The morning sun poured through the tall arched windows of Hogwarts, laying long golden stripes across the stone corridors. Dust motes drifted lazily in the light, turning the ancient hallway into something almost serene.
Footsteps echoed softly.
Albus Dumbledore walked at his usual unhurried pace, hands folded behind his back, robes brushing quietly against the stone floor. Beside him strode Professor McGonagall, posture straight, expression composed as always—though a faint crease lingered between her brows.
"Where is Miss Targaryen this morning?" Dumbledore hummed lightly, tilting his head as the sunlight brushed against his face.
McGonagall did not need to check.
"She's having breakfast near the lake."
Dumbledore chuckled under his breath.
"Ah. I see she's settling in rather comfortably."
McGonagall sighed, though there was the faintest hint of reluctant amusement in the sound.
"She managed to win the house-elves' favour within two weeks," she said. "Now they scramble over who gets to prepare her bedding or deliver her meals."
Her lips thinned slightly.
"Smart girl."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"Smart she is."
They walked a few steps in companionable silence, the castle quiet around them—summer always left Hogwarts feeling strangely hollow, as though the building itself were resting.
Then Dumbledore spoke again.
"Tell me, Minerva," he said thoughtfully. "What is your impression of that girl?"
McGonagall glanced at him, surprised by the question. She walked in silence for a moment longer, considering.
When she spoke, it was measured.
"She is… mature for her age."
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she searched for the right words.
"Too mature, if I'm being honest."
They passed a large window overlooking the grounds. Outside, the lake shimmered peacefully.
"It suggests pressure," McGonagall continued. "Responsibility from an early age. Expectations placed upon her long before she should have had to carry them."
She paused.
"But given what we now know of her background… it makes a certain sense."
Dumbledore inclined his head slightly.
McGonagall folded her hands behind her back as she continued.
"She approaches magic differently than most students," she said. "There is curiosity, certainly—but also… analysis. She experiments without hesitation, yet she observes first. As though she studies magic the way a scholar studies mathematics."
Her lips curved faintly.
"She does not behave like someone raised among wizards, yet she does not reject our methods either."
Dumbledore listened quietly.
"Behaviourally," McGonagall added, "she is well-mannered and respectful. A good student."
A faint sigh escaped her.
"Although she occasionally allows herself to be dragged into the antics of Mr Potter and his friends."
Dumbledore chuckled.
"Yes, that group does have a certain gravitational pull."
McGonagall's expression softened briefly before returning to seriousness.
"If anything," she concluded, "I would say she lacks the naivety expected of a child her age."
Dumbledore nodded slowly.
"Indeed," he said softly. "You are quite right."
They walked a few more paces.
Then he asked quietly—
"Did you notice?"
McGonagall frowned.
"Notice what?"
Dumbledore's voice grew thoughtful.
"Her magical reserves."
McGonagall's gaze sharpened.
"Before the summer break," Dumbledore continued, "Miss Targaryen already possessed an impressive magical core. Large—larger than most students her age."
He smiled faintly.
"Comparable to children from the most magically potent pure-blood families."
He paused.
"In fact, she may have surpassed many of them."
McGonagall nodded slightly. That much she had also observed.
But Dumbledore continued.
"Yesterday," he said quietly, "her reserves had doubled."
McGonagall stopped walking.
Dumbledore continued forward another step before halting as well.
"Perhaps even tripled," he finished calmly. "At present, her magical output rivals that of experienced Aurors."
McGonagall turned toward him fully now, her expression grave.
"In a single year?" she asked.
Dumbledore nodded.
"In a single year."
Silence lingered in the corridor.
McGonagall understood the implication immediately.
Magic was not meant to grow faster than the body that contained it.
Dumbledore spoke again, his tone soft but serious.
"Petunia's magic is expanding faster than her physical form can safely sustain."
McGonagall folded her arms, mind already racing through possibilities.
"What do we do?" she asked quietly.
Dumbledore's eyes drifted toward the distant grounds, where the lake glimmered under the sun.
"There are two paths," he said.
His voice was calm—but heavy with consequence.
"We either seal part of her magic… or we strengthen her body so it may endure what her Targaryen bloodline is awakening."
McGonagall's eyes narrowed immediately.
"You heard Madam Cersei," she said firmly.
Dumbledore glanced at her.
"For the Targaryen heir to ascend the throne," McGonagall continued, "she must overcome this problem herself—not hide from it behind magical restraints."
Her voice hardened slightly.
"How could she rule her realm if we weaken her now?"
Dumbledore studied her for a moment.
Then he smiled faintly.
"Indeed," he said softly.
His gaze drifted toward the distant lake.
"That is a responsibility she must uphold."
------------
Morning arrived gently in the quiet suburban street.
Soft sunlight slipped through the curtains of Lily Evans' bedroom, spreading across the floorboards and creeping slowly up the side of her bed. The warmth brushed her face, coaxing her awake the same way it had every day since the start of summer.
Lily groaned quietly and rolled onto her back.
Summer holiday.
Normally, that thought would have filled her with excitement—sleeping late, running outside, reading under trees, spending long evenings gossiping with friends.
But this summer felt… different.
Too quiet.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up, her red hair falling messily around her shoulders. For a moment she simply stared at the opposite wall, letting her thoughts drift somewhere she had been trying not to go.
Around this time last year…
Her sister had left.
Petunia had always been strange—at least in Lily's eyes. Quiet where others laughed. Distant where others sought attention. Brilliant at everything she touched yet utterly uninterested in praise.
When Petunia won competitions at school—mathematics, literature, science fairs—she never smiled the way other children did.
No excitement.
No pride.
Just a polite nod before placing the medal somewhere and returning to whatever book she had been reading.
Lily had never understood that.
And then one day—
She was gone.
No grand announcement.
No argument.
Just a single letter left neatly on the kitchen counter.
Lily remembered the morning her mother found it.
The way the paper trembled in her hands.
The silence that followed.
Petunia had written that she had received an opportunity to study abroad. That she would pursue it immediately. That she would be safe.
That was all.
No explanation.
No goodbye.
And worst of all—
No letters afterward.
Lily's hands tightened slightly in the bedsheets.
It would be a lie if she claimed she didn't feel resentment.
Petunia had always been distant from their parents. Their mother tried her best, but their father… well, he had never hidden which daughter he found easier to understand.
Lily had laughter.
Petunia had silence.
Even when she came home with certificates and medals, their father barely glanced at them before asking Lily how her day had been.
Petunia never complained.
She simply stopped trying.
Lily knew all that.
She knew Petunia had been unhappy here.
But still…
"How could you just leave?" Lily muttered softly.
"And not even write?"
With a small sigh, she climbed out of bed and moved toward the window.
It had become a habit.
A quiet routine.
She pushed the curtain aside and looked down at the street.
And there—
As always—
Her mother stood outside.
Mrs Evans paced slowly along the pavement in front of the house, arms folded against the morning chill. Every few seconds she would glance toward the road that curved away into the neighbourhood.
The same road Petunia had walked down the day she left.
At first, she had tried to hide how much it affected her.
But Lily had noticed.
Petunia, despite her distant nature, had always been dependable in ways few people realised.
When their mother left early for work, she never worried.
Petunia would already be awake.
The house would be tidy.
Lily's homework would be checked.
Dinner would be cooking when evening came.
And when their mother returned home exhausted, there would always be a cup of warm tea waiting for her on the table.
It had felt… comforting.
Like stepping into a quiet embrace.
Now the house felt colder.
Emptier.
And every morning, Mrs Evans walked outside, pretending she was just getting fresh air while her eyes searched the road.
As if hoping Petunia might simply reappear.
Lily swallowed.
"She misses you," she whispered quietly.
The only time they had heard anything about Petunia since she left was months later.
Lily could still remember that day clearly.
A car had stopped outside their modest house—sleek, expensive, far out of place in their quiet neighbourhood.
A tall man in a sharp suit stepped out.
He had knocked politely on their door.
When Mrs Evans opened it, the man had introduced himself in a calm, professional tone.
He said he represented a… foundation.
A foundation connected to Miss Petunia Evans.
Lily remembered how confused her mother looked.
The man explained that Petunia had secured opportunities for them—job placements, relocation assistance, financial support.
Positions far better than anything they could have dreamed of before.
It sounded unreal.
Suspicious.
But the man had simply handed them documents.
And on the final page—
There was Petunia's signature.
Neat.
Precise.
Unmistakably hers.
Lily had stared at it for a long time.
No letter.
No explanation.
Just… help.
As if Petunia had quietly arranged their future from afar.
And disappeared again.
Outside the window, Mrs Evans stopped pacing for a moment and looked down the road.
Her expression held a fragile kind of hope.
Lily rested her forehead against the glass.
"…You're horrible, Petunia," she muttered softly.
"Leaving like that."
Her voice trembled slightly.
"But you better come back someday."
Outside, the morning road remained empty.
And somewhere far away—
At a castle beside a black lake—
Petunia Targaryen sat under a tree, speaking with constellations.
------
A sharp hoot cut through the quiet of Lily's room.
She blinked, pulling away from the window.
Another hoot followed—louder this time, impatient.
Lily leaned slightly out the window and froze.
An owl sat on the small wooden fence below, staring directly at her.
Not an ordinary owl either. It was large, speckled brown and white, its amber eyes bright with the sort of intelligence that felt… suspiciously deliberate.
In its beak was a velvet red envelope.
Lily's heart skipped.
Excitement rushed through her chest so quickly she nearly tripped over her chair scrambling to open the window.
"Wait—wait!" she whispered urgently, as if the owl might fly away if she moved too fast.
It didn't.
Instead it puffed its feathers proudly as Lily leaned down and took the envelope.
The owl gave a satisfied hoot, clearly pleased with itself.
Lily stared at the letter in her hands.
Velvet red.
No postage.
No wax seal.
Just… her house's address written across it in rather messy handwriting.
Her mind raced.
Is this…?
Snape had told her once about magical owls that delivered letters to witches and wizards. Official letters. Important letters.
Her pulse quickened.
But why now?
She wasn't even eleven yet.
Wasn't the standard age supposed to be next year?
Her lips slowly curled into a smug grin.
Did they notice how extraordinary I am?
"Hehe…"
She clutched the letter dramatically.
"Well, of course they did."
She snapped it open.
Instantly—
A wet, glittering mass exploded out of the envelope like a magical sneeze.
"GURGLE—"
"AAAHHHHH!"
The slime smacked directly into Lily's face.
Cold.
Sticky.
Suspiciously sparkly.
She staggered backward as it slid slowly down her nose.
"What—what—WHAT IS THIS?!"
Before she could wipe it off—
The envelope folded itself.
Its paper crumpled inward until it resembled a tiny mouth.
Then it spoke.
In three overlapping voices.
All very pleased with themselves.
"Oi, oi, oi—did it work?"
"Blimey, I think it did!"
"HAHAHA—LOOK AT HER!"
Lily froze.
The paper-mouth cleared its throat dramatically.
Then came the voices again, louder now, dripping with theatrical mockery.
"Ah yes, greetings Petunia the Terrible," one voice announced pompously.
"Esteemed Witch of Slime," another added.
"Protector of Broom Cupboards and Destroyer of Hairbrushes," the third chimed in.
The three burst into laughter.
"Got you, old hag!" the first voice crowed.
"You thought you could hide your location, did you?" another said.
"Nothing escapes the Marauders!" the third voice declared grandly.
The paper puffed itself up proudly.
"Allow us to introduce ourselves!"
A dramatic pause.
"James Potter," said the first voice smugly.
"Sirius Black," said the second with a cocky drawl.
"Remus Lupin," said the third voice—far more resigned.
"Collectively known as the greatest pranksters Hogwarts has ever seen!"
Another pause.
Then Sirius's voice again:
"…And also the only ones bored enough to send glitter bombs during summer holidays."
James snorted.
"Honestly Sirius, she probably fainted already."
Remus sighed audibly.
"Can we go before my parents finds out we used the owls again?"
"Not yet!" Sirius insisted gleefully. "Part two!"
The envelope-mouth stretched wide again.
"As a parting gift," James announced grandly.
"Here's more slime!"
"HAHAHAHA!"
The letter convulsed.
A second wave of shimmering, sticky slime vomited out of the paper mouth and splattered all over Lily's hair.
"PS!" Sirius's voice added cheerfully.
"That glitter fades in—oh—what was it?"
Remus answered flatly.
"Several months."
James burst out laughing.
"Enjoy looking like a disco ball, Petunia!"
The paper mouth cackled wildly.
Then—
RIP.
The envelope shredded itself into dozens of tiny pieces.
The owl, having completed its mission, gave one last satisfied hoot and flew away.
Silence returned.
Lily stood in the middle of her room.
Covered.
In.
Glitter slime.
Slowly dripping down her face.
Her eye twitched.
"…Petunia?"
Her brain replayed the voices.
James Potter.
Sirius Black.
Remus Lupin.
Marauders.
Her thoughts began racing.
Wait.
Petunia?
Hogwarts?
Magic?
Was her sister there all this time?
Did she have magic too?
Why didn't she tell her?
And those boys—
Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Are they… bullying her?"
The slime slid off her chin with a wet plop.
Lily wiped her face slowly, fury rising like a storm.
"I will burn those voices into my memory," she muttered darkly.
Her eyes glowed with determination.
"I need to tell Snape."
Outside, the glitter continued sparkling magnificently in the sunlight.
And it would continue doing so.
For months.
----
The small clearing in the woods had become their place.
Hidden between tall oaks and thick hedges, it was far enough from the neighbourhood that no one could hear them talk about strange things—magic, moving flowers, odd sensations in the air. The forest floor was soft with moss and fallen leaves, and a large rock near the centre had become their usual meeting spot.
Severus Snape was already there.
He stood with his hands in his pockets, dark hair falling around his face as he stared absently at a patch of mushrooms growing near the base of a tree. He had been waiting for a while now, listening to the distant sounds of the neighbourhood beyond the forest.
Normally Lily arrived humming or chatting to herself.
Today—
"Severus!"
Her voice came crashing through the trees.
Hurried.
Panicked.
Snape frowned and stretched his neck slightly, peering toward the narrow path leading into the clearing.
And then he saw her.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Lily Evans stormed into the clearing looking like she had just crawled out of a glitter factory explosion.
Her hair—normally a bright cascade of red—was tied into a messy bun that was now decorated with sticky strands of shimmering slime. Several clumps clung stubbornly to the sides of her head like rebellious jellyfish.
Even worse—
Her entire face sparkled.
Not the soft kind of sparkle either.
The aggressive kind.
The kind that made her look like an extremely furious Christmas ornament.
In one hand she clutched a bundle of shredded paper, still damp with slime.
Snape pressed his lips together.
Hard.
"What happened to you?" he asked carefully.
Lily narrowed her eyes.
"I dare you to laugh, Snape."
His shoulders trembled.
He quickly stiffened his posture, forcing his face into what he hoped looked like a solemn expression of concern.
Inside, however—
His brain was screaming.
She looks like an angry glitter fairy.
But Snape was not foolish enough to say that aloud.
Instead he nodded seriously.
"Yes. Quite… unfortunate."
Lily pouted and shoved the shredded paper toward him.
"Look at this!"
After several minutes of explanation—interrupted occasionally by Lily angrily peeling slime off her sleeves—Snape leaned back against the rock and folded his arms thoughtfully.
"I see," he said slowly.
"So these… 'Marauders' sent you a magical prank letter."
"Yes!" Lily snapped.
"And they thought I was Petunia!"
Snape frowned slightly.
"It seems that these people are bullying your sister at Hogwarts."
Lily froze.
Her anger faltered, replaced by worry.
Snape continued in his usual calm tone.
"My mum says that only the strong are respected in the magical world," he said quietly. "And that many witches and wizards grow up poor or mistreated."
Lily's stomach twisted.
Her mind filled with uneasy images.
Petunia alone in a giant castle.
Surrounded by cruel students who sent slime bombs.
"Do you think she's… okay?" Lily asked softly.
Snape shrugged slightly.
"If she's weak, they may target her."
Lily gasped.
"Petunia isn't weak!"
Then she paused.
Actually… she had no idea.
Petunia had always been quiet.
Serious.
She rarely fought back when people teased her.
What if these boys were tormenting her every day?
Lily's eyes filled with concern.
"I need to write to her," she murmured.
A glob of slime slid down from her bun and landed on her shoulder with a wet plop.
Her expression darkened again.
"And I still can't get rid of this horrible stuff!"
She grabbed another sticky strand and tried to yank it free.
It stretched like magical chewing gum.
Snape winced.
"Stop."
He reached forward and caught her wrist before she could pull harder.
"You'll rip your hair out."
Lily sighed miserably.
"What do I do then?"
Snape thought for a moment.
Then he straightened.
"Let's go to my mum."
Lily blinked.
"Your mum?"
"Yes," he said. "She knows a lot about magical things. Maybe she can fix your… spark-slime problem."
Lily's eyes brightened instantly.
"Really? Is that okay?"
Snape shrugged.
"Probably."
Then his expression shifted slightly.
"We should go now though."
"Why?"
Snape grimaced.
"Before my father comes home."
Lily immediately understood.
She grabbed his sleeve.
"Let's go! Quickly!"
Snape nodded.
The two children hurried out of the clearing and toward the narrow path leading to Spinner's End.
Behind them, the clearing returned to silence.
And as they ran, tiny sparkles of magical glitter continued falling from Lily's hair—leaving a shimmering trail through the forest like breadcrumbs for extremely confused fairies.
------
The breeze from the Black Lake moved gently through the branches above her, scattering shifting patterns of sunlight across the rug where Petunia sat. The quiet of Hogwarts during summer had a unique stillness—no rushing students, no noisy corridors, only the distant splash of the giant squid and the rustle of leaves.
Petunia had almost finished her lunch.
The house-elves had prepared more than she asked for—small sandwiches with crusts neatly removed, fresh strawberries in a porcelain bowl, and a tall glass of chilled orange juice that glimmered with condensation in the warm air.
She leaned back slightly against the tree, reading through the last lingering system prompts that occasionally flickered at the edge of her vision.
A calm moment.
Rare.
Peaceful.
And therefore—
"Don't you mind the company of an old man?"
The voice arrived first.
Warm.
Light.
And unmistakably belonging to someone who appeared everywhere at the most inconvenient times.
Petunia's eyelid twitched almost imperceptibly.
Of course.
Inside her mind she rolled her eyes dramatically.
When will this old man find another hobby?
Honestly… does he monitor my lunch breaks now?
People always ruining things…
Still, outward appearances mattered.
Petunia closed the translucent system panel with a quiet mental command and looked up.
Albus Dumbledore stood a few steps away on the grassy slope, hands folded behind his back as usual. His long silver beard shimmered slightly in the sunlight, and his half-moon glasses reflected the lake like tiny mirrors.
He looked entirely too pleased with himself.
Petunia arranged her expression into polite composure.
"Please do, Professor."
She gestured lightly to the open space beside the rug.
Dumbledore chuckled softly as he lowered himself onto the grass with surprising ease for a man his age.
"Thank you, Miss Targaryen."
For a moment they simply sat there.
The lake rippled quietly.
A distant splash echoed across the water.
Dumbledore inhaled deeply, as though appreciating the peaceful view.
"Hogwarts is quite different without students, wouldn't you say?" he remarked.
Petunia sipped her orange juice.
"Much quieter."
"And yet," Dumbledore continued, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, "somehow still full of excitement."
Petunia did not respond immediately.
Instead she selected a strawberry from the bowl and examined it thoughtfully.
"Is that your way of saying the duelling arena repairs took all morning?" she asked calmly.
Dumbledore laughed.
"A fair observation."
He folded his hands over his knee and studied her for a moment—his gaze thoughtful, curious.
Petunia could practically feel the analysis behind those bright blue eyes.
The legendary Albus Dumbledore rarely did anything without purpose.
Which meant this conversation was not casual.
Petunia already knew that.
Still, she popped the strawberry into her mouth with complete composure.
If the headmaster wanted a discussion—
He could work for it.
And somewhere, unseen beyond the boundaries of the physical world, a few watching Constellations leaned forward with interest.
The quiet lakeside lunch had suddenly become far more entertaining.