Title: The Vows of a Survivor
Summary: Morgana Potter was never an ordinary girl and even as a witch, she was special. She may be best known as the Girl-Who-Lived, but once Morgana Potter was Morgana LeFay, an infamous witch that was twisted and tangled through history into a person unrecognizable. But no one knew the truth. She was a victim. A monster. A survivor. Just like not-so-innocent Morgana Potter herself. AU Fem!HP/TMR
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters and plot. Some lines from the series will be used. I also don't own most of the legends or mythology used in the story, nor some of the scenes which are very similar to the show BBC show Merlin. But this will NOT be a crossover.
Warning: Rated M. Might include trigger, abuse, gore, mentions of abuse, violence, gore and maybe adult themes later on. Dumbledore bashing.
AU- the history of the Wizarding World will be different from what JKR reveals and it's a female Harry Potter (so, obviously AU.)
Author's Note: So… I was reading through my old fanfics and I found this piece of work and half-an-hour later, I was flipping through the document and doing a major editing job. I took out parts, added in others and this was the final piece. I held on posting it for months but now finally did
I don't know when I will update since my life is crazy and very busy these days. But I will try. My plan is to update once or twice a month with 6k or so words per chapter.
"Talking"
"Parseltongue"
Past/Visions/Memories/Dreams
"I HATE you!" The beautiful women shouted to the older man. He had graying blond hair, broken cold blue eyes and a once sculpted, handsome face that was now sunken and somber. On the the man's head was a large, exaggerated golden crown that glittered with jewels, claiming him as king.
They stood in a large throne room, that once could have been awe-worthy but now was dull and unkempt. The wind was blowing hard, making the women's dark green cloak and unruly, curly hair fly.
"Why? Why? You were such a kind and compassionate child. WHY?!" The king asked, brokenly.
The women's composer suddenly changed from fierce animosity to indifference calm. Too calm.
The king looked at her warily.
"Oh yes, soo true. I was rather kind once, wasn't I? But then everything changed. Would you like to hear a story?" The women asked smiling. It wasn't a pretty smile either, it was sad and twisted. Just like her.
The king slowly nodded.
The woman's smile vanished. She walked around the throne room, looking into everything, yet nothing.
"The story begins years ago, almost two decades, to be exact. So you see, it was the thirty-first of the seventh month and the night was unnaturally cold and calm. The calm before a storm is born. That night a beautiful babe was born. A young girl. The so-called daughter of a great Lord. She grew up motherless with a loving yet distant father that spoiled her, almost always away on the King's command. She only had the quiet company of her servants. She seemed to be an average heiress, yes beautiful and intelligent, but normal nonetheless. But there was one abnormality. Every night she dreamed of horrifying things. She dreamed of war. Death. Blood. The future. Everyone thought the girl was wrong, lying… even her own father. She began to resent him.
"One day, mer months before her tenth year, she got news. Her father was dead. Gone. She cried... Her father was gone. She wasn't all that close to her father, but he was the only one she had. The only family she had left… as believed by her. So the sad, lonely little girl was forced to leave her comforting home, the only home she had ever known and into the city to became the king's ward. The king had a son he adored and lavished upon. The girl was envious. The king did lavish her, fill her with gifts, extravagant gowns, expensive jewels, everything a child would want. Except one. Love. The king did not love her, he merely saw her the result of his great mistake and a piece of cattle to be given off to the highest bidder. But, the girl did not know she was his mistake. She did not know the truth. The cold, cruel, unforgiving truth. Am I correct, king?" The women turned her deadly gaze on the man.
The king grew paler and paler through the story and flinched at her glare. His blue-gray eyes were filled with regret and enmity. The women smiled twistedly, satisfied.
"So the years went by and the child grew into a beautiful women. Her hair was as dark as night; skin as pale as snow; lips the color of fresh blood and eyes as green as the infamous Killing Curse. From all the lands, men, lords, princes, kings came for her hand in marriage. Offering riches, jewels, cloth, land, anything a woman would want but she rejected all of them. She didn't want marriage, no, she wanted freedom and choices… and love. She wanted to be able to say to the world what she thought, what she wanted, what she believed. Magic was illegal and sentenced by death, at the time. The women hated that and as years went by and more magic users died, the more anger she held toward the king. Until one day she found out the horrible truth.
"Her father wasn't her father. Her birth father was in truth, the king. And that anger tipped into a feeling, an emotion unrecognizable to her. A cold, burning passion against the man that sentenced innocent men, women and children to death. A man she wished eternal torture and agony to. Death would be a relief to him. So the girl—no the women, felt hatred towards the man that birthed her. For you see, the king was the man who sentenced her mother to death. A magic user. Just like her. By then the women had enough. She willed against the wicked king. Everyone thought she was the wicked one, so evil, so cruel. But… history always lied."
The king looked saddened, so broken, as if he just realized something. The cold brutal truth. Some may say that the truth sets you free, but in this case, it caused the king more guilt and regret. It added more blood and death to his already bloody, crimson hands. The truth did not set this man free, no, it did quite the opposite.
The woman smirked at this. "So yes, magic made who I am, but so did you, Uther Pendragon. And you… you will go to hell!"
The doors of the throne room opened wide and two men came bursting in. A handsome blonde haired man lead, a gleaming, jeweled sword in his hands. Another man was next to him, unruly brown hair and a black cloak flying behind him and a large staff in his hands. He glowed with power: horrible, blinding light. He was powerful. Light, bright magic surrounded him. But magic also surrounded the women: cool, icy power than could turn into blue fire any moment. Where Dark was cold and slow, like a snake that kept hidden, stalking its prey before leading a swift, deadly attack, Light was fire and voraciously consumed all it touched. It just attacked and attacked, until it either won or was demolished with cold, cold water.
Magic was his tool, his weapon. But it was the women's blood, she was magic.
"Stop! We have you surrounded." The blonde warrior yelled, sadness in his eyes.
The women laughed, a cold haunting sound that had the blond flinch, remembering times when the laughter was bell-like and lively. And innocent.
The women was lifted off the ground. Magic was surrounding her. It was a whirlpool of fire, water, air, earth and spirit; of beautiful colors: green, blue, gold, silver, and so much more swirled together, magnificently. It was too much to see at the same time. As breathtaking and awe-worthy as the women welding them."Go ahead. Kill me. But I will finish my life's work. I will have my revenge, my salvation! I will die, that is promised. But I will be back!" The women span around in her whirlpool of power.
The blonde warrior looked worriedly at the livid magic user, who spoke, "You were never meant to be immortal! I will do everything in my power to make sure you are not!"
The woman smirked wickedly, taking no care of his anger. "Oh yes, oh of course, you will try, but you will fail. Here is the difference between you and me, I was meant to be immortal! You were not. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. You will die one day. But I am truly immortal! For I am the Master of Death!" Unnoticed by all, a small flicker of sadness and regret came into the women's icy eyes, before it disappeared in a flash.
The two men looked troubled at this. The cloaked man nodded regally to the blond and held out his staff and began chanting.
The women saw this and she too chanted. She chanted in a long forgotten language The Seann Chànan, the ancient language of the Fey. "Death come, Death hear. Hear my plea and make my vow. I shall die on this All Hallow's Night, on this Samhain night, as the veil is thinnest. Death embrace me. Hear my plea, make my vow. I shall be back, I shall be born again. Death embrace me in the blood of my enemies, blood of the Emrys, and thee's own blood. Reborn me; Death born me as a babe, when needed most. DEATH REBIRTH ME!" The women screamed out. She turned to the king and slashed her finger through the air.
Slowly, a large, deep wound grew across the king's chest. He groaned in pain and fell, barely conscious, to the ground. The blond ran to him, frantically. Crimson blood pooled out the man's chest and spilled down the floor and into the women's whirlpool.
Next, she turned to the other magic user who was chanting louder and louder. She looked at him in the eye and screamed in pain, grasping her head.
She was truly dying. This was her end.
She never thought she would die this way. She always thought she would grow to be old and gray, dying next to her beloved and children. But alas, here she was. Dying by the hands of the foolish, "heroic" Emrys, the so-called savior, and her own brother. Her dearest Arthur.
She ignored the pain. She had work to do. She had to finish her ritual.
The women crushed her right hand together and once again slashed through the air. She put a burst of power into this movement and watched with fascination as the man's arm began to tear until a deep cut went from his shoulder to his elbow. The thick red liquid fell quickly from his arm and splashed on the floor. The women opened her hand, fingers wide apart and in a swift movement, had the red liquid joining her in the whirlpool.
The cloaked man gasped in pain but kept on chanting.
The women smiled. She was almost done. She took her right index finger and slowly slashed it across her left palm. Thick, red blood came out.
The magic user completed his chanting and the women felt herself dying as her vision began to fade. She had seconds left. With the last bit of her strength, she faced her left palm down to the slowing, underpowered whirlpool surrounding her.
Three simple drops of blood dripped down.
One.
Two.
Three.
She did it.
The whirlpool disappeared.
She closed her eyes and smiled.
Her work was done. Now she just had to wait. She could do that.
Her spirit left the body.
Everything went completely and utterly dark.
She felt cold, so cold.
She was on fire.
She screamed.
Morgana screamed, a loud and piercing sound. She closed her eyes and took a long, calming breath. She sat down on her small bed, and pushed her legs against her stomach and curled her arms around her legs, clasping her hands in the middle. She looked so fragile and child-like at the moment… so unlike herself.
Her dream, she thought. Her dreams sometimes predicted the future, but this was unlike any of her visions; they were vague and foggy while this was vivid and she could feel the emotions. Morgana was able to tell this was a magical dream, she had felt it draining her. But this dream was unlike any other; it took place in a throne room unlike any other, it was ancient, very, very ancient. And everything else… long cloaks, beautiful jewels, swords, armor, the fact that they seemed to be speaking a different language entirely… a language Morgana understood. Oh god.
This was the past, she realized. This was her past. That ritual the women did, it sent her to be reborn in over a thousand years. Was she… could it be? Could she be that women.
Morgana quickly searched her brain for everything she knew about that women. She was gorgeous with dark hair and green eyes and pale skin. She was powerful, her brother was the blonde while her true father was the king, her other father didn't know about her being not his, there was that Emrys guy and… magic. Why did that story sound familiar…?
Morgana LeFey. Morgana's eyes widened.
She was a reincarnation of Morgana LeFey.
Morgana ran to her dresser mirror and looked at herself. The women—now known as Morgana LeFey—looked so much like an older sister of Morgana, now that she thought about it. They both had hair that went down in long black curls but LeFey's were more… wild yet tamed, while Morgana's hair was in neat, loose curls; their skin was a smooth porcelain (but Morgana had a strange thin lightning shaped scar on her forehead and Morgana LeFay had noticeable silvery scars covering her) and both their eyes were a large, startling green. Morgana was obviously younger than LeFay, but she suspected she would grow up to look awfully like LeFay, if not identical. LeFay had an angular, oval shaped face with regal, aristocratic features, full lips and very sharp, high cheekbones. Morgana noticed that a difference that was unlikely to change was the strange lightning bolt scar on her forehead; she briefly wondered why.
Morgana signed and she picked out a white sundress and black sandals. She went down to the kitchen where Petunia was cooking breakfast and Vernon and Dudley—the two disgusting pigs—were stuffing their faces with food.
"Good morning." Morgana greeted with a small smile.
The Dursleys froze.
"Good morning," Petunia whispered back and the other two greeted back, fearfully.
Morgana smirked at their scared features. She loved it.
"I'll be going out today," she informed them.
The Dursleys nodded, relief obvious on their face.
Morgana grabbed a crispy red apple from the refrigerator, her white shoulder bag and left out the door, without a goodbye for the Dursleys.
Morgana walked all the way to the studio, where her dance lessons took place. She had gymnastics, dance and piano lessons for years; ever since she took over, Petunia did everything she could to keep Morgana out of the house. So what if she spends thousands of dollars for the niece she feared; at least the girl would be out for almost all day. And Morgana did truly enjoy the lessons; they were entertaining and provided her with a challenge.
And she walked in.
Morgana pasted on a smile and politely answered people who greeted, as she walked back to the Dursley's house, the long way. To this town, she was the pretty young girl who didn't belong in a small unknown town. She had to be known.
For she was special, to all these very mundane people around here, Morgana was a talented, graceful and very smart child who would grow up to be a great beauty.
But she knew the truth. She was truly special. She was gifted by magic. Ever since Morgana was young she was able to do things. She was able to make things appear by simply wishing for them, speak to snakes, hurt people that hurt her.
When she was a young, innocent little child, still living in the cupboard, still starved, still full of chores to do, still beaten, still weak—Morgana had discovered her powers. She was only four. She took lots and lots of time to study, practice and learn her powers. Then by the time Morgana was eight years of age, she had much of the town wrapped around her fingers and the Dursleys fearing her. After that by the age of ten, Morgana could do quite a bit with her powers.
She was able to summon food and heal herself, when she was still stuck in the cupboard. Then, she was able to scare and hurt the Dursleys into giving her a new room and leaving her alone. But of course, that was after she tortured her abusers to her sadist heart's desire.
Morgana stopped. She was being watched. She stopped in her steps and in one swift move, spun around to glare at the young boy looking at her. Her annoying and very whale like cousin was right behind her, trembling.
Morgana smirked at him, scaring him more. "What do you what, Dudley" She drawled out. Her voice was high from young age but elegant and despite her age, she could make men twice her age living in fear and fright (to be specific, Vermon).
The whale—trembling harder, much like a rat—spoke shakily, "M-mum t-told me to ca-call you for lu-lunch."
Morgana blinked and looked up, the sunrise was replaced the early noon sky. She must have lost track of time thinking. Morgana silently nodded and walked toward the plain, perfect house she lived in. The rest of the day went by rather quick and soon Morgana was changed and brushed, ready for bed. She quietly sat on her bed, brushing her hair as her thoughts wondered.
What she a bad person? Was she evil? She knew Morgana LeFay was thought to be cruel and sadist… and a monster. She knew she was a sadist—what normal girl would enjoy the fear others had for her? What normal girl would take pleasure in torturing her tormentors? And she was obviously cruel but was she really a monster? Was she really evil? Morgana knew her moral compass was messed up, but she did have a sense of what she thought right and wrong. Wrong was murdering innocent, pure children. Wrong was hurting and tormenting an innocent child. Torturing and tormenting the people who made the first few years of her life a living hell was not wrong. They had beat and neglected and malnourished a child. No matter what, in her mind, a child was innocent of any wrong doings, even a child such her. After all, wasn't it the world that corrupted children and took away their fragile innocence? She vaguely remembered a saying she had heard, nature vs nurture. Wasn't that true? Morgana knew she was many things and a fool was not one of them. She knew that if she had been raised differently with love, she could have been good. No one was born evil.
No one was born evil.
Truer words have never been said, but few in the world understood that.
Morgana looked down, blankly before she breathed out a sigh and stood up to put her brush away.
She froze. Her vision was blurring and everything was obscure. She felt a sharp pain in her head and quickly, blindly, felt for her bed which she promptly sat on.
She was... going to have... a vision.
And the world went dark.
She opened a familiar mailbox and grabbed a letter that was different from all the other ones. The paper it was on was thick and an odd creamy color. It felt like parchment… similar to the ones in her old life.
Ms. M. Potter
The Smallest Room
4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey
The image flickered and scenes flashed by speedily.
An elderly man with a long, white beard and twinkling, manipulative blue eyes, clothed in long bright robes. He held up a familiar, odd piece of wood and smiled a warm, grandfatherly smile that was everything but.
A handsome blonde man with familiar sky blue eyes in armor, holding his legendary sword, twisting into a young light blonde haired boy with blue-silver eyes and sharp features.
A lovely brunette in an embroidered ruby-red gown twisting into a young bushy brown haired and buck-teeth girl, grasping numerous books with a sweet smile.
An incredibly handsome man with silky, straight dark brown hair, icy blue eyes, flawless peach colored skin and aristocratic, chiseled features waved a white wand over himself and turned into a silvery-pale man with bright, crimson eyes.
Then finally the images stopped on an embroidered gold crest with four very different sections and the letter "H" in the center. The top-right was red with a gold lion roaring; next to it was a slithering silver snake in a dark-green background; in the bottom-right was a soft yellow with a black badger; finally, next to the badger was an open-winged bronze raven in a deep blue background. The animals seemed animated and very realistic before they stopping moving.
The image flickered.
Then everything went pitch black.
Morgana woke up, breathing hard. Why did she have to get the mail today? Why was it so significant and important. Why did she see those people: the elderly man, her Arthur and best friend, Guinevere turning into children? Who was that dark-haired man and the other snake-like one? Why were they important to her? And what were those symbols for?
Questions swirled frantically in her head, begging to be answered.
Morgana groaned and gasped weakly. The questions could wait. She was tired and so drained. She was always at her weakest after a vision.
She noticed that she had fallen to the floor and unsteadily stood up, groaning in pain as her back ached. She ignored it and flopped on the bed. Morgana closed her eyes and fell immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The only thing she knew for sure was that she just had to get the mail today. It was of great importance.
Morgana quickly changed into a white dress and almost ran down stair and into the kitchen. She ate breakfast and soon it was time to get the mail.
"I'll get it," Morgana had said before anyone had time to say anything. Leaving no room for arguments, she walked out and quickly to the mailbox. She gently opened it, quickly running through each letter, until she finally got hers.
Ms. M Potter
The Smallest Room
4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey
It was real.
Morgana gently opened the parchment and saw the two letters inside. She swiftly got the first letter out and read it.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Ms. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Morgana was a witch. She already knew she was a witch from her vision of being Morgana LeFey. But to know...there was a school for people like her.
Pieces and tidbits of information came to her head and everything clicked into place.
These worthless Dursleys knew. They knew. They knew she was a witch. Petunia and Vernon knew. And they hated her for it.
Morgana fumed. Anger and a dark, dark emotion churned in her stomach. She wanted those freaks to be in pain. She wanted Vernon and Petunia to watch her skin and hurt their precious Dudley. Oh god, she wanted them to feel pain.
The pain she felt.
A sudden and uncontrollable rage fill her.
The air around her picked up speed and wind. The sky darkened and lightning flashed. Morgana straightened and in a snake-like move, glided into the house. The door opened for her.
Power surrounded her.
She walked into the kitchen. The Dursley froze. They turned around.
Morgana stood there in all her glory, wind surrounded her, making her hair fly elegantly, and oddly enough, none got on her face. In her hand was the letter.
The two elder Dursley's trembled with terror as they saw the letter and the bold name written innocently upon it.
Morgana knew. She knew what she was. Their biggest secret.
"How. Dare. You." Morgana didn't scream or yell. No, what she did was far worst. She was deadly silent, and that was worst than loud yelling and a rage-filled face. Her face was completely and utterly blank, but small tell-tale signs showed that she was about to blow. Magic and power surrounded her, making the imitating picture even deadlier. "HOW DARE YOU! You kept this from me! You kept this from ME!" And she blew.
Vernon seemed to have gained courage and walked toward Morgana, keeping hold of her arm tightly, tight enough to bruise.
Pain. More pain. It was everywhere. Her broken body was bruised and bleeding. She cried. She hated. She closed her eyes.
Death would have been easier.
But she was a survivor, doing what she did best: surviving.
Not living.
Surviving.
Just surviving.
Rage and hatred, unbelievable for a child of her age filled her. Oh, the bloody pain she wanted them to feel. She wanted them to feel twice as worse than she did; she wanted them as broken and bloody as her.
"Now you listen, girl. Me and your aunt gratefully took you in and this is how you repay us? We should have left a freak like you in an orphanage!" Vernon ranted.
The eerie calm Morgana seemed to have, suddenly broke. She screamed in uncontrollable animosity and glared at Vernon with eyes far older than how they truly were.
In seconds the man was on the ground, writhing and screaming from agony.
Morgana sneered viciously at the man, her chin tilted up arrogantly, her shoulders straight and her eyes narrowed. "How dare you? You have no right to yell or even look at me. Now Vernon Dursley, let us get something clear: I am your superior in every way. I am better than you. I have much more power than you. I could kill you, and have no regrets… no fear… no mercy." She emphasized each word by adding more power to her spell, making Vernon scream harder under his voice have out and he was just withering in silent pain. She stopped the spell and looked at Petunia. Vernon laid on the floor, twitching and gasping."You know." It was a statement, no question.
All of a sudden, Petunia seemed to gain courage. It was probably the fact that her husband was on the ground, twitching every few seconds and her son was huddling up behind her, full of fear. "Knew! Of course I knew! How could I not, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was—a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"
She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years.
Morgana crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, fury and rage filling her completely. The wind picked up again.
"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as—as—abnormal—and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"
Morgana breathed hard. Water began coming from the sink, dishwasher and all the other places in the kitchen there was liquid. Everything exploded. "How—dare—you." Morgana spoke quietly, deadly silent. She watched Petunia with bright electric eyes, filled with power and anger. Her eyes gleamed into a color much brighter and deadlier than the killing curse. "HOW—DARE—YOU!" Morgana screamed. Petunia screamed.
The petrified Dursley men behind Petunia, ran to her, screaming at Morgana to stop.
Morgana suddenly stopped. She straightened herself up: chin up, shoulders straight and a vicious sneer in place. She didn't even look like a child. She was a queen.
Morgana allowed her fingers to touch Petunia, letting flames slightly touch her skin, leaving no marks, only pain. Petunia whimpered, realizing she shouldn't have angered the freak.
Morgana wanted them to burn. These stupid bigoted children knew nothing of life, of hatred, of pain. They deserved to know. They deserved pain, for harming and abusing an innocent child. A child, a blameless, guiltless child. How dare they.
"You see, I am angry at Vermin, but you Petunia Evans had a choice. You had the choice to take care of your sister's daughter, and make it up to her. But no… instead you took out all of it on your niece. You abused her… you starved her… left her in a cupboard… neglected her. You abused me! Starved me! Left me in a cupboard! NEGLECTED ME! I HATE YOU PETUNIA DURSLEY! I hope you rot DEEPEST OF THE SEVEN HELL!" Morgana breathed heavily. She tried to get her rage under control, but it wouldn't stop. She wasn't in control. She didn't like that.
Morgana looked at Petunia, who was on her knees and withering in pain. Morgana watched shocked, she hadn't realized that her curse had come back on Petunia—twice as powerful. She dropped the spell.
Morgana looked around the room, it looked like a tornado had came through it. Dishes and glasses were on the floor, broken into pieces beyond repair; eating utensils were bent at awkward angles and water was leaking from the broken plumbing.
She felt a deep, painful burn in her whole body and withheld a gasp of pain. Weakness and fatigue filled her, as her blood-lust and adrenaline faded.
Morgana sighed, knowing she was the one responsible to cleaning this mess. She could leave this mess for the Dursley as a punishment, but they couldn't even clean this mess. She closed her eyes and held up her palms. She imagined the kitchen back to the way it was before with vivid imagination and waited a few seconds. Magic shot through her and the link between her and her weakened, but she persevered through until the kitchen was as pristine as before. She opened her eyes. The kitchen was fixed.
Morgana stiffened, feeling incredibly weak. She winced slightly, realizing that she really over used her powers. She closed her eyes and ran. She ran out of the house and into the backyard.
It was cloudy but warm day, and thankfully, no one was out.
Morgana rushed to the side of the backyard, refusing to look back at the Dursleys, knowing she would burst into tears right away.
Never show weakness.
One of the first things she learned.
Morgana slowed and walked toward one of the bushes, covered with flowers. She collapsed behind the large bush and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
"Hello, Arthur. Good morning." Morgana greeted brightly as she and Guinevere came upon Arthur absolutely torturing the poor Knights. She smoothed down her signature purple satin gown, consisting of a gold embroidered bodice with long, loose silk sleeves, gold overlay and a small, golden cape currently being held by Guinevere.
"Morgana," Arthur grunted. "Guinevere."
His eyes flickered to Morgana's friend who blushed a delicate red when Arthur smiled at her. Morgana hid a smile, eyeing her brother-like figure and her best, only, friend with interest. Guinevere was beautiful, in a very delicate and subtle way; very unlike Morgana, whose beauty was ethereal, vibrant and very regal. Guinevere had big, soft brown curls, large chocolate brown eyes and porcelain skin with a hint of tan
"Fine day, isn't it?" Morgana asked with a small, unnoticeable smirk.
"Humm." Arthur hummed before he yelled orders to some knights who were dueling near him.
"I bought a new dress today; it was in green and silver, some of my best colors, no? Did you know that your father is throwing another ball today? I obviously didn't know or else I would already know what to wear. Gwen is also coming. I convinced her to wear one my old dresses. It is pink, and I do not know what I was thinking when I bought that, but our Gwen would look lovely in it, won't she?" Morgana said all this while looking at Gwen who blushed at the compliment.
"Humm," Arthur answered as he watched some more Knights have a mock fight.
"Arthur!" Morgana huffed. "Stop that!"
Arthur grinned and turned toward the Lady and gave her a playful bow. "Yes, my Lady?"
Morgana scowled at the prince before sniffing in annoyance. "I'm leaving." She turned around a caught the small smile on Arthur's face and added, "come on, Gwen. Let's leave this prat alone."
Guinevere smiled gently and nodded before following her Lady while Arthur's mouth fell open in shock and he ran after the two women.
Morgana woke up, drowsily. She smiled widely and closed her eyes. The dream was amazing. She couldn't recall a dream as fantastic and loving as this one in years. In it, Morgana LeFay was playful with the blond knight from before and the pretty brunette that was her friend and maid.
Her smile faded when she remembered that she was sleeping on soft grass and tears prickled in her eyes.
Morgana straightened and stood up. She masked her face to resemble aloof and cold. She slowly began walking towards the Dursley's house while running fingers through her hair.
She took a sharp breath and slowly twisted open the back door. Morgana lifted her fingers and the air surrounding her picked up speed. Dim fire began brightening at her fingertips. Perfect.
Morgana waltzed to the living room, seemingly to glide on air.
"Hello, Dursleys." She said cooly.
The family gasped and ran back in fright. Vernon went in front of his wife and son.
She snapped, "now, you three will behave or… well, you'll see. I will be going to Hogwarts and you will not make a fuss. I'll stay at the boarding school for the whole year and the story will be that I got offered a scholarship at an exclusive boarding school in Scotland. Good?"
The Dursley's opened their mouths to answer, but Morgana was miffed and a bit angry at them. She held her chin up and straightened her shoulders, gave a murderous glare, sneered and glided out, but stopped. She turned her head to glare at the Dursleys, "oh, and if any of you freaks touches me again… well, I guess they're will be one less Dursley polluting the world." Morgana ended the conversation with a sweet smile and cold laugh.
And she was gone.
Morgana walked toward the library, determined to find some information on Morgana LeFey and the other Arthurian era legends. She knew that most of the books would be incorrect or partially unreliable, but she might as well try.
She smiled sweetly to the elderly librarian who seemed completely enchanted by Morgana. Morgana asked for the Arthurian legends about Morgana LeFay and was soon was in the back of the small library. She sighed and glanced warily up to the large shelves, with numerous large, dusty books squeezed in. This would take a while
Nothing. Sher found absolutely nothing new from the books. They were either vague, different from her dreams or just frankly, idiotic.
Morgana thoughtfully chewed on her bottom lip before slowly walking to the computers, and gently sitting in front of one. She knew this was a long shot. The internet was almost always wrong and technology this advanced had a habit of stop working on her. Oh, what could she lose?
She searched up Morgana LeFey, numerous links came up. She read intently through many of them, and by the time she had to leave the library, she learned quite a bit about her past self. The legends were all very different, but they shared some of the basic information. Morgana LeFey (Morgan LeFay at times) was often King Arthur's half-sister, the hidden bastard child of Uther and Lady Igraine. The most powerful witch in existence that had a main role in the death of Arthur and fought with Merlin. Other legends said she was the child of Lord Gorlois and Lady Igraine, that was a powerful witch and healer that helped Arthur heal in Avalon, the home of Immortals.
The numerous legends were all so different, it would be near impossible telling which one was the truth.
None of them, most likely, Morgana thought as she strolled down Private Lane. But her dreams, they were certainly the truth. Morgana LeFey was the bastard daughter of the King and most likely Igraine, as most legends insisted. She saw Arthur as a brother, despised Merlin and of course there was Mordred. Some sources believed him to be Morgana's son with Arthur, others thought him to be a Druid close to Morgana. But in every legend, Mordred was important to Morgana and the killer of King Arthur.
There were so many different legends and stories, that none of them were completely reliable. So, Morgana would most likely have to depend on her dreams and memories. But, she still wouldn't have all the information. When Morgana died originally, Arthur was still alive so she didn't know when Mordred would kill him nor anything after Morgana's death.
Okay. That was fine. Perfectly fine.
Not.
Morgana stared down Petunia as the blonde twitched nervously and shakily asked, "yes Morgana?"
"My mother was a witch, correct?" Morgana asked as she sat down on a chair.
"Yes," Petunia replied, a hard, angry glint coming into her small eyes.
Morgana took out her materials list from where she was hiding behind her back. It was written on the small creamy parchment and bright emerald green ink.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK
Petunia flinched when she saw the list
"So, where did she get her school materials?"
Petunia's frown deepened and she spat out her answer with a sneer curling at her lips. "Lily and this Professor for her school went to London and into this shop, only the freaks could see, The Leaky Cauldron. Inside the shop, in the back, the freaks have an entrance to this place, the Dragon Alley or some other pish-posh name, where they bought all her school supplies."
"Hmm." Morgana hummed thoughtfully. "Okay, tell Vernon to drop me off at London on Wednesday, my birthday, on his way to work. I'll come back by myself." She finally decided.
Petunia swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay."
Author's Note: So... like? Should I continue? Tell me if I made any mistakes!