PLATINUM | The Lost Paters |Wolfstar + OC Hogwarts au|

The Chatham's Home For Orphaned Witches and Wizards

     "Sirius, Remus," came the soft, urgent voice, pulling the two weary men from their brooding thoughts. Their faces, lined with exhaustion from sleepless nights, turned toward the person calling them. It was Albus Dumbledore, his eyes filled with a sadness that matched the gravity of the moment. He moved swiftly, closing the door to his office with a muted click that seemed to echo in the heavy silence.
    "It's time."
Sirius and Remus exchanged a look of profound sorrow, words failing them in the face of their grim task. Remus's gaze fell to the tiny bundle nestled against Sirius's shoulder, the baby, still so very young, barely a year old. Gently, Remus's hand rested on the infant's head, feeling the warmth and softness of the child's uniquely colored, short hair one last time.
Sirius, with an expression of barely contained grief, leaned closer to the baby's ear, his breath warm and trembling. "It will be okay," he promised, his voice steady despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm him. "I won't let this be the last time we see each other."

September 1st, 1993
    Eleven-year-old Ophelia clutched her cassette player tightly, its worn-out buttons and crackling sound evidence of its many years of service, as she lay in her creaky bed. Her platinum white hair, which contrasted sharply with the dark blue of her bedding, was bound in two braids, that she had carefully done, wanting to look her best today. Her platinum eyebrows and eyelashes glowed in the dim light of the attic and her Converse-clad feet dangled off the end of the bed, rhythmically tapping to the beat of Fleetwood Mac's 'Gypsy,' which blared through her headphones at full volume. The song's thumping rhythm helped drown out the aches in her ears, which had grown sore from hours of listening. A small, contented smile played on her lips, her excitement mixed with nerves dancing through her stomach.
     Just a month ago, Ophelia had been in the same position: lying on her bed, music blasting, staring at the ceiling. Back then, Bob Dylan's 'Knockin' on Heaven's Door' had been the song her feet tapped to. A thin crack in the attic's old wooden ceiling had let in a sliver of daylight, but she'd kept quiet about it; Mr. and Mrs. Chatham, the stern owners of the orphanage where she lived, would have scolded her for the complaint. "You've got a roof over your head, haven't you? What more do you want?" Mrs. Chatham's sharp words often stung, though Ophelia had learned to keep her grievances to herself.
     The loud music usually masked any other noises, and being in the attic, separated from the rest of the house, provided her with a semblance of peace. She resided at 'The Chatham's Home For Orphaned Witches and Wizards,' an orphanage in the English countryside where children of witches, wizards, and mages were given the opportunity to still be raised in the magic world.
     But now, a booming voice pierced through the layers of music. She pulled one headphone off, straining to make out the source of the deep voice.
     "We've been sendin' our letters fer the past month, no word back on Ophelia!" The voice boomed. The only reply was Mrs. Chatham's incoherent shrieks. Ophelia's heart raced as she crept cautiously down the stairs.
     "Do yeh know what happens to witches an' wizards who don't go to school?" the same voice declared. "She's gotta learn how to control—" The rest of the sentence was swallowed up by Mrs. Chatham's ongoing outburst.
     Ophelia tiptoed down the hallway, the old floorboards groaned with each step. When she reached the top of the stairs, she saw a towering figure in the entranceway. He was a large man with wild, untamed hair that framed his face.
     "Hagrid, I am telling you that she is not ready, she's not very good at socializing, she will be very behi—" Mrs. Chatham's protest was cut short as everyone turned to look at Ophelia, who was now descending the stairs.
     "There she is! All set to begin at Hogwarts, Ophelia, are yeh?" Hagrid's voice boomed with enthusiasm. Ophelia stood frozen, her face a mixture of confusion and shyness.
    "Um, I'm not old enough...I'm only ten," she mumbled.
     Hagrid's expression grew even more puzzled.    
     "Wait a minute—ten? What year were yeh born, then?"
     "Uhm, 1983," Ophelia replied in a small, hesitant voice. Hagrid's eyes widened in disbelief.
     He turned to Mr. and Mrs. Chatham, his face red with frustration.
     "HAVE YEH BEEN TELLIN' THIS GIRL SHE'S A YEAR YOUNGER THAN SHE REALLY IS?!" The Chathams, exasperated, shook their heads and rolled their eyes. Mr. Chatham opened his mouth to speak, but Hagrid interrupted him with a commanding tone.
The overwhelming shock of these events caused her to miss the man and women standing near the door of the home. The woman dawned a dirty beige and brown overcoat that fell down to her feet with a witches hat with a dark brown base and black top.  The man was an above average height, though you wouldn't be able to tell while he stood behind the extremely tall Hagrid. Despite this, his discerning gaze was fixed intently on the scene unfolding before him.
     "I want yeh to go upstairs and get ready to head to Diagon Alley to get what yeh need for this school year." Hagrid's voice was gentle but firm, with an encouraging smile meant for Ophelia but clearly audible to the Chathams.
     Ophelia nodded eagerly and raced up the stairs. She had watched the other children go to Diagon Alley with envy, dreaming of the day she would join them. As she ran, the recent revelation of her true age barely registered in her mind; all she could think about was the fact that, in just a month, she would be starting her first year at Hogwarts—a dream she had cherished for as long as she could remember.
      Ophelia quickly slipped on her Converse and ran back downstairs, where the argument between the Chathams and the man accompanying Hagrid was ongoing. The man cast a fleeting glance towards her as she entered the entryway.
     "Remus, do you truly believe this is the best course of action? That it's the safest?" Mr. Chatham's voice carried a note of skepticism.
     "I believe every witch and wizard deserves the chance to attend a wizarding school when they turn the appropriate age," Remus replied, his tone firm but calm. Mr. Chatham's mouth twitched at the response, his frustration barely concealed.
     "Alright," he huffed, as if he was about to say more but chose instead to remain silent.
     "Er... ready to go, Ophelia?" Hagrid's voice broke the awkward silence. Ophelia nodded, a bright smile lighting up her face.
     "Ophelia, I must apologize for not introducing myself sooner," said the woman as they stepped off the house's veranda. "I'm Professor Sinistra, and I'll be your Astronomy teacher this coming school year." Her sweet voice was as soothing as Ophelia imagined velvet might sound if it could speak.
     "Oh, it's okay," Ophelia replied, trying to keep her focus on Remus, who was still speaking with the Chathams, while also paying attention to Professor Sinistra. "It's a pleasure meeting you."
     "I trust you haven't gone against Sirius and me—" Remus's voice trailed off into a whisper that became indistinct as Ophelia moved further away.
Professor Sinistra informed Ophelia that she and Hagrid would be heading to Diagon Alley alone, as Remus approached them.
     "Everything should be all set at Gringotts, Hagrid," Remus said as he joined the group.     
"Erm, we'll see each other again...on your first day, Ophelia. I'm—uh—sorry we didn't have more time to talk, and that you have had to process so much all at once." His voice faltered slightly, and both Hagrid and Professor Sinistra exchanged puzzled glances.
     "Thank you. I'm just excited to start a year earlier than expected," Ophelia said, her thoughts racing over the revelation. Though she was thrilled about starting Hogwarts sooner, she couldn't shake the nagging thought about the Chathams' deception. What else had they lied to her about?
     "I know you'll do splendidly," Remus said, his gaze steady and reassuring. His smile shone with warmth and encouragement.
     "Right then, we'd best be on our way—plenty of books to gather, and Ophelia still needs to pick out her wand," Hagrid said, raising his eyebrows with a grin. Ophelia's excitement bubbled over at the thought of choosing her own wand, a dream she had cherished since learning she was a witch.