Chapter Text
The fireplace spat her out in a swirl of green fire. Arya stumbled onto the rug, coughing as soot puffed from her sleeves.
The familiar sitting room greeted her instantly. Firelight danced across polished wood, the grandfather clock ticked steadily in the corner, an ugly pumpkin looked down on her judgementally, and somewhere deeper in the manor, the sound of a Muggle song drifted to her ears.
Her dad’s laughter rang out.
"Back at last," he declared. "Returned to your long-suffering parents after abandoning us for Molly Weasley's cooking. Honestly, I was beginning to wonder if we were ever getting you back."
Arya groaned as she straightened, leaving a soot-smudged handprint on the rug as she pushed herself upright.
Her dad was leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, a tea towel hanging from his shoulder and the expression of a man personally betrayed by fate.
“It’s been what? Three hours, Dad.”
"Four hours," her dad corrected heavily.
"Dad." Arya’s lips twitched.
"Four. Entire. Hours."
“It was three. You managed to live through them, Dad.” Arya snorted, picking herself up, her custom now smudged with soot.
"Lily, did you hear that? She's forgotten us already."
"I heard," her mum called, the clatter of a pot following close behind. "I've been crying into the soup for twenty minutes."
"You're both ridiculous."
"Did you hear that?" her dad demanded, lips twitching.
"The disrespect," her mum agreed solemnly.
Arya barely had time to laugh before her father lunged.
She shrieked and bolted, nearly knocking a footstool aside in the process.
The chase lasted approximately six seconds before her dad caught her around the waist.
"Dad!"
"Actions have consequences."
"Your actions!" Arya gasped between laughs, twisting in his hold. His jumper scratched her cheek every time she tried to escape.
"The Heir must learn accountability."
Arya dissolved into helpless laughter as the merciless tickle attack continued.
“Alright, alright, I yield,” she choked out between breaths. “Lord Potter wins.”
Laughing, her dad hauled her into a hug. Arya buried her face in his shoulder as he squeezed her tight enough to make her squeak before finally letting her go.
He ruffled her hair as though it needed any more mussing.
“Go on then, wash your hands and come eat. I'd better hurry before Lily burns the kitchen down attempting Dorea's latest insane recipe.”
Arya snorted as her dad disappeared into the kitchen.
If it was something Aunt Dorea suggested, there was a high chance none of them would eat tonight.
At least it would be entertaining, especially if it ended with Dad belching fire like last time.
Arya stuck her tongue out at the ugly pumpkin as she passed.
The pumpkin remained judgemental.
She headed upstairs, passing the snoring portraits quietly before stopping by her room long enough to stash the collection of Zonko's products Bill and Charlie had given her.
Her room greeted her with the familiar chaos of an eight-year-old who never put anything back where it belonged. Books were stacked beside the bed, a broom leaned against the wardrobe, and a collection of dismantled magical instruments cluttered her desk, where her mum had given up trying to enforce order years ago.
In the corner beside her dresser, photographs covered the wall. Their occupants all turned towards her as she entered. Ginny and Neville waved, Sirius turned into a Grim before shifting back with a smile, while Sev raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.
The moment she opened the drawer, her eyes landed on the box of Disco Hair.
Arya narrowed her eyes. Sirius would look ridiculous with bright green hair, and Remus had even promised to help her mix in silver.
A grin tugged at her mouth before fading.
Sirius and Marlene barely came around anymore.
The last time they had visited, they hadn't even finished their tea before a message arrived and they were gone again.
Remus rarely came by these days either, and when he did, he always looked exhausted.
Arya tossed the rest of the products into the drawer, barely seeing them.
She missed them.
Worse, after what happened to Ginny's uncles, she knew enough now to be afraid for them too.
The war had always been there. Adults spoke in lowered voices and exchanged worried looks when they thought children weren't paying attention. But lately, it felt as though everyone was waiting for something terrible to happen.
Even her parents seemed more on edge than usual.
Her dad checked the enclave wards every night now. Her mum checked on her at least three times before morning, and Arya always pretended to be asleep even though the movement woke her every time.
Aunt Dorea's visits had become more frequent too, babysitting her whenever her parents were called away. As though Arya didn't know that not every late night and hurried departure ended with a council meeting.
They were fighting Voldemort.
They just thought she was too stupid to realise it.
As if she hadn't seen them carry her dad back with his leg heavily bandaged, or watched her mum spend two days pretending she wasn't favouring her left arm and insisting it was only a potion accident.
Sev had all but disappeared.
Arya shut the drawer a little harder than necessary.
Everyone kept looking at her differently too.
Even the Weasleys.
Ever since that stupid prophecy.
“Ugh.”
With a huff, she headed for the bathroom to quickly wash her hands.
“You look a bit peaky, dear,” the mirror observed gently.
“What? No, I don’t.”
The mirror hummed.
Arya scowled at her reflection.
She was not worried.
It would be fine.
She scrubbed her hands harder than necessary.
By the time she finished, the smell of baked goods and herbs drifted through the manor. Arya’s stomach growled loudly, and she quickly followed the smell.
She passed a row of portraits all snoring softly. Godrick was even wearing his customary nightdress, which always made Arya giggle. If wexins knew he wore those, half the hero worship would die down instantly.
“Lily-flower.” Her father’s laughter reached her ears, and Arya hastened her steps.
She bounded down the stairs two at a time, following the sound of her parents' voices intermingled with the Muggle tune still drifting through the house.
Halfway down, the portrait of Hardwin Potter stirred.
The elderly wizard blinked lazily at her.
“Welcome home, Heir Gryffindor. It's been ages.”
Arya rolled her eyes.
“You literally saw me this morning.”
Hardwin yawned.
“And yet it felt like a century passed with the manor dreadfully empty and no heir to protect it.”
“Ugh, I'm only eight, Uncle Hardwin,” Arya scowled. “I don't even have a wand yet.”
The portrait regarded her with the same grave look he always did.
“Greatness rarely waits for age, young Potter. The times demand much of Gryffindor's Heir. You carry Godric's legacy, and prophecy speaks your name besides. Our founder always chose wisely.”
“Not this again.” Arya groaned, her stomach swooping unpleasantly.
Just like everyone else, Hardwin looked at her as though she were Godric reborn rather than a girl who still occasionally forgot where she'd left her shoes.
“It is no small matter, young Heir. The Dark Lord grows stronger by the day and—”
“And I'm hungry, Uncle Hardwin,” Arya cut in. “Even prophesied heirs need to eat.”
Hardwin paid her no mind.
If anything, his lecture on the glories and responsibilities of Gryffindor's Heirs only gathered momentum.
With a huff, Arya left him to it.
She darted down the remaining steps and escaped towards the kitchen, following the smell of fresh bread.
“There she is.” Her mum turned from the stove as Arya entered the kitchen, then her eyebrows shot up. “Goodness, what happened to you?”
Arya looked down at her costume. The black trousers had lost some of their shimmer, and mud and soot stains covered most of her green tunic.
“Er, we played catch the gnome.” Arya tried brushing some of the dirt off. “I won though, and Ron nearly cried when one managed to get under his robes and bite him. He couldn’t sit down for hours until Mrs Weasley finally took pity on him and healed it.”
Her dad burst out laughing.
Her mum laughed too, shaking her head as she crossed the room.
“Honestly.”
A quick flick of her wand sent the mud and soot vanishing from Arya's clothes. Lily tugged the hem of the tunic straight afterwards anyway, as though magic somehow wasn't enough, before bending to press a kiss to Arya's forehead.
“You smell like a garden.”
Arya grinned.
Her mum reached for her hair next. For a few seconds, she attempted to tame it before sighing.
“Hopeless.”
“Hey.”
“Really, James, of all the things you could have given her, a penchant for mischief and Potter hair are—”
“Perfectly respectable Potter traits,” her dad interrupted. “Hair that defies gravity is part of our charm, Lils.”
“It's part of your menace.”
“Charm.”
“Menace.”
“Charm.”
Arya shook her head and climbed into her seat before the argument could gain momentum.
“We both know you married me for the hair, Evans.”
“Well, obviously.”
They both burst out laughing before her mum shook her head fondly and returned to the stove.
“Well, I hope you and Ginny managed not to burn down the Burrow this time,” her mum said. “Poor Molly still hasn't recovered from that ridiculous ritual you two attempted.”
Arya wrinkled her nose. She'd been grounded for a week after the Shield Sisters disaster, and all they'd gained from it was a useless yet constant awareness of where Ginny was and a headache that had lasted three days.
“We didn’t, thank you very much,” Arya said, then grinned. “Though Fred and George tried these new fireworks from Zonko’s and nearly set the shed on fire. Mrs Weasley thought the Burrow was under attack and went off on them.”
The smile slipped from Lily's face as she stirred the pot.
“After what happened to her brothers...” She shook her head. “It’s understandable.”
Arya’s stomach swooped unpleasantly again.
James looked up from the vegetables he was chopping. His jaw tightened for a moment before he set the knife aside and crossed the room.
“Lily-flower,” he announced gravely, producing a crumpled parchment from his pocket. “Help me decipher what Dorea was thinking when she wrote this recipe. I refuse to believe any wexin can consume this much pepper without immediately bursting into flames.”
Lily glanced at the parchment.
“Oh, that's deliberate. She’s still furious about the last council meeting.”
Arya reached for a bread roll. Council meetings always seemed to end with someone angry at someone else.
“Ah.”
“You should've let her join Augusta when she was tearing strips off McLaggen. She'd been waiting months for an excuse.”
“I was attempting diplomacy.” James’ lips twitched.
“According to Dorea, you ruined months of planning and deprived her of the satisfaction of putting him in his place. A betrayal of the highest order, James Potter.”
Arya wasn't entirely sure what McLaggen had done, but she was sure he deserved it. Last week, Aunt Dorea had called him a "giant pompous arse" and several other things that had left Arya's stomach hurting from laughter.
“The horror.” Her dad put a hand to his chest. “To think I, James Potter, have to act responsible and reasonable. It's blasphemous, I tell you.”
“Tragic.” Her mum giggled.
“It really is. Sirius won’t let me live it down.”
“There, there.” Lily patted his arm sympathetically. “I'll try not to hold it against you.”
“You were promised a rebel and ended up with a stuffy lord,” James snorted. “Tell me you'll still love me when I lose all my charm and become worse than those gits.”
“If I must,” Lily sighed. “At least you look good in those robes, Potter. Otherwise...”
Arya tried and failed to look unimpressed as her parents' laughter rang through the kitchen. Instead, she shoved the rest of the bread roll into her mouth. It was still warm.
Still chuckling, her dad returned to chopping carrots while her mum added a spice to the pot that immediately left Arya sneezing.
Lily hummed along to the song drifting through the house. Arya didn’t know the singers, though she thought the band was named after some sort of insect, something her dad loved to make fun of.
That never stopped him from listening to them.
The song picked up, and her dad began swaying slightly as he chopped. Her mum glanced over, amusement flickering across her face before she reached out and brushed a streak of flour from his cheek.
A delicious smell filled the room as her mum added another spice and stirred. Arya’s mouth watered.
A quick glance towards the stove showed dinner was still nowhere near finished. Especially if her dad kept eating the carrots instead of chopping the rest.
She scanned the kitchen for something else to nibble on.
A bowl of brightly wrapped sweets sat in the middle of the table. The red wrappers looked particularly promising.
Mum was facing the stove, distracted by whatever disaster Dorea had disguised as a recipe, and surely she wouldn’t notice if a single sweet disappeared.
Carefully, Arya stretched her hand across the table.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Arya’s hand dropped immediately.
“How come you can see from the back of your head?”
Her mum turned, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“It’s a magic poor mums acquire the moment they have mischievous children. Otherwise we'd all go grey before thirty.”
Arya narrowed her eyes.
“Maybe a little grey would look good.”
Her dad laughed.
“Careful, Cub. Your mum takes her hair very seriously. Believe me, I’d know.”
Arya snorted as her mum swatted his arm. Apparently the memory of waking up with bright yellow hair still stung.
“I already had lunch, you know,” she tried after a minute. “Mrs Weasley kept piling food onto our plates. Even Ron complained.”
“Nice try, love.” Her mum turned, pointing with the stirrer. “We’ll have dinner first, and then you can rot your teeth to your heart’s content.”
When Lily turned back to the stove, James casually flicked his fingers behind his back.
The sweet soared neatly into Arya’s hand.
He glanced over his shoulder and winked, his eyes dancing with mirth.
A snort escaped Lily.
“Lord Potter,” she started.
But Arya knew that tone. Her mum wasn’t really mad.
Still, she stuffed the sweet into her mouth just in case.
“Lily, love of my life,” James said solemnly. “It’s all your fault. She has your eyes, and you trained me never to ignore that puppy-eyed look.”
“Is it really?” Her mum left the stove, eyes narrowed, though the smile was clear on her lips.
Snorting, Arya left them to bicker. Their laughter followed her out of the kitchen as she raced towards the living room, where a collection of gifts was spread across the table beneath the pumpkin's disapproving gaze.
Her eyes flicked towards the kitchen.
No one followed.
Perfect.
She dove for the presents.
There were plenty, but her attention caught on only two.
One from Sirius and one from Sev.
Those would do.
She quickly grabbed the wrapped boxes and hurried towards the dining table for cover.
Crookshanks lifted his head as she passed, amber eyes tracking her suspiciously.
“Don’t you dare,” Arya hissed.
Crookshanks jumped off the sofa, stretching each paw one at a time before winding himself around her feet.
“Good Crookshanks.” Arya patted him before settling beneath the table with her prizes. “I’ll share the good stuff with you.”
Crookshanks immediately looked far more interested.
Before her mum could somehow realise what she was doing and stop her, Arya hurriedly opened Sirius's gift. She did her best to keep the wrapping intact so she could put it back together afterwards.
Her eyes widened at the contents.
Her godfather had practically stuffed everything he could into the box. There were sweets, prank products, Muggle candies, a miniature Gryffindor sword engraved with Heir of Mischief, a broom maintenance kit, and an entire collection of cat treats.
Giggling, Arya bribed Crookshanks with some before stuffing several sweets into her pockets.
What really caught her attention, though, was a small grim figurine nestled near the bottom of the box, a carved phoenix riding proudly between its shoulders.
She quickly picked it up. It was warm to the touch.
Curious, Arya turned it over in her hands.
A small card hung from the grim’s neck.
The moment she touched it, the card sprang open and enlarged.
Arya nearly dropped it.
The card let out a loud bark, and Arya quickly hugged it to her chest, hoping to muffle the sound.
Crookshanks hissed and shot backwards, fur puffing up.
“It’s nothing, just a card from Sirius.”
Crookshanks fixed her with a baleful look before returning to his treats.
Her godfather was the worst.
Arya peered out from beneath the table and waited. Miraculously, her mum didn't appear.
With a sigh of relief, Arya opened the card.
Happy Halloween, little mischief.
Be warned, you'll pay me back for the Sour Teeth.
My prank is already planned.
The grim is supposed to protect you. Try not to get him killed.
Miss you.
See you next week.
Love,
Padfoot.
A grin spread across her face.
Sirius was coming.
Arya squeezed the grim tightly. She was finally going to see him.
For a moment, she imagined turning his hair bright green before he even made it through the front door, and the grin only widened.
With obvious care, Arya slipped the grim into her invisible-pouch necklace, the one her dad had made so she could make mischief without getting caught.
Afterwards, she rewrapped the gift.
It looked terrible.
Hopefully her mum wouldn't notice.
Humming under her breath, Arya opened Sev's present next.
Her eyebrows shot up at the collection of potion ingredients and equipment packed inside.
Most likely his way of bribing her to stop stealing his.
“As if.” Arya snorted.
Half the fun was his reaction.
Still, she couldn’t wait to try these, preferably with him around. Maybe next time they could try brewing the Babbling Beverage like he had promised. Well, Sev would brew. Arya would just pepper him with questions and try to nick a moonstone or two.
Perfect.
She was already reaching to close the box again when something caught her eye.
Tucked amongst the ingredients sat a small dark green box.
Arya glanced towards the kitchen before carefully opening it.
Inside rested a shimmering moonstone hanging from a silver chain. The stone caught the light, pale silver and blue dancing across its surface.
Arya blinked.
“See, Crookshanks,” she informed the cat. “He pretends to complain, but this is clearly proof I'm his favourite.”
Crookshanks looked entirely unimpressed.
Grinning, Arya carefully tucked the necklace into her special pouch beside the grim figurine.
Maybe she wouldn't steal quite as many ingredients.
Probably.
She closed the box before she could think too hard about it.
She had just finished rewrapping Sev's gift when her uncle apparated into the room.
Arya immediately crawled out from under the table and put a finger to her lips.
Uncle Peter smothered a laugh.
Grinning, Arya hurried to the gift pile and returned the horribly wrapped presents to their proper places.
Then she got a proper look at him and promptly burst into laughter.
“Merlin, Uncle Pete, what even is that?”
“What, don’t I look dashing?”
The enormous moustache wobbled with every word her uncle uttered.
Arya giggled helplessly. “You look ridiculous.”
“Why, you—”
Peter lunged.
Shrieking, Arya bolted.
She made it all the way to the kitchen before he caught her around the waist.
“Dad, look!”
Her dad turned and immediately burst out laughing.
“Don't even start,” Peter warned, though he chuckled as he ruffled her hair. “Dudley insisted he needed a pirate to complete the act.”
Arya dissolved into giggles again, leaning back against her uncle to keep herself upright.
“Oh, you saw them?” Lily asked before she got a proper look at him.
Her mouth tugged upward as she set the pot on the table. Clearing her throat, she began serving dinner.
“How are they? It's been ages.”
Peter's expression softened.
“They’re alright. At least they're away from all of this.”
“Did Tuney stay, then?” Lily's eyes flicked briefly towards the living room, as though Petunia might walk through the door at any moment.
“You know how she gets about leaving those two alone.” Peter shook his head. “She promised she'll stop by later.”
Lily's face fell slightly before she turned back to serving the food.
Finally escaping his hold, Arya climbed into her seat, still fighting laughter.
“And you, young lady, stop laughing at your poor uncle.”
“But you have a moustache, Uncle Pete. And your eyebrows are yellow. And that hat is ridiculous.”
Peter wiggled the offending eyebrows.
Arya immediately burst into giggles.
Thankfully, he took mercy on her and vanished the moustache before turning his eyebrows black again.
“And what exactly are you supposed to be?”
“Morgana, of course.”
Arya yanked the stick wand from her belt and held it up for inspection.
Peter blinked.
“Oh? Since when did Morgana wear trousers?”
“She could've,” Arya muttered. “I doubt she managed much running about in a dress.”
“Running about?”
“Adventuring.”
“Ah.” Uncle Peter nodded.
“Escaping angry people.”
“Important work.”
“Exactly.”
Uncle Peter nodded as though this were a perfectly reasonable criticism of historical scholarship.
“A tragic oversight on the historians' part.”
Arya pointed her wand at him.
“Finally, someone sensible.”
Uncle Peter laughed as he pulled out a chair and sat down beside her dad.
“Why not the Gryffindor Heir?” he asked.
Arya scowled, stabbing a piece of chicken.
“No. I get enough of that already. It's like they all think I'm going to pull the sword out of my arse any minute and march off to fight the Dark Lord.”
Nobody laughed.
The serving spoon paused halfway to Arya’s plate. Her mum's hand tightened around the handle.
Across the table, her dad stopped reaching for the salt.
For a moment, only the bubbling pot and the grandfather clock in the next room filled the silence.
“It’s getting worse, Pete,” her dad said quietly, setting the salt down untouched. “The whole enclave seems convinced my eight-year-old is going to stand between them and Voldemort.”
Arya's throat went dry.
Her mum resumed serving the vegetables, though her movements had become a little too careful.
“James...” she murmured.
“We'll keep her safe, James, don't worry.” Peter shook his head. “People are frightened. And you know how wexins get when they're desperate.”
Her dad didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he cut into his food with slightly more force than necessary.
“Hmm.”
The table fell quiet for a while.
Her mum kept running a hand down her back between bites. Arya gradually nudged her chair closer until their elbows nearly touched.
“How are they, really?” Lily asked suddenly. “Has Marigold recovered fully?”
“Oh yes, she's much better,” Peter said, reaching for a bread roll. “She's become fluent in French too. Barely says a sentence these days without a few French words slipping in.”
With a discreet glance towards her mum, Arya nudged her dad under the table and shot a meaningful look at her broccoli.
Her dad followed her gaze.
His mouth quirked.
A moment later, the broccoli began its slow journey towards his plate.
Lily raised an eyebrow.
James offered an innocent smile.
The broccoli continued smuggling itself across the table.
Peter watched the escape attempt with growing interest.
“Am I witnessing a crime?”
“No,” James said immediately.
“Yes,” Lily said at the same time.
The broccoli froze halfway between their plates.
Lily sighed before flicking her wand. Half the broccoli returned to Arya's plate, while the other half landed on her dad's.
Admitting defeat, Arya pushed the remaining pieces to the edge of her plate. They could serve as decoration.
When the conversation drifted towards enclave politics, she tuned out the rest, busying herself with feeding Crookshanks beneath the table and hoping the traitorous cat wouldn't notice the broccoli hidden amongst the chicken.
Unfortunately, Crookshanks noticed everything.
The broccoli ended up abandoned beside her plate.
The cat looked insulted as he left, tail swishing high in the air.
Later, her stomach full of food and sweets, Arya found herself curled up beside her mum on the sofa.
Empty sweet wrappers littered the cushions around her, while Crookshanks purred loudly in her lap as she absently scratched behind his ears.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth.
Somewhere in the manor, the grandfather clock chimed the hour.
Arya eyed the remaining gifts spread across the coffee table.
She really should open the rest.
The one from Remus looked particularly tempting.
Later.
She'd get to it later.
Her eyelids felt strangely heavy.
Across from her, her dad and Uncle Pete had drifted back to discussing the war. The words barely registered anymore, blending with the crackling fire and the steady tick of the clock.
Arya shifted closer to her mum.
Almost immediately, an arm wrapped around her shoulders, and her mum pulled her in without even looking away from the conversation.
Arya rested her head against her chest with a sigh.
A familiar hand drifted into her hair, carding gently through the tangled strands.
Warm.
Safe.
“So, what did Sirius and Sev get you?”
Arya’s lips twitched lazily. “Don’t know, I haven’t looked yet.”
Her mum’s voice danced with amusement.
“Oh, I know for a fact that you opened both, love. Severus would never wrap his gift so atrociously.”
“A moonstone,” Arya murmured. “It’s pretty.”
“You and your moonstones,” her mum muttered into her hair, kissing the top of her head.
She ran her fingers through Arya’s hair again.
Arya hummed.
Her dad laughed at something Uncle Pete said, and Arya dragged her eyelids open.
He caught her eye and winked. Arya smiled back before her eyes drifted shut again.
“Did you have fun today?”
“Yeah, it was good.”
“Good.”
“Siri’s coming next week,” Arya mumbled. “Remy promised we’ll prank him back.”
“Did he? Well, I might help.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Sleep tugged harder.
“Come on, love,” her mum murmured after a while. “Let's get you to bed.”
“No,” Arya mumbled, eyes already closed. “Want to stay with you.”
Her mum's quiet laugh echoed against her hair.
“Alright. You can kip here until Uncle Pete leaves.”
Arya drifted off to the sound of her mum's voice.
She dreamed of moonstones and barking grims, her mum’s laughter threaded through it, her warm hold seeping into the dream.
A scream ripped her awake.
Pain shot through her shoulder as someone yanked her upright. Arya gasped as the room lurched sideways around her.
For a moment, she couldn't understand what was happening.
The fire was still burning in the hearth. The gifts were still scattered across the table.
Everything looked the same.
Except everyone was standing.
Too much noise filled the room. Too much movement. Her legs still felt heavy with sleep, and her eyes refused to focus properly.
“What?” she slurred.
She blinked hard.
Her dad stood on the far side of the room.
Uncle Peter faced him.
Someone dragged her backwards again, and Arya stumbled.
“Mum? What’s going on?”
“How could you?!” her mum screamed.
Her grip on Arya's arm tightened painfully.
Uncle Peter smiled.
In the corner, Crookshanks was yowling.
Arya stared.
Something about it felt wrong.
“Mum?”
The front door exploded open.
Arya flinched so hard her teeth clicked together.
A man stepped into the house.
The ugliest, most terrifying man she had ever seen.
“James!”
A brilliant shield burst from her dad's wand, flooding the room with light.
“Lily, take Arya and run! I'll hold them off.”
“Dad!”
Her mum spun around and practically dragged her from the room.
The world dissolved into motion.
Arya stumbled as they raced for the stairs, her knee slamming painfully into a step hard enough to make her cry out.
“Dad!”
Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.
She didn't understand.
One minute she'd been asleep on the sofa.
Now her mum was hauling her up the stairs so quickly her feet barely seemed to touch the ground.
Shouting echoed through the manor.
Spells cracked somewhere below them.
The entire house shuddered.
Arya twisted around, trying to look back.
“Dad!”
Her mum only pulled her faster.
By the time they reached the second floor, tears were running down Arya's face and she wasn't entirely sure when she'd started crying.
Her mum dragged her into her room. Arya's knees throbbed from the stairs as they stumbled inside.
Lily shoved her behind her and pointed her wand at the window.
The spell struck the glass.
Nothing happened.
“Come on.”
Arya frowned.
Another spell hit.
Still nothing.
Her mum cast a third.
The window remained stubbornly intact.
Arya stared.
The glass should have shattered.
Why wasn't it breaking?
“No, no, no, please.” Her mum's voice shook in a way Arya had never heard before. “Please. Please.”
Arya blinked.
When she looked up again, her mum was already at the door.
Spell after spell crashed into the wood as Lily layered enchantments over it. Wards. Locks. Barriers.
Arya didn't recognise half of them.
Her mum's hands were shaking.
Then Lily pointed her wand at the floor.
Her dad's voice suddenly echoed through the room.
“How could you, Peter? She's your niece.”
“Just give the lordship to me, James.”
Uncle Pete's voice sounded wrong. Cold. Awful.
“Lily could live. Arya could too.”
Her dad laughed.
The sound made Arya's stomach drop.
“Oh, James.” Her mum's voice cracked.
“Will they, Peter?” Her dad rasped. “And your lord showed his ugly mug for what? Tea and a chat?”
“You dare!” The hissing voice left her skin crawling.
Arya shuddered violently as her dad's scream echoed through the room.
“Enough.”
Her dad’s scream cut off suddenly.
“You'll give me what I want, James Potter. But first, your daughter dies.”
“You will never have my enclave, Voldemort. And you will never lay a hand on my daughter!”
Arya blinked.
Her mum was suddenly kneeling in front of her.
Tears streaked down her face.
“Mum?”
Her mum grabbed both her hands. Her grip hurt.
“I, Lily Evans Potter, call upon the life debt owed to me by Petunia Evans Potter. Let her pay it in full to my daughter, Arianna Lily Potter. Let her know no peace or rest until the debt is paid. Let her life be forfeit should she fail.”
“W-what are you doing?” Arya whispered.
Her throat felt tight.
“Mommy, please.”
Downstairs, the fighting had gone strangely quiet.
Her dad's voice carried clearly through the floor.
“Should've seen it.”
“Could you have?” Uncle Pete replied. “We're brothers, James. You would've nev—”
Something slammed into the door.
Arya screamed as the entire frame shuddered.
Another impact followed immediately, and the wood groaned.
“Arya, listen to me.”
Tears were still streaming down her mum's face.
“I love you. I'll always love you. Do you hear me?”
Arya's teeth were chattering.
“I l-love you t—”
“I am so proud of you.”
“No matter,” her dad coughed. “You can stand beside him all you like. My daughter will outlive you both. I’ll make sure of it.”
The door shuddered violently behind them, wood cracking somewhere beneath the barrage of spells.
“Arya, look at me.”
Her mum grabbed her shoulders.
“Look at me.”
Arya forced herself to meet her eyes.
“I'll do everything I can to get you out of here.”
“No.”
“You'll take the cloak.”
Arya shook her head.
“You'll go to Petunia.”
“No!”
“Arya.”
Her mum's voice broke.
“You'll go to Petunia.”
Another impact rattled the room, sending splinters skittering across the floor.
“I'm not leaving you and Dad.”
“You'll go to the Flower House.”
“Please, Mum—”
“You'll use the Floo.”
“N-no, Mum, please.”
“The Floo won't work here.” Her mum's grip tightened. “Remember our plans, sweetheart.”
Arya shook her head.
“You'll meet no one else, you'll trust no one else.”
Her mum’s green eyes shone fiercely in the light.
The entire room shook, and dust drifted from the ceiling.
“Arya.”
Her mum's grip tightened painfully.
“Promise me.”
“I-I don’t want to leave you.”
“Promise me.”
The door groaned. The wood split.
“Arya, please.”
“Mum—”
“Promise me you'll go!”
Arya cried harder.
“I don't want to.”
“I know.”
The words almost destroyed her.
“I know, sweetheart.” Her mum’s voice broke.
Something crashed into the door hard enough to make the walls tremble.
“Arya.”
Her mum never looked away from her.
“Promise me.”
“I p-promise.”
The door exploded open.
The terrifying man glided into the room.
Voldemort.
Her mum rose to her feet and stepped in front of her, wand raised, her hands steady.
“A mudblood stands against Lord Voldemort.”
“You will not get to her.”
Arya couldn't see her mum's face anymore.
Only her back.
Only her wand.
Only the way she stood between them.
“Nothing stops Lord Voldemort, silly girl.”
The room erupted.
Light and heat crashed together as spells slammed through the room hard enough to rattle the windows.
Someone screamed as another curse struck the wall, showering the room with stone and sparks. Arya flinched and threw her arms over her head. The room seemed to flash between blinding green and red light, heat rolling over her skin until she could barely tell where one spell ended and the next began.
“Mum!”
Another flash of green lit the room as a curse flew past.
The smell of smoke filled the air.
Her mum stumbled under the attack, caught herself, and immediately raised her wand again.
“You will not get my daughter.”
A curse slammed into the wall. The photographs burst in every direction before raining down around her.
For a moment, Arya’s eyes fixed stupidly on a photograph of herself, Mum, and Ginny.
Her mum was smiling.
Someone was screaming.
Arya couldn't tell who.
Her ears rang. The room seemed to tilt and shift around her with every spell that struck.
“Mum!”
A curse slammed into the wall beside her, spraying stone across the floor. Arya threw her hands over her head and curled in on herself.
The world had become noise and light and fear.
Her throat burned. For a moment, she couldn't understand why.
Then she realised the screaming was hers.
Laughter echoed through the room.
Ugly, terrifying laughter.
Arya looked up.
“Avada Kedavra!”
Green light.
Her mum fell.
The wand slipped from her fingers and clattered against the floor.
For a moment, Arya simply stared.
“Mum?”
The figure lying on the ground didn't make sense.
“M-mum?”
Mum was supposed to get up.
Mum always got up.
“Mommy?”
No answer.
Voldemort laughed again.
Arya's head snapped up.
Voldemort was watching her.
Red eyes gleamed from a pale, snake-like face, fixed on her with a cold satisfaction that made her stomach twist.
“Gryffindor's Heir,” he hissed. “We meet at last.”
Arya couldn't breathe.
“It’s a shame,” he hissed again. “I value blood, and yours is of the founder’s.”
Voldemort stepped forward.
“But Lord Voldemort doesn’t tolerate contenders.” He glided forward another step, his fingers spider-like and skeletal as they closed around a red glowing stone. “Your blood and life will serve to ensure Lord Voldemort’s immortality.”
Arya rose to her feet without thinking, her eyes still fixed on his red ones.
He flicked his wand and the room lurched dangerously around her as the spell landed.
Arya didn't look, she didn't, but she still saw what he did. Her stomach twisted violently.
The horror didn't disappear. Something else simply rose up beside it, something fierce and furious, burning hot enough to drown everything else out.
Not her mum.
“Leave her alone.”
The words tore out of her. Her voice sounded nothing like her own.
Voldemort laughed.
The stone in his hand glowed brighter.
“Oh, does the Heir object?”
“Yes.”
Her voice shook.
“Leave. Her. Alone.”
Voldemort laughed.
“And brave as well…truly a shame.”
Her dad was saying something, his voice fierce. Arya couldn't make out most of it. Only scattered words reached her.
“...command... Potter magic... defend... Heir... protect…daughter...”
“No!” Peter’s voice rang through the room.
“Time to die, Arya Potter.”
Her dad's laughter rang out suddenly, loud and desperate.
“Mischief managed.”
Voldemort raised his wand.
“Avada Kedavra.”
Green light soared towards her.
A phoenix cry pierced through the air.
The curse struck her chest.
Then everything burned.
Fire poured beneath her skin and straight into her heart. The pain ripped through her so completely that she couldn't even scream. It kept building, hotter and hotter, until she was sure she'd come apart.
Then, suddenly, it stopped.
Arya hung suspended in the air.
For a single heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze.
Her gaze found Voldemort's.
Suddenly, a blinding light burst from her chest as the phoenix cry echoed again.
Voldemort’s eyes widened.
Fiery wings erupted from the light, red and gold and blazing bright, sweeping the green curse back towards its caster.
It tore straight through him.
Then the world turned white as the manor exploded.
Then there was nothing at all.
Arya opened her eyes to smoke and dust. Her ears were ringing so loudly she could barely hear anything else.
Her chest burned, a molten, vicious thing that left her trembling from head to toe.
Coughing, she pushed herself upright and looked around. The room wobbled dangerously. She blinked rapidly.
A groan spilled from her lips, but she couldn’t hear it.
There was a hole where the wall used to be. The room looked wrong, broken and burning. Photographs still swirled through the air like a downpour of ash.
“Mum?” Her own voice sounded like it was underwater.
When she tried to move, pain tore through her chest hard enough to turn her vision white again. Arya screamed, though even she could barely hear the sound.
She tried to sit up and her stomach lurched violently. Arya barely managed to turn to the side before she vomited.
She coughed, tears streaming down her face.
Her mum, her dad.
Promise me.
You'll take the cloak.
“Cloak,” Arya croaked, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her ruined tunic.
She staggered to her feet as the room swayed around her. The pain in her chest was unbearable.
A moment later, the invisibility cloak flew across the room and nearly knocked her over. It didn't make any sense, but the cloak was here.
Promise me.
With trembling hands, she pulled the cloak around her shoulders and over her head, then stumbled towards the door.
Something bright glimmered on the floor ahead. Arya’s eyes snapped down.
Her mum’s bracelet was splayed on the ground.
A gasp tore out of her and she stumbled to a halt. It shouldn’t be here. Her mum never took it off.
Arya’s hand shook so hard she barely managed to pick it up. Her chest flared with the movement.
Bright red caught her eye as she staggered upright again. Arya froze, her eyes fixed straight ahead.
She couldn’t look.
Her mum still hadn't gotten up.
He had done something.
For one awful second she saw it again.
Bile rose to her throat.
Promise me.
The words echoed through her head.
Arya forced herself forward.
A few steps later, her foot caught on a pile of dark robes.
His robes.
Voldemort had crumbled.
Promise me.
She stumbled again, barely making it two steps before landing in something wet. Pain flared through her chest as she grabbed the wall to steady herself.
Arya looked down despite herself.
A dark red stain was spreading slowly across the floorboards.
The sob tore itself from her throat and before she knew it, she was running.
She raced down the stairs, barely noticing the tears blurring her vision.
Hardwin's portrait was shouting something. Arya couldn't make out the words through the ringing in her ears.
“Arya! Arya!”
He couldn't even see her beneath the cloak, yet he started calling her name the moment she ran past him.
His portrait was nearly sideways, his face a mask of horror.
Arya kept running.
Only when she reached the landing did she falter, her lungs squeezing painfully in her chest.
Ahead, the ugly pumpkin lay split in half, strewn across the floor. Its funny face was ruined now, the remaining half drooping sadly.
Arya’s eyes burned as she looked at it.
If she turned right, her dad would be there.
He had to be.
You'll meet no one else. You'll trust no one else.
And so would Uncle Peter.
Arya hesitated.
But her dad would protect her. From Peter. From everything.
He always did.
Her legs trembled, the urge to go to him suddenly overwhelming.
She took one step towards the living room.
Promise me.
“Arya!” Hardwin was still calling.
“Arya?” Uncle Peter’s voice rang through the room.
No.
Terror raced through her and she froze in place.
Uncle Peter came into view. He was covered in blood, and the look in his eyes was one she had never seen before.
Arya stood perfectly still, holding her breath as he looked around, his gaze passing over her beneath the cloak.
“Arya!”
His eyes snapped towards the stairs, where Uncle Hardwin’s voice still echoed, and he ran up to the second floor.
A sob rattled in her chest as she stepped backwards.
She tore her eyes away from the living room door before turning and running again.
The tears pouring down her face made everything blurry as she raced towards the kitchen. She slammed into the table, sending the basket of bread rolls tumbling to the floor. The rolls scattered wildly across the flagstones.
Arya crashed through the back door and ran into the night.
Her mum and dad had drilled countless contingency plans into her head. She couldn’t recall a single one. They just rattled around uselessly.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw red hair spread across the floor and her mum lying impossibly still.
Blood pooling across the wood.
Promise me.
Still, her feet carried her where she was supposed to go without conscious thought.
The invisibility cloak trailed behind her as she stumbled through the darkness, her legs shaking so hard she could barely stay upright.
She reached the line of thick trees that concealed the manor's hidden exit.
“Arya, where are you? Get back here!” Peter’s voice rang suddenly across the grounds. “Get back here, now, or I swear…”
“No, no, no.” She gasped, urging her legs faster as she broke through the tree line.
You'll go to Petunia.
Promise me.
Her mum's voice echoed through her head.
“I’m trying, Mum, I’m trying.”
“Arya! You stupid girl! Get back here, now!”
No.
“What did James do? What did he do?!”
She was almost by the door.
“Get back here! Don’t you dare escape!”
Something bright struck the ground near her.
Arya bit back a scream, nearly tripping as the ground exploded.
She couldn't breathe.
“You stupid girl! Do you have any idea what you've cost me?!”
Arya stumbled back into a run, and the door flared bright with runes as soon as she neared it before swinging open.
“You little idiot! I'll kill you for this!”
Arya dove through it.
The door spat her out into the empty street of Godric's Hollow.
Arya tripped as the ground suddenly went smooth, then righted herself with a gasp.
Around her, houses were lighting up, witches and wizards now standing by their windows and peering into the night.
“Arya!”
At Peter’s voice, Arya took off running again.
“Mr Potter,” someone shouted behind her. “What happened? Did he... did he attack?”
“Is James alright?”
She hoped they would slow him down. She hoped he wouldn’t hurt them.
Her uncle had stood by Voldemort.
He wanted to kill her too.
“Is little Arya safe?”
“What about the Heir?”
Arya hiccupped as she ran blindly, past the cemetery, past a crowd of wexins now gathering in the street.
Sirius. The Bagshots. The Tea House.
Her parents’ contingency plans rang in her head.
Sirius.
No.
Sirius no longer lived here.
She couldn't remember which one she was meant to use.
Remember our plans, sweetheart.
The Tea House was closer.
Arya veered towards it and kept running.
She slammed into the Tea House’s wall hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Pain flared across her shoulder as she crashed to the ground.
A sob tore out of her.
Promise me.
Her mum's voice wouldn't leave her alone.
Arya dragged herself upright, the invisibility cloak tangling around her legs.
Behind her, half the manor was ablaze.
Her dad was still there.
Uncle Pete—
No.
Not anymore.
Arya staggered towards the door.
“Please,” she whispered.
The handle rattled violently in her hands.
“Please, please, please. I promised.”
Nothing happened.
The door remained shut.
Arya sobbed harder.
“I promised. Please open.” She banged on the door. “Open, please.”
The lock clicked, and the door swung inward.
Arya nearly fell through it.
Clutching the frame to keep herself upright, she stumbled inside. The place smelled of baked goods and tea, and for one stupid second, she thought her mum and Mrs Bagshot would be sitting in the corner, waiting for her.
The Tea House was empty. The Floo sat in the middle of the hall, dark and cold.
Arya ran anyway.
The lights from the street barely reached inside. In her haste, she knocked the tin of Floo powder onto the floor, sending the lid rolling away.
Her hands wouldn't stop shaking, nor would her teeth stop chattering.
With trembling fingers, Arya ripped off the cloak and stuffed it into the invisible pouch before grabbing a handful of powder and throwing it into the fireplace.
Nothing happened.
There was no fire.
Arya stared.
“No.”
Her knees hit the floor.
“No, no, no.”
Promise me.
“Mum—”
The word broke apart.
“She—”
Arya couldn't finish the thought.
“I promised.”
Tears blurred everything.
“Please.” She screamed. “I promised!”
The fireplace roared to life, bright green flames surging upwards.
Without thinking, she threw down the powder and crawled into the fire.
“The Flower House,” she gasped.
The world vanished into green.
Arya spun wildly. She forgot to tuck her elbows, and the impact left her seeing stars.
Flashes of rooms and fireplaces passed by her. A laugh rang in her ear.
Then the fire spat her out.
Arya tumbled into a heap on the floor, landing hard enough to jar every aching part of her body.
For a moment, she couldn't move.
Then she saw a pair of gleaming heels.
Arya looked up.
Aunt Petunia stood over her.
Relief hit so hard it hurt.
Arya crumpled.
“Aunt Petunia!”
The words dissolved into sobs.
“Mum... Mum...” Arya dragged in a shaky breath. “She... she...”
The words wouldn't come.
Red hair spread across the ground. A pool of blood. Her mum wouldn’t get up.
“She…”
Petunia said nothing. She simply looked down at her, expressionless.
Arya’s throat tightened.
“I promised,” Arya gasped. “She made me promise to come to you. I left. I had to leave. I promised her I'd come here.”
“Of course she bloody did.”
Something cold dropped into Arya's stomach.
Arya looked up at her aunt then.
She wished she hadn't.
Back in Potter Manor, James Potter stood frozen in his daughter’s destroyed room.
Peter sat in the corner, weeping quietly.
But James didn’t weep, didn’t do anything. Only his eyes kept moving, jumping from Lily’s prone form to the shadows and shattered furniture around the room, as if Arya might still be hiding somewhere among the wreckage.
When an ashen Severus appeared in the doorway, followed closely by a wild-eyed Sirius, James looked at them and finally crumbled.