Helena Potter and the Art of the Shadow

by sailor_pluto_retrograde

Summary:

Helena Potter knew three things in life.

1. She was a Freak.
2. Her name was Helena Potter.
3. Freaks deserved to be punished.

At all of seven years old, those were the foundational truths of her world. And finding out that None of those were actually true, well, shakes things up just a tiny bit.

Chapter 1: the girl who was supposed to die

Petunia and Vernon Dursley of house Number Four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal people, thank you very much. Vernon drove his perfectly normal car to his perfectly normal job, and Petunia went to her perfectly normal bookclub meetings for the other perfectly normal housewives in their perfectly normal neighborhood. They loved their perfectly normal son, Dudley, and they all fell asleep every night in their perfectly normal white picket fenced house.

On one such perfectly normal night at the end of October in 1981, as Petunia was tucking little Dudley into his cot and Vernon was busy finishing his beer in front of the telly, another family was having a not quite so perfectly normal night. There was an intruder, who was there to kill every person in their home. There was a small child, not much younger than the Dursley's own Dudley, also in their little cot for the night. There was a scream, and a bright, terrible green light, and then only the soft cries of an abandoned child in a half destroyed house in the middle of the night.

Not that the Dursleys were aware of this. Nor, mind you, would they have particularly cared, not yet at least. After all, Petunia hadn't spoken to her freak of a sister since she had unfortunately gone to her "wedding" (freak ritual facade, if you asked her) when she married that odd man and made a whole freak family. No, she was quite happy not even thinking about what abhorrent things her disgraceful sibling might be doing, thank you.

The next day dawned just as bright and terribly inevitable as each before it, and life in the Dursley household was perfectly, perfectly normal. Vernon hummed, and contempleted trimming his large mustache as he sipped his fresh coffee and read over the Tuesday morning paper. Petunia craned her thin neck over the sink in order to place her face at the best angle to see into Mrs. Number Three's kitchen between her gingham curtains. Dudley threw his cereal at the wall across from his highchair, out of boredom.

"Heh, lil tyke," chuckled Vernon. Folding up the paper and hoisting his large frame out of the creaking wooden chair, he turned to go grab his keys and wallet for work, entirely missing the large parliment of owls as it swooped past their front window. Petunia was busy wiping up the spilled milk and cheerios, and even famed animal lover and noticer Dudley was entirely distracted with bawling his eyes out because he had realized he was hungry again.

Pulling out of the garage, Vernon noticed a tabby cat sitting on his corner fence post with a peculiar intensity for a cat. He spent a few moments attempting to shoo it away, but the damned thing just stared at him, and so he went on his way. He almost could have sworn he saw it looking a map of all things between one blink and the next. Maybe he needed another cup of coffee.

Traffic was normal. The people wearing cloaks and dancing in peculiar circles that he glimpsed near the edge of town were most certainly not normal, but Vernon was content enough to grumble to himself about freaks with no self respect and carry on.

Work was perfectly, excellently normal. He got the chance to yell at five different people, and made several of what he considered incredibly important decisions. To celebrate, he walked across the street to get a bun from the nearest bakery.

The streets were... not exactly, perfectly normal. There were more of those freaks wearing strange clothing, and muttering to each other. He thought he heard something about "the Potters". Name sounded vaguely familiar, but there must be lots of people called Potter.

One of the freaks even stumbled into him, bloody touching him. Shook his hand and rambled damn nonsense at him. He returned to work disgusted, his appetite nearly ruined. But not fully. The cinnamon bun was quite good.

That damn cat was still on his fence post when he got home. Still wouldn't shoo. He grumbled to himself, and determined to take Petunia's broom to it if it was still there in the morning.

Speaking of the woman, she was busy chattering about the day's gossip. Apparently, Dudders learned a new word, Mrs. Number Five had burnt tonight's dinner, and there had been a downpour of shooting stars around 3 pm. Maybe people were celebrating bonfire night early.

Settling into bed that night, the Dursleys had already long forgotten about the strangeness of the day, content to leave it behind them and continue their perfectly normal lives.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was busy laying down a small child, wrapped in a thin pink blanket, on the cold stoop of Number Four, Privet Drive. A folded parchment letter was carefully balanced on top of the child, concerns were dismissed, and once again, the child was abandoned, alone in the cold of night.

Chapter 2: the vanishing girl

Notes:

No more dursleys pov ✨️ hope u like<3

Helena Potter had dreamed of nothing so often or so fervently as being wanted.

The fantasy of eyes that fell upon her fondly, hands that held her gently. Voices that spoke to her with kindness and affection. People who wanted her around.

In the past 6 years of life defined by the dusty, creaky, spider filled two-by-four foot closet-under-the-stairs at Number Four, Privet Drive, such ideas were as strange and fantastical as the dragons and gods and heroes in the stories she read at school. Her closet was not nice, or well decorated, and was in fact the smallest available confined space in the house. Even the little walk in closet in Petunia and Vernon's room was 9 inches longer. She had checked. Hers had an old brass sliding latch lock on the outside of the perfectly white painted four foot high door, which she shouldn't be able to open from the inside, and the ceiling was the tiered unfinished wood of the underside of the only set of stairs to the second floor of house Number Four, Privet Drive.

Despite these largely unideal attributes, Helena's closet was the only place in the world she currently felt safe. It's diminutiveness meant that only really Petunia could get far enough in to actually grab her when she was curled up in bed (although Vernon and Dudley made valiant efforts regardless). The dustiness and spiders made even Petunia reticent to regularly searching it for things she may have hidden, and as such the three library books hidden under the loose floorboard one to the right of her corner most bed post retained their relative security. Even the rough and angled undersides of the stairs held a certain appeal, somewhere she could prop up her feet when they started to feel tingly from laying in one place for too long. And the best part of all, it was blessedly dark.

It used to be a fairly well lit little closet, all things considered, the single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling all that the small space needed. Of course, that was during it's tenure as a functioning shoe closet, in the years of its existence before November 2nd, 1981.

In the closet's so far 6 year tenure as the questionable bedroom of one Helena Potter, the light bulb had only lasted a meager 3 months.

She couldn't remember the time when the lightbulb was bright and unbroken, but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon reminded her of it often enough. How she'd whine like a brat, how funny it was to watch her squirm. When they started talking about things like that it made her feel all jittery and tight inside, and she would often resort to unfocusing her eyes enough to where she could retreat to the safe haven inside her own brain, mindlessly completing her chores and nodding at the appropriate intervals in their ranting. She didn't actually have to listen, she just had to take it.

Her darling cousin Dudley, on the other hand, usually didn't bother with the talking part.

The heat of the midday summer sun sparked and burned across Helena's pale skin as she carefully angled the sheers to trim the hedge in front of her neatly. After years of practice in the garden, the hedges now came out perfectly squared off and flat on top almost every time (expect when she was simply too tired or hungry or thirsty, but the harsh metal end of Vernon's favorite belt had taught her the importance of keeping things perfect often enough). However, despite the time and apparent focus she gave to the task, her mind was elsewhere.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Times like this, with the early August sun beating furiously down on her head and shoulders, hours since Aunt Petunia had last let her gulp water out of the garden hose, she longed desperately for the dark, cool, quiet safety of her closet.

Sniiiiiiiiiiip. Snip.

How long left until Aunt Petunia let her back inside to make dinner? Or would she make her wait until Uncle Vernon got home, force her to take another lashing for "dillydallying"?

Snip. Snip snip.

Her seventh birthday had been midnight last night, and that meant double chores today. She had been allowed half a piece of toast and a glass of tap water after making breakfast, before starting her chores. She wasn't sure if it was from having breakfast for the first time this week, or if turning seven just made you feel peculiar, but she had been practically buzzing with energy. Even her chores taking up her time were too slow and menial to really spend all of her energy, and she was left feeling drained and frazzled all at once by the time the sun crept towards the tops of the western trees. By now, she was resigned to the fact that Aunt Petunia wasn't going to be letting her in, and she could practically hear the grind of Uncle Vernon's tires on the pavement of Privet Drive already. Counting down the seconds.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

"Y'know Piers, today feels like good day for HALLIE HUNTING!"

Bloody shite.

Helena dropped the shears in her hands, trying desperately to shake off the creakiness of having moved only very slowly for hours as she sprinted towards the back gate. Experience had proven the various tiny spaces between fences that the neighbors had constructed around each other would serve her small frame far better than the wide open streets, where Dudley and his friends would likely surround her. She just needed to be fast enough. She just needed to get away.

Heavy footsteps pounded on the grass and gravel behind her as she vaulted lithely over a bicycle. Sharp right to throw them off, put her running straight across Magnolia St for a few seconds of drastic vulnerability. They gained centimeters on her, but slipping back between white picket put her back on favored terrain.

Sliding under the low hanging branch of a tree, Helena scrambled towards the more densely wooded area behind the Williamson's large two story house. If she could find a tall enough tree, she could wait at the top until Dudley got hungry and left.

Just as she had decided on exactly which tree she was going to use this time, one of the holes in her oversized hand-me-down tshirt caught on a branch, ripping it cleanly apart, but not before it sent Helena tumbling to the ground.

Her breathing picked up as she fell, the sounds of Dudley and his insipid little goonies not far enough away to make "get up again and keep running" a viable option. She scrambled backwards, her palms scraping harshly against the rough roots below. She wouldn't be fast enough. The buzzing that had been slowly building underneath her skin all day was now at a fever pitch. She just needed. To get away.

She just wanted to be safe.

The setting sun almost blinded her as she squinted up at the approaching lumps. As Dudley's lumbering form eclipsed the sun behind him, she felt the panic and energy in her body coalesce together.

Every muscle in her body tensed, and her hands wrapped around her head and neck protectively. Her eyes screwed up, and her knees pulled up towards her chest. And suddenly, she was falling.

Her muscles were locked up too tightly for her to flail around despite her shock at the sudden free fall from the forest floor, but her eyes flew open.

She was plummeting through endless shifting grey shadows. She spun once, twice, cannon balling through shadows of different temperatures, smells, and shades. Vague whispers pulled at her from every direction, some comforting, some sinister.

Helena squinted her eyes shut again, overwhelmed and confused. She just wanted to be back in her cupboard.

The texture of her thin pink blanket against her cheek, and the smell of her cool, dusty, lovely closet were confusing, but delightful. She breathed in and out and rubbed her face against it for a few seconds to confirm before opening her eyes.

Darkness. Her muscles relaxed against the cot beneath her, and she stretched out to rest her right heel on the 5th step above her, sighing in relief. She still didn't know what the buggering hell just happened, but it was impossible not to relax the barest bit when she stole these modicums of safety.

Hmm. If she kept quiet enough, Aunt Petunia wouldn't really notice she was in here for a few hours at least, probably. Enough time for a quick power nap, likely. Helena's eyelids slid down once more, and she nestled herself under her blanket. Best birthday ever.

Notes:

Hiiii<3 ty for reading :3

Chapter 3: the family tapestry

Notes:

Little mini interlude chapter as a treat!✨️

Dozens of miles away from Number Four, Privet Drive, in an old, empty mansion, Arcturus Black III was very, very tired.

His wife was dead. His son, and his grandson, and his great-grandson, were dead. Two of his great-granddaughters were imprisoned for life with those wretched dementors, and no matter how hard he yelled at the Wizengamot those damned fools never bloody listened. He had given up leaving the house last year.

Sighing, he heaved himself out of bed, and reluctantly let Oti, his elf, help him get dressed for the day. Without words, they walked slowly to the west sitting room. He might not have enough magic left to apparate around the house like he used to, but damn it if he was giving up his morning routine.

He sank into his maroon velvet arm chair, gazing forlornly at the silver remains of his once bright golden family tree. He traced the silver threads of his dearest Melania, muttering a quiet prayer to Mother Magic for her spirit to have peace and happiness.

A tray of hot scones and apple jam floated over, oscillating around a steaming pot of tea and a carafe of sugar cubes. As they settled onto the table next to his chair, he snatched a sugar cube and popped it into his mouth, ignoring Oti's scolding tuts.

His eyes trailed absentmindedly along the threads of the tree as he munched on a scone. He almost choked on the damned thing in surprise at the bright spot of gold he suddenly noticed near the bottom.

Almost tumbling off of his armchair, he shuffled forward, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. There, it was really there. He rubbed his fingers against the letters, afraid to blink in case it disappeared. Siriana's name had been braided with James when they bonded, and now, beneath them, why hadn't he kept track of the years, but she must be old enough to recieve her inheritances now, and she was truly, truly there, and alive.

Helena Emer Potter-Black, 1980-

She looked just like her mother.

"Oti, help me to the study. I have a letter to write."

Notes:

Handy dandy living family tree<3

Chapter 4: the familiar

Helena considered a few beatings and three days locked in her cupboard for that freak stunt a fair enough trade off, all in all. They probably would've left her in longer, but it was particularly dusty out this time of year, and Aunt Petunia got tired of doing all the sweeping herself. She still didn't leave the house for another three weeks.

However, it wasn't acceptable to the image of Number Four, Privet Drive for Helena to miss school unless absolutely necessary (re: her skin was too damn black and blue), so come September 1st, Aunt Petunia threw her second-hand uniform shirt and pants into her closet, and reminded her that Dudders got extra bacon for the first day of school.

Helena practically leapt off of the bed with excitement, pulling on her clothes as quickly as possible. She crawled under her bed to retrieve her library books, stuffing them in her knapsack. It was one of Dudley's old ones of course, one he had burst nearly all the seams on by throwing it against various walls and trees. But the largest pocket was still mostly intact, and that was all she needed.

She left her knapsack in her closet as she cooked breakfast, no need to leave it in reach of a bored Dudley who wanted to incentivize her to make it faster. She was cooking as quickly as she could today, anyways.

As soon as the Dursleys were occupied with eating, she was slinking out the door, breathing a sigh of relief as she gradually let the knob turn closed. First, to drop off her library books, and then, she should have enough time to enjoy a stroll to school.

As she approached the public library, the dappling of sunlight and shadow from the trees above reminded her of the incident that had kept her inside for three weeks, lest she do something else freakish in front of the neighbors. What had she even done. How did she get home like that? Could she do it again? Maybe, but she'd likely be punished again. Could she go other places? How far away would she be able to go? What was that place that was... in between? Why hadn't it ever happened before?

*Ow!! Watch the tail, geez.*

Helena jumped, and looked around. There wasn't anyone for blocks, but she swore she just heard someone say... wait, did they say tail?

*Can you hear me, mini human? Why are you moving your head like that? Do you sense danger, hatchling?"

Looking down in surprise, she noticed a thin, bright green snake weaving on the pavement in front of her.

*What the buggering hell.* Helena muttered.

*Oh Great Mother! A speaker!! I can't believe i found a speaker!* The snake began to wind itself around her left ankle, to her slight alarm. She didn't want to injure the little thing by flinging it away from her, but she also really didn't want to get bitten. Bloody hell, the snake was talking to her. She could probably just ask, right?

*Um, Mr. Snake Sir, I apologize for stepping on your tail earlier. Are you going to bite me?* Helena inquired, feeling the snake hoist themselves over the worn hem of her uniform pants, and continue circling around her leg. She quivered slightly, but held perfectly still.

*Bite you?! Circe's mercy, of course I'm not going to bite you! I don't think I'm even venomous. Why would I bite a speaker?"

Helena relaxed, and decided to wait for a moment until the snake had settled itself around her arm, and he had very politely asked before sliding under her shirt, so that other people weren't startled by his presence. Suppose she had a snake friend now.

The snake was mostly silent, after getting over his "speaker shock". He would answer questions when asked though, and occasionally commented on their surroundings.

He confirmed that he was a boy snake, and said that he had never had a name. He was born in a clutch of many white eggs next to a creek one winter ago, and he had heard tales of speakers from other snakes. According to him, a speaker was a wix that could talk to snakes. A wix was different from a normal human, but all he actually knew about them was that they smelt funny and carried wooden sticks that smelt funnier. Helena didn't have any funny sticks on her (although she had admired a good stick or two in her day), but the snake assured her she was definitely funny smelling like a wix anyways. She wondered if maybe wix was the snake word for freak, but decided not to ask.

Helena stopped by a tree to make sure that the snake was sitting securely under her shirt sleeve, and smooth down her hair as much as possible, before she walked up the steps of the Little Whinging Public Library.

She slipped her books out of her backpack and into the dropbox, before walking inside. The warm lights and the smell of old books greeted her first, followed by the sight and cheery hello of Ms. Simms, the old lady who worked the front desk.

"Hello ma'am. Could you point me in the direction of some books on snakes?"

Twenty minutes later, Helena was surrounded by various herpetology books. She had figured out her friend was likely a grass snake, and researched what he ate, how to care for him, and what a terrarium for him should look like, if she managed to find one. The book currently open, however, was causing by far the most discourse.

*What, you don't like Phineas?* Helena questioned, attempting to repress a smirk.

Her friend gave what could only be described as a hiss of distaste. *No, I do not.*

*Hmm... how about K'uk'ulkan?*

*Eh, not quite me.*

*Fair enough. How about Nagendra? Means snake lord, apparently.*

*I don't know that I feel particularly lordly, to be honest*

*Me neither. What about Ophiuchus? Means snake bearer, and its a constellation!* Helena was trying to keep her voice down, because one, they were in a library, and two, she didn't know if anyone else could hear her when she spoke to the snake, and she didn't want anyone to think she was crazy. But really, she had to get to school eventually, and this was taking ages.

*Sounds more like it describes you than me, really.*

*Itzcoatl?*

*No thank you.*

*How about Astrit? It means green whip snake, or dragon!*

*Assssssssstrit. I like it,* he hissed, wiggling around on her arm a little.

*Amazing. Let's go.*

Notes:

Hiiiiii<3 thanks for reading! lmk what you think :3

Chapter 5: the meeting

Notes:

Hope u like!! :3

Helena rushed through the hallway, just barely not running. The green apple and carton milk that Ms. Thompson, the cafeteria lady, had handed her under the counter right before the first bell rang were bouncing around in the bottom of her backpack, and Astrit was hanging onto her arm for dear life as she briskly walked up to the doorway of her classroom. She stopped to take one solid breath and run her fingers through her hair before opening the door, stepping inside just as the second bell rang.

Blushing, she scurried over to her desk, ignoring Dudley's obnoxious bloody smirk. They didn't know who was teaching them this form, but if they were anything like Mrs. Jennings from last year who had absolutely detested tardiness, then Helena was about to get it first thing on the first day. That was why Uncle Vernon went to all the trouble of driving Dudley to school before work every morning.

"Miss Potter? Could you join me outside for a moment?"

Bugger.

Helena hung her head, and picked her bag back up, trudging towards the front again. She could feel her heart racing, and her mind reached for any excuse, but how was she supposed to explain that she needed to spend half an hour in the library before class finding the right name for her new snake who was, mind you, currently on her person.

The teacher, who Helena finally looked up to see, was a willowy woman with honey blonde hair and cat eye glasses over her brown eyes. She was wearing a light pink blouse and a dark brown pencil skirt, and Helena thought she looked like the kindest person she had ever seen.

After the door closed behind them, the teacher knelt down to be face to face with Helena.

"Miss Potter, the Headmistress has notified me that there's a representative from the bank here to see you. You're not in trouble, you just need to go to the Headmistress' office to talk to them, alrighty?" Her slight Scottish accent informed her. Helena felt her face fall open in relief and confusion in equal measure.

"Huh?"

"Do you know where her office is, love?" The teacher, who's name she still didn't know, rose, poking her head into the classroom across the hall "I'll walk you there, worry not. Lila, could you watch mine for a bit? Brill, I'll be right back."

They walked through the halls of St. Grogory together in silence. Helena was still pondering why a bank representative was here to talk to her of all people. No one ever wanted to talk to her, much less important people who had important jobs like working at a bank. They had things to do that mattered. What if she somehow owed money to the bank that she hadn't known about? Was she going to be arrested?

Her teacher pushed the wooden doors open to reveal Headmistress Roemmele's secretary, Jason, sitting in his polo shirt and khakis behind his desk, twirling a pen. He looked at Helena with the usual thinly veiled disdain, and she barely restrained her responding sneer. She was thankfully distracted by turning to the right and seeing two people in black suits. One was taller, and leanly muscled, golden eyes striking against her pure silver hair. Her olive skin was criss-crossed with scars, and she lounged with apparent ease across the bright plastic chairs lining the wall. The other person was considerably shorter, thickly muscled, and had forgone sitting entirely, leaning up against the wall next to his partner. He had short brown hair, combed fashionably, and a stern expression. They both returned Helena's gaze, and the woman stood in one fluid motion just as the double doors on the other side of the room flew open.

"Hello, hello, delighted to meet you both!" Headmistress Roemmele bustled forward, nearly knocking a cup of pencils off Jason's desk in her rush to greet the bank representatives. They both shook her hand silently, unresponsive to her continual jabbering, and the woman neatly sidesteped around her to lead the way deeper into the office. Headmistress Roemmele was clearly confused, but followed after her, and her partner waved Helena and her teacher after them, following up behind them. Once they were all in the office meetingroom, the man closed the door behind them, and took the chair closest to the door, which was really not helping the "potentially about to be arrested" concerns. She was at least grateful to have her teacher there with her.

The bank representatives sat across the table from each other, and each opened a black, thickly scaled leather briefcase, pulling out papers and setting them on the table.

"Miss Potter, it has recently come to our attention at Gringotts that certain matters were not properly handled in the wake of your parents death. We would like to have these sorted as quickly as possible, however, your privacy is also of our utmost concern, and such personal matters are not usually discussed publicly," at this, the woman's eyes slid over to her teacher and the Headmistress, eyeing them critically. "Additionally, some documents can only be signed on Gringotts property, due to bank policy."

"Where did you say this bank was, again?" Helena's teacher piped up from her seat next to her.

"Our location is located in London, ma'am," the shorter man said, speaking for the first time in a shockingly deep voice. He slid a card to Helena, her teacher, and the Headmistress, and his set of papers to Helena, before closing his briefcase. His partner separated her papers into two stacks and handed one to each of the older women. Helena quickly slid her papers into her binder in her knapsack, determined not to crease new bank documents by carrying them around. She could read them in her cupboard later.

"Given our previously stated concerns, we would like to meet with Miss Potter and her guardians at Gringotts at their nearest convenience," the woman said, closing her briefcase. "Of course we do not wish to pull you from your schooling, so we have given you a letter communicating this information to your guardians. The hours and address of our London location are enclosed, as is the name of your account manager, and the matters which we hope to clear up. Both of you have slightly redacted versions of this letter, of course."

Both her teacher and the Headmistress nodded numbly, seemingly as overwhelmed by the bank representatives as Helena was. They both stood, and the short man opened the door and held it for all of them, and the woman walked out last behind them.

"Farewell, Miss Potter. We appreciate your time," the man said, before they turned and walked out of the Headmistress' office.

Headmistress Roemmele placed her papers on Jason's desk absentmindedly before walking into her office, and shutting the door. Helena's teacher looked around for a moment before seeing her, and seeming to almost startle.

"Alrighty then, let's just... yes, we best get to class now," she said, placing one hand on Helena's shoulder. Involuntarily, Helena flinched out from under her hand, and her teacher looked at her for a moment before pursing her lips. Her eyebrows were knit in concern, but she took a shaky breath and continued walking forward without comment. They exited the heavy wooden doors, and walked back down the hallway.

Helena's teacher paused again just before the classroom to kneel down to face her again. "Dearie, I just want to let you know... if you ever need anything, I'm here for you."

Helena nodded trepidatiously. She liked her teacher this year, but it was odd to think of anyone helping her. And she said anything, but did that extend to snakes?

The teacher sighed, before nodding and standing up. She opened the door, and Helena scrambled inside, heart pounding at the thought of the bank documents in her bag. She sat at her desk with blank eyes and energy buzzing under her skin, internally ticking down the minutes until she could read them tonight. She was entirely blind to Dudley's jeering and poking at her, mind too enrapt in the conversation in the Headmistress' office. Things that hadn't been resolved after her parent's death? Did that mean she could have an inheritance? What if it was too late to claim it? What if she only had a few days left to claim it, and Aunt Petunia wouldn't let her go to London and locked her in her cupboard instead?

"Hello class, thank you for being patient. My name is Ms. Bloomfield, and today we'll be going over spelling and practicing reading aloud!"

Notes:

Lmk if you're catching the lowkey Matilda refs lol<3

Chapter 6: the nest problem

Notes:

sorry this one took a minute! hope you like it!<3 ✨️

Astrit managed to avoid notice for the entire school day, but Helena was becoming increasingly worried that Dudley or someone would grab her by that arm and create an incident. Her bank documents were burning a hole in her knapsack, and she could tell by the way good ol' Dudders was eyeing her with glee that he was gonna tell his mum that she had been called to the Headmistress' office as soon as humanly possible.

There was no way Uncle Vernon was driving her to London, regardless of what the letter from the bank representatives said. Especially not for anything involving her "good for nothing drunkard" parents, as he would say. The bus could be an option, but she'd have to scrounge up Dudley's discarded change to make it there and back. Maybe not back, necessarily.

And then there was whatever it was she had done last month. One moment, she was on the forest floor, cowering beneath the invetibility of her cousin's fists. And in the next...

Helena didn't know what that place was. She didn't know how she'd gotten home that day, and frankly, the more she thought about it, the more it scared her. She had no clue how to control it, or if she could even do it again. Could it take her different places, or was it a one way ticket back to her closet? Maybe it had been the patch of forest floor she was on that was special. She could try to go back and find it?

The final bell rang, startling Helena from her reverie. She watched Dudley shoot out of his seat and scuttle towards the door with speeds she had frankly never seen from him before. It was mildly impressive. Slowly, she picked up her own knapsack, and trudged towards her fate.

They did her the courtesy of not making her walk with them back to Privet Drive, striding out of the parking lot just as Helena walked through the front doors. Aunt Petunia would hardly want to be seen picking up a delinquent brat like her anyways. It honestly couldn't matter less if all of Little Whinging already knew Helena lived with her aunt and uncle, it was the principal of the matter.

Helena took the long way back to Privet Drive, unwilling to rush towards the beating she was going to recieve when she got there, and unable to force herself to on the slight chance that not making Aunt Petunia wait would make her more merciful. Helena was just. So. Tired. Even walking hurt.

*You smell morose, hatchling. What devours your mind?*

*Huh? Astrit, what does that even mean?*

*Hmf. Its a very common saying, really. When one is troubled by the threat of predators or illnesses before they appear, the threat is devouring the mind rather than the body. Obviously,* he hissed, wiggling around her arm for emphasis.

*Oh. Well, I suppose my cousin, aunt, and uncle might as well be devouring me mind and body at this point. By the way, you'll have to get off my arm before we get there, but I could put you in my knapsack and leave the top a little open so you won't be stuck. You'll be safer in there.*

*What in the Great Mother's scales are you talking about? Safer not with you? Are your nestmates the threat you speak of hatchling? I'll bite them!*

*Astrit, you're not even venomous. And you're not biting my relatives. They'd try to kill you. And then beat me more for bringing a snake in the house.*

*WHAT?* Helena hadn't known a snake could sound shrill. *Your nestmates BEAT you? I'll kill them! I don't care if I'm venomous or not, I'll figure it out!*

Helena chuckled softly, feeling odd and jittery but warm. She knew she couldn't tell other people about how the Dursleys treated her, and she had stopped trying a while ago. But the fact that Astrit was a snake just made it easier, if still terrifying. And the way he was reacting to it made her feel... cared for. It was strange.

*Don't worry about it, I'll be fine. 'Sides, its not their fault, I'm the freak living in their house.*

*Alright, first of all, no, and second of all, also no. Why are we even going there if your nestmates are so terrible? We should find a better nest!*

*There's nowhere else to go. My parents are dead, Astrit. I don't have anyone else.*

*You're seven winters old, yes? That's plenty! We could go live on our own!*

*Maybe. Even if we leave, we have to go back first though. There's a few things I want to take with.*

Astrit gave what she could only assume was the snake version of grumbling, but acquiesced to climbing into her knapsack before they reached Number Four. As Helena watched his thin green body wind slowly off of her arm, she spied her binder inside. Depending on what the people at the bank were talking about, maybe they could go find a better nest. Home. Whatever. Helena decided it was official, she was finding bus fare to London.

Thin, shaking fingers gripped the doorknob of Number Four. She could hear Aunt Petunia doting on Dudley inside. She set her jaw, and slowly twisted the knob open.

"Oh, does my liddle Dudders want some more ice-cream for being such a good boy at school toda- Finally decide to come back, did you, delinquent little brat?", Aunt Petunia spun to face her as soon as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "Well? Answer me, freak!"

"Yes Aunt Petunia", Helena mumbled, her heart choking up her throat with fear.

"Speak up!"

"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia. Yes, Aunt Petunia."

"Sorry? You're going to be sorry, freak. Called to the Headmistress' office first thing on the first day of school in front of your entire class? Were you so bloody lazy you couldn't drag yourself to school fast enough?"

"It wasn't because I was-"

A sharp crack bounced between Helena's eardrums, and she felt the muscles in her neck twinge from twisting so fast before she really processed that Aunt Petunia had slapped her. The back of her head bounced against the door behind her, and she stumbled slightly, but luckily didn't fall to the floor.

"Don't talk back to me, you stupid trollop," Aunt Petunia grabbed her hair by the roots and dragged her down the hallway. At the end, past a Dudley enrapt in consuming his double chocolate brownie swirl ice-cream, she flung Helena's thin body into the kitchen, grabbing the rolling pin she had been using to make biscuits.

"I'll teach you to embarrass me like that!"

Helena threw her arms over her head just in time, feeling the impact rattle the bones in her arms and shoulders.

"Just like your stupid trollop mother! Niether of your should ever have been born! Everyone would've been much happier that way!"

Helena scuttled backwards, pressing her shoulders up against a corner in the kitchen cabinets, attempting to guard her knapsack without being obvious about it.

Aunt Petunia took a few more swings before her anger subsided, and Helena sighed in relief as quietly as she could. Aunt Petunia spent a few moments panting and sneering down at her, before she threw the rolling pin at her niece.

"Finish making the biscuits. Duddy and I are going to watch the telly, but don't even think about slacking off."

Helena nodded silently, clutching the rolling pin as her forearms throbbed. She was biting her tounge, but succeeding in not crying. Standing slowly, she set down the rolling pin and dusted herself off before pulling the step stool out to the counter where the biscuits were in progress. She kept her knapsack on her shoulders as she finished rolling out the biscuits, and cut them out, placing them on a tray and sliding them into the luckily already preheated oven. She watched the clock carefully until exactly fifteen minutes had passed before pulling them out. Resting them carefully onto the stove top, Helena turned the oven off with her other hand, and sighed in relief to see she hadn't burned them this time. She put her step stool away as quietly as possible before creeping slowly down the hall towards her closet.

Helena watched the lights of the telly play on the wall in front of her as she avoided each creaky floorboard. She heard Dudley and Aunt Petunia giggle madly at possibly the most banal joke she had ever heard, and held her breath as she slid the latch to her closet door open. The latch rested open, and Helena slowly pulled it open just enough for her to slide herself inside, pulling it closed by the bottom of the door. Helena closed her eyes, and her eyebrows furrowed together. She held her breath, and felt her muscles wind together as the strange buzzing grew tighter over her skin. She heard the brass latch on the outside of the door slowly lift, slide over, and fall back against the door before her breath released, muscles unwinding. The strange static arched through her, and she shivered, standing up and shaking out her fingers. She set her knapsack down on her cot carefully, opening the zipper.

*Astrit? Are you alright in there?*

*Circe's mercy. Your nestmates seem demented. When do we get to leave?* His little head poked out of the opening first, tounge flickering around for a moment before he heaved himself out of her knapsack and onto the cot, weaving himself through some of the holes in her old pink blanket.

*Soon, I promise.* Helena crawled underneath her cot to open up the loose floorboard. She gritted her teeth at the feeling of swiping through cobwebs, but pulled out her little green army men, and the Raggedy Ann doll she had found on the sidewalk a couple years ago. She brushed the dust and cobwebs off of them before carefully placing them in the bottom of her knapsack. Astrit slithered back onto her arm as she folded up her worn blanket, and put it on top of her toys. Lastly, she grabbed the paper sign she had folded to stand on its own above the doorway, collapsed it, and slid it into her bag. After tonight, this was no longer Helena's room.

To pass the time, Helena took out her binder and tried to read her bank documents. She didn't know what a lot of the words they used meant, but some she recognized from Uncle Vernon talking about business deals at Grunnings, like "investments", "assets", and "property holdings", which just sounded promising.

BAM!

Speak of the devil.

The front door of Number Four bounced forcefully against the wall, and Uncle Vernon bellowed for his dinner. Helena thanked Circe or whoever for the biscuits she had finished earlier, which should satiete him enough until Aunt Petunia could finish making him more food. Enough for them to not think too hard about when exactly they had put Helena in the closet for the night. Afterall, the door only latched from the outside.

By the time Uncle Vernon was downing the last dribbles of his 5th beer, Helena had nearly fallen asleep multiple times, and had read her bank documents front to back at least 6 times. As he heaved himself out of his armchair and clicked the power button on the telly remote, Helena's breath caught in anticipation. She closed her binder, and quietly slipped it into her knapsack, closing the zipper around her meager personal possessions. Slipping the straps onto her shoulders, she checked that Astrit was awake and secure underneath her shirt sleeve, just in case.

Uncle Vernon's thundering steps shook dust down from the rafters supporting the stairs above her, and Helena counted seconds into minutes as he slowly went through his nighttime routine, before finally climbing into bed. She waited what felt like ages until a third tone joined the chorus of snoring in the house, before she knelt down and opened her closet door.

She closed it as carefully and quietly as she could, breathing a silent sigh of relief when no one came pounding down the staircase to catch her. First stop, the sofa. She slid her fingers in between the cushions, fishing out 5p, 2p, two 10p, and a whole 2£ coin!! . She was a bit worried they were going to have to find Uncle Vernon's wallet, but luckily for her, Dudley lost his allowance more often than he spent it. She stowed the cash in her one good pants pocket, and crept carefully towards the front door.

She stood just to the side of the door, and placed one trembling hand on the knob. Practically hyperventilating, she stared up the stairway, waiting for any sound or sign of movement, before she slowly twisted the knob, hearing each mechanism click with unbearable loudness. The door cracked open with a deafening pop, and Helena paused, waiting, before she slid the door open only the barest amount she needed to to wiggle through it. Once outside, she nearly slammed it shut in relief, but caught it in time to shut it slowly and quietly. She let go of the door handle, standing there staring at it for a moment. She was out.

She turned, and pressed her back against the door of Number Four, Privet Drive, staring out into the night. Moonlight bathed her face, and she felt her legs tremble as relief flooded her body. No time for that, though. She tightened the straps on her backpack, and started running

Notes:

lmk what you think!<3

Chapter 7: the bank

Notes:

Changed Helena's family gifts a tiny bit!

The fact that Gringotts had listed their hours as 24 hours a day, 6 days a week, was extremely convenient to Helena, if a bit odd for a bank. Perhaps it was because they were a London bank.

They had very kindly included some very well detailed, if perhaps strange, directions for reaching the bank, which was in something called the Diagon Alley district of London. They were directions for traveling by car, but Helena figured she could probably just bus to London and then figure it out from there. She had read her documents often enough to memorize the directions, and left them stowed safely in her binder inside her knapsack as she ran all the way to Main St. before pausing to catch her breath.

Glancing around, she took off down the right towards the Little Whinging Transit Center. Throwing her entire body weight against the push-open door, she nearly fell in a pile of limbs on the floor inside, but caught herself at the last moment. She snapped straight up with nearly alarming speed and breathless lungs, but a smile on her face. Shuffling over to the ticket sale counter, she desperately gulped down air, attempting to even her breath.

"Hello sir! May I please have a two way ticket to London?" Two way tickets were always less suspicious.

The man behind the counter squinted down at Helena, and she gave her best, blindingly bright smile in his general direction, squinting her eyes closed for effect. She had learned a long time ago that a lot of adults were willing to ignore most things if you smiled widely enough.

"Hmf. That'll be 1£ and 40p, young lady. Awfully small to be traveling alone, aren't ye?"

Helena carefully withdrew the 2£ coin and reached up to slide it through the partition. "I'm meeting my aunt in London, sir. She went to see a show tonight, and decided she wants me to come see it with her at the matinee tomorrow."

He peered at her for a moment longer, his grey pushbroom mustache ruffling, before he accepted her cash, placing it in the register and printing her a ticket. He slid it reluctantly through the partition to her, and thin eager fingers snatched it, she walked as calmly as she could towards the opposite doors.

She slipped outside, and found the correct bench for the London bus, and sat, practically buzzing with excitement. Every time she spied headlights getting closer, her head snapped to stare at them until she could tell they were either a car, or a different bus.

By the time the Surrey to London bus stopped at the Little Whinging station at 12:30am, Helena had resorted to actively propping her eyelids open with her fingers in order to stay awake. All the running from earlier had worn her out once she sat down, and she no longer had the energy to swing her head around looking at each car and bus as they slowly passed her. Finally, with the screech of unreplaced brakes, Helena's bus ground to a halt in front of her.

Breathing in so quickly she almost choked, Helena leapt to her feet, standing directly in front of the door before it opened. Embarrassingly, she had to move out of the way of a few people getting off, but then, she stepped onto the glowing red double decker bus.

Astrit hissed a sigh of relief at the warmth of the air inside the bus, and Helena quickly chose a seat in the back corner, as far away from the door and stairs as she could get.

The bus ride lasted a couple hours, and Helena watched as a scant few other travelers cycled on and off the bus at various stops along the way.

"WATERLOO STATION," the automatic voice said over the roar of the engines. Helena skidded to a halt in front of the doors just as the bus paused, the mechanical doors opening.

The brisk night air rifled through Helena's hair as she stepped into the night, taking in her surroundings. Quickly, she realized she had absolutely no clue where she was. Striding towards the nearest newsstand, she traded a map for one of her 10p coins, and dashed through a few scarcely lit alleys until she found an unoccupied phone booth. She leaned against the inside of the door and opened up her map, tilting it back and forth to catch different areas under the meager lighting as she read. After peering out to find the nearest street signs a few times, and turning the map upside down more than twice, she folded it back up, and set back off into the night.

The flickering streetlamps and winding roads would have undoubtedly been less ominous and potentially dangerous if she had attempted this during the day, but Helena felt an inexplicable comfort in the midnight shade. She was unsure she would've been able to gathered the courage to really, truly leave if she had waited for morning.

Finally, Helena found herself in front of a dingy pub, its cracked cauldron shaped sign confirming her suspicions that this was the right place. The bell over the door rang as she pushed it open, striding up to the bar with her jaw set.

"Hello sir. I'd like to get through to Diagon Alley, please," Helena stated quietly. Her bank documents seemed deceptively simple when it came to these steps, and she was still partially concerned that the barkeep would tell her he had no clue what that was, and to leave.

A tall man with very few teeth set down the glass he was polishing, leaning over the counter to peer down at her.

"Blimey, ain't ye a bit wee to be wandering about alone at this hour?"

Helena gulped, and unbidden, an excuse she had never once used in Little Whinging sprung past her lips. "My mum and dad are waiting for me, sir. At the bank. Gringotts."

It was stuttered, and awkward, and very nearly the truth, but the barkeep accepted it with a jerky nod, and walked out from behind the bar. He strode down a hallway, and Helena scurried after him, and out the back door behind him. The alleyway behind the pub was plain brick, with a few trash bins in the corners. She had a few moments to wonder if this was all a joke, or perhaps a trap, before the man pulled a peculiarly carved stick from his sleeve, and tapped it along the bricks in a pattern Helena did her best to memorize. To her amazement, the bricks peeled back, one after another, until an opening tall enough for the barkeep to pass through stood in their wake.

Helena did her best to keep the wide eyed staring to a minimum as she scampered through the archway, but she had never seen another freak before. Someone else who could do the terrible things she could, the kind that made Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia have to beat her and lock her in her closet away from the normal people.

She froze standing on the other side of the archway, staring at the barkeep of the Leaky Cauldron in anxiety and awe. He gave her a jaunty wave as the bricks curled back together, and Helena felt her hand raise numbly in a jerky response.

Her breath fogged in the air in front of her, illuminated by the moonlight against the now closed wall. She swallowed roughly, and turned decisively towards the left, marching between colorful and unevenly stacked buildings that towered on either side of her. Some seemed impossibly thin, or improbably short, but as they were almost entirely closed, she was saved from the distraction of trying to figure out exactly how they worked on the inside. For now.

As promised in her bank documents, the cobblestone street came to a y-intersection after a few hundred meters, making a wide area framed by flag bedecked carts and trolleys. And there, in the middle of everything, stood the marble behemoth that was Gringotts.

Helena did her best not to gape at the large gleaming marble collumns framing the doors of the bank as she approached, feeling particularly grimy and small in comparison. She almost felt guilty standing on the shining, nearly slippery steps in her worn, mud stained shoes, holes on both revealing her too big socks underneath. But no one else was around, and the guards were eyeing her intensely, but not judgementally.

The guards in question were two shorter people standing on either side of the wide double doors, holding very tall and very sharp looking polearms in casual though not relaxed grips. The one on the right had thin white hair, while the one on the left was bald, but they both had knobbly knuckles on their very long fingers, and endless black eyes that noted and examined her as she stood some feet away, observing. They looked almost nothing like the bank representatives she had met at school, but she felt an eerie sense of similarity between them and the shorter of the two representatives she had met at school, and it wasn't just the height.

After a moment, the doors slowly glided open by themselves, and Helena nodded to each of the guards before delicately stepping forward, internally feeling a need to contain dirt and dust that covered her to her own body when entering such an important place.

Vast arched marble halls, detailed with fine engravings she could barely make out surrounded her, lined by dark wood teller stations on either side. Though few people were interested in doing business at this hour, Helena quickly realized she was far from the only client present. Most were adults, some of whom peered at her curiously, but some were children like her. Of course, all of them were there with at least one adult, which Helena was missing. Hopefully they didn't require a guardian's signature for anything she needed.

Helena swallowed roughly, and slowly approached a teller stand with no one else standing in front of it, walking as close as she could until she could barely see the teller over the lip of the desk, and halted, peering up at them silently.

"Greetings, child. What business do you have with Gringotts today?" The person in front of her said in a deep and gravely but not unkind voice, leaning forward to peer back down at her over his desk. The nameplate perched to the right identified him as Sharpclaw.

"Hello, sir. I'm here to speak with my- my account manager."

Sharpclaw nodded, glancing behind her offhandedly as he scratched into the ledger book in front of him. "Your name, child?"

"Helena Potter, sir"

The scratching of quill on paper paused briefly, and Helena saw Sharpclaw's eyes flicker to her, then around behind her again, before he began writing rapidly on a thin strip of paper. Once he had finished writing, the paper folded itself into little triangles over and over again until it seemed to vanish into nothingness.

Before it even disappeared, Sharpclaw went back to writing out a line in his records book, and then folded his hands in front of him. "Well, Miss Potter, would you be willing to undergo an inheritance test to verify your identity?"

Helena nodded. She remembered her documents mentioning that an inheritance test would likely be administered, not that she particularly knew what that entailed. Astrit was too busy weaving himself into her hair to provide much comment, but she wasn't particularly concerned as she followed Sharpclaw through the vast main lobby, and deeper into the bank. Since she had gone through the strange archway behind the bar, the energy running over her skin had been buzzing pleasantly, and the further she walked inside the bank, the more it felt like it was singing, not buzzing. She was still trembling from the combination of sleeplessness and the looming fear that this was the most hugely half-baked numbskulled plan of all time, but her steps were starting to land more solidly on the ground as she walked, the sound of her footsteps joining those of Sharpclaw in echoing up and down the halls.

Helena followed Sharpclaw down several winding marbled corridors, occasionally intermitted by obsidian and silver embossed oak doors with various name plaques affixed to them. He halted in front of one of them, which read Steelhead, and traced a finger over a curved symbol in the center of the door. The rune lit up silver for a moment, before the door glided open on silent hinges to reveal a beautifully appointed office.

Obsidian slab walls were framed by bookshelves filled to the brim with ancient looking tomes in multiple languages, very few of which she recognized. Some of the shelves held sharp, well oiled weapons, and some ticking instruments whose purpose she couldn't discern. One wall housed a large fireplace. The floor was tiled various colored marble in intricate mosaic patterns, mortared in some unfamiliar smooth black paste. In the center, framed on three sides by filing cabinets, was a large dark oak desk. It held a small focused lamp over a black leather mat, atop which three differently feathered quills were laying in little leather holsters, and a thick manila folder was open, in the midst of being read, several of its like sitting to one side. The person sitting in the large dark oak and red velvet plush chair behind the desk was, upon first impression, blindingly bald.

Steelhead's moniker-maker was evident, and framed by thin rectangular spectacles which sat on the bridge of his nose, his bright charcoal eyes looking at her inquisitively over them. His knobbly fingers didn't cease in writing in the notepad beside him as he gave her a sharp toothed grin, nodding at her to enter.

Sharpclaw gestured her forward, and she carefully walked over the beautiful stone, posture as straight as she could bear. Steelhead waved her towards one of the two beautiful matching dark oak and red plush low backed chairs on either side of his desk. Sharpclaw bowed first to Steelhead, who inclined his head, and then Helena, who attempted to curtsy in return on pure instinct.

He grinned at her, and exchanged a look with Steelhead before walking back toward the main lobby. Helena sat herself carefully onto the chair she had been allocated, and met Steelhead's eyes while folding her hands in her lap.

"Miss Potter, you've consented to perform an inheritance test in order to verify your identity, correct?"

Helena nodded silently.

"Noted. Please be informed, this is not your only means of identity verification available at Gringotts at the future, however you are not yet of Hogwarts attendance age, and there was no wand registered on your person in the entrance wards, so I presume that you are unable to provide us your wand at this time," Steelhead informed her.

Helena's eyes widened slightly at the idea of her having a wand of all things. Were those the funny smelling sticks? Was she supposed to have one?

"No wand," she managed to confirm with a jerky nod.

Steelhead nodded, and opened a drawer to his right, retrieving a small black case with a crest she couldn't quite make out embossed into the top. Clicking open the clasps, he retrieved a roll of parchment tied with a black ribbon, a quill made of long shining raven feather, and a silver filigree dagger with French words engraved down the center. He placed them in front of her on his desk.

"Prick either of your middle fingers with the athame, squeeze a drop onto the tip of the quill, and then place the quill tip against the center of the ribbon. Your finger should heal on its own," he instructed.

Helena nodded, holding the dagger like it was a kitchen knife, and pressed it carefully into the skin of her left middle finger. The moment it broke her skin, she felt an icy, thrilling, purifying sensation rush over her body, and watched in awe as the dirt stuck permanently underneath her fingernails from endless hours in Aunt Petunia's garden, with her only cleanliness being sprayed down by the garden hose and left to dry before she was allowed inside, just, disappeared. She felt softer and more comfortable all over, and the buzzing inside her skin had become electrified with joy and a foreign sense of belonging.

"Wicked," she whispered, staring at the blade in awe. Gathering herself with a few deep breaths, she set the athame down carefully, before her fingers wrapped around the midnight black quill, placing the tip against her finger and transferring the single drop of blood from it to the knot of the black ribbon.

The blood turned blinding silver the second it made contact with the ribbon, and raced lightning fast in silver threads to stitch the words Toujours Pur in the ribbon, matching the dagger. The black ribbon, silver thread motto still inscribed, untied and unwound from the parchment, and twisted around itself into the air. It continued twisting and spinning, seeming to compress itself into a solid shiny black ring. It fell to the table infront of her, and trembling fingers grasped it gently at Steelhead's urging. She noted it had the same French inscription embossed on the inside of the ring, and the longer she held it the more she could feel a slow, deep pulse emanating from it. It felt just as familiar as the rush from the dagger had, if less intense. She instinctively slid it onto the middle finger she had pricked earlier, and felt it buzz and tighten until it fit comfortably.

"Congratulations, Heiress Black. Now, I believe your inheritance test results are ready," Steelhead told her. Helena looked down and realized that the parchment had unrolled before her while she was captivated with the ring, and was now filled with inky black text, the very edges of which faded from dark silver to black as she watched.

HELENA EMER POTTER-BLACK

Date of Birth: 31st July 1980

Parents:
Biological mother: Siriana Orionia Potter-Black
Biological father: James Fleamont Potter-Black
Carrier: Lily Anne Lupin née Evans
Blood adopted father: Remus John Lupin

Godparents:
Godmother: Bellatrix Nymphadora Lestrange née Black
Godfather: Frank Charles Jackson Longbottom

Titles:
Black - Heirship - Claimed 2nd September 1987
Potter - Heirship - Available to Claim given permission of Potter Regent
Potter - Ladyship - Available to Claim upon Age of Majority
Peverell - Heirship - Available to Claim given permission of Peverell Regent
Peverell - Ladyship - Available to Claim upon Age of Majority
Slytherin - Heirship - Available to Claim given permission of Slytherin Regent
Slytherin - Ladyship - Available to Claim upon Age of Majority
Grey - Ladyship - Available to Claim upon completion of Lady Magic's Ritual

Family Gifts:
Umbramagus - Potter Line
Magesensormagus - Black Line
Parseltounge - Slytherin Line
Occlumency - Slytherin Line

Vaults:
Number 149730 - Helena Potter Trust Vault
Number 547 - Potter Heir Vault
Number 546 - Potter Family Vault
Number 382 - Black Heir Vault
Number 381 - Black Family Vault
Number 104 - Slytherin Heir Vault
Number 103 - Slytherin Family Vault
Number 9 - Peverell Family Vault

Helena stared at the parchment in front of her in utter shock. Despite having read the words at least three times now, many of them were making even less sense the more she read them. Eight different vaults? Was she rich? Why did she have so many titles? Who were all of the people on the document and why had none of them come and found her already? Were they all dead? Or even worse, did they just not want her?

Mind swimming with more questions than she could count, Helena shakily lifted her eyes to look at Steelhead again.

"Would you like to read it?" She asked croakily. His mouth twitched in half a grin.

"Not to worry, Heiress Black, I have a copy here", he said, lifting an identical parchment from his side of the desk to show her. "You seem pale, child, would you like some tea? Or water?"

Steelhead peered at her intently, much like he had when she first entered, and she managed to grind out an assent for tea. He snapped his long knobbly fingers, and a silver tray with a steaming porcelain teapot with matching cup and sugar bowl appeared next to her. Helena almost fell out of her chair in shock, but managed to contain her surprise to a light yelp. The stranger this all got, the more convinced she was that all of this was an extremely long, complicated dream, and she likely hadn't even woken up for the first day of school yet.

Before she could even pick up the pot, the tea started pouring itself for her as she watched on in amazement. The lid to the sugar bowl popped off, revealing iridescent sugar cubes. A silver pair of tongs and a small stirring spoon appeared next to the saucer under her teacup. Helena resisted the urge to drop one of the sugar cubes directly into her mouth, as she sometimes did when Aunt Petunia forgot to lock up the food cabinets at Number Four. Lightly trembling fingers held the tongs and carefully placed two of the delicious looking cubes into the steaming liquid. Lifiting the delicate porcelain cup to her lips, she inhaled to smell a delicious blend of cinnamon and other herbs and spices she couldn't place. She drank without care for the heat, noting only on the way down that it was the perfect temperature. She felt warmth and strength spread from behind her breastbone, and it steadied her immensely, despite her confusion.

Wide eyes stared at Steelhead in silent awe. She was no longer on the verge of passing out from shock, but was still incapable of processing any of the information she had just received, or even figuring out where to start asking questions.

Steelhead, excellent account manager that he clearly was, noted this, and waited a few moments in consideration before handing her the next bombshell.

"Your great-grandfather was unable to be here due to some health concerns, but asked that we deliver this letter to you. Your aunt and uncle, the Lady and Lord Malfoy, have requested a meeting with you and your current guardians, in his stead. They stated they would like to meet as soon as possible, and have reserved a conference room within Gringotts on standby until you're prepared, should you feel amenable to this. Not that your guardians appear to have... accompanied you... despite the late hour," Steelhead finished, eyebrows furrowing as he looked at her.

Helena squirmed with guilt, grimacing as she opened her mouth to explain. "I'm sorry, Mr. Steelhead. I didn't tell my relatives about... meeting the Gringotts representatives at school or... the letter and directions you gave me for them. They wouldn't want to be here anyways, though, I promise." This was the least perfectly normal bank Helena had ever seen, and she thought Aunt Petunia might explode on the spot if she walked into Diagon Alley at all. Far too much freakishness involved.

Steelhead's brow furrowed further, and the corners of his mouth pulled down slightly. "Well, I suppose we may proceed without them if you wish."

Helena heaved a sigh of relief internally, shoulders relaxing involuntarily, and she nodded. "You said they wanted to meet as soon as possible? Does that include like, now?"

"I presume yes, we can certainly at least alert them that you're ready," Steelhead said, chuckling slightly.

She rubbed the shiny black ring on her finger, swallowing roughly before she nodded. There were other things she needed to ask Steelhead about, like her vaults, and all of those strange titles, but right now none of that could matter less.

Steelhead nodded in return, and wrote on another of those thin strips of paper like she had seen Sharpclaw use, tossing it cavalierly into the air after he finished writing. Of course, it disappeared before it even got close to landing on his desk, but Helena realized something as she watched it fall. The real way she knew this was all a very strange lovely dream wasn't all of the m-word freakishness in front of her eyes, but the very idea of someone wanting to know her. In real life, knowing her ruined people's lives. No one wanted that.

Steelhead wrote in his ledger silently, and Helena dedicated herself to re-reading her inheritance test a few more times as she sipped her tea. Minutes later, to Helena's surprise, a slip of paper unfolded into existence in the air above the desk, which Steelhead snatched out of the air without looking up from his ledger. He continued to write, but lifted his eyes to the yellowed paper, and read it. A grin broke across his face like marble cracking open, and he set the slip down carefully along with his quill.

"Heiress Black, the Lord and Lady Malfoy have arrived."

Notes:

lmk what u think besties<3

Chapter 8: the new relatives

Draco Malfoy was having a very strange day. Night, actually. Close enough.

Mother and Father had been whispering to each other for WEEKS now, locking themselves in their study WITHOUT him, and refusing to tell him what they were talking about! Mum said it was a Black Family matter, and that Great-grandfather needed their help with something very important, which was pretty wicked, but didn't really tell him what they were actually doing. Father said that it was confidential for the moment, but that he would be finding out very soon, hopefully. Draco just wanted to know what in Merlin's name was HAPPENING. 

He hadn't even been allowed to go play with his friends after lessons today. Mother had received a letter this morning, just after they had finished eating, that had her nearly crying in the breakfast nook. She wouldn't let Draco read it, and he had pouted nearly throughout his potions lessons until Uncle Sev made him giggle with his dramatics. He had seen owls flying in and out of Mum's study like she was starting a new postal service out of their home, and Father had nearly sprinted into the floo after he said goodbye. 

He had sat in his playroom upstairs alone for HOURS, his only real company Dobby and Fallie, who brought up his favorite snacks and tea as a treat, and stayed to play a few rounds of exploding snap when they had time. He could have knocked on the study and asked to play quietly in there while his mum worked, and he knew she wouldn't have said no, but Great-grandfather didn't ask for trivial things. Black Family business was extra important, and he didn't want to get underfoot and mess something up. 

Dinner was nice. He liked staring at the dining room chandelier whenever things were quiet, watching it oscillate and shimmer. Mother and Father both attempted to chat, asking him and each other about their days, the weather, the food. But Draco could tell they were still distracted, thinking about whatever it was they couldn't talk about in front of him yet. He almost tried asking them to just TELL him again, but decided not to push it tonight. Things felt like they were about to boil over, and so he ate his beef wellington silently, willing to wait and find out soon.

Mum had given him a bath with Dobby's help before bed, and wrapped him up in an excessively fluffy towel and carried him into his bedroom, despite his squirms and protests that he was seven years old now and he could walk all by himself. She responded by showering kisses down on his hair and forehead and cheeks, and he shrieked and giggled. Dobby handed him his nightclothes once Mum sat him down on his bed, and he sleepily dressed himself before crawling under the covers. Father tucked him in, "tight as a glow bug in a rug" as he always said, kissing him on the forehead after they said their goodnights. Perfectly normal, if you asked him. 

Being woken up mere hours later, in the pitch-dark of a post-midnight sky, was not so perfectly normal, thank you. Mum was practically buzzing with excitement when she woke him though, so Draco got dressed without complaint. He was a bit confused when Dobby set out his bank clothes, and thought about checking to make sure he had grabbed the right ones, but decided Dobby probably knew what he was doing. His ice blue button up with the mother of pearl buttons always made him feel very spiffy, not that he would ever say that out loud. Mother said that the charcoal vest, slacks, and bowtie made him look like a little gentleman, which always made Draco smile. He was going to be just like Father one day, and part of that was looking as impressive as Father did when he was doing important things. He rubbed the small sunflower on the inside of his left wrist, as he often did absentmindedly, standing on the smooth black tiling of the floo room while Fallie finished pinning up Mum's hair and Father fastened his cufflinks. He snapped out of his daydreaming as the flames lit fluorescent green as Father threw the floo powder into the fireplace while Mother pulled on her gloves. 

They stepped into the large marble tiled fireplace together, and Mother called out the password for the Gringotts lobby in a clear voice, and then they were gone.

Swirling green flames engulfed Draco's vision as they spun upwards, sideways, forwards, and only his parent's hands under each arm prevented him from sprawling onto the ground as they landed. They quickly carried their momentum forward in a graceful, practiced stride, and before he could blink all of the spots out of his eyes, they were inside Gringotts. 

He pushed his shoulders back and his chest out, tilting his chin up with a rough swallow. Mother and Father's hands slipped from under his arms and to their sides as they walked forward, and they greeted Fangsharp as she joined them in walking through the lobby without breaking stride. They took the main stairwell upstairs to the private meeting rooms, and strode down the high arched hallway to a room which had their name on an embossed plaque on the front. Fangsharp opened it without comment, and they filed inside. 

Windows on the far wall showed the glittering darkness outside, and Draco was reminded of how sleepy he still felt. He found the nearest clock, which happened to be on his father's pocket watch, and gently tugged the chain to pull it out of his pocket and check it, his silver grey eyes bugging out of his head as he realized it was two in the morning. Mother and Father NEVER let him stay up this late, much less go out on interesting bank trips. Adrenaline soared up from his stomach to his throat, and he carefully slid the watch back into Father's pocket as they sat down in the plush black chairs on the left side of the smooth oak table. The pot was officially boiling over, and the promise of finally finding out what was going on overrode any potential longing for his soft, lovely bed.  

A slight echoing of footsteps was all that alerted Draco just before the door slid open once more, revealing a goblin with a shiny bald head, and a small girl drowning in torn up clothes. They walked inside, and the goblin, who was likely this girl's account manager he supposed, sat down first, and the girl peered silently at all of them with her large, intimidatingly intense green eyes, until the goblin waved her into the seat next to him, which Draco found odd. Who waited for permission to sit down at the bank?

The account managers nodded to each other, and Fangsharp introduced his parents, him, and herself first. The other account manager introduced himself as Steelhead, which Draco privately thought was quite appropriate, and the small girl as Heiress Helena Emer Potter-Black. 

Oh. Well, that explained it being Black Family business. She didn't look anything like he thought she would, though.

Next to him, he felt Mum gasp quietly, but not like she was surprised, but like she had suddenly been wounded. Draco glanced up at her briefly, tearing his eyes away from his cousin, to see she seemed physically fine, but was holding a trembling gloved hand over her open mouth, and her eyes were shiny. He turned to look at his father, and saw his expression was almost entirely blank, but Draco could tell he was nearly shellshocked. There was a certain tick in his jaw muscles that Draco knew meant he didn't know what to do, and it was bothering him, but his eyes were simply soft and sad as he stared at Draco's cousin. 

His eyes fell back to his cousin without really thinking about it, and he took a second to really, really look at her. She was soooooo small, and even though Draco knew she must be only a bit more than a month younger than him, part of him was convinced she must be at least a couple years younger. Her intense emerald eyes were darting between him and his parents quickly, but more than that, he noticed the dark rings that hung under her eyes, and how bony her face looked. Spindly fingers gripped her arms over her dark grey tshirt, which was practically riddled with holes, and the worn straps of a knapsack laid over her shoulders, which were hunched up around her ears. Her clothes looked horrifyingly muggle, and dirty, but still weren't as surprising as her curly black hair, which hung in loose, messy ringlets around her head. Naturally, this shocked Draco, but he quickly got over his scandalization as he caught a glimpse of green scales winding through her locks.

"Is that a snake?" Draco blurted out, unintentionally breaking the tense silence. He blushed, and clamped his mouth shut, sinking into the seat behind him as Cousin Helena blinked at him. He heard her quiet gasp, and one hand reached towards her loose hair in an almost protective gesture as his parents started forward at his realization. At this, he additionally realized the emotion dominating her body at the moment was clearly fear. She was scared. Of them? Why? They were family, that didn't make any sense. 

She nodded slowly, glancing warily between them, and Draco felt his father's face break into a surprised smile. 

"Oh, how lovely darling! Could we see them, please?" His mum asked softly.

Helena's eyes widened, and he watched her consider them carefully for a few moments, before she turned her head slightly to the side, and a soft, sibilant hiss came from behind her teeth. Draco felt his jaw fall nearly to the table, and his mother's soft gasp and father's surprised cough sounded on either side of him. 

"She's a- You're a-" Father's mouth was flapping open and closed on a way he had never seen before.

"Parselmouth," Mother finished for him in a whisper, as a thin bright green snake wound itself out of Helena's black locks and through her fingers. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she glanced towards Steelhead's briefcase for a moment before her expression cleared, and she nodded again. 

"Is it your familiar?" Father asked, his interest and excitement overriding his calm mask. Her head tilted to one side and she blinked consideringly for a moment before her mouth opened to answer. 

"I only met him yesterday morning, so we're not that familiar with each other yet. He's my friend though," came her quiet and lightly raspy voice. Draco wasn't sure how that really answered the question, but decided to let it go. The little snake's tounge flickered out as he turned to Helena, and Draco barely caught the soft hiss as her eyes met his, before she looked back at them. "His name is Astrit. By the way."

Holy Mother Magic. His cousin was a parselmouth. 

*   *   *

Helena was beginning to worry that she might be a freak even amongst the wicks, or whatever it was Astrit called her. The blonde, polished, definitely rich family in front of her, that Steelhead said she was supposedly related to, were looking at her like she had just pulled a dove out of thin air, rather than just invite her snake to stop turning her hair into a jungle gym. She didn't know what a parcel-mouth was, but she remembered reading something close to that on her inheritance test, under the Family Gifts section. What exactly was a family gift, anyways? The Dursley's had certainly never given her any. 

Lady Malfoy's mouth tilted up in a wobbly smile, and Helena's mind raced with confusion. She didn't know why the pretty lady was crying, but she wasn't about to ask and make them punish her for asking questions. They seemed fairly nice, and at least weren't screaming at her and her snake, and she didn't want to make them do that. 

"It is our honor to meet you, Heiress Black. Your mother is my cousin, and we were very close as children. Please call me Aunt Cissa," the Lady said, smiling at her tremoulously and gripping her husband's hand on top of the table. "My husband is your Uncle Lucius, and of course, you and Draco are cousins. We've been trying to find you for a very long time, darling." 

Helena's leapt into her throat, and she stared up at the Lady. Aunt Cissa. Looking for her? Why would anyone look for her? Was she somehow missing without knowing it, stuck in a little cupboard under the stairs in Little Whinging, Surrey? Yep, definitely a dream.

"Looking for... me? For... a long time? How long?" Helena questioned, breathing in and out with tense control. Astrit circled back over her fingers, turning away from staring at her new relatives to slide himself onto the top of her head, winding around in comforting patterns. 

"Almost six years, dear. Since October 31st, 1981, when you were 15 months old," and at this the Lady Cissa paused, holding her hand, which was covered in a beautiful icy blue lace glove, over her mouth as she swallowed roughly. She blinked tears back slowly, and sighed after a moment. "We can talk about all of that later. Assuming, that is, that you and your guardians would be alright with meeting to talk sometimes. We're just so glad you're here, darling." 

At this, Helena saw the family take a collective moment as they looked to either side of her, behind her, and around the room behind them for extra measure. Having clearly just noticed she was well and truly here alone, aside from Steelhead and Astrit at least, the Malfoys took another, sadder look at her. Lady Cissa's mouth pulled down at the corners, and Lord Lucius's head tilted to the side, his mouth a grim line and his eyes full of sorrow. Helena squirmed, uncomfortable with adults who felt bad for her. Her eyes fell to the boy's instead. They were silvery grey, just a couple of shades lighter than his mother's, and he was staring at her too, but not with pity. His eyes were bright with curiosity, and a fierce protectiveness she had never seen expressed positively towards her. 

"Who... where exactly have you been, dear? Are you okay?" Uncle Lord Lucius asked, his voice cracking slightly. Helena paused, slightly unsure how to answer the second question. The honest answer was probably no, but the correct answer was probably yes. She settled on ignoring it for the time being.

"I've been living with the Dursleys since I can remember," she said, and watched the Malfoys blink at her blankly. "Ahh, the ah, cupboard under the stairs of Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England."

She heard a small crack, and looked down to see Aunt Lady Cissa's nails had dug partially into the shiny dark oak table, splintering the wood. Aunt Lady Cissa must be very strong. 

"Cupboard?" Uncle Lord Lucius repeated faintly.

"Surrey?" Not-Dudley-Blonde-Cousin-Boy, Draco, repeated, a confused sneer screwing across his face. "Like the muggle county?" 

"Muggle?" Helena questioned, her face screwing up in matching confusion, before she flinched suddenly. Bugger, she hadn't meant to ask a question, stupid freak. Her hands covered her head for a moment, heart pounding again, before she slowly realized no blows were landing upon them. Huh. 

She lowered her hands, feeling slightly embarrassed, looking at the Malfoys cautiously. Maybe they just preferred not to dole out punishments in public. Still, she'd take it. 

"Are the Dursleys... Can they, ah, do magic, dearie?" Aunt Lady Cissa asked. Helena sucked in a harsh breath between her teeth, just barely not hyperventilating. An adult just said the m-word, said it like it was something people could or even should do. Definitely, definitely dreaming. She shook her head in response. Conveniently enough, it was both true and correct. A Dursley would rather fall over dead than do magic. 

Draco's mouth fell wide with shock again, and Helena faintly wondered what was so surprising about that. Uncle Lord Lucius's shoulders straightened, and he looked towards Steelhead. 

"Do we know who her legal magical guardian is at the moment?" He asked, and Steelhead shook his head no, but a resigned look in his eyes made Helena think he knew, he just couldn't say. Uncle Lord Lucius sighed like he knew anyways. "Well, no sense in waiting for that paperwork to be processed."

Aunt Lady Cissa pried her long nails out of the table casually, and brushed a gloved hand over her meticulously pinned up blonde hair. "How would you like to come visit Malfoy Manor, darling? It's quite lovely, you know, and as family you are of course always welcome." 

"Not to mention, it's getting quite late, and children should be in bed at this hour," Uncle Lord Lucius said, looking at both Draco and her with soft reprimand. She felt her heart race slightly at the thought of having messed up already, but mostly she was caught on Aunt Lady Cissa calling her family. She replayed the sound of it in her mind, over and over and over again.

"Are you sure?" Helena questioned in a whisper.

"Sure of what, dear?" 

"You want me," and at this, Helena pointed at her scrawny, worthless, freakish self, "to spend time in your home? With you?"

All three of her new relatives frowned, and Helena's stomach tightened, wishing she hadn't asked. Of course they didn't. 

"Of course we do, darling!" Aunt Lady Cissa exclaimed, looking for all the world like Helena had just killed her puppy in front of her. Helena felt her eyebrows pull together involuntarily. 

"Really?" 

"Yes, really," Uncle Lord Lucius said softly. He cut his eyes towards Steelhead's, saying "I would appreciate it if you could combine efforts with Fangsharp in terms of emancipating the Heiress' mother, and locating her adoptive father. Until such a time as they can be retrieved, we will care for her. If that is amenable to you, Heiress? Forgive my assumption, but you seem... unattended." 

"Care for me?" She repeated weakly. He nodded. Silence stretched in between them like taffy, Helena looking back and forth between the three of them, waiting for someone to break. Under the table, she attempted to discreetly pinch the inside of her wrist, trying desperately to wake herself. After a moment, she relented to the possibility that they weren't joking, and that she really wasn't sleeping. "O-okay. I, um, i would like that very much. Thank you, sir, thank you ma'am."

Aunt Lady Cissa giggled, and nodded again. "So polite, dearie. Let's get home now, we can discuss everything tomorrow." 

Draco, who had been blinking progressively slower throughout the conversation, broke out in a loud yawn, before covering his mouth with a blush. "What? Do we have to go home already?"

"Hush, dragon," his mother whispered. "If you go back to bed now, maybe you'll wake up in time to play before it's time for lessons." 

He inhaled sharply through his nose, and nodded decisively. Helena felt herself nodding for slightly different reasons. Her cousin would need breakfast before his lessons, she assumed with some private tutors, and she would wake up soon enough to make it nicely. The Malfoys seemed much, much nicer than the Dursleys, and she would happily work herself to the bone if it meant living with them and earning their love. 

"Good, then, let's go," Uncle Lord Lucius said, standing in one fluid motion. Aunt Lady Cissa and Draco followed his lead, and Helena took her cues from them. Steelhead re-opened his briefcase, handing her a silver embossed card. He stood, and nodded first at her, then at Fangsharp, and then at the Malfoys. He exited with Fangsharp, leaving her alone with her new relatives. 

The Malfoys were gathering themselves around the large fireplace on the wall behind their chairs. Glancing up, Draco noticed she was still standing awkwardly behind her own chair, waiting for them to walk towards the door so that she could follow behind them. Huffing, he strode towards her, hooking his elbow around hers to yank her around the table and towards the fireplace. 

"Draco! Be gentle!" His mother hissed, placing a hand on his shoulder as they reached her. "What if you hurt her on accident?"

What? How was it worse to do it on accident?

Draco hung his head, and untangled his arm from hers, mumbling, "Apologies, Heiress Black."

"It's- um. I'm alright, you didn't hurt me. It's okay!" Helena said, searching desperately for the right response. Luckily, they seemed to relax at this, and everyone turned to face the fireplace. 

Uncle Lord Lucius grabbed some fine powder out of an urn, and threw it onto the flames, which flared brilliant green, brighter than her eyes. Helena watched in horror as one by one, they walked into the flames. Standing calmly in the middle of the black marble fireplace, which she now noticed didn't actually have any wood at the bottom, her new relatives looked at her in expectation.  

"It's okay dearie, it won't burn you," Aunt Lady Cissa said, a gloved hand outstretched from the fire to her. Taking a deep breath in through her nose, Helena grasped the hand lightly, and felt it gently lead her forward. Once she stood within the flickering green light, which somehow really didn't burn her, or Astrit, who had elected to wrap himself around her arm for transit, Aunt Lady Cissa wrapped one hand under Helena's right arm, and one arm under Draco's left, while Uncle Lord Lucius stood behind her to hold under Draco's right arm, and under Helena's left. Aunt Lady Cissa called out, "Malfoy Manor, Floo Room, sanctitatem semper vincere!"

Swirling green fire surrounded them, and sucked Helena down and through and over until she felt like it would never end, till she was sure she was about to vomit, and then-

Feet hitting black marble, hard, hard enough for her knees to buckle out from under her, and Helena prepared for the introduction of her skin and bones to the tiling, except- 

Hands, under her arms, catching her weight like it was nothing and carrying her forward, until they were out of the green fire entirely, and walking slowly to a stop on a thick woven black rug, in the middle of a large, quiet, warmly lit room. The walls around her were a pale ivory stone, and support pillars were intricately carved with delicate grape vines climbing up them, in various stages of blooming and fruiting. There were no windows on the walls, but sconces every so often providing a soft, comforting light. The room held no other furniture, but a large wooden double door on the opposite wall, which lay open, hinting at the manor beyond. 

The hands under her arms disappeared, and Helena turned to stared up at the two adults. Aunt Lady Cissa peeled off her thin lace gloves, and smoothed a hand over Draco's hair, before meeting her gaze. 

"How're you feeling, darling? I know floo travel can be fairly disorienting," she said, reaching a delicate hand towards Helena's hair. Helena steeled herself, adamant that she would not flinch or cry. It wouldn't be easy, Aunt Lady Cissa looked delicate, but she remembered from the bank how strong she really was. But Helena was bound and determined to take her punishment without complaint. She would prove that she was worthy, she could earn their love if she tried hard enough.

Soft fingers met her hair, and Helena felt tears prick at her eyes, she HATED it when Aunt Petunia pulled her around by the hair. But to her shock, the fingers simply brushed over the top, smoothing over her riotous curls like they were her son's fine strands.

Helena felt her heart beating fiercely, confusion flooding her mind, and the mix of relief and left over adrenaline left her unsteady on her feet. She nearly collapsed to the soft black rug beneath her, but once again, strong hands, under her arms, catching her, keeping her safe. Helena nearly sobbed.

"I'm sorry-" she gasped, unsure who was holding her or what they thought was wrong with her, but feeling terribly guilty for collapsing on them twice in as many minutes. They didn't have to catch her like that, she would have been okay, probably. She couldn't bring herself to say that, though. Literally, it felt like she couldn't speak. She just continued to gasp, and began to see strange little black spots swimming in pretty patterns at the edges of her vision, and hear a faint ringing from somewhere far away and yet everywhere. 

"Luke, I think she's fainting- Draco, go call Uncle Sev!"

"Heiress Black? Helena? Hele-..." 

Gradually, the ringing got louder, until it was so very loud she couldn't hear anything else, and the black dots swarmed up and swallowed her whole. 

Notes:

thoughts, questions, queeries?<3 :p

Chapter 9: potion medic spy

Notes:

smth smth soldier poet king smth smth<3

Nearly stumbling to his knees out of the damned floo, Severus Snape snapped upright with a huff, brushing minute dust off of his half-buttoned cloak. He hauled his potions bag over his shoulder, and strode out the open doors towards the main hall.

"Dobby!" He barked as he started running up the large stairway.

"Yes Misters Snapes!" Dobby popped into existence, vibrating on top of the banister next to him. A little high energy, given the circumstances, but not abnormal for Dobby.

"What wing is she in?"

Dobby popped to the opposite banister on the next landing to keep up with him as he ran. "They puts her in the connecting suite to little Misters Draco, they dids!"

"What? Why? He didn't have a tantrum when they told him?"

Dobby continued popping between banisters as they talked. "No sirs! He asked for its, he is being feelings very protective of the littlest misses, Dobby thinks."

Severus reached the landing for the family wing, and hung a sharp left down towards Draco's room. Dobby continued following him, fairly bouncing off the walls as they went. Severus paused, a hand on the doorknob, and took a moment to squint down at Dobby critically.

"Dobby?"

"Yes Misters Snapes sirs!

"What... is wrong with you?"

Dobby stilled to the best of his ability, a blush spreading across his face at his continued vibrations. "Little Misses Helena had a burst of accidental magic whens she fainteds. Almost cracked the walls, it did, but becauses Dobby was a Black Family Elf when Misses Narcissa was littles, Dobby could take it instead! It be makings Dobby very, very fast, though."

Nearlly cracked the walls...?

Severus turned the doorknob, leaning against the pale wood to push it open. Inside, things were... mostly as expected. The ivory and pale green gossamer curtains around the canopy bed were pulled back to reveal a small, pale, thin child in worn clothes laying on top of the covers. Her eyes were closed, but her face looked like someone slapped freckles on a young, thinner Siri. Cissa and Luke stood to the side, holding Draco back by his arms, sad expressions on their faces. Draco was limp in their grasp, and looked up at Severus with anxious eyes, and back at his cousin, as if he couldn't look away for too long, for fear she would evaporate. He looked back to the girl, and a soft, though high pitched, almost shrill hiss emanating from near her abdomen caught his attention. He glanced down to find a young grass snake coiled on top of Helena's stomach, swinging back and forth to hiss at the Malfoys, and now also at him.

"Merlin, you didn't mention she had a snake familiar," he drolled, striding forwards.

Luke sighed. "Didn't even think of it in the moment, honestly. Only became an issue when he wouldn't let us pick her up, and we ended up having to levitate her up here."

Severus chuckled at his friend, kneeling down next to the bed and opening his bag. "You can release the dragon, by the way. It's a young grass snake, they're non-venemous. Generally considered a mild pest in the muggle world."

He saw Cissa and Luke sigh in relief, letting go of Draco's arms as Severus pulled his snake handling equipment out. He carefully hooked the little thing, conjuring a small terrarium to put it in for the time being. It scaled the slick glass in an attempt to get back to it's witch, ran into the netting, and fell, before trying again. Tenacious little thing. Strong bond, too.

He summoned his child-safe potions rack out of the bag, and began casting diagnostics. Rolls of parchment and ravensfeather quills sprung out of his bag, and began scribbling furiously in the air beside him. He frowned at the first of the results, grabbing potion bottle necks between his fingers and lining them up on the bedside table.

"Severus? What's wrong with her?" Cissa asked, glancing back and forth between him and the parchments. She was showing admirable dedication in not snatching them out of the air, he thought. The ink would become unreadably blurred if she moved them before the spell ended, which really should have gotten through to her the first time Draco got sick as a baby.

"She fainted because of a rapid drop in heart rate. It's beating perfectly fine now though, and its not what kept her asleep." Carefully, he prepared an eyedropper of nutrient potion. "She's severely malnourished, to the extent that I wouldn't be surprised if she's been living off of her magic for years."

Cissa gasped wetly. Luke frowned.

"Living off of her magic? At her age? I've never heard of such a thing..." he trailed off, peering down at his small niece. Far, far too small.

He wasn't wrong, it was truly unheard of in children under seven. What Helena had likely been doing was widely considered a medical impossibly. Most children's cores would fracture under the stress, or simply fail to supply enough, and let them starve. He considered double casting his diagnostics, but shook his head.

"Have you seen Dobby since she fainted?"

All three of them shook their heads, and he arched an eyebrow at them as he gently pried open Helena's jaw to begin administering his high-density nutrient potion.

"DOBBYYYYY!" Draco yelled out.

"Goods very early mornings Misters Draco!!!" Dobby popped into existence, vibrating only very slightly less than he had when he greeted Severus. Spinning slowly in different directions, several platters of tea, cookies, scones, sandwiches, and two tall glasses of milk floated in circles around Dobby's head.

"Dobby?" Cissa questioned in bemuesment, snatching a cookie off of a passing tray. "What's with all the food this late at night? I appreciate it, but I wouldn't want any to go to waste..."

"Dobby is beings busy burning up all of the magic he absorbed when Littlest Misses Helena fainted, poor thing," he tutted, placing one of the glasses of milk on the bedside table beside Severus' potions, and handing the other to Draco, who held it numbly.

"Apparently, our little Heiress nearly cracked the blessed walls."

Now Luke's jaw hung open in shock, catching flies at the implications. As well it should be, as far as Severus was concerned. He massaged Helena's throat to make sure she swallowed, and didn't accidentally drown in a few milliliters of potion.

The cookie Cissa had been munching on bounced twice on the carpet before Dobby vanished it, and everyone turned to look at her in surprise. They found her blind to their inquisitive stares, eyes only for the set of parchments in her hands. Ah, the spell had finished while he was busy. Severus recorked the potion bottle, and cleansed the dropper before he stood to join her. She passed the parchment she'd already read to him, continuing reading without comment.

Severus only made it halfway down the roll before he nearly stumbled, bracing himself against the wall, before he resorted to finding the nearest arm chair and collapsing into it before he read any more. The severe malnourishment, he had already read. The multiple contusions on her forearms, placed like defensive wounds, inflicted less than 24 hours ago, very concerning, but easily healed. The years old stress fractures in her feet, knees, and hands, and the signs of very early arthritis, wouldn't be so quick to fix, and were very, very concerning in terms of what the last 6 years must have been like for this poor child. The masses of scar tissue on her back, and bones that had been broken and set improperly seemingly all over her body, including her skull, made Severus want to sob. How much pain must she be in on a daily basis? He wasn't ashamed to admit a few tears rolled down his cheeks of their own admission.

Cissa, for her part, had sunk to a puddle on the floor next to the Heiress' bed, seemingly reading the second and third parchments over and over again. Severus couldn't imagine she found anything good on the brain scan, blood tests, or core scan for her to be looking at them like that, but Severus couldn't bring himself to ask what it was. He'd always been the coward.

Luke, who conversely had always been more lionish than he liked to admit, kneeled next to his wife, tenderly brushing a stray blonde lock behind her ear and whispering to her. She looked up at him silently, eyes full of despair, and handed him the sheets of parchment. He read silently, occasionally breathing harshly, and clearly referencing them against each other as Cissa had, for several long minutes before Draco finally broke.

"Well?? Is she okay?!"

Everyone looked to the boy, unsure how to break something so terrible to a child who had rarely known anything but comfort and affection. Severus cleared his throat first, figuring his parchment would likely be the easiest to swallow.

"She's been... very badly abused since she was kidnapped. Some of it I can fix right now, a lot of it will take time, but none of this is an imminent danger to her life. It's not good, but I think with care we could reverse almost all of this damage." At this however, he lifted his eyes to Cissa and Luke, throat gluing up in fear. Draco stared at his parents pleadingly.

"Her core is, somehow, perfectly intact, if reasonably depleted. However, there's been... some repeated head trauma, and damage to some of her hormonal glands, which... Severus, she's undergoing a precocious presentation," Cissa said, voice breaking. Draco's head cocked to the side, but Severus' face drained of blood.

"We need to take her to St. Mungo's," he said decisively, standing to begin repacking his potions bag. To the side, he heard Draco begin softly hyperventilating, and his heart caught as he looked to his godson. "She'll be okay, Dragon, I promise. But I'm not qualified to handle head trauma like this, and if she's presenting early, then we're going to need to make sure we can get her the correct vitamin potions and diet to help her body and core recover."

Draco nodded, pleased with a plan of action for taking care of his cousin, and walked over to pick up her familiar's terrarium, which was solidly bigger than he was. Severus huffed fondly to himself, and slung his potions bag over his shoulder. If he saw Cissa casting an underpowered levitation charm out of the corner of his eye, well, that was none of his business.

Luke cradled the Heiress in his arms, standing up to his impressive height, and looked to Cissa, who was busy repinning her hair, her gloves held between her teeth, gently herding Draco towards the door.

"I don't want to risk the floo or side-alonging her with untreated head trauma, that couldn't have been fun for her on the way here," Severus said, sighing. "Does the old Sol still float, Luke?"

He grimaced. "Haven't taken it out in a few years, since they started actually cracking down on the ban. No harm in rolling it out, though."

The group filed out of the doorway, Dobby gently grabbing the still full glass out of Draco's hand as he passed. "Dobby will be puttings stasis charms on the foodies, no worries Misses Narcissa."

"Thank you Dobby!" Cissa called, pulling on her gloves as she directed Draco down towards the rarely used storage closet at the end of the Family Wing hall. She unlocked the door, and hauled out the old thick rug, balancing it over her shoulder. Fallie popped in front of them to swing open the double doors of the landing balcony to the left.

Cissa rolled out the old but thankfully not dusty Solomon 1969 in one fluid motion, and everyone settled carefully on top. Severus cast some precautionary binding charms, holding everyone safely to the carpet as Cissa traced the starting runes. He heard Luke mumbling some prayers, and sent up his own pleas to Mother Magic.

Slowly, with a rolling hum, the carpet came to life, Cissa's violet magic running between the threads, electrifying. They floated up, centimeter by centimeter, until they were soaring off of the landing.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Draco yelled, spreading his arms out, his hair flying behind him in the wind.

"Draco!" Severus hissed, as quietly as he could and be heard. Decades old notice-me nots woven into the carpet could only do so much, and they really did not need to attract Auror attention at the moment.

"Sorry Uncle Sev," Draco mumbled, tucking his arms back in. Severus ruffled his hair in apology, much to his grumbles of dismay.

They zipped along toward the lights of London in the distance, sticking close to the tree line as they went. Sharp turns around electrical towers and random trees made Severus feel very, very thankful for his binding charms. Luke had played on the quidditch team in school, but everyone knew Cissa was the real speed imp, on the broom or the carpet.

Severus and Luke took turns casting warming and protego charms throughout the flight, but everyone was still shivering from the predawn wind chill by the time they landed. Cissa pulled the rug up to a stop in an empty alleyway a few blocks away from the entrance, and everyone took a moment to collect themselves before they shrunk the carpet up and got on their way.

Severus and Cissa kept their wands holstered, but at the ready, as they walked down the dark sidewalks of muggle London, Draco in between them, and Luke just behind him, still holding Helena. Finally, they beheld the deserted looking department store of Purge and Dowse.

Pushing through the boarded up doors, they walked through a seemingly dust-ridden, cobweb filled, empty floor, which was barely large enough for the scant few empty racks and discarded mannequins lying throughout. Walking behind the counter, Draco eagerly set down the terrarium to input the correct sequence on the squeaky register keys before he picked the snake familiar back up. Popping open with a soft woosh, the door slid open to admit them through the supposedly solid brick. Filing in single file, Cissa led the way, followed closely by her son and husband, and Severus brought up the rear, sealing the door behind them.

Notes:

lmk what u thinkkkk 👀 <3

Chapter 10: doctor-healer-man

Notes:

sorry this took a MINUTE bestie, hope u like<3

Bright, cold lights wormed their way under Helena's eyelids, and her face scrunched in distaste. She really didn't want to wake up yet. Her head hurt again.

She rubbed her cheek against her pillow, and felt a weird rolling sound come out of her chest through her nose. Her pillow smelt... different, but safe. Felt different too. Soft, though. Maybe it had decided to become a nicer pillow while she was asleep. Things like that happened sometimes.

She noticed that she was swaying slightly, just before it stopped. Somewhat belatedly, she processed that she was definitely being held, and in fact carried at the moment. It was strange, but it felt almost familiar. Like a memory she could feel but not see.

They started walking forwards again, Helena and whoever was carrying her. She still wasn't opening her eyes, but she wasn't too concerned about who it was. It was very comfortable, and she was very tired.

She let her mind drift as she swayed, and that weird noise started coming out again. Suddenly though, they were stopped, and she was being slowly lowered, out away from the safe person carring her. As she felt their arms slipping out from under her, a keening whine slipped out, and her hands snatched at their clothing desperately, involuntarily.

She caught herself, and removed her grabbing hands from the poor person who had been carrying her, and swallowed the noise and the tears in her throat with a ragged breath. She heard gasps from the other side of what must be a... bed? Large bed, and felt fingers brush over her forehead softly. Two voices to her left were whispering softly, comforting her, and on her right, she felt a small thin hand slip into hers, and grip it reassuringly. She gripped back without thinking about it too hard.

"Cissa," said the deep voice of the person who had been carrying her, who must be Uncle Lord Lucius. "Her hair... ?"

Delicate fingers covered in soft lace touched her left cheek, and Helena heard Aunt Lady Cissa's gentle voice. "Helena, darling, can you hear me?"

Helena leaned her face into her hand, and gradually dipped her head in a nod. She still wasn't going to open her eyes though. Too bright.

"Is it alright if I touch your hair, dear, so I can put it up for you?"

Helena's head tilted in slight confusion, but she nodded again. If she wanted to, Helena didn't have the energy to fight her about it. Plus, she liked having her hair tied back, it made her feel safer.

Uncle Lord Lucius's hands came up behind her shoulders to pull her up far enough for the soft, delicate hands to gather all of her voluminous and unruly waist length hair between them. She could hear soft whispers of words she didn't recognize, and sighed a light buzzing ran across her scalp and down the strands, years old knots coming apart smoothly in its wake. Quickly, it was braided into two French braids, which wrapped around the back of her head and over each other in twists, until a crown of braids surrounded her skull. Gently, she was laid back against the pillows.

A throat clearing from behind Uncle Lord Lucius and Draco caused the warmth around her to disappear, and the lights somehow felt even brighter. There was a smell she didn't recognize over there. It got closer.

Eyes still closed, her head snapped to the side, and her lips pulled over her teeth in an involuntary snarl. The smell backed off, but it didn't leave. Slightly embarrassed, Helena relaxed, but frowned.

"Blimey, we weren't exaggerating, were we?" A woman's voice with a thick cockney accent asked rhetorically. "Poor thing is nigh feral."

"Nurse Derwent," came a low, sharp voice from next to Aunt Lady Cissa. She hadn't realized there was someone else there, and startled slightly. They didn't smell all weird and unfamiliar like Nurse Derwent, though, so she elected not to worry about them. "She's not feral, nor is she a thing, she's a child who has been traumatized beyond belief, and I believe you would find it wise to not insult the Heiress Black in presence of her family."

A sharp gasp.

"Yes, of course, my apologies Master Snape"

"Apologize to the Heiress, not me, you dunderhead!"

"I... isn't she asleep, sir?"

Helena had never actually heard someone roll their eyes before.

"Clearly. Not. Dim the lights, if you can manage."

"Yes, sir. Apologies, Heiress Black."

Slowly, the lights got lower, and softer, until a knot behind her breastbone loosened, and her eyes fluttered open with a sigh. She squinted at her surroundings.

Draco squeezed her hand, and she gripped back. She looked up at him slowly. Same white blonde hair, silver eyes, posh pointy little face. Good.

To the left of him, closer to her pillow, she could see most of Uncle Lord Lucius, his large hand resting on Draco's shoulder. He was soooooo tall, she had to crane her neck back to squint up at his face. His face crinkled up in a smile as he returned her gaze.

She heard a sniffle from the left, and flopped her head over to the other side to look up at Aunt Lady Cissa. She had a wobbly smile and shiny eyes again, and Helena felt gentle fingers brushing over her braids. She leaned into the touch a little with a soft sigh, and let her eyes slide down to look at Master Snape.

A taller, thin man with shoulder length black hair was standing about a step back from Aunt Lady Cissa, eyes locked directly on Helena's. His face was perfectly blank, but she was pretty sure he was very deeply upset about something. Her shoulders crept up around her ears involuntarily. He frowned, and she flinched minutely.

"Is it alright if I cast some preliminary diagnostics, Heiress?" An older woman, with her grey hair mostly contained by a kerchief, which matched the light shawl over her shoulders, on the top of her odd green dress, stood behind Uncle Lord Lucius and Draco, peeking over at her. She was holding a short smooth stick up towards her, and Helena squinted at her suspicionsly.

"It's alright, dearie," whispered Aunt Lady Cissa, petting her hair gently. "It won't hurt, I promise. The healers just need to make sure you're okay, love."

Healers? Like, doctors? She'd never seen one in person before, but Dudley always put up a big fuss about having to go see them. He always came back in one piece, though, so it couldn't be that bad. She furrowed her brow, but nodded her consent to Nurse Derwent.

She waved the stick in some silly patterns while reciting some more words Helena was starting to think might be Latin. Energy pulsed and writhed over Helena like tiny plants growing on her body, and she shivered uncomfortably. Rolls of yellowed paper snapped open, hovering over a little table at the end of her bed, and feathered quills scratched lines of ink across them rather quickly.

After the chanting finished, Nurse Derwent didn't even look at the still scribbling scrolls, merely nodding at each of them before turning on her heel, and walking out the door, closing it behind her. Helena took a moment to examine the room around her, in the relatively comfortable low lighting. Pale beige walls intermitted by vague little landscape paintings and potted plants, and a window on the left wall showing a dim predawn light outside. Looked like what hospital rooms looked like in TV. Was this a freak hospital? She could still feel tiny invisible plants growing all over her body. Less than ideal, honestly. She squirmed slightly, but grit her teeth and bore it.

"Healer Smythwick!" Draco exclaimed, unconsciously tugging her arm up and over the metal railing on the side of the bed as he turned to face the man who had just entered.

A man with dark, curly hair and piercing blue eyes smiled down at her cousin from the doorway, nodding at the adults in the room as he closed the door behind himself. He smelled... different, but not as strange as Nurse Derwent, so Helena made a concentrated effort in not scowling at him as he approached. He stood at the end of the bed, and frowned a bit, stroking his chin with his thumb and his forefinger as he read the scrolls that were still writing themselves. Master Snape leaned towards him, and muttered something Helena couldn't quite hear in his ear. They made eye contact for a moment, but Dr.- er, Healer? Smythwick didn't respond, instead moving up to switch places with her Uncle Lord Lucius.

"Hello, Heiress Black. My name is Healer Langlan Smythwick, and I'm the one who usually takes care of your family members here at St. Mungos, whenever they get hurt or sick!" He scanned her expression, looking for something she couldn't discern. She nodded carefully. The side of his mouth quirked up like he was trying to smile, but his eyes were sad. "Do you know why you're at St. Mungo's today, Heiress?"

Helena shook her head, and saw Aunt Lady Cissa frown out of the corner of her eye. She looked up at her questioningly. She still wasn't going to be Bad and actually ask, but Aunt Lady Cissa had an odd habit of just telling Helena things she didn't know.

"Do you remember fainting after we got home, darling?" She asked, brow furrowed as she gently stroked Helena's hair. Fainting? Yes, Helena supposed, she could remember passing out, after they got sucked up the fireplace at the bank and spat out in that pretty room. She nodded more confidently. That still didn't explain the part where she ended up in a hospital bed, but she assumed they were getting there.

Master Snape sighed in... relief? And Aunt Lady Cissa smiled. Helena smiled back unconsciously.

"That's great! Now, Heiress, I want you to take a second, and tell me if you can feel anything in your body that hurts at the moment." Healer Smythwick asked of her. Helena took a moment, cataloging her body. It was difficult to concentrate on what might be hurting when the bed she was on was so comfortable.

"My... arms..." she said, rotating her forearms to show off the shiny new bruises from Aunt Petunia's rolling pin. "And um... my head, I guess?"

He nodded, and looked at her arms carefully, having her rotate them back and forth.

"Is it alright if I tap on your feet, knees, hands, elbows, and shoulders for a moment?" He asked, to which Helena nodded again. Each time he tapped with his smooth, elegant, funny stick on part of her, he asked if she could feel it. She replied in the affirmative every time, to his clear relief. "Excellent, Heiress."

Finally, just when Helena had decided that the feeling would never cease, the invisible plants retracted from all over her skin and inside her bones. Sighing, she relaxed more fully against the pillows, and caught the Healer man looking back and forth between her and the rolls of yellow paper at the end of the bed out of the corner of her eye.

"Pardon me a strange question, but. Can you, ah, "feel" magic, Heiress?" He asked her. Helena took a sharp breath in through her nose. Adults kept saying the m-word here. Everyone else looked at her, not at him though, so she elected not to worry about it.

She cocked her head to the side, thinking about the tingles in her fingers when she opened her closet door, the cool buzzy feeling when Aunt Lady Cissa put her hair up, the icy heartbeat still emanating from her Heiress ring. She nodded tentatively. Master Snape and Draco both gasped, and she heard Uncle Lord Lucius's fingers tighten on the railing of the bed, but when she looked up at Aunt Lady Cissa, she merely smiled, calm, unsurprised grey eyes meeting her own.

"Black family gift," she murmured, smoothing a hand over Helena's forehead. "She gets it from her mother."

"I apologize Heiress, Nurse Derwent's magic must have felt very strange for you. I'll ensure the nurses in charge know to assign you an appropriately cored nurse in the future."

Helena wasn't quite sure what that meant, but nodded anyways. He was really nice, and clearly attempting to accommodate something strange about her. Healer-man Smythwick walked to the end of the bed and read the hovering yellow papers, stroking his chin contemplatively.

"Luckily, the nerve damage appears to be minimal. The skeletomuscular damage is... severe, but fixable. Severus, I assume the nutrient potion was you?" He asked Master Snape, who nodded. "Good. Keep her on it, your formula is better than our prescription ones. Her head trauma is most certainly the cause of the precocious presentation, and I want to get her in a ritual circle tonight to get that healed. Afterwards though, she'll need regularly adjusted specialized vitamin potions, until she reaches the age she would have naturally presented at. Her core is whole, though predictably drained from starvation. There's scarring though, from where she broke through power bindings, in order to be able to sustain herself."

"Is there enough evidence left to determine who cast the bindings?" Master Snape asked, urgent.

"Unfortunately, no. The scarring is so faded, it can't have happened less than four to five years ago, and the magical signature is long gone."

"Merlin," Uncle Lord Lucius whispered.

The sound of creaking metal, close to her, turned Helena's head down and to the left. There, she found Aunt Lady Cissa's delicately gloved hands denting into the steel rail beneath her fingers.

"I'll send in a nurse with the bruise cream and numbing potions, and then we can get to work on re-setting those bones and removing the scar tissue once everything kicks in, alright?" Healer-man Smythwick asked Helena. That all didn't exactly sound pleasant, but she wasn't about to argue with him about it. She set her jaw, and nodded.

Chapter 11: the healer the teacher and the tattletale

Langlan Smythwick strode out of Heiress Black's room, letting her family close ranks in his wake. His shoulders dropped minutely in time with the click of the doorknob behind him, and he sighed to himself, casting some brief basic hygienic charms before indulging in rubbing his eyes.

Swallowing, he pushed himself forward, swinging by the nurses' station on his way towards the elevator.

"Amelia!" He called out to the ward's head nurse, signing as he walked into her line of sight. "Heiress Black, in 1304? She's magic sensitive, family gift, and she's going to need a grey or dark cored nurse moving forwards. And highest prescription bruise cream, scar cream, and pain potions, ASAP."

Amelia nodded silently, and signed, *Is she Grey, or Dark? We'll get her an exact match when we can.*

"Dark. Thank you, Amy, you're brill. I'll be down in Rituals, filling out paperwork and getting a room prepped, fetch me if you need anything?"

Amelia nodded, smiling, and waved goodbye as she turned towards one of her nurses, who had been standing by waiting patiently for her attention. Langlan waved back as he walked backwards down the hallway.

As he turned around to walk forwards, the view out of one of the hallway windows caught his gaze. The sun was just peeking over the tops of the buildings that surrounded them, and Langlan sent a quick grateful prayer up to Mother Magic for their fortuitous timing. As it was, they were just in time to start prepping for a ritual at sunset, any later and they would've had to wait for it to rise over again.

He slid the staff elevator gate open, and stepped inside, pulling the lever to select Lower Level 4. Scratching over his scalp as the gate slid closed, he groaned to himself. Merlin, this paperwork was going to fucking suck.

* * *

Sarah Bloomfield fiddled with the lock to her classroom door, jiggling the key frustratedly. Damned thing stuck like it was made of molasses. Finally!

She swung through the doorway, just barely not falling as the weight she had been leaning on the door suddenly fell out from under her. She could hear Lila giggling at her from across the hallway, and sent her a half glare, rolling her eyes. Dropping her lesson plans onto her desk, she slung her tote bag to the floor next to it, and sighed as she collapsed into her chair. God only knew why she decided to become a teacher, when she could barely wake up on time as a student.

After unpacking her things, Sarah walked around the room, slowly and methodically preparing things as she sipped on her thermos of tea. They were discussing the seasons in class today, and she had acquired supplies for groups to make little dioramas with. The sun began streaming in from over the treetops as she finished and sat back down in her desk chair, just in time as the first of her students wandered in from the rapidly populating hallway.

"Hello, Jimmy!" She greeted cheerily.

"Hi Ms. Bloomfield!" He responded eagerly, making his way through the desks to his seat. He and Margaret were here first yesterday, so she wasn't surprised to see him now. One by one, her second form students poured in from the doorway, and made their way to their respective seats.

All but one.

Now, obviously, children missed school all the time. While Sarah preffered for every child to attend as much as possible, kids got sick. All The. Time. Or went on camping trips that their parents forgot to call about, and other things. Any one child not showing up to school on time, even on the second day of school, was not cause for immediate alarm.

And yet, as the bell rang and the school day officially began, she couldn't help but hear it as the proverbial alarm bell. When little Helena Potter didn't come crashing through the door at the last moment, Sarah's heart sank through the floorboards.

Throughout the day, she kept reminding herself that most children missed a day of school here and there, and she really had nothing substantial to be concerned about. She notified the front office, which got back to her just before lunch. Let her know that Mrs. Dursley had forgotten to call the school, because she was just so busy looking after Helena. Poor thing had a bad cold, she said. Nothing to worry about, though.

Most children didn't show up to school on the first day looking exhausted and starved half to death. Most children didn't suddenly come into a possibly hefty inheritance from their long deceased parents at seven years old. Most children didn't flinch when touched gently.

Sarah walked up to the heavy wooden double doors, and slipped through them. Jason was at his desk, busy looking occupied typing away at his PC, and she didn't bother acknowledging him as she walked up to the Headmistress' door. Her aunt's boytoy was of little use to Sarah on a good day, and this was not a good day.

Moments passed as she stood there with her fist raised to knock, swallowing. Eventually, her fist fell against the doorway, once, twice. She could hear Camille's short huffed breath as she heaved herself towards the door.

"Oh! Sarah, how unexpected."

"Hello Aunt Camille. Sorry to bother you, but there's something we must discuss immediately."

"Ah, well. Come in, come in."

The door clinked shut behind her, and Sarah nervously smoothed her hands over her skirt as she sat down. The Headmistress sat back down in the large leather armchair behind her desk, already filing her nails again.

"I think one of my students is in danger at home."

"Oh? Who?"

"... Helena Potter, ma'am."

"Really, Sarah? That brat?"

"She is a very kind child," Sarah protested, to Camille's rolled eyes. "And I find it highly concerning that she's missing school immediately after the kind of news she received at yesterday morning's meeting!"

"Mrs. Dursley personally reassured Jason that the girl got sick, I just don't see what you're all worked up about."

"I am Worked Up about a young child who showed up on the first day back looking starved and exhausted! Even if she showed up to school today, I'd still be concerned about her! As it is, she's not here, and I think her guardians may well be unjustly imprisoning or harming her!"

"The Dursley's are the only suitable guardians for Helena Potter," the Headmistress spoke monotonously, eyes unfocused. Sarah's brow creased, and she waved a hand in front of her face.

"Aunt Camille? What was that? ... Hellooooo?"

With a sudden snort, her eyes refocused on Sarah, and her hands kept filing her nails like they had never stopped in the first place.

"What is it now, Sarah? I'm a very busy woman, you know."

"N-nothing, Aunt Camille. I'd, ah, best be going, before my students return from lunch."

"Yes, yes. Ta-ta!" The Headmistress didn't bother getting up to see her out, and Sarah walked quickly through the dingy halls back towards her classroom. Unclear what the bloody hell that was, but clear that her aunt wasn't going to help. Sarah would just have to do this by her damn self.

Pulling out a sticky note that she'd kept pasted to the inside of her desk since she first got the job a few years ago, she gathered her courage, and dialed the number on her classroom landline.

"Hello, Child Services Agency? I'm afraid I need to make a report."

* * *

Arabella Figg puttered slowly across her kitchen, dragging the bag of kneazel food behind her. Scooping the little cup she kept inside the bag out, full of food, she peered out of the window overlooking her front yard as she poured servings into the little bowls.

The children at St. Grogory's got out at 3:15, and those who lived on Privet Drive had an about 10 minute walk to get home. So at 3:25, every day, Arabella fed her kneazels.

She watched as Petunia held little Dudley's hand through the doorway, and closed it behind them. It was a shame little Helena never walked with them.

And yet, as she stood there, right hand propped against the edge of the counter, left hand alternating between petting Snuggles and Pobbers as they ate, the minutes ticked on slowly with no sign of the scrawny girl.

Little Lydia White skipped past, on the way to house number eight, and little Timmy Robinson stopped just shy of her at house number three. Every single parent and child of St. Grogory's that lived on Privet Drive filed into their homes as she silently watched. All but one.

Sighing, she slung her shawl over her shoulders, snatched her purse off the coat tree, and prodded Kippers back with her cane as she edged her way out the door. She shuffled across the street slowly, the recent weather change wearing on her joints.

Knocking the rounded head of her cane against the front door of Number Four, Privet Drive, Arabella rocked back and forth on her heels as she waited. It had been a fair while since she had bothered Petunia for a proper cuppa, she reasoned, and now was a good a time as any.

"Oh, hello Arabella."

"Hello Petunia dearie! Was just wondering if I could bother you for a nice cuppa at the moment?"

"Oh, of course, come in, come in."

As she shuffled through the doorway, the first thing she noticed was little Dudley in the livingroom to the left, joyously screaming at the TV. However, the thing that drew her ultimate attention was the lack of the other child.

Petunia led the way down the hallway, towards the kitchen. As Arabella followed her, she paused at the closet door hidden under the stairs, knocking the head of her cane against it.

"Helena dearie? Won't you come out to say hello?" She continued shuffling towards the kitchen after waiting for a response for a moment, knowing Petunia would need to come unlock the latch. Perhaps the poor thing just wasn't feeling like talking much today.

"She's not here."

Petunia's sharp response startled Arabella. Was she at the library again?

"What do you mean, dearie?" She asked as she settled into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

Petunia rolled her eyes as she brought the tea tray over to the table, leaving the kettle on the stove. "She just wasn't here when I got up to make breakfast this morning. Brat probably ran away. Good riddance, I say."

"What?! How could she have run away? In the middle of the night?"

Petunia shrugged. "Who knows. She'll probably be back eventually. I doubt a scrawny little whore like her would last very long on the streets."

"Ah... yes, well. Naturally, I suppose. I- ah, Mittens has been feeling awfully ill lately, and I mustn't leave him alone too long, you understand." Arabella stood suddenly, grabbing her cane and making her way back towards the door.

"Oh, but the tea-"

"Very kind of you, dearie, so sorry I must be going!"

"Of course, of course. Say goodbye to Mrs. Figg, Dudley!"

The little beach ball of a boy reached one arm over the back of the couch to wave, eyes fixed on the glowing television.

"Yes, goodbye Dudley. Another time, Petunia! Thank you!" Arabella called out as she closed the door behind herself, not bothering to wait for a response.

After breaking some personal records as she shuffled quickly across the street, she was entirely out of breath as she let herself through the door, nudging Willers and Ronnie back with her cane. Still, she didn't pause to catch her breath, hobbling over to the fireplace as fast as she could.

Snatching a handful of floo powder out of the pot, she threw it into the flames as she knelt down on the hearth. As soon as they flared green, she stuck her head face first into the logs, calling out the address and password.

"Albus! Albus, pick up!"

"Arabella, dear, what seems to be the matter?"

"Helena Potter is missing."

* * *

Langlan Smythwick sighed, rifling his left hand through his hair as he wrote. He kept the monitoring charms in his peripheral vision as he worked, though he was fairly unconcerned. Despite the extent of the damage done to the Heiress, the ritual specialists working on her were well qualified, and he trusted them.

The Malfoy family had made camp in the nearest available waiting room, given the duration of the ritual. Draco had nearly insisted on standing outside of the door to the ritual room the entire time, but his parents and uncle had coaxed him into just checking back in every half hour.

The door to the hallway creaked open, and Langlan sighed again. Think of the devil, or whatever it was Amelia said.

"Draco, I can assure you that I've been keeping an eye on th- oh Merlin!" Langlan nearly fell out of his chair in surprise, but managed to keep his heart attack under control and compose himself quickly. "Hello Mr. Dumbledore, can I help you?"

Albus Dumbledore smiled serenely down at Langlan, letting the silence hang for a moment before he spoke. "Draco? As in the young Malfoy boy, I pressume?"

Langlan blinked at the nonsequitor, and tilted his head slightly. "Ah, yes. Poor boy is terribly concerned, his great-uncle Scorpious is here for a heart-repair healing ritual."

"Ahh, naturally. Would you be so kind as to perhaps tell me where I could find Miss Helena Potter's room?"

As Langlan's veins iced over, he fought to keep his expression placid while he searched his mind desperately for a believable lie.

"Who's that?"

Bloody fucking great one, Langlan.

One of Dumbledore's eyebrows twitched, though he kept most of his incredulity under wraps. "Helena Potter, the girl who lived? The lovely receptionist upstairs was fairly certain I would be able to find her down here."

"Oh, well, of course I've heard of her, was merely confused. I apologize though, our receptionist must've been mistaken. I've been down here all day, and I haven't heard anything at all about the girl who lived."

Dumbledore squinted suspiciously, and frowned at him, but nodded. "Terribly sorry to bother you, then. Would you mind if I looked around just a bit to be sure?"

"I'm sorry, but the ritual rooms are sealed for safety during the procedure, and only family members are allowed in afterwards."

"Well, as her magical guardian, certainly I should be able to see her afterwards at least."

"You would, if she were here. Unfortunately, there are no Potters being treated down here at the moment."

"Ah, yes, yes, my mistake. Well, I don't suppose you'd mind terribly if I waited around for a bit, just to be safe? I'm quite certain she's here in the hospital somewhere, and I'd hate to miss her. I'm terribly concerned about the poor thing, as I'm sure you can imagine."

Out of the corner of each eye, Langlan watched as simultaneously the monitoring charms alerted him to the fact that the ritual in Chamber One would be done in ten minutes, and the door to the hallway creaked open once more, a small blond head poking out.

"Of course, Mr. Dumbledore, I completely understand. Let me show you to the nearest waiting room, where you'll be more comfortable."

"Oh, no, really I'm fine just right here-"

"Please, sir, I insist," Langlan pressed, gently guiding him by the elbow back towards the hallway. As Dumbledore finally stopped staring at him, Langlan sent Draco a Look.

"Oh, the young Malfoy boy, I pressume?"

"Draco, would you be a good boy and walk Mr. Dumbledore to the nearest waiting room with me? Afterwards, we'll be going up to let your parents know that your great uncle is almost done with his ritual, alright?"

Draco snapped to attention, and nodded silently, walking to Dumbledore's otherside and holding the edge of his sleeve gently, though Langlan could tell it pained him.

Dumbledore smiled fondly, though somehow it still felt forced. Still, he allowed himself to be walked out like a senile old man, and Langlan and Draco silently marched him to the waiting room at the very end of the hall.

After saying their goodbyes, the pair walked quickly up two stories of stairs, just to be safe, and Langlan got them into the nearest inter-hospital floo.

They almost rolled out of the nurses station exit behind Rituals, unaccustomed to flooing together. After dusting themselves off, and getting a nurse to fetch Lucius, Narcissa, and Severus, they stood gathered around the door to Chamber One, watching as the seal slowly disintegrated.

As soon as it was safe, Langlan held the door open for the Malfoy family. After briefly conferring with the ritual specialists, Severus took several scrolls, and Lucius scooped the Heiress off of the obsidian slab she was prostrate on, still in her hospital ritual robes, and the party filed quickly back out.

Using the employee floo, Langlan let them out of St. Mungo's, waving a goodbye to Draco as they were taken homeward.

"Motherfucking Circe's Mercy. Family Healing was supposed to be more relaxing."

Notes:

Any thoughts? 👀

Chapter 12: breakfast at the manor

Helena twisted around, burrowing into the warmth of the cloud she was resting on. Much nicer than the cold black stone she had lain down on before the ritual started.

"Goodmorning, Helena darling. Would you like to wake up for breakfast, or would you like to sleep a bit more?" One corner of her cloud sank a bit, and Aunt Lady Cissa's voice surprised Helena. As her eyes slowly creaked open, she realized that Aunt Lady Cissa had not actually flown her up to a cloud, and that she was actually laying on a bed. She didn't know they made beds this nice.

Breakfast? Helena took a sharp breath in, and launched the upper half of her body upright. "I'm sorry Aunt Lady Cissa, I'll get ready and make breakfast in just a moment I promise-"

"Oh, oh, relax darling, you're alright, its okay," Aunt Lady Cissa's strong hands pushed her gently backwards onto the bed, and Helena's heart raced in confusion. As she looked around wildly, trying to figure things out, she caught sight of a particular title on a book across the room. Since when could she read things that far away? In this low of lighting?

Massive windows were covered by thick velvet ivory curtains, sunlight streaming in thin lines around the edges. Candle sconces on each wall let soft light come down towards her, revealing light green walls lined with bookshelves, filled with plants and knicknacks and more titles than she could count. Most of them were in English.

"Well, you certainly seem awake now, how about Fallie and I help you get dressed, and them we can meet everyone else at the breakfast nook?" Aunt Lady Cissa asked, standing and holding a delicate hand out to her. Helena cocked her head to the side, but nodded, gripping Aunt Lady Cissa's hand softly.

As she climbed out of the massive island of plush that was the bed she had slept on, her ears quickly went from feeling slightly weird to popping in a fraction of a second, and something APPEARED behind her.

Leaping to her feet, Helena spun around to face a... short wrinkly lady? Who had appeared, standing still, on the other side of the bed. Big bat-like ears, which nearly... flapped, as she watched, and humongous watery eyes.

"Goodmornings Helena and Cissa! What be the little misses wantings to wear today?"

Helena looked to Aunt Lady Cissa for her cues, who smiled down at her reassuringly, but her eyes were gently searching. "Helena darling, this is Fallie, one of the house elves who helps take care of our family."

"Hello Fallie. It's nice to meet you. Is my snake Astrist here?" Helena questioned, heart still racing.

"Oh!" Aunt Lady Cissa exclaimed, clapping. "Didn't Draco-"

Fallie blinked calmly, and snapped her fingers, and with another pop in Helena's ears, she watched as Astrit APPEARED, out of thin air, in a rather nice terrarium sitting at the foot of her bed. Wicked.

Helena walked over, and reached inside over the top of the glass to offer Astrit her hand. He hissed his thanks, and she ran one trembling finger over his back as he wrapped himself around her neck. Her hand traveled up from his scales, to her own hair, which was still braided and twisted around itself into a crown around her head, from when Aunt Lady Cissa had... done that, yesterday morning.

Speaking of which. She glanced between Aunt Lady Cissa and Fallie, weighing her options, and sucked in a big breath. Guess nobody was beating her dumb whore ass for asking questions yet.

"Could I perhaps bathe before I get dressed, Aunt Lady Cissa?"

"Oh, of course darling, you were at the hospital all day! Oh Circe, yes, let's get you into the bath."

Eyes wide, Helena allowed herself to be shuffled towards one of the doors in a corner of this massive room. The door opened at Fallie's snap to reveal an expansive bathroom done entirely in marble, jade, and steel.

The bath that Helena quickly ascertained they intended for her to wash herself in, based on the evidence of it filling quickly with steaming water and scented bubbles, was in her opinion, far too nice. It was nearly big enough to do laps in, and lined by one large semi spherical piece of carved jade.

She took half a step backwards, stumbling into Aunt Lady Cissa. Apologizing profusely, Helena asked her if she was really supposed to get in there. Aunt Lady Cissa blinked, and asked if she'd like for it to be bigger.

Helena quickly shook her head and got undressed, not wanting to appear ungrateful. The water was amazingly hot, and she sighed as she sunk in. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a bath, if she ever had, much less a warm one. Fallie and Aunt Lady Cissa got their hands all wet, much to Helena's dismay, helping her take her hair down and wash it. It was longer than Helena remembered it looking, though she supposed it had been fairly tangled.

At least Astrit avoided getting wet, claiming the water was far too hot, and would be bad for his scales.

After she finished up and climbed out, only to be wrapped in a towel fluffier than Mrs. Figg's cats, Helena sat on the stool before a gorgeous pearl inlaid vanity while Aunt Lady Cissa braided her hair. She was doing it by hand this morning, and weaving in black ribbons with silver script written on them as she went.

Fallie questioned her on what she wanted to wear again, to Helena's confusion. After a bit of discussion, she realized that they were genuinely asking her opinion on what she wanted to wear. How strange.

"I, ah... I don't know, really. Are there... options?"

"We should really go shopping later, and get you some things. For now though, I'm sure I still have some of the dresses your mother, aunts, and I wore when we were your age. We could also get you some pants if you prefer though? I recall that you were wearing some when we met..."

Helena shook her head vehemently. "I've... never worn a dress before. They look nice."

A look crossed Aunt Lady Cissa's face, too fast for Helena to read, but she nodded, turning to Fallie. The little lady snapped her fingers, and four separate racks of dresses appeared in front of them. They all looked like they were approximately Helena's size, but she couldn't believe she was actually intended to wear them. Soft fabrics that varied from thick and comfortable, to thin and flowing, of all different colors, and every single piece screamed luxury to the degree that Helena couldn't bring herself to touch them.

Aunt Lady Cissa walked in between the racks, smiling fondly. "This one is all of my old things, and this one is all of your mother's. This one is all of your Aunt Andromeda's, and this one is from your Aunt Bellatrix."

As Aunt Lady Cissa urged her to follow, and placed her hand gently on some of the fabrics, Helena took a deep breath. Overwhelmed, she stood silently in the center for a moment, observing.

Her mother had clearly held a propensity for black, deep reds, steel, and gold, while Aunt Lady Cissa preferred light blue and pearl. Aunt Andromeda seemed to like anything in pastel. Ultimately, Helena found herself drawn towards the rack holding her Aunt Bellatrix's old clothes.

Composed mostly of black and deep greens, with some cream, and gold and silver accents, the rack held not just the dresses Aunt Lady Cissa had promised, but also some button down shirts, skirts, cloaks, and other miscellaneous things.

"You're sure it's okay for me to... wear these?"

"Darling, it would absolutely delight your Aunt Bella to know that you liked her old things. She's also your Godmother, you know? Of course you can."

Blinking, Helena looked back at the clothing in front of her. Huh.

"May I please wear this dress today?" Helena asked, tugging out the short sleeve of a black dress with a delicate white lace overlay.

"Of course, littlest misses Helena." Fallie said, gathering it and a few other miscellaneous things like underwear, socks, tights, and... gloves?

Little children's sized silk gloves, that mirrored her dress in cream white with black lace overlay, sat innocently ontop of the pile that Fallie held up to her.

"Would the littlest misses Helena like to get dressed on her ownsies, or would yous like help?"

"Umm... I'll be alright, thank you."

Helena was not alright.

Most of the clothing was fairly familiar and self explanatory. Underwear and tights and socks and gloves were easy, even when they looked funny and were made of fabrics she'd never heard of. The dress, however...

She'd spent at least 15 minutes trying to lace it up behind her back, painstakingly, only for it to tangle weirdly when she tried to tie it closed. It was loose in some parts, and too tight in others, and Helena collapsed to a puddle on the floor in defeat.

Eventually, she sighed, and walked back out to the sitting room Aunt Lady Cissa and Fallie had gone to for her privacy.

"I'm sorry, I need some help," she said, swallowing roughly.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry darling, I entirely forgot. Come here, let me teach you your lacing charms quickly."

Helena blinked, frozen. What?

Aunt Lady Cissa crossed the room to stand behind her, and deft fingers quickly untangled the knots she had left in the lacings.

"Here, give me your fingers, darling," Aunt Lady Cissa said, holding a hand behind each of her elbows. Helena looked back over her shoulder at Aunt Lady Cissa assesingly, but slowly placed her fingers in her grasp, body tensed.

Aunt Lady Cissa gently brought her fingers to hold one end of the ribbon laces in each hand, slowly pulling both of them taunt. "Now, repeat after me. Liga."

"Liga," Helena murmured.

"Haec."

"Haec..."

"Now, as you say this last part, let go of the laces, alright? Arcte."

"Arcte," Helena whispered, as she let the ends fall. She gasped as she felt the tingling rush that came with doing Freak things zap through her body, as the dress laces pulled snug and tied themselves together.

Aunt Lady Cissa smiled, and smoothed a hand over her shoulders as Helena stared up at her in awe.

"Now, we'd best be getting on now. All ready for breakfast, darling?"

Helena nodded mutely, still stunned.

Fallie snapped, and the door on the other side of the room popped open. Aunt Lady Cissa led the way out in the the hallway, and down the massive charcoal velvet staircase.

Paintings hanging along the walls caught Helena's eye as they walked. Paintings that were definitely... moving. Some showed people, chatting amongst themselves or peering down at her. A few even waved, to her surprise. Others featured landscapes of roaring waves and fields of grass, swaying gently. She didn't let herself fall too far behind Aunt Lady Cissa as they walked, but did her best to examine them as much as possible.

Helena couldn't see Fallie anywhere when the door to what was apparently the "Breakfast Nook" popped open, but the air tasted just like the honeysuckle from her bedroom, so she was pretty sure Fallie was just invisible.

"Finally!" Draco exclaimed, shooting up in his ludicrously finely carved wooden chair. "C'mon, sit down, I'm hungry!"

"Draco!" Aunt Lady Cissa scolded, sending her son a stern look.

"I'm sorry," Helena said quietly, heart racing. She walked quickly towards the table, but hovered before the chairs, uncertain.

"You're perfectly fine, darling, Draco was being impatient," Aunt Lady Cissa said, catching up to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. Despite the hand being as gentle as could be, Helena still startled, and then immediately felt bad. She didn't mean to make Aunt Lady Cissa frown like that. "Here, this is your chair, dear. Don't forget to take off your gloves before you eat."

Helena sat stiffly in the much too nice chair, nervously thumbing the rich blue brocade that covered the padding. She glanced around, meeting Uncle Lord Lucius and Draco's eye briefly before her eyes darted away, searching the room around herself.

As soon as Aunt Lady Cissa sat down next to her, gently peeling off her own thin white lace gloves, the empty platters in the center of the table popped, filling with fruits and breads and cheeses and eggs and pastries she'd never seen before. Everyone began helping themselves, passing various trays back and forth, conversing softly.

Uncle Lord Lucius had to go into the "Firm" and the "Ministry" for a few hours, to take care of some things. Someone called Uncle Sev was going to becoming over for lessons, after breakfast, but Draco wanted to know when "they" were going to get to play. He shut up quickly, though, when he learned that their Great Grandfather Arcturus would also, apparently, be coming over for their lessons.

Helena ate silently, after loading her plate to the point where she felt embarrassed. About a quarter of the way through her plate, she started to feel extremely full, but continued picking at it slowly while she listened, not wanting to appear ungrateful. Still, by the time everyone else had cleared their plates, she was only a third of the way through. Not wanting to hold anyone up, she stood when Uncle Lord Lucius did, copying him in nudging her plate towards the center of the table. To her surprise, they both disappeared in a pop, as did Aunt Lady Cissa and Draco's when they did the same.

Uncle Lord Lucius grabbed a cloak off of the coatrack in the corner, and said goodbye to each of them before ducking into a suddenly green fireplace, much as they had together at the bank.

"Well, are you lovely children ready for lessons now?"

Draco shot up, much like he had when they first entered the room, and nodded vigorously. Helena glanced between them, and nodded tentatively.

Lessons turned out to be a rather big room, with seven tables spaced out in a large circle. Each table held distinct materials, and while some held purposes she recognized, others were more difficult to discern. The domed roof was painted a deep blue, and had intricate diagrams of constellations etched across it. As Helena peered up at them, gaping in awe, a comet streaked lazily from one side to the other.

A soft chuckle came from across the room, and Helena snapped her head back downwards. "Hello, children. Come here, come here."

Draco raced forwards, nearly slamming into the elderly man sitting in the chair pulled out from one of the tables. Helena followed, though at a much more cautious pace. The old man laughed, patting Draco's hair and holding him by the shoulders.

"Oh, look at you, you're getting bigger by the day. And Helena... my, I haven't seen you since you were a wee little infant. Mother's blessings indeed."

"Hello, sir," Helena said quietly.

"None of that, none of that now. Your mother Siriana is my granddaughter, and you and Draco are my only precious great grandchildren. You may call me Grandfather, or Arcturus if you prefer."

She nodded, blinking up at him. He might be even older than Mrs. Figg.

"I wrote you a letter, dear, and asked Steelhead to hand it to you personally. Have you had a chance to read it yet?"

Helena took a sharp breath in through her nose, remembering the letter Steelhead had indeed given her. She had put it in her binder, in her backpack. Where was her backpack?

"No, Grandfather, I'm sorry," she said, hanging her head in shame.

"No need to apologize darling, Severus was just telling me you had quite the eventful day yesterday. I would imagine there wasn't nary a moment for reading an old man's letters, and regardless, we'll be going over much of what I disclosed in your letter through your lessons today."

Master Snape, who Helena deduced must be the Uncle Sev they had been referencing, smirked lightly. "Speaking of which, let's not waste daylight. Sit down, children, and we shall begin. Are you ready for a Black Family history lesson?"

Notes:

Grandpa's back!!! Can y'all tell we're abt to hit that Exposition™ lmao. Anyways, lmk what you think!!!<3

Chapter 13: the family history hour

Notes:

Granpappy hath Returned for some sweet sweet exposition ✨️

Draco scrambled into a chair on the opposite side of the table from their grandfather, and Helena slowly followed him, rubbing her thumb against Astrit's scales for comfort. Severus sat next to Grandfather, across from Draco, and Aunt Lady Cissa sat at the end of the table, between Grandfather and Helena.

"Before we dig in, we're going to briefly cover some remedial biology concepts, just so that you aren't surprised or confused by anything later on, alright?" Severus asked, looking directly at Helena, who nodded.

"Now, as opposed to the muggles you've grown up alongside, wix have not one, but two separate sexes which we are assigned at birth. Gender identity, which is a separate concept, is deeply personal and varied, but mostly applies to whether you feel like a boy, a girl, or something else. The primary sex characteristics, which we share with muggles, determine whether you're labeled as male or female, but the secondary sex characteristics, which are exclusive to magical peoples, determine you as either alpha, beta, or omega. I've never personally met someone who's secondary gender didn't align with the secondary sex they were assigned, but I wouldn't say they don't or have never existed. The world is a very large place filled with all kinds of people with different experiences, and it's always best to err on the side of respect. Any questions?"

Helena hesitantly raised her hand.

"Yes?"

"What are... sex, um, characteristics?"

Severus and Draco blushed, but Grandfather and Aunt Lady Cissa chuckled.

"Sex characteristics are parts of our bodies, darling," Aunt Lady Cissa said, holding out her hand as a book sailed towards her from a bookshelf across the room. It landed in her hand with a solid thwack, and she placed it on the table before them.

Waving her funny stick in a pattern over the cover, it flipped open, pages fanning out before it settled on a page of anatomical illustrations.

"This is a penis, the primary male sex characteristic, and this is a vagina and breasts, the primary female sex characteristics."

Helena scrunched her nose. They both looked weird.

"Now, while these are very natural things, parts of our bodies, we often call them our private parts, or privates, because no one is ever, ever allowed to touch you there without your permission, alright?" Aunt Lady Cissa's voice was suddenly deadly serious, and her gaze bore into Helena. She nodded mutely, eyes wide.

"Good. This rule also extends to your behind. It is not a sex characteristics, but it is still a private part, alright? Excellent. Now, while private parts are not bad or immoral, discussing them in public is very inappropriate. Adults do grown-up activities with their private parts, and children should never be engaged in those activities. If an adult ever, ever tries to look at or touch your private parts, or show you their private parts, you need to tell an adult family member as soon as possible, alright? It is very, very important for us to know, and you will never ever be in trouble for telling us something like that. Even if the other adult says there will be consequences if you tell, I promise you, we'll make sure you're safe. Alright?"

Helena nodded timidly, and Astrit started doing his best to make a nest amongst her crown braids.

"Now, on to lighter subjects," Severus continued, clearing his throat. "These are the secondary sex characteristics: the scent glands, the fangs, and the knot. All wix are born with scent glands, while only Omegas and Alphas grow fangs, and only Alphas are able to produce knots, which occur on the penis. Scent glands are the centers of certain hormone productions, which produce smells, and allow wix to mark each other in different ways. While most of these are communal and personal bindings, like pack, family, and bondmates, there are also marks that wix can leave in aggression, even unwittingly, which will warn each other of their presence. Any questions?"

Shaking her head, Helena wondered what on earth a mark looked, or, she supposed, smelled like.

"Much like muggles have marriage ceremonies, and form communities of their own, wix have bonding ceremonies, and form packs, in order to protect and take care of each other. Not all wix join a pack, and not all soulmates get officially bonded, especially these days, but it's still an incredibly important part of wixen culture."

"Soulmates?" Helena could have kicked herself for interrupting. However, to her surprise, though Severus frowned, he tapped on his own forehead and reprimanded himself softly for forgetting.

"Yeah! The person who's core matches yours! See, here's my soulmark!" Draco said, thrusting his wrist in front her face. There, on his pale and otherwise unblemished skin, was the small raised outline of a flower. It looked like a sunflower, though it was a bit difficult to discern, just the color of an old scar.

Helena's hand raised itself up to her forehead, tracing the lightning bolt shaped scar that ran from her hairline to her eyebrow. Looking up, she caught all three adults looking at her sadly.

"That is in fact your soulmark, darling. It wasn't quite so... red and painful looking, when you were a baby," Aunt Lady Cissa said, frowning. "The healers confirmed your core was whole, though, so whatever was done to it didn't harm you permanently, at least."

She nodded, and dropped her hand.

"Now, for this next portion," Aunt Lady Cissa said, closing the anatomy book and exchanging it with another from a different shelf. "We're going to reference a map of the Black Family Tree, alright?"

As this book opened, rather than the pages fanning, they folded outwards, blanketing the table in a very large and very old piece of paper, yellowed and cracking at the creases. As Helena watched, ink poured from the center of the top of the page, sprouting into a large inverted tree.

The thick trunk in the center featured portraits of two middle aged looking women, who occasionally looked at each other and winked. One had short shaggy hair, and fine, pointed features, along with a grin that bordered on feral. The other had softer features, and hair braided into two long pigtails with little curls that escaped to frame her face, which did nothing to disguise her mischievous smirk. The names below their portraits simply read Artemisia and Phoebe.

"These," Grandfather said, pointing to the both them, "are our ancestors, and the first wix in our family to cast the Arborea Familius spell, giving us this record of every single one of their descendants throughout the centuries."

"Living in the Aquitaine region of what is now France, approximately 1500 years ago, Artemisia and Phoebe lived long before the Statute of Secrecy, and diaries kept by both of them indicate that they lived in relative peace with their community," Severus said. "They practiced our holidays openly, and even invited neighboring muggles to celebrate with them. Phoebe had a reputation as an herbalist who could cure any illness that befell the children of the village, and Artemisia was well known for her ability to bring home game much larger than herself."

"While they were beloved for their gifts within the community, knights who sought to take the lands on behalf of neighboring kingdoms were... less amenable, certainly," Grandfather settled on, scowling. "The children spoke little of what became of their mothers, but suffice to say it was unpleasant."

"Of their six children, Aegidius, Mahaut, Garnier, Amis, Cateline, and Jehanne," Aunt Lady Cissa said, leaning across the table to point at each of them in turn, "only four survived to adulthood. Jehanne, the youngest, died the next summer. It's unclear exactly what happened, but one day she went exploring in the woods, and never returned home. Amis died whilst attempting to rescue his friend from drowning in a lake in the midst of winter, some years later."

The ink swirls of thick branches immediately proceeding Amis and Jehanne's portraits looked like they had been chopped by a sharp axe, close to the trunk.

"In 1583 Gregorian, descendants of Mahaut's line fled prosecution on the continent and sailed north to England," she said, tracing the branch downwards. "They claimed a surname, Black, and found home in a wixen community south of London."

"My father, Sirius Apollonius Black, began building the Black Family Townhouse when he was just nineteen years old, though I must say I do still prefer the old country manor myself," Grandfather said, chuckling.

"Was that in 1600?" Draco asked, eyes wide.

"Draco!" Aunt Lady Cissa scolded, but Grandfather just laughed.

"Sorry Grandfather," Draco mumbled, hanging his head.

"Worry not, child, it was in fact a very long time ago. However, it was not quite That long. 1824, to be precise."

"Wicked," Helena and Draco whispered simultaneously.

"My father and mother, Hesper, had me, my little sister Lycoris, and my littlest brother Regulus," Grandfather paused to swallow. "I bonded with my lovely wife Melania, blessed Mother rest her soul, and we had two sons, Orion and Cygnus. Orion bonded with his wife, Alectius, and birthed your mother, dear, Siriana, and your deceased uncle, Regulus."

At this, Severus blinked for a heavy moment.

Helena dropped her eyes, and looked searchingly at her mother's portrait. It was perfectly still, unlike many of those around her. For example, the one braided onto the tree next to hers waived merrily up at her. The name beneath his portrait read James Fleamont Potter-Black. She blinked down at him. That name was on her inheritance test.

"Your mother and father met each other when they were just eleven years old, on the train to school," Severus told her in a solemn tone. "I saw them, that day, glued to each other in a train compartment. Figured they must've already known each other, like Lily and I."

"Lily Anne Lupin?"

"... Yes. How did you... ah, your inheritance test, correct?"

She nodded.

"Lily was my best friend. We grew up together, poor little brats in Cokeworth. She met her soulmate, Remus, on that day too, though the oblivious fools didn't realize it for almost four years. Siri and James got bonded before we even graduated, and Lily and Remus were hardly any better. They had their ceremony one week after exams ended."

"Financially, Siriana and James had no need to work, but they were clear in their intent to pursue masteries in Transfiguration," Aunt Lady Cissa said, smiling sadly.

Severus snorted. "They had already done the work for it several times over, they just couldn't be bothered with filling out the paperwork while in school."

"Regardless," Aunt Lady Cissa continued, cutting him a heatless glare. "They invited Lily and Remus to live with them after graduation, on one of the many estates they owned collectively. It was called Godric's Hollow."

"They adored living together, all four of them," Severus said. "It wasn't a particularly large place, just two stories in the midst of a wixen neighborhood, but it made them happy."

"I recall the day Siriana announced that she was pregnant with you, dear," Grandfather said. "She was positively radiant. I don't think she'd ever been happier to tell us anything, truly."

"When the healers realized that she wouldn't be able to carry the pregnancy to term, it was like the world just ended for her and James. They spent days inside, and refused to see anyone but pack and family," Aunt Lady Cissa said, her mouth twisting in sadness.

"Until Lily found the transference ritual."

Aunt Lady Cissa nodded at Severus. "Late stage surrogacy hasn't been practiced in British wixen society since the mid-millenium, but that certainly wasn't going to stop Lily. She found the ritual in one of her grandfather's libraries, I believe?"

"Tom didn't just let her in to the old family libraries, he searched with her. He found the right book, and she identified the ritual. He agreed that she could do it, with the proper ingredients and timing. Which, of course, we could arrange," Severus said, grinning faintly. "She dragged me out foraging, with absolutely no explanation mind you, and we only went home once we had absolutely everything."

"She only told Siri, James, and Remus once she got back with you, you know," Aunt Lady Cissa murmured. "Siri said she might've waited till just the day before to tell them, but for how much she wanted to prepare them properly. Didn't want to give anyone false hope."

"We did it in the Black Family country manor novionemetum, on Yule. It was safer there, for you, nevermind the fact that those magics had lain forgotten for five hundred years," Grandfather said, huffing. "The circle needed to be pack, in order to be strong enough to harness that dragon's waking. St. Mungo's Ritualists would just have gotten in the way."

"There are plenty of packs who are collectively employed as Ritualist teams at St. Mungo's these days, as I have oft told you, old man," Severus jabbed, though his eyes were soft. "It was safer for you there, though. Theoretically, we could have done it at James or Lily's family manors, but the Black family has the strongest connection to their family magics, and the most living family members who could help support the circle. It was the only logical choice."

"The ritual went well, and Lily gave birth to you the day before Lughnasa. We were all beyond delighted to see you whole and healthy," Aunt Lady Cissa said. "Remus blood-adopted you on Mabon, as soon as we could convince him you were magically strong enough for the ritual. Merlin, even at a six weeks, you were a powerhouse, darling. I swear to Mother Magic you glowed."

"On Yule, you got bored whilst laying on my chest," Grandfather chuckled. "It's possible I fell asleep for a moment. Old habit from rocking my boys to sleep when they were that wee. Certainly woke up when your mother started cussing me out for letting you float away, and looked up to see you resting merrily on the ceiling, waving down at us."

"You and Draco met at his first birthday party," Aunt Lady Cissa said, smiling fondly. "It was mostly a lot of you two staring at each other, and trying to stuff yourselves full of cake, but you both seemed happy."

"And her first birthday party was much of the same," Severus mused.

"Can we stop talking about us as babies now?" Draco interjected, blushing.

"Not yet, unfortunately," Grandfather said, smiling sadly. "Whilst we were busy celebrating your life, certain unsavory individuals were busying themselves with spreading a good few vicious rumors. None of them were true, but that hardly mattered. They were salacious, and there's scant the public loves more than a salacious rumor."

"A... journalist, if you could call her that, published a photo of you in Lily's arms, in your home garden," Severus said, trying to hide how his teeth were grinding. "The article claimed that you were the illegitimate child of Lily and James. It didn't matter how many people they told about the surrogacy, how many interviews they gave or how many articles they published in scientific journals. Nothing was enough, public sentiment was that we were clearly backpedalling to cover up the affair."

"Do I look like Lily?" Helena asked suddenly.

A thick and painful pause swept over the table, but Aunt Lady Cissa cleared her throat first.

"You have Siriana's hair, and her smile, and James' bone structure, but your eyes... no one had ever known anyone else with eyes as green Lily's, dear." She said, eyes tracing softly over Helena's face.

She nodded. It only made sense, really. The journalist published a photo of her and Lily side by side, and people had been convinced. They must've looked at least somewhat alike.

"Your freckles are from Remus," Severus said suddenly, a crooked grin on his face. "Lily and Siri only ever burned, and James just tanned, but Remus got freckles by the dozen."

She looked down at her arms, well spotted from years of burning under the summer sun in the name of Number Four's garden.

"On Samhain of that year, tragedy struck our family," Grandfather said solemnly. "Siriana and Remus were safe with us at the Black Family Manor for our celebration and observances. But James and you had both had a bad case of the icesprites all week, and he elected to remain in bed for the night. Lily's grandfather was in town to speak with her, so she elected to stay home as well, to talk to him and take care of you, since James certainly wasnt in the state for it."

"Siri left the celebrations first. Said she had a bad feeling, but told Remus to wait here, just in case. Kicked off on her bike faster than I'd ever seen her. Just a few minutes later, Remus went quiet for a moment, and then transformed and began running off, without a word," Severus intoned.

Helena mentally noted the word "transformed", but elected to save that line of questioning for later.

"When they didn't return by the time we were wrapping up here, Bella went over to investigate, and she took her husband and brothers in law along with," Aunt Lady Cissa said, swallowing. "We got an owl from her, hours later. All it said was, "house gone, he took Helena, going to A&F". Severus, Luke, Andy and I sped over, hopping through a nearby floo. No one was there, and the house was well and truly destroyed."

"Where did everyone even go?!" Draco protested.

"Who was "he" ?" Helena questioned under her breath.

"Well, we eventually found Lily, James, and Tom's bodies, through the rubble. It took a few hours, and we bothered the dear old lady across the street to floo call some friends for help," Aunt Lady Cissa said, studying the map lain out before them. "We foolishly assumed that Bella, Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bartemius would be safe at Alice and Frank's house, and focused on searching for you, Siriana, and Remus till morning. When the post arrived."

"The news that everyone but Remus had been sentenced to life in Azkaban, overnight, without trial, was... senseless, and devastating." Grandfather ground out. "The charges against them hardly made sense in the first place. I was in the Wizengamot later that day, demanding that my Heir be given a proper trial. That which even the most heinous of criminals have received under the purview of British wixen law for centuries. I was stonewalled. So I abdicated my Lordship, and made Siriana officially the Lady Black. I never thought they'd just let her rot when she was supposed to be sitting amongst them."

"You still sat as her Regent for another four years," Aunt Lady Cissa said, smiling. "Luke told me every evening at dinner how things were going on getting them all trials. Severus, Andy and I were on brooms, most days. We must've searched the whole island three times over."

"But what happened to Remus?" Draco interrupted.

"We don't know," his mother told him sadly.

"But who was he?" Helena asked, heart thudding.

"Remus, dear? He was your adoptive father..."

"No, Aunt Bella- Bellatrix said, in her message, she said "he took Helena". Who was he?" Helena got out.

As the adults looked between each other tensely, Helena's heart began beating faster. Had that been a bad question?

"I'm sorry..." she whispered, her eyes drilling holes through the paper into the table.

"No, it's alright, it's just..." Severus trailed off, and swallowed. "While we've been unable to communicate with Bellatrix to confirm exactly whom she was referencing, we have good reason to believe you were kidnapped that night by a man named Albus Dumbledore."

Blood rushed past her ears, and she put concentrated effort into long, slow and even breaths.

"He's a terribly powerful old man," Grandfather mused with a scowl. "But above all else, he is a fool. And powerful old fools can be horrible things when their heads become overly large, as my Melania would say."

"Magical prowess is not his only forte, although it certainly makes his life easier," Severus grumbled. "Dumbledore is a chess master, and all other lives become pieces on a board in his view. It must be a terribly predictable way to see the world, but it lets him lie and manipulate without compunction. Through these means, he's acquired a variety of positions of power, unfortunately to the extent that regardless of what he does, there are those who adore him."

"Those who will perform his every command," Aunt Lady Cissa continued. "Regardless of the possible ramifications. People who will help him kidnap and hide a little baby."

"Did he kill James, Lily, and Tom?" She asked. It had crossed her mind to call James her father, but she felt awkward calling him something and Lily just by her name. She was never going to see them again, anyways.

"I checked the magical signatures on all three bodies myself," Grandfather said, nodding gravely.

"I think I remember it," Helena said, a bit blankly.

A blanket of painful silence fell around her.

"What?" Severus croaked.

"Circe's mercy..." Aunt Lady Cissa muttered.

"It's not very much," she attempted to reassure them. "I just sometimes have strange dreams. I hear yelling, and a woman screams, and then everything fades into a bright green light."

"That's..." Draco trailed off, his pointed features turned ashen. "That's a nightmare, I think, not a dream."

Helena shrugged. Of all of the things that had plagued her in her memorable life, these dreams, or nightmares, were somewhat the least of her problems. It was a bit more disturbing to think that she was recalling her family being murdered, but she set that thought aside for later.

"But why would he leave me with the Dursleys?" Helena mused, frowning.

"The who?" Draco asked, his face scrunching.

Aunt Lady Cissa tilted her head, and Grandfather's brow furrowed. But Severus grimaced knowingly.

"Petunia Dursley, née Evans, is a nasty woman, with a very particular aversion to magic," Severus told her. "She hated Lily and I bitterly when we were children. The first thing Lily did wrong, in her opinion, was being born in the first place."

Helena nodded. That tracked.

"When Lily could do magic, and Petunia couldn't, things only got worse between them. It didn't matter how many favors Lily did, or what she let Petunia get away with doing to her. Petunia hated her. She never told their parents, but she couldn't hide those brusies from me."

Goosebumps ran up Helena's arms, and she rubbed absently at the spots where the bruises weren't anymore.

"There are dozens of people your parents would rather you have gone to, but half of us were very suddenly either incapacitated or imprisoned," Aunt Lady Cissa said, trying to hide how her teeth were grinding, "and every time any of the rest of us dared show up in court, demanding to at least see you, he claimed we weren't even legally your family."

"Dumbledore told the Wizengamot that we were threats to your safety. He claimed that Siriana had become furious about Lily and James' "affair", and had convinced Lily's grandfather to kill them. Said that they were trying to kill you when he arrived," Grandfather scoffed. "More utter hogwash I have not ever heard in my life. But when he told them that we would likely attempt to finish the job, should you even be shown in court, the Wizengamot ruled in favor of making Dumbledore legally your magical guardian, and deferred to his judgement on your placement, which was to remain secret from the public."

"Why would Lily's grandfather have agreed to kill her at all?" Helena wondered, frowning.

"Dumbledore has always maintained that Tom was an evil man," Severus answered, grimacing. "The way he talked about him, you'd think Tom was a hair's breadth away from cold-blooded murder at all times."

"He implied that Tom was killed by magical backlash whilst attempting to murder you," Aunt Lady Cissa said, her mouth twisted up like even the words tasted bad. "He said that he barely managed to subdue Siriana in her rage after Tom's "defeat"."

"He put it on the front page, burying the news about your mother and family being imprisoned without trial deep in the paper. Called you the "Girl Who Lived", which I fear I must warn you, you might be reffered to as by certain... impolite strangers," Grandfather told her, his lip curling in distaste.

"We wanted to fight the ugly things they said, we wanted to find a way to free our family from false imprisonment, but... we needed to find you even more. You weren't old enough to show up on the family tree yet, we couldn't even..." Aunt Lady Cissa looked down at her hands for a moment, blinking rapidly, and cleared her throat. "We couldn't even confirm whether or not you were alive."

Her family had searched for her. Her family had prioritized searching for her over other extremely important things, which Helena couldn't help but feel a wash of guilt for. But even more than she felt guilty for taking up their time and resources, she felt... valued. Loved.

Tears sprung to her eyes.

"I'm home!" Uncle Lord Lucius's voice rang out from beyond the doorway.

Notes:

Tried to not get too bogged down in the details but lmk if you have any questions!<3

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of the living legend of Helena Potter-Black