Chapter Text
Some may believe that they know this story. This could be true for some, but, more likely, they only know a version of this story.
It is unknown why or how, but there are multiple, parallel worlds that coexist with the world that is known as the first world.
Because of this, stories can be about the same person while differing far more than anyone could ever imagine.
A prime example of this would be the story of one little Harry Potter.
In some worlds Harry is a boy, in others Harry is the child of Lily and James Potter. These details, however, do not stay consistent.
For this particular story, Harry is neither Harry Potter nor a male. This story is about a daughter of Lily and James Potter, though this, once again, is not all (but we’ll wait to learn more later).
As with other versions of this story, many details do remain the same. One Halloween night as Lily and James Potter relaxed in their home in Godric’s Hollow, Lord Voldemort came to visit them.
Voldemort once again kills the parents and tries to kill the daughter, but something happens and he dies instead. Once more the child of the prophecy is orphaned and taken to her muggle family.
Some differences in this story, however, will become noticeable with time. For now, it is important to pick up with the dear Ms. Potter’s birthday.
Maera Lily Potter woke up to the same sounds that she heard every day - the pounding footsteps of her aunt as she came down the stairs. Sitting up in her small cupboard underneath those very same stairs, Maera felt around in the dark for her glasses. Locating them as quickly as she could, Maera placed them upon her face and blinked, hoping that they might do anything to help with her blurred vision. But, since the glasses were not properly fit for her as her aunt had simply taken them from a donation bin, Maera was left to look upon a blurry world.
“Wake up, girl!” The shrill voice of her aunt broke Maera from her stupor as the lock on her cupboard door was removed and the door flung open. Her aunt’s pinched and horse-like face was the first thing to greet the small girl this morning, something she had learned to be quite normal.
“Well,” the woman began, an impatient quality to her nasally voice. “What are you waiting for, girl, get out of the cupboard and come prepare breakfast!”
Scrambling to do as she was asked, Maera swiftly escaped her cupboard and rushed into the kitchen. She pulled the large frying pan out and turned one of the burners on, beginning to heat up the pan. Turning to the refrigerator, Maera took out the bacon and eggs as well as some butter. Calmly, as cooking was truly one of the only tasks forced upon her by her family that she enjoyed, Maera began to fry the bacon. She had to be careful with this, if the bacon wasn’t cooked enough then Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would be upset, but if it was overcooked (that is, the slightest bit of char or crisp), then she’d have angered all of the family - though it was a tossup if she’d make Dudley or Uncle Vernon more upset in those instances.
Cooking the bacon quickly, but efficiently, Meara began to work on the eggs. Dudley was pickier about these than any other food type and Maera believed this was likely due to Aunt Petunia’s own pickiness. Aunt Petunia would not accept anything less than a poached egg with her breakfast, stating them to be the most refined of all the different eggs that someone could eat. Because of this, Maera often needed to pull out a pot in order to bring some water to poaching temperature. In comparison to Aunt Petunia, Dudley would only eat his eggs if they were scrambled and then covered with whatever he wanted that morning. Uncle Vernon didn’t much care either way, though he too chose to make her life harder than it needed to be. Her uncle would demand that Maera fry his eggs in the leftover bacon grease because it added the perfect flavor, or something along those lines.
Maera sighed as she went about her morning rituals. She plated the bacon and her uncle’s eggs and placed both on the table with paper napkins on top to keep in the heat. Moving quickly, as she knew she did not have much time left before everyone arrived for their food, Maera checked the water on the stove. She went through the poaching steps and prepared her aunt’s breakfast before she started to scramble her cousin’s eggs. The sound of feet pounding against the stairs indicated that she needed to move quicker and she threw toast into the toaster while she moved to the fridge to grab the many topping choices and placed them on top of the table.
Maera removed the napkins from the previously waiting food and put her aunt’s plate down before turning back to the kitchen. The toast popped out of the toaster just as the eggs were finished cooking on the stove. Multitasking came easily to Maera after working for her family for so long, so she simply plated the toast while pouring the scrambled eggs onto her cousin’s plate.
Rushing both plates to the table, Marea went once again into the kitchen just as her family came in. Dudley hurriedly pushed her out of the way, knocking her into the counter with enough force to bruise. Another thing that she was sadly used to. Turning from her family, Maera went ahead and began to clean the kitchen. She understood that if she tried to clean it later then she was unlikely to receive anything good from her family that day, so she worked as efficiently as she could.
“Girl!” Uncle Vernon shouted at her. “Bring me the paper, it should be here along with the day’s mail.”
Maera wiped her hands on her cousin’s hammy-down clothes before walking out of the kitchen. She went past her cupboard and was surprised to note that her aunt had accidentally left it unlocked. Normally her aunt would lock the cupboard during the day in order to keep her out of her sanctuary and to force her to complete any and all tasks that she was assigned.
Walking calmly to the door, Maera opened it and bent down to retrieve the mail and newspaper. Used to her uncle, she began to sort the mail into specific piles: important/bills, family/Aunt Marge, and junk. As she was looking through the letters, she was shocked to find her own name among the many addressed to her aunt and uncle. Maera stopped and stared at the letter. There was something different about it. It was made from a thicker paper than the others and it had sparkly ink. Though, the biggest difference between the letters was the lack of a postage stamp. She knew that letters required stamps to be sent through the mail, so how was it that this letter arrived with the others?
She began to walk back towards the kitchen, her mind solely focused on the letter. That is, until she noticed her cupboard door once more. Looking between the letter and the cupboard door, Maera weighed her options. What should she do? It was obvious to her that if she wanted to learn more about the mysterious letter she’d have to hide it now rather than bring it with her. With this thought in mind, she slipped the letter into her cupboard, once more glad that her aunt had left it unlocked on this occasion.
“Girl!” Her uncle shouted as she shut her cupboard door once more. “Where are you with the mail and my paper?”
Maera sped away from her cupboard and into the kitchen, her heart beating wildly within her chest at what she had just done. She prayed that there was no evidence upon her and delivered the mail to her uncle. Continuing to stand next to him, she waited for anything to happen. A part of her simply would not let her hope for anything good that might happen to her.
“What is it that you want, girl?” Uncle Vernon asked, spitting some of his breakfast on her as he did so. “Go on and do whatever it is you’re meant to be doing!”
Turning from her uncle, Maera took slow breaths as she walked back into the kitchen to continue cleaning it. Hesitantly she looked towards the door that would lead to her cupboard, but she knew that she’d have to wait to look at the letter after she was sent back into her sanctuary for the night. Sighing once again, Maera continued to do the tasks expected of her, pretending that the day that had started like any other was still like any other.