Feather Thirty-One
"Siobhan." The girl looked up at Malachi, brow furrowing.
"Yes?"
"Yer doin' great, but . . . I think yeh only need t'be here for Monday and Friday. Alrigh'?" he said, sounding almost hesitant.
Siobhan was a very good cleaner, and it seemed Malachi wasn't as much of a clean-nut as Aunt Petunia had been.
"Alrigh'. Did you need anything else, sir?" she replied. A new job. Perhaps that pawn shop. . . Or Ana's coffee shop?
"No."
Siobhan went back to cleaning, ignoring the enticing images of marked skin. Odd that I likemarked skin, considering. . . Considering also that scars – marks of a different sort – were a large part of her life, well, perhaps it wasn't so odd.
Feather Thirty-Two
She decided to approach the owner of the pawn shop. Except, she had turned her down – at least until Siobhan turned around and identified a small plaque as belonging to a branch of the small French merchant family Malfoy, and bearing its coat of arms, yet not its motto, for some peculiar reason.
The proprietress had frowned at her speculatively, a small 'ah' of realization leaving her lips.
"You're that Siobhan Potter." The older woman's brow drew together in thought. "Very well. Once a week, at first. You can help me organize and catalogue things. I am Bonnie Williams."
Bonnie Williams was an older woman – perhaps sixty years old – and had only the faintest Scottish lilt to her voice. She was strict in a way that reminded Siobhan of Aunt Petunia, yet kind in a way she wasn't too sure of. Her husband, Anthony Williams, was away – doing what, Siobhan didn't know.
All Siobhan knew for sure, was that she was fond of the woman and fond of the pawn shop.
AN: A Thaisce is pronounced 'ah hash-keh' and means 'my treasure' as far as I know. I'm not entirely sure if I am using it properly, so please tell me if I made a mistake. If I have, it shall be changed at a later time.
Feather Thirty-Three
"Almos' didn' recognize ye, A Thaisce!" Connor ribbed gently, a broad grin on his face.
Siobhan ducked her head slightly, a blush working across her face. While she hadn't been able to do much at Malachi's or at Bonnie's, she had found a place in the relatively nearby dance studio. As a consequence, she wasn't around when the twins were, or at least not as often.
"Where ye been, aingael?" Murphy asked in curiosity, shooting his brother a small confused look as she wasn't looking at either of them.
"Aroun'. Malachi 'n' Bonnie've let me out of work more often, so. . . I found th'nearest dance studio," she admitted.
"Bonnie?" the twins asked simultaneously, another confused look – that she caught this time – was exchanged.
AN: To my knowledge, 'Urban Dance Center of South Boston' does not exist.
Feather Thirty-Four
"Yes, Bonnie. Th'owner of th'only pawnshop within a mile," Siobhan replied with a small sigh.
The two men looked at her, then at each other, then Murphy seemed to realize something. "Dance studio?" he nearly yelped in shock.
She gave the moon-kissed man an odd look. "Yes. . . The Urban Dance Center of South Boston. I'm still unfit to learn how to fight, but the instructor had me try some poses and moves, to see if he could teach me – an' I passed. Mostly. So, I'm learning t'dance."
"Ye. . . 'mostly passed'?" Connor asked in confusion. Siobhan merely nodded.
"How can ye only 'mostly pass' somethin'?" Murphy spoke up, prodding the teen with a small frown.
"By still being injured. I can do most of the basic forms, and that's all he cared about," she explained with a put-upon sigh.
Dancing taught a lot. It also kept one fit. That was all she cared about.
Feather Thirty-Five
Siobhan pulled at the end of her dress nervously, cursing her mouth.
When Tianna, Ana, and Laketta had found out she was (once again) going out with the twins (It isn't like that! Not that they listen, she thought to herself) they promptly dressed her up and did her up enough to make it casual by their standards. Siobhan had stonewalled them from doing any further.
That didn't excuse the short dress they had shoved her in, or the sheer leggings, or the heeled boots.
Siobhan wouldn't admit that it had been very satisfying to see their mouths drop open in shock for the sole reason that she had to explain that her friends thought she had to dress up when going out, no matter who it was with.
She would never give the three women the chance to laugh at her embarrassment, after all. Not if she could prevent it.
Siobhan had gotten enough of that at the Dursleys and at Hogwarts, after all.
Feather Thirty-Six
It was her birthday. Siobhan rolled her shoulders, trying to dismiss the tingling on her back. She should have slept on her stomach last night.
She hesitated, stepping down from the flat cautiously. It was quiet, even for a morning. The now of-age witch had been planning to spend the day in, but. . . Did Grandda know today was her birthday?
Aunt Petunia would have told him, if he had asked, and he seemed the type to ask. He was indeed kind, as she had wondered months ago.
"Surprise!"
Siobhan blinked owlishly at the group of people gathered in the pub. The twins – Connor and Murphy as well as Laketta and Tianna – were there. Anna and Rocco were, too. She turned to stare at her grandfather, a confused frown in place, but he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, a smile on his weathered face.
Feather Thirty Seven
Laketta and Tianna had gravitated to the twins. Ana was talking to Rocco.
Siobhan was happy, sitting next to her grandda, eating a slice of yellow cake with chocolate frosting. There had been only a few candles on the cake, but that was alright because it took less of the frosting away.
She blamed Remus (He's still alive, he's still alive, even if he won't talk to you, so don't worry about him, and don't get upset on your birthday because Grandda worked hard on this!) for her love of chocolate. It certainly hadn't been the Dursleys who got her addicted to the sweet, after all.
"D'ye like it?" Kian asked hesitantly. Siobhan cast him a smile and a nod.
"This is the greatest birthday party, ever," she reassured him.
And it was. Because it was with her family – Kian loved her – and her friends. Even if said friends were currently occupied with flirting with each other. A small frown flicked across her face, primarily aimed at Laketta and Tianna.
Stop it, Siobhan scolded herself, They're allowed to flirt. You aren't dating either of them – nor do you plan on doing so. But she was worried. She knew Tianna and Laketta – they were sweet, and could be good women, but they were also shallow. So, she was concerned for Connor and Murphy.
They can take care of themselves, she thought with a small shake of her head. They could. They've had their own girlfriends occasionally meet them at the pub. She was sure they could handle themselves.
And the fact she had a small crush on them – Both of them, because it was too difficult to imagine one without the other, and why was she even thinking about this? – might have been the reason she was so protective. Or that's just how she was, now.
Feather Thirty Eight
So, the itching never dissipated – the one that had started the morning of Siobhan's seventeenth birthday. It was constant, sweeping over different areas on her back, gradually sinking down to just above her buttocks by suppertime.
Her friends had actually brought her presents, too, on a different note.
Laketta and Tianna had, of course, gotten her makeup.
Ana had gotten her a dress and leggings – "Because I know you absolutely hate showing your legs," she had explained, much to Siobhan's surprise.
Rocco, oddly, had gone with a rather large supply of chai latte teabags and a smaller supply of cakes. The same cakes she usually ordered at the coffeehouse. A quick glance at Ana – who smirked – told Siobhan that Rocco had gone to her for help, instead of Grandda or the twins.
Grandda had gotten her two things. One was a pass to a 'mixed martial arts' studio, the other was a silver-coloured bracelet. It was a rather simple bracelet, but beautiful, in that three separate 'threads' of silver spun around each other.
Murphy had gotten her a book, and not just any book: a Gaelic songbook. And while Murphy had given her something superfluous, Connor had gone with practical. He had given her a knife, a very simple but sturdy thing that fit in her palm almost as if it were meant to be there. The blade was only three inches long, and also exceedingly sharp – something she realized by just touching the sharp edge – and had its own little sheath.
"It's alrigh' to carry it," Connor had said, "Checked the laws m'self." She had beamed at both of them because she liked music, and she liked to be able to defend herself.
Siobhan spent quite a bit of the day – after the little party was over – tucked away in her room, reading her songbook, sipping on tea, and occasionally eating a small cake.
AN: As far as I'm aware, 'Venia' means forgiveness, pardon, grace, and indulgence in Latin.
Feather Thirty Nine
Siobhan frowned at the small dark line she could just barely see in the mirror. What. . . With quick steps, she locked the restroom door and tore off her top, twisting to stare at her back in disbelief.
So much for getting 'Venia' down my spine, she thought with a heavy sigh – because of course this would happen to her.
'This' being the large sweeping black-and-skin coloured wings etched into her back and sides, disappearing down into her jeans. Siobhan had no idea as to the how or why they were there.
The small dark line that had caught her attention was the very tip of a feather on the tip of one of the wings.
Inheritance, maybe? Very few witches and wizards received any visible 'inheritance', as it was called. The coming of age was sacred – or it had been, once upon a time. Britain placed less value on it than, say, the French or the Bulgarians.
Numbers, of course, had a specific resonance with magic, as did runes, hence the Ancient Runes and Arithmancy courses Hogwarts had given. As such, once one reached a specific age, sometimes one would receive a power boost, or their eyes would change, or some other trivial thing. No one Siobhan knew of had ever received a mark, let alone one that seemed to move, as hers did.
She had to talk to Bonnie.
Feather Forty
"I haven't seen the like," Bonnie said, running gnarled fingers over Siobhan's marks, "Are you sure you didn't have Quinn do this?"
Siobhan gave Bonnie a flat look. "It looks like it just healed, if it were a tattoo," the young witch stated instead of bothering to answer a question they both knew the answer to.
"It's not," Bonnie stated quietly, "Like a tattoo, I mean. Can you feel the slight ridge? Moreso than a tattoo. And it positively thrums with power, a sort that I have never come across before."
Bonnie and Siobhan stared at each other, coming to an agreement without saying a word. Bonnie would ask her contacts about obscure magic or otherwise enchanted objects, as well as 'marks'.
Siobhan would, in turn, do what she could to help. Which, admittedly wasn't as much as either of them would like, but Siobhan could provide money for bribes or objects that possessed similar qualities or could potentially explain such a phenomenon. She could also document any other things she noticed about the marks.
Hopefully they wouldn't spread.