––––––––––––PART THREE––––––––––––

It was a blustery afternoon, many years ago, deep in the north of England when they were born. Two girls – fraternal twins. The parents could not be more proud of the two healthy bundles of joy with whom they would finally begin to share their lives. While they would not be identical twins, the parents knew they would love each daughter just the same. Nothing could tear apart their happy family.


The quiet home of a young couple became the lively house of a small family. The girls' first birthday was a simple family affair. The parents and grandparents had sung 'Happy Birthday' whilst the girls clapped and giggled. Everyone had ended up with more cake on themselves than in their mouths. Once the girls began to slump in their high-chairs, the evening came to an end.

"Good night, our sweethearts," their parents cooed. Their first year as a family had been perfect. The family slept that night, dreaming of the many more perfect years to come.


As the girls grew older, they were inseparable. Matching clothes, matching toys, matching everything. Even at kindergarten they always preferred each other's company over the other children. But they were happy, and so no one tried to force them to change. Most nights their parents would say good night in their separate beds, only to find them both curled up asleep together in the morning. The girls were happy and so were their parents. Their happiness only grew with the years.


It was in school where the strange things began occurring. Messages would come home from teachers, detailing instances of mysterious behaviour surrounding the twins. On one occasion when the girls were six, the letter had described the girls tying up two boys in their class with a skipping rope. When their parents had questioned them about it, the girls insisted they had been playing with the rope until the boys stole it, and that the rope moved on its own, wrapping itself around the boys' legs. Nobody believed them.

At the age of seven, the girls' parents were called into the school for a meeting. The girls were sitting quietly, covered from head to toe in paint. The teacher told their parents all about their art class and how they had thrown paint all over poor Joey Daley, making the boy cry. On the way home, the girls begged their parents to believe them that Joey Daley had poured paint all over their drawings on purpose. It wasn't their fault that the paint pots tossed themselves at him, while their drawings mysteriously cleared. But still nobody believed them.

This continued on for them both until the girls were nine when one of them was sick and needed to stay home. The other had begged their parents to let her stay home too, but they would not let her. "You need to learn to play with the other girls and boys too," they said, and so they shuffled her off to school.

The girl was miserable. Without her sister she had no friends at all. Two girls came and asked her to play with them at play time. While they were running around, the girl felt a heavy blow on her back and fell to the dirt. Loud laughter echoed around her; Ricky Thornhill, an older boy, had thrown a ball at her to make her fall down. Everybody in the playground was watching and laughing. Angry and upset, she reached out to the ball to throw it back at him, but before she could get near it, the ball flew at an incredible speed hitting Ricky in the stomach. As he fell to the ground, everyone in the playground began to scream, running to get as far away from the girl as possible.

Nobody believed her story. Except for her sister.

"What's wrong with me?" Her sister just hugged her.

From that day on, their classmates refused to do anything with either of the girls. Their parents were at a loss as to how their two beautiful, sweet girls could get in so much trouble. They were in different classes at age ten, forcing them to interact with others. Neither of the girls were happy with this as most of the other students still would not talk to them. However, once they were separated, the differences between the two became apparent.

One of the girls – coincidently the one who had been sick that one day – never had any problems in class. Not once did the teacher have to write home or speak to her at the end of the day about her behaviour. She was, as her parents had insisted all along, a sweet little girl.

Despite being twins, her sister continued to have more and more instances of misbehaviour and even bullying reported against her. She had cried to her parents and her teachers, begging them to believe that she wasn't bad, and that these things just seemed to happen without her doing anything at all.

Only her sister believed her.

She did not know how many tears she had shed whilst being held by her sister, the only person who ever listened to her stories. Her sister had been there with her when this had happened during their younger years together. She knew the truth.

Her parents still treated them just the same. They had sworn they would always love their two daughters equally. "She's just struggling without her sister," they would say. "She'll settle down in a month or two," they would tell themselves.

But despite their endless love, there were cracks appearing in the happy family.


On the girls' eleventh birthday, they had no party. The girls never had a party because they never had anybody to invite. The happier girl, she had friends, but she didn't want to have a party when her sister didn't have anyone of her own to invite. So she had declined the party offered by her parents and had insisted it just be the four of them.

It was mid-morning when the knock at the door came. Their father answered it, only to come face to face with a stern looking woman. Her hair was tied up in a very tight bun, and she peered at their father over the top of her glasses. What was most bizarre about this woman, was her attire; she was dressed in deep emerald robes, with a crooked hat perched upon her head.

"Good morning," the woman had said. "My name is Professor Minerva McGonagall and I am a teacher at Hogwarts School. Might I come in?" And without waiting for a response she had marched past their father and into the living room where the girls and their mother were seated surrounded by wrapping paper and presents. They all gaped up at the woman.

The Professor had begun by saying that what she had to tell them would likely be difficult to believe but she guaranteed its truth.

And so she told them all about Magic.

The lonely girl's eyes widened as the Professor spoke.

"Is that why these things keep happening around me?" She asked. "Am I magic?"

"You certainly are. I have here with me a letter inviting you to our school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." And she handed over the parchment envelope. Sure enough, in emerald green ink was the girl's name.

"But what about me?" Asked her sister.

"I'm afraid it is only one of you who has magic, child," the Professor said comfortingly.

"But she is my twin," the magical girl insisted. "We're the same!"

The Professor shook her head sadly. "Fraternal but not identical, I'm sorry to say. This can happen."

After the Professor left, the magical girl begged her sister to not hate her for being different. She could not help being magical; it had already made her lose any chance of friends at school, and she didn't want to lose her sister too. But she just received the usual response for when she was upset: her sister hugged her.

"I don't hate you. I'm so happy you can make new friends with people like you! You'll always be my sister first."

For the first time in many years, both girls went to sleep that night happy. But in their parents' room, doubt and fear had crept under the door. "How could this happen to us?" They asked each other. "What does this mean for our family?" They wondered.

Untended to, cracks become fissures. And so the cracks began to deepen in the happy family.


"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The magical girl sat down with her new housemates, face beaming in excitement. She and her sister had looked through all her books before she came to school, and they had both held her wand in amazement. Only she could feel the magical tingle in her fingers as she held it. She couldn't wait to learn magic.

Her parents had shown interest as well, but the girl knew they weren't as excited as her sister was for her. They would miss her terribly, they had told her on the station platform with a faraway look in their eyes. Her sister had hugged her fiercely and cried, telling her to make lots of wonderful friends but to still write every day. The magical girl had laughed through her own tears. "I could never forget you, silly."

Her first year at Hogwarts went smoothly. She was one of the brightest students, topping most of her classes. Her favourite and best subject was Charms. She had many friends in her house, but formed particularly close bonds with three other girls in her year. Like she had been with her sister, the four were inseparable.

She stayed at school over Christmas, her parents sending a letter to tell her they would not be at home for the holidays. The girl didn't mind in the end; she had a wonderful time playing in the snow in the castle grounds with her friends. And the feast had been amazing.

Something the girl was unsure of was the minimal letters she had received from home. She addressed them all to her family, but only ever received written replies from her parents. She had not once had anything from her sister. She frequently got upset; had her sister really been angry all along?

Upon arrival at platform 9¾ at the end of the year, the girl was confused to find no one to collect her. As the platform began to empty, and still neither of her parents arrived, the girl grew worried. A stout woman in a long coat approached her, asked her name and handed her a letter. It was from her parents.

Dear Darling Daughter,

As you have surely worked out, we are not there to pick you up from school. This is because we, that is your parents and sister, have moved away. We are sorry, but we do not feel that we can care for both you and your sister equally with your new found lifestyle.

Know that we will love you forever, and that we have done this for your own safety and benefit.

Love always,

Ma and Da.

The girl had cried all the way to the orphanage, owned by the woman who gave her the letter. She cried every day that summer. She did not leave her bedroom.

And so the fissures settled, and the happy family was no more.


It was a different girl who arrived at Hogwarts in her second year. Her close friendships from her first year disintegrated. Her grades dropped to 'Merely passable'. The sweet little Hufflepuff no longer fit with her housemates, and steadily she became an outcast just like in her Muggle schooling. Only this time, she did not have her sister to comfort her.

The Professors were concerned. How did such a bright first year return with a broken soul as bad as this? Their comfort and help were refused by the girl. She was learning fast that the easiest way to get through life was alone.

She found herself spending more time alone, or even with Slytherin girls of her year, finding more in common with them than anyone in Hufflepuff. They understood what she was feeling. They didn't try to comfort her, but they could relate.

In a moment of weakness she sent an owl with a letter addressed directly to her sister. Despite their promise of love, she had not received any contact from her family since the beginning of summer. She did not know where they had gone, and did not have any hopes of receiving a response. She regretted sending it at once.

Months passed and no reply came. The letter slipped from her memories.

The girl knew it would take more than a letter to fill in the chasm separating her family.


It was a dull morning part way through her fourth year when the girl received her first piece of mail since first year. It was from her sister.

Dear sister,

I have only responded to your letter now, nearly two years after because I was angry, and I hope you can understand why, and also why I am so sorry.

I am so terribly excited to hear from you, but I am very confused. It was very shortly after you went to school that our parents packed our bags and swept me away with them. We have never returned home since then. Nothing was explained to me very well at all. Our parents told me that we had to leave you because you were a danger to us, that you would turn your magic against us.

I knew that our mother and father must have been lying. You would never hurt us, and I told them this every day. I cried so many times, but they refused to listen. I never knew that you had been writing. Mother and father never showed me the letters, even though I asked every day. I was angry at you. I thought you had forgotten me despite your promise. I am sorry that I doubted you.

As you wished I have not told our parents that you wrote. I understand your anger with them, and now that I know what they did to you, I am angry as well. We have not been as close as we were before. How did this happen to our family?

Write again soon, sister. I miss you dearly every day.

Love,

Your sister.

Since then, the girls continued their correspondence, repairing the relationship that time and anger had destroyed. As they wrote, their bitterness towards their parents grew, as did their resentment towards Muggles. It was their fear of the unknown that had caused her parents to abandon her. How dare they take her life from her?

Finding her sister had been the best thing to happen to her, the girl thought. Now she knew exactly what to do with her future.


"When do your plans progress from here, Minister?" Yaxley's head asked from the fireplace.

"All in good time, my dear," she soothed. "The next step cannot be done at our end, but in time it will set in motion the final days."

Yaxley smiled, showing his pristine white teeth. "Very good, Minister. I eagerly anticipate your news." With a 'pop' his head vanished, the flames returning to quiet embers once more.

She stood up and went over to the window, looking out over the artificial London scene. It was dark.

Minister Prestwick had thought back on her childhood many times over the past few years. She had despised her parents for a long time now for what they had done to her when she was only twelve. Her mother and father had already paid their price for abandoning her on that platform all those years ago. Prestwick smiled at the memory.

The years in the orphanage had been hard, especially that first summer. She had spent most of the time in tears, too miserable to try making friends. Her parents had taken the world from under her feet and she had returned to Hogwarts for her second year as an empty shell, only the eventual correspondence with her sister two years later showing her the way forwards.

Her years straight out of Hogwarts had been equally difficult. With only average results in her NEWTs, she had entered the Ministry at the very bottom. She had worked harder than she ever had before to get herself into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement around the same time the Dark Lord had fallen the first time. After the first war she had stagnated for many years. Then He had returned and everything changed.

Now here she was, sitting in the Minister's office. Her office. She looked around the room, marvelling at what it signified – remembering the death that had removed her predecessor. Tragic, wasting such magical ability, but necessary. Quite necessary.

Her thoughts strayed to Harry Potter as they frequently did these days. It amused her to no end knowing that he was the prime suspect in Shacklebolt's death. Now the boy was on the run from the law, the whole wizarding world convinced he would be the next Dark Lord, while she, along with her sister, was pulling all the strings. The boy had no idea what he was up against, and wouldn't learn of its truth until the very end.

Prestwick smiled, the happiest she had been since the age of twelve.