Seven is the number of Completion and Wisdom
She looked at herself in the mirror, and pulled her wet black hair back from her forehead. There was no denying that it was right there the all too familiar scar, the vibrant green eyes of a favorite childhood obsession. She was well and truly fucked.
Maybe she should start from the beginning. She began having the strangest dreams in January before her 7th birthday. These dreams were centered around a child much unlike herself. Even when the child's family had no electricity, they always ate. Whereas her family's electricity never went out and yet she always hungered. The child shared a room with their mother until they were around 8. She didn't even have a mother. She died in a car crash apparently.
All she had was an aunt who would yell at her constantly and set her to work, until her muscles ached and whined. An uncle's who touches caused pain and not comfort. She slept with the spiders under the stairs in a cupboard. Her cupboard was cramped and dark, the walls always closing in.
The child who worshipped Hestia because they valued home. The home was filled with siblings and cousins, and a pack of dogs, and cats. The home that was filled with warmth and love. The child who grew into a young adult and rescinded their name, their mother's first ever gift. The mother with the warm hazel eyes happily took it back. The mother she no longer had.
The child who worshipped the muses for inspiration in their art. She wasn't even allowed to colour with crayons. A child who would leave offerings for the dead and other things on Hallow’s eve. She wasn't even allowed out on Halloween, but neither was her cousin.
On her 7th birthday exactly is when she came to understand she was that child previously. She sobbed silently in her cupboard then, her heart filled with yearning for the home she once knew. Grieving a place she'll never return to. After that the days would drag on with her on autopilot and carefully blank. No matter how blank she was, certain things still caught notice. Like how she happened to live with an Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Veron, her babysitter was Arabella Figg and she lived on Number 4 Privet Drive. She pushed those all back not acknowledging them, until of course on a cool September day she turned a substitute teacher's wig blue. She spent a week in the cupboard for that offense. Her stomach ate itself in hunger. She never really did like the dark.
When she was finally let out, she scrubbed herself raw in the shower. Now here she is looking at her reflection at that stupid lightning shaped scar. She was Harry Potter the BoyGirl-Who-Fucking-Lived. She wished and wished that even for a single moment she could return to being that child from before, and suddenly she saw them staring back at her, chubby cheeks with millions of freckles, hazel eyes and wet dirty blonde hair, instead of her vibrant green eyes and curly dark brunette hair. She promptly screamed, like you know a sensible person.
"Girl what is all that ruckus!" Her Aunt stormed into the bathroom. "You- you," her aunt's eyes held a very familiar outrage, making the 7 year old suspect she was to be spending another week in the cupboard. Her ear was promptly grabbed and she was dragged down the hall and the stairs and shoved straight into her cupboard. Her dear aunt's muttering of freakish behavior barely heard as the blood rushed to her ears. The lock on the outside clicked firmly in place.
There was not much to do in her cupboard, so she plotted. She had to make a plan, pulling from her knowledge of canon and the patterns of this new life. She quickly came to one conclusion. She was not spending the next 4 years here in this cupboard. Where could she go though? She has no idea where Remus Lupin was, and this was even if he would take her in. His whole being a werewolf thing was what was preventing himself from manning up and taking her in now, presumably. No way to tell what was still true and what wasn't. There was always the possibility that she could live on the streets, but on the streets her chances of survival were less by quite a bit. Let's face it she had no survival skills. Then it hit her Number 12 Grimmauld Place, while it was unlikely she wouldn't’ve grown up there if Sirius wasn't incarcerated, it was still his. As a result it was hers. What's mine is yours and all that. It was also unoccupied. Portrait or house elf notwithstanding.
Now she just needed to figure out a way there. She needed a map, and money. She could find a map at the school library once she got out of this cupboard. The money well, it looks like she'll just have to steal it from her aunt and uncle. Oh well. Thankfully she was let out on Monday for school. She was also back to looking like this life's self. School dragged on until she found the free time to hide in the library. Finding a map of the bus system was a bit harder but eventually she succeeded, and studied it closely, running her fingers across the lines until it felt like her eyes would pop out. Step One complete.
Step Two however would take some time she afterall needed to steal the money when nobody was watching her. She checked cushions subtlety as she was set to hoovering the living room. When she was sent to the post she would try to quickly take a few notes from her aunt's purse on the table in the hall. Being careful to never take too much and waiting a couple of days each time. Sometimes she would even practice opening the cupboard lock with alohomora.
It took her a month to get that trick down. So about every other week she would unlock her cupboard door and sneak a couple of more notes away to squirrel away. She would even brave it to the kitchen and steal a quick bite of food and water. Hoping in the morning that her aunt Petunia would just think she forgot to lock the door shut.
She even made the very interesting discovery that the appearance change wasn't a one off. Sometimes she would catch herself thinking of people from another life. When those times happened and she was before a reflection she changed to look like them. Well shit. She was a metamorphmagus, because of course she was. She resolutely did not think about the her-from-before's life unless she was in the privacy of her cupboard.
From Dudley’s Second Bedroom she took a bookbag that was no longer in use. She put a couple of pairs of her oversized castaways into the bag and was even able to put a few nonperishable food in it. She calculated she had around 35 pounds in total, before an opportunity arrived.
It was a breezy November day. The Dursleys were to be out for the day and she was to remain in her cupboard pretending to not exist. She waited until she heard the car leave, holding her breath for a long while before unlocking her cupboard. She crept into the kitchen and ate some food before grabbing her go bag and putting her shoes on.
On her way to the bus stop she was interrupted from her thoughts by the loud yowling of a cat. She turned around and there was a kitten, old enough to be without its mother but young still. It stared at her with intelligent green eyes and yowled once more.
“I'm sorry but I can't stay and give you cuddles. I have a bus to catch.” She tells the grey kitten gently before walking on. Before she is promptly stopped because tiny little daggers dig into her. “Ow ow. I'm not getting rid of you am I?” She asks, the kitten merely looks at her as if to say you are mine now. “Fine fine, but into my backpack you go, I can't have you stopping me from getting on that bus.” She shoves the cat gently into the bag and continues on. Getting onto the bus is easier than expected, the bus driver merely asks her if she is sure she knows her route, before she pays her fare. After a reassurance from her he nods at her and she finds a spot in the back to sit. She then remembers well it is the 1980s the standards for child safety are different from her modern ones. She unzips her bag at the side a bit and puts her hand in it, her new friend surprisingly content.
The ride is long and boring, but eventually she makes it. She got to Islington by late evening. Peering around she found Number 11 and Number 13. She walked to the space before her. Number 12 came into view in all of its gloomy glory. That's when she felt it. Like a soft siren song the house seemed to call to her promising safety and warmth, when she walked up the steps and tried the doorknob she was surprised to find it unlocked.
The door opens with a loud creak that resounds throughout the entryway. She is surprised to find no screeching portrait hanging in the entrance hall. As she is gazing at everything around trying not to gape a voice calls out to her from behind. “And just who are you, dear?” The voice is sharply polite. She nearly jumps out of her skin before she whips around to see an older man. The man had greying black hair and his wrinkled face looked like stone. That's when she remembered Arcturus Black, Sirius's grandfather, doesn't die until 1991.
She steeled her nerves before replying, “I am Henrietta Lyra Lillian Potter, well met.” She reaches her hand out for a shake.
The man's face stays carefully blank, his eyes however give away a look of intrigue. He must come to some conclusion because he takes her hand and gently kisses it before introducing himself, “I am Lord Arcturus Black, well met. Come on, dear, would you like some tea?”