Eyes trained on the small cat figurine stretching languidly in her hands, she wonders if using magic is meant to be so easy. She knows it's not really her—or, not the original her, at any rate. She had never had any particular talent in anything Before, and she can feel a slight sense of wrongness that clings to the magic she wields Now.

It must be her new self, she decides. After all, the original Dorcas Meadowes, she-who-was-killed-by-Voldemort-himself, must have been an exceptionally dangerous witch. With the ease in which she calls upon her magic, using it for almost anything she can think of, she understands why he might have thought her a threat.

She can't wait.

Don't own.

AN: I'm sure there were plenty of other reasons why Voldemort killed Dorcas personally, but I like to pretend it was because she was powerful because fuck the idea that only these old white men are able to become ridiculously powerful.