:

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲

Y/n woke early the next morning. Although he could tell it was daylight, he kept his eyes shut tight. The rays of sunshine flickered in the hut, shining down upon Y/n, making the boy groan. Y/n was never a morning person, he preferred to spend his days lying about in his lumpy bed, with the blankets tightly wrapped around his body as he snoozed on. (Harry often told him that he was like a cat.)

There was a sudden loud tapping noise. Y/n groaned once again, cracking his eyes open, greeting the morning. He rubbed his eyes before sitting up, the coat Hagrid lent him and his brother fell from his body as he looked around. The giant was sleeping on the lumpy couch, snoring loudly.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"All right," Harry mumbled, "I'm getting up." Y/n looked over at his brother and smiled. Harry looked over at him and saw that Y/n was pointing at the window, where an owl was rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Harry gasped and scrambled to his feet, so happy he felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside him. He went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that." said Harry as Y/n got up and went over to his twin. They tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at him and carried on savaging the coat.

"Hagrid!" said Harry loudly. "There's an owl —"

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa. "What?" asked Y/n, confused.

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."

Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets — bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, tea bags... finally, Harry pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.

"Knuts?" questioned Y/n, taking (more like yanking in Harry's opinion) Harry's hand and inspecting it for himself.

"The little bronze ones."

Y/n―still holding Harry's hand―counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his leg so Y/n could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched. "Best be off, Harry, Y/n, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

Harry―who yanked his hand away from his twin's strong grip―was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. He had just thought of something that made him feel as though the happy balloon inside him had got a puncture.

"Um — Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

"We haven't got any money — and you heard Uncle Vernon last night... he won't pay for Y/n and I to go and learn magic."

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But if their house was destroyed —"

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold — an' I wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have banks?" asked Y/n, looking at the giant curiously while holding his sausage.

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

Harry dropped the bit of sausage he was holding.

"Goblins?" he asked as Y/n bit into his sausage, savouring the taste.

"Yeah — so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry, Y/n. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe —'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly while Y/n got up and had a slice of his and Harry's birthday cake. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you — gettin' things from Gringotts — knows he can trust me, see."

"Got everythin'? Come on, then."

Harry and Y/n followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now, and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Harry asked, looking around for another boat. "Flew," said Hagrid. "Flew?" asked Y/n, awe visible in his voice.

"Yeah — but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh."

They settled down in the boat, Harry still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying, with Y/n bouncing in excitement.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Harry and Y/n another of his sideways looks. "If I was ter — er — speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," said Harry and Y/n, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry asked, clearly interested.

"Spells — enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high-security vaults―"

"―DRAGONS?!" squealed Y/n, making Hagrid jump back a bit, in shock at Y/n's outburst, while Harry just looked amused and shook his head at his twin. It was not a secret that Y/n loved dragons. Whenever they went to the library, Y/n would be taking out book after book about dragons and he practically memorized everything there was about them.

"Er, yeah," said Hagrid, clearing his voice before continuing. "And then yeh gotta find yer way — Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Harry sat, watching Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet, and turned his head towards his twin (who was still in awe at the mention of dragons). He learned early on from his Uncle that people liked to be left alone while they read their paper, so he tried to start a conversation with his brother when Hagrid muttered: "Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," and turned the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked, curiosity laced in his voice.

"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?" piped up Y/n, his brows furrowing on his forehead.

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country." Explained the giant.

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Why? Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

At this moment, the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Y/n couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Harry, Y/n? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"

"Hagrid," said Y/n, panting a bit as he ran to keep up, with Harry trailing behind him. "did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?" he asked, wanting to make sure that Hagrid wasn't lying about the subject. Ever since Y/n saw a book about Dragons at the library, they frequented, he always wanted one.

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd like one? Me too!" Hagrid turned his bushy head and smiled down at Y/n before answering. "Wanted one ever since I was a kid — here we go."

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes.' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as he called it, gave the bills to Harry and Y/n so they could buy their tickets. People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still got yer letters, Harry, Y/n?" he asked as he counted stitches.

Harry took the parchment envelope out of his pocket and handed Y/n his - who waved the parchment happily.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

"I know, I read it last night," said Y/n as his brother unfolded a second piece of paper he hadn't noticed the night before, and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore Magical Draughts 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

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials 1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS!!

"Can we buy all this in London?" Harry wondered aloud. "If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid. Y/n shared a look with Harry, who shrugged his shoulders.

Y/n and Harry had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Harry and Y/n had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys had cooked up? If Y/n and Harry hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of humor, they might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told them so far was unbelievable, and they couldn't help trusting him.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry or Y/n wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, both Harry and Y/n had the most peculiar feeling that only they and Hagrid could see it. Before either of them could mention this, Hagrid had steered them inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. Y/n's eyes took it all in. His feet were itching to run around the pub, a small smile spread across his lips - this place was amazing. His eyes landed on a few old women who were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in.

Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harry's shoulder and making Harry's knees buckle, while Y/n was still taking it all in.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry and Y/n, "is this — can this be —?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent, (finally) drawing Y/n's attention back to the present. His brows were furrowed in confusion and he turned his head to look at his brother, trying to figure out why all these people were staring at him and his twin.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry and Y/n Potter. .. what an honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes, making Y/n recoil back.

"Welcome back, Mister. Potter's welcome back."

Harry and Y/n didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at them, making Y/n a tad bit uncomfortable. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out, while Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry and Y/n found themselves shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter's. Can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter's. I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand — I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter's, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. Y/n looked over at the man and squinted his eyes in concentration, trying to figure out where he and Harry had seen him before.

"You bowed to me and Y/n once in a shop." The realization slapped Y/n in the face and he nodded his head. "That's right! I knew I remembered that top hat - very nice," he complimented, making Dedalus Diggle blush a bright red. "They remember!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? Harry and Y/n Potter remember me! And dear Y/n Potter complimented my top hat - take that Doris!"

Harry and Y/n shook hands again and again — Doris Crockford kept coming back for more. A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Y/n, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter's," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c- can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you." he said before grasping Y/n's hand, making Y/n look at the man with curiosity.

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" he asked, smiling at the man.

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P- Potter's?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry and Y/n to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on — lots ter buy. Come on, Harry, Y/n."

Doris Crockford shook Harry's hand one last time, making Y/n's eyes dance with mirth, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at Harry and Y/n.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh both you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh — mind you, he's usually tremblin'." That made Y/n sad for the poor professor. When he was younger, Y/n also had a terrible stutter that made him a target for bullies - mostly his cousin Dudley and their gang - and no one except Harry would stick up for him.

"Is he always that nervous?" he asked, a frown on his face.

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some first-hand experience. . . . They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where's me umbrella?"

"Vampires? Hags? Cool." thought Y/n.

Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up . . . two across . . ." he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry." Y/n grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him back as Hagrid tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella. The brick he had touched quivered — it wriggled — in the middle, a small hole appeared—it grew wider and wider—a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

Metanoia’s (Y/n) Sirius Potter “The Protector”.

Metanoia’s Draco Abraxas Malfoy “The Sliver Prince”.

“influencer” is such a sinister title. it’s got all the menace of “royal adviser” but none of the raw sex appeal.

The phrase "not all men" refers directly to Gomez Addams. That man has never disrespected a woman in his life.

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧: 𝙐𝙣𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙, 𝙐𝙣𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙, & 𝘼𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙙

Rain pelted against the windowpane of Malfoy Manor. A soft lull of the wind blew against the hundred-year sturdy walls. While the occupants slept soundly in their beds, a lone candle burned brightly in the library of the manor. Curled up in a winged-back chair, with her legs tucked under her, was a girl with silver eyes, (h/c) hair tucked behind her ears, and soft skin that warmed beneath the candle flame. The silver-eyed little girl bit her bottom lip softly as she turned the page of a scrapbook. Her eyes studied the moving pictures, almost as if she was memorising the figures' movement. As she turned the next page, she smiled softly. A picture of her father and her when she was very small.

Her father, Sirius Black, was a figure in her life that she barely knew. She was too young to really remember him before he was imprisoned. Too young to understand what was going on. Too young to remember. From what she could gather, through scraps of memories, she knew he smelt like leather, tobacco, motor oil, and firewhiskey. She knew he had the same silver eyes as her—eyes that were hard until they landed on her. The silver melted and became kind, warm, and soft. She remembered he liked to kiss her forehead.

The little girl didn’t know what he sounded like. She didn’t know if he called her affectionate nicknames. All she knew was one day, after putting her into bed at the small apartment they shared, after kissing her forehead, he left and never came back. He didn’t come back for her.

Men and a woman in weird robes carrying sticks came into her room, their gazes landing on her small figure. She remembered crying and holding onto her stuffed animal of a dog, Paddy. After the weird people took her away, she stayed with an old woman in green robes and had a tabby cat that slept with her when she napped. After a few days of staying with the old woman and her cat, the same people came and took her away. The next thing she knew was being dropped off at Malfoy Manor, into the arms of her father’s cousin and her husband. And ever since, she’s lived in their home, under their care and supervision. They were her guardians now.

Though she did love her cousin, Draco, she sometimes wished she could leave the lonely and cold walls of the Manor. She wanted to be scooped up into warm arms and held close. To be kissed and hugged, to spend time in the sun.

Draco’s parents weren’t warm, not like the parents she’s seen in the Wizarding and Muggle world. And at times, when she couldn’t sleep, she wondered. Was her father warm with her? If he was here right now, would he be warm and hold her close? Would tell her goodnight and warn off the nightmares? Would he come running if he heard her screaming instead of telling the house-elves to place silencing spells in her room so she didn’t disturb Draco or his parents?

She had questions. Questions that never would have answers.

Her father was a murderer. It was because of him that led to the murders of the Boy Who Lived’s parents. He murdered twelve muggles and the war hero Peter Pettigrew. He was in Azkaban and she was stuck in the dark house. Alone.

She didn’t know when tears started flowing from her silver pools, but they fell from her cheeks into the scrapbook. Onto the picture of her and her father, smiling at the camera as he held her in his arms, his eyes bright with laughter and love.

Underneath the photo, written in sloppy script, was:

Me and my little girl, April 1981.

~~~

“(Y/n)?” Someone was shaking her. She groaned, opening her eyes. Sunlight streamed into the library. The sound of birds tweeting and the smell of last night's rainstorm hung in the air. (Y/n) sighed and looked at her cousin. Draco wore a smirk on his face, and she noticed he’d already slicked back his hair with Otists' Hair Solution-Gel .

“You slept here?” Draco sneered at the chair she was sitting on. “Why’d you do that? Is the bed not comfortable enough for you? I’ll tell mother—I’m sure we can get you a new mattress that’ll suit you.”

(Y/n) shook her head, sitting up, stretching her arms over her head.

“No, my bed’s fine, Draco. I just fell asleep after reading, that’s all.” Draco sniffed at her explanation. His own grey eyes—the same colour as hers—narrowed before he shrugged his shoulders.

“Alright. If you say so.” Standing up from the chair, (Y/n) walked over to the library’s doors. “I’ll let mother know you’ll be down for breakfast in a few.” He sauntered off, leaving her in his invisible dust as he made his way to the dining room. (Y/n) yawned, trying to wake herself up, as she walked into her bedroom. The light blue walls greeted her, and she smiled softly at the french doors of her balcony.

Draco’s distinctive voice reached her ears when she walked down the stairs heading towards the dining room. As she grew near, she could hear him speaking about the newest Nimbus broom they recently released to the public. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Draco was obsessed with all things relating to Quidditch. Though (Y/n) never quite enjoyed the game, she did like flying. It was one of the few times she felt free. As if she could fly into the blue sky and bask in the rays of the sun warming her skin. It was when her soul felt light as a feather—no longer tied down to the weight of the world. She was free.

“Morning (Y/n), sleep well?” The voice of Narcissa interrupted (Y/n)’s train of thought. Blinking away the last remnants of her inner thoughts, she smiled and nodded her head at the blonde-haired witch.

“Good morning Aunt Cissa, and yes, I did. Until a blond goblin woke me up,” she snapped her head towards Draco, glaring at him. The blond vampire just snickered, shooting her smirk. In retaliation, she hissed at him.

Laughing, Draco rolled his eyes and (Y/n) went over to the vacant chair next to him.

“Prat,”

“Lazy witch,”

“Children,”

Together, Draco and (Y/n) shot apologetic glances to Narcissa. She raised a perfectly shaped blonde brow and had a gleam of mischief in her sapphire blue eyes. Narcissa was beautiful. Anyone had to admit that.

She was pale as a marble statue, always had perfect hair and posture, wore clothes deemed suitable for her station in Wizarding society. But she was beyond terrifying when angered. If Draco and (Y/n) feared Lucius’s punishments, Narcissa was a whole other battlefield. Like the mascot of her house, she was silent and quick as a snake. She always found the perfect moment to strike, and when she did, her strike was hard and true, sinking her fangs into your helpless skin, forcing the venom on her sharp fangs into your veins, paralysing you.

Yes, Narcissa Malfoy scared her.

As (Y/n) placed a waffle on her plate and spooned some berries onto the cooked batter, Narcissa cleared her throat.

“Draco, (Y/n), since you two have received your letters of acceptance from Hogwarts, today we're headed to Diagon Alley to pick up your supplies.” Draco would have shot up from his chair sprung up in the air like a monkey if his mother’s stern eyes weren’t on his person, daring him to lose his cool.

“And after, we’re going to be hosting the Parkinsons over for dinner,” At that Draco audibly groaned. (Y/n) patted his back sympathetically. She knew how troublesome and loony Pansy would get at times.

The loony girl was somehow convinced that she and Draco were to be married. When they were little, Pansy would always want to play wedding, which involved trying to kiss Draco—who in turn ran around the Manor screaming his little head off while (Y/n) and Theo watched on, confusion and annoyance in their eyes, before they continued speaking about the book they were reading.

“Must she come, Mum?” Draco asked, a whine in his voice. It was a good thing Lucius wasn’t present. He would’ve scolded Draco about it, claiming that Malfoy Men don’t whine like pathetic little simpletons, and Narcissa would snicker into her wineglass, while he gave her a glare. It seemed to be a private joke between them.

“Yes, dear. She is a part of their family. It would be quite rude to exclude her from the invite.” Draco sighed pathetically before nodding in defeat.

His grey eyes snapped to (Y/n).

“You better not abandon me like last time.”

(Y/n) smirked and laughed. “Why not? Last time, the outcome was hilarious. In fact, I want it to happen again.”

“(Y/n)!!”

~~~~

(Y/n) had only been to Diagon Alley a handful of times, but each time, it always made her buzzing with excitement and nervousness.

After being taken in by the Malfoy’s, the Daily Prophet made a whole ordeal about it; praising her cousin’s parents about how generous and gracious and how compassionate they were to take in a felon's abandoned daughter. Saints, they called them. All while they released story after story about their generosity and the story of her father’s imprisonment. When she was in public with Lucius and Narcissa, many witches and wizards would stare and point and whisper, talking all about the mass murderer Sirius Black and his daughter.

For a while, strangers would send her birthday letters wishing her a ‘Happy Birthday’ before saying how lucky she was to be raised in the Malfoy’s home and how she should be careful to not end up following in her father's footsteps.

It hurt. To only be reminded of her father's faults. Never his achievements or greatness. Just his crimes. Unwanted. Unloved. Fatherless. Abandoned. Neglected. Words to describe her and her relationship with her estranged father.

She assumed everyone in the Wizarding World—except muggle-borns–er, mudbloods—knew about her father and her. It was probably the reason Mr. Olivander never truly looked into her eyes—probably didn’t want to look in the eyes of the daughter of a mass murderer and supporter of You–Know–Who. He looked as if (Y/n) was You–Know–Who himself. It was the reason why she hid in the stacks of Flourish and Blotts, their last stop in Diagon Alley.

(Y/n) tucked herself into the bookshelves themselves, trying to find the titles she needed for Hogwarts before finding a few volumes to read for pleasure. Sliding down to the hardwood floors, (Y/n) tucked herself into a book about dragons and their cousins' wyverns.

Losing herself in the book of mythological creatures, she hardly noticed the figure coming closer and closer to her and her foot until she felt a thump against the shoe and the figure fell to the floor. She gasped at the sight. Books were scattered, and a boy, with shaggy black hair, was sprawled on the floor. Sprouting like a flower up from the ground, (Y/n) sprung into action.

“Oh, Merlin! I’m so sorry!” She apologised whilst picking up the pile of books. “I didn’t see you and I—well, I was reading a-a-and I was so lost in the story I sort of forgot where I was and—oh I’m so, so sorry.” She stacked the books into a pile while the boy groaned and rubbed his head, scrunching his messy black hair.

“Again, I’m so sorry. I thought I was out of the way, truly I did! I feel so terrible that I tripped you. Oh! Your glasses, right?” She scrambled over to where the boy’s glasses fell while he rubbed his chin. “Here you are, all fixed!” She placed—shoved, really—his glasses into the boy’s hands and smiled when he placed the frames back on his face.

Silver met Green.

All the colour drained from (Y/n)’s face, turning it into a pale complexion. She looked ghostly. Her eyes took in the appearance of the boy before her. Messy black hair, porcelain skin, black shorts that reached his knobbly knees, and a striped shirt with black suspenders holding up the shorts. But what she recognized most of all was the scar spanning down from his forehead, across his left eyebrow, down his temple, and stopped when it reached the top of his cheek. It was gruesome. It scared her. She knew him.

Before her stood the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter. The boy who saved the Wizarding World from He–Who–Must–Not–Be–Named. And her father had helped in the murder of his parents, sold them to his Dark Lord.

He must hate her. No. Despise her.

(Y/n) felt the surrounding room become small. She never had enough breath, no matter how hard she tried to compensate for the shortness of it in her lungs. She bet she had a sheet of sweat glistening on her skin as well.

Her hands shook at her side, and she unconsciously took her bottom lip into her mouth, sucking it and biting it hard. It drew blood. The tangy metallic taste flooded her taste buds.

“I—I—I,” She tore her eyes away from the boy, focusing on her Mary-Jane shoes as if she found those more interesting than him. (Y/n) didn’t know what to say or how to get out of this without running from him and causing a scene. Oh, the Prophet would love this. She could picture the headlines. Daughter of Mass Murderer Sirius Black meets The Boy Who Lived and a sparring match accrued between them in the stacks of Flourish & Blotts.

As if the forgotten gods heard her, Draco’s voice travelled up the stairs.

“(Y/n!) let's go!” (Y/n) turned her head towards the spiral staircase before looking back to the green-eyed monster before her. She whimpered before taking a deep breath.

“Again, I’m sorry. I…” She shook her head before striding to the staircase, leaving the victim of her father's crimes to glare at the place where she once stood, stuttering and whimpering. Pathetic.

Draco stood with Lucius, who was paying for their books when she remembered the dragon and wyvern book she’d abandoned.

“Ready?” Draco asked, smiling. He managed to convince Narcissa and Lucius to buy them both brooms—even though (Y/n) told him that first years couldn’t bring a broom or join the Quidditch team, Draco ignored her and was able to get the both of them the new Nimbus 2000s. They had plans to fly them after dinner with the Parkinsons, but seeing him had soured her stomach and day.

Did he recognize her? Did he know who she was? If he didn’t, he would. She was just as famous as him, but for a completely different reason. And when he found out about her father, he would hate her and they would be rivals. It was inevitable.

Next Chapter

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