Ashes of the Phoenix: Year 1
Description: AU. Fem!Harry. Raised isolated from her family due to the priority of her brother being the Boy-Who-Lived, Ivy Potter was unaware that she was even a witch until her Hogwart's letter came – where she was sorted into Slytherin.
A/N: so, as you can probably tell, I will be trying the WBWL admittedly overused story line – and will be doing my own unique version of it! Despite being about eleven years late. This will be a Slytherin, Fem, Intelligent Harry, and will have shades of grey (not in the way you're thinking of, dirty minded readers!). This will obviously be OOC, as I very much believe in the idea of Nature VS Nurture and the way that Fem!Harry is nurtured in this book compared to cannon paves the way for how she acts as a result. Ivy will not be super powerful or an absolute genius (just to clarify for all the people who, like me, get irritated when suddenly a first year, or the other years for that matter is suddenly Merlin-level).
Pureblood politics will play a role in this book (more so in the later years than the former years). As the Wizarding World is clearly more forward in regards to women's rights and what not, the title of Heir/Heiress will go to the first born child – this has now occurred in the royal succession in Britain, and in other countries, so the Wizarding World would have got there first. In my opinion anyway. This fic will include Dorea and Charlus as her grandparents (rather than Euphemia and Fleamont), for reasons that will later be evident.
Pairings will occur fourth year and onwards, not before. There may be a minor crush or something because most children have crushes, but nothing serious.
Bashings will vary in regards to character development throughout this story (which I plan to be long as I want to cover all seven years at least) but Dumbledore will be a target of it, though he won't be a mega evil, money grasping lunatic or anything. Just due to his rather twisted vision of the greater good and manipulative attitude in some scenarios.
Chapter 1 – the Potters
The first time that Ivy Potter met her parents was when she had been five years old. Before then, she had simply assumed that they had died – after all, the Dursley's had blatantly refused to talk about them.
They had sat in the dining room on Petunia's pristine leather chairs (which Ivy had been ordered to clean two days previously), and she had never been so overjoyed. The Dursley's were not abusive, at least physically, so Ivy knew that she could have had it worse – but she knew that they hated her. Sometimes, she had wondered if they even knew that her name was Ivy, too used to referring to her as 'freak' and 'girl'; if she got any better than Dudley in tests, or if something strange happened around her (which, to her ire, happened often) then she would be locked in her cupboard without food; she had to do chore after chore with no rest at all.
And if they dared find her take a break after a long day of cooking and gardening and cleaning and decorating, then it was back to the cupboard. Truthfully, Aunt Petunia only let her out when she was desperate for a job to be done that she didn't want to do herself.
They – James and Lily, she soon learned – told her of how she was a witch! She couldn't believe it at the time that she was something special. She was just Ivy, after all. However, when she asked if she would be going home with them, hope filling every fibre of her being, it had gone sour.
It was then that they told her of her brother. Her twin brother, Charles. He had defeated Voldemort as a baby, marked with a 'X' mark on his cheek, the same night that she had got her lightning bolt scar from falling debris (or so she was told). According to her parents, it was essential that he was adequately trained and, she could not live with them.
Ivy supposed that it should have been a consolation that they both looked sad, and like they regretted what they had to say at that, but she had exploded in upset and fury. She always had had a short temper.
Slamming the door, she left them to leave on their own with Petunia smiling gleefully at them as if she had won an award.
When they came again, a year and a half later, she had resolved herself to bury the envy and anger deep within her. At least she had parents, she thought to herself.
They visited again at seven and at nine, never on her birthday (she had inquired about that once, but they had regretfully told her that they could not leave Charles. She had cried at that) and never twice in one year. For the latter, the excuse was again Charles, leaving Ivy to wonder why she was not good enough for her parents – why she could never be like Charles to them.
At eleven, relief finally came in the form of a Hogwarts letter, addressed to Miss I. Potter. Maybe, enough at Hogwarts, she had thought with glee, they would realise that she deserved just as much of their praise and attention as Charles did.
Now, Ivy was awaiting her parent's arrival, as they had wrote to her Aunt to inform them that they would be arriving to take her to get her Hogwarts things.
Aunt Petunia, of course, despised the idea, but had no choice but to relent.
"Are you sure they said that they would be here at twelve?" Ivy inquired, swallowing the lump in her throat as she saw that the clock had just struck one. They were an hour late.
"Yes," Aunt Petunia snapped, though Ivy almost thought that she looked slightly sorry for her, "unless you are insinuating that I don't know how to read."
"Of course not," Ivy said bashfully, before sighing and looking back up to the clock.
It was something to do with Charles, she thought bitterly, he was the reason they couldn't visit her, he was the reason they wouldn't even spend one birthday with her.
Tears welling, Ivy ran back to the cupboard under the stairs that had been her bedroom for many years until, realising that Ivy was about to become a witch and feared being turned into a toad, Petunia allowed her to have Dudley's second bedroom.
How could she have been so stupid as to actually think that they'd come? They never had enough time for her. This fact only made her more determined to show them that she was better than Charles! She would be more intelligent, she would be more powerful than him no matter what it took.
Regathering herself together and rubbing slightly at her red cheeks, Ivy tried to hold her head high as she ventured back out of her cupboard, heading into the kitchen to where Petunia sat in the same position. She, like her parents, didn't care about her, but at least Petunia didn't pretend and say otherwise.
"Aunt Petunia," the woman's head raised from the magazine she had been reading, looking at her with unconcealed contempt, "will you take me to London please. I know my parents won't arrive."
Petunia stared at the girl haughtily for a moment, before thinking about the request – the perfect opportunity to annoy and upset darling Lily, "alright. Be in the car in two minutes."
Ivy nodded and thanked her, all but rushing out of the house in her oversized clothing (a mixture of Petunia and Dudley's hand-me-downs) and too-big shoes. Petunia was a size seven for shoes, but Ivy was currently a size two.
Predictably, the ride was silent, except for the time that Ivy was told to be quiet for humming too loudly to the radio. The Potter girl, who had never been to London (or even out of Surrey) before was taking it all in with amazement plastered over her face. The city was beautiful.
Petunia dropped her off outside a pub labelled the Leaky Cauldron, having, luckily, remembered the way from all the times Lily had dragged her and her family there, "go, girl, I'll pick you up in six hours. I have shopping to do."
By the time that Ivy had moved to protest, stating that she did not know the way, Petunia had already drove off and left her in the dust. Unsure and feeling insecure, Ivy made her way into the pub, watching as people moved around merrily, paying her no mind.
"Excuse me," she said, but it seemed as if nobody could hear. Travelling up to the bar, which thankfully wasn't too crowded, she addressed the barman, "excuse me, Sir, but is there any chance you know how I can get to Diagon Alley?"
Her voice wavered, fear filling her that maybe he wouldn't know – or wouldn't tell her - and that she would never get to Hogwarts; never be able to prove to her parents that she was worth anything.
Despite her fears, the barman smiled, "of course," he informed her merrily, "I'm Tom. I'll just finish serving this gentleman and then I'll be right with you."
Ivy offered him her best smile, one that she had only used once or twice, and waiting patiently for him to finish serving the short man next to her – who she had heard him call Mundungus Fletcher.
Before she knew it, she was being led by the kind man towards a stone wall. Furrowing her brows, she felt confusion fill her – did she have to talk to the wall to get through? Would the wall talk back?
Instead, Tom merely got out a stick (wand, she reminded herself, having seen her parents') and began to tap a pattern into the bricks, "welcome, Ivy," he said enthusiastically, "to Diagon Alley!"
It was truthfully breaktaking, the young girl acknowledged. The bright colours and the extravagantly clothed people and the beautiful animals outside the shops, it cause yet another one of her rare smiles to grace her face as she gasped with glee, "it's wonderful."
Despite the descriptions she had gained from her mother on one of their fleeting visits, nothing could compare to truly seeing it.
Tom smiled at her, "I hope I'll see you again soon," before disappearing back through where he had come from.
Beginning to weave her way through the people, Ivy headed towards the bank which she recalled was at the far end. According to Lily Potter, it was an amazing, towering structure of marble, and Ivy caught sight of it soon enough.
"Welcome to the Wizarding World, Ivy," she said to herself as she began to climb up the steps to the bank, hoping they would allow her to access the money she was told her parents had told her she had without her key.
Inside, all the goblins sparsely offered her a glance, and if their face's portrayed any emotion, it was slight disgust. She flinched away from them, never having seen a goblin before, and felt embarrassed under such looks whilst wearing a ridiculously baggy top that Dudley had stained, and a pair of Petunia's jeans that required a belt and pooled at her feet.
When she arrived at the front desk, Ivy was ignored. Shifting on her feet and coughing awkwardly, she finally said, "excuse me," gaining the attention of the goblin who simply raised a brow at the young girl. It was intimidating, with him sitting at a desk so much taller than her.
"I'm here to access my vault," she informed him confidently, but then her voice wavered weakly and sheepishly on the latter part, "but I don't have my key."
"Three drops of blood," the goblin informed her, gesturing carelessly to the parchment beside him.
Ivy blanched, eyes going wide, "pardon?"
The goblin rolled his eyes at her, taking the golden knife off of the side and handing it to her, "cut into your palm and let three drops of blood drip onto the identification parchment."
Nodding, Ivy moved over to where the parchment was. Taking in a deep breath, and after a few seconds of hesitating, she pressed the knife into her lightly tanned skin (no doubt from all the work she had to do in the garden) and winced as three drops of her blood hit the parchment. Careful to make sure no more spilt, just in case that would hinder the process, she quickly snatched her hand away.
The goblin read the parchment. If Ivy had not already made up her mind that the goblins were fairly emotionless, she would have said that he was surprised.
"Welcome to Gringotts, Heiress Potter," the goblin said with a shark-like grin.
"Heiress?" Ivy inquired, knowing nothing of what he was talking about. She knew a lot about the old muggle hierarchy, having been an avid lover of history, but did not realise that the wizards had one. She found it odd that her father had never mentioned it.
"Of course," the goblin told her smoothly, noticeably more welcoming and forthcoming that previously, "you are the firstborn of the current Lord Potter, and by submitting yourself to the identification parchment before September 1st of your eleventh year of life, you have been recognised as Heiress. Otherwise, the title would have gone to your younger brother."
Ivy frowned. She didn't want to think that her parents hadn't told her on purpose, after all, she could still remember the numerous, numerous nights that she had spent longing for their appearances. She still did. Ivy wanted to blame Charles, she really did, like she always did. It had to be his fault… But their parents always could have not listened to him. They could have told her anyway.
"Follow me to your vault," the goblin told her, leading her from the desk and towards where a cart lay. Getting in the cart, the goblin – whom she inquired the name of, and learnt it was Rogrod – issued a swift warning before the ride began. It was exhilarating.
Even though Ivy had never flew, she couldn't help but feel as if this is how flying would feel; she loved it, and wanted to feel it again. In fact, when the ride finally came to an end – lasting for a lengthy amount of time – she felt disappointment.
To access the Heiress Vault, which was deep under the ground of London, she knew, blood was once again needed. Idly, Ivy wondered if this was some kind of sacred right of passage in the Wizarding World – maybe she would have to use her blood to get into Hogwarts.
She grimaced at the idea, as the sharp pain of the prick in the wall occurred, then allowing the door to the Heir Vault to be opened.
When the door was far enough back to reveal it's contents, Ivy was amazed. There was mountains upon mountains of gold, as far as she could see from her short height. It was more money than she ever had seen before, and she had to ask the goblin several times to verify the fact that it was actually hers.
Ivy Potter had nothing that belonged to her, not even her name which was so commonly changed to 'freak'. No article of clothing, no toys, not even her parents were truly hers. To have something actually be hers, whether it was money or even something as small as a slip of paper, made her feel something warm inside.
Tears pricking at her eyes, startling the goblin, Ivy swiftly disappeared into the Vault to collect some of the gold, silver and bronze, not wanting Rogrod – or anyone for that matter – to see her cry. She sniffed.
Having filled the 'extendable' bag (initially, Ivy had no idea what Rogrod had meant by that, but, as it expanded to fit however much she wanted to put in, she understood), she moved to head back. That was until she caught sight of a whole wall of desks overflowing with jewellery.
Moving over to it, Ivy grinned as she took in the beauty of it all. She had always admired Petunia's own jewellery, longing for something of her own, and this was all so beautiful.
Picking up a silver necklace with a small, glistening emerald upon it surrounded by what Ivy swore were diamonds around it, she fell in love. Looking at the tag upon it she read: formerly the property of Iolanthe Potter nee Peverell.
Taking off the tag delicately, and placing it into her pocket so that she could research Iolanthe, she then moved across. She also picked up a beautiful diamond choker which had been brought for Dorea Potter nee Black by Charlus Potter. She didn't know what she would wear it with, or if it would even suite her at eleven, but she would certainly wear it with pride one day. Lastly, she took a pair of ruby earings belonging to Cassia Potter nee Longbottom and a pair of emerald earings belonging to Elladora Potter nee Black.
Feeling more joyful than she had in a long time, knowing that she was in possession of things that belonged to genuine relatives – her family – she headed out of the vaults with Rogrod, savouring every moment of the cart ride.
At the end of the ride, he passed her the parchment which he had described as the identification paper, "here," he had said, "it'll give you the information on your family which it seems you don't have. Any queries, you can get in touch with Gringotts, we will also be sending you monthly information on any withdrawals from your account."
"Does anyone else have access to it?" Ivy inquired, bitterly wondering if her father or mother used this money to buy stuff for their precious Charles. Stuff they didn't think she was worthy of.
The goblin nodded, "Lord Potter and Albus Dumbledore also have access to this account. As Heiress, you can revoke the right for Dumbledore to have access, and you can stop Lord Potter from withdrawing but not from being able to view what you take in and out and he can restrict your access as your guardian."
Ivy nodded, asking for that to indeed occur and inquiring as to how much her father and the 'Dumbledore' man withdrew. Apparently Albus Dumbledore hadn't withdrew in years and years, but her father withdrew far more regularly. After finding out that her father could restrict her access, she decided that she would go back later to take out more. Ivy would like to think that he wouldn't cut her off, but how was she to trust people that she barely knew?
Heading into the alley, her first stop was Madam Malkins. The woman was very friendly to her, asking what type of robes she wanted. Honestly, Ivy had no idea what she was prattling on about with 'Heiress Robes, Formal Robes, School Robes, Casual Robes' and what not but she ordered two of everything just in case.
"What crest would you like on your Heiress robes?" Madam Malkin had asked, looking slightly doubtful that the ill-dressed girl in front of her was an Heiress, but still kept a ready smile upon her face.
"Potter," Ivy answered simply, and showed the woman the sheet for proof. As the taken aback Madam Malkin passed it back, Ivy took the opportunity to read it again, having read it already when she was walking back to the shop.
Name: Ivy Iolanthe Potter
Birth: 31st July 1980, St. Mungo's, 11:53pm
Blood Status: Half-Blood (pureblood father; mother of squib descent)
Notable Titles: Heiress Potter, contender for title of Heir(ess) Black
Parents: James Charlus Potter and Lily Rosa Potter nee Evans
Grandparents: Charlus Fleamont Potter and Dorea Venus Potter nee Black
Great-Grandparents: Henry Ignotus Potter and Cassia Aurelia Potter nee Longbottom
Great-Great Grandparents: Theseus Hardwin Potter and Maeve Mirasha Potter nee Gaunt
Great-Great-Great Grandparents: Hadrian Basil Potter and Elladora Juliet Potter nee Black
Other Notable Relatives: Iolanthe Potter nee Peverell (daughter of Ignotus Peverell)
Origin of Family: 12th Century
"Your robes will be ready in an hour," Madam Malkin informed her, and Ivy smiled at her, thanking her politely before, with her identification paper held protectively in her hand, she began to head towards Ollivanders. It said wandmakers in it so she assumed that that would be where she received her wand.
Every time she went out into the Alley, she had to look around in wonder all over again, hoping that this was not just a dream – that all of this would not be stolen from her.
To her right, she saw a large, red-haired family fumbling around with bronze coins – ones that Rogrod had called 'knuts' – and with the woman mothering her many children. Ivy looked on with a degree of jealousy and longing, wishing to don red hair and be cared for by the seemingly loving woman.
Tearing her eyes from them, she carried on journeying towards the wandmaker's shop, with other families such as an extremely fair haired family in her sight as she entered.
Within the shop, all was silent and Ivy briefly worried that nobody was there and that she'd never receive her wand – until a voice sounded loudly from behind her: "I've been expecting you, Ivy Potter. Your brother was in here only last week getting his first wand."
Ivy felt resentment bubble within her towards her parents, and towards the brother that she had never met.
The process to get her wand went on and on, each try ending in something within the pub swiftly broken and smashed. Eventually, Olivander gave her a particular look, before whisking himself off behind his desk, heading back. Ivy observed, curiously, as he looked at the box with something akin to suspicion.
He handed her the wand, watching her with an intensity that made Ivy shift slightly uncomfortably, before she resolved herself to pick up the wand and wave it.
A wind blew her hair all about, sparks igniting and green and gold floating around her. Ivy's eyes widened at the rush of power that she felt through her, causing a grin to make it's way onto her face."
"Interesting," Olivander said, "very interesting," at her inquisitive look he continued, "there is only one other wand with this core – and that wand once lay in the hands of one of the darkest wizards this world had ever seen."
"What was the wizard called?" Ivy asked of him, looking at her wand and then back up to the man. Did this wand work for her because she had felt such resentment towards her parents and brother? Did that make her evil?
"We do not speak his name," Olivander spoke ominously, and it was soon evident that Ivy would not get the name out of this man.
Soon enough, she was heading out of the wand shop, holding her wand protectively in her grasp and towards the book stores. Ivy had never been particularly academic, knowing well the punishments that she would receive should she outshine Dudley, but (with her bid to show her parents that she was, indeed, worth something) she found herself buying everything on that list and more – taking Mr. Flourish's advice on extra books, such as the potions books (and later potions sets in another shop) that all Slytherins seemed to buy after getting sorted, and the Ravenclaw collection of school supplies.
Not long after, Ivy was heading back to receive the robes that Madam Malkin had made, for her, backtracking to Eeylops Owl Emporium where she had caught sight of a stunning snowy owl. Initially, when she had seen that she was allowed to bring a pet, she was going to buy one of the sweet kittens that she had seen, but she had simply fell in love with the currently unnamed owl.
With only ten minutes to spare Ivy rushed to get herself a trunk, which she realised she had forgot, allowing the salesman to talk her into buying one of their best trunks that had state of the art protection spells and had the biggest extendable charm they offered.
Taking it, she found Aunt Petunia already waiting for her with a scowl. But, for once, that did not wipe the wide grin off of Ivy's own face.