Berlin, Germany. October, 1931
It was raining again, but she didn't care. She did not care that her long blonde hair was soaked, nor that her dress was sticking to her skin, nor even that the rain lashing down was irritating the angry bruise on her cheek. She didn't care that she was bitterly cold, shivering so violently that she could barely move and that her lips were turning blue.
She missed them too much for all those other things to matter: her mama, her papa and dear grandmamma. She missed the warm summer nights they'd spend together out in the back garden; missed the sounds of their voices and the feel of gentle touches. That was all in the past though. "Don't live in the past," her papa had always said.
Now was the present: this October afternoon, this cold street, this pelting rain—they were all what mattered. Now she languished in these summer nights—nights so hot and oppressive that it seemed altogether possible she'd drown in her own sweat. Nowadays, all she knew was the sharp pain of the rod that endlessly battered her small body and the harsh discordant shouting of Madam Bach, the Matron at the orphanage that gave her some semblance of refuge but little else.
It would never be home, that orphanage. How could it be? They thought her a freak there, because she saw things that were not happening (yet) and could do things considered impossible by the common man. It wasn't her fault they weren't gifted like she was. "You are special," her grandmama used to say, "and you are strong. You can see twice as clearly as I. Did you know that, schatzi?" The question would come with a gentle kiss between the eyes, and she remembered giggling up at the old woman, understanding the fondness in the words if not what they truly meant.
But that was the past again. They were all dead now, and there was no one to protect her from the cruelty surrounded by which she lived.
They didn't care either, the people walking by; they were helpless and hurried themselves, and merely glanced apathetically at the four-year-old sitting alone at the side of the street. Not one man had stopped to offer her help, a warm coat or some spare coin for a piece of bread. Not one man had even bothered to give her a second look; their eyes slid over her as if she wasn't there, or as if she was a ghost. They had their own families to feed, these hurried German people.
All eyes forgot her, but not his—the eyes of that strange man who had been examining her for the past hour.
He was an odd man, but one that everyone seemed to overlook. It was extraordinary, she thought, that they did not see him, as he wasn't exactly the sort of person who could fade away into the backround. His shoulder-length blond hair and angular face were striking; he was a very handsome man in rather expensive-looking clothes. She could tell by the way the rain seemed to bounce off him that he was magical—a wizard like her father. But most extraordinarily of all, he'd noticed her: the ghost-girl making her rounds of the back-alleys, pickpocketing and begging.
She watched him settle on a bench and observed his smile for her, his silent invitation to "Come here; sit with me." Approaching him slowly and with more than a little trepidation, she climbed up onto the bench beside him. It was dry there, and warm, and she was thankful for the reprieve from the harsh weather.
"It is a strange occurrence to find a witch so young as you, alone in the Muggle world." The man spoke suddenly, breaking the bastion of silence that had encased them for the few minutes it took her to control her shivers and rub feeling back into her numb limbs.
"Stranger things happen," she replied, licking her lips nervously. From her careful distance from him, pressed against the edge of the bench, she watched him smirk down at her, amusement dancing in his eyes, and felt her insides warm the littlest bit.
"You are as charming as you are beautiful, young one. Where are your guardians?"
"Near," she said, on the defensive. There was something off about this man; she could sense it. She had long ago been forced to learn a reliance on her intuition, and it was rarely wrong. It was something she knew she had inherited from her family.
"They do not appear to be, my dear," he replied mockingly, an arch to his pale eyebrows. "You appear to be as alone in the world as I am."
She got up to leave, unwilling to play the mind-games that seemed to interest him. She was tired and hungry and although she knew the only thing waiting for her at the orphanage was another beating, she decided she was ready to return there.
"Come home with me, dear one," he called after her. Something in his tone compelled her to turn back.
"Why should I?"
"It is obvious you are not being treated as you should," he said, indicating the rags that clothed her, gesturing covertly at the bruise at her cheek. "I see a desperation in you, dear one; I see anger. I can help you destroy them—they that hurt you. I can make you so strong if only you believe and trust in me." His voice held an urgency, a genuine one, as if the thing he needed most in the world was for her to go away with him.
"And if I will not go?"
"Then you can go back and hope a better offer comes to you," he answered shortly, staring into her eyes with an uncomfortable amount of intensity. "I believe I can assure you, however, that this will not happen."
"Why me?"
"Why not?" he countered roguishly.
Of course he knew already she would come with him, because he knew only too well the hunger and anger that burned within her. She was too young to understand the full force of her own feelings, but when she did, he would be there to mold her as he desired.
"Where will you take me?" she questioned, trying to ignore the hopefulness that bloomed inside her chest. He would change her life, she knew. The pressure building at the back of her head, at the top of her spine, practically screamed the fact.
"Munich, my lovely—to my castle, where there is no doubt you'll be respected and awed. You will become strong and powerful, as long as you follow my lead. There will be hard work, and you will have to prove yourself, yes, but I have no doubt that you will take to it like a duck to water." He spoke animatedly, and all the while that pirate's smile never left his face.
"You'll not hurt me?" she asked in little more than a whisper, looking up hopefully into his sparkling blue eyes.
"I will not lie: There will be hurt. But for the Greater Good, this pain will become so insignificant that you will barely notice it. You may even come to live for it." The last phrase he said in a seductive whisper, his wild eyes glinting. He leaned toward her, arms outstretched to invite her.
"I want to be strong," she admitted. She found herself unwillingly captivated by the dream he had spun.
"I will make you strong," he promised. "Come away with me now."
"I will come," she whispered biting her lip. She smiled hopefully up at this man who promised her a new world: a world where she wouldn't be stepped on and beaten bloody; a world where she held all the power a girl could want; a world where she could be a princess.
Taking his outstretched hand, she gently tugged him to his feet, and they watched the Muggles pass, ignorant and uncaring.
"What is your name, my lovely?" He asked, smiling warmly down at her.
"Armina. Armina Hart."
"Well, Armina, mine is Gellert Grindelwald, but you, my child, may call me your Daddy."
Author's Note: Hey everyone! Yeah, it's been awhile, but here I am with a new-ish story... New to me, anyway.
I don't own Harry Potter; J.K. Rowling does. I don't own this story; Sephoria2 does. You can read her version by the same title Monster? I'm a Hero on her page, which I suggest you do because it's amazing.
I'd just like to say that things will change in this version, but not many things.
The most striking change is the name of the main character—Thalia Hart to Armina Hart. The name Thalia is of Greek origin and means "gentle wind", whereas the name Armina is of Germanic origin and means "weapon". I did this because I thought the meaning was more fitting to the nature of the character; I hope no one minds.
Seriously, all the thanks in the world to Sephoria2 for letting me do this. I have a lot of ideas, and can't wait to move this thing along.
Enjoy!
—Avra Kedavra