On October 31, 1981, Lord Voldemort attacked the Potter's, set on a mission to kill Harry Potter, the baby boy who would ruin his plans and bring his downfall. Underestimating the young boy and his family, Voldemort is vanquished, never to be heard...
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TW: Abuse, mentions of abuse, mentions of suicide
MJ groggily awoke to the sound of hushed giggling on the morning of Christmas Eve, quickly followed by a soft dip at the edge of her bed. Still feigning sleep, MJ remained still, allowing for the small figure perched at her feet to crawl up closer to her face. She let this continue until the figure was hovering directly over her head, strands of dangling hair from the other person bringing a familiar tickle to the surface of her skin.
"BOO!" MJ exclaimed while opening her eyes, drawing a shriek from the mystery person as she hooked her left arm around the small wriggling body, sitting up and using her free hand to mercilessly tickle their sides. "Say you surrender or face the wrath of a thousand tickle monsters!" she laughed.
"I-I s-surrender!" the mystery person pleaded, her laughs subsiding as MJ released her, flopping back into the springy mattress. The small girl caught her breath, greeting the former with a "Happy morning Jae!"
"Good morning, Aimee," she responded, readjusting so the younger girl could cuddle into her side. Three years ago, Aimee's parents had both died tragically in a motor vehicle accident, and with no other relatives to stick her with she was taken to the orphanage. Now at the ripe age of eight, her ginger curls framed her face perfectly, chocolate brown doe eyes shining with an innocent curiosity only a child could ever hold.
"I mi-missed you while you-you were at school," Aimee muttered, her face nuzzled into the soft fabric of MJ's shirt as the older girl comfortingly ran her fingers over her curls. "I'm always b-bored, nobody else likes to-to play cards with m-me."
"Well dearie, why do you think that is?" MJ asked with a smirk on her face. "Maybe because you always beat them?"
"It's n-not my fault they-they're bad at the game!" MJ snorted, knowing that her natural card game skills were insane for an eight-year-old. She was a worthy opponent, beating MJ quite a few times at Go Fish and Gin Rummy. She was intuitive, kind, and quite attentive for a child, qualities MJ wished prospective parents who visited the home could see in her. But they never did. All they saw was an underfed orphan girl with a stutter. Aimee had been born with it, and the trauma of her parent's death only seemed to make it worse.
Nobody wanted a kid with a defect.
MJ was sad to say she knew that hard truth firsthand.
"Why don't you and I make breakfast and then we'll play a few rounds, huh? That sounds nice?" The ginger girl beamed, her head nodding rapidly as she followed MJ out of bed and down the stairs, pinkies locked with the elder girl. Skipping their way over the creaky step and dodging the floorboard with a wonky nail, they made their way into the small kitchen downstairs. MJ opened the cupboard, eyes roaming over the semi-stocked grocery supply before pulling out a box of oats, cinnamon, and brown sugar. "Oatmeal it is, then."
