There was a doorway. It was white and blinding and Bagsy squinted her eyes as she tried to look at it, shielding her face with her hand. She was is a dark void, her feet clacking on a stone-like surface as she moved towards the entrance. She looked around, wondering where the forbidden forest had gone. Only a moment ago she'd been lunging towards Primrose, trying to stop her from drinking the potion. Now, though, there was only dark void, and a white door and through the door were the noises of talking, the clattering of cutlery, and the murmur of morning chaos.

In an instant of confusion and enlightenment, Bagsy knew she was looking at the doorway to Primrose's memories, and simultaneously had no idea how she knew that. She paused, her hand already extended to push the door fully open. Did she have a right to look? But then there was an itch to know just what it was that had produced a person like Primrose Vinski, and just what is was that was hidden beneath those blonde curls.

Bagsy pushed the door open.

The street she found herself standing on was small. It had perhaps six houses in total, yet they were all easily as big as Bagsy's. She was fairly certain each would count as a mansion in its own right, but when combined on one small, secluded street they became something else altogether. One house was a large, converted barn with added extensions, each painstakingly built with period accurate bricks. Another, the one Bagsy was standing in front of, was a Victorian house. It was many stories tall with a spire and two chimneys. Instead of bricks, its walls were made of an orange terra cotta, and its roof was a faded turquoise that caught the light in brilliant shades of green and blue. Ivy crawled up each and every wall, clinging to the wooden beams decorating the structure.

Not understanding what exactly was happening, Bagsy squeaked open the front gate. A waist high brick wall extended to her right and left, enclosing the mammoth space that composed the house's garden. Within a minute, she had reached the front door, and found it open. She heard the voices that had been drifting through the strange white door that had led her here in the first place and, following them through a winding set of lavishly decorated rooms draped in tapestries, gargantuan paintings and gold accents, found the owners of the voices in an impressive kitchen.

Waitstaff, heads bowed, were rushing around three people sitting at a dark oak table.

'Eat up already, don't be such a spoiled brat,' the eldest of them said. She was short, with blonde hair in a bun and lipstick that was as strikingly purple and unnatural as her eyes. She looked mid-thirties.

The person she was talking to, who Bagsy realised with a shock was a very young Emmeline, looked annoyed. 'I don't like this stuff,' she said glumly, pushing her bowl away from herself. The wait staff around her hesitated, as if they didn't want to be the one to collect her bowl from her. They eyed her warily, each hoping another would step forward first.

'I don't care. Eat it,' the woman snapped, clicking her fingers impatiently at Emmeline, but there was an air of caution, of fear, in her voice. She was looking at Emmeline as if she were a caged tiger, only sparing her its claws for the metal bars between itself and her.

Emmeline let out a sigh. 'Fine. Sorry, I'm a little irritable this morning.' Bagsy looked at Emmeline closely. She didn't look older than eight. It was only because she had such a distinctive snub nose, blue eyes and blonde curls that she recognised her at all.

The woman, who Bagsy realised must be Emmeline's mother, didn't look pleased with this response. 'Drop the act,' she hissed at her daughter. 'Whatever you're plotting can't be hidden behind pleasantries and politeness.'

'What is it you want me to do, then, if not be polite?' Emmeline asked in confusion. The waitstaff were taking steps backwards, halting in their activities of dusting, washing dishes or arranging cutlery to glance anxiously in Emmeline's direction.

'Behave,' the woman snarled, drawing the word out. Emmeline looked at her mother silently. When a minute passed, and she still hadn't said a word, her mother seemed placated. 'Primrose?' the shift was like the snap of a rubber band; the woman turned with warm eyes to the third person sitting at the table – a very small, but still very blonde and blue-eyed, Primrose. 'How is your breakfast, sweetie?'

'I don't like it,' Primrose complained in her nasally voice. She looked about four.

'Oh dearie, that just won't do, will it?' The woman tutted sympathetically while Emeline watched on, glaring. The woman snapped her fingers and one of the cleaners hurried over and took Primrose's bowl away, to be replaced with something much nicer. 'Honestly,' the woman breathed in resignation at Emmeline, 'why can't you be more like your sister?'

The world began swirling like water down a plug hole, the voices distorting, the faces stretching out unnaturally as if melting. Bagsy felt queasy.

'I don't know…' Emmeline murmured.

'I didn't need a reply,' the woman's voice sharply responded as the scene vanished into darkness before her.

With a sharp intake of breath, and a sudden jolt, Bagsy was back outside on the main street with all the large mansions. Only, this time, it wasn't deserted. Children were running around, brandishing brooms and wands fitted with the finest looking wand training wheels. They didn't look old enough to be at Hogwarts and Bagsy guessed it was money that allowed them to have wands despite being so young.

Emmeline was there, too, Bagsy realised, standing to the side quietly, not joining in with the other children. Standing next to her was a boy who looked familiar but Bagsy couldn't place. He was tall with dark hair and had a confidence that, unlike everyone else's on the street, didn't evaporate in Emmeline's presence. Bagsy didn't understand why everyone but this boy was giving Emmeline a wide birth, but she had a feeling she was in these memories to find out.

It was when she recognised the even younger boy walking over to the pair that Bagsy realised just who these children were. 'Tod?' Bagsy breathed in disbelief, walking quickly to move around the tiny child and get a better look of his face. He wasn't tall yet, but he had his signature crooked smile and dark hair hanging in his eyes. He flipped it out of his face as he reached the person who Bagsy now realised was his older brother and school quidditch commentator; Magnus Alden.

'Mum and Dad say you're not allowed to hang out with her,' Tod explained, glancing plainly at Emmeline, his gaze void of opinion. Bagsy looked around to try and spot the parents Tod was referring to, but none of the adults watching looked anything like Tod and Magnus. Then Bagsy caught sight of two veiled faces staring at the out of the barn conversion, and suppressed a shudder, wondering if those were Tod's parents.

Magnus heaved a heavy breath, as if he'd expected this.

'It's fine,' Emmeline said, her voice incredibly quiet. Her expression was resigned as Magnus gave her a sympathetic nod and left with his younger brother. Emmeline sat down on the ground and twiddled the blades of grass around her as she watched the other children play. Primrose, who had claimed she wasn't Emmeline's sister in Bagsy's second year, was watching from a few paces away, an odd expression on her face. Emmeline looked back, just as blankly. The world was starting to change again, ready to move onto the next scene, and as it did Bagsy saw Primrose walk over to Emmeline and offer her the cute, giant stuffed snake she'd been playing with. Emmeline smiled at Primrose and reached forward to take it from her.

The world shifted again, and Bagsy was inside a dark hallway, the rich wooden walls the colour of chocolate. Combined with the lack of light, it felt smothering. Primrose was crouched next to a door. The flickering orange glimmer coming through the crack below felt so enticing in the blackness, but Bagsy forced herself to watch on patiently.

She could hear two voices in the room beyond, one of which she decided was Mrs Vinski, the woman she'd seen in the kitchen, and the other from who she assumed was Mr Vinski.

'If you treat her like a villain of course she'll become one,' Mr Vinski was arguing.

'You're blind. Nothing that girl does makes any sense unless you peel back her lies and see the plotting little hag she is below.'

'Your paranoia is getting ridiculous.'

'Has the oracle ever been wrong before?' Mrs Vinski asked, accusation in her tone. Mr Vinski was silent. 'I rest my case.'

'But have you considered that this is all self-fulfilling?' Mr Vinski had found his voice again.

'Primrose?' a voice sounded right by Bagsy's ear and she let out a yelp of alarm, spinning around. Emmeline, now looking a couple years older, was peering straight through Bagsy, as if she wasn't there, and at Primrose. 'It's way past your bed time. Come on.'

'Leave me alone,' Primrose said, whatever tentatively pleasant relationship they'd had in the last vision Bagsy had seen had clearly soured. 'Mum says you're a villain. She told me I shouldn't want you near me.' With that, Primrose, looking like a fluffed up angry rabbit, got to her feet and hurried away in her massive pink slippers, a toy bear clutched furiously to her chest. Emmeline watched her leave in dismay. Bagsy worked hard to push her anger at the young Primrose down. Present day Primrose was thirteen, perhaps even fourteen, and had no excuses for her cruelty. This Primrose looked no older than six – it didn't feel as fair to detest her.

In the blink of an eye, time rushed forward. Sunlight stretched up, around, and down over and over. Shapes blurred as people rushed through the mansion, blue spectral trails appeared as ghosts retraced their steps each night. Furniture was slowly cleaned, replaced, or moved around, and then it was the golden hour. Time froze on deep yellow sunlight flooding into the same hallway, blanketing Emmeline, who was sitting on the bottom step of an extravagant set of stairs.

A large woman was standing on the steps outside the manor, looking in through the open door and nervously clutching a tacky hat with shaking hands. 'She's mine,' she said firmly, her anxiety only present in her body language – there was only determination in her voice.

'Ridiculous. I remember the day I gave birth to her,' Mrs Vinski spat down at the woman. 'Leave this property before I make you. I can levitate your whale of a body back to your tiny trash home if you'd prefer. It would save the rest of the respectable folk here from being disturbed by the earthquakes of your steps.'

Bagsy felt her heart stammer at the cruel words, briefly wondering if she made too much noise when she moved, too.

The woman at the doorstep didn't seem to care, her previously friendly-shaped face was frightening in that moment. 'I've come to take her home, somewhere she'll be loved and raised right. And I won't take no for an answer.'

'Honey,' Mr Vinski said, standing awkwardly to the side.

Mrs Vinski turned her sharp violet eyes on him. 'What?'

'We… agreed on something a long time ago.' He cast his eyes towards Emmeline, who was looking at him uncertainly. Only now did Bagsy notice in the shadows at the top of the stairs, barely visible as she peered through the railings of the banister, was Primrose, watching on.

'What did we agree on?' Mrs Vinski's voice was dangerous.

'The oracle said your first born would be a… a…' Mr Vinski trailed off. 'So, we figured, we could have a child and raise it, so long as it wasn't your firstborn.'

Mrs Vinski's face paled. 'And I agreed to this mad idea, I suppose?'

'You were desperate. You wanted a child of your own, but you couldn't bare for them to grow up to be what the oracle said they were going to be, or do what the oracle said they were going to do. You gave permission to have your memories altered.'

Bagsy flinched, the final sentence hitting a little too close to home.

There was silence for a long time until the large woman took a breath and stepped into the house. 'I must insist she comes home with me. We've been writing to each other for a while now, and it's become apparent you neglect her in every significant way a parent can.'

Mrs Vinski looked infuriated, but continued to stare at Mr Vinski, ignoring the other woman. 'How did Emmeline find out about her biological mother, then?'

Mr Vinski gulped. 'She was so lonely, love, I thought contact with someone who cared about her would help-'

'YOU THINK I DON'T CARE ABOUT HER?' Mrs Vinski boomed, her knuckles white from how tightly she was gripping the door handle.

'She's not your daughter,' Mr Vinski pointed out. 'It's only natural if you don't.' Bagsy felt a pulse of anger at that, thinking of how much Mezrielda's parents cared for her.

Mrs Vinski scoffed. 'And after this plan of ours to have a child that wasn't my own and wouldn't fulfil the oracle's prophecy, you only went and let me have another one. I suppose Primrose isn't mine, either, and my memories were altered twice?'

If Mr Vinski had looked nervous before, he was positively shaking now. 'No… no, Primrose is yours. Your true firstborn.'

Mrs Vinski's mouth opened and closed multiple times before she began laughing hysterically. 'So, it was all for nothing! I had a firstborn, anyway! So now I have a child who isn't even mine and a villain! How wonderful! A full house of mistakes! What did I do to deserve this?'

'Mum…' Emmeline said softly.

Mrs Vinski's eyes latched onto Emmeline like she was a bug overdue extermination. 'Never call me that again. Get out,' she spat. 'Go on. It's what you want, I'm sure. But don't think you can keep the name "Vinski", you putrid little leech. You maggot, you cowbird.'

'That's enough of that!' the large woman cut in. 'You shouldn't speak to your daughter that way!'

'She's your daughter not mine,' said Mrs Vinski.

'She's both. I birthed her, and you raised her,' the other woman hissed. 'Does that count for nothing?'

'She's been nothing but a pain.' Mrs Vinski walked over to Emmeline with such sudden speed it shocked Bagsy, who ducked backwards in fear. Mrs Vinski grabbed Emmeline's ear, who cringed, and dragged her over to the woman, tossing her ex-daughter at her. She pulled her wand out and pointed it at the both of them. 'GET OUT!' she screeched, a mad expression on her face.

They didn't need telling twice; Emmeline and the woman turned tail and ran from the property.

Mrs Vinski slammed the door, breathing heavily through her nose. 'And now all I have is a fool for a husband and a villain for a daughter. Of course. I was so blind. As foolish as you.'

Mr Vinski grimaced, his voice dropping to a whisper. 'Does that mean you finally see? All this time Emmeline was a model child. Primrose, however…'

'Yes…' Mrs Vinski sighed through gritted teeth, her jaw clenched, and eyes shut tight. 'I was misguided by my own bias. I see now. The signs… they were always there.' The abruptness of the Mrs Vinskis's fall to the floor, and descent into open weeping, was as shocking as her screeching had been. Mr Vinski lowered himself, wrapping his arms around her. Bagsy glanced back up the stairs. Primrose was watching, her blue eyes glinting like cold sapphires as they took it all in.

With a swirling of light, it was all gone, and Bagsy was in a calm and quiet environment of a grand bedroom. Feeling shaky all over, she let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding and sank to the floor. 'How do I get out of here?' Bagsy wondered out loud to herself, panic beginning to set in. Was she being forced to live through Primrose's entire life?

When the quiet was broken by the soft moving of covers Bagsy looked up to see Primrose rising from bed. She realised that perhaps this wouldn't take all that long, after all; Primrose looked about ten, now, and much older than the last version Bagsy had seen.

There was something about Primrose's face that made her almost unrecognisable. Bagsy wondered briefly if it was the age difference but discounted that idea. Inquisitive, Bagsy stood up and took a few steps forward, examining Primrose's expression, and found the difference there. Her eyes, her mouth, her everything, was timid and frail. Her shoulders were hunched forward, and her hands were clasped fearfully together. Lonely, she sat down at her vanity.

The vanity shimmered and displayed a few different looks for Primrose, who eventually nodded at one. Then, its surface shifting, the mirror reached out. Primrose tentatively took a hold of the face-shaped mask the mirror had created and, with a deep breath, pressed it against her face. With a moment of glimmering, the strange mask sank into Primrose's skin, filling her lips with lipstick, elongating her eyelashes and applying subtle eyeshadow to her eyelids. It wasn't like the make-up Bagsy had seen Paloma or other students around Hogwarts use. It wasn't for fun, self-expression or simply to make the face look better. This make-up, as far as Bagsy was concerned, was a mask. When Primrose opened her eyes Bagsy saw the girl she knew and the mask she was used to. With a slow speed, as if Primrose were turning a mental crank to force it into position, a grin filled with cruelty spread across her lips. Bagsy had a feeling Primrose had dedicated years of consistent work to perfecting that grin, that shift from timid to bully.

At the noise of children playing outside, Primrose sharply stood up. She paused at an empty bed on the other side of her room as she moved to leave, resting her hand on the end. Then, her hand gripped the wooden end of the bed tightly, her nails digging into the material. A flash of manic anger sparked on Primrose's face, and she let out an abrupt, and small, screech. She tore her hand off the bed post, leaving scratch marks on it, before stalking out of the room. Bagsy looked at the bedpost. Someone's name, that looked suspiciously like "Emmeline", had once been written there. After what looked like hours of scratching, it was barely readable.

A few moments later Bagsy heard Primrose's harsh voice drifting up to the windows of the bedroom from the street below. She was tossing insult after insult at the other children, who seemed to accept her authority and bow to her sharp tongue. Bagsy looked out the window, seeing Logan, who Primrose was still friends with at school, standing at her side while the queen bee herself snapped orders. The other children looked scared, but accepting, of their fate, and yet as Bagsy watched the forced confidence of Primrose's cocked hip and folded arms, she realised the only person accepting their fate was Primrose herself.