The Preface
The eve of their death was treacherous and ghastly. It was pervaded with swirling storms - catastrophizing the event to come.
Still in her crib, a baby blissfully sleeps: unaware of her ,yet to be, importance.
When he came, the girl didn’t scream. She didn’t cry, nor yearn for the revival of her recently deceased parents as they dropped to the floor by his sullied hand. An explosion of viridian painted the room as a luminous light danced from his wand to the unwilling babe. She remains still (as is her prerogative). The man vanished: taking his power and terror with him.
The country shone for the demise of the ‘omnipotent’ tyrant; parades flooded the streets of muggle Britain as the ‘Dark Lord’ had finally been defeated - and by a baby nonetheless! A baby: who succeeded where many talented magic-folk died trying. All that she had to show for it? A scar. A scar which bloomed into the shape of a lightning bolt - shaping her ill-fated story into the one we now know today.
10 years later if you asked a wizard or witch what conspired on the day, it would either be their greatest achievement or greatest failure.
10 years later if you asked any muggle what happened on that day, it was perfectly normal (besides from the frequent disruptions in the night).
10 years later if you asked the girl about this day, she couldn’t recall a thing. After all, the day simply never existed to her; the tragedy which befell the Potters was a secret (at least for her)!
This is the life of one Beatrice Potter (Bea for those in the know).
This is the life of a girl trapped in tragic circumstances, forced to overcome them everyday.
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She was widely known for her capability of winning pageants, after all good looks can get you far in that department (and a heavy load of makeup her Aunt would paint onto her face). A large proportion of her winnings would go towards her cousin: Dudley, only a fraction would be left for her.
Fashion and music : her main interests. Obviously she was around fashion for the majority of her life and her room was filled with posters, mannequins, fabric, and thread. Music on the other hand was her escape into another world. A world where all her dreams can come true and she can live her life as she decides. Music led her to her safe space: a sanctuary for a lonely child. It was her only relief from the sorrows she was exposed to in the ‘industry’
Despite popular opinions, Beatrice was never ‘abused’ nor made to do household chores - yet it was the only thing she found solace in during her childhood years. Every morning around 6 she would tend the gardens, guaranteeing that every rose bud, every sapling and every seed could blossom into the epitome of pulchritude; you see plants had a knack for that (something humans have always lacked) - Beatrice could see that she was different from the world she was introduced to by her family, the plants could sense too (she just knew it)! Plants are known for their wisdom in some cultures, and they would always help her out.
Her Aunt could never find out that she hated all the competitions she was put in, after-all it was the only thing they were able to connect over, every day she would dread getting up and ready to appease the gaze of strangers and not herself. It made her Aunt happy, therefore she was happy.
Uncle Vernon was a… gaudy man to say the least. The house was cluttered with random junk he found in a sale which “could be worth lots” (it never was). Anybody could tell that he harboured a lingering disgust towards his niece (luckily not by blood), however he restricted these feelings from being shown - lest the income would stop.
Dudley was far worse. Each day he would devote his energy to making Beatrice’s life a living hell - playing ‘harmless’ pranks, framing her for his misdeeds, stealing her treasured belongings et cetera. Needless to say he hated her and she hated him.
Their house was traditional, unimportant and ordinary for the ordinary family that resided there. It was home to all of its occupants. Beatrice for one could never imagine her life without it. The outside world was unfathomable : she was confined by the walls of her family and would be so for years. Her role was to look pretty, earn money, then live comfortably. What more could a girl ask for?
Everything.
This little life was nowhere near enough for what she expected. She needed more, she believed in more. There must be more in store for her. She always had this feeling that she was meant to do something, that she was here to make a change. Even nature agreed - snakes would whisper things into her ear; no normal person would be bestowed this ability.
All of this being said, she knew that she couldn’t do anything. Her family would forbid her from taking this step.
She was trapped.
Trapped knowing that she couldn’t do anything, yet couldn’t idly stand by and be pushed aside then blown out once her worth had vanished. She would not be tossed out and left to burn with the other stars!
Her place in this reality was waiting for her.
This hope was the only thing encouraging her to keep up with her Aunt’s expectations. It could take years for her to be free from the clasp of humility. Years were a small price to pay for the future she was owed.
Insanity was never going to be a good look for her, yet it was seeming to be her only option if she stayed cooped up in this hellhole!
One more day. It was always going to be just another day.
However, this was all about to change.
The clock ticks, and always will; ticking towards the destiny which awaits one Beatrice Potter.