EDITED AND RE-UPLOADED. IF YOU READ IT THE FIRST TIME AROUND, PLEASE READ FROM WHERE PADMA PATIL'S POV STARTS.
Warning: Everyone is OCC. No, that's a lie; everyone may be OCC unintentionally, while three characters are OCC intentionally.
This would not stop plaguing my mind. I just had to write it.
It is meant to be a one-shot. Slight romance if you squint, although I think it's more obsession than romance.
Enjoy!
Harriet Potter was a freak.
The most obvious reason was her eyes. One of them was a pretty green shade, resembling new leaves that sprouted when the winter passed and spring came, with flecks of even darker green around her pupil. Her green eye was everyone's favorite feature about her, even though Harriet herself didn't realize this. She thought they all took a pity on that girl with an eye patch over her right eye (Later, she will realize that while the adoration from Muggles about her green eye was genuine, the wizards flinched away from the green eye with even more apprehension than her other one).
Oh, she forgot to explain the need for her eye patch, didn't she? Silly Harriet.
Her right eye is always covered with a flimsy black eye patch that looked as if it was taken from a one-dollar Halloween costume store. That is because her right eye is red. And it isn't just red, even though that alone would have been enough to label her as a freak. No. To any professionals working in a field where they saw lots of blood, such as nurses or doctors, they would recognize the exact shade and the color of her right eye.
They would tell you (and she knew this because one of the nurses that she met had told her this, albeit hesitantly and trying to cover it with meaningless compliments on how it also resembled the color of ruby) that it was the color of a fresh, oxygen rich blood that flows in a person's arteries. Vibrant, bright, and so very red.
It tended to freak people out, her eye color. That was why she was a freak. And she knew this because her classmates told her so, her family told her so every single day with a frightful yet gleeful look in their eyes, hurting her with their cruel words proclaiming that she was a "Freak, an abomination, a freak, freak, FREAK!"
Please, excuse her. She is a very scarred little girl, after all.
She tried so hard to be nice too. She really is a kind girl, or, she liked to think so. She never resented her relatives for giving her not-so-delicious leftovers of the family's dinner, or the fact that they made her perform a lot of chores around the house while Dudley kicked her. She never resented the dog that aunt Marge brought, even when it bit her and frightened her with terribly loud barking noises. She didn't try to tell on her classmates who bullied her every chance that they got, in hopes that one day, she can be accepted and will be able to play with all.
But no, that won't happen to a freak.
Silly, silly Harriet.
She apologizes for rambling on and on about her pathetic life. But if there is anything that she hopes that the readers will understand from her ramble, she hopes that it is this: Harriet Potter is a freak, and she knows it.
It didn't help even when Professor McGonagall came, her robes billowing, staring at her two favorite students' daughter with old, saddened eyes and her eyes lit with rage at the clothing that she was wearing. Even she, a fully grown adult witch who regularly transformed into cats, saw dementors, and fought in multiple battles against Death Eaters, a fearless and talented witch, could not suppress her flinch when she coaxed Harriet to take off her eye patch.
For Professor McGonagall knew, intimately, the color of the deadliest spell known to Magical World. She knew the color of Avada Kedavra. She also saw, touched, and smelt fresh blood that poured out from the arteries of her comrades' wounds.
So when she saw Harriet's blood red and deadly green eyes, she could not suppress her flinch and fear that struck her momentarily.
Harriet saw the momentary fear, and all hopes that she might have had about the World of Magic was crushed and burnt.
Oh, silly Harriet; have life not taught you anything at all?
You will never be normal.
You will always be a freak.
Draco Malfoy was a clever boy, and don't you forget it.
He was perhaps the most conniving, cold, borderline sociopath, pureblood heir that the House of Malfoy have produced in a really long time. And it was no wonder; combined with his mother's hereditary Black insanity and his father's icy cold demeanor (not to say that Mrs. Malfoy was any less chilling but just that Mr. Malfoy is equally terrifyingly cold), can you really blame the little boy for being a sociopath from the moment he was conceived? No, you can't.
However, most people that met Draco Malfoy did not know that he was indeed, conniving, cold, and borderline sociopath pureblood heir. That was because he was an incredibly adorable and handsome boy, with pale blonde hair and clearest blue eyes. Also, it helped that he was extremely charming; always smiling, using gentle and kind words, making a stark contrast to his parents. Most who encountered Draco thought it was strange that his parents allowed him to act such kindly to all, including purebloods, halfbloods, muggleborns, and magical creatures.
What they didn't know was the discussion that Draco had when he was a child. The truly cruel, dark, hidden side of him that was obscured under the mask of kindness that he portrayed.
Because his parents saw this side of him, knew it, and had come to respect and be proud of it (even becoming slightly worried and scared of it), they allowed his public mask.
After all, what did the appearance matter? It was the inside that counted.
...
"Hogwarts, too?"
Harriet turned to face the blonde haired boy with a gentle smile, and flinched when she saw his icy blue eyes. So, so cold. Were her own eyes that terrifying to look at? Now she understood why everyone flinched.
"Y-yes."
Draco regarded her, expression inquisitive and filled with kindness (only his expression, never his eyes).
"Why are you wearing an eye patch?"
"B-because...I scare people with my eyes."
True curiosity flashed inside the blue eyes briefly.
"Can I see, please?"
Harriet flinched. She debated on telling him that no, she refused to show him her eyes if he will flinch and turn away from her with fear in those blue eyes of his. She doesn't think that she will be able to take it if even that cold, cold eyes contained same type of weariness that others had.
But she was also scared that if she told him no, that he will hurt her. Somehow, someday, when no one was looking. He will have an ample opportunity to do so, since he is going to Hogwarts as well (from what little he revealed about himself).
So she cautiously nodded and slowly took of her eye patch.
Draco's eyes widened and for the first time in his 11 years of existence, he was struck with awe.
Unintentionally as if struck with a spell, he slowly lifted one of his hand and tucked Harriet's black hair behind her ear, and was again fascinated when the beautiful eyes regarded him with their full intensity.
Bloody red eye and Avada Kedvra green eye stared at him, the image forever imprinted on his mind (if he was being dramatic, he would say that the image would forever be imprinted in his soul). They were the very representation of Death in color. They signified terror, fright, fear, resentment, peace, and other emotions that human beings associated with the phenomenon of dying.
Draco thought her eyes were the most beautiful things he has ever seen.
"You...you shouldn't hide your eyes."
Harriet blinked.
"Aren't you scared of them?"
Draco scoffed.
"I'm a Malfoy! It's gonna take more than red and green eyes to scare me!"
He smiled gently at her, even though his eyes reflected growing manic obsession that contradicted the geniality on his lips. He tucked her other lock of hair on her other ear.
"I think your eyes are very pretty."
Harriet blushed. No one has ever said that to her before.
But she didn't become too ecstatic at the blond boy's observation. After all, she could see the madness lingering beneath the icy cold exterior, the madness that only grew as he stared into her scary eyes furthermore.
"But I don't wanna scare people..."
Draco stuck his tongue out.
"Who cares? If anyone becomes scared of your eyes, they don't even deserve to hang around you!"
Harriet smiled. Whether he was mad or not, psychotic or not, it still was the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to her. She guessed that, to anyone else, it might have been slightly depressing that the only person who complimented her eyes and told nice things about them was a growing sociopath with adoration for blood and torture (of course, she didn't know the extent of his frightening personality at the moment).
"Thank you."
Her green and red eyes crinkled, resembling the shape of the moon before it reached its fullness. Or, that would be how someone else without sickness could have described its shape. Draco thought her eyes resembled the shape of a scythe, a stereotypical but symbolic weapon used by various drawings to personify Death.
Of course, that meant that he liked the shape very much.
He proceeded to remind himself to get her to smile more often.
And...
"Wait! What are you doing?"
Harriet tried to reach her eye patch that was now dangling from Draco's hand, positioned above his head, unable to reach them due to her smaller height.
"I'm gonna keep them so that you won't get to wear them anymore."
"But-but I'm gonna get in so much trouble with my aunt!"
Draco's eyes felt rage at the though of anyone obscuring the beauty of the eyes with such cheap, flimsy cloth. But the girl looked so worried, and that just wouldn't do. He was supposed to be Draco Malfoy, the exception to other haughty and arrogant purebloods in Britain, the kind and the nice boy meant for great (and terrible, oh so terrible) things.
He pouted and gave the eye patch to the girl with red and green eyes. She sighed in relief.
"Promise me that you won't wear it during the Sorting Ceremony, nor the entire year at Hogwarts."
Harriet looked at his eyes and he felt a minor tremor tickling down his spine. Such, such pretty eyes.
"I promise."
And Draco, who never fully trusted anyone, trusted the girl's words.
After all, it was a promise made by Death.
Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Ice Prince of Britain, the Hero, was tired.
Exhausted, tired, frustrated, and...
Just screw them all.
Oh, he thought with a momentary vindictive glee, if someone could read his mind with Legilimency at the moment.
The hero of the Britain was resigned to the whispers and stares of the people at Hogwarts. He could feel it (figuratively, of course); the growing expectation of his supposedly out-of-this-world magical abilities (that anyone would be stupid not to have after undergoing the intensive training that he was subjected to since he was a child, the only prodigious skills that he naturally had being his proficiency in Herbology which no one cared about), his 'regal' demeanor and handsome appearance (which some people associated with arrogance and condescension), and other ridiculous things that he could not even begin to comprehend.
Don't get him wrong. He wasn't evil, he wasn't condescending, and his grandmother always stated that he was too soft. Considering his grandmother was feared by most and deemed the very opposite of kindness by all, he thought that being considered soft in his grandmother's eyes was a very good thing.
It was just that he was tired. Tired of the expectation, the inability of the people to hold his eyes without drifting to his forehead to check the legendary scar. He inwardly scoffed. What was the point of being good-looking if all they stared at was his scar, he had no idea.
"Hermione Granger."
She was the bushy-haired girl with buck teeth that ambushed him during the train ride to Hogwarts. She had been so loud, talking 100 miles per minute, that she annoyed everyone out of his compartment. He considered her the true savior of the Britain in that moment.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Now wasn't that a surprise? He predicted Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor. Although, he guessed that she could be brave, shoving through the crowd just to ask him a million and one questions and proceeding to lecture him about his supposed duties as the savior.
"Neville Longbottom."
All students, professors, and even ghosts at Hogwarts shushed and utter silence enveloped them all. Neville inwardly sighed and approached the Sorting Hat ("Never walk fast, never walk slow, always take each stride with purpose, vigilance, and pride befitting the position of the Hero and the Heir for the House of Longbottom.") while never letting any nervousness to show through his poker face.
"Hmm...very, very difficult."
Neville suppressed an emerging sigh. Was anything going to be normal with him?
The Hat chuckled.
"Believe me, boy, I have seen minds more complicated than yours. It just that you possess many qualities that can make you an excellent fit for most houses!"
Neville asked the Sorting Hat if he could please make the process go by a little quicker, since he didn't want to draw even more attention to himself (as if that was even possible).
"Okay, okay. I will try to make this short.
Now, it's obvious that even with the extensive knowledge that you have with various subjects, you are not very studious by nature. You are not ambitious either, nor overly cunning (Neville pondered if he should be offended, and then thought, who was he kidding, he heard worse things from his very own grandmother every single hour of his life). You are loyal, but the loyalty doesn't extend to many people and it seems only duty-bound than anything else. But oh, the bravery, the courage that you possess...you ought to be...
GRYFFINDOR!"
The House of Lions roared like their namesake. Neville took off the Hat from his head and proceeded to Gryffindor table, meeting every attempts of students to familiarize themselves with the hero with his poker face. The crowd of students parted as he sat in one of the seats on the table. Dumbledore raised his cup to silence the students, and the sorting process continued.
Neville thought the process couldn't get any slower.
...
"Harriet Potter!"
Harriet was nervous.
No one was very focused on the sorting since the main event of the night, the Boy-Who-Lived's sorting (even she had read about him from the introductory books that she read as recommended by Professor McGonagall) was over and done with, but she still felt nervous because of the absence of her eye patch.
Even though Draco (she finally learned his name in the train and he was relieved when he found out that her last name was a Potter, meaning she wasn't as bad as being a Muggleborn, which means that she wasn't as hated by his parents) loved that her eyes were now present for the worlds to see, she still felt very much naked and vulnerable to be picked at. It didn't help that already, she received fearful glances and flinches from other students who dared to look into her eyes. It caused her to look down on the ground, half-lidded, which helped to avoid most of the students from correctly perceiving the colors of her eyes due to her lashes forming protective curtains, shielding their supernatural brightness.
Of course, Draco's gift, a white silk headband that automatically formed a perfect bow even when it was poorly tied, contrasting with her pitch black hair and pushing all hair out of her face, didn't help her to obscure her eyes at all. But how could she throw it away? It was the first gift that a person of her own age had given to her. And she did adore the headband, so soft, delicate, and pretty.
(Draco loved it as well. After all, white was associated with death and mourning in some cultures, while being associated with purity in Britain. Perfect disguise of his intentions, really.)
She slowly walked to the Sorting Hat and gazed at the professors that sat behind it. When some met her gaze, they couldn't suppress their involuntary flinch, all except for Professor Quirrell (who looked at her with utter fascination and fear mingling with obsession that was darker and madder than Draco's) and Headmaster Dumbledore. She looked at the ground and closed her eyes as she felt Professor McGonagall place the head upon her head, being careful not to ruin the bow on her hair.
Then, she opened her eyes and the Great Hall of Hogwarts was filled with silence once again.
Not with anticipation, but due to silence caused by utter fear.
All students, professors, and ghosts held their breath.
...
Neville decided that he hated Harriet Potter on sight.
One of her eye contained the spell that made him famous (and in turn, utterly miserable) while her other eye reminded him of blood.
Can you blame him for hating her? No, you really couldn't.
But more importantly, he was scared of her eyes. Although, he thought, it didn't look as if he was the only one in the Great Hall who was scared of them.
When his eyes met hers, he was silently frozen. The colors reminded him of all the things that caused his life to be the state that it was, not miserable, but definitely could be improved in so many areas such as having parents, for one,
Ah, but wasn't it strange? He couldn't stop staring at her eyes.
They were peculiar, morbid, and strangely, grotesquely beautiful.
He could not break her gaze.
Thankfully, she turned away from him, releasing him from his trance.
"Ravenclaw...?"
No one clapped. Never, older students and professors included, have they heard the Sorting Hat being so unsure of the sorting. It seemed as if he was confused by what he uttered, and Professor McGonagall hesitated in taking the Hat away from Harriet.
Harriet, embarrassed and feeling humiliated, was slowly rising up from the chair to go to Ravenclaw table.
A hoot and a loud, enthusiastic clapping was heard from Draco Malfoy, who grinned and cheered with excitement. The hall, as if realizing that the girl was sorted no matter how hesitantly, began to clap as well, which turned louder and louder as Harriet approached her new House's table. She looked around in wonder as the older students smiled and proceeded to introduce themselves to her.
Even though they weren't meeting her eyes, that was okay. At least they were talking to her and being nice.
She looked at Draco, eyes filled with gratitude.
It caused an intense greed in Draco's heart. He wanted to see those divine eyes filled with gratitude for no one else but him.
He smiled, and if his smile was tinged with malicious intent, then no one noticed.
After the Sorting Ceremony, where the Sorting Hat was once more retreated to Headmaster Dumbledore's eccentric and cozy office, the professors asked the Sorting Hat about his hesitation during the sorting process of Harriet Potter.
Professor Snape was curious as well, despite hating the girl for being the spawn of James Potter (and secretly, though he will never admit it out loud, making him flinch away with terror greater than his days of being a double spy).
"It was...odd. When I looked into her mind, a lush, grassy graveyard filled with infinite amount of tombs stretching to the end of the horizon, as far as I could see it, enveloped by a sky that rains blood, was all I could gather. I chose to place her in Ravenclaw because - well, I thought at least her mind could be a source of mysterious riddle that Rowena Ravenclaw would have loved to solve."
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened, while all professors were struck with apprehension.
"That was all you could gather?"
"Well, there was one more thing:
A figure - no, a mere shadow of a figure - was standing at the very end of the field. I tried to get closer, but every time I felt that I moved, I only seemed to grow farther.
I think the figure was eating an apple."
Padma Patil was frightened of her roommate, Harriet Potter.
Please, don't get her wrong! Harriet was a nice girl with a pretty smile and gorgeous headband on her hair (which made Padma momentarily brave as she asked her where did she get the headband from, since the last one that she saw that looked like Harriet's headband costed a fortune! Harriet flushed and stammered that it was a gift). She also seemed to be very clean, which Padma knew that she should not take for granted ever since she heard horror stories from her mom about her 'golden days' in the dormitory (she still shudders at the memory).
Those nice things about Harriet told Padma that Harriet was a nice girl.
It didn't, unfortunately, make her any less scarier to look at.
As she lied in her bed with softly snoring girls all around her, including the source of her midnight musing, she wondered what it was about the color of her eyes that frightened her so much. After all, if she tried really hard to convince herself, Padma could imagine that Harriet's eyes reminded her of rubies and emeralds rather than death.
However, try as she might (and she tried plenty, thank you very much, when the roommates were all conversing around her), she could not stop a shudder from running down her spine every single time she saw Harriet.
Her eyes were luminous, glaring, and Padma thought that it could even light up a dark room in the middle of the night.
Maybe, maybe that was why Harriet was so scary.
But she is still a nice girl, so Padma will try to be friends with her.
(She didn't mention, even in the privacy of her own mind, that she was scared of what might happen if she ended up upsetting Harriet.)
There is a big, big secret that Professor Quirrell was hiding.
You see, inside his turban, on the back of his head, he stores a fragment of the soul belonging to You-know-Who.
Oh, silly Professor Quirrell. He doesn't have to disguise who it is, everyone who cared to look at the back of his turban (which was, at the moment, nobody) knew who it was immediately upon sight! Of course it's Lord Voldemort. The powerful, magnificent, dark, revolutionary wizard who will purge the World of Magic from clutches of Mudbloods and, when Professor Quirrell successfully acquires the Philosopher's Stone, the Dark Lord will award him with the highest glory that one can receive-
"What did you think of her eyes, Quirrell?"
Professor Quirrell trembled, which was caused by a combination of his fear of the Dark Lord and the reminder of the girl's eyes.
Those...red...green...abomination.
The Dark Lord chuckled.
"Really? I did not think so."
Lord Voldemort, in the privacy of his own mind that cannot be accessed by silly Professor Quirrell (did you think that he, the genius wizard, would allow mere Professor Quirrell to access all of his brilliance? Of course not), marveled as he reminded himself of the color of Harriet Potter's eyes. He wondered, how ironic was it that one of the lightest wizards that he has fought against would produce such magnificent child of darkness?
Everyone, those silly simpletons, was not able to look beyond the admittedly striking color of Miss Potter's eyes. The dark, chaotic magic that swirled behind the veil of color, the sheer intensity that caused people to flinch and frighten when they saw her but mistakenly placing the blame on the eyes' color. It was fascinating, magnificent, forbidden-
Wait, forbidden?
Lord Voldemort laughed out loud, startling the owner of the body, and continued to laugh and laugh.
He was so very glad that he came to this world. Forget Neville Longbottom; it was a ridiculous notion that an ordinary toddler had the power to defeat him anyway. Forget the Philosopher's Stone; well, maybe he still needed it, but now he had more important project to work on.
He needed to bring Harriet Potter to his side.
"Tell me, Quirrell, can you arrange me a meeting with Miss Harriet Potter tomorrow?"
And be fast about it too.
Harriet was happy.
Well, no never mind. Happiness was supposed to be a state of absolute joy, wasn't it? She thought that she would be joyful if somehow, her housemates could look at her in the eye and still smile in their happy way. So maybe, she wasn't strictly happy.
Fine. Harriet was content.
There, that's better.
Why you ask? Because Hogwarts, officially, was the best place on Earth!
While her housemates were scared, they were still incredibly nice to her which is a lot more than what she could say about her relatives, the bed was plush soft, the clothes actually fitted her for once, the castle was beautiful, the professors were all very nice, and the most brilliant part of all was of course, the magic itself.
Harriet loved magic.
It isn't because she is incredibly good at it (which made her even scarier in the eyes of her classmates and professors although they didn't say this out loud), getting all spells on her first try. It was because of the rush of ecstasy, happiness, the sensation of hug and maybe-this-is-what-home-feels-like, every time she performed magic.
Magic was a gift. One that she was grateful for, more than any other types of gifts that she received so far (of course, there isn't much competition, but she thinks it will beat everything and anything).
With this excitement and wonder still buzzing within her tiny body, she entered the Potions classroom with Padma and sat in the front of the classroom, eager and wide eyed. Those with older siblings who made them aware of Professor Snape's reputation froze in their seats as the door was opened with a bang, with his robes billowing behind him.
This was the sight that greeted Professor Snape. After giving everyone an intimidating glare, all except one girl, he proceeded to begin his first customary lecture.
...
Her eyes were still as mesmerizing and frightening as ever, Professor Snape thought.
When he gazed out to the students, the bright red and green lights shone from the semi-darkness that surrounded the Potion's classroom, chilling him to the bone.
As he saw her making her first potion, he wondered if she inherited Lily's talent in the art of Potions, or was abysmal like James Potter. But, something else caught his eyes.
The potion ingredients were all shriveling away, dying, with Miss Potter's touch.
"Miss Potter."
The unnaturally bright red and green gazed at him and Professor Snape finally, finally recognized the chaotic darkness that swirled inside them. Magic so powerful, so ancient, so destructive, that he could not bring himself to believe that this was a power held by 11 years old girl (with plenty of potential for growth, and wasn't that a frightening thought?). It wasn't the color, he realized, it was this magic.
The magic that made its appearance as she came into contact with magical potions' ingredients.
There were tears at the corner of her eyes because, damn it, everything was going so great, and now her stupid freakish ability to kill everything around her was rising once again!
To anyone who was curious, Harriet would tell you that plants and animals died when she touched them (strangely enough, not humans, and thank heavens for that). It was another reason why she was a freak, and a reason why her relatives did not assign her any gardening chores (what good was gardening if they will all shrivel up and die?). Usually, it wasn't too much of a problem, as it wasn't too hard to avoid touching flowers or trees in Little Whinging.
She never anticipated that Potions class could be problematic though.
And everything was going so well, she inwardly cried.
"Come with me."
No one noticed as Professor Snape and Harriet Potter made their way outside the classroom, too engrossed with the difficulty of the potion that they have been tasked to do.
...
"Do you know what is happening?"
Harriet nodded.
"It happens every single time I touch plants or animals."
"What happens?"
She bit her lips, gazing down at the ground. Inwardly, Professor Snape was glad, since this meant that he could treat her like how he treats all his other students.
"Miss Potter, I do not have the patience nor the time to dawdle and let you think upon your answer. What exactly happens when you touch the plants?"
She stopped biting her lips and with a gulp, looked at Professor Snape. He couldn't help but tremble. The sheer despair that swirled inside those orbs coupled with that same dark magic...Professor Snape couldn't break the eye contact.
In a strangely melodic, haunting voice, Harriet explained.
"Plants shrivel up into nothing, and animals cry out and stop moving. Sometimes things will turn into ashes. They never come back alive - animals don't stop crying, plants don't stop withering, even if I stop touching them. Sir, I tried to stop them, I swear! But I could never make it better. No matter what I did, I made it worse.
In the end, they all die."
Professor Snape thought, well, that will be problematic.
Headmaster Dumbledore was confused.
This is a rare state for our esteemed Headmaster to be in. You see, he is a very smart, powerful wizard with shelves and shelves of books inside his mind, books containing knowledge that are both common or lost, Light and Dark (although, please, don't mention to anyone about his Dark books since they are a bit of a dirty little secret that he possess). Safe to say, Headmaster Dumbledore knew a lot about the World of Magic that it was a treat, rarity, that he can feel confused.
Then, what made him confused, one may ask.
After hearing the Sorting Hat's words about Miss Potter's mind, he automatically thought that she could be the Master of Death. It was a reasonable conclusion since the Hat stated that Har-excuse him, Miss Potter's mind, was filled with tombstones and sky that rained blood (of course, it did mention a figure eating an apple, but that seems to be an insignificant detail compared to other important things in her mind).
When all the professors left to unpack their belongings, Headmaster Dumbledore checked to see whether his elder wand was still with him, and the location of Miss Potter's invisibility cloak (he meant to return it to her, of course. Perhaps as a Christmas present?). Lo and behold, unlike his prediction, the cloak and the wand were still with him!
He mused out loud.
"What does this mean?"
...
Even when the next day and Headmaster Dumbledore tried to research, he could not find any information.
Until he landed on a research book that compiled legendary tales around the world, written by a Muggleborn, a genius wizard, from 1300's. He read, fascinated, horrified, and wait, this sounded extremely familiar.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
If he was correct, if the information on the book was correct and if one believed in legend (and how could he not? After all, he possessed two supposedly-fictional items from a children's fairy tale, and she fit all the descriptions), then Miss Potter was more dangerous than he had originally believed.
Phoenix trilled, consoling Headmaster Dumbledore, but he could not bring himself to be cheered up even in the slightest. What did this mean for the rest of the world?
A knock on the door. He let it open, still staring and struck with the sudden revelation that he had. Professor Snape entered, noticing the Headmaster's dazed state and not choosing to mind it in the slightest.
"Headmaster?"
"Severus, my boy, come in please."
"We have a problem with Harriet Potter."
Headmaster Dumbledore shuddered.
As he listened to the incident at Potions classroom and what happened inside it, his hope for mistake was quickly dashed away. He despaired. And to think they just avoided one great terror named Voldemort (albeit temporarily).
"Albus?"
Headmaster Dumbledore sighed.
Excerpt from Study of Legends:
During my research, I found an interesting parallel between the hidden legend of Eve and the muggle Bible's creation story. According to Muggles, Eve was known as the first woman created by God, the one who took a bite of the forbidden fruit that exiled all creations away from the Kingdom of God.
However, Eve was explained differently in the eyes of the wizards. It is believed that Eve was the most powerful witch with a husband named Adam, a comparatively lack-luster wizard. She was the one witch who ate the forbidden fruit in the land of Magic, ignoring hundreds that warned her against it, causing all wizards but her husband to lose their magic, creating what is known as muggles.
Enraged, the newly turned muggles tortured Eve and exiled her from the land of Magic, the magical plants driving her away and living creatures refusing to help because of the loss of magic that she caused. They stabbed her beautiful green eye, blood blooming inside her right eye with not a single drop spilling over, causing a permanent loss of sight and pain. As she left, they promised to remember her egregious mistake forever and hate her, even her future reincarnations, so that she will eternally be hated by all.
On her last dying breath, Eve, with every single drop of her powerful magic, cursed the world who hated her. While her reincarnations would be hated, she said they will be hated because of fear; she will give her reincarnations magic so ancient, so terrible, but so powerful, that all those who hated her could not help but to shrink away. She cursed those plants and animals that refused to help her, giving her the crops and food that she need, arming her touch with a spell to kill them with a touch. If she and her reincarnations are all cursed to die because of those that hated her, she promised that she will never, ever, die alone.
"I will take every single living organism in this forsaken world, and bring them to greet the gates of Hell with me."
On her last dying breath, Eve created a spell, which scholars thought was the first legendary origin of Avada Kedvra. The legend states that she did not succeed in killing everything as she was dying. So, she embedded the task to her future reincarnations so that they will be able to cause death to every creatures later.
On her last dying breath, Eve promised to bring an eternal damnation to all.
Beware, the present and the future, for none will be exempt from the wrath of Eve.
"Severus, do you believe in the tale of Eve?"
That's the end...although, it's a horrible ending with nothing tied together and the rest for your imagination. For those who read this the first time around (THANK YOU FOR YOUR REVIEWS!), I apologize if you were confused. I was suddenly hit with an inspiration of what I wanted Harriet to be and I really wanted to write it down.