What if Harry Potter had a twin? What happens when both of them survived the killing curse? What if the wizarding world only knew of one of the twins, while the other was sent away?
Meet Mila Potter, the youngest assassing raised in the red room. Fi...
When she came to, everything was blurry. She could hear figures moving around her, but it felt as though she was underwater. Breathing was difficult, as was moving – she felt this pounding in her head. She opened her eyes to see figures moving around her. They wore dark clothing and talked slowly.
Bit by bit, her vision started coming back to her and she was able to make out the silhouettes of her professors and a blonde governor. They surrounded her, patiently waiting for her wake up. Professor Slytherin nursed a drink in his hand as he sat on the armchair beside where she was laid, while the other two waited patiently, standing around the said sofa.
She groaned, realising she was on some sort of sofa and not in the infirmary. "Where am I?" Mila's voice was raspy – she needed water.
"You are in our quarters, Miss Potter." Surprisingly, it was Malfoy that spoke. His voice was low and held a serious tone. "What happened?"
"I don't know."
There was pure silence after she replied. Clearly, they were not expecting her answer. Very slowly, Mila managed to move herself to lie on her side, now facing the adults.
"What do you mean, you don't know?" Snape spoke. He was obviously not interested in whatever was going on. His reply was sarcastic; this was clearly a 'don't bullshit me' situation.
"One minute I was in bed, then I was vomiting and stumbling everywhere."
Slytherin still hadn't spoken. It was unsettling. He was staring at her, obviously assessing the severity of the situation. Mila furrowed her brows as he downed the rest of his drink and got up to put his glass away.
When he came back, he was just as unreadable as before, if not more. Something had, however, changed in his eyes. There was a speck of anger and something else. Towards whom or what, she didn't know. "Unfortunately, Madame Pomfrey is away on a course until tomorrow at nine. So, you will remain here with us and we will take you there at nine tomorrow – we wouldn't want any more accidents between now and then." Slytherin finally spoke up. His decision was final, there was no arguing.
Mila noticed the way the other two simply submitted to his orders. It was almost as though he oversaw them in some way. Mila made sure to remember this – it could be beneficial to her plans. Especially if Snape was her head of house, not Slytherin.
Soon enough, she found herself curled up on their large sofa with a thick blanket. Snape had apparently performed a couple spells to check her vitals during whatever sickness had taken over her. Even though she had gotten sick so suddenly, she felt quite safe surrounded by her house masters. She knew something wasn't right about that, but she couldn't help but relish in the feelings.
Security wasn't a common feeling for her. That was for sure.
***
A couple hours later, Slytherin had woken her up from whatever peaceful slumber she had been subjected to.
"What time is it?"
Slytherin glanced at her as he waited for her to gather herself. "9:00 a.m."
Mila's head shot up. She hadn't slept this much without a nightmare in years.
What is happening?
Slytherin couldn't help but note the shock on her face. That most definitely wasn't normal, but then again teenagers are rather strange these days.
"Are you ready?" He asked once she seemed awake enough.
Mila nodded her head, trying not to move too much, given how her head felt as though it would burst. "Off to Madame Pomfrey we go!" Mila exclaimed sarcastically under her breath, not noticing the amused smirk on her professor's face. Clearly sarcasm was a Slytherin trait.
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