Five Years Later:
The years at Privet Drive were nothing like the warm, golden memories of Godric's Hollow. The Dursleys—cold, ordinary, and terrified of anything different—kept Mavis in a cupboard under the stairs, as though hiding her could erase her existence. Meals were scraps. Love was absent. And every day felt like a silent reminder that she did not belong.
At five years old, Mavis understood fear better than most adults. She knew the sound of Petunia's shrill voice when she accused Mavis of "being abnormal." She knew the thud of Vernon's heavy steps, a warning to stay quiet and unseen. She knew Dudley's cruel laughter, echoing even in her dreams.
But she also knew something else—something the Dursleys never did.
Magic lived inside her.
It warmed her when she cried alone at night. It whispered comfort in moments when she felt too small and too forgotten. It told her that somewhere, somehow, she was meant for more.
That evening, Vernon had thrown open the cupboard door after the television flickered for no reason. "It's her! She's doing her freak things again!" he roared.
He dragged her up by the arm, shouting about "unnaturalness" and "corruption." The bulb shattered in the basement as if answering him. When he finally stormed off, leaving her locked in the dark again, Mavis curled up and whispered, "I don't belong here."
Something deep inside her answered.
A warmth unfurled beneath her skin — like a heartbeat that wasn't hers. The air shimmered faintly, and for an instant, she thought she saw silver feathers fall through the air, melting as they touched the ground.
It happened one stormy evening. Dudley had smashed one of his toys and blamed her. Petunia, furious, had dragged Mavis by the arm and shoved her into her cupboard harder than usual.
"No dinner," she snapped. "This is what happens when you ruin things."
The door slammed. The lock clicked.
Mavis sank onto her small mattress, eyes stinging, heart pounding. The storm outside rumbled, shaking the windows. Something snapped inside her—a fragile thread of patience that had been stretched too thin.
"I don't want to stay here," she whispered to the darkness. "I don't want to be alone anymore."
And then, as if answering her, the cupboard door unlocked itself with a faint click.
Mavis froze.
Magic.
Her magic.
She covered her mouth, terrified they might hear. But the house was silent. Even the storm seemed to hold its breath.
This was her chance.
She grabbed the small, torn blanket she treasured—one that reminded her faintly of Lily's warmth—and pushed open the cupboard door. Barefoot, she slipped out the front door and into the rain.
She ran.
Down Privet Drive.
Past the quiet houses whose windows glowed with families she could never be part of.
She ran until her tiny legs trembled, until her lungs burned, until she felt she might collapse.
When she finally stopped, she found herself near a park, soaked through, shivering, and exhausted.
"I want to go home," she whispered, though she had no idea where "home" was anymore.
Lightning flashed.
Thunder cracked.
And then—a gentle voice.
"My sweet girl... you shouldn't be out here alone."
Mavis spun around, slipping slightly in the mud.
A woman stood nearby, glowing softly beneath the storm clouds. Her hair curly black as a Raven's wing. Her eyes—warm, shimmering emeralds—studied Mavis with a tenderness that stole her breath.
Beside her stood a tall man with starlight silver hair, his presence steady and strong. His blue eyes held the same quiet wisdom she remembered from... somewhere.
She didn't know them.
And yet, she did. But it felt like something was blocking her memory on remembering who they were.
"Don't be afraid," the woman said, stepping forward. "We've been searching for you."
Mavis took a step back, trembling. "Wh-who are you?"
The man knelt to her height. "I'm Alaric. This is Elarisse."
The names hit her like a forgotten lullaby—strange, yet comforting.
"We're here to take you somewhere safe," Alaric said gently. "You don't deserve the life you've been living."
"But..." Mavis trembled, glancing back toward Privet Drive. "I'm not supposed to go with strangers."
Elarisse smiled—kind, sad, and full of love. "You're right to be careful. But you're not a stranger to us, Mavis."
Mavis blinked. "I don't... I don't know you."
A soft glow lit Elarisse's fingertips as she reached out, brushing them lightly against Mavis's forehead.
Warmth flooded through her, like a memory being unlocked.
And suddenly—
She saw them.
Not here.
Not now.
But in a different life.
A hospital bed.
Her grandparents' arms around her.
Books. Movies. Laughter.
Black hair braided just the same.
Alaric's voice reading Philosopher's Stone.
Elarisse's warm hands brushing her hair back.
The smell of blueberry tea.
The last lullaby they ever sang to her.
Then—
A crash.
Screams.
Darkness.
Loss.
Mavis gasped, staggering forward.
She knew them.
She knew them better than she knew herself.
"You... you're my grandparents," she whispered. "My grandparents from... before."
Elarisse cupped her cheek, eyes shimmering. "Yes, sweetheart. Our bodies died in that world, but our souls were never far from you."
"We've watched over you," Alaric added softly. "And now, finally, we can protect you again."
A sob tore from Mavis's chest—years of neglect, fear, loneliness, and longing unraveling all at once.
She threw herself into Elarisse's arms, "I missed you," she cried. "I missed you so much."
Elarisse held her tightly, her tears mixing with the rain, "And we missed you. More than you could ever know."
Alaric wrapped his cloak around Mavis, lifting her gently into his arms, "Let's go home," he said.
Mavis clung to him, feeling—for the first time since her birth parents died—safe.
Loved.
Wanted.
As the Silverthorne Family magic shimmered around them and whisked them away from Privet Drive, Mavis didn't look back.
She didn't need to.
Her new life had just begun.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvDlkB2boln
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