Hogwarts Assignment #2: Charms - Spell Classification.

Task #1: Write a story in which the number 7 has a specific significance.

Romance Awareness Month - Seeing through soulmate's eyes

Gobstones Event - Purple stone: ambition

"One Love" Marianas Trench, popsicle, foot tapping.

Treasure Hunt: electric

Warning for child abuse (not explicit)

'Helena! Helena, where at thou? Did thou not request a bedtime story before retiring for the night?'

'I did, I did, I did!' I bounce on the bed, excited for more stories about adventures and magic and invention.

The covers are warm and fluffy, a deep blue in colour. My room is circular and looks over the Scottish highlands. The ups and downs of the mountains and valleys bring a strange sensation to my chest, a feeling that I can do anything, be anyone. The world is filled with possibilities.

'Helena, art thou even listening?' A tall woman with a strict demeanour and soft eyes looks down on me. 'I will not read if I am merely wasting time.'

'No, I want to hear about Babbity Rabbity!' I cry out, although I've never heard of Babbity Rabbity before in my life.

Septimus woke up in sweat, clutching his sheets between his small fists. But his sheets were not warm and fluffy, nor were they blue. Instead, they were an ivory satin, aesthetically pleasing, but not winter-friendly for a boy of five. Luckily, the house-elf had kept the fire going, so he slipped out of bed into his slippers, curling up before the warm hearth.

His room was not circular, with windows that overlooked the Scottish mountains, but square, with a view of his mother's rose garden. It was big, too big, with not enough furniture to fill the void. He knew better than to complain though. The Baron of York had no use for such frivolities.

It was a very strange dream, he concluded. But it had felt so real.

When Septimus was seven years old, his father decided to put him to the Squib test. The Rosiers are a pure and proud family, the Baron had reminded him. If you are a true Rosier, then you have nothing to fear. The practice had been put in place a long time ago, so long ago that Septimus had barely been born.

The two eldest children of the Baron of York had avoided this particular family ritual, as both had demonstrated their powers earlier in life. But the Baron had grown worried when Threia still hadn't used an ounce of magic at the age of seven - the most magical number of all. He threw her from the window into the lake below and she had shot back up into the air and landed by her father's side. Apparently, the household had feasted for three nights.

As for the twins, Tessara and Pentus, Septimus could barely remember them. He was barely two harvests of age when they disappeared, but the house-elves still muttered amongst themselves about the foul practices of wizards - though never in the presence of the Baron and his wife.

Only last summer, Sexta had passed the test. Septimus had a vivid memory of his sister floating over a roaring bonfire, held by a mere Wingardium Leviosa, until she had screamed for the fire to go out. Seconds later, the flames were extinguished, and Septimus's father was giving his youngest daughter one of his rare bear hugs.

Now it was Septimus's turn.

'Begone now, dear,' his mother pushed him gently out of the door. 'We shall wait for thee at the waystone.'

The waystone was a great large rock inscribed with Ancient Runes three leagues from the Rosier Manor. Surely there is some trap, Septimus thought. T'is not so far a distance to travel on foot.

The sound of howls confirmed his fears. His feet picked up the pace, as his father's hunting hounds ran after him. Baron Rosier bred his dogs to kill with no quarter.

'But mother,' I whine lightly. 'I do not wish to play with other children. I wish to read, to learn from thee and father, for the minds of children are small and their ambitions petty. What could I possibly have in common with them?'

The stern lady's blue eyes filled with amusement and pity. 'They may yet surprise thee, my dear. Thou hast lingered too long amongst books and paper. I wish for thee to gain a little colour in thy cheeks.'

'No!' I shout, stamping my feet. 'Thou dost simply not want me here. I will show thee my worth, and then thou must allow me to read the books on the topmost shelf.'

'I will make a deal with thee, my love,' the woman kneels down to my level. 'Go and be thy own age for once, and I shall grant thee access.'

Instead of thanking the woman, I rush outside. My long curls are hot against the summer heat, and I tie them with a silver ribbon. I glance back towards the country home, before bringing the hidden book from my pocket. It is an advanced copy of the Charms Curriculum at Hogwarts. I recognise it from my sister's trunk. She is twelve and I am seven, but I feel closer to Threia than any of my other siblings.

I realise that my dreams are not just dreams, but something else. Are they a prophesy? A vision? If I were a Seer, mother would be proud. She is of the Trelawney line, famed for their female Seers. But father would see it as unmanly, and I fear that he will beat me for it. As these thoughts whirl through my mind, I feel something tugging at my subconscious, bringing me out of whatever memory this is.

'Septimus? Septimus, canst thou hear me?'

An image of Threia slowly blurred into view as she roughly shook Septimus's thin shoulders. When she realised that he was awake, she breathed a sigh of relief, sitting back onto her heels.

'Where am I?' he asked, rubbing at his eyes. His head hurt and his tongue felt like sandpaper.

'In the dining room,' Threia replied. 'Mother is preparing thy favourite food. Thou hast done well today, Septimus. Father is pleased. Tomorrow, he shall brag to his friends about his youngest child who can conjure a Shield Charm without the aid of a wand.'

Septimus breathed a sigh of relief. So he was magical, after all. He had always known, of course, but it was one thing to make feathers float and another to survive the Squib Test.

'Say,,' Threia said as helped him up the stairs to his room, 'seven is a magical number. That's why mother and father wished to have seven children. Thou art special, Septimus, that is for certain, and thou shouldst have more power than the rest of us combined. Sleep well, dear brother.'

She kissed him on his forehead, leaving him to wonder why his sister felt the need to reassure him once the test was already over.

Septimus awoke with a yell on the eve of his tenth birthday. He shot to his feet, catching a glance of himself in the ornate mirror in his sister's room. His face was as white as fresh parchment, matching the frailty that he felt in his limbs.

'It's all right, Septimus,' Threia called sleepily, her voice echoing oddly in the half-light. 'Come back to bed.'

But Septimus wasn't all right.

Imperio! His father's voice echoed in his mind. Septimus hadn't known there were more tests. Tests of resilience, of strength of character, of body and of mind. All to make sure that Septimus would be the best of his year at Hogwarts, to make sure that he did the Rosier name proud.

Septimus was sick of the Rosier name. He wished for the sunny life of Helena, for her kind father and her caring mother. Helena would have answered back, would have resisted the curse. Septimus was getting to know her now, as he saw what she saw, said what she said.

'I think I'll return to my own room, if that's all right, sister mine,' he replied eventually.

A candle was pressed into his hand, illuminating the sad blue eyes so like his own.

'It will get better,' Threia said, her words hollow. 'I promise.'

Instead of replying, Septimus turned, leaving the image of his sister in a dim room with a fading light. If looked at her just right, she almost looked like Helena. But Helena was warm and filled with a sharp wit, whereas Threia was a silhouette of what she ought to be, broken in a way that Septimus might have been had he not his visions to give him hope.

Reaching his own room, Septimus eagerly settled in between the covers to find out how his dream girl fared.

I'm going to Hogwarts tomorrow!' I spin around excitedly. 'I can't wait for my classes to start. I have to be the best in all of them! Will I be able to make my own spells, mother?'

'One day, little lady,' Rowena says distractedly. 'Speak with your father, it's a very busy day for me.'

I feel my face drop for a fraction of a second, before turning from Helena's mother's study. I glance back, but the woman is still scratching at parchment, books stacked around her. She has had less and less time for me, going to Hogwarts for the better part of the year and leaving her daughter and husband alone.

I wish I could call out to Helena, to tell her that her mother isn't so bad, that there is worse and that Rowena merely wants the best for her. But she can never hear me, feel me, no matter how I try. She is as a phantom, a ghost that I see in the dark and who disappears for the day.

We spend the rest of the day with Helena's father, making plans to visit the world, to find the stories that he hasn't and write about the people who live them. We pick raspberries and Helena crushes them between our hands and freezes them with a whisper into cones of icy red. Her father takes one with an expression of wonder and tentatively puts it in his mouth. I can see the juices dribble down his chin and ache for the sweet goodness I know they must be tasting.

She wants to have adventures, to see it all, to be different to the rest. I wish i could tell her that different isn't always best. I wish that I could pick fruits with my siblings and make ice-sweets of them without a care in the world.

Still, her ambitions give me hope. Without her, I would never look beyond the next beating, the next day I must survive. I would be like Threia, but instead I am growing stronger. Her ambitions give me hopes and dreams of my own - that I will be able to break free my sister from our father's grasp.

My two older brothers are fine, but Threia has already been promised to a Black, pure of blood but black of heart, and I fear that it will be the end of her. I read with Helena in the night, memorising the contents of her books so as to gain the power I will need to attain my goals.

Septimus saw her with his own eyes for the first time at the Sorting Ceremony. He hadn't imagined her to be so breathtakingly beautiful.

She tapped her foot impatiently against the stool, answering the four Founders with as much patience as she could manage. Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw seemed to argue for a while before they asked Helena a question. She responded, and her mother called out her House with the aid of a Sonorus charm.

Helena threw her hair behind her shoulder and marched from the stool to the blue and copper table with her shoulders set square, determination in her eyes.

Septimus may have only been eleven years of age, but he knew in his heart that he had fallen irrevocably in love. Her passion for life had sustained him through the years, and seeing her in the flesh sent an electric jolt straight to his heart. He had to see her, to meet her, to ask if she had seen her life as he had watched her own.

That thought brought him up straight. What if she has seen what I have seen? Suddenly, the idea of meeting her seemed appealing no longer

It was the seventh time they had rounds together that Septimus decided to confess his feelings to Helena. They had been Prefects together for the better part of two months, yet they had rarely spoken to each other. What prompted him, he couldn't say, though Threia would tell him that seven was a special number, the most magical of all, and that the stars were aligned for a positive reception.

'My sister will be twenty harvests of age on the morrow,' he blurted out, wondering where his carefully thought out sentences had gone.

'I know,' she replied quietly.

'She will be married at dawn,' Septimus added, unable to stop himself from voicing his worries.

'I know,' Helena repeated.

Septimus stopped in his tracks.

'You know?' he asked. His worst fears were confirmed. 'Then… do you…?'

'I have had visions of thy past for as long as I can recall,' Helena replied evenly. 'I asked my mother of it, but she would not answer. After looking for the information in the Restricted Section, I found that soulmates with particularly powerful abilities are able to share minds if one is undefended.'

'Yet thou hast not spoken to me…'

'I felt as though I were intruding on… something of a very personal nature,' Helena's cheeks coloured, a pink blush spreading over her ivory skin. 'I knew not how to approach thee.'

Septimus felt… cheated. He had expected a great spark, a confession of love. Not a clinical dissection of their intimate bond. He did not know how to respond, but Helena seemed to sense his unease.

'I have been aware of thy feelings,' she said gently, touching a hand to his arm. 'But I cannot let myself think of love ere I complete my father's work. Thou must know that he died this past summer. I have taken it upon myself to continue his legacy all throughout Europe. All my life, I have wanted to do something meaningful. A lovesick maiden would merely become encumbered with children over time.'

Septimus felt tears prick his eyes. He had not expected his soulmate to be so cold and calculating, though he had seen her razor sharp wit and cutting words on several occasions already.

'Well,' his voice caught in his throat as he turned away. 'I suppose that settles the matter, then.'

'Wait,' Helena tightened her grip. 'If thou wouldst permit it, I would like us to become… friends. Thou hast thy own goal of freeing thy eldest sister. If thou wouldst become thy father's favourite, inherit his title… thou mightest save Threia yet.'

It wasn't the romantic encounter that Septimus had dreamed of ever since setting foot in Hogwarts. But he believed that one only had one true love, and that Helena was his. He would not give up on his dream girl so easily, but in order to catch her, he must help her with dreams of her own first.