I know a new story! But I've literally had such a strong urge with this story and I needed to start posting it and see what you all think. Really proud of it!
Fem!HarryxEdward. Hermione/Ron/Dumbledore bashing!
Story will detail journey with a loss of a limb. Trying to be as real and respectful as possible. Hope you all enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Harry Potter or Twilight franchise.
Just how many of my clothes had bleach stains on them?
With a huff I crumpled up another shirt into the throw away pile I had in the corner. My small wardrobe was dwindling fast in all of this packing.
"Are you sure this is smart?" Hermione's voice said from the door. Her voice was hesitant and I didn't blame her.
I was leaving England and the Wizarding World behind and heading to America. At least for now. Maybe forever. I hadn't decided yet.
"I don't know what else to do Mione." I said softly, turning to her and leaning on the bed. She was dressed in a patented Weasley cardigan, fiddling with the edges. She looked like a ghost to be honest.
We both looked like ghosts. I hadn't slept much in the past couple of years, and especially since the Battle of Hogwarts. My green eyes had heavy bags under them and my black hair was up on top of my head. I was wearing one of my old Dudley shirts that was too large and hung off my good shoulder. My jeans were ripped and had bleach stands on them as my typical outlet was cleaning Grimmauld into something less dreary. Well...when I wasn't healing.
"Ron is still at the pub?" I questioned, already knowing the answer. She looked ashamed, but nodded.
"Not your fault Mione" I sighed out, turning back to folding some of my pants. Not much left to go, but then again, I was determined to be a girl for once and go shopping for clothes that fit once I made it to America. I rolled my shoulder as one of the phantom aches set in.
"I just don't think this is the best time for you to leave." she insisted, looking down and defeated. Where was the passionate and headstrong Hermione I had known for so long?
Oh yeah, she died with Fred. We all died a little with Fred. With everyone we had lost in the war. But then she had Ron's grief sitting on top of her own, and that didn't help matters. And then the both of them would come to me when the other made them mad. My favorite thing was when they would team up and tell me they felt like "I wasn't handling things properly." As if I didn't have enough going on with the healer visits, the Ministry badgering me every free moment they had, the war funerals hanging over my head.
"For you." I responded after a moment. She looked confused.
"Me leaving isn't the best time for you...and Ron, and George, and Percy, and Molly, and Arthur-" "Dahlia" Hermione interrupted, hurt.
"I'm sorry but that's the truth Hermione. Isn't it? It's been six months since the war ended. I know you are all still mourning and still healing. But have you thought, even for a moment, that I am too? Is everything that I'm going through, even at this very moment, so trivial you've forgotten?" I asked.
Her silence was my answer.
"I've been locked away here in Grimmauld to escape everyone. Escape the fanatics, the still at large Death-Eaters, just so I can heal in a little peace. I'm virtually a prisoner here." I argued.
"Dahlia it's not that bad-" "Hermione do not finish that sentence." I warned. She looked on the verge of tears.
"Hermione I can't heal here-"
"You need to stay here with us!" she insisted, interrupting me in the process.
"And do what? Go into an Auror program I don't want to do? Hermione I can barely function let alone fight! Or would you rather I stay and finish at Hogwarts, pretending the last seven years of my life didn't happen? Fuck, you want me to get together with Percy? Or maybe Charlie? Or how about George, let's put the two depressed-"
Her slap against my cheek interrupted me. She looked shocked that she had even done it. I wasn't.
"Dahlia...I-" "I know. Hermione." I said dully. I turned back around to continue my folding. To be honest, I didn't really want to talk anymore with her. I rarely did. Her and Ron. All they did was ignore what I say and talk over me. That is if Ron even felt like talking in the first place. It gets old.
The room was silent for a few minutes.
"You can leave now." I dismissed her, folding another shirt although it wasn't the neatest one by far. There was another moment of silence before I heard her huff in outrage.
"Enjoy New York." she said stiffly, before leaving the room. I heard the front door slam shut on her way out. I relished in the one good part of Grimmauld Place. The silence.
Walburga Black's portrait had met her end by a drunken night with a sledge hammer about 2 months ago. My shoulder felt like it was burning for a week afterwards but it was glorious. I think there was still a piece of frame still stuck to the wall, but the actual painting itself was long gone.
I needed to be stern with Hermione. I needed to get out of here. The nightmares alone left me unable to sleep most nights. Grimmauld was still a painful reminder of Sirius. And everyone was grieving. I was grieving, yet continually people kept expecting things from me. Ron and Hermione were the worst.
I won the bloody war. I killed Voldemort. What else do they want?
I already gave them my bloody arm. I looked down to the prosthetic arm that I was still getting used to. After I had killed Voldemort, Rabastan Lestrange, determined to prove a foolish point that he wouldn't go down, blasted a wall right next to me. My arm was the casualty of it. I lost it to just above my elbow so that's where the prosthetic connected. Thanks to magic, I had already gotten myself the prosthetic. Skin colored, with the Goblin forged metal peaking out at the elbow, wrist, and finger joints. Magic flowed through it. It made it easier for my body to adjust to using it as well as the actual use of it. The extra hours of physical therapy and training I put myself under ensured that. But the pain always seemed to creep up on me at any time. My movements were still slower than that of my right arm. And I still needed to treat all of the burns with the magically infused cream every day.
It was exhausting. But that was all I could do. And at least I could clean one handed.
Ginny, probably the Weasley coping the most, had bought me an endless amount of gloves as a show of support. I appreciated the sentiment. And while I wasn't ashamed of my arm, I wasn't all too ready for the stares that would follow me even more so now. Especially where I was going.
And it wasn't New York. I had told only a few people where I was going. Ginny, Andromeda, Fleur, and Bill.
I was relocating to Forks, Washington. A tiny town in America with a small population, about a hundred miles away from the nearest Wizarding population, NeedlePoint in Seattle. It was also thousands of miles away from where I told Hermione.
It was better this way. At least for now.
I was going to high school. Muggle high school. I had managed to keep up with those studies outside of Hogwarts. I had always a nagging feeling that I would need it. Potter intuition I guess? It had slipped after Sirius' death, but now that would work in my favor.
I knew there were cons to this. Mainly Teddy. But once I was settled. Once everything was settled, I would reach out again. Andromeda understood. Teddy was only just a year old, it allowed me more time. More time to heal and properly have a life for once outside of the chaos of war.
I looked into the mirror of the vanity. I had used a spell to grow out my black hair so now it fell to just passed my chest when let down. New glasses framed my emerald green eyes. The glasses were red...also picked out by Ginny. My skin still retained a healthy enough tan from being on the run for so long. The lightning bolt scar was still very prominent on my forehead, but had thankfully turned white, and my bangs had grown long enough to hide them well enough. I never grew past 5'4, much to my irritation.
And now I have a prosthetic arm. Woooo. The one bright side of losing my arm was that I had lost the ritual scar from fourth year as well as the scar from the copious use of Umbridge's blood quill in fifth year. In a very strange way, it was like I did have a clean state...Cleaner.
I already had a house in the suburbs. It was a nice size and allowed for visitors. And I even got a car. I was thankful for the one summer Fred and George helped teach me to drive.
Everything was set up. Everything was ready for me. And I was due to start my first day of sophomore year.
When saving an entire population, you procured a plethora of life debts from very powerful people. I called a few in to be able to start my new life in America. I got all the paperwork I needed, including a new American driver's license. And I altered a few details in my papers. I was now Dahlia Johanna Black, a 16 year old sophomore who lost her parents in a home invasion when she was a baby. My school, Avalon Hall, was bombed in February and I lost my arm in the attack.
It would all be worth it. It has to be. Because I was leaving tomorrow.
The next day was a blur. I didn't say goodbye to anyone that day, saying my goodbyes to the few 'in the know' in days previous. I left for the airport early in the morning, my very intense and long flight ahead of me. Well...private flight. One thing I splurged on. I really didn't want to interact with people today. Or have any potential magical friendly people to see Dahlia Potter at a muggle airport. I needed to keep as low of a profile as possible.
I was on edge the whole flight. Unlike the broom, it turns out I despised airplanes. But it got the job done so who cares how comfortable I am about it.
Thanks to the wonders of magic and America's research into melding magic with muggle technology, the plane was enhanced so that I was able to do a nonstop flight to Seattle. With a nice tip, the dealership who I purchased my car from brought it to me at the airport.
It was a little eccentric...maybe. While an older model, I don't know if many people in Forks, Washington had a 2000 Mini Cooper. But it was blue with two black stripes on the hood. And I liked it.
It was a few more hours before I even made it to Forks, so it was close to 11 at night by the time I got to my house. I stood outside of the car, staring a little.
I had seen pictures, but seeing it in person was different. It was a modest two story house. It was white with a dark green trim. The paint was a little rough around the edges, but it wasn't bad. There were garden boxes on the window and a decent front yard. The door was my favorite part. Large and heavy, but painted the same dark green as the trim. I knew there was an equally large back yard. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms. There was a living room and a kitchen. It was simple.
But it was mine. Something I purchased. It had my name on it. It was rough around the edges, but wasn't I?
"Here we go." I muttered to myself, swinging my duffle bag onto my shoulder.
With an extra charge I had gained the service of the movers to actually assemble and move the furniture in my home. I had hired an interior designer as well to design it simply enough so that I could live in it well enough until I made it my own. But they only touched what I had bought for the house. This duffle, and the expandable charm placed on it, held everything I brought from England. I wanted this to be a fresh start, so the duffle was all I had. Things like old school uniforms were left behind.
"Little late isn't it?" A voice said from behind me. I turned to see a middle-aged man in a police uniform near my driveway. His car was parked at the house across from mine.
"Just got in." I said, a little nervous as I stared at the man. He was tall and had a lean figure but broader shoulders. He had brown hair with some grays growing on the sides with a nice mustache. His eyes were a warm brown. His eyebrow raised a smidge before a look of realization came on his face.
"Wait, are you Dahlia Black?" he asked. I nodded. He eased up a bit.
"Didn't expect you to come in this late. I'm Charlie. Charlie Swan. I'm the Police Chief...and your neighbor" he finished awkwardly. It made me smile. He reminded me of Remus.
"That's ok. Nice to meet you Charlie." I said, holding out the good hand for him to shake. He came up and shook my hand with a small smile.
"Just got off work. Settled in ok?" he asked. I nodded again.
"Everything already got set up for me. So now all I gotta do is buy groceries and get ready for school." I said, attempting to be cheerful.
"School?" he asked.
"Forks High. I'm a sophomore" I explained. He nodded again, but I saw him straighten before looking around.
"You eaten yet?" he asked. I shook my head.
"We got a pretty great diner, open late. My daughter Bella, she's about your age, used to love going there. Want me to get you some dinner?" he asked. It made me smile. Definitely reminded me of Remus. Always trying to feed me.
"Sure Charlie. Let me just throw this in there" I said, motioning to my bag.
I quickly ran up my porch and unlocked the door. The quick glance I had showed me the house was decorated nice and simple with a pop of color in the corner making me smile. I threw in my bag and locked it up again. Walking back over to Charlie I smiled awkwardly.
"Ready." Charlie nodded and we went to the diner pretty fast. There weren't a lot of people inside so we got seated in a booth by the window.
"Hey Charlie! Who's this little thing?" The waitress, Lucy, asked as she came over to us. She was a thin woman with dark chocolate skin and curly hair pulled up in a bun. She had kind brown eyes and an easy going smile on her face.
"Dahlia. Dahlia Black." I said, holding out my right hand to shake. She took it gladly.
"Our new resident! What a pretty thing you are! Where are your parents sweetie? They on the way?" she asked.
I stilled for a moment. This was what I was dreading. The explanation.
"Actually I live by myself. I got emancipated a few months back. My parents died when I was a baby...home invasion" I finished lamely. Both Charlie and Lucy grew very still for a moment.
"Well dear. I am sorry for your loss." Lucy said gently, placing a hand on my shoulder. I scooted away from it a little. I didn't like to be touched by people that often.
I can touch you now...
"It's ok." I said, picking up the menu to hopefully change the subject.
"...Well I'll have my usual Lucy. See anything you might like?" he asked me. I smiled at his effort.
"I think there is never a wrong time for pancakes. Can I have that and bacon and hashbrowns?" I asked, looking at Lucy.
She gave me a watery smile and nodded. Please don't cry.
"Mitch makes a mean batch of chocolate chip pancakes. Can I interest you in those?" she asked. I nodded and, now looking more pleased, she walked away.
"She means well." Charlie said softly.
"I know. Most people do. I'm not offended." I reassured, putting both hands on the table. I was still wearing gloves under my long sleeved shirt.
I wasn't embarrassed about my arm. But these people already had enough to deal with about me, best space it out. And the thought of everyone staring at it, gave me a very unpleasant feeling inside.
Look, it's her! Can you see the scar?
"You know you aren't the only newcomer. A whole other family came. The Cullens. Dr. Cullen works at the hospital. He and his wife moved in about a month ago. Got a bunch of kids, all adopted." Charlie explained, breaking me out of my thoughts.
"Well at least I won't be the only new student then" I said with a smile.
And that's pretty much how the night went. Easy conversation with Charlie, a quite delicious stack of chocolate chip pancakes that were so soft and fluffy I could cut them with my fork, and then a ride back home to my house.
Walking inside, I left the lights off. I'll explore my décor tomorrow. I slowly made my way up the stairs and into my room. Throwing myself on the unbelievably soft bed I quickly fell to sleep.
Sure I would wake up in an hour or two, but that's besides the point.
Because I was home.