Diagon Alley was exactly as she knew it would be. The shops sat just as she had always seen them. The patrons all wore the same familiar faces as her vision. Truth be told it was all a bit underwhelming.
Delving into the endless possibilities of the future had been her favorite pastime for years, and though she had watched her own life splinter in a thousand different directions over that time some places remain consistent throughout. Diagon Alley was one of those places. She would always come here. Sometimes it would go well, sometimes less so, but for better or worse this was always meant to be the place where her life started.
Taking a deep breath Azalea strode into the throng as if she owned the place, quickly leaving the Weasleys behind. She had checked the night before in the stars, and again this morning in the mirror. If she stayed with Harry she would be noticed almost immediately. Someone would say something cruel, her brother would come to her defense, and the whole thing would devolve at a truly spectacular rate. So instead she headed off on her own towards a building she could not see, but trusted would be there when she arrived. And sure enough, when she finally pulled herself from the ever-shifting mass of witches and wizards, all happy enough to set her teeth on edge, huge white pillars of Gringotts were there to greet her.
Azalea did not break stride as she walked up the imposing steps and into the main building. Carefully schooling her features she made sure not an ounce of trepidation could be found. She would not disgrace herself and her aunty by acting like a scared rabbit. Her actions reflected on her house and all those under her. Clearing her throat to gain the attention of the goblin before her she addressed her in a calm, quiet tone. "My name is Azalea Lily Potter. I will require that the Potter family vault be unsealed, and the family ring be brought forward so that I may make my claim."
"Potter, Potter…" She mumbled quietly to herself as she flipped through one of the enormous tomes that sat before her. "Ahh yes, here we are. An ancient house, the ring does seem to be in our possession at the moment." Glancing up over her spectacles the goblin gave her a serious look. "Normally we would seek to verify your identity, but seeing how you wish to make an official claim for the head of house there is no need. I would warn you though that Gringotts takes no responsibility for any outcome that may arise here. House magics can be especially nasty to those who make false claims or are simply found lacking. As such we will require a waiver to be signed relieving us of all liability in the case of death or mutilation, be it physical or magical." Sliding the waver across the desk she looked at Azalea expectantly.
Azalea looked over the paper carefully as she had been taught. She didn't understand all of the language used, but the goblin in front of her was more than happy to answer any and all questions. Once she was satisfied she was not about to sell her soul she crudely signed at the bottom and was promptly escorted to a private room. It was, she was happily informed, so her screams would not bother the other guests should she not be who she claimed to be. Truth be told it was all a bit nerve-racking. She probably would not have gone through with it had she not spent years looking into the cascade of possible futures. And in everyone, right there on her left ring finger was a tarnished copper band. The very same one that was set before her on the table.
It was a simple thing. There were no engravings or gems, nothing to speak to its value. Just a simple loop of copper that had gone mostly green with time. Picking it up though she could immediately feel the power that flowed through the ring. It was old magic, and as she looked upon it she could feel it looking back. Her aunty had told her that a family ring could only be worn by the head of a house. That over the years it would be stained by the magic of those who wore it until it developed a personality and a preference of its own. That is when a family would become ancient, and that is also when not just anyone could become the head of house. The magic had to look at your soul and like what it saw. It had to accept you. Slowly placing the ring onto her left hand Azalea wished, not for the first time, that she had some idea of what the criteria of her house were.
The moment she slid the ring on the magic took hold. It rushed into her like a tidal wave washing away everything in its path. Instinctually she tried to push back but it flattened her meager magical defenses like they weren't even there. A cold and invasive presence she could feel it searching for something. She did not know what it was looking for but the longer it looked without finding it the more doubt started to build in the pit of her stomach. What if she had been wrong? What if she had only ever seen herself wearing the ring because in every other future she had died?
Reaching to try and pull the ring from her hand in a last-ditch attempt to take back what she had done Azalea froze as the whisper of a voice passed through her head. "Cold," it said in a rasp that reminded her of old parchment. "Angry and hateful and cruel. These are not our traits. But loyal. Loyal to a fault. Loyal enough to lead the House of Potter. Never lose that child." With that, the magic slowly receded back into the ring.
The goblin, seemingly unimpressed with the whole thing, simply jotted a few notes down and got up from her seat. "Very good Ms. Potter, It seems we won't have to be cleaning this room after all. My name is Julza. If you would come with me I'm sure we can get your vault reopened and have you on your way in no time at all." Not waiting for the young girl to respond Julza began making her way down the hall, her small legs eating up ground at a surprising rate.
In short order, they arrived at a vault that looked like it had not been opened in centuries. Azalea did not know why this vault seemed to have been all but abandoned in favor of others but she did know the object she was looking for would be found inside. Beside her, Julza slid a single claw down a groove in the door eliciting a series of clicks as the many locks slid open. Motioning for Azalea to step forward the small goblin watched as the band around the girl's finger glowed alongside the copper bands set into the door as she turned the enormous wheel. Once unlocked the enormous door slid open with only the whisper of the oiled metal. Inside sat a great many things from furniture to suits of armor, but Azalea had eyes for only one. Sitting in the back under an ornate-looking jewelry box was a relic of times past. A tome wrapped in leather and covered in intricate rune work. A grimoire.
Azalea walked out of Gringotts with a pouch full of gold, and an old book clutched tightly to her chest. It was the same book she had always seen hanging from leather straps around her waist. The book that was always going to be hers. The feel of it finally in her hands filled her with a type of calm she did not know was possible. She was now a proper witch. She could defend herself if necessary. She would never be made a victim again.
Across the way, moving in her direction, she caught the now familiar sight of red hair and welcoming smiles. It seemed most of the family had gotten off one place or another, but the matriarch had managed to keep ahold of the two youngest boys "Azalea dear you ran off so quick we lost you in the crowd. Are you alright? You didn't run into any trouble did you?" The concerned face of Molly Wheezily demanded an honest answer.
"No Ma'am," Azalea answered, not liking all the attention that was being directed her way. "I simply went to retrieve my family ring and an appropriate magical focus." She raised the grimoire as if to illustrate her point, but the woman in front of her only has eyes for the tarnished copper ring that now rested on her left hand.
"My goodness girl," she breathed, as she gently took hold of the young girls' hand. Thin and spidery she was reminded once again of how malnourished the red head was under those clothes that seemed to swallow her. "How did you even know where to get this?"
Straightening just a bit Azalea's voice was filled with pride when she said "my aunty taught me how to look through the tapestry of fate. She says 'truth is hard to find, but possibility is still an excellent teacher.'" For the first time since releasing Harry from his hug the girl looked genuinely excited to talk, and the sudden shift left the whole group frozen, scared any interruption would break the spell. "There are some things that remain constant because most choices don't affect them," she went on. "The ring is one of those things, the grimoire is another. They are through lines, anchors that can help guide you between the knots of prophecy."
Looking around at the faces of the group Azalea found curiosity but no real recognition at her words. It was a bitter pill to swallow though she had been warned that very few put stock in divination, and even fewer had a talent for it. Slowly her face closed back off as she felt a wave of loneliness. She missed Aunty Lestrange. The woman had not had much of a talent for divination, but she was as sharp as they came, and was able to guide Azaleas growing talent into an escape that kept her sane in the hell that was that prison. She would have known what Azalea was talking about. She would have been so proud that the girl had properly recognized her anchors. Suddenly this trip didn't feel so fun anymore. She wanted to go home and was shocked to find that in her mind that was a small cold room with bars across from the woman who raised her.
Mood thoroughly ruined Azalea took a step back, eyes firmly on the ground. "I'm sorry for worrying you. I think I've had enough crowds for one day though."
Taking in the girls' demeanor Molly offered a sad smile. "Why don't we get your wands and then you can head back with the boys and I'll finish the shopping for today."
Nodding mutely Azalea allowed herself to be led to an old cramped shop she had almost never seen herself enter before. The man behind the counter was saying something, but Azalea wasn't paying much attention as the realization that she had lost the thread of reality so soon set in. She had almost exclusively been following the wrong threads through the tapestry. It was the first real-life example of something she had intellectually known for some time. The third law of divination. Reality cares nothing for probability.
She would have kept right on contemplating the nature of the future and her understanding of it, but she was pulled back to the conversation at hand when a long box was placed before her. "Why don't you give that a wave and see how it works for you." Absentmindedly Azalea picked up the wand and gave it a little flick, noting with some amusement the shower of bright sparks it tossed up around her.
"Oh that's not right at all," the man said, reaching to take the wand from her grasp, but Azalea pulled back. She like the way the magic ran through the wand, wild and playful. It didn't feel at all like her grimoire. Didn't feel much like her own magic either, but she supposed it wouldn't matter much even if it didn't suit her particularly well. It was pleasant just to hold and she would be doing very little with it in any event.
"No, I think I like this one," she said, pulling her hair into a messy half-up bun to slide her new wand into. "How much do I owe you?"
In front of her, the elderly man seemed to be somewhat at a loss for what to do. Clearly most people took his advice in wands somewhat more seriously, but for the life of her, Azalea couldn't understand why. How could someone else claim to have a better understanding than she did on what she did or didn't like in a wands magical flows? In any case, it didn't much matter. She noticed that her brother had paid seven galleons for his wand, while Ron had paid nine. She dropped fifteen on the counter just to be sure and walked out the door. Behind her the man began ramblings about incompatibility and magical balance but she ignored him. His prattling had lost what little charm it had almost immediately, and by the time she was out of there her already poor mood had soured considerably.
"Lea?" Harry asked as they made their way back to the leaky cauldron, and its floo network. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," she said with a bit too much bite and regretted the tone almost as soon as the word left her mouth. Harry looked like a kicked puppy. She wanted to apologies, to explain that she was just feeling very overwhelmed and out of place, but then she would have to talk and Azalea didn't want to talk. So instead she just let the silence grow into something solid between the group as they made their way out of Diagon Alley.
Back at home with only Harry and Ron the silence was deafening. Not that Azalea seemed to notice as she sat on the couch staring out over the back garden. "She seemed really excited when she talked about that tapestry stuff. You think we should try and get her to talk about it again?" Ron whispered as the two stood in the kitchen a respectful distance away. The girl had an aura about her that made it feel like being in the same room would be intruding.
Harry just looked to his best friend and then back to the sister that felt like family and a stranger blended into one. "I don't think so," he whispered back. "She seemed to get really sad after." The other boy just nodded before brightening at an idea. Running up to his room he returned with an old worn chessboard that he confidently placed on the end table in front of the girl.
"You ever played wizard chess?"
A few blinks later and Azalea seemed to have come out of whatever trance she had been in. "No," she said, looking at the small moving pieces with a bit of wonder. "How does it work?"
Ron only grinned as he pulled up a chair across from her. "Harry can be on your team and show you the rules."
Harry couldn't stop smiling. The evening he spent playing wizard chess with his sister, and listening to her quiet inquiries about the rules or strategies was a joy to be a part of. But when night rolled around and she started telling old stories in her calm, melodic voice he felt for the first time since her returned like he had gotten his sister back. Some of the only good memories he had of his time before the Weasleys were of his sister making up bedtime stories in their closet under the stairs. Even now those times remained vivid in his mind. And watching her now, curled up on the oversized chair, wrapped in blankets and curtains of red hair that feeling was there again.
The house was quiet except for the low drone of the story that seemed to be slowly pulling the family one by one into the living room. It was a long tale that she said her 'aunty' had told her when the storms came, and the nights got too cold to sleep. The comment, offered in the most nonchalant manner, had sent a cold shiver down his spine. He thought he knew what Azkaban was. He had been told when he asked that it was a prison guarded by dementors that fed on positive emotions. But seeing his sister now, all skin and bones with eyes older than any he had ever encountered before. Eyes that scared him sometimes when her whole face would just, just go blank, void of any human emotion. He was starting to get a clearer picture of what the place actually was.
Coming out of his thought Harry couldn't help staring at the bold ᚠᛈ147 tattooed on the side of her neck. It stood so prominently against her pale skin. A brand forever marking her as a criminal, someone to be wary of. In some ways it seemed unfair. She had done her time. She had paid the price society asked for her crimes. But then there was always that part of him that was glad for it. That part that remembered her soft humming, as the house behind them burned, and the people inside beat at the doors and windows. Remembered how the glass would not break and the door would not open, and those people screamed and screamed and screamed.