Birth and Rebirth
In 1960, three girls were born, as fate had deigned.
In January, the Evans welcomed another girl, named Lily to match her older sister. Upon her birth, the hospital experienced a power outage. An unfortunate coincidence, truly.
A week following, a fresh babe was given to the nun at the local orphanage. No information was given besides her official date of birth - December 31st, and her name, Thomasina.
July 31st marked Lilith's birth to Dorea and Charlus Potter. James' earlier birth to Fleamont and Euphemia was forgotten by the public. Aristocrats tittered at the continuing Potter rivalry.
Fate tittered too.
Goodness
Thomasina took her punishment with silent tears.
Good girls accepted their punishments in silence.
She tried not to think of the giggling girls behind her. It made her stomach burn with anger.
Good girls didn't get angry.
She clenched her jaw, an argument on her lips.
Good girls didn't argue.
Good girls didn't lie to tutors. Good girls didn't ruin homework. Good girls didn't spill paint on other girls' smocks.
Good girls didn't blame things on other girls.
Thomasina took her punishment. She was a good girl.
She took her punishment and burned the pain and anger into her memory.
Cousins
Lilith was apprehensive about meeting James. Thus, her greeting was formal. James found her to be a snob, which was how a color-changing potion found its way into her teacup. Violently red skin was the result, clashing with her robes. Her parents were horrified. His parents feigned mortification. James cackled gleefully.
The dam broke.
Charlus yelled at Fleamont. Dorea bickered with Euphemia. Lilith was silent.
She felt foolish. She should have expected a prank.
She felt anger. How dare he potion her!
She felt, confusingly, disappointment.
So, she threw tea at him, cup and all.
Her family left soon after.
Witch
He called her a witch. Told her she had magic. Petunia sneered at his greasy hair and tattered clothes. Lily didn't care. He was her friend, and he knew about magic.
It was how she'd made a flower sing. How an antique teacup had bounced rather than shattered. Petunia hated it. She had called them freaks. That had hurt, painfully so.
Fear awoke in her. Fear of fire and brimstone. Fear of child eating hags and poisoned apples. Fear of the unknown. Severus did his best soothe those fears, but they lingered.
She was a witch - whatever that meant.
Letters
Her name was on the front of the envelope. Nothing more. It was decidedly Muggle in nature. There was no seal to mark the sender either. No enchantments, either. The owl was a common post owl. It awaited a response.
Muggle paper was used, as were Muggle writing utensils.
The owl groomed on the window.
Everything Muggle, except the sender.
"Help me," requested the witch, a concise summary for the two-page letter.
Dorea stared, silent and thoughtful. After a time, she grabbed a quill and parchment. She penned her response and sent it off.
Anything for her old friend Eileen.