Prologue
Curses and Conundrums
Friday, June 19th, 1981 – Godric's Hollow
Above a sleepy village nestled in the West Country, a fat moon hung heavy and waning in the evening sky. The residents had long since given in to the night's call, the cobblestone streets empty save for a young kneazle creeping stealthily along Church Lane. Shutters had been drawn, chimneys puffing the last, long drawn breaths of remnant fires left to cool, and the few lights still burning in the windows steadily being snuffed as the night drew longer. Besides the dulcet tones of wireless playing an evening program, it seemed that all of the town had settled into warm beds and soft pillows. Yet, not all was quite as it seemed.
Unseen by all but a scant few, a quaint cottage of two stories hid a commotion within its walls, muffled by thick wards and charms that left the tense panic inside invisible to any who might have noticed. And what might first have hinted of the drama unfolding beyond the sturdy walls was the sight of a young witch pacing by the sitting room window overlooking the gardens. Unlike many of the pure blooded and half blooded neighbors, this witch was not dressed in a robe like her peers, instead sporting a loose knit sweater and a soft pair of jeans much like the muggles favored. Sharp lines of worry creased her face, bright green eyes fixated on a tome that seemed to be primarily composed of dust and leather. Each time her fingers turned a page, the massive book would give an ominous creak of protest as if threatening to fall apart on the spot for the trouble. Every now and again, her gaze would shift, slipping towards the stairs that led to the bedrooms before shifting back to the other two occupants of the cottage.
The first she would look towards was seated on a plush couch of red nearly the same shade of the witch's hair. This wizard was dressed the part of pureblood, though in his disheveled state there were others who would disagree. Sprawled amongst a pool of books and scrolls, the wizard squinted at the pages through slightly askew metal rims, the rounded lenses nearly slipping from his nose if not for the charm sticking them in place. Despite the layers of Sleekeazy liberally coated across his scalp, countless hours of frustrated tugging had turned his hair into a wild mess determined to defy gravity. Every now and again, his agitation would manifest and he would run a hand through his hair, causing it to twist and turn every which way. And when his frustration peaked, he would scowl down at his robes, a sorry sight indeed as they were littered with peculiar rips and tears that looked as if they had been made by a particularly vicious crup. At other times, he would huff, glowering at the final occupant of the cozy sitting room.
Where the witch paced and the wizard grumbled, the last seemed to have simply deflated, slumped in defeat among a staggering tower of parchments scattered across the floorboards. Blood red Auror robes had been tossed in a corner on the rug, leaving the man in ripped jeans and a leather jack sporting a muggle tee shirt with Iron Maiden splashed across the front. Besides the heavy boots, he also wore guilt like a weighted mantle across his shoulders, drawing lines down his features that were unmistakable as he rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed at the weariness clinging to his face. Gray eyes avoided those of brown and green, shifting from the rich amber tones of the floor to the dainty molding and up to the candles floating near the ceiling. Anywhere but at the two figures slowly realizing the defeat he had already accepted. With the slow ache of having sat too long creeping into his joints, this wizard was the one to finally break the silence that had settled over the house since the early hours of the morning.
"We can't undo it, Prongs. It's too dangerous." After so long of not speaking, the voice of Sirius Orion Black cracked across the sitting room like gravel dropped into a tin. The soft thump of Lily Potter's slippered feet faltered at the unexpected intrusion, a thinness drawing her lips down as she looked between the two wizards. James Potter, or Prongs, however, was not nearly as subtle. With a hissed breath the man slammed the book he had held down onto the floor, standing so quickly that the scrolls nearby scattered in a fluttering rush of parchment.
"For Merlin's sake, Sirius! She's not even a year old and she has fur! We can't just take her to Saint Mungo's and expect them to understand! If we can't undo it she might be stuck like this forever!" At each bellowed word, Sirius flinched back as if physically struck.
"James, I-" The words were cut short as the Lord Potter rounded on his longtime friend with all the fury of a man grievously wronged.
"Don't you dare apologize! It was your thrice damned curse that caused this! You knew it could it happen, Sirius! You knew it! And now our daughter is chewing crup toys instead of playing with broomsticks and dolls. How in Merlin's name are we supposed to raise a daughter that's more interested in teething on the furniture than in learning her p's and q's? And what happens next? Will it be a goblin next time, hoarding Lily's pearls in the cabinet and sneering at us like the bankers at Gringotts? Tell me, Sirius, how can you even begin to apologize for turning our child into some…some…creature. Merlin forbid anyone ever find out, she'd be locked up in the Department of Mysteries like an animal if not destroyed outright!"
Ominous rattles punctuated the rant, furniture creaking and trinkets shaking on the shelves. Above the mantle, a lone picture depicting James and Lily with a tiny, dark haired bundle cracked violently down the center as the shouting reached its peak. James' eyes shot to the shattering glass, and just like that, the ballooning rage cooled. A heavy sigh left his body, sinking back onto the couch with a groan.
"Sirius is right, James. I know it's not…optimal, but we'll just have to let her grow out of it like any other metamorphagi. It's not like we have any socials coming up with You-Know-Who on the loose. We'll just have to be more careful until she learns how to control it. Give it time, love." Lily's tone was soft as she moved from the window to the couch beside her husband, quietly picking up the dropped books and neatly stacking them back onto a side table while she spoke. "Blaming each other will do nothing, we'll just have to take this one step at a time. There will be plenty more time to decide what to do later. I'm sure Albus will have some idea of what to do, he did help Remus after all."
With a lazy flick of the wrist, Lily's wand spat out a quick spell that saw the crack in the picture frame vanishing and the shaken trinkets shimmying back into their proper places. Both wizards watched, one in sullen silence like chastised child, the other stubbornly churning over his wife's reasoning as the last vestiges of anger seeped from his frame. Eventually, the three retired, the arguments spent and the candles put out and stored away. A gray eyed wizard fell asleep on the couch after hours of staring at the ceiling, pondering the week's surprises with a grim note that belied his usual mischievous nature. A red haired witch dozed off after worrying long into the morning hours at the cold void beside her that her husband had not filled. And a brown eyed wizard with wild black hair folded into himself in the nursery, staring red eyed at the child he had fathered tucked away in a crib with tooth marks gnawed into the wooden sides. Until the morning sunlight shone into the nursery window, he watched on as the small form of his child sporadically shifted into the shape of a small black werewolf cub.
Lost in their own thoughts, not a single one ever considered that the time Lily had called for would be cut short in just a few short months. The Potters murdered by a madman who proclaimed himself a Dark Lord, a friend thought a traitor disappearing in his grief, a traitor thought friend framing his own murder, and infamous Sirius Black incarcerated without trial for a murder he hadn't committed. After a single fateful Halloween, Ophelia Auriga Potter-Black would find herself an orphaned metamorphagi of unusual talent abandoned on the doorstep of muggles who loathed her existence with a disgraceful passion. Armed with nothing but a blanket and a small picture book of strange and fantastical creatures, an aging wizard with a long white beard and a stern witch cut the time of Ophelia irrevocably short.