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Chapter Text

The cold New York wind whipped at his face. He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. He had forced his brother to use his connections to find the location of his quarry, and after three months, he was finally here. The weather wasn’t much different from where his cottage and pub resided, but the air felt dirtier. He longed to return to his clean country air, but he had a purpose.

Sister Martha May June’s Orphanage for Wayward Souls

It was one hell of a name, but that didn’t matter. He removed the photo that was behind the paper. It showed a blurry black-and-white setting of children running around a courtyard, but there was one child in particular the photo was focused on.

A little girl with light hair and dark eyes. She had a solemn and sorrowful expression on her face as she sat on the building’s stairs, her head in her hand. Her eyes didn’t seem to be staring at anything in particular, and he wondered what was on her mind. Her eyes reminded him so much of his son—the boy he lost and finally found only to lose again. Those very same eyes had given him a pleading look just three months prior, as he lay on his deathbed. He was so close to death, but even then he thought not of himself, but of others.

Of this girl.

A gust of wind blew straight into his face. He shivered and readjusted his jacket around him, his suitcase bumping into his knee. He read the directions written on the paper one more time, and then set off.

Chapter Text

She no longer could remember what her name originally was.

Everything was a blur before Mary Lou. She could remember her siblings and her parents—their loving embraces and all the time they spent together—but their faces had long since gone. She had only been four when her parents had decided to sell some of their children to better ensure their futures. Though she couldn’t understand their reasoning, she couldn’t resent them. She remembered how poor they had been, with her older siblings often sacrificing food just to ensure the little they had went to their younger siblings. But sometimes she wondered if she would have been better off if the name Barebone had never entered her life at all.

She had a name before that, but after Mary Lou purchased her off that rainy street corner, she had never heard it again—so she quickly forgot it. All she knew now was Modesty.

Modesty, go collect the firewood. Modesty, go hand out the pamphlets. Modesty, go round up the children.

Modesty, don’t ever behave like your brother.

She hated the name, even though it was the only one she had ever known. It rippled off the tongue like a curse. Every time she heard someone call her, it felt like a mock, even if it wasn’t. She hated hearing anyone say it, especially the woman who used to call herself her mother.

Mary Lou Barebone was certainly a force to be reckoned with. Modesty learned that very early on, despite her young age. Step out of line—bam! Act anything other than how she expected you to—bam! There were strict rules that had to be followed when living with Mary Lou, and they were not always clear-cut.

“Modesty, I expect you to act like your namesake,” is what she recalls her “mother” telling her often. The girl had no idea what that meant, and sometimes she wasn’t even sure if Mary Lou did. Her idea of “modesty” always seemed to be changing, and it was up to the child to read her mood and act accordingly. Thankfully, she had always been good at reading people. Being the youngest of eight children gave you that talent. Even at the tender age of four, she could read everything as clearly as a book on people’s faces. Her mother was never to be openly disobeyed. Her sister was not to be trusted, as she was their mother’s carbon copy. And Credence….

Credence had been with Mary Lou the longest. She had gotten him when he was just a babe, while Chastity and Modesty came either during their toddler years or soon after. Perhaps that was why Modesty and Chastity could adapt, but Credence could not. He was always—unknowingly—angering their mother in the worst ways. One wondered why she adopted him considering she didn’t seem to harbor any feelings besides hatred towards him. Perhaps there was a time when she loved him, but Modesty had never known that time, and she doubted it had existed. Her brother had witch blood in him, their mother knew that for certain. So from the very start, she saw him as the embodiment of all she hated.

Modesty never knew exactly why her adoptive mother hated magic so much, she wasn’t even all that convinced it existed. Until that fateful night.

She shivered in her tiny bed, clutching the blankets closer around her body. Not that it mattered, anyway. The room was so cold that she could see her breath in the air. She didn’t understand how the air in the orphanage could be so frigid and damp at the same time. It was no wonder so many children were getting sick. Although she wasn’t sure if her shivers were due to the cold or memories of her brother.

She often thought about Credence.

He had been special to her.

From the moment she had been brought into the family she had been drawn to him. He was so quiet, his eyes never looking up from the ground. As the youngest in her family, she was used to being taken care of, but she had seen her fair share of other people taking care of others too. Despite being older than her, Credence had triggered a protective instinct in Modesty that she recognized from watching her biological family. So she stuck to his side. That is what led her to realize the truth behind Mary Lou’s feelings towards her son. To her, he was a walking mistake—a walking omen that should be continually punished for just existing. That’s why Chastity and all the other children went out of their way to avoid him, but not Modesty. Even at such a young age, she felt like she had to take care of him. To protect him.

It often felt like just the two of them against the world.

He made her feel like she had a family. That she wasn’t alone and had a place she could call home. Even if her new home was a volatile one. They had leaned on each other so much during that time. They were pretty much everything to each other.

Which is why their last encounter haunted her.

She didn’t mean to turn away from him. She wasn’t scared of him, there was just so much happening that she didn’t understand. Up until that point, she thought her mother was delusional, although she had a sneaking suspicion that maybe there was some truth to her ramblings. But to find out in such a way—watching her mother and sister die in front of her—was too cruel of a way to learn. Even though she knew in hindsight that he only did it to protect her and that their sister had just gotten mixed up in it all, it still overwhelmed her at the time. All she could think at that moment was to flee. Flee back to the home that had once felt safe, no matter how blurry it all was now.

It was a miracle she still remembered the address. She doesn’t exactly remember how she managed to run barefoot from the Barebone church to her former home in the slums, but she was there before she knew it. Of course, her family was long gone, having either sold all their children and left for better job opportunities or died in this house—she wasn’t sure which. All she knew now was that the home was old and dilapidated, with no living soul inhabiting it. She recalled her blurry-faced older sister holding her close as they hid under a desk during hide-and-seek. They were always the last to be found, despite their failed attempts at stifling their giggling. That had been a sanctuary to her once, and it would again.

She had just been so frightened of everything at that moment. It was all too much. It wasn’t Credence’s fault, but she couldn’t help it. When that man arrived with Credence and that…thing inside Credence resurfaced, she cringed away, unable to move out from under the desk but wanting to get as far from him as possible. No, not him. That thing. That thing was what truly scared her. It couldn’t be controlled. Credence got upset with their mother, so that thing lashed out uncontrollably. That’s why Chastity died, and she feared that the unpredictable monster would lash out again and she’d find herself caught up in the crossfires.

Her eyes met Credence’s as she attempted to shield her body away. Only for a moment, but she would never forget those eyes for as long as she lived. He saw how she was scared, how she looked at him. She knew what she looked like at that moment. Her face mirrored Credence’s when he faced their mother. She was equating him to their mother, and that hurt him.

He fled, and Modesty never saw him again. She remained in her hiding spot even after the man left chasing Credence. Stayed there for the remainder of the night, into the next morning, through a rainstorm, until somebody must have reported the destruction and the police arrived and found her. She told them what happened, but of course no one believe her. The destruction of her old home was contributed to a faulty pipe, and the death of her adoptive mother and sister were blamed on Credence, who was now considered a fugitive.

“Should have known this would happen,” one of the policemen said, “Boy was clearly a freak.”

“The whole lot of them were freaks,” the other said, before chuckling “But he was a freak among freaks.”

Hearing them talk about her brother like that snapped Modesty out of whatever she was feeling.

No. They didn’t know her brother.

He was not a freak. He was quiet and timid, but sensitive and kind. He was the one who taught her the hopscotch song, endlessly singing it as the two skipping playfully outside. He was the one who knew she hated thunderstorms and would sneak into her room and comfort her when there was one. He was the one who read her stories at night, both of them breaking the rules by telling stories of magic. He was the one who came to her after a beating from mother. He was the one she wanted to protect so desperately.

And she had abandoned him at his weakest moment.

Guilt hit her all at once, and even now, years later, she still felt it painfully. She had made a promise to herself in that moment, though. She had to find Credence. He was a boy witch, wasn’t he? So there had to be people to protect him. Yes, there had to be. Someone would find him and take him in. He would learn how to control his powers, and then maybe he would come back. Even if their last encounter wasn’t the best, they still had meant so much to each other—there’s no way he wouldn’t want to see her again. Just to make sure she was okay. And when she saw him again, she would make it up to him.

She’d hug him and tell him she was so sorry. That she wasn’t frightened of him—she knew he wouldn’t hurt a fly—but that thing inside him, even though she knew now he couldn’t control it. He’d forgive her, no doubt he would, as he always had a soft spot for her. Then they’d talk about all they had been through in their time apart, and while she didn’t expect him to take her with him, she hoped that they could at least stay in touch. Then she’d have her brother back.

Which led her to where she was now.

They hadn’t been able to track her biological family after everything had happened, so she had been placed in Sister Martha May June’s Orphanage for Wayward Souls. She had been here for years now, and things still weren’t easy, but the thing that kept her going was the hope she’d seen Credence again. Until then, she could never leave the city.

She heard a bird coo outside her window. Accepting that she would not be falling back asleep, she got up out of bed, shivering in her thin nightgown. She walked past the rows of children sleeping in run-down bunk beds and made her way towards the window. The chill nipped at her heels and made her speed up, although nothing would change if she arrived at the window faster. She tried to remain as quiet as she could. Although the nuns were not as strict as Mary Lou, they were still quite strict. If she was going to be up so early, then they would reason she should be put to work.

She reached the window and placed her hands on the glass. It was as cold outside as it was inside. The sky was grey and cloudy, and she could see from the trash moving on the street that the wind was blowing harshly. Another dreary day. She inwardly sighed. Today would be another day of chores and laundry, of putting up with the other children teasing her over her name and belief in magic, of wistfully staring out of the property lines waiting for her brother to appear, and formulating all the words she would say to him.

Her heart thumped. Deep down, she knew the truth. She didn’t want to admit it, but she knew her brother was never going to come back. He could be dead for all she knew, and if he wasn’t, after how she had treated him in their last encounter, she didn’t blame him if he never wanted to see her again. She felt tears well up in the back of her eyes. She leaned her head back in an attempt to prevent them from falling down her face. Not even for her biological family did she mourn this much, because, to her, they were just blurry faces she barely knew. Credence was the only real family she had, and she had pushed him away.

Oh, how she wished she could go back in time and change things. Perhaps she would hug him and calm him down, maybe the two could have run away from that bad man together and figured out how to live on their own. It would have been rough, but at least they would have been together. Even if there was a monster inside him. But that would never happen. He was gone to her. Forever. She should just learn to accept that.

She looked out the window again and nearly jumped out of her skin. On the tree branch in front of the window was a snow-white owl. She had never seen one before. Memories flashed of one of the stories Credence used to tell her when she was younger.

“Owls are the familiars of witches,” he whispered to her one night, as they were quietly huddled in blankets next to her bed, trying to keep their voices down.

“What’s a familiar?” she had asked.

He thought for a moment. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think they’re like guardian angels. So whenever you see an owl, a witch is bound to be not far behind.”

She had giggled with him back then. Magic had not been so scary to her back then. It felt distant and ridiculous like their mother’s lectures. She often longed to go back to those days—minus their mother.

Now, she was looking at a white owl a mere inches away from her face.

“Owls are familiars of witches,” she muttered to herself, awestruck. “If you see one, a witch is not far behind.”

As if she had uttered some magical spell, the bird flew off the branch and into the air. She watched as it slowly disappeared into the horizon. She smiled to herself and her eyes lingers on the skyline.

She had a feeling today was going to be different.

Today was going to be magical.

Chapter Text

The city was something he would never get used to.

The countryside was home for him. He grew up there and, now in adulthood, chose to reside there. Not even Hogwarts and the surrounding areas could be considered a city, and even when he attended as a student, he preferred staying on the immediate campus rather than going to town. The city brought noise and chaos. The countryside brought quiet and peace.

His brother was always the one made for bigger things. That’s just who Albus was. He was big in everything he did. He wanted the world to acknowledge him and was determined to leave his mark. Aberforth was fine with simpler things. He would have been content living on the family’s farm tending cattle for the rest of his life, but running a pub in the countryside also suited him fine. He never wanted to make any waves, he just wanted to live happily. For most of his life, he envisioned his future happiness with his little sister, Ariana.

No one could deny little Ariana was the apple of Aberforth’s eye.

The two were inseparable. While Albus was always off pioneering some radical new future for himself, Aberforth and Ariana were content with sitting on the hillside listening to the wind. Those were the happy days—when he and Albus could stand talking to each other for longer than a few minutes, when his parents were both alive and well, and when Ariana was free-spirited and carefree. They were all happy.

But life is nothing if not unpredictable, and as quickly as happiness is given, it can be taken away.

He hardly remembers that summer. The summer their lives changed forever. Ariana had only been a child then. A young, innocent little girl who knew nothing of the harsh world and was far too trusting. She didn’t know about the violence in muggle’s hearts, how they could lash out at things they didn’t understand. After all, their mother was born to muggles—and although they had never met their grandparents, considering how kind and understanding she was it could be reasonably inferred she had a good childhood. So she couldn’t have known what would happen to her.

He may not remember that summer well, but he remembers that day like it was yesterday.

Ariana, only six years old, never came home after playing in the hilly fields, even after it got dark. That’s when they knew something was wrong. Ariana hated the dark, especially outside. Despite her powers as a witch, she feared what she couldn’t see. The unknown of the darkness scared her.

Aberforth was supposed to be out playing with her that day, but his father needed help fixing the water pump and Albus had disappeared like he normally did, so Aberforth ended up staying behind to help him. Ariana wanted to head to the hills a ways away from their home, to play in an area their mother had fenced off with hedges and called her garden. It was Ariana’s favorite place. Or at least, it used to be—before that day.

Darkness fell, and she still wasn’t back. Everyone, even the sort of self-centered Albus, became concerned. Aberforth wanted to leave with his father to go look for her but was forbidden to. His father told him sternly to stay home with his brother and mother and that he would bring Ariana back himself when he found her. Aberforth remembers watching him leave through the window and disappear into the inky blackness of the night. He refused to leave the window until he saw for sure Father and Ariana were back. He desperately tried to convince himself that everything was okay, that perhaps Ariana simply fell asleep and lost track of time. The worst-case scenario was that she had gotten lost but was otherwise fine. She and Father would walk through that door, hand-in-hand, and Ariana would be a bit shaken, but would soon get over it and be back to her normal shenanigans with him.

But that was not what happened.

He heard his father before he saw him.

He was screaming, his voice wracked with pain and fear as he called out for help. His mother peaked her head out from the kitchen upon hearing his voice, her face blanching. Albus was upstairs, but no doubt he heard it too, as Aberforth could hear a chair scrape against the floor above his head as if someone had quickly gotten up. His mother was beside him at the window before he even realized it. Her hand was on his shoulder, gripping it as if she needed him to steady her. Somehow, before they even saw it, they knew.

His father appeared in the lamplight a few feet away. Upon seeing him, his mother swayed and Aberforth had to grab her to prevent her from nearly fainting. In their father's arms lay what must be a battered animal—bloody and bruised, lying limp and motionless. The only movement was the sway of its limbs as his father ran with it. His father’s face was stained with tears, and he looked desperate and disheveled. It took him a moment to realize the truth—the horrible truth. That was no animal in his father’s arms.

It was Ariana.

His mother screamed. A heart-wrenching and guttural scream as she nearly collapsed. Ariana was the baby of the family, and the only girl, so of course Aberforth wasn’t the only one attached to her. To this day, he never thinks he will hear a cry as awful as the one his mother let out at that moment.

His father rushed in through the door. Now Aberforth could see just how bad the situation was. Ariana was beaten beyond recognition. Her petite little face was covered in rapidly forming blue-black bruises and stained with both dried and fresh crimson blood. It was horrible. Aberforth could hardly imagine any living thing inflicting such cruelty onto another being, much less a sweet little girl like Ariana.

The moment he laid eyes on her, everything else slowed down. He saw Albus rush down the stairs, his mother run towards his father and sister, his father clutching his sister and rushing her to the dining room table—he saw all of it in slow motion. He remained frozen in his place by the window. The world seemed to suddenly be drained of all color. All colors expect the red of his sister’s blood as it dripped onto the floor.

He doesn’t remember what happened after that.

Ariana survived but was greatly wounded. They called a wizard doctor just to be safe, who did all he could to help the child. She had several broken bones and a concussion, but the doctor assured them that she would be fine after recovery, although recovery would be long. The doctor was right in the sense that her recovery was slow but wrong in the other aspect.

Ariana wasn’t fine.

The family would soon learn that the greatest wounds she received were the ones they couldn’t see.

She changed after that. Gone was the bright and bubbly girl, who her family often joked was the embodiment of sunshine. She was still a sweet little thing, but now she was more reserved and fearful. Every loud gust of wind and creak in the floorboard terrified her. She wouldn’t leave the house, and worst of all, she refused to use her magic.

The family wasn’t stupid, they knew what possibilities lay ahead should Ariana keep suppressing her magic. So they did everything they could to make her feel at ease, but it was hard since Ariana refused to speak about what happened, and their mother, now more than ever protective of her daughter, refused to let anyone pry. They just hoped that one day her scars would heal enough that she would feel comfortable using her magic once more.

That day never came.

It developed rather quickly, perhaps because Ariana wanted to escape her memories of the incident so badly. Within a few months, the Obscurus revealed itself. It was a devastating blow to the family, as an Obscurus was considered extremely dangerous due to its unpredictability. If anyone found out, Ariana would be taken away and locked up, and since she probably wouldn’t live past the age of 10, that would mean her final years would be spent in imprisonment away from her family. They refused to let that happen, so Ariana’s condition became a secret.

That night was the first time he ever saw his father get drunk.

The second time came a few weeks later.

That’s when their father figured out that it must have something to do with muggles. Despite the silence surrounding what had happened, their father was sharp. He knew all too well what some muggles were like, and there could be no other explanation as to why Ariana was so scared to use her magic to the point she would become an Obscurus. He also knew how close Aberforth and Ariana were, so he used his son to coax the truth out of her.

Aberforth can still remember the chills that ran down his spine when she told him what happened. How she had just been playing around in the garden when a group of muggle boys suddenly appeared on the other side of the hedge. She had been using her magic, and they had seen it. They forced their way through the hedge—the last barrier that protected Ariana—and grabbed her, demanding she repeat the “magic trick” they had seen her do. Of course, she couldn’t. She was only six. Six-year-old witches could hardly control their magic, much less do it on command. The initial “magic trick” that had sparked everything to begin with had merely been unintentional in and of itself.

When Ariana couldn't replicate what the boys had seen, fear took over, and fear turned people into monsters.

And soon, Aberforth would learn, so did anger.

His father did not initially react when he told him the story. His face was neutral like it always had been. But he swore he could hear a strain in the man’s voice when he told him to go and comfort his sister. He then went and drank himself into a stupor and passed out at the dining room table. Aberforth fell asleep next to his sister that night, clutching her in his arms as if he could shield her from all the bad things in the world. When he woke up early the next morning, the sky grey with only a little bit of morning light, his father was gone.

He would never see his father again.

Life was often made up of defining moments. Certain events would shape the rest of your life until the day you died. Ariana’s attack was definitely one of those moments. It changed everything forever, but the one thing it did was give Aberforth experience with dealing with Obscurus. That greatly helped him care for his son.

Aberforth stopped in his tracks, snapping back to reality. He wasn’t at his childhood home or his countryside pub, but in New York City, searching for yet another remnant of the past. Of his son’s past.

His son.

Aurelius, or Credence, had quickly become a special child to him. From the moment he was born, Aberforth loved him. But the odds were stacked against him. His parents were gone, and he found himself repeatedly butting heads with his older brother over his treatment of Ariana and association with Gellert Grindelwald, whom Aberforth did not hesitate to voice his dislike of. His brother was completely enamored with him though, and would have given him the world should he have offered. Unfortunately, Gellert seemed more interested in what Ariana could provide for the two of them, and Aberforth wouldn’t stand for it. There was just so much going on in his life, and he was so young and didn’t know how to handle it. That’s what led him to seek comfort in that girl’s arms, to begin with.

Selene von Brandt.

She was a muggle living in Godric’s Hollow around the same time as his family. Her parents and muggle older sister were some of the more understanding muggles he had ever met, and although they were unaware of the existence of magic, he had no doubt they wouldn’t cringe away from it should they be allowed to know it. He had seen her a few times since his family moved there, but she had been a shy and quiet thing, speaking less than even Ariana, so he hardly interacted with her.

It wasn’t until he was around 14—well into his schooling at Hogwarts—that he began to speak with her. It had started casually. He had been returning home from the store, with his bag holding a secret stash of Ariana’s favorite candies he had saved up to buy her hidden within when he spotted her near the street lamp. She was staring at the ground in what appeared to be sorrow. He saw a crumpled book in a puddle by her feet. He began to approach her, he couldn’t help himself. Her face reminded him so much of Ariana’s at times. He stopped close to her but didn’t know what to say, so he stayed silent. She didn’t acknowledge his presence, still staring at the book, but she knew he was there.

“That was my favorite,” she said in a barely whisper. “My grandma gave it to me before she died. It has a message from her on the inside cover. It meant more than the world to me and they knew that, yet they still did this. How can people be so cruel?” Her eyes held no tears, but her voice was still laced with pain.

Aberforth reasoned some of the neighborhood children had done this on purpose. He had seen them running around and occasionally taunting different children, although they knew better than to mess with the Dumbledores. He agreed with her. “Yes, people are so cruel. Some take utter joy in taking someone’s happiness and destroying it.” His thoughts flittered to Ariana. Her once joyful smile and her now painful tense one.

She turned to look at him, her eyes an enchantingly dark brown. He felt swallowed up in her gaze. She was the same age as him, yet in that moment seemed so much older and wiser. “Is that what happened with your sister?”

Aberforth stumbled back. Since moving to the Hollow, his mother kept his sister on a tight leash, never letting her leave the house. Most of the neighbors didn’t even know there was a third Dumbledore child. She must have seen the shock and confusion on his face, because she said, “I live right across the street from you. I’ve seen her in the window sometimes. She seems like a sad, broken child. Did someone steal her happiness away?”

His mouth hung open. He didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded and remained silent. She looked back at the book again. “Everyone’s happiness is different. I won’t ask what hers is, nor say in the face of hers that mine was lesser, but in the end, it’s all the same. People want to destroy it no matter what, whether because their jealous or resentful, and once it’s gone, there’s no getting it back.”

She then turned on her heels and retreated down the street. Aberforth stared after her, unmoving, his mind churning over her words. He looked down at the book again, before picking it up.

He arrived home shortly thereafter. His sister greeted him at the door as he entered as she always did. He snuck her the candies before retreating to his room. She looked after him with concern. He never usually went to his room so soon. He usually stayed a bit on the couch talking with Ariana or invited her to his room with him. He did neither this time, instead heading straight up and setting the book on his desk. He didn’t close his door, though—he wouldn’t be that heartless to his sister. He took out his wand and began sifting through his brain to find the spell he was looking for. Ariana peered from the doorway with curious eyes but said nothing.

He recalled the spell and chanted it, letting the magic flow from his wand. From the corner of his eyes, he saw flecks of black substance, like liquid feathers, flittering around Ariana. Even seeing magic triggered her, so he had to keep this brief before she fully lost control. He watched as light consumed the book, as torn pages restored themselves, and the dirt began to clear away. By the time he was finished, the book looked as good as new.

The next day, he walked across the street to her house and knocked on the door. Her sister opened it, and he asked for her. She came, that same monotone look on her face. He then presented her with the book. At first, her face remained the same. He could tell she thought it was a different copy of the same book, which was nice enough but not what she wanted. But then she opened up the cover and saw the message from her grandmother, clearing that it had been even before. Her eyes light up and shock too over her face. She now knew it was the same book, but didn’t know how he managed to fix it. She scanned his face. Whatever look he had must have warned against asking questions, because she didn’t.

She only smiled.

That’s really where things began.

Now here he was. It felt like the saga was at an end. By all accounts, it should have ended three months ago when his son died, but life once again had a way of surprising him.

He had heard all about his son’s life in New York City, living with that Barebone madwoman. It tore him apart to think that he suffered so much, but the young man never spoke of it. He offhandedly would talk about his life, but never in detail. Like Ariana, he supposed some things were thought better left unsaid. But one thing he did talk about a lot was his little sister, Modesty. It seems the two had been inseparable during their time in the Barebone home, and Aurelius’ thoughts were frequently by his lost little sister. He was worried sick about her since the last he saw she was all alone in an abandoned slum house. It ate him alive with guilt that he left her there, but he felt he had no choice. The Obscurus in him was going to be released, and he had hurt enough people already. Plus, he saw the way she looked at him.

She was terrified of him.

The guilt over what he put her through and his regret prevented him from ever seeking her out, but it did not stop him from wondering what became of her and worrying. She was the closest thing he had to family during those years, after all. To say that he wasn’t attached to her would be a lie. Aberforth could see that as clear as day.

It reminded him of him and Ariana.

He wishes his sister could have met his son, even if for a moment. But she had died the year before he was born. They hadn’t even learned Selene was pregnant yet when she passed. Which is why he couldn’t deny his son’s earnest request during his final days.

“I may never know what happened to Modesty,” he managed to choke out, as Aberforth sat next to his bedside, “But I at least want her to be happy, like I have been this past year.” Tears had filled Aberforth’s eyes when he heard that. It gave him such joy to know his son finally got to experience happiness and love before he died, but he couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t enough. He never seemed to have enough time with those he loved.

His son blinked at him. “Father, could you promise me something?” He stopped for a moment to have a coughing fit before continuing, “I want you to find Modesty. Find out if she’s happy and well. If she is, give her my regards and tell her what became of me. If she is not, please….please promise me you’ll take her away and take care of her as you did me. She may be a muggle, but she is a kind child.”

Even so close to death, his son thought of others. It reminded him of Ariana when she…

No. He didn’t want to think of Ariana then and he wouldn’t think of her now. He realized he was standing frozen in the middle of the sidewalk and, gathering his thoughts, moved forward.

He promised his son he’d find out about Modesty, so he forced Albus to use his connections to find any promising information. Last he heard, Theseus Scamander was personally looking into it. Then, three months later, a letter arrived. A letter with a picture of a little girl with sad eyes in it. The girl matched the description Aurelius had given Modesty, although older, but that was to be expected. Modesty was eight the last time Aurelius had seen her, now she would be about fourteen. She had been placed in a city orphanage after what happened with Aurelius, and while her life certainly wasn’t bad, it wasn’t great either. He looked at the photo of the girl again. Her eyes certainly didn’t seem happy.

So, true to his word, he was going to step in from there. Although it wasn’t suggested, there were no laws stating that a wizard couldn’t adopt a muggle. If one considered it, it was really no different than a muggle-born wizard living with their parents, or a wizard marrying a muggle. It might be an adjustment for Modesty, but with time she’d be okay. Hopefully.

He ignored the fact that it would also be quite the adjustment for him.

Chapter Text

“Modesty the Mad! Modesty the Mad! Be careful, be careful, the witches might come back!”

The sing-song taunt rose as she collected the laundry hanging out to dry. She grabbed a sheet off the line roughly and huffed to herself. She wouldn’t give them the delight of seeing they got to her. She wouldn’t even turn around and acknowledge them. When she first arrived at the orphanage, she had been only eight and foolishly told everyone about her brother and the monster, and her belief in magic and witches. Had she known she would be setting herself up for a life of taunts from the other children and creating a reputation as a troublemaker in the eyes of the sisters, she would have kept her mouth shut.

The other children picked up very fast the sisters had a short temper with Modesty. Thus, they egged her on and made her react, knowing the sisters would blame and punish her without question. When she was younger, she stupidly gave in to the provocations and was forced to face the consequences. Her reputation within the orphanage got worse and worse until she decided to just ignore them, shut up about magic, and behave herself. Now the sisters were at least tolerable towards her, although the other children never ceased to try and provoke her. That's why they came up with this miserable song in the first place.

She gathered the laundry into her basket and began to walk back towards the building. Seeing no reaction, the children moved on to the next part of the chant.

“I don’t fear witches, I don’t fear them at all! Because if I had to say so, my brother beats them all!”

This. This was the line she hated the most. She could stand being called mad and having her beliefs made fun of, but hearing the cruel things they said about Credence always ruffled her feathers. They were all aware of the circumstances that led her to the orphanage. Or, at least, the version the police had told them. So everyone thought her brother was a crazy madman who got away with killing his adoptive mother and sister. Even the sisters viewed him with scorn, so Modesty's constant defense of him did not help her win their favor.

This is usually where she would give in and let them make her angry in the past. She’d scream at them about how they knew nothing, they’d taunt her some more, then she’d lunged at them. Sometimes she would hit them, sometimes she wouldn’t, but either way, it sealed her fate. The sisters would arrive and drag her off to be locked in the closet.

But she was fourteen now. No more was she the angry and naïve eight-year-old who had just lost everything and was prepared to fight the world. She knew better than that. More specifically, she knew how the world worked now. She knew it was best to just keep quiet, keep her head down, and do as she was told. Avoid trouble as much as one can, and things will go by smoothly. She only had four more years before she would be leaving here anyway. Once she was 18, she planned on seeking work in the old area she lived in with the Barebones. She heard there was a new factory opening there, so surely she’d be able to get a job. Then she’d be able to make money and take care of herself. Better yet, no one would know her past. No one would call her Modesty the Mad or taunt her about Credence.

She could wait in peace for him to return. Whenever it may be.

She went inside, but as she walked through the threshold, she heard a loud crash behind her. She turned and saw only a few feet away from her was Julian—one of the older and more troublesome orphans—who had just knocked over one of the plant holders kept by the door. He was holding a rock that had been sitting on the ground next to the walkway, and—shooting her a devilish grin—through it a bit away behind him.

Her heart sank.

She knew exactly what was happening.

“What is going on here?” Sister Margret bellowed, appearing out of thin air behind Modesty.

Modesty turned to face her, opening her mouth to say something, but before she could, Julian cut her off.

“It was Modesty again, Sister,” he pointed at her, “We were just trying to help her with the laundry, but she kept ignoring us. I figured it be nice to help anyway, so I went to go grab some of the clothes from her when she suddenly picked up a rock and hurled it at me! It missed my face by inches! But it took out your planter, Sister.”

Lies. It was all lies. Julian was the King of Lies. He enjoyed watching Modesty be punished more than the rest. Before she had arrived, he had been at the bottom of the pecking order in the orphanage, so when everyone’s attention shifted to Modesty, he became all too eager to keep it there.

It was all lies, yet there was nothing she could do. The other children were already nodding enthusiastically and agreeing with Julian, and she knew that speaking up would only anger Sister Margret further.

“Is that so?” the sister’s sharp eyes turned on Modesty, who now had her head downcast, staring at the laundry basket in her hand. Sister Margret let out a stern and annoyed sigh. “Every time I think you’re starting to improve and might become a beneficial member of society, Miss Modesty, you prove me wrong. Julian, take the laundry.”

Julian swaggered over and took the basket from her hands, shooting her a sly smile that only she could see. Modesty felt rage boil within her. If she was already going to get in trouble, then there was nothing holding her back now. So as her hands came to her sides, she balled up her fists.

And punched Julian across the face.

He went flying to the side and landed on the ground with a thud, laundry flying everywhere. The children behind him screamed. Modesty could see blood on her knuckles, and she knew it was his. She smirked to herself.

Then she felt her shoulder be yanked back, and she was forced to face Sister Margret. A quick sting spread across her face. Sister Margret had slapped her.

“Such vile behavior!” she screeched, “No decent child of God would behave in such a way! You are a disgrace, Modesty Barebone! Though not surprising, considering the filth you come from.”

She then grabbed Modesty’s arm roughly and began dragging her deeper inside the building. She didn’t struggle. She knew it was pointless to do so. She allowed the woman to drag her like a sack of meat through the hallways, hearing children snicker as they caught sight of her. She refused to put her head down this time, though. There were certain times when submission was best. Now was not one of them. She was strong and didn’t regret what she did, and wanted them to know it.

Finally, they arrived at the far side of the building, where there was a run-down door. It stood out among the other, more well-taken care of doors. It was believed that the door used to lead to an attached outhouse before the building got indoor plumbing. As a result, the room beyond the door was hardly insulated, dripping wet with moisture and vile to be in. The Sisters had no purpose for the room, it was too disgusting to store anything in and they didn’t have the money to fix it nor could they get rid of it themselves. They just barely managed to keep the mold growing inside from spreading to the rest of the building but there was hardly any other use for it since it was fit for any living thing to reside there. So, for the majority of the time it lay empty and useless.

Unless someone needed punishing.

And that someone was usually Modesty.

Sister Margret harshly opened the door and flung Modesty roughly inside. She slipped on some slimy substance on the ground and tumbled face-first into a mushy puddle.

“Do not expect any dinner tonight, wretch!” was the last thing the sister said before she slammed the door closed, locking it. Modesty stared at the closed door for a moment, not getting up. All she could hear was the drip, drip, drip of one of the many leaks in the room. Otherwise, it was silent. Normally, you could hear sounds of the outside world through the thin walls, but at this time of the day the activity died down, so there was nothing to be heard now.

She eventually picked herself off the ground and shuffled against the moldy wall. Her dress was covered in muck now. She fingered it and sighed. This was one of her favorite dresses, and it would take forever to get the mud out of it. She had only worn it because she had a feeling today would be good. That owl had put her in a good mood this morning, but now it seemed to be all for nothing.

She lifted her fingers to her face and gingerly touched her cheek. It stung, but nothing too bad.

There had only been a few times that Mary Lou Barebone had struck Modesty.

Most of the time, she managed to fly under the radar and avoid detection from her adoptive mother, but once, when she was freshly adopted, she was caught pretending to be flying on a broom. Her mother had not exploded in anger. No, that’s not what Mary Lou was like. She was calm and cool, with an eerie sense of danger surrounding her. She told Modesty in a calm voice to put the broom down and follow her upstairs. Although Modesty had seen her beating Credence, up until that point she thought such punishments were exclusive to him. She had never seen her sister getting beaten and she herself had never been beaten.

Turns out, she just hadn't done something bad enough to warrant being beaten yet.

Before going upstairs, her mother asked her to take off one of her boots. Modesty was confused, but there was something that frightened her about Mary Lou at that moment, so she complied. Mary Lou then motioned for Modesty to go up first, and so she did. She shot a look at the dining table as she went up, where she noticed Chastity sitting tensely. Her face looked terrified as if she was watching a scene that she knew the ending of, and she didn’t like the ending. Not even during the many beatings of Credence did she show this much fear. Her face made Modesty stop short on the stairs.

“Modesty,” her mother almost cooed behind her, “Go upstairs. Now.”

Modesty had no choice, so she did.

She had never felt such pain in her life.

It’s one thing to be beaten so relentlessly, but somehow being beaten with her own boot made it hurt even more. What scared her the most was the look on Mary Lou’s face. It was blank of any emotions except a strange look of disappointment. As if she had done something to deserve this. Other than that, her face looked serene. Modesty couldn’t understand how someone could remain so unfazed when inflicting such violence.

She remembers how the sole of the boot made contact with her skin again and again. Mary Lou didn’t leave a single area of her body unmarked. Sometimes she hit the same area so many times her skin would break and she would feel blood trickle across her flesh. Other places were merely bruised, but they were horrible dark purple bruises. Not even her face was spared. She remembers how the right side of her face was swollen for a week after this.

She doesn’t remember how long her mother beat her. It felt like hours. All she knows is that when she was done, she stood there—straight and proper, like an aristocrat—and told Modesty to get up and go to her room. Modesty could hardly stand, much less walk, but she could tell from the look in Mary Lou’s eyes that if she didn’t do as the woman said, she would get beaten again. So, she weakly made herself stand and stumbled down the hall towards her room. As she limped to the door and began to open it, she heard Mary Lou behind her.

“Modesty,” she said softly, “I hope you understand that there will be no dinner for you tonight.”

Modesty managed to weakly nod, then walked into her room, closing the door behind her. Her room used to feel like a sanctuary. When things got rough with her mother or she couldn’t bear to watch her brother’s suffering anymore, she would retreat into her room and sit on the bed. Then, she’d feel as if the rest of the world washed away, and she was safe.

But now she didn’t feel that way anymore.

She was keenly aware of the fact there was no lock on the door—Mary Lou didn’t allow that—and every area in the room felt too exposed. Her mother could walk in at any moment and decide to start beating her again. She needed a safe place to hide. There was the closet, but that was too obvious, plus it wasn’t so big that she could hide herself very well in it. Her eyes lingered on her bed. She could huddle under the covers, but if her mother came in and saw that, she would accuse Modesty of behaving like a child, and she hated that. No, that was too risky. Still, she couldn’t remove her eyes from the bed. It took a moment for the idea to process in her brain.

Under the bed. Yes, that was safe. She would be out of sight and Mary Lou wouldn’t think at first to look under the bed. Perhaps she could hide from her mother for a while there. Still in pain, she managed to limp to the bed and knelt down. She slid under the bed and pushed herself against the wall, trying to get as far away from the rest of the house as she could. After a few heart-pounding minutes, her breath stilled and her heart slowed down. She didn’t hear anyone coming, so she felt safe. So, she managed to curl up into a ball slightly and quietly cried.

The sun had set by the time she finally heard some noise. She presumed dinner had already been served and cleaned up because she heard three sets of footsteps come up the stairs. She began to tremble, but thankfully, all of them walked past her door without stopping. She breathed a sigh of relief and listened as they all prepared for bed. Eventually, all the noises stopped, and only then did Modesty feel completely safe. Maybe she would sneak down and get some food now? But she doubted that she would be able to walk. However, she felt she could at least sleep in ease now that she knew Mary Lou was asleep and wouldn’t be coming back for her.

Her heart stopped when she heard a floorboard creak. It was soft, as if someone was tiptoeing trying to not make much noise. That alone was enough to prove it wasn’t Mary Lou, but her heart still pounded with fear. She silently prayed that whoever it was would keep walking past her door, but much to her horror, she heard them stop right outside. Silence followed. It lasted so long that Modesty wondered if she had imagined everything to begin with, but then she heard it.

The doorknob was turning gently.

She felt as if she would cry again. The moon illuminated the room enough for her to see and she watched in terror as the door opened soundlessly, and slippered feet stepped in. They closed the door softly behind them and began tentatively approaching the bed.

“Modesty?” the voice whispered. “Modesty?”

The feet stopped a few inches away from her bed, but they made no motion towards it. Instead, she saw them bend their knees and crouch on the ground. A hand reached and moved her bed skirt, exposing Modesty, but allowing her to see the pale face peering at hers.

Credence.

“Modesty?” he laid down on the floor next to the bed, staring at her with worry in his eyes. “Are you alright?”

Modesty couldn’t say a word, but tears welled up in her eyes and she began to cry again. Credence hesitantly reached out his hand and placed it on hers. She accepted it and intertwined their fingers. Between her tears, she could see Credence's face. He looked awkward, as if he wasn’t used to seeing people cry, but tried to comfort her nevertheless. “Chastity…” he said quietly, “She told me what happened. She was worried about you, but you know her, she’ll never disobey mother.”

Modesty whimpered in response.

Credence cleared his throat and rubbed his thumb against her hand. “I’m sorry that happened to you. The first time is always the worst, but if you’re like Chastity, the first will be the last.”

Unlike me.

The words hung unsaid in the air, but Modesty understood.

“Credence,” she whispered in between tears. “Could you stay with me please?”

She knew doing so would risk him getting punished, and now having a bit more understanding of what he went through, she would understand if he refused. His face blanched as the thought occurred to him, but only for a second. Because then his eyes met hers, and his features softened.

“Okay.”

So he stayed. Despite all the risks, he stayed all night. He lay on the floor outside her bed, giving her space but never letting go of her hand. She fell asleep with the comfort of knowing he was there. The next morning, when she woke up, he was gone. But the fact he had been there despite facing possible punishment made her resolve strengthen. So, she got up and was prepared to face the day head-on. This would become a routine for her—resolving her strength to get through the day. She got better at hiding things from her mother and was able to have a taste of freedom and rebellion without suffering the consequences.

Credence was not so lucky.

Half the time he didn’t even do anything, yet he still got beaten.

Until her first beating, Modesty had never really made any progress with Credence. She felt drawn to him and tried to get close to him, but he resisted. That night when he comforted her was the first time he ever allowed her to get close to him.

But it certainly wasn’t the last time.

Modesty started taking it upon herself to sneak into Credence’s room to comfort him after a beating. He was awkward about it at first, but as time went on, he warmed to her. They eventually would become closer to each other than anyone else.

Still, she couldn’t stand up for him.

She noticed after their first encounter that Credence would willingly take the blame for many things she did, and between that and the normal beatings he received, he was getting beat almost every second of the day. She felt awful. She wanted to scream at Mary Lou, she wanted to stand up for her brother, but every time she tried, she would remember the pain and terror she felt when Mary Lou beat her, and the words would choke up in her throat.

So all she could do was sneak into his room at night and hug him. The two would tell stories as a way to escape from reality, and one day, maybe just one day, Modesty hoped it would come true and they would find themselves far away from all things Barebone

Her eyes shot open and she heard a horn blare. She whipped around, unsure of what was happening. Then she remembered: she was being punished and was locked in the closet. She shivered and could see her breathe in the air. It was cold, colder than it had been before. She crawled over to a crack in the wall and peered out. It seemed to be later in the day now since there was more activity, but it wasn’t overly sunny. She couldn’t tell if that was because of the time of the day or because the grey sky was now releasing snow.

Snow. Dear God, she hoped she wouldn’t be locked in here much longer. She would definitely get sick if she stayed in her while it was snowing. She curled herself into a ball. She hadn’t even realized she had fallen asleep. It both made her happy and sad to dream of Credence. It always stirred up mixed emotions in her, and sometimes she wondered whether it would be better if she dreamed of nothing at all.

She stared into space for a moment before she heard a flutter of movement in the hallway outside the door. She lifted her head when she heard it. It was unusual. It almost sounded frantic. She heard heavy footsteps approaching—no, running—towards her. For a second, she remembered Mary Lou, and she felt her blood run cold. She froze, unable to move, as the footsteps stopped right outside, and began to place the key in the lock. A few seconds later, the door unlocked and swung open. There stood a very frazzled Sister Sophia.

Modesty sighed in relief. Although she knew it wasn’t Mary Lou, her heart still felt terror and tricked her sometimes. Years of living with the woman would not just go away overnight. Two more sisters appeared over Sister Sophia’s shoulders. They all looked panicked. Before she could even ask what happened, Sister Sophia yanked Modesty’s arm and placed a hand over her mouth.

“Quiet now. Just do as we say, and don’t. Make. A. Sound.” The other sisters frantically held her too as they ushered her down the hall. They took her the way she came but turned her towards the stairs. As they approached the stairs, Modesty could hear some noises in the main room a few feet away. The main room was the fanciest and nicest room in the orphanage, meant to entertain guests. That must be what’s happening now, although she hadn’t heard they were supposed to receive guests.

The three sisters pretty much carried her upstairs, and Modesty's confusion only grew as things continued. She was ushered into the bathroom, where several other sisters had already heated water and placed it in a tub.

“Get out of those clothes. Now.” Sister Sophia said curtly. “Strip immediately and go in the bathtub. We shall bath you.”

Modesty gawked at them. Bathing wasn’t a rare thing in the orphanage, but it certainly wasn't to this extent. The water was warmed only a little—not to this extent, where she could see steam coming off it—and often multiple children bathed at once on their own, no sister helped. Plus they usually only had one measly bar of soap, now she could see several brand new bars—all smelling divine—and were those…hair products? She could hardly believe what she was seeing.

A light smack was felt on the back of her head. “Don’t just stand there,” Sophia snarled, “Get moving. We don’t have all day.”

Modesty didn’t understand what was happening, much less what the rush was, but she understood something important was happening. Perhaps that owl had been a good omen after all?

She got into the bath, ignoring the sting of the hot water as it touched her skin, and tried to relax, but it was hard. The sisters were all fluttering about this way and that way, washing her roughly and yanking her every which way. They seemed intent on cleaning every inch of her body—whether she liked it or not.

After cleaning her body to their satisfaction, they towel dried her—using actual towels, usually, they used run-down blankets!—and began rubbing pretty scented lotion on her body and brushing her hair. “You brushed your teeth today right,” Sophia asked. Modesty only nodded, to which Sophia gave a satisfied grunt. As they did what she could only describe as pampering her, another sister rushed in carrying a dress, stockings, and boots. All of them were brand new and of fantastic quality. The last time she had seen clothes these nice were back when she lived with Mary Lou. Of course, she had brought them with her, but either she had outgrown them by this point or the other children had stolen them from her.

They quickly changed her into the new clothes, and Modesty marveled at how they felt against her skin. She hadn’t felt clothes this clean and soft in a long time. The sister began braiding her hair and then pulled it up into a bun. It reminded her of the hairstyle Chastity used to do for her every morning. She hadn’t worn it like that in a while. The sisters then began to apply light makeup to the slightly red spot on her face from where Sister Margret had slapped her. Whatever was happening, they needed Modesty to look her best—no signs of any sort of mistreatment. Her hair was still wet, but no longer dripping thanks to hairstyle, and after tying her boots and dabbing any remaining wetness from her, the sisters spritz her with a little perfume.

“She’s ready,” one said resolutely. Sister Sophia put her arms on Modesty’s shoulders, gentler than she had ever been in all of her time at the orphanage, and led Modesty out of the bathroom.

“Now, understand this, Miss Modesty,” she whispered as they walked towards the stairs. “Do not speak unless told so, do not say anything bad about the orphanage or us sisters, do not speak about your past, and under no circumstances are you to talk about magic or any of your other delusions.” She spat out this last one as if she was saying something disgusting. They got to the top of the stairs and began to descend. Her grip tightened slightly on Modesty’s shoulders. “Just keep your head down and behave, understand me?” she said as they reached the bottom.

Modesty didn’t even acknowledge her. Her thoughts were too frantic. They were approaching the main room now, and she had no idea what was in store for her. The French doors were closed, but as they got closer, Modesty could hear voices. She recognized one as Sister Margret, but the other one—a male—she didn’t recognize. They stopped right outside the closed door and Sister Sophia knocked on it.

“Oh!” Sister Margret exclaimed from the other side, “That must be her! She’s done getting ready. Thank you for your patience.”

She heard the sister’s footsteps approach the door, and before she could even blink, they swung open. Sister Margret had a painfully cheerful grin plastered on her face. “Modesty, my dear, there you are.” She reached out her hands to her in mock comfort and gave her a hug that was awkward for both of them, even if they tried to pretend otherwise.

She released Modesty and, stretching her arm around her and placing her hand on her shoulder, turned around as if to present something to Modesty. “Modesty, I have someone very important for you to meet.”

Now that she had moved out of the way, Modesty could now see the guest sitting on one of the cushioned chairs.

He was wearing a nice suit, nicer than anything she had ever seen before. She reasoned he must have a lot of money, which explained why the sisters were making such a fuss about him. His face said quite the opposite, though. It was a dark brown and the shaggy type of curly as if he tried to brush it but couldn’t reign it in. He had a scruffy-looking face with a rather disheveled beard and light blue eyes. It was his eyes in particular that struck her. They were a stormy type of blue and appeared so tired. What had happened to him?

“Modesty,” Sister Margret broke through Modesty’s thoughts, “This is Mr. Aberforth Dumbledore. He is a relative of yours.”

A tidal wave striking down the Statue of Liberty would have shocked her less.

She looked at Sister Margret. “A relative?”

“Yes, isn’t that wonderful?” Sister Margret was trying to sound so cheerful that her voice strained. “He says he’s your mother’s brother, and he’s been looking for you for quite a time.”

“But…my mother’s brother is-”

“Dead?” the man cut her off, and Modesty turned to look at him. He had an English accent, but it didn’t sound posh like his outfit suggested. It instead sounded cruder. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what she told you, and I don’t blame her, because she probably thought it was true. You are aware that when we were immigrating to the city, our family’s boat was caught in a storm?”

Modesty nodded. She may have been young the last time she saw her mother and the woman’s face may be long gone from her memories, but she remembered this fact. Her entire family had died in the sinking, and because of that, her mother was terrified of water for the rest of her life.

“Well, she and I got separated in the sinking. I managed to survive but was sent quite a far distance away in the opposite direction, so I don’t blame anyone for believing I was dead. I was picked up by a British merchant ship, who told me that everyone—including my sister—had died. Seeing how I had nothing, one of the men on the ship took me on as his apprentice. That’s where I was until a few years ago when I finally discovered my sister survived.”

He looked down at himself. “You might have noticed, but I managed to acquire quite a bit of money, so I immediately went to America and spared no resource trying to find her.” He quieted for a second, and an intense emotion spread across his face. “But by the time I got there…it was too late. Your father was already dead and she was dying. Her final words to me were to find the children she had been forced to sell back in New York. So that became my mission, though I have only been successful in finding you. I believe it’s because you’re the only one who stayed in the area.”

He was lying. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she felt it right away. Who was this man? Why was he here? Why was he lying for her? What did he want with her? Something bad? She looked at him again as Sister Margret began some small talk to make up for the lack of response from Modesty. She had always been good at reading people. That was her specialty, and it had never once let her down. Yet her brain was at odds with this talent now. Her instincts were telling her that he meant no harm, but why else would he be here, lying about his connection to her?

“I am so flattered that you are willing to make such a donation to our orphanage,” Sister Margret cooed. Modesty’s attention snapped back to the moment.

“It’s the least I can do,” the man smiled a small smile at her. “Since you took such good care of my niece.”

“Oh, you praise us too much, sir. She was a wayward soul, of course, we would do all we could for her. Though I do worry….she has a history of behavioral issues—through no fault of her own, though, it’s due to her tragic circumstances—and I would hate for a man of such a status as yourself to take a hit reputation-wise because of her.”

Modesty didn’t know what Sister Margret was saying. It was as if she was trying to prevent Modesty from leaving, but she knew better than anyone that Sister Margret couldn’t wait to see her go. To her, Modesty was nothing but a troublemaker, and she’d be hand to wash her hands of her. But one look at the sister and Modesty knew better. She was trying to appeal to the man—make herself look saintly, so worried about the environment the kids were going to and the people who take them in—no doubt so he would feel so touched and donate more money. She could barely stop herself from scoffing out loud.

She was shocked to realize that before realizing the sister’s true intentions, she had been nervous. Yes, she didn’t know what this man was up to. Yes, he was suspicious, but her instincts were telling her he was okay, and she would take him over this hellhole any day. No matter what future awaited her.

The next hour passed remarkably quickly. He apparently had proof that proved he was Modesty’s relative, but she didn’t see it since he had shown it to Sister Margret before she arrived. Not that it mattered whether Modesty could confirm its validity or not, no doubt Sister Margret would have believed whatever it was no matter what, whether it was clearly fake or not. Modesty barely spoke the entire time, and the two adults hardly seemed to notice, though the man shot glances at her every once in a while. She couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t seeing her, though. Rather, it felt like he was looking at someone else.

By the end of the hour, the adoption had been set and done. Modesty stuff—a mere suitcase—was packed and brought down by one of the sisters. The donation was made, and Sister Margret might have well died on the spot and seen God for herself with how happy she was. The other sisters gave her a brand new coat and hat, along with mittens and a scarf, and wrapped her up in it. Sister Margret gathered all the other children, who pretended with mock joy and sadness to see Modesty go. It was an incredibly awkward affair. Even Mr. Aberforth seemed uncomfortable, though Sister Margret was too high on cloud nine to notice.

The only thing that made the experience worthwhile was seeing Julian amongst the crowd. He looked both resentful and terrified at the same time. Modesty smiled brightly, not just because she was getting out of there, but because she was overjoyed to imagine what would happen to him now that she was gone.

Mr. Aberforth tapped on her shoulder and motioned towards the door. Modesty picked up her suitcase and followed him. She noticed he had a suitcase too.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to call you a taxi, sir?” one of the sisters asked as they stepped outside.

Mr. Aberforth merely shook his head, “No need. I’ll call one once we reach the main road. Thank you, though, and thank you for everything!” He waved again and then turned, with Modesty following behind him.

They walked down the street towards the main one, with Mr. Aberforth in the front and Modesty following behind him. They were silent.

Modesty eventually willed all her courage and cleared her throat. “So, you’re my uncle.”

“Yes.” He didn’t even turn around to answer her.

“That’s strange, though, because my mom said you two were close, even before the shipwreck.”

“Well, you know how siblings are. But going through such an ordeal as we did certainly-”

“I didn’t finish” she cut him off. “She said they weren’t close because he was always embarrassing her. Because he was an albino.”

The man stopped in his tracks. Modesty smirked. She walked forward, catching up with him and standing in front of him. They were face to face now.

“Which leads me to wonder: who are you?”

The man simply stared at her. After a moment of silence, he huffed an angry and annoyed breath. “An albino?” Really?” he muttered to himself. “You think they would have thought to tell me that?”

“He wasn’t,” she said quickly, unable to hide her smirk.

The man looked at her in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

“My uncle wasn’t an albino. I made that up,” she watched as realization spread across the man’s face. She smiled even wider, “But obviously you didn’t know that, which leads me to repeat my question: Who? Are? You?”

The man stared at her in annoyance, and that made her giddy. She had never managed to outsmart an adult before, though Credence and Chastity used to lament over the fact that one day she definitely would.

After a tense silence, the man sighed. He ran a hand through his hair and huffed out a breath, visible in the air. Modesty had forgotten it was snowing.

“To be fair, my name is Aberforth Dumbledore. That much was true,” he said, finally making eye contact with her, “But everything else was a lie, including the relative part. In actuality… I was sent by your brother. Credence.”

Chapter Text

Hey everyone! Unfortunately, this is not a new chapter, I just wanted to update you guys on my status after I kind for went MIA the whole summer. Don't worry, I do not plan on abandoning any of my works, it's just the A03 curse is definitely real, and this summer has been a rollercoaster. As a result, I've been in a real pinch for money (convenient timing since I also got laid off and couldn't find another job) so all my writing has been focused on short story contests in the hope of winning some money (I'm real desperate if you couldn't tell). I knew going into starting this account that I would not be a frequent updated, and now that I've started school again and got a job, I'm probably going to have less time to devote to this. Especially since last semester I failed a class and now I have to retake it, and I'm not eager to fail again so I have to devote a lot of my time to it along with my other classes, but I don't plan on completely disappearing. As for all my projects:

My Writing Journal: I'm debating continuing that or just deleting it. This is because I plan to use some of the stuff I wrote for short story contests and they can't be published anywhere else, so I'd have to delete them anyway. However, I do like doing it, so I may continue to update it but just deleted the chapters I'm going to be using. Who knows in the long run, but that's the game plan as of now. I should be getting back to that relatively soon.

A Star Fell When I Met You; This one is SOOOO close to being done, I just haven't had time to sit down and write. It's at the top of my list of A03 priorities so I hopefully I'll have that written and uploaded as soon as possible.

To Whom We Both Loved: Another one that I am having a debate about. Since a new chapter of the webtoon revealed some more information about Sianna, proving my interpretations wrong, I'm wondering if I should just scrap the whole thing and rewrite from scratch with this new information, or just keep going with the plan I had. Either way, it's another story I need to sit down and write, since I don't plan for it to be long, so hopefully I can do that within the next coming months.

The Promise Keeper: This one is the toughest one for me. I have two chapters planned out, but I have reached a wall with both of them and am suffering from severe writer's block, so I haven't been able to continue. Plus, after these two chapters, I really don't know where the story is going to go. I have a vague idea of what I want to do but no idea how to go about it. So, I might just sit and let in marinate for a while and see if it comes to me. That story I've been very open from the get-go that I wasn't going to be updating frequently, but I hope I can at least finish the two chapters I have planned and get those up. And I want to finish the story in the long run I just need to figure what I'm going to do. So please be REALLLY patient with me of this one.

Future Projects: I have a couple future projects planned, all of very different genres since I really explored different things this summer. Once again though, I don't entirely have a clear plan for them so I'm probably going to let them marinate for a while before I start writing them. But compared to everything else, these are relatively low on my list of A03 priorities. However, if I suddenly get the urge, I might write and post one, but it's probably going to either be a one-shot or have a wait between chapters. Either way, I'm excited.

For everyone who has subscribed to me, given me kudos or bookmarked me, or just casually read my stories, I appreciate you so much. You kind comments and support are the reason I want to keep going, so I'll give it my best! Wish me luck!