Chapter 24: 1991 — The Protagonist Is Supposed to Go to School. …Wait. Why Is It Me?
Selenis Gray was imprisoned in the dungeon beneath the Gray Manor.
Iron hooks pierced through her palms, thick chains hoisting her into the air. The blood beneath her had long since dried, leaving only dark, rust-colored stains on the stone floor.
"Selenis—Selenis!"
A frantic voice echoed down the stairs.
With great effort, she lifted her head. Her once-bright orange hair had been dulled to ash-gray by dust and neglect. Through the tangled strands, she vaguely saw her father rush in and throw open the dungeon door.
He cut her down, firing off several Healing Charms in quick succession. Warmth flooded her body. The damage receded.
She was weak—but no longer dying.
"There's an emergency family council," her father said urgently. "Come. Now."
The Gray family hall.
The same long table.The same familiar faces.
Only the person who once presided at its head was gone.
"Everyone," someone said grimly, "speak freely. What do we do?"
"The Ministry demands seventeen thousand Galleons in restitution. Another five thousand as a fine. The other families want fifteen thousand in compensation."
"Thirty-seven thousand Galleons total."
"How do we pay?"
"How?" someone laughed bitterly. "Strip us to the bone and it still wouldn't be enough!"
"Then we disappear. Change our names. Dissolve the Gray family entirely!"
"I have a proposal."
A man stood.
"Selenis has always managed the family finances. She should resume responsibility."
"Yes! She was innocent all along. She was punished only because the former head needed a scapegoat!"
"You still call him the family head?"
"If not for him, would we be in this mess?!"
"He poured all our money into his mad experiments!"
"I move to strip Bode Gray of his title as family head!"
"I second it!"
"Seconded!"
A pause fell over the table.
Then someone said carefully, "What if Selenis serves as acting head?"
Instinctively, several mouths opened to object. Power struggles were etched into pureblood bloodlines.
But reality pressed in.
"…She is suitable."
"I agree."
"So do I."
"Selenis, we'll be relying on you."
Selenis stood.
She walked slowly to the head of the table and placed her hands upon it.
Her eyes were empty—dead still water.
A month in chains had clarified many things.
These people were useless.
If the Gray family were to survive, it would be by her hand.
And she wanted power.
Power enough to destroy Bode Gray.
"I will say three things."
"First: sell every treasure taken from the Lestrange family. Everything. No exceptions."
"Second: if compensation still falls short, forge Hydrus Lestrange's signature and sell the potion estate in Scotland. It's worth at least fifty thousand Galleons."
"Third: anyone in this family without employment will hunt for Hydrus Lestrange and Bode Gray. Verified intelligence earns a reward of one thousand Galleons."
Silence.
Selenis slammed the table.
Pain flared—phantom agony from wounds that memory refused to forget.
"Move," she snapped. "Unless you'd prefer the Ministry seize this house brick by brick."
"Yes!"
Whether the Gray family survived hardly mattered.
Hydrus Lestrange had already lost interest.
Once, she had been the shadow while the Grays stood in the light.
Now Bode Gray was a fugitive himself, slinking through the underground.
That made things inconvenient.
The anger was spent. The profit secured.
Best to stop while ahead.
After all, the Grays wouldn't survive the final war anyway. Her convenient parents would see to that.
As for the income siphoned from the Lestrange estate?
Please.
As long as the foundation remained, money meant nothing.
Hydrus no longer cared about petty sums.
She could say it openly now:
She alone was a noble house.
The Gray family?
Consider them paid gatekeepers.
All of that was an excuse, of course.
The truth was simpler.
She was lazy.
She had planned to buy textbooks and study magic seriously. Then Dumbledore interrupted her once, and she never went back.
Not because she forgot.
Because she couldn't be bothered.
She was greedy. Lazy. Blessed with absurd talent.
Why not enjoy it?
Why waste time on effort when comfort was available?
Singing was different.
Singing was a hobby.
So she sang, ate, slept, and counted money.
And time slipped forward.
To 1991.
Hydrus Lestrange was sixteen.
This was the year Harry Potter would begin school.
Which had nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with Audrey Astre, fully embedded in the Muggle world.
Her savings exceeded £130 million.
After Peter Waterman finally convinced her to film a commercial, she discovered something miraculous.
Advertising was easy.
Smile. Speak two lines. Collect absurd money.
Her wealth exploded.
She was a global icon—one who could rival Michael Jackson.
And she was only sixteen.
July 1st.
The final stop of the Astre siblings' UK tour.
London.
Rick insisted. London was where they rose. It mattered.
Before the show.
Hydrus sat in the dressing room.
Her hands trembled.
Her pupils shrank.
In her hands—
A letter.
Delivered by an owl.
That had crawled through the ventilation system.
She hated round-faced Scottish feathered demons.
Dear Miss Audrey Astre,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…
Term begins September 1st.
Please send your reply by owl before July 31st.
(Handwritten addition: "Given your special circumstances, alternative arrangements may be considered.")
Deputy HeadmistressMinerva McGonagall
Hydrus went numb.
She had played Squib perfectly.
So how—
She checked herself.
And understood.
As witches aged, magic regenerated faster.
The better the body, the faster the flow.
Her body was now pure magic.
Generation exceeded dispersion.
Magic overflowed.
Her circuits activated.
She was no longer a Squib.
She was a witch.
Disaster.
Absolute disaster.
Same year as Harry Potter.
Walking hand-in-hand with death.
If only she'd enrolled at eleven—
She'd be gone before Voldemort returned.
Her "Lie Low Until the Final Battle, Then Retire Rich" plan—
Destroyed.
No.
Not yet.
She could still win.
Why remain in the wizarding world at all?
She could live comfortably forever as a Muggle.
The answer was simple.
She was lazy.
Walking to the fridge versus flicking a finger.
There was no comparison.
She smiled dreamily at the thought of retiring at twenty-three.
No one would stop her.
So she needed a solution.
Not going to Hogwarts was ideal.
Simple. Brutal. Effective.
Tomorrow she'd talk to Waterman.
Better yet—
Move to America.
Change nationality.
Hogwarts couldn't recruit internationally, right?
As for Ilvermorny?
No Dark Lords. No prophecies.
Safe.
The door creaked open.
A small head peeked inside.
"Um—excuse me…"
A girl, about ten.
"Miss Astre, could I have your autograph?"
"I might not be able to come to your concerts anymore," she said shyly. "I want something to remember you by."
"Of course," Hydrus said, taking the record. "Your name?"
"Hermione. Hermione Jean Granger!"
Oh.
That Hermione.
"Is that a Hogwarts letter?" Hermione gasped. "I just got mine too! You're a witch?"
Hydrus smiled stiffly.
"…More or less."
"That's wonderful! We'll be classmates!"
Classmates my ass.
This is a cursed bond.
Stay away from me, protagonists.
Hydrus smiled and ushered the girl out.
Tonight.
Pack.
America.
Immediately.
If she waited until morning—
Dumbledore might show up personally.
And she was not dealing with that.