Ambrosia • TMR

C.0

      When Harlene Lilith Potter took her last breath, she was surrounded by her loved ones and hailed as the savior of the wizarding world. Her cracked and busted lips broke into a tired smile that took more effort than what it was worth. But still, with matted vermillion locks turned dark by blood and gritty, mud covered skin, she smiled.

For she had won the war against all odds and she had proven herself to be more than a sacrificial lamb to be left in the dark, awaiting slaughter. Although, she had never been expected to live passed the age of 17.

Dumbledore got what he wanted in the end and if that wasn't a bitch. When her time came, which was sooner rather than later, death was once more greeted as a familiar friend. Sirius was right. The real thing really was just like going to sleep. She expected to finally be able to rest and she definitely never once expected to wake up.

But she then did. And who was Harlene Potter if she didn't start things with a bang?

A startling burst of cold air smacked her in the face so hard she couldn't scream. Then abruptly it attacked her whole body. What felt like the winds of the arctic raged against too naked -'naked?!'- skin, an ungodly cry escaped freshly developed vocal cords.

The world was a kaleidoscope of colors passing in a whirlwind for the teen? Woman? "It's a baby girl!" Baby?! The room was much too bright, the voices much too loud, the space ridiculously too big. As the Girl-Who-Lived, Harlene honestly should have learned to expect the unexpected by now, even in something so predictable as death.

"She's beautiful." A rich, decidedly male voice cut through the mayhem in her head. It was a strangely familiar voice. Stifling her cries, she reached for the hopefully general direction of the man hoping for some relief and cracking open her eyes as she did so. She didn't even know when she had closed them.

While the room was still bright it was slightly less so. The blurry silhouette of a man with a dark hair color, a pair of familiar silver grey eyes stared down at her. Her eyes hyper fixated on the blurry shade as large warm hands supported her swaddled form. With a drowsy mind, she realized that for the first time since the death of Sirius Black, she felt completely and utterly safe.

It took her an embarrassingly long amount of time to process the fact that she was once again a baby. In fact, it took around four months for her to even have time to think, considering for babies, sleep was mandatory for about or even more than 12 hours a day.

It was actually when she first heard her new name did she realize what was going on. "Irene! Time to bathe!" The woman she could now safely call her mother cooed at the four month old baby. Safe to say she went through that bath in a shocked state.

Harlene, now Irene, tossed and turned over this revaluation coming to the concluding thought that while she didn't want to live a new life...She had little to regret in her life as Harlene Potter even though it wasn't perfect. It took too many years and tears to come to accept her life as it was Before. It took less for her to realize that her time was over. While she didn't know if she still resided in the magical world or even if she was still a witch, and if that that thought didn't break her heart, she would live this life with no regrets or restraint.

She would be that Slytherin that her heart yearned for. She would spend her money on things that she wanted. She would have the parents that she needed to raise her. Through Irene, Harlene would truly live.

When she was five months old, Irene said her first word. It was a simple, "Papa!" when her father's rich voice entered the house after a long day of work. She hoped only to make his day a little brighter as he had looked so tired. Shortly after, in excitement, her mother crowed the word 'mama!' at her at least 20 times before Irene finally graced her with the word. Looking at her mother's blue eyes light up in joy as she rubbed this achievement in her father's face, Irene thought she could get used to something like this.

When she was seven months old, she took her first steps. They were, wisely in her opinion, spent walking towards her mother for a surprise attack. She, of course, stumbled along the way but managed to attack her mother's leg with a hug. Though, she didn't manage to startle the woman. Irene thinks she saw her coming...Somehow with her back turned.

When she was 16 months old, Irene learned her last name wasn't in fact a muggle one. It was a Yule day that she learned her last name was Black, her parents were Malorie Black nèè Potter and Indus Black. Her own great grandaunt! Merlin. She was also made aware that she had a sibling on the way as they prayed for a fortunate year blessed by lady magic herself.

Knowing she truly hailed from the Black family was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes in the memory of Sirius Black, her godfather who might as well have had been her father.  No matter the amount of time passed, the man was always a sensitive subject and he always would be. She knew now that she was infinitely more likely to be a witch and still in the wizarding world. A sibling was also something she's never had and was very excited about.

When she was 17 months old, her mother had a miscarriage. She hadn't even been 5 months pregnant yet. Irene had a inkling that this was due to the dark rituals she'd felt more than seen her parents practicing. Her mother didn't cry about the lost child and Irene didn't say a word about her lost sibling. Her father slowly began to spend less time at home.

When she was two years old, Irene noticed her father looking more and more drained when he did come home from work. Strangely enough, he looked like more than just tired from work drained. Over the months, he seemed to get skinnier and skinnier every time she saw him. Despite all of the food he seemed to inhale at dinner, her father still managed to look like he wasn't retaining any of the weight.

Some nights, she cried herself to sleep. Why is it that her idea of a perfect family was slipping through her fingers like sand. What could she do?

When she was three years old, she felt the ground tremble in wake of the first air raid of her life. That night, her mother held her close as bombs rained dangerously close to the protective wards on the house. Her mind raced in worry for her father who hadn't been home at the time. The screams from outside while she was safe and helpless in her mother's arms would haunt her for a long time. But most of all, the look of utter loathing on her mother's face as she faced the window was something she would never forget.

When she was almost four years old, her mother was pregnant once again. And when she turned four, the baby was once again lost to a miscarriage. Just like the last, nobody spoke of what could have been. But if she heard shouting from her parents in the middle of the night, nobody had to know of the tears streaming down her cheeks. In the dark of her room, she mourned the realization that she was once again born into a broken family.

At five years old, her parents were arrested for the use of unforgivable curses, dark rituals and torture of minors. This she had no idea. How many nights had she slept peacefully while children trapped in their basement cried for help? Merlin, she felt sick to her stomach when the Aurors helped far too many disfigured and traumatized children out their door into medical.

Her parents were tried under Veritaserum, confessed to their crimes without a hint of regret, and were convicted. Irene, with no immediate family willing to risk taking her in and tarnishing their reputation, was sent to a orphanage in the muggle streets of London. Coincidentally enough, it was Wool's Orphanage. One of the only orphanages in London that still stood despite the increasing amount of Air raids.