Into Motion
Calanthe taps the folded sheet of parchment against her palm thoughtfully. Ideas ricochet around her head. Some fracture on impact as bad ideas. Others embed themselves into her mind as possibilities.
Shaking herself, she gets up. Gathering the bowl and empty Butterbeer bottle, she puts them in the sink before heading down the hall to the library. She heads directly to the desk and finds the ink absorber in short order, then heads back out. Grabbing a fresh sheet of parchment, she unfolds the last note again for reference and sets it down and grabs her pen, then tips her uninked pen back and forth as she thinks.
Dipping her pen, she puts ink to parchment and writes, "I would like to order boxes and catalogs from the major shops, yes. Please see to it for me. I don't know how they will get here, but I'm going to have to go back to my chores in an hour or so or Petunia will be mad, especially since I need to get the weeding done before I make dinner. So unless there is some way to get them directly to the trunk, please see to it that they won't arrive before eight. After eight, I'll be able to sneak away to get them. Sirius' old vault is fine for now then, but why was he given a life sentence anyway? In any case, I would actually prefer to have a Gringotts card than have to find a way to open an account in a muggle bank. Please see to the transfer from my trust vault to Sirius' old vault, then link a card to that one. Though I would like to know if Gringotts cards work with muggle ATMs?
I formally request that you send me House Potter's Heir ring and House Black's Heir ring.
As to hiring Remus and Andromeda, I wouldn't be against it, but how much would I end up paying for that? And how would they be prevented from potentially telling people like Dumbledore I'd made the offer if they turn it down? I haven't had a chance to look at the updating book yet, so other than the fifty thousand Galleons that presumably you watching prevents Dumbledore from taking every year and the full hundred thousand from the Black trust, I'm not entirely sure how much I have, and even if I did, since I've never had anything to do with the magical world before today, at least that I remember given how young I was, I don't actually know the value of a Galleon. Is there some sort of standard contract or would I need to get someone to write one up? In any case, could you at least make initial contact with them for me?
Would it be possible to look into purchasing those shares quietly? I'd rather it didn't get out and find myself competing to buy the shares. After all, if it might prove difficult to protect myself legally, it would be easier to just control the source of the potential problem.
I'll try to see if there's any possibility that the Potter's may have a record of the incident. My parents did leave me a portrait, and I imagine my dad would've known how meticulous the Potter's were with their records at least and if there's even a chance of any record of it existing to begin with, and if so, where it might be. If not, do you have any recommendations for who to hire?"
She folds the parchment and sends it to Brightblade before she cracks open the self updating book he'd sent her. And her eyes immediately bug out. The first page was only a summary, but even that was an impressive read, "Potter Account holdings summary:
Potter Primary Vault- 11,142,857 Galleons
Potter Heirloom Vault- Various Magical Artifacts, Books, Paintings, Weapons, Metals, Jewels, and Jewelry of Estimated Value of 1,428,570 Galleons
Potter Heir Vault- 50,000 Galleons
Potter Manor, England- Estimated Value 214,285 Galleons
Potter Cottage, England- Estimated Value N/A, Damaged in attack, illegally declared a memorial site by Ministry
Potter Beach Villa, France- Estimated Value 42,843 Galleons
Potter Chalet, Switzerland- Estimated Value 64,783 Galleons
Potter Vineyard, Italy- Estimated Value 24,938 Galleons
Potter Resort, France- Estima-'
She zones out, shocked beyond belief. Just yesterday she thought she didn't have a single pound to her name. Now she finds she has manors and vineyards and- and resorts. What. The. Fuck.
She shakes herself and finishes skimming the rest of the Potter holdings. She'll need to actually look it over later, but she might just faint if she tries to actually read the whole thing right now. Which is why she also flicks over the Black holdings just as swiftly before moving onto Sirius' old stuff, which simply reads, "Calathe Potter holdings summary:
Vault 538- 237,472 Galleons
London Apartment, England- Estimated Value 22,365 Galleons"
A grin flits over her lips. An apartment. An owned apartment, not a rented one. Exactly what she was hoping for. She doesn't care that she's only seven. The Dursleys had basically taught her how to be self-sufficient already, and she had money to live off of which had been the only thing stopping her from running away until now. If she needed a guardian for anything, then she could always have Remus claim to be her guardian if she actually ended up hiring him as a retainer. Brightblade had said it would be good to have someone who could do odd jobs for her after all, and that seemed just perfect to her.
Flicking to the pages that go into more details on the properties, she smiles. The apartment was even two bedrooms. She could offer one to Remus, so people wouldn't realize they only ever really saw a little girl coming and going and start to worry about her. That would be best avoided, because if child services showed up and she didn't have a guardian, she'd just end up right back with the Dursleys. But things would be worse because they'd wonder how she got the apartment and how she was getting by and then they might find out about all of this. At which point Vernon would stop at nothing to get his hands on her inheritance. The Dursleys already pretty much took her childhood innocence with their cruelty, not to mention her freedom with the way they treated her as though she was essentially a slave. They'd taken enough. They would take no more.
She straightens up in her chair. She could go to an actual eye doctor instead of just trying the over the counter glasses and seeing which help the most! And-
Her gaze drops. Her jaw tightens. She pulls her foot up, planting the heel on the edge of her chair, then tugs her jeans up and her sock down before running her fingers over the dark blue Mark she'd been born with.
Determination flares into an inferno in her chest. Her soulmate would not die. She wouldn't let them.
She's pulled from her thoughts by glowing. Lifting her gaze she finds her mailbox handle indicating a new delivery. Pulling her sock and jeans into place then dropping her foot back down, she reaches forward to get it, finding a folded stack of parchment, two boxes, and a muggle bank card inside, she sets the card and boxes to the side, then unfolds the parchment, finding most of them to be what look like contracts, she sets those aside as well to read Brightblade's reply, "I've already sent out the request for the delivery mailboxes. For now, I've selected the better clothing store, the bookstore, a sort of odds and ends store, and the higher end writing and art supply shop since that's all you should need at the moment, seeing as your food is already taken care of. The owls carrying them should find you after eight as you requested.
As for Mr Black, your parents hid under something known as the Fidelius Charm, which hides a secret in the soul of a person, at which point only that person can tell others of it. Mr Black is well known to have been your parents' secret keeper, and as such, must have been the one to reveal your parent's location leading to them being attacked and killed. Supposedly, after Voldemort vanished he tried to make a break for it, but your parents' other friend, Peter Pettigrew caught up to him. Eyewitnesses say he shouted something about Mr Black betraying your family, then an explosion went off, and Pettigrew was gone, nothing but a finger left of him. So it's assumed Mr Black sent an overpowered blasting curse at him. Thirteen muggles died in the explosion.
For a while wizards and witches going through Gringotts couldn't seem to shut up about how he was apparently Voldemort's right hand man. It was brought to light during questioning and he was convinced of a substantial amount of conspiracy, murder, and terrorism charges. Or at least, that's what's 'common knowledge'. You're parent's wills outright stated that Peter Pettigrew was their secret keeper and Mr Black a decoy. I've requested a copy of his trial transcript repeatedly and been denied every time, so I couldn't say what the actual truth is unfortunately. Nevertheless, the Ministry sent Gringotts a genuine copy of of the papers sentencing him to life in Azkaban, so unless it's proven to us that it was falsified in some way, he's still legally dead, regardless of whether he was the secret keeper or not, since there's a possibility he was convicted of other crimes.
They do indeed work with muggle ATMs, though a one Sickle fee applies there as well.
There are standard contracts, and I've taken the liberty of selecting ones most suitable to your needs and have included them. Please look them over carefully. There isn't any rush since it will take a couple days at least for me to set up appointments with them, but you should never agree to anything of the sort without getting it in writing that you've read over thoroughly before signing. You and Mrs Tonks will need to come to an agreement as to how often the lessons will take place and how long they will run, and that information will need to be filled out, but barring that, if you find the contracts to your liking you need only pen in the amount you wish to pay them and your signature in the appropriate places and send them back. If Mr Lupin and Mrs Tonks are agreeable, they'll need only sign the contracts themselves to make it official. Also, regardless of whether they agree and sign the contract and are then bound by said contract to keep quiet, the meetings would be in my office at Gringotts, and Gringotts business is always confidential, and there isn't an adult in the wizarding world who doesn't know it. They'd be lucky if they were simply sued for everything they own if they went out and discussed Gringotts business.
When it comes to your concerns regarding the fees for hiring Mr Lupin and Mrs Tonks, you needn't be concerned. For wealthier families, the 100,000 Galleons is standard. The reason for this is that if an Heir finds themselves in a position similar to yours, it should be more than enough to take care of their household and still have money for themselves. If they don't find themselves in such a situation, the money is theoretically for investing. Especially since wealthy families are fine losing money so that their Heirs gain the priceless experience of learning the ins and outs of investing and how to spot a deal that's more likely to be good as well as deals that are more likely to be bad before they become Lord or Lady. My point is that you can easily afford it. Especially seeing as while the Ministry may enforce an exchange rate of five pounds to a Galleon for muggleborns, its actual value is more like fifty pounds to a Galleon."
Her jaw drops. For a moment she just sits there in stunned silence, then she flips over the parchment Brightblade had sent. Glancing at the book again, she puts in the lowest number there, the value of the vineyard at 24,938 Galleons, as well as the fifty for the actual value Brightblade had said the Galleon is worth. She isn't particularly good at math, but she works her way through it the way her teacher taught her with that grid method(1). Her breath wheezes out of her when she's done. The estimated value of the vineyard in pounds is 1,246,900. And that was the lowest number that she actually took in. For a few minutes she just sits there. Struggling to wrap her head around things.
Then she numbly flips Brightblade's parchment back over and finishes reading, "I would certainly be happy to look into purchasing the shares of the Daily Prophet the Ministry is holding onto. The only real problem isn't my discretion, but whether or not the Ministry will leak that it's up for sale once they no longer have a choice as to whether or not it's going to sell. Given that your trust vaults will refill in about three months, you could afford to set quite a decent budget for it, which I will need to know before I can see about purchasing them.
I wish you luck in finding records of the Flint situation. Mrs Tonks is actually a lawyer and a good one at that, but if she won't take the case, I would suggest hiring Mr Wareham as a lawyer should you fail to find it."
She finds herself staring at the parchment. Shaking herself, she glances over it again before frowning and grabbing her own sheet of parchment, "Thank you for setting up the delivery boxes for me.
I see. In that case, I might have Remus look into it for me if I hire him. He's meant to be my godfather, I want to know what he did. Speaking of Sirius, I would like the key to the London apartment that used to belong to him.
I'll have to look over the contracts later, as I don't have time for a thorough read of them at the moment, but thank you for sending them. I-" She falters as she writes, then pushes on, "hadn't realized that the Galleon was worth so much, though it certainly puts my brief glance through the summary of my holdings into a very different perspective.
Given that I consider it to be a significant investment, regardless of the monetary return, I'd be willing to use the entirety of the 100,000 in the Black trust vault, as well as-" She pauses to glance at the page detailing the transaction history of Sirius' old vault, finding that the transfer of the fifty thousand from the Potter trust has gone through and brought it up to 287,472 Galleons, then goes back to writing, "250,000 from Sirius' old vault. I'd prefer to get it cheaper than 350,000 Galleons, obviously, but that's my guideline for my upper limit. If you end up fighting someone for it and hit that and they outbid you but it looks like you might be able to get it for just a bit more, contact me. The news influences the masses, especially if they're thought to be reputable. I won't have it turned against me if I can help it. Even if that means sinking a lot of money into it. That being said, if possible, try to keep it private who exactly is doing the purchasing if you can."
She starts to fold it up, then glances at the ring boxes and thinks better of it and adds, "By the way, are there specific fingers I'm supposed to wear those rings on?"
Then she actually folds it up and sends it off. She stares at the boxes for a moment before pulling them towards her and opening them. One was gold with one each of the two creatures from the Potter crest engraved into the otherwise flat surface making the top of the ring, the other was silver with three crows but styled the same in every other aspect. They're a lot… larger than she thought they'd be. She studies them for a few moments before her attention is drawn to the once again glowing handle of her mailbox. Opening it, she finds a key and a folded parchment this time, which reads, "You are most welcome.
As for having Mr Lupin look into the Sirius Black situation, if you truly want answers it certainly isn't a bad idea. As you likely noticed, I have sent the key to the apartment formerly owned by Mr Black.
It isn't necessary that you look over them right this moment, as I said, you have a bit of time before I may need signed contracts, but try not to put it off. If you are dissatisfied with something in those contracts, I'll either need to send you completely different ones that suit you better, or an edited version of those, depending on how much you are dissatisfied with those ones.
As for the value of the Galleon, I'm glad you're realizing it now. Since the Ministry seems to suffer under the notion that if they don't enforce the five to one exchange rate that muggleborns won't be able to afford anything, they seem to fail to take into account that the things a student needs to buy aren't generally expensive. They merely see that the true exchange value is fifty to one and make assumptions based on that and the complaints they received before they enforced the lower exchange rate that muggleborn parents who didn't bother to actually see how far those Galleons got them sent in.
Because of all that, it usually takes muggleborns and muggle-raised children coming into the magical world longer than it rightly should to realize the actual value of the Galleon. They just think everything's ridiculously cheap because of course it is, everyone's got magic haven't they? Why wouldn't everything be cheap? In fairness, magic does bring down the price of some things, but not nearly as much as those kids assume. If they aren't smart enough to realize it while they're in school they always end up getting a nasty shock when they see the wages in the wizarding world. Far too many of them then immediately assume they're being cheated because of their heritage, which does happen to some extent but not nearly as much as they think it does since they fail to realize how much those wages they're being offered are actually worth. It only serves to further complicate already difficult matters of all sorts, but particularly to the relations between purebloods and muggleborns, especially when they get offered a generous wage and turn it down because they don't actually understand the Galleons value. It creates far bigger issues than most people realize.
I can understand why you'd go to such lengths given you've already made your opinions clear on the value of owning majority shares of the Daily Prophet, and you aren't incorrect either, but at that price I think you'll find you won't have any competitors. The only people with the money to fight you for it will either fail to understand the value of owning the business the majority of the British wizarding world gets its information from, or they'll find that price ridiculous since they'll assume they can just continue to bribe whoever is necessary to get the stories being put out to match their narrative as they've always done. I will of course attempt to get it as far below your upper budgetary limit as I'm capable of. And I will ensure that it's a private sale as you've requested.
Lord and Heir rings are both traditionally worn on the pinky finger. Though they can be worn on the middle or first finger. Since those rings all resize themselves to fit whatever finger you put them on, as well as the fact that if you have multiple, it's as easy as desiring it to get them to temporarily merge into one and then simply show either whichever you desire or which was the last you turned it to if you aren't focusing on it taking a specific form, it's technically your choice though. Traditionalists will look more favorably on you wearing them on your pinkies however."
She taps the non-writing end of her pen to her parchment in thought, then dips it and ink and simply writes, "Thank you for all your assistance so far, it has been incredibly helpful and highly educational already. I need to go now before there's a risk of my aunt realizing I should be done cleaning the attic and coming to look for me. Keep me updated regarding Remus, Andromeda, and the Daily Prophet please."
Then she sends it off. She glances at the Heir rings, then decides to wait to put them on. If she goes out with them Petunia might notice and that would complicate things. It isn't a big deal. If things go the way she wants them to, tonight will be her last night with the Dursleys. Getting up, she rinses her empty bowl and bottle that she'd put in the sink earlier before setting them off to the side, unsure what to do with the used items. She turns to her parents' portrait, who still appear to be sleeping, and watches them for a few moments before shaking her head. She needs to ask the portrait of her dad about the possibility of records of the Flint situation existing, but she's been on too much of an emotional roller-coaster to talk to them just yet. Maybe by the time she brings in her delivery boxes tonight she'll be ready, but right now… Right now she needs to process. And think.
She exits the trunk, and upon closing it the stairs slide back into the front of the it. She runs her fingers over the engraving on the top of the Potter crest, just staring at it for a moment and taking in that she once had an actual family, still had a heritage that she could probably be proud of. She was not the child of useless drunks. Her father's family were not nothing more than a long string of burdens on society.
Her eyes water yet again. She blinks them rapidly, then huffs out a laugh. This has to be a personal record for her for how many times she's cried or almost cried in one day. Shaking herself she commands the trunk to shrink, then picks it up and slips the small chain it's attached to over her head, before carefully making sure both the chain and the trunk are hidden under her shirt.
Once she's satisfied that nothing is showing, she takes a quick glance around the attic to make sure she didn't miss anything that will get her in trouble. Especially since that would likely end with her locked in her cupboard, which would throw quite the wrench in her plans. Not finding anything, she makes her way down the attic ladder, heart fluttering nervously. There should be no way for Petunia to know anything is wrong, different, but she can't help the way her heart trembles or her mouth goes dry, as some part of her brain becomes convinced that Petunia will take one look at her and just know.
She doesn't know if her nervousness is showing on her face or if Petunia really does sense that something is different, but she gives her a suspicious glare for a solid minute before huffing and jerking her head towards the back door, "Get a move on, Girl. The garden won't take care of itself."
She wordlessly nods and scampers out, breathing out a quiet sigh of relief once she's closed the door behind her. It's already a bit late since Petunia insisted that the attic had to be done, but she can still get the garden done if she's quick about it. First though, she needs to find her gloves. Vernon had been against bothering to buy even used ones for her, but he'd lost the argument fairly quickly after the first time she'd torn her hands up and left Petunia having to make dinner or risk getting blood in everything.
The gloves were, unsurprisingly, used when Petunia bought them. Old worn things with a seam splitting down the side of her left hand, starting at about the base of her pinky. Presumably that was why the previous owners donated them to a second hand store, which had seemingly tried, poorly, to sew the seam back up. The bad patch job had ripped almost immediately, but as long as she was careful it wasn't a big issue. Especially since she was right handed anyway. In any case, as long as she wasn't reckless they protected her hands fairly well.
Finding them fairly quickly, which wasn't surprising since she was the only one who ever did yard work, she sets about taking care of the garden. It's a boring job, and she soon finds her attention split between being mindful of the rip in her glove and her thoughts.
If she could hire Remus, that would probably make going to an eye doctor easier, especially since they shouldn't actually check whether he was her guardian if she was paying flat out instead of using health insurance to cover it, right? Would it be easier to get it done in the muggle world or the wizarding world? No, wait, Brightblade had said most wizards and witches could probably recognize her, didn't he? If she was some sort of celebrity and someone recognized her… She didn't know what Dumbledore's motivations were, assuming he wasn't just a greedy bastard who wanted the Potter money, but he'd tucked her away with the Dursleys and kept her ignorant for a reason. He probably wouldn't be happy to find she'd run away, and as her legal guardian, even if he took it by force, he could send her back.
For now at least, if she was going to the wizarding world, she needed to ensure she wouldn't be recognized. So the eye exam would have to happen in the muggle world. A faint smile tugs at her lips. Maybe she could even get contacts instead of having to wear glasses all the time?
Her spine straightens quickly. Contacts? Wasn't Dudley going on about contacts that changed your eye color recently? Could she get some of those? Brightblade had said that most wizards and witches would recognize her from a picture taken when she was a baby. As long as she changes her most obvious features though… If she can get some of those contacts… and she doesn't actually want to dye her hair, but maybe a wig would work? Could you even wear a wig over your hair? Then just some makeup to cover up her scar, since Brightblade said that was famous on its own…
If it worked, theoretically, she could walk right down Diagon Alley and no one would recognize her.
She ducks her head a little further to hide the happy grin that forms at the idea, just in case Petunia was watching.
It fades as another thought occurs. It would be rather strange for a girl her age to be wandering into a store unattended and start buying stuff with a card though. She… might need to wait to see if she can hire Remus to be her odd job Retainer before she tries to do any of it.
From what she learned earlier, he was very good friends with her parents. Enough so that he'd probably spent a lot of time around her, right? It was going to be… weird, meeting a man who knew her as a baby but was a stranger to her. If he agreed to her hiring him, and therefore falls under the confidentiality agreement, she wouldn't mind trying to get to know him though.
Andromeda was simultaneously a little trickier and much easier. On one hand, she hadn't been particularly close to her parents, and was mostly reaching out due to a sense of familial obligation, so she probably wasn't coming into any possible relationship, professional or personal, with much in the way of expectations. On the other hand, she had been close to Sirius, and Calanthe was bringing the issue of him and his arrest back up after six years instead of just letting sleeping dogs lie. She… might not look favorably on Calanthe for it. But she wants answers and she will get them, no matter how many feathers she needs to ruffle.
Before any of that though, she needs to just get through one more night with the Dursleys, then she's out. She'd like to leave tonight, but she plans to take a train to London, and people would be much more suspicious of a girl her age doing that at night than in the morning. It isn't a big deal though. Petunia gets up first and even she isn't awake until six thirty at the earliest. She can sleep in the actual bed in her trunk, and as long as she's out the front door by six she'll pretty much be free. Then she can just use the ATM at the underground station, pull some money out, buy a map of London, find a library in London close to where the tube drops her off, use it to get specific directions from Google maps(2) using the address on the more detailed pages of properties in her book, print it up, and it should be fairly simple from there to get to Sirius' old apartment. And if that doesn't work, she can always find somewhere out of the way to put her trunk down and ask Brightblade if he knows where it is.
She could even get a cell phone, and maybe if Brightblade has one it'll be easier and quicker to talk to him, right? And even if it didn't, it would still probably be useful.
Hell, she could get clothes and shoes that fit her and weren't raggedy garbage since they were the cheapest crap Petunia could find at a second hand store, then made her wear until they were way too small or so worn down that they were either falling to pieces or starting to become see through.
Just one more night. One more night of the Dursleys and then she never has to deal with them again.
The thought carries her through both the gardening and making a dinner that she was then not allowed to eat, but forced to sit at the table for anyway. She was never completely sure if the Dursleys did it because they wanted to torment her, or if they were just so paranoid about her that they thought she'd steal stuff if left unattended while they ate. A bit of both maybe. In either case it still made it horrible to have to sit around smelling the food and watching the Dursleys eat while she went hungry.
She's careful, though, not to let it show that it doesn't really bother her tonight. She's long since learned to be mindful of her expression around the Dursleys. In the current situation, she had to be careful not to let her face go completely blank or they'd become suspicious she was stealing food, but she also had to be cautious against being too visibly upset by it or they'd think she was trying to guilt them. Which was really just their way of saying that it made them, rightly, feel like terrible people and as such they hated her 'insolence'. So she settles for her usual 'trying to hide my expression but just barely failing' face that keeps the Dursleys off her back. It makes her all the more grateful that her mother had made those contingencies and she got to eat earlier. And if things worked out even partially, she'd never have to worry about going hungry or keeping the Dursleys appeased again.
Which wasn't to say that she wasn't hungry, it had been long enough since she ate that she certainly was, but once she was done washing the dishes she'd be able to slip away to her trunk and have her own dinner. The Dursleys hardly ever had any need of her once the dinner dishes were clean, so as long as she left the trunk open so she could hear if they called for her, it should be fine. Though she'd have to procrastinate a bit if she wants to get her delivery boxes. At this time of night though, with no more chores in front of her, the Dursleys won't particularly care as long as it gets done. If they even notice she takes longer than usual to begin with.
Once dinner is done, she starts gathering the dishes. It doesn't take long for all three of the Dursleys to wander to the living room and set themselves in front of the TV. Once they're gone she glances at the clock, 7:48. Perfect. She waits until she hears Dudley start trying to convince his parents to watch something he wants to watch instead of what Vernon chooses like every night before unlocking the backdoor as she passes to gather more dishes from the table. Though she purposely leaves Petunia's cup, an alibi in case one of the Dursleys come in while she's heading back to the sink after getting her delivery.
Then it's a waiting game.
At about 8:20 a light tapping on the kitchen window nearly gives her a heart attack. She glances up as she strains her hearing to see if the Dursleys noticed and finds an owl looking at her. Not hearing anything but the sounds of whatever Vernon has decided his family will watch tonight, she wipes her hands off. Hesitates. Grabs a clean bowl and fills it with water from the tap, then heads over to the back door. Easing it open just far enough, she slips through the crack and looks towards the window.
Sure enough, there's an owl there, sitting on top of a package it's set on the window sill. She makes her way over, setting the bowl down and untying the package from around the owl’s leg. It hops off and over to the bowl and starts drinking.
Almost as soon as she pulls the package off the window sill another owl swoops in to set its own burden down. She repeats the process with it and the third and fourth owl, ending up with a stack of boxes while she waits for the owls to finish with the water. Once they have, she grabs the bowl, dumps out the remaining water, then sets it on top of her stack of boxes. She glances into the window to make sure the kitchen is still clear, then heads to the backdoor. She has to push it open further with her foot now, but she's inside and quietly closing it with her hip in just a moment. Then she quickly makes her way over to the table and sets her packages down on Dudley's chair, knowing they'll be hidden from view from the door and kitchen there. She gathers up the bowl and Petunia's cup and makes her way back to the sink, relocking the backdoor as she passes.
Only once she's back to washing dishes and some careful listening reveals that the Dursleys don't seem to notice anything amiss does she let out a slow breath and the tension that had gripped her.
When she's done, she listens in on the Dursleys again, then once she's sure they aren't going to move for a while, since there's always a few minutes of complaining before any of them get up, she quickly gathers her packages and takes them to her cupboard. Once she's got the door closed she pauses to let out another quiet sigh of relief, then sets them on her mattress. She grabs a single change of clothes and puts it on top of the stack of boxes, since even though she plans to use the clothing store delivery box to get new stuff tomorrow, she'll still need something to wear until she does. Pulling the trunk chain over her head, she sets it on the mattress as well, enlarges it, then crams it into the small amount of space between the wall and what she's designed as the foot of the mattress.
Whether it's Petunia or Vernon, they both do an awful lot of yelling before they open her cupboard, which should give her time to come out as long as she leaves the trunk lid open so she can hear them, but she'd still like it out of direct line of sight anyway, just in case they decide there's something she needs to do after all before going to bed. And even in the likely scenario that she makes it out of the trunk before they open the door, she still doesn't want them to see it. Which they won't unless they actually stick their head in and look that way.
Finally happy that it's fairly hidden, she opens it, picks up her packages and the clothes on top, and starts down the stairs. Partway down, she's drawn up short by voices. First a female, "-had to have been in here though!"
Then a male, "Why wouldn't she wake us?"
A hesitation, then the woman again, "She was only a baby when we died. She probably doesn't remember us. We're practically strangers to her. Or maybe she was just overwhelmed."
A sigh, before the male speaks again, "I don't know Tiger-Lily. We'll just have to wait until she comes back if we want to find out more. Both about the situation and why she didn't wake us."
She stands there for a minute, hesitating. It sounds like her parents' portrait woke up. She's pretty sure she still isn't ready to talk to them, but… Well, she can't put it off forever. And she's going to need to go down there to drop off her delivery boxes. Never mind the fact that she has to go down there if she wants to sleep on an actual bed instead of a run down uncomfortable mattress.
Besides, she still needs to ask her dad about the Flint situation.
Decision made, she continues down the steps. Almost as soon as she clears the corner, she's looking at the portrait. She finds herself staring into her mother's painted eyes. Eyes that soon light up as her mom smacks her dad in the shoulder with the back of her hand, "I told you Calathe had been down here!"
Her gaze shifts to her dad who shakes his head, a soft bemused smile on his lips, "Merlin, Sirius and the others said she looked like me as a baby, but she looks just like you but with my hair, doesn't she?"
Her mom tilts her head, "I don't know about that. She does look an awful lot like you." Then her eyes narrow, "Little too skinny though." Her head shakes, "Sorry. Hello sweetheart, it's been so very long since I've seen you."
She swallows thickly, then croaks out, "Hi mom. Hi dad."
Her dad squinted at her, "Hi prongslet. You're awfully young. Tiger-Lily, I thought you said she'd get the trunk after she went to Hogwarts at 11?"
Her mom huffs, "In most of the possibilities I thought of, yes, so she wouldn't have our portrait since she was a baby and become stuck in the past. There were a few where she got the trunk and our portrait younger, not very many though."
She shifts, then abruptly turns towards the kitchen to put her stack on the island next to her mailbox to Brightblade, "I, uh, I ended up with Petunia."
Her mother hisses angrily, and her dad sucks in a sharp breath before pushing out, "What about Pad- What about Sirius? You were supposed to go to him."
She glances at them, then turns back to the packages to start unstacking them, setting the clothes off to the side, before beginning to work on untying the string holding the brown paper around each of them, "I'm not exactly sure, but he's been arrested and given a life sentence in Azkaban."
"WHAT?!"
Two different voices shout it, causing her to jump and turn to them with wide eyes. Her parents shake themselves from their shock, and her dad continues with a strained smile, "Sorry, prongslet, I just- How could Sirius- What did he do?"
She shrugs uncomfortably, "That's a little trickier. See, partially he's thought to have been our secret keeper, but allegedly, he also tried to make a run for it after you guys died, was found by Peter Pettigrew who tried to confront him and was then murdered along with thirteen muggles with an overpowered blasting curse. All of this has become common knowledge along with the fact that he was apparently Voldemort's right hand man the whole time."
Her dad growls, "Never. Sirius would never -"
Then he cuts off angrily. A moment later her mom continues for him, "But our wills said that Peter was our secret keeper. If anything Sirius tracked down Peter, not the other way around. And though he was reckless, even Sirius wouldn't fire a blasting curse near an innocent crowd, muggle or not."
She sighs and pushes her hair back, "I don't know. I don't know him. What I do know is that Brightblade has tried to look into it by getting copies of the trial transcript and been denied every time. The only thing I know for certain is that Gringotts received the paperwork regarding his life sentence. And that you were right about Dumbledore. I don't know if he's just greedy or what, but after you died, apparently he had the Ministry copies of your wills sealed, then forcibly became my guardian. Since then, he's been pulling out half of the money from my trust vault every time it refills. In any case, with your will's Ministry copies sealed, Gringotts can't do anything with their copies since they can't be verified, so there's no proof Sirius was a decoy instead of the real secret keeper. You'd think it would've come out in trial, but." She shrugs, "Like I said Brightblade can't get a copy. I'm going to be looking into it. If nothing else, I want answers."
She turns to them, gaze narrowed in determination. Her parents share a concerned look. Then her mom's gaze drops, "I wish I'd been wrong about Dumbledore." Then she shakes her head, "What are you going to do about it? Do you have a plan yet? And what about ending up with Petunia, is there really nothing to be done?"
She glances away awkwardly, suddenly aware that she's talking to an imprint of her parents who probably wouldn't like the idea of her all of seven year old self becoming a runaway, "I've got a few ideas."
Her mother's eyes narrow thoughtfully for a moment, then out of nowhere, "You're just going to leave, aren't you?"
She jolts, "How-"
She realizes her mistake, but it's already too late, so she just looks away again, her mom snorts, "Call it mother's intuition." Then she hesitates, "And… I don't want you with Petunia, but you really shouldn't be on your own, you're only… I mean I don't know how old you are, but you're still a child."
She huffs, "Seven. And I know plenty about being self-sufficient thanks to the Dursleys."
There's a beat of silence and then her dad breaks it, "I hate to say it Tiger-Lily, but if Petunia is even half as awful as you said she was- Ow!"
Her mom glares at him, then sighs and slumps, "I suppose so. Still, I don't like the idea of you on your own."
She hums, "Well. I might not be entirely on my own." That gets both of her parents straightening up, and she looks away again before continuing, "Brightblade said Remus Lupin kept trying to get in contact with me."
Her dad grins, "You used to call him Unca Moo-y, because his nickname was Moony."
She shrugs, "I don't remember anything about that, nor the man himself, and Dumbledore is influential enough that I'm not going to take anyone at face value. Especially since I don't know if he's after more than money or what he might do regardless of his motives if he finds out I'm not as ignorant as he's been sure to leave me. So Brightblade suggested hiring him as a retainer with a confidentiality agreement. Since Sirius made me his Heir and all of his stuff is legally mine now, I'm going to go to Sirius' old apartment, and the updating book Brightblade sent me said it's two bedrooms, so I figured I'd offer him one, partially so he's more on hand for some of the odd jobs I was thinking about having him doing, like looking into what the hell happened with Sirius, and partially so that any neighbors or whatever I might find myself with won't get all concerned about a seven year old living alone. Plus, it'll give me a chance to get to know him naturally, since we'll be around each other so often if he takes me up on both the retainer thing and the room. So I figure, I'll take off at six in the morning tomorrow, be on my own for a few days, then possibly have Remus around."
Her mom hums, "That's… not a bad idea actually. I very seriously doubt Remus will object. The only problem I could see him having with the arrangement would be getting paid by someone he sees as family to do something he already wants to do, that is sticking around and helping out, but if it's what would make you feel safest he'd be willing to do it. Especially if you're actually going to give him jobs to do for you."
She hums in understanding, then looks over at the portrait, "There was something I wanted to ask about. Some old family business."
Her dad tilts his head in curiosity, "Oh?"
She nods, "Brightblade said a Potter, or Peverell as the name was at the time, married into the Flint family some seven centuries ago, and apparently they're now saying a dowry was never paid, so now they want a chunk of what the Potter family has as both restitution and interest since it's been so long. I presume they have proof, since Brightblade says that if I can't find something to dispute their claim then I'd best get a lawyer, but I have no idea if there would even still be records after a bit more that seven hundred years or where to look if they exist."
She's a little confused when her mom turns to her dad with a smug expression. He simply sighs, "Yes, yes, Tiger-Lily, you were right. Like you usually are." Then he turns his fondly exasperated gaze onto her, "House Potter has always kept extremely meticulous records. If there was everany possibility of it being even mildly important later, we kept a record of it. And we've always been honorable, so I'm sure there would have been a very good documented reason for it. It's exactly for times like these that we're so meticulous about our records after all." Then he shakes his head, "I didn't think it'd be necessary to include copies of those records in your mother's 'just in case' trunk for you, but your mother is as right as she usually is. The wooden file cabinet in the library has certified copies of all the Potter records, which was a pain in the behind to do by the way."
Then he shakes his head, "The inside of each drawer is not only expanded, but you'll find a sort of combination lock on the front. You can use the digits on the lock to change what year of records you're accessing. You can also, however, change all four to spell out the word 'scry' to then verbally search the records. The top drawer is the House records, the middle is a record of every magic the Potter family has invented or come across, and the bottom is the journal archive. It's traditional for a Potter to start writing journals at the age of five, partially as a means of practicing and perfecting their writing, but also so that they develop the habit of making at least one entry a day about everything going on so as so make a complete and detailed Potter history, as well as each individual member that has lived. Or at least, those that have lived since the tradition started. You're a bit older and will be starting later, but there are some empty journals in the library for you to continue the tradition."
He shrugs, "Unless someone dropped the ball on the Potter records, it should be as easy as flipping to that year or directly searching the name of the Potter in question to find the record, then sending it to Brightblade so he can make his own copy to present as proof."
She nods slowly, a little overwhelmed.
Her mom clears her throat, then in a stern voice, "However. That can wait until tomorrow. It's getting late. Especially if you want to be up early enough to get breakfast before you leave."
She glances at the clock, surprised to see it's already past nine, then nods, "Uh. Yeah. Um, goodnight I guess."
Her parents both smile at her from within their frame.
"Goodnight sweetheart."
"Night Prongslet!"
By now, the Dursleys will all be in bed, so there isn't any chance of them yelling for her, so she just grabs her change of clothes and awkwardly shuffles off. Before she closes her door she hears her mom murmur quietly, "She's awfully mature for her age. I mean the way she talks, the way she actually thinks things through, or acts in general…"
Her dad sighs, "If Petunia is even a quarter as bad as you used to complain, she's been through a lot. She probably never got to be a kid to begin with."
Now it's her mom's turn to sigh, "I know. Still though."
"I know Tiger-Lily, I know."
Then it falls silent and she quietly finishes closing her door. She stands there for a minute. They weren't… wrong. But it was strange to hear someone acknowledge it. She was used to being ignored. The local troublemaker, not worth anyone's time because of the awfullies Petunia spread about her.
Then she shakes herself and turns to her room. She swings by the bathroom and is happy to find a toothbrush and toothpaste. Much as she'd like to take her time taking a shower, or maybe even a bath, she does have to be up early, so she decides to skip it for now and just get one once she's safe in Sirius' old apartment tomorrow. As such, it isn't long before she's back in her room and setting her alarm clock for five so she'll have plenty of time in the morning and crawling under the oh so comfortable blanket on the absolutely delightful bed.
Despite the way her head swims from ideas and information and everything she went through today, it's only a matter of moments after her head hits the feather soft pillow that she's fast asleep.
That night, the reoccurring nightmare she's had for as long as she can remember comes back to haunt her again. The one with the distant noises, the heavy thump and an immediate sob from much closer, pain in her head and frantic murmuring followed by something brushing her forehead, then a flash of green light, a scream and high cold laughter followed swiftly by an explosion, and finally the wind through her hair accompanied by a close consistent rumble that was strangely comforting. Barring the last windy sensation and rumble, every minute of it is blanketed with a putrid fear. The entire thing is distorted, the sounds quiet like she's underwater, and the images a dizzying out of focus kaleidoscope that's impossible to make sense of. Then it repeats. A sickening psychedelic hellscape.
When her alarm goes off and interrupts the fourth rendition of the nightmare, she's grateful even as habit jerks her awake in an instant and worry has her scrambling to turn the alarm off. Once that's done, slumps in on herself, then flops back down on the bed.
She's entirely unsurprised to find herself covered in a cold sweat. She shifts her tired gaze to her bathroom door. If she's quick about it, she could probably squeeze a shower into her morning and still have time to eat her breakfast before she leaves if she grabs something pre-made instead of cooking like she'd originally planned.
The shower, despite being quick, doesn't just help with the sweat, it also helps ground her. Though when she's done and quickly brushing out her hair at the vanity she finds that she's paler than normal and has bags under her eyes as though she got no sleep. She feels tired enough for it, even though she technically got a bit under eight hours. It doesn't surprise her. She's always like this after that nightmare.
Stumbling out of the hall, the painting of her parents apparently takes notice of her state immediately if the concerned noises are any indication. It's her mom that speaks, "Sweetheart, are you alright? You look like you didn't sleep at all."
She shrugs tiredly as she heads for the cupboards to find some breakfast and hopefully some juice to go with it, "I was asleep almost immediately last night, and I didn't wake til my alarm went off. It was just a recurring nightmare, that's all."
Her mom makes another worried noise, "What about?"
She shrugs as she takes her food back to the island, pushing one of the boxes out of the way with her wrist since that hand is holding a bottle of apple juice and the other a plate whose label says it has a mix of breakfast foods, "I don't know. It's all… distorted and distant." She pauses to open her food and take a bite of her eggs, then crack open her juice while she chews before continuing after she swallows, "Distant noises, a thump, frantic murmuring and pain in my head, a flash of green light as some woman screams and high cold laughter, an explosion, a sense of fear throughout, then a weirdly comforting consistent rumbling accompanied by wind in my hair."
When she gets silence instead of some sort of response, she looks over to find her parents staring at each other with horror. Her eyes narrow, "What?"
They both jolt and turn to her before looking away, guilty and uncomfortable. She gestures at them with her fork, "Just tell me. I'm not a fan of secrets and lies. Well, when they're directed at me anyway, and I suppose that's true for everyone..."
Her mom slowly lets out a shaking breath, then looks up at her, a profound sorrow in her eyes. Her voice is graveyard quiet and heavy when she speaks, "That isn't a dream sweetheart. It's a memory of-'' She sucks in a sharp breath, then pushes on stubbornly, "Of the night our home was attacked." She stares at the portrait, blank and uncomprehending for a moment, and apparently her mom takes this as a cue to explain, "The- The distant noises and thump were your dad fighting back when Voldemort broke in. And then dying. I was the one murmuring as well as the one responsible for the pain, because I was casting protective magic on you. I was also the one who screamed. The killing curse is normally quick and painless, but the spell I cast to protect you… Well, I don't regret it in the slightest, but let's just say my death was slightly more drawn out and significantly more painful than is usual for the Killing Curse. The laughter would have to have been Voldemort. The fear was probably because despite the fact you were a baby you most likely picked up on me and your dad's fear."
She pauses then looks away and furrows her brow, "As for the rumble. The only thing I can think of would be Sirius' motorcycle. He enchanted it to be able to fly and loved that thing to pieces." A bit of humor enters her eyes and her grim expression turns to a faint amused grin, "Much to my chagrin, so did you. Your dad and Sirius found out while I was away for a couple days on Order business. Apparently, that first night you just would not stop crying and go to sleep. So out of desperation they made you a little basket that could hook to the bike and Sirius took you for a ride hoping that like all babies the new experience would distract you. You loved every second of it that you were awake for. Which wasn't very long since Sirius discovered that for some reason riding around on that motorcycle with him put you right to sleep."
Her dad laughs lightly, "It drove your mother nuts. Especially after you started learning to talk. His nickname was Padfoot, and every time Sirius would come to visit on his bike, as soon as you heard that rumble you didn't want anything to do with whatever was going on before you heard it and you'd just start shouting 'Pa-foo, Pa-foo, Pa-foo!' until he came in. I swear he started riding his bike over more often after you learned to talk, especially since he loved it. He'd come bursting in shouting 'Where's my Prongslet?!' every single time. Me and your mother might as well have been chopped liver for at least the first three hours of Padfoot being there. All you cared about was him."
She smiles faintly. She doesn't remember any of this of course, but it's nice to hear some stories of a time before her family and life had been torn apart.
Her dad sighs, "I always thought it was proof that we made a good choice making him your Godfather. I mean, he loved you so much, and despite his protests that he wasn't good with kids when I first asked, he was phenomenal with you, and you adored him. But now…"
She shrugs, "You seemed pretty sure Remus would take my offer, so we'll just have to wait and see what he can find."
Her dad hums in agreement and quiet briefly falls as she returns to her breakfast, then a thought occurs to her and she looks back, "What exactly did you do to protect me anyway?"
Her mom looks a little uncomfortable, but answers anyway, "Well. Technically what I did was illegal, since all sacrificial magic was banned by the Ministry about two centuries ago. I found it in the Potter records though when your dad and I were going through and copying everything, which took a very long time, but it was in fact worth it apparently. The spell essentially takes the willing sacrifice of the caster to protect the target from whatever the caster willingly died to. It was a gamble on my part, but if you've read the paper I included of who you can trust and who you can't you'll know that Snape," She sneers this with anger, "tried to plead with Voldemort to spare me. I got the impression when we… spoke about it that Voldemort, surprisingly, had agreed as something of a reward for Snape's loyalty. I was banking on him making at least a token attempt to spare me. If he did, then me dying to him would count as a willing sacrifice and you'd be protected from him." Then her mom gives a pained smile, "I'm actually responsible for the scar on your forehead. It's Sowilo, which is the rune for victory or success."
She gives her mom an odd look, "Victory? Not protection?"
Her mom huffs a laugh, "No. For protection you'd want Eihwaz. At least if you're using the Futhark runic alphabet. However, the idea of using Sowilo for the spell is that it ensures victory over the attacker if the spell is successfully cast, since they cannot attempt to hurt the one with the rune without the protective magic flinging their attack right back at them." Then her eyes turn sad again, "That was probably the explosion you remember in your nightmare. Voldemort was very fond of the Killing Curse, so I would be willing to bet that he tried to use it on you. It's already a powerful spell, the results of it being flung back by the protective spell would've been unbelievably explosive."
She turns back to her food thoughtfully, "Oh."
Then she shakes her head and goes back to eating, she's only got a certain amount of time before she needs to leave after all.
When she's done, she rinses everything off then sets it aside with yesterday's bowl and bottle, frowning faintly at them. Her mom chooses then to speak up again, "Ah, right. There's an empty cupboard under the sink. You send the used dishes back after washing them and the store that sends you your food and ingredients sanitizes them and reuses them."
She nods and puts the dishes, except for the silverware which was hers, into the indicated cupboard. The silverware, now clean, goes back into the drawer. She frowns at the mess of boxes and writing supplies she'd left on the island, then shakes her head. She doesn't have time to deal with them right now, it's only a few minutes to six.
Grabbing the bank card and tucking it into her pocket, she gives a vague wave towards the portrait, then she heads up the stairs. Climbing back out, she starts to close the trunk, then hesitates. She doesn't know how long it'll take her to get clothes she orders and she doesn't want to be washing the same two outfits over and over. Especially since they're worn enough that they wouldn't last long if she keeps switching back and forth between them. So she grabs a few more changes of clothes and sets them off to the side on the inside steps, then glances around to make sure there isn't anything else she wants to take with her before closing the trunk, which she swiftly shrinks before picking it up and putting the chain around her neck.
Then she scoops up her run down backpack, opening it and pulling out a notebook, before digging around until she finds a pencil. Turning the notebook to a clean page, she simply writes, "Goodbye. I hope I never have to see any of you again."
She tears the paper out, puts her stuff back into her backpack, then slips it on. Once she's done that, she double checks that the bank card hadn't fallen out of her pocket, then quietly eases her cupboard door open, thankful that she had managed to avoid enough of the Dursleys ire lately to have it unlocked.
Quiet as a grave, she closes the door and drifts to the living room to set her note on the coffee table. She doesn't know why she does it. It isn't like the Dursleys will care and she'll certainly be glad to be rid of them. It's more than they deserve from her to be frank. But it feels right. Final. Like this, of all things, is strangely enough the thing that makes this all reality and not just another fantasy of being free of the Dursleys.
She heads toward the door and unlocks it. Then pauses, hand on the doorknob to look around the house one more time. She knew she'd be happy to be free of the Dursleys, but she thought she might feel something about the house itself. She's lived there for the entirety of her life that she can remember after all.
She doesn't feel anything except the relief to be free of the Dursleys.
Without another backward look, she opens the door and disappears into the morning.