❛ Potter Pure-Blood: Tradition ❜

Pure-Blood Tradition ❜

Disclaimer I do not own Harry Potter' Universe, but what I do own is what you are about to see.

Genre Angst Fantasy Trauma Drama Fame

Warnings Trigger Warning. This story is not what you think. This story deals with realistic trauma, heavy cursing, and mental Illnesses such as anger issues, HOCD, and child behavioral issues. Proceed cautiously.

Author's Note This kind of Potter may surprise you. As will this story. This series will stray so far away from canon you'd hardly recognize the intended atmosphere of it. Because this story does not follow any canon character. But eventually, the characters will be connected later down the series. Even so be warned, I have no intentions of following the books. You can't write a story and add a drastic change to the original plot - say a whole character close to canon characters - and completely ignore the astronomical rules of the butterfly effect. Tired of seeing it, so here's my take.

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Chapter Two

Pureblood Tradition

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Anne was pacing the kitchens the very early morning of my birthday. The sun was hardly even out yet but for once, I didn't dare bother her. At first. She was still in her pyjamas, mumbling to herself with what looked to be her sixth cup of coffee in her shakey hands. I could see a small pile of coffee creamers on the counter. All I could was watch, my feet unable to move from my place behind the doors. She didn't know I was there and I didn't want her to. I was afraid. She seemed like a sleepwalker, dangerous to disturb. She'd been like this for awhile now, and I was left with nothing but my intrusive thoughts.

Maybe It had been my fault. I was able to put two and two together well enough to know that there was only so much someone could take of someone as awful as me.

I wanted to say I was sorry and tell her that I'd be good from then on. But I figured they'd mean nothing coming from someone who was unable to learn her lesson the first time. Someone who's promised that same thing many times with a price. I simply couldn't help myself.

Often times, I wondered where I'd went wrong.

I'd gained the confidence to back away from the doors, but paused when I'd heard the tapping of glass. Hendrix, our big fat owl, was tapping on the window to be let in. He had a letter between his claws and the first assumption that came to mind was that It was my glorious letter, accepting me into the beloved school I'd been left to envision for so long. It was the morning of my birthday, after all. The time that wizards and witches with an early summer birthday usually got their letters.

"Is that what I think it is?" I was quick to step into the kitchen, a hopeful look coming about my face as my eyes went from her caught expression to the letter in her hands. "Is that my letter?"

She didn't seem to know what to do with herself then. The paper nearly ripped from hee sudden grip, eyes trained on my movements. Suddenly, I'd felt as though there was something that I'd done that I didn't even remember doing.

"Anne?"

"It's -" she had to swallow. "- It's not your letter."

She'd tried to change the subject by asking what I was doing awake at such an hour. I didn't bite.

And I didn't believe her because I didn't see how it was possible. The rules were simple, after all. Students got their letters earlier in the sumner if their birthday was then. Students who's birthdays were later got their letters then. My birthday was today, and I'd heard that the school term hadn't even ended yet. Surely, that was my letter.