Chapter I - A Shadow From The Past

A long and heavy sigh escaped my lips when I realised what day it was.

Monday.

December 20th, 1995.

The day of my father's funeral.

I had originally believed that nothing apart from my father's presence would change, kept telling myself that my life wouldn't be any different than it was last week, but deep down I know that it won't.

Not ever.

Not after today.

I very slowly got myself ready, knowing that soon enough, I had to leave the flat, to go the funeral as his sole family.

Alone as I was, it gave me a lot of time to think, and I had already established what exactly would happen to me after this morning's tasks were done.

On one hand, I knew I wouldn't end up being left all alone in my apartment to fend for myself, as I'm only sixteen. My father was my only family and I lost him. I didn't know who my mother was, she had disappeared long before I even discovered I was a witch, and whatever extended family I had were gone too.

Social services would be waiting for me after the funeral reception, ready to whisk me away in some Muggle child home, where I was sure I'd never see magic for two long miserable years until my eighteenth birthday, when they'd legally set me free.

On the other hand, I also knew there was no way I could continue my studies at Withertrump Academy as there wouldn't be anyone to finance me. Sure, I could use whatever my father left behind for me, but it was in no way enough to suffice the expensive school fees.

The Withertrump Academy of New York was the only school of wizardry and witchcraft on the whole east side of the United States, hens the only one in my disposal. Because of that, it was also, unfortunately, a ridiculously expensive school. It was still however the school I've always miraculously managed to attend ever since I was eleven.

My father was one of the top journalist and photographer for a local documentary magazine, which made him obliged to remain in the city, as his pay was sufficient for our moderate lifestyle. That and he actually enjoyed his job.

Yet whatever he earned was solely spent on the school and for my wellbeing, and now that he was gone, cash stopped flowing in our account. I spent my first term at Withertrump, but now there wouldn't even be enough money to last me the rest of the year.

Long story short, my life was officially over. And for whatever was to come after this, I would go have to go through it completely alone.

Or so I thought.

It all happened in a pretty short time span, from the moment I woke up to just before lunchtime, and began with the discovery of an envelope that was pushed under my front door.

There were two reasons why this was odd.

One- I own a letterbox on the ground floor of the building, and all mail usually finds their way into it. Except this particular one apparently, who decided that it was much too important to be crammed in a metal box. Or at least someone thought it was, so much that I had to look at it right away instead of the next time I checked on the mail (which would probably be in a long time as that was something dad used to do).

Two- my full name was carefully written in black ink on the envelope, except they got my surname completely wrong.

'Theodora Nightingale' it said, which was strange to me, because all my life I was Thea Robinson to anyone who's ever known me. Theodora being, of course, my full and official name, but no one ever bothered calling me that. Nightingale, however, is a name completely unknown to me.

Because I was curious to see what it held, I tore it open nonetheless. In it was a small note, and in the same handwriting as my name was as it follows:

Theodora,

My deepest and most sincere apologies for the loss of your wonderful father.

I do hope you've kept the letter that must have arrived shortly before this one.

I'm sure the circumstances you find yourself in has raised many questions, and I'm sure as of right now you must feel very lost.

All that I can assure you is that matters will be made clear in due course.

I will see you very soon.

There was no signature, no return address, nothing that could give me even the slightest idea who wrote this to me. I turned the note over and over, searching for clues, wondering what on Earth this person meant by their words, how they even knew me, what they meant by that other letter I never received.

Before I could fully process any thoughts, there was a honk in the street below, alerting me that my ride to the cemetery was here.

It was my down-the-street neighbour, Lawrence Barnes, honking from his old run down Deux-Chevaux, head sticking out the window as he glanced up the building to my window. When he caught sight of me, he beckoned me to come down, making wild signs with his gloved hand. I let out a small laugh, gathering what I needed for the day.

Without thinking much about the note, I quickly stuffed it in a pocket of my coat, wrapping my scarf around my neck, pushing my wand into an inner pocket where it was safe, and left my flat for my father's funeral.

I hastily crossed the street to the car, the cold and harsh winter wind slapping my hair into my face, my boots crunching the muddy snow beneath me.

It was mid-December, about a week before Christmas, and every street was decorated with lights and banners. It was a lovely sight, with the freshly fallen snow on the trees and windowsills. There was something so great about Christmas, how everyone seemed to be in such high spirits, how all the houses seem to radiate warmth and smell of chocolate and spices.

But to me, there was no way this month could be a happy occasion.

Lawrence stood outside of his car, holding his front seat up for me, leaving a small gap to slip into the back. I greeted his wife, Sharon, but she only answered me with a small smile.

Lawrence Barnes was my first magic teacher, and probably one of my oldest friends. He was in his mid-thirties, tall, and wore large framed spectacles. He was married to his high school sweetheart, who was also a witch and currently heavily pregnant.

He was initially a friend of my father's; met in bar or some story of that sort ages ago. As a single Muggle father, Carter Robinson didn't have a clue what to do with the sudden discovery of having a magical child, a witch none the least, and he turned to his oldest friend for help. After revealing his secret, Barnes became to us Robinsons one, or rather, our only most trusted, dearest friends.

"You okay, Thea?" His eyes glanced at me from the front view mirror as he gripped the steering wheel. Sharon looked away, out the window, pressing a hand on her growing stomach. It had been a while since we left, and so far we've driven in silence. The most uncomfortable silence, may I add. I was glad one of us decided to speak up.

"Yeah," I said, "And you guys? How's the baby?"

Lawrence looked at his wife, who clearly had no interest in speaking at the moment, telling her with a nod toward me to speak up and answer in his place. Sharon licked her lips, twisting around a little bit to look at me.

"He's very well," It was like she was forcing herself to say it, "He'll be coming very soon."

"Oh yeah?" I tried my best to make things a bit more lively. "How soon?"

"A few weeks, maybe two?"

"That soon?" She hummed yes, "Wow."

Sharon nodded, letting words slip out of her mouth before she could stop them, "If only Carter didn't-"

Lawrence pressed his lips together as she cut herself short. I pretended not to notice, keeping the smile on my face. My attempts to keep things lively was a complete failure.

No one spoke after Sharon's slip of the tongue, the sentence weighing on all our minds.

For the rest of the ride, we didn't say a word.

The funeral was, as expected, just as exciting and fun as anyone would have hoped it would have been.

Note the sarcasm.

Today was a gloomy Friday afternoon. The sun was supposed to shine high in the sky, yet the weather forecast had been completely wrong, and I was lucky enough to grab an umbrella at the last minute before leaving my apartment.

The light was hidden by a mass of clouds, and below we stood, clutching onto umbrellas as ice cold rain poured onto our quivering bodies.

It was awful- what was supposed to be a last, long goodbye to my dad turned into a sped up version of a few final words about my father by a small and stout priest, who clearly, just like everyone else, just wanted to get back inside the church, away from the muddy snow that was swishing around our shoes. It was decided that the eulogy reading would be indoors, and that right now we'd just bury the coffin and, as Lawrence said, "get over with it". I couldn't agree more with his choice of words.

We were lucky that the rain had calmed down a bit since we started, falling now in a slight drizzle, leaving the ground damp and muddy and gross. It gave me some time to look around, to see who was here.

Most of those who came were dad's colleagues, people I didn't know but have seen the few times I've been to his office. They stood at a considerable distance, sparse around the newly occupied grave, all looking elsewhere than at it.

Near me were the Barnes, who had to share an umbrella due to the fact they were unprepared for the rain and were lucky enough to find the old thing in the trunk of their car.

I suppressed a laugh as I watched the two, Lawrence nearly drenched by the rain as he leaned the umbrella more above his beloved wife than himself, in order to protect the baby bump from the freezing drops.

Behind them were some friendly neighbours, the sweet little landlady, old man Jenkins from the drugstore down the street, and further away, a shadow I did not know.

I could tell it was a woman, by the way her dark coat stopped past her knees and I could see her bare calves, followed by some black short pumps. I couldn't make out what she looked like as she held her umbrella close to her, hiding her face, but I could see the end of her straight, black hair, falling just pass her shoulders.

I knew for sure that she wasn't someone dad knew. If she was, she might have been a shadow from the past, his past. Some friendly encounter, maybe even a lover?

I was curious and in need of information, so I inched over to Lawrence. He looked at me, giving me a tight smile. His hat and scarf were completely soaked, and I wondered how on Earth he was enduring it for so long.

"Hey," I whispered. I tried to tilt my umbrella toward him to shield him a little bit from the rain, but I ended up pouring what was already on top of it onto his shoulder.

He didn't say anything as I let out a gasp, but then shrugged and said, "How you holdin' up, kiddo?"

"Fine, fine," I answered quickly, slightly embarrassed by what happened and wanting to pass to the point, "You know everyone here, right?"

"Oh, no," he shook his head, "Nah, not everyone."

"Okay, well, almost everyone."

"Yeah," He smiled a bit, "You could say that."

I looked over my shoulder at the dark woman again. "Her," I said to Lawrence, "Don't look now, but, um, do you know the lady at the very back?"

I turned back round again, facing the priest as Lawrence took his turn to look behind him.

He gave me a perplexed look. "Bianca the landlady?"

"No, not her, I know her," I tried hard not to roll my eyes, "There's a woman in the far, far back, holding a black umbrella, with a dark coat and shoes and everything."

"We all have black umbrellas, Thea."

"Just look!"

He let out a sigh, twisting around again. When he turned back, he shrugged, focusing once again on what was happening in front of us.

I frowned at him, but when I glanced back toward the figure of the woman, she was gone.

Did she see us looking at her? Did she leave because of that?

I felt my cheeks burn slightly, embarrassed at the thought of it.

But still, the fact that she would leave left me wondering why she was even there in the first place. There was something very odd about the whole thing, that made me incredibly uncomfortable in my skin.

A sudden thought crossed my mind, my fingers curling around the note I had previously abandoned in my pocket. I bit my lip, remembering the last few words on the paper:

'I will see you very soon'.

There isn't much magic in this first chapter (more of a prologue than a chapter, to be honest) but oh well, I had to introduce this OC and story somehow, and I hope you enjoyed it all the same.

As you can probably tell, this isn't going to be fully centred on the Golden Trio, but more on my OC and what she'll go through (sorry to disappoint but I promise that Harry, Hermione, Ron and many others will be wildly involved later on!).

Thank you for reading!