Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warnings:
Categories:
Fandom:
Relationships:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2024-05-28
Updated:
2024-10-16
Words:
13,253
Chapters:
3/?
Comments:
17
Kudos:
140
Bookmarks:
93
Hits:
3,219

Of Onyx and Absinthe

Summary:

Hadara Potter’s childhood has been marked by strange, often terrifying incidents that hint at her untamed power. As Hadara begins to unveil decades old lies in between engimatic dreams hinting at her hidden lineage, she arrives at Hogwarts: A bitter orphan, an unusually talented girl with chilling similarities to a certain dark lord, and above all, a force to be reckoned with. Where did Dumbledore go wrong?

Notes:

This is a rewrite of my work, "The Whims of Fate," which I began writing a few years ago while I was in middle school, and have since lost interest in due to the many mistakes I made in regards to the plot line. This work follows the same characters, story, and relationships, but I have altered the mistakes in my previous work that kept me from wanting to finish it. To everyone who has been reading or engaging with the previous work and is urging me to continue, thank you for your support <3

Chapter 1: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Chapter Text

October 31, 1981

Dimly, the moon shone down upon the quaint village of Godric's Hollow. The village’s warmly lit streetlamps were feeble in comparison to the stark black of the night sky, an endless sea of shadows smattered by billions of stars; on this side of the world, devoid of the factories and machines coveted by Muggles, there was no shadow of smog obstructing its brilliant view.

Despite the late hour, there were some older children roaming the streets, swinging jack-o-lantern-shaped buckets crammed full of the sweets they trapsized door to door for, unwilling to let the night pass them by without making the most of their spoils, choosing Muggle tradition to betray the sacred customs that built the foundation of their world. 

Their buckets swung back and forth, threatening to topple over as the children skipped across the cobblestone streets, where some of the remaining smiling old witches greeted them with a handful of taffee, chocolate frogs, and other homemade treats, their own children having far outgrown such traditions. 

Obscured by the thick shadows cast by the quivering willow trees planted in the vast leaf-lined grass was the Potter’s estate, a rather sizeable cottage at the edge of the village bedecked with ivy leaves and smooth stone, was a sneering, cloaked man, whose burning crimson eyes and cold, handsome features were obscured by his dark hood. 

The man's narrowed eyes were focused intently in front of him, his being practically oozing with malicious intent. The fidelius charm had been long broken, although the Potter family didn't know it yet. 

How completely naïve they were to trust and place their safety in the hands of sniveling little Peter Pettigrew, who was more of a spineless, groveling rat than he was a man—perhaps due to the nature of his animagus. He would be rid of him, too, in due time, having already fulfilled the purpose of his servitude.  

He could feel the putrid magic permeating the very air of surrounding the home, generations of power weakened by ignored traditions and values, and, perhaps worst of all, breeding between lesser witches and wizards staining the once prestigious Potter lineage. 

This, coupled with the storybook-esque surroundings of Godric's Hollow, the village of his ancestor's foe, was only making the hooded figure all the more eager to finish the task at hand. 

It took time—much more than it should have taken him—but, now, he finally had the means of eliminating the prophesied child sleeping in very nursery visible from the window facing where he stood towering over the children roaming the streets. Nothing could stop him at this moment, on Samhain, when his magic coiled around him like a serpent ready to crush the bones of its prey, saturating the very air around him. After he was finished, it would be known to all that there was no one capable of defeating him, and his power would never be questioned again.

He couldn't wait for the doddering old fool's face to crumple in horror when he saw his savior's corpse, or the rest of the Order for that matter, when the child who they placed their hopes in was left laying cold in its cradle. Dumbledore and his army would soon learn how utterly idiotic it was to believe a mere infant to be capable of defeating someone as powerful and inevitable as him. 

There was also the matter of Lily Potter, the traitorous witch, who would soon meet her end in a far less merciful manner than her daughter. He delighted in the idea of paralyzing her and carving into her ivory freckled flesh, perhaps removing a limb or digit for each betrayal and lie she'd dared enact against her Lord. When he ran out of limbs, there was always James Potter. She could watch as he flayed the skin off of his body, broke each of his bones, burned him from the inside out and healed him to do it again. His repertoire of spells was as endless as the rage he felt against the woman who'd deceived him, only to then flee his inner circle carrying the enemy's child in her womb, disappearing off of the face of the earth. Until now. 

The Dark Lord Voldemort spared his unsavory surroundings one last disgusted sneer, surging forward much like a predator seeking its prey, steps graceful, silent, and full of righteous purpose. 

_✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦_

Under the cold glow of the stars cascading down Hadara's mobile, Lily Potter stood humming a soft lullaby as she watched her baby girl crawl around in her cot, cooing happily as her beloved stuffed Ukrainian Ironbelly hung loosely from her lips, its tail thoroughly chewed. Lily lovingly ran her hands through the silky black curls adorning her little girl's head, smitten by the way her baby became entranced by the enchanted stars twinkling and glittering over her, a gift from her Godfather Sirius, who loved her just as dearly as the rest of them. 

This child had been the cause of all of her happiness this past year, and, despite the stress of the prophecy and war weighing inevitably down on their family, her daughter was a beacon of light, a constant in the changing times, and a force that kept her from crumbling under the weight of the knowledge of what she had done. She knew deep down that he would come for them, that they couldn't hide from his wrath forever. She had transgressed against him in a manner that no one had dared to before, a crime that wouldn't go unpunished, and the sweet child to whom she owed her happiness would be targeted, a threat against everything he had seized and built with his incomprehensible power.

Lily could only hope that he would be too blinded by his hatred for her to sense the runes she'd painstakingly carved into every inch of her room. She would not allow her daughter to die; even if it meant sacrificing her own life, she'd do it for the same reason she'd done everything else. For the endless love she had for her daughter and for the greater good of their world. 

Their bright little girl had single-handedly gifted her and James hope, and hope in a world that was drenched in sorrow was worth any price she could pay. Hadara was all that they had, as her hateful older sister Petunia refused to answer a single one of her letters, Severus was prancing around, telling The Dark Lord the prophecy, ruining her plans by directly putting them in the path of harm, and her parents had long since passed, having already been abnormally old when they had her, much like James' own. 

She was alone, but for her daughter. Her marriage to James was saturated in the dark shadows that the war had cast on their lives and the secrets that she had to keep from him. Their union only came to be due to the fact that James sought to appease his parents, who, before their passing, worried for the future of the Potter lineage that had all but died out. Lily sought the protection and security that their joining would provide, and thus they married quickly in the muggle manner, with a private ceremony that only their shared friends witnessed. 

Their marriage was one of mutual benefit and while they loved each other, it was a dim flame when compared to the love they shared in their youth, and now, a little over a year and a half since they said their vows, they were forced to hide under a fidelius charm with only each other and the occasional visit from Sirius, Remus, or Peter to bide the time. Dark circles clung under James eyes, and the weak smiles he had given her, so different from the confident grin he wore during their Hogwarts years, showed the toll that the isolation and worry had taken on him. He, however, understood the importance of their duty and would do what was necessary for their daughter's safety and to ensure that she would one day defeat the Dark Lord. 

Lily's pregnancy had been the glue that kept them together and brought them the hope and resolve needed so that they could be good parents for their daughter and fulfill their duties, the only thing Lily had ever wanted. 

And what a beautiful, precious little daughter she was! With her pretty little features and sparkling green eyes, a mirror of Lily's own. She could begin to see how she rivaled her father as well, in the darkness of her hair and the shape of her lips. 

"Mama loves you, my sweet girl", she whispered as her daughter stood up towards her on shaky legs, grasping Lily's blouse one of her pudgy fists and giggling, she was growing quickly, with her two front teeth poking out when she smiled. 

Their daughter was a miracle, and Lily would take the same course of action a thousand times for her, betraying and lying to everyone she loved, putting herself in unimaginable danger, and committing terrible deeds that would stalk her to the ends of the earth akin to the Dark Lord who haunted her every nightmare, materializing to take that which was rightfully his and subject her to endless pain for her transgressions. 

She would stick through it all with determination that even Godric Gryffindor himself would commend, even if her deception had been more in line with Slytherin. 

it was not her fault that the savior of the wizarding world had to be born of the darkest wizard to have walked it. She'd suffered greatly, traded the lives of many in return for his favor, betraying the Order, the people who she grew up with and sat with in class, friends, peers, professors, all to prove her loyalty, to get close enough to him to fulfill her role. She used her beauty and charm to bed him, her reward for her servitude.

She used her skill in charms to ensure conception, she lied to everyone, every day, forsaking the love she had for James, constructing false medical records, and smiling tearfully in his face as he proclaimed her his rightful Heiress to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter. She played her role and played it well, and no one would know the truth, not even Dumbledore, that much her and her closest confidant had ensured.

Lily was lost in her musings until the distant sound of shouting and cold laughter, followed by the dull, hollow thump of something heavy hitting the polished wooden floor shattered the silence of her home. 

Her emerald green eyes widened in fear and trepidation as she quickly sped down the stairs, where she could see from the kitchen doorway a figure lying still on the ground, forgetting to even bring her wand in her haste.

A gasp of horror left Lily's taunt, whitening lips as she reached the bottom of the steps, peering ahead where she was met with the gut-wrenching, earth-shattering scene of James' limp, lifeless corpse and the horrifyingly familiar crimson stare of Voldemort, who stood carelessly over his body, his robes sprawled out and his features shadowed ominously by the hood of his cloak, though she knew his face, was perhaps the only one alive to know it so truly and intimately. 

The witch's body moved on pure maternal instinct to protect her daughter, her mind racing and a torrent of tears falling from her eyes and she kept re-living the scene in her head, the knowledge that James was well and truly dead enough to send her into a state of shock. 

She pushed on with the strength that only a mother could possess, racing up the steps before she soon reached the nursery, her legs trembling and heart thumping against the confines of her ribcage as she attempted to barricade her and her baby in by piling chairs and boxes in front of the door, her wand clutched in a white knuckled grip as she stood in front of her daughter, the blood magic humming beneath the surface of her skin. 

Lily Potter had no time to think, let alone mourn the loss of her husband, for the sound of Voldemort's cruel laugh could be heard from behind the door, and she was left feeling utterly hopeless and full of despair as the boxes and furniture pushed away from the door by the invisible force of magic, falling with a hushed clatter. He had finally come to enact his revenge. 

So Lily did the only thing she could and threw herself in front of her child, who had been standing up in her crib silently waiting for Lily to return, and cried out when the nursery door was blasted open, wood shards flying through the air as Voldemort came walking through.

His horrible red eyes glinted cruelly and in his grasp was a long, pale wand which he pointed at her with a poised hand, his expression nothing but pure monstrous evil, emphasized by the coal black hair that peeked from beneath his dark hood, framing his inhumanly pale face and the potent dark magic swirling around his unnaturally tall form and filling Lily with despair.

Lily shakily threw her arms wide, shielding her daughter with tears running down her face, trembles and sobs wracking her body, "Not my daughter! Kill me, just don't touch her!", she screamed, her voice breaking from the heavy spiral of emotions she was feeling, unable to think clearly beyond saving her child, regardless of what became of her. She'd known he'd be her end, she'd just hoped it wouldn't be until after she raised her daughter, after she'd seen her off to Hogwarts, where he couldn't get to her. 

"You dare make demands of me? You defied me, your Lord, and yet you dare stand and make demands of me?", Voldemort seethed, his livid red stare molten in its hatred as he surged forward, his familiar bone white wand jabbing against the hollow of her throat, his grip tightening on the side of her face, leaving clawing scratches in its path. 

Lily didn't move an inch despite the searing pain of his grip and the sheer violence in his stare, shielding her little girl from the wand jabbed roughly at her, determined to keep her baby safe, "Kill me! Not her! Not my baby...please kill me instead! Spare her! I beg of you!", she pleaded.

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed into a livid red glare, like scorching pieces of coal heated to a glow, his nails digging further into the supple flesh of her cheek, drawing lines of blood, "You lost any chance of mercy from me when you defied me and then hid like a cowardly rat. You should count yourself lucky that the child takes precedence over you. As it is...", he murmured, feeling nothing but detest for the red-haired woman who dared to make a fool of him and then beg for his mercy. 

"Crucio!", he drawled, letting her fall to the floor in writhing agony, her limbs flailing helplessly as screams ricocheted off of the nursery walls, the child's wails joining her mother's. He'd envisioned a gory mess of blood, a slew of curses leaving her in  such pain that her mind would collapse and she'd be left an empty husk, watching her child die. But, he knew alarms had been set off by his presence and that Dumbledore and the whole of the Order would be arriving any moment and he had better plans for their deaths. 

He drew out the curse, pouring such rage into the spell that her body convulsed violently, her eyes rolling back, the child's wails increasing in volume until he could no longer stand the sound of it. 

"SILENCE!", he demanded and with a flourish of his wand, a bright flash of green light lit up the nursery, Lily Potter's body dropping lifelessly onto the floor like a marionette cut from its strings. Unbeknownst to the Dark Lord who stood before her, the transaction of her sacrifice had bought one thing; a life for a life. 

He stepped over the limp corpse with little care and circled closer to the cot, where a mobile of stars hung, twinkling down at the horror. Numerous photographs lined the walls, featuring the girl taking her first steps, playing on a toy broomstick, and grinning a gummy smile in the arms of her parents. 

Voldemort aimed his wand at the child, who had become oddly calm, gazing up at him with some form of curiosity, her eyes matching those of her dead mother.

There was no trace of fear in her eyes, not even as he leaned down over her, baring his teeth into a terrifying sneer that made grown men and women cower in fear and throw themselves at his feet.

But, the girl just watched him, silent, in spite of the tears drying under her eyes, as if he hadn't, in fact, just taken her parents lives, damning her an orphan, though it hardly mattered, as her small corpse would join those of her parents.

Immensely curious of this child, Voldemort yanked his hood back and inspected the girl fully for a moment, his eyes latching onto hers, when he sensed an abnormally powerful magical presence radiating from within her, like an earthquake rattling his senses, buzzing in his ears with the sheer force of it

His expression flashed, showing a sliver of shock and awe. He had believed that the magic belonged to Lily Potter, but, as she was unquestionably dead, it could only be the girl's magic.

{How truly frightening} , he hissed in the language of the snakes, running a long, thin finger through the dark curls adorning her head, contemplating its soft texture. At least she wasn't an ugly thing, as children usually were.  

She cocked her head to the side as if considering him, before making a whining noise and reaching out her arms as if asking to be held.

The Dark Lord frowned at what a loss of talent killing this child would be if she was already beginning to show signs of possessing strong magic, but he reigned the feeling in. The power she held meant that she was an even bigger threat than she was made out to be by the old coot's seer.

He quietly untangled his finger from the tuft of black hair and hushed the child, staring in her glittering orbs one last time.

"Avada Kedavra", he rasped out after a moment's pause, the room engulfed in the same wicked emerald green as the little girl's eyes.

And then he broke, and he was nothing but pain and terror, and the only coherent thought he had was to flee, to get away from the rubble of the house where the strange little girl was now crying, and to flee, far, far away.

_✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦_

Standing on the street of the cookie-cutter Muggle neighborhood of Privet Drive was Albus Dumbledore, who's long flowing silver beard, flamboyant purple robes that caused pain to an unprotected gaze, and abnormal existence would be ostracized if the neighborhood's very normal inhabitants were awake.

Cradled in the headmaster's thin arms was a wicker basket, inside of which was a mound of blankets and a sleeping baby girl; Hadara Potter, or as she would be celebrated after this tragic night, the Girl-Who-Lived, the savior of the Light and the one who defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Seeing the man appear suddenly, a tabby cat that had been resting against the brick wall of one of the houses, leaped towards the headmaster and transformed into a tall, severe-looking woman dressed in bottle green robes mid leap, a worried, solemn look making itself at home in her eyes.

"Minerva...lovely seeing you here", Dumbledore greeted her, masking his displeasure at being interrupted during what was supposed to be a swift drop off with a pleasant smile. 

"Is it true?", Minerva pried, ignoring the headmaster's greeting, "Is You-Know-Who truly...gone?"

Dumbledore decided it best he not answer that question, at least not truthfully, and, instead offered the professor a lemon drop from the depths of his robe pockets, to which she declined with a cold stare as if telling him this was not the place nor time for muggle sweets. Dumbledore frowned and popped one into his mouth, puckering his lips at the sour taste of it against his tongue. 

"Are the other rumors true? Are James and Lily truly...dead?", she pressed on, voice wavering at the terrible prospect with sorrow in her tone. 

Dumbledore nodded grimly, gently patting McGonagall's shoulder when she let out a shocked, horrified gasp in response, almost wobbling as she stood.

The professor's voice trembled as she went on, "They're saying he tried to kill their daughter, Hadara, but he couldn't. Nobody knows why or how, but he was somehow vanquished and she lived...The-Girl-Who-Lived."

Dumbledore bowed his head, nodding once again, but not offering anything more.

"It is true!", McGonagall only then seemed to have noticed the basket and the baby in Dumbledore's arms, having been too focused on her grief and mountain of questions, uncharacteristic of the sharp, infuriatingly perceptive woman.

"How did she survive the killing curse?", she asked, studying the child and the strange lightning bolt-shaped cut on her forehead that still oozed blood. She was fast asleep, but her tuft of curly black hair glittered under the glow of the starry night. "Poor child", she frowned sadly, running the back of her fingers against her cold cheek as she murmured unintelligible words of comfort.

"We may never know the circumstances of what occurred on this terrible night." Dumbledore was unwilling to divulge the truth about the matter. The only one who needed to know the truth was himself, and, eventually the child in his arms when the time was ready for her to do what she was now destined to- no one else could know. 

"Now.." Minerva paused to dab at her teary eyes with a handkerchief before continuing in a serious tone "Why, exactly, are you here?"

Dumbledore frowned deeply at her accusatory look, the twinkle in his aged blue eyes dwindling, "I've come to bring Hadara to her aunt and uncle."

McGonagall cried out in shock and outrage, "You can't mean you're placing her with the Muggles here!? I've been observing them and I must say they're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable!"

"This will be the best place for her." Dumbledore replied and pinned McGonagall with a heavy look, "She will grow up with her family and out of the public eye. Surely you don't believe Hadara should grow up in the Wizarding world, scrutinized by everyone and targeted by dark wizards?"

McGonagall was about to argue but found that Dumbledore made a frustratingly solid point. It wouldn't do for the girl to be targeted by bitter dark wizards, ever loyal to their cause, and she would undoubtedly be safer in the Muggle world than in the Wizarding world where every breath she took would be under surveillance or fire.

However, she still disagreed with the Muggles that the girl would be placed with. They were simply not acceptable guardians. She had seen the little boy in the home and how he screamed and kicked at his mother during a temper tantrum. She paled just thinking about the poor girl having to live with them...Surely there were kinder Muggles around, ones who wanted to adopt a child and would genuinely care for her. Perhaps even an acceptable wizarding family that would teach her about their world. She was the sole Heiress of the Potter Family, after all. 

"If you place her with those Muggles, then, do not expect my support. This is a rightly foolish decision Albus!", he huffed, her Scottish accent heavy in her ranting.

"There is not a person in our world who will not know her name...she is far better away from all of that."

Seeing the Albus was dead set on his decision and ignoring the valid statements she made about the girl's safety with those horrid Muggles, she glared angrily at him and apparated away without another word out of sheer spite and ire. 

Dumbledore merely sighed, knowing that the Transfiguration professor was as stubborn as a bull and wouldn't listen to his reasoning, whether he was fully telling the truth or not, he knew he was right to do this. It needed to be done.

The Headmaster hobbled over to Number 4 and set the basket down on the front step, placing a letter sealed with his wax stamp with her. He apparated away after muttering a rushed farewell, merely wishing the child luck.

He knew in confidence that the Dursley's would mold the girl into someone who he would easily be able to influence and that she would be safe with her family's blood, and that was really all that mattered.

It was a shame that her godfather, an innocent man, had to be sacrificed but it was an easy choice. For The Greater Good. 

When she came back to their world, eager for love and affection, he would easily gain her trust and mold her into the savior that she needed to become, and all would be as it should be.

_✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦_

Hours later, when Petunia Dursley was awoken by wails that weren't recognizable as belonging to her darling, slumbering son, she stomped outside to find where the ruckus came from and found a freezing child with her eyes mirroring those of Petunia's sisters' and a lightning bolt cut on her head.

The wind howled and screeched, biting and cold. An omen, perhaps. 

At once, Petunia let out a horrified scream at the sight of her apparent niece, and, with little care, she threw the basket into the back of her car and ripped up the letter to shreds (as she had done with the numerous ones her sister sent over the years), as it no doubt entitled her to some sort of obligation toward the rotten child.

She would have absolutely none of that. No. If her freakish little sister had gotten herself killed in some unnatural way, she wanted nothing to do with it. 

Scowling, she sped out of the driveway and far away from Privet Drive to find an orphanage with enough distance between them that the wretched girl wouldn't try to find Petunia and her family and where her freakishness could be kept away from them.

That night, the matron of Wool's Orphanage opened the door to find a child sitting upon the steps with nothing but a blanket with strange golden balls with wings, a birthdate, and the name 'Hadara Potter' stitched into it.

As the child was reluctantly taken in by a wary matron, Fire engulfed Pandora Lovegood neé Lestrange's study, an explosion taking the life of the witch, with officials later stating that the cause of death was due to dangerous, unauthorized experimentation with spell creation. 

It wouldn't be until Luna Lovegood's 9th birthday that she would receive an envelope addressed in her mother's writing, enclosed with a vial of memories that would reveal the truth.