Given

Prologue: Life, Love and Anger

Tell me if you've heard this story.

There was once a beautiful woman and her beloved husband. They were kind and compassionate people, who believed in justice and stood up for the weak. Beloved by many, they worked under the tutelage of one of the greatest wizards ever known. Bastions of the light.

However, they became the target of a wicked dark sorcerer who wanted to claim the entire world as his. They fought bravely, but in time they were betrayed by one they believed to be one of their closest friends. Still, they sacrificed their lives for the sake of their children, and it was this sacrifice that destroyed the evil that had been believed to be invincible.

Pretty cut and dry, right? You've probably heard it many times. I had, certainly. And while, as most things, it was a bit more complicated then that, the heart of the story was true. In a twisted way, I think it's supposed to be inspiring. Despite dying at an early age over something as petty as the supposed purity of blood, the man and woman had shown courage and love that all should stride to possess.

What these tales tend not to mention is what happens afterwards. Even if there is another story, the inbetween gets left out – ever noticed that? They never really talk about what happened to the kids, the friends, and the world after the death.

I suppose when you're telling the story to your kids, you don't want to tell them that things didn't really change despite the weight of the two brave heroes and their deaths. At least, things didn't change immediately. You definitely don't want to tell them the 'greatest wizard' isn't all that great, the mistakes made in the aftermath, etc.

Truth can hurt. Sometimes it's better not to tell everything straight, but I'm going to anyway. Party its because I can't see myself coping any other way, but it's also because I think people need to take it straight if they're ever going to change for the better...for good.

My name is Cassie Lily Potter. This is the story of me and my brother.

-Given-

People always talked about how wonderful it would be to wake up after dying in your favourite story.

To me, it was a particularly sick joke.

I was born in the year 1978. From all accounts that I can remember, it was an easy birth. It all happened in the safety of St Mugos; the father was delighted (though he had been hoping for a boy), the godfather was laughing and wanted to hold me next, the mother sweaty and exhausted.

My first memories were blurry and unclear; I could hear voices but not make out their exact words. While you might find this odd, I assure you it's not normal for wizard children either.

It's strange that I was fully conscious and aware of my surroundings during my infancy.

It was because I could still remember another life. A life before witches and dragons and monsters, a life before politics and dementors and dark lords. A life where the entire world that now surrounded me had just been a bunch of books sitting on my desk at home.

A book series, a movie series, a video game series, not to mention all the fan stories, something that was discussed, gushed over and derided in equal measure.

It was frightening, at first – in retrospect, I was glad that I was a baby in those moments. No one blinked an eye over a newborn crying often and frequently. I didn't understand what had happened to me.

My last clear memory was the accident I had been in. A derailed train, while I was making a rudimentary journey from the library to my home. I never found out what caused it. The lights flickering, everyone screaming and trying to hold onto one another as we careened off the tracks and into the side tunnel.

The worst part of that memory was the moment when I died – crushed under thousands of tons of rock and steel.

The next time someone laughs about my claustrophobia, I'll be putting that memory in a pensive and forcing them to experience it. See if they'd still be laughing.

After the death – after being crushed, torn away from my body – everything was dark. I hung in blackness, not knowing when or where or why but still aware of my existence. Just thinking about that void gave me chills. Something had stopped me from passing on; whatever it was I couldn't imagine. All I could see was the nothingness.

Then...after what felt like an eternity...suddenly there was warmth. Security. Laughter all around me.

I was ripped out of the darkness, abruptly thrust back into the world. I cried in confusion and bewilderment and all those mixed emotions I had felt after my death when I realized I was being cradled by someone, someone who was cooing and whispering to me.

It was frightening to realize that I couldn't really stop crying. I was too young to have much power of my body's impulses. Going from being free-walking and atonomous to helpless in a blink didn't give me much incentive to try and force the issue either. So on instinct I snuggled close to the person holding me, trying to bury my head in her shoulder.

She had lovely soft red hair. Maybe that should have been a clue, but I was too dazed and lost in my new infancy to really take it in.

Months past.

Terrifying, humiliating months.

Being an infant completely dependant on the parents, unable to walk, talk or even go to the bathroom on my own power was devastating, especially since I possessed all the memories and rampant emotions of a seventeen year old girl. I still wasn't sure where I was or what was going on, so the helplessness fed into the fear I was still experiencing.

Surprisingly, I managed to keep my wits about me. How, I'm still not sure. As my eyes and ears developed back into being able to hear and understand people properly, I lay and waited and learned.

My name was the most shocking and heart-stopping event I registered, though it would be far from my last. The first time I heard it, I detected a British accent. Given that I had never set foot in Britain before, I found this significantly interesting enough that I didn't immediately register my name.

But when it was repeated, I was smashed over the head with the fact that I wasn't in Kansas anymore.

Cassie Dorea Potter.

Potter.

Harry Potter.

My reaction to this when it did finally seek in was to wail as loudly as my still-developing lungs would allow me, much to the alarm of the new parents. I was quickly plucked out of my crib and lavished with affection, a milk bottle quickly pushed past my lips.

At least the fact that the world around me was tangible convinced me I wasn't insane. Sure, that had seemed to be the unquestionable result at first, but once I grew in closer contact with the world and the parents I eventually decided that the world was too set, to consistent, to clearly defined to be the hallucinations of a broken-down mind.

Granted this could be a dream, given the possibility that the crash hadn't managed to kill me, just put me in a deep coma, but I still felt I had too much agency for this to be a fabrication. Whenever I dreamed, I was always almost incapable of any movement be it running or walking, and there was a sluggishness to the world that tipped me off to the fact that this might not be reality.

Here, everything was lucid and I could move, albeit only as much as any barely-a-year-old baby could.

Once I had made a definitive decision regarding my sanity, I returned my attention to my name.

My name and all it implied.

Potter.

Daughter of Lily and James Potter.

I had seen them in the flesh, now that I could recognize and store my memory of them. Lily was always smiling, though there was a tiredness and fierceness in her green eyes that I had no familiarity with. James was a man with the laughter of a dog; it always seemed to come out of him in barks. It was strange, I had expected that to be Sirius's line.

Yes, I ended up seeing him too. It had only happened a few times – Sirius, Remus and Pettigrew would come over to the house, always in a group, to see their best friend. Or James would simply bring them home from an Order meeting, and they would all crash on the couch while Lily cooked the meal and rolled her eyes at their antics.

I was standing in my cradle the first time I saw them. Peter Pettigrew walked in with James, who was eager to introduce us.

My reaction was rather petty, I confess. I immediately shrank away from him and made myself cry, so James would shuffle the man away with awkward apologies. No matter how many times he came over, I refused to allow him to hold me or play games with me. Lily scolded me gently over it, chalking it up to shyness in the end. And I was willing to role with that, even if that wasn't the whole reason.

But to me, Peter was utterly synonymous with one word – Traitor.

He would prove not to disappoint me in the future.

Though in the end I wasn't right about everyone, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

-Given-

Harry came into the world not long after me.

I don't know at what point I decided to accept my new situation, but Harry arriving in the world cemented what I was in store for. Lily had carried him into my nursery room, her eyes glowing.

"Cassie, look. This is your little brother."

I eyed Harry for a long minute. He looked almost the same as he did in the movies, though his body frame was narrower and more pale then Daniel Radcliff. Eventually I reached out with a small hand and batted at him, causing Lily to laugh and gently withdraw him.

"'Arry!" I protested. At least I sounded like a baby.

"He can't talk just yet, sweetie," Lily said soothingly. "But he will soon." Gently she placed him in his seperate cradle and gave me an intense look. "Promise me you'll take care of him, Cassie? You are the older sibling, after all."

I stared back into those deep green eyes for a moment. All sorts of horrors and dangers flew past my head – the troll, the cerberus, Voldemort, Crouch JR, The Death Eaters, Umbridge, all of it – I imagined it happening, not just as pages on a book but to my brother, my little brother who was now lying sound asleep in the cradle next to me.

I loath to admit it, but I wanted to cry and say that wasn't fair. How could I protect him from all those things? That's what she was for, her and James, our mother and father.

But I didn't say any of those things. I said, "Kay, mama."

Lily smiled and kissed me on the forehead. "You have a big heart, Cassie," She cooed. "Once daddy gets home, we'll all play together."

I smiled at that – playing with both the parents usually meant magic – but there was a cold feeling in my chest.

I was afraid I had made a promise I couldn't keep.

-Given-

If there was one thing about this world that didn't make me quake with fear or anxiety, it was the magic.

Yes, if there was anything that could wash away my fears of the impending prophecy, the war going on outside my bedroom window, the fact that I had died, it was magic.

I can't describe the amazement I felt when I saw Lily transfigure something for the first time. It was just a simple thing, a brightly coloured cap into a toy bird. I could hardly believe my eyes!

The first burst of accidental magic of mine was equally enthralling, even though it was making the teapot explode when Dumbledore had come to visit. The fact that it had taken nearly an hour to sink in, it meant that I had superpowers.

Laugh it up, but I couldn't see any other way to describe having magic. Especially once you consider the implications (which I tended to do in all situations, thanks to a persistent anxiety disorder). An adult witch could make the laws of physics their bitch, laugh in the face of science, and – the thing I found most appealing – they could turn into animals!

The beauty of magic really stuck out to me there. It wasn't just some tedious or frightening responsibility, as it was often portrayed in books, comics or movies. It was a gift, something I could use to make my life easy or explore the world in ways that I would never be able to without it.

-Given-

Voldemort came for us.

This shouldn't be a surprise.

I had – to my limited ability as a two year old – tried to warn my mother and father about Pettigrew's impending betrayal. Nothing had worked.

I heard him kill James and saw him kill Lily. I heard her begging for our lives and her final scream when she was killed.

I saw him try to kill Harry. My birthday was in March instead of July, so I suppose the prophecy couldn't have referred to me even if I wanted it to. I saw the curse backfire and his body brutally disintegrate into ash.

I held Harry and cried until we were found by Hagrid and Sirius.

I tried to get Sirius to take us, damn what Dumbledore thought. I held his hand and pleaded. He wanted to take us – I could see that he did. But Hagrid said that Dumbledore told him to move us, and who argues with Dumbledore?

I cried, again, when Sirius left. He looked desperately sorry and angry, and I knew he was looking for Pettigrew. Oh Sirius, don't, please. Harry needs you. I need you.

But I was two years old. I couldn't say any of those things.

So Hagrid took us to the Dursleys, at Number 4 Privet Drive.

Or, as I preferred to call it, Hell.

End Chapter

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