Lorelei sat on her bed, in her new home, staring at a book and wishing everything could go back to how it was when she was sixteen and trying to fuck with the social hierarchy at Hogwarts

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Lorelei sat on her bed, in her new home, staring at a book and wishing everything could go back to how it was when she was sixteen and trying to fuck with the social hierarchy at Hogwarts.

Life had been much, much simpler then.

It was Saturday, and Lorelei was grateful for the day off to adjust to everything that had happened since Dumbledore told her that her future child was, essentially, doomed.

In the two days since, Lorelei had spent her spare time after work unpacking.

James was barely home. The threat of Voldemort was too concerning to both the Ministry and to Dumbledore, which meant any spare time given to him by the ministry was greedily stolen by the Order. Lorelei was effectively banned from leaving the house outside of work.

It became very clear, very fast, what everyone expected her role to be.

Unpacking was busy work, mostly to keep her from thinking of her husband. At least when he was off at work, she knew the Ministry had to legally monitor and care for him. But when he was off with the Order, they often sent him on more reckless missions without so much as a partner.

Worse, the Order didn't allow Lorelei to know where he was sent. At least the ministry gave her that much.

Lorelei worried at her lip as she opened the final box from her apartment.

A catch-all box from the look of it. Random jewelry, old school work, and books.

The book at the very bottom of the box was one she was sure she hadn't touched since her birthday from two years prior.

Slytherin's Diary.

A scrap of paper stuck out the top, acting as a makeshift bookmark.

Sitting on the bed she shared with James, in her new home in a famous wizarding village, holding a book written by one of the most famous wizards in history, Lorelei ached to be sixteen again.

She hesitated before opening the book.

It was a very different situation, reading dark magic as an expecting mother than it was reading as a curious teenager.

Flipping the pages lightly, Lorelei felt her stomach sink when she finally flipped to the page bookmarked by a scrap page of paper.

Half the left page held a detailed illustration of the wand movement accompanying the spell Slytherin has been attempting to create.

A combination spell, roughly sketched out in rushed handwriting on the right page that morphed blood magic with defensive magic. Of course it was in Latin, but decipherable at least.

The supposed affect was clear within the language of the spell; Slytherin was trying to interrupt a prophecy.

Buried memories reminded her of which prophecy he likely wanted interrupted.

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