traitor | t.m

chapter one

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Platform 9 3/4 was just as busy as it had been a year ago, but the usual crowds were much quieter this year. Sobbing was common among mothers who were fretting over their young children as they attempted to leave their embrace, pulling themselves toward the station. Their fathers would watch over, holding their wives as they waved goodbye as if this might be the last time they saw their child, wishing that this sentiment wasn't just hyperbole.

Lord Voldemort was back. It was all over the Daily Prophet and the gossip magazines sold in the wizarding world. Harry Potter had not succeeded in killing the wicked man, which made many hate him just a bit more than they did when he claimed the Dark Lord was back two years ago.

Phoebe never indulged herself with such things. She tried not to, at least. These rumours, albeit they weren't so much as rumours as they were true, should frighten her more than the average witch or wizard.

The Fawley family was one of the twenty-eight Pureblood families left in Britain. Deemed as blood traitors, they would be one of the few deemed out by Lord Voldemort and his followers to join their cause. Her mother, originally known as Andrea Macmillan, was an extraordinary witch who married 'below her status' as Phoebe's grandmother loved to claim. Her mother would usually retort with a snarky comment about marrying a muggle instead, which made her grandmother's tomato face turn into a pomegranate in seconds, along with some casual screaming.

Her father, Marshall Fawley, was a year younger than her mother and from a much less established family, but a wonderful wizard. Phoebe was sure she had seen true love in the form of her parent's bond, when they would say things at the same time and explode with happiness, or when her mother would hold her father with the tightest embrace and blow him kisses before leaving to the Ministry. No matter how much her parents proved their love, Phoebe's grandparents never approved. A blood traitor in the family line was nearly as troubling as a muggle-born being married into the family.

The first Christmas she spent at her maternal grandparent's manor was short-lived. They were meant to stay for supper and open gifts that Christmas Eve, but they barely made it to the hors d'oeuvres when her grandma screamed at a seven-year-old Phoebe for bringing a muggle toy she'd found in the streets.

Phoebe loved collecting muggle items. She hid them in the spare space left in the attic of their small manor. Her collections involved more than a few toasters, a garbage bin, and a few hundred paper clips. She'd kept a few in her room and her trunk, realizing how incredibly useful they proved to be when studying.

The compartment she had settled into was empty, near the end of the train. She found it to be the most calming part, being able to see the landscape outside much clearer as most students preferred the front of the train. They usually got in the way.

Once the train started moving, she felt her eyes starting to drift. That morning had been hectic, as she had fallen asleep the night prior without picking anything she needed and her mother wanted to take her to Diagon Alley last minute to grab some new winter cloaks before the sale ended.

She wasn't sure when she finally fell asleep, drool drying on her chin and the book in her lap left open on a random page. In her slumber, her mind wandered wordlessly over images of Hogwarts in the winter, playing with Susan Bones and the other Hufflepuffs in the snow and making snowmen using their scarves and some rocks for eyes and a mouth. The visions quickly disappeared until she saw the castle in ruin, flashes of green and red and purple appearing through corridors and on the grounds. The Quidditch pitch was in flames, the stands breaking under the heat and leaving the grass under burning.

She then saw him. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. His dark cloak was ripped and exposed his pale skin, which contrasted against his small scarlet eyes. For a moment, she thought the most terrifying man on this earth was staring at her directly, and at that moment, his face softened and his eyes turned into a dark brown.

In the dream, she shook her head until she returned back to the normal and much calmer state of Hogwarts. She searched the Hufflepuff table for her friends, but only found people she did not recognize. Her eyes wandered for Susan's mousy brown hair and Ernie's dirty blond locks but found no one she knew.

she glanced up at the professors but they did not appear to be in the Great Hall. The table was empty, their supper plates left untouched and frozen in time as Phoebe strode to the end of the Hufflepuff table.

Across the table, on the other side of the Great Hall, she saw a mysterious figure looking over the Slytherin table. A man who stood high above his classmates stared directly at her, with the most intense glare she'd ever seen. Perhaps it was her father's good manners or the Hufflepuff mind, but she let out a wide smile in his direction.

BANG!

Her eyes shot open, only to find a blinding white light all around her. She placed her arms on the seat below her but found nothing, suddenly noticing the weightlessness of her body. Her mind soared for answers as she whipped her head around, only to find more white and no discernible figures. Was she dead? Had the train crashed and now she was in Heaven? Or... the wizard version of Heaven? Could wizards go to Heaven? Magic was technically created by the Devil, according to muggles, right? Was she in Hell? No, Hell was not this white and clean. It couldn't be. 

Then, it ended just as quickly as it had happened, and she was back in her seat. The plush of the seat felt like silk, so soft and grounding it caused her breath to calm and her heart to slow to a normal pace. Pheobe brought her finger to her lips, feeling her soft breath on her skin. Now sure that she was in fact in alive, she let her eyes roam around the compartment. 

The train seemed normal, other than a few things that seemed to look... cleaner? Maybe new, almost flashy. She shook her head in disbelief, leaving her things behind her as she ventured out of the compartment, only to find the train filled with other students she didn't recognize. 

Their outfits were the same old wizarding garb, albeit much longer and perhaps more elegant looking. Some students already had their uniforms on, the girls' skirts much longer and the boys wore grey blazers with their house emblems proudly on the left side rather than the right. Not all of them wore their cloaks, it seemed to be optional here. 

Her heart begin to race, her fingers itching on her chest as she tried to regain control over her breath. Where the Hell was she? This is not the train she departed on, and certainly not with the students she left with. She raced down the train, the sound of her feet hitting the floor erupting in her ears like symbols. Blotches of black and white stirred her from her mission to leave the train and find someone she knew, and her head began to spin. 

Her hands looked funny as she began to fall, her knees buckling under her now extremely heavy weight. Pheobe wasn't sure which part of the train she was in when the world finally became black, but she was sure she saw a flash of bright red hair before she succumbed to the shock her body felt. 

She might've hit her head on the way down, she wasn't sure. Everything felt numb as people surrounded the stranger on the train. Perhaps those around her were just as shocked to see someone wearing bright spandex and a jumper with a large checkmark on it. If only Pheobe hadn't loved muggle clothing so much, these other students wouldn't have thought her to be a muggle streetwalker.