disclaimer: the author of this fic does not claim ownership over the fandom and its characters. the timeline of this fanfic is slightly canon divergent. for example, instead of running away in 1975, sirius leaves his family at 1976. other information may also be inaccurate, but i did try my best to research said topics beforehand so kindly inform me about any errors instead. thank you :)
this story is also cross-posted on archive of our own and wattpad under the username 'starbrrymilk', and is inspired by the song below. enjoy!
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and as the world comes to an end,
i'll be here to hold your hand
cause you're my king and i'm your lionheart
king and lionheart; of monsters and men
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PROLOGUE
"nosce te ipsum"
know thyself
IT ENDS WITH THE CAVE, she thinks. It's dark and she can't breathe. It feels like she's drowning or dying. Her chest is burning and everything is hazily spiraling to the point that she can't tell which it was.
It hurts.
Well, it was supposed to, but the pain gnawing on her entire body seemed to have fizzled out, and the only thing left for her to do was to breathe.
Breathing, can be awfully taxing at times, wouldn't you say?
But she has to. If not for herself, then for them —for him— because Regulus refused to leave her side. He's holding her tightly and screaming in agony.
She wishes she can make out what he was trying to say over this deafening silence, but to no avail, her consciousness is fading.
'Maybe this was it,' the girl wonders. She can't help but let out a breathy laugh as if to mock the way things seemed to have gone.
Fate truly was both funny and cruel at times.
The memories of how it came to be flash through her head rather slowly like a ripple in the calm waters, like the Inferi holding her ankle dragging her into the deep to the point of no return.
IT STARTS SIMPLE. She supposes she should have known how it would go from the start, but as hard as you try to predict the future, not everything goes as planned.
She likes it that way.
The element of surprise led to oblivion; an emotion that didn't seem to fair well with people, especially those who would fear the unknown.
But beneath all those was hope.
It was the light amidst the darkness. It was the same notion, that put her apart from the rest. Though, it never really bothered her that much because for as long as she could remember, she was said to be different.
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Amaris Selene Leclair never felt as if she belonged and perhaps it was right for her to think of herself that way. How it happened or why it had to be her were both questions she had yet to find an answer for but regardless, she eventually learns that different wasn't necessarily a good thing. Such thoughts were only supported by the hushed voices and concerned glances they often sent her way.
The people around her had slowly become aware of the young child's eccentricities. From a Muggle's point of view, they would usually pass it off, claiming her head had always been in the clouds, unable to comprehend whatever it was that ran through her mind.
Other times, it goes beyond that— from odd glances to violent reactions.
The world is never kind to the extraordinary. They're deemed as strange, as freaks, as abnormalities.
It was the same reason why people are persecuted. It's for that same reason that her family constantly attempts to protect her by keeping such peculiar abilities a secret.
But secrets always begin to unravel.
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THE SIGNS BEGAN TO SHOW at the mere age of seven. Her mother almost gets a heart attack when she finds her daughter crying on the roof, having floated in mid-air in an attempt to save the stray cat she'd grown attached to.
The child, despite her pure intentions, had no idea how she even got there— what more how she could get back down?
In a fit of fear, she bawled her eyes out, waiting until her mother soothed her with her gentle embrace.
AT THE AGE OF EIGHT, grief looms over her head after witnessing her first loss. It embodies itself into an actual storm cloud that kills the precious flowers in the garden her grandfather had often tended.
AT THE AGE OF NINE, she discovers that being different isn't so much of a good thing. She fears the odd looks her peers sent her way. The words the local Muggle kids spat at her hurt more than whatever sticks or stones they could throw her way. Thus, her older sister attempts to protect her, advising her to keep her gifts hidden outside their home.
AT THE AGE OF TEN, she finds it difficult to act normal. She realizes that there were things that others failed to see and it was certainly hard to ignore such. It's for that reason that she accidentally lets go of her sister's hand during one of their walks in town.
. . .
In her defense, the eerie establishment that was painted in black and adorned with an array of colorful crystals almost felt as if they were calling out to her. She unknowingly lets go of her sister's hands amidst the busy streets, walking toward its door as if she were caught in a trance.
The storefront signage swings alongside the strong breeze of the wind, creaking as it sways. In golden embellishments, the words on the glass window read:
ALEA IACTA EST
The door chimes ring gently as her little palms push the glass doors.
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As soon as she enters the store, she comes across an old woman with wrinkled cheeks, a gentle smile, and hooded eyes hidden by the dark veil that cascades over her nose.
A chill runs up her spine at the sudden appearance of the stranger. The little girl stumbles backward only to be caught by a chair that moved her towards the velvet-clothed table, trapping her in place.
"Ah, you are blessed with the sight," the strange lady's smile grows as she greets the child, peering closer to have a good look at her.
The next thing she knows, there's a crystal ball at the woman's right and a deck of cards laid out in front of her. She shuffles them gracefully despite the ghastly complexion of her boney fingers.
"Would you like to have your fortune told, little one?"
The little girl's bright blue eyes blink twice. Her blonde hair glimmers from the candlelight, seeming golden akin to the intricate pattern of the tarot cards.
Before she is able to muster a response, the woman had already cut the deck in three, all of which were facing down.
She flips the first card.
The Hermit. Reversed. Her past. It depicts an old man standing at the peak of the mountain, a lantern and staff in each hand. Loneliness. Isolation. Rejection.
"You once stood alone on this cliff—" the woman began as she turned the next card.
Death. Upright. Her present. The grim rides on a beautiful white horse, holding a black flag adorned with white details. It's the end of something. Change. Metamorphosis. Letting go.
"—But on the night of the blood moon, you will look death in the eye—"
Flip.
The Hanged Man. Upright. Her future. A figure hanging by foot from the living world tree. Sacrifice. Uncertainty. A different perspective.
"—There will come a day in which you will decide whether you are to trade a life in exchange for another—"
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And then she continued, "From that great height which you've climbed, you will equally fall into a great abyss, drowned by whatever is in your heart, suffocated by that everlasting darkness."
As the little girl swallows the lodge that had formed in her throat, the old woman is already reshuffling the deck, cutting it in threes once again and setting them diagonally as she continued to speak in incomprehensible riddles.
She flips a card.
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Four of Wands. Upright. Home. Stability. Belonging. A couple dancing behind a wreath tied between four wands, a canopy of flowers, and a time in which a celebration had been held.
"—There has always been too much to lose. To name a few, they are that which has given you the light you are so proud of—"
Flip.
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Strength. Upright. Courage. Confidence. Compassion. A woman overpowers a lion by the jaw, holding it with grace and kindness.
"—But don't you worry my dear, search for the heart of the lion and wield your strength, for it is within the darkness that you'll learn of how much easier it is to find the light—"
The last card turns.
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The Star. Upright. Hope. Renewal. Healing. A water-bearer kneels at the edge of a pond, one foot inside the water, the other on the ground. A large star and seven small ones from behind her.
"Have faith in the star that lights your way. Else, it will be swallowed by the shadows of the night sky."
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The woman hands her a pebble just as the reading ends. It was dark and smooth to the touch, engraved with incomprehensible old runes with a rather prominent hole in the center. The Adder stone weighs in her small palms and she accepts it gratefully despite her confusion.
"And in this will you see that which you ought to see," is the last thing she hears because as soon as she peers into the stone, she can't breathe.
She can't breathe. She can't breathe. She can't breathe.
Darkness consumes her and she finds herself back where she came from.
. . .
The young maiden stands alone in the busy streets, panting heavily as she attempts to catch her breath. Her wide azure eyes squint at the brightness of the day, trying to regain her composure after being violently pulled back into reality.
She is enveloped by a tight embrace as soon as her sister finds her.
The expression on the older girl's face gradually relaxes from fear to relief. She had been searching frantically, oblivious to what her younger sister had walked into.
The way the child acquires a high fever later that night doesn't seem to alleviate her worries.
Their fear of the unknown only grows.
AT THE AGE OF ELEVEN, on the night of the blood moon, just as the old clairvoyant had predicted, they finally get the answers they were looking for.
The foreshadowed present knocks on their door. The path to her future becomes set.
It comes in the form of two things:
A witch and a letter.