Discliamer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter books or the characters within them. I only own the plot of this story, Phoebe Blackett and the Smith family.
In a small muggle village all is calm; while the villagers sleep in the early hours a woman walks the streets. She does not know why she is so wary; no one knows her name, not here at least. She walks with a child in her arms that’s no older than a few days; it sleeps like the villagers not knowing her fate. The woman walks past houses peering inside searching only for the happiness her child could have, rather than her living a life of war and endless rage. She walks past numerous homes in search for the perfect one, only the best for her child, nothing less. Finally she comes across a cottage, the residents have a child already but he’s older than her baby. The woman whips out her wand and unlocks the door in search for the living room. She swishes her wand again and a basket appears ready for her child to be placed in. The woman bends down to place the sleeping baby in the basket and a small black hair falls down her face matching the child’s own hair yet it’s auburn like her fathers. The child begins to whimper as she’s aware that she’s alone. The woman kisses the baby’s forehead and the serenity returns; she then places a letter by the child addressed to, “the new guardians of Phoebe Blackett.”
The woman wipes the tears from her eyes and whispers,
“I’m sorry.” She locks the door again and apparates out of the room leaving a large crack to echo around the house, awaking the residents to find the baby that was now theirs.
11 years later
The dreaded day had come again; Phoebe hated her birthday, she had for three years. It was then--three years ago- that the presents and the cards from her mother stopped. She didn’t want the presents; she didn’t care for the cards with just one kiss on them. Phoebe just wanted to know that her mother was alive and cared for her, the gifts that she got were proof. Her adoptive parents, Heather Smith and John Smith, knew that if they were honest with Phoebe from the start there wouldn’t be as many problems, as they had a son of their own who was most likely to tell her anyway. They didn’t lie when she asked who sent the presents. They were upfront and she was glad they were; she was happier if she didn’t live a lie. They didn’t tell her about the letter though; she had to wait six years for that to come. Her final present was a porcelain doll with fiery red curls just like Phoebe’s. The hard shell that represented the doll's skin was pale and cold looking, almost like ebony. The eyes were a pale blue exactly like her own. Phoebe was frightened of the doll because though its beauty stood out a mile, the doll looked angry and afraid. Phoebe never wanted to look that way.
She forced herself out of bed and got dressed in her pale pink frock that Heather had bought for her a few weeks before her birthday as an early present. She tiptoed down the stairs just so she could get a peek of her birthday cake, and then slid over to the kitchen door, which was slightly ajar so Phoebe could peer through the gap. Suddenly, she was shoved to the ground and the door was slammed shut.
“I don’t think so Phoebe! Mum, keep that door shut!” Thomas shouted. Thomas was four years older than Phoebe, which made him fifteen. He took pride in being the big brother and made sure she was safe from harm. Phoebe then stood up quickly and did not touch the door, but somehow it flew open as if a large gust of wind had made the door unhinge itself.
“What....was that?” Heather and John looked at Phoebe as if they were scanning her, and Phoebe didn’t like that at all.
“Well, it wasn’t me! I didn’t even touch the door!” Phoebe protested, trying to look as innocent as possible. That wasn’t the first time there had been an incident like that. When Phoebe was bored of a lesson, she’d close her eyes for a moment and when she opened them she was on the roof of her school. Another was that, wherever she went, a cat seemed to follow her to and from school for a few weeks, yet when Phoebe went to stroke the cat it edged away from her. Phoebe noticed that each time it was standing on a stick as if protecting it. When she went to take the stick, the cat growled and sat on the stick so that Phoebe couldn’t reach for it. However, she had observed how beautifully carved and shaped it was, and the engraved patterns made it seem exquisite.
“Well, Phoebe, these incidents seem to be occurring a lot recently. Is there anything you’re hiding from us, dear?” Heather asked with a false smile. It was her way of squeezing out the truth--being far too nice. John then gave Heather the leave her alone look that the Smiths knew too well.
“Come on now Heather, it’s her birthday, get the cake. And Thomas, get ready to sing because it’s your turn this year!” John ordered with enthusiasm. Thomas looked at Phoebe and gulped. He didn’t enjoy singing that much, but it was a family tradition and he knew it had to be done. As Thomas began to sing out of tune, the doorbell rang. Thomas sighed with relief.
“Can’t it wait?” Heather asked.
“NO!” Thomas snapped. He bounded towards the door, grinning gleefully. He swung the door open to find, not a person but a cat. Phoebe saw the stick that it was standing on.
“It’s that cat, Heather! The one with the stick, it’s so weird!” Phoebe gasped. The cat then looked at Phoebe for a moment, and within seconds transformed into an old woman all dressed in green with a pointy witches' hat. As she went to pick up her wand, the Smiths' jaws dropped simultaneously. They’d never seen anything like it.
“Hello, I’m Professor McGonagall... Or as Miss Blackett would say, the weird cat," added the woman rather dryly. "May I come in?” She stood at the doorway, tapping her foot impatiently. John and Heather looked at each other. Were they really going to let this cat-woman in?
Phoebe quickly walked up to where Thomas was and nodded. “Of course, Mrs .....”
“That’s Professor McGonagall," she corrected Phoebe, who was looking as puzzled as her guardians.
“Sorry Professor, but please come in.” With an unsure gesture, Phoebe welcomed the old woman into her home. Though the woman was old, she was quite elegant and graceful as she walked through the door through to the living room, where she sat down on the sofa.
“I apologise for interrupting your celebrations. However, what I have to say is very important,” mcgonagall informed them gravely. "I would like you to read this.” The professor handed Phoebe a letter sealed with quite a strange mark. Phoebe opened it, her head already filled with questions, and she began to read...
Dear Miss Phoebe Blackett,
I am delighted to inform you that you have been accepted as a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. School officially starts September 1st this year and you will need to buy the following:
·Books such as: Spells for Beginners, Perfect Potioneer, and Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them
·(Optional) A cat, toad or an owl
We at Hogwarts look forward to having you attending the school.
Professor Albus Dumbledore
Phoebe dropped the letter in shock and sat down on the sofa,
“I’m sorry, but you must have made a mistake, I’m not a...witch. I can’t be. I’m not extraordinary, I’m nothing special...” Phoebe, lost for words, was struggling to explain.
“Tell me, Miss Blackett has anything ever happened when an emotions conquers your entire body?" Phoebe cocked her head confusedly. "When you feel happy or sad, has anything out of the ordinary occurred?” McGonagall elaborated.
“Well...” Phoebe thought back to all the incidents that she couldn’t explain, all the trips to her headmistress’s office for no reason.
“You see, Miss Blackett, you are a witch, and you can perform magic,” McGonagall confirmed.
“Why do you keep calling me Miss Blackett? My name is Phoebe Smith, and magic isn’t real!” Phoebe protested. She stood up and began to pace back and forth, trying to think things through. It was her birthday and everything was supposed to be perfect. She didn’t want mad ladies that turned into cats turning up on her doorstep.
“Your name is Phoebe Blackett. It is the name you were given at birth.”
“That’s the name my mother gave me? Is that her surname? Is it my father's?” Phoebe bombarded McGonagall with questions, all of which she could answer, but she had to lie. She had given Dumbledore her word that she would.
“It is the name you were registered with. I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything else," she lied. It pained her to do so, for lying to others was going against her conscience.
“To get all the items that are required," she continued briskly, "you will need to go to Diagon Alley. If you require assistance I will join you. However, if you would prefer to go by yourself or have your guardians accompany you, I will not stand in your way. You’ll have to make a stop at Gringotts Bank to get some money, as your mother has left you quite a bit. I have your key of course.”
“Would it be possible for me to go tomorrow? You see it still hasn’t sunk in that I’m a... A... A witch.”
Phoebe shuddered at the word witch and could only whisper it. McGonagall nodded and handed her a piece of paper explaining where to meet her the next day. She then explained how Phoebe would be able to get to Hogwarts. She then saw herself out, and a few moments later they all heard a deafening crack. Afterwards, there was only deafening silence, until...
“Well that was the biggest load of codswallop i’ve ever heard in my life. She must have escaped from her retirement home or something!” John exclaimed. Heather just shook her head.
“John, we both know she’s not lying. Phoebe, we always knew you were special. We just didn’t have the guts to say so," Heather explained.
But Phoebe was no longer listening. She was hung up on those words the woman spoke, the words that explained she was a witch. She wanted to be alone. She just wanted to be able to cry to herself as the thoughts of her mother came rushing back and how she would never know her true identity until she knew her parents.
She ate the cake and unwrapped the presents with a false smile and she held back the tears and the anger; she saved that for when the day had ended. It was all too much for her to take in, so she did what she thought she did best--act normal. Though, she was no longer normal Phoebe Smith. That girl was gone. Within only a few minutes, she had become Phoebe Blackett.
And that wasn’t who she wanted to be.
A/N- Big thanks to SearchingForLuna for being my awesome beta! Go and check out her stories, trust me they're amazing! I hope you have time to review, your feedback means a lot; the little review box below could use some love!
Write a Review Heritage: An Unforgettable Birthday