Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.

Trigger Warning: Abuse – Caution! Discussion of child abuse and spousal abuse in this chapter.

AN (June 14th/2018): The edit is finished! Chapters 1-24 have been edited, some things retconned, and some things added to make the story flow better. It's a minor edit all things considered, but I felt it was necessary. If you do not wish to go back and re-read all 150k words, the quick rundown is going to be at the bottom of this chapter.

I will say this once, and I will not say it again. If you do not want to be terribly confused during this chapter, either re-read the story, or scroll to the bottom of this chapter and read my little rundown on the major changes that have occurred.

Chapter Twenty-Five | Trauma

Buzzing. Incessant, annoying buzzing. Some muffled words, my ears too clogged with sleep to recognize them apart from the demanding tone. "Ugh," I groan pathetically, burrowing deeper under the covers and pulling my pillow over my head to block out the noise of whatever horrid creature is trying to tear me away from my rest. Exhausted, I barely register the fact that I don't feel anything apart from a dull throbbing pain in my left hand, or where my left hand should be, and in turn there is no pillowcase clutched where previously mentioned left hand should be. Wait. No pillowcase?

Hold on a fucking second. The more important question is, no hand?

I flex my right hand, feeling as the fingers roll in their joints and knuckles crack from their sleep induced disuse. I flex my left, feeling absolutely nothing. That's weird.

"Helene, wake up! You're going to miss breakfast," the voice calls, one which I now recognize to be Hermione's. I groan even louder, a low childish whine that I meant to come out as a simple 'let me skip, I'm too bloody tired.' Instead, it comes out as the petulant and immature phrase that is well known to everyone around the world: "five mo' minutes."

I'm met by my duvet being tugged off of me by Hermione, which in turn causes me to squeal in protest.

"Honestly, you never have issues getting up in the morning," she huffs. I can almost hear her crossing her arms as she chides me, either that or I just know her well enough to understand that she's probably got them crossed in frustration right this second. "Up, come on. Breakfast finishes in an hour, and your showers take forever."

"Alright, alright, I'm up," I moan, pulling my left hand up to rub the sleep from my eyes and flinching in confusion when it takes much longer to get to my face than it should, as well as being much stubbier than I remember. I open my eyes, perplexed as I blink at the sight in front of me. No hand. I can't believe I forgot about that.

Hermione screams girlishly, and I spin around to catch the sight of bushy hair suspended in the air, and the thud of her falling onto her arse. Her head pokes up, framed by frazzled curls and eyes as wide as dinner plates as she stares in horror at my (at least for me) minor predicament. "Your- your hands off!" she cries, pointing at the empty spot at the end of my wrist.

"I've had worse," I quip, frowning in confusion when she doesn't get the joke. "What? Monty Python? No?"

"Now is not the time for that," she spits, stressing each word as she stand back up again, finger still held out towards me, now being brandished like a weapon as she jabs her hand towards me aggressively. "When on Earth did you lose your damned hand?"

I shrug, picking up my wand and waving it over the stump, murmuring the flesh forging charm I used to reattach my arm with a few adjustments, gritting my teeth as my hand reforms. Bones grow and sprout from the stump and click into place loudly. Red muscle and white tendon begin to lace and wind over the bone, the sensation of newly formed muscle uncomfortable as it slides over the bone. Finally, fresh skin melts and stretches out over the raw muscle before shrinking to fit like plastic film in a vacuum sealer.

"See, much better," I say, hoping to comfort her as I wave with my fresh new hand.

"That's absolutely disgusting," she mutters, looking at my brand new (and slightly pink) hand with a look of morbid curiosity blended with revulsion.

"Whatever, don't be impressed by my incredible eldritch talents," I complain, crawling out of bed. I walk past Hermione to go and take the fastest shower of my life.

After a few minutes I'm feeling awake and clean, casting a quick drying charm on my hair as we head down to the Great Hall.

"Hermione," I say, catching her attention.

"Yes?" She asks, tilting her head slightly.

"We have a new History Professor, and I'm sure you're going to love him."

Her brow crinkles as she frowns at me. "New History Professor?" she asks, before her eyes light up in recognition. "The Hat! You managed to give it the job?"

"Him, and his name is Iolaire, at least, that's what he said his first name is going to be. I haven't any clue about the others," I muse, wondering what he's come up with. Probably called himself Gryffindor for all I know. I wouldn't put it past him. "And uh, Binns was exorcised last night, and Iolaire was the best replacement for him."

"Binns was exorcised?"

"Yeah. He's off to the Pearly Gates, or well, Platform Nine and ¾ if his trip to the afterlife is in any way similar to mine."

"You… you went to Platform Nine and ¾ when you died?" Hermione asks incredulously.

I nod and shrug at the same time. "Yeah. I'm guessing it's different for each person. The Hogwarts express is a symbol for me, as it was the mode of transportation to the first place I ever truly called home. I'm pretty sure I recall Death saying everyone sees something different, so obviously Platform 9 and ¾ made a strong impression on me."

Hermione frowns as she thinks, probably wondering what her Pearly Gates would look like.

Soon enough, we make it to the Great Hall and walk in to muted pandemonium. Everyone is staring up at the staff table, where Iolaire has stacked what looks to be half of the food in the entire country on his plate. I rear back in revulsion as I watch him eat like he's been starved his whole life, which technically he has, but he's never had to eat.

I walk to the end of the Ravenclaw table, the other girls having gotten a seat close to the action.

It reminds me somewhat of a nature documentary, bits of meat and egg flying every which way as he tears into the food in front of him. I find it incredibly impressive that he's managing to eat with two forks as he's only had a body for less than twenty-four hours. The now empty Hat rests on top of his head, hanging limply and swaying with every aggressive bite.

I can see Dumbledore trying to have a discussion with the him, probably to find out who he really is. Meanwhile, Severus is glaring at me because he just knows that his normally quiet morning has been ruined due to something I've done. Because who else would create a body for the Sorting Hat and bypass the usual hiring process apart from me?

Suddenly, the Iolaire stands up, Dumbledore stumbling backwards in surprise. "May I have your attention please?" He shouts. Of course, he's already gotten everybody's attention just being here, so it didn't take much to silence the Hall. "Thank you, thank you. Now, I'm sure you're all wondering who I am," he asks, smiling as he looks over the curious students. "I'm also sure that you recognize my choice in headwear."

A dull roar of affirmatives floods through the hall, and Iolaire spreads his hands once more, requesting silence. "Headmaster Dumbledore was also quite curious as to who I was and why I was sitting in the previously empty chair normally reserved for the History Professor. The reason for that is I, the Sorting Hat, have decided to teach History in Professor Binns absence."

The students cheer raucously, banging their fists against the tables and feet against the ground as they thank every God that has ever been for the change in faculty.

"Now, now, could I have some quiet please," Iolaire asks, hands still raised placatingly. "I will be going by the name Iolaire, or if you truly wish to refer to me professionally, simply call me sir. Do not worry about replacing your textbooks, as I have already taken the liberty of ordering them from Flourish and Blotts and they will be arriving within the next day or two. I will go over any curriculum changes on a class-to-class basis, but if you have any questions please come and speak to me, my office will be on the third floor."

He sits down graciously, the students back to cheering as loudly as they possibly can. Dumbledore fires off a tremendous bang from his wand, commanding the hall. "Silence!" he shouts, the students doing just that. Dumbledore fluffs his robes, tucking away his wand and turning to Iolaire, a genial smile on his face as he begins to interrogates him.

I'm only able to pick up what he's saying due to my augmented senses and how close I'm sitting to the staff table.

"Thank you for your announcement… Iolaire, I was not personally aware of Professor Binns absence, would you be able to tell me about that?"

Iolaire raises his eyebrows, turning an inquisitive eye towards the Headmaster. "He was exorcised the other night," he remarks, shrugging his shoulders. "The only reason I knew was because of the wards telling me."

Dumbledore frowns dramatically. "The wards didn't tell me anything, so that's quite odd." He steeples his fingers, curiosity written all over his face. "If I may ask, would you be able to tell me how you got a body? I've never seen such magic like that."

"Oh! It's something Godric created a thousand years ago before he passed. It's basically just a flesh golem," he explains, gesturing towards his body and thankfully not telling Dumbledore in front of all the other staff that I created the body for him in a Necromantic ritual. "I believe it to be his defining work, especially since it's made in his own image."

Dumbledore smiles at that, casting a glance in my direction letting me know that he knows I did this. I smile at him, a dangerous glint in my eyes reminding him that if he tries to say anything he will die where he stands. It's impossible for him to say anything anyways, considering the slave bond placed on him acts on his very soul.

"That's… he's the Sorting Hat?" Lisa whispers, one eye squinted as she stares at Iolaire. "How does that even… what kind of magic could possibly…" she trails off, her inner Ravenclaw losing its mind.

Padma looks torn between being joyful and terrified at the prospect of a new History teacher. "Could he be worse than Binns? Could anything be worse than Binns?"

"Iolaire was around before Hogwarts even existed, if anyone can teach History it's going to be him," Hermione argues, looking ecstatic to be taught by Iolaire.

"I'm sure it's going to be entertaining," I say, smiling at the girls. "I've had a few conversations with him already and he's… an interesting character to say the least."

"What do you mean by interesting?"

"He's got a dirty sense of humour and his tongue is sharper than most swords. History is not going to be boring with him around. Honestly, it's probably going to be our new favourite class."

Padma's worried expression is quickly replaced by an ecstatic grin. "That's fantastic! I love History and I was so disappointed when I had my first class with Binns," she complains playfully. "I was confident that he was going to bore us to death and we'd end up haunting the classroom with him."

Luna giggles loudly. "I still can't believe it took him so long to be fired."

"Bloody Dumbledore's doing probably," a girl near us pipes up, Nanette something or other I believe, haven't ever really talked to her since she's a year below us.

That garners a chorus of agreement, the other Ravenclaws muttering angrily about their ruined schooling and potential future loss of knowledge. I raise one eyebrow in surprise. I didn't expect the students to start railing against him so quickly. I guess the book had a lot of impact.

I look over to the Slytherin table, wondering if I can catch Tracey unawares with the current kerfuffle involving Iolaire. Fortunately for me it looks like she's getting ready to go to her next class.

I wait for her to get up and leave, saying goodbye to everyone as I take one last bite of eggs, getting out of my seat and following her out of the Great Hall.

She takes the stairs quickly, and I have to keep up with her as covertly as possible until she gets onto a landing. I'm not about to ambush her when she's on a moving staircase. That'd be a disaster waiting to happen.

She gets off at the fourth floor, walking a bit more sedately. I follow closely behind until she gets to a relatively unpopulated area of the castle.

"Hey, Tracey!" I shout, announcing myself.

She whips around, wand at the ready before she realizes it's me, tucking it away and growling at me, "What do you want Helene? Can't you tell that I just want you to leave me alone?"

I shrug placatingly, hands up in the universal sign of 'I'm unarmed.' "I figured that out three months ago. I want to know what the hell I did to make you hate me so much. If I did something to hurt you, I'm genuinely sorry, but I haven't a clue what I've done."

She scowls at me, tentatively fingering the wand in her sleeve. "You really have no idea, do you?" she asks, one eyebrow raised precariously. "Daphne didn't tell you anything?"

I shake my head plaintively. "Daphne told me that it's your story to tell, not hers. I didn't want to push it, and she told me that she'd spoken to you about me, but that was more than a month ago."

Tracey's eyes are downcast as she wrestles with some unknown thought. "She did talk to me, but I sort of told her to… uh- fuck off."

"That, I heard."

"Yeah?" She asks, sheepishly looking up at me. "I just… it's a sensitive subject for me, alright? I thought you knew what with how close you are to Octavius and Terra." She frowns at their names, apparently holding some ill will to my adoptive parents as well. "I expected them to have told you everything if Daphne hadn't."

"Well, nobody's told me nothin'," I joke, trying my best to put on an American Southern accent and failing miserably.

Tracey snorts loudly, holding her hand up to hide the smile creeping across her face, before it's quickly replaced with another scowl. She whispers something, and I step closer to her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

She huffs quietly, scrunching her face up as she blinks. "I said… I can't… I can't tell you right now. I'm just- my whole day is gone if I talk about it," she chokes, wiping a tear from her eye. "I'm fine talking about it another time, but only when the day is done and over with."

"That bad, huh?"

She nods, her throat bobbing as she swallows heavily. "Y- yeah. It is."

"You don't… you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I'm sorry, I should have known better with how you were acting around me. I'm sorry. Just, forget about it, alright? You don't have to tell me anything," I apologize, Tracey chuckling awkwardly at my attempt to comfort her.

"It's fine. Trust me, it's fine," she denies, pinching her nose and sniffing loudly. "I was bound to have this conversation with you some time anyways. Come and talk to me tonight, alright? The password to the Slytherin common room is 'Magna.'"

I frown, my jaw clenching at that name. "Magna, huh," I drawl, realizing that Severus must have changed the password in her honor.

I hold back the tears that threaten to spill over at the mention of my dead friend. Because she was a friend, not a pet. You can't speak to a pet, no matter how rudimentary the conversation is. I remember how excited she would get when I brought her food, especially her favourite: fresh acromantula. There's a reason that spiders are terrified of basilisks, and it's because the biggest and baddest of them are a basilisks primary source of food.

Aw shit.

My dead friend who probably controlled the acromantula population.

"I'll come and see you tonight," I blurt, losing a bit of my composure. "I'm going to go… I'm going to go, yeah?"

"Sounds like a plan, Helene," she replies.

As I'm walking away she calls my name. "Helene! Hey, just… wait up a second."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry for how I treated you… I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you. It wasn't your fault," she concedes, eyes downcast.

"Tracey, it's alright," I reassure her, much to her shock. Well, I'm not reacting to this like how a thirteen-year-old normally would. My advanced mental age comes in handy in situations like this, since I don't blow up on people like a teenager of my (supposed) age often does. "Just don't do it again, alright? If you have a problem with me, come to me about it. If I'm being a right bitch I'll make sure I stop."

"Sounds good to me," she laughs. "You're a good friend Helene."

"Same to you."

-::-

It's been a while since I've been in the Slytherin common room. About… six years, give or take. The stone marking the door is only noticeably by the snake etched into its surface, its spitting head reared and ready to strike.

I know I have the password, but I want to try this to see if it works.

:Open: I hiss, patting myself on the back for a job well done when the stone splits down the middle, bricklike chunks of it sliding out of the way a la Diagon Alley as the door opens.

I walk into the room, taking my time to admire the pleasant ambience. I'd have to say that the Slytherin common room rivals Ravenclaw's if only for it's fantastic 'under the sea' vibe. It's tastefully ostentatious, if there's one word to describe it. The furnishings are lavish but not overly so, showing signs of wear from the many years they've been used. The room has a subtle green glow cast over it from the lake, the candles and lanterns providing a comfortable amount of light. I can see a much more well-lit section tucked off to the right, I'm assuming it's for the students to do their coursework.

"What are you doing here?" A Slytherin shouts, shooting off of a couch and striding towards me.

It's moments like this when I realize I'm still short.

Yes, I may be tall(ish) for a girl, but I'm still only a willowy five foot six. This Slytherin on the other hand looks to be nearly six feet tall, and it shows in the way that he looms over me, an outraged sneer on his face.

"Well? Answer me 'Claw!"

I frown at him, shaking my head playfully. "Is this how you greet a guest in the House of Slytherin?" I ask, crossing my arms. "I have to say I'm not impressed."

He growls at me, other students poking their heads out to see what all the commotion is about.

"Potter! What are you doing here?"

"Good to see you too Malfoy," I drawl. "I'm here to see my good friend Tracey, but I'd like to say hello to my sisters while I'm here."

Malfoy scowls at me, obviously not pleased with having a dirty halfblood tainting his cave of pureblood traditionalism. At least, that's what I imagine he's thinking.

"And did they give you the password?"

"Of course they did, how else do you think I got in here?" I scoff.

"Hey, I'm talking to you," the larger boy says, grabbing a fistful of my robes and tugging me towards him.

I react instantly, banishing him wandlessly and watching with poorly disguised glee as he sails across the room, landing violently on a large love seat. A love seat that's inhabited by a Slytherin couple that is attempting to draw each others' tonsils out via their tongues.

The girls shrieks loudly as the seat tilts precariously. It wavers for a second, the girl smiling momentarily at the prospect of not falling on her arse before the seat takes that opportunity to tilt backwards once more, colliding to the ground a loud thud. I laugh at the sight of three sets of legs poking out over the fallen seat, kicking wildly as they attempt to get back to their feet.

"Anybody else who's not happy with my presence, please line up," I announce, gesturing in front of me. "Otherwise, could I see my fucking sisters?"

Severus takes that moment to dash into the room. He must have been alerted by one of his prefects to a Raven invasion. "What on Earth is going on here?" he thunders, cloak billowing dangerously behind him. He sets his eyes on me and scowls. "Miss Potter… what are you doing in my common room?"

The man has a reputation to keep.

"I'm here to visit my close friend Tracey Davis, as well as say hello to my sisters if given the chance."

Severus nods curtly. "That is acceptable. Duststone!" he barks, addressing the taller boy who attempted to fight me just a moment ago. "Do not treat a guest of Slytherin in such an unseemly way ever again, do you hear me? If I hear of such a thing happening once more I will personally contact Lord Duststone and tell him of your folly."

The somewhat woozy looking boy pales considerably, nodding his affirmation and sending me a laughable glare as he scampers back to his quarters, tail tucked between his legs.

"Professor Snape, could you please direct me to Tracey Davis' dorm?"

"I could. Follow me," he commands, his robe sweeping impressively behind him as he opens a door to my left, beckoning for me to come with him.

"Could you make an attempt not to assault my students when you decide to visit your friends?" he drawls jokingly as I pass through the door.

"It was self defence. He grabbed my robes, tugged me towards him quite aggressively. I only responded in kind."

"Keep it to banishing charms, yes? I'd prefer not to tell one of my old associates that their child got themselves killed by attacking the Girl-Who-Lived."

"I can do that."

We walk through the short hallway, Severus rapping on a door marked with a large brass four. "Miss Davis and Miss Greengrass, your sister Miss Potter is here to see you," he announces, nodding at me once more as he leaves.

Daphne opens the door, a tight smile on her face as she beckons me in. "Welcome to Slytherin," she says, hands spread wide.

My mouth drops at the glass wall in front of me, providing a surprisingly well-lit view into the Black Lake. I watch as a group, flock, school, whatever you call multiple grindylow, swimming through the lake, their tentacles shimmering as they pass by. I think I catch a glimpse of a merperson further away, but it could just be my eyes playing tricks on me.

"It's beautiful," I whisper, eyes still glued to the sight in front of me. "I adore the view from my room, but this is like a portal into another world."

"Absolutely amazing, huh?" Daphne laughs at my awe. "It's quite relaxing unless you have a fear of open water. If that's the case… well, good luck in Slytherin."

I shake my head, still smiling. "It's gorgeous." I look around the room, finally spotting Tracey resting lazily on her bed, a book propped up on her lap as she looks up at me, and I note the lack of malice in her eyes. "So… you wanted to talk, and I assumed it was going to be a pretty heavy conversation, so I brought drinks," I say, hoisting up a six pack of butterbeer.

"When did you find time to get that?" Tracey asks, eyes wide.

"Snuck out," I grin.

Daphne giggles loudly. "You snuck out to Hogsmeade? Who sold you the butterbeer?"

"Why, Rosmerta of course. You think she cares one bit about students sneaking out?"

Tracey tilts her head in recognition. Rosmerta is renowned for not caring in the slightest about pretty much everything. As long as you're friendly, anything goes. No fights, no insults, just have a good time. She's practically a hippy in that sense.

I crack three of them open, handing two to the girls as I take a seat on Daphne's bed, sighing at the fantastic taste of the butterbeer as I take a sip from my own bottle. It's like melted butterscotch and ginger beer all wrapped up into one delicious drink.

Tracey dog ears her page and sets her book down on her nightstand. I almost laugh the mental image of Hermione being absolutely appalled to see such mistreatment of a book. She tucks a stray bit of hair behind her ear nervously, closing her eyes as she goes through a breathing exercise.

I recognize the practice, realizing how serious this conversation will be.

"I…" Tracey trails off before she can even get one word in, clutching her butterbeer tightly, knuckles standing out in sharp relief against her skin. She takes a long swig from the bottle, blinking a few times as she settles her nerves.

"I was abused, for a long time," she starts, her voice cracked. "It started out with my mum… my dad was a muggle. He was a drinker, and he would take his anger out on her when he got home from work. He did this for… well, he did it as long as I could remember."

I have to refrain from crushing my bottle, setting it aside and flexing my hands dangerously. I feel my heart go out to Tracey before she's even really begun her story, knowing full-well how hard it is to grow up in an abusive environment. Knowing how you come to accept it as normal, as if the beatings are warranted, as if you're supposed to be told you're scum. As if you're supposed to feel like you're scum, because it's all you've ever known.

"He used to only beat her. I'd hear her shrieking from upstairs, see when she'd cover up her bruises with a glamour," she murmurs, an errant tear trailing down her cheek. "She was so scared of him that she never used magic to protect herself. She always said that he'd come around, that he'd stop hurting her."

Tracey laughs, the sound harsh and strained, so far and away from the normally jovial sound that it could shatter glass with its bitterness alone. "He never did."

She takes another swig from her bottle, deciding halfway to simply chug it all, tossing the empty bottle aside and cracking open another.

"You know there's not really any alcohol in those, right?" Daphne asks.

Tracey shrugs. "I couldn't give a toss right now."

She takes another deep swig, once more clutching the bottle tightly, her hands resting in her lap. "Well… he never did stop, at least, not entirely. One day my mum got it into her head that she could get out of the beatings with magic. Not stop them, no, she'd never do that. She couldn't possibly hurt dad. The bitch was too soft," she spits, biting her lip.

"No, she just pointed in my direction and let him swing."

I do shatter my bottle this time, the glass cutting into my hand as its crushed. "Shit!" I hiss in pain, vanishing the broken glass and waving my wand over my hand, healing the sharp slices in my fingers and palm.

"Are you alright?" Tracey, shooting out of her bed and pulling my hand towards her, staring at its unblemished surface.

I chuckle at her question, the chuckle turning into a full-blown belly laugh. It takes a moment for me to collect myself, pinching the bridge of my nose as a few snorts escape me. "You're gonna' ask me if I'm alright? Really? Tracey, you really need to sort out your priorities."

She smirks at me, letting go of my hand and climbing back into her bed. "You did crush that bottle with your bare hand. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I didn't know you were proficient with healing spells," Daphne interjects, looking at me curiously.

"Well, after the incident with Quirrel I thought I would pick up a few," I say, shrugging.

"Makes sense."

"So," Tracey interrupts, rolling her eyes at our derailing of an incredibly emotional discussion. She breathes deeply again, settling back into her story surprisingly quickly. I find myself both impressed and deeply saddened by how easily she speaks of such a traumatic event. "My dad came after me. It started when I was… six, maybe seven. I don't really know the details, as it was a bit of a blur. My mum of course, did nothing. She was just happy to not be the focus of his anger."

She suddenly turns her back to me, lifting her shirt up before I can tell her not to. That there's no need to show me her scars, because I understand.

I gasp in horror at the criss-crossed mess of knotted scar tissue littering her back, the skin raised and cratered grotesquely.

"Tracey," I whisper, walking towards her and placing my hand on her shoulder, tugging her shirt back down and holding her against me. "I get it. I fucking get it. I… I get it, yeah?"

She starts to sob, clutching onto my robes for dear life, burying her head in my chest. "He said I deserved it. He said I was disgusting, that all magicals are disgusting!"

I coo softly, rubbing small circles into her back. I feel a fury build up inside me as my hands pass over the grooves and bumps of her scarred back, feeling every strike of the belt. It's familiar to me, because I once had the same etched into my back, and the only reason it's no longer there is because I crossed through the Veil of Death.

"You're not disgusting," I whisper, running my fingers through her hair.

Her voice breaks, and she burrows even closer to me. "Octavius and Terra… they know. They know and they adopted you," she wails, her tears soaking through my robes. "But Tracey Davis, little Tracey doesn't get adopted, no. No she fucking doesn't."

So that's why.

If I was in her position… I would be furious, more than furious. I know she's grown up around Daphne since she was much younger, probably around the time her dad was still beating her. For Octavius and Terra to not officially bring her in… I'd be absolutely murderous if I was her.

I can't help myself from smiling at her as she breaks down in front of me, admiring the compassion and sheer level of forgiveness she's exhibited just by allowing me here, not to mention telling me her story.

I cradle her against me, kneading her scalp, my mind racing a mile a minute.

If Octavius and Terra could have adopted her, they would have. I have no doubt in my mind about that, so there must be some stipulation preventing them from doing so, or some ridiculous ancient law.

But who could?

I could always invite her into the Potter family, but that wouldn't be what Tracey wants or needs. Who could?

I almost snap my fingers as the idea comes to me. "I'll talk to them, I can promise you that, I will talk to them, and if they truly cannot adopt you, I'll talk to Sirius and see if he can."

"W- what?" she croaks, looking up at me with red, puffy eyes. "You… what?"

"I'm guessing that both of your parents are in Azkaban, yeah?" She nods, blinking the tears from her eyes. "Well, if Octavius and Terra can't, and I imagine the only reason they haven't is because there's some ridiculous traditionalist law preventing them from doing so. I'm sure Sirius would be ecstatic to adopt you into the Blacks. You know, you and I would really be sisters then?"

"Sisters?"

"Well, I'm the Black Heiress. If you're part of the family, that means you and I are sisters."

Tracey squeals, once again burying her face in my chest and hugging me tightly. "I… that would be amazing," she hums, her voice muffled. "That would be amazing."

I turn my head, looking to Daphne to get her opinion on the matter.

"Dad and mum… I've talked to them about this before, and they never really gave me a straight answer," she admits.

I nod. "I'll talk to them about it as soon as I can."

"But what if Sirius doesn't want me?" Tracey whispers, her worry getting the better for her.

"Sirius will want you, there's no doubt about that," I argue, holding her close. "And if he doesn't, for some bullshit insane reason, I'm going to bring you into the Potter family."

"Can… can you do that?"

"I wouldn't be adopting you, of course, but I could make you a Potter by inducting you into the family. It's a little bit convoluted when it comes to the legal process, but we do have a lawyer in the family."

Tracey nods, her hair brushing against my chin. I can feel her sagging in my arms, slowly drifting off to sleep.

Thinking on my feet, I lie down on the bed, turning her around and cuddling up behind her. I wrap one arm around her waist, propping my head up on my other hand. "I'm not going anywhere until you've gotten to sleep, alright? You need some rest after all that."

She grunts weakly in reply, snuggling up to me.

I just lie there, brushing her hair for who knows how long, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest as she slowly drifts off to sleep.

Her breaths slowly grow longer and longer, her head tilting slightly as her nose is buried into her pillow, her cheeks squashing up against it. Happy to see her finally relaxed and asleep, I slowly remove my hand from her waist, climbing out of her bed and back onto the floor, stretching my legs as I stand up.

"Thanks for taking care of her like that," Daphne whispers, having watched as I helped Tracey to sleep. "Normally I'm there for her, helping her sleep."

"Well, don't think of this as me taking one for the team. I wanted to help her," I say.

"I know that. I'm just… well, I'm just saying that I'm normally the one in her bed."

I raise an eyebrow, smirking at Daphne. "I wouldn't say it that way, Daphne."

She blushes at that, smiling. "Shush, you know what I meant," she laughs, waving me off. "Now go, you need to get some sleep as well. I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

"Talk to you tomorrow," I echo, waving as I exit their dorm.

After nearly a month, I'm back with an update! The rewrite/edit took longer than I thought it would, but I feel as though it was worth it.

Zeuseus: There's definitely going to be a bit of a freak out. I don't think I'm going to go the full 'data-mining horcrux' root, as it tends to lend itself to making the MC too powerful. The horcrux hunt won't be ridiculously easy, but it won't be stupidly hard either.

Kragh50: Yup.

Bearmauls: For the sake of a badly shoehorned Monty Python reference, Helene has slept just fine.

PascalDragon: Yes, Magna is still with us in spirit, and Severus is in potion's ingredients heaven. The hat is going to be a bit of a jokester, but a fantastic teacher and a bit of a maniac.

Kira007Goddess of Chaos: Unfortunately, Lockhart has not been cruciatus'd, but he was dealt with swiftly.

Changes:

Helene is a bit more mature. She's not smashed Draco in the face in Chapter Five and has approached the issue with him from a more respectable standpoint. Due to this, Draco is back to being a minor antagonist. Expect him to act as he would in canon.

Additionally, I've changed my mind on Wizarding Britain being accepting of same-sex relationships, and they'll instead approach it as any country steeped in Victorian-era values would, disdain and contempt.

Any bits that are from the perspective of other characters, specifically Dumbledore's, are now written in third person. I wanted to stay focused on the first-person limited perspective that I've written the majority of the story from, but I felt it much easier to convey Dumbledore's feelings and motivations in third person, since it takes quite a few chapters to get a feel for a character from first person.

More character development for Hermione and co. (Lisa, Padma, Luna, Daphne, Astoria, Tracey. The gang, so to say). I felt as though these characters were a bit underdeveloped and wanted to add a few more mentions of them into the story.

Due to this character development, there's been a minor sub-plot involving Tracey that has led up to this chapter. Tracey has been hostile towards Helene ever since she accepted Octavius and Terra's adoption, and it's due in fact to… well, I'm not going to spoil it. You have to read the chapter to know why.