Mia Potter was the other Potter. Looking almost identical to her mother, she was a force to be reckoned with. But there was only one person who could reckon with her, and his name was Draco Malfoy.
In which the youngest Potter twin finds herself fa...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✴ ✴ ✴ ✴
Suddenly, Mia found herself sitting on a bench at the end of the room inside the basin, a bench raised high above the others. She looked up at the high stone ceiling, expecting to see the circular window through which she had just been staring, but there was nothing there but dark, solid stone.
Breathing hard and fast, Mia looked around her. Not one of the witches and wizards in the room (and there were at least two hundred of them) was looking at her. Not one of them seemed to have noticed that a fourteen-year-old girl had just dropped from the ceiling into their midst. Mia turned to the wizard next to him on the bench and uttered a loud cry of surprise that reverberated around the silent room.
She was sitting right next to Albus Dumbledore.
"Professor!" Mia said in a kind of strangled whisper. "What the fuck is going on?"
But Dumbledore didn't move or speak. He ignored Mia completely. Like every other wizard on the benches, he was staring into the far corner of the room, where there was a door.
Mia gazed, nonplussed, at Dumbledore, then around at the silently watchful crowd, then back at Dumbledore. And then it dawned on her.
Once before, Mia had found herself somewhere that nobody could see or hear her. That time, she had fallen through a page in an enchanted diary, right into somebody else's memory, and unless she was very much mistaken, something of the sort had happened again.
Mia raised her right hand, hesitated, and then waved it energetically in from of Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore did not blink, look around at Mia, or indeed move at all. And that, in Mia's opinion, settled the matter. She was inside a memory, and this was not the present-day Dumbledore. Yet it couldn't be that long ago, the Dumbledore sitting next to her now was silver-haired, just like the present-day Dumbledore. But what was this place? What were all these wizards waiting for?
Mia looked around more carefully. The room, as she had suspected when observing it from above, was almost certainly underground, more of a dungeon than a room, she thought. There was a bleak and forbidding air about the place. There were no pictures on the walls, no decorations at all. Just these serried rows of benches, rising in levels all around the room, all positioned so that they had a clear view of that chair with the chains on its arms. Mia noticed a witch halfway up the rows of benches opposite. She had short blonde hair, was wearing magenta robes, and was sucking the end of an acid-green quill. It was, unmistakably, a younger Rita Skeeter.
Before Mia could reach any conclusions about the place in which they were, she heard footsteps. The door in the corner of the dungeon opened and three people entered, or at least one man, flanked by two dementors.
Mia insides went cold. The dementors, tall, hooded creatures whose faces were concealed, were gliding slowly toward the chair in the center of the room, each grasping one of the man's arms with their dead and rotten-looking hands. The man between them looked as though he was about to faint, and Mia couldn't blame him. She knew the dementors could not touch her inside a memory, but she remembered their power only too well. The watching crowd recoiled slightly as the dementors placed the man in the chained chair and glided back out of the room. The door swung shut behind them.
