AN: Hello everyone, I am not nor will I ever be J.K. Rowling. I wish I was at times because I know my grammar and sentence structures aren't the greatest, but it's a struggle when my fingers move faster than my brain. So please excuse any errors, and enjoy! This was inspired by so many of the fics I've read. They are my motivation, and I have always been intrigued by the 'what ifs' from each of their retellings. The possibilities are nearly endless! I love the HP universe and though I don't own it, this is just my own interpretation of what I would like to have seen happen. This is also going to not be completely canon. I will deviate and regroup with some of the core details, as I see fit. The original pieces and parts are my own and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I have!
This is quite a different look into the Wizarding World you all have come to know and love. As such, the perception of Dumbledore and the Weaselys have been altered, along with numerous other characters. I hope you will be pleased with my changes, and drop me a review letting me know how I did!
Summary: Meet Violet Dorea Potter, and follow her through the complete turn-a-bout her life has only just begun to take. As she takes her first few steps into the Magical World, she'll face challenges that will shape her into the Lady she was always meant to be. But no metamorphosis can be achieved, until she sheds her old life; as the snake does its skin.
TW: Mentions of abuse.
Ch. 1: The Letter
It had always been the same thing, day in and day out for Violet Dorea Potter. Each morning at exactly half past six, she'd be awoken by a bang on her door. Followed then by either Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon unlatching her from her nightly confines. After which, she'd stretch and crawl out of her miserable cupboard. Her young muscles and joints would ache from her cramped sleeping quarters, but she would never complain. For complaints brought punishment, as she well knew.
Every day, she would fix them a full English Breakfast, ripe with enough food to feed a small army. Or two of her Uncle Vernon put together. Then she'd be forced to watch them scarf down their meal, as her own stomach roared for the smallest helping of eggs. But only after she cleaned up the table, would she be allowed to devour the small bits of scraps left on their plates. If there were any left at all. Lastly, she'd finish up the dishes, scouring the pots and pans until her hands were raw. For she knew punishment would await her, if her aunt found even the slightest sign of food residue left over.
As the morning progressed, she'd either be left to whittle away at her daily chores, or locked outside; depending upon whether her relatives were home or not. They despised having to look at her for long periods of time, and therefore preferred to imagine the house cleaned itself during the week. Which was much to her delight, for any time she was given any modicum of freedom, Violet felt she could finally breath. During the sweltering summers or blistering cold winters, she could not decide where she'd prefer to be. For while the life-threatening risk of heat exhaustion and hypothermia had knocked on her door once or twice, both seemed a welcome reprieve from her prison in No. 4 Privet Drive.
Every evening she was expected to be in the kitchen promptly two hours before dinner each day, to begin dinner preparations and tidy up. It was only then that she might be given a reprieve to wash up, as dinner was being served. Those sacred 15 minutes meant the world to her, for the dirt and grit from cleaning and exploring the neighborhood had a way of caking itself onto her skin and chafing horribly. Returning to the kitchen, she would begin cleaning up as her relatives finished shoveling as much food into their mouths, as could be accommodated. Collecting their plates and serving dessert was the worst punishment of all, for Violet could not stem her desire to try but a bite of the sweet delicacies. She'd only rarely been allowed anything sweet to eat, and even then, only when Mrs. Figg, a few houses down, would offer.
Once dinner was over, she was granted a small bite of leftovers, if they had deemed to leave her anything. Then, she would be bodily forced back into her cupboard once more. Where her Uncle Vernon would latch the lock behind her. Life for Violet Potter had never strayed. Not even during the holidays, in all the years that she'd lived in her cramped little cupboard under the stairs. In fact the greatest change in her life, had been the day she learned she had another name. But after having spent years being called 'Girl,' the idea of another name befuddled her. Which might have been caused to the fact that her relatives weren't the type to break rhythm, especially after so many years. So at her primary school, she'd been known as 'Violet' and at home, she remained 'Girl.' So to her, that 'other' name was as worthless as the first she'd been given when she was brought to the Dursley's home all those years ago.
On one of the hottest days Surrey had underwent that summer, Violet could've been found hard at work. Rarely could she have been found otherwise, for she despised the neighborhood kids; and had taken to hiding whenever they came around. They treated her as if she was nothing but a mangy dog and deserving of a good kicking, rather than another child. But while she worked, she once more found herself dreaming of the day when relatives she'd never known, would come to steal her away from this life. Not that she could imagine anyone would want to, but on days when she was forced to do some mind-numbing task, she'd allow her mind wander.
On days when she wasn't allowed out of her cupboard, she'd dream too. Of a family who would love her. Parents who'd buy her teddy bears and read her bedtime stories, and stay by her side as she fell into dreamland. It was a dream she'd held on to since she could first remember her dreams, but now at the age of ten she could hardly remember her parents to begin with. There were dreams every once in a while that involved a violent green light and a soft scream, and that's the only thing she could remember from the year she'd had with her parents.
Every time her uncle felt the need to 'put her in her place,' he'd always mention how good for nothing her parents actually were. How they were low life drunks who wasted their lives, chasing the bottom of a bottle. He'd let her know repeatedly that by leaving her on their doorstep, her parents had damned the entire family. If there was one thing her Uncle Vernon could achieve, it was his uncanny ability to always find a way to remind her just how superior he, Petunia, and their son Dudley were. How different she was. How she was a complete and utter freak.
And while things had always been the same year after year, for Violet on the last day in July; she could not help but to feel that change was in the air. For on this day, she'd turn eleven and the world as she knew it, would crumble.
Violet had started the day off the same way every morning began. It was as it always was. Absolutely nothing was out of place, nor different about this day. For her birthdays were usually ignored and forgotten. It wasn't until the post came while she served breakfast, that anything out of the ordinary had occurred.
Moving at her usual unhurried pace, she'd grabbed the post from the floor and shuffled through it her stopping just before the kitchen door. For her tired eyes had seen her name in green ink on one of the envelopes. It was a beautiful, parchment style envelope that was quite uncommon around the Dursley's breakfast table. Stopping just before her cupboard, she slipped it under the door. Fearful this mysterious piece of mail would be swiftly taken from her nervous grasp. She refused to allow her aunt or her uncle to destroy this strange new thing. It had been addressed to her especially, and on a day like today when she was no longer a young ten year old, but proud eleven, it felt unique.
Making her way back into the kitchen she deposited the mail before her Uncle, then went about her usual business of waiting for them to finish eating the full breakfast spread. While she was watching her piggy cousin scarf down the meal she'd prepared, her mind was back on the letter she'd slipped under her cupboard door. The green ink had scribed out an elegant 'Violet Dorea Potter, Cupboard Under the Stairs, No. 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.' The letter somehow knew exactly where she slept at night, which was quite well kept secret. For her relatives were very careful what they allowed the neighbors to see or know. And as she watched her uncle looking through the post, while shoving the last of the sausages into his mouth, she silently hoped he'd choke on it altogether. For he'd made sure to leave her nothing at all to eat this morning.
"Marge is ill again." His words filled the kitchen. Violet's mind barely holding on to the words that filled the room. Time passed excruciatingly slow, until finally their plates were clean and they were beginning to get up from the table. Violet made it through her clean-up unscathed, but was nearly knocked down flat by her lard of a cousin, Dudley making his getaway to one of his bedrooms. After righting herself, she approached the door that hid the only letter she'd ever received, from sight. She'd just touched her fingertips on her cupboard door, when Vernon had grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, like she was a misbehaving mutt; and threw her outside.
She'd surprised herself by being able to ignore the object of her curiosity, for hours at a time. She did her best to weed the garden before the hottest part of the day. Her hands and back ached, but her thoughts remained diligently on the task at hand. The house's shrubs did a fair job of shading her when the sun was at it's apex, so she was able to continue finding little things to keep her busy all day. But try as she might, thoughts of a certain piece of parchment floated into the depths of her mind, when she wasn't concentrating.
The sun moved from high over the sky, to finally hanging low just behind the neighbor's houses. Violet was called into the house and allowed to shower quickly, when they saw how much pruning and weeding she'd gotten done. A rare kindness, to be sure. Even the cold water, they allowed her to use felt heavenly. Her normally pale skin felt more than a few shades darker, from the soil and sweat that had melded and covered her. It was truly more of a sanitary need for them to have her wash up beforehand, but she would not forget how many times they'd made her cook and sleep in her own grime, forbidding her to use the facilities for any reason.
As she prepared their meal, she stood by the stove. All the while wishing that one day, they'd treat her with just an ounce of respect, instead of like the slave they had always treated her like. Violet thought back to the day they'd first put her to work. She was barely able to reach the counter top herself, when the pan Aunt Petunia had forced her to watch had slipped from it's spot and landed on her. The grease had burned her badly that day, but her wounds healed over; as had almost every other one she'd endured.
The pain was agonizing, but they didn't care. Her aunt just slapped her for her mistake, and threatened her with what would happen if she ruined breakfast again. Ever since that day Violet had always had it rough. Slaps for her mistakes and her flaws. Punches for her grades, when they were better than Dudley's. She'd even underwent several lashings from her uncle's belt a few times in her life. Her mind was spanning back through the short scope of her life, when she finally heard the last fork rest back on the plate. She came forward and collected the plates. Beginning her last chore of the night, before being able to have a small bit of dinner herself. Until finally, she felt the hair-raising sensation that her aunt's beady eyes caused her to feel, when she watched her make a mistake.
Only, this time her aunt pointed wordlessly toward the cupboard, and Violet went willingly.
Once Violet was back to her safe spot, inside the cramped cave of her cupboard, she pulled the letter from it's spot and as the news turned on in the living room. She could hear it clearly through the grate in the door, as she slid her finger under the opening to the envelope. She pulled out the thick parchment like paper and began to read the green ink that was scrawled across the paper.
Dear Miss Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find an enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on the 1st of September. We will have a representative by with
your answer.
Yours Sincerely
Deputy Headmistress
Professor M. McGonagall
Violet's fingers roamed over the green words that covered the soft paper. Her eyes widened as the words sunk in that it was admittance to a school for witchcraft and wizardry and that someone would be by to get her answer. She swallowed hard. Was this a prank that Dudley and his friends had pulled on her? As Dudley had surely broken his promise to his parents, not to tell anyone about the way they treated her. For the cruel dunderheads had made jokes about her punishments on more than one occasion. They knew she lived under the cupboard and liked to torture her. It was one of the things she constantly hated about being at the same school as her cousin over the years. She'd slipped the envelope under her pillow and laid her head upon the lumpy old thing. Closing her eyes, she sighed forlornly.
Dreams swiftly took over Violet. Except, no longer were her visions eclipsed by a familiar green light and a woman's screams. Memories, that had become as morbidly comforting to her as an old photograph of a loved one. These visions had comforted her over the years, but now her dreams were of a new world entirely. One that had been unlocked, with the opening of an envelope.