Daria Ravenclaw: The Year of the Owl Not Peace But a Sword
DISCLAIMER: Daria is the creation of Glen Eichler and is the property of MTV Viacom. Harry Potter is the creation of JK Rowling and is the property of JK Rowling, Wizarding World, and Warner Brothers. I don't claim to own either franchise or deserve any financial compensation for this work of fiction.
Daria Ravenclaw: The Year of the Owl * Daria Ravenclaw: The Year of the Owl * Daria Ravenclaw: The Year of the Owl
Farrah Dagworth looked at the pamphlet again and scowled. She'd found it in the hall bathroom at Daria's house and she might have left it alone except that it was one of several identical pamphlets lying on the floor all issued by someplace called the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The title was unsettling, to say the least. "Your introduction to Ilvermorny." Farrah wasn't quite as good at literary comprehension as Daria, but she understood undertones and the differences between humor and straight narrative better than girls older than she was. This pamphlet, like the others on the floor, had depicted Ilvermorny as a real school that taught real witchcraft. Was this a joke? She could imagine Daria stockpiling and handing out such pamphlet as a gag,
Doubt chewed at her. What was Daria doing with that damn thing? The obvious conclusion was that it was one of Daria's weird jokes. She put it down and thought. Magic didn't exist, did it? At least not really. The pamphlets could be a put-on. She wasn't sure that it was a put-on. The pamphlets were too -well-written. The graphics were too professional. And if Daria wanted to yank anyone's chain about witchcraft, she wouldn't do it in early April; she'd wait until Halloween. So why there, why now.
She wondered why it was there. She didn't think that Daria had put them there on purpose. They looked like a stack of pamphlets that someone found or lost after rummaging around in private spaces. Someone had probably gotten them out of Daria's room.
Farrah accepted that Daria was not a Christian, at least not the sort of Christian that she was. If Daria had conventional religious beliefs at all, she seemed to be dithering between her father's Judaism and her mother's Methodism. Methodists practiced baptism like Catholics and Episcopalians, but like Baptists and other Evangelicals, mandated that Christians accepted Jesus into their hearts in order to be saved. Farrah believed that, and believed that strongly. And despite the fact that she thought very little of Nancy Carrew, Jenny Monk, and their circle of friends, she knew damn well that neither Judaism nor the forms of Christianity she knew about condoned witchcraft. Witchcraft was not a path to Jesus and eternal salvation, but a path to Hell.
Daria was her friend. She liked her. Daria had a good heart despite her sardonic sense of humor and her often-tetchy personality. But witchcraft, real witchcraft, was beyond the bounds. She and Daria were going to have a little talk.
-(((O-O)))—
She called Daria. They talked. Farrah told her about life in Junior High, about her new computer, intramural sports, and her visits to the Penricks and her other relatives. Daria told her that she'd been busy but that she really missed her. Daria had not only been busy with schoolwork but was taking a class at the Temple in Sweetwater. She did tell Farrah that she was still planning to go away to school next year, but that she wasn't going to her first choice; she'd be going to someplace in Europe instead. Farrah asked her if she wanted to get together Sunday afternoon. Daria agreed.
Farrah went through her week much as she always did. She kept up with her schoolwork, talked with her other friends and worked on her computer, but her impending showdown with Daria was seldom far from her mind. She prayed for the strength and wisdom to do and say the right things. Then her mom and dad got a phone call from their Aunt Lisa and Uncle Landen about Laura and the results of her medical tests and she felt the world drop out from under her.
Laura had cancer. Somewhere, somehow a tumor had come into existence, then started spreading to other parts of her body. Uncle Landen and Aunt Lisa said that the doctors thought that they caught it in time, but that Laura was in for rough time. She felt punch-drunk from the news.
Her mom saw her expression and said "Honey, are you all right?"
Mom, Dad, could I be excused?" said Farrah.
"Sure, honey," said her Mom. Farrah went upstairs to her room and closed the door. She sat on on her bed and took deep breaths to calm herself. It didn't do any good. Instead, she started crying.
-(((O-O)))-
Farrah's grandmother once said that trouble was sometimes like the weather: when it rained, it poured. Not only was one of her favorite cousin very ill, but one of her best friends was seriously involved in witchcraft. Farrah worried if she was soon going to have the worst of both worlds: her favorite cousin dead from cancer and her friendship with Daria seriously damaged, if not destroyed.
She didn't want to confront Daria about her Ilvermorny pamphlets. If it was something else, something short of murder, stealing, cheating, or drug-pushing, she was willing to ignore this and go on. But this looked like serious stuff, real witchcraft, and not the sort of BS that poseurs used. The calendar slowly crept towards Sunday afternoon and Farrah worried about what she'd say to Daria and how the conversation was going to go.
Sunday came. Farrah decided to do something about the rising tension and went to church in the morning. She sat down in the pew, wondered what Daria was doing right now, then prayed that she'd be able to say and do the right things to cause Daria to change direction. The prayers helped some, but not enough.
She called Daria when she got home. Mrs. Morgendorffer picked up on the second ring, making Farrah smile. She liked Mrs. Morgendorffer, but would they still be friends after she finished talking with her daughter?
Sunday afternoon came. They met at the park near the Big Spring. Daria was already there. There was a picnic table and benches off to the side and under some shade trees. They sat down there.
"Hey, Daria," said Farrah. "Good to see you, girl."
"Hey," said Daria. "Good to see you, too. Our paths don't cross that much these days. How's the exciting world of Junior High?"
"A lot like primary school, except they've got different teachers for different subjects and the coaches are already looking over guys for high school sports teams," Farrah replied.
"What about the girls?" asked Daria.
"We're ignored," Farrah replied. "At least everybody but potential cheerleaders. Camp's open over the summer. "Gloria's already put in one summer. She'll be doing it again next summer."
She decided to tease Daria. "There's a space open for you if you want to go to cheerleader camp, too," she said.
Daria was tempted to say something snarky but didn't. "Sounds like fun," she said.
"It can be," said Farrah. "The chance to get out in front of a crowd and show them what you've got."
"Unless you're trying to get an education," Daria replied.
"You can get one if you want it," said Farrah. "The library's better stocked."
"I didn't just come here to talk about junior high," Farrah said. "Laura's been to the doctors and they've run some tests."
"And what's up?" Daria said quietly.
"Cancer," said Farrah. "They've found a tumor. They think it's spreading but they've caught it in time."
Oh bloody hell, thought Daria, feeling afraid. This was not good. This was not good at all.
"They'll be starting treatment," said Farrah.
"Chemo? Radiation?" said Daria. She wanted to ask if they started in time but she didn't want to spoil things.
"Aunt Lisa and Uncle Landen didn't say. Aunt Lisa says that the docs said that she's got a fighting chance but that it'll be tough," said Farrah.
Does she, or were the docs trying to sugar-coat bad news, Daria wondered. In her heart of hearts she believed in fairness but she'd been losing her belief in a fair world. If it was a fair world, why did the good ones like Laura Penrick have to be the ones who got sick and die early?
"Damn," said Daria. "I'll put her on my prayer list. Do you know if I can call her?" Daria knew that she and her parents had the Penricks' phone number written around somewhere.
"I don't see why not," said Farrah. "She thinks a lot of you. She says that you're smart and that you're a good kid."
"I think a lot about her, too," said Daria. "Every now and again I tell myself that I want to be like Laura when I grow up."
Farrah looked down at the picnic table and her expression changed. "There's something else," she said, "something I wanted to talk about with you even before I learned that Laura was sick." She reached into her purse for the Ilvermorny pamphlet and put it on the table.
Farah looked at Daria to see her reaction. Her friend had a great poker face, and she could sometimes be a hard read. Not this time. Daria stared at the pamphlet a second too long, stood up straight, took a deep breath, but surprisingly said nothing. She probably knew where they came from and that they'd been in her house.
"Do you want to tell me what they were doing on the bathroom floor during your birthday party?" said Farrah.
"I don't know," Daria replied. "I had those in my dresser drawer before the party and I thought they'd stay there where nobody else could see or read them. It's not like I was planning to hand them out like party favors."
"Do you want to tell me about this Ilvermorny place?" asked Farrah.
"No," said Daria.
"Is it for real?" asked Farrah.
"A school up in the Massachusetts Berkshires, near ground zero for Puritanism since the middle 1600's teaching witchcraft?" said Daria. "Sounds like something a Hollywood script-writer would think up. I'd find it unlikely."
Farrah looked at her friend with concern. She's changing the subject, she thought. Could it be that Ilvermorny exists?
"I want to talk about it," said Farrah. "About Ilvermorny."
"I don't," Daria replied. "And I'm not going to."
"Does this witch school exist?" said Farrah.
"You found some pamphlets on the bathroom floor and jumped to a conclusion," said Daria. "you can do some remarkable things with computer graphics these days." Even if I don't know how, she said as a silent coda to herself.
"You can," said Farrah, "but nobody's come up with a program to make figures move on paper without a cable or a power card."
Daria's poker face hid an exclamation of "Hellfire and damnation! She saw that pamphlet!"
"Daria, are you a witch?" asked Farrah.
"No comment," Daria replied, making her half-smile.
That was not the response Farrah expected Daria to make. The books she'd read said that most would-be witches not only delighted in their gifts but also bragged about their new powers. It looked like Daria wasn't going to follow the script.
"You're not answering me," said Farrah. "You're evading the question."
"What do you think?" said Daria.
Farrah stared at her younger friend. Daria looked pretty much the same that she always did, a bit older now. She was going to be a teenager soon. You're getting distracted, girl, she told herself. She stared at her, looking for visible signs that Daria had magic. She stared at Daria for a long time. There was nothing, nothing visible that said that Daria was a witch or that she practiced magic.
She was wondering if she was not only wasting her time but slandering her friend when a horrible thought appeared and blossomed in her brain. She had a brief flash of Daria in a real witch's costume, and another od Daria holding a wand like the characters in some of those children's books. My God, she is a witch.
"You are a witch, aren't you?" she said.
Daria said nothing. Farrah realized that this was all the answer she was going to get.
"Daria, I want to tell you something," she said. "If you are fooling around with witchcraft, I'm asking you to stop. It's dangerous and I believe that it will end up destroying you. Burn your books, snap your wand if you have one, and get on the right track. You're heading for a life of trouble."
Farrah saw Daria's face fall. "No," Daria replied.
She took a breath and went on. "Farrah, I'm doing this because it's something I need to do, not for shits and giggles. I'm going away to school because I have these—abilities—whether I want them or not."
"Really?" said Farrah. "Since when? Did you discover that you had them after you read about them in some book? Did you go looking for them?" Farrah knew that Daria had a streak of curiosity. Did it get the better of her?
"No, I didn't go looking for them," said Daria. "This is a part of me and has been most of my life. I had it a long time before I met you. I need to learn to get it under control so I don't endanger my friends and family."
"If you have them, the easiest way to keep your friends and family safe is to just stop doing them," said Farrah.
"It doesn't work that way," said Daria. "It takes training."
"I still think you ought to stop," said Farrah. "You're heading for a life of trouble."
"And I'm heading for a life of trouble if I don't," Daria replied.
"It's going to cost you," said Farrah.
"Yeah," said Daria. "At least seven years away from regular school and at least a couple of years of catch-up after I graduate. This is going to be a pain in the butt."
"It's going to cost you a lot more," said Farrah. "I'm talking about your soul and your eternal salvation. I think you ought to give it up and turn to God."
"I can almost wish that it worked that way, but it doesn't," said Daria. "And I'm not going to put my family and friends at risk on the basis of your theory."
"Put down the books, snap the wand, get a new set of friends," said Farrah. "Your soul's at stake."
"No," said Daria.
Farrah saw Daria's expression. It's one she seldom saw: the look she made when she dug in her heels and wasn't going to budge. Both girls looked at each other. Neither girl said anything. Daria was the first to break the silence.
"I know where you're coming from, and I appreciate your concern, but I'm not," she said.
"I mean it," said Farrah.
"I know you do," said Daria. "And you said it without slathering around BS while you did it. I appreciate that. A lot."
Daria looked at her friend and felt tears forming at the edges of her eyelids. "I don't think we're going to come to agreement," she said. "If we keep going, we won't be talking to each other, we'll be talking past each other."
"I don't want anything to do with what you're up to," said Farrah.
"I don't want you to try," said Daria. "It's for your own good. It's not safe."
"Damn it, Morgendorffer!" said Farrah. "I'm a big girl and can take care of myself."
In the Mundane world, Daria thought but didn't say. But not where I'm headed. She felt awful. She'd been friends with Farrah for a long time and magic was killing their friendship.
Both girls made a decision to stop. If they said any more, it would escalate to harsh, hateful words and one of them or both of them would say something horrible that they couldn't take back.
"Take care of yourself," said Daria. It came out more sarcastic than she wanted it to. Did you say that because you meant it or were you trying to be sarcastic, said a voice in her head. She didn't want to answer.
"Yeah," said Farrah. "Call me if you change your mind. I gotta go." She walked over to her bicycle, mounted it, and began pedaling away.
Daria stayed on the bench, staring at the tree-line at the other side of field edging the picnic tables.
"Shit," she said.
Daria Ravenclaw: The Year of the Owl * Daria Ravenclaw: The Year of the Owl * Daria Ravenclaw: The Year of the Owl
Author's notes: For the record, neither Farrah Dagworth nor Laura Penrick are witches. Nor are they what I've called "Wild Squibs," people in the Daria Ravenclaw universe who have canon Squib-like talents but who are born to Squib or non-magical parents.
Also, Farrah and Laura are descended from Hector Dagworth-Granger, the famous British potioner who wrote Most Potente Potions, a book Hermione Granger consulted in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.
For those readers wondering about my chapter title, consult The Book of Matthew, Chapter 10, verse 34.