Chapter 4: Impetuosity

It might have been a bit of a rash decision, I thought, as I watched my daughter play with her cheerios on our transatlantic flight.

That morning, I had quit my job after the principal of the school I taught at refused to realize that my late husband visiting me in a dream and telling me to go to Scotland was a perfectly good reason for my immediate departure from my pedagogic duties.

Now, looking back on it, I understand that I might have seemed a bit of a crazy woman, but at that point, I wasn't really thinking.

I found the broken pieces of Charlie's wand in his desk, and with the directions I was sure he'd written, I was wholly convinced.

I couldn't think of the implications of his words, but knew only that I had to get to Scotland to meet the person Charlie had mentioned—Dumblemore, I thought it was.

So, I left my apartment, job, friends, and life. I packed four bags, gave the landlord my notice, and left him the profits of the furnishings in my apartment.

He was happy with that—we had a nicely decorated apartment.

I think I may have acted so quickly so that I wouldn't have been able to turn around—wouldn't have had anything to turn around to.

But as I stood in the airport, in a strange new country and with a strange new life ahead of me, I realized that I'd left nothing behind.

After Charlie my world had become Mystic; teaching had lost any enjoyment it had held for me, and I kept my friends out of habit rather than affection. Our home was a home only because my daughter made it hers, and now she needed to move onto a new one.

Mystic needed to move onto a new world, and I'd be damned if I didn't move with her.

As I held her tiny hand, I knew that I held everything, and as she flashed me Charlie's smile, I knew that I had made the right decision.

I took the crumpled piece of paper with Charlie's directions out of my pocket and read the next step.

King's Cross Station.

I looked down at Mystic, and seeing her yawn, knew that King's Cross would have to wait.

I found us a nice hotel, and we both fell asleep quickly.

In the middle of the night I bolted up.

What about money! How much would a boarding school cost?

I tip-toed over to the desk and turned the light on dim, using the hotel-provided pen and paper to estimate how long we could live with Mystic attending an expensive school. I used the average cost of United States college tuition as my estimate for the cost of Hogwarts (although I imagined it would be quite a bit lower, it never hurt to round up, did it?), and found, thankfully, that Charlie's smart financial planning (the fact that he had been the CEO of a major company didn't hurt either!) had left us with enough for us to live comfortably while Mystic attended boarding school and graduated from whatever college witches attended.

I could continue to teach, of course, and she would get a job—

What did witches do?

The image of a cloaked figure flying on a broomstick, muttering lines from Macbeth came to mind, and I decided that I'd better save my fiscal planning until after I'd spoken with Dumblemore.

I turned off the light and returned to my bed.

I couldn't sleep though.

I made myself wait until the clock read 6 before I woke up a drowsy Mystic.

"Come on, dear. You can sleep on the train. We have to get up early to make you look beautiful for Dumblemore."

After we had both bathed and dried off, I faced another crisis.

What did witches wear?

Charlie had seemed to dress well enough when he was pretending to be…human? What had he called me in the dream…muggle, wasn't it?

That would have to do.

We would obviously have to dress as muggles, as I hadn't packed the cloaks and hats and cauldrons and broomsticks we always kept in the hall closet.

I laughed at my own joke.

Regaining my sense of humor after a shock was always a good sign.

I took a deep breath and looked at my daughter.

"You want to dress up today?" I asked. She nodded exuberantly, for Mystic loved feeling pretty—a trait she'd inherited from me—and I decided it wouldn't hurt if we both looked our best for meeting Dumblemore, whom I'd at that point come to think of as omniscient.

I dressed Mystic in a pretty blue dress. It was dark blue velvet above the waist, and had short sleeves, as little girls' dresses ought to. It had a lighter blue skirt of flowy material. I loved when Mystic wore this dress, because she would spin around so that her skirt would poof out, and she'd always laugh.

She wore white tights and shiny black shoes, and her dark hair was pulled back with a blue ribbon.

I stood back to examine the effect.

"Spin around." I ordered, and she complied.

She looked ready to soften a statue's heart, and I smiled. She was a beautiful child, and if Dumblemore had any woes about helping us, Mystic would easily convince him otherwise.

Seeing my approval, her little hands pushed me on the bed.

I smiled, knowing that it was my turn.

In a house with only two girls, you had to expect that clothes and make up would be a necessity.

Mystic and I would dress each other, and the result was always quite stunning, if I do say so myself. She had unbelievable taste for a three-year-old, and I had often wondered if she'd go into fashion.

Now I wondered if it was part of the whole "magic" deal.

Her tiny form rummaged through my suitcase, and at last she emerged with a victorious smile and some clothes I hadn't seen for years.

I quirked my eyebrow at her. "Sweetie…" I started. Normally she dressed me very conservatively, and while this outfit wasn't promiscuous, it hadn't been my style since Charlie had passed away.

Been killed.

I shook my head. It wasn't time yet to process that one.

Mystic frowned, and dragged the outfit over to me.

I recognized the glint of determination in her eyes—the same glint that had so often shone from her father's.

I sighed, knowing that according to the rules of our little game, I had to wear what she selected (it had been a horrid month the year before when she was convinced that purple and puce made the perfect match!).

I put on the tight black skirt that fell just below my knees, and donned the black leather boots that rose to just above them. I then pulled the top over my head. It was a royal blue sleeveless sweater with a turtleneck collar.

I pulled my hair back in a black clasp, and looked in the mirror. The first thing I saw was my daughter smiling at me, and if she spoke, I knew she'd have said "I told you so."

I looked…hot. It had only been four years since I'd won Charlie, and I saw now that not much had changed but my…desire to show off my assets, if you will.

I the sweater made me look sophisticated, while at the same time the skirt and boots added a bit of mystery.

A tiny part of me hoped that Dumblemore was in his early thirties.

"Well," I said to Mystic, turning away from the mirror before I could add "vain" to my guilt-list, "let's go."

Author's Note:

It's an interim chapter, I know. It is necessary, however. Oh, by-the-by, I'm trying not to gag as I write about Mystic—I know she seems like the perfect child. I assure you, however, that though she comes off as a Mary Sue to the umpteenth degree, the story ain't about her! So, as for time, this story is taking place in the year after Harry's seventh year. Um…if you have any other questions, feel free to ask! Thanks for reading!

Review Replies:

Fly-away-free: Thank you so much for your exuberance in reviewing! I'm very flattered that you think so highly of my writing! As to the book you mentioned, no, I have not read it, though it sounds very interesting. I hope this chapter is up-to-par!

PixieGirl100: I'm honored to deserve such placement! ;b

TheDarkLadyOfRavenclaw: Thank you for sticking with this story! I'm glad that my comment brightened your day!