Ancient: The Legacy of Slytherin

Ancient

*Content warnings: Domestic violence, abuse, violence.*

1890. September. Eight months before the Goblin Rebellion of Hogwarts.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror as if she were a stranger, blue-green eyes staring back at me with disdain. My long black curls weren't behaving today, not even in the slightest. Sometimes I swore they had a mind of their own, twisting and turning themselves like snakes into each other. I huffed and decided that a bun would have to do for today.

It's only the most important day of my life.

"Arabella! The carriage is here, dear!"

I bounded down the stairs at the sound of Eleazar's voice. Although now I suppose I needed to call him Professor. People would be talking enough about the new fifth year, I didn't need more gossip swirling because I called Fig by his first name.

"Ready! How do I look?" I stood in front of him with a goofy grin, hands on my hips, eyebrows raised.

He took me in, smiling widely.

"You've grown into a beautiful, confident young witch, Arabella Gene. You'll do great things at Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Professor. Suppose I ought to get used to calling you that."

"Yes, that would be appropriate. Are you ready for your greatest adventure yet?"

There were so many implications laced into his question. But I had spent most of my life alone and isolated. I was ready. Ready to meet new friends, ready to understand my magic better, ready to take on whatever challenges the year threw at me.

"You always said, 'Adventure is waiting for you around every corner. You need only peek your head out and open your heart.'"

Fig's lips turned up into a sad smile.

"Actually, Miriam is the one who used to say that to me. I simply passed on her teachings to you."

The mention of Miriam always made my heart sink. She was taken from us too soon, before I ever had the chance to truly know her. It wasn't fair, but life rarely was.

"I'll honor her legacy, Eleazar. I promise."

He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed, and I savored this last moment of peace before the chaos ensued.

As we sat in the carriage and Miriam's old colleague from the Ministry, George, rambled on about something, I stared out the window and reflected on how exactly I ended up here.
+++

1889. London.

"Arabella dear, please hurry or we'll be late."

"Coming!"

I ran down the stairs quickly, not wanting to anger my mother further today. She had asked me to clean the dishes earlier in the day and I had forgotten, so she lectured me on responsibility. It was easy for her to say-- she used magic to do everything quickly and perfectly, just the way my father liked it.

Magic I didn't possess.

Mother assured me that if I had inherited our family gene for magic, it would have already manifested. But it hadn't, so it was assumed that it skipped over me, which hadn't happened in our family for hundreds of years.

I didn't know anything about my ancestry because my mother refused to discuss it. All I knew was that we came from a long line of witches and wizards, all who possessed magic. My whole family treated me like an outcast for most of my life, as less than. I often found myself having to perform muggle tasks for them, which really meant I was doing everything they didn't want to or feel like doing. And if I didn't, my father made sure to correct my behavior for next time.