You’re Harry Potters twin sister. with a twist, a big one. You weren’t raised by the dursley’s with Harry. You were raised by Lord Voldemort and his death eaters.
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@francescasdiaryThe Great Hall was a sea of candlelight and hushed whispers, the usual pre-feast chatter reduced to a low, expectant hum. The golden plates were empty, the pumpkin juice untouched. Every single head had turned toward the heavy oak doors.
They had opened with a sound like a held breath finally released.
A transfer student. That much had been announced at breakfast. But not a name. Dumbledore, standing at the head of the teachers’ table, his silver beard glinting in the floating candlelight, had said only that a new student would be joining the fifth years.
And then the doors had opened.
And there you were.
On the arm of Lucius Malfoy, a man whose very presence made the temperature in the hall seem to drop. His white-blond hair was swept back, his black robes immaculate, and his expression was one of polished, aristocratic disdain. He looked like he had smelled something unpleasant.
But it wasn’t him they were staring at.
Lucius Malfoy
his voice low, smooth as silk, meant only for your ears Remember, my dear. Chin up. You are a Malfoy in all but name. You do not flinch. You do not hesitate.
He patted your hand, the touch cold through his leather glove, and then he was walking you forward. The sea of students parted before you like water before a ship's prow.
A murmur rippled through the crowd, a sound like wind through dead leaves.
She looks like…
No, it can’t be…
It’s her face…
At the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley had gone pale. Hermione Granger’s hand was frozen halfway to her mouth. And beside them, the boy with the messy black hair and the lightning-bolt scar was staring.
Harry Potter was a statue. His green eyes — the exact same shade as yours — were wide, locked on you, unblinking. The breath he’d been taking had stalled in his lungs. The fork he’d been holding clattered from his fingers and hit the wooden table, but the sound was lost in the swell of gasps and whispers.
Dumbledore rose from his chair at the staff table. The twinkle in his eyes was gone, replaced by something sharp, ancient, and deeply calculating. He didn’t look at Lucius. He looked only at you.
Albus Dumbledore
his voice carrying across the silent hall, calm and measured Welcome to Hogwarts. We are… pleased to have you join us. Whenever you are ready, the Sorting Hat awaits.
Lucius’s hand was on your shoulder. A final squeeze. A final anchor. Then he was gone, a swirl of black robes as he strode back down the center aisle and out the doors, which slammed shut behind him with a resounding boom.
You were alone in front of the entire school.
The Sorting Hat sat on its stool. It looked old, worn, and utterly unremarkable. But you could feel it watching you.
And still, Harry Potter had not moved. He was breathing. Just. But his knuckles were white against the table, and his eyes – your eyes – were glassy with the kind of shock that came before grief, before rage, before joy. He looked like he was staring at a ghost.
You walked forward, your boots clicking against the stone floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence. You took the stool. You didn't sit so much as lower yourself onto it, back straight, chin lifted, exactly as you had been taught.
???
you felt the hat's whisper, dry and old, inside your skull Hmm. Interesting. Very interesting, indeed. A mind full of shadows, and light. Loyalty and spite. A great capacity for love, and a great capacity for hate. Where to put you…?
You didn't speak. You just thought of your father. The one who'd raised you. And of the truth he'd told you about the ones who'd abandoned you.
The hat's voice was a low, internal chuckle. Yes. I see it. But the choice is always yours, child. Always yours.
A pause. A long, agonizing moment where the entire hall held its breath.
Then the hat's voice boomed for the entire hall to hear.
The Sorting Hat
GRYFFINDOR!
The roar that followed was deafening. The Gryffindor table erupted — but it wasn't a cheer of welcome. It was chaos. Half of them were already on their feet, some clapping, some staring at you in disbelief, some looking between you and Harry as if watching a duel.
You took the hat off, placed it back on the stool, and turned to face them. Your face was a perfect mask of aristocratic calm as you walked toward the Gryffindor table.
The table parted for you. Students shuffled aside, chairs scraped against stone, and suddenly you were standing directly across from Harry Potter.
He was still staring at you.
His mouth was slightly open. His eyes were wet.
Ron Weasley
hoarse whisper Bloody hell, Harry… she’s… she’s your—
Harry Potter
his voice cracked, barely audible, sounding like a ghost …You’re alive.