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prologue. a mother's love
౨ৎ
1981
Isadora Kaspbrak knew death was coming for her.
She sensed it from the moment James and Lily Potter, so young and resilient, had been forced into hiding as the threat against them grew more intense by the day. It was as if that had started the clock, the tick, tick, tick of lost time. In a world torn apart by a war where no one was sure who to trust, she had chosen to stand with the Order of the Phoenix.
But the Order was a fractured alliance, struggling to contain the dark forces that threatened to take over the wizarding world. Albus Dumbledore, the man she was supposed to trust, seemed increasingly lost, his once-piercing gaze clouded by uncertainty. Order members were falling, one by one, victims of Death Eater attacks. Marlene McKinnon, Edgar Bones, and Dorcas Meadowes had all perished in recent months, their deaths a grim reminder of the reality they faced.
Her husband, Oliver, worked tirelessly at the Ministry, his life in constant danger. Every morning when he left for work, Isadora couldn't help but wonder if it would be the last time she saw him. Each goodbye kiss became an unspoken prayer, a silent plea for his safe return.
Matilda Isabella Kaspbrak was born on July 15th, 1980. Amidst the ever-looming darkness of their lives, she was the one thing that kept them moving forward. Isadora had been scared about becoming a mother, always panicking to Molly Weasley (who had six children of her own), saying that it must be some mistake and that there was absolutely no way she could handle life with a child.
Oliver had nothing to worry about, because he approached life with a calmness that often bordered on nonchalance. He was a Ravenclaw through and through, his intellect and wisdom allowing him to navigate the complexities of their world with a steady hand. He had a way of simplifying the chaos, of finding logic in madness.
Isadora, on the other hand, was ambition personified - cunning, determined, and clever. She was a strategist, a planner, always looking several steps ahead. She wasn't made for being a mother, she was made for war. The idea of being responsible for a tiny, helpless being was daunting. She had been trained to fight, to achieve, not to nurture. It went against everything she knew, everything she was. Just the thought of it filled her with a sense of inadequacy, a fear that she might fail at the one thing that should come naturally to a woman.
When Matilda was first born, Isadora felt an emptiness she couldn't explain. As the Mediwizard placed the calm, little infant in her arms, she had expected to feel an overwhelming surge of love, that bond that every mother spoke of. But all she felt was a hollow void, a sense of detachment that made her question if this was even her life. She'd looked down at the tiny face of her daughter with confusion, wondering why the connection wasn't immediate, why the love didn't come flooding in.
