A/N: So, new Marauder's fic. Way better plot than the last I tried to write. Better beginning too. R/R? ((kthnxbai))
Prologue
"So, we are at an agreement then?"
"Yes, yes, Katia…"
"And the Vow?"
"What better guarantee?"
I remember bits and pieces of the conversation. Not much of it though, seeing as I was much too busy playing tag at that precise moment. It was not unusual to be playing outside whilst the adults handled the business. I suppose that's how things work when you're only five years of age, so why question a few big words being tossed around in growling tones? I wasn't quite sure by that time that my parent's voices even changed from the very same tone, even in casual conversation. I still wonder about that, actually.
"Nya, nya, nya, nya, nya!" I heard from my right side off in the distance. My head snapped in the direction to see my dark haired friend sticking his tongue out at me. With an overly dramatic gasp, all my attention left the "grown-ups" and I sprinted off to tackle the boy.
I had nearly leaped off the ground when the irritated sound of my name drilled through my eardrums. Now in mid-jump, I wished desperately that I could fly to avoid the very-near-future pain. I unfortunately landed face-first with a thud as my left knee met a very sharp, broken twig.
Keep in mind, I was a very sensitive child.
"WAHHHHHHHHH!" I let out a loud labored sob as tears flooded my eyes and trickled down my cheeks.
My mother's shrill voice called my name again in the same impatient tone. I, on the other hand, continued my sob-fest there on the dry summer grass.
"She fell!" my friend shouted back at the adults in a harsh tone. I could hear his light footfalls but was far too busy refusing to accept that I had a small cut on my knee. Pulling one of my arms around him, he hoisted me onto my feet, which only made my sobs louder. "Don't worry, it'll go away before you know it."
"R-really?" I asked quietly and glanced up at the blurry figure of the boy.
He grinned confidently. "Of course it will! I know these things."
"Althea! I will not call for you again!" My mother called for me a third time, storming through the playground, kicking sand in her wake. She grabbed my forearm roughly, yanking me away from my friend.
"But mum!" I cried out, wincing as the grip on my arm began to hurt worse than my knee which I was currently being forced to walk on.
My mother huffed, "You can see you little friend next week; I've scheduled you a play date."
How thoughtful.
I glanced back over my shoulder and waved to the shrinking figure. "Bye Sirius!"
"Bye Aly!" I barely heard in the distance.
Now, I suspect you're thinking 'what exactly did that have to do with anything?'. I can't particularly tell you at the moment or else I'd have no story, but this will be a very integral part of my life beyond the age of five. No, it certainly does not completely revolve around Sirius Black.
I am not here to tell you of a dramatic teenage romance.
I am, on the other hand, here to tell you of social discriminance, a grudge, long-held lies, murder, an unbreakable vow…
…and how they all happen to lead to Sirius Back and, myself, Althea Locke.
Sirius, of course, wasn't the only of the Black children I was forced to play with at that age. Andromeda taught me how to do cart wheels, as where Bellatrix pulled my hair and Narcissa made me her personal house elf. Needn't I forget Regulus, who rather enjoyed pushing me into the mud. My mother and father noticed none of this. In fact, they were there for most of it and still went along as if not a thing happened. Such love.
These activities continued for the next five years. Either my parents grew very fond of the Blacks, which is laughable, or I should listened more intently to that conversation that summer afternoon when I was five.
It was no time at all before my eleventh summer was nearing its end as my father shoved a letter into my hands and growled, "To your room."
I sprinted, terrified, up the spiral staircase and through the door of my room as I hurriedly unfolded the letter:
Dear Mr. & Mrs. Locke,
It comes with deep regret that I must inform you that your child, Althea, has not been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Absolutely no magical activity has come from her in these eleven years in which an ordinary Witch or Wizard has shown some ability by the age of eight on average. For the safety of the girl and your familythe trace will be kept on her in these trying times. The staff here, myself included, send our most sincere apologies to you and your family, especially young Althea.
Recommendations for exceptional Muggle schools will be sent following this letter.
Regards,
Albus DumbledoreHeadmaster Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry
My hands balled into fists, crumpling up the sides of the parchment by the time I finished it. It was as if my heart turned into a ten ton cannonball and dropped into my stomach. My eyes watered and my jaw clenched. I was not a witch. I was from a family of purebloods, and was nothing more than a Squib.
Father will disown me! He probably is calling a Muggle orphanage now!
And Mother…Oh Merlin, Mother will murder me! I won't be able to make it to the orphanage in time!
"What're you going on about?" a high-pitch feminine voice came from behind me. I spun around to see my chestnut haired sister, Lysandra, wrinkling her freckled nose in my direction.
"Leave me alone, Lyzi," I mumbled in a pathetic voice, throwing the letter her way as forcefully as I could. It drifted slowly before her as she grabbed it roughly from the shining wooden floor. Her eyes scanned quickly over the parchment and in a matter of moments, laughter burst from between her lips.
"A Squib?! You're a Squib?! This is priceless!" she shouted through fits of giggles.
My glare wasn't all very threatening, but I continued sending it to my Prefect of a sister as she turned on her heel and threw the letter over her shoulder. She swaggered, obviously quite pleased with herself, out the door.
I inhaled deeply and exhaled only a short breath. Again, again, and again. They got more and more shallow each time and my hand clutched my head post tightly. Breath, just breath…
I was nothing.
I was a Squib; a magic-less, pathetic, little Squib in a family of disapproving, disowning Purebloods. Welcome to my Hell.
to be continued.