So, yeah, just gonna go ahead and start posting again. This here is the victor of the poll I put up a while back — by a single vote, but still. I'll be posting the first two chapters at once. I might have more to say at the end of today's posts, but I won't do my babble here.
All right, here we go.
Hazel Potter ran. She didn't know what she'd been thinking.
Dudley's gang had been doing what they usually did: teasing and beating on kids smaller than them. Hazel had been doing what she usually did: hiding somewhere unseen or inaccessible. This time, she'd been high up in a tree at the edge of the schoolyard, which had the advantage of being not out of bounds, so she wouldn't get in trouble with the teachers later, within sight, so Dudley's gang wouldn't feel the need to take their inability to find her out on her later, and somewhere they couldn't get to without risking her stomping on their hands as they climbed. She'd actually done that before, a previous day, to prove the point.
She'd been waiting out the lunch break, looking forward to the relative safety of the classroom. When she'd noticed Dudley's gang were starting in on a new target. It'd taken a second for Hazel to recognise her, a girl in their year; she knew her from the long blonde plait of hair. Honestly, she didn't even remember her name. She just knew she wasn't mean to her. Most of the other kids, they avoided her at best, or teased her (verbally, for the most part) at worst — Dudley had a habit of retaliating against people who were nice to her. She didn't blame them, no one wanted to get hit. This girl was one of the few who were nice anyway. She didn't go out of her way, so much, that would be risky. But she'd smiled at her a couple times. Once, a couple weeks ago, when she'd "forgotten" to bring her lunch, she'd given Hazel her apple. She was nice.
Before she'd even realised what she'd been doing, her feet had already been on the ground, a chunk of bark already winging across the air toward Dudley's head, the traces of mouldering wood on her hand telling herself, yes, she had been the one to throw that.
Hazel was running, away from the girl, all the other kids, Dudley's gang pounding at her heels. She ducked around the corner of the building, darting through the little alley between class hall and cafeteria. She had maybe a couple seconds. She planted her foot on a low ledge in the wall, tried to push herself up, but her knees faltered. She stumbled back down to ground level, nearly running headfirst into the dumpster in front of her she'd been meaning to jump and climb over. It blocked the end of the little alley entirely, she would have been able to get away if she'd gotten over quick, but they'd catch up now.
And she was so tired already. She had even been eating the last couple days — not a lot, sure, but when did she ever? She'd been eating enough that she wasn't constantly dizzy and weak like she sometimes got. But apparently not enough that she could run for more than a minute, not enough that she could climb just a little bit. She considered trying to climb up without the leaping start she'd planned on, but she knew it was pointless. Her breath was already coming hard and fast, her fingers were trembling so badly she didn't know if she could hold on. Dudley's gang would be here any second now. And she was trapped, out of sight of the teachers.
She felt like crying. She didn't let herself — crying was dangerous — but she felt like it. How could she be so stupid? The girl would have been fine! The teachers wouldn't have let it go too far, and it would have been over in a couple minutes! But now Dudley and his idiot friends were going to hurt her again. And then Dudley would tell Uncle Vernon, who'd also probably hurt her again, and lock her in the cupboard, deny her food for who knew how long this time. No one was going to help her. Not that anyone ever did. And it was all her fault this time. Not that she was convinced it was ever anything but.
She needed to get out of here. She needed help. But then, nobody ever helped her, did they? When the Dursleys had abruptly gotten worse halfway through year one — they hadn't liked her getting better marks than Dudley — she'd tried to do something about it. She'd tried telling the teachers what was going on, but she'd been too scared to be too direct, and nothing had come of it. She'd told a couple kids, hoping they'd tell their parents who would then tell the right people, but they hadn't believed her, and soon stopped talking to her anyway. When they'd learned in school how the post worked, she'd even sent a letter to the police. She didn't know what had come of that, but considering Vernon had hurt her, then set very strict rules about exactly what she was and wasn't to tell other people, it clearly hadn't done any good. Nobody ever helped her.
But she couldn't help begging in her head, pleading, praying. She needed help.
She jumped at the sound of approaching footsteps, her heart leaping into—
...
The world snapped back into focus, suddenly enough she fell to her hands and knees. She looked around, blinking to herself in confusion.
She was on the roof of the cafeteria.
How... How had she gotten up here? She didn't remember...
She just got more confused, looking at the roof just in front of her. It wasn't all the same solid black colour. Part of it was stained a deep, vibrant green. Colour shaped into what were clearly letters. She lifted her hands, revealing the whole word. Tonight.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the...message? What was happening? Had someone saved her? Plucked her out of the alley and put her up here? Told her they would...meet? Tonight?
She wasn't sure if she should be thrilled or terrified.
She blinked, and the message was gone.
She felt like crying, but she didn't let herself. Crying was dangerous.
Vernon had been told about the appearing-on-the-roof incident, and he hadn't been happy. But he'd gone rather light on her, actually. Sure, he'd dragged her into her cupboard pretty roughly — her arm burned from wrist to shoulder, extra stinging a little worse in a couple places. And she'd be locked in here, excluding when she had to go to school, for some weeks. And she'd likely not be eating for a couple days. But he hadn't really hit her at all. Could have been much worse.
But still she felt like crying. She always did, in the first hour or so after the cupboard door was slammed and locked. When her isolation was so fresh, the loneliness so much more acute.
She had no idea how long she lay in her bed, trying not to cry.
...
She blinked. She was sitting up, her back against the side wall, legs folded on her bed. Spread across her lap was one of her scraggy old notebooks, a mangled pen in her fingers. It was dark in her room, but not so dark she couldn't read.
Hello, Hazel. I'm sorry.
Just that. It wasn't in her handwriting. It looked like a grown-up's, all smooth and regular, curved and loopy enough she had the impression it was a woman's. But...had she just written that? She couldn't write nearly that pretty.
She had absolutely no idea what was happening.
But, since she had nothing better to do, she decided to write back. Tongue slipping between her lips — it was really awkward writing legibly in this position, doing homework was impossible half the time — she wrote a response on the line under the mystery message. Who are you? What are you sorry for?
It was the strangest thing. The instant she pulled her hand away, everything flickered, for only an instant. Like the momentary darkness of a blink, but slightly...different. Like her whole body, her whole brain, all of it blinked, not just her eyes. When she focused again, words had appeared on the page under hers, again in that unfamiliar handwriting. I'm sorry it took so long for me to wake up. Your mother sent me to protect you. But I was asleep until about a month ago. I've only worked out how to help today.
Hazel frowned down at the page. Her mother had sent... Erm, she was going to think of whoever this was as a she, since the handwriting was girly enough to be. Her mother had sent her? And what was she? How was she writing to her like this? This was weird. Maybe she really shouldn't—
She suddenly got a very strange suspicion. Whoever-it-was said she'd only worked out how to help today. Today, when she'd somehow gone from the ground to the roof. A message saying tonight — and here she was, somehow communicating with...something. Had... The thought was so strange she could barely put it to words. Had someone saved her? Had someone actually done something to help her?
She had no idea what to think about that. But she might as well confirm if it was true or not first. Did you put me on the roof?
The world flickered again. Yes. I healed your arm, too. I had to wait until I was sure your mean relatives were done for the night first. I'm sorry.
It was only at that instant Hazel realised her arm didn't hurt anymore. She couldn't stop it. It was just too much. No one had ever helped her before. A light pressure rose from her chest into her throat, water gathered in her eyes. She wiped at her cheeks as tears slipped onto them, shaking her head to herself. Now wasn't the time. She had to figure out what was going on, but first she should be polite. She knew, for other people who weren't the Dursleys, politeness was important. She didn't want to make the only person to ever help her mad. Thank you very much. I really really apreshiate it.
Flicker. When she came back, she felt...warm. Like she was wrapped up in a tight, comfortable blanket, holding her snug, settled right in front of a fire. Warm and soft. The feeling faded after a moment, the warmth and the slight pressure that carried it slowly lifting away. She looked down at the newest message. You don't have to thank me, sweetheart. I have a lot to make up for. But it was very nice of you to say.
She hesitated for just a moment. She wasn't sure if what she wanted to ask was rude. If whoever-it-was would get mad. But she kind of had to know. Not had to, she guessed, but she probably should. Who are you?
The answer to that question is long and complicated. You'll understand soon, it'll just take a while to get there. There's a lot I have to tell you. If you need a break to get a snack or drink or use the toilet tell me.
Hazel frowned at that. She couldn't mean that, could she? I can't get out of the cubberd.
I can unlock it. Before you go to sleep tonight, we're going to go out at least once. We need to steal some money, to get you a real meal tomorrow.
A sudden thrill shot through Hazel, somewhere between ecstatic excitement and terror. On the one hand, she'd absolutely love to be able to get in and out of her cupboard as she wanted. She'd love to be able to get herself food and things without having to wait for her aunt and uncle to give the scraps they allowed. But on the other, she just knew she'd be punished horribly if they found her out and about, even more horribly if they discovered she was stealing from them. But, honestly, she wasn't sure how things could get much worse. What did it matter? That sounds good, if we're carefull.
They won't notice a thing. Now, while we wait for them to get to sleep, I have a lot to tell you. I'll start with something that's very, very important. Very big. Maybe even the biggest part.
Hazel noticed she hadn't actually said the thing. Maybe she was waiting to make the point that it was so big, you couldn't look at it all at once? She didn't know. She also noticed they were at the bottom of the page, but she didn't think that had anything to do with it. Whoever-it-was had put the book in her hands and opened it in the first place, so she doubted that made any difference to her. All the same, she unfolded the notebook, turned the page, folded it down again.
Just as she was wondering if she should say anything, the world flickered, and words abruptly appeared. Petunia lied to you. Your aunt lied to you so much it'd be quicker to list the things she didn't lie about than the things she did. Your mother really was named Lily. Your father really was named James. They really did die on Hallowe'en, 1981. As far as I can tell, someone really did leave you on their doorstep without even asking, but I have no way of checking to be sure. Nearly everything else they ever told you was a lie.
There was a little gap, a line skipped, and the words continued. For one thing, your name isn't Hazel. She blinked at that, so surprised she couldn't read on for a couple seconds. Hazel is a middle name. Your name is Elizabeth Augusta Hazel Potter. Your aunt told you another very big lie about yourself. You are not a freak. You are special, but there's nothing unnatural about it. It's just the way some people are. You, Elizabeth Augusta Hazel Potter, are a mage. That means you can do magic.
Yes, magic is real. She lied about that too. Magic is how I got you onto the roof. Magic is how I healed your arm. And magic is how I'm talking to you right now. With a little bit of time, and a little bit of work, you can do magic too. And with more time, and a lot more work, you can become good enough at it that no one will ever be able to hurt you ever again.
Hazel couldn't think. When she got to the end of the words, her head just went white. White and full of noisy static, like when you turn the telly to a channel that doesn't have anything on it. Her breath had turned fast and high again, but not because she'd been running too much. She just... She really... She wasn't sure if this magic stuff was real, honestly. Sure, magic things seemed to be happening but...it was still so hard to believe! It was a very strange idea. But...if it was...she wanted it very bad. If it could get her away from the Dursleys, if it could make it so she didn't have to be hungry or cold or hurt ever again, she wanted it very bad.
She forced her gasping into a single long, shaky breath, gripped the pen again. Can you teach me?
Yes, I can, and I will. But later. First, we have to get you away from your aunt and uncle. I have a plan. If it goes the way I expect, after a couple weeks you'll never have to see them again. Then I'll teach you. It will have to be our secret, but I promise I'll teach you whatever you like.
She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. So instead she just wrote. You can get me out?
Yes, I think so. We'll be sending some letters to your cousin. And then, at the right moment, we're going to arrange an incident.
She wasn't entirely sure what that meant. But she guessed it didn't really matter. Whoever-it-was would probably explain before too long — she expected she'd be up a long time tonight, her new magical pen pal explaining all kinds of things. I have other cousins?
Yes. This is another thing your aunt and uncle lied to you about. Your parents were not unemployed drunks. Like you, they were also mages. They were very powerful, and knew many other powerful people. Your mother was born to non-magical parents, but she was very, very gifted. She was sort of like those kids you hear about that graduate from university when they should be barely out of primary, but with magic. She was also very smart, and very nice, and very pretty, so everybody liked her. So she has a lot of friends out there, who would try to help you if you asked. She also has distant cousins who are mages, but they live in France, and are too far away to help.
Again, the words continued in another paragraph. But your father didn't have non-magical parents. His parents were mages. And their parents. And their parents. And theirs, and theirs, and theirs, back for hundreds of years. The Potters are a very old magical family, and a very important one, which we'll talk about later. You have living family through them, living family who liked your father far more than Petunia liked your mother. They'll want to help you just because of that. I think something must have happened to your godparents, so it's them we'll be going to.
And she felt like crying again. She'd never heard anyone ever say anything nice about her parents. She guessed she still hadn't, but she'd read it, which was almost as good. Honestly, she really had no reason to think any of this was true. She'd been told the opposite so many times. But she wanted it to be true. It would be so much nicer if it was true. I have godparents? She only had the vaguest idea of what godparents were, she'd certainly never thought to think she had any.
Yes, you do. Alice Longbottom and Sirius Black. Alice was your mother's best friend. Sirius is a cousin of your father's, but they were so close they were like brothers. Something must have happened to them, or you'd be with one of them instead of here. Or someone could have put you here without telling them. Which looks likely, since there are other people you should have gone to before here. But let's not worry about that right now. There's nothing we can do about it yet.
Hazel frowned at that. That didn't sound good. Anyone who sent her here could only be bad. Suddenly, the idea of magic wasn't quite so nice: she didn't like the thought of a magic Vernon. Can't you use magic to find out what hapened?
Like anything else, magic has rules. I know magic very well, so I can bend those rules a little bit sometimes, but I can't break them. And on top of those rules, what I can do right now is very limited. I don't have a body of my own, you see. Right now I'm writing to you by borrowing your body for just a little bit. Since you can do magic, I can also borrow your magic at the same time. That's how I got you onto the roof, and healed your arm. I know a lot of magic, but since you're still little, I can't do big magic without hurting you. Just little things. I remember things that happened before that Hallowe'en, but nothing after, and from now on I only see what you see. I can't go somewhere else to try to find out what happened since. Well, maybe I could, but I don't want to leave you here alone now that I can help. Keeping you safe is more important than knowing what happened six years ago.
Okay. That was...sort of creepy. She didn't really like the idea of...something stealing her body. It was just weird. But... Well, there wasn't anything she could do about it, was there? When it happened, she didn't even really notice it. And whoever-it-was had been nice so far. She didn't know if she could trust her. Whatever she was. She didn't even know if she was telling the truth about her mother sending her. But she wanted to trust her, she liked the idea of her, and that'd have to be good enough for now. She considered simply asking what exactly she was, but she doubted she'd get an answer. Or, at least, she doubted she'd understand the answer. Okay. What's the plan to get me out?
Your grandmother, your father's mother, was named Dorea Black. The Blacks are a mage family even older and more important than the Potters. Most of the Blacks are not very nice people, and I wouldn't know how to get a letter to most of the ones who are nice. Except one. Your father has an older cousin named Andromeda. She married a man who has non-mage parents, like your mother. Last I heard, he recently became a solicitor. He works on both the mage and non-mage sides. I remember the address of the non-mage firm he works for. We'll send letters to him there.
She thought of a problem after a second. What if he doesn't work there any more?
They'll have his home address, or some other way to reach him. If he isn't there, they'll get it to him. There is a small chance they won't, but I have a second plan if that happens. That one just might be a little harder to get right. The first plan is better. You'll have to write the letter. It needs to be in your handwriting. I can give you advice, though.
That sounded like she was saying Hazel should write the letter right now. She could do that, she guessed. She ripped out a new page, and with plenty of prompting from whoever-it-was, she wrote out a letter to someone she'd never met before. It was only the second letter she'd ever written anyway, and the other one was to people she'd never met either, but that wasn't the point, really. It was a simple thing. Whoever-it-was had her lie a little bit, saying she got the address from a box of her mother's old things in the attic. It was mostly just asking questions about what her parents were like, saying some basic things about her own life. She was told to downplay just how awful it was by quite a bit — which was just fine with her, she'd feel weird about telling the truth. Enough to make them concerned, the mysteriously-appearing messages said, but not enough to completely go crazy. Which was all they needed right now. She had her finish up the letter, then fold it up. Hazel went back to the notebook, wrote, I'll need a thing to put it in. Forget what they're called. Really, she couldn't remember how to spell it, but a little lie was better than messing it up so badly whoever-it-was ended up confused.
Envelope. I'll pick one up at the same time I'm getting the money. It feels like they're all in bed now, but let's wait a couple more minutes to make sure they're asleep.
Alright. As long as they were still waiting, she could ask a question that'd been bothering her. She'd noticed it right away, and it hadn't really seemed that important at the time, but now it was gradually teasing at her more and more. Might as well ask. She was pretty sure whoever-it-was wouldn't mind questions. She was nice. I have a question.
Go ahead, Hazel. You can ask me anything you like.
She had to smile a little bit at that. Partially just because she was relieved whoever-it-was wasn't annoyed like Petunia always got, but still. You said you know things up to that Hallowe'en. And that my parents died that same day. She'd listed that as a true thing Petunia had told her about her parents, even though she hadn't known that before. Which she wasn't pleased about; she'd actually liked Hallowe'en before, but now she suspected it wouldn't be as fun anymore. I was just thinking that's funny. Why?
There was a short pause before the world flickered out, words again appearing on the page. It's very complicated, sweetheart. I don't think I could explain it in a way you would really understand. I'll try a little bit, though. See, your mother made me, on the night she died. A very bad mage was going to kill you. He was going to let her live, but instead she tricked him into killing her in just the right way so she could use the magic of her own life to give you very, very good magical armour. Think of it as a supercharged electrical fence around you, that bad magic can't get through.
The armour can't work very well on its own, so she made me so I could take care of it, and watch over and protect you. It all worked as she planned, except for me waking up so late. I'm sorry about that, I don't know why it took so long. Since I needed to know all kinds of magic to make sure the armour was working right, and to make sure nothing bad happened to you, and also needed to know lots of other things to better keep you safe, she made me very smart, as smart as herself, and put all of her memories in me. I don't know if anyone else could have done it. Your mother was very, very clever. And she loved you very, very, very much, too much to leave you without first giving you everything she could think of to keep you safe.
Hazel just stared at the page. She felt like crying again. Actually, she rather thought she was crying. Her cheeks did seem to be strangely wet. Though, it almost felt like that part had happened during the flicker, when she hadn't been in control. She felt she was nearly crying now anyway, but it was almost like whoever-it-was had been too.
She read the part talking about her mother loving her very much a few extra times, just because.
This was very strange. That all almost sounded like her mother had...copied her entire brain into...whatever this thing was she'd given her. Which was... Well, then she might as well be...
She hesitated, her pen touching and lifting from the page a few times before she finally started writing. Are you my mother?
Another pause, a hesitation much like she'd had. Then, What I'm about to tell you is as honest as I can possibly be. I said back at the beginning that explaining exactly what I am is long and complicated, and you'll come to understand later. What I didn't say is that I took some time, while working out this little trick I'm using to talk to you, trying to figure it out for myself. The magic that made me was something your mother made up, and she wasn't really sure what it would do. I've spent a month thinking about it off and on, but I haven't figured it out yet. It's very confusing being me.
To answer your question, Hazel, I don't know. I remember being her. And sometimes I feel like I am her. But I honestly don't know. I don't know what I am. I've decided it doesn't really matter, at least for now. You need help. I can help. And I want to. So I'm going to.
I'm sorry I can't give you the answer you want.
By the time she got to the last sentence, her eyes were so filled with tears, she could hardly even read the words. The words that she now knew must be in her mother's handwriting. She wasn't sad, not really. She felt light, and hot, and a little confused maybe, but not bad. Someone was here for her. For the first time ever. She couldn't see her, or touch her, but she was here. And she was basically her mother. Sort of. Had all of her memories. Was enough like her mother that she apparently wasn't entirely sure if she was really her mother or if she just sort of felt like it sometimes. So, Hazel wasn't the only one a little confused by the whole situation. That was nice, she guessed.
Without even thinking about it, she wrote, I think "I don't know" is okay for now. Because it was. This situation was very weird, maybe even completely insane. No "maybe" about that, really — if she told anyone about having her dead mother in her head they'd instantly think she was mad. But it was the closest she could ever remember to having a mother. To having someone who cared about her. So, honestly, it was good enough. It was better than good enough. It was amazing.
The world flickered out again. When it came back, there were no new words. Instead, that soft warmth had again fallen over her, this time lingering long after it'd faded previously. After a moment, Hazel realised what this was. She-who-was-her-mother-but-maybe-not-really had been killed, and didn't have a body of her own. But she could borrow Hazel's body, borrow her magic — which was apparently a thing she had.
She knew what this was. This was the closest thing her mother could give her to a hug.
This time, Hazel didn't even try to stop herself from crying.
Hazel was having the most peculiar day. But also possibly the best day ever.
She'd woken up in her cupboard to learn immediately she hadn't just been dreaming the previous night. Unlike most mornings, she'd woken up warm and comfortable, the magic — magic! — done on her thin bed and pathetic blanket the previous night having done its job. The notebook, first few pages filled with two different handwriting styles alternating back and forth, had been right next to her pillow where she'd left it, the letter to Edward Tonks already sealed in an addressed envelope sitting on top. Reaching into her pillowcase, she'd immediately found the five twenty pound banknotes she'd hidden there the previous night.
She'd been absolutely shocked when maybe-her-mother-sort-of had gone on her thieving run, the world flickering out and back in for Hazel to find five paper Queen Elizabeths suddenly gazing up at her.
Remembering that her real first name was actually Elizabeth, she'd asked out of curiosity if she was named after the Queen. Turned out, her father had had an older sister named Elizabeth. She'd died about a year before Hazel had been born. Which was sad, she guessed, but still interesting to know.
Around midday, when Vernon had been off to work and Petunia and Dudley out who knew where, maybe-her-mother-sort-of had written it was time to go. Next thing Hazel had known, she'd been standing outside, about a block down the street from the house. She'd been completely unable to hold in her grin. She'd known already her-mother-maybe-kinda could get her out of the cupboard no problem — she'd even unlocked the door and left it hanging open for a little bit last night just to prove the point — but it was still just amazing to be out in the spring sun when she definitely shouldn't be able to. It was perfect.
Right now, she was sitting in a restaurant a few blocks away. At first, she'd been headed to a burger place Dudley often went to, but the-other-person-in-her-head-she-should-really-figure-out-a-way-to-refer-to somehow found out where she was going, and the world had flickered again and she'd found herself holding the notebook in front of her face, with a suggestion to go somewhere she could get something more substantial at. She'd just grinned, changed her mind to this other place a little further along that she'd seen but never been in — by the sound of the name, maybe Italian? She'd found the whole thing more funny than anything, really. She'd had her dead mother in her head for less than a day, and she was already nagging her.
She... Yes, she'd just refer to the other person in her head, who may or may not be her mother, as her mother, whether or not it was completely accurate. It was just easier, really.
And maybe she just liked thinking it a little bit.
But yes, the hostess and then the waitress had looked at her a little odd for being here on her own — or maybe that was her terrible ill-fitting clothes, honestly she didn't know — but they'd led her to a table and taken her order just fine. Okay, they'd confirmed she actually had money first, but they'd still done it. She was sitting at the table with her notebook open and sipping at a soda she'd half-expected her mother to prevent her from ordering by just taking her body over again, but here it was. She'd never had one before, and it was delicious, even if it had been making her a little cold — past tense, she suspected her mother had magicked the cold away during her turn writing — and this was so much fun, and she was practically bouncing in her seat with giddiness by this point.
Her mother had said that was probably the sugar. She was pretty sure it was just because this was clearly the best day ever.
The world flickered, which was far more obvious out here where she could see people suddenly jump from one spot to another as she blacked out for a few seconds, and she glanced down at the notebook to find her mother's handwriting again. Before you get far too hyper or too stuffed with pasta to pay attention, I think I should explain the plan.
Right. The plan to get her away from the Dursleys. Her mother had had her drop the letter off to be mailed at a public postbox on the way — she said she'd make sure Petunia or Vernon didn't find any reply first — but she hadn't explained what they were actually doing. Okay. What's the plan?
I'll be honest with you, I think someone put you with Petunia's family, even though he shouldn't have been able to. There's magic all over the house, and I think he put it there, but I can't check what it does without him maybe finding out what I'm trying, and I don't want to risk that without knowing exactly why he did what he did. So. I expect Andi and Ted will write back before too long. We're going to write back to them, and they to us, back and forth a couple times. You'll keep telling them enough of how bad it is for you that they'll worry. They'll tell the one who put you here they're worried, and he'll probably ignore them. If he does check on you and decide to get you out, that works fine, but I don't expect him to. He hasn't even noticed anything's wrong yet, so I'm not exactly pleased with him right now.
After we get the Tonkses all good and worried, we'll sort of trick them into inviting themselves over to visit. I might have to fake a letter from Petunia to get that to work, we'll see. And then, when they're just about to arrive, we're going to make Petunia's whale of a husband angry. They'll walk in on Vernon being Vernon. I fully expect you'll sleep in their house that very night. And I doubt they'll ever let anyone send you back. They're good people. Your mother and father did want you to go to them if your godparents weren't available for a reason.
A cold rock sunk straight into Hazel's stomach. She didn't like this plan. In fact, she hated this plan. She spent all her time trying to avoid setting Vernon off, and here her mother wanted to do it on purpose! She took a long breath, trying to calm down. It couldn't be that bad, could it? Certainly her mother had to know what she was doing. How angry?
Very angry. I might borrow your magic again to make it worse.
Okay. Yep. Bad plan. Very bad plan. She didn't like this. She didn't like this one bit.
She was just starting to lose control of her breathing when the world flickered again. When it came back, there was suddenly a plate of food in front of her — the absolutely largest plate of food she'd ever been offered in her entire life. She spent a long moment just staring at it, distracted from her earlier panic. Then she shook her head, looked for the notebook, knowing there'd be another message. There was.
Don't worry, sweetheart, it's going to be fine. I promise you, from now on, I'll do absolutely everything I can to spare you whatever suffering I can prevent. And there may be a lot I can't do for you right now, but there are still things I can. I do plan to provoke Vernon. I hope to make him angrier than he's probably ever been with you. He'll almost certainly get very mean. However, I am going to be the one doing it. Me. There will be pain, but I'll be the one feeling it. Me. Andi is a Healer. Whatever he does to you, I promise you won't feel a thing, and by the time you wake up it'll be like it never happened.
When the time comes, you'll close your eyes in that damn cupboard, and you'll wake up in the Tonkses' house, and it'll all be over. I'll take care of everything. Okay?
Dammit. Stupid throat, stupid eyes. At least she didn't need to talk out loud to communicate at the moment, so her throat tightening up wasn't that big of a problem, but the tears blurring her vision were really annoying. She wiped at her eyes with her left hand, trying to decide what to write. What could she possibly say? She had absolutely no idea how to express what she was feeling. Actually, she wasn't even entirely sure what she was feeling herself. Just... This was the best day ever. She was still somewhat scared of what exactly was going to happen with Uncle Vernon that day, but... It was still the best day ever.
Well. Might as well go simple. She started with, Thank you, and then hesitated for the barest moment before adding, Mum. She tried not to wince. Not entirely sure saying that was a good idea. Last night, her mother (sort of?) had gone on that little rant about how she wasn't entirely sure who or what she was, she hadn't figured it out for herself yet. She could see how being a magically-created...thing...with no body or anything of her own, attached to the daughter of the person who'd made her, might be very, very confusing. She wasn't entirely sure it'd be taken well.
When the world didn't flicker for a long moment, she picked up her fork, started gathering up a bit of pasta. As one second after another passed without a response, Hazel seriously started worrying she'd made a mistake. She wouldn't leave, would she? Could she? She really hoped her not-quite-mother wasn't angry with her. That would just be...bad.
She was temporarily distracted when she took her first bite. Oh god, real food tasted so good, she thought she might cry. Of course, she was already sort of almost crying anyway, but that wasn't the point.
Almost the instant she swallowed, the world finally flickered again. She gave the notebook a nervous look. Then she grinned, let out a relieved sigh that almost turned into a choked giggle at the end.
You really don't need to be thanking me. I should be the one thanking you. I honestly thought you'd be angry with me at first, even if just for a few minutes. I do have six years of horrible failure to make up for. I don't deserve it. But you're welcome, sweetheart.
Yes. It hadn't even been a whole day yet. But Hazel was starting to think that, even if she wasn't even a little bit like a normal one, she was going to really love having a mother.
She took control of Hazel's body with the slightest touch of effort. Which was interesting, considering how difficult it'd been at first, how long it'd taken her to figure out how to do it at all.
Possessing someone, as she knew this technically was, still felt slightly strange. Not as disorienting as it'd been at first, just a little tingly numbness, very much like the pins and needles of sleeping limbs. She wasn't sure if it was because this wasn't technically her body, or if it was just because she'd spent a while, well, not having one. (Or maybe she'd never had one. She wasn't honestly sure.) The first time, it'd been incredibly disorienting; she was honestly a bit surprised she'd managed not to splinch Hazel at all. Pulling out had gone rough enough Hazel had lost her balance and fallen. She'd been planning to be more gentle about it, maybe do a bit of light experimentation in Hazel's sleep, but, well. Hazel had been seconds away from being beaten. What was she supposed to have done, nothing?
She'd never been too great at doing nothing. Or, Lily hadn't, at least.
And that little identity problem was a whole can of worms she didn't feel like opening right now.
She swung herself around in Hazel's infuriating excuse for a bed, reached for the little girl's magic. If anything, this felt even stranger than controlling Hazel's body. Back when she'd had magic of her own, or at least in Lily's memories of when she had, it hadn't felt anything like this. She'd taught herself to control her magic consciously to achieve minor little tricks when she'd been even younger than Hazel, so she had a far greater idea of what magic felt like than most. Hazel's magic was hot, twisting and climbing like fire — much like Lily's had been, actually. But Lily's magic had also been dry and sharp like fire, while Hazel's very much wasn't. It had this sense of wetness, of slipperiness. Not in an unpleasant way, but almost enticingly soft and smooth, rather like silk touched with sweat, flower petals layered in dew. Honestly, it sort of reminded her of—
Well, something that was inappropriate to be thinking about while in her seven-year-old daughter's body, anyway.
She wasn't sure what that meant. Or even if it meant anything. It was considered common wisdom that a person's magic reflected their personality, that people sensitive to such things could divine quite a bit about a person by what they felt like. As a person who was sensitive to such things, Lily had quickly determined the idea was total shite. For example, Sev came across to everyone as harsh and frigid, but to her touching his magic had always felt like sinking into a warm bath, calm and soothing. Unless he was angry, of course, but even then he felt more like fire and lightning than the unyielding ice most would probably expect. So, she had no idea if it was important or not. It was just strange. She wasn't sure if she'd ever felt this seductive slickness in a person's magic before.
Actually, she had met a few people with a vaguely similar feeling about them, but they weren't even human, so she wasn't sure if the impression were at all comparable.
But anyway, it was a simple matter to bend Hazel's liquid fire into a form that would check the time for her — adjusted from precise solar time to local reckoning with another slight tweak. Ten fifty-five in the morning. Perfect. Andi and Ted should be arriving at eleven. A couple quick tracking charms confirmed all three Dursleys were in the living room. Perfect. She gathered an unlocking charm in Hazel's hand, placed skin against wood.
It was time to go poke a dragon in the eye.
The door swung open, a runic spell she'd laid weeks ago turning her escape completely silent. She blinked Hazel's eyes a moment, waiting for them to adjust to the sudden increase in light, then pushed herself on up, padding into the hall. In a moment she was just outside the door to the living room, air vibrating ever so slightly with the noise from the television. She took in and out a long breath, going through her plan one more time. This was going to be interesting.
She stepped inside, started walking toward the television. Petunia was so absorbed in her book, Vernon his newspaper, and Dudley the programme that no one even noticed her approach. At least, not until the tendrils of smooth, oily magic she was intentionally leaking — should anyone check their memories of the event, they'd likely determine it accidental magic — started interfering with the electron guns in the television. The colours first distorted slightly, as though someone were fiddling with the tint knob on an older television, but soon the image started scrambling, the programme dissolving into rainbow static. The sound kept going as normal, though. Television was distributed by cable in this neighborhood, not wirelessly, and the magic she was releasing wasn't dense enough to interfere with the speakers directly. Dudley frowned for a moment in stupid confusion, then glanced up and around.
And saw her. Or, Hazel, actually. And, since this unfortunate child had been taught all his life that everything bad that happened was his freak cousin's fault, his blank face quickly contorted into anger. And, because he was lazy enough he would never lift a finger if he didn't have to, he immediately turned to his father. 'Daaaad, Hazel's doing something to the telly.'
Vernon glanced up, his tiny beady eyes set in his enormous pink face giving her a double-take. Because, of course, she wasn't supposed to be out here. His face quickly shading red, he said in a low, threatening growl, 'How did you get out of your cupboard?'
Of course, she wasn't actually afraid of him at all. She'd been threatened by people far more scary than Vernon Dursley — honestly, after facing people like Antonin Dolohov, Bellatrix Black, and Thomas bloody Gaunt himself, Vernon's absolute best effort struck her as more funny than even the slightest bit intimidating. But she had to pretend. She knew the Dursleys would likely have their memories examined, and she didn't trust her control of Hazel's magic well enough to take care of that. She didn't fake a full terror though. She faked the wavering posture of someone who was trying to be brave, but wasn't doing a very good job of it. Thought she was doing okay. 'I found out how to make it work. Make it go on purpose.'
Oh, yes, his face was going quite red. 'Make what work?' The threat was very clear on his voice, though with a fair amount of confusion as well; by how Petunia was rapidly paling, though, she was sure the bitch knew exactly what she was talking about.
'This.' She closed Hazel's eyes for a moment, pulling a face of intense concentration — concentration she didn't actually need to do this, but she was putting on a performance here. A flex of effort, and she opened her eyes again to find a thin layer of orange-red flame flickering in a tight sheath over the skin of Hazel's right hand.
She definitely had the Dursleys' attention now. The boy had let out a terrified squeal, Vernon's face shifted past red and straight into purple, Petunia had gone so pale her lips were turning blue. Good.
'Things are going to change around here.' She let the magic fade out, the fire instead switching over to her voice, the simulated fear and weakness gradually replaced with rising anger. Which was only partially faked, honestly. 'You're not going to lock me in the cupboard anymore. If you try, I'll just get myself out anyway. You're going to let me have one of the extra bedrooms, with a real bed. You're going to give me real food, you're going to give me real clothes. I'll still do the chores; it'll be easy with my light to help. And you're not going to hurt me again. If you try, you'll be sorry.'
Yep, Vernon was still purple, fists clenching around his newspaper. Good. She'd thought it possible, however unlikely, that if she scared him with a little magic, he'd actually treat Hazel marginally better. Not better enough, but better to a degree it'd be harder to get her permanently out of here. So, instead she had to push his buttons. With a person like Vernon, and she used the word "person" very loosely, that was really quite easy: she simply had to have the useless, disgusting, unnatural freak dictate terms to him. Appeal to his anger, rather than his fear.
Though, come to think of it, she really had to wonder what the Dursleys had been hoping to achieve by treating Hazel as they'd been. Surely, they had to realise abusing a child they knew would eventually develop the ability to alter reality at a whim was a very, very bad idea. Honestly, if it had been Lily in Hazel's place, she wasn't sure if the Dursleys would have survived long enough to see her leave for Hogwarts.
And then Vernon was on his feet. Wow, Hazel was tiny, still getting used to that. And he was yelling at her. Something about telling him what to do in his own house, blah blah, she wasn't really paying attention. She kept herself standing straight and tall, until Vernon suddenly stepped inward, hand reaching for her arm. She let a flare of panic flash across her face, backing away with a sharp snap of magic — it had to look mostly accidental, but the wide-angle stinging jinx she laid into Vernon's hand and arm was anything but. And also far less than he deserved. But it was probably all she could get away with.
Maybe she could come back and torture the slug when Hazel's magical ability had developed some. The idea had merit.
And that really set Vernon off. With a bellowing roar of fury, his fist started flying. She could have stopped it. Easily. Even with Hazel's magic as immature as it was, she could turn Vernon to ash with a thought. And, with just how much she'd come to hate him since waking up about a month and a half ago, she had trouble stopping herself. But she did nothing.
Instead, she let her brother-in-law beat on her daughter's body, screaming and crying in her daughter's voice, begging him to stop, promising she would be a good girl from now on. It did rather hurt, but not that much — she'd taken much worse than this in duels before. She was merely giving the most dramatic performance she possibly could without seeming too fake.
Because this was a performance.
Vernon only managed to hit her five times before the front door was blasted in with what felt like a bludgeoning hex, and their audience had arrived. Seconds later, a burst of red light flashed crossed her vision, the sensation of a stunner passing nearby washing across her skin. And the air was filled with Petunia's high panicky screeching, and the level slashing bite of an angry Andromeda. She couldn't see what was going on, and she couldn't hear very well — one of those hits had been a rather hard smack to the side of Hazel's head, and she was annoyingly dizzy — but she still had to hold back a smile.
End scene.
This first chapter was previously posted on Back Burner.