"It really was a horrid battle! The young Potter boy nearly lost his life!"

"But where was the wee las?" Cried a raspy voice, a thick Scottish accent slithering through as lies would across a snake.

"The eldest Potter child? Well...no one knows! People say that she was lost to he who shall not be named that night!"

They hesitated in their gossip, footsteps rattling past them from where they sat in the alleyway, huddled together partially for warmth against the blistering rain landing like icicles against their skin.

The voice continued after the steps vanished. "But if you ask me? I'm betting she's out there; somewhere."

"Alive."

❝Everyone in the wizarding world knows the story of what happened eleven years ago. The (not so) great battle between the dark lord and a little boy, who's name was Harry Potter.

From Big Ben to the Grand Canyon, everyone has something to say about that night.

But since the ministry has taken the reins, it's become almost taboo to talk about he-who-shall-not-be-name. Dumb I know.

Today, no one knows where the young Potter is. Well, no one besides Albus Dumbledore and his most trusted advisor...and me.

I guess I shall introduce myself. My name is Mallory Marie Potter.

I figure at the moment, this must seem like every other story another one of you muggles make up about yourselves; about my brother having a sister whom had also shown great strength the night that the dark lord killed our mother and father, surviving bravely despite our young ages.

But your wrong. I didn't fight the dark lord. I wasn't even there that night. I wish I could tell you where I was, but even I don't know that.

Right now, conveniently, I am under the care of Mr. and Mrs. Smith, two odd muggles who refer to themselves as completely grounded individuals.

So it was a bit of a shock when I had showed up on their doorstep.

Something you must absolutely know about me! I was a year old when the whole 'battle' took place between the dark lord and my brother, my mom had gotten pregnant with Harry right after I was born, and I guess they wanted another child?

I heard from Dumbledore that my brother, Harry, is living with the Dursley's. Why I wasn't sent to live with him you ask? Well I don't know. I don't really seem to know much of everything, since I'm still a child and all.

That's all going to change soon though. I received my Hogwarts letter a few nights ago, right as the sun began to set below the horizon and Mr. Smith was meditating while Mrs. Smith was doing late evening gardening.

The Smiths had just shared a look between the two before having a talk with me about everything I have just previously mentioned to you. I myself am still confused.

But now at least I know why things on the inside always seemed just a tad more magical then the outside. While other mothers were lucky to get their children to school along with all of the house chore were done while their fathers were out working; everything always seemed to just be done.

Or how the permission slip is forgotten at home the morning of a field trip would always magically appear on my desk when the teacher came around to collect it.

Other kids thought me foolish for asking why they had to wash the dishes when all they had to do was flick their wrist and they'd be done.

After the first few times of being laughed at, I had learned to shut my mouth.

But I was going to Hogwarts. Me, my smelly weird nerdy self was going to Hogwarts! Image the joys!

Mrs. Smith also said that I was finally going to be able to meet Harry tomorrow. In a place called Diagon Alley. Then a few weeks after that, I am off to Hogwarts.

Anyhow, I must be going. Mrs. Smith is calling me down for supper; something she does in warning to tell me I have five minutes.

I shall write to you later. Goodbye now,

-MALLORY❞

Mallory stood from her chair, hearing the pops in her back with a satisfying crack as she rose her arms above her head.

Capping the lid to her pen, she brought the piece of parchment paper over to the fire. Briefly looking over the messy cursive, she shook her head as she tossed it into the flames.

The smoothed out wood crackled and curled as the words slowly vanished along with the brunette whom had descended the stairs.

Their was an uncertainty in the air; the winds of change would soon be arriving like the crisp frost of the shadowy night.

All anyone could hope for were that her words would reach some wounded soul; and give them enough strength to get through just one more night.

For tomorrow was a new day; one where they'd be off to Diagon Alley.