Author's note: As some of you may have noticed, this fic has been at a complete standstill these past couple of years, and several chapters are missing. The reason for this is as follows: I simply lost interest in this project over the years, school was around the corner, and there wasn't really any proper plot behind it. As things stands now, I've decided to give this fic a reboot of sorts, complete with a new character name and an actual storyline I intend to follow. Hope you'll join me on this little trip again. Thanks for reading, and enjoy.
Three figures had emerged from the darkness, and were making their way slowly down Privet Drive.
Seeing that they appeared in no immediate hurry to get to safety, she finally released the breath she had been holding. From the other side of the window she saw Harry Potter, a boar in a blonde wig he was supporting with his entire body, and her grannie making their way across the street to the house sporting the number 4. Her grannie was talking animatedly to the boy, who was apparently a lot stronger than he looked. Dudley, the boar she only knew by name, was not, his face the size of a Christmas pig turning a dangerous colour blue under the night sky.
Following Harry and Dudley down the street to number 4, her grannie then conversed quickly with the taller of the boys before turning and walked angrily back towards number 7. There was the sound of the front door being shut, and the small woman walked in, growling under her breath all the way across the room to her red plushy chair. Kneazles from near and far came out of their hiding spots and circled around the chair, purring and making endless noises of affection that went by unnoticed by the occupant.
Genevieve Gray had never seen her grannie this furious in her entire life.
"Tea?" she offered, not knowing what else to do in a time like this.
"No no, my dear, I'm perfectly fine. Can't say the same for Mundungus Fletcher through." she added with murderous eyes, and Genevieve felt a slight satisfaction at the words. It had been a mere coincidence that had caused her to look out the open kitchen window earlier, just in time to see the shadow of a small, battered up man disapparating from near their house, a sharp crack accompanying his departure. Assuming this had been a person of importance, she had immediately turned to her grannie to tell her of the happening, and her grannie had in turn proceeded to run off into the evening, slippers sliding off her feet and hairnet askew. Not long after, the sky had darkened considerably, and the feeling she hadn't had since year three was suddenly back.
"Good." she mumbled, secretly hoping that Fletcher's punishment would be way worse than her grannie tearing him to pieces. Arabella Figg was a fearsome creature to behold once angered, but causing the death of a student that you had sworn to protect was worthy of way more than a slap on the wrist. For all she knew, it would probably do the leech some good to spend an hour or two in Azkaban. Maybe he'd finally see what true fear looks like. Her grandmother smiled and went to join her in the kitchen to put the kettle on, zig-zagging her way around the kneazles. This was nothing new; Genevieve was used to her grandmother changing her mind every other minute as if this was as normal as the turn of day to night. A warm hand took gentle hold her arm, and she reveled in it, not knowing how much she'd missed the comfort of another family member until she was shuffled lovingly aside to make room for the two of them at the sink. Heaven knew her grandfather was the exact opposite of the small, yet strangely sturdy woman beside her, pouring tea into mugs and looking in the cupboard for biscuits and cat food.
The thought of her grandfather brought a chill up her spine, and she shook it off as subtly as she could, knowing that grannie was always watching her like a hawk. Came with the job of having grandchildren, she supposed. No matter your age, you would still be put under a microscope, even after your own children were grown up. She took her mug with both hands, letting the warmth spread through her fingers slowly, heating her up and almost making her forget what had really brought her here.
Despite the love for her grandmother, the choice of where to spend the summer hadn't been easy.
On the one hand, she would sit in her own home as always, constantly scrutinized under the disapproving gaze of her grandfather and sole guardian, damn near locked in a gigantic mansion that served as more of a prison than a place to live. She had often wondered why Grannie Figg wasn't her guardian, seeing as she had always gotten along a lot better with her than with her grandfather. When she got older, she found it was a simple case of paternity. Her grandfather was the only one left in her family related to her by blood, while grannie was only the sister-in-law of her grandmother, and so naturally, she could only end up in his care. It wasn't easy living under his roof: He was cold with her, every so often finding a way to remind her that she could never replace her mother, and days away from Hogwarts were slow and filled with boredom.
On the other hand, there was another kind of captivity in the form of her Grannie Figg's muggle home, across from the house of none other than the boy who lived himself, Harry bloody Potter.
She had never particularly cared much for him, and in fact she had hated him as a child. It was only as she grew older that she came to realize that the world resting on the shoulders of one so young would do nothing short of breaking his body, and as their years at Hogwarts together had proven, the boy was no Atlas. Still, he had an air of arrogance about him whenever he succeeded in his little misadventures, and it quite simply rubbed her the wrong way.
He was the chosen one, she thought to herself as she took a sip of steaming lemon tea, and he loved every second of it. He was thankfully far from a teacher's pet, unless you counted Dumbledore; She wouldn't be surprised in the least if the Headmaster had a shrine dedicated to the tall and gangly boy. Most of the school faculty treated him now like they would every other student, giving him detention when needed, and being far from shy when it came to putting him in his place. She found Snape to be pushing it a little in that regard, but he hated almost every student after all, and so he didn't really count in this equation.
Her parents had always had hope for Harry Potter, and it was ultimately a hope that had gotten them killed. When she was little, she had blamed him immediately. It all had come down to his survival, his magnificent legacy, and it had cost her the life of her parents before she had even turned eight. She was turning fifteen next winter, and already she was forgetting the way her father smelled, or the way her mother always sang old tunes while her father held her in his arms and they glided across the floor in a flurry of warm colours. It was all his fault. But, as fate would have it, she was getting older, and a little wiser. He was just a boy, and she was just a girl, and they were both caught at different points on the same side of an ongoing war.
Golden boy or not, he was still a nuisance to her, and she to him, which was the cause of her problem. The last thing she wanted was for him to find out she was spending the summer here, and so she had ultimately stayed indoors or out in the garden, never taking long walks in the park like she had really wanted to in the first place. It was purely by coincidence that Grannie Figg had let it slip that the boy who lived literally lived across from her, and she had cursed her luck immediately. One summer of peace and freedom was all she had wanted. A few months all to herself without worrying about who she was, what she could be or what was happening, and now she had barely spent two months in her grandmother's home before trouble had caught up with her again. Was there nothing sacred in this world? Probably not, she mused, seeing what could only be an owl suddenly make its way down Privet Drive and swooping in behind number 4, followed by a howl that sounded distinctively like someone was very displeased about having their day interrupted by poultry. She walked into the sitting room just as she heard Dursley slam their window shut, and resorted to sit herself down by the dining table, taking another sip. An owl at this time of day could only mean trouble, especially in a muggle neighbourhood such at this. Her gaze went to her grannie, now back in her red chair and feet up on the matching ottoman, slippers obscuring most of her view of the telly.
A sudden nudge at her leg caused her to jump and spill tea across her hand, and she quickly put down her mug and went to the kitchen to rinse her hand under the cold water, her walk to the sink accompanied by what she assumed could only be an apology from one of the furballs. She rolled her eyes and sprinkled a few droplets at the black creature at her feet. It shook its head indignantly at the assault and narrowed its eyes, before turning its back on her and sauntering off in an insulted fashion. She shut the water off after a few minutes, drying her hand on a dish towel and going to the hallway to look through the small window next to the front door. Through a slit in the Dursley curtains she caught sight of very disheveled jet black hair, and an anxious face almost hidden behind the round spectacles, sitting down in what she assumed was the dining room. She saw him communicate tiredly with the Dursley's across from him, and just about shook her head when she spotted yet another owl coming down the street.
"What on earth is going on, dear?" Grannie Figg asked, sounding as though she was getting up to go look through the sitting room window herself. Letting the curtain of the hallway window fall back into place, Genevieve reluctantly walked back into the sitting room and sat down in the other chair, this one being a mossy green colour, enjoying the feeling of sinking slowly down in her seat.
"More owls." she explained, and drew her feet up under her, turning her attention to the telly, refusing to let her mind wander. Something terrible had happened, was happening, and she shouldn't care about it, not one bit. To her, he was just the same annoying boy who had somehow poured ink in her tea when she wasn't looking, who had sent Peeves after her countless of times until she turned the tables on him and did likewise. She had nearly poked his eye out with a quill, gotten him detention with Gilderoy Lockhart half a dozen times, and he had in turn cursed her homework, and smuggled sardines into her cloak to make Mrs. Norris follow her around all day. They had even been reluctant partners in what could only be described as the date night from hell last year. There was nothing about their lives that said friendship, and she was perfectly fine with that, she had to be. The last two years had been less about fun and games, and more about survival for him, and here he was yet again, in another round of him versus the enemy before school had even started. Wasn't he tired?
"Oh, Merlin's beard, here comes another one." Grannie Figg said, curtain in hand and straining her neck to look past the darkness and into the chaotic house on the other side. Genevieve sighed and stretched, deciding that the time for sleeping was now, before her mind would betray her even further and lead her down the path she wasn't yet ready to acknowledge.
"I'm going to bed. Night, Gran." she said, kissing Grannie Figg's cheek on her way to the stairs. Her grannie gave a half-hearted response, eyes focused on the window. Making her way up the stairs, Genevieve suppressed the urge to look through the hallway window again, walking past the bathroom and into the last bedroom on the right. Her bedroom. Grannie had had it specially furnished for her first overnight visit years ago, back when she still lived somewhere else, and it was everything Genevieve could have ever hoped for. It was fairly spacious with its white walls and a sandy-coloured rug, a bed in one corner of the room, and a white nightstand next to it, complete with a rosy lamp and a picture of her parents. The wall up against her grannie's room sported a wooden desk with a gramophone player, and a poster of a bundle of kittens tumbling out of a basket, and she couldn't help the smile that crossed her lips. She had been four years old the first time she visited Grannie Figg's old home, all happy and snug in her still functioning family life. Her father had adored Grannie Figg like a second mother, and they had all kept in contact, much to the chagrin of her mother's side of the family.
Grannie Figg was a Squib, and proud of it. It had come as a shock for much of her father's family, and most members had even lost or cut contact with her over the years, but her parents had never so much as considered treating her the same way. Grannie Figg would always be family, and that was that. Most summers up until her seventh year were filled with long days in the yard, playing with the many kneazles and cats and drinking cool lemonade, while the adults were deep in conversation with each other, or sometimes her parents even joined her in a game of hide and seek.
Then everything changed, and her world got turned upside down.
To this day, she isn't really sure how it happened. One minute she is being babysat by Grannie Figg on a cold September morning, playing with a particularly cute cat the colour of chocolate. And then the letter arrives through the open kitchen window, all menacing with its neatly scrawled official letters, leaving destruction in its wake as her beloved grannie tears the letter open as though she already knows what it will say, sinking down onto a nearby chair as her eyes scan the parchment over and over again. From thereon, her memory is hazy. She vaguely remembers the sound of a child crying as it's being comforted in a warm embrace, the smell of flowers from the funeral. Her grandfather's disapproving gaze as it takes her in, all teary eyed and with a drippy nose. A firm hand on her shoulder and a warm hand in her own little one. And then the memories go back to normal, and she's in her new home, big and imposing with walls and hallways that seem to on for days.
She has trouble fitting in from the beginning. Her old life is so different from the new, and it overwhelms her to begin with. There's a house elf taking care of little things like making sure her room is spotless every time she leaves it behind, and there are actual maids and servants walking the halls and cooking dinner and cleaning. It frightens her, but they assure her she's safe, tell her so with a look of pity that makes her want to disappear, and she seeks refuge in her grandfather's study. It soon becomes obvious that he wants nothing to do with her, from the way he looks at her to the way he behaves whenever she is in the room. He is harsh with her, blue eyes cold as ice as he stares her down and makes her swear that she'll never interrupt him ever again. It's clear that he's only keeping her as a token, a promise he's upholding from long ago. She is a statue, never to be held or played with or made to laugh ever again, and she cries herself to sleep night after night, until finally, there are no tears left for a man that never loved her. Then, she's the obedient girl he's always wanted, staying out of his way whenever she can, keeping to herself and wishing she didn't look like her mother. Every veiled scoff and blue gaze is a painful reminder that she can never replace what he has lost.
The first time her grandmother tries visiting is the hardest. It fills her eyes with tears, and she begs on her knees for a new place to live, until her grandfather becomes displeased with the racket and forces Grannie Figg out of the house with the threat to never return. She's close to breaking again, and the household does what it can to keep her spirits up. It works partially: she strikes up a surprisingly close friendship with the gardener, and he plants flowers for her outside her window, while his wife teaches her to knit and sow. They become her refuge and safety for a few years, until their age catches up with them, and they become yet another gravestone in a sea of death. She sheds many tears for them when her grandfather looks the other way, and then hardens herself yet again, refusing to let this be her breaking point. Her parents were strong, and so is she.
Her Hogwarts letter arrives the summer before she turns eleven, and it's the happiest she has ever seen her grandfather on her behalf. It is a bother getting homeschooled by a tutor that looks as old as his books anyway, and she has always wondered if he would fall apart if she were to exhale too closely to him. The help from the house is sent to Hogsmeade to get all of her school materials, and soon, she's ready to start a new chapter of her life. It excites her more than it should probably, but this is a chance to leave everything behind. To make a new home for herself.
Several things happen at once that year, the first being a literal run in with what appears to be the most famous wizard since the dawn of time. One minute, she's on her way to the Ravenclaw tower, the next, she's colliding with a boy her age that knocks her flat on her bum. Irritated, she refuses his outstretched hand, gathering herself quickly and rushing off, the thoughts in her head on overdrive. Harry Potter, the boy responsible for her parents' death was trying to help her off the floor after he technically put her there. She could laugh at the irony. The run-in is thankfully quickly overshadowed the next day, when she gets her first letter from Grannie Figg in three years. Tearing it open, she is met with a familiar handwriting, and parchment that smells like cats. She giggles at some first year students looking questioningly at the letter, noting the cat hairs that have landed in her food, but she is too excited to eat.
The letter was quick to explain that her grannie had never stopped writing, but of course all correspondence had always been stopped by her grandfather before she could know about it. Hogwarts was out of reach for him, and she reveled in this new freedom, and quickly scribbled back a reply, and over the next few months, it was like the last three years hadn't happened.
She took a good look around the room that seemed so familiar to her, even though she knew it shouldn't be. Her grandmother had moved around the same time Genevieve had started Hogwarts, and the little neighbourhood of Privet Drive was overrun with muggles. She had wanted desperately to come visit for years, knowing that her grandfather would never let her out of his sight. Finally, some time around her fourth year, she pressed the issue of spending her next summer away from home, and her grandfather was surprisingly quick to agree. Perhaps he wanted her to get of there as much as she herself did, but she wasn't going to question it, eagerly sending an owl her way. Grannie Figg's ecstatic reply came a few days later, with the promise that she'd feel right at home in this new place. Staring at the poster she'd previously had in her old room, her mother's old lamp, her father's gramophone player and her parents' bed, she couldn't help but agree.
The sound of a paw scratching at the door got her attention, and she turned to see the black cat make its way into the room, jumping gracefully onto the bed and laying down in the foot end. It stared at her casually, as if daring her to move it, and she snorted in reply.
"Go on, then." she muttered, going through the process of getting undressed for bed, soon slipping under the covers and looking out at the starlit sky until her eyes finally slid closed.