Hello! Yes, I am alive. I am currently re-editing my stories on this account and (hopefully) continuing them. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed/followed/favourite/enjoyed. I hope you like the edited versions and what I have planned for the future of Kaitlyn and Kirsten.
ALERT: This will be a independent!powerful!slightly dark!Potters story. They won't be evil, but they will not be all sunshine, rainbows, and light magic.
However, that's in books to come! On with the edited version!
Chapter One
Callidora Longbottom was an older woman who lived on Number 17, Magnolia Crescent in Little Whinging, Surrey. She was a kind woman who kept to herself for the most part, but sometimes would babysit for the Smith' next door, or take the mail in for Mrs. Avery when she went on one of her many package holidays. Callidora loved to tend her rose or herb garden when it wasn't too hot, or go for a drive through the country. She seemed to all the neighbours a kindly woman – which she was.
Callidora, however, had a secret. She was a witch, and not just any witch. She happened to be descended from a very prestigious pure-blood line – the Blacks. Callidora also happened to be one of the last survivors of the family – her sisters Charis and Cedrella had died many years before, as had her husband, Harfang. Her children, Pandora and Declan, had left long ago, and she never saw her grandchildren for one simple reason: Callidora and her children were on different sides of the war.
Callidora had had a revelation years ago – Voldemort was wrong, but so was Dumbledore. Thus, no matter which side her family was on, she was still on another side. There were few who believed like Callidora, and she knew it would have been easier to just compromise her ethics and pick the best path – which would be Dumbledore. However, Callidora simply wasn't that kind of person.
At 74, Callidora was still relatively young for a witch. She looked at the most around sixty, and had no problems getting around – thanks to potions. She never told anyone on Magnolia her real age – they would be hard-pressed to believe it anyway – and no one ever asked. Callidora was happy. Perhaps bored and lonely some of the time, but relatively happy.
On the day our story begins Callidora was about to go out and do a little shopping. As she drove through the streets of Little Whinging, she noticed a lot more witches and wizards on the streets than normal – and they weren't even bothering to hide themselves! Cloaks here and there, owls flying hither-pither…Was there some event she had missed?
As Callidora approached Harrods from the parking lot, she noticed none other than Hestia Jones, a good friend of hers that was on the 'Neque' (as they called it) side of the war as well.
"Hestia!" Callidora called in greeting, walking over to the black-haired witch.
"Hello Callidora!" replied Hestia, smiling and bouncing over to her. "I haven't seen you in months! Have you celebrated yet? You can join Hester, Henry, and I tonight, if you want," Callidora frowned – celebrated what? But Hestia ploughed on. "We're planning to watch the fireworks on the roof of our building in Diagon Alley and then maybe go to–"
"Hestia!" Callidora broke in. Hestia tended to talk a lot when she got excited. "What are you talking about? Celebrate what?"
Hestia's dark green eyes grew wide. "You didn't hear?"
"Hear what?" Callidora demanded.
"Well, it's the reason everyone's out like this!" Hestia cried happily, gesturing to the small groups of witches and wizards in the surrounding area. "It's the most wonderful thing to happen in decades!"
"What is it, Hestia?" Callidora cried in frustration. The suspense was getting to her.
"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead!" Hestia nearly screamed, hugging a stunned Callidora. Nearby groups clapped and cheered as well, while hapless Muggles watched in confusion.
"He's gone – really – really gone?" Callidora stuttered. It was one of the rare moments when the normally composed and calm woman was completely rattled. Hestia pulled back, her eyes sparkling at Callidora as the older woman stuttered for a moment, "B-but – but how?"
At this question, Hestia's face darkened and her smile fell.
"The Potters." She informed sadly. "Their twin daughters – Kaitlyn and Kirsten. He came to their house, to kill the Potters, I suppose, and when he tried to kill the girls…he couldn't. I suppose the spell backfired or something of the sort, but in any case he was destroyed. Kaitlyn and Kirsten lived, though, and now they have these marks on their foreheads – Kaitlyn's is a star, I think, and Kirsten's is a lightning bolt. I believe they're being sent to live with some Muggle relatives, but anyway that's why everyone is in such a state. The Potter twins are the Girls Who Lived!"