England's Bloody Rose

Iolanthe Potter Chapter #3

"Are you a metamorphmagus by any chance?" Professor Dumbledore asked, curiosity filling his voice. If he was being truthful to himself, he wouldn't bother to have asked the question. Lydia Potter was too mischievous to have never used such a thing for her pranks. He had always known the girl was clever, after all, she skipped many classes, was in detention for hours a week, but was still top of her year. However, he had never thought that she'd make it to Tom's level. There had to be something else that had happened. Something that Tom couldn't have anticipate, couldn't have countered.

"She can't be," Andromeda Tonks answered, a hint of pride in her voice, "Metamorphmagi begin displaying signs after birth. My Nymphadora changed her hair color immediately after she was delivered."

"Andy's right," Sirius informed the headmaster, "Lydia's not a metamorph."

"Then what was that?" Professor Flitwick asked curiously. Lydia Potter was easily one of his favorite students. She was extremely clever, witty, and highly entertaining. All her pranks contained unique and often brilliant usage of spells, and he had the slightest suspicions that Lydia had crafted her own. He enjoyed the spirit she brought to the class, and unsurprisingly, charms was the only class that Lydia Potter attended consistently. He theorized it was because he was more laid back, but perhaps there were other reasons.

"I'm sure these films will answer your question eventually," the girl in question sighed, seemingly aging as she spoke, "they seem to be fond of exposing my life to the masses."

The scene cuts to all the first years being led into the chamber by the Great Hall. The children look around in awe. Iola is holding Neville's hand, and running around. She may have gotten a lot of her personality from her father, but she is still quite like her mother.

"If it isn't the little half-blood," a snobby voice pops out. Draco Malfoy walks towards the pair, flanked by his two friends Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

"Draco Malfoy," Iola says cooly, "must you speak so callously."

"How dare you speak towards me like that!" the blond seethed, "you're simply the half-blood spawn of a blood traitor and a mudblood. A spawn who's own parents preferred death over raising her." Gasps were amongst the first years, and all eyes were on the confrontation.

Gasps were heard in the hall of the past as well. How could a child speak so cruelly to an orphan? Why was an 11 year old already so patronizing? How dare a child dismiss the death of two great heroes, and shover their deaths in the line of duty in their child's face?

"Your child has his priorities straight," Cygnus remarks to Lucius Malfoy, "you and Narcissa raise the boy well."

"Of course Father," Narcissa agreed, "I would never allow my child to become like my blood traitor cousin and sister."

"My thoughts exactly my dear," Lucius snaked an arm around his wife's waist, "any child of House Malfoy will be a pioneer in the fight for pureblood rights."

"Any child of yours will be a right old prick," Sirius defended his sister's dignity, "and at least my sister isn't a sniveling coward. My sister dies a hero, taking down a maniacal dark wizard, while you likely brown-nose politicians until you die in shame."

"How dare you!" Lucius slides his wand out of his cane, "You dare insult the heir to the Malfoy fortune!"

"Enough Sirius!" Professor McGonagall shouted, "and put your wand away Mr. Malfoy!" The two wizards sit down, but tensions brew in the hall.

"My parents were heroes," Iola said, epitome of calm, "my parents gave their lives so every witch and wizard could live in peace. You can try and demean them all you want, but your words can never diminish the impact they made. I am proud to be my parents' child, and I will not grace you and your pureblood ideology for another second. It's simply a pity you and your family desire to be hateful, we could have been family." With that, she and Neville go to find Susan.