AN: Hello, all. This is a story I've been tentatively been working on for a while. It's nowhere near done and it likely won't be done any time soon. After I finish posting the chapters already finished, I won't be adding an more until I finish one of my other stories and have more time to focus on this. Please don't get too attached too soon.
General Disclaimer: This will apply for any future chapters I might add as well. Seriously, this is the only disclaimer for this story. If you recognize it, it's not mine. If you don't recognize it, it's probably still not mine. Any writing of mine will be a patchwork of things I think are cool ideas from other people, sewn together by the thread of my personal writing style.
Please have patience with me since I have several stories on the back-burner, not yet ready for uploading, that also take time to write. My updates will be irregular since sometimes I'll have nothing to do but write and other times, I'll be way from the computer for days at a time.
Early spring of 1954
It was near sunset and corpulent rain clouds approached from the east. Under the shelter of pillars and a roof, Charlus Potter paced the length of the mid-sized pavilion that stood in the garden of his family's summer cottage with an air of unfettered anxiety. They had sworn they would meet this afternoon, this the first day Charlus was back from his week-long business trip in Russia. It was nearly two hours after the agreed upon time of their meeting, but his darling was still nowhere to be seen. Needless to say, this concerned him greatly.
As the rain finally reached the Potter property, the sound of hurried footsteps on the stone pathways made Charlus look up with hope. Was it her?
"Natalie?" he called out, peering through the mist.
The trembling form of his darling sprang forth from around one of the winding hedges and ran straight up the pavilion steps towards him. She collapsed into his arms and sobbed as if the world were coming to an end.
"Natalie, dear-heart, what has happened?" Charlus inquired while taking inventory of her appearance. A deep green dress soaked through and clinging to her skin; boots caked heavily with mud; black hair plastered to her scalp from the water and no ornament in sight. He gently lifted her face and noted the black kohl smudges around her puffy, red cat-curved eyes.
"He's disowned me!" she sobbed. "That cruel bastard disowned me and ripped the knowledge of the locations of the family homes from my mind! He ordered my mother and sister to never speak of me again!"
"Your father?" Charlus breathed. What could have brought this on?
Natalie pulled back and sucked in a shuddering breath. Charlus carefully led her over to the cushioned seat and encircled her in his arms. He gently stroked her rain-slicked hair, and rocked her back and forth.
"It was horrible," Natalie began, rubbing one eye with the heel of her palm. "I mentioned in passing to my sister at dinner last night that I was coming to see you today. It was the first time in several months that the whole family — my sister, my parents, and me, I mean — have sat down together that I hadn't even realized that not everyone knew you were courting me. Fern knew, but Mother and Father were unaware. Father flew into a rage at not being informed!
"Oh, Charlus, you wouldn't believe it, he told me that I was to stop seeing you immediately because he had agreed to an arranged marriage for me with one of his business associates' son! He agreed to it without telling anyone else about it — he hadn't even mentioned it to mother! — and he expected me to just fall in line and accept it!" Natalie snarled.
"I told him I wouldn't do it, of course," she continued, looking despairingly into Charlus' eyes. "I want to stay with you and I have several reasons for not doing it but I wonder if you would rather I had agreed to it instead if you hear one of the major reasons."
"There's no reason in the world I would want to give you up to some stranger!" Charlus said, clutching her hands in his. "Whatever your reasons, I support them."
"My first reason is, of course, that I love you, Charlus, and couldn't dream of being anyone else's wife. The second reason is . . ." here she hesitated and looked at their intertwined hands.
"What is it, darling?"
"I'm pregnant," she whispered, looking pale and withdrawn.
Charlus sucked in a breath and looked at her in awe. Natalie, not looking at his face, only heard the gasp and curled into herself, looking resigned.
"I know this is a burden I put upon you — what proper gentleman would accept a child born out of wedlock?" she rushed. "But know that I will not burden you further if you no longer want anything to do with me or our —"
"Natalie!" Charlus exclaimed, giving her a slight shake to cut off her babbling. "How could think such a thing of me? A child is a blessing no matter how one comes about, and ours is a blessing more favourable than I could have ever dreamed. A reason to no longer be with you? It's a reason to finally complete our courtship and be married at once! I could not be happier!"
"Truly?" she asked, stars of hope shining in her hazel eyes. She looked shyly down. "I was so worried. It was the main reason father disowned me. When I told him, he flew at me and tore away a good amount of our family secrets before mother could stop him and distract him for a while. My sister managed to smuggle me some of my belongings into the trunk I keep shrunken in my charm bracelet but father came charging in to burn my things and threw me out of the house before I could get anything else.
"I was so scared you would behave in the same manner," she confessed, seeming ashamed. "I was afraid I'd have to take care of our child with no support."
"I'll not turn you out, of course, but why do you not appeal to your uncle? He's the head of your family, isn't he? You spoke fondly of him; surely he'll not let you be abandoned thus?"
"I might have if my knowledge of where he lives was not taken from me as well," Natalie answered bitterly. "My father truly meant for me to have no one to turn to. I surmise he expected you to turn me out as well."
Charlus fell to one knee if front of his darling and extracted a ring box from his pocket. He presented the modest but beautiful ring to Natalie who had tears in her eyes. He slipped the ring onto her finger and said, "Nataniicha Sutgird — Natalie, my love — will you marry me?"
Natalie nodded vigorously in response, happy tears trailing down her face.
"Let us tell my parents at once!" Charlus exclaimed, leaping to his feet and pulling Natalie along with him. "Mother has been badgering me to end our engagement and marry as soon as possible to start making her grand-children. I'm sure they'll be over the moon about our announcement!"
Completely disregarding the rain, the smiling couple made for the house hand in hand.
"What shall we name our child? do you know if it will be a girl or a boy yet?" Charlus asked, a pleased grin on his face.
"Maybe Valerian if it's a girl," Natalie mused. "I've always loved that name. But definitely Leonardo if it's a boy."
"Leonardo," Charlus said slowly, testing the sound of the name. "I like it."
March 27, 1960
Dorea Potter laid panting and gasping in bed, having gone into labour three hours previously. Her usually bouncing curls subdued by the layer of sweat coating her face and trickling about her head as she tossed her head about in agony. A midwife had been called for from the village and was doing her best to make the Lady Potter comfortable but there was only so much one could do.
"It's almost time," the midwife muttered to the Lady's anxiously awaiting husband. Charlus Potter was clutching his wife's hand in a death-grip and was looking on in mute terror. She assured him, "Nothing to fret about, m'lord. First babies always take the longest and hurt the most. She'll be perfectly fine."
Charlus gave no response, thinking back to the last time he had witnessed a child of his being born. His first wife, sweet Natalie, instead of merely gasping and wailing in pain, had taken up her wand and shot curses at him, screaming about how he had done that to her and should be included in the pain of childbirth. Seeing Dorea — proud Dorea — now, barely restraining herself from outright sobbing, he couldn't help but agree the tiniest bit.
Thoughts of childbirth and Natalie brought Leonardo, who was currently in his room, hiding from the screaming, to mind. His quiet Leonardo who had thought of his father before himself and encouraged Charlus to find another wife after the appropriate mourning time for the death of Natalie had passed and Charlus made no move to find himself another wife.
"Find me another mummy," the three-and-a-half year old Leo had said, looking him seriously in the eye. The lad had not said much since Natalie had been killed by that werewolf when he was two. "One that will hug me and make you smile like mummy used to. One that will give me a little brother to play with too."
And so here he was almost two years later, about to witness the birth of the little brother Leo had asked of him. Dorea had been delighted with the idea at the time and said she would get right on it. No doubt she was currently wishing she hadn't made such a promise.
"Here it comes!" the midwife declared, drawing Charlus' attention back to the situation at hand. Both midwife and lord hovered frantically over the grunting and heaving Dorea. At last, the shrill wail only a newborn could produce cut through the tense anticipation, making Charlus heave a sigh of relief and plop ungracefully into the chair behind him. "He's certainly got a pair of lungs on him!"
"What will you and your lady name him, m'lord?" asked the midwife, cradling the baby in one arm and gently wiping the sweat from an unconscious Dorea's forehead. "She'll wake no later than tomorrow. It's just exhaustion."
Charlus delicately received his son and rocked him slightly, staring into the pink face of his new son.
"His name is James."
Excerpts from the personal diary of the Countess of Hautmont:
December 23, 1979
Experiment 217: G-η7
Modifications: Natural pigmentation lightened by two shades; UVA and UVB ray resistance increased by a factor of three to counter the decrease of pigmentation; eye colouring (green) lightened by two shades; colour impurities of the eyes (brown and blue) removed; bone-structure: approximate growth-pattern of shoulder-width decreased by 8%, finger length increased by 6.25%, facial structure re-formatted with lighter jaw-line and smaller nose.
Improvements: Hereditary astigmatism made dormant; hair follicles altered from hereditary wavy to loose curls; recessive hereditary Veela gene made dominant (this leads to raptor vision and enhanced hearing); dominant hereditary inclination towards obsession (a mental condition inherited from an ancestor that married into the family?) made recessive.
Enhancements: Expansion of the pupil and iris (By-product of the Veela gene allows for the manipulation of the eye more readily); vocal cords restructured for a wider pitch range; brain growth accelerated for higher cognitive functions.
Current scans detail a steady rate of development with less that two percent chance for unexpected deterioration. Alterations and modifications have been successfully assimilated by the genetic material and is now being acted upon as if they were the original coding. All modifications have been thoroughly checked over for instability but show no signs of deconstruction. If development continues uninterrupted, the subject should be capable of independent existence in five to six months.
I do believe I've finally done it. After four exhausting years of research, two tedious years of experimentation, and six failed variations, I've finally done it. Merlin, save me, I've really done it!
She's coming.
She's viable.
And she's a girl!
After so many boys, at long last, a girl!
One would would have thought that from six separate conceptions there would have been at least one or two females thrown in but of course, my darling husband had to be ideal nobleman and begot me only sons. I took care of them as soon their magic gave them away, of course, but I was beginning to get rather exasperated with him. I have no problem with giving him sons but I will have a daughter for a first-born if I have anything to say about it.
It's gotten very frustrating for me to go through all those potions, and spells, and rituals to assure my child will be exactly as I want only to discover later on that either certain potions reacted badly with each other and resulted in an abnormality, or the child was growing into a boy, completely destroying the point of the unparalleled beauty I was attempting to ensure. I felt like ripping my hair out! I actually dosed Leo with Hippolyta's Revenge the last time we laid together to assure that this time, I'll be getting my girl. Hippolyta's was primarily used back in the time of Zeus and his fellow Greek sorcerers by the Amazonian queens but it's just as effective now as it was then.
I truly can't begin to express how . . . euphoric I feel at the moment. All the experiments — of the η sequence at least — are finally coming to a close and I am on the edge of gaining my masterpiece. No more brewing of volatile potions, no more runes stones pressed to my belly, no more memorizing chants! Finally! My vision is nigh!
I've wanted my treasure since I first heard the tale about the hag, Sophia, and her step-daughter, Snow. Hair as black as ebony, skin as pale as snow, and lips as red as fresh blood; Snow's mother had the right idea. Not the usual style I'd use — I lean more to a livelier skin tone with less dramatic colouring — but magnificent when done properly. Who wouldn't want such beauty for their daughter? And now I'm finally going to have her, my precious little treasure. The last scan for the magical signature showed that she's definitely a girl.
Lucky number seven.
How curious that seven should be such prominent number in this situation. Experiment 217: G-η7. Two hundred-seventeen is divisible by seven, G is the seventh letter in the English alphabet, and η is the seventh letter in the Greek alphabet. Very curious indeed. Quite the coincidence.
Leonardo doesn't know, of course. He's not the type of man to care about heirs, he's always so caught up with his research, just like he always was back in school. I'm actually rather glad he's never cared much about this sort of thing or else he might have been concerned when none of our couplings resulted in a child for him. I feel a smidgen guilty about the boys but I don't have any use for a son at the moment and a pretty son would be doubly useless. In any case, I'm sure Leo will be delighted with the angel I'll bestow upon our family and the pride she will bring us.
She'll be far more perfect than my sister's daughter, that's for sure. Apolline was all a-flutter when she found out her child was a girl, and halfling as well. Finally, I'll have something far better than Apolline ever will. Let's just see her try and top this genius bit of — what do the muggles call it, again? — genetic engineering. My sweetie will be incomparable on top of being a halfling and won't that just shut up all those relatives that thought my sister so much better than me? Fleur is very pretty and proving to be talented but she'll have little in comparison with my darling masterpiece. Other children will seem like pale caricatures when compared to her.
She'll be perfect in every way. I'll make sure of it.
Oh, what shall I name her? Elise? Adelaide? Hartford? Blaine? Faustine? Claudette? It must be distinguished and tasteful. Perhaps I'll ask Leo about it when I tell him that I'm pregnant.
Oh, I just can't wait!
The Right Honourable Countess of Hautmont,
Lady Diane Potter
August 13, 1981
Just got back from Apolline's. Late birthday presents were received and all was well. The house was secure and no one besides the family even knew we were there, even the housekeeper was given the day off because we were coming.
The girls are getting along famously. Fleur is officially the favourite cousin. I've never seen Harrington get along so well with anyone, but then I suppose I haven't really given her many chances to have playmates. James and Lily's boy, Jacob, is an easily accessible friend, especially since we're all still holed up in the manor together but a girl needs some girl friends. Jake's a sweetheart and such a little dear — those hazel cow-eyes! — but he just doesn't have the proper plumbing.
I'm now completely positive the brain-growth acceleration prenatal potion I took during the last second trimester was a success. Not only has Harrington kept up easily with Fleur, but the tests I've run on my darling shows that she is running on the mental equivalent of a three or four year old and that she started actively remembering things even before birth. I wonder if that means I've manufactured genius? I did wonder how she was potty-trained so quickly. I should look into teaching her to read and write soon. If I bring her around Apolline's little girl often enough, I could have her fluent in both English and French as well!
They were just so cute together today. As Harrington's already been speaking for a couple of months now, we were teaching them to sing Alouette.
Alouette, gentille Alouette, (Little lark, nice little lark,)
Alouette, je te plumarai. (Little lark, I will pluck you.)
Je te plumarai la tête (I will pluck your head,)
Je te plumarai la tête (I will pluck your head.)
et la tête (and your head)
et la tête (and your head)
Alouette (Little lark)
Alouette (Little lark)
O-o-o-oh!
And it would continue on with mentions of plucking beaks, eyes, wings and tails. I always felt the song was a tab blood-thirsty, especially considering what we are but the girls seem to enjoy it even though Fleur seemed to share my opinion.
"Plucking wings?" she asked when she thought about what she was saying. "Who wrote such a mean song?"
"Larks are noisy things in the morning," Apolline had reasoned. "No doubt it was someone fed up with their racket and was feeling very grumpy."
"Then why does Jamie like this song so much if it's for grumpy people?" Fleur replied, pointing at Harrington who was clapping and humming still. She has trouble pronouncing the "H" in Harrington so has recently resorted to using an abbreviated form of 'Jamison', my darling's middle name. "She sings it so happily, it's kind of scary."
Maybe when all this fighting clears up, we can form a girls' choir. Besides Fleur's need to question the music material, the girls seem to enjoy singing and Harrington would get to hone her skills and get her used to being on a stage. She'll be the most accomplished Lady ever known and really, who would want an untalented wife?
I wish this blasted war was over already and for that thrice damned Dark Lord to just drop dead already. How am I supposed to raise a healthy and happy heiress during all this violent nonsense? If everyone important is too busy fighting, how is my perfect little angel supposed to get the appreciation she deserves? Apolline's being such a dear about this, though. It's nice to know she won't allow us to become estranged even though the rest of the Potters and I have become major targets.
I do wish someone would tell be exactly why we're being targeted but everyone just tells me not to worry my little head about it whenever I ask. Even Leo, though that might be because he just doesn't like thinking anything about it. Despite what some may think, I'm not some air-headed twit with nothing below the surface; being talk down to in such a way infuriates me. I didn't graduate among the top of my class at Beauxbaton and marry well because I'm a fool.
That wife of James', that Lily, does quite a bit of talking down to me. Why, I don't know, since besides being clever with Charms and pretty in face, she's really has no talents; she can't sing, or dance, or paint, or play an instrument. Oh, she's sweet enough to your face and admonishes James whenever he's being a brute but if she thinks someone is below her – though I don't know how she could think that, knowing how common her birth was – she's not above sticking her nose up.
One would think she was the Lady of the House for all of the belittling she does of me. Give a muggleborn a Mastery and a well-paying job and suddenly they're sneering at us who were fortunate enough to be born into respectable families and had privileged upbringings. Isn't that called reverse-discrimination or something like that? Because they were not so lucky, they look down on us that were? That would be like me thinking I'm better than her because she's a muggleborn. Hypocrisy is what that is!
And I don't think I've better than her because she's muggleborn. I'm better because I'm more skilled and accomplished, I'm of a higher status, and I'm prettier than her; my birth is just a bonus. If we were something like horses or broomsticks, no one would feel obliged dispute my reasoning because it's politically correct to do so among people of their political leanings. I really don't know why people have to drag feelings into everything; the straight-out facts take you so much farther.
I'm getting off topic. My frustration at this situation is rubbing off on to other areas as well and making me more irritable than usual. I wish Lily would stop treating me like furniture with a face and I wish someone would tell me why we're being hunted. All this stress is terrible for my skin.
For all their secrecy, it's not as if I can't make an informed guess, what with James and his 'secret' vigilante group showing up at odd hours and whispering to each other when they think no one's listening – something about a prophecy and unknown powers – but I'd appreciate being given some hard facts so I can know what to expect.
Really now, what if that murdering madman of a Dark Lord has heard of my darling's unrivaled beauty and wants to spirit her away until she's old enough to be his consort? They shouldn't dismiss me so, a mother needs to know these things!
The Right Honourable Countess of Hautmont,
Lady Diane Potter
July 3, 1982
We're popping out for a bit to go shopping for birthday presents. How odd it is that Harrington and Jacob were born on the same day. It was as if little Jake knew I planned to have a Healer in to have Harrington extracted on the thirty- first and decided that it was a perfectly agreeable day for him as well. Little tyke rushed it a bit, what with him being born a few hours earlier, but I suppose it really did make everything more convenient for everyone now that they can share birthday parties. I must thank him for this properly when he's old enough to understand.
I'm not really sure why I'm writing this now instead of waiting until we get back so I can detail the things we bought but I had the queerest feeling that I should do it now. It's a sort of prickly feeling and now I simply can't leave without writing this down first. How very odd.
Maybe it's a premonition and it'll turn out that Harrington will find this diary while we're out today and read it, trying to find out what presents she'll be receiving.
If you're reading this, pet, you know better than to play about with Mother's things. Put the diary down and finish your German lessons. If you're done by the time we get back, you'll get a second slice of cake for dessert.
If I hear word about you playing with Jake on that broom again, I'll be very upset. Ladies do not indulge in such boisterous games, as I've told you several times before. Such unladylike behaviour could attract the attentions of undesirables! And you can be certain I'll be asking your Aunt Lily about it too! Don't be surprised if it turns out she 'tattled' on you. I'll be asking the moment we get home.
The Right Honourable Countess of Hautmont,
Lady Diane Potter
July 5, 1982
James Potter, now Regent of the Noble House of Potter, sat slumped in an armchair, weeping bitter tears for his recently killed brother and sister-in-law. Lily sat on the right arm of the chair, holding his head to her chest and stroking his hair, also immeasurably sorrowful.
"The just popped out to get presents," James said mindlessly, clutching at the sleeve of lily's blouse. "Just for a few minutes. Everything was already paid for and wrapped; they needed maybe five minutes at most, out in Diagon, before they could come back. It was supposed to be safe."
"I know, darling," Lily murmured, laying her head on his.
"They weren't even targets," James continued, starting to raise his voice. "They were disguised and the Death Eaters weren't even trying to kill anyone but that damned building still fell on them. It was an ACCIDENT!"
Lily shushed him and rubbed his back. "Not so loudly, James, the children are asleep!"
"And what about Harry!? Lily, what if Diane's family try to take her from us? What if they say she's not safe with us as take my niece from me as well? We can't lose little Harry as well!"
"James, James, it'll be okay. We won't let them take Harry. They won't be able to find us remember? We're still under Fidelius."
"They'll try!" James insisted, a crazed light in his eyes as he yanked his hair desperately. "You know they'll try! The way Diane described her family, I'm surprised they're not knocking on the door right now. We gotta do something, Lils, something that'll make sure they'll never — short of outright kidnapping her — be able to take Harry away from us! It would be like them trying to take Jake away!"
"Alright, alright," Lily soothed, her mind buzzing through possible ways to achieve what James wanted. "I'm sure there as several ways to do what you mean. We can look up adoption ceremonies. Don't worry so much, we won't lose her."
James sobbed. "I can't lose any more of my family, Lils."
The Daily Prophet
November 2, 1982
PETER PETTIGREW ARRESTED FOR THE MURDER OF RABASTAN LESTRANGE!
By Nadia Grimshaw
In a continuation of unbelievable events, it has come to air that Peter Pettigrew, former friend of the recently martyred Potters, was actually the one who betrayed their whereabouts to the Death Eaters, resulting in their death by You-Know-Who's own hand, just before their surviving son, Harry Potter, defeated You-Know-Who.
(Refer to the November 1st edition of the Daily Prophet to read more on the Boy-Who-Lived)
What his motives were can only be speculated on but afterward, in what we might assume a fit of insanity, instead of trying to avenge his master or going into hiding to evade the Aurors, Pettigrew went after Rabastan Lestrange, younger brother to Rudolphus Lestrange, a well-off businessman who was recently murdered by his insane wife.
(More on the murder of Lestrange on page 6)
Multiple Aurors gave their statements about what they witnessed at the crime scene.
"He [Pettigrew] was just standing there, laughing," said Junior Auror, John Dawlish. "Half the street was torn up straight down to the pipes the muggles have under their roads, and bodies were strewn everywhere. What could be found of Lestrange was a smear of soot on the side-walk with his fading signature on it. And the crazy bastard was just standing there, cackling, and saying, 'I killed them! It was me! I'll kill all you bastards too and I'll see you in Hell!'"
"I've no idea what Lestrange had in connection with Pettigrew," said Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "There was no known past history between them, not even back in their school days, when they both attended Hogwarts. We can only assume Pettigrew had gone insane, possibly the magical backlash of You-Know-Who's death utterly destroyed his mind, and his dysfunctional mind then came up with a perceived slight Lestrange committed against him. The only thing I've absolutely sure of is that Pettigrew is going to be locked up immediately for the rest of his natural life. His crimes are too vast for anything else."
(More on Pettigrew's arrest on page 5)
On a windy afternoon in early November, behind a shady willow tree in an empty park, a pair of witches, one an adult, the other a small child, appeared from nowhere with a sudden crack. The elder had a professional look on her face and after making sure the child was not dizzy or disoriented, led them at a comfortable pace down the street.
The neighbourhood could be described as posh. The houses were tall and well-kept with sizable front and backyards separated by well-groomed hedges. The street the pair were currently walking down was Anise Avenue in the suburb of Greater Whinging. Expensive cars were parked in the driveways and a few houses were spotted with children playing in the front yards. Their destination was two roads down and third from the corner, Number Six, Willow Way.
As they walked down the tidily kept side-walk, they received a few curious looks from some of the children playing outside, but they were readily overlooked, what with the people of this neighbourhood respecting privacy and generally being not very nosy. They ambled in comfortable and undisturbed silence.
"This is it," the older witch said, looking down at her smaller companion. "Are you ready?"
The little girl only nodded.
In sync, the pair walked up to the door of Number Six and the older woman grasped the knocker and knocked on the door three times. There was a moment of waiting before they heard, "Coming!" Not a minute later, a tall, thin woman with an equally thin face answered the door and looked curiously at them.
"Yes?" the thin woman asked. "Can I help you?"
"Mrs. Petunia Todd? I'm Cordelia Oglethorpe from Magical Child Welfare. I believe I called you yesterday about taking in your niece?"
Petunia Todd's face turned grim. "Yes, I remember." She gave the sombre girl beside Ms. Oglethorpe a speculative once-over before nodding at the pair. "Please, come in. My husband is home and I'm sure he'd like to hear the whole story as well, as I would again."