October 20th, 1925: Cottage of Ginevra Prewett, 30 miles east of Hogsmeade
"She has a thread." Ginevra Prewett had always been somewhat blunt. This was usually something Isobel McGonnagall sincerely appreciated as a personality trait. At this very moment though, Isobel was too shocked to be appreciative of anything much.
"She…" her attempt at a response died. She sat down heavily, jostling the infant she'd been attempting to soothe. A tiny, indignant scream echoed around the walls of the cottage. A tentative, elated smile began to blossom at the corners of Isobel's mouth.
"Has a soulmate thread." Ginevra nodded decisively. "Very pale blue, not active yet. Whoever he is, he hasn't been born yet." The witch waved her wand. "And probably not for a while." A bottle of firewhiskey appeared on the table.
"Not for me, Gin," Isobel protested, "I'm feeding."
"It's not for you." Ginevra retorted, pulling the cork with her teeth and taking a swig. "Although if she doesn't stop that squalling, I might give her a spoonful." Plonking the bottle back on the table, she leaned back, eyeing the baby. "Poor bloody child."
"Why poor?" Isobel asked. "This world is not kind to women, a soulmate means that she'll be happy. Blissfully so." Now the shock had waned. Her daughter had a soulmate thread! Something so rare as to be almost mythical. A blue thread tethering her to someone who would literally be her other half and truest, purest love. "What more could any mother want for her child?"
"What indeed?" Ginevra turned the bottle on the table, making a scraping noise. "I know you have little time for my seeings, Isa."
Isobel bristled. Reading an aura was one thing, seeing one's future was entirely another. One was simply an extra dimension of seeing the look in one's eyes, or the set of a jaw. The latter, however, was dubious and fanciful, and certainly not something she want her child to be saddled with. "None of your nonsense, Gin." she ground out.
"Just listen for a moment." Ginevra held up her hand, to forestall the retort she saw spring to Isobel's lips. "It's not a true seeing, just some extra observations from her aura." She wrapped one hand around the bottle again.
Isobel shifted her weight and the baby at the same time, considering. She and Ginevra had been best friends since Hogwarts. Sorted into Gryffindor together, Ginevra had been the one to console and support her through her family's ire and disappointment that she had not been a Slytherin. The Borthwicks were one of the oldest pureblood families, but diminished - the blood having dwindled to almost a trickle. That Isobel had then turned around and married Robert McGonnagall - a muggle(!) and a preacher of the ridiculous muggle religion to compound the insult - had been too much for her family. They dared not disown her, as she was their only heir. Instead they mourned her as though she were dead, and hadn't spoken to her since she'd announced the engagement.
And Ginevra had been there for her though it all. Her one extant connection to the magical world she'd forsworn to marry Robert. The Prewetts were a large, messy, usually matrilineal family, as pureblood as Isobel's own, but far less concerned about it. Adding a sister had required little thought on Ginevra's part, something for which Isobel would always be grateful. The Prewetts were also seers. Mother to daughter with origins reaching back into the murky depths of the Eternal War, some with talents lesser or greater, but all able to clearly see auras, the shimmer of light around every individual that denoted certain fundamental elements of their souls.
Isobel McGonnagall, whilst no longer considering herself a Borthwick, was still in many ways a product of her upbringing. Stern and pragmatic to a fault, she'd little time for fortune-telling. But if it what Ginevra had to tell her was simply about her daughter's aura…
"Oh, go on then." She sighed. "Spit it out."
Ginevra eyed her thoughtfully. "She'll be a witch," she began.
Isobel nodded. The odds had been in favour of it. Robert had no idea that she herself was magical, she'd obeyed the Statue to the letter and the guilt had torn at her daily. But she had known that their offspring would likely be as magical as she herself was, and that when their powers became obvious he would have to be told the truth. She did not look forward to it, but hoped that their deep and abiding love would see them through it.
"And she'll be powerful, Isobel. More powerful than any witch for many an age."
Isobel looked down at the now sleeping infant, who had thankfully quietened without the threatened dose of whisky. Tiny, indistinct features. Button nose, unresolved eye colour, wisps of dark hair on the velvet scalp. First a soulmate, now the most powerful witch in years? So much for such a scrap of a girl to live up to!
Ginevra shifted and took another swig of the firewhiskey. "Think about it, Isa. She has so much potential - she could do anything! It's all there; courage, determination, intelligence, power. But who's going to take her seriously when they decide she's just waiting around for her husband to whisk her off into wedded soulmate bliss?"
Isobel frowned. "If she's as powerful as you say, they'll be forced to take her seriously!"
"These times are not congenial to witches, Isa, you know that. In times past - hopefully in the future too - a woman could be judged on her own merit AND have a family. No so right now. The few women who are recognised in their own right today are spinsters and widows. Women with husbands and families are expected to have those as their primary concern. I want to see her have the opportunity to realise her potential. To BE someone and make an impact on the world. And I know you want that for her too."
Isobel signed heavily through her nose. Her friend was right, of course. "Be that as it may, what can we do about it? I know you said her soulmate hasn't been born yet, but sooner or later he will be. And she'll marry him and begin a family regardless. And then yes, as you say, she'll be relegated to to the obscurity that seems to be that fate of most women these days."
Ginevra leaned forward, a glint in her eye. Isobel swallowed. At Hogwarts, that glint had seen them get into all sorts of trouble. "Her soulmate won't be born for many years. I see that." Isobel frowned again, but before she could speak, Ginevra barreled on. "I know, but I can see it, Isa. She'll be fifty before that thread turns bright. And in the meantime if we glamour it, then no-one will see it. Without the expectation of family she'll be able to do whatever she wants. Force people to take notice of her!"
"Can we do that? Without damaging it?" Whilst acknowledging that she did indeed want her daughter to have the opportunity to do great things, she didn't want to endanger the joy and comfort that were the rewards of finding one's soulmate.
"It'll be fine. Just means that no-one who might peek into her aura will be able to see the thread. They'll just see her aura. Easy. Oh, unless they're a Prewett of my direct line. Can't block myself. Doesn't work like that." She leaned back. "One other thing though,"
Isobel raised her eyebrow. She'd guessed there'd be some sort of caveat.
"The glamour will affect the entire thread."
"What does that mean?"
Ginevra shrugged. "When the soulmate is born, it'll cover his end of the thread as well. No-one who can see his aura will see it in there either."
Isobel rocked her daughter softly. Soulmates were rare enough that there were only a couple every few generations. Whilst it was possible for the mates to find one another by following the thread itself, they most commonly found one another by seeking out the only other person born with a thread. If that thread was obscured on both ends, how would they find one another?
"Me or someone in my line will find them." Ginevra seemed to read her mind. "Please, Isa, let me give her this chance. Not just for her, but for all witches. Maybe she's the one who will remind the world what we can do and be, sex be damned!"
Isobel looked down at the baby and felt a fierce surge of pride. She'd do it. Her daughter would do everything she wanted and have everything she wanted.
"Do it!" She reached out, handing the child to Ginevra.
Ginevra grin of triumph was fierce. "I knew you'd agree!" She accepted the baby. "Hello sweet Minerva" she stroked the soft cheek. Then she looked up at Isobel and chuckled. "Your family's going to be furious about that, by the way."
