This story will also touch on sensitive topics such as, but not limited to, child abuse, alcohol abuse, depression, anxiety, self harm, mental illness, manipulative, possessive, and toxic behaviour. This will serve as the final warning for all and any future chapters as the story goes on. If you are sensitive to any of these subjects or find them in any way triggering, please read with caution.
this is a slow burn work, and when i mean slow burn, i mean achingly, ember like slow burn. Like more like a thaw out than a slow burn, so if you're here for the very, very long haul, i hope you enjoy the journey.
I do not own any characters or places unless stated otherwise.
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prologue.
Emilia Greene doesn't like the rain, doesn't like water in general; lakes, puddles, the ocean – anything with large bodies of water turn her off if she's even a meter within them. It's not that she can't swim, her aunt and uncle had insisted on her lessons because they would be damned if their niece sat like a wallflower for the teachers to coo over and write home about asking why Emilia doesn't have the proper swim gear or the permission to get in the pool with the other students. But Emilia hated it nonetheless, and had floundered in her swimming lessons and she supposed it was just her luck to be born in a place where it rained all the time.
There's only one exception to her loathing towards water and the rain – it always signalled the return to Hogwarts; British weather wasn't always the best regardless of what time of year it was but it always got worse in the Autumn and was the sign of the time turning for when she would go back and it made Emilia inwardly ecstatic about it all. She was already packed two weeks in advance for her return and entry into her last year and Emilia felt as if she were a child awaiting the night before Christmas, a buzzing beneath her skin that she could not contain and didn't attempt to quell; her aunt and uncle had no interest in going with her to Diagon Alley and the novelty of the Wizarding world had worn off when third year had rolled around and they showed no attempt to leave the Muggle world as that was their place and Emilia was too different, too... unnormal.
Not that it bothered Emilia, she was quite happy to spend her days in and out of Diagon Alley, to buy the books she needed as well as buying non-essential books on the sly with the money left over; her guardians couldn't figure out Wizarding money and made no move to try and pry the change from Emilia's hand since it wasn't as if they needed knuts and pennies anyways. Her suitcase was threatening to pop by the time she had everything zipped up, filled with clothes and books and novels of both Muggle and magic alike and she was excited.
Emilia had never thought herself to be special and after being lumped in to live with her maternal aunt and her husband, being mundane was expected and all but enforced. When Professor McGonagall had knocked on her door the summer after her eleventh birthday, her entire world was flipped upside down and she had half thought it was all a joke even up to the point she ran through the wall at the station.
Yet, for nearly seven years in a row, Emilia has ran through that very same wall and has not yet met brick and swallowed stone and cement, so perhaps the idea of it all being a dream might be a bit unfounded.
It was raining the day she left for Hogwarts; her coat was zipped to her neck and hood over her hair and the taxi driver had to heave the suitcase into the trunk with her help and he asked if she had stuffed a lorry load of concrete into it; she supposed the weight of knowledge was far too heavy for some people and laughed at his comment before they left for King's Cross.
The ride is silent, radio spitting out crackles and static every so often and grey clouds suffocate the sky over head, rumbling and spitting out fat raindrops that splatter and slither down the glass windows; her copy of The Hobbit lays in her lap, yellowed and old with dog ears from years of rereading and it'll be her only company on the train to Hogwarts, the spine threatening to split apart from her flipping through the pages. Emilia doubts she'll have time to reread it during the school term, as despite passing her O.W.L's, the time head meant even more work for her as she began work for her N.E.W.T's. Though, she supposes it doesn't seem too arduous once she remembers that she only this year left – a home run until she's out. Maybe she'll use the money her grandmother left her to buy a flat and get a Muggle education; she can still feel the old woman's wrinkled, cold hand clutching at her cheek and gasping for breath as she pinch the chubby skin, already dead eyes staring at her only grandchild and blindly remarking how much she looks like her mother. Even after all these years, Emilia isn't sure if it's an insult or not.
Traffic is choking the road and causing congestion, smoke from the clogged vehicles making it hard to see and Emilia decides not to risk waiting for everything to clear up as she taps the driver on the shoulder, telling him that she's going to walk the rest of the way and pays him in full for the ride.
The rain is unrelenting, merciless and Emilia keeps her book tucked in her jacket, under her arm as he hands her suitcase off to her, passing her a wave and a g'luck t'ya before he goes to sit in his car, unmoving and still. Time around him goes on and Emilia rushes, lugging her suitcase behind her heel and hears it rush to catch up with her, wheels clicking and clacking over the stone. It's like every other year, every other September. As she runs through the stone and brick wall to 9, Emilia hopes that it will be a normal year.
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