Disclaimer- I am not J K Rowling and I own nothing.
Anything in bold is a direct quote from JK Rowlings' writing.
I have previously posted this series here, but am extensively editing it due to numerous errors and then will move on to posting the next.
Be aware this was written for my child who was 9 at the time I began it (many years ago) and developed as she grew.
Posting will be intermittent.
I have not yet seen or read a Cursed Child so it will not be compliant with that storyline, though I have tried to keep it as canon (book) compliant as possible.
Lily
On a warm Sunday afternoon, a perfectly normal family had gathered in their small cottage garden in the residential suburb of Cokeworth, to enjoy the early spring sun. The gnarled branches of an ancient willow swayed gently in the afternoon breeze causing speckled shadows to dance on the bed of roses at its base. The older of the two children had blonde curly hair, a truly extraordinary amount of neck and was sitting next to her father reading diligently. The smaller girl was happily playing with a ball under her mother's watchful gaze. More petite than her sister, her eyes were the deepest emerald green, her hair red and skin pale and soon to be freckled, in all her appearance (which little resembled her parents) marked her as a descendent of the Highlands. With an unrestrained shout, which drew a frown from her sibling, she haphazardly threw the ball into the air. It bounced once or twice before it rolled into the garden bed. With a giggle she followed it brushing past a ruby red bloom which was the first of the season's roses. Distracted by the bobbing bloom she clasped it in her chubby hand and pulled it free, unmindful of the thorns, lucky not to be wounded.
When the little girl had not returned a minute after toddling out of sight, her mother sighed knowing how easily the child became distracted, "Lily! Come back to Mummy."
Lily turned at the sound of her mother's voice and giggled mischievously. She peered around the bush that she was using as a hiding place and watched as her mother moved to embrace her father. He had stood as soon as he had noticed his youngest had disappeared amongst the bushes. Petunia, the older sister, aware that she no longer held her parent's attention stopped reading with a frown.
"I had better go and fetch her, you keep an eye on Tuney," the father chuckled, his height allowed him to spy out her hiding place easily. It was only a matter of a few steps for him to reach her, then he leaned over the roses, pulled her free of the thorny bushes and deposited her back on the lawn as she waved her flower at him with a large grin.
"A beautiful rose for my beautiful flower," he chuckled in his mellow baritone seeing the blossom in her hand. Her tinkling laughter echoed round the garden interrupting her sister who had returned to her reading. Petunia turned and glared at the redhead.
Their father bent and scooped his youngest up into his arms once more, oblivious to her sister's ire and joined Lily in her laughter. Her fit of giggles continued until her face was red and she had to pause in order to draw in a deep breath. "Fly!" she cried throwing her arms into the air in joyful exuberance.
All the colour drained from the rose leaving it pure white as it was tossed into the air and it floated into the sky, drifting against the breeze. Hesitantly her Father watched it in wonder, as it drifted out of sight until he decided it was a trick of the light and the giggling bundle in his arms distracted his attention once more.
Severus
High overhead and out of sight of the little family, caught by the spring breeze the flower was lifted higher and sent spinning past a row of dirty cramped terraces in the neighbouring suburb of Spinners End. Inside one of the two-up-two-down little houses in the middle of the dilapidated row, a small boy with sallow skin and dark hair hid in a corner watching his Mother, Eileen Snape (nee Prince), work in the kitchen. The movement of the rose caught his eye as it twirled passed the window and he stared at it in adoration but was too fearful to leave his dark corner.
Years before, Eileen had belonged to the respectable Pureblood Prince family, until she had met the quiet and dour Tobias Snape. The Princes were neither poor nor well-to-do, nor particularly remarkable in any way and as such there was a limited selection of suitors interested in courting the young Eileen. This was exacerbated by her sallow skin, heavy eyebrows and slightly squinted gaze. As such when Tobias had approached the young women as she walked down the street she was flattered by his attention.
Many years had passed since that fateful meeting and unfortunately not all of them were good. The energetic young man Tobias had been, had disappeared at the same time the local saw mill had closed. Unable to find further work and facing the difficulty of raising a newly born Severus on restricted funds, Tobias searched for answers at the bottom of a bottle. Needless to say, he didn't find them. Gradually his personality changed, and Eileen could no longer remember why she had been so sure she would be happy marrying this muggle, that she had willingly accepted being disowned by her own family.
Oppressed and poverty-stricken Eileen had nearly forgotten her heritage and stood at the kitchen sink completing her tasks by hand.
"Get in 'ere ya lazy scum!" her husband's alcohol roughen voice echoed through the tiny house.
With a sigh Eileen ceased her washing, squeezing out the cloth and hanging it over the tap before quickly making her way into the next room so she could attend her Husband's wishes. With a silent groan she listened to the man complain about the state of the town, the state of their house, their lack of funds, and how both she and their son did nothing to help around the house, before he demanded his dinner and ordered her back to the kitchen. When she returned to the cramped space she was surprised to discover the washing was done and the dishes put away. Turning she saw her son standing half hidden in the shadows.
"Oh Severus," she cried eyes filled with tears, she had finally found some joy in the knowledge that his magic would give him a chance to escape the life that she had brought upon them both.
Peter
There are many professions in the magical world, such as dragonologist and spell-maker, which have no equivalent in the non-magical world, however law enforcers are required everywhere and the auror's job is just as dangerous (if not more so) than the Muggle equivalent, the police. While dastardly villains such as Grindelwald and Mordred only crop up every few centuries the run of the mill criminal still has the ability to kill in two words, disappear without a trace and requires no extra equipment apart from their wand to make things explode. Because of this aurors develop a healthy attitude towards vigilance or don't last long in the profession.
One such auror Mr Peval Pettigrew had, unfortunately, not been quite vigilant enough and failed to dodge in time to avoid the spell which ultimately ended his life. Leaving behind his beloved wife Enjela, sister Enid and son Peter. He had been a good man, though overly protective of both his wife and son, in addition his wife had spoiled the boy shamelessly.
Drifting high above the rooftops the flower cast a dancing shadow on the floor of the cottage where his wake was in progress. The widow, Enjela Pettigrew, and her blonde headed son, Peter, were surrounded by fellow mourners in the parlour. Unable to contain his emotions anymore the overwrought boy gave a sharp cry, ran to his room and threw himself onto his bed, weeping. He watched as the shadow of the rose danced its way across the floor, tears still dripping down his cheeks. A short time later his mother alerted by the fact he hadn't re-entered the parlour, opened the bedroom door looking for her grieving son. She made her way to his bed in order to provide him with as much comfort as she could despite her own grieving heart.
"Oh Peter," she sighed, gently rubbing circles on his back.
"Why did he die Mummy?" he wailed, his face red, eyes and nose streaming.
"He was doing his job, love. He was trying to do the right thing and protect a family from harm," she whispered softly, holding back her own tears which were threatening to fall in order to appear strong for her son.
Peter rolled onto his back and with all the accusation a young child can muster asked "But now he can't protect us! Why did he leave us all alone?"
"Well, he knew we could protect ourselves and there are others who can't." Even to her own ears it sounded like a poor excuse for the loss of a father.
"But it isn't fair!" he hiccuped angrily. The tears stopped falling as sadness transitioned into anger and then with a sudden thought to fear. He finally managed to voice to the largest of his fears, "Who will look after us now Daddy has gone?"
His Mother drew in a deep breath to reassure him while slowly stroking his hair. "We will look after each other Peter, that hasn't changed."
"I don't think I'll ever be brave enough to look after you?" he warbles.
She looked down at him and smiled, "Well until you're big enough, I'll look after you. When you are older and have been to Hogwarts and grown into a fine young man, then you can look after me. Alright?"
She continued to console him with whispered words and gentle hands until he was on the edge of sleep. Finally, as his eyelids drooped and closed she leaned forwards to leave a soft kiss on his cheek before she returning to her waiting guests. As the sunlight beaming through the window began to fade a lamp in the corner switched on to help keep his fears at bay.
Sirius
The oldest, and some would say best, wizarding families belonged to the Sacred Twenty-eight. Early in the twentieth century an anonymous author produced a compilation of those families deemed to be the most 'pure'. The aim of this work was to preserve the purity of the bloodlines. The Potters failed to make the list due to the mundaneness of their surname, it being deemed by the unknown writer that they must have sprung from tainted stock despite their illustrious relations to the Peverell line. The Black family however was most definitely one of those included in the elitist group, from their family motto 'Toujors Pur' to the fact that the latest incumbents of the family name often wished to keep the bloodline so pure they married their own cousins!
In line with their position in society each of the Sacred Twenty-eight families had their own manor house, some were located in vast estates out in the countryside and others, such as the family Black located in large Victorian inspired buildings in central London.
The wind buffeted the flower and sent it spinning towards London, over the smog filled skyline, over the steepled gables, round the bell tower and past Number 12 Grimmauld place. Grimmauld place was a fine old building with high ceilings and large windows, which might lead the reader to assume that the building was open, welcoming and light. This was not the case. Though large, the windows seemed to allow minimal light to enter the rooms, perhaps this was due to the multitude of surrounding buildings or perhaps it was due to the family who resided within the walls. Black by name, blacker by nature.
In a room on the uppermost floor, a small dark-haired boy, who had been skiving off his lessons stood with an ear pressed against his door and listened as his parents argued. There would be harsh consequences if he was discovered, however he had already learnt, even at his young age, that information had power, so he deemed the risk worth the potential gain. On this day however, the argument was over nothing more than clothes. He hated going to the shop to be fitted for new robes. His mother seemed to think it was important, something about living up to his heritage, he didn't really understand it.
"We would do well to get Sirius's clothes from Malkins; they make all the school robes after all. He must look like a Black," Orion huffed bored with his wife's attitude. In truth he knew she would never shop anywhere but Twilfitt and Tattings but making her lose her temper was one of his few pleasures in life.
"No! Mudbloods frequent that place," she spat, face contorted in revulsion. "You see them every August scurrying around as if they have the right to be there, it's disgusting. Madam Malkin gives no respect to those she aught. I will take him elsewhere for new robes, somewhere we are respected!" Walburga shrilly argued. "Twilfitt and Tattings is by far superior!"
Deciding he had pushed her enough he conceded "Fine! As long as he is suitably presented, on your head be it."
Having given up on learning anything interesting from his eavesdropping, the boy allowed his attention to be caught by the movement of the rose as it wafted by his window. He moved to stand on the sill and look out over the streets. Far below on the footpath that passed the house he watched a woman walking by, she was carrying a small child who was bundled up in an oddly designed puffy coat. The child looked up and seeing the boy staring, waved a hand in friendly greeting. Sirius half raised his in return a half smile on his lips. On the other side of the road a man in dark robes approached, the sneer on his face clearly visible even at the distance.
"Filthy mudblood scum, everywhere these days." The harsh words flew on the breeze and were faintly heard by the boy above.
Sirius gasped as the man drew a thin rod from out of his sleeve and a sudden flash of light beamed towards the child. A dustbin lid flew up in front of the walkers and blocked the curse. The mother and child scurried away quickly disappearing down a side street.
As they disappear from view Sirius wondered 'Why would he curse her? She looks just the same as anybody else.'
Remus
To the North of London, and on the outskirts of a small village where the cobblestone streets gave way to dusty country lanes. Another boy was finishing his day as the flower spun overhead.
Lyall Lupin sat with his son, Remus, on the patio watching as the sun dipped behind the trees, listening to the robins singing. The sandy-haired boy leaned against his father's side and watched the bloom as it drifted by entranced for a moment by its beauty.
"How about a game of gobstones Remus?" Lyall interrupted his son's staring as he stood holding out his hand in a silent offer to pull his son to his feet.
"Sure," Remus grinned cheekily as he took the proffered hand and tugged it sharply downward in a vain attempt to wrestle against his father and pull him back down by his side. Unsurprisingly Lyall won the impromptu game of tug-o-war easily and the pair retreated into the warmth of the kitchen.
Remus made to grab an apple from the fruit bowl on his way past, but his Mother gently smacked his hand away. "It won't be long until tea, you'll spoil your appetite," she chided with a soft smile.
His father had snuck up behind the boy as he was distracted with his mother and scooped Remus up, turned him around and threw him over his shoulder. The boy laughed hysterically as he tried to wiggle free, wildly kicking his legs while his father's hands tickled his sides.
"Come on you rascally pup, we have just enough time for a game first."
"And a bath! You boys are filthy from being outside," Hope added swatting her son's backside.
"Yes dear," Lyall agreed amicably, giving his wife a kiss on the cheek and being mindful of the boy's feet. He continued into the snug still carrying the boy, who had now started to swat his father's back as low down as his short arms could reach. "Down you go son," Lyall ignored the hits (pats) to his back as he carefully lowered the boy onto the couch. He sat himself down on the chair opposite, then reached over and pulled a small table between them. The pair settled in for the 'Great Lupin Gobstones Championship'.
Sometime later Hope called out from the kitchen "Teatime!" distracting the players and causing Remus to bump the wrong piece, with a squirt it expelled its contents into the blonde's face.
"Argh! Thanks Mum!" he grimaced, wiping his face vigorously trying in vain attempt to clear the smelly liquid.
"Now you definitely need to get cleaned up!" Lyall shooed the boy up the stairs with a grin.
Hope looked over as Lyall entered the kitchen. "Who won?"
"It was tied until you called, and then someone got distracted," he grinned with giving a nod the direction of the bathroom as he washed his hands in the sink. "I've been called to do some work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, so I'll have to commute to London for a few weeks."
Hope sighed, "Would it be better for you to stay there instead of coming home every night?"
"No I'll just get us connected to the floo."
"Through the fire?" she confirmed, he nodded as he set the cutlery on the table. "Remus tea is on the table," she called.
Later that evening Remus' parents tucked him into his bed and kissed him goodnight. On the edge of sleep the sandy haired-boy stirred and as he did the catch on the window lifted with a slight creak and the window opened an inch to admit the twilight breeze to the room.
James
Out in the West of England where they had lived for a multitude of generations, on a property rumoured to have been part Iolanthe Potter's (nee Peverell) dowry, the Potters made their home. The garden opened onto the fields beyond, which were bordered on all sides by a low stone fence, on the other side of which a couple of horses had been put to pasture.
The family was old and the land far older still and through the many centuries together they had developed an…. understanding. It might have been that somehow the magic used by the family had seeped into the stones or maybe the land had an awareness and called the family to it or maybe it had something to do with that old cloak. Or it might be none of these things, however at times it seemed that the land was alive. Whenever Fleamont was stuck on his potions research, he would go and sit on the stone wall, and listen. Somewhere in the whispering breezes or maybe it was the buzzing of the bees he would find an answer. So it had always been for the head of the Potter's.
The breeze guided the flower over the land and at last the bloom drifted lower, over a field where a small family was ending their day. The couple was older than might have been expected to have a son the boys age. The father's salt and pepper hair was unruly and the mother's once auburn hair was graced with grey.
"James," Euphemia called her voice almost musical. "It's time for us to go inside!"
"Just 5 more minutes Mum. We haven't been outside that long," their son whined, his black hair as unruly as his Father's. He had been spoilt...almost to ruin, not quite…. yet... and it still remained to be seen what would come of it.
Spying the rose out of the corner of his eye, he ignored his mother and jumped onto his broomstick to fly and pluck it from the air with unerring aim, ending its journey. As his hand closed around it a shock of tingles spread through his fingers, hand and up his arm. With a sliding feeling like a sigh it turned to the clearest crystal. He flew down to land beside his parents, still ignoring them in order to continue staring at the bloom held tightly in his grasp.
Finally giving up on her lecture his mother noticed he was holding something "What have you got there?" she asked.
"A rose." He knew there was something about this flower, something indescribable and the feeling was filling him up, like the bubbles he had once seen in a glass of champagne his mother had had at a New Years Eve party. "It… it's special," was all he could think of to say as he passed it to her proudly.
Taking it from him with great care she could feel his magic thrumming through it. Pleased beyond belief at his achievement she hugged him tight to her chest. "Oh James, your first magic! I am so proud. Monty look at this!"
They took the rose and placed it reverentially on the mantelpiece, where it would remain for over a decade.
Hogwarts
At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in a small locked tower in a forgotten room, unknown to the students and rarely visited by the Deputy Headmistress, on an old wooden desk sat a book bound in the blackest dragon hide. The Quill of Acceptance rose and dipped gently into the empty inkwell. After a brief moment the cover of the book that lay on the table beside it flipped open and the parchment pages fluttered in a non-existent breeze before settling to allow the quill to inscribe 6 new names into the Book of Admittance's yellowing pages…
Lily Evans,
Severus Snape,
Peter Pettigrew,
Sirius Black,
Remus Lupin,
James Potter.