Power and Persecution [1] || Harry Potter x OC x Draco Malfoy

1. Her New Beginning

DISCLAIMER

I do not own Harry Potter ... but if I did at least we wouldn't have to keep bringing up JK Rowling

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Another day was bleeding into the dull eternal loop that was the life of Mabel Whitlock.

The young girl of eleven sat in her designated room at St Hilden orphanage.

It was not a place one would choose to obtain as a residence, but she had come to understand from an early age that she had no home. She needed to make the best of what she was given.

And considering she had been transferred between over six orphanages since her birth, she had become accustomed to preparing to leave the one she was currently residing in at a moment's notice.

In terms of the one she inhabited currently, that moment was going to come sooner than expected, and not for the usual reasons.

The bleak colours of grey and black were painted all over the small room. She had few belongings of personal attachment that sat on a small side table to the right of her extraordinarily uncomfortable bed.

Among them included a single, torn piece of paper which was left with her at the first orphanage she was admitted to as a baby.

It was this piece of paper she was reading now for the thousandth time as she sat on a rickety wooden chair by a single-framed window.

To whom it may concern,

This is my daughter. Her name is Mabel Whitlock. Please see to it that it remains as such.

Please also see that she is cared for and watched over carefully.

When she is old enough to be able to read this, return it to her possession.

My darling Bel,

I am sorry these words are the only thing you have to know me by.

There are too many questions you will have in your years to come and too many answers I wish to give you, but this parchment is not large enough to contain them.

So I will leave you to discover them on your own.

All I wish for you to know is that leaving you brings upon me a pain like no other.

But it is for your protection that I have done so.

Please understand that.

Go out into the world and live. Find people to call your family. You will need them.

I love you with all my heart.

My shining star, my angel, my slice of heaven and purity.

Your mother.

With such a letter should come sadness, longing, grief, anger.

But not one tear has been shed by the girl as she read those words.

How was she supposed to put such meaning to such words without knowing who had written them?

Rather, it bought forth a sea of questions. Questions she had chosen to ignore as they would never turn up answers. Questions she thought of once more as she read those words again.