Hello, everyone! Welcome to my new fic, it's been about 3 months in the making so I could get a ways ahead for you guys. This is a story about Tori and Jade, but there will be other pairings, as well as several OCs of my own making. It's also a slow burn since I'm starting when everyone is toddlers and romantic love at that age is not feasible, but don't worry, dudes and dudettes! There will be Jori action at some point in the near future and even when there isn't, I hope you enjoy the story, which contains actual plot!

I don't own Victorious, although I've been asking Santa for a while now...he still hasn't gotten back to me. I do, however, own the Seer and Sikowitz's parents, short though their appearance may be.

Anywho, enjoy!

He came kicking and screaming into the world. Tiny fists still wet waved wildly in the air and a rousing cry vocalized his indignation with being abruptly forced from his mother's warmth and into the much cooler September air. The midwife cut the umbilical cord and set it by the floor to take outside and began cleaning the child, working efficiently. There had been no problems, thank the heavens. There had been enough difficult births this year, never a good sign in her opinion. In all her decades as a midwife, she'd never seen so many-

Her internal rant cut off when the baby opened his eyes and wailed again. His mother leaned wearily onto her elbow and asked what was wrong and still she stared, transfixed by the silver eyes that met her own for a moment before closing again. "Miss, he's-he's been touched by the Devil!"

"What are you talking about," her husband asked, confusion written in his tone.

"The babe, he's got the mark of the Devil in his eyes! I'll not have any more to do with him! Get him out of this house, be rid of the Devil spawn before he turns on you!"

The man took a threatening step in her direction and growled, "Get out of my house, you superstitious old hag. I'll not have you tainting this birth with your inane rambling. Get out!" He cried, pointing with a long finger at the door. The midwife gladly took her leave, gathering her supplies and stalking from the home after making the sign to ward off the Devil and his agents, leaving the man and his wife to their own devices. He haltingly finished cleaning the baby and wrapped him clumsily in a blanket before handing him to his wife. She gathered him tenderly into her arms and talked quietly to him as her husband looked proudly on.

She gasped suddenly and pressed trembling fingers to her son's face and he curled his brow in worry. "Is there something wrong?"

"He's," she sighed and looked at him sadly, pleadingly, "he's got the mark, husband. Silver eyes." The baby cried again, throwing his head back and showing bright silver orbs to his father as though daring him to do as the midwife had said.

The man ran a hand over his stubble and looked into his wife's teary eyes. "What silver eyes? I see nothing but a normal, healthy boy with his mother's eyes." With those words, he leaned over and pressed a kiss first to his son's temple, avoiding a tiny fist with a chuckle, and then his wife's warm forehead and her lips briefly. "Our boy, Erwin."

"Yes, our boy. Our normal, adorable boy." She looked at Erwin tenderly as he shook a small fist and cried for his mother's breast and watched her husband take his leave from her bedside as she shifted the strap of her nightgown and let him begin to feed. "Our normal boy..."

The first sign they had that Erwin wasn't normal was during his fifth year. He had been banging a couple spoons together in the kitchen while his mother chopped vegetables when she heard a cry. Looking up, she saw Erwin had a gash just over his eye from a spoon bouncing and hitting him. She wiped her hands on her apron and was going to lift him up when his eyes glinted with silver as he cried out and the spoon was flung away without him touching it, banging against the cupboard while her disbelieving eyes tracked between it and her son. Erwin yawned hugely and reached tiredly for his mother, resting his head against her shoulder as she rocked him to sleep with wide eyes staring down at him.

After the first time, he began weaving more often, little spells that no one would notice unless they saw them every day. His parents told him to not practice in front of anyone other than them, shaking their heads at him whenever company came over. Erwin became a quiet little boy, slow to anger and a fast study. Although he knew nothing of how to properly access spells he learned to improvise, speaking short phrases and feeling the silver slip into his eyes as he brought the warmth in his chest to his hands.

He grew into a gangly youth and was labeled as a loner, always seen with his nose buried in some book from the dusty recesses of the library or mumbling to himself quietly as he walked around town. People tended to think him simple and then were amazed when he opened his mouth and spoke more intelligently than they could, earning respect from the elders and jealous looks from his peers.

He was fifteen when they came for him, men with weapons drawn and wary eyes, circling him like hyenas. He asked what they were doing and one lunged at him, scraping his arm with a sickle before retreating again. Erwin cried out and tried to run but the men had formed a veritable wall, blocking him from all sides with their dangerous weapons bared. Another moved to wound him and he acted without thought, holding his hands up to defend himself from the knife edge that would surely take his hand from his wrist. When the blow never came, he looked warily out from behind his defensive position to see the man flat on his back, chest heaving as he fought for air. A cry sounded from behind him somewhere and he was suddenly flat on his stomach, a heavy weight pressed against his back. He struggled to get up and went slack when the man on his back hit the back of his head with his weapon.

When he came to, he was shackled to a chair, hands bound tight to the arms and gagged so he could hardly breathe. He looked wildly around and saw a dozen men standing in a ring around him. The one in front stepped forward and said, "You are Erwin Sikowitz, yes?"

Erwin nodded slowly, trying to ask around the gag what was going on. "You, Erwin Sikowitz, are accused of witchcraft by the people of this village, said to have fallen to the viper's blood on the 26th of May." Erwin tried to protest but the man just spoke over his jumbled groans and continued.

"As is custom since the Witch Wars ended twenty six years ago, you shall be branded and cast from this and every other community. Have you any last request?" Erwin continued to rant, muscles pulling taut across his arms as he fought his restraints. His eyes suddenly shone silver and his clothes fluttered on an impossible breeze, shackles glowing red as the links began to melt.

A man off to the side suddenly broke rank and hit him hard across the face, rendering him insensate. "God damned silver eyed viper!" He cuffed him once more, drawing blood from his temple as a ring split his skin. Erwin shook his head to clear the dizziness and tried once more to speak around the gag but the man turned from him and signaled to a couple men to the side. One turned and grabbed a branding iron from the pit they had dug, red hot metal gleaming in the moonless night. Erwin struggled wildly, straining against the partially melted shackles but only managed to make a lot of noise as the men approached him. Two held each of his arms, palms up as the other came closer, face shining demonically in the reflected luminescence of the brand.

White hot pain lanced from his palms and raced up his arms, straining his tendons tight as he screamed through the gag. His head lolled crazily to one side and then the other as he fought to free his arms but the men held him strongly as first one, then the other palm was branded with a scorching impression of an archaic S overlaid by a slit pupiled eye. As the man removed the brand from his palm, Erwin passed out, falling into welcoming blackness.

Erwin stumbled along the wide trade route, bare feet dusty and bloody from tripping on stones and palms crudely bandaged. He mumbled as he walked, more delirious than sane at that moment. The pain in his hands drove him to near madness and he would randomly begin swearing and screaming, the occasional passerby giving him a wide berth on the dirt trail. Erwin cradled his injured hands close to his chest and continued down the path, trying to find solace from the pain. He cried out when the pain flared suddenly, hands clenching in reflex before he released them and he called out again, wishing with all his might that something would take the pain away. He fell to his knees as the ache intensified and then onto his side, dirt scraping upon his cheek as he fell unconscious.

When he woke he was under a thin blanket on the ground, uncomfortably warm in the midday heat. He sat up, placing his hand on the earth to ground himself as a wave of nausea threatened to upset the meager contents in his stomach. "You shouldn't do that, you've not enough strength in you right now to walk, let alone sit up."

Erwin twisted to see a woman of indeterminable age crouched by his makeshift bed, kind green eyes appraising him. "Where," his voice croaked and broke and he cleared his throat before trying again. "Where am I? Who are you?"

"You're near the road where you fell, who I am doesn't matter, we will not know each other long enough for names to mean anything." She held up a bowl full of some thin liquid and asked if he would eat. "You need the strength, you've a long journey ahead."

She slowly fed him and then gave him some water before gently easing him back on the ground and pressing a finger to his temple. She spoke quietly and Erwin found his eyes closing against his will. No, I want...questions answered...

He groggily awoke, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up, displacing the blanket and supplies that had been stacked beside him. He looked over what there was, some food, a bedroll, a pouch with a few coins and a pack with little odds and ends, as well as a thick tome, in it. A note was laid beside it all and he read it silently, marveling over what he found.

The woman wrote that she was like him, although she called herself a 'weaver.' Erwin contemplated the title curiously as continued to read. She told him that she had seen him coming 'in her mirror' and knew she had to help him.

'My mirror points to the correct way, although we might not know what that way is until we've already traveled it.' What nonsense does this woman spout? Her mirror points to the correct way, is she mad? Nonetheless, he continued perusing the paper. She told him that he had been foolhardy to attempt such a powerful summoning spell in his weakened state but that in time he could become quite strong. She gave him several techniques she used to practice and told him to not give up.

'There are many more of us out there, many children that will be tossed to the side like refuse because they have been touched by silver fire. Find them, young one, and teach them.' Erwin stared hard at the last lines and his brow furrowed in confusion as he dug his hand into the soft dirt beside him. My hands!... Baring his palms, he saw the brand was still there but they no longer looked like fresh burns, inflamed and swelled. Instead, smooth pink flesh surrounded the black marks, itching as though it were still healing and tender to touch.

He marveled at them until the sun began its descent and shook himself out of his reverie, gathering everything the woman had left and tucking the pouch into his shirt, placing the pack on his back. He climbed up the bank, through the bushes that concealed him, and onto the road, startling a feral cat that had been sniffing at a leaf. It tore down the road before scurrying into the bushes and Erwin shrugged, following its path south. Might as well start somewhere.

So, there you have it...the prologue of Everyday Magic. Just a little insight into their world, which is a little magical, a little normal. In case you didn't get it, this is all from Sikowitz's perspective for the moment, although once the girls have been introduced and have grown into themselves a little more, the story will switch to their POVs.

Questions, concerns, and critiques may be directed to the dark haired lady in the corner *waves shyly* and any flames will be handled accordingly *readies fire extinguisher* To everyone who leaves a review, a complementary cookie will be given and ideas will be readily accepted and mulled over. I love hearing from you guys and reviews make my world go 'round. Till next time, bye!