Chapter Text
The darkness was oppressive, thick enough to be felt like a weight on Arcadia's chest. She could hear the distant roar of the cyclone—a malevolent beast intent on destroying everything in its path.
She tried to stand, but her legs felt like jelly, and she found herself collapsing back onto the hard ground. The pain in her side throbbed, a constant reminder of the iron that had impaled her earlier. She reached up, feeling for the wound, wincing as her fingers encountered the cold metal.
As she lay there, she could feel the air around her begin to shift, as if the darkness itself were being drawn into a vortex. The cyclone's roar grew louder, more intense, and she could sense its approach. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, revealing a figure standing nearby. It was her Aunt Liza, her long grey and blonde hair whipping around her face.
"Liza?" she croaked, her voice barely audible over the wind.
Her aunt knelt beside her, her eyes filled with concern. "Are you all right, dear?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The girl tried to speak, but the pain made it difficult to form words.
"I-I'm sorry," she managed to say.
"I tried to save you, but..." Her voice trailed off as another gust of wind howled past them.
Liza reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently.
"Shh, shh, you did save me" she whispered.
"It's not your fault, sweetheart. We're going to get through this together. Just hold on." She glanced around, searching for something they could use as shelter, but there was nothing but debris and rubble scattered across the ground.
The cyclone was almost upon them.
As if in response, a sudden gust of wind lifted the girl off the ground, throwing her against her aunt. They clung to each other, their bodies pressed tightly together as the world spun around them. The pain in her side was excruciating, and she could feel the metal grinding against her bones with each movement.
But she forced herself to ignore it, focusing instead on her aunt and their desperate fight for survival.
"Hold on, Liza!" she shouted into her ear, trying to be heard over the deafening roar.
Her aunt nodded, her face etched with determination. Together, they began to crawl across the ground, searching for some sort of shelter, some place to ride out the storm. But with every step, the wind seemed to grow stronger, the darkness more oppressive.
As they crawled, Arcadia felt something hard and jagged digging into her knee.
She glanced down to see a shard of glass protruding from her pants. "Ouch!" she cried out, wincing in pain.
Her aunt reached over and carefully pulled the shard out, wincing as it drew blood. "You're hurt, dear," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind.
"We need to find someplace to hide!" she screamed into her aunt's ear.
Liza nodded, her hair whipping around her face. They scrambled over a pile of rubble, looking for any sort of shelter. Finally, they spotted a partially collapsed building not far ahead. With renewed hope, they dashed towards it, clinging to each other as they fought their way through the relentless wind.
The building was mostly destroyed, but there was a small alcove near the back where they might be able to find some protection. They crawled inside, huddled together against the cold, damp stone. The wind howled outside, but it sounded muffled and distant now. Liza reached out and took the girl's hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
Blood gushed from the wound on Arcadia’s side, soaking her shirt and pooling on the floor of the alcove. Liza pressed a dirty rag against the wound, trying to staunch the flow.
"It's going to be okay, dear," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You're going to be fine."
But even as she spoke the words, she knew that they were lies. Arcadia’s eyes were already growing glassy, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She was losing too much blood.
Liza held the girl who had became a daughter to her close, rocking her gently as the storm continued to rage outside.
She brushed a stray strand of hair from the girl's forehead, feeling the cold, clammy skin beneath her fingers.
"I love you, my sweet girl," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "You were the light of my life."
The sound of her Aunt’s last words to her grew distant as if she were hearing them from underwater.
“Vander.”
“Vander.”
The sound of her last name jolted her from the nightmare. No. The memory of her death.
Her heart hammering against her ribcage. She sat up, drenched in sweat, and found herself in a cold, familiar room of the Leaky Cauldron.The only light came from a single candle flickering on a nearby table. It was him - Tom Riddle. His pale face was etched with concern, his dark eyes reflecting the dancing flame.
He crossed the room in long strides, kneeling beside her.
"Shh... it's just a dream," he whispered, his hand rested on her shoulder.
"You're safe now." His touch was oddly comforting, and Arcadia found herself relaxing into his embrace despite her confusion and fear.
"Tell me what you were dreaming about, and I'll help you make sense of it."
The reasonable part of her brain screamed to not tell Tom anything; he might use it to manipulate her at a later date. She hesitated, unsure if she could trust him with the details of her nightmare.
But the warmth of his body and the gentle rhythm of his breath reassured her. This was the first hug she had received in her new life as Arcadia Vander, daughter of Lachesis and soon to be witch of Hogwarts.
"I was back home," she finally said, her voice barely audible. "And everything was destroyed."
Tom didn’t push the subject any further.
“Did I wake you?” she asked as he studied her soft expression
“Yes, Vander, you were screaming bloody murder.” He said as Arcadia sighed, guilt knotting in her stomach.
“Sorry.”
Tom was silent in response to her apology.
“What time is it?” she asked her throat a bit hoarse.
“It’s about 3:35, we should start making our way back to wool’s if we don’t want to be caught.”
“It’s probably good if we eat before we go.” Muttered Arcadia as Tom raised an eyebrow in confusion.
“The Matron might find it strange if we don’t eat breakfast.”
“Tomzy, you are as pale as a ghost and as thin as a twig. Having a proper breakfast will do some good unless you don’t think you can stomach it.” Rambled on Arcadia
Tom’s eye twitched in annoyance at her use of the nickname ‘Tomzy’ but she noticed the subtle way he was weighing up his options.
“Do they even serve breakfast at this time?” Questioned the future slytherin
Arcadia gave a shrug. “I am sure if I ask nicely enough.”
Tom gave a sigh of defeat as a smile graced Arcadia’s lips. It wasn’t often she could convince Tom to actually do something without complaining the whole time. The dark, wavy haired boy really was stubborn sometimes.
“You should get dressed; I left your clothes on the other bedside table. I am going to have a bath while you sort out breakfast.” Tom said strolling into the bathroom.
Arcadia crawled out of bed and as she began to get ready she could hear that bloody mirror going off again.
“Oh dearie me, you really should eat more you look like a skeleton wearing a skin suit.”
The blonde really should have just broken the stupid thing last night. Seven years of bad luck, be damned. She was finally dressed in the scratchy wool’s uniform before she decided to venture downstairs. No one was up but a single house elf.
“Excuse me.” The little creature snapped its head around at Arcadia
“Good morning, missy. How can Wimby help you?”
Arcadia took a moment to study the little meek house elf. Her pillow case was clean, but her hands seemed hurt. As if she had crushed them under something.
“My brother and I were wondering if we would be able to have breakfast. You see, we leave very shortly.” She asked keeping to her lie of last night.
“Of course, if little miss and sir come downstairs, Wimby can make them something.”
She made a mental note to tell Tom she wouldn’t be able to say his real name for the duration of breakfast. She didn’t need the fact that Tom visited the magical world before his eleventh birthday, getting back to his inept magical guardian. What an old coot Dumbledore was.
“Thank you, Wimby.” Arcadia said giving the house elf a soft smile.
The elf looked as if she was going to break into tears. “Little miss is so kind. Never had a witch thanked Wimby.”
“It’s okay, Wimby, you deserved my thanks. I will be back soon with my brother.”
With that, the house elf popped out of the main room. Arcadia ascended the staircase to be greeted by Tom at the top of it.
Dressed in the ratty wool’s uniform.
“One of the house elves has agreed to make us something to eat. I will be calling you by the alias Rosier I gave you last night. The elf believes us to be siblings.”
“Why did you lie and say my name was Rosier on the guest registry?” Tom asked
“Because I don’t know who your magical guardian is, and if they find out, I took you into a magical place before your eleventh birthday without their permission. It could end badly for me.” Muttered Arcadia, thinking about how unbearable Dumbledore would be.
She already had the feeling Dumblewhore knew Tom was magic but kept him in that fucking awful orphanage to craft him into the perfect dark Lord for the future. Whether this was true or not was another story, but Arcadia decided to stick with her gut feelings.
“I don’t have a magical Guardian.” Tom hissed but Arcadia knew better. She decided it was best to drop the subject and just enjoy breakfast.
Lachesis, only knows when the pair could sneak out of the hellish orphanage again for a proper meal.
The pair sat at a small wooden table in the corner of the room. There was a copy of the daily Prophet that a previous customer left behind. Tom became engrossed in the wizarding paper while Arcadia stared through the grimy windowspanes of the Leaky Cauldron; the morning light had yet to pass through them.
The blonde’s elbows were propped up on the slightly sticky table surface. The air was thick with the tantalizing aroma of fried bacon and freshly brewed coffee, mingling with the musty scent of the centuries old pub.
A familiar popping sound was heard before the two were greeted by a bow from Wimby. Her long gangly ears were almost touching the ground.
“Good morning, Missy and Sir, your breakfast.” spoke the elf in a squeaky and high-pitched voice as Tom studied the creature with interest.
Two plates appeared on the table with a snap of the elf’s fingers. Two plates filled with eggs, bacon, and toast.
“Thank you, Wimby. Would you like to join us? I am sure my brother Rosier would love to get to know you better." Arcadia spoke, feeling sad that House-elves don’t get a choice in who they serve.
She wasn’t about to become some Hermonie Granger nockoff and start an organization like S.P.E.W but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be kind to them.
“Oh no, Wimby could never. Master would be mad and punish Wimby.”
Arcadia’s opal eyes looked sad at the kind house-elf bound by a strict master.
Before Arcadia could say anything else, the three of them were interrupted by a stuffy sounding voice tinted with a French accent.
“Come now, cousin; your mother must have taught you not to talk to creatures lower than your own blood. Then again, she always was filth.”
With a pop, Wimby was gone, and Arcadia could feel her rage at such an ignorant, spoilt child involving themselves in her own matters. Tom’s stern mask slipped onto his face as the newcomer spoke disrespectfully to his roommate.
“So your the relative that has got Mother and my younger brother in a tiff. You don’t seem special," snarled the carmel haired boy, who was only a year or two older than them.
Something clicked within Arcadia’s head. This was Mathis Gage, her older cousin. Son of the bratty Aunt Josette. And it seemed, resident ass hat.
Arcadia’s face became stoney before she replied,” Now, now, no need for such foul language in such a nice establishment. I thought they would have kicked people like you and Black out by now. You tend to leave the unpleasant odor of Hydrogen sulfide where you are.”
“Hydro what?” asked Mathis not understanding the muggle science word
Tom stiffed his laugh before answering in a monotone voice, “ She’s saying you and this Black character smell like rotten eggs.”