Chapter 1 : Madness Desends
| ||Rating: 12+||Chapter Reviews: 30|
Background: Font color:
Yet out of all the witches and wizards that have stood in front of me, I remember her. Out of all the minds that are so full of brilliance and light, I remember her. Whether they are tall or short, female or male, thin or fat, young or old, I remember her.
She was young. Just 14 years old when she found me.
I had been placed in one of the oldest vaults. The vault of the ancient Dumbledore family. Aberforth Dumbledore, the last heir of the mighty family, had left me in the ancient vault. He had followed his brothers request so keep me stored away so that no more wizards could be lured into madness; he thought they were safe from me there. How wrong he was.
It had taken years after the Second Wizarding War before I was found in the vault. It was one of the largest at Gringotts. Full to the brim of gallons, gold, jewels and secrets. The curse breakers had worked continuously to defeat the hidden curses that have laid idle for thousands of years.
One curse breaker was a constant presence, he was brave. It was this red-haired curse breaker which made me meet her. With his battle scars and hooped earring on, one day, nearly 20 years after Albus Dumbledore left all his wealth to Hogwarts, the curse breaker deemed the vault safe enough to bring his children to work with him. Two girls, one boy.
It was the youngest girl who found me. I watched as her sister, with her white-blonde hair and straight white teeth, laughed alongside her father. I watched as her brother, with his white-blonde hair and tall, lean build, correctly identify the time period of one of the goblets lying on the floor. His father beamed with pride. I watched as the girl, with her bright red hair and pale skin, trip over some abandoned robes and falling against a wall of silver. A loud whining noise began to echo around the endless hall; awakening the forgotten paintings.
"Intruder!" The paintings screamed; their yells mingling with the whining alarm. Her father sighed and cast a blue spell to the ceiling of the caved room. Silence desended; the alarm turned off and the paintings fell back to sleep. Turning to his youngest daughter, he spoke slowly.
"I didn’t mean to! I tripped, honest I did!"
Her father sighed once more, her sister hid her smirk behind her long, golden hair and her brother rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
"Dominique Weasley," her father said carefully. "I know you didn’t mean to, but these are very old and very valuable goods. Why don’t you stand over there for a bit, we’ll be done soon. I know you don’t like any of this," he gestured around the vault, "anyway. Tell you what; if you stay quiet whilst we finish up then we’ll go to ‘Lavender’s Looks’ afterwards?"
I’ve studied humans since time began. I know all emotions shared, all feelings, all signals, everything. The girl nodded. She didn’t want to. Her neck was tense and she broke eye contact with her family. She resented his words. She was interested, she wanted to take part. She wanted to make her dad as proud as her siblings did; she always did what he asked.
Dominique Weasley turned away before he could see her eyes fill with tears. Angrily she pushed them away, an inner conflict raging within her head. The girl straightened her body and stuck her chin into the air. Dominique walked to the other end of the room with purpose and pride, no one else could see the pain in her eyes. Except me.
Whilst she waited at the end of the room, her eyes began to wander. It was then that she first saw me. She saw my golden border first, with the letters carved around my mane.
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi
Her eyebrows furrowed, her mind working quickly. Slowly her brows lifted and her eyes widened. A small smile played on her lips and her breathing pace increased. She was excited. I knew what she thought; it is my job to always know.
She thought she had discovered something new, something she could show her father. Something that would gain her father’s pride. How foolish she was.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, seeing nothing but her father explaining the complexities of a certain curse to her eager siblings – something which Dominique envied, she took a step into the shadows.
The Weasley girl climbed over relics of another time, her hands grasping golden cups and rotten paintings in her eagerness to climb the mound of treasures to reach me. I noticed she wasn’t naturally sporty or even slim as were her siblings. Her cheeks burned as red as her hair, something which would of never happened to her beautiful sister. Her mind puzzled at how she could climb over a particularly tall painting, something which her brainy brother would never have trouble with.
She was ordinary, utterly ordinary.
There was nothing special about her, nothing unique. Barely worth noticing. I bet myself she desired her dream boyfriend would marry her, or something or a similar nature. Pathetic. They were the time-wasters.
I was wrong though, as soon as her brown eyes matched my reflection, I knew. I knew she wasn’t normal.
I was made to understand people, to study their thoughts and bury myself in their desires. It is my job to reflect what I see. In Dominique Weasley I saw passion. She was similar to her Uncle, Ronald Weasley, by having the same eagerness to get noticed. She felt unimportant compared to her siblings and cousins. She felt like she was the extra who had stumbled upon a famous family. Her deepest wish was to matter. For that she had my sympathy, a girl who will always be in the shadows.
I prepared myself to reflect her wish. A wish where her father looked upon her with pride as she held up the Quidditch World Cup. Her cousins stood around her, shaking their heads in wonder at her accomplishments whilst her uncles and aunties were openly weeping at how incredible she was. She was more beautiful in her dreams then she ever was in reality. Her deepest wish as unrealistic as her Uncle Ronald’s from all the years ago. But that wasn’t my job to point out. I prepared myself, and felt my shining surface moulding to her wish.
I had only reached her family cheering when I felt a tug inside her mind. Her chocolate eyes registered Harry Potter. Then everything changed.
Something flashed across her eyes. In her mind I could see all the stories she’d ever been told about the war. Everything Harry Potter ever did. Every choice he made. Every battle he fought. Every sacrifice he made. I saw her picture what happened according to her imagination.
I saw when she was told these stories. Surrounded by her cousins, they all booed and hissed when the name ‘Voldemort’ was mentioned. She didn’t. She never did. Instead the odd child pondered at what he looked like, she wondered how a man looked more snake than man. Yet more cunning and evil than any other villain. She wondered how he earned his followers respect and fear.
The Weasley child saw connections between herself and the Dark Lord. Both of them spent their childhood surrounded by many children, which meant there was never enough time for left over for them. They both felt like outsiders and constantly believed in a different world where they mattered.
As more images filled her mind; reactions and thoughts she’d tried to suppress, I became apprehensive. She remembered how Muggle-born wizards and witches were given priority in lessons, in shops and in interviews. A society attempting to rectify its wrongs by going to the extreme.
She remembered how people glared at her when they found out she was a ‘pure-blood’; instantly making connections and whispers of ‘Death-Eater’ filled the area.
Until they found out her name, Weasley. Smiles would be plastered onto their faces, all glares forgotten. She was a Weasley, which was all that mattered. Her own opinions and feelings were never taken into account. They expected her to be perfect, asked her questions about her uncles and cousins. She was to just smile and answer politely.
As her anger grew, so did her resentment. Fury pounded through her brain, her hands shaking as she looked into my depths. Her clouded mind began to become clearer.
In her head she was picturing all the reporters who never asked her name. She pictured her siblings with their strong Veela genes, which had somehow missed her. She pictured her cousins, she remembered the feelings of not being good enough and she glared into my reflection. I felt myself change again; moulding to her deepest desire.
She wasn’t as ordinary as first seemed. I knew that now, I had never misjudged anyone before. The girl was more then what she seemed. She was desperate to matter, but there were already too many heroes in her world.
However, she thought as her the anger, excitement and resentment filled her mind, there aren’t many villains.
My glassy surface showed a woman. Her red hair wild as it ripped around her face, her chocolate brown eyes were now narrowed in my image; black and dangerous. The sky was the deepest shade of grey; the sun couldn’t fight through the everlasting mist.
Around her, people were crying, kneeling on the floor – begging for mercy. She was powerful, there was no wand in her hands, yet spells were being cast. Newspapers blew through the wind; she was on the front page of them all. ‘Powerful...terrifying...unstoppable,' they screamed. Her family were among the kneeling; crying out that they were sorry. Sorry for ever doubting her.
Stories from the days of Voldemort were represented here, the stories that had infatuated her since childhood. Muggleborns were second to the Pure-bloods; never again would someone glare at her when they knew of her pure blood. The muggleborns were there to serve, they were not full wizards, but they were not thieves either. She was smart; the woman could manipulate people to believe her.
Why have a house-elf, when you could have a muggleborn?
Amongst the blowing leaves and the bare trees, stood several wizards, wearing the purest of white robes. They were her followers, she was adored. They praised her, wished to be like her, they worshipped her. The woman smiled in my reflection, Dominique Weasley, the unstoppable witch, knew that, at last, she mattered.
In front of me, the Weasley child stared. Her eyes gripped to the image I shone. Her lips mouthing the words that flashed on the flying newspapers. Her nails dug into her hands as she saw how the muggleborns were being treated, so different to the way she’d been taught whilst growing up.
Her breathing spiked as she saw her family apologising to the strange woman. Her eyes widened as she saw the white followers worship her. Dominique Weasley was both terrified yet pleased at what she saw. The crazed woman laughed hysterically in my image, and the young girl smiled along with her.
The more she looked into my depths, the more addicted she became. Slowly I saw the first black spark shoot across her eyes. The madness descending.
She girl didn’t understand what I was, she thought, just like her Uncle, that I was a mere fortune teller. That I predicted the future. She understood this crazed woman was her.
This image would forever be burned in her mind. Every decision she would ever make,would be a reflection of the image I showed her. She would work until she is beyond powerful. She would work until she was worshipped. She would be unstoppable.
"Dominique?" Her father called from the bottom of the vault.
The girl turned her head, but kept her eyes on my image. "Yes?"
"Where are you?"
"I’m just up here Dad."
Her father glanced on top of the mound of treasures, his eyes halting as he saw her flaming red hair near the top. "What are you doing up there," he yelled. "You could break something!"
The girl pondered whether he meant the treasures she stood on, or her own personal safety.
"They’re antiques Dominique! Worth a fortune! Honestly!"
The girl rolled her eyes and shook her head. She turned and started to desend the golden rubble, bearing one last glance in my direction. A small smile played on her lips. I had never wished more that I could speak. That I could yell a warning to her unsuspecting father.
She would bring down the Wizarding world and there would never be anyone to stop her. She didn’t carry Voldemort’s faults of longing for eternal life. She didn’t fear that. She just wanted to matter and as I thought to myself, there was nothing more dangerous than that.
She landed at the bottom of the mound with a grace that she didn’t have before. My image somehow giving her the confidence she was missing. Dominique strode past her siblings and reached her father at the vault door.
Turning, she gave him an award-winning smile. "I was thinking, I have enough clothes Dad. Can we go to Flourish and Blotts instead? There are a couple books I wanted to look at." Her father nodded at his daughter’s strange request.
The vault slammed shut after the family left, his daughter sending one last longing look over her shoulder before the vault sealed shut. Everything was still once more and my reflection became clear again.
'I’m a prisoner once more,' I thought, 'simply because the world can't stand facing it's own reflection.'
The young girl stepped out of the dark, shadowed bank and into the sunny street. Her golden-haired siblings pushed past her, dragging their father in their wake through the crowded Alley.
Dominique Weasley shot a glare at their retreating backs and in doing so, caught a shop-keeper pulling a Muggle-born witch who was in Dominique's year at Hogwarts, out of the queue and pulling her into the shop. Ahead of all the other waiting witches and wizards. No one said anything. Muggleborns always got priority.
The red haired girl's eyes narrowed and felt a smile spread on her face. 'Soon,' she thought simply. Then the girl took a step into the bustling street.
A/N: Hello :) Firstly, I have to admit that I am not the amazing creator of 'Harry Potter' and so therefore do not own any of her characters etc...
So that's the legal stuff over, I want to thank you for reading this one-shot and for everyone that has favourited and reviewed this aswell. It means so much!
I really hope you liked it and would you mind leaving a review (good or bad) as I would love to hear your opinions! :)
Other Similar Stories
Mon dieu! Wh...
by Gray Raven
The Dursley Boy
by Darque Myth
Life will al...