Chapter 2
Chapter 2
The manor gates crash shut behind me. My hands tremble at my sides and Hagrid’s massive palm settles gently on my shoulder, solid and warm.
“Yeh alright, Penelope?” he asks, his voice softer than I expected.
I swallow hard, staring straight ahead. I don’t look back. I’ve never been outside alone before, not like this, but I nod, because there’s no turning back now.
The words keep replaying in my head. I want to go.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Then—
“Absolutely not,” Magnus growled, his voice like a blade scraping against stone. “You are not leaving this house.”
His fury filled the room, pressing down on my ribs like a vice, but I didn’t back down. I couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after years of being trapped in a place that was never home.
I owed it to myself. I owed it to Sirius—for when we were ten, standing beneath the old oak tree in the garden, hands clasped together, swearing we’d escape one day, that we’d fight for it.
That promise was the only reason I never gave up, the only thing that kept me standing after every cruel word, every reminder that I was unwanted.
We swore we wouldn’t let them break us.
So I fought back, with Hagrid by my side—a silent reminder that I wasn’t alone.
And now, as I stand on the other side of those gates, I feel it, the weight lifting off my shoulders, the air filling my lungs, clean and free.
For the first time in my life, I breathe.
~
Diagon Alley is like stepping into a dream. The streets are alive, bustling with witches and wizards, the hum of chatter, the laughter, the clinking of coins—it’s overwhelming, intoxicating almost.
“Yeh keep close now, Penelope,” Hagrid rumbles, his warm smile a beacon in the chaos. “Wouldn’ want yeh gettin’ lost. This place can be a bit confusin’ yer first time.”
I nod, drinking in every detail. Stalls overflowing with strange, glittering wares, owls hooting from their cages and children racing past, their hands sticky with melting ice cream. So much life.
After years locked away, it’s almost too much.
“Alright,” Hagrid says, stopping in front of a towering, twisted building. “First thing’s first—Gringotts. Yeh got an account, yeah?”
I nod again. My parents always made sure I understood family finances—made sure I was perfect in every way, even if they treated me like an embarrassment.
Inside, the goblins barely glance at us before leading me to the Lestrange vault. I knew we were wealthy, but seeing it all laid out—piles of gold, ancient artifacts, shelves of books stacked carelessly—it’s staggering.
The goblin hands me a small pouch. “How much will you be withdrawing?”
I hesitate. Too much, and my parents will notice. Too little, and I won’t be able to support myself if something goes wrong. So I carefully count out a reasonable amount—enough to last the year without raising suspicion.
As we leave, Hagrid gives me a look. “Smart of yeh, that,” he says, slipping a few of his own Galleons into my pouch.
We move quickly through the alleys, stopping at each shop for supplies. Robes, books, potions ingredients. And then—a wand.
Ollivander watches me with unsettling, knowing eyes as he places wand after wand in my hands. Then, finally, “Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather.” His gaze sharpens. “Unyielding.”
The moment my fingers wrap around it, warmth shoots through my arm.
“Curious,” Ollivander murmurs, his pale eyes gleaming. “That wand will be a powerful ally to you, Miss Lestrange. Treat it well.”
We step out of the shop, and I tuck my wand safely into my pocket when—
“Oi, watch out, mate!”
I turn just in time to see a boy with messy black hair and round glasses collide with a stack of cauldrons outside the shop next door. The clanging noise turns heads, but the boy just laughs as he scrambles to his feet, brushing soot off his robes.
“Are you alright?” I step forward without thinking, leaving Hagrid behind me.
He looks up, and when his hazel eyes meet mine, something in them sparks. His grin widens as he pushes his glasses up his nose.
“Never better,” he says, towering over me. “Meant to do that. Thought the cauldrons could use a good shake-up.”
I can’t help but smile. “It certainly looked intentional.”
He laughs, then extends a hand. “James Potter. And you are?”
“Penelope,” I say softly, taking his hand. His palm is warm, his grip firm but not too strong. A faint flush creeps up his neck as he holds my gaze a beat too long.
“Pleasure’s all mine,” James says smoothly. “You’re new, aren’t you?” a curious glint in his eyes.
I pause, searching for the right words, and decide to keep it light, avoiding the pity of sounding like some sad girl who never attended pre-school. “I guess I’ve got new written all over me, don’t I?”
“No,” he says with a knowing smirk. “I just know everyone. And I definitely don’t know you.”
“And how does that work? Do you have some sort of magical power, or is it just a talent you’ve perfected?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at my lips as I think back to the way Sirius and I used to exchange jabs like this. It makes me wonder if I should ask James about him, but the thought feels a bit foolish.
“Oh, it’s nothing magical,” James says with a casual shrug. “Some people call it charisma. I just call it being myself.”
I laugh softly, but I notice something shift in his expression. His grin softens ever so slightly, like he’s reading something in me now. “You nervous? About starting Hogwarts?” he asks, his voice dropping just a touch.
I think about the train. The students. The future waiting ahead of me and I nod reluctantly.
James tilts his head. “Well, don’t be.”
I frown. “That’s not how that works.”
He smirks, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Sure it is. You’ll have me there, after all. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I arch an eyebrow, keeping my tone dry. “Do you say that to everyone, or am I just lucky?”
“Only the pretty ones,” he shoots back without missing a beat.
Hagrid chokes behind me, a loud, sputtering sound that snaps me back to reality. Heat rushes to my face and James just grins, utterly shameless.
“Well, I hope you like it here,” he says, his voice genuine. “Maybe I’ll see you on the train?”
“Maybe,” I say, warmth blooming in my chest.
He lingers for a moment before a voice calls his name from across the street. “Coming, Mum!” he shouts, then turns back to me. “See you around, Penelope.”
As he jogs off, I realise I’m still smiling. I can’t help but glance back, half-expecting to see him again. But he’s already gone.
“James Potter, eh?” Hagrid says with a knowing chuckle, startling me.
“What?” I ask, my cheeks warming again.
“Don’ think I didn’ notice the way he looked at yeh,” Hagrid teases gently. “Blokes like him’ll be trippin’ over themselves ter talk to yeh at Hogwarts, yeh mark my words.”
I frown, unsure how to feel about that. “I’d rather not have anyone trip over anything,” I mutter.
Hagrid lets out a booming laugh. “Nothin’ wrong with catchin’ someone’s eye.”
I don’t respond.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of wonder and discovery. Hagrid leads me from shop to shop, his enthusiasm contagious. But no matter how incredible the magical world reveals itself to be—whether it’s the towering shelves of Flourish and Blotts, where I pick out my schoolbooks, or the magical menagerie filled with chattering creatures—I can’t stop thinking about James Potter.
His messy hair and easy smile replay in my mind, and I wonder what it would be like to meet him again at Hogwarts. He seems so… different. Like the kind of person who could never exist in Lestrange Manor. Warm, carefree, and kind.
Sirius would like him.
The thought is unexpected, but it settles in my chest.
We end the day at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, where Hagrid treats me to a heaping sundae. “Yeh did good today, Penelope,” he says, his voice kind. “Yer gonna fit right in at Hogwarts. Mark my words.”
I’m not sure I believe him. But for now, I let myself enjoy the sweetness of the ice cream and the rare sense of peace that settles over me. Hagrid’s presence eases the knot of anxiety in my chest.
As he steps away to chat with someone, I look up, sensing a gaze on me. And there he is again—James Potter—watching me with that same mix of surprise and delight I saw earlier.
Before I can decide whether to ignore him or wave, he’s already making his way over, his grin widening with every step.
“Penelope,” he says, like my name is the most natural thing in the world.
“James,” I reply, setting my spoon down. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“Fate has a funny way of working, doesn’t it?” He slides into the seat across from me without waiting for an invitation.
“Or maybe Diagon Alley just isn’t that big,” I counter, though my lips twitch in the faintest hint of a smile.
Talking to James is easy, natural. It takes no effort to slip into this kind of playful banter with him.
“Fair point,” James admits, grinning. “Are you ready for school? Got all your supplies?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Ending the day with some ice cream. And you?”
“All set. Though I keep trying to convince my parents I need a new broom for school—y’know, for Quidditch.”
“You play Quidditch?” I ask, my interest piqued. Sirius always talked about Quidditch too—about flying, about freedom. The thought only confirms my belief that he would like James.
“Best Chaser you’ll ever see,” he declares confidently. “Do you play?”
I shake my head. “No. I’ve never even flown before.”
James’s eyes widen. “Never flown? That’s a tragedy. I’ll have to teach you.”
I laugh softly. “I’m not sure I’d trust you as a teacher.”
“Hey, I’m a great teacher!” he protests, his voice full of mock offense, but the grin tugging at his lips gives him away.
I laugh again—a real, unguarded laugh. His eyes light up at the sound, and for a moment, I get the distinct feeling he wants to hear it again.
“I can’t believe you’ve never flown,” James says, leaning back in his chair. “It’s the best feeling in the world—like nothing can touch you.”
I tilt my head. “I’ll take your word for it. My experience with brooms is limited to sweeping floors.”
He blinks, then laughs. “Well, then, we’ve got to fix that. First chance I get, I’m getting you on a broomstick.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I say with a soft smile.
Hagrid’s booming voice interrupts us. “Penelope, we best get goin’—still have to get yer back.”
“Coming!” I call, glancing back at James. “I suppose I’ll see you then.”
“You can count on it,” James says, his grin widening as he watches me walk away.
Hagrid leads me to a secluded alley, where a grand black carriage waits—enchanted, no doubt, to drive itself. The Lestranges wouldn’t be caught dead retrieving me personally.
As he helps me into the carriage, he gives me a big, reassuring smile.
“Don’t let ‘em get to yeh,” he says gruffly. “Next time I see yeh, it’ll be at Hogwarts. Whole new start, eh?”
I nod, gripping the edge of my seat.
Hagrid steps back, patting the side of the carriage. “Take care, Penelope. And remember—yeh ain’t alone.”
The door swings shut, and the carriage pulls away, his massive figure growing smaller in the distance. I feel the lurch of magic pulling me away from Diagon Alley.
Back to them.
The ride is silent, the inside of the carriage lined with velvet that does nothing to soften the cold. My fingers tighten around my bag as I brace myself.
When it finally slows, the manor looms ahead—tall, foreboding, windows dark except for the flickering candlelight behind heavy curtains. I step out, boots crunching against gravel.
The doors open with barely a sound. As I step over the threshold, the warmth of Diagon Alley fades into a distant memory.
Belladonna stands in the entryway, her eyes flick over me once, appraising but detached, before she turns and walks away without a word.
I’m not sure what I expected. A lecture? A question? A slap?
Somehow the silence feels worse. It feels suffocating, cold. I follow her, knowing exactly what awaits.
Magnus is seated in the drawing room, his large hand gripping a glass of wine, his posture commanding as he stares into the drink like it holds the answers to all his questions. He doesn’t look up right away, but when he does, his eyes lock onto me, cold and piercing.
“About time,” he rumbles, setting the glass down with a deliberate, quiet thud. “Did you embarrass us?”
I shake my head, my voice steady despite the tension. “No.”
“Mm.” His gaze doesn’t soften, lingering a moment longer before he flicks his hand dismissively. “Go.”
I don’t hesitate. Without a word, I turn on my heel and slip away before he can change his mind.
In my room, I finally exhale. The walls are the same—dark wood, cold stone, lifeless as ever. No warmth, no comfort, just the same suffocating space as always.
I set my things down carefully, running my fingers over the neatly folded robes and stacked books. My tie sits on top, its fabric smooth beneath my fingertips, plain black for now, but in two days, that will change.
I trace the emblem, heart pounding.
I’m leaving.
For the first time in my life, I’m getting out.
A knock at the door startles me, and I quickly shove the tie beneath my robes. The door creaks open, and Tikki, one of the house-elves, peeks inside. His large eyes flick to me, filled with quiet concern.
“Master is angry tonight,” he whispers. “Be careful.”
I nod once and he vanishes, leaving me alone in the heavy silence.
I don’t go to dinner that night. Instead, I sit on the floor, rummaging through my new things, letting my fingers brush over each object as if to remind myself that they’re real. That this is real.
In two days, everything changes.
~
The days pass in suffocating silence.
I spend most of my time in my room, flipping through my books, memorizing potion ingredients, rereading the same lines of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration without truly absorbing them. Anything to make the hours go by faster.
Magnus doesn’t seek me out, but I feel his presence everywhere—in the heavy air of the manor, in the tense way the house-elves scurry past my door, in the sharp glances he throws my way when I venture downstairs for a meal. Belladonna drifts through the house like a ghost, barely acknowledging anyone, her gaze distant even when she’s in the same room.
The only voices that truly fill the halls belong to Lavinia and Septimius.
Lavinia has spent the past two days alternating between excited chatter about seeing her friends and cold, cutting remarks thrown in my direction.
“I wonder if they’ll even bother sorting you,” she muses at dinner the night before we leave. “You’ve never been anywhere, never done anything. Do you think the Hat will be confused?”
Septimius smirks. “Maybe they’ll send her back home.”
I say nothing. It’s easier that way.
~
When the morning of September 1st finally arrives, I wake before sunrise.
My trunk is packed, my wand tucked safely inside my robes, and yet, as I stand at the entrance hall waiting to leave, the weight of the moment presses down on me.
This is it.
Lavinia and Septimius are already there, dressed in pristine black robes, their trunks stacked neatly beside them. They look like they belong.
Magnus finally appears, his sharp gaze sweeping over us, ensuring everything is in order. He doesn’t speak to me, only giving Lavinia and Septimius a curt nod before leading us outside. Belladonna lingers in the doorway, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t say goodbye.
She doesn’t say anything at all.
We step into the enchanted carriage, the same one that brought me back from Diagon Alley, but this time, it feels different. This time, I’m not coming back.
This time, I’m leaving.
The ride to King’s Cross is silent. Lavinia hums under her breath, a quiet, taunting melody, but beyond that, no one speaks. No excitement, no anticipation—just cold, heavy silence.
When we arrive, the station is bustling with families, parents hugging their children, last-minute farewells being whispered. The platform is hidden from sight, but I know it’s just ahead.
I grip the handle of my trunk tightly, pulse quickening.
Lavinia sighs dramatically. “Shall we?”
Without another word, she and Septimius push forward, heading toward the hidden entrance. Before I can change my mind, I turn and follow.
And just like that, I leave the Lestrange estate behind.