QLFC: Theme - finding out your loved one/partner/family hid something major from you and left you with that something (debt/a child/a cursed object etc) and what you do about it.

2003: September

When Andrea received a package from her great-aunt on her nineteenth birthday, she was a little surprised. Teta Paulina had never neglected her during her childhood—in fact, she wrote frequently—but with the recent war in England, her great-aunt had cut contact, saying she didn't want to put them at risk again.

Andrea had asked her father about what Teta meant by again, but he had just cupped her thirteen-year-old cheek and promised to tell her about it when she was older.

Of course, she'd completely forgotten about it. Until now.

The package felt heavy as Andrea picked it up. Somehow, a sense of foreboding overcame her, and she felt the urge to sit down and make a cup of tea before she delved into the past.

1943: March

'Paulina, you must hide! Take your sestřička, quickly now, before they break through the wards! Whatever happens, you have to protect her. You have to keep her safe!'

Her mother's tone brokers no argument, and Paulina instinctively knows that now is not the time to play games. Nodding, she gathers up her little sister—despite Adéla's cries that she's not little, that she'll be seven in August just like Paulina—and runs to the cabin under the garden, the one they run to when the German soldiers warn them of an air raid. She pats the earth down around them, and Adéla clutches her in the dark, as if they're the only two people left in the world.

2003: September

Andrea set down her steaming mug, breathing in the crushed red berries, and decided that her curiosity could wait no more. She slit the paper with a Severing Charm and reached through the protective layer, finding a sheaf of folded parchment. A locket, no bigger than her thumb, fell out onto her palm. She gasped at the unbidden reminder of her father's death, his funeral, the feeling of abandonment. Dropping the necklace, her heart immediately calmed.

With shaking fingers, she unfolded the parchment to find out what had broken her great-aunt's silence.

My dearest Andrejka,

It falls to you, as my sole remaining heir, to carry out the duties of my will, enclosed within.

Andrea gasped. Her great-aunt was not yet seventy, barely middle-aged by wizarding standards. Had she died during the war? She leafed through the papers for the will, to find out what had happened to her last remaining family member. But the wax sealing snapped at her with teeth sharp enough to draw blood. Releasing her hold, she drew her finger to her lip, sucking away the pain.

I have sealed it, the letter went on. Andrea wished that she had continued reading earlier. I hope that you forgive me, but first, you must learn my darkest secret. Only then will you know what to do.

1943: March

They're as quiet as mice as they wonder what has happened to Máma and Táta, and Paulina wishes that she could do something that wouldn't make her feel like a coward. As if in response to her thoughts, the covering to the little cabin is lifted, and a strange man with a stranger necklace grabs Adéla by the arm and pulls her outside.

'No! You can't have her!' Paulina shrieks, holding onto her sister, but soon she realises that the only person this is hurting is Adéla. After that, she comes quietly, if not willingly.

Máma and Táta are on their knees in the wet grass, and Paulina can see the tears run down Táta's face when he sees his daughters. She wants to run to him, to soothe his pain, even though a little voice tells her that the worst is yet to come.

'Pathetic,' a woman sneers, her half-shaven head shocking Paulina's sensibilities. In Czechoslovakia, the only women who shave their heads are prostitutes, as her mother keeps reminding her. 'Did you really think we wouldn't be able to sniff you out, Muggle scum?'

Paulina curls her lip, refusing to answer the woman's taunts, but Adéla—ever the temperamental one—screams out. 'We're not scum, idiot!'

The woman pauses, her wide blue eyes blinking for a moment. She glances to the man who still grips Paulina's shoulder, but he merely shrugs. Then she smiles, a cruel smile that Paulina has only ever seen on the soldiers' faces when they take all of their food for the war.

'In that case, little ones,' the woman says, her mouth curling into a smirk. 'Let me educate you. Your mother, Muggle scum that she is, doesn't seem to know her rightful place. And that makes her worthless. What do we do with worthless scum, Niklaus?' she asks the man behind Paulina.

The hand tightens painfully, and Adéla squeals with pain. Paulina says nothing, but can't stop the tears from leaking from her eyes.

I'm sorry, Máma, she silently tells her mother. I should have found a better hiding place.

'We get rid of them,' the man says, his voice as neutral as if he was discussing the growth of green beans.

'I see.' The woman smiles benignly upon the sisters. 'So if she isn't worthless scum, I guess she will survive what I'm about to do.' Before Paulina can puzzle out her meaning, she flicks her wand at Máma. 'Avada Kedavra.'

A flash of green light, and Paulina's mother slumps to the floor, not blinking at the blades of grass caught in her eyes.

2003: September

I do not know if your father has told you, but your grandmother and I had a hard childhood. We were adopted in our youth, when our parents died, but we didn't take it well. And Durmstrang… Well, Durmstrang back then was a special kind of place, even for those who did fit in. The one thing that kept me going during my first year was my necklace, my last remaining link to my family.

Andrea remembered the locket, lying forgotten on the table. Odd, that she hadn't thought to open it before. Her bloody finger slipped over the clasp, but she managed anyway, revealing two photos within. One she recognised as her grandmother; a laughing girl with a square jaw and bright blonde hair. As she watched, the young girl scowled at the photographer, evidently cross, before the corners of her lips tugged upwards again.

On the right hand side was an older picture of a couple on their wedding day. Their eyes held such love for each other that Andrea's heart ached, and it was a few moments before she realised that the photograph wasn't moving.

1947: November

Only three months at Durmstrang, and Paulina already believes she'll never feel warmth again. The sun shines like a cruel goddess from above, always glaring but never, ever providing comfort. Nothing at Durmstrang does. They make sure to strip you of personal belongings the moment you get there, saying it distracts the children from their education. Luckily, Paulina hid her prized possession before the welcoming feast.

Her teeth chatter as she makes her way to the furthest corner of the coldest dungeon. Ice crystals grow like moss above her, stalactites threatening to fall at any moment. No one in their right mind would think to come here. But if Paulina was in her right mind, she'd never have come to Durmstrang at all.

The man who saved her and her sister from certain death thought otherwise, depositing them in the care of a childless Swedish couple. Who would come looking for two Muggleborns at the most blood-exclusive school in Europe? Seeing the way the older pupils glance over her in the hallways, Paulina can believe it.

That doesn't mean that she likes it.

Scrabbling around in the cracked stonework, her fingers hitch over the thick threads of a metal chain. Paulina digs her fingers into the wall, her ears throbbing in protest at the screech of nails on stone, and she slowly drags the locket out of its hiding place. Opening it, she strokes the faces she sees in her nightmares every night.

'Máma,' she whispers, her voice trembling, 'Táta. I won't forget you, I promise. I won't forget their faces, either. They'll pay for what they did; I'll make sure of it. I'll make sure Adéla stays safe.'

A bell tolls from far above, and she quickly stows away her precious necklace. As she hurries onto her Dark Arts class, the hints of a smile spread across her face. There is one good thing about Durmstrang.

They teach you how to destroy.

2003: September

Andrea's fingers trembled as she read through the pages—what seemed to be her great-aunt's secrets spilling forth at long last. She knew her grandmother had convinced her parents to send her to Beauxbatons, that it was the one good thing they had done for her. Adéla had looked out at the lake with such sadness when she let that fact slip that Andrea hadn't the heart to ask her more. Andrea hadn't known her great-aunt hadn't joined her. She hadn't even known she was adopted.

Andrea herself had been to Durmstrang, as any self-respecting Czech would. Beauxbatons was fine for those prone to flights of fancy. But those who learned the real magic, the hard magic, went to Durmstrang. Evidently, a lot had changed since her Aunt Paulina had been there. The cruel punishments, the teaching of the Unforgivables… Andrea shuddered, clutching the mug in her hand.

It wasn't enough to warm her.

Andrea glanced towards the fire, longing to light it. But somehow, she knew this was a tale to be read in the cold, in the dark, where monsters liked to roam.

My dear Andrejka, how I regret that I wasn't there for you when you needed me most. In my youth, I was too caught up with ideas of revenge to think of anything else, even my dearest sister. Already, I was forgetting my promise to my dear Máma, her last dying wish. And after, well… I couldn't bear for you to see my shame.

1955: April

Paulina moves like a cat as she hunts her prey—graceful, quiet, patient. Her wand hangs lightly between her fingers, the mark of an expert dueller.

Which explains why everyone was surprised to see her take an apprenticeship in Healing.

Of course, she is good at making potions, but she is far, far better at recognising Dark Magic—and using it to its full potential. This alone makes her one of Durmstrang's elite, and though the school is trying to maintain a better image, her professors secretly wished her to go on to great things. A Hitwoman. An Alchemist. Not someone sitting by an old man's sickbed day after day.

What they don't know is that Paulina wanted to learn about how people hurt. Where to put the pressure, and where to take it away. Most importantly, she wanted to know when to stop before you take it a step too far.

Now, armed with that knowledge, she stalks after her parents' killers. A small voice complains in the back of her head, a voice that sounds like Adéla, telling her that this is the last thing their parents would have wanted.

That's the thing about death. It warps everything it touches.

It has made Paulina strong, where once she was weak. It has made Adéla soft, where before she burned with an anger strong enough to rattle the foundations of their family cottage. And it made her warm, loving parents leave her with the legacy of cold-blooded vengeance.

Well, if they wanted me to turn out like Adéla, maybe they shouldn't have left us, she thought, taking her sadness and chiselling it into a weapon.

They live in a small house on the outskirts of a Muggle village, something Paulina finds amusing to no end. It must be how they evaded capture, years after their master's imprisonment. Paulina is thankful. This is something she wants to do for herself.

When she blasts into the front room, she casts Incarcerous before she can even think. She knows this will be a bitter battle, one that will tax her strength to the limits. So it's surprising when the bloodlust clears from her eyes and she sees them both tied to their chairs, a cup of tea spilled across the dainty table between them. What once seemed like the largest of monsters is now a man with cropped red hair, balding at the front. The half-feral woman's black hair is in a neat plait, no longer shaved, and somehow, she seems smaller. Frailer.

It angers Paulina to no end.

The woman speaks, her blue eyes wide with incomprehension.

'You,' she gasps, and Paulina notes with satisfaction that she remembers a girl from thirteen years ago. 'But… but…'

'But I'm Muggle?' Paulina asks, her voice as chilly as the Scandinavian sun.

Her lip curls as she flicks her wand, crudely cutting the woman's hair until her bare scalp is exposed. The tattoo she remembers is still there, the line inside a circle inside a triangle. Only now, Paulina knows what it means. The woman cries out in pain once, then bites her lip, as if she knows it's futile.

'If we had known…' she started, but Paulina interrupts her with another wave of her wand.

'If you had known,' she repeats, goading her victim, before exploding with anger. 'You knew! Of course you knew. Didn't you think I heard you, taunting my father until his dying breath? Torturing the Squib until he revealed his hidden magic, the magic that your master pretended he simply chose not to use?'

'We know he was wrong now,' the man quickly says. 'Forgive us, we didn't know any better. We were young—'

Paulina laughs, but it's a dry, shrivelled up noise that scares her almost as much as it scares them. Suddenly, she's aware that her face is wet, and it makes her hate that part of her, the part that cares, that's weak. She tears the locket from her neck, snapping the chain, and shoves the portraits of her family in his face.

'What about my sister?' she asks quietly. 'How young do you think she was?'

This time, there's no response.

'I'm going to make you hurt exactly the way you hurt my father,' she continues in her soft tones, remembering every curse, every spell she learned at Durmstrang for this very moment. Her hand curls back around her locket, drawing blood. 'And then, I'll hurt you a little more.'

2003: September

…and now you know the full of it. Why I ran away, why I never came to see you. I was too ashamed that Adéla would see into my soul and find it wanting. Too scared that her children would shy away from me, knowing that some vital part of me was missing.

My dear Andrejka, I have loved you from afar with all of my heart. Everything I once had is now yours. I trust in you to do what is right.

All my love,

Paulina

Andrea turned the last of the parchment with shaking hands, then laid it carefully upon the table. The dark presence she had felt, the one that she had thought was the echoes of her great-aunt's past, seemed to awaken, pulsing through the locket.

'I can bring her back,' it seemed to whisper. 'I can give you a family again.'

The image of her father rose, unbidden, along with a lump in her throat.

'Aunt Paulina can be the mother you always wanted,' the voice murmured, enticingly, invitingly. 'You can make her whole. Young.'

Andrea reached towards the locket with trembling fingers. The portrait of her grandmother danced, laughing and scowling and laughing again. Her great-grandparents seemed to come to life, filling the darkened room with love and hope.

Andrea's fingers closed around the locket.

In one swift motion, she threw it in the fireplace, smoothly taking up her wand in her other hand. Aunt Paulina was right about one thing, she thought as she prepared her will for the incantation. Durmstrang does teach you to destroy.

'Combustio daemonium.'

The Fiendfyre leapt into life.

1955: May

Paulina smells the heady scent of rain before her eyes even adjust to her new surroundings. Normally, the Ministry wouldn't send a Portkey for a single person, but the Headmaster of Hogwarts called in a favour, and one didn't say no to the hero of the Global Wizarding War.

So here Paulina stands, alone in a field of bright blue flowers as she makes her way to the Muggle town. The Headmaster has assured her that his deputy will meet her there and take her to Hogwarts. All of this, it appears, is tradition. Paulina thinks the Headmaster wants his deputy to test her one last time before letting a student from Durmstrang into their home. Either way, she's happy to avoid the hassle of finding her own way to the remote castle.

She asked the Headmaster to keep what he knows of her past a secret. It's bad enough that the emptiness in her chest is a reminder of her crimes. Try as she might, she can't bring herself to forgive her parents' killers. In her heart of hearts, she's still glad they're dead.

But that doesn't mean she can't atone for her sins in other ways. Maybe, just maybe, she will be able to see her parents when she dies and greet them with her head held high.

But first, she will need a new name for her new beginning.

As she approaches the Muggle town, she sees the townsfolk laying bright red flowers, identical to those in the field, on graves, a mournful tune playing in memory of the dead. An ode, she thinks. To the fallen that will not be forgotten, and the new peaceful times to come.

She knows this year is the tenth anniversary of Grindelwald's defeat. The Muggles were able to defeat their dark wizard then too.

She draws closer, close enough to catch the murmurs of the mourners.

'Come on now, William. Give Daddy your poppy and tell him about your day.'

Poppy, she thinks. It's as good a name as any.