I'm standing.
Waiting.
Burning to ash in the heat of the spotlights like an ant under a magnifying glass.
The acrobats perch in the rafters, watching like vultures.
The crowd is obscured by a blanket of shadow but I hear them jeering.
The noise is deafening.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" The Ringleader's voice booms. "I present to you, the Faceless Girl!"
I should be numb to his words - to this act - and yet rage still boils beneath my skin. It threatens to bubble to the surface. I don't want to be his puppet anymore, but I know what I have to do. If I refuse - if I hesitate - there will be consequences.
Ugly consequences.
As the fury engulfs me, my eyes flash crimson. My onyx hair begins to turn a deep sanguine, beginning at the roots and seeping downward through my wavy locks like blood from a wound.
The crowd roars.
Tears prick my eyes.
"Nyxanna!"
A voice calls me from a distance.
"Nyxanna!"
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My bleary eyes flutter open to the sound of bony knuckles rapping against the aged wooden door. They adjust to the waking world. They take in the dust motes dancing in the morning sun that streams through the cheesecloth curtains. Around me are boxes and crates - some marked, others mysteries, but all relics from years long forgotten. Pressed to the wall at the foot of my bed is a dresser. The top is covered in knick-knacks from my years on the road. It's the only touch of "me" in this dusty old storeroom. It's tucked away off a rarely used corridor on the fifth floor of Hogwarts castle. It's not much, but I'm grateful for it.
Anything is better than the life I was living.
"Nyxanna Reign!"
The steely voice belongs to none other than Professor McGonagall.
"Yeah?" I grumble past the sleep still clogging my throat.
"It's time for you to wake up."
"Why?" I whine, burrowing into the downy pillow. I pull the aubergine duvet up around my face and snuggle into it.
"Because we have plans this morning, Miss. Reign. We need to make it to Diagon Alley early. I'd like to finish our shopping before the hungry masses arrive."
Diagon Alley. At her words my hair transitions to a vibrant daffodil. I've been waiting for this day for weeks.
"Time for you to get up." She insists. "Lest I get Severus in here instead."
I bolt upright.
"Message received."
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Our first stop is Ollivander's, where the eponymous shopkeep has spent over an hour scouring the store for the right fit. No wand seems to be doing the trick. One spouted a perpetual stream of volatile periwinkle sparks, another shattered a window and rained fractals of glass down upon us, and this is to say nothing of the one that snapped clean in two.
Ollivander goes to the back of the store, obfuscated by the murky curtain cast by the towering shelves. He returns with a dusty black leather case, clasped shut with a silver dragon clasp. "This wand has been in the shop nearly fifty years." He explains as he opens the peculiar container. "Ebony, with a vampire vein core. A powerful, but fickle companion."
I take it in timorous hands.
All is still.
I give it a feeble wave, and plumes of smoke billow from the tip. The murky gray becomes pearlescent, then shifts to an iridescent sheen with brilliant hues - viridian, cerulean, and radiant amethyst.
Ollivander clapped his aged, gnarled hands together with delight. "Why, Nyxanna, my girl! It seems we've found your match!"
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We're in a dilapidated shop, tucked away on a seemingly forgotten side street.
Though numerous storefronts on the main stretch advertise cauldrons, McGonagall insists this shop is one of the best.
"What we're looking for is a basic pewter cauldron." She expounds as we peruse the shelves. "It's a good beginner cauldron, and for a reason. The metal is sturdy and can stand up to both improper heatings and caustic brews."
"Right. So it won't start coming apart and contaminating my potions."
She gives a nod, but her arctic eyes seem to be looking past me. A small smile threatens the corners of her thin lips. I follow her gaze and my orbs land on a girl about my age, with ginger hair falling neatly to her shoulders, in a plain blue sundress.
"Sorry." She says. Her fully, freckled cheeks flush a vibrant pink. "I couldn't help but listen. You know a lot about cauldrons."
"I ought to. I'm a teacher, you see." Professor McGonagall replies.
"Really?" The girl's sapphire eyes light up. "At Hogwarts?"
McGonagall responds with a delicate nod.
"You probably know my brothers then. The Weasleys."
The old woman gives a strained sigh. "Yes, I'm familiar with your brothers. I hear another one of you is starting this year. Is that you?"
She shakes her head, and strands of her strawberry hair fall out of place. "My brother is starting this year. I'm next."
As if on cue, a boy appears at the end of the aisle. "Ginny!"
He approaches. He has a mop of copper hair atop his head, and constellations of freckles that match her own.
"Mum's looking for you." She says.
"Yeah? She's looking for you, now." He retorts. His eye is caught by the two of us, and he shrinks slightly under McGonagall's stern gaze. "Back to school shopping, too?"
"First year." I state.
"Me too!" His smile returns. "I'm bloody nervous. My brothers already have a reputation."
"Good or bad?"
"One's a Prefect, and the other two are in detention every other week. Everyone's wondering which I'm gonna be."
"Oof. That is rough." I say. "Dumbledore pulled me from a circus back in America the other month. I've been staying at the school ever since. It's going to be weird with all those people there."
"America? How'd you get into Hogwarts?"
"I was born here." I extrapolate. "I guess I was still in the system, even if they took me away."
"Well, hey! Maybe you could show me around!"
"I dunno. I'm still learning my way around." I sheepishly confess.
"Then… I guess we can get lost together?"
"Pinky promise?"
He cocks a brow at me. "What promise?"
"Pinky promise." I repeat.
"Is that a muggle thing?" He quizzes.
"Yeah. It's sort of like their version of an unbreakable vow. Except with less consequences."
"Oh.."
I extend my little finger towards him. "So, pinky promise?"
"Yeah." He hooks it with his own. "Pinky promise."