Best Laid Plans
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Helena Potter has a plan for her future. It does not involve Voldemort, Death Eaters, or a student-led rebellion against the draconian authority of Dolores Umbridge. But then, there's that saying about best laid plans… OOC. AU. Helena (fem!HP)/?. BWL!Neville.
Tags: Ancient and Noble Houses. Family Magic, Ancient Runes, Arithmency, Animagus Transformation, Mind Arts. Politics, Ethics. Ideological Extremism. Social Issues (Classism, Racism, Gender Inequality), World Building.
Rating: T for language, violence, and character death. May be subject to change.
Part One: The Defence Association
Chapter One: The Order of the Phoenix
It doesn't take long for Helena to grow weary of 12, Grimmauld Place. The novelty of exploring Sirius' childhood home dies quickly, and she is left only with the ghosts of her godfather's childhood misery, with an abundance of pests, cursed objects, and redheads, and with a revolving door of Sirius' and Emilyn's Order of the Phoenix colleagues.
Suffice to say, it's not the holiday of Helena's dreams, but there are worse things. She keeps herself busy with summer homework, extra-curricular research, and extra-curricular training courtesy of Sirius and Remus, with longwinded, portrait-given lectures regarding Estate and Business Management, and similar lectures about the non-magical and magical worlds' respective Governments, Laws, and Politics.
Despite the disapproval of certain individuals, regular sojourns into magical and non-magical London are thrown in in order to spice things up, as are visits to her various properties throughout Britain, visits to the homes of her friends, and near-daily visits to her local (and newfound) leisure centre.
In fact, Helena is fairly certain her outings are the only reason she hasn't yet lost her mind to the Order of the Phoenix's gloomy, despair-inducing headquarters, and she's not about to give them up without a fight. One to the death, even.
Mercifully, Sirius and Emilyn share her opinion, have no intention of confining her to the house while things are still safe (relatively speaking, that is), and take some sort of weird pleasure out of tearing Molly 'Overbearing' Weasley down a peg or nine.
Helena doesn't get it - Sirius and Mrs Weasley are first cousins, had grown up together, had once loved each other as family - but perhaps that's the point. Family isn't always love and cuddles, sunshine and rainbows and unicorns. Sometimes it's messy and ugly, Bitterness and resentment and a shared history no one else understands, blood and tears and regret as deep as the ocean. Sometimes it's needling, teasing, attacking each other where it hurts the most, and sometimes family isn't anything at all.
Sirius is Lord Blackthorn, has been Head of House since Arcturus Black's death in 1993, has embraced his family's magic, his family's (more benign) customs, has taken it upon himself to repair the socio-political damage the House of Black has wrought over the decades. They'd hurt him though, or at the very least, they had done nothing to help him - and Sirius would never be called the forgiving sort.
It's none of Helena's business, anyway. Sirius is a grown man, her guardian, and he knows perfectly well how to behave and treat others. In the case of Mrs Weasley, he just chooses not to apply that knowledge.
In fact, Helena can say the same for Mrs Weasley, who has no qualms about treating Grimmauld Place as if it is her own home. Emilyn doesn't appreciate it, Sirius doesn't either - no one does, and her own family seems embarrassed by it - and Helena's lost count over of how many disagreements have been had over Mrs Weasley's behaviour - Sirius' and Emilyn's too, in fairness - and it's all very dramatic.
Admittedly, it means things are never dull, but Helena could do without the excessive amount of tension throughout the house. Her outings aside, the negative energy is almost inescapable, and combined with the constant anxiety about Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Helena's sure the strain is not good for anyone's (mental) health.
"We're going shopping today," Emilyn informs Helena over the breakfast table. It's a hot, muggy Saturday in Mid-July, a storm is promised that afternoon, and all Helena wants to do is lounge around in the privacy of her bedroom suite in nothing but a chemise and knickers with a novel and an ever-cool glass of dandelion and burdock. She is, therefore, unimpressed.
"Why?"
"You're in need of some new clothes, my love," Emilyn answers, "No arguing."
Logically, Helena knows this. She's spilling out of her bras, most of her clothes are variously shorter or tighter than necessary, and her shoes have gotten quite uncomfortable.
All the same, she eats the remainder of her croissant and bowl of fruit in a pervasive, sullen silence, displeased. She has no desire to go out, to endure the oppressive heat of July in London, to socialise with strangers. Nonetheless, Helena doesn't argue. In a masterful display of passive-aggression, Emilyn will only take any protestation as tacit permission to choose Helena's clothes for her, and Helena has no desire to experience that particular horror ever again.
Once was enough.
"Where are we going shopping?"
"Fine Alley. Perhaps a trip to non-magical London if the storm doesn't catch up to us."
Helena nods her acknowledgement, excuses herself to prepare for their outing, and retreats upstairs. She encounters two of their houseguests on her way, tousle-haired, bleary-eyed, and non-verbal, but it's too early for Fred and George Weasley to pay her any heed, and Helena reaches her bedroom suite without incident.
There, she showers quickly, dresses in a colourful maxi dress and a complimentary pair of sandals, styles her hair into an artfully casual up-do, and opts to avoid makeup while the weather is so unpleasant. A handbag - charmed to match the colour of her shoes - is acquired to hold her odds and ends, and once satisfied she has everything she needs, Helena returns downstairs in time to witness Ron Weasley tear savagely into a full serving of his mother's customary fry-up.
Helena averts her gaze, makes eye contact with Hermione Granger, and offers the other girl a commiserating grimace. They're not particularly friends, but the brunette returns it in kind, chagrined and long-suffering and weary, but not at all surprised.
Not for the first time, Helena spares a moment to be grateful she isn't a Gryffindor. If she had to witness Ron Weasley's table manners - or lack thereof, as the case may be - every day between September and June, she'd probably starve to death from the prolonged absence of her appetite.
"Are you ready to go, then?" Emilyn addresses Helena.
"Ready when you are."
As Helena speaks, Sirius grins at her from his place at the breakfast table. He's in the midst of feeding - or at least attempting to feed - Carina, but his efforts are stymied by the reality that is a wilful baby, and also by the tireless efforts of Leo and Phoenix, both of whom are determined to find out what has been planned for the unexpected day with their dad. Emilyn, meanwhile, drains the last of yet another mug of coffee, seeks out Kreacher, and sighs exasperatedly when her scan for Grimmauld Place's entrenched house elf comes up empty.
Kreacher is nowhere in sight - sulking, presumably, or planning some elaborate revenge scheme in response to the usurpation of his kitchen - and Helena almost feels bad for the unpleasant, crotchety old elf.
Almost, that is.
"Have fun," Sirius bids, tongue firmly in cheek.
Helena rolls her eyes. "I'll do my best, Godfather."
"I expect no less from you, Goddaughter."
Without Kreacher around to whisk it away, Emilyn leaves her coffee mug in the kitchen sink, summons her handbag, and makes her way towards the fireplace. Helena joins her there, they bid farewell to everyone gathered - including a particularly protracted exchange between themselves and Carina - and depart by way of the floo network for what - Helena is sure - will be a very long day.
She is not disappointed.
-!- -#-
Author's Note: Sorry for the formatting errors. Hope this is better, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. I've written more for it, but before I write beyond the Summer, I'd like some feedback from you guys.
How would you feel if this was a Harry Potter and Pride and Prejudice crossover? Specifically, a Darcy/fem!HP pairing (because although FD/EB is a ship I'll gladly go down with, sometimes Elizabeth annoys the hell out of me), within the backdrop of Voldemort's second war? Too whacky, too weird, or wonderful? Let me know.
Otherwise, hope you're all taking care of yourselves. Until next time, -t.