Somewhere in Knockturn
Five minutes past midnight

Julie waited patiently, her face clear of heavy makeup because she couldn’t face crying again and having big black streak mark lining her face. She had a big black cloak wrapped around her shoulders; her typical curls crushed under the heavy hood of the cloak.

This was not the place she typically went, but for some reason, the French girl was waiting in a dark alleyway. Waiting for a vial of hope that would answer her prayers. And so she stood waiting, the only sounds were that of her own breath; erratic and misplaced. And her heart, similarly confused, each beat betraying her pure anxiety and fear.

At the same time, Victoria walked down Knockturn, winding through the streets, arriving a handful of minutes late to where she’d owled Julie to meet her. Julie didn’t know her name, who she was meeting; but she was willing to do anything for her dying fiancée. And that was just what Victoria had needed. A weak point, a chance to swoop in and play bad guy.

She noticed her counterpart at the end of the alleyway and approached her, wearing a similar cloak, the same pitch black. “Thought I’d neva’ get to meet you.” The Scottish accent came through thick and heavy, and it made Julie’s head turn to look at a woman who looked just like her, and not at the same time. “Been waitin’ a real long time for ya.”

“Sorry to say I can’t say the same,” Julie said, eyeing the doppelganger standing in front of her. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you before,” she said, loathing dripping from her words like the poison Victoria had slipped into Mark’s drink.

Victoria chuckled and pushed off her hood, watching Julie do the same. Brown eyes met brown eyes, and the two shared a grim, crimson smile. “I’ve met you before lass, and you’ve met me.” She stated, surveying the smaller woman.

“Must have me mistaken,” Julie said. “Now if you don’t have anything better to do, I’ll take the antidote and go now. My fiancée is sort of dying, no thanks to you; and I’m sort of really pissed right now. So just hand it over before I do something I’ll regret.”

“Ever wonder ‘bout your Mama?” Victoria said bluntly, raising a single eyebrow in question. “I know who she is, or was.”

Julie’s eyes narrowed, “I know who my mother is, thank you.”

Victoria smirked, “Not ya’ fake adoptive mother who lives in tha’ castle of ‘ers. Your real mother, our mother.”

Julie took a step back. That explained it. The hair, the eyes, the look, the smile; they were sisters. And the truth felt like it was going to cripple her. Her legs felt wobbly as she regained her balance, “Prove it.”

“Found in a basket right? On a riva? Sent off by your parents, a little pink hair ribbon attached? That was my ribbon, thank you very much. Thought I’d neva’ get ta seein’ my sister again. It was a nice sentiment to send ya’ off with that ribbon.” Victoria stated, leaning against the cool brick wall of the alleyway. Julie was pale, she had that ribbon. She brought it everywhere with her, wrapped around the edge of her wand because she thought maybe one day, it would lead her to her parents. So it was true, and this bitch was her sister. Perfect.

“Julie Jehanne Lafevre,” Victoria said with distaste. “It’s nothin’ like your real name, you’ve just been wearin’ a mask all your life.”

“It is my real name, and I’ll have none of this nonsense. If you’re lying to me, then I’ll just be on my way,” she said, storming by Victoria. But the older sister lashed out, gripping Julie’s forearm in a tight grip.

“Mackenzie Lynn Andrews,” Victoria said under her breath, slipping a vial of light blue liquid out of her pocket. “Can’t run from family. ‘Specially not me.”

Julie’s breath hitched, and she took the vial carefully from her sister. “Stay away from my family.”

Victoria looked into Julie’s eyes, “You’ll never be in a position to threat’n me. You’d be wise ta remember that.” She let go of the smaller woman’s arm and stalked off into the dark alley…

…leaving Julie with an antidote, an identity crisis, and a heart full of questions that couldn’t be answered by anyone but the sole person who sought to make her life hell. “Mackenzie,” she said softly to herself, before pocketing the antidote and rushing to St. Mungo’s.