Irrevocably

6. Beginning - Part One

I remember.

***

Harry and I were always different, to put it simply.

The strange happenings that seemed to follow us like shadows were far from ordinary. Harry was always rather oblivious to it all, maybe to protect himself, maybe to avoid giving in to senses of false hope.

But I'd always known we were different.

That we were extraordinary, despite Vernon and Petunia telling us that we were anything but.

We had no idea what made us unique, only that our family hated it. They'd tried to stomp out the things that were unfamiliar, that contrasted their perfectly normal and bland lives. But whatever set us apart was not easily extinguished.

Petunia had tried to cut Harry's messy mane when we were nine, furiously hacking and chopping at his locks, only for it to grow back overnight.

Another time, Dudley had punched Harry so hard that I heard his nose crack from the opposite end of the room. I screamed at him so loudly—hateful and angry curses—that the drawing room curtains caught fire, as though they were ignited with my rage.

Petunia had told me I was selfish, ugly and worthless, just like my mother, she'd said with malice. I'd sobbed in my room until rain poured from the ceiling, flooding the house and damaging the wallpaper. Vernon said it'd cost them an arm and a leg to fix, but he'd kept a safe distance from us, and I simply didn't care.

Harry was insistent that whatever was happening to us was nothing more than coincidence—leaks in the roof and the light catching the window just right to set the curtains ablaze.

I was never convinced, though.

***

Harry and I followed closely behind Hagrid, the wide-open sky and bustling street of Diagon Alley making my anxiety spike. Harry and I had lived lives of firm routine, rituals intended to keep us in solitude. The independence we were given was almost too much—we spent our money on what we wanted and needed, we ate without fear of having it taken away, and we spoke openly with Hagrid, no longer afraid of being punished for speaking out of turn. It was unusual for us, to not only feel like we weren't the nuisances we had been conditioned into thinking we were, but also to know that we were valued. That somewhere, people wanted us. That we belonged, even though our entire lives we had been told we didn't.

Odd looking strangers stopped us—shaking our hands, singing praises, offering condolences. It was too much at once, but luckily, we didn't let it take away from our first taste of freedom. We welcomed extended hands, and we accepted the kind pats against our shoulders, rather than dwelling on our upbringing and giving into the instincts that told us to flinch.

Hagrid kept us safe, and he told us that we mattered. He also told us why, exactly, random witches and wizards on the street knew our names–Harry's scar, as peculiar as it was, was a beacon of hope among magic folk. Though we struggled with comprehending how, or why, we represented the end of a war, the turning of a tide.

Well, Harry did. My last name sorted me into a similar category, but I was lucky enough to avoid the awkwardness of moving my hair to show people a scar, like Harry found himself doing.

We stayed close to Hagrid, grateful that he helped us tote our school supplies through Diagon Alley. He'd surprised us with birthday presents–an owl for Harry, a birman kitten for me. Not only were they our first birthday presents, but they were something that we didn't have to share for the first time in our lives.

Hagrid said it was nothing, waving off our thank yous with a small smile. But it was something, more than he'd ever known, to us.

I had picked the runt of the litter–though he was small, he was spirited, and I quite liked it about him. He'd been mewling quietly in the corner of the cage, letting his siblings steal the attention of every other patron in the shop. Until I walked up, and he'd bounded towards me, climbing over and under the other kittens until he was front and centre, demanding to be seen.