Chapter 3
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters, they belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm not making any profit from writing this.
This chapter isn't betaed, any mistakes are my own and English is definitely not my first language. Constructive criticism is much appreciated, flames are not.
Aline's thoughts
Harry's thoughts
Parseltongue
School was boring. The Dursley's abuse was repetitive (she was horrified she'd dealt with 9 years [9 months] of this and keeping the hatred alive while she couldn't do anything about it was stupid. It burned in her throat, she might choke on it one day, so she let it go...for now).
The Dursley went to Marge's house for Easter, leaving her with Mrs Figg, the squib that definitely knew about the abuse. Mainly because she told her. Not that it did any good, she thought she was exaggerating.
In what universe, was a child coming to you and telling you that his [her] stomach and arms still hurt from the beating he [she] received the day before and that he [she] hadn't eaten in two days, not cause for concern?
This one apparently.
Silently, she promised herself she'd investigate if the woman was cursed to ignore such accusations. If not, well… adding a name to her list cost her nothing.
She stared at the full length mirror on the door of the wardrobe in the guest room. All her clothes were hanging in there for the week.
She stared at her body, running a hand through her hair, touching her lips and caressing her cheeks. She never had the time to just look at the Dursley, always rushing bath time lest Petunia come to drag her out or stuck in the mirrorless darkness of the cupboard.
Her cheeks were thin and gaunt, but her skin had a healthy tan from all the gardening. Her hair was surprisingly soft despite the lack of conditioner. The permanent messiness was irritating, but she fully intended to grow it out one day so she could braid it properly. Maybe the increased weight would force it to behave.
Her green eyes were feverishly bright in the living world, nothing like the darkened emeralds of the In-Between.
Her arms were skinny, her ribs and the ridges of her spine were showing. Her skin was surprisingly soft and free of body hair (she would enjoy not having to wax while it lasted. Unfortunately, she disliked body hair enough that she already knew she would be waxing one day even though men's beauty standards didn't ask for it).
She was small. Shorter than her peers due to malnutrition and possibly genetics. She hadn't really paid attention to James' and Lily's heights in the In-Between.
Her toes were cute.
Slowly, staring up at the ceiling, she removed the last barrier covering, [his] hers now dammit, her privates.
She took a deep breath and looked at the mirror.
He was a child. She was a child. A boy.
She dry heaved and shook her head. A visceral reaction ("Boy! Come here!", "My name is Freak, sometimes Boy, ma'm.", "You freakish boy!").
He hated that word.
She was a girl no matter what was between her legs (so weird, so weird, oh gods. It wouldn't be so bad if it was bigger, I can deal with that, I did want to know how it would feel to have one. She hated the reminder that she was possessing a child. [She was better than THEM she had thought she was]).
§§§
Mrs Figg was both a breath of fresh air and supremely boring. Sure, she had to help with washing and combing the cats, but she was free to go wherever she wanted and do whatever she wanted outside of that, so long as she came home for dinner.
So, every afternoon, she went to the library and read. She'd gotten a library card and used it to borrow as many books as she could during her stay at Mrs Figg's. She had a lot to learn and not a lot of time to do it.
The Dursley would destroy her card if they found it.
She wasn't familiar with the 90s. At all. She was a 2000 baby and had no idea what was considered common knowledge in this time. Books, movies and inventions that were familiar to her didn't exist yet, and she couldn't rely on the primary school teachers to teach her this.
Ideally, she'd learn by experiencing the world, but that was impossible while she was trapped in that house and later at Hogwarts.
§§§
The Dursley returned, and with them her fucked up routine. The only change was that she would stay in the school library during recess and lunch time. The librarian there was friends with the one in the public library and it seemed she had vouched for her ability to read quietly and not damage the books.
This meant she saw less of Dudley and his gang who quickly moved on to more accessible targets. she'd feel guilty, but the teachers cared about cute little Mia and shy Noah being bullied. Already, they'd interfered twice.
Dudley tried to pin the blame on her, but it was hard to do so when she wasn't even there. Not that it stopped Petunia and Vernon from claiming it was her fault "their sweet Diddykins was unjustly punished", but at least they were forced to keep it quiet, lest people look more closely at their little family.
She wanted to bite and curse those teachers that turned a blind eye to her suffering when they could clearly SEE it. Dudley was bigger, wore better clothes and was obviously a stupid, idiotic bully, but somehow, he [she] was the budding criminal, the cheat the good-for-nothing-cousin.
She was tempted to follow in her Cousin Isaac's footsteps and set the school ablaze!
(It was a good thing she didn't share his obsession with fire)
§§§
She coughed and wheezed. Left eye warm and pulsing from the punch, glasses cracked in her fist from when she'd grabbed it to stop Vernon from stepping on them.
Her head hurt from the ripped out strands of hair she could see at her feet.
Her stomach hurt from the punch but she stayed on her feet. If she fell he'd start kicking and stomping. He got tired faster from throwing punches, the hits were softer. Not as much weight behind them.
She stared up at him with a blank face and her uninjured eye scrunched close. She couldn't let him see the hatred blazing in her eyes. Fear could make men do stupid things, she'd forgotten that the first time. Who knew how long she'd have to stay here before she could finally escape.
"Go to your cupboard," he sneered, "don't expect to come out tomorrow!"
Gingerly, she turned away and limped to her room.
It was worth it.
Parseltongue sounded like English to Harry Potter, she had to be sure she could use it, to experiment with what it could do. Dudley had been her unwilling test subject, he'd gone running to Vernon screaming that the freak was possessed.
She smiled and remembered the feel of that magical language, sinuous and cool, like scales.
Open, she whispered in the night. Magic rose up at her call and unlocked the door. So I really can cast spells with it.
It was so much easier than her fumbled attempt at wandless magic. Still, she was proud of the tiny glow above her pointer finger (for all that it took her months and she just managed to get it to change colours).
She sneaked into the kitchen with her empty water glass and refilled it from the sink. She drank that too and filled it up again. She then snagged an apple, a banana, two cookies from the jar and a kitchen knife and hurried back to the cupboard.
Close, she hissed at the door. She heard it lock.
She bit into Dudley's cookie and grinned. Happy birthday Harry.
Faintly, like a whisper in the wind, Happy birthday Aline.
She patiently ate the sweet treats, enjoying every bite of chocolaty goodness before she continued with her plan.
She stripped, pushing the covers to the foot of the bed and laying down the bin bag she'd stolen days ago and hid between her cot and the mattress with her toy soldier.
She grabbed the knife and laid down above the plastic, breathing carefully. She reached out with her mind to the spiders in the cupboard, dissociating slightly from her body and slashed.
She gasped and flopped her arms as she desperately tried to breath.
§§§
"What the hell?!" yelled a male voice as she opened her eyes.
"Sorry," she told the furious bespectacled man in front of her, "but we needed to talk to you both."
Her skin was a lighter shade than her old one, Harry's skin. Her wild curls were a dark black and her avatar's eyes were a bright green.
Harry was in her arms, almost translucent but for the pink scar on his forehead. Even that was fading, and slowly appearing on her own brow. The merge was almost done.
"If I am to be your daughter, give me a name." This is what was left. "I can't be Aline, and I'm not Harry. Give me a name to carry in my heart and share with those who will be close to me."
He looked at her, then at Lily by his side, "Why not ask your mother?"
It was Lily herself who answered, "Because you're the one who told her to do it. You asked her to be born." she smiled at her, showing she didn't hold it against her. She then looked up at her husband, "Besides, I named our son. It's only right that you name our daughter."
He sighed, and turned away from his wife. Staring at the fading form of his son, and at the person that his son was becoming. The woman she had been.
A forked tongue hesitantly poked out of her mouth and he smiled fondly. In two steps he was holding them both in his arms, he towered above them now, where before he barely reached her breasts.
"My wife named our son after my family, so I would like to name you after hers. It's a tradition, I'm told, to name girls after flowers in the Evans family."
Harry was fading in her arms, she could see through him now.
"Your name will be Aster, (Harry's form wavered in her arms) in honour of your mother and my brother." he grinned and kissed her forehead. "Good luck, my little star-flower. Give them hell."
He stepped back and Lily came forward. The woman smiled as she lovingly caught her head in her palms and brought it down to lay against her chest. "Love and wisdom," she too kissed her brow, "may you find the first and never lack the latter."
Harry sagged against her arm, he was glowing now, soft white dust particles that whirled around her in a vortex, covering her form before disappearing.
Her fur was now a fiery red like Lily's hair, her hair was black like James' but still as curly as Aline's. Harry's eyes were an almost luminescent green in the In-Between with the lightning bolt, Voldemort's mark, stark red above her right eye.
Aster spread her now golden wings and grinned at her parents, forked tongue peeking cheekily out of her mouth and cat ears twitching on her head.
§§§
Waking up, Aster had to admit to herself that she might not have thought things through properly.
Her throat was healed (it took more physical strength than she had to stab herself in the chest), and the bin bag had protected her mattress from the spray, but she now had dried blood on her throat, over her chest and on her cheeks. Ugh.
Sighing, she kneeled at the feet of the bed and carefully removed the plastic, wrapping the kitchen knife in it and throwing it beneath the cot. The black colour would hide the blood from a casual observer, not that the Dursley ever bothered to check her room.
She considered her glass of water, tried to consider how thirsty she was and how long she'd likely have to wait to be let out. Which she would, no matter what Vernon said, Petunia would open the cupboard to let her in the bathroom.
Previous experience told her she'd be let out at mealtimes, she would refill her glass then. She'd also be fed a slice of bread each time, lest her grumbling stomach bother her relatives.
Sighing, she took off her shirt, poured a bit of water from the glass over it and started furiously scrubbing at her neck and upper chest.
She dripped more water on the material and cleaned up her face and behind her ears just to be safe. With no mirror, she had to use the meagre light from the bulb to look down at herself and guess where the rest of the mess could be.
She then laid down, ignoring her parched throat and fell into a fitful sleep.
