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Harry Potter and the Fortunate Queen

“You will hear many of his Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence, that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded. Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted one,” Dumbledore told Harry Potter with absolute certainty. But what if Voldemort did have a friend? Not just a friend but the friend? A millennia-old wizard, who learned the secret of Hogwarts from the great Four founders, and had his own goals to take over the world? To stop that ancient wizard, an ancient power is called upon . . . in the form of a girl. A Muggle-born at that. Christina Norton has powers beyond anyone's imagination but she is too caught up in the Chosen One Harry Potter's life and catastrophes. But as she starts to uncover the plans of Voldemort, she realizes someone else is working with him. Someone who wants her dead. Why? She doesn't know. She just knows she has to save her loved ones and Hogwarts from Malgino and for that she is ready to go to the end of the world. And fight whoever comes in her way. Warning: It was my first book, so the first volume is going to be a bumpy ride. Things start to change at the end of the second volume, so if you can hang in there till then, welcome. Disclaimer: I neither own the original Harry Potter book series (I mean y'all already know that but still) nor the book cover (I guess I edited it but it doesn't count). If you want to support me: https://ko-fi.com/thewordsiren

Mystical_Snowflake · 書籍·文学
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459 Chs

The Wand

That night after everyone left for dinner, Chris sat near Bill's bed with Fleur. Though Fawkes had fixed most of his face, he had gained a sudden liking to a type of raw rare streak. 

". . . so eet ees lucky 'e ees marrying me," said Fleur happily pumping Bill's pillow. "because ze British overcook their meat I 'ave always said this."

"Uh-huh," Chris nodded absently. She was almost fine now but she didn't want to leave the Hospital wing and face the crowd. It was nice to sit with Fleur, as she did the talking most of the times. Chris just had to nod and agree with her at the right moments and she would think Chris' listening. Though Chris was not. She was planning. Now that, she was sure Malgino didn't get the Keys, there was no point hanging around Hogwarts. Dumbledore was gone and she got to solve the mysteries alone and there was no time to lose. 

She decided she will use Dumbledore's funeral as a cover to collect the things she needed before leaving. She wasn't going to tell anyone about it because either they will stop her or want to go with her. She couldn't afford either.

"Hey, Chris!"

Someone called and Bill and Fleur looked up. Chris turned around and saw Adrian.

"Hey!" Chris said without smiling.

"I met the house-elf . . . Dobby. He was bringing your things from the Astronomy Tower," he also didn't smile and held up a pouch. "I was coming to meet you, so I thought I will give you this."

"Yeah, I asked Dobby to bring those things. Thanks," Chris took the pouch and noticed Adrian was looking very nervous.

"Your welcome. Chris, can I talk to you for a second?" Adrian asked hastily.

Chris nodded and then excused herself from Bill and Fleur; they walked out of the hospital wing and stood in front of a big open corridor.

The weather seemed to mock her; Chris could imagine how it had been if Dumbledore had not died, she would have finished her O.W.L.s happily, maybe she and her friends would have talked about the bizarre relationship of Ginny and Draco, maybe she would have talked to Harry about their feelings and maybe got together and spend more time over the summer in the Grimmauld Place, maybe . . . 

"What do you want to talk about?" asked Chris taking a deep breath of fresh air.

"Chris, I'm sorry about Dumbledore, I know you were close — How are you?" Adrian said.

"Fine, thank you," she said shortly and made it clear she didn't want to talk about it.

"Okay, so . . . I know this is not the best time to tell you this but I think you should know something before we leave the school," Adrian pointedly looked away. "It's about my father."

"Your father? Isn't he Head of the Auror department?" Chris asked and guessed the most common thing in this situation. "Is he alright?"

"Yes, he is fine," Adrian looked uncomfortable. "It's just — you know that he is really close to the Minister, right? My father was his assistant when the Minister was the Head of the Auror department."

Chris nodded.

"So, the thing is — when my father found out that I am hanging out with you . . . he —" Adrian sighed. "He knew you were close to Harry Potter and Dumbledore so he asked me to spy on you for the Ministry — I refused, I swear," he added instantly.

Chris stared at him but he looked at the ground and continued, "I never wanted to spy on you or anything. That's why I never asked you about Potter or Dumbledore, even though you sometimes you talked about them, I avoided those topics for this reason. Chris, I always thought you are an amazing person, one in million. I really liked you and I never wanted to hurt you. I'm really sorry, I should have said this sooner."

For several seconds, Chris didn't speak. She really didn't know what to say. Was she feeling angry? Betrayed? Hurt? Shocked? She had no idea. It was like the emotions had left her the moment she woke up that day.

"When did your father asked you to spy on me?" Chris finally said in a monotonous way.

"When I was coming back from home after Christmas," said Adrian still not looking up. He looked ashamed.

Chris realized, it was after she gave that speech to the Minister, when she had talked about, how much she respected Dumbledore. 

When Chris didn't say anything else Adrian spoke, "When I heard they are thinking of closing Hogwarts, I knew I had to tell you before we leave. Also, tomorrow my father will come here with the Minister for Dumbledore's funeral. But I am sure they will try to corner you and Harry."

"Thanks for telling me this, Adrian," said Chris turning away from him. "I should go. I have to pack if they are closing Hogwarts."

Finally, Adrian looked up at Chris. Her flat tone surprised him.

"You believed me?" he asked, though his voice made it clear he wanted Chris to believe him.

"Yes, I did," Chris looked back at him. "See you — if we ever meet again. . . bye."

As Chris walked away, she thought if she really believed Adrian.

No, she did not. She can't believe anyone from now on. 

****

Though Chris didn't want to, she knew she had to go back to the Gryffindor tower before the funeral. So that night after nine, she went back to her dorm.

"How are you, deary?" The fat lady said in a strained voice like she was crying, as Chris reached her portrait.

"I am fine, but I don't know the password. . ."

"No need," she said swinging open the portrait.

She didn't expect the emptiness of the common room will hit her like that. Hardly, any small students were in sight. Without looking anymore she walked up to her room in girls' dormitory.

The room was bare as well, there were no photographs or flowers or unused things on Danielle and Lauren's bed or table. Ginny's trunk was also packed and by the looks of Chris' open trunk on her bed, it was clear that Ginny was also packing her trunk but left the room without finishing.

Chris sat down on her bed and untied the pouch. 

"Let's see what do I have left?" she muttered. She had specifically ordered Dobby to bring everything from the tower, broken or not. Dobby obeyed. There were most of the things broken in the pouch; broken vials, bottles and boxes of potion ingredients and potions, lightly burned books. . . She had put a lot of things in the locket and now most of them were. . . 

She started to throw the broken things when she found the broken Time-Turner.

"At least, I will be seventeen in a month because of you," Chris said holding the Time-Turner up. "No magic traces after that."

She was shorting through the things, which were alright and she will need them when she saw something, she had not expected. . .

Dumbledore's wand.

______________________________

To be continued. . .

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