Prologue
In the peaceful English town of Northamptonshire, the wealthy Muggles busied themselves with their daily chores. Large estates were scattered all across the countryside, each with well-manicured lawns and extravagant gardens. Children frolicked happily in the lush green grass, sending peals of laughter into the fresh air. While the townsfolk carried on with their lives, something peculiar was going on unnoticed right under their noses. On the edge of the river that ran through the town, the Dearborn family lived in a beautiful stone mansion. However, unbeknownst to the citizens of Northamptonshire, Edward Dearborn and his family regularly performed magic away from prying Muggle eyes.
The manor had housed generations of Dearborns since roughly around the Middle Ages. Edward was currently the last of his generation, inheriting Dearborn Manor. Unlike many other pureblood wizarding families, the Dearborns had always been kind to the neighboring Muggles. Adapting to their surroundings, they dressed in Muggle clothing so not to seem suspicious. The Dearborn family was highly respected among its fellow wizarding families, and had been for centuries.
On a particularly cheerful day, the sun beamed down upon Dearborn Manor and rays of light shone through the tall windows of an enormous library on the second floor. Thousands of books lined the walls, most of which were more than a hundred years old. In a brown leather armchair, a little girl in a pale blue dress sat with a book on her lap that appeared to be about half her size. Her dark, glossy curls were pulled back into a white bow, cascading gently down her back. Her piercing blue eyes glided swiftly over the words on the yellowing pages, eagerly drinking up the stories they told. Her tiny feet in delicate black slippers dangled several inches from the scarlet rug, swinging ever so slightly.
She had an older brother who was fifteen years older than she. Her mother hadn't been able to get pregnant for awhile after Caradoc was born, so when she finally did, it was extremely exciting for the entire family. She was her parents' princess, pampered and well-taken care of, as if she would break with the slightest touch.
Unknown to the girl, a pair of blue eyes identical to her own watched her from the doorway. Rosalind Dearborn gazed upon her daughter with interest and pride. At the tender age of seven, her little woman was already able to read books that many twelve-year-olds couldn't. Rosalind smiled as she watched her daughter attempt to blow one incorrigible lock of hair out of her pale face. Her efforts proved to be in vain, though, as it continued to fall back into place with every swipe.
Sensing the presence of another person in the room, the little girl glanced up at her mother. "Mama," she called. "Read this to me please."
Rosalind sat down on a comfortable sofa in front of the unlit fireplace, lifting her daughter along with the book into her lap. "Where shall I begin?" The girl pointed a small white finger at the top of a page, and her mother began to read. The main character of the story was a beautiful girl who was the daughter of a wealthy wizard and witch. Stories such as this one were favorites of the young girl. She loved to read about handsome princes who came and whisked beautiful princesses off their feet and away into the sunset, where they lived happily ever after. This story was no exception.
When Rosalind finished the book, she placed it on the table in front of her and turned her daughter around to face her. "Katharine," she said seriously. "I want you to remember that real life is not like that. People are going to disappoint you at times, but always keep your head up and everything will be fine. Am I understood?"
The girl's wide blue eyes locked with her mother's.
"Yes, Mama. I understand you."