The timeline error in last chapter is edited, it was a mistake on my part. For that you have my apologies.
That said, I read a few reviews saying that the Longbottoms were attacked a few weeks after the attack on Potters and not the few years after the event as I have mentioned (not cannon). I would like to say that I selected that time interval because I was unable to find the exact date for that event. The most I could find were vague quotes from a few characters. After spending some time trying to find the exact date, I moved to fanon timeline of events and I mostly agreed with what I found there. Because of the lack of canon material, I chose that date and it was completely intentional on my part.
All your reviews are appreciated and they help a lot in writing the story. Who would have thought writing Harry Potter required hours and hours of research?
A/N- Magic is a very beautiful thing. It is as dangerous as it is beautiful. Vernon and Petunia hated magic because they feared it. What happened to make them fear magic as much as they did? Dumbledore always wanted to place young Harry with them. Hagrid, in the very first chapter of the very first book, tells him that Sirius Black gave him the flying motorbike so he could reach Dumbledore without much trouble. Why wasn't Harry placed with Sirius or even the Longbottoms, if they were his godparents? A dilemma that I mulled over while writing this chapter. Any theories?
Disclaimer :- The lines between canon and fanon are blurred.
Chapter 3
Privet drive No. 4,
Little Whinging, Surrey.
August 7th, 1992.
Petunia Dursley was a woman who tried to live her life as normally as possible. The death of her sister; freak as she called them and their kind, affected her just as much as her parent's death did. Lily was the last of her blood after all. And over time, they tried to make amends despite the mutual hatred they had for each other.
At one point, she might have been perfectly happy to take care of her nephew. At one point, she might have been glad to raise him as her own. At one point, she might have been willing to go so far as to accept magic for the sake of her nephew. Not anymore.
Not after what happened. Not after what she lost. Every time she looked at her nephew, she was reminded of her loss. Every time she saw her nephew, she thought of the dream that would always remain a dream.
Her nephew didn't just remind her of the loss of her sister, he reminded her of something worse. Magic, she decided, was as horrible as it was beautiful. But she couldn't bring herself to enjoy the beauty of magic. Not after everything that had happened. Not after everything she lost to it.
She was not jealous of her sister for her gift of magic as people often believed when they learned about their mutual hatred. She hated the world that took away her sister. She hated the world that she suspected took away her parents before their time. And she hated the world that took away her hopes and dreams.
Sighing, she sat in their living room while thinking about her missing nephew. She wondered if he was safe or if he was with their kind. She wondered if he was happy when he was back among his kind. But then the heart-wrenching pain returned as she was reminded of her loss and then she could not bring herself to care anymore.
Oh, she remembered the last letter she received from their kind that warned her of the danger posed to her nephew from a mad man. There was a reason why she kept her nephew around, even after losing so much to their kind.
But now, now she couldn't bring herself to worry about her nephew. He was most likely safe with his kind. Good thing too, she didn't want to spend another summer worrying about her husband throwing temper tantrums every time he saw Harry.
A few sips of her tea and she was sure that something was wrong. Her mind clouded and she couldn't feel her body. She opened her mouth to scream for her husband and son; even though they were not present in the house, but no words came out.
A strange looking creature popped into the room. House-elf, her sister called them. A parchment and quill floated beside the creature. She thought that she was supposed to know the elf but then her mind clouded and she forgot what she was thinking.
"Are you Petunia Dursley?" The elf asked her in a small squeaky voice.
"Yes." Her mouth moved involuntarily even when she wanted to scream abuse and tell the creature to leave her and her family alone.
"Are you Lily Potter's sister?" The elf asked while looking at the parchment in her little hands.
"Yes." She answered again while fearing what the little creature wanted with her.
"Is Harry Potter your nephew?" So, that's what this is about? She thought in scorn. Somehow everything came back to her nephew.
"Yes." She wondered who sent the little creature.
"Why do you hate your nephew?" The hostile way it was said amused her.
"I do not hate my nephew." The words left her even as she tried to stop them. She hated her nephew. There was nothing she hated more in the whole wide world. But then she wondered how true it was.
The elf looked up from her parchment, just as confused as her. The little elf muttered something under her breath. "Then why do you treat him horribly?" She asked with narrowed eyes.
"I do not know." That's what he deserves. You freaks are nothing better than dirt. She shouted in her head but the words didn't come out. What is happening here? This was too real to be some kind of dream.
The elf popped away after glaring at her for some moments and she woke up in her bed. That was a very weird dream. She thought to herself while calling for her son to go get some grocery.
HpLcp
Grunnings,
August 8th, 1992.
Vernon Dursley heaved a sigh as he sat back in his chair. That was a taxing day for him. Being a sales-executive was a difficult job, but it was something he enjoyed.
Making deals while making both his superiors and clients happy was his art. It was something he was good at and something he enjoyed.
Staring at the paperwork in front of him, he sighed. The only thing in his job that bored him was the paperwork. But it was manageable so he decided to suck it up and get on with it.
He wondered if he would be able to save enough money to take his family on a long summer vacation. His freak nephew would have to placed with their neighbours for the time being. He would be glad just to have the boy out of his side.
They were good, honest people who didn't need any freakish behaviour around them. That freakishness had already cost them too much. He didn't want to lose more to it. At least the boy was out of his sight for now.
Ordinarily, he would not even spend a second thinking about his nephew and everything he represented. But these were not ordinary times, were they? Just a few days ago, Mrs Figg was asking him about the boy. They often left the boy with her when they wanted to go out and have fun as a family.
And he didn't know how to answer the lady who used to babysit his nephew. So, he told her the same thing he did to those freaks who turned up at his house asking about his nephew doing magic. That his nephew was out on a summer camp. He then proceeded to tear strips out of those freaks for disturbing the lives of normal people like them.
He was angry enough knowing that his nephew had disappeared without even the curtsey of informing them, the questions from his neighbours about the little boy were just angering him.
As if the boy was able to use his freakishness after he took his stick away. But when he checked the cupboard for the stick, he was astonished to find that all of those were vanished. Along with everything else that belonged to his nephew.
Good riddance. He thought after spending some time worrying about the freakish nature of the events. At least he didn't have the constant reminder of those freaks and the things he lost to them whenever he saw his nephew.
Sighing, he signed another report and took a sip of his tea. His mind clouded as he thought about the latest toy his son was asking about.
"Are you Vernon Dursley?" A very high-pitched voice asked from somewhere he could not see. His body didn't respond when he tried to turn towards the source.
"Yes." His mouth moved and he was scared when he couldn't scream for help.
"Are you Petunia Dursley's husband?" The voice asked again.
"Yes." He tried frowning but his body didn't respond.
"Why do you hate your nephew?" So, he is what this was about. He thought viscously.
"Because he is not normal." As if that answered everything. And for Vernon Dursley, it answered everything.
"Why do you think he is not normal?" The high-pitched voice sounded angry and he smiled. At least he tried smiling, his body didn't respond.
"Because he uses magic." Even under the whatever freakiness he was, he couldn't keep the disdain out of his voice when he thought about magic.
"Why did you take him in then?" The voice asked after a pause.
"I didn't want to take the little boy in. After reading the letter that was in his basket, my wife insisted." How he wished he had pushed further to change his wife's decision that fateful night.
"Why did your wife insist on taking the boy under your roof?"
"I do not know." He answered in the same monotonous voice while wondering about it.
There was pause and he heard the sound of papers shuffling. "Why do you hate magic?" The squeaky voice asked again.
And he remembered. He remembered all the unpleasant experiences that made him hate magic. The humiliation he felt when someone turned his hair orange and made him tap-dance while singing ridiculous songs at his sister-in-law's engagement party.
He remembered discovering the pig's tail he had when he returned from that party. He remembered the embarrassment as well as the trauma he had to suffer. He remembered the money he had to spend to get the tail removed surgically. He remembered how he had to make-do with what little money he was left with after that event.
It even affected his first choice of engagement ring for his wife. He remembered the snipes and insults they faced when the attended that engagement and later the wedding of the Potters.
He remembered his wife pleading her sister to leave the magical world behind after everything that happened to them. He remembered his wife pleading her sister to leave the country after she heard about the mad man trying to kill them. He remembered how it all fell on deaf years.
He remembered being worried sick about the fate of his nephew when he heard about the death of the boy's parents. Whispered words on the streets talking about the fate of the Potter couple. Singing praises of the little boy who did the unimaginable. About the disappearance of 'You-know-who'.
He remembered asking his wife about the boy they had only heard about. And he remembered his wife not caring about it. They had tried mending their relationship but after the humiliation and insults, enough was enough. He dared not mention the Potters around his wife. Not that he felt inclined to do that after his own experience with magic.
He remembered worrying about the costs and difficulties of raising another boy when they found Harry on their doorstep without any documentation. He remembered how his wife wanted another child of her own.
A girl this time. He remembered his wife accepting to raise her nephew at least grudgingly and deciding to try for another child in a few years when they were financially stable.
And he remembered how traumatic it was for them to know that somehow his wife lost her ability to give birth a few years later. His wife broke down that day and it was all he could to keep her sane and responsive. Even the learned experts were left scratching their heads.
Combined that with finding their child flying upside down in his room while their nephew laughed happily and clapped his hands in joy, they knew who was to blame for their misfortune.
That was the straw that broke the camel's back and made them what they were and how they treated their nephew. And he said it all. He told about all the unpleasant experiences he had with magic even as tears fell down.
"Mr Dursley." He woke with a start and stared at his secretary. "Good. You are awake. The boss wants to talk to you about the recent deal you failed in making. The clients are willing to give you another chance. Don't spoil it." His secretary frowned at him when he mumbled a reply while shaking the cobwebs of his nap. He wondered why he couldn't remember how he fell asleep.
"Stop day-dreaming, Mr Dursley." He heard his secretary snap from near his office's door. "The boss is not going to wait for you the whole day."
"Coming, coming." He muttered while finding the relevant files. With the freak not around to spoil things for him, he was sure to make the deal this time around.
HpLcp
Lily's pad,
Diagon Alley.
August 11th, 1992.
Harry Potter woke up with a groan. For the first time in months, he was able to sleep without having nightmares about the death of Quirrell.
The blurry world focused as soon as he was able to find his glasses and wear them. After a satisfying stretch, he looked around the bedroom his mother had prepared for him. The place where his mother lived before marrying his father.
The room was decorated with all kinds of magical instruments. He would have never thought his mother would choose emerald green for the room. But then again, it matched both his mother's and his eyes perfectly. And it calmed him.
"Mispy." He called for the house-elf as he tried finding the hand-me-downs from his cousin to wear.
"Yes, Master Harry." The little elf popped into view while he rummaged his trunks.
"Where are my clothes? The ones you brought with my stuff." He asked as he found only new clothes in his trunk. Most of them were robes.
"Mistress Dorea asked me to burn those clothes, Young Master Harry." The little elf wrung her hands in worry when she saw him frown. "She said such clothes are not befitting the station of the Potter heir."
"Who is Mistress Dorea?" He asked after a moment as he decided on what to wear. He was certain he was not going to miss his cousin's old clothes. He also wondered who paid for his clothes.
"Mistress Dorea is your Great grandmother." The elf said enthusiastically after she was certain that Harry was not unhappy with her.
"Great grandmother." Harry mused wondering if she was talking about magical portraits or ghosts. "Is she a portrait?" He decided to ask.
"Oh, yes. I's had to go to the Black manor to retrieve Mistress Dorea's portrait. All the other portraits were destroyed during the first war." Mispy answered with a smile, her ears flapping. "Mistress Dorea is waiting for you to get ready. She says she wants to begin your etiquette classes as soon as you's are ready."
Harry nodded in return as she elaborated further. "Mistress Dorea also wants to know more about you. She says you have to answer many letters and get prepared to visit your parent's grave tomorrow. There is someone she wants to meet you there."
Harry's breath hitched when he heard about his parent's grave. No one told him where his parents were buried. Or where they lived. It was always 'Your parents were great people, Harry.' Or 'You look just like your father but your eyes, there are all Lily's.'
He didn't even know what kind of people they were. People said his parents were good people. But he was uncertain if those people even knew his parents. No one had ever claimed to be good friends with his parents yet. At least he didn't remember anyone proclaiming them.
People like Hagrid said they were good but he knew that Hagrid was simple minded enough to not see the bad in them. The guy claimed Snape was good all because he trusted Dumbledore's word. So, yes, Harry had his reservations about things that came out of Hagrid's mouth.
It was not an offence to the big fellow but no one could deny that the man trusted too easily. And he had shown himself to be remarkably cruel when he gave his cousin a pig's tail using magic. Dudley, no matter how cruel to him, was a boy of eleven. Intentional or not.
Harry didn't think he deserved the trauma of that. Yes, he thought the whole thing funny at that time but that was before he knew that Dudley had to undergo an operation to surgically remove the tail. And that was not talking about the giant man's idea of cute things. Dragons and giant three headed dogs came to mind.
Harry tried to push the thoughts of the gentle giant to the back of his mind as he finished his morning rituals. He knew that his etiquette classes were going to be painfully embarrassing as soon as he saw the portrait of a stern looking blonde.
Her first remark as soon as she noticed him were "Finally got the time to visit, little Harry?" The accompanying sneer told him that she was not impressed.
Thus, began his magical education accompanied by a lot of insults, snipes at his manners and guilt-trips whenever the portrait pointed out the many mistakes, he made throughout his first year at Hogwarts. A lot of which were potentially dangerous and life threatening to others as well.
"Seriously, how were you to going to stop an experienced Professor from stealing the stone? With Wingardium Leviosa?" Dorea huffed while staring at the red-faced Harry. Even with all that, he was happy that he finally got to learn about his parents and his magical heritage.
HpLcp
Godric's Hollow,
West Country, England.
August 13th, 1992.
Eighty-seven-year old retired-Unspeakable Cassiopeia Black appeared on the edge of Godric's Hollow with a crack. Godric's Hollow was a small community that was inhabited by a number of notable wizarding families.
The old place with many memories. She thought with a grim smile as she remembered all the historical events that happened there. The most recent being the attack on the Potter family and the destruction of 'You-know-Who'.
Cassiopeia Black, like many Blacks before her, had faked her death a few months ago with the desire to live her remaining days in peace and quiet. And she was successful at making it look like a natural event too.
But she forgot one thing- House elves. Somehow the portrait of her youngest sister Dorea Potter was able to ask the Black family elf to send a message to her.
Her sister's family needed help and here she was, back in Britain. Well, she had family obligations too. And whether she liked it or not, she came. It was not often when a portrait of your dead family member asked for help.
She was able to learn much in the conversation with her sister's portrait. And what she learned was enough for her to agree with her sister's theory. There was a conspiracy involved.
One that spelled the end of line Potter and Black. And she was going to do her best to raise hell on the parties involved. It was a good thing that she had her little black book. She was certain that she would need help but there was time. She had to contact the boy around whom it all revolved. Namely one Harry Potter.
Reaching the centre of the town while under a strong notice-me-not charm, she stopped as soon as she saw him. A thin little boy dressed in black robes staring at a statue at the centre of the village's square.
The statue depicted a young couple playing happily with their infant child. The statue was erected in the memory of James and Lily Potter, a dedication to Harry Potter.
From a distance, it appeared as an obelisk, carved with the names of people who died in the war. But to a witch or wizard it was a statue of a family. James, Lily and an infant Harry who looked content in his mother's arms. And although the statue was made of stone, the boy staring at it appeared to be made of glass.
Her heart broke when she saw silent tears streaming down the boy's face as he touched the faces of his parents; cold and hard as they were. She wanted to go on and console him but she understood that it was something he had to do by himself.
This was the first time he was visiting his parents grave and she didn't want to intrude on a private moment. It was not something she could bring herself to do. The child needed the closure. He needed to spend time alone with his parents. To talk to them freely.
She cursed whoever it was that took the boy's guardianship. They couldn't even bring themselves to bring the boy to the final resting place of his parents. Albus Dumbledore, she thought, was a very inconsiderate man.
She watched from distance as the boy walked towards the graveyard in a daze. Adding a disillusionment and silencing charm to herself, she followed him. Thinking that the boy would not want to be disturbed, she casted a notice-me-not charm on him too.
She watched for a distance as the boy searched for his parent's grave. When he found it, she heard him murmur "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death." In the silent graveyard, she watched the boy place some lilies on their grave and talk to them.
She maintained her distance knowing that he would need the privacy. And she couldn't bring herself to intrude on such an intimate moment of the boy's life. She knew he would want to talk about himself, his childhood, his relatives, his friends, Hogwarts, the people he met, his likes, his dislikes, his hopes, his dreams. They were things she had no business knowing.
And yet she stayed and watched from a distance as the boy sat in front of the graves and talked for hours. She would just have to introduce herself some other time now. The boy looked drained. And she should have expected him to be.
She watched as the emotionally exhausted boy called for his elf and popped away from sight. With a sigh, she turned and returned to her apartment. She would have to introduce herself some other day.
HpLcp
Godric's Hollow,
West Country, England.
August 20th, 1992.
Cassiopeia Black watched from distance as Harry once again sat in front of his parent's grave and talked. She had watched the boy sit in front of his parent's grave and talk to them for hours after the boy's first visit.
She wanted to join the boy and introduce herself but she hesitated when she saw the look of profound sadness on his face. The look of longing on his face every time he saw the statue of his parent's broke her heart.
She decided to leave the consoling to her sister's portrait. She, unfortunately, was not the right person to do it. Having little experience with children, she knew that one wrong word would be disastrous.
It took some time but she was certain that she could introduce herself to the child now. Her sister said that the boy required adult's guidance. It was something he lacked sorely. Portraits and elves could only provide so much.
With a sigh, she stepped towards the boy after removing the charms she had on herself. "They gave their lives so that others might live." She murmured as she watched the boy jump with a start. Harry smiled sadly, knowing what she meant.
With a flick of her wand, she conjured a wreath of roses and placed it on the graves. The snowy white tombstone read the birth and death date of the Potters. The graveyard was said to be 'magnificently haunted'.
"Greetings, young Harry." She smiled when the boy looked at her and extended her hand. Harry, quick on uptake, took her hand flipping it over and gently kissed her knuckles while staring into her eyes.
"Madame Cassiopeia Black, I presume." Harry smiled while taking a step back. "Lady Dorea said you would meet me here." His black robes moved gently with the wind.
"I am sure she did. Would you like to take a walk with this old lady?" She smiled lightly and extended her hand. "Have you visited the Potter's cottage yet?" She knew he had not.
"No." Harry answered while staring at his feet. "I, uh…" He stumbled at the words, not knowing how to answer. Visiting his parent's grave was overwhelming enough, he didn't think if he could handle a visit to the place they were murdered.
Cassiopeia smiled sadly and decided to leave it for some other time. "Maybe some other time, young Harry. You can visit the Potter's cottage when you are ready. Maybe with a close friend of yours?" She smiled when Harry nodded and murmured his consent.
"Dorea says that you have some fascinating stories to tell." She started slowly while keeping an eye on the boy. His immediate tensing told her that he knew what she was talking about. "Easy there, young man. I am not going to force you to talk about it."
"I just want you to know that I am here to help you in any way I can. I have many contacts in the ministry that could help you, but they won't be able to do so if they don't know about it." She saw him frown in thought and smiled. At least he knew not to trust someone immediately.
"But we can do that at a later date. I am sure Dorea gave you some instructions to follow. Rituals and rings to prepare for your protection. What do you say we get that done first?" When the boy gave his consent, she continued. "Then we can talk about this dark lord of yours and how to deal with him. Those who do not speak would be able to help us. Most likely without putting you in unnecessary danger."
"What do you mean 'those who do not speak'?" The boy asked in confusion. So, his education was not that far ahead yet. Interesting. Dumbledore was keeping the boy very ignorant. Then again, a twelve-year old had no business knowing about Unspeakables.
"I am talking about Unspeakables, young Harry." She glanced around as she heard the sounds of people enjoying their day and caste a notice-me-not charm on herself and her charge.
"They work for the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic. Well, I can't share much about them and what they do but I can confirm that they would be able to help you."
"Really? Headmaster Dumbledore should be able to help you more with regards to that. He didn't seem too shocked when I said it was Voldemort who was trying to steal the stone." If Harry expected her to flinch upon hearing the dark lord's name, he was sorely disappointed.
"Don't you think that if Dumbledore wanted people to know that the dark lord was trying to return, he would have already done so?" She mused, knowing that Dumbledore would never part with his secrets. "I have yet to hear anything about the debacle at the end of your first year from my contacts in ministry, Harry."
"And trust me, any news regarding the possible return of the dark lord would spread like wildfire. Besides, you should not speak that name so freely." She cautioned.
"Why should I not say his name? Dumbledore says that fear of the name spreads fear of the man." Harry asked while looking around at the various cottages around them.
"There is a reason why people fear speaking his name." Cassiopeia sighed thinking of various ways to strangle Dumbledore for giving wrong advice to a young boy. "There was a taboo placed on that name, Harry."
She continued speaking as she knew that Harry wouldn't know about everything. "Every time someone spoke his name, Voldemort and his death-eaters would be alerted of their location. You can imagine what their fate was when the apparated there." Glancing at Harry's pale face, she knew he understood.
"But, then, why would Dumbledore insist on calling him by his name?" Harry asked in despair. Why would he want to put me in danger like that? Especially since he that neither Voldemort nor his death eaters were gone for good.
"Who knows why Dumbledore do half the things he does?" She wanted to shrug but it was not something that was befitting a lady. "Maybe he thought that the curse was removed, though I have my reservations regarding that. You should be cautious about what you choose to believe, Harry. Especially when it comes from Dumbledore."
Knowing he would want to know the reasons behind that, she elaborated. "Dumbledore keeps many secrets, Harry. You will see that not many people trust Dumbledore, not only from dark families but neutral and light families too."
"He is a good man, true. But he is also a politician who has his own agendas. House Dumbledore is a small family, not noble, quite young too… You can imagine how Albus would want his family name to be remembered. Did you know that his father was sent to prison for killing muggles?" She asked, knowing that she had created enough doubt in young Harry's mind to be cautious of the old man.
"Dorea says he gave you your father's cloak last Christmas. Did you ask why he had the possession of your heirloom for so long?" She sighed when the boy shook his head in negative. "If your parents had that cloak with them, don't you think they would have had a better chance at escaping the dark lord?"
"But, but, how was Dumbledore supposed to know the Voldemort would come for my family?" Harry sputtered in disbelief.
"Why wouldn't he? He was the one who helped hide your parents after all." She sighed. "Dorea must have told you why your parents went into hiding. If she didn't, you should ask her when you get the time. You have apparated with your elf, haven't you? Good this would be easy if you already know how it feels."
She grabbed his hand tightly when they reached the apparition point. "I have made preparations for your first magical ritual. You will have to ask your elf to bring your rings. Blood magic is often dangerous so remember to follow my instructions precisely."
"Your rings are very important. You will not share anything about them with anyone. Not even your friends. Nor will you share anything about the ritual, I am lucky enough to witness a Potter family ritual."
"You must understand the importance of family secrets, young Harry. There are many people who would sell their daughters to get their hands on one of those secrets." When she was certain that Harry understood, she turned and they disappeared with a crack.
HpLcp
Greengrass Manor,
August 27th, 1992.
Daphne Greengrass, heir to the Greengrass family, smiled while looking at her reflection. Her long raven-hair were very beautiful, something she was very proud of. Her blue eyes matched perfectly with her new muggle dress. She twirled around and admired herself in front of the magical mirror that sang praises of her beauty.
At almost thirteen, Daphne was considered pretty by many and she was proud of her looks. Happily, she took her new charms book and decided to read ahead. She was very pretty, true, but what she admired about herself was her intelligence.
Looks were great but what an heir to the 'sacred twenty-eight' required was intelligence and wits. Hers was a very old family. While they didn't believe in pureblood supremacy, they understood the importance of traditions. Her family also understood the importance family magics and their secrets, rituals and their importance.
A few days ago, she successfully performed a ritual in respect of magic and all it gave them. Her father was very proud at the initiative she took in learning the old ways.
There were many pure-blood supremacists who would talk how they were better just because they had wizards and witches in their family for many generations.
Those people would never realize that true supremacy was knowledge of magic and rituals. They would never know that true supremacy lied in getting accepted by the family magics.
They would never know that true power was wielding family magics. The wizarding world lost more knowledge than it gained.
She, finally, was able to feel her family magic. The rush of power was intoxicating. So was the feeling of warmth that spread in her body every time the magic hummed.
This was what the dark lords and light lords desired. This power was what they could never have. Family magic was a blessing and not everyone was worthy.
A call from her mother startled her from her studies. Sighing, she got up and went to living room where her parents waited for her. She waited dutifully for the stairs to align themselves to the path she wanted to use. Dutifully, she knocked on the door and waited for her parents to grant her entry.
"Daughter." Her mother smiled when she dipped in a low curtsey, her eyes lowered and her head titled. Looking around, she saw her father sitting in one of the chairs while sipping fire-whisky. His face paler than normal. Her mother looked tense as well.
"Sit, daughter." Her mother asked gently while she herself took a seat beside her father. Her mother's hands were shaking, she noted carefully. Something must have happened for her mother to be scared. Sophia Greengrass, her mother, was one of the Unspeakables. There was not much that scared her.
"Daphne, you are in Harry Potter's year, are you not?" Her mother started slowly. She wanted to groan at the mention of that disappointment but her upbringing stopped her.
She was getting irritated at the constant stream of questions for her younger sister Astoria. Her sister was on cloud nine ever since she got a reply from the famous 'boy-who-lived'.
She nodded carefully, wondering what her mother wanted to know about the famous boy. "What can you tell me about him?" Her mother asked.
She would have chosen her words carefully if she wasn't hurt by the lose of house cup that year. She like many of her classmates gave her best to collect those points and she was very disappointed when Gryffindor won the house cup because Dumbledore favoured the golden boy.
"Harry Potter is nothing more than a disappointment to his lineage and magical heritage." She elaborated when her mother raised an amused eyebrow. "It is true. That boy dresses in rags while committing faux-pas after faux-pas. He is friends with those blood traitors and completely ignores his old family allies."
She took a deep breath to continue her rant but stopped when she heard a portrait of her ancestor roaring in laughter. "A Potter not committing social faux-pas, now that would be a sight." The painting chortled in apparent amusement.
"Never mind, Honey. You were saying…" Her mother urged her to continue. And so, she did, though she understood that most of her frustration came from the apparent loss of house cup, it wasn't as if the boy didn't make enemies in her house.
"He has involved himself in the blood feud between the Malfoys and Weasleys plenty of times. Hogwarts changes its rules for him, while allowing him to join the quidditch team in first year. He keeps company of blood traitors and muggle-born witches while keeping at a arms distance from traditional families."
"He doesn't talk about rituals and old alliances and magic yet he is apparently happy to celebrate muggle festivals. Doesn't he know how important wizarding festivals are to an old family like his?" She shook her head while thinking about the boy who was disappointing all the traditional families.
"You would think that he is the poster boy for muggle-born witches and wizards. And this is after Dumbledore informed the magical population that he was going to take care of his magical education."
"Why, it is almost like the boy is spitting on our traditions while promoting the muggle versions of them." She frowned in distaste.
"He is like the poster boy of Light who is hell bent on insulting his allies and as many traditional families as he possibly can." She paused in her tirade and blushed when she saw her mother's amused face. Her father chuckled quietly beside her.
"So, you do not like the Potter heir much, do you?" Her mother's eyes twinkled in amusement. She did her best to stare at her hands and denied answering. Of course, she didn't like the boy who insulted her traditions and her way of life every time he opened his mouth.
"It doesn't matter." She stared at her mother as she spoke, wondering what it was all about. "I think you have judged him too early, dear. Potter's were never sticklers for etiquette but they followed the traditions religiously. Keep an eye on him, honey, and he might as well surprise you."
Confused, she asked her mother for more information but was waved away. She left in a huff when she was dismissed. What is it with everyone considering Potter to be the magic's gift? She sighed and took a calming breath.
Her mother wouldn't have bothered asking for more information if he was not important. And that is what she was lacking. A slytherin did not act on assumptions. There was something going on with the Potter and she wanted to find out what. Well, she was going to keep an eye on the boy this year.
She would watch and decide if the boy was worth the attention he received. She hoped her time wasn't wasted. She would be most displeased if she didn't find anything interesting with the boy.
She huffed and ran to her room when she heard the voice of her sister calling her. She didn't want to waste another hour trying to get it into her sister's head that Potter didn't have a pet dragon.
HpLcp
A/N- Hope it was enjoyable. How do you like the portrayal of Daphne Greengrass? Not your usual twelve-year-old ice queen with perfect control over her emotions. Next time- Hogwarts bound.
Does anybody know how Severus Snape got the secret to visit the Potter house after their death? I tried finding that but I was unable to get any theories that made sense. Some say that the fidelius charm broke after Voldemort's attack but how was it possible when Peter only shared the secret? Some say the Dumbledore told him but I am unsure about that too. Was it a retcon on JK Rowling's part?
A galleon for your thoughts.