The last day of August had arrived and Bella stood outside of the car, her belongings packed. Lionel handed her the keys and she slid them in the lock of the boot, opening it. She went to grab her suitcase, but Lionel pushed her towards the car, grabbing them for her.
"That's no job for a lady," Lionel said.
Bella smiled, opening the rear car door and sitting inside. "Thank you, Lionel," Bella called over her shoulder.
Bella reached over her shoulder, grabbing the seatbelt and clicking it into place.
Margaret sat in the front seat, Lionel following not long after. The car reversed and pulled out onto the road.
"Eight hours to London," Lionel said, reaching over and turning on the radio.
Bella hummed along to the familiar song that played through the radio, staring out the window as houses whizzed past beside her; it was one of her favourites.
"Who sings this again?" asked Bella.
"Like a prayer by Madonna, love," Margaret answered her.
"You going to cope back there, Bella?" Lionel asked, the smile evident in his voice.
"I'll try," Bella said, continuing to stare outside the window.
The houses passed by, soon replaced by the busy motorway. Bella placed her elbow on the windowsill, resting her chin in her hand. Her month with the muggles had definitely been an experience, Bella thought, closing her eyes.
"Bella, wake up. It's almost ten o'clock." Margaret called from the entrance of Bella's makeshift room. "You said you'd come shopping with me today."
Bella grumbled, throwing the blankets off herself in a dramatic fashion. Curse these muggles and their incessant need to get up with the sun. Things were definitely better as an adult— a death eater. At least then you could get up whenever you wanted.
"Hurry up, Bella!" Bella heard Margaret shout from the other side of the house.
"I'm coming!" Bella screamed, annoyed.
Three days she had been here and Margaret was treating her like she was a child. Her child. It was really starting to get on Bella's nerves.
Three days and she was no closer to finding a way to get to London.
Bella relished the feeling of the warm water on her skin as she showered. She pulled on a dress when she was done— an old, tattered white dress with yellow flowers. Bella turned in front of the mirror, observing her reflection. The dress left her arms, a small portion of her upper chest and legs exposed for all to see. She felt naked. It was all she had, Margaret had said. The only thing that would fit her.
She looked up into the bathroom mirror. Her grey, innocent fourteen year old eyes stared back at her. She rubbed at her black hair with the white cloth, which Margaret had told her to use to dry herself, but she could never get it to dry her hair. Yesterday she had left it wet, hopping into bed. Now it was a matted, tangled mess. Bella growled in frustration and threw the towel on the floor, giving up. One spell and her hair would be dry and combed instantly.
"You're not going out like that, young lady." Margaret said, stopping her at the door. Bella glared at her menacingly. Margaret was clearly unaffected. Her murderous stare had obviously lost some of its bite— if she knew what she was capable of…
"Sit," Margaret said, pointing at the dining table. She walked to Bella with a brush and an oddly shaped gadget. Bella watched her plug it into the magic power point.
She had asked how the telly worked yesterday, when she was sitting next to Lionel, her eyes glued to it in wonder. The muggles had predicted today's weather perfectly.
"Electricity," he had said, pointing at a small, white rectangular piece with holes on the wall. "It's how we have lights. We plug things into power points."
So that's where they got their magic from.
At least he had stopped looking at her suspiciously when she asked questions, now replaced with a look of annoyance.
"Ow, woman!" Bella yelled, as Margaret pulled the brush through her hair, dragging her head back.
"Well brush it next time and it won't hurt, Bella."
Margaret clicked a button on the gadget and it blew hot air magically. It took ages to dry her hair. She missed her wand.
"Put these on," Margaret said, pointing at a pair of thongs. Bella slipped them on— Margaret had shown her how to wear them yesterday. They slapped the bottom of her feet and the path with every step as she made her way to the car.
"Where are we going?" Bella asked, putting her seatbelt on.
"Well, I thought we might go out and get you some clothes."
"What sort of clothes?" Bella asked.
"Well, whatever you like, love."
Eventually they reached a huge building that Margaret called a shopping centre. Bella couldn't believe the amount of muggles that were cavorting around, never seeing so many in one place before.
"See anything you like?" Margaret asked, as they passed shop after shop.
Bella shrugged. The clothes were just all so… muggle. Her body shivered as a muggle passed her, brushing her side in the busy mall. She turned around and glared at the assailant.
"What about some jeans and a nice blouse?" Margaret asked Bella, pulling her attention away. "Maybe a few dresses… some shoes."
Bella shrugged again. She'd indulge Margaret. Right now she still needed somewhere to stay, and Margaret and Lionel were her only option— at least till she could think of a plan to get out of here.
Bella begrudgingly followed Margaret into a shop. She pulled a pair of pants off a hanger, then a top, passing them to Bella. Bella tried them on, turning in front of the floor length mirror. The pants were uncomfortable, skin tight and scratching her bare skin. They looked good on her though, Bella thought resignedly.
"We'll take them," Margaret said to the lady. Bella sighed.
The next shop Margaret had led her into was evidently a shoe shop, hundreds of boxes lining every wall. It very much resembled a wand shop, shoe boxes crammed in so tight on shelves all the way to the ceiling. Bella looked around, astonished— she had never seen so many shoes in one place. Bella was eyeing a pair of black heeled boots, running her hands along the porous leather when Margaret peered over her shoulder.
"Do you like them, love?" Margaret asked.
Bella shrugged.
"Try them on," said Margaret, gesturing for her to sit and grabbing the shoes.
Hours later they had walked out of the shopping centre carrying several bags full of things between them. Margaret had been the one suggesting that they leave.
"I have no money left, Bella," said Margaret, as Bella eyed a sundress in the next store.
Margaret stuffed the last of the bags into the boot of the car, using all her weight to close the latch. There was a click and Margaret stood up from behind the boot, arms resting on it. Bella pouted at her.
"I've created a monster."
Bella opened her eyes, staring down at her boots. One of the only things she had enjoyed during her stay was the shopping trips with Margaret. It was almost identical to the wizarding world, only that the muggles had so much more to choose from— every style for any occasion.
The chores were what Bella struggled with. Everything a house elf did for her as a child and young adult she now had to do, almost always ordered by Lionel. At first she found it degrading, but now, well… It wasn't so bad.
Bella looked down at her hands, observing the rough skin on her fingers. She had been ordered to wash the dishes every night— that was torture. On the fourth night of her stay she had refused. Lionel had left her with no dinner, ignoring Margaret's pleas. Bella did it every night thereafter.
Bella chuckled to herself. Power and discipline— not unlike that of the Dark Lord— she supposed that was her weakness.
She had banished her own sister to this life one month previous. It felt like an eternity ago.
The irony was definitely not lost on Bella.
Bella sat on the couch to watch some telly, propping her feet onto the coffee table. Lionel had called it a soap. Bella didn't quite understand how soap could be a telly show, but she nodded and continued to stare.
"And get your feet off the coffee table, Bella." Lionel scolded.
She pulled them up and dropped them on the carpet in a huff. Lionel didn't react to her obvious bait.
"Did you put the washing on the line?" Lionel asked.
Bella tilted her head back in frustration, holding the bridge of her nose. "Yes; I did."
Lionel had taught Bella how to use the washing machine yesterday.
"You aren't staying here for free, girl. You do chores and earn your keep." He had said.
She had begrudgingly hung the clothes, pegging them to the best of her ability. They hung in odd directions— nothing like Lionel had shown her.
He ought to be happy that she even hung them, Bella thought angrily.
"You hungry, girl?" Lionel asked, pulling Bella from her musings.
Bella hummed in agreement, not taking her eyes off the telly.
"Let me guess— noodles?" Lionel didn't wait for her response, standing and heading towards the kitchen.
"You know what?" Bella heard from the kitchen. "Get in here, Bella. You can learn to cook them for yourself."
Bella groaned aloud. They had started treating her like a filthy house elf, making her do meaningless chores— cleaning up after herself. It was disgusting. It went against everything she stood for.
She would leave tonight, hop on a train to London and to Diagon Alley.
Yes, Bella thought as she grabbed a pot that Lionel pointed to. She would get her wand tonight, then she could start plotting against the Dark Lord.
"Put some water in the pot," said Lionel. "Now put it on the stove."
Bella obliged. She would get this over with as fast as possible.
"Push in and turn this knob," Lionel said, pointing at a silver knob on top of the oven.
Bella pushed the knob in, turning it. It clicked, and suddenly a blue fire burst forth from under the pot.
"That's amazing," Bella said, long forgetting about hiding her inquisitiveness in front of Lionel. "How does it work?"
Lionel shook his head, a smile adorning his lips. "The click is electricity creating a spark, which ignites the gas."
Of course— muggle magic. Instead of channelling through a wand, they had to plug a cord into a wall to access it.
Bella sighed, staring at the pot long after Lionel had filled it with a packet of noodles. It was magic, just… slow magic.
"Did you know if you stare at a pot on the stove it will never boil?" Lionel called from the couch.
"Really?" Bella called out, astonished.
Lionel laughed. "Come sit down, Bella."
"Does it really not boil if you watch it?" Bella asked Lionel, sitting on the couch next to him.
Lionel sighed, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. "No;" he paused, looking at Bella. "Sorry… it's just—" Lionel turned back to the telly. "You remind me of someone."
"I remind you of whom?"
Lionel remained silent.
"Lionel… who is the girl in the frame?" Bella asked.
Bella stood, picking up the picture frame on top of the telly. She had seen it the other day, when she had been inspecting the telly for magic. Bella asked Margaret who it was. Margaret had snatched the frame off Bella and placed it back, telling her not to touch it.
Bella wiped the years worth of collected dust from the woman's face. It had to be—
"Our daughter."
Their mysterious daughter. Bella had asked about her countless times after that. After Lionel's revelation, he had never spoken about her again. Bella scoured the house the next day, looking for anything that could possibly link her to them.
There was nothing apart from the one lonely picture frame. It was as if the woman had never existed.
Until one night, when Bella was at her absolute worst, Margaret relented.
Bella screamed, kicking and flailing under the sheets. Her body was covered with sweat and tears flowed freely down her eyes. She brought her hands up to her eyes, pushing her palms down hard, trying to block out the light. All she could see was green.
"Bella! Oh, Bella… What's wrong?" Margaret cooed. She sat, bringing Bella into her arms and rocking her. "Shh… it's okay, love. Just a bad dream."
"Green," Bella hiccuped. "All I could see was green."
Margaret rocked her gently, remaining silent. Bella threw her arms around her and let her.
When Bella had eventually calmed, Margaret dropped her arms. She sat back, looking at Bella worriedly.
"Want to talk about it?" Margaret asked.
Bella shook her head.
Margaret smiled. She looked down, taking Bella's hand into hers. After a long pause, she spoke: "You know, our daughter used to have bad dreams."
Bella squeezed her hand, urging Margaret to go on.
"Not unlike yours— violent, violent dreams. They would get worse and worse every time we saw her."
"See her?" Bella asked.
"She boarded. We would only see her on term breaks."
"What happened to her?" Bella asked, not expecting an answer.
Margaret was silent for a long time. Eventually she sighed, looking over at Bella. "A few months after her graduation she was killed."
Bella brought her other hand around and squeezed Margaret's hands with both hers. "I'm sorry, Margaret."
"We thought she had gone missing, you know. We never ended up seeing her in the end. Until one day…" Margaret trailed off. A tear ran down her cheek. She hastily wiped it with her free hand.
"Until one day she was lying dead on our doorstep."
Bella had stopped asking questions after that. Margaret had kissed her on the forehead and left, bidding her goodnight.
Nothing could have prepared her for the shock she received the next morning.
"Bella. Good morning." Lionel said. He was in his usual spot on the couch. He hid back behind his newspaper when Bella came out of the hall. "There's a letter for you on the table."
"What do you mean, letter?" Bella asked, bewilderment clear in her response.
"Just open it." Lionel replied.
Bella walked towards the table, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw the familiar envelope.
It can't be…
Bella sat dumbly at the table, picking up the envelope with trembling hands. It was addressed to a Miss White, the White's address printed neatly underneath. A muggle stamp was stuck on the border. She turned it over with trembling hands, running one shaking finger over the familiar seal.
There was no mistaking what this was.
Bella discreetly looked up at Lionel. His face was still hidden. She opened it, already knowing what it would say.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(order of Merlin, First class, Grand sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Miss White,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of
all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster
Bella folded the letter, sliding it back in its envelope and sitting back in complete and utter disbelief.
She didn't know the specifics behind Hogwarts letters finding magical children. In her case, either the Ministry had detected a magical presence in a muggle neighbourhood, or Albus Dumbledore knew she was here. Both were unlikely as the other, as she hadn't used any magic here.
It was odd for Dumbledore to sign it personally, though. She specifically remembered it was always the deputy.
It was impossible for him to know, Bella reasoned. Maybe it was just… Magic.
Bella hastily looked up from the envelope, jumping in shock when she saw Lionel's eyes watching her behind his thick rimmed glasses.
"What does it say?"
Bella saw no harm in telling him. "It's an acceptance letter into a boarding school."
"I didn't know you applied anywhere."
"I—" Bella paused. She couldn't say she didn't. That would only raise suspicion. "I did. I sent a few letters through the mail."
Lionel remained silent, staring at her blankly. Bella continued. "Don't worry, I changed my mind. I don't want to go anymore."
Lionel scoffed. "Like hell you aren't. It's about time you attended some sort of school, anyway."
"I'm not going," Bella said angrily.
"You are;" replied Lionel.
"It's too far! It says I have to take a train from London at the start of every term," Bella yelled, purposely telling the truth so Lionel would disagree.
Lionel covered his face with the newspaper again. Bella heard him sigh behind it. "You're going, Bella. End of discussion."
Bella closed her eyes, resting her head back on the seat and taking in huge gulps of air. Her heart was beating so fast in her chest she was sure it would explode.
It was all hitting her now. She was on her way to London. She would be getting a wand. This is what she wanted.
Bella had only been with them for a month, but hated the small part of herself that would miss the White's— miss the muggles.
Now, a free ticket into Hogwarts, she would get Harry Potter's trust. All Bella knew of the Dark Lord's resurrection was that Potter was involved— Potter was always involved. He'd be a great informant, or even potential ally.
She'd need a disguise. Assuming most of the Hogwarts professors were still there, which she assumed they were. Nothing a little human transfiguration wouldn't fix. This, of course, all hedged on her obtaining a wand.
All of this under Dumbledore's nose. He wouldn't be a problem, she wouldn't let him be. He had absolutely no idea about her secret— he couldn't know, it was impossible. Bella had been very careful during her stay in the muggle world— by the end, she had blended in perfectly.
Snape, without his master, would be a useless, albeit annoying thorn in her side. He was an… odd one. Bella has always assumed he was a spy for the light. The Dark Lord had punished her greatly for even suggesting it. That was the most angry, brutal crucio she had ever experienced. Bella never questioned Snape's loyalty in front of the Dark Lord again.
Bella had a year to stop the Dark Lord being resurrected. And worst case, a year and a half before her older self was blasted out of prison. But she wouldn't let it get to that point.
There was no plan. She'd make it up as she went. He betrayed her, he had brought this on himself. The clock was ticking.
She was just glad now she had a place to start.