Wizards are idiots. It's a simple fact.
Bellatrix LeStrange walked through Diagon Alley and not a single person noticed or cared.
Granted, she was walking with a carefree, happy smile, delighting in being amongst the Wizarding Populace, and handing out candy to all the children she saw, but she still walked right down Diagon Alley without a single person realizing who she was.
The goblins did, but they certainly didn't care. Nor did they care when Bellatrix emptied all of the gold from her vault, and also took a golden cup. They did mind a little bit when she took a goblin-wrought sword and matching scabbard, but were mollified when they were informed them she'd be closing the vault. She was very apologetic about it, especially since the goblins would have to keep all of the goblin-wrought artefacts the LeStranges had collected over the years.
Then I ran the bitch through with the sword.
She screamed, cursing my name, as I withdrew the sword. Possession is tricky, but not that tricky on someone who's been trapped in Azkaban for ten years. Granted, it gives me the fucking heeby-jeebies and I'll be in the shower for the next month, but it works.
Oh well, at least it wasn't hard since I knew Sirius' method.
Griphook is still smiling as he hands me the key to my new vault, filled with the LeStrange gold.
"Thankfully the sword will not absorb the properties of a crazy bitch," I tell him. He gives a cruel smile. "Sadly, I still have need of a goblin-forged sword, and have neither the time nor inclination to commission one. I will put this one to use destroying the enemies of all living and sane people, before returning it to the goblin nation with a record of its deeds. Also, I'll see if I can steal the sword Godric Gryffindor commissioned while I'm at it."
Griphook considers me for a long moment, before nodding.
The sword is now hiding underneath my cloak, while I left the cup in my own vault, for now. I make a quick stop at a few apothecaries. I buy the usual first-year supplies at each one, and also "a few ingredients for my da." I show them a written list for each one. They shouldn't have sold me half of them, but I have a note from "my da," so I walk out with everything I need.
I also stop at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Hedwig is waiting for me. I swear she recognizes me when she lands on my head. I tell the owner my mum said I needed an owl, and hand him the gold.
The tent is easy too. I'm the innocent little pureblood girl picking out a tent for "roughing it." So it only has three bedrooms, two baths, a hot tub, fully stocked kitchen, and well appointed dining room.
Apparating away is a little difficult, but it's easy enough to turn down one of the various side alleys and apparate to one of England's various forests. Hedwig's a little annoyed by the process, but found it to her liking once I'd set up the tent, fixed up the wards, and started cooking some of the food I stole from the Dursleys. Bacon for my most wonderful owl, and real food for myself.
I can't eat very much of it. I'm not surprised.
After a good night's sleep, the next thing on the agenda is Hedwig. She's beautiful, wonderful, and everything else. I don't want to lose her. Not now, not ever, not again. She was my first true friend in the Wizarding World. Hagrid may have brought me into it, but he was Dumbledore's man. Hedwig was mine. And she gave her life for me. I owe her.
The Ritual of Familiarity is one of the few pieces of blood magic with an exemption on it, largely because it's expected of powerful wizards to have familiars. While a familiar bond can form between an animal and a human, the Ritual of Familiarity goes beyond that, linking together the strengths and magics of a wizard and his familiar. I'm also pretty certain it's part of what drove Riddle and Dumbledore off the deep-end.
Riddle didn't bind himself to Nagini. That wouldn't have been grandiose enough. Instead, he bound himself to Slytherin's basilisk. Given the creature had been trapped in a basement for the better part of a thousand years, the thing was mad. The madness carried over to Riddle. There's a reason he committed his first murder so soon after finding the chamber.
Dumbledore is much more interesting. Fawkes is an inherently magical creature, and one that is wholly immortal. Its magic, its soul, they're radically different from a human's, and Dumbledore linked his with Fawkes. Defeating his closest friend Grindelwald soon afterwards likely didn't help his sanity, especially given how he did it. He kept it together, but as time went on… well, the things he did "for the greater good" were obviously reprehensible. I wouldn't be surprised if Fawkes allowed Dumbledore to die, rather than try to heal him.
Combine that with Horcruxes and it's the goddamn diving board for the deep end.
All of which brings me to Hedwig.
She's sitting on my knee while I'm painting runes on her chest using my own blood. I'm not going to try and make myself greater by bonding with her. I'm not expecting to bind some great and all-powerful mythic beast to my soul. All I want is to protect my first friend.
The next set of runes are written on my skin with Hedwig's blood. She's perched on me as this happens. I can already start to feel her, the bewilderment and wonder and love, as she starts to understand my own feelings for her. It starts getting stronger and stronger, as I complete the runes. They begin to glow, as my magic reacts, powering them. They glow, and I ignore them, instead looking at Hedwig.
The runes on her chest are glowing too, and I can feel the emotions radiating off of her, mixing with mine, and she understands. She understands so much, how a different version of herself loved me enough to give her own life for me. How she was my familiar, and I want that, and I want more than that. Memories of events that never happened flood between us. I close my eyes and drift on the magic, letting it direct and take hold. My own magic pours into her, I can feel it pool and gather within her, and then I feel something else entirely come back.
It leaves me tired and drained, but happy and full of warmth and love.
"Thank you."
Hearing the words I open my eyes, and see that I no longer have an owl perched on my crossed legs. Instead, I have a harpy. Wide amber eyes stare at me, hiding just under a messy fringe of white hair and feathers. She's smiling, her face pale white skin, while the rest of her body is covered in white feathers and down. Her legs are longer, and each one has taken a knee, and her wingspan's gotten a lot larger, nearly four feet.
"You're welcome," I reply, smiling. I reach out and touch her face. She rubs up against it, and neither of us could be happier.
0x0x0x0
The nightmare hits like a freight train. It isn't mine. It's Jessica's.
It's dark. There's a fat menacing figure, forcing something into her mouth, forcing her to spread her legs. She bleeds from down there, as something enters it. There's pain down there, and then there's pain across her face. A voice hisses, whispers, some strange combination of Vernon and Voldemort, "I told you to keep quiet."
I follow the nightmare into a little girl's mind.
This wasn't an uncommon occurrence.
White wings envelope me, they envelope the both of us, calming us as rage boils through me. Jessica shrinks back, thinking I'm coming for her. Instead, I take hold of a metaphysical hand, and bring her close to me. I gently coax her into my arms, swearing, promising, that I'll never hurt her, and that I'll never allow her to be hurt again.
She's broken, so horribly broken. I show her love, and instead of coming together, instead of pulling herself into a single, whole piece... she slips apart in my arms. She comes undone. She falls apart, and I'm left holding memories. There was nothing to hold her together. She wasn't a person anymore. She was a thing. She was so broken and shattered that when something came along to try and put her back together, she just slipped apart. I could actually feel her soul release, moving onwards to the next great adventure. I hoped and prayed someone there would do the same, so that even in death, she could find release.
When I wake up I'm crying. Hedwig is on the bed, staying with me, and I can feel her own tears reach me.
I start picking through what Jessica's left to me. Memories of abuse, of beatings, of rape are set aside, to the words which stick out to me.
"Your parents abandoned you," said Vernon. It sticks like lit napalm, a burning pain through my mind that won't come off until it's done. There's the usual "useless freaks" and "worthless unemployed drunks." There was generally a "just like you" or "just like you'll become." The usual bullshit I had to deal with growing up. Was being a girl just that different? Was it the rape, combined with the beatings and everything else?
There's something else. I have to dig for it, tracing back pieces of psychological damage and torment back to their very source.
"Where're my parents?" asked a four-year-old Jessica Hope Potter.
"They abandoned you," said Petunia, her usual disgust evident at having to even talk to her niece.
"They didn't care," said Vernon, "because you're just as much a worthless freak as they were."
That was it.
I look over the memories with a new light. The crushing despair, building on tiny shoulders, as year after year sloughed by. There was no single incident that stood out, no single thing that broke her. It was just horror after horror, abuse after abuse, beating after beating, rape after rape. She held on, just as I had, but the apparent fact her parents didn't care? The sexual abuse heaped on top of the physical abuse? That her parents had left her to these monsters? What did she have left?
She lost hope.
I let out a sad laugh, the cosmic cruelty, the terrible irony of it all. I can't help it. Tears stream down my face for my lost twin, for the lost little girl who had no hope. Who had it stolen away from her.
I need to know. I need to find out if James and Lily Potter are still alive.
0x0x0x0
Secrets don't have to be places. I don't want people to know who I am.
Hedwig acts as my secret's keeper.
It's July 24th. I'm now physically sixteen, thanks to a rather impressive (and permanent) aging potion. Thanks to the four dozen nutrient potions I drank (and pissed out) while growing, I'm not a freakish twig. Instead, I'd hit on myself, if I didn't look like my gender-twisted twin. The disturbing part of all this, is my old basilisk scar came back. The wound didn't reopen or anything, but… the white scar-tissue reformed after taking the potion. Is it fate reminding me? Or something else? It's just one more scar, and one with a good memory attached to it, unlike any of the others.
Flourish and Bott's still has a whole section on the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry James Potter is a year older than Jessica was. There's no mention of Jessica at all. Whether that's due to the usual Wizarding Stupidity, or Jessica was kept a secret is up in the air. There's still a problem, however.
Harry was born August 2nd. I definitely need to break into Albus' office before I kill Tom. I doubt Harry's marked as his equal, but I need to be sure.
The Potters were, at least, betrayed by Peter Pettigrew, but he still escaped, killing twelve muggles. Some books talk about how Remus Lupin may or may not have betrayed the Potters, but he died defending them. There was a jagged scar, apparently, on Harry's chest, because of all of this.
All that echoes through my mind is, "Neither can live, while the other survives." I've taken up Jessica's mantle. So I look into the Black Family History. Regulus is still dead. My course of action is decided, as I apparate to Number Twelve Grimmuald Place.
The place is as shitty and rundown as I remember it being. Sirius definitely doesn't live here. I walk up the steps, and knock. Kreacher answers, staring at me for a long moment.
"You is a Black, but you isn't a Black," he tells me. "What do you want?"
"Regulus left you with a task, Kreacher," I begin. The surprise on the little imp's face is worth it.
"He did. How did you know?"
"If you fetch it, I will complete it," I reply.
Kreacher considers this for a long moment.
"Will you do it here?"
"No. I will call upon you September the First. Other things must be dealt with before then. I will be at Hogwarts. Will this be an issue?"
"Kreacher will bring the locket when Black who isn't a Black calls," is all Kreacher says.
"Excellent. Be gone."
Kreacher nods, and returns to the house. I'd have thanked him, but he'd look at me funny.
0x0x0x0
I avoid Number Four. If I do go there, I'll probably murder Vernon. Instead, I shop for a nice muggle house, claiming an inheritance from my grouchy old, crazy bitch of an aunt.
The house me and Hedwig settle on is a nice place. Two story Victorian, in Devon. It needs a little work, but I know how to fix up a place. It'll be a little empty for now, but a big part of me wants a family.
Not sure how I plan on pulling that off, yet.
0x0x0x0
It's just as easy to break into Hogwarts now as when Sirius did it. In fact, I probably break in the same way.
Safest place in the world my left ass-cheek.
First stop is the second floor bathroom, and entrance of the Chamber of Secrets. I shore up the ceiling, and enter the Chamber itself. One grandiose password later, and I can hear the basilisk coming. I can hear it whispering, muttering about killing mudbloods, drinking their precious bodily fluids, and crunching their bones to dust.
It's anti-climatic, really. I don't care about the carcass, so I use the Damned Fog Curse. Poor thing doesn't even realize what it's slithering into, before its eyes turn to puss. A wind blows the black, unholy fog into Slytherin's mouth. The basilisk's scales are blackened and torn, and blood is pouring from its mouth.
A sixty food snake gargling its own blood is a sound I hope to never hear again.
It crashes to the ground, its tongue halfway melted as it tries to breathe. A purple wedge of ghastly power crashes into its neck, ripping through the scales, and digging a five meter furrow in the stone around it. The basilisk tries to move, tries to find me, but a second one digs through the flesh, cutting the spine and tearing apart the ceiling above it. It crashes to the floor, body twitching. The third cuts off the head, and makes my hand start to smoke.
A quick cooling charm, and a few simple healing spells fixes that; the one drawback of wandless magic.
The goblin sword slips as easily into the venom sacs as before.
I wonder if Riddle will check on the animal, but I have to assume he won't. While it's easy to sneak around the castle, I don't plan on giving him much time to do so.
I take the fangs as souvenirs, and then drain the rest of the venom sac to sell. I stop before I leave, deciding I want something to mount on my wall.
Afterwards, I make a detour to grab the diadem, and drop it in a sack.
If Riddle does find either of them gone, let him worry.
0x0x0x0
I eat lunch in the Leaky Cauldron, mostly to read the newspaper, and maybe to be around people too.
It's business as usual at Privet Drive. According to the Dursleys, I've been shipped off to St. Trinian's School for Girls, a year-round school. I imagine it's pretty similar to the Brutus School for Incurably Criminal boys, given the way Hedwig laughs at it. She's the one that's taken a liking to muggle books, especially romance novels. It makes me want to vomit, what with some of the lurid prose.
"Wotcher," says a voice I'd recognize anywhere. The girl however, I've never seen before, but that doesn't surprise me.
"Hi?" I say, somewhat surprised anyone is talking to me. Generally only Tom bothers me. The girl (fine, young woman) is dressed in her usual strange uniform, but is lacking bubblegum pink hair. Little wonder I didn't recognize her.
"You look like you could use some company," says Tonks, taking a seat across from me.
"Ah," I say, staring at her from over my newspaper.
Tom quickly ambles over and gets her order. He smiles at me, since I've managed to eat nearly half of my own plate. Between him and Hedwig, I'll actually be able to gain weight some day. I'm using nutrient potions to make sure I don't lose any, at least.
"So who are you?" asks Tonks, without actually telling me her name.
"Jamie Evans," I reply. According to the Goblins, I'm an eighteen year old muggleborn witch who was home-schooled, which is very nearly an oxymoron given how little information is given to muggleborn parents. They've rather obviously bribed the Ministry to agree with these events. I say obviously, because it doesn't matter if it's obvious or not. I have no past information, so there's no point in trying to hide the fact that mine's fake.
According to muggle records, I'm eighteen, and graduated from Stonewall High with decent grades. I actually took NEWTs in Charms, Potions, and Defence last week. I terrified the examiner because I got Os in everything without a wand, informing him, "I would never lower myself to using a wand for such a simple task."
"Tonks," says Tonks.
"That a first name or a last name?" I ask. She smiles and deflects.
"What'cha reading?" she says, smiling.
"Quibbler. I can only stand the Prophet so much." I was reading it upside down, as it's supposed to be read.
"I know how you feel. My uncle Sirius complains about the Prophet pretty regularly."
"Oh?" I ask. Sirius is out of prison. Not surprising, given Remus is dead. James and Lily would have been able to exonerate him, and dump the blame on Peter. Jessica had some vague recollection of Moony and green lights.
I smile as she does a decent impression of Sirius. His voice is deeper, fuller, but I recognize it anyways.
"That's pretty good," I say, knowing how she pulled it off. "He seems a character."
"Thanks a bunch. Yeah, he's always been pretty nuts, but he's a great uncle."
I decide against mentioning I stole from her uncle, and instead ask about a Sirius Black that never went to Azkaban. Besides, it's a history lesson, isn't it?
So Tonks starts bugging me on a regular basis. She's still an Auror Trainee, and she's still working her way through the program, but she's nice. Bubbly and cute, but nice.
0x0x0x0
"Wotcher, Jamie."
"Tonks," I reply, looking up from my paper. It's August 30th. Two more days, and I'm already nervous. Granted, it's not like I'm about to do something stupid. I glance up at her. She's changed herself again. She's a little taller, her face has taken on a more masculine slant, and her hair's pretty short. Figure wise, her breasts are smaller, and her hips are slimmer, more masculine.
Questions about Metamorphmagi that I've never thought before are being raised in my mind.
"Trying out a new look?" I ask.
"Yeah, something like that," she says, perking up. "What do you think?"
"I suppose for Auror work it's better to be taller and more imposing. Honestly, I think being more feminine works better for you, though."
Tonks nods, smiling.
"You started job-hunting, yet?"
"Not really. I was waiting for school to start."
"I'd have thought lots of places in the alley would be looking with school starting on the first."
"Muggle job hunting," I say. "A lot of the magical world's left a bad taste in my mouth."
"Leaving it all behind? What were you planning on doing?"
"Not leaving. Just keeping my distance. Right now? I'm young. I figure retail while I get certified for teaching."
"Teaching? Muggle teaching?"
"For now. Maybe magical at some point. I'll have to get a Mastery or two, first, I suppose."
"Mastery or two? The few people that get them only get one, at most."
"I got Os on my Charms and Defence NEWTs without a wand. I think I'll manage."
"Without... wait, I've never seen your wand, have I?"
"No, because I don't really use a wand, except for Transfiguration. I'm thinking of just going for a Mastery, but I need a new wand, first."
"You want to go get one?" asks Tonks, smiling at me.
It'd be useful, I think. I've been meaning to check the prices on basilisk parts, might as well do it after getting a wand made.
"Sure, why not?" I say. I pay Tom, and then follow Tonks into the Alley. I'm wearing vaguely muggle clothing, slacks, button-down shirt, and matching sport-coat. Walking in with Tonks, nobody even notices me, as we make our way to Ollivander's shop.
He rattles off Tonks' wand, then examines me for a long moment.
"It's been a long time since I've made a wand for a warlock."
"Fuck," I mutter, while Tonks eyes me critically. I search through the pockets of my sport coat, and remove the small vial, and the ten inch fang. "Which do you want?"
He examines both, looking at the vial through the dusty light of his shop window, while holding the fang itself.
"What is that?" asks Tonks.
"Basilisk," I reply.
"Oh," says Tonks, realizing that I do, in fact, have that important qualification to be a warlock. The other being I know the proper spells. Which I do, and far more terrible and awe-inspiring things than that. There is, however, always the important litmus test. "And the err...?"
I take off my jacket, and pull up the back of my shirt.
Tonks gasps in horror at my back, but still touches her wand to the magical tattoo itself. The tattoo is a pretty interesting piece of magic, and what Voldemort based the Dark Mark off of. It doesn't come off. It's tied directly into the soul, and it returned within a week of arriving back in time. It's proof of my skill as a warlock. That I know the spells, that I've slain a creature, and that I've proven myself in battle. This one was given by Miskatonic University, in the New World. The Book, Skull, and Rose surrounded by Runes is an impressive sight to anyone who actually knows what it is.
"What... what happened?" asks Tonks, as I drop my shirt back down. She doesn't notice the fang scar on my arm, even as she sits down in the lone chair.
"My relatives," I reply.
"Not the crazy aunt?" asks Tonks.
"No. She was psychotic, but rarely to me." That's a true fact. It was only twice. Then Molly killed her.
Tonks nods, but doesn't pry any further.
Ollivander takes both the fang and vial, and tells me to come back tomorrow.
Tonks slowly walks back to the Leaky Cauldron, following in my wake as I return to my floo.
"Hey, Jamie..." she starts, as I'm about to toss in some powder.
"Yes?"
"Can I... can I get some practice in with you? Once you have your wand?"
I stare at her for a long moment, then nod.
"Great," she says, deep in thought. "I'll talk with you next time I see you, alright?"
0x0x0x0
Retrieving my wand was uneventful. Testing it out was.
My Holly and Phoenix feather was a good duellist's wand; very fast spellwork, and very protective of me. Even more so after I repaired it using the Elder Wand. The Elder Wand, however, was a nightmare. Not as fast, but definitely filled with raw power. Everything came out meaner and nastier. The shields were always weaker, but they never allowed a spell to bleed through. With transfiguration, Holly and Phoenix was good for object transfiguration, while the Elder Wand was outstanding at outright permanent conjuration. What the Elder Wand created, stayed, no matter who tried to dispel it.
Basilisk and banyan. It's a weird combination, and a surprise that Ollivander even had the wood. It's very slick, slippery with magic. I spend the entire day trying it out, figuring out what it's good for. The thing is quick, very quick, faster than Holly and Phoenix feather on the draw, and also with its spells. It can't handle power with charms, but that's not something I'm overly worried about. Instead, it's an absolute beast with transfiguration. A literal beast. Living-to-living, object-to-living, animation, it does it all with style, panache, and horror.
Hedwig points out that if I'm not paying attention, everything comes out dripping with venomous fangs. I amused myself with a few sheep that immediately attempted to kill each other. I knew better than to make a bunny, at least. I also check, and everything speaks Parseltongue. Disturbing.
I make a solid meal for the evening, and lay out the sword for tomorrow.