Disclaimer: I definitely don't own Harry Potter...or the universe...because I think we can agree that I would make it focus on the purebloods, haha.
AN: I'm not sure how I managed to write anything decent without GetWithItlooking over it, but somehow I did. Thanks a billion for looking over this! Also thanks for the 15 follows, the 10 favorites, and the 257 views. I know that's pretty rare outside of stories under 30K.
Theo and I turn six on February 15th, 1986; I'm to turn twenty-four a month and a half later. Being six is much easier the second time. It's simpler to remember things I wouldn't have been able to in my last lift - like all the rules for the different languages. To be fair, Kyrios Kosta always casts the language charm on us before we start our lessons. There are still a couple of words that are difficult, but they're very few and the list grows smaller with every lesson. Theo, likewise, does infinitely better. Though he still has moments when his attention starts to wane, he vies for more notice, and he beams childishly when Kyrios Kosta or Mama pay him a compliment.
Our paternal grandparents are dead. Father won't talk about it, and Mama either doesn't know the whole story or is reluctant to share it with two six year olds. Luckily for us, our maternal grandparents are still alive. Giagia Dareia and Pappous Kadmus are very fun to be around, society considering. They are extremely strict and obviously expect a lot from both of us, yet still somehow find a way to be doting at the same time.
Giagia Dareia is the type who will almost always find something to criticize. For example, my hair is too wavy, I have a mouth on me, and I don't seem to grasp that staring is impolite. Theo, on the other hand, is too emotional, doesn't necessarily speak up when he should, and is behind me in our studies. Despite this, she is incredibly affectionate and loving. Almost immediately after a criticism, she'll give us a hug. Pappous Kadmus, for his part, does that trick where he pulls a galleon from behind our ears. He also likes to 'secretly' give us candy, though Giagia Dareia almost always notices.
Pappous Kadmus was once the dueling champion of Greece and taught the subject at Plato's Academy of Magic. He retained the position for twenty straight years. It's actually because of him that Theo and I were able to get our wands so early. He scoffed at the thought of getting it at Ollivanders.
"No engoni of mine will get a wand from that half-blood."
There is bad blood between them, apparently. Giagia Dareia claims that it is completely one sided. Mama is adamant that we can only learn certain spells until we're older, and then we can only practice them if Kyrios Kosta and Pappous Kadmus are around to specifically instruct us. My wand is nine and a half inches, rowan, and has a piece of boggart skin. It's also pretty inflexible, as opposed to Theo's. His is also nine and a half inches, oleander, and has a fragment of chimaera scale. Because we have our wands, we're the envy of all the other children. Now that we're six, we are often expected to attend play dates with several prominent pureblood children.
This is when it becomes extremely, painfully obvious that Mama is obviously not from England because she does make a couple of embarrassing mistakes. Mama and Father argue about it all the time, but, well, Mama is eccentric. She doesn't particularly care if you're old blood or new blood, if you're rich or poor, if you're Dark or Light. All Mama cares about is that your blood is pure. After meeting Giagia Dareia and Pappous Kadmus, I can see why she leans that way. Plato's Academy works much differently than Hogwarts. The rumor is that they only accept purebloods, but Pappous says that's a lie.
"The ones that are accepted come from prestigious families. I̱míaimos, I'm sure, would get in if they had the right connections."
If there was one thing that the Nott family had, it was definitely connections. Father seemed to know just about every "prestigious" pureblood in England, and, through Mama, a handful or so in Greece and Italy. If it were up to me, I'd rather stay with Giagia and Pappous. At least then the conversations I'd have would be somewhat intelligible conversation, if not 'simplistic' so I'd understand. Most of our peers either stare at me if I try to start a creative conversation because they don't understand, or laugh off my attempts because I'm 'younger' than them. If it weren't for Theo, I'm certain I would have gone off the deep end.
Lavender Brown is an extremely annoying six year old girl. She laughs loudly and wears odd clothes, for a pureblood. She has curly hair that falls to her shoulders and is apparently fond of dragging me around her room.
"What do you want to do!" The blonde beams brightly.
I glance around the room, noting everything she has. "We could play dolls?" I don't play with dolls. Mama has gotten me some of the nicer ones that you can change into different robes, but I only ever 'play' with them when she first gives them to me. Then, they go back into their boxes and aren't touched. Lavender, Lav as she insists we call her, plays with hers very often.
"I love playing dollies." She takes one for herself, brushing the hair back lovingly before rummaging through the chest where she keeps them all.
Theo is promptly given the boy doll, although he stares at it then back at her with an expression that clearly screams he doesn't want to play, but is too polite to actually say it aloud.
"Ours are married now!" She says happy, pushing Theo towards where she has a little table set up.
I'm tempted to leave, but he casts a look over his shoulder at me.
'...not leaving...help me.'
It's not the first time that I've heard this. Sometimes, when one of us is feeling some strong emotion, we can sort of hear what the other is thinking. Every time it happens, it leaves me more than a little curiosity, and I wonder if our connection doesn't have something to do with it.
So, I grab Lavender's most impressive doll and trail after the two of them. Lavender has us sit down at a table and serves us - and our dolls - some tea. She talks loudly and enough for all three of us.
"We're gonna have 3 kids, all girls." She beams at Theo. "And, Dory is gonna be their aunt and take care of them all the time while we go out."
My brother pales considerably, frowning at her. "She doesn't like to be called Dory."
It's Lavender's turn to frown now. Her pale cheeks flush with what looks like rage, but it's gone the next second. Instead, it's replaced with a giant smile as she peers at me. "What do you liked to be called?"
"Dorothea." I don't look at her, choosing instead to focus on the doll I have with me. I have one just like it back in Nott Villa. Mine still has the original silver robes, however. Lavender's does not. Instead, hideous orange ones that fit too big are draped over that are obviously too big.
"Why?" I can hear the pout in her voice, but I look up to make sure anyway.
"Only Theo can call me anything else."
"Why?" I think those look like tears in her eyes.
I open my mouth to say something - we can't have her crying, but Theo speaks faster than I do.
"Because, I'm her brother." He looks so smug about it that I can't help but take the blame for it later when Mama asks us why Lavender was crying. In our defense, her emotions were all over the place.
I'd gladly take Lavender over Vincent Crabbe, however. Despite our best attempts, he rarely speaks to us. Even if we're particularly slow in our endeavors, he stares and grunts at us, uncomprehensively.
"What do you like to do?" Theo tries.
The boy grunts.
"Do you know any games you might want to play?" I ask pragmatically.
This time, he shrugs.
"Do you like Quidditch?"
Theo doesn't like the sport, but that should just show how desperate he's become. Vincent is an overweight brute that neither of us like very much. Our playdates with him aren't very interesting. We don't do much of anything except wander around the gardens in their backyard or play with some of the games he owns in the dining room. He is not the type of boy who likes puzzles. Theo's trying several ways to come up with a conversation for them to have. It's not turning out very well.
He grunts again.
'Dear Morgana, why?' I frown in frustration, sitting down and giving up.
I do catch Theo's thoughtful head tilt, though.
Miles Bletchley is funny in a way that Mama probably wouldn't approve of. He's crude and sarcastic; something I find odd coming from a nine year old. He's also pretty smart - certainly smarter than any of the other children I've been around. I meet him by accident; we're supposed to be having a play date with Marcus Flint, who is ten. Adrian Pucey is here as well, ignoring both me and Miles in favor of passing a Quaffle around back and forth with Flint. Theo is currently playing piano for Lady Flint, per the request of Mama. I just came from there and performed Violin Concerto in D Minor by Jean Sibelius. I think it might have been the first time that Father's looked proud of me.
I'm swinging, trying to be careful. I'm wearing periwinkle colored robes, and Mama would be furious if I got anything on them. I don't scream when I feel hands on my back, but I can't help the giggles. I glance over my shoulder, and Miles smirks back at me. I beam at him as best as I can and swing my legs.
'Where...you...done playing.'
It's still difficult to do, but every once in a while I swear that I can hear Theo in my head. I try to reach out to him,
'I'm here. I'm on the swing.'
I feel the grip of the swing swings under my hands tighten and Miles pulls back on the rope. I jerk backwards, just managing to catch my grip. My back hits against his chest as he slows the swing down long enough for me to be able to get down.
"Having fun, princess?" He laughs and pulls back on the swing as far back as he can go.
"I'm not a princess." I tell him haughtily, but I have to admit (if just to myself) that I sort of am. "Can you go higher?"
He laughs like I'm an amusement to him. He gives a couple of more pushes before Theo makes an appearance, and Flint and Pucey call Miles over to try to block their shots. He's apparently the Keeper. He opens his mouth, as if to tell them that he's busy when I dig my shoes into the ground to slow down.
"It's okay, Miles." I hop off the swing and head off in the direction of my brother.
"Yeah, Miles! The princess says it's okay!" Adrian howls and Flint laughs.
I reach Theo and find him staring at the broomsticks the way that I look at them. Theo is just as afraid of heights as I am, although for different reasons. He fell off a broom when he was five and would have crashed into the ground if the surge of panic that I had swelling up in me hadn't caused me to extend my hand out and hold him. My scream alerted Mama to what was going on, and she safely lowered him to the ground.
That's why Theo doesn't like the sport, although he knows everything about it enough to carry on a conversation with someone. When all else fails, it's a pretty good subject to go back to if the conversation is slow. We head back to the swings and somehow find a way for both of us to fit on it. We watch them until Mama and Father call us back to them.
The nickname sticks.
Neville Longbottom and Ernest Macmillan are cute. They call themselves purebloods, but they act very little like the rest of us, except Brown. Macmillan, perhaps, is closer to our level. He already has a fraction of the tutors that we have and is required to have lessons. Most of his governors divide their time between him and that stupid, pompous blond Malfoy. Not to say that Macmillan isn't pompous as well, but he lacks the sneer and the superiority complex that Malfoy embodies.
The first thing he said once we got away from the adults and introduced each other was, "My family can trace our lineage back nine generations."
Only nine, as if that were such an accomplishment. It's such a shame that Great Granduncle Cantankerous Nott included them in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, which has been greatly diminished. It wasn't as though Macmillan could trace his lineage as far back as other, better families. The Longbottoms are also included in the list, although many consider the recent generations to be blood traitors. I'm not sure if Mama knew this before bringing us over. We're probably lucky that Father wasn't home.
Neville Longbottom is adorable, really. We've been here for a couple of minutes, and he has yet to say anything to us. His grandmother is an absolute nightmare. Mama can't really take us away even though I could see the way her mouth twisted unhappily in the corners when she first saw what the woman had on. Mama wears the latest robes from London, Milan New York and Paris. They're form-fitting and often in soft colors that compliment her looks. Mrs. Longbottom - she doesn't like to be referred to as Lady - did not get her robes from any of the fashion capitals. She had on a horrid brown robe that was too broad in the shoulders and made her look like a square. Not only that, but, as we walked in, there was a hat hung on the back of a chair that had a stuffed vulture glued on.
Mrs. Longbottom doesn't mind us being out and about. I guess I'm lucky that Mama let us know where we were headed after our lessons today, or it's likely I would have brought Father's gift with me. Father's gift is a book that I found horrifying to start, but ended up liking. Mudbloods and How to Spot Them. It's mostly humorous, and Father expects Theo and I to read a chapter a day and discuss it with him at dinner and answer any and every question he has for us. It no doubt would have offended Mrs. Longbottom's sensibilities.
"Do you like Quidditch?" Theo asks duly, and it occurs to me that this has become his default question whenever he can't be bothered to come up with anything else.
Ernest isn't here, so Neville doesn't have anyone to hide behind. He's gone inside to try to find his bag and pull out one of the books he brought with him. He wants to prove that he's just as advanced as we are.
"N-not really." His voice is quiet, and he's not meeting either of our gazes.
Theo's face, of course, lights up. "Finally. Me neither." He claps Neville on the back, almost knocking the slightly younger boy forward.
"What do you like?" I take this opportunity to ask him instead of letting my brother dictate the conversation.
Neville bites the inside of his cheek before flushing and averting his eyes to his shoes now. "I like plants?"
I see a look flash in identical blue eyes, and I can hear his disapproval. ('Great...so boring.') I guess I'm lucky that he said this in his head rather than out loud. I'm pretty sure that Neville would physically deflate.
'Be nice.' I scold him.
"There's nothing wrong with that." I say this really firmly, noting that Ernest is coming back. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, alright, Longbottom?"
I should have known that what I said would be taken out of context. We see more of Neville after that, but rarely at Longbottom estate.
For every couple of meetings that we had with boys, we also had a couple with girls. Theo's almost always excused for these, and he disappears fast into his own room. The only time he hadn't been was with Lavender Brown. Most of the time, the girls come over here and I have to entertain them with great manners and a smile.
And I am, under no circumstances, allowed to Muggle fight. Not only is it far beneath me, but Mama assures me that there are better ways to get Pansy Parkinson to shut up. I think Mama's a little upset that we're not best friends, but I can't stand that little girl. I'm not the only one, either. We're all smiles when the adults are around, but the moment they leave us alone, I'm in the corner with Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass as Parkinson is on the opposite side with Astoria Greengrass and the Carrow twins. Every once in a while, there will be other girls in and about, like the Patil siblings and MacDougal. There are even a couple of older girls occasionally.
Alicia Spinnet, ten, was nice, up until we realized that, while she was a pureblood, her father had remarried after her mother had passed away. That wouldn't necessarily be bad if it weren't for the fact that her father married a mudblood. Of course, we couldn't associate with that sort, according to Father. Elora Bole was in her first year of Hogwarts already, but we met her younger sister Iona, a year behind us. Cassial Snow is thirteen and already at Hogwarts, although she was incredibly good at braiding hair. Lillian Lawson is also thirteen and has an incredibly vicious temper. Nova Fawcett is ten and respectable.
On the much lovelier and easier side to deal with, there are Greek families with little girls closer to my age. Alayla Vasil is my age, and prefers to read than to play with dolls. Our time spent together is normally held in silence unless one of us calls the other over to look at whatever we're reading. Celena Remes doesn't like to read, but she does like to debate. I'm not required to learn a dance yet - Giagia expresses that she expects it soon - but Celena does it all the time. She's also far more flexible than I hope to be and we spend our time in the playroom trying out different tumbles.
I don't miss my old life like I thought I would. Over the years, the memories fade. No longer do I find myself crying into my pillow. Instead, when I find myself becoming sad, I bury myself in one of the books or find Theo and play with him. I still remember snippets, but they become more and more rare. I don't find myself frozen or overcome with grief.
Or, rather, I don't grieve for the past that's lost to me. I regret what happens next more than anything else.
A/N: There you go! Another cliffhanger because I can, apparently, only write cliffhangers. Let me know what you think! Was anyone a surprise? Did you expect to see them interact with someone else? The chapter title means "forced friendships". And, if you needed translations for any other words, here they are:
Kyrios - Mister
Giagia - Grandmother
Pappous - Grandfather
Engoni - Grandchild
I̱míaimos - Halfblood
