asked, thrusting the unhappy toad out towards him. Neville jumped for joy and got up to grab Trevor, and she sat down between Draco and Hazel without asking. "We're probably almost there, you know, aren't you lot going to change?" she went on. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, my parents were dentists and it was ever such a surprise when Professor McGonagall showed up with my letter and-"
"What's a dentist?" Neville interjected bluntly, looking lost.
"A Muggle doctor who looks after your teeth," Hazel replied before Hermione could start up again. "Granger, this is Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy. I'm Hazel Potter, and yes, I'm the Girl Who Lived, you already saw my scar so don't ask again!" She could talk just as fast, leaving the boys reeling trying to keep up, but Hermione just stared. "Now for God's sake can we eat already??"
The snack trolley came by again, and everyone but Ron bought food, even Hazel got more. Neville was happy to share with the redhead though, and they passed the time easily enough even if Malfoy sat in silence as often as not. "Okay, it really is time to change," he said, finishing off a chocolate frog and handing the cards to Hazel. "Nice meeting you all, then. Potter, Weasley, Longbottom. Granger." It was clear he would have ignored Hermione, but Hazel was still glaring at him slightly. He left with a flush in his cheeks.
"I'd better go too," Hermione said, once Malfoy had a head start. "Come on Neville." That left Hazel and Ron, who carefully changed facing away from each other. It was too dark to see anything out the window, and Hazel's heart raced from nerves and excitement.
Notes:Every bookmark and kudo is a warm little light in my blackened, withered heart. But I'd love to hear directly from you guys, let me know what you think so far!