Yes, hello, I'm still alive. I haven't abandoned this work yet, so cheers to a new chapter!
It is, in all honesty, not as long as I'd wanted, but it was either this or making you all wait another year, so…
Enjoy!
o.O.o
It was a sweltering summer night. She couldn't hear much beyond the muttering haze of her own mind. She couldn't see much beyond the spinning, pulsating concrete below her.
A fool and a coward.
She wasn't sure where she was, only that-
Away, away, she had to get away-
There was a breeze that abated the heat for a few sweet, glistening moments. It passes quickly, musing her hair and ruffling the trees around her - teasing, almost.
A park, she thinks, judging by the swingset that sat rusted and creaking and the plastic slide that looked far more uncomfortable than fun.
She stands there for a long moment, traces of magic whisping along her hands and disappearing into the air like a dandelion's seeds before she takes one faltering, robotic step forward.
She's exhausted.
It felt like gravity was crushing her down, down, down into the earth and it takes every ounce of will she has not to collapse to the floor, not to give in to the tired nudging along her eyes.
One step, two, and soon she's walking in a strange staccato beat past the slide, past the swings, and into the awaiting arms of a tree's - oak, dark and rich - stump. She slides along the bark until she's sitting firmly in the dirt, bringing her knees up to cradle in her arms.
A walking corpse held aloft by puppet strings, red eyes, and pumpkin-sweets.
The spinning was slowing down, faltering slower and slower until it finally stopped altogether, leaving her with a pulsating headache that has her grimacing, clenching her teeth.
What was she doing here?
This, her cowardice, would only invite more turbulence into her life. A fool, she truly was a fool.
She should have grit her teeth and bared the consequences of her reaction - don't think of him, don't think, he was so - and simply gone to bed.
Exactly like you remembered, no?
The stars were sparkling, twinkling at her with their merry light, and the sight of them fills her with such visceral disgust that she nearly gags. She closes her eyes and instead focuses on filtering out the chaotic scramble of her own thoughts, but each time she tries to follow one trail she's side tracked by another.
The sheer frustration of it causes her to hunch forward, gripping her knees so tight her knuckles turn white as she starts to rock in place.
That's when the sound of it catches her attention.
It was a clicking noise - small and metallic, only becoming more pronounced with her movements, and she opened her eyes to take it in.
The locket.
It sat heavy upon her chest, gleaming golden and emerald hues of cold metal, and there was no mistaking the whispering it seemed to emanate. There was a heavy energy around it, pulsating out in sickly waves of nauseous energy.
She holds it up, moonlight reflecting off its surface, and frowns.
Oh, she thinks, and lifts the chain up from around her neck.
The result is instantaneous.
Peace.
A concept relatively unfamiliar to her, the ringing in her ears comes to a halt. Things are rarely peaceful in her mind, a tumbling kaleidoscope of chaos and heartache, but now she could feel the rambling nonsense pause.
This-
This couldn't go on.
The realization hit her like a train and she nearly whimpers because she just couldn't do this anymore. This circle of anguish she was running in, the way she kept letting herself be tempted by the next bitter thought - it would surely lead her back into the nothingness.
But even so it was like the bloodied gauze she'd stamped over her wounded heart had been torn asunder, the essence of her being flowing so heavily she's not sure how she could ever patch it up again.
There's a hitch in her breath that brings her back to reality and she rubs her wet face harshly, trying to get herself together enough that she could come up with a plan.
Unsurprisingly, nothing comes to mind, and she sits there in the cradle of the oaks roots.
There are frogs in the distance croaking up a tune while a breeze nudged along her bangs playfully. The moon was high in the sky, outlined by countless glittering stars, and she could hear laughter somewhere far off in the distance - the kind of laughter that spoke of good tidings and good people, and for a moment the clear insanity of it all weighs down on her so heavily she can't help but bark out a slightly hysterical laugh.
She stays there until her face has dried of its tears, until she could breath without rattling, and when she stands again it's on shaky legs. She closes her eyes, counts to ten, and turns with a crack.
o.O.o
"Victoria!"
She falters in the hallway, her stealth having failed her, and hunches her shoulders up and around her ears. She steels herself and turns towards the speaker with a carefully neutral expression, ready for the barrage of questions that were sure to follow.
Instead she found the eyes of a very worried Molly Weasley, who looked so beside herself she was nearly weeping.
"Oh Victoria!" Molly says, voice taught, before she's dragging Victoria forward and into her arms "I was so worried! You could have been hurt or- or worse, what were you thinking?!"
A hint of anger was creeping into Molly's voice, but Victoria could tell it was the kind born from fear rather than true displeasure.
It was clear Molly wasn't really looking for an answer and Victoria, dazed, could only open and close her mouth uselessly, words having fled her entirely.
Pulling back, the older witch softened significantly, taking a moment to look deep into her eyes and put a gentle hand on Victoria's head.
"There's a warm glass of milk by your bed," she says and Victoria nods readily, only one thought taking over her mind.
A bed sounded really nice.
Molly's lip trembled a bit before she squeezed Victoria tightly to her once more before letting go, flattening out her robe and turning to disappear into the kitchen.
Victoria stands there for a little too long, hand clasped tight over eyes in an effort to hold back her tears, mouth pulled into such a deep grimace it was nearly painful. She takes in one shaky breath, two, and turns on her heel to make her way to her room.
Granger and Weasley were both fast asleep in their own beds. The warm milk Molly mentioned is a little sweet, a soothing balm against her aching throat as she sits on the edge of the bed and slowly works her way through the glass, which promptly refills itself once gone.
Her clothes still reeked and her eyes were burning into a slanted crease, body slowly becoming more and more encumbered with the exhaustion of the day. She strips herself with great effort and crawls beneath the sheets, drawing her long locks of hair into a loose bun. The locket pulsed at her repulsively and she carefully stored it in her nightstand, wishing briefly that she could charm the lock.
Hot lava crept along her eyelids once more and when she closed them she could see-
No, she tells herself firmly, no more.
Nevertheless, even in spite of how tired she was, it was a very restless sleep.
o.O.o
"Victoria!"
She sits up rapidly, chest heaving with deep breaths and heart running a mile a minute. She looks up with wide eyes to see Granger staring down at her pensively.
"You were having a nightmare," she says, and Victoria - dazed - nods slowly.
Granger opens her mouth, closes it, then leaves the room. Her clothes from the night before were gone and she could hear faint conversation through the floorboards. Sasha was curled against her side, wide eyes peering up at her in what she can only imagine is concern and she lets her fingers run over soft fur. Her stomach grumbled at her unhappily and she briefly considered going down for breakfast before pulling the sheets up and over her head, Sasha creeping inside, falling once more into the darkness.
Everything else could wait - for now, she just needed rest.
o.O.o
"Victoria?"
She opens her eyes blearily.
"Are you hungry? Would you like me to bring you some lunch?" It's Molly, looking down at her with great concern.
Her eyes were burning and her body was aching. Her stomach twisted painfully, but she shook her head regardless.
"Okay, well, if you need anything don't be afraid to ask," Molly said with reluctance before leaving the room.
Rolling over, she gave in to the whispering cradle of sleep once more.
o.O.o
"Victoria? Victoria! Wake up Victoria!"
She does so with a start, eyes snapping open and up into Sirius's own.
"Victoria you're burning up," he was saying, but his words sounded hazy and his silhouette kept fading in and out.
She opens her mouth and croaks, throat ragged, and quickly gives up all efforts on speech.
"Victoria, when's the last time you ate?"
She was having a hard time processing his words, and she runs the question over in her head three times before it registers.
Food? She wasn't sure when she last ate - in fact she couldn't remember much of anything at all over the last few days.
"Molly!" Sirius was calling, "Molly come quick!"
The noise was too much to bear and she closed her eyes, falling yet again.
o.O.o
The next time her eyes open it's of her own volition. There's dim light casting shadows across the walls and she stares at the mottled cracks and spots that adorned the ceiling, trying to recount what happened. The heavy weight of her cat sat nestled in the crook of her arm, a reassuring presence, and she could hear a clock ticking in the distance.
She feels…fine. Her sheets were bunched around her hips and there was a thin layer of sweat rubbing uncomfortably across the back of her neck and forehead, but other than that the aches and pains that troubled her before seemed to have vanished entirely. Her mouth felt dry, parched, and when she turned her head to the bedside table to see if there was a glass of anything to soothe her throat she froze stiff.
She wasn't alone.
"Hello Miss Dodger," Albus Dumbledore says with an eye-twinkling smile.
She nodded in lieu of an answer - what, was he watching her sleep? - forcing herself to relax as she sat up, and he gestured towards the glass of water she'd originally been seeking. She takes it, hand a little shaky, and downs half the cup in a few unrestrained gulps.
"Your magic was overwhelming you," Dumbledore said idly, "Mrs. Weasley floo'd for me and with Madam Pompfrey's help we were able to disperse it from your body."
"Oh," she says quietly, not sure what else she can say to that, "thank you."
"One's magic overwhelming its user is usually an indicator of high levels of stress," he tells her, "and from what I understand you haven't been eating properly which only exacerbated it. Miss Dodger, you must take better care of yourself."
Irritably biting her lip, she looks down at her clenched fists twisted in the sheets around her waist and nods. There wasn't a point in arguing. She'd just go along with it, for now.
Dumbledore stares down at her for a long, silent moment before he sighs deeply. His brow is creased and he crosses his hands over his knees, peering over his glasses and down his crooked nose. His gaze was near piercing and she doesn't flinch, but it's a near thing.
"Miss Dodger," he asks her, tone neutral in a way that has her wandering eyes darting to him immediately, "do you know why I insisted you be sent to 12 Grimmauld Place instead of simply letting the ministry take care of the matter, as would be standard protocol?"
She shakes her head, frowning, and feels a prickle of unease begin to tickle its way up her spine and settle deep in her chest.
"No," she says, a little faintly, "why?"
"Last June while you were in the hospital," he says, looking truly regretful and apologetic and the anxiety blooms in full, climbing up her throat, "it came to my attention that your mother had vanished without a trace."
"But," she says, voice a high whine to betray her worry, feeling sick beyond measure, "you said you'd visited her, that she told you-"
"I did visit her," he interrupts calmly, "and what I found there was clear evidence of a Death Eater attack. There was no sign of your mother and I believe that whatever happened was quite some time ago. Months, at the very least."
"Is she dead?" she asks, and has to take a moment to revel in the insanity of this situation, heart near vomiting in her chest at the thought of the stupid woman that'd raised her being dead-
Being killed.
"I don't know," he says, "there was no clear indication as to what happened or where she could have gone. I've tried searching for her, but clues are scarce."
The mottled feeling of anxiety twists, contorts and shifts into something else entirely; unable to control herself, she starts shaking at the sheer overwhelming feeling of anger that crawls across her skin, mouth opening and closing several times before she manages to find her voice.
"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?!" she rages out, temper rising into a fury that has tears welling up in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks in deep hiccoughing gasps, "Why did you lie to me?! What's wrong with you, with you people, f-first Sprout and now this!"
"In the face of all that you had lost, I made a terribly selfish decision," he says to her, face pulled into a tight frown as he waved his wand and a box of tissues popped into existence, "I feared that the knowledge of what happened would be too much for you to bear. It was a terrible mistake and I'm sorry, you should have been told immediately."
"Ugh," she sobs, clutching her face in her hands, and he sits there, letting her cry - like a child - for as long as she needs, until the tears trickle to a stop and she's able to breath in without stuttering around coughs and wheezes.
All of this work-
This effort to be quiet and unnoticed and to live simply-
It didn't change a single thing.
"How did you know she'd estranged me?" she mutters into her knees eventually, past the point of caring about decorum or pretenses.
"She left behind a journal."
She flinches, picturing her mothers curled scrawl spitting putrid vitriol - words she'd never mustered up the courage to hiss aloud - and doesn't say anything else. She thinks about asking him for it, but the pounding in her chest and the sweat on her palms advises against it.
"That's why I must insist Miss Dodger," he tells her seriously, leaning in and placing his hand upon her shoulder, "that you not make reckless decisions like the one you made the other night. From this point forward I promise to be upfront and honest with you about what's happening, so please don't put yourself in a dangerous situation like that again."
"O-okay," she says, weak and sick and exhausted.
"Young Miss Granger left a basket here for you," he says, lightly, pulling out a strawbound vassal loaded down with candy and books of all things from under the nightstand, "I recommend eating some of the chocolate. It'll help you feel better."
She doesn't know what to say and he rests the package next to her on the bed, standing and making his way towards the door before he turns towards her one last time.
"You have a good friend Miss Dodger," he says, and she can't muster the energy to be upset about him overstepping his bounds, "it's okay to lean on her."
He disappears behind the frame and she takes a slow breath in, tugging the basket into her lap. Jelly beans, chocolate frogs, and several books of old fables wink back at her and when she lifts a surprisingly thick volume into her hands she notices a carefully wrapped set of quills tucked away in the corner. They're silver and gold and shine at her with glimmering varnish, and she thinks if she weren't all out of tears she'd cry.
o.O.o
There's a great commotion down the hall as she lugs her trunk out of her room and she can hear the dulcet tones of Mrs. Weasley and Black screaming profanities somewhere downstairs.
"I can get that!" a twin suddenly appears from thin air, whisking her trunk from her with a swish of his wand and she can only stare blankly at him in muted confusion.
Sasha rockets up her side and settles against her neck, a momentary distraction, and he ambles away quickly from her, whistling loudly; a cacophony of noise that was only tolerated in the face of the Lady Black's portrait already howling a storm. She curls her fingers in Sasha's tail and follows shortly after, eyes steadfast locked on her trunk and whatever stupid prank the Weasley was sure to attempt.
Sirius knocked into her legs, a scraggly wolf-dog, and she blinks down into his big doe eyes as she realizes that this is probably the last time she'd see him in-
The thought short circuits and Sirius tilts his head up in confusion, panting, a dog-like gesture that has Sasha leaping down to bat at him in play. They both scramble over the trunks littering the narrow hallway and out the door after some of the others, and Mrs. Weasley is suddenly there ushering her along; muttering that they were sure to be late at this rate and why couldn't Fudge just loan them a few Ministry cars.
The walk is long and uneventful, but it's nice all the same. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed the sun and the sky and the way the rain clung to the air and littered across the sidewalks in scattered puddles. Sirius and Sasha were looping around Potter and Granger's legs ahead of her and she could see elation in every long stride he made - free, at last, from the confining grip his childhood home had on him. Molly was fussing after her children and lecturing Sirius in turn, displeased that he'd come along even in spite of Dumbledore's warnings.
They slipped into Kings Cross and through the barrier separating them from the magical world with ease, and soon she had to do a lot of covert maneuvering to avoid being trampled by the great swell of people that littered the station. The intermingled chatter of wizard and animal was loud enough to make her dizzy, and she huffs as she narrowly avoids stepping on some poor toad, wiggling between a mess of bodies to huddle closer to the Weasley's who were tall and gangly enough to warrant people clearing more space for them on the platform.
The order members were bidding goodbye around her as Sirius bounded into her happily, Sasha clinging to his back, and she took the cat from him with tight lips. After a moment's hesitation she rested the flat of her palm on Sirius's head, the fur dark and matted, and tried to express the full weight of emotion that was settled like a root in her chest.
"Thank you," she tells him, "for taking care of me."
She hadn't been a particularly good guest, but he'd been kind to her regardless and she-
She really appreciated that.
He woofs loudly and turns to bowl into his godson and she only has a moment to smile something wry and fond before Molly pulls her into a tight hug, pushing her towards the train and assuring her that one of her boys would take care of her trunk and to please take care of herself.
She slips onto the train and through the winding students, palming her wand out of her robes pocket and into the crease of her hand, taking great comfort in the magic she'd been denied all summer. Sasha was winding around behind her and it takes a great deal more effort than expected to find an empty train carriage.
The moment she sits down, however, the doors slide open again and two forms bumble inside with bright, identical grins.
"Hello Victoria!" says one, leaning against the doorframe, the other tacking on, "We came to let you know we took care of your things - you're hard to track down by the way, has anyone told you that?"
Twenty different hexes run through her mind within the span of a second and her lips thin. One of them chuckles nervously, but despite the clear threat in her eyes they both drape out on the seat across from her regardless.
"What's your game?" she asks, a little shocked at the gall, and the one on the left blinks owlishly at her.
"Game?"
"We're just doing our part!"
Her eyes narrow as suspicion begins to dawn and she looks between the two of them who were steadfast avoiding eye contact before she splutters in outrage-
"She- Molly didn't sick you on me did she!"
"Jigs up."
"Wow, you really are close to our mum."
"I don't need babysitters!"
They both give her a deep disbelieving stare that has her mouth clamping shut and her cheeks flushing red with mortification.
"I'm not a child," she says, petulantly, and one of them laughs while the other shakes his head.
"Actually," he says, leaning close, "we heard that you're brilliant at charms - one of the best Hogwarts seen in years."
Curious in spite of herself, she leans back in her seat, brow raised and mouth twisted into a frown, before she nods. Maybe it's a little conceited, but there was no point in denying the obvious
"Well," one starts, the other quickly following, "we were wondering if you thought there was a safe way to charm food - you know, to do things like turn the eater purple or make them gag."
She catches on quickly and scoffs, "You're thinking about potions, not charms."
They were talking about hexing edible objects - probably candy if her memory is serving correctly - which, while possible, could prove volatile with undesirable effects. A simple homebrewed potion mixed into a batch of treats would get the job done with little-to-no adverse reactions.
A twin groans, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest while the other mutters a quiet I told you so, and she thinks that's the end of it when they both share a glance and look at her expectantly.
"I'm sure the same can't be said for objects, however, right?"
"Obviously you can charm objects." - and, honestly, what grade were they in?
"Victoria, would you be interested in a business proposition?"
Her eyebrows shoot up in bewilderment, hand pausing mid-stroke along Sasha's back, and they pounce on her hesitation with an eager sort of ferocity.
"After a generous donation to our organization, we've been given the opportunity to create a line of products to suit the needs of the average student at Hogwarts; for example, imagine you find yourself-"
One of them is reaching into his robe to present what would undoubtedly be a sample of some kind, but she waves her hand, already knowing where this was going.
Her brother had always been fond of this particular storyline; he'd found the very idea and nature of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes amusing beyond reproach and had often bemoaned the lack of such a thing in their reality. More than that, the twins' eventual success in spite of never finishing their education was something of an inspiration to him.
"I don't need to see anything, just - what do you want from me?"
They both glance at each other, faces blank, before one shrugs and the other explains-
"For a cut of our overall sales we were wondering if you'd be interested in doing charm-work for our products."
"A cut?" she asks, eyes narrowing in interest.
She knew the success brewing here in this tiny carriage-room, that this wasn't just two mischievous pranksters trying to get a quick buck off their peers; this was a lucrative business opportunity that the twins would build into a brand exceeding even Zonko's.
"We'd be willing to offer you 35% of all sales," and wow, okay she definitely wasn't expecting that, but-
"No," she says, shaking her head, "how about instead I take 15%-"
"Wha-"
"But I get unlimited access to whatever products you create."
Honestly, she's willing to go lower if they play hard - as appealing as the money sounded, especially in the face of what she knew they'd become, what she was really interested in were their goods. The image of a stone-smoke bomb burns clearly in her mind's eye; potions and trick-wands and bottles stoppered with the weather.
They grin at her, all freckles and ginger curls, "Deal!"
They shake and she thinks that maybe sharing the train-carriage with them wouldn't be so bad after all.
She was still double checking her trunk before she opened it though.
o.O.o
A large spectacle of horror awaited her once she'd finished changing into her school robes and had wrangled her trunk from one of the Weasley's, coming to her in the form of a hulking skeletal beast-horse hooked to a coach. It snuffled down at her, nosing forward to nestle into her chest, and her hands settled along its dragon-esque fleshless face in spite of herself. Its void-bearing eyes peered down into hers and instead of unease she felt-
Familiarity.
We're not so different, she thinks, and lets it nose into her palms.
"W-What are they?" a voice asks and she turns to greet the eyes of a wary Potter.
"Thestral," she says, turning back, and the thing mouths at her hair. She pulls away with a wrinkled frown and it huffs at her with a muted whine.
"Thestral?" Granger asks from behind Potter, her eyes glazing over the spot the horse inhabited, and the urge to wave them off with a scoff tugged at her heavily, but-
She didn't.
"They're magical creatures only those who've witnessed death can see," she says, a little shortly- simply by virtue of the nature of the conversation and the conclusions it would undoubtedly bring - and Granger and Potter both flinch back visibly.
"Oh," Granger mutters, "I thought the carriages were horseless…"
With a final pat to its face, she heaves herself up into the coach and lets a warm cat stretch out across her lap with a rumbling purr, fingers tangling into the fur in an effort to ease some of the discomfort being around Potter brought.
Granger settles across from her after a moment and Victoria bites her lip, casting a glance back at Potter who was conversing with the younger Weasley, before she forcibly shakes her hesitation.
"Granger," she said, "I wanted to-"
She stops here, unsure, and the wide doe-eyed stare the other girl was giving her was difficult to look at. There was a fluttering in her stomach that was twisting itself into knots, but she knew this was something she had to do - she thinks of Cedric and everything he put up with for the sake of being her friend and clamped down on the feeling as tightly as she could.
"I wanted to say thank you for the basket and that I'm - I'm sorry, for the way I've been and the way I've treated you. I know you didn't do anything to deserve it and you've been kind to me regardless, so-"
"Oh Victoria!" Granger gushes out, smiling so bright and wide that it hurts, "You don't need-"
"Yes I do," she cuts in before she can think better of it, before she can give in to her own cowardice, "I need to apologize because I've been a right ass to you and you're - you're a good person that deserves better."
Granger winces at her curse but nods slowly, smile dimming into something more tentative.
"Victoria," she says, a little haltingly, "I know these things are hard for you, but - well, I've come to think of you as a friend, of sorts, and I'd like to think you feel the same, so-"
The older girl looks down and twists her fingers in her lap before tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. Victoria has no idea where Granger got the motion of them being friends from, not with the way she'd been near-cruel in her efforts to keep the other witch away, but the words have her nerves settling into something warm.
"You can call me Hermione, if you'd prefer."
"Okay," Victoria says quietly, and tests it out because things were going to be different, had to be different, "Hermione…"
The smile Grang- no, Hermione gives her makes the apology well worth the effort.
o.O.o
Well, this chapter had some revelations didn't it?
I'm a little iffy on the execution of everything, but I'm tired of staring at this document and trying to figure out how to make everything work together so here you go. I hope it was a fun read regardless and I want to say that from this point forward we're going to be derailing from canon. At long last, I know, but I'm really excited to see how much I - er, Victoria can stir things up.
And, yes, she's finally, finally, starting to work towards not being a depressing little shit. Being confronted with your worst nightmare and a sliver of soul-leeching malicious energy can put things into perspective - especially because, y'know, her doing nothing at all as she had been amounted to jack-all. RIP Victoria's mom, we won't miss you.
For sneak peeks, fan art (YES, WE HAVE FAN ART PEOPLE! I have been screaming into my pillow for weeks over this), updates, and pictures of my cat come visit me at-
dev-fiction. tumblr. com