Title: Maralyn Crown and the Pyske Inheritance
Author: bite the emerald apple
Genre: Fantasy/Romance
Summary: AU for Philosopher's Stone Year 1. There is a secret of a hidden race that the Dark Lord seeks, a sort of wild magic that must never be trifled with. But the knowledge he searches for is connected to Maralyn Crown, a eleven-year-old girl entering Hogwarts. Maralyn is forced to embark on a quest to find a way to become stronger and unlock the secrets of her past. Can she discover her powers before it's too late?
A/N: This is my first HP chapter fic. So, I'm trying here.
Chapter 1: And a Crown for the Beginning
12 Years Ago
"I'm dying, Eve," the white-haired woman rasped, weakly. "Why must I...die?"
Eve tilted her head sideways, looking at her sister blankly. "My sister," she murmured, pressing a flower into the ill woman's pasty hands. "Death is a poison; a nightshade among roses. Yet our people know nothing of death, my sister. But you shall."
A rumble vibrated from the woman's throat. "Yes. Soon." Her blue eyes spilled over with tears.
"Why do you cry?"
"Because of sadness. Because of a soul born anew. Oh, Evee, why aren't they here? Shouldn't my family be at side?" The woman moved uncomfortably on the bed of soft leaves underneath her, moaning in pain.
"I am here," said Eve, simply.
"Oh, my dear," the woman said with a voice like delicate glass. She pulled the sleeve of her sister's flowing dress, urging Eve to come closer. "What is the fate of my lover and my child?"
"He is gone; he has left our woods. The half-breed has been cast out with him."
"Gone! Gone!" echoed the woman. "My sister, please, may that not be so."
Eve looked faintly puzzled at her sister's despair, raising her eyebrows in bemusement. Finally, she said, "It is so."
"Gone," the woman whispered again, and in that moment, life was torn from her newly-mortal body. Her hands went limp, and the flower she was clutching at slipped from her grasp and fell into the dust below.
The Present
Maralyn Crown brushed back her dark hair from her shadow-colored eyes, blinking as the sun's rays shone on her pupils. She winced as black spots danced before her eyes, and hurried to close a window's curtains.
"Mara, I'm still reading," her mother said, gesturing to a book perched on her lap.
"Sorry," Maralyn mumbled, and darted to brush aside the curtains. "But I'm just jittery. Nervous. You know."
She licked a light pink tongue across dry lips, subconsciously reaching for her rowan wand at her side. She'd just gotten it from Diagon Alley Alley yesterday; Mr. Ollivander, the wand-seller, had told it was quite powerful, a mixture of fae dust and a re'em's tears.
"Let's go," the girl urged, anxiously. "I don't want to miss the train, Mum. It's leaving in half-an-hour."
Her mother made a small disgusted noise from the bottom of her throat. "Hogwarts. Sounds like a farm. Honey, it's probably nothing."
Maralyn let out a soft gasp, an odd choking noise that rattled from her chest. "I-I...no. Please, you can't refuse to leave me here. Not here. Not here."
Ellen Crown's brown eyes flashed, angrily. "You're in a good school, Mara. Excellent teachers, a caring principal. Don't tell me you're just going to throw it all away for this nonsense. How about high school? College? A career? You don't need ridiculous powers."
Maralyn growled, "No, don't you dare. Don't you dare try and tell me what to do. I'm a-a...witch. Magical."
"A freak," said Ellen, softly, her voice a venomous, biting snap. Her mousy hazel hair was bristling in undisguised anger.
"My own person," Maralyn retorted. "And leaving."
The eleven-year-old stumbled past her mother, tripping over a chair on the way. But despite her clumsiness, she righted the piece of furniture, and indignantly continued towards the door. She threw it open and ran for her life - out from her broken household and into the wide world.
She clutched onto her wand, the only thing she had left of her possessions. The only thing, but the greatest.
Maralyn held it to the sky, wishing and hoping and dreaming for some sort of salvation. Hogwarts, she pleaded, feeling the wish drift from her mind and into her wand. Platform nine-and-three-quarters. A train, to take me far, far away from here. Magic. Magic. Magic.
Magic.
The sky lit ablaze with the wish and the words and the thoughts and the tears. (Tears? Oh yes, she was crying, wetness dripping from her eyes and down her cheeks, sobbing with heaviness.)
Suddenly, Maralyn realised that the houses and streets around her was blurring. Things were shifting, changing, and the dull grey of her old world was lightening into the bright colours of her new one.
Platfrom nine-and-three-quarters.
Dust-tinted eyes surveyed the train station in wonder. There were people - wizards and witches, just like her - swarming near a column, but they were discreetly slipping through it, as if there was nothing there at all.
Hesitantly, Maralyn followed them - mostly children, burdened with suitcases and lots of luggage. She slipped her wand into her pocket, wiping her sweaty palms on her trousers. "Okay," she whispered to herself, "I can do this."
She ducked through crowds of people, squeezing through gaps and corners that hovered between them. When she reached the wall, she pressed a palm onto the surface, bleeding through. Then she took two steps, three, four.
A hulking train greeted her eyes, and Maralyn gaped at it in awe.
"Hullo," someone said, interrupting Maralyn's astonishment. "Did you need help with your bags? Looks like you left them back at the train station."
Maralyn turned around, and found herself face-to-face with a thin black-haired boy. He was rather pale, but his eyes were a bright green, sort of like an emerald gemstone she'd seen a classmate wear before. A lightning shaped scar was slightly visible, poking through messy bangs.
"I have a cart I can share with you," continued the boy, sounding slightly anxious for company. He waited for her reply expectantly.
The cart in question, however, was rather full, piled with bulging suitcases and topped with a snowy-white owl shuffling around in a cage.
"It's fine," Maralyn reassured the boy. "I...well, I ran away. My mother - she's not magical like me - doesn't really get it. I just took off before she could stop me - but, of course, I forgot all my things..." She stuttered, feeling very awkward.
The boy let out something like a sigh of relief. He made a small sympathetic noise and said, "I know what you mean. My aunt and uncle raised me, and they're beastly."
"They're non-magical, too?"
"Yeah - Muggle. That's the word they use here."
"Oh, and by the way, my name's Maralyn. Maralyn Crown. What's yours?"
"Harry Potter." He looked at her intently, as if waiting for a reaction. Noticing her blank look, he added, grimly, "I'm like a celebrity or something to all the wizarding folk."
As they both boarded the train and found a compartment to sit in, Maralyn asked, "For something bad?"
"Yes. Well, no, not really." Harry's face was crestfallen. "I've been told that there's a Dark Lord. A terrible wizard who started a war. But one day, when he came to kill my parents - I survived, and somehow, he was destroyed."
"Is that how you...?" Maralyn gestured to Harry's forehead.
Harry nodded. "It's just-" Harry paused for a second, groping for a word to use, "-um, weird, I guess. That's not a car accident, like I was told. And people treat me like some sort of hero. For something I did as a baby, can you believe that?"
"Who is this 'Dark Lord' person, anyways?"
"His name's Voldemort." The name elicited several gasps from passing students, causing Harry to wince in embarrassment. "Erm, sorry. They call him 'You-Know-Who', instead."
Maralyn shivered, imagining how monstrous this Voldemort was. He must have been horrible - what else could he be, if he scared people at the very mention of his name?
With a sigh, Maralyn decided to change the subject and lighten the moody atmosphere. "So, Harry - what do you think I should do about my things? Do you think Hogwarts will give me books and clothes and stuff?"
A shrug. "Dunno. But I think they'll find a way to help you; they don't seem the sort to leave you with nothing. After all, they sent the gameskeeper-slash-groundskeeper to help me."
Maralyn cheered up, instantly, and said, "You think so? That's good."
"Don't worry," said Harry, and looked like he was about to say something else until a white-haired boy burst into the compartment, flanked by two large boys.
"Who's this?" the newcomer asked Harry, pointing at Maralyn.
Maralyn wrinkled her nose in disgust, and replied, "I can speak for myself, thanks. I'm Maralyn. Maralyn Crown."
Ignoring her, the stranger told Harry, "I forgot to introduce myself before. My name is Draco Malfoy. These two behind me are Crabbe and Goyle."
One of the boys grunted something that might have been a greeting; the other just stood there, showing no signs of acknowledgment.
"You're Harry Potter," Malfoy said. "I didn't know it was you at Madam Malkin's."
"So why're here, anyways?" said Harry, guarded and wary.
Malfoy's grey eyes glinted, sharply. "To get a couple things straight, Potter. First of all, I'd prefer we get along. So get your priorities straight and don't tag along with Muggleborns like this one here."
Harry bristled, and retorted, "Rather than you? And just to let you know, I grew up with Muggles myself. My parents are dead, remember?"
"I think mine are, too," interjected Maralyn, softly. "I'm adopted," she explained, in response to Harry's surprised expression. Her fingers dug at her trouser pockets, curling around her wand.
She tried to remember how it felt to have energy coursing through her body. The magic. And books, thought Maralyn, recalling her spell-work textbooks that she purchased from Diagon Alley. The spell-words had Latin roots; roots that made up words she knew.
"Exeunt!" she cried, whipping out her wand at the three intruders. A slight hum buzzed in her mind, some little sensation that seemed to carry so much weight behind it. Something zapped from her wand tip and sailed through the air; and even though it carried a forceful farewell, there was a joyful song of power that accompanied it.
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Doyle were gone.
"Wow," breathed Harry, running his fingers through his messy hair. Then, getting over his shock, he burst out laughing. "That's brilliant!" he exclaimed. "I've never seen anybody perform a proper spell before! Blimey, you're good, Maralyn!"
She ducked her head in embarrassment, but her cheeks were flushed in excited triumphant. "That was fun," she agreed, pocketing her wand with a flourish.
"So," said Maralyn, "what's this Malfoy bloke all about - with his snotty attitude and everything?"
Harry grinned at the snide insult, and described to Maralyn his meeting with Draco at Diagon Alley.
"Hold on," she cut in. "School houses?"
"Yeah. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff." Harry counted them off with his fingers.
"Hmm..." mused Maralyn. "Which one do you think you'll be in? Which one do you think I'll be in?" Hopefully one that won't include Draco Malfoy, Maralyn thought, grimacing.
"It depends on what kind of person you are. Hagrid - the groundskeeper I told you about earlier - told me it had to do with personalities or something. If you're brave, you're in Gryffindor. If you're smart, you're in Ravenclaw. If you're loyal, you're in Hufflepuff. And, well, for Slytherin, you're someone like Malfoy."
Maralyn let out a snort. She said, "Gryffindor sounds nice, though."
"It does," Harry said. "Hagrid told me that both my parents were Gryffindors." Then he looked uneasy for a second and said, quietly, "I'm sorry about your parents."
"Calm down," Maralyn said, smiling, lopsidedly. "I'm sorry about yours." She gave Harry a good-natured punch, giggling playfully.
Harry laughed. "Sorry. Double standard there."
Then they both laughed together, chatting happily until the train stopped at Hogwarts.
"Firs' years! Firs' years, come right this way!" a gruff, low voice called through the throngs of black-robed students.
Maralyn fiddled, uncomfortably, with her own robes. She had borrowed the clothes from a girl who'd been in the neighboring compartment; she was extremely grateful, of course, but they didn't quite fit.
"Mara, come on! Hagrid's calling us!" Harry said to Maralyn, tugging at her long sleeves.
"All right, all right, coming," she grumbled, following the boy, her dark robes trailing behind her. Maralyn weaved her way through the crowds, keeping track of Harry's darting form. He pulled all his suitcases behind him, the owl hooting in his wake.
Finally, the pair reached Hagrid. Maralyn's eyes widened at the sight of the towering man, subconsciously reaching for her wand. But her panic subsided when Hagrid greeted Harry with a cheerful hello.
"And who's this?" Hagrid said, giving Maralyn a friendly look. He waved at her with the hand he was using to hold a lantern, causing the light to sway back and forth.
"Maralyn Crown. Harry's told me about you. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hagrid."
Hagrid let out a hearty chuckle. "No need for the 'mister', Miss Crown. I'm not one of the teachers 'ere. An' nice to meet you too."
"Okay, Hagrid it is," Maralyn said, a light and easy smile crossing her lips.
Once all the first years gathered around Hagrid, he led them to a moat, instructing them to find a boat to sit in. Across the moat, a castle shone like a gem, its lights winking from windows. A cool wind blew through the night, and Maralyn smiled as it kissed her face.
"Is it really true there's a giant squid in there?" a red-haired boy asked Hagrid, peering at the dark waters, worriedly. The freckles on his face seemed to darken with fear.
"A squid?" Harry said, taken aback. He took a step backwards, and Maralyn followed his example.
"Ah, nothin' to worry about," Hagrid said. "'e's a big fellow, but 'e's friendly for the most part. I know 'im pretty well; I feed 'im, after all. 'e's mostly harmless."
The words did little to reassure the first years, but they let themselves be coaxed into the boats. Harry shared a boat with the redheaded boy, while Maralyn took a seat next to a plump, nervous boy.
Upon her prompting, he introduced himself as Neville Longbottom. The corners of his mouth were turned down in an absent-minded, glum frown, and when Maralyn asked him what was wrong he stuttered, "It-it's the Sorting. I don't want to disappoint my gran if I get a lousy house. Or, worse, if I don't get Sorted at all."
"Why're you so worried?"
Neville sighed, his eyes downcast. "The problem is, I'm not very magical. You know how, when you're little, you do all these magic things without really meaning to?"
Maralyn considered this question for a second, and then confirmed it with a brisk nod.
"Well, I never showed any signs of having a drop of magic in my blood, even though my parents were pure-blooded through and through. It was only until recently, when my uncle tipped me out of a window, that I used some magic." Neville sighed again.
"You'll do fine," Maralyn told him, supportively. "I'm Muggleborn, which doesn't seem to count much, either. But you know more about wizards and magic - you grew up with all that stuff around you. You know more. I've just found out."
"You really think so?" asked Neville, his round eyes hopeful.
"Of course!" exclaimed Maralyn.
But then, at the moment, several things happened at once. A toad Neville held cupped between his hands suddenly hopped to perch at the front of the boat. He lunged for the creature, but in doing so, he tripped over Maralyn's shoes and tumbled over into the moat.
"Neville!" Maralyn shrieked.
"H-help!" the boy choked, flailing at the murky water around him. He flapped and kicked pathetically in desperation; at once, Maralyn saw that he couldn't swim.
She dived towards Neville, and the waters seemed to part to let her past. She'd swam in pools before, but she wasn't very good. Yet swimming was somehow...well, easy, now.
There was something in her blood that called out to the water. Something dark and deep and wild. It was the song of a siren and the ring of a cloister bell all at once. Maralyn found that she didn't need to bother holding her breath - swimming came naturally to her body.
The words of a half-forgotten poem chanted in her head: They walk upon the waters; they sail upon the land.
Walk upon the waters.
Maralyn reached out her hand and found Neville's right below. "I've got you," she mouthed to him, but his eyes were shut tight. In fear? Or was he unconscious? She hoped, fervently, for the former.
With a sudden burst of strength she didn't know she had, Maralyn lugged the large boy up, up, up. Large hands suddenly aided her, and Maralyn saw Hagrid above her. He had pulled up in his boat, and was able to drag Maralyn and Neville back into theirs.
Maralyn collapsed, spread-eagle, onto the boat. She felt exhilarated, like she was on an adrenaline rush. "I did it," she gasped, and as if on cue, Neville coughed.
The waterlogged boy spurted water from his lungs, his gasps coming out quick and sharp. Neville was drenched from head to toe; and as he sat up, wobbling, water streamed and dripped all over the boat.
Worried, Maralyn questioned, "Are you okay?"
"Y-yeah, I think so," Neville said, and moaning, he vomited over the side of the boat.
Maralyn moved to give him several comforting pats on his back. "'Least the squid didn't get us, yeah?" she joked.
Neville stared at her, then laughed, weakly. "I-I suppose that's good, then. And thanks for going after me."
"What else was I supposed to do?" Maralyn said, with a dismissive shrug. She tilted her head to the side, performing an awkward sitting-down jump to free water from her ears. "Ah, that's better."
Neville copied the motion, and the boat rocked, unevenly.
"Be careful," Maralyn warned, wry, "I don't want you to fall out again."
A blush spread across Neville's round cheeks. "Yeah. Sorry about that. But I suppose you'll just save me again," he said, a small smile creeping up his face.
Maralyn beamed. "Of course."
"Witch-hazel, in the air
A call, a cry for magic
Remember the tales of witches and wizards
Their lives both comic and tragic
Bay wreath, in the air
A tale of honor and glory
Strive the brave, the Griffin-warriors
Through their battles, through their story
Lavender, in the air
Loyalty and faith avowed
Sworn by the Hufflepuffs
To treachery they do not bow
Pitch pine blossom, in the air
Quick to think, quick to choose
The clawed Ravens
Think twice and never lose
Hollyhock, in the air
For those with an ambition
The sly Snakes, of cunning and clever tongue
Shall never to defeat, admission
Witch-hazel, witch-hazel in the air
Calling, crying for magic
Let the lives of wizards and witches dance before us
Short-lasting, long-lasting, tragic."
"Flowers," said Maralyn, slowly, "it's talking about flowers."
"Err...what?" Harry asked. "Sorry, what're you going on about?"
Impatiently, Maralyn said, "The Sorting Hat's song, don't you see? I've got a neighbour who's a botanist; she told me about the language of flowers."
"Language?"
"Floriography. Or something like that. What certain flowers mean - symbolically, that is."
Maralyn looked at the Sorting Hat, thoughtfully. Did it know that some flowers had different meanings, not just one? Because, there was that one...
Before this train of thought could progress any further, Professor McGonagall started calling out the first-years' names. She watched with interest as the students placed the Sorting Hat on their head; some took quite a while to be placed in a House, while others were Sorted within seconds.
She waited with amounting anticipation as those with last names A-B were Sorted, progressing onto the Cs. She began trembling with excitement: which House would she get? Would she be able to be in the same House as Harry or Neville, and not with Malfoy or Crabbe or Goyle?
"Crown, Maralyn!"
Maralyn approached the front of the Hall, taking a seat on the wooden stool and slipping the Hat on her head. Above her, floating candlesticks glimmered like distant stars; Maralyn wondered if they would burn her if they fell.
"Hmm, you're quite interesting, aren't you?" a voice said in Maralyn's mind.
Maralyn flinched, but regained her composure to quip, "Mr. Sorting Hat, I presume?"
There was a dry, crackly sound in response, a strange sort of laugh. "'Yes, and I feel thankful that I am here to welcome you.' But anyways, your House, my dear...
"Well, you're quite courageous, Maralyn Crown; saving a fellow classmate is a noble deed, eh? Gryffindor would be proud to welcome you. Yet, you too have a nice mind, very sharp, indeed. Ravenclaw would also accept you, gladly.
"Oh? What is this? Your brother. Your mother. Your friends: Muggles and wizards alike. How intriguing, Maralyn Crown. I'm afraid I'll have to withdraw my previous decisions, you clearly are a..."
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
There was a feeling in the pit of Maralyn's stomach. It wasn't dismay, nor disappointment. It was belonging, but something lingering. Lingering, like the airy light spores of a dandelion clinging to its head, despite being blown for a wish.
Lingering, because lavender was devotion; but it also was distrust.
In the warmth of the Hufflepuff dormitory, Maralyn dreamed of being a child.
(She remembered hiding Mummy's bottles, full of strange, foul smelling liquid that Mummy would down every night when little Maralyn was asleep. She'd heard Mummy sobbing into the night, gulping sip after sip, mouthful after mouthful; so she decided to take the bad bottles away.
Mummy stashed her drinks in the closet, behind her boxes of wedding mementos. One night, Maralyn had crept to take a bottle. The next night, she took another one. And so on, for many days to follow.
Then one day, Mummy caught her hiding a bottle under her bed. Mummy was mad and Mummy was angry. She threw a vase at little Maralyn, and that night, she slept on crushed flowers and broken glass.
Sometimes, big brother Chrissy saved her. Christopher always tried, until he left to live a life of his own, free from the burdens of family.
Maralyn still remembered the flowers she had slumbered on - an ugly looking foxtail amaranth which her mother called love-lies-bleeding.)
The nightmare washed away, replaced by the simple dream of threading clovers between her fingers, twining stem around stem, leaf around leaf...
On the first day, classes went by in a chaotic whirlwind; work that encompassed Maralyn's life like a storm over sea. During shared classes with Gryffindor and free-time, Maralyn made sure to find Harry, Ron - the redhead Harry had shared a boat with, and Neville; the barriers of Houses did nothing to separate her from them.
She had yet to interact with her fellow Hufflepuffs. I think I'll wait for now, she thought to herself. I still want to get to know my blokes - she smiled at the nickname - and there's plenty of time to make new friends. Perhaps I could get that Gryffindor girl, Hermoine, to join us.
On the second day, Hufflepuff had their first Potions class with Ravenclaw.
"Good morning, class," a black-cloaked figure drawled, the dark sheen of his greasy long hair winking at the students in the dim lights. "I am Professor Snape, your Potions instructor. I do not tolerate any tardiness, which, of course, I have taken note of, as several of you decided to rush in late. Consider this as a warning; next time this happens again, I will take away House points."
A Ravenclaw boy opened his mouth to interject, but closed it when he noticed the hard cold look Snape was shooting him, as if daring him.
"Turn your books to page seventy-five," said the professor after roll-call. His lips curled in disgust, expressing dissatisfaction as the students' speed in retrieving their books.
The rest of the class-time followed in this thread. Snape continually harassed the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, pointing out each and everything he perceived to be a fault.
On one instance, Maralyn accidentally spilled some of her potion she was spooning into a vial (but otherwise, she was actually really excellent at making potions); this little mistake cost her House five points.
"What a jerk," muttered Maralyn's Potions partner, who moved herself forward in her wheelchair to whisper in Maralyn's ear. She, too, was a Hufflepuff.
Maralyn nodded in mute agreement.
Emily Jones - yes, that was the girl's name - tucked a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear. She said, "He always favours Slytherins more than any other House."
"That's not fair," Maralyn murmured. "We probably would get about the same grades they do on a test - well, even better, I bet. I mean, they've got Crabbe and Doyle."
A snicker. "Exactly."
Realising that their conversation's volume was increasing and attracting unwanted attention, Maralyn said, quickly, "Shh, I think Snape just looked our way." Hurriedly, Maralyn returned her attention to her potion, while Emily wheeled an inch closer to her textbook.
They were silent until the hour was up, but Maralyn reveled in her joy of gaining a new friend. However, as class drew to an end, she knew there was something else - something more for her to do.
Maralyn waited until all of the students left the classroom, clutching at her book bag, patiently.
"Aren't you going to come with us?" Emily asked, hesitantly, her brown eyes darting at Snape and the door.
"Sorry, just hold on a second. I need to ask Professor Snape something about the lesson."
"Oh, okay. See you later, then. Bye, Maralyn." Emily exited the room, her wheelchair pushed by a Ravenclaw named Toby.
"Bye," said Maralyn, softly.
Once the dungeons were empty, she took a deep breath. Snape was still in the classroom, scribbling over a foot-long parchment in an elegant script, ignoring her presence.
"You're my father, aren't you?" Maralyn felt herself say, stiffening in surprise at her courage. Maybe she was a Gryffindor after all.
Snape didn't look up.
"My mother - not my real one, the one who adopted me - told me about you once. She'd never meant to tell me, at least not when she was sober. Just your name and appearance. I-I wouldn't go up to you otherwise; I just want to know -" Maralyn felt her throat catch, "-who my real mother is."
"Was."
"What?"
"Was," Snape said, shortly. "I expect she's deceased by now, though I never confirmed the fact myself. She was...of a unique species, who delighted in enchanting poor souls into her bedroom." Snape's face twisted in revulsion.
"...Species?" asked Maralyn, her eyebrows knitting in confusion. What was Snape going on about?
Snape sighed, impatient. "I swore to Headmaster Dumbledore to keep the particulars to myself; matters involving this certain species is horribly tricky. Miss Crown, be content in the fact that you are entrusted in the care of your current mother; I did her family quite a deed. They worried too much about their Squib sister."
Maralyn didn't understand the word he used, but it sounded like a snide insult to her. She bristled in indigence, her mouth curving into a frown. Then she inhaled, exhaled, and her face was impassive.
"I have work to finish," said Snape. "You may be dismissed, Miss Crown."
Maralyn looked at him, her dark eyes the same shade as his. Then she said, her voice hollow, "All right, Professor. All right."
Sometime later in the week, Maralyn chucked a lettuce at the dungeon's door.
She thought, You deserve it, you bastard. Lettuce for a cold heart. Lettuce for your cold heart.
The language of flowers is a strange one, conveying sadness as well as joy.
In the future, a globe amaranth (immortal love) is sent on the wings of an owl, bearing the note: To G - The end is near. - From M.
The response is an ambrosia (reciprocated love), replying: To M - Don't be afraid. We'll win. - From G.
A/N: My god. I just wrote 4000 words for one chapter (I have never written so much dialogue before)...that was so, so, so much fun! By the way, I have no beta; sorry for any mistakes.
-Sandy