PART ONE | YEAR ONE | The First Part of 'Memento Mori' contains the following: mentions of blood rituals, dark magic, bigotry towards Muggleborns and sometimes Half-Bloods. Mentions of Necromancy. Reminder: not only is this a gender bend Harry Potter fanfiction, where Harry is Honor Peverell, Honor is not the girl-who-lived. Neville is the boy-who-lived. Anything that is not the same as in the books or in the movies is done on purpose. I hope you enjoy this fanfiction. It will be updated every two weeks. Harry Potter doesn't belong to me. Please let me know what you thought about the first chapter. - EmmynotEmma
1.1
The Scottish Highlands was a paradise to some and to others it was too opposite of what they wanted.
On one of those many isles that made up the Scottish Highlands there were multiple castles and communities scattered throughout the largest isle, Skye Isle. There were some castles that were from the medieval time period to modern day, but there was one castle further away from the others.
The Peverell Castle, historically linked to Arthurian legends.
Some claimed the castle was owned by those who possessed magic and made sure to both protect the people of Skye Isle but also condemn them when they wronged nature. Some claimed they saw the castle as completely ruined, nothing left for someone to live in. Others claimed they saw the castle look exactly as if it were made the other day, but even then, most people scoffed at the thought of Peverell Castle actually being in good condition. They didn't understand how the castle should still be here; they thought the ruins should be cleaned up and taken away.
Unbeknownst to the majority of the Skye Isle population and honestly the world, there was a family who possessed magic who lived in Peverell Castle.
The Peverell's were one of the first magical families in Scotland, along with the rest of the United Kingdom. They weren't just any other magical family in the wixen world, they were also connected to magic that went past life. Necromancy, dark magic, blood rituals, they were the most common type of abilities and hobbies descendants of the original ancestors of Scotland had or did.
For me, I didn't think too much about it, I wasn't a Peverell at birth.
I was originally the daughter of their distant cousins, barely linked together but still connected through a common ancestor. My birth parents, Lord James and Lily Potter from the House of Potter, had been killed on Samhain when I was fifteen months by followers of a dark wizard named Lord Voldemort. The said followers, the Death Eaters, had the three most dangerous members and most loyal appear at the Potter Cottage in Godric Hollow. They tortured my birth parents until they succumbed to their injuries but were apprehended and taken away before they could do anything to me.
My adoptive parents, Lady Catriona and Lord Lachlan Peverell, had gone through a blood ritual with me once they had learnt of the fate of my birth parents. They had managed to use their status in the wixen world to save me from a fate of living with my birth mother's older sister, Petunia Dursley. I ended up looking exactly the same as my adoptive mother.
It was the first day of August, of my eleventh year (the day after I had turned eleven), and the skyline was stretched thin in a soft and dreary hue of gray. Peverell Castle was in the background, while I was near the cliff side, which overlooked the raging ocean. I was dressed head to toe in fabric, and not too far from me was the family cemetery where every descendant of my family who lived on the grounds was buried here. Those who didn't live in the castle were allowed to be buried away from it.
A white veiled straw hat sat atop my head, while I was wearing a white cotton dress that fell to my ankles, a neckline that was turtleneck, and sleeves that ended at my wrists. White gloves and brown leather boots that were barely peeking from the bottom of my skirt. I knew I resembled more of a ghostess like this, but considering the fact I was albino the sun could be an enemy of mine. I didn't want to stay inside all the time, something my mother was fine with doing.
I went through the iron front gate to the cemetery, barely studying the tombstones and the mausoleums throughout the cemetery grounds, until I came across the original mausoleum of Ignotus Peverell.
I sat down in front of the white, grand mausoleum and pulled off one of my gloves.
I pulled out my ceremonial knife and sliced across the middle of my palm.
Turning my palm so that my palm was facing the grass, I observed as my blood fell onto the grass for three seconds before my palm healed itself and a chill wisped around me. It was allowing me to know my ancestor had come to see me, but he wasn't pleased with how I had given the ground my blood to see him.
He went through the closed front doors of the mausoleum, with no color to him whatsoever.
Even in his old age though, even in death, his hair was still thick despite him being the oldest member of my family who was buried on the property. His eyes were deep set, an unsettling and hypnotizing blue in life, a rather large nose and thin lips. He was thin, lanky, but he was dressed in his best suit and shoes. His eyes landed on me, and he frowned, while I hastily put my glove back on.
Bowing my head down, I bit my lip and observed Ignotus (whom I called Grandfather Ignotus) coming towards me from under my pale eyelashes.
"Apologies, grandfather, but I wanted to see you," I whispered, my voice softer than I wished for it to be. I knew I should be more assertive, but he was the original ancestor of mine who had seen Death, hid from him, and then went into the afterlife with him as a good friend.
"There are other ways for you to summon me, Honor," Grandfather Ignotus declared, allowing me to know he wasn't pleased with me using blood as a first way of summoning him. "Blood should only be used as a last effort for summoning the dead. I would think your mother and father would have taught you better, even if neither are Necromancers."
My mind briefly went towards my blood parents, and how they had told me everything I needed or could know from them about our family history and customs. I was the last Necromancer in my bloodline and my parents claimed I was meant to have a strong relationship with Death, himself, once I would reach puberty and would unlock my full potential. I still hadn't gone through puberty yet, but soon I would be able to and see Death instead of just sense him.
"I just wanted to see you, grandfather, and tell you I am going to Diagon Alley later today with my father. Mother doesn't do well in crowds, as you know. I'm only saving my blood for family, no one else," I vowed, making Grandfather Ignotus hum as he sat down across from me. I could see the ends of the grass blades within him, he went through the grass so easily. Another reminder I was talking to a ghost and not to a living relative.
"And your brother? How is he?"
My mind drifted towards my two-month-old brother, Finlay, and how he had been a miracle for them.
He hadn't been born with the scar on his hip of a poisonous plant, which signaled necromancy in our family, so he wouldn't have to worry about the constant feeling of being cold like me. He wouldn't have to worry about joining the yearly blood ritual our parents had with me in order to strengthen both me and the future of our family. He could just be a happy boy, and eventual man.
"Finlay is fine. He's very quiet," I remarked, earning a nod from Grandfather Ignotus to let me know he had heard me. His mind seemed to drift back most likely to when he first had his children. He snapped his head towards the castle in the distance before turning back to me.
"Lachlan is looking for you. I think it's time for you to go to Diagon Alley. I'll be here, as always, if you need me," Grandfather Ignotus informed me, earning a nod from me this time before I got up from the ground and smoothed down my skirt.
Turning away from the mausoleum I hurried out of the cemetery grounds and went in the direction of where the Peverell Castle was. The wind was starting to pick up more so I had to put my hand down onto my head to make sure my hat wouldn't come flying off.
It was one of my favorite hats, even if it were simple and wasn't made of the most expensive fabric.
Throwing open the front doors of the castle, I had barely entered the foyer when my father came bounding into the room with tired amusement upon his handsome features. He was dressed completely in black, reminding me once again how serious he was. He didn't understand why I preferred to wear white, even though I constantly reminded him that in other cultures one would wear white for mourning and not black.
My father was a tall man with long deep brown wavy hair that fell down his back, a little past his armpits. He was quite muscular but lean with thick biceps and legs. His hair was always pulled up in a high bun on his head, with jeweled hair pins keeping pieces of his hair together in its bun. There was a silver streak of hair on the left side of his head, an effect those who married into the Peverell had. They would have Death's mark on them more intimately than just aging. His eyes were a deep, dark hazel with little splatters of gold closer to the pupil.
His wand was tucked inside his suit jacket, where a secret sewn pocket was for him to put it.
He wore black gloves, with each finger upon his hand covered with rings from the family vault. Natural stones were sewn in delicate fashion upon his Haute Couture suit jacket. He was always dressed to impress and demanded the best when it came to the family appearance. Mother was about the same, but only when there were special occasions that were happening.
"Come, Honor. Let's go to Diagon Alley. I went ahead the other day and got some money from Gringotts," Father stated, reaching one of his gloved hands out for me to put my hand in his. I went to him and put my hand in his, taking a deep breath.
"Are you ready?"
I nodded my head, a moment later I could feel both my father and I transport from the foyer of our castle to one of the alleyways of Diagon Alley through a means of Apparition. We could travel from one location to another merely by focusing our magic on a second location, simply teleportation. A simple explanation for those who weren't magical, Muggles and sometimes their children who ended up being magical–-Muggleborns. I had to do Side-Along-Apparition with my father, due to the fact I was still a child and hadn't done my Apparition test (I would have to be seventeen to do so).
We appeared a moment later within an alleyway of a shopping district that winded in multiple directions in the manner of a snake or a flowing river. The building we had Apparated next to happened to be the bank, my pink irises flickering to the people that were heading up the stone steps of the magnificently built bank. A jewel in the eyes of the Goblins, who were a race that took care of all money vaults and vaults meant for other things that held value. Their architecture could be the best in the world, both the muggle and the wixen worlds.
I stayed close to my father, partly because I was not someone who was accustomed to being in crowds that often and another being that everyone had been waiting for the next generation of immediate Peverell's to descend upon Hogwarts. It had been over a century since my family had attended the school of witchcraft and wizardry. None of my family members cared about the establishment enough to continuously enroll their children into the school, but Neville Longbottom was attending Hogwarts this year and my parents thought it would be best if I attended and kept a close eye on the boy-who-lived.
I didn't know much about Neville Longbottom; other than the fact his parents had fought against Lord Voldemort when he broke into their home.
Their Secret-Keeper (a person who protected a location and as long as the person protected the location no one would be able to see the location unless the said protector told them about the location), had ended up being a Death Eater and gave away the location.
The same thing had happened with the Potters.
Only here, Lady Alice and Lord Frank Longbottom were sent the Avada Kedavra Curse and died instantly. Lord Voldemort found Neville and tried to send the same curse to the infant only for Neville to stay alive and for Lord Voldemort to disappear. No body, nothing was left of the dark wizard. He was gone and the wixen world hoped he would never return.
"Where do you want to go first, Honor?" Father probed me, his eyes showing nothing more than patience and calmness. He never made me feel as if I needed to rush my decisions only to regret them later. He waited as long as I needed.
"I want to go and get my wand first. I know you and Mother didn't get your wands here, but I want the experience," I remarked, earning a nod from him as I wrapped my arm around his. We left the alleyway and went in the direction of where the wand shop was, some of the witches and wizards paused when they saw me and my father.
I kept close to my father and noted how things were so different here than I was accustomed to in the few places I had traveled. Only Pureblood witches and wizards (those who had two full generations of magic in their family, parents and grandparents), seemed to wear more clothing than those who were with lesser magical blood. Those with only one parent who was a Pureblood were called Half-bloods and sometimes those Half-bloods around me would wear a little more clothing but not enough like the ancient Houses of the United Kingdom. Muggleborns didn't know the tradition, how hiding skin meant more because a person was sacred.
Reaching a shop that had one display window, I studied what was displayed in front of me.
A small pedestal with a dusty elegant pillow with golden tassels, most likely placed there decades ago and never moved, was in front of me along with a nicely crafted wand. The window of the building was caked with dust and dirt around the edges of the window, allowing me to also know the owner of the establishment didn't have cleaning charms placed upon the building.
A hanging sign was above the old wooden front door: OLLIVANDERS: MAKER OF FINE WANDS SINCE 382 B.C.
Father scoffed from next to me, making me crane my head up to him to see why he was showing that kind of response towards the building and possibly the owner. He glanced at me and shook his head, letting me know it's nothing, before he opened the front door of the shop and motioned for me to go in first.
The first thing I noticed when we entered the wand shop was there only natural light which shone through the establishment. There were no lightbulbs that were lit up, there were candles that were strictly placed at angles to shine light towards the multitude of wands that were hidden behind glass cases. I didn't know if these were wands that had been already made for customers and were locked away until the customers could come and collect them or if the owner, Mr. Ollivander was most likely bored, and he had created them without anyone specific in mind. There was a dark oak counter that split the room a quarter towards the back, with glass bottles on shelves behind him, filled with different types of ingredients used for wands. A moving portrait of the founder of the establishment was large and hung in the middle of the back wall, all in his 4th century glory. There was a door that led into the backrooms of the shop, most likely that was where he had most of his wands.
The back door to the shop opened, revealing an elderly man dressed in worn out but lovingly used dark robes. The robes sadly swallowed his figure, which was small and thin. He was getting on with age, aging spots scattered here and there. His reading glasses, wire framed, hung near the end of his nose and he had a scent of natural wood clinging to him.
There were wisps of white hair on his head, and most of his skin was wrinkled, but his hands were steady as he came up to the counter, his eyes landing on me for a moment with intrigue showing through them before his eyes went towards my father. They widened and his lips pressed tightly together, as if he wasn't too pleased with the appearance of my father. His eyes went from looking at my father towards the lapel pin upon my father's suit jacket, the lapel pin had the family emblem there for all to see.
The man came around the counter and did a proper bow, his right hand reaching up and going into a fist against his chest and his head tipped down towards both me and my father. I let my pink eyes flicker away from the withered man towards my father. I could feel eyes on me and turning my head towards other spots in the front room of the shop, I didn't see anyone around me. There weren't any people that were looking into the shop from the lone display window, the sad display allowing everyone to know Mr. Ollivander didn't care about making things too shiny and ostentatious.
"It is an honor for you to visit me, Lord Peverell. May I ask the reason for my service?"
The elder man let his eyes flicker towards me, studying me, but I kept my gloved hands together in front of me and my veil did not move away from hiding my features. I had no interest in Mr. Ollivander, and if he would want to know what I looked like in person.
"My wife and I decided to allow Honor to attend Hogwarts, Mr. Ollivander. While neither of us felt the need to attend the school we felt things are different now than it was then. It would also make sense for me to take Honor here so she could get her wand from you, instead of going to our usual wandmaker," my father slowly remarked, his voice calm and collected. It was obvious he was doing this to please me, and to remind the wixen world the Peverell's were still important.
"Of course, Lord Peverell. Miss Peverell, if you may, please extend your arm. I need to take measurements for your wand," Mr. Ollivander instructed, and so I did what was asked of me.
I stretched my arm out naturally, not stiffening or extending it too far, and watched as a multitude of enchanted measuring tapes appeared from behind the counter. They began to measure me, while a clipboard and quill floated into Mr. Ollivander's awaiting hands. He began to write hastily, making little humming sounds to let us know he was focusing on his task. He wouldn't stand there and have meaningless conversations with either me or my father (not that my father or I were very talkative people to begin with).
I observed Mr. Ollivander as he hurried into the backroom and brought in boxes that held wands.
He had excitement buzzing across the surface of him.
He did make sure he didn't let his eyes land too long on my father's, it was obvious my father was only doing this to make me happy. He wanted me to feel comfortable, so that I could go to Hogwarts and have something in common with the rest of my future year mates.
Each wand I held, in which Mr. Ollivander began to tell me the ingredients he had used to make the wand didn't feel right to me while my father had his hands clasped together behind his back. His eyes would flicker over towards me to make sure I was having a good time, before he would stop and crane his head in intrigue at the wands in the display cases. I wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to pull one of the wands out to see if it was up to par to the wands our family friends had created for our family.
With each failed wand given to me I noted how some of the wand glass cases would shake, a couple of them actually broke. Candles would extinguish before Mr. Ollivander would wave his hand and they would light themselves back. Photographs shook in their frames, and the original Mr. Ollivander sat in his armchair within the portrait with intrigue upon his face. With the current Mr. Ollivander making the same face made them look even more like an ancestor and his descendant.
Eventually Mr. Ollivander came up to me with a box that had dust caked on the top of it.
He blew the dust off, which in return made me cough some from under my veil. Mr. Ollivander opened the lid of the box as if there were a cobra waiting inside to attack. He revealed another one of his countless wands he created but there was this odd feeling I experienced when I looked at the wand and as it was offered to me, I reached out to take it without hesitation.
"Give it a swish, I have a good feeling about this one."
My father muttered underneath his breath, "you said that about the last five ones," but I dismissed him.
He had never been a very patient person.
My mother on the other hand was the one who was the patient one between them.
I had to admit I was in the middle, and depending on my mood I would either be more patient or less.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes before I opened them and gave a swish, only to gasp when gray sparks came shooting from the end of my wand. A caress of cold wind washed over me, as though Death had decided he would let me know he was glad of the wand I had chosen or as Mr. Ollivander claimed: the wand chooses the witch or wizard. I could only claim that it felt like an extension of my soul, as if my magic found other roots to cling to than just under my skin.
I barely paid attention to Mr. Ollivander or my father until the wandmaker cleared his throat once the wand was paid. My father narrowed his eyes at him and irritation flooded from him, as if he was expecting something like this to happen. Mr. Ollivander glanced towards the front door before he cleared his throat again and spoke, "there is something I need to tell you about the wand. There's something I need to tell you about one of the ingredients."
I furled my eyebrows underneath the veil, while I thought of what he had told me about the wand: the wood was holly, the magical core was a phoenix feather, it was eleven inches, nice and supple. Good for defense and transfiguration. I was still assessing the ingredients in my mind when I heard a familiar, taboo title being called: you-know-who.
My blood began to solidify into dry ice within my veins, at the mention of the monster who had killed Neville Longbottom's parents, who's followers had attacked my birth parents' cottage and tortured them before they succumbed to their injuries.
"The phoenix feather is the brother of you-know-who's phoenix feather."
Next to me my father tightened his hand into a fist, as if reminded once again of his distant relatives and how they had met their end. Of how I could have been killed that night. I was to have only a special connection to my adoptive mother and father magically, not this dark wizard that had a similar magical core as mine.
Giving a polite smile towards Mr. Ollivander I assured him I would be fine and thanked him for the wand. Turning towards my father, I hooked my arm around him and motioned for us to leave. My father huffed before we left with the wand in its box. He made sure to shrink the box and placed it into the left pocket of my skirts, allowing me to keep the wand close to me for now. We would end up buying a wand holster so I could walk around with it.
"I would like to get my robes next, Father. I assure you I'm only getting my school robes. I'm not going to be shopping for any other clothes," I told him, turning my head up and smiling at him.
He chuckled, even though he seemed as if he couldn't help but still keep his mind on what Mr. Ollivander had said.
Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was the only building on the current street painted periwinkle.
It was a little nauseating in taste, I was never someone who liked colors that were bright.
My pink irises flickered up to where my father was, noting how he had cringed his nose back at the sight of the colorful shop. I shrugged my shoulders and went to open the front door of the clothing shop. He quickly opened the door before I could grab the handle, allowing me to walk into the shop first with him trailing behind me.
The periwinkle nightmare on the outside continued on the inside of the shop.
The wallpaper, along with the carpeted flooring, the drapes, the furniture, were the same color as the outside. There were two large silver mirrors sitting in front of two pedestals for customers to stand on to be fitted for their robes. There were magical plants hanging from hooks on the ceiling, there were also potted plants in the corner of the room. There were fabric samples on a cork board against one of the walls (a cork board went from the ceiling to the flooring), with as many colors as possible. The drawing room styled chairs were angled towards the pedestals, along with a chaise.
Sitting on the chaise was a tall, slender noble woman with light blonde hair piled high upon her head. Her aristocratic features were symmetrical, the perfectly arched eyebrows and the nicely shaped nose. The uniquely shaped but still beautiful silver eyes. Charcoal lined her eyes, her light blonde eyelashes fluttered. Her lips were small, plump, and the lipstick was a hue of deep plumb. She wore a deep green silk Haute Couture dress–with the neckline actually being a turtleneck that almost went up to under her chin. She wore matching leather gloves, and beautiful vintage diamond jewelry, including a beautiful wedding ring that glistened from the sunlight that came from the windows. Her necklace, bracelet, and earrings were silver with diamonds in the shape of rose petals.
She had her attention on the boy standing on the pedestal closer to her.
I couldn't see the front of him, but he had a similar shade of hair as the woman and was being fitted for his school robes. It was obvious the boy was her son, partly because of the motherly stare she was giving and another being his appearance.
A plump woman was standing in front of the boy, and she was measuring him, her measuring tapes flying in different directions and pinning different parts of his robes. She didn't look up as she told me to get onto the other pedestal and for anyone with me to take a seat. Father brought his hand out and placed it onto my shoulder to let me know he was always going to be here for me. Especially when it would be the first time, I would allow someone who wasn't a family friend to tailor my robes and other sorts of clothing, another reminder how I was sheltered.
Stepping onto the pedestal, I noted in the corner of my eye how my father went and sat down in one of the love chairs with a cool, aloof look on his face. The woman, who had been studying the tailoress with a frozen glare, turned her attention towards the person who had sat down near her. Her eyes widened and her mouth felt open, before she closed it.
The boy, who I could see better now, although was only eleven, and still had that childish roundness to his features, would obviously have pointer and more pronounced features. He would look like any other aristocratic light blond haired man when he would finish Hogwarts. He shared the same eyes as his mother, and they held confusion as he turned to look at his mother, since he had wanted to see what his mother was reacting to.
"Mother?"
The woman reached her gloved hand up, silencing her son.
She smoothed down her clothes and made sure her hair was in its perfect style. She stood up and did a deep curtsy, her head bowed down, before she straightened up. "It is an honor to meet you, Lord Peverell. I am Lady Narcissa Malfoy, of the Ancient House of Malfoy. May I inquire about the reason behind you being here?"
"Likewise, my lady. I am here for my daughter, Honor. She's getting her robes fitted," Father explained as he used his hand to motion towards me. Lady Malfoy and her son turned their attention towards me, standing quietly on my pedestal while the tailoress was silently watching all four of us.
Lady Malfoy bowed her head towards me, her son studied me, but he bowed before long, while I did a curtsy back. "Salutations, my lady. Is your son about to attend his first year too?"
"I am, Heiress Honor Peverell. I am Draco Malfoy, Heir to the Ancient House of Malfoy," he remarked, his aristocratic accent thickening the longer he spoke. He had his head tilted up, but not high enough it would be insulting. I linked my hands together in front of me and gave him a charming smile, noting how there was a tinge bit of annoyance at how I still had my veiled hat on.
The tailoress straightened up and stretched her back, before she gave a smile towards all of us. "I am finished with your robes, Heir Malfoy. I wish you a wonderful school year."
Lady Malfoy's lips went into a tight pressed line, a sign she wasn't glad how the tailoress was shooing them out of the shop. Still, she bowed her head towards both me and my father, before Draco took off the robes and handed them to the tailoress and left the shop with his mother. The moment they disappeared from my eyesight I slumped and let my eyes wander over towards my father.
"Madam Malkins, I am certain it wouldn't do any harm if you put a closed sign on the shop? This is the first time my daughter has been out in public, and her appearance is fragile. We would rather her classmates find out what she looks like during the Sorting instead of here," my father explained, while the plump woman listened to him with actual interest.
"Of course, Lord Peverell. Will you be getting just school robes or are you going to get something else?" Madam Malkins inquired, earning a shake of the head.
She went over to the front door and switched over the sign and even closed the window curtain on the front of the shop. She hurried over to where the display window was with all the mannequins showing off robes and swished her wand to shut the curtains. One last swish of her wand and the room changed lighting, so it was almost as if the windows were still open.
Father came over to me and reached his hands out to take the hat off of my head. I slowly pulled off my veiled hat and sat it in his hands, he leant over and gave me a fatherly kiss on the cheek before he went over and sat down once more. I turned towards Madam Malkins, who had turned her attention towards me again, and she gasped before clasping her hands together.
"If I may say, Miss Honor, you are very beautiful. Your eyes are so enchanting. You need not worry about anything leaking out when it comes to me. I can understand your weariness," Madam Malkins stated, before she grabbed a pair of school robes and put them on me.
I was patient as the woman worked on my robes, her eyes sometimes drifting towards my father sitting on the armchair. I could tell he had relaxed some but not that much. He was glad Madam Malkins was understanding, he didn't want The Prophet to get a hold of someone who had helped me with my school supplies and have my appearance told. It was already hard enough I was going to be the first Peverell at Hogwarts in centuries, add in my albinism and I'd feel like an eyesore.
We were done not too long after, Madam Malkins had been a tailoress for a long time. She silently took the money from my father, bid me a good school year like she had with Draco Malfoy, and made sure I was covered completely again. We left the shop, and as we went away from her, I smiled, saying how I was glad I had met her. Father nodded his head, allowing me to know he was glad I had met Madam Malkins too.
The next shop we attended was Flourish and Blotts, the bookstore I would get my schoolbooks from.
I gripped my father's arm in mine harder as we entered the two-story bookstore, the first floor had a loft for children's books and a mishmash of books with no true category for them. A spiral staircase led up to the first floor, the bookstore was filled to the brim with bookshelves against the walls and organized nicely in aisles in the middle of the room. There were futons and chairs that were spread throughout the room for customers to sit down and read. Along with big rectangular oak display tables with all the schoolbooks, with a number on a sign to signal the Year they were meant for. I both liked this store and not at the same time.
I was a bibliophile, a lover of collecting books.
There were multiple books at home I hadn't had the chance to read yet.
Mother and Father had cut off my book allowance when I had collected too many unread books. I wanted so many books in this store but from the amused but tired look from my father it was obvious I wouldn't be getting any books other than my educational ones.
Going up to the First-Year table, I gathered the books we needed.
The Standard book of spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk. A history of magic by Bathilda Bagshot. Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling. A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch. One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore. Magical Droughts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger. Fantastic Beasts and Where to find them by Newt Scamander. The Dark Forces: A guide to self-protection by Quentin Trimble.
Handing them to my father, I went to the counter so we could buy the books, only for me to feel a pair of eyes on me and my father. I noted how some of the Purebloods and Half-bloods were studying me and my father a little more than I wanted. Some of the Purebloods whispered to each other, saying how they noted the emblem on my father's robes, and guessing from me being with him there was going to be an actual Peverell attending Hogwarts.
The Apothecary shop had less people in there due to some of them clients being private and wanting their ingredients delivered to their homes. There were still some in the store with their clothes covering their noses but their eyes following my father and me. I ducked my head down, my mood dampened but I had begged my parents to let me go to Diagon Alley to get my school supplies.
I was looking down at the ground, my veil thankfully still covering my face from others.
My father was an intimidating man and very protective of me. No cruel person could come up and yank my veiled hat off of me to see what I looked like. My eyes would be better, my eyesight wasn't the best, due to my albinism but with direct sunlight hitting them without cover for my eyes it would be a nightmare.
I only brought my eyes up when I heard my name being called, my eyes widening when I saw that we were standing outside of Eeylops Owl Emporium. My parents weren't pet people, and I had never really thought much about having a pet. I let my eyes flicker away from the display window where there were cages filled with owls hooting. I tightened my gloved hand onto my father's, and he nodded his head to let me know we could go in.
It was not surprising how the emporium had a strange scent to it, since it was where animals were. It was nicely cleaned, the customers that were traveling through the aisles were studying all the different animals around them. There was a discount sign talking about any owl/toad/cat bought by a Hogwarts student was thirty percent off.
I traveled through the aisles, pausing when I saw the cats all had their eyes on something behind me. As if someone was standing behind me. Some of them hissed, while others were curious and came closer to the door of the cat cage. I gave an awkward smile towards them, pausing when I saw one kitten peering at me with soft bluish-purple eyes and pure white fur. She purred at me and bumped her head against the door of the cage. I turned my head towards my father, almost about to ask him to get the kitten out, only to see my father returning with one of the workers.
I held out my arms as the worker brought out the cat and placed her in my arms, enough for me to hold her against me. I closed my eyes, focusing on her warmth and loving how she looked just like me (the eyes being a little different). I stayed focused on her, even when my father went and paid for her, before we left the shop.
The moment we appeared into the foyer of our home, I noticed the doors to the side parlor were cracked open and a conversation was happening. Excited to show off my new cat to my mother, and to see little Finlay if he were with her, I stopped when a flash of green came from the room. I knew that green, it was the fireplace being used for the Floo Network. The Floo powder made the fire turn green, and the person would be transported from the current fireplace to a fireplace of their choosing.
Opening the door a few moments later, I noticed my mother sitting on the loveseat with a thoughtful look on her face, Finlay was in her arms. She turned towards me, our similar colored eyes reflected back to mine. "Honor, my dear, I see you have a new kitten."
"Her name is Skadi," I said proudly, thinking of the Norse Goddess of Winter. I enjoyed any type of mythology out there. Mother motioned for me to come forward and I sat Skadi down before I took off my veiled hat, placing it onto the coffee table.
"Mother…who was just visiting?"
Mother tensed for a second before she quickly spoke, "I was talking to the man who is renting our cottage beyond the left hill. He had heard about you attending Hogwarts and wanted to see how I was fairing with both you going to school and just having Finlay."
Nodding my head, I decided to leave the subject of the man who rented the cottage my family owned. I had heard he was a sad man, and he was missing his Ligare. The person who he had bound his magic with, his soulmate and spouse. His Ligare was gone, and the man didn't know if they would come back. I hoped he would have them return.
"Come, sit, Honor. I'll call Litzie to get us some tea and biscuits and you'll tell me how Diagon Alley was like," Mother commanded, and I nodded my head as I went and sat down next to her. She placed Finlay into my arms.
Litzie, the head house elf, appeared in a pop.
She wasn't some elegant figure when some thought of the creature elf. She was short, with knobby limbs that were stretched out. Her ears were floppy, pointed. Her eyes were large, bulging and constantly watery. She was dressed in a red (a true blood red that was almost black it was so dark) pillowcase with our emblem embroidered in silver across the front of the pillowcase.
Litzie bowed her head as she listened to the instructions given to her before she disappeared. Finlay turned in my arms, his dark hair he had inherited from our father a strong contrast towards everything that was me. I ran my fingers against his soft head, before I began to tell my mother about Diagon Alley. I hoped I would have a good time at Hogwarts.