A/N:

All of these are kind of back stories since the tale doesn't truly begin until hogwarts begin. This is the second last one before it turns to first person and present tense. And really, don't skip this part, back story or not, nothing will make sense without them.


Chapter 3

Blood and Water

Years flew by, and soon, she was celebrating a different birthday - her eleventh birthday. In those years of slipping memories and childhood, she had her deskmate's hair puff up, set a creepy guy's sleeves on fire on the streets, talked to a snake she met in an unkempt meadow, must have started a bunch of shooting stars though Marc told her it wasn't her, and, most frighteningly, made a snake bite Dysnomia's ankle that reduced her to a three day coma.

Isabelle never told the snake to do anything, but it was a tough job to deny the satisfaction that rose in her after Dysnomia's shriek. That girl was never a pleasure to be around in the same class even for one year, let alone five years. After she picked Isabelle as some sort of interesting target, her presence was so daunting, so suffocating, uncomfortable and painful she literally had to draw blood on her palms to prevent her power from blowing Dysnomia to sand sized bits of flesh and bones and marrow. Compared to all the visualisations that slipped into Isabelle's mind, the snake assault was somewhat benign. Plus it traumatised her enough that she kept her words and hands to herself long enough for the school year to be nearly over, three more months before they parted ways.

After the celebration, it was the same spring as always, underneath the pale moon and the honey dipped stars. It never rained on her birthday as long as she could remember; never did the clouds block the moon; never was it too hot or too cold; on that day each year she didn't scowl at the weather or the temperature; on her birthday, everything was perfect.

Everything. Except her.

It wasn't the first time she sat in the Harts' garden on her birthday. It wasn't the first time she remembered what happened there. It wasn't the first time she caught sight of the flowerbed of marigolds with a burned edge and felt a shiver in remembrance of what happened. Daisies no longer had their own space, but instead thrived among all the flowers she could not name. Memories of her sitting at the same spot with Marc next to her all these years before rushed like currents and storms, mixing together until she wasn't sure of her age, whether it was a week after her seventh birthday or the night of her eleventh birthday; until she no longer knew if the space next to her was empty or filled with the reassuring air of Demarcus.

Some burns deserved a bandage. Some burns deserved to be shown and displayed like a trophy. That's what the flowerbed was used for, a proof it was possible to lose control and survive; a proof that everything can bleed and heal, break and reassemble, burn and cool down.

'Hey Eez'

'Not calling me Belle anymore?'

'Nah. I would rather not let those be called the nicknames of love when we get to secondary. Could you blame me?'

Isabelle snorted. Of course, this is ridiculous. There was nothing romantic between her and Marc. They were simply held together by friendship for who-knows-how-long, since they both existed in this world, since forever. Friendship was in the air around them, one of the many things that didn't make it love.

'I know. But someone takes more than a lot of convincing.'

By 'someone' he meant Dysnomia, and by the knowing smirk on his face said she wasn't the only one thinking Dysnomia got what she deserved.

'Never too late to plan on what to do to her next.'

'Really, Belle? Poor Nomi's traumatised, though I don't see it hurts to make it worse. I mean-!'

Isabelle held up a hand. If she was any more flirty, she would place a finger on his lips; any more romantic, the words would be stopped with a kiss; any more best-friend-like and carefree, she would have grabbed his mouth with her hand to make it stop, but that's not who she was free to be.

'I know exactly what you mean.'

He gave her a sheepish grin, 'Me too.'

She looked over Marc's shoulder, and smiled. Firebird was there again, except after more than four years, it was no longer threatening. After everything, it was as a friend to her as Marc, always there, forever present, trustworthy for eternity. Back then, when his ember eyes caught her blue-green ones, she was terrified at whatever creature he was; when her notebook caught fire, she was sure her eyes were not reliable anymore; but as it watched her in the streets, patient and safe, she realised how stupid it was to worry.

As Marc turned to look at what she was smiling at, Firebird burst into flames as it did years ago, leaving a trail of ashes and falling leaves in his wake. He may not have seen the bird, but it was too much hope for him to miss the spark among the leaves. When Marc's face was visible again, it sports a slight crease between his brows and sparkling eyes betraying his pretence of anger.

'I thought maybe when I grow older, I might be as gifted as you.' He said, swirling his finger in the dirt.

'And?' prompted Isabelle.

'I was wrong, apparently. Any secret method.'

'No, not for me, but you are more than welcome to throw some emotional fits to see if it gets stronger. I would gladly be the cause of those fits, just telling you.'

'Nah,' Said Demarcus, a slight smile on his lips. 'I would rather not hurt you.'

Isabelle rolled her eyes. 'Like the hell you'll be able to,' She teased. 'Go on, do your worst.'

'Can't.' he said, 'I'm in such a good mood it would take a fair deal of insults on your part.'

She laughed, and hoped the lightness would stay forever.

If given a chance, she would do anything for things to remain this way, but perhaps some choices simply cannot be yours.

###

Another messy day, another insignificant Friday, and yet it marked the end of primary school. Isabelle was spinning in her seat, celebrating her Dysnomia-free future, when an owl decided to sweep in and drop a letter with a heavy seal on it on top of her head. She glared after the bird that flew away the way it came, huge grey wings beating a steady rhythm, oblivious to her while it shrink into the horizon.

She scoffed in irritation and picked up the envelope. Nobody used birds to deliver things anymore, even paper letters had become uncommon in the modern world, so this heavy missive, with its old fashioned purple seal and pure parchment inside, felt like it was sent from a different era altogether.

On the cover was the most absurdly detailed address anyone would ever write, going as far as to recording her bedroom and where she was sitting in that precise moment. If she was younger, this would have freaked her out, but she was eleven, turning twelve next April; but she was Isabelle Cassidy, the girl who saw how limited other people's knowledge was, how astounding and so very unexpected the real world could be.

For such a bulky letter, the writing on the parchment, seemingly written with ink and quill, was surprisingly cursory:

Dear Miss Cassidy, it stated, the deputy headmistress, Professor Ophelia Madden, will arrive at 12 noon today for a meeting with you and your guardian(s) on the topic of the secondary school you are accepted in: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Best regards

Ophelia Madden

So brief, so formal, yet so insistence and giving no space for disagreement.

Automatically, she re-folded the fresh parchment and carried it downstairs, where Avalene was reading newspapers and waiting for their lunch delivery, Isabelle's eyes darted to the clock on the shelves: 11:30am, so much for a fair warning. The bannister her palm moved across was an ancient, fragile thing, with dust and ash in places that once removed revealed mahogany the same shade as their mantlepiece. The stairs she stepped on were exquisite like many pieces of furniture in the house. The house was a blessed, beautiful place, yet her mother revealed none of its history.

The parcel was clutched tightly against Isabelle's chest as she stepped down the final stairs into their neat, matching, wooden themed living room. Her mother was sitting on the elegant sofa, drinking coffee with her red hair running loose like her daughters. Should their eyes be alike, they could've been identical twins, even though Avalene lost the youthfulness that filled the very existence of Isabelle. The girl gave the clock another glimpse, twenty-nine minutes. Twenty-nine minutes to break the news to her mother; twenty-nine minutes to convince her this was not a prank; twenty-nine minutes to inform her of the 'special abilities' of Isabelle's her mother never acknowledged; twenty-nine minutes to tell her she wants to go, that Marc was probably going too, that she was not the only one.

Twenty-nine minutes, to spill the secrets of her entire life, that was borderline impossible.

At a loss of what to say and do, she approached the dainty figure of her mother, the letter still in place, deciding to only answer asked questions. No more. No less.

Avalene's gaze lifted from the newspaper and found her daughter standing there, awkwardness in the air. Her cerulean eyes were as beautiful and ubiquitous as icicles and possibly just as cold and acute. Her hair in its usual slackened ringlets was a fire forever ablaze, fierce and alluring unlike the person it belonged to. Isabelle got her mother's beauty, maybe her father's eyes, and as she hadn't met him or heard about him at all, she'd assumed the flames inside her were a creation of her own, something no one gave her.

'Well?' Her mother said, her attention on the letter, 'Something for me? When did you go to the mailbox?'

'I-,' She started, only answering asked questions, she took a deep breath and tried again, 'I… Didn't go to the mailbox…'

Stupid plan. Stupid idea. Should've known better than to say that.

'Then where and how did you get it?'

Shouldn't you want to know the content first? Isabelle thought irritatedly. This was one of the many remarkable things about Avalene: the ability to question some vital details others often omitted.

'Well… There's an owl…'

'Owl?'

'An owl delivered it to my room, there's even my room and seat on it.' She showed her mother the navy ink of the neat address. 'See?'

Her mother's eyes widened. Then, all her natural demeanour gone, she snatched the letter from Isablle's hand. The writing on the cover was gleaming, reflected in her eyes, a splash of darkness among the impossibly pale blue. Isabelle watched Avalene rip off the envelope none-too-gently and pull up the piece of parchment. The writing was insignificant and curt, and yet she stared at it as if it were the most dangerous, unbelievable thing.

'Mother?'

She looked at her daughter like she was about to ask who she was and what was she doing there in her house. Her once calm eyes were filled with recognition and horror and desperation.

Desperation?

Was it possible to be desperate about having your daughter accepted into a school she belonged to? How could she feel recognition and not surprise? Why was she terrified of Isabelle? A small, vulnerable girl she never treasured.

Since long ago Isabelle could say she never totally understood her mother. But right now, standing empty handed with those questions and a constantly ticking clock, she realised just how thoroughly clueless she'd been her entire life.

'Please, Mother?' She half begged, 'They are coming soon. I belong there. Please? Talk to them? Let me go?'

She didn't reply.

She dropped the letter and ran.

###

Isabelle's mind was a blank piece of paper as she chased after her mother, out of the door, out of the garden, before standing alone and dazed in the streets. The traffic was never-stopping as always, just like time, just like the seconds ticking towards noon while she stayed there trying to find her guardian.

Her guardian. Her mother. The one who should be getting ready for the meeting… The one who ran away.

She was so lost in herself she didn't notice him until his hand was on her shoulder.

'Belle! I was wondering where you were! Did you-?' Marc saw the ripped envelope with the parchment beneath it clenched in her hand and did a rejoice of sorts. 'I knew it! Looks like we don't have to wonder which secondary school we'll be delivered to, right? Maybe my power is not so dim after all. Anyway, we have a chance to improve, and- Belle?'

He paused when he caught sight of her expression, which probably looked rather… unusual.

Being near Marc always made her feel cosseted in blankets near a campfire in mid winter, wind whistling around her but always unable to reach her. Comfortable was an understatement to describe just how secure she felt. If her guardian angel had taken a human guise and decided to befriend her, Marc would be the result. She'd like nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and be there for the rest of the day, week, maybe even months; and she would do exactly that if the Hogwarts ' administrators weren't arriving in ten minutes to seek audience with her runaway mother.

'What's up, Belle? Nervous? We all are, but you'll be fine. They'll probably be chasing after you, begging you to be there. Not kidding, you're extremely talented.'

Talented, yeah, expect what's the point of that when I'm not even allowed to go… Later, I'll just be a little girl in an adult's conversation.

She opened her mouth, perhaps to agree on the nervous part or say a lighthearted joke, maybe both. But the words were like pasta in her throat, when she cannot swallow it, she choked on it, and the same happened with the half-formed sentences.

I am Isabelle Cassidy. I've handled multiple disappointments without cracking up. If I could go through those, I can go through this. I haven't cried since I was seven, that's not about to change…

Her breathing hitched. Standing there… Was… Suffocating…

I can do this… Not about to change…

Like the hell I'm stupid enough to believe that.

She gave the clock a glimpse: eleven fifty-two.

'They are coming in eight minutes.' she managed to say, her voice was a bit off-pitch, but normal enough.

Marc noticed. He pulled her closer so that his dark hair brushed her cheeks and muttered, 'You have about ten minutes to talk to them, I think. Mine's coming at twelve-ten. Mom and dad's getting ready. You should go get ready too. Just remember, you'll be fine, you're amazing, never believe otherwise.'

She nodded, but the mention of parents was nearly enough to make her gasp again.

'Go on, Belle. I'll see you again soon.'

He gave her arm a squeeze and left, but not before giving her a reassuring smile.

Isabelle sighed. Marc could be so ridiculously naive sometimes, but she couldn't blame him. Even as the best of friends, they have very different lives. He was right, though. She had to go and get ready: her mother hadn't downright refused to let her attend that school, but she didn't approve either. From time to time, hope was the only thing to hold on to, and she would just have to hope that her ability could cover up the absence of her guardian and consent.

So much to handle for an eleven year old girl.

Get through a ten minute meeting or negotiation when she was sure she couldn't even survive five minutes; convince them to let her go; wave away suspicions with a laugh, and she would have freedom, pleasure, and Marc.

I am Isabelle Cassidy. I may not be the strongest, but I can go through this.

It was a surprise to find out her house was right behind her, that she failed the chase already at the front gate. She didn't remember her mother or anyone opening it, but it was on its hinge, untethered and unable to protect the fragile things inside. Isabelle tossed aside the fleeting idea of waiting outside for the deputy headmistress and stepped into the garden. Not necessary. I'm not a welcoming committee, not even when I want so desperately for them to approve. There were those who treasured politeness; those who treasured obedience; but Isabelle never managed - or in fact tried at all- to earn their favour.

There were not many words she used to describe herself, but she always considered quick as one of them. Not swift, but quick. Quick reaction, quick responses, quick actions. In theory or belief, Avalene shouldn't be able to lose Isabelle all this quickly, but she ran in avoidance of something she never wanted to face, and Isabelle chased in empty hope of consent no one was willing to give. In stories they told kids, hope was stronger. Hope was enough. But in reality it was often fear that gave cause to the most rapid speed there was.

Nervous was a word too slight to describe how she felt. Terrified seemed more adequate, but awed couldn't be anywhere near wrong. The emotions that crashed into her were so much that she was in a daze by the time the doorbell rang.

She made a few last quick adjustments to the cushions on the mauve sofa and righted the flowers in the vase again. It was too much to hope the orchids would not just tilt over again, but she'd rather not have to try to maintain the visuals and manage to go through a conversation that would change too much. Quite unlike the courageous girl everyone's known her as, Isabelle was more shaky than she'd ever admit as she approached the tall, oak door.

Her first, stupid thought was that maybe she should tell the woman to remove the long and suffocating robe she was wearing, but it appeared like she wasn't wearing anything underneath. After the girl dismissed the absurd idea without further acknowledgement, she focused on how odd the visitor looked instead:long dark hair smooth and straight swung over her shoulder, after years of meeting Demarcus's sparkling amber eyes, this woman's ones were too bright, too unnatural to be real. With her elegant boots and golden spectacles, she had the overall look of someone who tried and failed to look attractive.

Eliza, Marc's mother, had once told them both to not make fun of anyone's appearance. 'They may not be beautiful or anything of the sort, but they care, like anyone else.' She had said, with the ephemeral serious look on her gorgeous face, her like to Demarcus's eyes glistening like his. 'Every comment, every laugh on the unwanted topic, shall be counted as an assault on the person.' So far, Isabelle had stayed behind this ruleline with ease, but this woman, this deputy headmistress, was a brand new challenge.

Fear, worry, nervousness, all the uncomfortable sensations in the air were gone. Instead, she was filled with an unexplainable joy that coursed through her very existence. Holding back laughter was suffocating; standing there was torture… and she was definitely growing bored of breathing. Different emotions crashed onto her like waves out of nowhere, or perhaps they were simply overpowered by the desperation that evaporated just then. Isabelle was furious with her mother for leaving her dealing with tasks not for a girl her age to complete; she was impatient with the woman standing there, questioning her abilities strong enough to require a meeting before accepting her into the school she belonged.

Every moment she stood there, every move she made as she welcomed who must be Professor Ophelia Madden into her living room, made her hand slip over whatever little control she had. She wanted to show that deputy headmistress how qualified she was to join, how talented she was, and what a mistake it would be if they deny her just because of the lack of approval from her cowardly guardian.

She's my mother. A voice that sounds more like hers whispered, but it was silenced by the screams that told her to set the woman on fire and wait until she agreed.

What's wrong with you? The voice whispered again, so different from the ones beside it that it sounded like it belonged in a new world altogether. You need to go, remember? Demarcus is going. You can't hurt this woman and destroy every chance you have…

Bring yourself together, remember…

Then it slipped further and further away, out of her reach. She never knew what it asked her to remember.

The last thing she saw before the world vanished was her own, familiar face on the shiny table top. She watched… She watched as her blue-green eyes flashed scarlet while the woman sat down.

The last thing she heard was the yells in her mind voicing thoughts that were not hers: Burn her alive, you won't regret it.

One second one of her scarlet eyes winked. The next second the darkness closed in.

The last thing she remembered was lifting her head, giving Professor Ophelia Madden a cruel smile that wasn't hers.

###

For a few heartbeats, there was nothing to see, nothing to feel. For those brief moments, she was suffocated in nothingness. Not anything of existence kept her on a leash, but it was there regardless, tethering her, blinding her, until she couldn't even feel her own body anymore. Isabelle was a nothing in the world of nothingness, and that was what she thought before her mind faded away like her physical being. That instant on, her memory was ripped away, leaving a blank spot in its place.

The next thing she knew, she had both feet on the table, ankles crossed, sitting on the sofa with a hand in her hair and the other holding a burning rose. The flames licked her fingers, but it didn't hurt her. The pedals were reduced to ashes, but her hand was unharmed. A metre across, the deputy headmistress had her bag in her hand, a burn on her shoulder, and a terrified look on her face. Isabelle gave her an amused grin, while inside, she fought for control of her own body.

'I'll see you around Hogwarts on September the first, Isabelle Cassidy.' Madden took out an envelope from her pocket and slid it across the table, her hand shaking as she did so. 'You'll find your train ticket on platform nine and three-quarters in there, along with your list of the things to buy at Diagon Alley once you get there. As I said, there's a small shop no muggles can see, but as you are a witch… Still, if you want me to come with you-.'

'The discussion about that is over, professor.' whispered Isabelle's mouth, the words too soft to be hers, but too dangerous to not be a part of her.

But she still hated her lack of control.

'Yes, of course. We hope you e-enjoy your time at Hogwarts, Miss Cassidy.'

Isabelle was unable to express any farewell as the deputy headmistress scurried away like she couldn't leave soon enough, shrugging on her cloak to cover the burn. As the door swung shut, Isabelle wondered if she was the cause of that burn, but none of her thoughts were on display to anyone other than herself. At that time, even Demarcus would be unable to read her like an open book, she pondered whether she should be enlivened or terrified by that. But however free her mind was finally able to roam, it didn't change the fact that she was unable to remove her feet from the table until the professor's footsteps were far from audible.

She barely had time to tuck the envelope into her pocket and check to make sure her eyes were their normal hue again before the double doors swung open on its hinges, and she strode in. She had the usual wide spill of demure red hair, bright blue eyes, and high cheekbones. Her gown was torn here and there, her curls were out of place, and her posture was unnaturally stiff.

This time, Isabelle's anger was that of her own. She had all but forgotten about her mother leaving. Yet Avalene stood there, unapologetic and coming back the moment she wasn't needed anymore, looking for all the world like she wasn't the one to blame.

'You are late, but it seems like I've handled it way better than a runaway mother would have. It must be a surprise for you, but I've figured out you're not going to even try to help me. Considering how hard you've tried to keep that fact from me…' Isabelle broke off with a shake of her head.

'Don't try that tone with me, Isabelle. You will not-.'

'You may be my mother, but you don't own me. Once I'd have willingly obeyed you, but that time was long gone. You will not tell me what to do. Only one person can, and that person is, and will always be, me.'

'ISABELLE!' Avalene gave her a look that once would've terrified her daughter, but fear was the last thing Isabelle could feel, 'You really don't want to try me, so listen for a change.'

'I know what I want, mother.' She pushed the parcel containing her train ticket and list of things to buy further in, 'Unlike you, who has no idea of what her daughter wants at all.'

Her mother raised her voice, 'I-'

'I,' Said Isabelle, shouting now, 'want to have a voice and choice of my own. I want to have freedom. I want to be accepted as who I am and actually matter. I want all the things a mother should've given me. I don't want to be treated like a burden you cannot wait to dump off, pretending it doesn't hurt. Every. Single. Time.'

She was on the verge of tears now, but she didn't let them fall. If there was one thing she wouldn't do, it was displaying her weakness to the person who invoked them. Isabelle had admitted how the old wounds still stinged, but she hasn't commented on how the new bruise ached. She had said how she tired of all those never-ending orders and complains , but she hasn't revealed how it felt when she had her solution to everything balancing on her fingertips, asking the person instinct said she should trust to help her grasp it only to have it falling to the ground for her to piece back together.

'You want a future, do you not? Or am I so clueless I forgot what humans like myself wish for?'

'I have a future. It's mine now, and I'll not have anyone take it away.'

'You're making a mistake, Isabelle. I've lived longer than you have; seen more and known more than you have and perhaps ever will. I am your mother, Isabelle, I know which way I want my daughter to go.'

'I am your daughter, but can you tell me I am any more than that? Tell me I am not just some offspring you got stuck on you. Say you think of me as who I am but not what I am. Or would you rather be honest and admit I am nothing of importance to you at all.'

For a few seconds, Avalene was silent. When she finally found her voice, she said, 'Who you are is Isabelle, my daughter. What you are is a monster. I'm asking you to not go to a place to learn about how to be a monster, how to be what you are. I am asking you to stay and remain as who you are. That's because I care. That's because I don't want my daughter to end up as any of hi- that sort.'

'I am not a monster. I've just qualified for a unique school along with my friend.'

'You are a witch, Isabelle. If you want acceptance, surrendering yourself to be what you are is not going to help.'

Not only Isabelle's eyes were burning now. Her whole body was shaking with the effort of being forced together.

'I am what I am.' She managed. 'If I have to search the whole world for the acceptance you denied me, that's exactly what I will do.'

With that, she stormed away, slamming the door behind her. It was only when she crossed the fence did she let go of the leash she kept on the tears, letting them fall freely, warm against her cold, damp skin. She was blind as she stumbled along a pathway she thought to be familiar, but lost to her sometime in the past. The world was nothing but the ground beneath her feet and Isabelle until she ran into him.

And soon, her face was against his chest, her tears staining his shirt. His arms were firm and steady around her when such few things were. It was in that embrace she realised she didn't need to go as far as the whole world to find what she was looking for. It was right here, in him, his presence solid, there for her when her own mother just declared Isabelle a monster.

Blood runs thicker than water, they say; but who says blood cannot be separated, and water cannot stay much more constant?

Blood runs thicker than water, but in some cases, water runs thicker than blood.


Longer than usual... Ya... Just trying to fit my ideas, and some sudden inspiration, in.