The Twin Who Lived - The Department of Forgotten Children

The Slytherin common room was unusually loud that evening.

Rain battered softly against the enchanted lake-facing windows while greenish light drifted through the water outside, casting rippling shadows across the stone walls. The fire crackled warmly in the massive carved hearth, though the atmosphere among the students was far from calm.

Because somehow—

despite Mira Silverthorne’s best efforts—

word had spread.

Again.

Draco blamed Theo.

Theo blamed Blaise.

Blaise blamed “the natural collapse of secrecy around historically significant people.”

And now half the Slytherin house knew Mira was apparently drafting an actual Ministry proposal.

First-years, second-years, and even several older students occupied the common room in loose clusters, pretending not to stare toward the large circular table near the fire.

Pretending very badly.

Mira sat surrounded by parchment stacks, glowing ink diagrams, and several floating organizational charts that rotated slowly overhead like silver constellations.

Draco sat beside her with the expression of someone who had accepted that his life now involved helping organize legislation at age eleven.

Pip rested proudly atop a stack labeled SAFE HOUSE LOCATIONS.

Briony slept curled beside the fire.

Theo lounged nearby with a book open on one knee.

Daphne watched with open curiosity.

Blaise looked entertained.

Several younger Slytherins kept whispering to one another while sneaking glances toward the parchments.

Finally, a fourth-year boy near the staircase spoke aloud.

“So…”

Everyone looked toward him immediately.

“…are you actually building a Ministry department?”

Silence fell across the common room.

Draco sighed deeply, “There it is.”

Mira looked up from her notes.

“A proposal,” she corrected gently. “Not a department yet.”

“That’s somehow worse,” Blaise muttered.

The fourth-year blinked, “You’re serious?”

“Yes.” Mira confirmed.

More silence.

Then suddenly questions erupted from every direction at once.

“What kind of department?”

“Is this why you’ve been buried in parchment for days?”

“Why are there maps?”

“Are those legal drafts?”

“Why does one section say interspecies protection?!”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.

Mira, however, remained strangely calm.

Probably because she had spent enough time around Alaric Silverthorne to survive strategic chaos.

She carefully gathered several floating parchments with a flick of her wand before answering.

“It’s called the Department for the Protection and Welfare of Magical Minors.”

Even the older students quieted after hearing the full title.

Mira continued softly, “It would focus on protecting magical children.”

“From what?” a third-year girl asked.

“Abuse,” Mira answered simply.

The room stilled slightly.

“Neglect.”

Another pause.

“Discrimination.”

Now students were listening very carefully.

Mira folded her hands atop the table, “It would create safe houses, orphanages, educational programs, legal protections, and medical support systems.”

A sixth-year frowned.

“For who?”

“Muggleborns.”

“Half-bloods.”

“Orphans.”

“Hybrid children.”

She hesitated only briefly.

“And children from marginalized magical families.”

The fire crackled softly.

Outside the windows, dark lake water shifted silently.

Several students exchanged uncertain looks.

Not hostile.

Just surprised.

Because this was not the kind of thing pureblood first-years usually discussed.

Or even considered.

Draco noticed the shift in the room immediately.

And to his own surprise—

he felt protective.

Not because Mira looked afraid.

She didn’t.

But because he understood now how personal this project truly was.

A fifth-year boy leaned against the arm of a couch nearby.

“But why?”

Mira looked toward him.

“Why what?”

“Why do this?”

His tone wasn’t cruel.

Just genuinely confused.

“You could spend your time making more inventions or researching artifacts or—Merlin—you already have half the Wizengamot paying attention to you.”

Another student nodded slowly.

“So why this?”

The question settled heavily over the common room.

Draco watched Mira carefully.

He recognized the slight stillness that entered her shoulders.

The brief quietness in her eyes.

And suddenly he knew—

she was deciding how much truth to give them.

Pip climbed quietly into her lap.

Briony lifted her head near the fire.

The room remained completely silent.

Then Mira spoke softly.

“Because I don’t want children to suffer the way my family did.”

The words changed the atmosphere immediately.

Not dramatically.

Quietly.

Deeply.

Mira lowered her gaze briefly toward the parchment in front of her.

“Before the Silverthornes found us…”

She paused.

“…we were abandoned.”

No one interrupted.

No one mocked.

Even the older Slytherins stayed silent.

Mira rarely spoke about herself.

And everyone in the room seemed to realize instinctively that this mattered.

“My sister Isolde was feared because she’s half-Veela.”

Several students shifted slightly.

“She spent years learning to make herself smaller so people wouldn’t look at her like she was dangerous.”

Draco’s jaw tightened faintly.

He had met Isolde.

Gentle.

Elegant.

Soft-spoken.

The idea of anyone treating her cruelly suddenly felt deeply unpleasant.

Mira continued quietly.

“Nyx was judged for being a vampire hybrid before anyone cared who he actually was. The first thing most people saw was his species.”

Her fingers tightened slightly atop the table.

“Korrin was treated like a threat because he’s a werewolf.”

Several older students visibly stiffened.

Not out of disgust.

Out of discomfort.

Because they knew exactly how werewolves were viewed in magical society.

“Caelum was mocked for being half-giant.”

The room grew heavier with every sentence.

Mira’s voice remained calm throughout all of it.

Which somehow made it worse.

No anger.

No dramatics.

Just truth.

“And me…”

For the first time, her voice faltered slightly.

Very slightly.

“I know what it feels like to be unwanted.”

Draco looked at her immediately.

The common room felt utterly still now.

No one moved.

No one whispered.

Even the fire seemed quieter somehow.

Mira exhaled softly.

“The Silverthornes didn’t take us in because they had to.”

Her bright teal eyes lifted slowly.

“They wanted us.”

Something inside the room shifted at those words.

Draco felt it.

Everyone did.

Because suddenly this wasn’t merely a political proposal anymore.

It was personal survival transformed into compassion.

Mira looked around the room quietly.

“I don’t want children growing up believing they’re monsters.”

Silence.

“I don’t want magical children abandoned because they’re different.”

Silence.

“I don’t want anyone feeling forgotten.”

The rain outside intensified softly against the glass.

Several students looked away uncomfortably.

Not because they disagreed.

Because the honesty in Mira’s voice struck somewhere deeper than most of them expected.

Theo finally closed his book completely.

“That’s why you keep helping people,” he said quietly.

Mira blinked slightly.

Theo’s dark eyes remained steady on her.

“The inventions. The projects. The artifacts. You’re always trying to fix something.”

Mira looked momentarily surprised by the observation.

Then slowly—

she nodded.

“Yes.”

Blaise studied her thoughtfully from across the room.

“You know,” he said carefully, “most people with influence use it to elevate themselves.”

Mira frowned slightly.

“I’m not trying to elevate myself.”

“That’s my point.”

The room fell quiet again.

A second-year girl near the fire spoke hesitantly.

“My cousin’s a squib.”

Several students glanced toward her.

She stared into the flames.

“Her parents pretend she doesn’t exist when people visit.”

The confession landed heavily.

Mira’s expression softened immediately.

Another student spoke quietly from near the staircase.

“My uncle was disowned for marrying a Muggleborn.”

A third-year muttered:

“My little brother’s a Seer.”

The room shifted slowly after that.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

But barriers began lowering one by one.

Little truths emerging in quiet pieces.

A cousin hidden away.

A sibling feared.

A relative disowned.

A magical condition treated like shame.

And Draco realized something startling.

Mira had somehow changed the emotional gravity of the entire room simply by telling the truth.

Not forcing.

Not preaching.

Just speaking honestly enough that others felt safe enough to do the same.

Pip chirped softly from Mira’s lap.

Briony moved quietly closer beside her chair.

Mira looked around at her housemates carefully.

Then she said something very simple.

“No child should have to earn the right to be loved.”

The words hit Draco hardest of all.

Because suddenly he understood the core of everything she built.

The inventions.

The sanctuaries.

The medical devices.

The protections.

The care.

All of it came from the same place.

Mira Silverthorne knew exactly what abandonment felt like.

And she had decided no one else should suffer it alone if she could help it.

The common room remained silent for several long moments afterward.

Then unexpectedly—

a seventh-year Slytherin near the back of the room spoke.

“If you actually present this to the Ministry…”

Mira looked toward him.

“…they’ll fight you.”

“Probably,” she admitted.

He studied her carefully.

Then slowly nodded once.

“They should lose.”

The room went quiet again.

Draco leaned back slightly in his chair, watching Mira as students began cautiously asking questions about the proposal itself.

Funding.

Housing.

Education.

Legal structure.

And for the first time—

instead of treating her like merely an extraordinary first-year—

many of the Slytherins in the room began looking at Mira Silverthorne like something else entirely.

A future worth following.

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