Chapter Text
Eliza never had an easy life.
Her Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon despised her very existence for reasons she’s never understood—yet, regardless, it was very clear that they held no love for their young niece. They would lock her in the little cupboard under the stairs, refuse to feed her for days at a time, and often hit or beat her. They only ever called her ‘girl’ or ‘freak’. She didn’t even know her own name until Aunt Petunia had made her dust the attic one day and she’d found a baby blanket tucked away, the name Eliza embroidered in one corner. Yet, still, she had no idea who her parents were, or her last name.
There was only one thing that made her life bearable.
In her mind were memories of a far-off land; somewhere distant, and from a long time ago, that she saw in her dreams. There was a boy, with ocher-colored skin and eyes that shone like sapphires. She always called him ‘Yero’ and, if nothing else, the love shining from his eyes was enough to stop her from breaking completely.
There were others in her dreams, of course. There was the kind-hearted girl named Glinda who had hair spun of pure gold. The sweet Nessa whose very name invoked a deep sense of love and sadness.
Soon after those dreams began, Eliza had approached Aunt Petunia to ask where her Yero had gone. She had been hit with the frying pan on the stove, still hot from that morning’s breakfast, and was sent to her cupboard for the next three days without food or water. Aunt Petunia said it was a manifestation of her freakishness. That she was even worse than they had thought. Uncle Vernon had simply called her a psychotic little bitch.
After that, Eliza guarded those memories like gold—and, to her, they were. She never mentioned anything about it again. And nobody needed to know that, sometimes, when she was tending to her aunt’s garden, she daydreamed of a man who adored her and loved her, who stayed by her side even after she had…
Well, she wasn’t exactly sure what she had done. All she knew was that it hadn’t been good, and she had done it to Yero. But she also knew that Yero had never held it against her; that he had never even thought about leaving her side, even though doing so had cost him everything. To Yero, Eliza supposed, her freakishness didn’t matter.
Eliza was six when she met her mother.
It was an unbearably hot summer day, when a young woman had approached the Dursleys' doorstep. Dudley was out terrorizing the neighbourhood with his little friends. Her aunt and uncle were watching the news and Eliza had been made to weed the garden again before being locked back in her cupboard.
At the sound of several loud knocks to the door, Petunia had been the one to open the door, only to freeze at the woman behind the door. “Lily?” she had whispered. But the woman paid no mind to her. She had all but thrown Petunia out of her way, some invisible force holding both her and Vernon against the wall.
The woman, who looked very much to be on a war-path, stormed past them and went straight to the cupboard under the stairs.
Eliza sat there, huddled in the corner and making herself as small as possible. Having heard the commotion, she was afraid of facing down an angry Vernon and the promise of another beating. The woman opened the door with a look of horror on her face that made Eliza flinch. She schooled her features into a gentle smile as she crouched to her level, carefully hiding her growing rage, and holding both hands out towards the young girl.
“Hello, my darling” she said softly, slowly reaching forward. “I’m Melena. Can you tell me your name?”
Eliza took a moment to carefully consider the woman’s request. She was being nice, far nicer than anyone else had ever been to her, and, anyway, what harm was there in giving her name? It wasn’t as though anything could be worse than what she already faced.
And, with a quiet voice that was rough from disuse, she let out a meek whisper. “Eliza, miss.”
Melena smiled. “Hello, Eliza. I’m going to help you, get you out of here. Is that alright with you?”
Eliza looked up to her with wide eyes. Her face, gaunt where it should still have been filled with baby fat, conveyed clearly what she was thinking. That this couldn’t be happening, that it couldn’t be real. But Melena was still there, hands outstretched, and seemed not to care about her freakishness. Somewhere in the back of her mind, where memories of her Yero stayed, something called out to her. A loving face, with eyes that spoke only of adoration. Someone she had known and who had loved her, no matter what. Those memories beckoned her to trust the woman. And so, she did.
She had eyes of deep green, reminding her of a city she had never seen in this lifetime; a city made out of pure emeralds. Her hair splayed over her shoulders like blood. She wore a darkly colored gown that was nicer than anything her aunt had ever had. Her hands were delicate, and pale. Similar to Eliza’s own.
When she gave a hesitant nod and slowly creeped out of her cupboard, Melena reached forward to take Eliza into her arms.
And then, they were gone.
Eliza was seven when she learned that her name wasn’t Eliza.
Living with Melena, or Lily as she sometimes went by, was difficult at first. It was so very different from living with the Dursleys. She didn’t sleep in a cupboard. She had her own bedroom, and the only chore she had to do was picking up her toys. She didn’t need to cook, and was even allowed to eat whatever she’d like, whenever she’d like.
Melena showered her with gifts and affection. Although the two rarely left the house—Le Fay Manor, according to Melena—Eliza couldn’t care less. She was happy with her room, covered in blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals. She had her own collection of books that Melena was willing to read to her whenever she wanted. Her room even had a balcony overlooking the manor’s grounds. It was far more grand than the Dursleys' house, really, and she couldn’t help the vindictive satisfaction that thought brought her.
When she did something that would have had the Dursleys locking her in the cupboard for days, Melena would laugh and smile and tell Eliza that she’d done great, that she hadn’t done anything wrong and wasn’t a freak, and that she couldn’t be more proud.
Melena had explained that what she did wasn’t freakishness—no, it was magic. Magic. When Eliza hadn’t believed her, she had simply smiled and made several of her stuffed animals float around in the air.
When Eliza was seven, she had a new dream. She was with Yero again. But this time, it was different. He wasn’t voiceless. Rather, he had a beautiful voice that spoke warm and comforting words to her.
“Elphaba,” he had said. “I love you.”
And with that, it seemed that a wall broke down in her brain.
Her name was Elphaba. Whispers of nicknames (“Elphie,” they sang; “Fabala,” they crooned; “Fae,” they smiled) rang through her mind. Her Yero, her darling Fiyero who never left her side. Nessarose, her baby sister whom she loved deeply, despite all the hurt she had thrown her way. Glina, her dearest friend who had never, ever given up on her, no matter how wicked they said she was.
And her mother. Melena Thropp, who had been disgraced after giving birth to a green child, but who had loved her all the same.
She knew that she wasn’t remembering everything, and that her knowledge was incomplete. But one day, she knew, she would remember it all.
After coming to her senses, she’d run straight to Melena. “Mama, Mama!” she sobbed. In return, Melena simply held her tightly, rocking the little girl back and forth as she whispered soft words of love and safety to her.
And, from that point on, if Melena only called her Elphaba along with her typical terms of endearment, and Elphaba had started referring to Melena simply as ‘Mama’, well, that was nobody’s business.
Elphaba was ten when she first visited Magical Britain.
Mama had decided that if she preferred to be called Elphaba in this life, and not Eliza, that her preference should be reflected legally. And so, she bundled her up, as it was December, and flooed them to the Ministry.
She’d stuck close to her Mama, through all the whispers as they passed. “Oh Merlin, it’s Lily Potter!” they shouted. “Eliza Potter… I never thought I’d really see her!” they called. Melena glared at any who got too close and curled a protective arm around her daughter.
As Melena settled everything in the Department of Names, Elphaba sat outside in a chair. She fiddled with the stuffed cat that Mama had let her bring, as passerby stared and pointed. She didn’t waste much time, though, and soon Melena Thropp, or, as she was known in this life, Lily Potter, walked out of the room in all her glory.
She lifted Elphaba up, still far too easy because of her mistreatment at the hand of the Dursleys, and apparated the two of them directly to Diagon Alley.
Although she told Elphaba that they could go wherever she wished, it was easy to predict where they would end up. So it was only a few minutes after that the little girl entered Flourish and Blotts, her mother walking in right behind her. When the two finally left, it was not without a large collection of both fiction and non-fiction books for Elphaba, and a few that had struck Melena’s fancy.
Melena had just taken Elphaba out of yet another book store when a blond woman walked towards them with a smile on her regal face.
“Lily!” she called. “Oh, dear, it’s so great to see you! Is that Elphaba?”
Melena grinned back and hugged her. “Hello, Cissa. It’s great to see you, my dear friend.” She pulled Elphaba in front of her. “Yes, this is my darling Fabala. How is your Draco?”
“He’s doing well, Lily. He’s with Lucius.” The blond woman crouched in front of Elphaba, smiling kindly. “Why hello, Elphaba,” she crooned, “I’m Narcissa, but you may call me Cissa if you so wish.”
Elphaba gave a shy smile, hiding slightly behind her stuffed cat and clutching her mother’s skirt. “Hi, Cissa.”
And then she stood to the side as Mama conversed with Cissa.
It was only a few minutes later that she saw a pair of shining sapphire eyes.
When Elphaba was ten, she met Draco Malfoy for the first time.
Mama and Auntie Cissa had, finally, come to the decision that Elphaba and Draco would do well to know each other before going off to Hogwarts.
Well, Narcissa had, in truth, thought this for a while. Melena was simply very overprotective of her daughter, but had finally conceded that it would be best for Elphaba to have at least one friend there.
So, it was a Friday in May when Elphaba finally got a glimpse of Draco Malfoy.
The two had been placed in Elphaba’s playroom (which, of course, was mainly made up of a large number of books, stuffed animals, and a few potions sets for children), as their respective mothers traded gossip in her Mama’s study, the next room over.
When she saw Draco, they both froze. A million thoughts rushed through Elphaba’s mind, and a flurry of memories from a time long passed followed.
(“It’s simple, Miss Elphaba. You just dance through life, because that’s all life is: a dance.”)
(“Nothing matters, Yero, except for me and you. It matters not what the world thinks, as long as you’re mine.”)
(“RUN! Elphaba, run! Leave me, and save yourself! I’ll be fine, just go!”)
(“Oh, Oz… I’ve failed you. I’ve failed you, Fiyero, and now you’re gone…”)
(“If you can see flying houses, why can’t you see this?”)
(“No one can know.”)
And, in that moment, both children remembered.
When Elphaba was eleven, she got a letter in the mail.