A few things about my OC - Her names (both first name and surname) are latin and they mean, Alleta - she who has wings, and Cera - a fiery person. She has brown hair that is a dark blonde on top and brown eyes. She's taller than average for a girl - 175cm (about 5'8 I think). She's also half-British half-Brazilian.
If you have any more questions then please feel free to ask!
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.
I do, however, own my OC, Alleta Cera.
~Raven's Shadow~
Prologue
Alleta was just a bit of a wallflower. A half-blood and therefore not targeted or involved in any pureblood politics, reasonably plain looking and not from a known or significant family, grades that were quite above average but not nearly in the top ten, no, and not particularly social to the point that she was known but not so antisocial she was known for her lone-wolf tendencies. Yes, the only striking thing about Alleta Cera was that she was a Hatstall, and one of the longest ones ever recorded. Oh! And her name, too, of course.
At least in her opinion.
She personally thought that she blended quite well into the background. Never got into trouble, only put her hand up when she knew the answer if no one else took the initiative…
Never been involved in any drama or been in a messy teenage relationship.
In any case, if there was one thing to be said about Alleta Cera, it was that she was strong. She had a strong character - seemingly unshakable - and was a little buffer than other girls, with her bigger height and firm shoulders. She was indubitably female, though, with the obvious dip of her waist and significant curve of her hip and thigh. This, however, did not mean that her more solid composition did not haunt her through her teenage years. The good qualities are always overlooked whenever she looks in a mirror.
Just like any other girl.
(She would've been wonderful at quidditch if she hadn't bothered with silly insecurities.)
The biggest problem she seems to have is to break the safety and tranquillity of living in the backstage to do what she believes is right, or at least morally so.
You see, Alleta Cera was in the same year as the famous - or was it infamous? - Boy-Who-Lived, Mr Harry James Potter himself.
Alleta was quite proud of her observational skills and was avidly against believing gossip (not that listening to it isn't useful, oh no, the contrary, she just refused to let badly-thought-out-and-envious-words-that-were-spouted-left-and-right sway her opinions unless she had concrete proof they weren't false). This meant, of course, that her hesitance and dislike for spotlight warred with her morals when it came to the green-eyed hero. Especially during those particularly tense periods of wild rumours throughout the years.
So what did she do?
Alleta stood back and slipped in where she'd be unnoticed - just a few notes here and there or helpful tips or reassuring words scrawled on parchment to hopefully make it easier for him to get through the day.
She wouldn't be surprised, however, if Potter hadn't thought twice about her. Or the torn pieces of paper. He'd probably thought it was Granger or something.
(She was wrong.)
During their fourth year, when Harry was all on his own - Hermione was head-deep in textbooks, trying to find ways to help him, ironically - and his whole school had pitted against him, he'd found a slip of neatly folded parchment in the pockets of his robes.
After staring at it, still unopened, wondering who put it there and how he hadn't noticed, the messy haired boy unfolded it cautiously (in case someone decided they wanted to hex or jinx him or something).
I believe you.
Three simple words and they released some of the steadily creeping stress and unhappiness that'd begun to harden the line of Harry's shoulders and flatten the lines of his mouth.
Part of him wanted to seek this person out immediately. To thank them with emotional, relieved green eyes and maybe even express how much it meant with a hug.
But Harry understood.
Whomever this was, they knew that if they were seen being friendly or chummy or even speaking civilly with him, they'd have to face the wrath of the whole school, too.
And he wouldn't wish that on anyone.
(Not even Malfoy, that smarmy git.)
Harry soon forgot the little note, what with fighting dragons and screeching eggs and the looming threat of not being prepared for the second task.
But just a few days after the bath in the Prefect's Bathroom, he got a second one.
Listen to it underwater.
Of course, he'd already figured it out (well, he hadn't, but that's not the point), but the fact that this person - they'd found out what had to be done and they'd tried to help him.
Was it wrong that Harry felt a bit of warmth spread from his heart?
Gratitude.
(At the back of his mind he faintly registered that the mystery person had to be reasonably intelligent, at least, if they could decode the screeching and send notes out unnoticed by even Hermione.)
(...Just something I noticed, Harry tells himself. I'm not interested in knowing who it is.)
Just before the Final Task, he got another little scrap of parchment.
Good luck and don't let your guard down.
Harry rolled his shoulders to try to relieve some of the stiffness her felt there from the anticipation. He faintly notes and filed away the fact that this was the longest note he'd received so far.
With a sigh, he stashed the little yet so, so significant thing where he'd kept the other two - a little pocket on the inner lining of his trunk.
Well, Harry thought, it'll be over after this.
He closed his eyes and after a moment of settling his thoughts, they blinked open again and he made his way to what used to be the Quidditch Pitch.
When Alleta saw his shaking, crumpled body over Cedric Diggory's own limp, unnaturally pale one, she understood the situation in a second.
Bloody hell, Diggory's dead -
And when Harry shouted one thing or the other about Vol-the-fucking-mort and how he's back…
- and Potter watched him die.
When Harry lay in the hard white bed in the Hospital Wing, alone for just a second and knowing no one would believe him, a scratchy flutter - paper? - forced his attention away from thoughts that could hardly go any further downhill.
I still believe you, Harry Potter. Don't forget that you have support.
The boy sagged, and he could barely hold back a sob from ripping out his throat as tears welled in his eyes. Harry broke down like he'd done in Mrs Weasley's arms not too long ago.
Their Fifth Year Harry received three notes in total. The first one came when he'd been clutching his head yet again from the combined headache of Snape's Occlumency batterings and the Toad's squeaky, infuriating voice. His hand was throbbing.
And then Harry noticed a slip of the everyday yellow parchment peeking out of his pocket.
Try meditating and feeling for magic. It helps with situational awareness and will calm down headaches. Trust me.
Harry grinned weakly, They sound like Hermione.
(His headache was gone.)
(Next time he saw Snape, the Protego Harry cast was a defensive reflex, and they never had an Occlumency 'Lesson' again.)
The other two came later, one before his O.W.L.S. - a simple 'Good luck.' It was shaky, and the thin fashionably stretched handwriting that was somehow always so sure and reassuring felt… nervous.
Harry paused, I wonder if she's taking her O.W.L.S. too, then? He felt momentarily giddy at the prospect of the Mystery Writer being in his year.
But then he remembered there were students taking their N.E.W.T.s, too.
And finally, as Harry (once again) lay in the hospital wing, but this time bubbling with fury and such negative emotions he felt tainted somehow and he just wanted to cry and shout and scream then sob until he couldn't breathe -
A flutter disturbed the whirlwind of emotions inside him.
He almost burned the note.
I've lost family, too. It's okay to cry.
And Harry Potter broke down once more, a Sirius-sized hole in his heart.
"Leta?"
"Yeah, Monika?"
"Is...everything okay?" Alleta's best friend asked, hesitant. There was a moment of thoughtful silence.
"I don't know, Monika. I don't know." Alleta felt lost, and it put an emotional, thick lump in her throat that threatened to suffocate her.
Monika's ice blue eyes softened, "Well, I'm here. Tell me how I can help." She stepped over their piles of books and notes to hug her friend tightly.
"I...I don't think you can." Alleta said, and she sagged, exhausted and completely drained, into Monika's embrace. Her brown eyes were downcast. "It's something that can only get better with time, I think. I hope."
Her best friend sighed, "Well, I'll still be here if it doesn't and I'll smack it away, too. So cheer up! We can go down to the kitchens and guilt trip the house elves into giving us some pastries!"
Alleta laughed at Monika's words. "Mmm...I suppose I'm up for some chocolate…" She replied, grinning wide.
Her friend scoffed, "You always are."
(Harry was becoming obsessed with Malfoy. Alleta just knew it wouldn't end well.)
(She was right.)
Harry only realised he'd gotten no notes Sixth Year until he did get one, right at the very end when he was changing into his muggle clothes on the Orient Express. The whole ride was the Golden Trio either in solemn silence at what they were planning to do, or Ron cracking a joke to try to lighten them up. They laughed a little.
Stay safe.
(As long as the others were, too.)
Alleta Cera is twenty-four when she hears snippets of something that couldn't possibly be true.
"-divorce after so long-"
"-been together for-"
"-were the perfect couple-"
"-loved each other? I mean-"
"-can't believe Weasley-"
"-poor Potter-"
The Head Healer of the Emergency and Aiding Sector at St Mungo's Hospital for Witches and Wizards gaped at what she was still struggling to wrap her head around.
"What on earth?!"
On the front cover of the most frequent edition of the Daily Prophet was a very, very unexpected title.
STAR COUPLE GINEVRA WEASLEY AND HARRY POTTER FILE FOR A DIVORCE.
But...not surprising, now that she thinks of it.
(And this is where our story starts...nearly.)
Thank you for reading! Please don't feel shy about leaving a review and tell me what you think!