#pro equality

For the longest time all I felt was pain. There was no singular thought, no coherent feeling. Only pain. I felt it all throughout my body, and yet I felt like I had no body. I was flattened; spread out and steamrolled over repeatedly. The pain was unlike any I had ever experienced, and when I was finally given a relief I wanted to sob with gratitude.

The relief, unfortunately, was painfully brief.

And then the pain started again, but this time it was focused on my head. The worst possible migraine in history, I believed. Nothing - absolutely nothing - could be compared to that pain.

My body felt loose, wobbly, and utterly helpless. I had little to no motor control, and I could do nothing but cry and cry. At times I felt a rush of cold and the pain vanished instantly, but it only lasted for a minute, or two.

And then, one day, the pain abruptly stopped.

I woke up.

My eyes stared at the painted ceiling of the night sky. Stars twinkled, and I saw a comet shoot across the sky. There was a single waning moon to the far right corner, and when I turned my head to look at it, I realized that I was surrounded by wood bars on all sides of me. Confusion entered my mind, as I struggled to understand why I would be in a cage without a ceiling.

After another moment of staring at the bars, I began to look around and I realized how proportionately large (and blurry) all the furniture were around me.

I was inside a child’s room.

A… a baby’s room.

Fear, with more bewilderment, shot through me and adrenaline forced my body into action. I flailed around, unable to find the strength to do more than roll a little to the left and right. I looked down in horror at my tiny, chubby hands that I knew were not mine. The hands before me were pale and pink, and most certainly too tiny to belong to any adult. My arms were covered in fat, and stubby. I was wearing some kind of footie pajamas.

Impossible.

Impossible.

I tried to think back on my previous actions. I tried, desperately, to remember past the pain.

My head throbbed sharply for second, causing my brow to furrow as I winced.

Then I remembered.

I died.

I died. I know I did. There was no possible way for me to have survived what had happened. I was in my third year of medical school, I knew it was impossible for me to have survived. I remembered thinking how utterly disappointed I was about my life as my heart stopped beating and I could no longer breathe.

Then pain.

So how was I here?

I died - but now I’m alive?

I was -

I mean.

I was reborn?

How?

Why?

I was no one special. I was a groomed child who did everything right. I wasn’t mean to anyone. I had no grudges. I went to prep school, boarding school, absolutely everything my high-powered lawyer mother had me do. After graduating from high school with many university classes under my belt already, I tested in early to medical school and did everything expected of me. I studied. I pulled all nighters for the longer shifts at a chance for more experience. I practiced my sutures religiously.

I did everything right, so why do I have to go through it all again?

I didn’t want that. That would be a special kind of hell if I had to do it all again.

Wasn’t death supposed to be the end?

“Rosie?”

My gaze turned towards the front door of the room as the door slowly creaked open. A woman entered with startlingly bright green eyes and a halo of dark red hair. She approached me, her gaze warm and loving as she looked at me. There was a hopeful light in her eyes and her lips slowly upturned. “Rosie? Are you feeling better, sweetie?”

I didn’t know what to say. Hesitantly, I reached towards her, stretching my tiny fingers up in the sky.

Her eyes watered, and she swooped down and picked me up with ease. “Oh. Oh, my sweet little flower. Is the pain gone? James! James!”

Then a man appeared at the door way as the woman held me close and began to kiss my forehead and cheek. James, I assumed, had shaggy dark hair and deep blue eyes behind round glasses. A strong sense of familiarity hit me upon seeing him.

In his arms was a baby - perhaps three weeks, I would guess - who was sound asleep. “Lily? What’s - Rosie isn’t crying anymore?”

Lily was crying quietly by that point, kissing me over and over. “She’s safe now. She didn’t hit the one-month mark. Her magic finally stopped building in her head.”

Magic? Wait… Lily? James?

No way.

James choked back a sob as he stepped towards us and - and placed the baby in his arms in the middle of the air.

I stared in shock at the floating baby before James pulled us both into his arms and began to kiss Lily and I each on our cheeks. “I knew she would be okay. I knew it. Our little rose is as tough as they come.”

“Yes, love. Oh, Rosie Lily Potter you had us so worried.”

Rosie Lily Potter.

Potter.

Lily and James Potter.

So, in addition to being reborn, I was reborn as the daughter of Lily and James Potter. Likely twin sister to Harry James Potter, protagonist of Harry Potter.

Death is the next great adventure.

About a week later, I had mostly everything figured out. I had died and been reborn as the fraternal twin sister to Harry. I was (by that point) a month old.

Typically, a month old child would not be able to remember sentences, let alone an entire past life.

It would appear that all that pain I had felt after Lily gave birth to me was my brain having repeated aneurysms and the magic inside of the body constantly fixing it. My tiny brain was forced into rapid development to accommodate all of the memories and knowledge I possessed. In a typical sense, that would be impossible.

But in a magical sense, it was apparently entirely possible. The doctors had told Lily and James that my magic was building up inside of my head, and if it didn’t relieve within a month, they would be forced to cripple my magical core and turn me near-squib, or I would become brain dead. The phenomenon was called Death’s Kiss. It occurred in newborn magical infants, with a fatality rate of eighty percent, squib rate of fifteen percent, and everything becoming a-okay five percent.

The sheer luck I had was unprecedented. Not only was I reborn into my all time favorite series, but I survived the process, and I got to be Harry’s sister.

I could not have asked for a better “next adventure.”

How many times had I dreamed about being able to effect the Potterverse? And here I was with the greatest opportunity of lifetimes.

I was not going to mess this up.

I had a bucket list. And I would complete it before I was forced onto the next great adventure.

Lily was a wonderful mother. Although, she clearly was new, and at times seemed at lost with how to ease Harry’s cries. My darling baby brother (even if he was born ahead of me, given my true age he would always be my baby brother now) cried easily, like all newborns. He couldn’t yet sleep throughout the night and if for an instant he was left alone in the room, he would ball hysterically.

Lily did her best, though, and James tried valiantly to help. Lily would rock her son, while murmuring sweet nothings, while James would do odd bits of tricks to coax a smile or laugh. It was endearing to watch, and I felt incredibly affectionate towards the duo.

While they loved Harry, they never ignored me or showed favors between the two. The young couple showered us with love and attention in between every moment they could spare. When Lily wasn’t attending to us, she was working on complex and alien-looking schematics. James, though, would try to fix non existent problems around the house.

It wasn’t hard to surmise that we were already under the fidelius charm, with Peter as our secret keeper.

The thought made me sick. Peter was easily one of the most hated characters in the fandom. His slimy nature on top of his betrayal was simply unforgivable. I wished I could voice my thoughts, but what could I do? I barely had control over my own body; and there was simply no way they would believe me when I said that Peter would betray them. I could try to tell them I “dreamed” about Peter betraying us, but I knew in my heart that would never work.

Still, I would try. I had to at least try. When I was old enough to say words without drawing suspicion, I would tell them I dreamed of a “scary man” following “a rat” to us. That the rat opened the door to our home and the bad man came in. I couldn’t get more obvious than that short of telling them all I read about everything to come from a book.

That could have dire consequences that I didn’t understand.

But, that was still a solid four months (if I wanted to push it) to five months (to be safe) away. For now, it was watching the world around me, learning to control my body, and trying to get a hold of the magic inside of me.

I always thought, you know, that it would be painfully obvious I had magic inside of me if I was ever magical. Considering I had no magic in my first life, I thought for sure I would be able to notice the distinct difference between the bodies. Alas, the difference was not obvious enough I could easily detect it. In fact, the magic inside of me was so “quiet” I had to strain and focus for nearly an hour before I could properly feel it. I hoped that in time that would be easier (both from practice, and that my magic would grow alongside my physical body).

Only time would tell, though.

There was a crackle of fire, and whoosh of green flames before Sirius Black stepped into our living room. I raised my head up from where I sat in the playpen in the living room. Harry was snoring quietly on a pillow beside me, clutching onto a patchy stuffed deer. I had been playing with soft cubes for the past hour or so, attempting to force my fingers to pick them up and move them over, and over, in hopes of obtaining my previous life’s dexterity as soon as possible.

Lily looked up from her pages of work - she nearly covered half the living room floor with her pages and floating books. A smile lit up her face. “Sirius!”

“The one and only,” Sirius said with a grin and a gleam in his eyes. “How’s my favorite newly mother?”

Lily laughed. “I’m fine. James is upstairs if you want to see him.”

I squealed out loud.

Sirius turned his head, and his gaze widened. “Little Rosie isn’t crying anymore?”

Lily beamed, levitating herself up so she could stand up and hop over her papers. “No. Everything is fine now. She hasn’t cried all week.”

I squealed again, reaching up my hands, trying to grab the attention of one of my favorite - ah, can’t really say character anymore, could I? - person ever. Sirius’s smile stretched widely over his face and he hurried over to me to pick me up. Large hands grasped me and swung me up high. “Look at you, Rosie! Look like a little princess in that dress.”

I giggled with delight, reaching out towards his face and patting his cheek. Lily smiled at the two of us, reaching over and tucking behind a strand of dark red hair behind my ear.

“She looks exactly like you, Lily,” Sirius said, readjusting me in his arms. “Got your hair, eyes, nose, mouth - mirror image.”

“She has James’s curls,” Lily corrected.

Sirius patted the top of my head, running his fingers through my unruly hair. “That she does. She’ll be beautiful.”

The thought made me laugh. Beauty was something I had never associated with myself. Scrubs and dark circles were all I could see myself with for the past three years of my life. Even with gorgeous parents such as Lily and James, I still couldn’t imagine myself as one of the pretty girls in school. It would be neat if that happened, but I certainly wouldn’t hold out hope.

“She’ll be the most beautiful girl in the whole world,” Lily bragged, kissing my forehead.

“James and I are going to have to beat the boys away, huh,” Sirius joked.

“Or girls.”

“Or girls,” Sirius corrected.

“Padfoot?”

James’s voice drew our attention towards the stairs where he hopped off the last stepped and beamed at his best friend.

Sirius grinned. “Prongs! Been too long.”

Sirius handed me to Lily in order to man-hug James, the two men laughing and already starting to whisper mischievously to each other. Lily rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to help me keep them in line, Rosie.”

I patted her cheek. That would be an impossibility.

At five months old I had finally achieved control over my body. I still lacked the strength and stamina to do many things, but I was greatly relieved that I wasn’t quite so helpless. Since I had reached the standard age (albeit a month early) for most children to start speaking, I decided to begin talking.

It was getting dreadfully boring squealing, pointing, and crying to communicate. Although, I had to hand it to Lily, James, and Sirius for picking up on my cues relatively quickly. Sirius came by about once a week when he could. He only stayed a handful of hours - enough to play with Harry and me, and update the Potters on the warfront. I had yet to see Peter, thankfully. I wasn’t sure I would be able to not scream in rage at him for what he would do to this loving family.

And it was a loving family. It was absolutely nothing like my previous homelife. I felt no obligation, or expectation placed upon me. Lily and James were doting parents, and tried their best to keep us happy in an obviously dark time. It was admirable, and it made my heart ache even more so at how Peter would betray them.

I would do my best, though. I had to let them know without giving on how much I knew. I had no idea what would happen if someone else got their hands on all of my knowledge, so I had to be absolutely careful to not overtly give anything away.

Oh, and of course study Occlumency as soon as I was able. I was certain I would be able to have quick grasp on it, since I already had the self-discipline from my past life instilled in me.

I played with Harry’s hair in our playpen. Harry’s bright green eyes lit up while he tried to fit a cube into a circle. His hair was soft, fluffy, and bounced back up when I patted it down. Harry enjoyed having his hair played with, and we quickly found that it soothed him when he cried.

Lily was preparing dinner for us (plus Sirius), with James’s help. She waved her wand, and potatoes began to peel themselves before being placed into a  boiling cauldron. James, meanwhile, was mixing a cake batter (who knew he loved to baked?) while telling Sirius to “watch his damn language”.

My stomach rumbled, and I stood up from the playpen. I leaned heavily onto the red gate, watching the trio of adults. I cleared my throat and then said (squealed more like), “Mama!”

Everything froze. All adults turned towards the playpen, and Lily’s face morphed into sheer excitement. “Rosie?!”

“Mama!”

Lily screamed, leaping up into the air and then shooting across the room towards me. “Rosie! Did you say Mama?”

“Mama! Papa!”

James dropped his bowl of mix, his face bright as can be as he ran towards us. Lily picked me up into the air, twirling me around before James then picked both of us up. I repeated their titles in a chant, warm feeling of happiness bubbling inside of me that I could make such wonderful people so happy. When the spinning was done, James picked up Harry and ruffled his hair. “We have the brightest kids.”

“Papa hungry.”

“Look at that,” Lily exclaimed. “Her first words and sentence! She’s so early - so bright!”

Pretty sure this constitutes as cheating, but the compliment is still appreciated.

“Let’s feed the pups, then,” Sirius said, giving me a wink. He had cleaned up the mess in the kitchen during the commotion.

“Paddy!” I declared, pointing at Sirius.

Our godfather gave us a splitting grin and eagerly stole me from Lily’s arms; she whipped out her wand and threatened to hex him into tomorrow if he didn’t give me back, but he danced around the house and essentially played monkey in the middle (Lily in the middle, and I as the ball) with James. Harry squealed with delight, watching the game and sparks of magic around the house.

By the time it was done, dinner was well over burned and they had to start again, but nothing was able to shake the smile on their faces for the rest of the evening.

The next night, when Harry woke up screaming, I screamed alongside of him. It wasn’t hard to coax tears out - the hormones in my body were as powerful as puberty - and when the parents came to the bedroom Lily picked up her soon and began to rock and calm him while James picked me up and rubbed my back.

“Shh, shh,” Lily soothed. “It’s okay Harry, Mama’s here.”

James began to rock me in place. “It’s okay now, Rosie. It’s okay.”

“Rat,” I hiccuped. “Bad. Bad rat.”

James kissed the top of my head. “Bad rat?”

“Bad rat. Bring bad man.”

“The bad rat brings the bad man?” Lily murmured, taking Harry over to the changing table.

James kissed me again. “There, there, Rosie. There are no bad rats. You’re safe.”

“Bad rat brings bad man.”

“Do you think - ?”

“Of course not, Lily,” James exclaimed. “It’s simply a bad dream. The doctor told us she could have recurring bad dreams after recovering from Death’s Kiss. They’ll go away in a month, or so.”

Wait, what?

Shit.

Every night Harry woke up crying, I would cry alongside him and tell them about the bad dream. With stubbornness only a wizard could possess, James continuously dismissed the dream and reassured Lily it meant nothing. After a month passed and I continued to have the dream, James became a bit more hesitant.

The next time Sirius came by, he carried armfuls of books. I wasn’t able to see the titles, but James and Lily became engrossed in them for three days.

Upon emerging from their readings, they both looked immensely relieved.

My next nightmare of Peter betraying them, and they had me drink an odd white potion that bubbled down my throat.

Again, and again it happened. They never mentioned thinking for an instant they believed my dreams. As time went on, I got a bit more elaborate in my dreams, describing Peter as best as I could, but they never faltered.

(Later on, I would learn they would discover that children affected by Death’s Kiss were plagued by worse-case-scenario nightmares. They picked up on the worst possible outcome that could occur every night and for many years they would dream about it. It happened less than one percent of the time, but given that I was already in the five percent margin for surviving Death’s Kiss without being turned squib, they figured I was in the one percent, too. So no matter what I said, what I described, they would only ever view it as a dream and force-feed me a dreamless draught.)

I was fearful of what was to come. I wished Dumbledore would come by, but he never did. I even tried to drop hints that I needed to see him (I dreamed about him coming by, and that it made me “very happy”), but nothing worked.

Short of telling them the absolute truth, I was running out of ideas.

As we neared our one-year birthday, my mind was becoming more, and more flustered. My magic lashed out accordingly, and Lily and James were forced to put me to sleep frequently so I didn’t accidentally hurt myself or Harry.

I feared I wouldn’t be able to save them.

But, I had to keep trying.

On our one year old birthday, Harry woke up first with an excited squeal. He was levitating in his bed, slowly drifting up towards the ceiling from a burst of accidental magic.

It brought a smile on my face to see my brother so happy in the morning. He didn’t have a lot of accidents with magic, unlike me, but when he did it usually revolved around levitating or summoning items to him.

My bursts had died down the couple weeks leading up to the birthday, as I was able to get a very vague hold on them. Thankfully, I could sense my magic a lot easier after months of practice, but it was far from perfect. I still couldn’t command it to do as I wished, but that was to be expected. Apparently witches and wizards developed their magic up until the age of ten rapidly. Their magic would steadily grow, along with spurts of significant growth spurts that caused the magic to lash out. It was why children did not attend magical school until ten, because their magic would be unreliable until it leveled out in its growth. There were instances where people had bursts throughout puberty, as well, but nowhere near as common as childhood.

Magic during childhood was unreliable. It struggled to fit inside the growing body, and fought to stay calm. At times, it really seemed like it had a mind of its own. The only thing in tune with its desire, and my desire, was to keep the physical body safe and healthy.

But, I was stubborn.

If I wanted to do the things I wanted to do, I would need a hold on my magic sooner than ten years old.

So, every night after Lily and James tucked me in and fed me a dreamless potion, I laid in bed and tried to call forth my magic.

I tried to bring it towards my hand and push enough of it out of my body to see it. It took nearly an hour every night (sometimes two, if unlucky), but I had faith that dedicated practice would fruit success.

James was the first to enter our bedroom, laughing at seeing his son floating in the air.

Harry clapped his hands. “Papa!”

James reached up and plucked Harry from the air. “Morning, Harry. Happy birthday!”

“Happy birthday, Harry,” I chirped.

James waved his right hand towards me and I felt the tug of his magic. I floated out of my crib and into James’s right arm. Harry, in his left, reached towards me and hugged me. I kissed his cheek.

“Happy birthday, Rosie,” James told me.

“Happy birthday,” I echoed, patting Harry’s cheek. “Cake?”

“Later,” James promised me. “How about we head downstairs? Paddy is here!”

“Paddy!” I squealed with delight.

James carried us down stairs, and we found the living room to be lovingly decorated with banners, posters, pictures, and presents. A shaggy black dog laid on the carpet in the middle, his belly up in the air. I screamed with joy, squirming to play with Sirius in his animagus form. James laughed and sat me down on the living room floor, and then headed to the kitchen with Harry to work on our birthday cake.

My tiny toddler legs moved as quickly as I could towards the happy dog who playfully growled at me. I leapt onto his belly, hearing the soft umph from him before Sirius rolled over and grabbed my the back of my shirt before tossing me up into the air. I felt his magic coil around me, levitating me in the air before gently lowering me down. I fell onto the soft carpet onto my bum before scrambling to stand back up and proceed to chase Sirius around the carpet.

He would playfully catch me again, and again, tossing me into the air and then levitating me down.

It was an absolute delight, and I relished it.

I hadn’t gotten around to writing out James / Lily’s death. For the most part it follows canon, but when Sirius attempts to give Rosie and Harry to Hagrid Rosie throws a massive fit. She uses her magic to stick to Sirius with such stubborness Sirius ends up having to go with her to Dumbledore instead of confronting Peter. This results in Sirisu never getting sent to prison, Peter marked as the traitor, and Sirius taking guardianship over Harry and Rosie. However, Dumbledore is insistent that they live out of society, for their safety. 

The following scenes are life for the quiet family, and are pretty choppy. 

Sirius sighed quietly, and Remus poured each of them a glass of firewhiskey. I hugged my blanket around me, as I sat on the top step and peered through the railing into the living room below. The two friends sat on the couch, Sirius looking over an official-looking parchment and muttering. “Why? Why would she do this?”

“Who can say,” Remus murmured, taking a shot. “What are you going to do?”

“What can be done? I’m Lord Black now, now that that bitch died,” Sirius grumbled, then snorted. “The family I tried so desperately to escape, and now that title is bonded to me until death. That spiteful bitch.”

Remus patted Sirius on the shoulder as Sirius took another shot - that was his four that I had seen. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Not a lot can be done. Want an estate?” Remus gave Sirius a weary look. “No, thanks.”

Sirius winced. “If I leave it to rot, as an official Lord, I’ll be charged fees for abandoning a Noble and Ancient home. I can’t move the kids there, shit’s filled with dark magic.”

“Won’t Kreacher be able to maintain it?”

“That bastard is too old. I would have to purchase another House Elf to help him, at the very least.”

An idea popped in my head. “Paddy? Moony?”

Both adults turned up towards the staircase, and Remus stood up. “Rosie? What are you doing up?”

“I don’t sleep well sometimes,” I said, squeezing through the bars on the stair and tumbling into the air. Sirius immediately cast a slow-falling charm on me, and then levitated me over towards them. He caught me and placed me in his lap.

“We should get you to bed, though.”

“But, I have an idea,” I protested.

The adults chuckled at the idea of a three year old having an idea that would be prudent to their predicament.

“Bring Kreacher here,” I said.

Sirius shook his head. “He’s not someone to have around kids.”

“Bring Kreacher here,” I repeated stubbornly, “and hire a new elf to clean the old place. It’s filled with Dark, right? We might need some of those stuff later. I bet Grandpa would agree.”

Remus’s brow furrowed. “Did this come from one of your dreams, Rosie?”

“Yes,” I lied. “I dreamed about Kreacher being here. We will need him. He is a good boy.”

Sirius grimaced. “I don’t know - ”

“Sirius, remember what Dumbledore said - ”

What did Dumbledore say?

“Yeah, I - ”

“Would it hurt to try?”

A sigh. “No.”

“Kreacher?” I called out, sitting up in my bed.

Kreacher appeared in my room with a snap, tired yellow eyes glaring hatefully at me. “How can I help the young mistress?”

“Regulus’s locket.”

The elf froze, his eyes widening. “What?”

“The locket he told you to destroy - it’s very special. It can only be destroyed through basilisk venom, a dementor’s kiss, or fiendfyre. Understand?”

Kreacher gaped at me. “Y-Yes.”

“Will you be able to destroy it now?” I asked him. “Give me an honest answer.”

“Yes,” Kreacher said.

“Good. Go do it.”

And he was gone.

EMPs were not overtly difficult to make. Anyone could make them, really. They required lithium batteries, wires, soldering experience, and time. After confirming, and reaffirming, that I could use technology under the wards (but at the very edge, and not inside the heavily magicked house), I set about at creating a makeshift treehouse to use as my workshop. I needed a safe place to create several dozen EMPs for the first step of my plan.

Plus I always wanted a treehouse.

It didn’t take much asking for Sirius to get some wood and make a treehouse for me within a day. It did take a little arguing on my part for him to not put any enchantments inside of the treehouse, but he relented soon enough.

It was a small, cute little thing. He built a ladder into the large oak tree, and put together a small house-looking abode. It was big enough to accommodate children, but once I hit puberty I would have to squat and crawl around to get around the room. He put in a couple tables, and we brought out an abundance of blankets and pillows and anti-flame-spreading candles.

Harry adored the treehouse, and he frequently went up there to read his beloved books. Sirius, thankfully, consented to our rule that no adults would be allowed inside of the tree house, and when the two of us went up, he would pull out the radio and sit outside listening to our laughter, and the music. Despite being a man child, Sirius was at loathe to let us out of his sight completely.

After obtaining the treehouse, I had to get the supplies to create an EMP. The hardware store had everything I needed, and thankfully Kreacher was more than capable of obtaining the items discreetly and dropping them off in my treehouse. I also had Kreacher pick up leather gloves, as a precaution against forensic evidence.

Then, it was time to create.

I headed up into the treehouse in the early morning, Harry quietly following behind me and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

He had another nightmare, that night, and had crawled into my bed. I didn’t particularly want him to see what I was making, but it wasn’t such a big deal that I felt the need to hide it. Harry was good at keeping secrets, and if I asked him not to tell anyone else, he wouldn’t.

We crawled into the treehouse, and the candles flickered alive upon us entering. Harry immediately went towards his corner of pillows and blankets and flopped down. I pulled up a tiny chair to the bench, and dumped out the supplies from the first bag Kreacher placed upon the bench. I rummaged through everything before I pulled out the soldering gun, and numerous battery packs. I would need to use quite a few of the batteries to power the soldering gun, since we had no electrical outlets.

I set to work creating the first EMP. The process took nearly two and a half hours (because I had to be meticulous, and double check everything. It would become faster after practice, but for now it was slow-going.

Harry stopped reading his book after I finished the first EMP and looked over at what I created. “What’s that, Rosie?”

“Secret,” I told him. “Can you keep it secret?”

“Yeah,” Harry said firmly, nodding his head as his eyes grew wide. “What is it?”

“An EMP. It disrupts electricity.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s what Muggles use in place of magic.”

“Why do you need that?”

“To help keep the stature of secrecy.”

“Why?”

I turned around and pinched his nose. “Ask me when you’re older.”

Harry’s nose crinkled in distaste, but he did not ask further. He always was such a good boy.

“Kids?” We popped our heads out of the treehouse’s window as Sirius stepped outside the backdoor.

Harry grinned and waved. “Up here, Uncle Paddy!”

Sirius waved back, smiling at us. “Want some breakfast?” Harry nodded eagerly and dropped down the tree house hole onto the thick grass below.

I didn’t need the EMPs. All I needed was the cloak of invisibility, a broom, the spells Wingardium Leviosa, Silencio, and Alohomora down pat. I had spent the past three years perfecting the past three spells to the best of my ability. I could perform them without the wand, but it took great concentration, and unfortunately I still needed to speak them.

The EMPs were to provide an explanation as to why the security cameras didn’t work. I would activate the EMPs when I reached the goal, and in the thirty seconds it took for security to notice the error and call the police, I would levitate as many of the items I could under the cloak and into the expandable pouch.

With the camera’s down, they wouldn’t see the levitations, and the statue of secrecy wouldn’t be overtly violated. While they swarmed the place, I would hide in a corner on my broom under the cloak. Even if Aurors came, the cloak was far too powerful and would hide me from them. Then, I would make my escape and return home.

I had to place the EMPs around the museum - even in parts that I wouldn’t go to - and set the timer on them to trigger in ten minutes after placing them.

It wasn’t a lot of them, but I figured this would have to be fast.

If all else failed, I had the emergency portkey Sirius gave each of us. I hoped not to use it - because it was a one-time use, and explaining to Sirius why I had to use a portkey would be tricky. But, it was there.

I descended upon the V&A museum in London, adrenaline and anxiety chorusing through me.

A part of me was thrilled - I was a thief! I was stealing! Like from Skyrim, or GTA.

In my previous life, I would have never considered it. I hadn’t even shoplifted before, yet here I was about to commit numerous illegal acts for the sake of a plan that I wasn’t even sure would work.

But, I needed the money. I needed the money and power fast if I wanted to do the things I needed to do.

I couldn’t access the Potter vault any time soon; nor was I talented enough to steal from Death Eaters (as I plan to do later).

All I had was my previous life’s knowledge of technology, and magic at my disposal.

And an undeniable urge to have no regrets this time around.

At least I could hopefully cross off Become an Art Thief off my bucket list after tonight.

I hovered before the back door of the museum before I raised my finger and went through the motions of Alohomora. It took three tries, but I finally got it and the door swung open. Then, moving as quickly as I could, I began to place the EMPs around each corner. I flew around the patrolling guards, and none of them noticed.

When I reached my goal: the crown jewelry room (filled with old royal crowns, uncut diamonds and other precious jewels, as well as antique and priceless jewels). I pulled out completely ordinary rocks from my expandable pouch, and took a deep breath.

1986: before bullet-proof glass was implemented in all museums, and perfect computer security.

My timer for the EMPs went off and I threw as many rocks as I could at the cases. I urged my broom forward, grabbing what I could and stuffing it into the expandable pouch, while levitating what was too far away towards me with my other hand. I heard shouts, as security officers sprinted through the hallways.

“Security is down! I can’t call for backup?!”

“We must have intruders, someone get the police!”

“Phones are down!”

When an officer came into the room I was in, I stopped everything, pulled the cloak tighter around me and began to make my escape. Thankfully, the EMPs worked a bit too well and the prevented the gates from coming down.

I was out the backdoor and soaring through the night sky again.

It wasn’t right, what he did. No matter how bad things got, deliberately harming children to get back at their parents was never going to the answer, nor was it forgivable. It was an awful, and cruel, thing to do.

But I could understand it.

Strictly from the psychological standpoint, at least. Shunned and forced into self-loathing isolation would permanently damage anyone’s psyche. Spending years alone, longing for acceptance but mercilessly turned away at every attempt would break even the strongest men. In addition, society itself would go out of its way to harm him for simply existing. Werewolves were the snubbed-ilk that society perpetually spat upon and conveniently looked the other way when it suited their needs. Anyone would grow bitter from that. Anyone would want justice, would want someone to know how unfair society was.

Fenrir Grayback made it his life goal to convert as many as he could, to force society to acknowledge werewolves and force them to accept them.

For someone left uneducated, alone, and consistently spurned, it was the only idea he had; the only hope he had.

So while his actions were deplorable, and unforgivable, I could understand them.

 And I detested the magical society more so for it.

I didn’t understand how I knew where to find him—didn’t understand how I knew to send the owl addressed to Fenris Gray. It was one of those odd things that floated in my mind and I had to wonder if maybe I read about it on Pottermore, or something.

I made a little basket with food, water, and basic medical supplies. I added a thick blanket because it was cold, and I knew he would be sleeping outside. Then I made a little letter:

To Fenrir,

You do not know me, and we will not meet for some time. You may call me  Enáretos, and you should know that I am on the side of the werewolves. I hope the basket helps you.

Your friend,

Enáretos

A small and simple gesture, but it was the first step I had to take. 

If I wanted to fix the prejudice in society, I had to acknoledge its mistakes and try to make it right.

There would be about a years’ worth of stealing, with Dumbledore growing suspicious. During this year the MC would continue to send care baskets to Fenrir, who would distrubute them to over werewolves on her behalf. A sense of trust is built between the two, and more of Fenrir’s backstory is explained.

At long last I had the money.

A part of me still felt a built guilty from stealing—especially from perfectly nice places—but the guilt was shoved aside in favor of how the end justified the means. I had never put my stock into that saying before, but I honestly believed my cause warranted a little flexibility with the law. I was, physically, a child. The idea of sharing my knowledge with the “adults” of the world sent me into a quivering mess that I knew I would never be able to reach out for help willingly. I could—I supposed—wait until I was physically an adult, but the idea of waiting around and letting others suffer for decades because I couldn’t handle a little rule breaking made me sick. It seemed like a pretty flimsy excuse to me, especially since I could always purchase back the items I pawned off with my Potter inheritance as an adult and give it back to the museums. Or donate their value anonymously.

Returning to the point, however.

I had the money.

Using Enáretos I purchased a large stretch of land—nearly a thousand acres of land—and began to put well over half my sum of money into putting up defenses, and building empty homes and shops inside of it. I hired people to build large concrete walls with barbed wires to discourage muggles from trying to enter, and I ordered them to pave roads and plant trees. I ordered the construction of several dozen greenhouses, and hired a handful of magical herbologists to begin growing the ingredients necessary for wolfsbane potion. I hired Gringotts to put up the best wards money could buy—and boy did they cost me a pretty sum, but I hoped it would be worth it.

The whole project would take a year, which would give me time to bribe the officials and press in preparation of what was to come.

I only hoped it would work.

The first party I bribed was one of the neutral parties, led by Lord Greengrass. They sat square in the middle of most of the debates, barely swaying to either side unless it benefited them directly. I sent them pretty things, and dangerous things. I sent Lord Greengrass precious gems I had personally stolen, and I knew his daughters would adore them. The party treated my bribes with no obvious response, likely waiting to see what I wanted from them. Through letters as Enáretos I only hinted at wanting to build a sanctuary for several months. It wasn’t until the leader of the party himself asked me directly what I wanted that I answered with care.

A sanctuary for werewolves.

I would pay for it, provide security for it, and handle the distribution of wolfsbane. It didn’t need to cost their party a dime, and it would do nothing to harm them to support me. The party didn’t care for what was right or wrong, they only cared about self-serving, and their families. So I painted them pretty words of how it would put their families at ease if all the werewolves were kept in a safe place, and not forced to run wild and risk random attack. I waxed gentle pictures of how my sanctuary could—in a few years of production—turn into Britain’s largest provider of rare herbs, and save Ministry a small fortune in having to important.

I told them I would consider it a favor if they supported its construction.

And after a total of nine months of bribing, and wheedling, I had their support. Lord Greengrass even offered to be the one to put forward my proposed bill since I—Enáretos—would not be able to attend.

I accepted his offer with gracious thanks.

The next party I curried favors to was not nearly as hard to persuade. It was Madam Longbottom’s party, the more Light-Conservatives. I knew she would take offense to bribes, so I skipped straight to a long-winded debate that lasted five months. Madam Longbottom wasn’t adhered to her prejudice of werewolves, but she didn’t see the value in assisting them, either. Eventually I was able to wear her down by arguing about how it was the ethically right thing to do in a manner that made her think of her lost son.

Low-blow, I knew, but a necessary one.

Next I courted Amelia Bones and fellow law-lovers, using how practical it would be for her aurors if the werewolves lived one place; of how safer it would make the public, etc. She only took a month.

To my friend,

I’m sure you have already heard the whispers of my plan.

Yes. It is true. I hope to create a safe haven for all werewolves to live in peace. I know it will take time for me to change society to fully accept those afflicted with the curse, but in the mean time I wish to give your fellow brothers and sisters some peace. I will personally provide security for the establishment until such a time that they can provide their own law-enforcement inside. I have already set up several businesses that are more than happy to relocate and provide merchandise. I have two healers who are happy to follow their families into the sanctuary and offer their care, and one potions master—so far—who will brew the wolfsbane potion.

I know it is not the solution you want, but I hope it will provide a safe space for until the time I have fixed society.

I must thank you for your patience and belief in me, my friend. I have sent several more blankets and basic first-aid to help those you come across. Please enjoy the cookies I baked, as well.

Your friend,

Enáretos

PS: Dolores Umbridge is a viable threat to my haven. It would be helpful if she could come to understand your situation better.

To my friend,

Elena sends her thanks for the food, and my pack expresses excitement in the prospect of having a home. It feels strange to say, and had anyone else but you told me about it I would not have believed. I have scouted the land, and watched them work for a few months now. I know those wards were not cheap, and the gardens look nice.

 Have you thought of a name yet?

Your friend,

Fenris

I think Umbridge will see our view in a new light on the fifteenth.

To Rita Skeeter:

My dear, we haven’t had much chance to talk, but I thought you might want a little tidbit of juicy information. Umbrdige has been ramping up bills against werewolves for the past few months for a reason.

I think you’ll be able to find that wonderful reason if you catch her on the fifteenth this month, after the moon has risen.

Happy hunting,

Enáretos

End, for now.