Limaah ☆

The Stars Shine (but not brighter than you) (click on title to view)

Fandom: Harry Potter/Potterverse

Main Romantic Pairing: Draco Malfoy X Main Fem!OC Runeva Rubel-Riddle

Genre: Magical, Slow-burn, Angst, Happy Ending, Slight Enemies to Lovers (but not the main theme), NO love triangles

Status: Ongoing

Current Word Count: ~2.9 k words (and counting)

Description:

Runeva was born to Voldemort and an unknown woman on 7th December, 1979, during the First Wizarding War. As a way to keep her out of the Ministry's watchful eyes and later use her to his advantage if things were to go South, he performed a charm when she turned one year old. It's one of the darkest ones in the wizarding world, called Stibagiulis Lepos, which came at the cost of the deaths of three blood relatives, two unwilling enemies, and one faithful ally. This made one's usage of any voluntary and involuntary magical incantations and spells completely untraceable to anyone.

However, as the First Wizarding War came to an end and one by one, all of his followers were banished to Akaban, he knew that the only place that could hide her for long enough for now was the world of the muggles.

And thus, Runeva was found at the doorstep of an Orphanage in London, with nothing but her first name written on a piece of paper and a hair band with a purple jewel on it.

Dumbledore, upon finding out about such a child, set forth a secret mission to retrieve her and educate her in the practices of Wizardry.

But untraceable magic can only be found by word of mouth. And most people would describe most other people as crazy and weird.

Wattpad: (My Wattpad has early access to new updates mainly because it takes me a few days to actually get the chapter on Tumblr. I'm currently working on that.) The Stars Shine (but not brighter than you)

WARNINGS: This story WILL contain graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of abusive/toxic parents, amongst other things. It is HIGHLY ADVISED to read the author's note in the masterpost of the story before continuing. That section will contain details of what you'd expect from this story. Please, don't skip it.

Taglist: Taglist is currently open. Please comment under any chapter of the story that you want to be added. Alternatively, you can send an ask through the link provided in the blog.

Me after working extra slowly on my straight romance story and faster on my lesbian one after going through a week of especially hating men:

I will, for my whole life, be jealous of drawers, painters, writers, poets, craftsmen, dancers, musicians, and just artists and creative people in general.

I will, forever envy how they can just do stuff and it's so cool, mesmerising, beautiful, admirable and charming.

“I wish I was  Homeward bound  Home where my thought's escapin'  Home where my music's playin'  Home where my love lies waitin' Silently for me” 

Word Count: ~3,400

13th October, 1986 6 years old

═══════ X ═══════

Runeva Rubel’s POV:

I knew we’d be arriving at a large house. 

But I didn’t know the house would be this large. I had once seen the Rubels’ mansion in the newspaper, but the angle of the lifeless picture didn’t do the magnificent beauty of this mansion justice.

The car stopped just at the front porch of the main building, which itself was about 50 metres away from the main gate. I could see another small two-storied building a bit far away, and it felt strangely impersonal and bleak. I’m guessing that must be the Rubels’ dedicated office space.

Or maybe some super secret hideout for arms and bodies.

Don’t blame me; they’re rich. Who knows what rich people are doing behind the flashes of cameras? The newspaper sure doesn’t hold back when one such story does get passed from behind the covers to the hands of unforgiving writers. I’m sure the Rubels are no different than other rich people who’d do anything to keep their image pristine and picture perfect. 

The brick road leading to the main building was slightly bumpy and was lined with bushes of mixed flowers. So far, I could recognize roses of different colours, marigolds, hydrangeas, dwarf brooms, lilacs, and lavendars. I also spotted a few sparrows roaming around the flowers. If it weren’t for the fast car, I’m sure I could’ve spotted some butterflies and bees too. 

The entire area of the mansion itself was surrounded by black metal fences with sharp, pointy tops. Most of their body was covered in thick layers of evergreen vines, while some flowering creepers bloomed elegantly on top, giving a vibrant look. The line of fence immediately behind the mansion was almost as thick as a normal wall, and it was covered in white, red, and pink climbing roses—a stark contrast to the gloomy bisque paint of the mansion, accented by black doors, windows, and balustrades. 

I had come here with a plan to stay cooped up in my room, but seeing this beautiful scenery, my heart is adamant on staying more time outdoors, preferably with a nice, compelling book. I knew that Rem would enjoy this too.

Mr Rubel was quick to push me through the doors, not letting me venture further. I dragged the suitcase through the large doors and was immediately met by two maids dutifully scrubbing the floor, which already seemed crystal clear. Seeing as the wheels of my suitcase had some mud on them, I didn't want to increase their workload and held it up an inch above the air instead. It wasn't very heavy, and it wasn't too big either.

I was immediately confused as to where I ought to go, as no one had bothered to inform me. 

I was promptly “answered” with a not-so-soft tap on my shoulder with a familiar, fragrant foldable fan. I looked up, and as expected, saw Mrs Rubel’s permanently elegant facade staring right back at me with those glaring eyes armed by sharp eyeliner and thick mascara. She then pointed the fan to the right, and then up. 

Okayyyy… uh, so I'm guessing to the right there's a staircase, and I'm supposed to go up?

When I turned to go to the right, neither of them stopped me, so I'm guessing that was the correct decision. It seems that living with the Rubels would pose no difference to the lifelong habit of needing to be more insightful than normal. 

At least, one thing would be familiar during my stay here. 

I was met with two long series of doors on both sides when I reached upstairs, and now Mrs Rubel’s fan wasn't here to guide me anymore. Luckily, though, there was another maid on this floor. She was cleaning the cobwebs off the balustrades and ceilings. There were so many of them tangled all around the place that it almost looked like nobody had been up here in so long, and abandoned it to remain at the mercy of time and ignorance. 

Spotting me awkwardly standing at the entrance, she exclaimed, “Ahh! You're the new girl, aren't you? I’m Fillick. Go on, dear, pick any room from the right except the 3rd one; that's a library. And the ones on the left are reserved for guests.”

Glancing to the right, I realised the third was a pair of large double doors. Other than that, I counted eight rooms on each side. 

So many rooms for non-existent people. 

I wondered why the floor seemed so lifeless, except for the flies and mosquitoes still left behind. Whatever the reason was, I chose the room way at the back. It would give me some time to buckle up, should I be… up to something, if I heard someone approaching.

Quickly getting inside the room, I locked it, and the first thing I did after that was release Rem from his temporary confinement. 

As soon as I opened up the bottle, he trickled out, nipping me scoldingly on my thumb before making exaggerated motions of coughing and yawning. As cute as Rem was, I did not appreciate the detailed, unfiltered view of his anatomical structure. 

“You should be glad you aren't a venomous snake, Rem,” I muttered with a grimace before lightly tapping the top of his head with the pad of my index finger. 

“If I were, the first one I'd bite would be you,” he hissed.  

Oh well, I was never good at disciplining anyone or being assertive anyway. 

He gave me one last scornful look with his slit eyes, which I figured was a joke, before moving onto the carpeted floor and disappearing under the bed, probably trying to find a safe place to nap for a while.

Ahh… I’d almost forgotten. 

I had to find ways to completely hide a moving, growing, living, breathing, long tube somewhere not too dry. With how lazy a lifestyle the Rubels seem to be living, I’m sure workers would be more in my room than me. 

For now though, I just strolled around the room, fully taking it in.

The room was as simple as “rich people simple” went. The four-poster canopy bed was pushed to the corner of the room, draped in gorgeous damask fabrics, layered in gradients of blue, and just beside it was a study table, well-lit by the window in front.  There was a door where the bed ended, and I opened it to see it was the loo. It wasn’t that large, but it was still better considering that I didn’t have to line up for showers like at the orphanage. Tucked away at the furthest corner was a small bathtub, which I was pretty excited about, as it would be my first time. On the wall opposite the study table was a small, embedded shelf, barren of anything except dust and debris. 

What an odd room. The shelf should’ve been beside the table instead of the cabinet.

Next to the study table was a cabinet, and on the wall next to it was the door to the small balcony overlooking the back garden with a small pond. The long-lived Wisteria tree beside it made me want to skip every work at hand and lie down there under the fragrant flowers. 

No matter, no matter, hopefully I’ll be permitted to visit once in a while. I was looking forward to the library I saw the gates to earlier as well. I wondered what sorts of books would suit the Rubels' unique, and undoubtedly expensive tastes.

Besides… 

“Hey Rem, see that lovely pond over there?” I asked him, nodding towards the pond. He came out from the room, slithering tierdly on the ground before coiling around the long, fancy balustrades. 

“Do you promise not to show yourself to others if I let you in there?”

He looked it over for a while, as if contemplating his answer. He then turned his head before slithering back into the room while saying, “Hmm…. It looks like it has nice frogs.”

Oh well. At least, that’s one problem solved.

For now, I let Rem settle under the darkness of the bed again. I double-checked the door again to make sure it really was locked, so that I could at least be prepared if someone were to come in; though, there’d be a slim chance that I’d actually be able to hide Rem if one were to peek under the bed. Still, not trying to let too many worries settle in on the first hour of arriving at my new home (home?), I went about with the tasks at hand. 

I organised my pitiful amount of belongings in their respective places. And I was pleasantly giddy to finally shower with warm water and soap that wasn’t white and scentless. This one had a tinge of yellow and a citrusy smell, perhaps lemons.

Just as I’d gotten into comfortable clothes, Ms Fillick knocked on my door. “The Rubels are calling you for lunch, young miss.”

“I’ll be there, Ms Fillick!”

I left the room full of both hope and fear. 

═══════ X ═══════

4th June, 1991 10 years old

I wish I could just shove this bloody arrow into that fancy chimney of theirs. I thought uselessly, knowing I’d never get the chance of doing so with this old man constantly being such a—

“Focus, young miss! You let that arrow hang any lower, and you’ll be bodging up your father’s perfect turf.”

Such a bugger. 

Blame my mom for making me learn such words. She has no interest in properly parenting me anyway; all she really needs is a trophy daughter, and she’s got every worker in the world doing all the hard stuff for her. 

I had my eyes fixated on the green apple on the haystack. We’d moved on from conventional targets just last week after I had to hit all bullseyes under the eagle eyes of my parents. 

And after changing targets, it seemed as if we were back to square one, him ‘fixing’ my posture for thirty minutes. 

Thirty minutes. Thirty bloody minutes I’ve been standing under the scorching sun, which, by the way, is not even that hot on any other day; hell, I can’t even see the full sun on most days! From the way it’s flaunting its heat right now, I feel like I’m in Florida, which I had the chance of visiting twice due to my father’s work. 

However, as unusual as it was, a sudden surge of cold air flowed through, settling comfortably on my skin. I could still see Mr. Brent sweating, and occasionally wiping it off on the back of his hands… and then using that same hand to touch the apple which he was eating…

Eww…

Wait, Runeva, halt! You’re missing the point. It’s hot, but you’re cold, and you’re dumb because you are standing still instead of shooting the arrow!

“No, no, do not wipe your nose on your sleeve; it’s unseemly. Shoulders back! Chin up!”

Oh. My. God.

Rem would’ve had a field day if he were to watch me in this state.

Abruptly, the air had paused, which was quite implausible for such weather. My arrow was still tucked between my fingers, and still, the unmoving apple had fallen off the haystack, as if not knocked away by physical factors. 

As if knocked away by rage and frustration.

Mr Brent sent me a look, which in turn made me look at the turf which I’d been digging into with the heels of my feet.

My father will be so mad when he hears about this from the gardener.

However, just as Mr. Brent had crouched down to pick up the apple, the bits of dark brown mud under my feet vanished, and the once bald area completely replenished itself full of small green grass.

“Fascinating, daughter.”

What… what was that?

I know for a fact that Mr Rubel doesn’t sound like that, like that evil. I’m sure he isn’t much of a saint either, and I just know he’s got small and large skeletons in his cupboard, but this voice I’d been hearing this past week sounds like his entire cupboard is made of bones, and finding clothes in it would be the actual shock.

I don’t know why I’m describing his voice like this, though. It’s not like I knew him personally. But something unknown inside me was very persuasive at making me feel like this voice didn’t belong to someone talking to me from the goodness of his heart. And I don’t even know where it came from.

More than that, I don’t even know whether what I was hearing was real.

It was weird… 

Maybe the loneliness finally caught up to me, and I finally made some imaginary friend or, in this case, an imaginary dad. 

I shook my head, trying to think nothing of it as Mr Brent muttered some nonsense under his breath regarding the heat and fixed the apple back into its place again. 

═══════ X ═══════

“Young miss! Your language tutor is on the way. Let’s get you freshened up,” I heard one of the maids come to the field just as we were finishing up. This class was a bit more productive than our last one, albeit I went into the mansion a little disappointed. I could only land three of all the arrows shot into an apple. I was sure that word would get to my parents soon, and a scolding was due soon.

I went back into my room, frustrated. 

Why was I so bad at everything I did?

My horse and I seemed to have a nice understanding about each other, but the moment it was time for me actually to ride it, I suddenly lost every bit of composure I had, and it was so bad that I just knew that even she felt sorry for me. I’d been stuck at that point in horse riding for a year. At this point, if I showed no improvement this year as well, my father would likely disown me, uncaring of his public image, if he would just tarnish it anyway with an incapable daughter. 

Not to mention that it’s not too hard adopting someone else anyway. 

These thoughts didn’t make my situation any better. 

Harsh, forced breaths attacked my lungs, and I could feel my vision slowly blurring at the edges. There was a familiar weight at the corner of my eyes and a slight burn at the back of my nose. 

No, no, no. IMMATURE ASS! Your teacher’s gonna be here any minute now; you absolutely cannot be a crybaby right now.  

In a fit of rage, I hit the carpeted floor with the wooden bow as hard as I could, fully intending to at least get it broken if not bent. 

Instead of that, though, it was the carpet that changed.

Before, it was an artistic Mediterranean carpet, mostly in a muted beige with red floral motifs, befitting the rich cultural taste of Mr Rubel. 

However, now the thick, sturdy carpet had been replaced by a pure white one, with lots of… I don’t even know what that is. It’s, it’s soft and feathery, almost like cotton but not quite. It was almost too soft and fake to be that. Something in me told me that it even looked futuristic, almost. 

Why was I seeing things again? 

This exact scenario happened the last time I crashed out after a failed archery lesson. The smooth, silken blue sheets of my bed had suddenly turned into a whole span of abrasive, brown jute. 

At least, I wasn’t exactly seeing things last time, because when a maid had come to fetch me, she had shockingly inquired where I’d found such trash, and where my actual bedsheets were. It meant that she’d seen that too. 

I couldn’t answer; it was real then.

Ms Fillick had opened my door. 

And both of us were staring at the soft span of white underneath my feet.

I don’t have an answer now either; it’s still real. 

It was soft, yes, but it was no less capable than thorns when it came to digging underneath the soles of my feet.

“Young miss… are you okay? Where’d you get that carpet from?”

“Uh... great question! I think someone else… Uh- changed it! Yes! I’ll uh… I’ll be down in a few.”

═══════ X ═══════

Third Person POV:

The moon shone dimly through the clouds of the night. Most of the servants filtered out of the Rubels’ Mansion. Fillick fixed her satchel against her shoulder, cautiously looking around. She took the hand of her closest coworker, Iona, before pulling her harshly towards her.

Both of them exchanged knowing looks before separating from the group and going in the opposite direction. 

They moved through the dark alleyways, gossiping.

“You won’t believe, Iona…,” Fillick talked animatedly, waving her hand around as if to emphasize her point.

“Why, what happened this time? Her bedsheets change colours? Again?” Iona asked lazily with the roll of her eyes, as if half-expecting what Fillick was about to say next. 

“Worse!” exclaimed her friend. “It was her carpet this time. It was hard moving the bed around trying to get the carpet out, you know! Wonder how she put it in the first place.”

“Do you think it was a spirit, maybe? Her bedroom is possessed, I think.”

“Jesus Christ, don’t say that. You know I get scared easily,” replied Fillick while holding Iona. Iona, however, seeing the opportunity to tease her more, kidded, “Do you think she’s a witch?”

Seeing her flabbergasted expression, Iona continued again, though this time more seriously than before. “I mean, come on now, Fillick! How many ten-year-olds do you know who can pick up a bed? Besides, how in God’s name is she even getting everything and putting everything? She’s never been shopping, and have you ever managed to find the things she’s misplaced? Huh?”

Fillick didn’t have much of a chance to reply. Even she remembered the harsh reprimand they’d both gotten from the Rubels when they’d found out that one of the most expensive carpets in the house had gone missing. Mrs Rubel had also hastily concluded that one of the workers must’ve stolen it, though Mr Rubel tried not to feed himself into that impression for unknown reasons. The two maids didn’t know why such a stern man would leave something like that so quickly, but they didn’t have the heart to dare risk their jobs for questions that seemed better left unanswered.

Unbeknownst to them, the alleyway they were walking on started becoming less and less illuminated, which they hadn’t noticed until just now. It seemed as though the electricity to those specific few lights was deliberately cut off one by one.

They’d realised once they were unable to move any further, for they didn’t see much under the scarce moonlight. Afraid to move much further, they stood there under the only illuminated street light they could find. From within the night, what surprised them was a voice.

“Fantastic stories, ladies!” A deep, resounding voice with a teasing lilt spoke out, seemingly out of nowhere, making the women gasp, both clutching each other’s hands.

“Fear not! I’m sure I couldn’t be worse than vomit-flavoured candy,” he spoke again, this time coming into the light. His long beard shone a similar colour to that of the moon, and his cloak was borderline whimsical and, the women would have to admit, quite fancy too. His glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and the length of his head full of hair rivalled that of the women’s. 

“So where from do you fetch such fascinating stories?”

“What’s that got to do with you, old man?” Iona questioned, feigning courage. 

“Yes! Are you some kind of wizard who, I don’t know, collects stories?” Fillick tried to help her friend, though any observant person would realise the edge to her voice bordered fear.

“Ahh… hmm… You could say that,” he replied oddly merrily.

“The Rubels’ mansion, if you must know. You better fetch that weird lady on the second floor too, along with your stories, I mean,” Iona provided, who didn’t think that an odd man like him could possibly break into such a secure mansion. 

“Thank you, thank you. That’s much appreciated.” 

═══════ X ═══════

AN:

Wellllllllllllllll. Now it seems our headmaster knows where weird stuff happens. And he hopes to find a weird person too. So, has his decade-long search for them finally come to an end?

Also, before anyone questions how insightful or observant she is at that age, and like how she’s able to do even half the stuff we weren’t able to at that age, I’ve got three things to tell you. 1) She’s a Ravenclaw. 2) She’s literally Tom’s daughter; what did you expect? Obviously she’s observant. 3) It’s the 1980s, man. People already were uncaring of generational trauma and pressured their children. And her parents are rich, being able to afford tutors and not able to afford public defamation…. So yeah.

If y'all haven’t realised yet, not only do I suck at writing, I especially suck at writing from the first person’s POV. Like, I absolutely despise writing it and avoid it at my school too! My teacher had advised me to practice more…. But uh… I mean–, we get four options on what we need to write, and I just end up choosing the one that doesn’t require first-person POV lmao. I originally intended to keep this story largely in third-person POV, but uhh… then I realised literally nobody I know in real life knows I’m on Wattpad/Tumblr soooooooooooooooooooooo who cares? YOLO. 

Btw, I am aware I got major pacing issues 😭😭. 

“Another version of me, I was in it I wave goodbye to the end of beginning.”

Word Count: ~1,900

12th October, 1986 6 years old.

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Runeva’s POV:

I was sitting on the bottom section of the bunk bed. I'd moved into this room just last year after we were of age to be taken off the gazes of caretakers, finally. The top one used to belong to a roommate who was relocated not too long after I came here. It had remained empty ever since, as there were no willing children at the orphanage to share any area within a ten-metre radius of me. 

The weather outside was just cold enough to need full-sleeved clothes and, occasionally, a thin jumper. In the buildings, however, the cold never seemed to disappear even under the cushion of two quilts. The dim October Sun was rapidly fading away at the edge of the horizon, and very soon the call for dinner would ring through the damp brick walls of the building. The rainbow colours dispersed from the sun-catcher hung at the window slowly faded away into nothing as the Sun fully disappeared.

I should probably get up and turn on the lights. 

What’s the point anyway, though? I’ll probably leave in a few minutes, or so. 

I was startled by the sudden opening of the door. I didn’t immediately see who it was—the aged wooden door creaked as it refused to open, screeching as it was forcefully slid over the ground. 

“Bloody door!” I heard someone murmur under their breath. It sounded like a very frustrated Jack. He eventually made his way in and accidentally stubbed his toe on the foot of the bed, making him gasp and bite his lip.

“Bloody bed!!!” He exclaimed while blindly looking around for the switchboard.

I have to admit, I didn’t quite hate the sight of this. 

“What’s this room so bloody dark for? What’re you trynna see, huh? Ghosts again?”

“Nope, just stars.”

“Stars, she says. Bloody stars.”

“Do you think of blood a lot when you see me?”

“You are way too creepy for a six-year-old,” he grimaced before sliding the chair that was across the table towards me and sitting on it, while handing me a thin folder. 

“Cheers, weirdo! You ain’t going to the asylum after all. This nice couple just adopted you.”

I made no remarks to his fake excitement and instead looked over the pages at hand. 

I was shocked to find out the last name was Rubel. Even the kids here know how affluent that family is; their name is on everything, from our toys and dolls to the plates and cutlery we use at mealtimes. 

“Them?”

“Yeah, some toffs they are, I’m telling ya. Reckon you can bat those pretty eyelashes of yours and they’ll get you a snake or two to talk to, huh?”   

He didn’t get to banter more as we both heard a worker walking the hallways, screaming at the top of her lungs and calling for the children to come to dinner.

We both knew just how terribly harsh Clara could be if anything was a millisecond off schedule. So we both left for the cafeteria, leaving the folder behind. 

═══════ X ═══════

I thought dinner would be as uneventful as always. I would take my tray, and the not-very-nice lady at the food collection area would scowl and tell me to do something about my hair, and would put the sad, beige gloop of food onto my plate.

My skin had more colour than the food, and it didn't even taste anything like white carbs. 

Luckily, though, a year ago the orphanage was inspected and was advised to fix the meals or else they'd have to shut it down. 

They didn't tell that to everyone—I read it in the daily newspaper, which I stole after seeing that our almost blind gardener, who cut off more roses than weeds, was done reading it. Jack was one of the few people who knew I was quite capable of reading thoroughly and properly. 

He had once caught me off guard with the newspaper. I was sitting on the back porch reading it because some mechanics were fixing the table in my room. I had no idea how I broke it, though. Jack had come out for a smoke when he saw me skimming through the casualties of a recent car crash. 

So, to compensate for the negative nutritional value of the mush, now we got a singular hard-boiled egg also, with which we couldn't even ask for salt. 

However, the moment I stepped into the buzzing cafeteria, it seemed as though every murmur spilled into the air referred to me in some way or another. Over the clinking of metal glasses and the scraping of spoons against the plates, I heard them whisper unapologetically, and not refrain from sending me a glance or two meanwhile. 

“I can’t believe she got adopted before me!” 

“Never thought I’d live to see such a day.”

“Do you think the Rubels will send her to the asylum once they find out?”

“Bet they will!”

I tried not to let the words get to me. I quickly took my tray and plates before standing in line. But then I felt someone tap my shoulders thrice. I turned around to face a boy, who I recognised as Troy. He’d been with us for only a week now, and was about a few months younger than me. 

“Is-is it true you-you got adopted?” He asked nervously—I saw him picking the edge of his fingernails as he stood as stiff as steel. 

“Yes, Troy. I think so too.”

“C-cool! Do you think I’ll get adopted soon?”

“Maybe you will—hopefully you will.”

Our conversation was cut short as the lady behind the counter snapped, “Come on now! I don’t have all night now, do I?”

I saw her scoop a little of the food onto my plate, and what she did next surprised me. She discreetly took an egg, put it on top, and hid it with more of the food, then gave me another egg on the side. 

“Here ya go, curly hair. I’ll miss ya.” 

“You too, Ma’am, you too,” I said with a smile before leaving to find my usual spot at the back. 

Interestingly enough, I saw Troy toddling behind me, balancing his own tray of food. He sat down across me at the table before giving me a polite smile and digging into his food. I could see him slightly pursing his lips and scrunching his nose at the bland food. 

I took my egg with my spoon and put it beside his on the tray, making him look at me, shocked. I quickly shushed him, putting my index finger onto my lips and using my spoon to remove some of the food from the top, and showed him I had an extra one.

He giggled a little before resuming eating. And I felt as though it was quite unfair that I had to leave just now of all times. I had spent so many tedious years in this orphanage without friends, and now that I could possibly have one, I was made to leave. 

Nevertheless, I tried not to think about it too much and enjoyed my last dinner at St. Mary’s Orphanage. 

═══════ X ═══════

It’s not like I slept too much at night anyway, instead preferring to stay up and count the stars. But that wasn’t nearly as tiring as packing my stuff. I didn’t have much, but it was still tiresome for some reason. 

“So this would be the night I established that I hate packing,” I whispered to myself. 

“Likewisssssse, friend.”

“Rem? You’re still here? I told you to leave!” I exclaimed at the small grass snake, which was supposed to be around the pond right now, but had instead made his way near the buildings. 

“You’re leaving?” He solemnly hissed, slithering his way into the room from the windowsill as it curved its narrow body around some of the security bars. I had wondered for a few seconds as to how he found out, but I realised it probably would've been the gossip of the day amongst playing children and he'd have overheard.

“Yes, Rem, sorry…” I apologized, extending my hand so that he could climb on. 

“Why don’t you take me with you?” He asked, twisting around the length of my arm, locking his lower curls in place before rising to look me straight in my face, it’s slitted tongue flicking in random directions. 

That was truly an absurd idea. I can’t just be bringing a snake in my pocket to a house I’ve never been to. I have no idea what these people are like, and I don’t even know whether they’d like me, let alone some snake. Besides, what if he accidentally startles someone and they hit him? 

“Come on, now… please? Please, my pretty little Ruby? Hmm?” He tried to convince me, and as if to emphasize just how good of an idea it would be to take him with, he rested his chin on my bicep while slowly turning his head. When he looked up at me with those mesmerizing, curious dilated pupils, I found myself at a loss for options. 

═══════ X ═══════

In the morning, at 8 o clock sharp, I was waiting with a suitcase and a backpack. That backpack was home to some of my children’s story books, colours, and a bottle with some uneven holes poked through it with a pen. I had put just a little bit of water in it and… uh… also Rem…

He’s only two years old, so he’s thin enough to be able to fit through the opening of the water bottle, and he’s only about 50 cm long. He did complain about having to stay crammed like that for what I learned just now from the driver of the posh car: a two-hour ride. 

A threat to leave him behind did the trick of shutting him up.

Seeing as the Rubels were running late from the office, I took the time to go over the house rules again with him. If snakes had ears, I’m sure he’d have them folded up by now.

“No leaving my room into the house without me. If you leave to go outside, it is imperative that nobody sees you leaving or entering. Got it?” I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was probably tucking his head into his coiled form. 

“Oh, and no hissing loudly.” 

That was immediately replied to with a loud hiss.  

Ugh. This is such a bad idea. 

I didn’t get to say anything more as I saw Mr and Mrs Rubel approaching me, both their footsteps heavy on the ground. 

“Oh, dear, you haven’t gotten in? Come quick!” Mr Rubel hurried me as he himself got into the passenger seat of the car. 

I sat at the back with Mrs Rubel, who had yet to say a word of anything but noises of approval or disapproval. 

My suitcase was stuffed in the back trunk—I kept the backpack clutched in my hands on my lap. 

The engine started at once, and the speed of the air flowing in from the window slowly increased. 

And soon enough, I was closer to my new residence than my old one. 

═══════ X ═══════

AN:

Okayyyy, so she has left! I tried to make this chapter a bit longer. We probably have a few more chapters left, just to really show how she was living her life with the Rubels and how our grandpa Dumbledore would find her without the Trace on her. I promise these chapters will not be a waste of your time and are not ‘filler’ chapters. You should look out for foreshadowing *wink wink*.

(Also I'm so sorry non-existent people for uploading on Tumblr later than my Wattpad because my non-existent brain is still trynna get hang of Tumblr)

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MASTERPOST

Author's Note +Warning List. Please read before proceeding.

↠00: Prologue

↠01: Leaving

↠02: Living?

↠03: Leaving Again?

↠04

//↠ 00

Third Person's POV

“I might be a narcissist, Jack, but in front of those Rubels? I might just have to bow down, mate. Even that word is far too soft for them,” tittered Preston as he strided tentatively along the plastered hallways brightly lit by yellowish-white fluorescent lights. Following him was his coworker, Jack, who carried a bunch of accordion files, each artificially bright in their appearance and languid in their contents. 

They continued walking as Jack took a peek here and there carefully before answering, as if afraid to be caught off guard by their superior.

“I know, right! I mean-I’m just here to collect volunteer hours for my college apps. I’m still quite miffed at how he just ordered us around to bring the”, he then tucked the folders under his arm before using his now free hands to air-quote and say, “pitiest tools in the shed.” Taking the folders back into his hands, he grumbled, “I wish these papers were cash, mate-” He was cut off by the voice they were planning their best to avoid—Clara Smith’s terribly high-pitched and intimidating one.

“Just what are you two dilly-dallying about, huh? Are you not aware that we’ve got Charles and Alice Rubel waiting?!”

“Yes, Mrs. Smith, we-we were just, uh-fetching their–, we were just heading there-” fretted Preston.

“You two ought to pay me should you lose these clients. Noted?” She gritted out, enunciating the ‘d’ as best as she could before stomping off, letting out hints of some of the strong coffee she had that morning, making the two men subtly scrunch their noses. The click-clack of her button boots echoing throughout the empty hallway slowly faded as they made their way towards the consultation room.

Even before they opened the door, they could smell the wafts of expensive floral perfume seeping through the cracks of the door. They made their way in, sitting across from the two people visibly drenched in pearls and gold, and in silk and leather. Jack set the files onto the table as Preston cleared his throat. He didn’t get to say anything more than a breath of air, though, as the man, Charles Rubel, quickly took hold of the files before dismissing them in an authoritative tone, “We’ve got it.”

“Oh, uh… okay. Please ask away if you have any questions,” he shrieked, sending a few discreet looks to Jack every so often as the Rubels scanned through the folders, muttering comments under their breath as if they were choosing a pet dog. 

“Darling, what about this one?” Charles asked his wife, taking out a paper with the picture of a short, stubby blonde boy, probably aged around 7 or 8 by the looks of him.

“I already told you, Charles,” she sighed as if annoyed before expanding her foldable fan and fanning it around her face and neck. The two employees tried not to let a cough escape from the sudden flow of chemical air blasting in their faces. She continued, “Adopting a girl at times like this is better! It’ll show we are-uh, what do they call them-feminists! Yeah-that. Look for a girl.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed before discarding all the blue files. 

By discarding, he simply pushed them away until they fell off the wooden desk and went on with the other files, unbothered. 

“What’s wrong with this weird lanky one? Why does she look like a fat owl?” She quizzed after a while, pushing the photo attached to the file towards the employees.

In the photo was a girl, with not many memorable facial characteristics except for the scar that was just a thin, slanted long line that started from the edge of her left eyebrow and crossed her dark brown pupil, before fading away into the depressive blackness of her eyes, likely from the lack of sleep. Her head was full of coily, pitch-black hair that curled around itself, resting at her shoulders, only held back from her face by a simple hairband set with a single purple stone. Her not-a-straight-line of teeth were in view due to a visibly forced smile that made her lips and eyes crinkle unnaturally. The warm beige complexion of her skin tone was further enhanced in the photo by the Sun as bright as the colours of her frock dress. 

“Oh, uh. She’s Runeva, she is battling some mental health issu-”

“Ohhh….. So she’s mental! We’ll take that one please. Honey, she’s good PR for the hospital’s charity event, don’t you think?” She asks with a giggle before shutting her fan with more force than necessary. 

Preston quickly tries to direct her attention to someone else as he fumbles with the files. Clara would not let him get away with it, as one of the most influential people of Britain just chose the one girl everyone at the orphanage feared more than they despised. 

Rubbing the crook of his nose in nervousness, he tried to persuade, “Uh, Mrs. Rubel, please, you would not like that one. She’s, she’s crazy, and not in the way 6-year-olds are! She makes weird things happen, and says weird things while looking at the grass-there are far better options!”

“Whatever you’re saying right now is making me think she’s just a lobotomy away from being normal!” 

Looking at Jack and Preston’s horrified faces, Charles realised they probably didn’t take his joke well. He just took the file again before gushing, “Plus! Runeva Rubel. The name matches perfectly, don’t ya’ll think that’s brilliant?” 

“We’ll be back tomorrow, boys. Everything better be sorted out by then,” warned his wife before both of them exited, leaving behind the air as an undesirably fragrant mixture of perfume, astonishment, and hesitation.

“I am not going to break the news to her.”

“I’ll cut off a couple hours from that volunteer work certification or whatever you’re getting after you leave if you don’t.”

“.....fine. I’ll do it.”

═══════ X ═══════

AN:

*in Thanos’ voice* Fine, I’ll do it myself. 

Anyway, that’s kind of it for the prologue. I kept it short because I heard from some people that most people don’t read prologues. So yeah, I guess. I will try to keep the next chapters longer. So glad that I made her inherit Bellatrix's badass curls and not moldy Voldy’s baldy head. Anyway, have a nice day!

Also, why is Tumblr so hard to use... I can't even centralise stuff properly. If ya'll don't like this, then I'm really sorry; I'm trying... If you want, you can read this on Wattpad, where everything is formatted as I'd like. I genuinely think I'm too dumb for Tumblr.

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