Thanks for the reviews, the pacing in Hogwarts will slow down slightly, a few chapters per year Seraphina is there. Seraphina goes through a lot of not great stuff, so...

Slight trauma warning.

Chapter 8 Summer

Seraphina POV

I sighed as I lugged my trunk from the carriage into the orphanage, while Sister Ida complained about how annoying it was that she had to pick me up, and ranting about how I have to keep up with how much I own them for 'taking care' of me. From what I could tell, they pretty much tried to fill in my schedule with as many performances as possible. Leaving out a few days at most for me to do my homework.

"...so I expect you to be ready at six tomorrow. Are you listening? Young lady, you listen to me this instant!" Sister Ida snapped.

"Yes, Sister. " I replied.

I really really do not like her. Especially since how horribly she and the rest of the orphanage treated me since Anna's 'accident'. They tried to blame me for everything, but it is a bit difficult when I am literally on the other side of the orphanage all the time.

Sighing, I collapsed onto my bed, just as I heard a soft tapping on my window. I got up, sure enough, there was a large black eagle owl, with a letter tied to its foot. I opened my window, and the owl stuck out its foot imperiously, hopping onto the empty upper bunk bed. I quickly unrolled the letter.

Seraphina,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know it is only the first day of the holidays but I have exciting news to share! After conjuring a butterfly in front of my parents, just like how you taught me, my father agreed to delay the marriage contract, so that I will get to finish my Hogwarts education since I have a talent in charms! How exciting! Thank you so much for helping me!

Your friend,

Athena

P.S. I almost forgot, I don't think you have an owl, so I instructed Artemis to await your reply. She really likes chicken.

I smiled, it was a good thing that I was assigned the same room as Athena. When I first met her, she was not just shy, she didn't think much of herself, I mean, who wouldn't if they were brought up by parents who constantly tell them that their only use is to look pretty so that their family can secure alliances by marrying her off. I was able to help her with her confidence and spell casting through a ridiculous amount of compliments and attention. Poor Athena was so starved of attention that she did not notice how she was twisted around my little finger. It really did not take too long before she clung on to my every word, listening to everything I had to say, almost begging for my approval. She is talented, not very powerful but charms come to her instinctively.

The one thing I absolutely hated about living in the 1880s, is the misogyny. It's ridiculous, seriously! I came from the twenty-first century, and here, girls are treated as nothing more than broodmares and housewives? I mean, at least in the wizarding world we are permitted to get an education, but still, most girls, even the lesser pureblood families do not get to graduate! The richest families, like the Blacks or the Malfoys, let their daughters graduate, but they are still married by their seventh year! It is ridiculous! Most people left Hogwarts after getting their OWLs in fifth year. When their wands would not get snapped. It is unbelievable. Hence my slow indoctrination of my friends to how even as a female, I can be whatever the hell I want. Also because I really really hate the stupid rules. They can't do anything except raise some eyebrows at me anyway, as long as I don't go too far. I am still following the etiquette expected of a pureblood lady, I am just beating the hell out of the rest of the year in my studies, and in magic. The only thing that was close to breaking their rules is just being outspoken. Funny how the purebloods resemble gaping fish when you beat them at their own game.

I tried asking the librarian about books in different dimensions. I got a funny look and a nod towards the restricted section. So I guess I am still stuck here for a bit.

I grabbed a piece of parchment, quickly penning a congratulatory reply. Wandlessly summoning a piece of toast from my trunk, I tied the note to Artemis before sending the proud bird back to Athena.

The summer passed without much excitement. I gave performances and did my homework in the middle of the night, writing my essays. Did you know that Binns was still the professor of history at Hogwarts? He is still alive, but he bored us all to death. He didn't even teach properly! I had to relearn everything about the goblin wars by reading at least three different books! It is super annoying how all the history books I found require complementary lectures to understand.

Hogwarts was fun. After finding the library with Albus, I spent a very large amount of time there by myself. Did you know that they open at 5am? I hated waking up too early, but like hell am I not going to abuse this time to research everything I want without people breathing down my neck! I researched my visions, turns out, I am a seer. Not like the Trelawney, who I suspect is a fraud or really weak seer, but a true, future seeing seer. I read that induced visions otherwise known as Scrying, which is forcefully seeing what happens if you make a certain choice, is extremely hard. It gets exponentially harder when you try to predict more than a few seconds ahead, in fact, so hard that multiple seers have died in testing this, their bodies drained of soul and magic, with the area feeling like a dementor's presence. The only exception to this, are the Oracles of Delphi who famously use human sacrifices for each vision.

…Naturally, I am going to try to find a way to do that without sacrifices within the next six years. What I have been doing, seeing the plots for bullying, is known as subconscious visions, which happens when an outcome is so undesirable to me that I was reaching out with accidental magic to glimpse the future. The bodies and trenches vision on the other hand, should probably be something so traumatic to so many people that it literally causes a ripple in magic. Making most seers see it. The only thing I can think of that might be powerful enough, is the World Wars.

No wonder people get PTSD from those.

I kept in touch with Arcturus, Alvis, Lestia and Hesper as well through letters twice per month. Albus, on the other hand, exchanged letters with me almost every day. Why did I keep in touch with a character like Albus Dumbledore, you ask? Because he was a true genius and most importantly, fun. One of the very few people who could actually keep up with me, and my horribly morbid sense of humour (it came with seeing corpses in your dreams almost every night). It was truly mentally challenging but fun to talk to Albus, we had frequent debates on the nature of magic, and challenged each other quite nicely. Canon did not explain how distant he is with his family. I have only heard Albus mention his brother once, and that was only to apologise about a delayed letter, as his brother's goat kicked his owl. He didn't even mention his sister. I think she died in canon, I wonder what she is like in real life?

Before I knew it, it was almost time to leave the orphanage and head back to Hogwarts.

29/08/1892

Today was quiet. I am so glad that this is the last week of this blasted summer holiday. My fingers were sore from playing the violin. They would have blistered if not for magic. I am so glad that there is a thing called a cushioning charm. Sure, it was meant for brooms, but who's to stop me from adapting it into invisible fingerpads? They made the sounds from my violin clearer too, being cushioned by air. But I digress, you are probably not interested in the application of the cushioning charm on instruments anyway. I was happily packing away my violin when I heard a commotion down the courtyard entrance near the chapel.

Odd. The church was usually empty except for Sundays, as far as I knew, then again, this is the first time I have been left alone in the music room at night. Maybe someone has a confession to make? I turned to go back to packing, but something was nudging me in the back of my mind, as if through I was meant to see this. I sighed. Quickly packing and putting away my instrument, I crept down the hallway towards the chapel. I know that there is a crawl space between the organ pipes and the wall that no one would look at, where I can see what is going on between the pipes. So I walked towards the crawl space, quickly hiding myself.

Just in time to see the chapel door burst open.

"Place it on the altar! And for goodness sake! Bound him tightly!" Father John commanded, while holding a bloody handkerchief towards his nose.

Behind him, four nuns and two younger, newly ordained priests dragged in a screaming, kicking boy, no older than six. Behind them, a woman who was sobbing into her hands was being held and comforted by a stony faced man. Judging from their appearance, I would say they are the parents.

"Mr and Mrs Odair, you may want to step outside for this, we promise that your child will be free of the devil when we are done with him." Sister Ida said, guiding the pair towards the entrance. As soon as they left, she turned, and locked the door, baring it with a heavy log.

What is going on? I've never seen anything like this before.

The little boy, who was still crying, had already been bound to the altar, a gag was covering his mouth as tears ran continuously down his face. His bright blue eyes pleading. At this point, Father John returned. He no longer has a nose bleed.

"Go get the tools." He commanded, while rolling up his sleeves.

The nuns and the two younger priests nodded, as they disappeared in different directions. One of them approached me. My heart leaped inside my throat as I held my breath, for a moment, the priest paused in front of me. Shrugging, he took something…a stack of long iron sticks underneath the organ before returning to the older priest.

My eyes widened. What are they going to do? Bludgeon the boy to death? To my relief, the priest left the stick in front of the boy, and did nothing. Yet. The nuns returned with boxes, as the first priest left again. Suddenly, a strong scent of smoke filled the air. I struggled not to cough, now is a horrible time for a barbeque, silently I cursed whoever is trying to cook at this hour.

The two priests returned. Between them, they dragged along…Oh my god! Is that a brazen of FIRE? Why on Earth would they have THAT? They set up the brazen in front of the boy. Who looked absolutely terrified now. I don't blame him. I am really close to peeing my pants myself.

The lead priest nodded to everyone.

"Let us begin."

He dipped his finger into the bowl of holy water.

"In the name of the father, of the son and the holy spirit. Amen." He said, while drawing the holy cross on himself.

"Amen." Echoed everyone else, who also did the holy cross.

The lead priest nodded to the other two. They walked forward towards the boy, and ripped open his shirt. To my shock and horror. What are they planning to do to him, they…they aren't going to…to force themselves on him, right? The boy stopped struggling, his eyes were still wide with fear but his body is sized up by terror.

The lead priest nodded again. This time, the nuns responded. One held the box closer to a priest, while the other picked up a metal and handed it to him. He opened the box, picking out something which caught the light before screwing it onto the metal rod. Metal, then. The other did the same with the other priest, while Father John was reading something in Latin to the fire, it sounds like a passage in the bible. The priests repeated the process until all the metal rods were used up. They then held out all of the rods to the lead priest. Who took a handful of holy water, sprinkling it over the metal before blessing them in Latin. The priests then brought the rods into the fire, burning them red hot. I watched in horrified fascination as the lead priest took the rod, inspecting the large burning red cross on top while the boy looked on in absolute horror.

"Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in the day of battle. Be our safe guard against the wickedness and snares of the devil; May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; And do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God, cast into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world seeking for the ruin of souls. Amen."

Father John chanted, while moving the rod closer and closer to the boy. A loud scream pierced the air, and the horrid smell of burning flesh filled my lungs.

They were branding the boy. Branding! I held my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle my horrified gasp.

After an eternity, they finally removed the brand. On the poor boy's chest, was a large burnt cross. I thought this was a church! Why are they letting them do this to a poor kid! The lead priest then sprinkled some holy water over the wound, which hissed and steamed upon contact with the burnt flesh. While the boy sobbed and withered.

"It seems that the demon is more entrenched than we thought." Sister Ida commented absently.

I watched in horror as they nodded. One of the priests handed another brand to Father John. This one was tipped with a red hot Star of David. The kid screamed.

I was numb, my ears went muffled in the horror of what was happening in front of me, and my powerlessness to do anything about it.

Suddenly, a large shockwave pushed the priest off their feet, flinging them away from the boy.

Accidental magic.

I watched in mute dread as the lead priest shouted something incomprehensible. The nuns and the other priests grabbed the boy's head and poured holy water over him, while the lead priest took another red hot shape from the brazer. The boy screamed and struggled, their forms oddly blurry.

Then suddenly, after an eternity, he stopped moving.

I felt a drop of water drip onto my hand. Instinctively, I traced it back up towards my face. I was crying. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and looked on.

"The demon is gone. Prepare the final rites for the vessel and inform the family." The lead priest commanded.

Oh my gosh, they just killed a kid. They just killed a kid! For accidental magic. I watched as the nuns and priests nonchalantly removed the fresh corpse from the altar, covering his chest back up, hiding all evidence of their crime. I struggled to swallow the bitter bile rising in my throat. They then brought the parents in.

Seeing the boy's corpse, the mother rushed forward to cradle him, only to be pulled back by the man. In sharp contrast, the man was aloof and stony faced, while the mother was crying and wailing over the loss of her son.

The priest led the man away from the woman, toward where I was hiding.

"The kid died, his heart gave out during the exorcism." The priest informed him.

"Good." The man replied. "I will send that infidel gibface to an asylum for hysteria as soon as I can."

He handed the priest what looked like a few hundred pounds before leaving.

They carried the child out, leaving the chapel deserted once more. I quickly snuck back into my dorm, and cried myself to sleep. Mourning the death of a child I never knew.