The White Peacock and his Panther
A/N: This story was invented by the crazy mind of my twelve year-old self. But it wasn't written until I was thirteen/fourteen. This explains the possible plot-holes I haven't filled, the poor pacing of the writing and the ever-so OOC canon characters. I have spent enough time however, to edit the storyline slightly so it fits more with Harry Potter lore (or whatever you call it.)
Not the greatest AU fanfiction, but the reason why it's AU is slightly more straightforward then others. Simply, Neville and his parents were killed by Voldemort instead of the Potters. There's tons of unexpected OC's, and for that I apologise. And sorry to all Americans for this, but American wizards are pure-blood bigots not associated with the global Wizarding community. I know real Americans aren't like that but it's a vital backbone of one character's background. Oh and btw, Voldy's still in power... the first war never ended at all... those poor muggle-borns.
Chapter One – The Blood of Antenociticus
It edged on midnight in a humid late July. The stifling heat of the day was eventually fading but the night lying stagnant kept the air uncomfortable and sticky. The sky was a deep aubergine hue with thick pink-grey clouds which concealed everything expect a few glinting stars. The clouds loomed over the Lancashire moorlands, which were lit only by the streetlamps and car lights far in the distance. The clouds cloaked over an infamous hill that brooded on the hilly landscape, Pendle Hill. In a day with no haze, it clearly lay in melancholy scarred by the ancient stone walls of fields, the harsh yellow grasses that thrived upon the hill, the dull lilac of heather and the rough black stone faces of the imposing hill.
Far in rural Lancashire sat a large flag stone house. Long ago, it was constructed to rear cattle in the frosty winters of England. But one dank November day, in the eighteen century, the pure-blooded Diamant family stole the old barn from the feeble and aged farmer, feeling no remorse as the old man starved to death afterwards. As the years rolled by, the Diamant family neglected their holiday home in the moors as they immigrated to America to avoid their blood-purist views being criticised. The house aged as the Diamants abandoned it. It was not until the twentieth century that a Diamant or any person returned to the place and called it home.
The evidence of the family remained in the house, paintings and photographs of past distant memories. Memories echoed within the cold stone walls, unhappy memories. The floors and panelled walls were probably recently polished as the stench of wood polish fumes still fervently remained in the air. The stone fireplace in the living room was grand and wide but neglected and unused. It was late so the family should have been in slumber. But they weren't.
Up the mahogany stairs was a girl in the hallway. She was around fifteen and holding a dying flickering candle to be a beacon through the dark. Behind her, a dreamy boy around seven trailed behind her appearing to be more interested in the flowing train of her white nightgown than her.
The girl solemnly commented, "Mum isn't back, I bet she's still there..."
The little boy suddenly looked at the girl and curiously asked, "What's there, Desdemona?"
The teenager Desdemona replied with a hint of anger in her voice, "You know what I mean, Antenociticus."
"Oh..." The boy Antenociticus realised but his questioning continued, "So is mum still being tortured by the Dark Lord?"
"Yes, Ant. I think so anyway." Desdemona paused in thought, "But she might be still at the Department of Mysteries doing late-night research. She used to do it all the time before you were born..." After she uttered this, she gave a slight uneasy wince of her eyes, she realised she mentioned something that she shouldn't of mentioned to her little brother.
As Desdemona' foot touched the first step downstairs, Antenociticus suggested, "Shouldn't we wait for mum downstairs?"
Desdemona turned to face her brother, "What do you think I'm doing, Ant?"
"Oh..." He mumbled as he continued to follow his older sister down the carpeted stairs. His pale blue eyes focused on the patterns on the silk rug that trailed down the stairs, stuck to the stairs by magical bonds. There were oriental flowers, blossom trees and dragons flowing across the rug. In a swirl of gold, scarlet, crimson and pale cream. His eyes didn't see as his big sister leaped down the half of the steps in one jump. But his ears picked up on the distinct thud her dainty feet made as they hit the wooden floor of the living room.
"Stop doing that. It freaks me out..." Antenociticus whined.
Desdemona scoffed, "What's wrong with a little bit of magic?"
Antenociticus had no reply, so he continued in silence to cautiously step down the stairs.
He eventually made it down the stairs, greeted by his annoyed sister with her arms tightly folded.
"Finally..." She quietly sighed as she walked down the long living room, her feet dragging across the oak floor.
Her eyes gazed out of the window, hoping to see her mother to come at any second soon. The silence of the room was disrupted by the loud hypnotic ticking of the grandfather clock placed against the wall.
Antenociticus' dishwater blue eyes turned towards the fireplace and the many pictures surrounding it. His eyes narrowed at the picture of the whole family before his father died. In the family portrait, Severus was glaring at his dreamy mother with his dark eyes in a kind of venom he had never witnessed before. His older sister still sat on the chair, frowning and her arms crossed as always. He sat on a high stool, only a toddler, but still his eyes looked detached and deep in a daydream.
His memory of why his parents grew to hate each other was lacking vital detail. But he distinctly remembered it had something to do with him. But the family denied that it was his fault and blamed one another. His mother blamed his father, and his father blamed his mother. And his sister Desdemona, blamed both of them.
Since his father died, it was never discussed again. Mainly due to the fact he rarely saw his mother as she slaved away for Voldemort and his sister was always away at Hogwarts or her attic bedroom. Whenever he asked his sister about the reasons, her expression froze and saddened and she uttered nothing, not even a single hint of why their parents detested one another.
Desdemona's sea-green eyes stared at the grandfather clock. Both the cast iron hands were narrowing upon midnight. She shuffled on her feet with her face becoming more distressed at each 'ticking' of the clock.
Antenociticus suddenly blinked. His head felt odd for a second, dizzy, light and disorientated... he wondered what it was. "Mona...?" He asked in a nasally voice.
"What?" Growled Mona as she turned to face her brother. She gasped at what she saw.
"What the hell happened to your nose, Ant?" Desdemona said looking at his nose in upmost confusion.
Antenociticus' shaky hand felt his nose. Once its profile was aquiline and bumpy but suddenly it was smooth and straight.
"Whaa...?" Antenociticus uttered, his hand continuing to stroke his nose, wishing it to turn back to normal.
"Look in the mirror for goodness sake!" Desdemona harshly spat as she aggressively turned her brother to the cracked mirror on the far wall.
Antenociticus blinked at his changed reflection. His lanky seven-year-old build remained. His face, even though only one feature changed, looked completely different. His face became far too familiar, like another man's but not his father's.
His mouth gaped, he couldn't believe it, "I think I realize why mum and dad hated each other."
"Why…?" Desdemona asked, trying to squeeze an answer out of her brother.
"I… I can't believe it." Antenociticus' eyes blinked furiously at his reflection, "He's not my dad, is he?"
"Who's not your dad, Ant?" She questioned, raising her black arched eyebrows.
"Your dad…" He continued, "You know that black greasy thing that lived with you for eleven years."
"Oh you mean the greasy git whom's genes I unluckily inherited..." She dryly joked.
"Yes." Antenociticus seriously stated
"Oh." Desdemona replied.
"Well, you're very shocked aren't you?" Antenociticus sardonically responded.
"I always knew our mum was a bit of a slag."
"You shouldn't call her that!" Antenociticus defensively growled. "Wait a minute…. How did you know?"
"I'm a smart girl, Ant." Desdemona told her brother, her arms folding again.
Antenociticus looked up at his sister, "Did dad know he was my father?"
"Of course he did." She chuckled as if it was a ridiculous question, "We both knew you were a Black not a Snape."
