Chapter One

The Sentence Game

Willow James Potter was a highly unusual girl in many ways. For one thing, she hated the summer more than any other time of year. For another, she really wanted to do her summer revisions but was unable to do the assigned coursework because it was locked away in her cupboard and she was confined to the miserable, humid, stuffy attic of her aunt and uncle’s home. Oh, and she also happened to be a witch.

She rolled onto her stomach to ease the stinging pain in her back. A tear rolled down her cheek as the grandfather clock in the far corner of the attic chimed midnight. On the eve of her fifteenth birthday, Piers Polkiss had reawakened her newest fear as he had squirmed on top of her, pinning her to the ground in the middle of the abandoned park not far from Private Drive. Dudley and his gang’s favorite childhood game of Whomping Willow had taken a sudden terrifying turn.

Dennis had egged Piers on with cruel laughter as he crunched his feet down on her wrists, freeing up his mate’s hands. She had thrashed angrily as Piers pulled up Dudley’s old shirt, exposing her braless breasts. 

It had been Dudley and Malcom who had saved her. Dudley seemed to gawk at her on the long walk back to the Dursley’s like he had never seen the tiny girl before in his life as she sobbed quietly to herself. 

He stopped her in the driveway. She watched him shift from foot to foot, he seemed uncomfortable with his shame and confusion, “fuck Will. You’re a girl. That shit back there. That shouldn’t have happened, witch or not. That was fucked up of Piers.”

She sniffed, “your friends are assholes.”

He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Listen.” His eyes darted to the house, even though it was empty they both felt freer speaking outside of it. “They won’t be back until after five tonight. That’s when Marge is getting released from hospital. So, if you want to shower or whatever.” He shrugged, eyes darting to the ground in shame. She marveled at Dudley’s newfound morality. 

She nodded gratefully, moving towards the front door, Dudley’s voice brought her to a stop once more, “And Will, I’m going to have Mum buy you some girl stuff. This ain’t right. None of this.” 

She blinked at him stunned then cleared her throat and spoke cautiously, “don’t borrow trouble on my account D. But I’m totally going to take that shower.”

…

She rolled into her side, watching the small attic window hopefully. A letter. A gift. A box full of Hagrid’s awful rock cakes. Anything. 

Hedwig flew in, dropping a small parcel in her bed. Then perched herself on a stack of old dusty boxes in the far corner next to the grandfather clock. She untangled the twine. A lovely cherrywood box, a tiny locket was tucked inside with a note. 

Dumbledore says no contact because of Voldemort. I can’t wait to see you – Padfoot. Ps. Happy Birthday.

She climbed out of the small creaky bed with a huff. She crumpled up her response and tossed it away. A letter pleading for freedom, for safety, for help. Because she knew Piers and Dennis would be itching for payback. And with Marge under the Dursley’s roof tensions were high, hence her move into the attic. Uncle Vernon had not forgotten or forgiven her for blowing up his sister two summers before. “It’ll be okay, but I’m going to send you back Hedwig. It’s safer there for you, more food – freedom.” Her voice was soft as she came to term with her fate. 

Hedwig fluttered her wings and hooted loudly in protest. 

“Shh – girl, none of that.” She hissed quietly, eyes darting to the door in the floor. The only relief the attic brought her was her uncle was unlikely to try and climb the flimsy pulldown stairs.

She ran a hand over her snowy owl with a soft sigh. She smiled as Hedwig pressed their foreheads together for a long moment. “Now go on. I’ll see you on the train.” She ordered and watched her owl fly off into the night sky before turning her attention to the box Hedwig had perched herself on.

She brushed away the dust, Walter Evans. She gasped at her grandfather’s name. She grabbed her lamp and settled it next to her. She glanced around before peeling off the lid. 

A large eight by ten family photo taken on her first birthday brought tears to her eyes. She pulled it out, then a photo album filled with images of her mother as a girl. Her throat tightened uncomfortably as she flicked through the book.

Images of her grandmother, grandfather, the marauders, her father, her mother’s friends, images of beaches, castles, Stonehenge. So many of her smiling widely next to a dark eyed boy that seemed to disappear in the middle of the album. Images that spoke of a life well lived.  

She peeled her eyes away from the pictures and turned them back into the box. A jewelry box set on top of a series of books. Each spine was a different color or floral design.

She lifted the wooden jewelry box out, she turned it in her hands admiring the beautiful carved lilies into the oak. The hinges groaned as she opened the lid. A charm bracelet, a bundle of entangled necklaces, rings, and earrings. Her heart twinged with the familiar ache of grief for the parents she had always wished to know. She closed the box and placed it next to her bed. She ran her forefinger over the spines of the nameless books. She pulled out the one to the furthest left with a pretty teal spine. 

A shudder ran down her back as the spine of the book popped as she opened the cover.

  Dearest Diaries Self, 

Today was our tenth birthday. My best friend Sev gifted me this beautiful journal. He says I need a place to vent all my feelings instead of all over him. Rude. Anyways. I can’t believe I’m ten. Although Sev promises that next year will be even better. 

…

Willow snapped the book shut with wide eyed. Sev? Who the hell is Sev? She pulled out the next journal, one that was soft navy leather with beautiful stars sewn into it.

Dearest Self, 

Today is my eleventh birthday. Sev gifted me a new journal. It’s absolutely gorg. My Hogwarts letter was waiting for me in the mail pile, just like he promised. He wasn’t lying or pretending. We really are witches and wizards. Mom and Dad are proper proud. A witch in the family, amazed they are. Petunia called me a freak. Dad says she’s just nasty jealous. Because of Sev and now Hogwarts.  

 Willow skimmed through each of the diaries late into the night, until her eyes were burning and too heavy to keep open. Books filled with her mother’s life and memories.

….

No longer were the hours she was trapped in the attic miserable. She longed to be confined to the humid dusty room every minute she was forced to do chores or be out of the house. She spent days devouring her mother’s primary years followed by her first and second years of Hogwarts. She couldn’t help the ache of jealousy of her mother’s boring, safe adventures. 

There were no trolls, no giant snakes or miserable teachers that hated her for simply existing. The most scandalous thing about her mother was that her best friend was a Slytherin. 

And when her heart hurt to much to keep reading her mother’s word, she turned to the few school books in the bottom of the tote, potions, charms and history. Each textbook seemed to be marked up with important notes or thought inducing questions. Occasionally she’d find bits of parchment tucked away in the pages filled with scribbled conversations between the two friends.

“Keep up, girl,” Petunia snapped, her sharp voice pulling Willow out of her longing. Willow scrambled after her frown aunt into the shopping mall. “This way you ungrateful child.” 

She nodded and jogged after the stern woman. “And keep your hands in your pockets. We wouldn’t want you to steal anything.” She glared at her aunt’s head but kept her mouth firmly shut. She hadn’t quite believed her aunt and uncle when they announced Petunia would be taking her clothes shopping for a more suitable wardrobe for a young lady.

A package of new undergarments and a few well fitted bras were the first items crossed off her aunt’s list. A black dress, a few pairs of shorts, pants and shirts followed. Her aunt made quick work of the shoe store. The salesman measured her feet while her aunt selected a pair of plain black flats and grey inexpensive sneakers. Within minutes they were out of the shop. Everything was a bit plain, but Willow eyed them excitedly whenever her aunt was distracted by the people around them.

“My Dudley usually enjoys this,” Petunia passed her a cinnamon sugar pretzel before biting into her own and starting the car. 

A quiet, “thank you,” was the end of their conversation as Petunia sniffed and turned on the radio. 

“Put those things away and then make yourself scarce. Don’t come back until the streetlights are on. Vernon has an important dinner meeting tonight. He doesn’t want you alone with Marge.”

Willow’s lip twitched and nodded, “yes ma’am, and thank you.” She darted into the house with the bags and boxes. She put them all away in her suitcase, tossing out Dudley old hand me downs. 

She changed into a new white shirt and khaki shorts. She smiled widely at how soft her new socks felt on her feet. She tucked her wand into her back pocket. She put her mother’s third year journal into her backpack and darted out the backdoor. She tossed in the snacks and water bottle Dudley had left for her behind the shed. She sprinted down Private Drive until she reached the neighborhood library. She slipped inside giving the old librarian a tight smile before making her way to the back corner. She pulled out her mother’s journal and lost herself into the flowy cursive.  

She barked out a laugh as she read about her mum’s plan to help Sev’s prank the marauders. It made her stomach swirl uneasily to learn of her father’s bullying. His spoiled, brattish behavior reminded her of Draco. She squashed away the ugly feelings as the librarian ushered her out of the library. 

She was half way back to the Dursley’s when a loud crack halted her. Her eyes darted around the quiet street as her fingers curled around her wand defensively. The loud pop sounded suspiciously like someone Apparating. Had Voldemort’s Death Eaters found her?

Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears and the street remained motionless. Her fingers fell away from her wand as she swallowed back her paranoia. 

“Willow, over here,” Dudley called, motioning her to join him. Her eyes swept over the primary school’s playground cautiously before making her way over to him. She was still wary of his personality change, everyday since the incident she had been waiting for things to return to normal. Her cousin looked her up and down appraising her. “You look better.” 

“Umm, thanks,” she said shrugging, looking down at her new sneakers. “You got kicked out too?” 

Dudley snorted and shook his blonde head, “no. I just didn’t want to have to pretend to be all posh for Dad’s business chums.” 

She laughed, it startled them both for a moment before melting away the nervousness between them. She dropped down in the swing next to him. They were both quiet, Dudley didn’t even seem to mind when she pulled back out her book and resumed reading. He simply put on his headphones turned on his walkman. She spit out her water, causing her massive cousin to give her a sharp look in question. 

“Sev. Severus Tobias Snape. Snape was my mom’s best friend!” The words exploded from her mouth; her eyes still wide with shock as Dudley raised his eyebrow in question. 

“What?”

She let out a strangled half mad laugh, “you wouldn’t understand but I have this teacher. He hates me. Hates me more than well – your mum.”

“Oh.” 

She nodded in agreement, “and apparently he was my mum’s best friend.”

“Shit.” Dudley swore and yanked her up, “c’mon we got to get, Piers and his new gang are headed this way.” 

Her head swiveled; it took her a second to spot the scrawny rat faced boy. She swallowed and her fingers itched for her wand. For a split second she yearned to make them all cower before her. To make them feel the fear they had caused her.

“Will,” Dudley hissed impatiently. He grabbed her backpack and pushed her towards the nearest gate.

She shot him a glare as she caught her footing and darted after him. She didn’t speak until they were a few blocks away. “So, you’ve really fallen out with your gang, have ya? Didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”

Dudley grunted at her, giving her a look of vast annoyance. Then heaved a great sigh when he realized she expected an answer. “I want more than all that nonsense, ya. Going around knocking on little kids, nicking shit, that’s only going to get worse. I don’t want that life.” 

She nodded, “that’s smart, D.”

“C’mon let’s hit the fish n’ chip vendor before he closes up shop.” Dudley suggested obviously looking to change the subject. 

She licked her fingers clean, a happy grin on her face. It was the first time all summer she hadn’t felt overwhelmingly hopelessness. “You’re a right nutter Will.” Dudley teased as they tossed out their greasy newspapers and leftover chips.

She rolled her eyes for the first time in her life his insult didn’t sting. It felt oddly affectionate. 

“Let’s take Wisteria Walk back. It’s always full of coppers. Piers and his boys won’t dare to stroll there.” Dudley suggested and together they set off down Wisteria instead of taking the shorter magnolia route home.

Willow’s feet slowed as the nights sky disappeared under a cloak of darkness.

Dudley’s odd gasp followed her shiver as the temperature dropped around them. The air that drowned them felt like the icy breaths of deep January. “Will, are you doing magic?” He whispered, his voice tight and strained with terror he couldn’t quite understand. 

“No, no, I swear it.” Willow promised, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes tried to adjust to the icky darkness. There was nothing to see but blackness and hopelessness coiled around her throat. 

They couldn’t be here. 

Azkaban was hundreds of miles from Little Whinging. It wasn’t possible. And yet goose bumps spread across her skin like wildfire and the faint screams of her mother whispered in her head. “Dudley, we have to go. Keep your mouth shut and run with me. Trust me. Run.”

She pulled out her wand seconds before she tumbled over the curb and skidded to a painful stop in the middle of the road. Panic clawed at her as grey grim like hands reached for Dudley.

The words burst from her mouth, “Expecto patronum!”

A wisp burst forth and evaporated barely slowing the foul creature upon them. She pulled herself back to her feet, her ankle throbbed. Adrenaline surged through her like a lightening strike dulling her panic. ‘Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.’ Her mind chanted unhelpfully. The Dementor pulled up her memories of the graveyard, Cedric. 

She thoughts turn to her mother’s words and how she’s never going to get to finish her journals. “Expecto patronum!” Relief barreled through her nearly crippling her as her stag burst forth. It’s antlers tore into the dementor with fierce vengeance. It was massive and radiant. 

“What was that?” Dudley’s panicked question cut through her.

She swallowed hard against the pain as she helped him to his feet. “Not now. I’ll tell you once we’re home.” Even as her mind seemed to muddle with shock, she knew she had to get them back to the safety of the Dursley’s wards.

The rest of the night turned into a blurry whirlwind. Mrs Figg. Petunia’s panic. Vernon’s ire. Dudley’s firm fidelity, he swears to his parents that she saved him. He spoke of her magic, her patronus with awe. Her expulsion. Arthur’s instructions. Dumbledore’s cryptic threat to her Aunt. 

She couldn’t answer the series of questions her aunt and uncle throw at her. Meek, ‘I don’t knows.’ Did little to sooth their rattled nerves. Her head throbbed right along with her ankle. She was too exhausted to bat off anymore of Dudley’s questions. The words seemed to just fall out of her. She started with the dementor and what had happened. 

Her eyebrows rose as her aunt confirmed their existence to her husband. She knows instantly the foul boy her aunt spoke of is Snape. Snape had told her mother about Azkaban and the wizarding world years before she received her Hogwarts letter. 

No one stopped her as she moved to the stove. She continued talking as she pulled out ingredients from the pantry. She combines the milk, corn starch, heavy cream and sugar into a stainless steel pot. She crumbled up one of Petunia’s dark chocolate bars and measured out some cocoa powder.

 Her aunt looked stricken and ill when Willow whispered about the return of Lord Voldemort and the events of last year. The kitchen is quiet as she finished stirring and turned off the stove.

“Dudley’s going to be okay. He just needs a big cup of hot chocolate before he goes to bed. It’ll help.” She brought down two mugs and poured in the thick creamy coco. She passed Dudley a cup, “help yourselves to the leftovers.” She headed up the stairs to her room.

She curled up with her mother’s album and took slow long sips of the hot chocolate, it soothed away the chills and fatigue from the aftereffects of the dementors.

She spent the next four days confined to the Dursley’s home. To the attic mostly with her mother’s journals and textbooks for company. Petunia had given her strict instructions the morning after the attack to not leave the wards for no reasons whatsoever. 

She ripped up The Daily Prophet, once again it reported nothing of importance. No mention of Voldemort or his return. She flopped back onto her bed, the frame groaned loudly in protest. Her stomach twisted as she forced down her growing bitterness towards the wizarding world, Dumbledore, her godfathers and friends. 

She’s sticky with sweat or maybe fever when her aunt pops her head into her room a little after lunch. “We’re taking Marge into the hospital for more testing. Do not leave the house.” She paused, her expression pinched. “Be sure to eat, drink and shower while we are gone. Just be sure to stay out of the brownies.”

“Yes Aunt Petunia.” She drawled, her voice listless. She doesn’t move to crawl out of the bed until she heard Vernon’s car leave the driveway.

She put away her mother’s sixth year journal and grabbed a change of clothes. She made her way down to the bathroom and turned the water to lukewarm.  She stood under the water for far longer than her uncle would have allowed her to had he been home. She ran the tap the entire time she scrubbed her teeth. 

She froze and snapped the water off as she heard a crash in the kitchen below. She held her breath and waited. There was silence for a few seconds, then voices.

Burglars, fucking Piers. Her heart leapt to her throat and she moved across the hall silently to Dudley’s room and grabbed his cricket bat. She crept down the stairs and paused by her cupboard. Her heart thrummed in her ears. Ready or not. Her mind hissed. 

“Get the fuck out!” She snarled, her voice cold and unfriendly as she burst through the kitchen door. She swung the heavy wooden bat towards the closet person. 

“Whoa Will. It’s all right.” Willow’s heart squeezed painfully. She knew that voice, although she hadn’t heard it in a year or even by letter. “We’re here to take you away.”

She blinked and took in the people around him. He tugged the cricket bat from her hands.

“Lupin. Moody.” She greeted with a tight untrusting nod.  They both should know she had good reason to be suspicious. “Professor what did you teach me during third year in our independent sessions?” She demanded, her voice cracking with stress.

She ignored his stunned expression, “the patronus charm. You used it to save the life of your godfather. What form did it take?”

“A stag, that resembles my father’s animagus form.” She answered his counter question. She turned away from his proud grin.

Moody seemed to study her before he barked out his own follow up inquiry, “how did you know to ask a personal question to confirm our identities?”

“If I learned anything last year it’s that anyone of you may not be your true selves – professor.” She smiled a bit as someone behind her laughed.

Moody mad eye rolled, “none of that Professor nonsense, never did any of it.”

She shifted awkwardly as the rest of the room moved to greet her. She withheld her annoyance as they compared her to her mother and father. “She’s as fierce as him in defense.” Lupin bragged as she shook Kingsley Shacklebolt hand. 

Willow’s lips twitched as Tonks shifted her aunts pan of brownies from one arm to the next before shaking her hands with enthusiasm. “Let me just go pack for you,” Tonks said eagerly. 

“No.” Willow was surprised by how firm her voice was. “I’ll do it. It’ll only take a quick mo’ just get my school stuff from the locked cupboard under the stairs.” She rushed up the stairs before any of them could stop her. She packed her suitcase quickly and grabbed her grandfather’s tote. She was surprised how fiercely she wanted to guard her mother’s belongings. 

“A Firebolt. Bloody freakin’ brilliant Will.” Tonks said excitedly, her hair changing to a deep green as she lifted Willow’s broom from her school trunk. She laughed as Tonks eyed her broom enviously. “And you,” she playfully shoved Remus, “got me on a Comet Two Sixty.”

Willow followed Remus into the air. The cool night sky was down right chilly as they weaved all over England before landing in London hours later. She rubbed at her eyes before reading the parchment Lupin placed in her hand. She gasped as a house appeared better number eleven and thirteen.