Chapter Text
“The glamour of inexperience is over your eyes,” he answered; “and you see it through a charmed medium: you cannot discern that the gilding is slime and the silk draperies cobwebs; that the marble is sordid slate, and the polished woods mere refuse chips and scaly bark.”
- Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
My parents, having met with Hannah’s and Megan’s (but not Susan’s Aunt) in Diagon Alley three weeks earlier in the summer, were content to drop me at the gates of Abbott Abbey. Which was the actual legal name of Hannah’s mansion.
“Now, I know you’ll be a wonderful guest, but don’t hesitate to ring me – or whatever magic the Abbotts have – if you feel like it. Okay?” My mother, Aissata Sahelian, had my hand clasped in both of hers.
This was the second minute of us standing outside the gate, while Baba sat in the driver’s seat and examined the somewhat church-like manor that hadn’t been visible until we turned up the drive.
I continued my silence. Fortunately, Mum quickly realised what she was doing and let my hand drop. Then she reached out and smoothed the fold of the new robes I’d gotten during that Diagon trip.
I didn’t sigh. “I know I haven’t been to a sleepover before,” (there had never been anyone worth the effort), “but I was at boarding school for the past year. I survived that, and I’ll see you tomorrow Mum.”
“Yes, but…” Aissata stopped herself. Stared at my eyebrow, which was replicating an expression of hers that I pretended had an effect on me. “Yes. You did survive. Very well – but you call if you need.”
I nodded vigorously, then stepped away to rest a hand on the gate.
Part of me was quite hesitant about this part. Back in Praes, in my first life, attempting to enter the home of another High House without a member of the ruling family present could result in… many things. Free welcome, cursed spikes, or spiked curses. Sometimes those things happened even when you were escorted.
But I had to trust that the wizarding world was consistent. Consistently docile, that is.
The gate was iron. Cold, even on such a sunny day. Hairs stood on end, all up my arm – a tingling of some ward. Rushing from the waist-high metal gate into my bloodstream.
Predictably, my skin did not melt, my heart did not seize, and nothing materialised or moved at great speed towards a vital organ.
Still, I didn’t try to push the gate open myself. Not with my parents here – they weren’t used to death threats, you see.
Sure enough, half a minute later, one of the big wooden doors of the manor shifted, and a blonde girl came running out.
“Hannah!” I waved with enthusiasm, because the girl got unreasonably happy when someone matched her enthusiasm – even only for a moment.
Very soon, my minion most in need of shaping stumbled to a stop on the Abbott’s side of the gate. Said gate hummed when she touched it, then curled in on itself like vines, excess metal forming an arch of flowers for us to walk through.
(And no hissing of poisonous gas. I was almost disappointed.)
“Good morning Mrs Sahelian, Mr Sahelian.” She shook Mum’s hand, then glanced at me and giggled at the novelty of acting muggle.
“Hey Akua, Susan and Megan are already here!” Another giggle. “Ah! We’re going to have so much fun!”
I smiled indulgently. “We will! Let me say goodbye, then you can show me around.”
Hannah nodded and stepped sideways to wave at Baba, who got out of the car to ask which century her home was built in.
I looked up at Mum and was suddenly swarmed with the memories of coming home after the end of the school year. Stepping into the living room of the place I called ‘home’ and seeing that sage green couch. I’d spent a long time staring at it. Then turned and looked up at Mum. She’d hugged me, not saying anything, just squeezing and being so obviously and affectionately glad that I was in her arms.
(She was hugging me again now. Hence the unintentional recollection.
It was a… novel… feeling. One that would not last. So, I admit, I clung to it.
Both in my memory and here and now, Baba stepped into the hug. I let it linger for three seconds. Then I pulled away. Baba knelt down – not as far as he’d needed to last year. “See you tomorrow, my little harrier hawk.”
Then I actually squawked as he ruffled my hair. Slapping his hands back, I grabbed my bag from where he’d lifted it out of the car. Turned on my heel – away from my second pair of parents.
“Come on Hannah, let’s go have fun.”
(I didn’t care if I’d just been incredibly transparent in my own actions – or played into Baba’s scheme to stop Mum getting emotional. No one touched my hair.)
<{ ҉ }>
Abbott Abbey was a sprawling expanse of stone, draped in ivy and surrounded by rather natural-looking gardens. The place gave off a remarkably down-to-earth air, for being the ancestral home of wizarding nobility. It was very quaint, and very countryside.
Pleasant. Content. Simple.
Peaceful.
Many people thought peace was a luxury. They weren’t exactly wrong, but in truth it was more of an addiction. Whether wilful or unthinking, those who clung to peace just as often clung to the idea of life being easy.
(There was a reason Hannah had turned out as malleable as she was.)
Power was also an addiction, I was not ashamed to admit. The difference between peace and power of course, was that you had to take power. And then you had to keep it. Iron sharpens iron, see.
There was very little iron in Abbott Abbey.
Just stone and beautiful wood and coiled vines holding little magical lights, hanging like chandeliers.
“Susan and Megan are out the back, just drop your bags and they’ll get shifted to your room.” Hannah was tugging me along quickly, so I left my suitcase by the door for whichever wizard lacked enough self-esteem to act as a servant.
“Out the back?” I questioned.
“Yeah – oh, all our rooms are down this corridor.” She pointed, then dragged me away immediately. “There’s some Quidditch hoops over the barley field, and Megan was impatient even before you got here.”
I got glimpses of the various gardens and fields that surrounded Abbott Abbey – even a separate back building and a flash of vineyard. What I did not get was a reason why we would be hurrying towards Quidditch hoops.
Hannah finally let go of my hand, but only so she could start skipping. “This is going to be the best! Susan’s been here since breakfast and Megan since lunch. She got a new broom, so she’s just dying to show it off.”
And then Hannah shoved open doors to the back of the estate, and a wave of warm summer air hit us, carrying the scent of barley and lavender. Behind Abbott Abbey stretched narrow fields – each long row holding a different set of produce. Which… maybe magic made that a feasible commercial layout, but everything still felt… hmm. Displayed.
Not that displays (of power) were wrong. Quite the opposite, in fact.
But I was little off put by the lack of personality. The presentation here implied a subtle power, land and edifice partly blended, the growth of plants mixed with the ordered fields. Everything in full bloom, regardless of the plant or actual season. But nothing stood out. Nothing was displayed as the achievement of this or that ancestor, with a bigger demonstration as to how the family had soared to even greater heights since then.
Now, I was aware that most of the wizards and witches of this hidden world were (or appeared to be) perfectly content doing nothing in particular. The apparent culture was one of keeping yourself out of the history books. But the nobility should have something. Some sign of…
I turned to the barn-like structure, standing a short walk away the main manor building. There was a sign over the entrance.
The First and Original Butterbeer.
Part of me gave into despair. Was this what elevated the Abbotts above the other agricultural families?
Surely not. It must all be a ploy – subtle schemers consolidating their control over food production. Slowly squeezing our other producers, cornering trade into Britain, shaping Ministry policy. Keeping this shed up as a shield of humility, a pretence for the greater populace. Abbott butterbeer would be a household name, and no one would trace where the rest of their food came from far enough to realise it was all controlled by the same smiling faces.
Surely not.
Because if this estate was as honest in presentation as Hannah was, then... Then the Abbotts really hadn’t achieved anything grander since then. Aside from practicing ideological eugenics, of course.
I had to be missing something, like how it had taken me years to realise that the muggle royals kept it toned down for fear of rebellion. But really, could you blame me? It was so wrong to think anyone rational wasn’t constantly trying to amass power.
“Akua!”
I blinked. Turned away from the butterbeer barn. Came face to face with Megan and Susan.
Megan was already dressed in her Quidditch gear, face alight with excitement and dark hair pulled back tight. “Akua! We were waiting for you! Ready to fly?”
“Hi Akua, how has your summer been since Diagon?”
I nodded at Susan, mouthed ‘later’, then shook my head at Megan. “I’m not getting on a broom.”
Megan actually pouted.
And all the pressure that had been building in my chest during the drive, while bidding my parents goodbye, and being dragged out to this picturesque back portico suddenly crystalised.
(But this was not the time or place to bind the tracking curse on me (or my wand) to the flesh of a sacrificial victim – and then send a much nastier curse back at whoever decided to place rules on my magical activities.)
“I…” I rubbed at my eyes, looked around again, then took a performatively deep breath. Relaxed my shoulders on the exhale. “Sorry, it’s just… so nice to feel magic again. I’m very excited to see you all, but I wasn’t expecting this, and… I think I need a moment.”
Megan, who had stopped pouting (fortunately for her), fidgeted a little before taking her own deep breath.
“You mean the wards?” Susan asked.
I hadn’t, but I could feel a difference between magical and muggle places. Apparently, that wasn’t a common capability. I nodded, taking the given moment to make sure nothing was showing on my face that I didn’t want.
(Rage was an easy emotion to act on, but success was far sweeter.)
Megan stepped closer to me. “I can’t feel anything apart from the sun today, but maybe that’s because I’ve got magic at home. I’m sure not feeling any magic at all would be awful, but I’m glad you’re here, Akua.”
She smiled, then went back to fidgeting. “Are you suuureee you don’t want to play Quidditch?”
I scoffed, but smiled.
Then Hannah tackled us both in a hug.
“Ah! I’ve missed you guys! Susan, hey Suse, join in!”
Susan met my eyes. I tried my best to shrug despite the constriction, made my expression welcoming. After a moment, she joined us too. The squeeze was… tolerable. It had purpose, at least.
Megan got Hannah focused back on Quidditch soon enough, and Susan was happy to just enjoy the day and walk through the barley field towards the three large wooden hoops.
I did have to get on a broom, but didn’t even have to stage an accident before the others agreed that I was better suited as referee.
(I really needed to reinvent another form of flying.)
<{ ҉ }>
The afternoon was now long, and clouds were coming in to remind the British sun where it belonged as we walked through the fields back to Abbott Abbey. Megan was still fired up in a way I’d never seen her before, talking about joining Hufflepuff’s Quidditch team back at Hogwarts. Every position on the team got a thorough analysis regarding why she would or wouldn’t be suited for it.
I didn’t interrupt or otherwise quash her spirit. Reasoned and rational decision making was a useful trait in underlings.
But just as Susan and Hannah started getting more hungry than swept up in social energy, I cleared my throat.
They all looked at me. Like I’d trained them to.
“I… have a proposal. It’s a little, well, just hear me out. Okay?”
They nodded. Megan was still high on endorphins Hannah, latching onto my fabricated mystery. Susan was a little more reserved, but that was expected.
“All this talk about Quidditch back at school and practicing,” I said, my tone carefully casual. “I just… was wondering about practicing… other things. For school.”
Megan’s tilted her head, eyes bright and unguarded. “Like what?”
Susan met my gaze steadily, though she said nothing. She didn’t need to.
“Well,” I shrugged, the picture of nonchalance, “We’re entering our second year. But you guys – and the rest of the students – have been around magic your whole lives. I’ve only had a year of it. And it was the best year of my life. Thanks to you guys too.”
I paused, played with my M.A.S.H scarf. Hannah was the only one wearing hers, but that was a useful effect too. “Going from seeing you everyday, being in Hogwarts, feeling magic everyday, to… nothing? I don’t know if wizards avoid the muggle world just because of the Statute of Secrecy, but to me it feels empty. Something’s missing.”
My minions stewed for a moment, each trying to find a path out of the emotional tension. Lucky them that I’d just laid one out.
Hannah frowned a little, reaching out to fiddle with a stem of barley. “But… we’re not allowed to do much outside school, are we? The Ministry–”
“From what you said last year Susan,” I cut in, turned the spotlight to on the redhead. Megan and Hannah turned to look at her, and I continued, “it sounded like the Ministry can’t detect magic when we’re on a magical property.”
Susan nodded. I waited.
“Wards do hide the origin,” she admitted, “…especially ancient wards, like Hannah’s house. And mine.”
Megan frowned, but Hannah was the one who stopped in the field and clenched a fist. “Which isn’t fair! Akua, you’re fantastic at magic, and even if you were just normal at it, you deserve to feel magic all the time.”
She blinked. “Maybe that’s why we can’t feel magic? Because we’ve never, like, not felt it?”
(Possibly, but equally possible was your society’s utter lack of ambition or self-betterment. A sign to show what a lack of political pressure and literal backstabbing could inflict upon a people.)
Hannah stamped her foot, angry on my behalf but not quite comprehending what it meant to grow up without a great manor or parents on the Wizengamot – ridiculous as that legislative body was.
Megan was closer in situation to me, just sporty instead of academic (and an actual child with no steel in her spine or strapped to a hidden thigh holster).
Susan had some steel, and knew what absence was – just not materially.
Together my minions presented some common traits of the generations raised in this stagnantly Good society.
“Let’s not worry about practicing magic right now,” I decided for us. “We can talk about it tomorrow, but right now I want the actual tour of the house that I missed. And maybe some butterbeer.”
Hannah nodded, immediately distracted from social justice. “We should be able to walk around the fields and house before dinner, though I’ll get a house elf to clean us up to save time.”
I smiled – on the outside.
An elf?!?
<{ ҉ }>
Hannah had been referring to the Abbott’s house elf.
An indentured or outright enslaved servant that more resembled the goblins of Praes than the single taxidermy elf in all the Dread Empire. And while this wretch may look like the goblins of my memories, it was all bowing and scraping and strange grammar instead of incendiary weapons, siege weapons, or pit traps filled with incendiary siege weapons.
This house elf definitely didn’t act like the elves from my first life either, which were xenophobic extremists who took over a forest, committed a minor genocide, and then stayed there. Immortal creatures who murdered anyone that went near tended to be insufferably smug, as a rule.
(My plan for dealing with that little forest kingdom was to simply drop a demon from the sky. There were many ways to make immortals wish they weren’t, and demons were good at most of them.)
But house elves posed another factor for wizarding society that I had not yet considered.
The cycle of empire was one I was very used to, and I was determined to lead an expansionary period myself in some shape or form. But the fact that wizarding society had slaves (in name or not), coupled with the general complacency, suggested a historical and chronic lack in leadership that would lead to significant cuts in governmental expenditure in the next three to ten years.
Rather ripe ground for revolution, it seemed. Whether it be house elves themselves, or the decline of the statute of secrecy, I had many opportunities to plant the seeds of societal upheaval. And secretly found at least seven different political movements.
Easy, but engaging.
Still, self-reflection aside, dinner at Abbott Abbey was an exercise in politeness.
I did not point out the hypocrisy of an unpaid servant ‘who liked it that way’ and Lord and Lady Abbott were welcoming of their daughter’s diverse new friends in return.
(My politeness extended to not commenting on the implication that Hannah had not had friends so ‘diverse’ as a muggleborn or an economically middling half-blood before.)
The food was pleasant – “straight from the fields and gardens you can see outside!” – and the conversation was largely banal. How Susan was, what her Aunt was getting up to, Megan’s connection to Gwenog Jones. Quidditch.
Quite a bit of Quidditch, even during the conversation regarding how we were all finding Hogwarts. Especially how Hufflepuff was treating us. Hannah’s parents were both Hufflepuffs. (I was not surprised by this.)
But then:
“Wasn’t your grandfather a Governor of Hogwarts, dear?” Lady Abbott enquired of her husband, then turned to me. “Hannah’s great-grandfather, a lively man from all accounts, but the Dragon Pox got him.”
“Yes, Glenn Abbott!” Lord Abbott snapped his fingers. Everyone’s glasses were immediately topped up.
“He sat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors for, hmm the exact years elude me, but a few decades. Got the turn of the century though – 1700s to 1800s – quite an exciting time, everyone still dealing with MACUSA having its own international relations. And of course, the establishment of the Ministry.” Lord Abbott nodded and stared into the distance, apparently living vicariously through his ancestors.
He would benefit more from living vicariously through a hallucinogenic nerve toxin.
Lady Abbott rolled her eyes at her husband, then leant towards me. “Glenn was the one to expand Hogwart’s fund for muggleborn students, you know. From just wands to all school equipment.” She gave a light laugh. “I can’t imagine the look on whichever Malfoy and Nott when they realised he’d snuck a full set of robes into the necessary equipment.”
I pretended a chuckle. Then debated whether to skewer her worldview on a stake, or just crack it slightly round the edges. Hmm.
Well, I would interact with Hannah’s parents in future, so it was better (if less immediately fun) to play the long game.
“Um,” I started, after cutting off my chuckle and frowning. “Sorry, I just… did you say a full set of robes?”
Lady Abbott blinked at me, and the noise of dinner slowly fell until Lord Abbott returned to the present and looked at me too.
“Yes, uh, Miss Sahelian, a full set of school robes.” And Lady Abbott didn’t know what question she wanted to add onto that statement.
Fortunately, I had one for her. “Oh, well, I only got a single set of robes. My parents bought the rest.” I let them stew for three heartbeats. “Have prices gone up? On robes or other school equipment? Or are there more muggleborn now?”
Lord and Lady Abbott didn’t know how to answer that question, because they’d never actually investigated the policies they professed to ‘champion’.
Now, failings of due diligence aside, I had to admit that reform was complex and complicated. It was much more straightforward and impactful to stage a coup or just conquer the government you wanted to change. But engaging in neither reform nor takeover?
At that point you deserved some nerve toxin.
“I… will have to check whether the fund is indexed for inflation.” Lord Abbott eventually managed. “And see whether anyone might be able to contest Malfoy for Chair of the Governors next year – there’s no way to shift anything while Lucius has his fingers in the pie.”
I thanked him, then immediately switched to ramble about how interesting all of the classes were – making sure to add in a comment about how having the rest of my school equipment paid for was a great thing regardless.
By the end of the dinner, only Megan was still giving me side glances.
<{ ҉ }>
At quarter to midnight, I climbed out of the comfortable bed in my room of Hannah’s guest wing. The question of whether – and how – to set in motion a rebellion or civil war within wizarding society was not as much of a distraction as I’d hoped it would be.
(Being around magic again, feeling it, reminded me of what I’d achieved at the height of my power as the Diabolist. Reminded me of the wonders I had worked. Of greater things I had never gotten a chance to achieve.)
(Reminded me of that cursed Mirror of Erised, and how my dreams of the Black Tower still felt hollow.)
Civil war was all well and good, but it didn’t matter how much planning I did on how to achieve that, if I wasn’t sure what the civil war was – in itself – achieving for me. Yes, I could lead it, use it all to elevate myself into a position of political power. Or, I could play multiple sides and orchestrate the downfall of the entire governmental system, then build something anew in my image.
These were all things I could do. But… why? Why would I do them?
I knew myself well enough – adapting to this new life had aided the self-reflection – to know that I would readily shatter the statute of secrecy, conquer all magical and muggle Britain, and show the USA how you were supposed to do global hegemony.
I also knew myself well enough to know I needed a proper reason to risk it all as a Villain once again. I had most of a reason. (I would do it because I fucking could.)
But Villains died. And if I was going to die, it would be hells damned worth it.
(The mirror had ruined me, because I now couldn’t do it for the Black Tower. For Praes. Not really. After all, in this world, there was no Dread Empire to be heir of.)
I sighed. Went through some breathing exercises. Then opened the door of my room and wandered through the manor. The corridors were lit by moonlight, but the polished stone flooring was still warm. Probably because of normal enchantments, not the bound energy of a fire devil.
I did miss Praes, dearly enough for it to be a weakness the mirror exploited. But it was nice to wander at night without having to deactivate or dodge traps. It was easier to just… be, here.
(Easier to get soft, too.)
As I walked quietly through the halls, I found myself heading downstairs, drawn by some urge to stand in the middle of a rose garden and test how long I could bear the night chill. Maybe burn some flowers when I got cold.
But when I reached the back portico, I saw that someone else was already brooding out at the night.
Susan sat on a windowsill, bathed in the pale glow of moonlight, her knees tucked up to her chest. Rather maidenly. She wasn’t startled when I entered, glancing over her shoulder, blinking tiredly.
“You couldn’t sleep either?”
She shook her head, her gaze returning to the plants and stars outside. I moved closer, opened one door. Leant against it and stared outside.
Neither of us spoke. Susan was often quiet. Tended to retreat inside herself, whenever reminders of the underlying flaws of the world came up. Still, one month was not enough to erase most a year of group social dynamics. Susan would speak to me, because she trusted me, and because she was twelve.
It took until my fingers got cold enough for me to start twirling my wand for her to speak.
“Why do you really want to practice magic Akua? It is illegal.”
I spun my wand back the other way. Traced the faint flame carvings with a fingernail. “Harry Potter nearly died twice last year.”
I let her mull it over.
“You-Know-Who isn’t back, Akua. Maybe… maybe he still has some followers, but he’s dead.”
I shook my head. “Its strange, actually. I don’t actually know who. No one has ever said his name around me. I don’t know the name of the Dark Lord, or You-Know-Who, or whatever he’s called.” I turned and held Susan’s gaze. “People aren’t scared to say a man’s name if he’s dead, Susan.”
She shivered.
“And his followers don’t wait to try to kill the Boy Who Lived until he’s at Hogwarts. Followers don’t wait eleven years if they don’t have a leader.”
Susan’s jaw tightened, and she rested her chin on her knees. I waited for her.
“I don’t believe you.” She whispered.
“Something will happen at Hogwarts this year,” I whispered back, then twirled my wand and tapped it against my temple. “Something will happen, I know it.”
(Because Fate was really fucking obvious most of the time, and I wasn’t blinded by peace of all foul things.)
“So you want to be prepared for something that might not happen.” She shivered again.
“It will happen Susan. I can’t predict what, but something will happen. And because something will happen twice, Harry Potter is going to face something for every year he attends Hogwarts.” I ended the staring contest, looking back out at the ordered countryside. “I want to practice magic, because I want to be safe. I want us to practice magic, because I want you to be safe. All of you.”
(There was no point having incapable minions, and even less point to having half-way capable minions die on you. Unless it was to buy you more time against Heroes, but if things were at that point, then every asset was disposable.)
We were silent in the night for another while. Had it hit midnight yet? Probably not, she hadn’t agreed to my plan.
“I won’t do anything if you’re not comfortable,” I offered. A tiny gamble. She straightened her back against the windowsill, and I knew it had paid off.
“That’s it? That’s all?” she asked, her tone measured. “You just want to be safe? Against… something.”
I held her gaze, my face open, earnest. “Yes.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint rustling of leaves outside, the ambient noise of nature; wind and creatures eating plants or each other. Then, slowly, Susan exhaled, her posture relaxing just slightly.
A grandfather clock tolled midnight. (I didn’t roll my eyes, because Fate was as spiteful as it was obvious.)
A cloud covered the moon, and I allowed myself a brief moment of satisfaction. If the niece of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was on board, my other minions would follow.
“Good night, Susan,” I said softly, stepping back and closing the door.
She glanced at me, rested her forehead against the window’s glass. “Good night, Akua.”
I walked back to my temporary bed quietly, the echo of our conversation lingering in the night air like… hmm, like progress.
(Anticipation sung through my veins happily enough that I didn’t feel any urge to bloody the Abbott’s wooden floors.)
<{ ҉ }>
“It’s so good to see you guys, and I know – I know – I said it yesterday, but – ah!” Hannah squealed. Happily. She was practically bouncing on her toes as we walked away from breakfast. “This summer is going so slowwww.”
Because time was relative and subordinate to higher laws of reality, I had to agree with her. The wait until I returned to Hogwarts – and was able to freely practice magic – was a novel (unwelcome) torture. Still, this would be a happy little respite before I went back to feeling the lack of magic like a phantom limb. A gentle introduction of rule-breaking for the sake of self-improvement; these children had to start somewhere, after all.
“I’ve missed you all too,” Megan was dressed in quidditch gear again, “like, my family is nice, but its special with you.”
Susan nodded, fingering her M.A.S.H. scarf. I’d been wearing my version of the Hufflepuff coloured scarf I’d got monogrammed with our first initials yesterday, and two comments to Hannah’s parents about how I’d organised them as a Christmas present for our group had been enough for Megan to wear hers this morning. Susan, initially bare-necked, had quietly retrieved hers before we set off.
It was... almost amusing, this small, quiet test of influence. Seeing how far I could nudge these children. Scarves in summer was nothing, really. Especially since, having lived my first life in a wasteland empire (not entirely Praes’ own fault), British ‘summers’ still sat firmly in the cold side of my experiences. For my sheltered minions however, the scarf was a nice unconscious reinforcement of obedience being more important than comfort.
Though the real test of today was yet to come.
“Okay, Akua,” Hannah stopped before a grand set of double doors. “This is the biggest empty room in the house.” She pushed them open, revealing an elegant hall with polished wooden floors and wide arched windows that bathed the space in sunlight.
Enchanted wooden flooring. A dance hall. (Again, very quaint.)
I stepped inside, wandered forwards. Straightened my posture and clasped my hands as I stared out onto the Abbotts’ fields. Waited.
Megan gave in first. “So, did you... want to talk about... practicing again?”
I blinked, as if I was actually twelve and caught out in trying to be subtle. More to reward Megan’s observation skills than hide anything. Let her feel clever for ‘noticing’.
“Yes,” I said at last, sharp anticipation in my throat. “I’ve been thinking about practicing magic. Getting ready. Because of what happened at the end of last year.”
Susan shifted. Hannah looked at her, then frowned at me. “The thing with Harry Potter?”
I nodded, but didn’t say anything until Hannah started fidgeting. Then, I clarified the problem.
“The thing with You-Know-Who's followers.” Gods Below, I hated that epithet. But it had the necessary effect of making my minions pale with fear – or flush with determination. “I know I’m muggleborn, but it’s a bit obvious that some of those followers are still hanging around. And if one of them tried to get some revenge, then others are going to have the same idea.”
I spread my hands wide. “Harry Potter is going to attract danger like a lightning rod,” brought my hands together, “or like goblin gold.”
“You think the troll wasn’t an accident. That more things will happen, and it might be... us. Instead of Granger.” Megan’s eyes were darting between connections that I’d had to spill out for Susan myself last night.
Hannah’s shorter hair was hanging in front of her face. “It’s not fair,” she told the floor. “We’re just kids. We shouldn’t have to deal with—”
“We shouldn’t.” I’d stepped forwards, reached out to hold her shoulder. My other hand lifted her chin, and the mouldable girl’s posture straightened on command. “We shouldn’t. But there are still monsters and people just as bad out there. We should get to enjoy quidditch and learn magic without any worries.”
I looked over – reached out – until Megan stepped close enough that my fingers could fold over her shoulder too.
“And we will enjoy quidditch. We’ll study lots of things and have a fantastic amount of fun. Because we’ll be ready.”
And now I looked over at Susan. Orphaned by followers of the Dark Lord. Standing alone, eyes wide and wanting me to offer her a hand as well.
“The world doesn’t care what’s fair,” I confided softly. “But we can be ready. Keep ourselves safe. Stay together.”
It took a moment, a stretch that was probably agonising for everyone but me. But then Susan’s fingers tightened around her scarf, and I knew it was time to let Hannah stand alone and bring Susan in. Susan met my eyes while she stepped forwards.
Yes. This was what I needed from them. To play their parts.
Megan could piece together the tasks I delegated, and Susan direct all her determination at the obstacles I highlighted for her. Hannah could keep gathering information and... ideally reveal an additional talent.
We formed a circle now, with our scarves and hands on each other’s shoulders.
“I’m in,” Susan said firmly, her voice steady. “The world isn’t fair. We need to be ready.”
Hannah nodded eagerly at her friend. “Yeah, totally. I mean, we’re not doing anything bad. Just practicing. Getting better. I mean, I’m sure Malfoy has like tutors or something.”
Megan’s brows were furrowed. But the twist of her mouth was thoughtful, not hesitant. Weighing risks against the narrative and emotive argument I’d just made. As much as a tween girl could, anyway.
“Okay,” she said finally. “But only if we keep it safe. Nothing too risky.”
I didn’t smile at her. Just met her eyes, then Hannah’s, then Susan’s.
“Of course.” Another pause, as if I hadn’t planned out the shape of this conversation days ago. “This isn’t about breaking rules for the sake of it. This is about getting ready. Getting better with magic. Being smarter. Safer.”
I leaned back, taking in the three of them.
My wand all but fell into my hand. I twirled the glorious thing, then flicked it like flint against steel – pointed out towards the empty cavern of the room.
“Incendio.” I uttered.
Flames poured into the air. Smokeless, clean, lovely.
I closed my eyes and let the feeling of power flow around my body. Down my arm. Out through my wand.
Ah.
Magic.
There were few better feelings than that tide rising within me, shaped by naught but knowledge, will, and power. For a long moment, I simply stood there, breathing in the freedom. The rightness of it.
I let the flames fade after ten long breaths.
Opened my eyes, to see Hannah’s mouth hanging open. Megan let out a low whistle. Susan glanced from me to the fading heat-shimmer in the hall.
“Sorry,” I chuckled (adopted the persona of a normal girl again), “we should probably start with charms, and move onto transfiguration. I just… needed that.”
Hannah giggled. Susan nodded slowly. Megan closed her mouth, then said, “yeah, uh, you needed that.”
(Indeed. More than they could ever comprehend.)