INTRODUCING THE PAST
They were born only a few minutes past the toll into midnight on a hot summer's day. James was there the entire time, clutching his wife's feverish hands as she laboured painfully for hours on end. The birth of his children was a semi-secret – a well-known fact among Order comrades, a secret among the outside world. Lily Potter, to the rest of the world, was fatally ill. And during times when medical attentions was more needed elsewhere, no one had bothered to check her health.
Their first child, as all our readers know now, was a girl. Her hair was pale, extremely pale at birth. It was only during the next few days that James realised the child had hair the colour of Lily's. "Definitely not a shame," he confided to Sirius, who was waiting outside for him.
Officially, she became Mistletoe Petronica (at Lily's insistence) Potter. But within minutes after her birth, Sirius had jubilantly picked her up and nicknamed her Merry. The child loved it, and so the name stuck. Remus could only groan, a few days later, after his transformation which had coincided with Lily's labour, and joke, "too much Christmas references."
She was brilliant, in everyone's eyes. At birth, she was a silent babe, not like their boy, Harry James, who howled deep into the morning. Her nostrils were slits, which at first scared James a bit, what with their reptilian resemblance, but over the weeks, they shaped into softer holes.
There were other things that unnerved him. First were her eyes.
"Gee, they're the same shade as yours, Lils," he chuckled. "She's got your eyes."
"She has Lily's everything, James," Remus, the more observing of the four, sensibly told James. "She looks just like her, James. I don't think there's a single drop of Marauder in her anywhere."
And James, who briefly felt the rise of bitter disappointment, swallowed it and wisely said, "You're right. Thank Merlin for that."
Question: But was it the fact that the girl, his daughter, had Lily's eyes that frightened him?
Answer: No.
James was scared because his daughter gazed at him with the same directness, the same challenging force, as, and he swore, someone he knew. He just couldn't picture it as of then, but somewhere along the spread of his timeline, he'd chanced upon a rather important individual with a gaze just like his daughter's…
It wasn't right. Babies were supposed to be sleeping all the time. Their eyes were supposed be tiny, darting, watery beads. They weren't supposed to challenge you. In fact, if James could have it, babies were supposed to have their lids firmly shut. Hell, even when he turned around, when he had the lights off, he swore he could feel the penetrating gaze, at times even a faint glow that reminded him of the Avada Kedavra…
But moving on. What James dwells on only reluctantly, we shall not prod.
The second thing James Potter felt nervous about: The fact that his daughter hissed at him.
And it wasn't just his imagination. She hissed at everyone. Minutes after her birth, as James held her high up in the air, inspecting her features, she gurgled. She opened her tiny mouth. James winced, expecting the start of an endless howl.
And out came the sound of a tiny hiss.
What James did next: Simple. He yelped.
Sirius barked out laughter. "It's a baby, James," he cried gleefully, "not an animal. Well actually, I supposed she is, but Prongs, she's your daughter. She's a baby. Don't be afraid. I repeat, don't be afraid."
Perhaps it was because Sirius had been around dodgy people all of his childhood, not that he was calling his daughter dodgy, but maybe that was a contributing factor to why Sirius just felt so…comfortable around her than he did. He did love her, truly he did, but the girl was just so…different.
The other path: Or maybe he was just being paranoid. After all, Lily only found Mistletoe's hissing…oh what was the word she used – insightful.
Insightful. Whatever that meant.
And so she hissed, day and night, never yelling or crying or howling or even just attempting to form words like Harry James. Mistletoe Petronica Potter just never stopped hissing. It was like another language. James couldn't figure out what was wrong with her.
Then after her first birthday, she stopped hissing as much. She started attempting to form words, words he understood. Merry was finally starting to learn his language, the safe, elegant English he, and the rest of the world, spoke and understood.
But the underlying problem: She may have stopped hissing, but she certainly never forgot to hiss. Sometimes in her sleep, when she wasn't busy attempting English, he'd still hear it. The hissing that sometimes told James it meant something. It really did.
A last word from James Potter: He did love her, though. He loved Henry James too, but sometimes, sometimes when he thinks about the fate and future of both of his children, he sighs a little, wondering if he should have done something earlier.
-witchery-
Though Mistletoe Potter is our story's protagonist, persona, heroine and main starring role, we must never forget that she is, ultimately, only one half of the twins Lily Potter gave birth to that fateful day in July.
Harry James Potter was also born that day. And because James Potter has had his say, it is now time to play fair and give Lily Potter hers.
Harry James Potter. That was the intended name of their child, but she never meant it for him. She'd only expected one child, and since, truthfully, for Lily never tried to hide the truth, she had meant to only have Merry, she called Harry James, her second born, James, and Merry, her firstborn, Harry. Henry, sometimes, when she thought perhaps Harry James deserved more room in her heart. But she felt she played fair.
While James Potter, the father, noted two things he found unnerving about his daughter, it is only fair to say that Lily Potter, the mother, would note two things she found unnerving about her son.
The first thing: Harry, no, let's call the boy James, shall we, was just so ordinary. He was nothing like Mistletoe, though Lily knew she shouldn't be saying that. But because Lily never did well to hide the truth, and deep down she knew the fact was true, she never bothered hiding it. Everyone knew – Mistletoe would grow up to be a genius, James, perhaps a…very indifferent individual.
Because no matter how much James, her husband, and the rest of them whined about Merry 'hissing', Lily knew they were wrong. Merry wasn't hissing. She was simply talking in half-formed words. Why couldn't her husband just lean forward a little and hear beneath the hissed whispers?
The second thing Lily found peculiar about Harry James: The boy was just so loud. He was rude, uncouth, totally the essence of James before seventh year, when his head had shrunk a bit. It was as if he sought for Lily's sole and undivided attention, and even when he knew there was another child, he just wouldn't have Lily turn away from him. It was as if he thought he was doing the right thing, almost protecting his mother from his sister. She couldn't figure just what was wrong with her child, but the instant Mistletoe opened her delicate mouth, Harry James shrieked till the heavens heard until the two were separated, far, far away from each other.
The one thing Lily is certain about: The two of them were polar opposites. There couldn't be a more north or south twin than either child. And no matter how many times she told James, the two just weren't in the same league.
And seeing as James had had the previous last word concerning his thoughts of fatherhood, it is safe to give Lily her last word on motherhood.
What Lily has to say: She did love him, though. Just as she loved Mistletoe too, but there are times, sometimes, when she thinks about the fate and future of both of her children, she sighs a little, wondering if she should have done something earlier, and whether that would have changed anything.
-witchery-
One miniscule note of which I, as Death, assures readers will definitely not change anything: Harry James Potter, while the world, this world, has yet to know, is still alive.
-witchery-
REINSTATING THE PRESENT
Snape surveyed Mistletoe's every movement for the rest of the week. Occlumency remained briefly touched, and only once, every day. Once again, the Potions Master had her dicing potions ingredients.
Mistletoe sighed. She knew letting him know of her extra-ability, something she was certain even he didn't and couldn't do, would change things. But truthfully, if she had shown him her fluent French, or German, perhaps even Chinese, would he have had the same reaction as he did towards her snake-speak?
"So exactly what is going to happen now?" Mistletoe demanded by the time the week, the duration of which she'd set her patience's limits, was up.
"Now, we wait for the Ministry's approval," Snape swiftly replied, sweat unbecomingly lacing his pasty forehead.
"Approval for what?"
"Approval for the authority to officially teach you magic, approval for your guardianship, approval for your entrance towards the Wizarding World as an underage muggle-raised citizen," he continued, sprinkling his bubbling potion with something mouldy without missing a beat. "The Ministry is rather…tight these days."
Mistletoe raised her eyebrows, a little mystified at the pause. "Really?" she questioned dubiously.
"Concentrate on your lacewings," Snape said sharply, back to Potions Master-mode. "I need them thin, as thin as possible for this potion to be effective."
Mistletoe felt the urge to roll her eyes, but decided against it when she weighed her need to relieve her stressed eyes or angering Snape.
"The Wizarding World is different during these times," Snape continued after a while, carefully choosing his words. "More attention is given to those entering magical society from muggle heritage or muggle background. As…modern times are approaching, there is more need to be more secretive, more closely-guarded. It is difficult for any child muggle-born or raised to enter our world before the legal age of which they are allowed."
Mistletoe nodded dutifully, eyes glued to her lacewings. Inwardly, she could sense there was something else. "So basically, the Wizarding World is restricting Muggle-borns learning from magic before they're meant to?"
Snape glanced up sharply. "Not just Muggle-borns. Anyone muggle-raised, living under Muggle household or even just magical folk living close to muggles."
Only a part-truth. Mistletoe didn't need Legilimency to tell. Snape was, once again as she had realised, trying to veer her off the path of separating the weak (Muggles and Muggle-borns) from the not as weak (purebloods).
"And where do half-bloods fit into all of this?"
Snape paused for a while. "The treatment of half-blood children depend under which household name the child legally lives under – a wizard's or a Muggle's."
"I don't quite understand, Snape," Mistletoe intercepted before Snape could continue with his tolerance or neutrality, "If the Wizarding World is truly attempting to promote equality between wizards of different blood, then why on Earth are they fencing those coming from Muggle background off from everyone else?"
Snape was silent.
"I can't help thinking, Snape," Mistletoe continued sweetly, "but it seems like the magical society isn't as equal as you seem to want me to believe."
Snape still didn't say anything.
"You said only a small sect of Purebloods still believe in their own superiority. Did you understate some things, Snape? Is it more than just a few? Has the notion spread beyond the Purebloods and even through to the Ministry of Magic?"
And finally, Snape, who seemed like he just couldn't hold the secrets in any longer, took his wand from the folds of his robes and swiftly vanished his entire potions. He turned to face Mistletoe, and for more than an instant, Mistletoe saw the difficulties he was presented with his true reluctance towards everything. He was, in the end, surprisingly, on her side. And it reassured her for a while.
"Sit down," he said in a soft tone he normally didn't use, "it's time I told you some things."
-witchery-
There are two main types of people in the world: those who are leaders and those who are followers.
The leaders led, they ruled and they promised their followers promises of something better to strive for.
The followers, followed, they listened, and they blinding strived for whatever their leaders asked them to believe, never complaining.
His whole life, Severus Snape has never been a leader. He followed when they asked him to follow. He listened when they asked him to listen, and he never complained.
But Severus Snape was not a follower.
Difference number one: Followers lived and spent their lives as nameless faces. History would remember them, perhaps as a Smith, or a John, or even another Weasley. Beyond a name, a birth, perhaps an offspring or two, their place in the universe was very little. But Severus Snape, though he didn't know it then, and maybe he never will, Severus Snape's fate had in plan for him something more. This, dear readers, we shall discuss in another time.
Difference number two: Followers lacked a backbone. That is to say, they kept quiet when told to. Severus, however, and here marks Fate's ingenuity, Severus listened, of course, for he was, above all else, a listener, but he was also a speaker. It was within his nature when he felt the need to speak when he thought right, and spoke.
When Albus Dumbledore excluded the vampire refugees from the list of war veterans approved for Ministry benefits, it was Severus, Severus who brought up the topic among Order members. Not Lupin, who was too cowardly to face even his closest allies, not bloody Black, who Dumbledore had, for some blasted reason, always stupidly admire – and look where it got him – not even Arthur Weasley, who'd rather support the Muggles that weren't even aware of any war going on than the few vampire numbers that had the moral compass to stand against the Dark Lord.
No one. It was him. Him. And he didn't even care when, weeks afterwards, the rumour of him being a refugee warlord vampire himself circulated around the Order.
Difference number three: Sometimes, Snape truly questioned the people he had entrusted his very life upon.
Question: So he wasn't a leader, nor follower. Then what did that make him?
Answer: Perhaps we should review the passage ahead.
Rewind: There are two main types of people in the world.
For Severus Snape, he was one of the few left in a moving, changing, shaping society.
He was a survivor. A leftover human.
-witchery-
"The Wizarding world hasn't always been like this. There were…intervals in history during which a precarious balance was maintained. But there has never been a doubt that the times never last."
There was a brief pause as Mistletoe lifted her eyes up from her entwined fingers in her lap to face her unofficial guardian, who was absentmindedly twirling his wand
"The Dark Lord is still alive."
It was a fact, stated as one. As soon as the words fell from Mistletoe's lips out plainly onto the table between them, she felt the weight and truth the words held.
Snape scrutinised her with suspicion. "Have you been practising Legilimency lately?"
His tone was resigned. It seemed that he had almost given up with persuading her. She smiled innocently. "Not on wizards, no."
And it was true, no matter the degree of scepticism Snape continued to survey her with. After all, what little she knew had been divulged from the conversation she had merely eavesdropped from Mister Malfoy's visit.
But Snape continued. "The Ministry of Magic is corrupt to the point where the unsavoury far outweigh those with true intentions."
For a while, there was silence, though Mistletoe doubted the troubled Potions Master found any peace in it. She patiently waited for him to pick up his thoughts and continue.
"There's…a war going on."
Mistletoe's eyes widened. "A war?" she breathed. Of course. How could she have been so stupid? Lucius Malfoy himself had stated, had referred to it so openly more than just once in his conversation. "Between which countries?"
"You are wrong, Mistletoe," Snape said softly, startling her with the use of her first name. "This isn't a war between any two countries. This is a war of forces, a struggle for power. In every age, there has always been a tip of the balance between light and dark. This is power struggle between -"
"Between Albus Dumbledore and the Dark Lord?" She couldn't help it. Any one who knew Mistletoe Potter also knew that the girl loved interrupting. It was a force of habit. She didn't mean to be disrespectful.
Perhaps Snape knew this, for apart from the flicker of annoyance in his eyes, he restrained from commenting. "Correct, mostly. A wizard who has sworn in servitude to the Dark Lord, and branded with his mark, is called a Death Eater."
"And Mister Malfoy has chosen the Dark Lord's side?"
"You must understand, Potter. Malfoy has a reputation, a position in society, and a family to protect. Joining the Dark forces is far easier than leaving."
"I don't blame him," she argued. "Though I must ask…were you ever a Death Eater?"
-witchery-
Snape's face paled. Ah, and here was the golden question. He turned away from the girl's expectant face, too much like Lily's when she had asked him a similar question so many years ago. How should he answer? How was he supposed to answer? How to confess yet deny so many things to a girl who would never understand?
"I…was."
Ah. Not denying it. That was a good way to start.
"It was difficult for me then. It was so difficult for everyone. There were only two sides to choose from, black or white, and the instant any student stepped into the halls of Hogwarts, their fate was decided for them. How can you begin to understand?"
Was he being too harsh? No. He couldn't be. Mistletoe Potter could look as unimpressed as she wanted, but she'd never understand the horrors of the past decades. She'd never understand what it felt like to wish, beg whoever was out there, for the end of the world, rather than this.
"I get it," she said flatly, "you were young and you were stupid. I won't hold it against you, Snape. But can you truly tell me you've left, just like that?"
Severus rearranged his face into the usual sneer. "Albus Dumbledore -"
"And that you actually believe Albus Dumbledore would protect you from your master? You're branded for life, aren't you?"
"Albus Dumbledore," he started again, louder than necessary, "is the greatest living wizard on Earth."
Holy Merlin. He was beginning to sound like Hagrid. Or better yet, one of those devout Gryffindor first years who stared at the Headmaster as if the old man was their sun and moon…
"But what about the Dark Lord?"
"He is the darkest wizard of all time, there is a difference," Snape snarled.
And that was enough. He wanted this conversation to end. He needed to get back to his potions making.
"I just can't help thinking, Severus. Are you truly on Albus Dumbledore's side? Do you truly believe following a grandfather bordering one hundred and fifty is the way to victory? What are you truly after, Severus Snape?"
Merlin. He needed a break. He needed his retirement. The brat was ten years old and questioning his own moral thinking…
"So what happens now, Snape?"
Oh, that was it. This was it.
Snape glared with the ferocity of a thousand suns. "Now," he gritted with clenched teeth, "now, you get back to your lacewings."
-witchery-
And so they waited.
Mistletoe spent most of the first six months living with Severus Snape bugging him with constant questions, requests, needs, teases, the occasional prank, and truly sickening nicknames. Her favourite was 'Sevvie', in which Snape would turn a truly ferocious scarlet, and spend the better part of the next hour avoiding looking at her.
These months were the hardest to survive – the Ministry actually sent a representative who inspected, dissected and analysed every aspect of Mistletoe and Snape's life – from every potion Snape had ever brewed, to the Hogwarts curriculum, to his potions lab, the apothecaries to frequented for ingredients, yes, even the cauldrons' thickness was measured.
Snape's small personal library was also scavenged – of a total of only one hundred and seventy-eight books, twenty-nine were deemed 'restricted reading', all of which were seized, seventy-eight were on the 'rare' list, which basically gave the Ministry a right to scavenge through. The rest of the books were on things like the history of round-bottomed cauldrons, or the theory behind the wolfsbane potion. Which were completely useful – if her life's goal was to become a Potions Master.
Then there was Snape's personal record. It was bloody useful, Snape holding a criminal record of having been arrested under allegations of being a Death Eater. That took the longest to clear, and it didn't help that with Ministry reps running around, sifting through his clothes, obviously trying to find clothing holding any resemblance to a Death Eater's costume. It was also so sad, seeing them open drawer after drawer, only to find every…completely…black.
The fact that Mistletoe was also a natural Legilimens illegally learning the art of Occlumency didn't help either. Lucius Malfoy must have held a mighty sway in the Ministry, for not a single word was mentioned, by anyone, on the subject. Though, naturally, every wizard who arrived at her house seemed to be extremely gifted in Occlumency. A pure coincidence, of course.
Oh, and of course, Auror Alastor Mad-Eye Moody must not be forgotten.
INTRODUCING THE MAD-EYE
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
Any person who met him could immediately tell that was his favourite phrase. Unfortunately for Mistletoe, the day arrived without the slightest warning from any of the inspectors, except for the odd quiver here or there by some of the younger ones.
Severus called her to his lab.
Which was normal, of course. A routine that occurred many times every day. She expected the usual. Chop up the lacewings -carefully Potter, do you understand the word – or perhaps dice up a bezoar – too rough, Potter, they need to be identical cubes – maybe even list all the qualities of whatever potion he was brewing.
But not a figure jumping out of nowhere and yelling loudly in her ear, "CONSTANCE VIGILANCE!"
Initial reaction: She screamed.
Her next move: She immediately whipped out the dagger in her pocket and threw it at the source.
"Arggh!"
A minute later, she calmed down enough to realise the man she had just attacked was an aging Auror with the most hideous face she'd ever seen and a creepy eye that wouldn't stop inspecting her. And then she learnt that the man she had just aimed a dagger at, a dagger which had, though clumsily, managed to hit his head, was probably the most famous Auror ever to live, Alastor Mad-Eye Moody, who had literally managed to fill over half the cells at Azkaban with the Death Eaters he'd caught.
The other Aurors could only look on at awe – and fear. They quickly Flooed themselves to Saint Mungo's, and under the grudging insistence of Mad-Eye, brought Snape and Mistletoe along with them. The Ministry reps were strangely all taking a break at the local coffee shop when all this happened.
Severus Snape was not pleased.
-witchery-
Merlin, is no feat too great for the Girl Who Lived? Snape thought. Fifteen minutes after the incident, the two of them were being whisked up the floors of Saint Mungo's, Healer Briggs eagerly darting excited glances at Mistletoe while she led them up to Mad-Eye, who lounged with obviously feigned nonchalance on his bed.
When he saw who had entered, he glared with a look that rivalled Snape's own rather mastered glare, though less venomous and a lot more angry. Mistletoe, of course, looked her usual unperturbed, smug self.
"Lived with Muggles, did you?" he finally said, inspecting her critically. "They taught you to throw a knife, did they?"
Nonchalantly, Mistletoe shrugged. "They didn't teach me much."
"I've got to hand it to you, Potter. That throw? The worst I've seen anyone handle a dagger in years," he spat.
"What was a dagger doing in your pocket anyway?" he added suspiciously.
"It was for potions," Mistletoe answered, in a tone that said 'what else?' "And just for the record, you're here in Saint Mungo's because I sent you here."
Mad-Eye fumed. And glared. Snape nursed his headache in the background. Merlin, they're alike in arrogance. Moody would probably say to his prisoners, "you're here in Azkaban because I sent you here".
He just hoped the brat wouldn't worsen the situation by, say, attempting Legilimency on the most paranoid wizard he knew.
No such luck. Seconds later, Alastor roared. "Legilimency? Thought you could get past me?"
Immediately, Healers rushed into the room, trying to placate the old man. He struggled.
"Get away from me!" he shouted, shaking madly. "And you come here, girl! Let me show you the proper way to throw a knife."
It was either with supreme bravery or, as Severus suspected, extreme amounts of cunning guise on Mistletoe's behalf that willed her forward, without a flicker of doubt in her eyes. If anything, she seemed unimpressed, even slightly bored.
By then, the Healers were trembling, most knowing Mad-Eye's reputation for sustaining, and obtaining injuries. A few stared at Severus, waiting for him to interfere. This, however, was the Girl-Who-Lived, who strangely enough, seemed to bear through it. Somehow. So Snape watched, as two very different yet similar people went over the correct methods of knife-throwing.
"Hold it looser!" Alastor instructed. "You'll be throwing it, which means releasing it at some point. Curl those nails! There's a reason the handle has finger-moulds – your place your fingers round them. And aim – that's a step you don't want to miss. Know how I got this eye? I lost my old one. Know how I lost my old one? Some bastard thought he'd aim for my foot and missed. Got me good, the instant I blinked."
Severus wasn't quite sure how anyone could aim for a foot and possibly miss it for a feet, and neither, it seemed, could Mistletoe. Both didn't bother asking.
"So much for Constant Vigilance, huh?" Mistletoe muttered.
Merlin, Snape thought. One of the Healers looked on the verge of fainting. A Daily Prophet journalist eagerly watched, the Saint Mungo's employees far beyond the ability to shoo them away. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood and stared in amazement.
Moments later, the Girl-Who-Lived aimed her potions dagger at the most reputable Auror of all time, managed to add on to the already present injuries, and force Mad-Eye into his retirement, the last of which his colleagues would later swear he had promised, only a week ago, that he would serve as an Auror till his death.
The incident ended with Moody edging the girl to throw her dagger – which she gladly did. Strangely enough, though Snape supposed it was typical behaviour on Moody's behalf, the Auror was pleased when the dagger pierced his arm. The amount of blood spilt only did to impress him further, and before long, Moody had promoted 'brat' to 'girl'.
"I need that promised retirement package of mine," Moody grumbled. "No more, I swear. You'll be the death of me, Merry Potter. Upon my honour…"
Almost like magic, the Healers came to their senses and fussed over the Auror, who grumbled childishly. The Daily Prophet managed a snap at Mistletoe, accompanied with Snape, before being forced out of the building, rather satisfied for his no doubt sell-out story.
In the years to come, Mad-Eye Moody would retire, but bring with him a legend. His paranoia had saved him time and again, but it would, in eventual time, mean his downfall, and Mistletoe Potter, his death.
That, of course, is my heads up to you, my wonderful audience. Now, all we shall do, is simply watch.
-witchery-
"I am Ginevra Weasley, ten years old, pureblood, shopping in Diagon Alley under the accompaniment of my guardian, Potions Professor of Hogwarts," Mistletoe recited.
"And I am Severus Snape, Potions Professor of Hogwarts, accompanying Ginevra Weasley in her trip to Diagon Alley," Snape continued stiffly.
The ticket collector surveyed the odd pair sceptical. "'Tis al'ight ter relax it a bi', yer kno'," he muttered, amazed at his customer's numbness and incredible forwardness. "Blimey," he exclaimed, "Dementors suck yer souls out, did they?"
Mistletoe seethed inwardly as the scruffily-dressed man finally admitted them onto his bus (the Knight Bus). Sure, so she'd
"I suppose this is the part where you tell me just why I happen to be Ginevra Weasley?" she hissed, as soon as she managed to shift her weight onto a steady-looking pole.
Snape, giving the world every reason to suspect he was ignoring her has he turned his face slightly away and adopted a vague look, whispered back, "Your parents are dead, Potter. Who knows, the next person their killer is after could be you."
Mistletoe snorted. "They've been dead for almost a decade now, Sev," she muttered, "don't you think they were given every chance to kill me when I still lived with the Dursleys?"
Snape remained silent, not that she had expected anything else "So, Sev," Mistletoe relished in the slight cringe Snape gave as she used her favourite nickname for him, "are you going to tell me? Ever?"
Snape sighed loudly. "As if your head isn't inflated enough already," he muttered. A little louder, but still out of the earshot of the ticket-collector, who still stared at them suspiciously, "You, Mistletoe Potter, are famous."
It gave the desired effect. If Snape had expected her to burst into happy tears, she definitely didn't, but that didn't stop her from exclaiming, "I am? What for?"
Were her Legilimency skills so amazing? Had 'befriending' an Auror madman truly made her notorious? She leaned in, anticipating a satisfying surprise.
Snape took a deep breath. "Your father, Mistletoe," he finally said, "was a pirate."
And that, quickly, shut up anything else Mistletoe wanted to say for the rest of their trip.
-witchery-
A pirate. A pirate…
Mistletoe just couldn't believe it. She refused to believe it. "B-but I thought you said he was Pureblood," she finally managed, by the time they had entered the Leaky Cauldron.
"And haven't I repeatedly told you that not all Purebloods are as holy as they deem themselves to be?"
Mistletoe spluttered, eyes narrowed at Snape as she missed Diagon Alley appearing magically behind the stone wall. "He was an Auror!" she hissed. never take over the world with her (truly awe-inspiring) acting skills. But did Snape have to force her to repeat off a slip of paper, as if to inform the world she was telling a lie? Who on Earth was Ginevra Weasley anyway?
"So were many," he said in a final tone. "Just look at Moody. Now keep you head down, don't draw attention and -"
"Don't make eye contact, yes, I've got it," she muttered.
Diagon Alley was hardly what she had imagined. After being briefed by Snape of the many shops available with merchandise from magical eye-glasses to colour-changing lollipops, she had expected something with a little more colour. No one had noticed them as they had entered the Leaky Cauldron, just like how no one noticed them now, as they strolled the half-deserted streets of the Alley.
The influence of the Dark Lord must have been astronomical, for the witches and wizards walked with a secretive pace, turning round to glance back whenever they turned corners and made sure not to stay on one side of the road for too long. If anything they were even more terrified than mere, powerless Muggles. She may not have known the people, but Mistletoe felt bitterness and shame floating at the top of her stomach.
No one asked them who they were, where they were going or what they were doing. If anything, Snape's villainous appearance kept the others at bay.
It was only when they had reached Gringotts, the wizard bank run, as Snape had said, on goblins, did he pause
"There'll be no need for you to enter Gringrotts today," Snape grunted. For an instant, he paused. "Wait here," he huffed. His eyes travelled from Mistletoe to their surroundings, looking doubtful of any major attack. "I do suppose the Death Eaters will leave you alone," he said dryly. "Stay here. Some private business I need to settle." Then without another word, he headed off.
Mistletoe scoffed. Stay here, her mind mimicked. Which was exactly what she didn't do the instant Snape had entered the bank.
-witchery-
Of all the stores, Flourish and Blotts was, without a doubt, Mistletoe's favourite. Books on the most peculiar of subjects presented themselves in the strangest ways. The All-Seeing Eye, for example, had an actual blinking, staring and occasionally even glaring eye right in the middle of the front over. As Mistletoe swallowed, a small boy rushed in front of her and rudely poked the eyeball, hard.
"Aaaarrgh!"
Mistletoe's eyebrows ascended beyond the heavens. Had the eye just bit the boy?
Another whole shelf was devoutly dedicated to – and here Mistletoe sucked in her breath – Quidditch.
Possibly, courtesy of Severus Snape's commentary, the most dangerous modern wizarding game the world had ever foolishly discovered. Also played on broomsticks.
Mistletoe snorted to herself, rolling her eyes as the moving picture of a Quidditch player shot past the page.
"Not much of a Quidditch fan, are you?"
She blinked, turning round to find the smirking face of Draco Malfoy.
"Why hello, Malfoy," she managed, swallowing her surprise and placing on a mask as if she had known of his presence all along.
It didn't lessen his smirk though. He nodded once. "Fancy meeting you here, Potter."
She blinked, astonished by his courtesy. The last time they had met, she especially remembered his rudeness.
"I suppose you're here with your father?" she asked quietly, attempting to banish any misjudgement she had held him against.
Malfoy, however, froze a little. "What's it to you where my father is?" he demanded.
"Well, aren't you curious about who my accompanying guardian happens to be?"
The boy's pointed face contorted into a sneer. "Not the Muggles, I hope."
"Severus Snape."
As expected, Draco's face shot up. Mistletoe smirked back. "Yes, thought you might recognise the name."
Draco sniffed. "Snape happens to be my godfather."
Mistletoe nodded, almost expecting something similar. "Small world. Snape also happens to my permanent guardian."
The boy's eyes widened. "He's your – you get to live with him!"
Mistletoe sighed at Draco's almost accusing tone. "Trust me, Draco, it doesn't come with half as much fun as you seem to believe. I spend my time preparing potions ingredients."
Draco looked hardly convinced. "I'm sure Father would allow you for visits if it does become too unbearable."
"Oh, is this your way of asking me over to play, Draco?" Mistletoe said sweetly.
Draco turned a light pink. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter," he hastily snapped. "I only find it particularly sad that you should scoff at the greatest wizarding sport of all time. Should you ever bother gracing us with your presence, we'll be spending the time in the air."
Mistletoe's smirk dropped.
Now here was an interesting fact. It wasn't often that someone got the best out of Mistletoe Potter. So when Draco Malfoy managed to wipe the smirk off Mistletoe's face for the rest of the day, something was decided.
Draco Malfoy was definitely more than just a spoilt little boy. Perhaps the little prince wasn't so bad after all.
-witchery-
"Going somewhere, are we?"
Ah, yes. Who could forget the cynical, sneering tone of Severus Snape as he loomed over the head of countless, countless children? Mistletoe almost cringed.
"You took far too long at the bank," Mistletoe reasoned sweetly. "So I decided to look around myself."
Severus raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I took all of eight minutes, Potter, seeing as I had urged the goblins to send me down in the fastest cart, knowing it would come to this. Unless your usual impatient self let its eye wonder, I can't think how I could have possibly been at fault."
Mistletoe fought the urge to roll her eyes, knowing that in the end, it was him with the money and the wand. "Shall we start?"
Severus sighed deeply. "Then let us begin."
-witchery-
"Well, hello." The soft voice of the invisible wizened man resounded in the shop. Mistletoe lifted her head. There, standing mysteriously at the very top of the ladder and with a few boxes of wands in both hands, appeared the figure of Mr Ollivander.
He smiled wholeheartedly. "Ah, Mistletoe Potter," he greeted with as hearty a smile a wiry old man like him could construct from his many years of wrinkled and dried flesh. "I was expecting you a little later than this, but seeing the way things seem to be heading these days, your presence isn't such a surprise."
Mistletoe stared, a little fascinated and appalled at the man's seemingly positive nature. Perhaps she had been shut away with Snape for far too long to expect anyone with as much a grin on their faces. Nevertheless, the man seemed for too happy greeting a pirate's daughter.
"I apologise for the lack of reception. People seem to be wanting wands more and more these days…"
"I obviously desire a wand."
An arrogant, boyish voice echoed in the deepest pits of her memories. She'd always known the voice, ever since she was little. It was rare that she ever aroused it enough for the memories to form audible words. Whoever's memory she had deeply engraved into her mind, the moment the person had bought their wand must have been an unforgettable one, one of the most solid memories the person had.
"I obviously desire a wand," Mistletoe felt herself repeating. Perhaps if the incident was so important, Ollivander would remember it too…
But the old man's eyes hardly flickered. His face was an emotionless mask. Mistletoe longer to peer into his mind, but doing so would cause many complications, what with Snape standing right beside her.
"Perhaps this wand. Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches."
Maybe it was because both Snape and Ollivander were staring at her fiercely, or maybe because the memories of the unknown boy had recurred in her mind over her entire childhood it almost became part of her, but she blurted out the facts before her mind had processed it. "Yew and phoenix feather," the words rushed out, "thirteen and a half inches."
The previous silence had evolved from a brief pause in a warm atmosphere to an awkward, stunned shock in a nail-biting place. Ollivander stared at her agape and Snape stared at her with a suspicion that told her he knew something was up.
"Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches," Ollivander said slowly, fear and bewilderment seeping into his originally pensive tone. "Unspeakable, Miss Potter, truly unspeakable."
Ollivander paused to glare around the shop, as if checking to see if the world was still in place. "I no longer make that combination of wands," he finally said in hushed tones.
Both Snape and Mistletoe stared at Ollivander in surprise. "You must understand that here at Ollivander's, the wands that we make are of the highest standards," Ollivander explained, "nearly every witch and wizard in England buys their wands in my store. It has been that way for many, many years."
Mistletoe thought back to the sign on the door outside reading 'Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC'.
"Perhaps even the darkest wizard of all time had bought his wand from my store," the man continued, gazing at Mistletoe which such ferocity.
"The Dark Lord?" Mistletoe said aloud. As if on cue, the room seemed to darken a little, the atmosphere freeze to a chill, the silence amplified till time seemed to stand still.
Ollivander stiffened. Snape shuffled with an awkward, impatient air. "That's right, Miss Potter," Ollivander finally answered, his voice harsh for such an old man, "yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches. In my entire lifetime, only ten of those were made, each coming from a different phoenix and a different yew tree. He Who Must Not Be Named was incidentally the third client to have bought such a wand."
"And the other seven?"
Ollivander exhaled. "Burned," he breathed, his voice trembling. It was only then that Mistletoe realized – to a wandmaker, destroying a wand must have been as hard as giving away a child...
"But -"
"Enough, Mistletoe," Snape sharply interrupted from behind, "measure her up please, sir."
Ollivander hastily wiped his face with a sleeve and gave her an unconvincing smile. "Your wand hand, my dear?"
Mistletoe deduced it would be the one she used to write with, so without another word, she extended her left arm, still slightly peeved at Ollivander's earlier rejection to her request. Ollivander blinked, clearly surprised at her choice of hands. "Unspeakable," he murmured again, giving Mistletoe another piercing look.
He measured her from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, should to floor, knee to armpit, round the head, and, as a grand finale, nostril to nostril, with a roll of what seemed to be self-measuring tape.
"Now," Ollivander said with an almost cheerful voice, "may I suggest this wand? Willow. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy. Nice wand for charm work, that. Your mother favoured such a wand. Perhaps-? "
Gingerly reaching for the polished wand, her fingers collided with shades of the past the wand had experienced. She shuddered. It was just so bare. And it had to have been, locked away forever on the shelf of a century-old wandmaker.
It didn't work. It wasn't that the planets had collided and foretold the next apocalypse. Mistletoe even, to some extent, liked the wand, but there was just something off about it, something that she felt shouldn't be there…
Ollivander swallowed, paling by the second. "Well, then. Perhaps not. Er, how about this wand? Designed similar to your father's. Mahogany, eleven inches. With any luck -"
Mistletoe winced. The wand too seemed to quiver. Now here, the planets did collide and did foretell the next apocalypse. It was as if someone was rudely trying to force the north-est north pole to stick with the south-est south pole without any complaint. It just wasn't happening.
Ollivander's eyes darted nervously between Snape, who seemed vaguely amused at the outcome, and Mistletoe, whose exasperation couldn't be more apparent.
"Well," the wizened wandmaker finally said, "I suppose we'll just have to start from the very beginning…"
-witchery-
"Willow, nine and a half inches. Pheonix core. Give it a try, my dear."
It was no surprise to Mistletoe when yet another wand failed to connect with her. She eyed beadily, almost certain the wandmaker was purposefully biding his time.
"There is a wand in here," she said slowly, "that will choose me. I think both of us know that very well."
Ollivander nodded, acting distracted as he placed the wand back and selected another at random.
"Perhaps I should make something clear – I have all the time in the world to stay here until we find that destined wand. And I will stay here until we do. So biding your time will just be wasting it for both of us. I suggest we skip the dawdling and find that wand – now."
Inwardly, Mistletoe grinned. She had never sounded more Snape-like in her life. Perhaps she had acted too harshly but it was obvious the desired effect had been achieved. Ollivander paused over his endless shelves of wands, turned round to give her an extremely calculated look, then said in a mysterious voice, "I wonder – would it be -?"
With a swish of his wand, two thin boxes emerged from the throng. Stored in sections far away from each other, Mistletoe wondered just which would be hers. Ollivander grimaced as the two floated closer towards one another.
"These two wands are powerful wands, Miss Potter. Direct, complete, utter opposites, but powerful. So powerful that the potential to wreak havoc must be avoided by placing them far apart…"
Mistletoe's curiosity peaked. She stared between the closing gap of the two wands, almost certain she saw a spark. Then suddenly, the two cases stopped progressing to the path of collision and landed on the table heavily, one at each end.
"Not too close of course," Ollivander explained. "Never too close."
His hand jerked awkwardly towards one box. He opened it carefully, then with shaking fingers, handed her the wand.
Mistletoe stared at it for a second, unimpressed by the sheer normalcy the wand presented itself with. There were no fancy carvings on the side, no embellishments to tell it apart from an ordinary stick, not even a piece liberally carved for the owner to etch their name it. She doubted anything extraordinary would come from this wand…
And yet, there was something about it, something about what the wand almost seemed to whisper, that drew her fingers forward, like the sirens' songs drawing in the curious sailors…
"OUCH!"
Mistletoe yelped, surprised at the sudden shock the wand had given her as soon as she had touched the handle. She rubbed her hand, glaring at Ollivander who had held the wand with no apparent difficulty.
"Obviously, the wand doesn't choose you, Potter," Snape commented boredly from behind, not caring to tend her injury.
"Never mind," she said irritably, "there is still another."
Now here was a fragment of potential greatness. Almost as if to answer her words, the room darkened, the air chilled once more, and the box, the other box that held the other wand, stood out like a candle among the grey. An invisible breeze pushed through the air until it reached the wand, and almost effortlessly slid the case open.
But the phenomenon didn't end there. No, the wand, a corpse rising from the dead, lifted itself off the gentle cushions of the case and waded through the air, bringing the glow away with it, towards Mistletoe.
Just when she thought the wand had performed enough to prove to her its power, it started to hiss at her.
"Mmmasssterr…" it whispered, "yoouuu…arrreee…chhosssen…"
All three of them, Ollivander, Snape and Mistletoe, seemed to have heard, but she doubted either of them understood. Ollivander had heard something. Long years of wand-making must have caused him to become somewhat of an expert. And as for Snape, nothing seemed to escape his beady eyes…
So without another word or thought, Mistletoe reached out and grabbed the wand with a firm left hand.
-witchery-
"Unspeakable," Ollivander muttered as he filed the first wand away. "Unspeakable," he mourned as he christened the other with a droopy bow, watching yet another wand being past from maker to user. "Unspeakable," he digressed as he sorted out his client's change.
"Have a nice day, Mister Ollivander," Mistletoe Potter said smugly as she left, her shadow, Snape – dragon heartstring, oak, twelve inches – closely following behind.
"Unspeakable," he answered behind her.
Mistletoe Potter had absolutely no idea what potential her wand had the power to unlock. And, as a simple student of the wandlore, neither did he.
Question: What was special about Mistletoe Potter's wand?
Answer: To reply would be to list the entire making of the wand from the very first step.
Step One: Retrieving the core.
This vital step, this vital, vital step, couldn't link a wand with its master any closer than it did. The core was the raw magic, the untamable force that beckoned the will of every witch and wizard. And Mistletoe Potter's wand encased one of the most peculiar cores Ollivander had ever tampered with.
Basilisk venom.
Step Two: Taming with a medium
Oak, holly, willow, even the odd eucalyptus from Australia, they were all very average casings coming from very average donors. Mistletoe Potter's wand was made of yew. And it just so happened that Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, You-Know-Who and He Who Must Not Be Named, had yew coming from the same tree, the same branch, and even the same twig that had, at that time, been dissected into two. Ollivander had taken Mistletoe Potter's wand and crafted a spectacular specimens he'd never dreamed of selling. That he had also crafted another using the other twig had purely been by mistake. An accident.
Step Three: No doubt a witch like Potter, armed with such a wand, would take the Wizarding World by storm.
And for a moment, Ollivander smiled. He ached to see just who the girl would shape into in the years to come.
-witchery-
Notes:
For those who read this chapter prior to its editting, I added the extra scene with Moody, purely because when I watched the fourth Harry Potter movie the other day, I simply found Moody too fascinating to ignore, and therefore added him in.
The memory Mistletoe remembered is, indeed, Tom Riddle's. This part will be explained later, but was also mentioned in the editted version of INTRODUCING MISTLETOE POTTER.
Happy reading! Review with any comments, or any ideas as to which side Mistletoe should turn to: Light, Dark or Grey.
MaskWithATruth