Born A Weapon

the flight of the seven potters (part 1)

(tw: Graphic injury descriptions, self-inflicted amputation, mentions of child abuse, indoctrination, deatheater ideology, mentions of murder, torture and war)

This isn't a particularly heavy chapter; it's just a lot to take in.

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After my surprising conversation with Fenrir, I went inside, smoking my cigarette. We spoke for a long time about our scars—both his and mine.

He told me about the time his hand had been caught between a heavy steel door. Then he showed me his left pinky, or what was left of it. Half of the finger was missing. The door had snapped it clean in two, and he had left the injury untreated for so long that it eventually had to be amputated.

What surprised me even more was that he hadn't gone to a doctor. He had taken an axe and amputated it himself.

Fenrir never whinged about pain. He simply did what had to be done, without fear or hesitation. Strangely, I admired that part of him—his willingness to face hardship head-on. My admiration, however, ended where his choice of victims began.

Children were sacred in my eyes, and I would do everything in my power to ensure that I never harmed one.

Of course, I am no saint. Some of the things I have done have never truly left me. They live beneath my skin and behind my eyes, lingering in every quiet moment. I know they will stay with me until the day I die... and perhaps even beyond.

I sat down in the living room, sinking into Father's empty armchair as I stared out of the window, watching the birds glide through the grey afternoon sky. How free they must have been, so unburdened by war, loss, and the weight of the choices that haunted people like me.

But it wasn't just the usual pigeons passing by.

A scruffy barn owl was flying straight towards the window, a letter clutched tightly in its beak.

I quickly opened the window, and the owl swooped inside. It landed gracefully on the armrest of the sofa, dropped the envelope into my lap, and let out a gruff hoot before taking flight once more. It settled on the hedge outside, as if waiting to make sure its delivery had been received.

I picked up the letter, immediately noticing the unfamiliar handwriting. The address was far too formal to have come from Harry, Luna, or even Sirius.

Addressed to:
Delphini Nova Riddle-Black

The envelope crackled faintly with static magical energy. I recognised the enchantment immediately. It was almost certainly charmed to destroy itself, bursting into flames or exploding if anyone other than its intended recipient attempted to open it.

Carefully, I broke the seal.

Moving the ashtray aside, I sat down on the coffee table and unfolded the letter. My eyes scanned the page, and within moments I recognised the sender.

It was from Moody.

Delphini Riddle-Black,

If you are genuinely committed to becoming an Auror, report to Harry's old address at Privet Drive no later than 19:00 hours this evening.

Black and Lupin have spoken in your favour. They believe your intentions are sincere. I respect their judgement, but I do not substitute another person's opinion for my own.

Your family name, your past, and your knowledge of Death Eater methods make you either a valuable asset or a considerable threat. I intend to determine which.

Understand this clearly: you have not earned my trust. Trust is built through discipline, judgement, and action—not promises.

There is work to be done. Some of it requires an understanding of Dark wizards that few possess. If Black and Lupin are correct about you, your experience may prove useful.