Burning Parchment
As September loomed in the horizon, Maxima began running again. At first it was merely something to do with her time when she rose early from yet another nightmare. But lately, she could feel fear like a second skin lingering as she pushed her body's limits. Some days, she swore she could hear an extra set of footsteps echoing behind her. There never was anything present but that did little to quell her rising paranoia. After all, Harry Potter and his invisibility cloak was proof that just because you couldn't see I someone doesn't mean they weren't there.
It was a disconcerting experience, being a twelve-year-old girl again, and living with the infamous James potter to boot. Fred would have been ecstatic to meet him, but she supposed he wouldn't been subject to James's pranks. Harry himself, would have given a lot to meet his father at an age he could recollect. James really did look so much like his future son with the same black hair that was constantly messy but in a rather pleasant way. Maxima often felt a twinge of guilt when she recalled that the kind boy, her brother, would never live to meet his son. She hoped that with the knowledge she could change his fate, but she tried to avoid having hope, even in this timeline.
"Maxima," her mother's voice pulled her out of her thoughts as the book that she had been balancing on her head came to a loud thud onto the ground. She let out a sigh of strain and stretched her neck muscles and rolled her ankle over-emphasizing her discomfort hoping for her mother to take pity on her and end the practice. But, like expected, no reprieve was in sight.
"Again" Dorthea instructs placing the book back on Maxima's head. The young witch grounded with the books weight "uh uh ah," Dorthea tsked. "Remember, pain is temporary but elegance my dear, is eternal". The twelve-year old bit back her retort about pain. Every piece of her ached from her head to her shoe-pinched toes. Still, she strode forth, her shoulders back and head held high. The very example of female pureblood elegance.
James peeked his head through the doorway, grinning, mimicking a stiff strut.
"Mum! James is making fun of me," Maxima complained, her voice shrill. Her mother's eyes narrowed, surveying the twins. Her hands clasped together and both children gulped at the possible repercussions of fighting in front of her. Dorthea was strict but fair.
"Don't use that tone Maxima, you are a Potter," For Dorthea this meant something. Being a potter was a standard of perfect behavior and manners; one Maxima was expected to maintain. "James, if you are so keen to participate, I'm sure I can find an additional book around her somewhere" spoke Dorthea an eyebrow lifted. James was gone from the room before her sentence ended. Dorthea chuckled softly before getting back to her daughter.
At lunch, the familiar Hogwarts letters arrived, tied to screeching owls that demanded to be fed before they departed. The parchment was freshly inked, and now, in this time, Dumbledore was freshly made headmaster. He was not yet the man that would first ask, then demand she end others' lives. He had not yet failed to save James and lily Potters lives. And yet, the anger and grief she felt, was very much real and felt like an open wound. All those she had started her first year with had died, and even through this chance, do it again; to live, she felt guilty for all the chances they did not have. Why had she been chosen, and why had she survived?
"What house do you think well be placed in?" asked James excitedly, drinking in the words inscribed on the parchment. Maxima couldn't bring herself to respond, she could barely hold back her tears, hold back her rage. "Maxima?" Her mother asked slowly, cautiously concern for her daughter etched on her features.
A familiar pull tugged at her magic, it was full of rage, of violence and it begged for release. Maxima relaxed into the feeling, like dipping her fingers in a cool pool of reprieve, and the letter set ablaze. The familiar cool fire consumed the parchment and Maxima escaped to the solarium. She did not see her mother put out the fire with a single mother, she was already long gone.
Maxima was confident, perhaps unreasonably so that the fire would not spread, and she basked in the warm glow of the plant filled room.
Nevile would have liked this place. Luna would have loved it.