Hazel and Maeve Potter-Malfoy never knew a true home, raised in an orphanage from infancy. They grew up isolated and abandoned, the only constant in their lives being each other. However, it wasn't always supposed to be this way.
!𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 �...
𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 February 27th, 2013 Somewhere in Western Europe
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Harry gave a small sigh, barely remembering to remove his shoes before walking into the living area of the small wooden cabin he had lived in the past 14 years of his pathetic life.
He laid four more cream-colored envelopes on top of the steadily growing stack on his coffee table. If he had to guess, they were more invitations for tea or to birthday parties. Or simply to talk. It wasn't like he was going to open them and find out.
If only he still had the energy to feel guilty for such subliminal things. He was sure they were used to his silence, he hadn't talked to much of anyone in nine years. No more then he had to.
His self-isolation knew no bounds. Not even Ron and Hermione seen his face anymore. No, it was only him these days.
Only him and his desolate thoughts.
He shuffled to kitchen, his steps the only noise in the quiet, empty house.
He filled his old kettle with water before clicking on his older-style stove. The fire licked at the bottom of the kettle as Harry walked away from the kitchen.
He waved his hand lazily, a fire igniting immediately in the brick fireplace placed against the wall of his living room. It bathed the dark house in a golden glow. It would've been homey if the house weren't so stale and dull. It seemed so desolate and empty, completely devoid of life.
It wasn't surprising it seemed so lifeless. Harry himself wasn't really sure if he was alive anymore.
He sat down on the stiff leather couch, knotting his scarred hands together. His eyes dully scanned over the letters stacked on the wooden coffee table. The one on top was addressed in neat, loopy black lettering.
