The Snake and the Lion

Chapter 1:

It was all a lie.

From the moment I was born I was hidden, you see, for many parents, having a child could be seen as a "blessing" but being born as a dangerous lieutenant's daughter, I was nothing more than a burden, a "weak point" if you will. My father, Scabior, was a worker for our Dark Lord, more specifically a snatcher in Fenrir Grayback's gang. He was a mangey man, his hair riddled with flyaways and his eye bags consumed his face but he was damn good at his job. You would think that as a higher-up in the Lord's army my father would be a rough and calloused man, now do not underestimate him because that's exactly what he is. On occasion, he would have his more admirable moments. On my 6th birthday under the veil of cloaks and discreet uniforms, he brought me to a store. The store in question? Well frankly I have no idea because I was 6 but considering the store was jampacked with crates stacked upon crates with a variety of animals, I figured it was some form of a pet shop.

"Well, darlin' find a little thing to take." He said to me through his rough accent. I could swear at that time I felt my eyes bulge out of my skull and my face become consumed with a smile. I immediately left my father's side, running around from section to section, crate to crate, before coming across a rather small tabby kitten, unlike all the other animals it had no name, in fact, it had nothing. The cat was looking at me, its big green eyes following my every action and movement, its pupils so dilated I could practically see the reflection of the whole room. I immediately grabbed my father by the sleeve and pointed at the bent crate that the ginger cat resided in. My father looked at me with a pointed look that said "seriously?" but after realizing that my little heart was set on the kitten he grabbed the crate by the handle and huffed before marching past the presumed owner and right out the door. No one sparing a glance. And just like that, he had taught me that with enough confidence, anybody will believe you. However. For every moment like this, there would always be a reaction after, a "calm before the storm" perhaps.

A month had passed and I was in my "room" if you could even call it that, it was roughly the size of a closet and built underneath my father's house, the walls built up with water-damaged logs and the floor being a small carpet I had "found." The only light coming from a lantern that was enchanted by my father and even with the enchantment it was fairly dim. I had made a bed frame from loose planks, my twin mattress barely staying put. My cat however had found a rather comfy home on my pillow and messy bed, almost taking up the whole space. My Father, a rather noisy narcissistic man was always barging in, making my safe haven a battleground. And as I grew, he made it clear that I was nothing but a mistake. In fact, he would love to remind me after a night out with his gang. And after a while, I resented him for it, so I spent less and less time at home and more time in the woods my furry friend right on my heels. Together we studied the vast and diverse environment and became fascinated with the animals, plant life, and the constant cycle...My father did not like this, he had no way to deal with his frustration when I wasn't there. So, he made it hell when I was, on a rare occasion he managed to give me a bloody nose, one of the only times he laid his hands on me. I was shocked, to say the least, but I never underestimated my father again.

After a few years had passed I had managed to fill my brain with knowledge about the forest, the animals, which ones were passive and others that were hostile, which plants were poisonous and which ones were bountiful. But my father found it useless and rather hurriedly he gifted me a wand on my 10th birthday, it was short, thin, and rather rough with flexibility. It didn't feel right in my hands, a constant discomfort while learning my way around it. However, even with the handicap I found a way, and with it, he taught me countless spells, and anytime I messed up or couldn't manage, he gave me a wack along my back with a baton. Some days I would leave feeling more bruised than accomplished and other days I would leave without a scratch. After repeating this daily for 267 days, through rain and snow and through the blistering heat, I had finished my learning with what I had at hand. He had only given me a month-long break before he continued to push me. The first day back, he tossed me a broom, it was grey and the bristles were rough and stiff and the handle was weirdly misshapen. "Ride," he said it short and flat before leaving me by myself, well not entirely... my rather plump cat watched me through trial and tribulations. On my 13th attempt, I managed to get it to float into my palm. I let out a huff of air and went through multiple attempts of trying to lift off the ground. It was painful and my legs started to buckle but eventually, I got it. And from then on it came like second nature. I whirred through the countless trees and stumps before the rooftop spit me out,

For the rest of the month, my father stayed as he watched me fly, flinging occasional spells at me, day after day they became more constant and eventually I could dodge the spells with ease, and we saw my completion fit he told me to do it over and over again, he did this repeatedly up until my 13th birthday before rushing me into a school that I had no knowledge of, this had been his plan for the last 3 years, all the countless hours of training was devoted his "plan."