a/n: this entire chapter sets the setting of who my main characters are. Ophelia Black and Darcy Black. I will attempt to tell of two love stories. :) Slight Marauder's backstory at the end. [AND I CHANGED THE PLOT A LITTLE!]
A woman with long cascading darkhair apparates onto Hogsmead, her cloak now covered in the blizzard of snow around them. She was tall, elegant, and her grey eyes can be seen from where Harry was. She looks elegant, and rigid, like she could break but make a stand. The paleness of her skin could match the snow, and it looks unhealthy for a woman of such.
Harry was underneath the invisibility cloak, so when the woman seemed to stare at the three—Hermione, Ron and Harry—he thought that she was staring right at him. Instead, she briskly walked into the pub, where soon after the trio would go in as well.
"Tell you what," said Ron, his teeth chattering, "shall we go for a butterbeer at the three broomsticks?"
Harry was more than willing; the wind was fierce and his hands were freezing, so they crossed the same road the woman did and in a few minutes were entering the tiny inn.
It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. But the woman he saw earlier was easiest to spot, nearest to the bar with a curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was grimly staring at the tall, thin one. She seemed displeased at the sight of the dark woman.
"That's Madame Rosmerta," said Ron. "I'll get the drinks, shall i?" he added, going slightly red.
Harry and Hermione made their wat to the back of the room, where there was a small table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to a fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of butterbeer.
"Merry Christmas!" he said happily, raising his tankard.
Harry drank deeply, still eyeing the tall and pale woman with Madame Rosmerta.
"Do you reckon who she is?" he asked Hermione and Ron, pointing at the bar.
"Which?" Ron answered, swerving around in his chair to where Harry pointed. "Oh, that's Madame—"
"I already to him that," interrupts Hermione. "Do you mean the palest one? I haven't got an idea, Harry, why do you ask?"
Harry was stumped, as he once again looks at the woman with utmost interest.
A sudden breeze ruffled his hair. The door of the pub had opened again. Harry looked over the rim of his tankard and choked.
Professors McGongall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was in deep conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and pinstriped cloak—Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.
In an instant, Ron and Hermione had both placed their hands on the top of Harry's head and forced him off his stool and under the table. Dripping with butterbeer and crouching out of sight, Harry clutched his tankard and watched the teacher's and Fudges feet move towards the bar, pause—but this time they is an additional pair of feet and they walked towards him.
Somewehre above him, Hermione whispers, "Mobiliarbus!"
The Christmas tree beside their table rose a few inches off the ground, and drifted sideways, and landed with a soft thump right in front of their table, hiding them from view. Staring through the dense lower branches, Harry saw five sets of chair legs move back from the table and right besides there, then heard the grunts and sighs of teachers as they sat down.
Next he saw another pair of feet, wearing turquoise high heels, and heard a womans voice.
"A small gillyweed—"
"Mine," said Professor McGonagall's voice.
"Four pints of mulled mead—."
"Ta, Rosmerta," said Hagrid.
"A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella—"
"Mmm!" said Professor Flitwick, smacking his lips.
"And you'll be the red currant rum, Minister?"
"Yes," the minister replied.
"And I take it you're the...butterbeer?"
"Yes, thank you, Rosmerta," said an unknown woman's voice.
"And thank you again!" said Fudge, "Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us..."
"Well, thank you very much, Minister."
Harry watched the glittering heels march away and back again. His heart was pounding uncomfortably in his throat. Why hadn't it occurred to him that this was the last weekend of term for teachers too? And how long were they going to be there? He needed time to sneak back into Honeydukes if he wanted to return to school tonight...Hermione's leg gave a nervous twitch next to him.
"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister...and Ophelia?" came Madame Rosmerta's voice.
Harry saw the woman, Ophelia, turn around as though looking for eavesdroppers. Then, she settled and allowed Fudge to continue on.
"What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?"
"I did hear rumor," admitted Rosmerta.
"Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?" said Professor McGonagall exasperately.
"Do you think Black's still in the area, Minister?" whispered Rosmerta.
"I'm sure of it," said Fudge shortly.
"Like I can take your word for granted," quietly snorted Ophelia.
Fudge ignored her comment, as did everyone else.
"You know that the dementor have searched my pub twice?" said Madame Rosmerta, slight edge in her voice. "scared all my customers away...it's very bad for business."
"Rosmerta, m'dear, I don't like them anymore than you do," said Fudge uncomfortably. "Necessary precaution...unfortunate, but there you are...I've just met some of them. They're ina fury against Dumbledore—he won't let them inside the castle grounds."
"Obviously, I've already encountered three that tried to kiss me, Fudge!" blurted Ophelia. "You'd think you'd get respect, but I suppose doing dirty work isn't enough."
"Ophelia," warned McGongall. She looked back to Fudge. "I should think not, Minister. How are we supposed to teach with those horrors floating around!"
"Hear, hear!" squeaked Flitwick, whose feet were dangling from the chair.
"All the same," demurred Fudge, "they are here to protect you all from something much worse...We all know what Black's capable of..."
Another snort from Ophelia. "I know what he's capable of—you only know what the muggles told you. And we all know Pettigrew—"
"I have trouble believe it too, Ophelia," Rosmerta added thoughtfully. "Of all the people to go over to the dark side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought... I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts, running around with you. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I would have said you had too much mead."
"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta," said Fudge, gruffly. "The worst he did isn't widely known."
From Harry's view, he could see Ophelia's jaw clench.
"The worst?" said Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiosity. "Worse than killing all those poor people, you mean?"
"I certainly do!"
"I can't believe that. What could possibly be worse?"
"You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta," murmured Professor McGongall. "Do you remember who his best friend was?"
"Naturally," Rosmerta said, with a small laugh. "Never saw one without the other, did you. The number of times I had them in here, along with you Ophelia! —ooh, you three make me laugh. Quite the triple act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"
Harry dropped his tankard with a loud clunk. Ron kicked him.
"Precisely," said Professor McGonagall. "Black and Potter. Ring-leaders of their own little gang. Both very bright, of course—exceptionally bright, in fact—but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of trouble makers—"
"I dunno," chuckled Hagrid. "Fred and George Weasely could give 'em a run fer their money."
"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!" chimed in Flitwick. "Oh, but Ophelia, you fell hard for Potter didn't you? Ah, I remember you two were some couple in fourth year—lasted you til' the end of sixth year..."
"Sirius and I spent all our summer's with the Potters," Ophelia added. "Treated us like we were family. Gave us a home when ours wouldn't..."
"Of course you all were," said Fudge. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married, oh sorry Ophelia..."
"Oh no, continue, Minister. I'm sorry if I seem a little apprehensive of this..."
"Well, James married Lily—and from what I gather, he was quite heartbroken when you left to be a spy for the Dark Lord—and they named Sirius the godfather of Harry and his twin sister! Sadly, the twin was a miscarriage. You can imagine how the idea would torment Harry."
"Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?" whispered Rosmerta.
"No, even worse than that..." Fudge trailed off.
It was then that Ophelia continued. "Not many people are aware that James and Lily knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore assigned me at the end of my sixth year to be a spy for You-Know-Who. I and—I tipped Dumbledore off, and he called James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding and You-Know-Who wasn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them to use the Fidelius Charm."
"How does that work?" said Rosmerta, breathless with interest. Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.
"An immensely complex spell," he said squeakily, "involving the magical concealemtn of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find—unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. A long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nosed pressed against their sitting-room window!"
"So Black was Potters' Secret-Keeper?" whispered Rosmerta.
"Naturally," said Professor McGonagall. "James told Dumbledore that Black would die than telling where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself...and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the secret keepr for the Potter's."
"He suspected Black?" gasped Rosmerta.
"He didn't suspect my brother, Rosmerta," sneered Ophelia. "My brother and I were loyal to James—either me being romantic and Sirius being brotherly—Dumbledore only suspected that someone close to James had been informing You-Know-Who. And as I told them all those years ago, it was not my brother! I would've seen my brother with him."
"We can't be sure of that, can we, Miss Black? No evidence can prove that Peter did it. After all, you've been harboring his child for how long?"
Ophelia gritted her teeth at the fat man.
"But James Potter insisted on using Black for Secret-Keeper?" Rosmerta questioned, keeping Ophelia from snapping back.
"He did," Fudge heavily said. "And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed—"
"Black betrayed them?" breathed Rosmerta.
Ophelia's face contorted to one of distaste. Fudge continued.
"He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seemed to have planned this for the moment of the Potter's death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colors as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it—"
"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar went quiet.
"Shh!" said McGonagall.
Ophelia shoved her chair back, and she pointed at Hagrid. "My brother was not a turncoat! I don't care what you think, my brother—he was—he is a good man! You've all known how his mother treated him—how she treated me! I was the bastard child and he the blood traitor—yet we both ended in houses that were not Slytherin! I'm leaving. I don't why you called me here, if all you were going to do was talk about him like that—in front of me!"
And with that, Ophelia Black—bastard child of the Blacks, Hufflepuff, and blood traitor—stomped out of Three Broomsticks, her body not disapparting, but walking towards the Hogwarts castle.
Harry later learned the man that Sirius Black had killed was Peter Pettigrew. He was left alone by his friends. Quiet, and unmistaken having the worst headache. Why hadn't nobody told him? Dumbledore, Hagrid, Mr. Weasely, Fudge...Why hadn't anyone mentioned the fact that Harry's parents died because their best friend had betrayed them? Why did no one mention Ophelia Black, the supposed first love of his father? Who was still alive, and happened to be a spy.
Later on, after dinner, Harry pulled out the photo album Hagrid had given him two years ago, which was full of wizard pictures of his mother and father. He sat down on his bed, drew the hangings around him, and started turning the pages, searching, until...
He stopped on the picture of his parents' wedding day. There was his father, waving up at him, beaming, the untidy black hair Harry inherited along with the deep tan. There was his mother, alight with happiness, arm in arm with his dad. And there...that must be him. Their best man...Harry had never given him much thought before.
If he hadn't known it was the same person, he would never have guessed it was Black in this old photograph. He looked a lot like Ophelia. The same stormy gray eyes, and their faces seem to be structurally similar. His face wasn't sunken in and waxy, but handsome, full of laughter—something Ophelia seemed to be lacking. Had he been working for Voldemort when this picture was taken? Was he already planning the deaths of the two people next to him? Did he realize he was facing twelve years that would make him unrecognizable?
But the dementors don't affect him, harry thought, staring into the handsome, laughing face. He doesn't have to hear my mum screaming if they got too close...
Harry slammed the album shut, but a few loose pictures seemed to slip out. He considered just stuffing them back into the album, but the one that faced upright pictured his father, with a younger, more youthful Ophelia.
This peaked his interests. He picked the three photos up, and he began examining the first one. His father was holding Ophelia close to him, his eyes focused on her as though she was the sun. He had his Gryffindor scarf wrapped around both of their necks, as was her yellow and black—Hufflepuff—scarf was around his. He smiled so bright at her, the glimpse of red trees were behind them and the Quidditch stadium too. Ophelia was bashful, and her pale skin seemed more alive than now. Her eyes were in fact, brighter, and her eyes were casted down as his father was looking at her.
The second image, the two seemed younger, maybe their fifth year? This time, the two were at a house and were in bed together. Ophelia's hair had been chopped off and she was reading a book. His father then entered the image and took away the book, pecking her lightly on the lips.
The last image was different, it included a much more youthful Sirius. James and Sirius sandwiched Ophelia, Sirius ruffling his sister's hair and smiling down at her as she did as well. Harry guessed this was their fourth year. His father was holding Ophelia's hand behind his back, and was laughing as the siblings did.
Harry felt his chest quicken as he looked at the three photos. Photos that were before his mother and his father even dated and married. They all seemed so happy, like Voldemort didn't even exist. He shoved the photos into the album, and this time he did get into bed.
Then it struck him—did Fudge say "harboring his child?" And if so, who was this girl?
. . .
It was three in the morning when Darcy Black and Ophelia Black reached Dumbledore's office.
He allowed them in with the utmost kindness. His eyes were solemn, and kind as they watched them take their seat in front of him.
"You have grown into a wonderful lady, Ms. Black—and you, Darcy, it's a pleasure to meet you," he greets, his wand flickering for the tray of tea. "Would you like some tea?"
"That would be lovely," Ophelia's thin accent says. Spending fourteen years in America can do that to your voice. Darcy quietly does the same.
Dumbledore places the cup of tea in front of her and she timidly takes it. She thanks him.
"You've not seen Harry," he begins, his eyes fairly well-trained on his former student. "He looks just like James but he's got—"
"—his mother's eyes, Lily," Ophelia finished his sentence with a grim voice. "So young, Dumbledore. I've already heard he's dealt with so much..."
"Young he is, Ms. Black. I'm sure the meeting yesterday evening was very displeasing."
"I was..."
There was a silence between them.
"I know you are not here for the boy, Ophelia. You came with Darcy—you intend to finally release her to the public after thirteen years. May I ask why you kept her in hiding for so long?"
Ophelia pursed her lips and nervously glanced at her adoptive daughter. "She's like a daughter to me, Dumbledore. I trained Darcy with her magic—I managed to get her into Ilvermorny--she's been treated with the utmost discipline at that school."
"Ah," Dumbledore mused, "but I heard she also adopted the Uagadou techniques."
"Indeed."
"So now you think it time for her to drop by in her third year. Here, at Hogwarts."
"I do believe so. I've already checked what she needed to be covered for third year. She's done them all—if not she is ahead of the third years. I do wish her to be more understanding of her situation."
Dumbledore lightly placed his tea on his dark desk. His eyes were watching Ophelia in front of him, like he didn't exactly want to let Darcy in. Alas, he stood from his chair and Darcy watched with piercing eyes. He reached for a ragged hat.
"This is the sorting hat, Darcy," Dumbledore explains, "it will sort you into whichever house."
Darcy swallows her anxiousness down and nods. The Headmaster placed the hat on top of her.
"A Black, you are..." the hat whispers into her head. It was shocking, but Darcy nodded and listened to what the hat had to say.
"You've never met your brother, I suppose. You two are different...you are more shy than he is, surprisingly. You are kind, just like him, but you are ignorant, unlike him.
All houses tend to fit for you, I see. You are kind, and friendly--cunning and strong. Slytherin, maybe? You are smart, and are unsure, a trait for Ravenclaw. Yet, Gryffindor stays strong with you, as it had for your father. You love Ophelia Black, and would do anything to protect those who harm her. You are loyal to her more than anyone else. Yet, when it comes to a plan, it seems you were the one who saved their backs...
Troublesome it may be, but you are more Ravenclaw than Hufflepuff...More Slytherin than Gryffindor...
"SLYTHERIN!"
Ophelia intakes a sharp breath. She could care less for what house she got. She more liekly was afraid of the people in that house...
Darcy removes the dusty hat off her head and smiles warmly at Ophelia, signing, "Is that a good house?"
Ophelia hugged Dacry tightly. "Honey, any house would've been fine. So long as you don't change who you are, okay?"
Dumbledore once again eyed the two women. So caring Ophelia was, and so giving as Darcy was, the relationship was a match in heaven.
"Well, that concludes the sorting! I will send some house elves to prepare your dormitory. As for you, Ophelia, we will discuss where you will teach."
Sooner than Darcy thought, an elf came and tugged on her jacket sleeve. She hesitantly looked at Ophelia. "Should I go now?" she signed.
"Go on, dear."
After a while of silence, Dumbledore states, "Darcy's father is in Azkaban," and was given back a nod from Ophelia. "Have you told her of her past? Of the evil that separated her family?"
Ophelia swallows. "She has a gist of it. She knows about her father, and her parents being insane. I just...wasn't sure if it was safe for her when I told her."
"Does she question why you never tell her?"
"Darcy and I love each other, Dumbledore," Ophelia tightly replied. "If she wanted to go, she could have a long time ago."
"I do believe that," Dumbledore inquired, "but would the Order? You know exactly how tedious and taught they are now. Especially Mad-Eye, not so sure of Remus..."
Taking a deep breath, she says, "I am ready to face any trouble, Albus. I'm not a child. I knew what I was doing—I did my best to keep James and Lily hidden from Voldemort. I tried my best to hide Darcy from the remaining Death Eaters."
Albus nods. "Well, we should move quickly, shouldn't we? Oh—did your hair just change color? I never knew you were a metamorphagus."
She hurriedly changes her hair back to the dark black it was before. "I discovered it in seventh year—didn't really like showing it a lot."
"Your cousin's daughter, Nymphadora, has the same ability," Albus smiles, "It must run in the family don't you think?"
Ophelia lightly smiled back. No, I was the bastard child who was never really a "Black."
When Ophelia was about to leave, Dumbledore said, "I believe you are more credentialed in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies?"
Ophelia nodded. "I spent a lot of time in America. The housing there sort of forced us to leave with them. Darcy was forced to leave her wand at school, though, she has it know. I studied there for a while...Defense was already something I wanted do after Hogwarts..."
"I see," Dumbledore hummed. "Do you wish to have two classes of Muggle Studies?"
"Yes. I can allow myself a Defense class..."
"Oh then, I think you would be a perfect substitute for our current Defense teacher."
"And who would that be?"
"Remus Lupin."
Ophelia gaped at her old professor. "Remus is teaching? Does anyone know of his condition?"
"A few staff members, Ophelia. You needn't worry, he's a grown man."
. . . .
1970
Life with the Black's
___________
The early seventies of Ophelia Blacks life were incredible hell. Abuse by Walburga was sometimes the highlight of her day, because it gave Ophelia more reason to hate that bloody wench. And sometimes, it made her biological father, felt a deep regret of ever having an affair with the woman who apparently was Pure-blood (Orion isn't sure if Ophelia was pure-blood). Ophelia couldn't blame the git, Walburga was the devious and cruelest woman you'll ever meet.
What Orion deeply regretted was the fact that Ophelia was born a week prior to their first son's, and the day of November third, when Sirius was born, Ophelia was brought upon Twelve Grimmauld Place by the Minister of Magic.
It was then that the Minister had appointed the Black family as Ophelia's new family. Her mother, who did happen to be a pure-blood, had been killed in her hospital bed. It was said that the mother had been associated with muggles. It was a tedious and angering thought that Walburga had rolled around in her thoughts about taking in the child that day. She did, nonetheless, because throwing away a pure-blood would've been heinous.
He felt bad, knowing what Dark thought possessed the family. The only thing that he could hope for the infant child was that she was courageous, and kind and defiant.
And that, she was. She was like Cinderella, except with the dark hair that seemed to be a trait in the Black family.
Though, she did not have it like Cinderella. It was the mere concept that was similar between the two contrasting women. Ophelia was abused, severely by Bellatrix when she'd entered her fifth year, whom was appointed by Walburga. Walburga did not dirty her hands when dealing with the bastard child Orion had created. This was his punishment for having an affair.
This was the reason why Sirius had rejected his families ideals. It was cruelty he saw when Ophelia was shoved down the stair of the small house. It was the spells that Bellatrix casted--bat-bogey hexes, etc--that made Sirius see how wrong his family is.
Sirius was forced to watch his sister (though they referred to each other as twins, Sirius was well aware of Ophelia's mother) when he was ten, along with their eight year old brother, Regulus, be humiliated. If anything, Sirius has known all along that what they did to OPhelia was wrong. Though, he was beaten by his mother. It wasn't much, but it was enough to know that he wasn't old enough to stand his ground.
There were times when Walburga would invite the closest relatives of the Black family. Druella, with her heavy lids that were inherited down to Bellatrix, with Andromeda (Sirius and Ophelia's favorite cousin), and Narcissa (a very quiet lady, she was). It was for the inarguruable name placement for the three newest Blacks on the tapestry.
Sirius and Ophelia were on the verge of turning eleven. They've already reserved their invitation to Hogwarts. The two sibling were beyond relief to know that they would leave the bloody house. Of course, the beatings had become less as Bellatrix began finding better things to jinx. Andromeda was a year later to be married to a muggle-born man named Ted Tonks. It was a very impeding thought, that their own cousin had managed to escape the grasps of the Black family.
It was eve of September the first, a near year after they turned eleven, when Ophelia had found herself able to turn her hair into whichever color she wanted. Andromeda got her face blasted by Druella on the family tapestry.
"Demented brat!" Druella had screeched with a loud boom from underneath Ophelia's small room. It was then that Sirius busted into her room, his eyes wide with fear. Then, he saw his sister curled at the edge of the bed and came over to her bed. He draped an arm over her shoulder.
"It's Andromeda," whispered Ophelia, her voice wavering. "They've...Sirius, what if they do that to us?"
Sirius shook his head and tugged her closer to him. "No one's going to touch you, Philly."
It was then, that Ophelia's hair had turned to a darker shade, indicating the dark thoughts she possessed.
"Philly--Philly! You're hair!" he gasped. He twirled her around so that she was was facing him. "It's black!"
For moment, Ophelia didn't understand what he was talking about. Wasn't her hair already black? And if not, it could be the lack of light Walburga allowed in the tiny compartment.
"Sirius, stop, it's not the time to joke," Ophelia muttered, her eyes casting down to the hair over her shoulders--
"No," whispered Ophelia, her voice cracking with fear. She yanked her hair in front of her, and it was indeed the color of black. "Sirius!"
He stared at awe, the color of her hair was a brown, much like his. It's what made them seem like twins--with their pale skin, and almost identical smiles (that they secretly shared while brushing their teeth).
Now, Ophelia looked more like Bellatrix. The droopy lids of Ophelia's crying resembled much of Bellatrix. It disturbed Sirius for a moment. What could've caused this?
"Philly, I-I don't know!" gasped Sirius after a moment. "I could've sworn that the past eleven years of out life you had brown hair."
Ophelia glared at her brother. He thought that his joke would lighten the mood. "Shut up, Sirius! I can't go down to dinner like this. She'll beat me up!"
Sirius did take into account that Walburga would accuse Ophelia of using muggle hair dye.
"I'll tell them that--that you're sick! I can get the--"
"She wouldn't care," snapped Ophelia as she jumped from her bed. "She would grab me by the hair, and drag me down the stairs like I was a doll--"
"Sirius?" Regulus's little and quiet voice said. "Mum said it's dinner. She'll get extremely angry if you don't come down."
Sirius laid his sister back down on her bed. She took it as cue to fake cough, and cover herself with a blanket.
"I'm coming down, Reg," Sirius sighed. He walked over to his little brother as they went down the stairs.
Regulus peered up at Sirius. "Why's Ophelia not joining us?"
Sirius shrugged. "She's just not going to, I thought you didn't care about Philly."
Regulus composed himself. He set a stone face and looked away from Sirius. "You're right, I don't," and stomped down the stairs.
"Oh, my precious nephew!" cried the voice of Druella as she ran over to Regulus. "My sweet, innocent nephew. God bless your children, Walburga, for you don't have a devious blood traitor like my own!"
Sirius saw his father exit his bedroom and address Druella formerly. "Take a seat, please, Druella. Kreacher will assist you..."
And from behind Sirius, came the ugly elf. He mutters derogatory phrases under his breathe and glared at him.
"Go along," hissed Sirius, kicking the elf in the arse, "don't stare, it's rude."
The elf quickly apparated to the dining room down the hall. Sirius suddenly didn't want to join his family in dinner. He'd much rather starve than be with them instead of Philly.
And he didn't eat with them. Quickly, Sirius ran up the stairs to Philly's room. He knocked on the door.
"Philly," he loudly whispered, "let me in!"
The door quickly opened, and Ophelia pulled him in, shutting the door behind her. "What've you done, Sirius?" she whispered, her hands frantically searching for the light.
Sirius reached over and turned on the light from his side. Surprisingly, he say that her hair had turn to the regular brown. He sighed in releif.
"You're hairs normal," Sirius stated.
"I noticed," she replied, twirling the long strands in her hands. "It turned yellow a few minutes before you came back."
"What? Really?"
Ophelia nodded, her eyes darted to the open book that was lit by the small lamp light. "I think I'm and animagus?--Oh wait no. I meant metamorphagus. I can change my appearance--but an animagus would be equally cooler. They can transform to their patronus--!"
"Philly," laughed Sirius, "I have no idea what you're saying!" but he reached over and hugge dhis sister.
"We're going to Hogwarts tomorrow, Sirius," mumbled Philly into his shoulder. "We'll be free for the school year."
"We'll be in the same house," mused Sirius, "I'd hate to be in Slytherin--I know for a fact we aren't."
"But what if we are?"
"Then," sighed Sirius, "were gonna have to get into Gryffindor. One way or the other."
"And if you get into Gryffindor?"
"Blimey, Philly, don't. We'll be together--no matter what house!"
Ophelia smiled warmly at her brother. She looked over at her room door and pondered: "When do you think we'll run away?"
Sirius grabbed her hand and held it close to him. "Soon. Not next year, or the next--but soon."
And with that, Ophelia felt secure. Sirius had stuck with her, the illegitimate daughter of Orion Black. He tried his best to protect her, but they were only little kids living with dangerous people. Bravery and loyalty can only extend so far until they are released to the open...
Published October 28th, 2016
edited November 6th, 2016.
edited January 7th, 2017.