Upon waking in St. Mungos, Sophia instantly knew she was in trouble.

"Don't ever reveal how powerful you truly are," her father had always said. He would tell her that people just weren't ready to accept that her "special gifts" existed. While she could be exceptional, brilliant, and could achieve great things, never too much. He would always say that it was too dangerous – being the best. This was a family lesson taught early on in life; a vital one, especially in Sophia's case. "You must always be aware of what you're doing, so as not to expose yourself. Let your magic grow. Hone it; expand it as much as you can, but never show how great it is. If you use it in front of others outwardly, fool them into thinking it's something less. Be cunning; after all, it does come naturally to you," he would say as a smirk played on his lips.

She had exposed herself, though, partly at least, and way more so than her father had advised her to. She lost control. Her family was dead. If I had just figured out the right way to help and sooner, plucked up the courage sooner, they'd still be alive, she thought bitterly. It's my fault they're gone..

Fighting back a sob as the memory of the attack pounded its way back into her mind, Sophia kept her eyes closed in order take in her surroundings undetected. Right then was not the time to break. Do not show weakness, she ordered herself desperately. While keeping her breathing as even as possible, she surveyed herself first. Her hair was dry but stuck to her face and scalp, most likely due to sweat. My head hadn't hurt this bad when I hit the wall, had it? It feels like something's trying to drill it's way out of my skull, she thought achingly. She was lying on her stomach, draped in an open-backed hospital gown and sheet, and there was a distinct, itchy stiffness in her back that could only come from new skin growth. Intending to gauge what mask she should project in her current situation, she listened the commotion around her.

There were four people in the room; three of them all talking at once. It quickly became clear that they were arguing about what to do with her.

"Can all of you please move this conversation elsewhere? We haven't even deemed her fit to leave, yet!" exclaimed a voice to her right that she judged as being the only healer in the room.

Just then, a different, nasally voice laced with evident annoyance replied, "you've healed her injuries! She's not your responsibility anymore."

"She's not your responsibility either," retorted an American man whom Sophia recognized as Mr. Peterson – her family's solicitor and basically the only outside person to step foot in Peverell Manor. "She's a resident of the United States and will continue to reside there until she is of age and may choose otherwise."

"Now see here; this parchment proves she was born right here, in St. Mungos. I would think you'd know the law better than most in your line of work, Mr. Peterson. She's to stay here," stated another male voice in a condescending tone.

"Not to mention she needs to be questioned. She is part of an investigation, you know," added the nasally voice.

"Barty, calm yourself. You're acting as if the girl is on trial. Mr. Peterson, I assure you Miss Peverell is in very capable hands. We will handle this as delicately as the situation calls for. She's actually got relatives here that she's to stay with until more permanent arrangements can be made."

"Oh? And who might that be? I've been the family's solicitor for seventeen years now and I haven't heard of any relatives still alive today," fired Mr. Peterson at the same time that tell tale clicks of the door and footfalls announced the entrance of an additional person in the room.

Quiet descended, and it was then that the newcomer spoke up in a regal, icy voice. "I believe that would be me; Abraxas Malfoy. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Sophia quickly tuned out the conversation to reflect upon the information she had gathered. Oddly enough, it wasn't the actual conversation that had disturbed her; that had actually gone much better than she had expected. What had brought her near the edge of panic, however, was what she registered beneath the men's words – what she had retrieved from the men's thoughts.

Growing up as a natural-born legilimens with the grandest skill set the world had yet to know, Sophia had the ability to register people's surface thoughts and motives without even making eye contact. It had taken the better part of her childhood years to learn how to focus this particular skill – to be able to turn it off and on at will, as well as direct it to specific people in close proximity to her.

This is how she discovered that the healer who seemingly stood up for her out of consideration actually should have deemed her fit to leave upon waking. Instead, he had delayed it in hopes of performing private tests on her to decipher exactly what hidden magic she possessed as well as metamorphmagus tests that had to have been unpermitted. While this certainly caused Sophia to feel indignant, she knew it would be easy enough to avoid his wild ideas. She was no one's lab rat!

The man with the nasally voice – the man she heard was named Barty – sounded like some sort of law enforcement personnel and had an array of different theories involving the attack. The most prominent of these theories was that Sophia had somehow orchestrated the event in order to gain an early inheritance and then turned on her accomplices so she wouldn't have to share it. Even though all of his ideas were equally preposterous, he was planning to question her under veritaserum, which would no doubt lead to her revealing much more than she intended. Luckily, Sophia had a way around that; I just have to go back to the summer house for some things.

At the notion of going back, pain and anxiety flooded through her as though ice water was entering her bloodstream. Compartmentalize, she reminded herself. Survival first; feelings later.

Mr. Peterson was really just worried about what it would mean for his contract if Sophia were to stay in Wizarding Britain. He felt a small amount of sympathy for her, but he was more concerned with taking care of his own children, and the Peverell family had always been his biggest client. The man who showed Mr. Peterson the proof of Sophia's birthplace seemed to be a high up ministry official of some sort, possibly even the minister. Luckily, he didn't believe that she was a threat of any sort. Apparently Mr. Peterson stated that the only living person Sophia knew now was himself, giving him some sort of say over her future, and demanded to speak with this man when everyone else told him she'd be staying in Britain.

While believing his presence here was a waste of valuable time, the ministry official wanted to consult with Albus Dumbledore on the matter of her safety and future living arrangement as soon as possible. Dumbledore is renowned for his brilliance even in the States, Sophia marveled. Isn't he the headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry now?

None of the men's thoughts were comforting, but they were nothing compared to the insidious calculation that was Abraxas Malfoy's conscious thoughts.

Yes, it was true; they were related. Sofia recalled that her grandmother's maiden name had been Malfoy; however, this man had yet to recognize them as family in any way except name. According to his surface thoughts, she gathered that he had been ordered by someone to take her in under the guise of familial hospitality. In truth, he was meant to judge whether Sophia was friend or foe – whether she should live or die, he did seem to hope that she could live though. If she is a blood traitor, he had thought as he walked into the room, it'll be a waste of potential and the last of a noble family line to have her killed. Perhaps I can persuade the Dark Lord to let me teach her our ways if that's the case. She is still young and impressionable, after all.

She had learned about blood prejudice but, due to being so sheltered, had never seen it first-hand. She knew that "blood traitor" was a slur used to identify a pureblood that saw non-pureblooded people as equals. By all rights, she was a blood traitor; Abraxis Malfoy would never know that, though. Knowing (by way of worldly news) that there was a dark group evading capture in Wizarding Britain, she assumed the leader of that group was who Mr. Malfoy's "Dark Lord" was, and she felt she would be most fortunate if she never had to meet him.

Okay, Sophia, we've got a bit of a show to put on now, she mentally prepared herself. I need to seem physically sound to stay away from the crazed healer, but not so unscathed that it seems as though I was in on the attack, and I have to pretend to hate all non-purebloods and charm Malfoy into escorting me to the summer house without arousing suspicion. Best to act as though I forgot most of the attack, as well; I did have a concussion and I suffered a traumatic experience, so it should be feasible. Less questions that way. One confused, emotionally upheaved, bigoted pureblood heiress coming up. If this doesn't work, I'll just have to coax their minds a bit..

She didn't need to fake the groan that escaped her throat when she finally opened her eyes.

"Miss Peverell," came the healer's voice. "Miss Peverell, can you hear me?"

She squinted her eyes and blinked a few times before replying, "yes." Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. How long have I been out?

"Good. Now I'm just going to ask you a few questions and I want you to answer them to the best of your ability; do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Can you state your full name for me, please?"

"Sophia Artemis Peverell."

"Good. And your birth date?"

"April 12, 1961"

"Excellent. Do you think you can sit up?"

Tentatively, so as not to drop the sheet from around her back or rip open her wounds, she rolled over in the bed and sat upright. Having pasted on a shocked and confused expression, she finally got a view of the occupants of the room. Her healer, a man in his mid-twenties, had a greedy look in his eyes. Trying find a reason to ask for a new healer, she discovered that he was muggleborn and hadn't bothered peering into his mind any further. She damn sure wasn't sticking around long enough for him to come up with a reason for her to stay. Using the prejudice would work and earn her favor with Mr. Malfoy as well.

Mr. Peterson, a portly man with graying hair, was standing next to a man who looked exactly how Sophia imagined a serial killer to appear. With sharp, almost black eyes and the dullest brown hair she'd ever seen, Barty Crouch Sr. was impeccably manicured right down to the perfectly parallel hairs of his mustache. Back to the door, standing authoritatively was Howard Minchum, and Sophia was right, he was the Minister of Magic.

When she looked at Abraxas Malfoy, with his white blonde hair, steel blue eyes, and harsh features, she decided it was time to speak. She let tears cloud her own eyes and become trapped in her long lashes as she furrowed her brows further and said, "What's happened?"

In accordance with everyone's seemingly shocked expressions, the healer asked, "what's the last thing you remember, Miss Peverell?"

"People broke through our wards, my father sent us upstairs… Where's my sister? Are my parents okay?"

They were all looking at her then, their surface thoughts and faces showing different emotions ranging from pity to discomfort to disbelief; some, like the healer's, even guilt. When they informed her of the events, she proceeded to call them liars and threw all of her anger and self loathing – all of the disparity she truly felt – into the act. She could almost believe it herself for a moment, and she wanted with everything in her for her act to be true – for the memory of that night to be gone; to believe them all liars. After unleashing some true emotions it took Sophia a while to reign them back in, and when she did, she simply felt numb. She couldn't even feel relief when she tuned back in to each of their minds and discovered that they all bought it.

An hour later, after being informed that she had been unconscious for three days and receiving many scans from her new, "more respectable" healer, Sophia was following Mr. Malfoy to floo to the Ministry of Magic and retrieve her wand.

She had done an excellent job of maintaining her mask of a respectable heiress in mourning (distant and cold, with an underlying fragility) and was keeping it firmly in place as they walked. On the inside, her emotions weren't that far off from the mask; she was in a constant dance between tainted remembrance of the life she just lost and survival mode. She felt vulnerable, for the threat to her person had not passed but merely changed after a short reprieve of unconsciousness. There were other factors to contend to now, and she felt bare to them without her wand. Sophia was biting at the bit to get it back. She could still remember with perfect clarity the day her mother had brought her and Seraphina to purchase the wand, which she named Vita. It was one of the few memories she could still reflect upon without the bite of regret and guilt.

"Your eldest is in need of a wand, I'm guessing," spoke an aged witch by the name of Shikoba Wolfe. She had salt and pepper hair which was pinned back in a bun and lines all over her caramel-colored face expressing years of happiness. Sitting in a rocking chair, carving the final details of a long applewood wand, she looked like the epitome of warmth. Miss Wolfe's demeanor, combined with the inviting scent of all the different wands – new and old – made her rather renowned wand shop feel quaint and cozy.

Sophia noticed that the wandmaker was mentally speaking with the applewood wand and realized that people in Miss Wolfe's profession must have an extra sense of some sort. Not even Sophia, who had finely tuned her receptivity of surface thoughts a year prior, could feel a conscious presence from the wand.

"Yeah and we got a permit for the wand to perform magic outside of the normal schools, too. Mommy, can I get my wand today? It's not fair that Sophie gets to start learning first!" Sophia rolled her eyes at her sister's antics. Seraphina had been asking the same question along with the same argument since they woke up that morning.

Juliet Peverell sent a menacing look at her youngest daughter. "I've told you before that you've still got two more years to wait for your wand. Even if you could get it this year, I'd be hesitant to allow it after the joy ride you went for yesterday!"

The prior evening, after taking a few laps on the broom she stole from their father's study, Seraphina had been in the middle of trying to convince Sophia to take a turn when they were caught. Sophia had attempted to take some of the blame, but their mother knew exactly which of them was reckless enough to fly before being taught properly.

Sophia waited for her mother to turn back to Miss Wolfe before whispering quietly, "don't worry, Sera, I'll teach you a lot of what I learn, and you can practice with sticks. That way, when you get your own wand, you'll catch up to me in no time at all!" Seraphina looked slightly mollified at that statement as the adults finished speaking.

Miss Wolfe set the applewood wand on a table beside her and stood from her rocking chair with the aid of her wooden cane, which looked very much like a larger version of the wand sticking out of her pocket. After she finished taking Sophia's measurements she gave a kind smile. "Let's get behind the counter and see what we can find. I want you to close your eyes and tell me if you can feel a particular pull in direction. Don't feel discouraged if you can't; not many people do, but it'll speed up the search for your wand if you can. If you feel the pull, I want you to guide me to the shelf you think it's coming from."

Sophia did as instructed and almost immediately felt as though she had once lost something very important, perhaps even vital. Upon opening her eyes, she felt like running toward the area where she simply knew the item lay waiting. What stopped her haste was the elderly woman at her side who seemed to recognize Sophia's jerky movements with ever increasing excitement.

"The pull must have been very strong. Well go on, lead the way," Miss Wolfe said in encouragement, and together they went. The two were all the way in the back left corner of the store when Sophia came to a sudden halt. She pointed to a shelf that was nearly empty. In fact, there was only one box left, and it didn't look like any of the other wand boxes she'd seen upon entering the shop.

Miss Wolfe was dumbfounded. "Are you sure it's this one?" At Sophia's nod, the wandmaker set her cane aside, reach out and gently – almost reverently – pulled the box down from the shelf. Appearing to be composed of clay and petrified wood, the box was old and covered in carved symbols that Sophia couldn't understand, but she recognized the markings as being Native American. "Just to make sure," Miss Wolfe said as she opened the box to reveal the wand that lay inside. She pulled it out just as carefully as she had the box and handed it to the young witch beside her.

As soon as Sophia's fingers curled around the base of the wand, she felt as though she was coming home after a long trip. The sensation was warm and familiar. Bringing the wand up above her head, Sophia flicked her wrist. Tiny white flares flew from the tip of the wand and swirled around in mid air before meeting with each other and creating a bloom of sparks over her like a firework.

"I never thought I'd live to see this," said Miss Wolfe in an awed voice. "Of course, I knew the wand was capable but I never thought it would deem anyone fit to yield it. What you are holding is the rarest wand I've ever seen." At Sophia's questioning gaze, the witch continued, "I didn't make it. No. In fact, this was made before I was even born. The tribe that I am from had a wandmaker, many generations prior to my birth, who experimented in using two magical properties in a wand instead of one; meaning not just the core, but the wood, as well. This was his only success; Whomping Willow, with a Hippogriff feather core. It's potential in all fields of magic is record breaking, but to anyone who doesn't practice wandlore, it might as well have been a pretty looking stick until now. I suppose it's too proud to work for just anyone. This is the first time it has ever produced magic." She then explained that other wands would work for everyone to some extent or another; even if they weren't a suitable match for the caster, they would still function. Sophia was listening avidly about the wonder surrounding her new wand and realized that, in perhaps the most important way, this wand was a life. It could feel, choose, and impress feelings in others, or, at least, in her. Feeling oddly protective and grateful to the wand for choosing her, she felt a name come to the forefront of her mind: Vita.

Sophia was dragged from the memory by the sound of Mr. Malfoy's voice, inquiring about her wand to a homely-looking witch at Wand Registry. "I'm here to retrieve the wand of Miss Sophia Peverell."

The witch addressed immediately began falling over herself to comply with this. Obviously the high-profile status of the blond wizard, combined with the powerful mystery surrounding Sophia and the attack, had the clerk in an upheaval of sorts as she pulled Vita from her desk and squeaked out, "Y-yes Mister Malfoy. This seems to match the description on the permit we received from the States, o-only –

"That is my wand."

The woman seemed to tremble a bit as she handed it over. "Are you sure, Miss? I-if it weren't for the description I wouldn't have even kept it." At Sophia's incredulous expression, she continued, "I'm so sorry, but I believe it's a replica, not a real wand."

Having prepared for something such as this, Sophia planned to use it to her advantage. She raised her chin and took on a haughty tone as she replied. "What are you, an invalid? Of course it's a real wand." To prove her point, she raised the loving companion and pointed it at the woman's desk.

The employee looked terrified for a moment before one of the desk drawers opened and three more wands came out to land in Sophia's outstretched hand in response to a nonverbal summons.

"I'm collecting my family's wands as well. They are my due and I feel it's only right to keep them in the hands of someone I feel is competent," she stated with a sneer to the clerk before moving her gaze to address her new handler and presenting the wands to him. "Mister Malfoy, would be so kind as to take care of these for me."

Sophia decided in that moment to heighten the advantageous manipulation of the act and assure no harm befell the tokens of her family: mentally she implanted a sense of paternal familiarity in Abraxas Malfoy. She felt dirty for doing it; she had never used her powers to fabricate someone's emotions before and had never intended to until that day. Necessity overruled morality at that point though. As they left she could sense him mentally preening at being entrusted with something so valuable to Sophia and vowing to give her guidance and protection in every manner he could. She had to block his thoughts at that point, or she might have done something reckless like scream at him for feeling only what she made him feel, or, even worse, she might have laughed at him for it. What is wrong with me?