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Summary: Response to Challenge 3403- Drusilla gets a Hogwarts letter as a child. Because she's been raised to think magic is the work of the devil, she has trouble accepting being a witch.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > Drusilla-CenteredKatieTFR131726,0641216,80912 Dec 0817 Mar 13No

Chapter One

Response to Challenge 3403:
Drusilla gets a Hogwarts letter as a child. Because she's been raised to think magic is the work of the devil, she has trouble accepting being a witch.
She is not a Gryffindor.
She does at some point meet Angelus.
friendship and/or romance pairing(s):
Drusilla/Albus Dumbledore and/or Drusilla/Grindewald

Disclaimer: I own zilch- everything Buffyish is property of Joss Whedon, likewise with the Harry Potter verse and J.K Rowling. I can only wish i was in their league.

A/N: I'm such a slow writer at the moment that so far this is unfinished and what i am uploading may be subject to change if inspiration strikes. Also chapters may be slow coming- you have been warned

Constructive feedback is both wanted and appreciated and anyone not flaming gets a cookie

Dear Miss Addams,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…

As the steam train hurtled along, Drusilla’s eyes skated across the parchment she had received only a few weeks ago. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Perhaps she ought to have stayed at home with Mum. But she’d never be able to trust the woman who’d birthed her again…not after all the lies…

3 weeks and 2 days ago

Drusilla’s hands trembled as she re-read the strange letter that had just been delivered. A school invitation. To a school for…wizards? This was a jest. There was surely no such thing. Her step sisters, Roseline and Georgina, had received no such letter.

She was seated in the drawing room, puzzling over it a third time when the parchment was snatched from her grasp and she found herself the object of one of her mother’s wilting stares.

“You’re late for breakfast, Drusilla. I was wondering what was keeping you from deigning us with your presence, and here I find you staring blankly at a scrap of paper. You get it from your father, you know, God rest his soul…” Her eyes narrowed as she peered at the writing. “What is this?”

“I-it’s a letter, Mother. It arrived for me this morning.” Drusilla’s gaze fell to her lap where she’d folded her hands as her mother’s face paled and she heard her whisper, “No…Damn you, Christian…”

Drusilla risked a glance at the older woman’s face and saw a mixture of astonishment, disgust and anger there before she was noticed and flinched in readiness of the tirade she knew was coming.

“This is the devil’s work, child. Evil!” Eyes wild, she shook the letter in Drusilla’s face. “Your father succumbed and look where it got him! He fell to evil and ended up in an early grave; left his poor wife all alone to raise their daughter, to teach her the Lord’s message and keep her from wickedness.”

“Y-yes, mother…I know, mother-” Drusilla tried to stem the flow of words she had heard so very often but she knew she’d waited too long, hadn’t spoken up quickly enough.

“If Lord Temesis hadn’t come along, who knows where we would be now. On the street, living in sin, no man to protect and provide for us. You should be thankful, my girl!”

“I am, mother.” Her response was monotonous, as usual, but she felt an unfamiliar anger towards the woman who birthed her growing in her stomach. The tips of her fingers began to tingle and she clenched her hands in the folds of her green dress.

Lady Temesis’s grip on the letter tightened, the parchment crumpling beneath her long, thin fingers. “Things like this could ruin us. They won’t have you like they had your father. If we ignore them, they’ll leave us be. You’ll bring anymore of these letters straight to me, do you understand, Drusilla?”

“Yes, mother.” They? Who were They?

Her mother nodded sharply, ending the matter- though questions were flying round Drusilla’s mind- and turned to step away, but instead of her foot landing on the thick, richly patterned Chinese carpet it hit a patch of ice, slid and brought the Lady Temesis crashing to the ground.

Drusilla leapt up in shock and ran to her mother’s side but was batted away with a ferocity that stunned her and she recoiled instantly.

“Don’t touch me! Devil child! They’ve got you already!” Her eyes were wide with fear. Terror-stricken at the touch of her own child, as her worst fears were confirmed.

“But, mum, I did nothing, how could I? I was sitting here…please…”

But Lady Temesis was beyond hearing. “No, no, no, I made sure they couldn’t corrupt you! I purged you of the visions…and now this. This truly is the work of Satan.”

The older woman rose to her feet with a glint of madness in her eyes. “I see now there was no helping you. You are your father’s daughter. Infested with magic! Witch!” She spat the word as though it left a bad taste in her mouth, bony finger pointing accusingly at her daughter. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!”

Bewildered, terrified and at a loss what to do, Drusilla span, tears welling, and ran out of the house in a very unladylike manner which, if her mother had been in her right mind, would have gotten her severely reprimanded.

She rushed into the street in a panic, almost losing her life to a horse-drawn carriage, and darted down an alley, leaving the angry shouts of the coachman and the screams of the rearing animal behind her.

She had no destination in mind, merely knew that she had to get away, to keep running, such was the panic inside her. But with the panic there was something else. An internal voice, familiar yet alien. It banished all other thoughts, directing her through the winding streets. Forward, faster, left, keep going, past the butcher’s, right, there, THERE!

Ducking into a shadowy alcove, she finally stopped, breathing hard, tears staining her cheeks and her dark hair hanging around her face in a most unbecoming fashion. She was granted but a moment’s peace before reality hit her like a bucket of water in the face and she realised she had no idea where to go or what to do. The tears sprang up again almost instantly.

“There now, dearie, don’t cry. We’ll get you sorted out, not to worry.” A hand offering a gleaming white handkerchief extended from the shadows and Drusilla jumped in surprise. Squinting, she could make out the strangely shaped outline of a person standing not two feet away from her in the darkness.

“Th-thank you,” she murmured and accepted the hankie, dabbing at her eyes futilely. Then took a step back, only then remembering that she wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers.

“Now don’t go tearing off again, miss, it was hard enough to follow you the first time.” The voice was pleasant enough, female, almost jocular, not threatening in any way, but the mention of having followed her across the city caused fear to shoot down her spine with a jolt that almost made her drop the hankie.

“Seems Phineas was right to send me to check on you after all. Well, given the state Emmaline was in the last time we saw her, I suppose this was the best we could have hoped for when she saw the letter. Poor thing, she had such talent, but Christian’s death affected her greatly.” Drusilla heard the woman –definitely a woman as the voice was distinctly feminine- sigh sadly. “Don’t mind me, dear, but you must have the patience of a saint to have dealt with her for so long. Still, can’t be helped now, you’re safe and I’m to get you ready.”

Drusilla was having trouble following what was being said but she had certainly understood two things: the names of her parents. And that shocked her more than anything else that had occurred this night, as well as inflamed her curiosity. “You know my parents?”

“Know them? Goodness me, better than anyone I’d wager. At least I did. Before…certain events. Now, what do you say to getting a nice cuppa, hm? Come along.”

It was a long moment before Drusilla could speak because the figure stepped out of shadows and the sight of her left the raven-haired girl’s mouth drooping open. If the odd, orange dress wasn’t strange enough, the wildly curling red hair, wood-rimmed pince-nez perched on a slightly crooked nose and oddly-coloured eyes –one dark blue and the other such a light green it looked yellow- were certainly enough to draw attention.

And that was without mentioning the hat. The pointed hat. The symbol of Satan’s workers, as Drusilla had been taught. The hat which made her point and back away slowly.

“Y-you’re a witch!”

“Don’t go shouting it about, dear. Do you want the whole city to know?” The witch glanced around quickly to make sure there was no one nearby. “Yes, I’m a witch. Skilled at magic. As your father was. As your mother was.”

“My mother?” The small, comfortable world Drusilla knew was beginning to crack and crumble around her. Was nothing she had been told the truth?
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