Chapter Text
Marigold "Mary" Potter is THE Freak, everyone knows that.
Her sparkling silver eyes aside, the fact that she talks to thin air doesn't help. Neither is the fear ingrained into her bullies' mind by a random branch she picked up when she was four that she somehow kept in one piece all the way until now, a week before her eleventh birthday. It even seems that it grew alongside her.
However, they did deserve it, seeing how they threw a burning piece of coal at her forehead, right at her scar.
How did they even get that throw?
Either way, amidst the smoke and screams, no one noticed a black something floating out of her scar, emit a hissing sound, then dissipated. She had to spend a week in the hospital, and when she returned, her scar was entirely gone and her once near-sighted, un-sparkly green eyes had turned a sharp, glittering silver, while some of her dark red hair seemed to have turned the same shade of silver. No one knew why, and no one cared enough to ask, either.
The day after she was discharged, when the bullies ganged up on her again, she picked up a fallen branch nearby and beat them into fleeing like rats running from cats.
Since then, every time she wasn't inside the cupboard, in class, cooking, or gardening, she waved the stick around like a madwoman, while talking with an unseen "swordmaster" like a person belonging to the mental ward.
No one bothered her about that, not even uncle Vernon after she allegedly fractured his ribs with a particularly weak swing. He had a lot of fat to dampen the blow, he's fine. Both aunt Petunia and Dudley haven't dared to do anything to her since then either.
After one year, everyone knew not to mess with The Freak. Though at this point, it's less of a derogatory term, but more a title spoken with fear, and surprisingly a little respect.
Now, what is inside of her mind at the moment?
[Ms M. Potter, the Cupboard under the Stairs, 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey]
"Gee, how the hell does this person know that I sleep in the cupboard?" It is quite a cozy place now rather than the prison it was before Mary can enter and leave it at any time she likes. Honestly, it more closely resembles a small room with a built-in bookcase, as no cups had been stored there for six years now. She even wired an actual, good-to-read-books-under light bulb in there!
"Oh? This is unexpected. I didn't know you actually have Magician blood." Joaquin Compact - or whatever his name is, because there is no way that isn't a pseudonym - said, unheard by anyone else.
"Neither am I. I would expect to go to a Samurai dojo, or Knight school, whatever the equivalent in England is, seeing my skills with a sword."
"Is my teaching not enough for you?" Her shishou for nearly seven years almost sounds hurted.
"Well... it's more about seeing how much I compare to others. That's what dojos are for, right?"
"That's one of their purposes, yes..."
"Then I don't see a problem."
"Sometimes I regret reviving your confidence."
With that, she opens the envelope and pulls out a piece of parchment.
[HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Ms Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress]
"Well, this could be interesting." Feeling her teacher's raised eyebrow, she continues "I won't skip out on my training, if that's what you are worried about. Plus, having another way to defend myself is always good."
With a heavy sigh, Joaquin relents
"Fine..."
"Yay!"
"But I don't think I can follow you."
"Huh? Why?"
"You don't know, maybe they can actually detect my presence. I wouldn't put it past them to try and exorcize me."
"But aren't you only half a Phantom?" The 'like me' goes unsaid.
"I know, that it won't work doesn't mean that it's not annoying."
"Hmm... Fine... Now where the hell would I find an owl?"
"What is that?" Aunt Petunia, having gone out to see what was taking her so long, looks warily at the letter, then pales as she notices the material it's made of.
Marigold grins. She always loves messing with people, especially ones who had once annoyed her.