Chapter Text
WHEN HARLENE LILITH Potter took her last breath, she was surrounded by loved ones and hailed as the savior of the wizarding world. Her cracked and busted lips broke into a tired smile. With matted vermillion locks turned dark by blood and gritty, mud covered skin, she smiled.
For she had won the war against all odds and she had proven herself to be more than a sacrificial lamb to be left in the dark, awaiting slaughter. Although, she had never been expected to live passed the age of 17.
Dumbledore got what he wanted in the end and if that wasn't a bitch. When her time came, which was sooner than later, death was once more greeted as a familiar friend. She expected to finally be able to rest and she definitely never once expected to wake up.
But she then did. And who was Harlene Potter if she didn't start things with a bang?
A startling burst of cold air smacked her in the face so hard she couldn't scream. Then abruptly it attacked her whole body. What felt like the winds of the arctic raged against too naked -'naked?!'- skin, an ungodly cry escaped freshly developed vocal cords.
The world was a kaleidoscope of colors passing in a whirlwind for the teen? Woman? "It's a baby girl!" Baby?! The room was much too bright, the voices much too loud, the space ridiculously too big. As the Girl-Who-Lived, Harlene honestly should have learned to expect the unexpected by now, even in something so predictable as death.
"She's beautiful." A rich, decidedly male voice cut through the mayhem in her head. It was a strangely familiar voice. Stifling her cries, she reached for the hopefully general direction of the man hoping for some relief and cracking open her eyes as she did so. She didn't even know when she had closed them.
While the room was still bright it was slightly less so. The blurry silhouette of a man with a dark hair color, familiar silver grey eyes stared down at her. Large warm hands supported her as one should a baby and, for the first time since the death of Sirius Black, she felt completely and utterly safe.
It took her an embarrassingly long time to process the fact that she was once again a baby. In fact, it took around 4 months for her to even have time to think, considering for babies, sleep was mandatory for more than 6 hours of a day.
It was actually when she first heard her new name did she realize what was going on. "Irene! Time to bathe!" The woman she could now safely call her mother cooed at the 4 month old baby. Safe to say she went through that bath in a shocked state.
Harlene, now Irene, tossed and turned over this revaluation coming to the concluding thought that while she didn't want to live a new life...she had nothing to regret in her life as Harlene Potter even though it wasn't perfect it was hers and her time was over. While she didn't know if she still resided in the magical world or even if she was still a witch, and if that that thought didn't break her heart, she would live this life with no regrets or restraint.
At 5 months Irene said her first word. It was a simple, "Papa!" when her father's rich voice entered the house after a long day of work. She hoped only to make his day a little brighter, he looked so tired. Shortly after, in excitement, her mother crowed the word 'mama!' at her at least 20 times before Irene finally graced her with the word. If this was a family, she could get used to this.
At 7 months old, she took her first steps. They were, wisely in her opinion, spent walking towards her mother for a surprise attack. She, of course, stumbled along the way but managed to attack her mother's leg with a hug. Though, she didn't manage to startle the woman. Irene thinks she saw her coming...Somehow with her back turned.
At 16 months old, Irene learned her last name wasn't in fact a muggle one. It was a Yule day that she learned her last name was Black, her parents were Malorie Black nèè Potter and Indus Black. Her own great grandaunt! Merlin. She was also made aware that she had a sibling on the way.
Knowing she truly hailed from the Black family was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes in the memory of Sirius Black, her godfather who might as well have had been her father. No matter the time passed the man was always a sensitive subject. And always would be. She knew now that she was infinitely more likely to be a witch and still in the wizarding world. A sibling was also something she's never had and was very excited about.
At 17 months old, her mother had a miscarriage.
Irene had a inkling it was due to the dark rituals she'd felt more than seen her parents practicing. Her mother didn't cry about the lost child and Irene didn't say a word about her lost sibling.
At 2 years old, Irene noticed her father looking more and more drained. Strangely enough, he looked like more than just tired from work drained. Over the months, he seemed to get skinnier and skinnier. Despite all of the food he seemed to inhale at dinner, her father still managed to look like he wasn't retaining any of the weight.
At 3 years old, she felt the ground shake in the first Air raid of her life. That night, her mother held her close as bombs rained dangerously close to the protective wards on the house. The screams from outside while she was safe and helpless would haunt her for a long time. But mostly the look of utter loathing on her mother's face as she faced the window was something she would never forget.
At almost 4 years old, her mother was pregnant once again. And at 4 years old the baby was once again lost to a miscarriage. Just like the last, nobody spoke of what could have been. But if she heard shouting from her parents in the middle of the night, nobody had to know of the tears streaming down her cheeks. In the dark of her room, she mourned the fact that she was once again put in a broken family.
At 5 years old, her parents were arrested for the use of unforgivable curses, dark rituals and torture. They were tried under Veritaserum and convicted. With no immediate family willing to take her in and tarnish their reputation or bring suspicion to them, Irene Black was sent to a orphanage. Coincidentally enough, it was Wool's Orphanage. The only orphanage in London that still stood despite the increasing Air raids.