She was woken in the night with fervor, far past when the moon could have illuminated the world.
Everything was all black and perspiration and she could feel insects crawling along her arms—crawling into her long, dark hair.
The wizard hurried her, his long greying hair falling into his dusty face.
"They have found us, my girl," he wheezed, limping from a curse that had struck his leg. "They are coming for us. You must move, quickly!"
The young girl scrambled from her resting place on the floor of the barn, already dressed in the clothes she had been wearing for six weeks. That's how long they had been on the run from them. A pair of worn dark jeans, an airy shirt and climbing her boots were all that protected her from the Australian summer.
In six weeks, the pair had been chased to three different continents, and the Arctic. Now here they were, scrambling for their lives in a dusty Muggle barn in the state of Southern Australia.
Handing her a rucksack and his wand, he urged her to go on without him.
"No!" She cried. "No, I can't go without you, we can stop the bleeding, we can make it!"
The aging wizard blew into his mustache. He was pale, and unable to stand any longer, he collapsed from his own weight. With the last of his strength, he commanded her to go.
"Leave now, or your whole life will be in vein. You know what to do." He pointed to the direction in which she should flee, outstretching his forearm in the process. A dark mark scarred him.
Without a second thought, knowing that pleading further would mean weakness, the girl kicked up dust as quickly as she could and made a bolt for the exit of the barn, straight into the open outback—straight into a trap.
The flash of a curse whizzed past her ear.
Ducking, she saw from the corner of her eye wizards and witches descending upon the barn in which her only comrade had fallen—they were descending upon her. There was no running now. Now, there was only fighting.
Whirling back around, she sent curses flying in random directions, doing her best to aim for bodies when she could make them out in the darkness.
Light flashed around her, flying this way and that. After several seconds, it became clear that these people were not trying to aim for her at all, but to aim around her. They were corralling her in; trying to corner her in a place with no corners. Her head darted about, looking for an opening in her attackers' ranks that now encircled her.
No exit?
Make one.
"Confringo!" An orange explosion burst from her wand, causing an opening in the encirclement to open, one way or another. Through that way, she bolted, leaping over bodies that now lay lifeless. This was the cost of who she was. This was the cost of her blood.
Running was her only option, as there were no vehicles nearby and she didn't know how to Apparate on her own. There was only so much mischief a witch could get into at the age of fourteen, and learning curses on their own was hard enough.
She tore through the Outback, sprinting as fast as she could. Her legs were no use though, not in comparison with the force of the hex that brought her down—hard.
Everything went foggy.
The last thing she remembered is someone giving her a good kick to the ribs, and the force of them cracking underneath their boot.
Yelling.
Wailing.
A pair of arms lifting her.
Apparating.
Being sick.
Vomiting.
Someone swearing.
Someone hitting her with a curse, causing large lacerations to tear her body open.
More swearing.
And then nothing.
She had been in and out of consciousness for what seemed days, until finally waking up in the one place she had always been told not to go. The one place that would mean the end of her. She looked around, unbothered by the fact that she was covered in her own blood, muzzled and tied up securely in a bewitched straight jacket.
This was by far the most interesting place she had ever been in, even if she was tied up. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of strange noises coming from all sorts of little silver instruments and odd knick-knacks. The walls were covered with portraits of old people, probably now dead, all whispering to each other—staring at her.
She was bleeding on a claw-footed chair in front of an enormous desk—she could see her wand had been confiscated and placed there—, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby brown wizard's hat, which did not look much too happy to see her.
No one here looked happy to see her.
Most people she had come into contact with in her first fourteen years of life didn't.
"Juliet d'Aragon," said a voice, old and stern. Out of all the people in the room, it came from the man standing before her in long, purple wizard robes.
Albus Dumbledore.
Juliet could do nothing but glare at the wizard menacingly, as her mouth was gagged and muzzled to prevent any screaming and swearing as the hearing proceeded, and you know…spitting and biting.
"My dear, try not to look so upset. It was this," he gestured to the ceiling with both hands. "Or Azkaban."
At this point, Juliet would have actually preferred Azkaban.
Dumbledore continued. "As the only offspring of the witch Estella Maurelle d'Aragon, and the dark wizard Tom Marvolo Riddle, we are all in quite a bit of trouble here, aren't we." He took a seat on the corner of his desk, folding his hands over one another and looking down at Juliet through the halfmoon glasses balanced on his nose.
There was dark red blood oozing into her eye from a laceration on the top of her head. She blinked it away, twitching slightly at the name of her mother.
Estella Marielle d'Aragon was famed for her beauty, but mostly for her family's vast amounts of wealth. Purebloods descendent from French and English royalty, the d'Aragon family gave up their only daughter at the tender age of sixteen in order to bare the Dark Lord's heir. She had been killed in a duel when her only daughter was a mere toddler.
In regards to her father, Juliet knew perfectly well who he was. The remainder of her father's loyalists had seen to just that.
Because of this, Juliet d'Aragon had spent her entire life on the run, being hunted like an animal. She thought about the places she'd been, and the protectors—ex-Death Eaters—she had lost along the way. She thought about how angry she was. So angry, that she didn't realize that she was seething, her dark eyes bloodshot and watery, her arms straining against the magic that kept her bound.
If not for the restraints, Juliet would have leapt for the old man's throat by now.
"Juliet," said Dumbledore, catching her attention and snapping her back to reality. "Before you were born, your mother came to me seeking help—safety and shelter for you. I had made a grave mistake in denying her that. I implore you to believe me when I say that those who you have been told are your allies, are really your enemies. We are not here to hurt you. We are here to protect you. And the best way to do that is to keep you here, and enroll you as a student. There is no safer place for you from the people who want to hurt you other than Hogwarts."
Juliet almost began to hyperventilate, violently jerking against the restraints.
Those around her, professors of the school, pointed their wands at her in anticipation of her trying to attack the Headmaster.
"Your home is now Hogwarts. But because of your unique circumstances, there will be some additional restrictions and rules. You are not to leave the grounds. You are not allowed a wand before or after class hours. And you will report to your keeper, Professor Severus Snape, every night, without failure. As an underage witch, there is no choice in this matter."
Severus Snape.
She knew that name.
It was the man standing adjacent her.
He was like a shadow, dressed in all black and hovering next to her. She did her best to not look over at him.
It was Professor McGonagall who brought the Sorting Hat down from the shelf over the Headmaster's desk and held it gingerly, trying her best to calm the sour hat. He was not very happy about having to sort this girl. Dumbledore had asked the hat to do this as a special favor.
Juliet flinched away from the enchanted article when Professor McGonagall brought towards her, as if it was going to hurt her. No one could really blame her, most people in her life had tried to hurt her.
Dumbledore nodded, and the hat was placed carefully atop her bloody dark hair.
"Get out," Juliet commanded.
"I wish I could," the hat retorted. "You don't deserve to be here."
"You don't know anything about me," she spat.
"Ah," concurred the hat. "But I'm about to."
The hat searched her head.
Her memories.
Her mother dying violently in a duel before she was even of legal age to use magic. Consistently leaving behind all she knew. Finding ways to dull the pain.
No home. No family. No friends.
Her emotions.
Lose something?
Suck it up.
Lose someone?
Suck it up.
Are you in pain?
Suck it up.
Are you tired?
Suck it up.
Want to give up?
Suck it up.
Are you scared?
Be brave.
Be brave.
Be brave.
The hat was silent for a long time. Juliet had an expansive mind, one that was deep and dark with all of the worst kinds of happenings and fears that someone her age should not have had. It wasn't her fault that she was like this. The way she was, the things she had done in order to get here—it was all fed to her through other sources; through fear.
She just had to be brave.
The hat finally spoke, much to the shock and horror of everyone present.
"Gryffindor."
And so her nightmare began.
Hope that everyone enjoyed so far! This is something I've been sitting on for a long time and finally want to bring to fruition. Please let me know what you think!