ScrollsAndSerpents

THE ORPHAN'S LOCKET - BOOK 2 OF THE OBSCURED WITCH SERIES

You know that feeling when you finish a fanfic and immediately need MORE? THIS IS THAT ENERGY.

WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:

Violet Blackwood is back, and she's traded the silent orphanage for the beautiful chaos of The Burrow. The Weasleys didn't just invite her for the summer, they STOLE HER from St. Jude's in a covert twin operation.

Fred and George are down BAD. Like, "following her around like sick crups" bad. Like "nearly hexing anyone who smiles at her" bad. Like "she's the only one who can keep them in line and they LOVE IT" bad.

There's a Veela reveal. And a locket. And Severus Snape having EMOTIONS. (Yes, you read that correctly.)

The Quidditch World Cup. The Yule Ball. Dragons. A secret room that gives you what you NEED. 

Cedric Diggory being an absolute sunshine angel who deserves the world. 

A romance that will grab you by the throat and not let go.

THE VIBES:

Found family that will heal your soul

Twin rivalry

"Who did this to you?" energy

Childhood trauma wrapped in magic and hope

The Yule Ball scene is EVERYTHING

* PART OF A SERIES *

Book 1: The Slytherin Orphan is where it begins. Her first year at Hogwarts, discovering magic, and befriending two ginger chaos gremlins.

Book 2 (this one): She finds a HOME. She finds LOVE. She finds out the truth about her mother. And then a boy dies.

WARNINGS:

Major character death (CANON-COMPLIANT, but it HURTS)

Child neglect/abuse (orphanage backstory)

Emotional manipulation

Death Eater violence

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

"I stayed up until 4am reading this. Then I cried."

"The way Fred loves her made me believe in love again."

"George in this fic deserves compensation for all the emotional damage."

She wasn't supposed to exist.

Thirteen years hidden. Thirteen years erased.

Violet Blackwood grew up in a Muggle orphanage, her magic a wild, untamed thing that made leafs dance and boys fly across rooms. No letters. No visits. No record of her birth in any magical book.

Until Dumbledore found her.

Now she's been dumped into Hogwarts as a third-year. She is years behind, wearing muggle clothes, wielding a wand that spits in her face. The Slytherins despise her. Snape looks at her like her existence offends him. And the whole castle whispers: Who IS she?

But Violet has secrets.

Wandless magic that shouldn't exist A locket that won't open A trail of ancient blue light only she can see And a face that makes a convicted murderer weep

DRACO MALFOY CAN'T LOOK AWAY

"You're the only real thing in this whole bloody castle."

He's the Slytherin Prince. She's an orphan from nowhere. Their stolen moments in the Astronomy Tower are a beautiful rebellion until things go sour.

THE TWINS CHOOSE HER

While Slytherin turns her into a ghost, Fred and George Weasley pull her into their world. Gryffindor tower becomes her sanctuary. Their mother knits her a Christmas jumper, her first real present ever.

"You're Violet. Our Violet."

SIRIUS BLACK WHISPERS A NAME

During the chaos of the Shrieking Shack, a escaped convict looks at her face and freezes.

"You look just like... Elena. You could be her daughter."

Her mother had a name.

Someone hid her. Someone erased her from magic itself. And now Dumbledore is digging through war-era records, his face growing graver by the day.

"Some families hid their nature for very good reasons," he warns. "The answers may come with unexpected implications."

READ IF YOU LOVE:

Draco as a morally gray disasterFred & George as protective, chaotic found family Sirius Black as the key to a devastating past Snape with layers of mystery (why does her golden hair make him SHAKE?)

THE CASTLE IS KEEPING HER SECRETS

But the Dementors want her soul. Sirius Black knows her face. And somewhere in the ashes of a war... the truth is waiting.

📖 Read on Wattpad & AO3

The cool night air of the gardens was a relief after the heat and noise of the ball. The moonlight dappled through the frost-kissed hedges, creating a world of silver and shadow. Fred led Violet to a secluded stone bench hidden in a bower of whispering ivy, far from the lights and music.

The bravado he’d carried all night began to soften into something more vulnerable. He sat beside her, taking her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. His thumb moved in soft, distracted loops over her knuckles.

“So,” he said, his voice a low, warm rumble in the quiet. “A hundred points from Gryffindor, probably. But I’d say it was worth it. The look on old McGonagall’s face alone…”

Violet laughed softly, leaning her shoulder against his. “You were brilliant.”

“I had good material to work with,” he replied, his tone shifting from jokey to sincere. He turned to look at her, the moonlight etching his features. The usual mischievous glint in his eyes was still there, but it was softer now, mixed with awe. “Seriously, Violet. Tonight… you…”

He seemed to struggle for a moment, the wordsmith at a loss. Instead of speaking, he slowly leaned in and brushed his lips against hers again. His lips were warm. Gentle. The world disappeared. Just breath and heartbeat and the soft sound he made when she kissed him back.

It started slow, tentative. This was new ground for both of them. Fred’s hands came up to cradle her face, his touch surprisingly gentle. He kissed her with a focused intensity that was entirely different from his usual scattered energy. He was completely and utterly focused on one thing: her.

One of his hands slid from her cheek into her hair, the other settling on her waist, pulling her closer. Violet melted into him, her own hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the solid, rapid beat of his heart beneath the dress robes.

They broke apart, breathing a little shakily, foreheads resting together. Fred’s eyes were closed, a dazed, happy smile on his face.

First look into Book 3 of The Obscured Witch series. Coming to Wattpad April 1st!

They called her a freak. A nobody. A girl with no past and no future.

Violet Blackwood has spent her life in the shadows. First at St. Jude's orphanage, then as a Slytherin who never quite fit. When Dumbledore sends her to Grimmauld Place for safety, she finds Sirius Black: a man haunted by the war he lost, the friends he buried, and a golden-haired witch he loved.

But Sirius isn't the only one keeping secrets. There's a locket that opens only for the Potions Master. And a weapon the Dark Lord is trying to obtain.

As Voldemort rises and the Ministry falls to pink cardigans and propaganda, Violet discovers she's not just an orphan looking for a home. And when the Order goes to war, she'll have to decide:

Stay hidden. Or burn the world down.

Canon adjacent to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Slow burn. Character driven. Age appropriate romance. Mystery. This installment is a little darker than its predecessors.

Find the first two installments here:

"Go on, Cedric!" Violet shouted, leaping to her feet with the rest of the ecstatic crowd.

He retrieved the golden egg, his arm slightly burned but his face alight with pure, unadulterated triumph. As he walked back from the arena, the crowd still roaring, he spotted her in the stands. His path diverted slightly, and he came to a stop at the barrier below her.

His hair was sweaty, his robes were singed, and he smelled of smoke and adrenaline. He was radiant.

“You were brilliant,” Violet said, her genuine admiration clear.

"I had a good incentive," he called back, his voice cutting through the din. He reached up, and with a natural, possessive tenderness that made the crowd around them whoop, he tucked a wind-blown strand of her dark hair behind her ear. "Wanted to make you proud."

It was a moment straight out of a storybook. For a single, public second, Violet let herself be swept up in it. "I was."

But as she smiled back, the air around her went cold.

The roar of the crowd faded. Fred wasn’t clapping. He was staring straight ahead, his face a stony mask. He just stood up without looking at her. "Come on, George," he said, his voice flat. "We've got products to develop.”

George didn't comment, but his silence was more pointed than any joke.

"Wait," Violet said, turning from Fred's stony profile to the arena. "You'll miss Harry."

"He'll manage," Fred said, not looking back as he and George shouldered their way through the crowd, leaving her alone in the stands.

The moment the Ministry car disappeared, the front door burst open and a wave of ginger energy erupted out.

Fred reached her first, pulling her into a fierce hug that lifted her off her feet. George, right behind him, pulled her towards him, his embrace gentler but no less warm.

"You're here!" Fred's voice was rough with relief.

“Took long enough! We thought we might need to steal dad’s car again.” George added.

Before she could even laugh, Ron was grinning behind them, and Ginny gave her a big welcoming smile. Even Percy stood in the doorway, offering a stiff but genuine nod. “Welcome, Violet. Mother has been preparing.”

When Molly Weasley appeared in the doorway, she stood for a moment. Violet noticed her eyes taking in the scene, and landing on her

It was a look she knew. The assessing gaze of an adult deciding if she would fit, if she would cause trouble, if she was worth the effort. She remembered the Hendersons, who had taken her for a weekend and returned her on Monday, saying she was "too quiet." She remembered the Millers, who had flinched when her magic made the lights flicker and called her "uncanny." That look always preceded the polite rejection, the return to the silence.

The air at Hogwarts crackled with a new, potent energy. The Goblet of Fire sat in the Entrance Hall, a silent, blue-flamed sentinel that captivated every student who passed it.

But the most ambitiously foolish of all were, of course, Fred and George Weasley. For them, the Goblet was the ultimate rule to break.

"They say it's a simple Age Line, but it's got to be more complex than that," George muttered, staring at the golden ribbon from a safe distance as if it were a fascinating, dangerous beast.

"We're thinking of an Aging Potion. A powerful one. We'll be seasoned, wise, and exceptionally handsome seventeen-year-olds." Fred declared, slinging an arm around Violet's shoulders.

"Speak for yourself," Violet said dryly, ducking out from under his arm. "I have no interest in entering but I’ll save you a bed in the hospital wing."

Before they could retort, a sudden, respectful silence fell over the hall. All three of them turned to see Cedric Diggory walking confidently towards the Goblet, a slip of parchment in his hand. His eyes scanned the crowd, finding Violet, and he gave her a small, warm smile which she returned. Violet saw a silvery blue line of light run up from the base of the goblet to the mouth where the flames flashed scarlet as Cedric dropped his name into the cup.

Beside her, George let out a quiet sound that was half-grunt, half-scoff.

Cedric Diggory stepped away from the Goblet, and approached their little group. He came to a stop directly in front of Violet, his gaze warm and appreciative.

"Blackwood," he said, his tone shifting to something more personal. "I was hoping I'd run into you. I was just thinking, "I'm going to need a good luck charm." His eyes flicked down to her Slytherin scarf and back up, a playful challenge in them. "Know where a bloke might find one?"

Violet felt the twins stiffen beside her, but Cedric's charm was disarming. She warmed under the directness of his attention. "I'm sure you'll have your pick, Diggory," she replied, “But for what it's worth... good luck." her voice a little lighter than she intended.

For a single, unified second, Fred and George moved as one.

"Did you hear that, George?" Fred asked, his voice dripping with theatrical hurt. "She's offering our luck to the competition."

"A betrayal most foul," George agreed, shaking his head in mock despair. "And after we've already penciled her in for our official victory celebration."

"Don't worry, boys," Violet said, her eyes rolling. "My faith in you is so immense, I can afford to be charitable."

Cedric took it all in with good-natured grace, laughing as he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Wouldn't dream of causing a rift in the ranks." He gave Violet a final, charming wink before continuing on his way.

Fred's gaze tracked him down the corridor, his earlier playful energy now sharpened into a competitive edge. "Right," he said, turning back to Violet, a new, determined glint in his eye. "Where were we? Oh, yes. Proving a point."

The announcement of the Yule Ball had clearly added a new layer of competition to the tournament, one that had nothing to do with the impending champion selection and everything to do with Violet's attention.

She could see it in the way the twins now hovered, their ambition to conquer the Age Line had become intertwined with a need to prove something to her, and she found herself at the center of their competition.

The rivalry wasn't just domestic. The arrival of unabashedly forward Beauxbatons introduced a new variable: French charm. One afternoon, a particularly bold one with dark, curling hair approached Violet outside the greenhouses.

"Excusez-moi, mademoiselle,” he said with a theatrical bow. “I am thinking you might need someone to carry these books, non? Such a beautiful girl should not struggle. I would be enchanté if you would allow me to escort you to the library."

Violet, startled, began a polite refusal, but it was unnecessary. Fred and George descended like avenging ginger angels.

"Escort her?" George repeated, faux-incredulous.

"She's got two perfectly good escorts right here." Fred added with a sneer, "I think we've got it covered. Comprendre?"

The Beauxbatons student retreated with a Gallic shrug. The twins watched him go, their chests puffed out, looking immensely pleased with themselves. The message had been sent. The challenge, however, had been received. It was time for a grander gesture.

By the end of the week, their plan was in motion. The Entrance Hall was packed as Fred and George stood at the edge of the golden Age Line, brandishing two vials of sunshine-yellow potion like trophies. Violet leaned against a pillar, a fondly skeptical look on her face.

"Any last words for your adoring fans?" Fred called out to her with a grand gesture.

"Just that I hope you've written your wills," Violet replied, her voice light.

George laughed. "Lack of faith, Violet! Prepare to be dazzled!"

In unison, they knocked back the Aging Potion. For a glorious second, they seemed taller, more muscular. Fred puffed out his chest, waggling his eyebrows at her. Then, with two loud cracks, they were thrown backward. Instantly, long, white beards sprouted from their chins, spreading rapidly down their chests.

A wave of laughter erupted from the watching students.

"Merlin's beard!" George yelped, clutching the silvery hair that was now, in fact, his own.

Violet was kneeling between them in a moment, her gaze darting from Fred's face to George's. "Are you two alright? That was a much harder landing than you deserved."

As Professor McGonagall stormed over, her expression thunderous, Violet helped them to their feet. A snort of laughter escaped her despite her concern. "You know, you make remarkably handsome old wizards. The beard suits you, Fred. Very distinguished."

The hospital wing was quiet that evening, bathed in the cool light of the moon. From behind a screen, they could hear Madam Pomfrey's muttered spells as she worked on de-bearding George. On the other side, Fred sat on the edge of a bed, looking like himself again, save for a faint silvery shimmer on his chin.

Violet stood beside him, having refused to leave until she was sure they were both okay. "You know," she said softly, her tone playful, "I think I prefer you without the long, white beard. Made you look wise, which frankly, ruins your brand."

Fred grinned, but it was softer than usual. "Thanks for not saying 'I told you so.”

"Oh, I'm absolutely saying it," Violet whispered, leaning forward slightly. "I'm just waiting for a more dramatic moment. Maybe in the middle of the Great Hall."

He laughed quietly. "It was worth a shot." He looked at her, and the moonlight etched his features sharply. The bravado was gone, replaced by a startling intensity. The air between them grew still.

Violet's breath caught under his gaze, and she felt a jolt through her. "Fred..." she whispered.

But before she could say more, George bustled out from behind the screen, rubbing his clean-shaven chin. "Right! Back to the drawing board.”

The spell was broken. Fred blinked, and his gaze was replaced by his familiar grin, the hospital wing's stillness once again giving way to their boundless energy.

Violet walked back to the castle alone, the ghost of Fred's intense gaze haunting her. The question wasn't whether she had imagined it, but why he was so determined to make her feel that she had.

Ron, Ginny, and Violet were in the orchard watching Fred and George test a new line of joke wands that turned into rubber chickens. Fred’s malfunctioned spectacularly, covering him in a shower of goo and bright purple feathers. Everyone laughed, but Violet, seeing his genuine frustration, quietly summoned a damp cloth and handed it to him.

“Here,” she said softly. “It’s mostly on your left ear.”

Their eyes met. Fred’s usual mask of humor slipped for a second. He looked at her with an expression of such open, stunned gratitude that the air between them shifted.

“Thanks, Violet,” he said, his voice quieter, softer than usual.

It was just a moment, but it felt as if something real had clicked into place between them.

She pulled the small brown box from her trunk and held her locket against her chest. Her hand was closed around it, a familiar, warm weight against her palm.

“You still awake?” Ginny’s voice whispered from the darkness above.

“Yeah,” Violet whispered back. “Just… thinking.”

There was a rustle, and Ginny’s face appeared over the side of the bed, her red hair a dark cascade in the moonlight. “Is it weird? Being here, I mean. After the orphanage.”

“It’s the opposite of weird,” Violet said honestly. “It’s… loud. And full. And warm. In a good way.”

Ginny was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, well. That's Mum for you. The whole house runs on it. She just has to warm up to you, is all."

Violet's throat tightened. "What if she decides I don't fit?"

"Then she's mental, because you already do." Ginny yawned. “I watched you at the Quidditch final match last year. You didn't cheer for your own house. That takes guts."

Violet smiled in the darkness. "Or stupidity."

"Bit of both, probably. You'll fit right in."

The latest letter from Violet was a single, pristine piece of parchment that felt like a plea in its politeness. 'Thank you for a lovely year. I hope your summer is nice.' The return address said everything: St. Jude’s Orphanage. Fred and George had read it sixteen times, finding new layers of quiet despair in every perfectly formed letter. She was back in the silence. They couldn't leave her there.

They found their mother in the kitchen, up to her elbows in flour. The campaign began.

“Mum,” Fred began, leaning against the doorframe with a charm so potent it was practically visible. “We’ve had a thought. A compassionate, deeply charitable thought.”

“A humanitarian intervention,” George clarified, sliding into the seat opposite her with solemn gravity.

Molly Weasley didn't pause her kneading. “If it involves anything that explodes, stinks, or has to be magically removed from a bodily orifice, the answer is no.”

“Nothing like that!” Fred said, placing a hand over his heart as if wounded. “It’s about Violet. Violet Blackwood.”

That got her attention. She paused, wiping a floury hand on her apron. “The girl you had me knit the jumper for? The Slytherin?”

“She’s brilliant,” Fred jumped in. “Sharp as a knife. Helped us with the Noseb… I mean, with our… Charms theory.”

“She’s our friend,” George said, his usual humor gone, replaced by a startling earnestness. “And she’s all alone. In a Muggle orphanage. Again.”

They saw her expression soften with sympathy for a second before it settled back into deep maternal suspicion. “She sounds… like she could use a friend. But inviting a girl we’ve never met to stay for weeks is a rather large imposition, boys.”

“It’s not an imposition! It’s a rescue!” Fred argued.

Just then, Ron wandered in, sniffing the air for food. “Who’re we rescuing?”

“Violet Blackwood,” George said. “From her orphanage.”

Ron’s ears went pink. “Oh. Yeah. You should, Mum. She’s all right. Doesn’t put on airs. And she’s not afraid to tell Malfoy to sod off.” This, from Ron, was a glowing character reference.

Ginny, who had been listening from the stairs, popped her head in. “She’s the only one who can keep these two in line,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. “They follow her like a pair of sick crups.”

Fred and George shot her identical scowls, but it was too late.

Ginny grinned, seeing her opening. “Oh, don’t give me that look. It’s obvious you both fancy her rotten. Fred nearly hexed Dean Thomas for smiling at her in the library.”

“It was a reflexive jinx! He had a very jinxable smile!” Fred protested.

“And George tried to bribe Lee Jordan with a Fainting Fancy to stop asking her to Hogsmeade.” Ginny finished.

The kitchen fell silent. Ron’s mouth was hanging open. Molly’s eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline.

The twins stood, utterly exposed. For a single, panicked second, there was no joke, no deflection.

Fred recovered first, throwing an arm around George. “Of course we fancy her! She’s a vision! A queen! We have excellent taste, we’ll have you know.”

“A shared vision!” George chimed in, playing along with the bravado, though his ears were turning red. “It’s a twin thing, Mum. Double the appreciation for a witch of such caliber.”

“We’re thinking of starting a fan club,” Fred declared. “Applications will be available shortly. Percy’s agreed to be treasurer.”

Molly’s gaze swept the room: Fred and George, deflecting with the skill of seasoned politicians; Ron, offering his gruff endorsement; Ginny, fighting a smirk. All the Weasley children were united on this, and that in itself, was a force of nature.

"See you out on the pitch at six, Blackwood!" he said, his voice booming with good-natured enthusiasm. "Don't be late. We'll work on your diving technique. Can't have my best student slacking!" He gave her a wide, earnest smile before continuing to the dormitories.

The moment the staircase swallowed him, the tense mood around Fred and George shattered.

"His best student, is it?" Fred asked, his voice dripping with theatrical awe. "Wood's never called me that, and I've saved his goal more times than I can count."

George leaned in conspiratorially. "We feel we must warn you, as your official friends and advisors, that our dear Captain's interest has... evolved beyond pure aerodynamics."

Violet rolled her eyes, taking a large gulp from her butterbeer. "He's giving me flying lessons. That's all."

Fred snorted. "He's got seven NEWTs to study for, but sure, dawn lessons with a third-year from another house is the logical priority."

"He's just being nice," Violet insisted, though a flicker of doubt crossed her mind. "And he's passionate about flying."

"Oh, he's passionate about something," George agreed, his tone dry. "We're just pointing out that his interest seems... highly specialized. He looks at you with the same mad glint he gets when diagramming a new play."