Heiress Potter,
While I understand you owe me absolutely nothing, I would truly love to hear from you. I hope you have received my previously letters, but just in case:
I am Lord Sirius Black, your godfather. I have been searching for you and Lord Harold for the past eight years without result. Now that you are at Hogwarts, I would like to reconnect with you or at least see that you are well cared for.
No matter what you decide, I do want you to know that I love you and your brother as if you are my own children. I have felt your absence everyday during these last several years.
I hope you are settling into your first year at Hogwarts and have made a few friends. If there is anything you need, you only have to ask and I will happily provide it.
I send you my love,
Uncle Sirius
-
Dahlia folds the letter and tucks it into her shoulder bag, turning back to her cup of tea. She suppresses a sigh, not wanting to show such frustrations in the Great Hall. As she faces the breakfast table once more, she finds the large barn owl that delivered the correspondence looking at her expectedly.
"I have no response for you." She says the words curtly, shaking her head at the bird. The owl tilts it head, watching her for a moment more before taking off.
This is the fourth letter she has received from Lord Black. The fourth letter that she will continue to ignore. She can only hope that he will finally understand that she and her siblings have no need of his charity. Besides, whether he has searched for them or not, as their supposed godfather she is sure he has some connection to their parents. She especially has no interest in having anything to do with the older Potters.
"Are you ready for Potions, Dahlia?"
Primly setting down her teacup, she looks to her right to find Patricia giving her a friendly smile. The two have become close over the past several weeks, giving one another leave to address each other without titles or pomp.
"Yes, shall we take our leave?"
The other witch nods, standing to her feet and shouldering her bag. Dahlia watches her push her green glasses further up her nose as she gathers her own belongings. The girls make their way out of the Hall, descending into the dungeons and to the awaiting potions lab. They are the first of their class to arrive, claiming their usual desk and setting up their supplies.
Dahlia enjoys Potions. It's soothing. Chopping, mincing, and crushing ingredients allows her to imagine that she's back in Surrey, cooking in the kitchen for the Dursleys as Harry and Lettie sit at the table with their homework.
Of course, she would enjoy the course even more if her professor liked her. Professor Snape seems to hate her. At the very least he's apathetic toward her. The older man barely looks at her, as if he's trying to pretend that she doesn't exist. The only time he has spoken directly to her was her beginning of year meeting with him after her medical examination.
Dahlia shoves the urge to fidget deep down inside her. Fidgeting is an annoyance to all those around her. It's unladylike. Aunt Petunia would purse her lips if she saw Dahlia fiddling with her fingers. She folds her hands primly in her lap, despite her desire to sit on them instead.
Her head of house sits across from her, black eyes staring over the top of his templed fingers. She has been in his office for three and a half minutes and neither of them have said a word. Dahlia hates the quiet. It reminds her of a dark cupboard and whimpering toddlers. She forces herself not to chew her lip. Aunt Petunia would give her a smack for such lack of decorum.
"How is your home life, Heiress Potter?"
She tries not to let the question startle her. Honestly, Dahlia thought they might just spend her designated half hour in awkward silence.
"Perfectly normal, Professor."
She lives in a normal house, on a normal street, in a normal neighborhood. She maintains a perfectly normal garden and washes perfectly normal laundry. Dahlia lives a perfectly normal life. Or, she had. She had lived a perfectly normal life until Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall appeared in her relatives' front garden.
"With whom do you live?"
She refuses to hesitate. "With my family, sir."
And she does. Harry and Lettie are her family.
The professor's dark eyes narrow. "And how would you describe your relationship with your family?"
"We love each other very much, sir."
The two stare at each other for a moment before Professor Snape turns his attention to a piece of parchment on his desk.
"Madam Pomfrey was rather concerned with your examination results." He raises the parchment with a cocked brow. "Your medical history ends at age three. You arrived at Hogwarts with a few injuries. She has recommended nutrient potions for you, as well."
"I'm ashamed to say that I'm not very graceful, sir." She turns her eyes downward, trying to seem embarrassed so as not to show the panic beginning to flow through her veins. "My family has always said that I'm rather clumsy."
The man hums. Dahlia chances a glance at him through her lashes. He seems unconvinced.
"I'm sure I can brew the potions myself, professor, if you'd direct me to the recipe." She wishes she could leave. She wishes she could see her brother and sister. She almost wishes that she wasn't a witch. Then she wouldn't have to be parted from Harry and Lettie. She wouldn't have school officials snooping into her home life.
"That will not be necessary, Heiress Potter. Your potion will appear alongside your breakfast every morning. You will take each dose. Madame Pomfrey will reexamine you upon your return from Yule break."
"Yes sir." Dahlia nods her head, forcing herself to face him once more. The two sit in silence for several moments, merely watching the other.
Eventually, Professor Snape sighs and waves his hand toward his office door. "You may be excused, Heiress Potter."
"Thank you, Professor. Have a nice evening." She escapes before any more prying questions can be asked.
That had been the extent of Dahlia's interactions with the dower man. Professor Snape does not spare a glance for her during classes, not evening calling upon her to answer his questions when she raises her hand.
As if her thoughts have summoned him, a dark form stalks into the classroom, black robes snapping in a nonexistent breeze. Her classmates have filed in during her distracted thoughts, settling into their seats around her. The professor flicks his wand, causing a piece of chalk to begin writing today's recipe on the blackboard.
"Today you will brew a calming draught. I expect your finished products by the end of the period. Keep your incessant chatter to a minimum and do not find distractions." His dark eyes glare at the students as he scans the room, completely skipping his gaze over Dahlia. "You may begin."
Patricia is up before she can even offer to retrieve their required ingredients, making her way to the classroom cupboard. Dahlia finishes setting up their station, lighting the fire under their shared cauldron. She settles in for an hour and a half of relaxing potion making. Chopping, mincing, crushing, stirring. If she closes her eyes, she can practically hear Lettie's humming as she and Harry color. Dahlia allows herself to get lost in the motions.
It's a week later that she finds herself reporting to the Headmaster's office after dinner. Anxiety churns in her stomach as she recounts her day and the days before it. She can think of nothing she has done to garner negative attention. She has tried her best to be a model student. Everything she does now will affect Harry, Charlie, and Lettie (and Dudley, apparently) in the future when they arrive at Hogwarts. She refuses to bring harm to her siblings in any way.
"Acid Pop." She says the odd words to the gargoyle statue that guards Headmaster Dumbledore's office. The stone being nods to her and jumps aside. She tries to calm herself as she climbs the stairs, cursing her trembling hands.
"Enter."
The Headmaster's voice interrupts her racing thoughts before she even has a chance to knock. She shakes her head, clearing it. Straightening her posture, Dahlia opens the large wooden door and steps inside the circular office.
"Good evening, Heiress Potter." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkle at her from behind his half moon spectacles. He sits behind his desk, hands folded atop it. She forces herself to keep her attention on the elder wizard, not letting her gaze wander to the spinning and whirring devices around the room.
"Good evening, Headmaster." Dahlia inclines her head the slightest bit. "I hope you have been well."
"I have. I hope the same for you, my dear. Please, take a seat." The Headmaster gestures to one of the leather chairs sitting in front of his desk. Dahlia does as asked, perching on the edge of the seat. "Have you been settling into your classes?"
Dahlia folds her hands in her lap. "Yes sir. They've all been wonderful."
"And how are your brother and sister? I see that your owl seems to be making frequent trips?"
"They are fine, Headmaster. They have been settling into their own classes."
Dumbledore smiles, nodding. "Very good. Now, I'm sure you're wondering why I have called you here this evening?"
"Yes sir." Dahlia wishes to know immediately so that her heart rate may drop back down to normal.
"I have a visitor joining us. He should arrive in a moment to explain everything."
Dahlia's heart does drop, all the way to her feet. What kind of visitor would have anything to do with her? "A visitor, sir?"
"Yes, my girl. I was contacted by-"
The Headmaster is cut off as the flames in his fireplace flare green. A moment later, a tall gentleman with dark hair steps out. Silver eyes scan the room before landing upon her and widening. The man takes another step forward, mouth hanging slightly open.
"Dahlia."
His voice is barely more than a whisper. He stares at her as if she's a ghost. Dahlia feels her breath hitch as something deep within her tugs at her core, reaching out to the man.
"Heiress Potter, allow me to introduce you to Lord Sirius Black of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."
Dahlia feels frozen. She must have been hit with a petrification hex. She's stuck to her chair, she's sure of it.
"I believe that I will give you two some time alone." She barely registers the Headmaster leaving, her eyes never leaving the wizard that seems to be looking at her as if she's the best thing he has ever seen.
It's silent for several moments, the only sounds to be heard are those made by the odd contraptions that Headmaster Dumbledore has placed around the room. Lord Black seems to snap out of the trance first, closing the distance between them. He doesn't stop moving until he's knelt before her, hands held up as if he means to take her into his arms. He doesn't touch her, though it seems to be a great battle for him not too.
"I have spent every moment of the last eight years searching for you and Harry." Lord Black's voice hitches, his eyes shining as he seems to be trying to memorize her face.
Dahlia opens her mouth but nothing comes out, not one sound. She's not even sure what she would say if she found her voice. The wizard, her apparent godfather, doesn't seem to mind, merely continuing to stare at her in wonder.
Finally, "Padfoot?"
The wizard blinks in surprise before a wide grin covers his face. "Do you remember me, Flower?"
She nods, then shakes her head, then nods again. Her brows furrow. "I don't know?"
The man looks so eerily familiar. She's not even sure where the name she said came from, just that it felt right. She almost thinks that she's met him before, as if she's seen his silver eyes in a dream.
"You've grown so much." Said silver eyes are suddenly misty as he examines her once more. "I was beginning to fear that I'd never see you again. When I received no response, I feared you hadn't come to Hogwarts after all."
Dahlia just barely resists shifting in her seat, uncomfortable by the tears and attention. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault, Flower, you've done nothing wrong. You and your brother don't owe me anything." Lord Black blinks rapidly for a moment. "I would appreciate a chance to get to know you both, though."
She leans away, shuttering her expression. "First, you tell me of your relationship with Lord and Lady Potter."
In a matter of seconds, the wizard before her seems to go through every emotion imaginable before settling upon muted anger. "I will never forgive them for what they did to you and your brothers. I will never be able to have the relationship with them that I once did, no matter if they were to try and rectify their mistakes. Despite this, I will admit to seeing James and Lily regularly, if only so that I am able to still have contact with Charlie." Lord Black looks at Dahlia with pleading eyes, as if begging her to not turn him away. "The Potters gave me the most wonderful gifts in my life, my godchildren. They also attempted to take them away. I can not leave your brother behind, but I promise that they will have no impact on my relationship with you and Harry."
Dahlia's fingers twitch in her lap, itching to wring her hands or fiddle with the hem of her robes. She forces herself to maintain eye contact with her godfather, judging his words for truth. Then, she thinks back on his words.
"You've only mentioned myself, Harold, and Charlus."
Lord Black nods, confusion filling his features. "Yes. You and your brothers?"
A horrible feeling of dread fills her stomach, settling heavily. "What about Violet?"
They stare at each other for a few moments, neither saying a word as the wizard mulls over her question. Eventually, he stands before taking the seat beside her. "Who is Violet?"
For the first time in six years, Dahlia wishes that her parents were before her. If they were, she imagines that she would throw a fit to rival even Dudley's infamous tantrums. 'Who is Violet?' Had the Potters not even had the decency to give her sister a godparent? Did they give Violet any thought or just immediately toss her aside in favor of the Boy-Who-Lived?
"Lady Violet Potter is my younger sister. She's six years old. She joined Harry and I at our relatives residence when she was a newborn." Her own voice seems far away as she tries to keep a grip on her anger. Lord Black is not at fault for her parents wrongdoings. It would not be fair for her to injure him in a bout of accidental magic.
"Lady Violet…" The silver of her godfather's irises seem to take on an otherworldly glow as he takes in the explanation. Dahlia can feel the hair on her arms stand on end as static fills the air. Perhaps she will not be the one to cause injuries through accidental magic.
It's several moments before Lord Black speaks again, having begun to stare at nothing as a breeze filled the office. Finally, he turns his gaze back to her. "I'd like to invite you and your siblings to stay with me. It's where you should have been all along if your parents were unable to care for you." He spits the word as if it leaves a foul taste in his mouth. Taking a breath, the wizard turns his scowl into an encouraging smile. "If you tell me where they reside, I can retrieve them and have them set up at my home by nightfall."
Live with him? A practical stranger?
The feeling of odd familiarity takes hold in Dahlia once more as she stares at the man, weighing her options. Here is a wizard, her godfather , offering to fix all their problems by giving them a home. She would never have to return to the Dursleys. Her siblings would be free of them. She might not even have to deal with the knot of worry that constantly sits in her chest, wondering how Harry and Lettie are being treated, if they're being fed, are they hurt.
"You may come to our Aunt and Uncle's home over winter break to meet them. I will not make any decisions without they're input." She straightens as she says the wonders, nodding to herself. She'll do what's best for her siblings in the end, but it's not fair to make any decisions without at least offering her siblings a chance to discuss them. Besides, according to Harry, she has a new brother to worry about now as well. She wouldn't leave anyone to suffer the wrath of Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Either Dudley will join them, or none of the Potter siblings will be joining Lord Black.
"Anything you want, Flower." He looks relieved at her words, physically slumping in his seat. "Anything you decide, I'll be grateful."
She considers him for a moment before nodding again. "Very well."
It's silent for a moment, Lord Black watching her as if she could disappear any moment. He clears his throat, sitting up once more. "In the meantime, why not tell me about yourself? How are you finding Hogwarts? What's your favorite class?"
Her lips twitch, trying to smile despite herself at his eagerness. "Hogwarts is lovely, though I miss Harry and Lettie desperately. Unfortunately, Potions is my favorite."
The wizard crinkles his nose. "No! Please tell me that you don't actually enjoy Snivellus as a professor!" He clutches his chest, leaning back as if he's wounded by her words. Dahlia can't help but give a small giggle at his antics, causing him to smile widely. "Let me tell you all about your beloved Potions professor and how he was the biggest git in school."
Even though she can hear Aunt Petunia's snide voice in her head, Dahlia finds herself relaxing into her seat as her godfather speaks, telling stories of his own school years until it's time for curfew. Surprisingly, the man is actually growing on her. She actually wishes he didn't have to leave when curfew comes and he walks her down to the dungeons. They turn to one another as they reach the entrance to her common room.
"I can give you the address for my relatives now, if you'd like, Lord Black."
He cocks his head, offering her a smirk. "How about you send it to me in a letter when you write to me about how your classes go for the rest of the week?"
Dahlia's cheeks pinken. He still wants her to write? "That sounds reasonable."
The wizard barks out a laugh, throwing his head back. "Such a proper little witch you are, Flower. Your Grandmother Dorea would be proud." His smile softens at the mention of the former Lady Potter. "You can call me Padfoot, you know? Or Uncle Sirius, if you'd rather. None of this Lord Black business, you'll make me feel old."
"Okay…Uncle Sirius." Her blush darkens as she toes the stone floor, giving a shy smile.
Uncle Sirius's eyes seem to go glassy at her words but his smile widens. Before she can react, he kneels down and pulls Dahlia into a tight embrace. When he pulls away, he holds her shoulders. "I'm only an owl away, Flower. Don't hesitate to write if you need me."
"You too."
As she lays in bed that night, staring at the curtain ceiling of her four poster bed, Dahlia wonders if, perhaps, her life's looking up for the better. Magic powers, a best friend, a godfather who cares, and now her siblings will have a true home. What more could she ask for?