Catherine pulled on the shorts and tank top her mother had left for her, the fabric feeling uncomfortably tight against her unfamiliar frame. Her body felt different—stronger, as if brimming with new energy—but also heavier and less agile. When she caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror, heat rushed to her cheeks. She had secretly hoped for her breasts to grow a little during puberty, but now they felt far too prominent, leaving her looking overly curvy and seductive. The discomfort was undeniable, especially when she bent down, jumped, or moved too quickly.
As she walked back to her room, the girl found Louisa seated calmly on her bed, waiting with a knowing expression. The Duchess arched an eyebrow at the sight of her daughter and smiled with mild amusement. "I think we'll need to make you some proper clothes before we leave for France." - she remarked lightly - "Even with the alterations, those are far too small for you now."
The young witch lowered her head, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as tears brimmed in her eyes. Noticing her daughter's distress, Louisa immediately dropped her playful tone. She rose, took Catherine's hand, and gently guided her to sit beside her on the bed.
"I imagine you have a lot of questions." – Louisa said softly, brushing a lock of her daughter's hair behind her ear.
"Did you know this would happen?" – the girl asked gloomily. She paused, startled by how different her voice sounded—deeper, richer, and resonant, like melted dark chocolate.
"Yes and no." – the Duchess replied, her expression turning serious – "My Veela powers awakened when my period started too, but the changes weren't this dramatic. I already looked much as I do now, though I did develop a bit more shortly after. For me, it was a gradual process. You, however, always looked so different from me… different from any Veela, really. I thought you didn't inherit enough of my blood for this to be a concern, thus I never mentioned it."
"So you assumed that because I was ugly, I didn't have Veela powers?" – Catherine asked, her frown deepening.
"Mais qu'est-ce que tu racontes?"[1] – Louisa exclaimed, frustration flashing in her eyes – "How could you possibly think I would ever consider my own daughter anything but beautiful? You didn't resemble me or the typical features of Veela descendants, yes, but that's not about beauty. Even now, you don't look like an ordinary Veela. But I can feel it—the scent that radiates from you. That is undeniable proof your powers are awakening, even if you don't know how to use them yet."
"Scent?" – the girl repeated, a hint of confusion in her voice.
"I call it a scent, but it's actually a complex cocktail of pheromones carried in our blood." - the blonde witch explained, her expression thoughtful as she searched for the right words - "There's always been this misconception that Veelas control men's minds, like Succubus demons do, but that's simply not true. We don't use mind control. What we do is heat up our blood to release the pheromones that drive anyone who finds feminine nature attractive into an uncontrollable desire for us."
"So that's what the Veela's dance does." – Catherine murmured, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"Exactly. Dance is the simplest and most common way we activate it." - Louisa confirmed with a nod, then continued, her tone shifting to something more serious - "We were planning to take you to France, hoping your grandmother could help with your body wasting away. Veelas carry true fire within us, even though we can't wield it like salamanders, phoenixes, or dragons. But if your blood has awakened, it might mean your body can now handle the fire safely. Still, we'll go regardless. You must learn to control your powers. Leaving you to figure this out on your own would be reckless and dangerous."
"Mostly for the boys at school." – the girl quipped with a sly smirk, briefly imagining the stunned faces of the Slytherins when they saw her again.
"This is not a joke, Catherine!" – the Duchess snapped – "Veelas and half-Veelas have been hunted and persecuted for millennia, labelled dangerous and sinful. Men have done unspeakable things to possess our bodies and our powers. You cannot take this lightly! Treating it as a game isn't just disrespectful to the countless women who've suffered—it's also a grave danger to you. Vanity and recklessness could lead you into unimaginable situations!"
"I'm sorry, Mom." – the young witch mumbled, lowering her head, her smirk replaced by guilt – "I didn't mean to take it lightly… I wasn't really thinking."
"I know you're a teenager, and it's inevitable that you have—or will have—your share of heartaches." - Louisa began, regaining her composure - "But you need to be extremely cautious from now on." She hesitated for a moment before continuing, choosing her words carefully. "The thing is… I assume you haven't been involved in… romantic activities meant for adults?"
"Mom!" – Catherine yelled, springing to her feet, her face flushing bright red.
"Wait a minute!" – the Duchess said wearily, raising a hand to stop her – "It's not easy for me to talk about this with you either, but there are things you must understand—things that will be different for you compared to other women."
The young witch blinked a few times, trying to process her mother's words. It took a moment before their meaning truly sank in. "If this is about Veela blood being used for lust potions, I already know about that." - she murmured, avoiding Louisa's gaze.
"I'm not even going to ask why you'd know that, considering I highly doubt it's part of the school curriculum." – the blond woman sighed in exasperation - "But that's not what I'm talking about. There's something else you need to know. Because Veelas have always been targeted by men—some of whom have tried to force themselves on us—our bodies are protected by a certain defensive magic. It's an ancient safeguard, a punishment for those who try to hurt us."
"What kind of punishment?" – Catherine asked, her curiosity piqued – "They burn to a crisp?"
"Much worse." – Louisa replied with a dark smile – "They are destined to never love anyone else but the Veela."
The girl frowned, confusion clouding her features. "So… the punishment for raping a Veela is that the man falls in love with her?"
"No!" – the Duchess said, shaking her head firmly – "You can't create love with magic. But you can seal love away. That's what happens. Men who force themselves on a Veela lose their ability to love anyone else ever again. Of course, that doesn't mean they loved the Veela in the first place."
The young witch's green eyes narrowed in thought. "Let me get this straight—whether or not a man is in love with a Veela, if he forces himself on her, he can't love anyone else afterward?"
"Not quite." - Louisa said, taking a deep breath before explaining further - "Veelas aren't meant to reproduce in the same way humans do. So if they choose to, the defence magic takes effect every time."
Catherine's eyes widened in shock as the realisation hit her. "Wait—you're telling me that even if I'm in a relationship, and I willingly choose to… share my body with someone I love, they're still going to be cursed?"
"Yes." – her mother replied quietly, her expression unreadable – "This is why I had to warn you. It's not just about protecting yourself, it's also about responsibility. You have to understand that this magic could destroy the life of someone you genuinely care for if things between you don't work out in the end."
The girl fell silent, her mind racing as she tried to process everything. Minutes passed before she finally spoke, her voice tinged with hesitant hope. "Are you sure this applies to me too?" - she asked - "I mean… I'm only one-quarter Veela."
"I don't know." – Louisa admitted, her tone thoughtful but honest – "In general, this defence has appeared in girls with the same amount of Veela blood as you. But your case is unusual—your appearance is unique, and the McMahon heritage likely complicates things further."
Catherine looked away, her face flushed with embarrassment as desperation crept into her voice. "Do you think Grandma might know for sure without… testing it?" - she hesitated, then continued, her words tumbling out - "I already have enough issues with relationships as it is… How could I ever hope to have someone by my side? What do I even say? 'Oh, hey, just a heads-up, I carry a demon sealed inside me, and by the way, if we ever sleep together, you'll never love another woman!' Who's crazy enough to sign up for that?"
"We'll ask your grandmother when we arrive. You don't need to rush anything." - Louisa replied gently, though her heart ached for her daughter. Catherine's pain and insecurities struck too close to home - "Believe it or not, there are people who won't be scared away, even by something this dramatic. If someone truly loves you, they'll stay."
"Maybe I don't care!" – the girl shot back, rebellion flashing in her green eyes – "So what if they can't love anyone else? That's not my problem!"
The other witch smiled faintly, shaking her head. "You can say that now, but I know you, ma fille. You're not the kind of person who hurts others without a second thought."
Catherine stared down at her feet, feeling a little foolish. After a brief pause, she looked up and asked shyly, "Mom… how did you know Dad was the one for you?"
Louisa's expression softened, her memories flickering behind her eyes. "It took me a while." - she admitted - "It wasn't easy to believe he truly loved me—the real me, flaws and all. But your father is… surprisingly stubborn when it comes to what he wants. He was persistent, patient, and eventually, I just knew it. Even if I was wrong, I knew the risk was worth it because I couldn't imagine my life without him. In the end, I accepted it—he was my destiny, and I was his."
"It sounds a bit vague…" – the young witch grumbled unhappily – "I've never just knew anything."
"You're far too young for that anyway!" – the Duchess smirked, her teasing tone earning an annoyed glare from her daughter - "Don't look at me like that! Your father nearly had a heart attack when he saw you earlier—imagine if you brought a boy home! Give him some time to adjust."
"Don't worry, I'm not planning on bringing anyone here." – the girl muttered, her voice tinged with a hint of disappointment - "Not that he's interested anyway…"
Louisa raised an eyebrow, equal parts amused and curious. 'She's got a crush on someone from school.' - the Duchess thought – 'I wonder who it is.'
"Things are going to change now." – the blond witch said carefully, her tone shifting to one of caution – "Your new appearance will draw a lot of attention—wanted or not. It might seem exciting at first, but it can become exhausting and frustrating when you're constantly questioning whether people are treating you a certain way because they genuinely like you or because they want to have you for themselves."
Catherine fell silent, staring at her mother as the weight of her words settled over her. "I'm sorry, Mom." - she finally said, her voice sincere - "I never thought about how hard it must have been for you. I guess I've been so wrapped up in my own misery that I didn't stop to consider what others were dealing with."
Louisa smiled as she stood up. "Don't worry about it. That's why I'm the parent and you're the child. We've already expected far too much from you as it is." - she paused and glanced over Catherine's ill-fitting clothes - "I'll grab the measuring tape and make you a few new outfits. You can't go around looking like this… And I'll need to calm your father down—that might take a while."
As the witch left the room, the black-haired girl remained seated, deep in thoughts. Her gaze drifted to the tall mirror, where her reflection stared back, unfamiliar and unsettling. 'I should have been more careful about what I wished for.' - she thought bitterly, studying the face she barely recognised, trying to come to terms with the changes.
[1] "Where is this coming from?"
The next two days were strange at best. Catherine rarely went out of her room, and Louisa didn't press her to. House-elves brought the girl everything she needed, but she spent most of her time staring into space, reconciling herself to the unfamiliar body she now inhabited. It felt strange, alien, and not entirely hers. Even the new clothes her mother had painstakingly prepared made her stand out more than she liked.
In a moment of frustration and helplessness, the young witch attempted to cut her hair short again—only to watch in disbelief as it grew back within minutes, falling into perfect glossy waves as though mocking her efforts. There was no escaping it: she no longer had full control over her appearance. Forced to face that unsettling truth, the girl finally ventured downstairs, determined to find a suitcase in one of the storage rooms and begin packing for the trip to France.
"Need help with that?" – Greg's voice came from behind as she struggled to extract a suitcase buried beneath a pile of umbrellas.
"No, I've got it." – Catherine huffed, yanking the case free at last and turning to face her brother – "Looks like I can reach a lot of things I couldn't before."
"You're at least a head taller now." – the boy observed, smirking awkwardly – "I guess your Veela blood completely wrecking your body overnight has some perks."
"I wouldn't exactly call it wrecking." – the young witch replied, a bit defensive – "But yeah, it's going to take time to adjust. I'm not even sure I can fly the same way as before—my balance feels off because I'm heavier."
"Well, it's good news." – Greg said, nodding, though he looked slightly sheepish when his sister glared at him – "I mean, it's good news that your weight is back to normal. We were all so worried about you. And now, I guess, you can pick up your elemental training again."
"I think so, yeah." – Catherine agreed cautiously – "I suppose Dumbledore will continue teaching me, though Dad has probably messaged him already."
"I doubt it." – the young wizard replied, trying—and failing—to suppress a chuckle – "Poor man was so shocked after seeing you that he drank an entire bottle of whiskey and spent the next day praying to every deity he could think of for ending his misery."
"Will he be okay to travel tomorrow?" – the witch asked concerned.
"Oh, yeah!" – the boy shrugged nonchalantly – "Otherwise, Mom will drag him to the airport—dead or alive."
"Greg…" – Catherine hesitated, her voice betraying her unease – "I need to tell you something I overheard during the party."
"What do you mean, 'overheard'?" - he asked, his tone sharp with surprise.
Fighting back the wave of burning shame that spread across her face like wildfire, the young witch forced herself to recount, in meticulous detail, the entire conversation between Adrian Borealis and North Redmond. She spoke with determination, leaving nothing out, even as her embarrassment gnawed at her. Greg listened intently, his expression darkening with each word until his face seemed carved from stone.
When she finished, a heavy silence hung between them. The wizard finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "You do realise how incredibly dangerous and stupid that was, don't you?"
"I do!" - Catherine admitted with a sigh, unable to meet his eyes - "I'm not going to try and make excuses for what I did, but I think this is urgent. Can you tell Dad? And if it's not too much to ask, maybe leave out the part where I was the one who heard them."
Greg scoffed, rolling his eyes. "For someone who's not making excuses, you're awfully reluctant to take responsibility."
His sister bristled but said nothing as he continued. "I won't tell Dad it was you, but not because I'm protecting you. The truth is, what you overheard is important, and he's not great at juggling multiple crises when he's already stressed. But let me be clear—what you did was reckless and selfish. You need to understand something, Flame. Even if everything goes perfectly and the Council spares you, being a McMahon isn't easy. You can't afford such mistakes. These people aren't like the Slytherins you can silence with a clever remark—they're far more dangerous."
"I know." – the girl muttered, torn between irritation at being treated like a child and the uncomfortable knowledge that he was right.
"In any case, we'll need to keep a close eye on those two snakes." - Greg said, his brow furrowing in thought - "This isn't just idle chatter. They've already set something in motion, and we need to find out what."
"Can I ask you something?" – the girl finally said, her cheeks flushed – "Those things they said… about Dad and his friend Carsilion… they aren't true, are they?"
Greg blinked, momentarily thrown by his sister's question. He tried to stifle a laugh, understanding her concern was genuine—borne from her lack of experience with the convoluted games of high society. Taking a deep breath, he replied, "It's a rumour Dad and Carsilion started spreading themselves when they were teenagers. They realised early on that the other aristocrats didn't take them seriously if they pretended to be too wrapped up in their hedonistic lifestyles. After Mom and Dad got married, it became even more useful to fuel the gossip that Mom and Carsilion can't stand each other and are constantly competing for Dad's attention. This so-called 'love triangle' has been a centrepiece of rumours for years. They laugh about it behind closed doors, of course, but it works as a cover. It keeps people distracted while they do their actual work without too much scrutiny. It's a defence mechanism, and a pretty effective one at that."
"That sounds awful!" - Catherine exclaimed, looking genuinely appalled - "It means completely giving up on your pride!"
Her brother smiled faintly, his blue eyes softening as he looked at his sister. "Pride is nice to have, Flame, but it's not always practical—especially when there are people you love and want to protect."
"So Mom doesn't hate Carsilion?" – the witch asked hesitantly, feeling the weight of her own naivety despite her usual confidence.
"No, not at all. Although, apparently, things were a bit rocky between them at first." - Greg said with a chuckle - "Don't worry, sis. Mom and Dad love each other more than anything. I've never seen two people so completely devoted to each other. And Duchess McMahon has never had a shred of insecurity about Dad's feelings or her position as mistress of this House. The whole 'drama' is just a cleverly scripted act for those shallow enough to believe it. You want proof? Mom's earrings at the party were a birthday gift from Carsilion. That alone should tell you there's no trouble in our household, no matter what Borealis and Redmond think."
"He sounds like an incredible friend." - Catherine said with a relieved smile before her expression grew worried - "I just hope he doesn't hold a grudge against Dad for keeping such a big secret—like my existence—for so long."
"I'm sure he'll find it in his heart to forgive both of our parents." – Greg replied with a carefully neutral tone, though a glint of mischief flickered in his eyes. It took all his willpower not to dismantle his sister's glowing image of Marquess Carsilion Egbert by revealing that the man she admired so much for his dedication and friendship was none other than her mortal nemesis, Professor Carter Thorne.
"It's hard to tell your friends you've been lying to them." – the young witch sighed, the weight of her inevitable confession pressing on her. The thought of risking her friendship with the boys by revealing her true identity made her stomach twist uncomfortably.
"Don't think about that now." – her brother said gently, correctly guessing the direction of her thoughts - "If you're going to worry about something, focus on how people at school will react when they see how you look now. I guarantee you, for most of them, that would have been a much bigger deal than finding out you're an aristocrat in disguise."
"Great. That's so comforting!" - Catherine grumbled, tossing her long hair over her shoulder, still irritated by how foreign it felt - "I'll go pack."
She turned to leave, but Greg grabbed her hand, stopping her. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad, Flame!" - he said earnestly, his blue eyes locking onto hers - "I can't fully understand what you're going through, but I'm trying. I know you'd probably prefer having a sister to help you navigate this, however, I'm still here for you. Not just now, but when we're back at school too. And if anyone dares to disrespect you, I swear I'll kick their ass."
The young witch stared at her brother for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Thanks, Greg. I do appreciate the offer, but let's not risk people gossiping that you fancy me again, especially now when it'd look way more believable."
"And have you ever even been in a fight?"- she added with a teasing smile.
"Not like a Muggle fight." – the wizard replied, sounding a little offended - "But I'm a quick learner. Fighting spirit clearly runs in the family—considering your expertise."
"I can't take all the credit." - Catherine smirked, leaning in to give her sulking brother a quick peck on the cheek - "It takes real talent to be as infuriating as Snape."
Back in her room with the suitcase in tow, the girl's eyes fell on the stack of papers scattered on her desk. A sudden idea struck her. She grabbed a pen and started writing furiously, her mind working faster than her hand could move.
'Greg does have a point.' - she mused, pausing to reread the first page – 'No matter how kind and compassionate he is, it's better to share this with someone who can truly understand. Telling Lily the whole truth turned out to be a blessing after all.'
When Catherine was little, she had spent countless hours gazing out the window of her room, imagining herself as a bird, free to fly far beyond the confines of her home. She dreamed of traveling across vast seas, scorching deserts, and lush tropical rainforests. In truth, any new place would have sufficed. Even a trip to the South of France would have seemed like an impossible dream—one that now, at fourteen years old, had become unexpectedly real. Determined to savour every moment of her summer adventure, the girl was brimming with quiet excitement.
The airplane flight had been nothing short of remarkable. The young witch tried hard not to appear too enthralled by the imposing white machine or the surreal experience of soaring above the clouds. Yet, she couldn't stop herself from stealing glances out the window, marvelling at the endless blue sky and fluffy clouds below. Thrilled to have something Muggle-related to share with the boys back at school, she spent much of the flight flipping through a glossy airport magazine, pretending to be engrossed while secretly revelling in the novelty of it all.
Stepping off the plane in Lyon felt like walking into a sunlit embrace. The air was warm and carried unfamiliar scents—hot asphalt mingled with the dry, grassy aroma of summer. While her father handled the car rental, Catherine stood beside Louisa, scanning the busy airport with wide eyes. She soon noticed something odd: people were staring. Some whispered as they passed, their glances lingering too long to be polite. An elderly woman in bright yellow dress nudged her husband and pointed blatantly, exclaiming, loud enough for Catherine to hear, "Elles doivent être des mannequins ou des actrices!" [2] Blushing furiously, the girl adjusted her oversized sunglasses, completely bewildered by the attention.
"Are you alright?" – Greg asked as they approached the blue Renault 16 TX parked just ahead of the terminal.
"I feel… overwhelmed." – his sister admitted, sliding into one of the back seats.
"Don't worry. Where we're going, there are hardly any people." – the boy said, patting her shoulder sympathetically – "Grandpa gave up on servants ages ago, so there aren't any Muggles around. And the villagers steer clear of the Plantier estate. They say whoever sets foot inside its enchanted gardens loses their soul."
"What kind of nonsense are that?" – Catherine asked, irritation creeping into her voice.
"The kind that keeps curious Muggles out of our business." – Louisa interjected as she settled into the passenger seat. She shot Greg a disapproving glance before continuing – "But none of that concerns us. You and I will be staying in the Forêt de Mercoire, where your grandmother's covenant lives."
"Can't Dad and Greg come too?" – the young witch asked, her nerves tightening at the thought of what lay ahead.
"Of course not!" – Louisa replied, raising her eyebrows – "You know men aren't welcome near Veelas. Don't worry—they won't be far. The village of Saint-Flour-de-Mercoire is at the edge of the forest. They'll stay there with Grandpa until we're finished with your training and join them."
"Don't worry. We're not planning on having any fun without you." – Greg said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Can you try not to be so negative and moody for once?" – the blond witch scolded her son – "You know your grandpa hates when you sulk."
"I doubt he'd even notice me." – the boy muttered grimly.
"Right, because he'll be too busy diminishing and humiliating me at every opportunity." – Edward quipped dryly as he slid behind the wheel.
"This isn't about any of you!" – Louisa snapped – "Stop wallowing in your self-pity and endure a little discomfort for Catherine's sake. Do you think I'm looking forward to seeing my mother? I'm holding it together for her."
'Way not to make it about you.' – Catherine thought bitterly, turning her attention to the window. The pacing fields blurred past as they headed south, the hum of the engine barely masking the tension in the car.
It was late afternoon when the car finally rolled to a stop on an empty, winding road next to a dark forest. The trees stood tightly packed, their dense foliage forming a nearly impenetrable canopy that allowed only faint shafts of sunlight to filter through. Louisa sighed as she stepped out, retrieving two small backpacks from the trunk.
"This is all we're taking?" – her daughter asked, surprised, her gaze shifting to her suitcase still lying inside the car.
"Consider yourself lucky if you're allowed even this much." – the Duchess replied, her tone clipped with a hint of irritation – "From here, we continue on foot. Say goodbye to your father and brother."
Catherine hugged her father awkwardly. He looked thoroughly distressed, though she suspected it had less to do with parting from her and more with the prospect of spending time near his father-in-law. His discomfort was palpable, and she couldn't quite blame him.
Greg, standing a few metres away, wasn't in much better spirits. He gave her a brief hug before smirking crookedly. "Be careful in there, Flame. You know this is the home of the Beast of Gévaudan, right?"
"Stop scaring your sister!" – Louisa tugged his ear sharply before planting a quick kiss on his cheek – "Let's go, ma fille!"
The two witches entered the forest, where the temperature immediately dropped, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and moss. Within minutes, the way became impassable—tangled branches, thorny bushes, and thick roots formed an impenetrable barrier. Louisa pulled out her wand. With a sharp, fluid motion, she waved it overhead and then brought it down decisively. "Viaherba Apertum!"
The vegetation before them stirred to life, crawling aside and forming a narrow, winding path that cut through the dense forest.
"That's a neat spell, Mom." – Catherine remarked, watching the plants part as though bowing in submission.
"It's one of my own." – Louisa replied with a faint smile – "I hated visiting my mother so much as a child that I came up with it when I was about thirteen to make the trip less unbearable."
'I guess Mom's always been creative in more ways than one.' – the girl mused as they continued walking in silence, the forest growing darker and more oppressive as they ventured deeper into it.
Suddenly, the path ended before a stone arch, framed by ancient elderberry trees whose gnarled branches intertwined like protective sentinels. The air was alive with subtle forest noises—rustling leaves, distant birdcalls, and the faint crackle of unseen movement. It carried the damp, earthy scent of wet foliage and sharp pine needles. Dim light filtered through the treetops, casting shifting shadows on the ground and highlighting faint runes carved into the arch's surface. Catherine squinted, trying to decipher the markings, but the gathering darkness made it impossible.
Louisa stood motionless, her typical composure replaced by a tense stillness. Her face seemed paler than usual, her green eyes fixed on the dark void beyond the arch. A resonant, melodic voice broke the silence, cutting through the stillness like a blade: "Tu es en retard." [3]
Catherine startled, snapping her head to the left just in time to see her grandmother, Étincelle, emerging gracefully from the shadows of the trees. Her presence was otherworldly, skin shimmered with a subtle silver shine, as if imbued with an inner light. She looked impossibly young—not a day over twenty—with a mane of white-gold hair cascading past her waist and vivid, almost neon-blue eyes that were both mesmerising and distinctly inhuman. Her long, flowing white gown billowed softly as she moved, revealing a lithe, elegant figure. She walked barefoot, her steps soundless on the forest floor.
"Ce n'est pas facile d'arriver ici depuis l'Écosse." [4] – the Duchess responded defensively, her cheeks flushing slightly.
"Hi, grandma." [5] – Catherine blurted, cutting through the tension. She felt a pang of guilt seeing her mother's increasing nervousness.
Étincelle's gaze turned sharply to her granddaughter, and a flicker of curiosity crossed her striking features. Slowly, deliberately, she began to circle the witch, her luminous eyes scrutinising every detail. The black-haired girl felt her heart pound under the intensity of the Veela's stare.
"Stop staring at her!" – Louisa snapped, breaking out of her awkward stillness, her voice sharp with frustration – "I told you her powers manifested. Did you think I'd lie to you?"
"How very interesting…" – Étincelle murmured, completely ignoring her daughter's outburst – "I can sense the Veela in her blood… but she looks unlike any of us. And her fire aura—so prominent, so untamed... almost like a—"
"Mother!" – Duchess McMahon cut her off, striding over with an uncharacteristic lack of restraint. Her green eyes flashed dangerously – "We came here because we need you to help her use her powers properly! And we don't even know if the weight loss is truly under control after such a sudden transformation. Until then, fire magic is off the table."
Étincelle turned her gaze to her daughter, her expression unreadable, as though Louisa's passionate plea barely registered. "You should go."
"What do you mean go?!" – Louisa's voice rose, trembling with anger – "I'm not leaving her alone! What kind of monster are you?"
The Veela's unblinking eyes rested on the blond witch, her voice as cold and flat as the forest shadows. "Your presence will only hinder her progress. Your inability to control your human emotions will slow her down."
"You want me to leave my teenage daughter here alone with you?" – the Duchess demanded in disbelief – "Absolutely not!"
"There's no place safer for a woman than our lands." – Étincelle replied coolly, turning away and heading back toward the woods – "I've told you countless times—this blood relationship means nothing to us, Veelas. Yet, I am willing to help you and your family. However, I will do it on my terms."
Louisa's hand twitched as though she was ready to draw her wand. Her face was flushed, her composure completely shattered. The creature before her—her own mother—had never once shown warmth or compassion. Catherine, sensing that the situation was spiralling out of control, decided to intervene. She grabbed her mother's sleeve, forcing her to turn and meet her eyes.
"Mom, I'm going to be fine." – the girl said softly – "Go back to Grandpa's house and wait there. I'll finish my training as quickly as I can. Grandma's right—there's nothing to fear here, and it's better than coming all this way for nothing."
The witch stared at her daughter for a long moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, she exhaled deeply, her shoulders sagging in reluctant defeat. She turned back toward Étincelle, her eyes blazing with defiance.
"You'd better take care of my daughter!"- she snapped - "If anything happens to her, you'll regret it."
Without waiting for a reply, she pulled Catherine into a tight hug, her anger mingling with the ache of maternal worry. Then, she turned abruptly and disappeared into the trees.
The young witch stood alone, watching her mother retreat, the confident façade she'd maintained slipping away. Suddenly, her courage wavered, exposing the truth behind her bold attitude. Despite their shared blood, she felt no warmth or connection to the Veela standing before her. This was only the second time she had seen Étincelle, and there was nothing remotely familial between them. Judging by her grandmother's icy demeanour, the feeling was mutual.
"Follow me, girl." - Étincelle said curtly, breaking the silence. Her voice carried no trace of affection, only a clipped command. She strode past the elderberry trees, her gown flowing behind her like liquid light – "From this moment on, you are no longer a witch. You are a Veela. Magic is forbidden in the covenant for our safety, and those who cling to their wands are not welcome."
The girl nodded silently, focusing on keeping pace over the uneven ground. As they passed through the stone arch, the landscape seemed to transform dramatically. Ahead of them stretched a sunlit cave nestled in the heart of a sprawling natural amphitheatre, its jagged walls rising like the protective embrace of ancient giants. The roof of the cave opened wide to the sky, allowing streams of golden sunlight to flood the hollow. In the clearing just outside the cave, a shimmering spring bubbled gently, its silvery ripples dancing across mossy stones and reflecting the sunlight like scattered jewels.
Surrounding the cave, the forest pulsed with vibrant life. Small meadows were adorned with cushions of wildflowers, their vivid hues contrasting with the emerald greenery. Crystalline ponds reflected dappled sunlight, their surfaces undisturbed but for the occasional ripple of a passing breeze. Wooden platforms were woven seamlessly into the trees, serving as places for Veelas to dance, rest, or perhaps watch over their sanctuary. Near the cave's entrance, a delicately carved stone fire pit sent trails of fragrant smoke curling upward, carrying the scents of herbs and flowers. Bowls of fruit and golden pastries were arranged nearby, as though left for a celebration. The air itself seemed alive, humming faintly with music carried by a light breeze that stirred the leaves and set shell-and-crystal wind chimes to tinkling softly in harmony.
As Étincelle and Catherine approached the cave, figures began to emerge from the forest. Veelas, radiant and ethereal, stepped into view with graceful ease, their luminous eyes fixed curiously on the pair. They kept their distance, but the girl noticed they all bore striking similarities—their pale, radiant features and flowing hair—but their eyes varied in shades of blue, each hue more striking than the last. Her curiosity grew, a yearning to speak to them and learn more about their lives. She had to admit how little she truly knew, as her mother had always been reluctant to speak of her childhood.
They reached the entrance to the cave, and Étincelle stepped inside without a word. The young witch hesitated before following, unsure of what was expected of her. The air inside was markedly colder, despite the sunlight streaming through the open roof. The cave felt ancient, its walls bearing the scars of a great fire that seemed to have raged for days, leaving blackened char marks that streaked across the stone.
At the centre of the space, just beneath the opening to the sky, stood a weathered granite altar. It was covered in patches of moss and lichen, its surface etched with the passage of centuries. At its heart lay a single, roughly carved rune, glowing faintly with a golden hue, as though imbued with latent magical energy. The girl's eyes lingered on the rune, her mind racing to recall its meaning, but no memory came.
Suddenly, she realised they had stopped. Her grandmother stood still, her piercing gaze fixed on Catherine, studying her intently. The young witch felt her cheeks flush under the weight of the Veela's scrutiny and quickly looked away, her heart thudding in the quiet chill of the cave.
"What's this place?" – the girl asked, her voice hesitant as she tried to break the mounting tension.
"It's the covenant's Nest." – Étincelle replied curtly. Seeing the confused expression on her granddaughter's face, she sighed deeply – "I see your mother didn't deem it necessary to educate you properly about who you are… at least partially."
"It's not true." – Catherine retorted, her tone sharp with indignation – "Mom told me about how Veelas use pheromones, and… about the defence mechanism that prevents men from loving other women if they… you know…"
The Veela scoffed, her expression hardening. "Those are trivial details—common knowledge to any well-educated person who has encountered us." - she said, tossing her long, white-gold hair over her shoulder with a haughty air - "But clearly, you know nothing of our origins. Pay attention, because this is far more important."
Her vivid blue eyes fixed on Catherine, Étincelle began, her voice filled with a mixture of pride and bitterness. "Thousands of years ago, when ancient dragons still roamed the earth, the females would breathe true fire over their eggs to help them hatch. Fragments of the shells and stray sparks formed the first Veelas, who lived alongside the dragons, caring for the younglings in caves like this one. That's why we call this the Nest. Every Veela covenant has one."
"When the ancient dragons disappeared, life became immeasurably harder for us." - the Veela continued, her voice taking on a darker tone – "We are creatures born of true fire, yet we cannot wield it. We can manipulate ordinary fire to some extent, but that is all. And for us, the creation of pure Veela children requires the ultimate sacrifice—our lives. When a Veela chooses to give birth, she ceases to exist, becoming part of the next generation. Anything less… anything that defies this law of our existence, is an abomination."
Catherine's jaw tightened as she fought the anger rising within her. Her mother, Louisa, had lived under this burden all her life— entirely stripped of the maternal love. It was no wonder she had avoided speaking about her Veela heritage.
Unaware of her granddaughter's internal struggle, Étincelle pressed on. "Driven mad by our instincts, we sought help from wizards. There were those among them who had mastered the elements, and a rare few were fire mages—strong enough to break the magical defences of a Veela body and set us free. But, of course, men are filthy creatures. Many of them demanded a price, and it was not difficult to guess what that often was."
Her lips curled into a bitter smile as she continued. "Some of these mages stayed with covenants for years, tainting Veelas with their seed and forcing them to bear daughters—daughters who were eventually taken away to satisfy their fathers' ambitions. It was humiliating, degrading, but it ensured the survival of our kind."
"I understand why you don't like wizards." – Catherine said softly, a queasy feeling settling in her stomach as the implications of Étincelle's story sank in. Her thoughts strayed to her own grandfather, but the fear of the answer of her questions kept her from asking.
"Wizards cannot be trusted." - Étincelle declared with pride, her voice resolute - "There have been so very few who sought us out for anything beyond their own selfish desires. Merlin was one of those rare exceptions. I've heard he helped some of my sisters greatly, and in return, they granted his bloodline protection from our magic. But all of that is irrelevant now because you, Catherine, may hold the key to what we have been seeking for centuries."
"Me?" – the young witch's eyes widened in astonishment – "How?"
"You're a female Fire Mage." – her grandmother said, gesturing toward the ancient altar at the centre of the cave – "I believe you have the power to help our covenant bring forth the daughters we have yearned for. Why don't you try?"
"I don't think it's going to work." – the girl replied, shaking her head – "I'm barely trained, and besides, there aren't even female Dragon-types. Isn't that what you need?"
"You have to try!" – the Veela's voice rose sharply, her luminous blue eyes flashing gold for an instant – "We've been waiting for centuries, Catherine. Centuries! And we're all so tired. I'm tired. Help us, and I will teach you how to wield the magic you inherited."
"So if I don't help you, you won't teach me?" – the witch asked, disbelief tightening her voice. But the unyielding look in Étincelle's otherworldly eyes answered her question before words could. Sighing, she stepped toward the altar, her heart sinking with doubt.
Climbing onto the weathered stone, Catherine hesitated. She had no idea what she was supposed to do and felt certain this wouldn't work. Still, she closed her eyes and opened herself to true fire. It had been a while, but she was amazed at how easily the element came to her call, bending to her will. A flicker of exhilaration sparked in her chest as she released a stream of golden flames, letting them cascade over her body and the stone beneath her.
The rune at the altar's centre began to glow brighter and brighter, resonating with ancient power. The cave walls seemed to hum, vibrating with magic that surged back toward Catherine in powerful, overwhelming waves. She shrieked as the energy broke her connection with the flames, sending her collapsing to her knees, trembling uncontrollably.
"I'm sorry." – she whispered, not being able to stand up – "I wasn't strong enough. Maybe I can try again tomorrow."
"You're not ready yet." – Étincelle announced, though her voice betrayed a trace of joy barely hidden beneath her stoic expression – "You need to grow stronger—both in body and magic. But now I am certain you can help us. I will teach you, as I promised. But you must promise me in return that when the time comes, you will come back here and help us bring forth our next generation."
"Je le jure!" [6] – the girl vowed, her fingers brushing lightly against the cold stone of the altar beneath her.
[2] They must be models or actresses.
[3] You're late.
[4] It's not easy to get to here from Scotland.
[5] Conversation continues in French, will be written in English here for convenience.
[6] I swear!
Days in the covenant were unlike anything Catherine had ever experienced. She quickly discovered that Veelas were far more diverse than she had imagined. Some were shy and reserved, keeping to themselves in quiet contemplation, while others were outgoing and playful, their laughter ringing through the trees. A few stood apart entirely, taking on the role of fierce protectors. These guardians could often be seen in their true forms—sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads and long, scaly wings extending from their shoulders—circling the clearing with an air of vigilance, ready to repel any intruder.
The covenant buzzed with life, especially after news of Catherine's promise to Étincelle, the de facto leader of the group, spread. The agreement sparked impromptu celebrations throughout the clearing, with Veelas singing, dancing, and decorating the area with flowers and shimmering lights. The young witch was welcomed wholeheartedly, and there was always someone eager to chat or keep her company. For the first time, she felt a genuine sense of belonging with a group of 'women', though she struggled to adjust to the nearly transparent white robes her grandmother provided—especially since Veelas didn't bother with undergarments.
One unexpected blessing of the covenant was the peace it brought her. The ancient magic woven into the place seemed to block her nightmares entirely, allowing her to sleep soundly and wake refreshed, a luxury she hadn't known in years.
True to her word, Étincelle wasted no time and started their training immediately. Each day, they spent hours inside the cave, honing Catherine's abilities. The wind that swept through the open roof carried the sounds of the forest—leaves rustling, birds calling, and distant whispers of running water. These natural melodies seemed to blend into a kind of music that the Veelas instinctively danced to, their movements flowing as if in harmony with the heartbeat of the forest itself.
"Our power to influence those drawn to the female nature is deeply tied to the true fire within us." – Étincelle explained, her voice steady and deliberate - "It is not a spell or a charm—it is something far more primal, an extension of who we are. The secret lies in our blood which has been yet another reason for wizards to hunt us. To wield this power, we must awaken the spark we carry, heating our blood from within. When we do, it begins to emit a unique blend of pheromones. They carry an irresistible allure, affecting those around us, igniting feelings of attraction and desire. Dosing the pheromones is key to control, because if a person is exposed to too much of them they can even kill themselves or in some instances try to kill you. The dance, of course, is our most natural method. It's not just a performance but a deliberate act of channelling and intensifying the effect. Each movement heats the blood further, while the rhythm allows us to guide the stream of pheromones toward those we wish to affect. However, a Veela skilled in control and focus can achieve the same result with simple movements—a turn of the head, a graceful flick of the wrist, or even the sway of a hand. These deliberate gestures create channels that direct the pheromones to their target, like a breeze steering the flow of flame."
Catherine nodded, absorbing the explanation, but the concept felt frustratingly abstract. No matter how much she understood in theory, she couldn't seem to produce any tangible results. Heating her blood, in particular, baffled her. She tried visualising a flame at the centre of her chest, imagining its warmth spreading through her veins, but it felt ineffective—nothing like the powerful allure her grandmother described. Each attempt left her feeling increasingly defeated.
Her lack of progress clearly infuriated Étincelle. For every failure, Catherine was met with scathing remarks and exhausting physical punishments—running endless circles, hopping on one foot, or lugging heavy stones across the clearing. The harsher the scolding, the more gruelling the tasks became. Ten days passed with no improvement, and Étincelle's patience wore thin.
"Why are you not paying attention?!" – she barked, her melodic voice now shrill with anger – "You cannot possibly be this clumsy! Can't you even move your body to a rhythm?"
"I'm trying my best, okay?!" – Catherine shot back, brushing a damp lock of hair from her sweaty forehead – "Maybe it's not all on me! Maybe you're just a terrible teacher if I can't succeed despite your so-called instructions and the sadistic punishments I've put up with without a single complaint!"
Suddenly, the cave was plunged into shadow as a thunderclap echoed through the clearing, heralding the abrupt arrival of a summer storm. Torrents of rain poured through the open ceiling, drenching Catherine's white robe until it clung uncomfortably to her skin.
"Don't even think about leaving!" – Étincelle warned her sharply – "Rain or shine, you will continue practicing. Perhaps the chill of the storm will inspire you to finally warm yourself up."
Catherine shot the Veela a furious glare but reluctantly stayed where she was, her frustration simmering as she prepared to continue. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the cave, its blinding light followed almost instantly by a deafening rumble that made her flinch.
"Stop!" – Étincelle's voice rang out, rising above the storm's fury – "What have you done?"
"What do you mean?" – the girl asked, standing motionless as rainwater streamed down her face and already soaked clothing.
"There's something wrong with your body." – the Veela declared, her sharp blue eyes fixed on the girl with unsettling precision. Her gaze held a cold, almost clinical curiosity – "Under the light of the storm, I can see it clearly—your soul doesn't fully align with the shape of your physical form. It's as if it's trying to shift into another state but fails repeatedly. This is the result of powerful magic. What have you done?"
Catherine froze, confusion flashing across her face as she struggled to make sense of her grandmother's words. Then, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, the answer struck her. Her grandmother had noticed something she could no longer conceal. The girl hesitated, the urge to deny it warring with the futility of trying to keep it hidden. Étincelle, for all her ruthlessness, was unlikely to betray her to the Ministry of Magic—or Hogwarts.
"I tried to become an Animagus." – she admitted reluctantly – "But I haven't been able to fully maintain the transformation. I can't shift at will, and the process leaves traces. The storm… it must be reacting with the potion I took for the transformation."
"Stupid girl!" – the Veela sighed, shaking her head in exasperation – "Of course you can't fully access your power if your body is stuck in a constant loop of transformation between your human and animal forms! Why couldn't you maintain the animal shape?"
"I don't know." – Catherine muttered, frustration bubbling beneath the surface – "I followed every step to the letter. After drinking the potion and transforming, it just felt like there was this unbearable pressure forcing me to snap back. It was like trying to squeeze into clothes two sizes too small and being unable to breathe. I tried it two more times after that, with the same result. Well… except for the time I also got detention because my Professor caught me sneaking back from the top of the Astronomy Tower."
Étincelle fell silent for a moment, her beautiful features etched with thought. After a moment, she spoke again. "What is your animal form?"
"A panther." – the girl replied evenly.
The Veela raised her eyebrows. "Then why on earth were you on top of a tower for the transformation?"
"I don't know… to be closer to the storm?" – the young witch shrugged, unsure why the detail seemed to matter.
Étincelle's lips twitched into an unexpected chuckle. "It would make sense if you were a bird." - she remarked dryly, a rare glimmer of amusement in her usually austere demeanour. For a moment, Catherine froze, caught off guard by her grandmother's laughter, before offering a faint, awkward smile in return. Veelas, it seemed, had an unusual sense of humour.
"Over the years, many wizards who learned to shapeshift—Animagi, as you call them—have come near us in their animal forms." – Étincelle continued, her voice softening into something more reflective – "Not all came with ill intent. Some were simply curious, seeking a life closer to nature. This is how we've come to understand some of their magic. The form you take as an animal is deeply connected to your soul, but to fully transform, you must anchor it to its true nature. A land beast must feel the earth beneath its paws, root themselves in the soil. It's supposed to be quite intuitive. That tower, up in the skies, would do nothing for you unless you had wings to spread and soar. Go outside, girl! Find solid ground! Try it now!"
Catherine didn't wait to be told twice. She bolted outside into the raging summer storm, the cool wet grass slick under her bare feet. Ignoring the downpour, she focused all her thoughts on her desire to transform. A blinding flash of lightning illuminated the dark forest for a split second, followed by the earth-shaking roar of thunder. Then, it happened—a surge of exhilaration shot through her, as her body shifted and the world around her seemed to blur and sharpen simultaneously.
Power coursed through her veins, her senses exploding with vivid clarity—the deafening crash of thunder, the sharp tang of rain-soaked earth mingling with ozone, and the wild howl of the storm through the trees were magnified, sharper and more alive than ever before. She flexed her new muscles, sleek and fluid, her powerful paws pressing deliberately into the rain-slicked earth. The wind lashed against her glossy black fur, the rain stinging like icy needles, but she welcomed it. With each stride, a thrilling rush flooded her senses—intoxicating, raw, and untamed. The anxious anticipation of whether she could maintain her form dissipated, replaced by the pure simplicity of instinct. Every complicated emotion boiled down to the paradigm of here and now.
She ran through the forest, her movements effortlessly smooth, her panther body attuned to every sound and shift around her. She had no idea where she was heading until the trees gave way to a large lake surrounded by graceful willows, their long branches trailing into the water. The storm had gentled to a rhythmic rain, each drop creating ripples across the lake's glassy surface. Even in her animal form, Catherine couldn't help but pause to take in the serenity of the scene.
Her appreciation, however, was short-lived. Without warning, a thick branch slammed into the ground where she had stood just seconds before. Her panther's instincts kicked in, and she leapt back just in time to avoid another crushing blow. Heart pounding, Catherine darted backward, the feline agility of her new body allowing her to retreat from the furious tree attack. She finally collapsed onto the wet grass a safe distance away, panting, her tail wagging in quick, erratic movements, as the young witch struggled to process what had just happened.
"You really should be more careful around Whomping Willows"
The voice startled her. Smooth and captivating, it carried easily over the soft patter of rain. Catherine turned her head toward the sound and froze. Sitting less than a meter away on the lake's shore was a beautiful redheaded girl in a flowing white dress. Her feet were submerged up to her knees in the lake, and she tilted her face upward as if revelling in the rain cascading over her. Strangely, her dress seemed untouched by the water pouring down from the skies, and she radiated an air of otherworldly calm.
"How did you know I wasn't a real panther?" – Catherine asked as she transformed back into her human form. The shift felt surprisingly easy now, almost instinctive. For the first time, everything within her felt perfectly aligned, a blissful harmony she had only dreamt about.
The unfamiliar girl chuckled softly, tilting her elegant head with a mischievous smile. "A lucky guess, mostly. But I've never seen a panther behave so much like a dog. Besides, panthers aren't exactly native to France."
Catherine flushed slightly, brushing her wet hair out of her face. "I suppose I've spent a lot of time around people with dog-like tendencies." - she admitted, her thoughts briefly straying to Sirius before she forced herself to focus, quickly changing the subject - "I didn't know there were other people here who spoke English."
"That's because there aren't." – the red-haired girl replied with a sigh, her gaze drifting toward the silver ripples of the lake – "I haven't spoken to anyone in months. The Veelas don't really like me hanging around, so unless I go to the covenant for supplies, I'm on my own. But when I saw you last week, you looked… different. I hoped you might speak English."
"Oh…" – the black-haired witch blinked, intrigued by the girl's admission but hesitant to press too hard – "I guess I do look different from the Veelas. But, actually, Étincelle is my grandmother. I'm here to learn how to use my Veela powers."
"Then you're a half-breed too!" – the girl exclaimed suddenly, her pale, delicate face lighting up with excitement. She pulled her feet from the water and turned toward Catherine with an energy that was almost childlike.
Catherine frowned slightly, thrown off by the girl's excitement over such an offensive term. "I'm a witch." - she responded carefully, unsure of what to make of the situation. Then her attention shifted to the girl's striking pink eyes, their unnatural brightness stirring a realisation that made her heart skip a beat.
The other girl seemed unfazed by the response, though she pursed her full lips with a grumpy mutter. "I'm also half-witch, but I would rather prefer to think of myself as a Siren."
'A Siren!' – Catherine's breath caught in awe. She had only seen pictures of them before, but Greg's tales rushed back to her—vivid stories of pink-haired, pink-eyed beings with dazzling tails in every colour imaginable, whose beauty and songs could be as dangerous as they were enchanting. Her brother had once recounted how he'd barely escaped the pull of some Sirens while gathering aquatic plants with their grandfather. Now, everything made sense. The rain seemed to avoid this girl entirely, her flowing dress and vibrant hair untouched, while Catherine herself stood drenched to the bone.
"I didn't mean to offend you." – the black-haired girl said cautiously, choosing her words carefully – "I'm only a quarter Veela. Even though I've inherited some of their powers, I've always identified as a witch." She hesitated briefly before adding with a small, polite smile, "I'm Catherine. Catherine Plantier."
"Nice to meet you, Catherine." – the red-haired Siren said with a sincere nod – "My name's Nereida. I don't have a last name."
"Is this common for Sirens?" – Catherine asked, her curiosity piqued.
"I'm not sure." – the other girl admitted impassively – "I've never lived among other Sirens, except for my mom… whenever my father allowed me to see her. She passed away recently, and I was sent here. I suppose it was easier for my father's wife to get rid of me that way. She's never been particularly fond of my existence."
Catherine blinked a few times, momentarily stunned by the brutal frankness of Nereida's words and the casual way she shared them. Her discomfort gave way to sympathy. "I'm so sorry about your mother," - she said softly - "And about your situation. It sounds like your family has been… unkind."
"To say the least." – Nereida laughed bitterly – "My father is a monster. His family has used magical creatures for centuries to enhance their bloodline—making themselves stronger, living longer, and gaining magical powers far beyond what ordinary wizards could comprehend. That's why I want nothing to do with magic. It's evil."
Her voice dropped, and Catherine felt a chill creep down her spine. "He's had many children with females from various species." - Nereida continued, her tone dry and factual - "But most of them didn't survive. He liked to 'play fun games' with us. In truth, those games were cruel experiments—spells meant to absorb our powers. The results were… horrifying. Severe mutilations, and more often than not, death."
She paused, her voice softening into something more haunting. "He liked me because I always survived. But honestly? I wish I hadn't."
Catherine stared in stunned silence at the beautiful creature in front of her. She didn't seem sad or angry—just completely indifferent, her striking pink eyes following the raindrops as they fell from the tree above their heads into the lake.
"Why the fuck are you telling me all this?!" – the young witch finally snapped out of her trance.
The outburst startled Nereida, who glared at her for a moment before laughing wholeheartedly. "I'm sorry." – she said, still chuckling – "I guess I was overwhelmed by finally being able to talk to someone who might understand me. And since I don't know if I'll ever make it out of here alive, I wanted my story to be heard. It's selfish, I know, but I took my chance." She paused, her lips curling into a child-like smile. "But you're funny! I've never had someone get angry at me before. People usually treat me like I'm some sort of object, talking about me as if I'm not there… doing things to me…" - her expression darkened briefly - "It's horrible. I'd much rather evoke real emotions in people, even if they aren't nice ones."
"I didn't mean to yell at you." – Catherine said, regaining her composure. She felt a pang of guilt for her losing her cool – "Your… father sounds atrocious. Wizards like him should be persecuted. What he did to you, your mother, and all those other creatures—it can't be legal. Maybe we can bring him to justice. I can help you if you'd like."
"You already helped me a lot." – Nereida replied with a gentle smile – "Don't bother with my father. It's pointless. He has the kind of power and gold that make him untouchable. You'd have to set the world on fire to make him pay for his crimes. I don't believe in chasing impossible dreams. But… talking about it does help."
"If I need to set the world on fire, it could be arranged." – Catherine shrugged, casually conjuring a flame that danced above her open palm.
Nereida froze, staring in disbelief. Then her face turned pale. She grabbed Catherine's shoulders and shook her violently. "You should never show this to anyone!" – she cried, her voice breaking. Her pink eyes filled with horror – "They'll chain you up, and you'll never see the light of day again! No one can know you're a female Fire Mage—you'll be in grave danger! Please, believe me!"
"I believe you." – Catherine replied firmly, managing to push the Siren away – "But I'm not helpless, and I've spent most of my life hiding. I have no intention of continuing that. I'll be free, no matter what it takes."
Nereida's grip loosened, her hands falling to her sides. "I just wanted to warn you." - she murmured, sulking as she dipped her legs back into the lake. After a pause, she glanced over her shoulder - "Do you want to see a trick? I've never had anyone to show it to."
"Uh… sure." – Catherine said, still reeling from the other girl's unpredictable nature and bizarre mood swings.
Nereida faced the lake and began to sing. Her voice was hauntingly beautiful, its melody like a serene, flowing stream that swelled into a majestic wave. The words were in a language Catherine didn't recognise, but she gasped as the song progressed. A stream of water rose from the lake's surface, twisting and shaping itself into castles and buildings. The structures expanded, forming an entire city before cascading back into the lake with the song's final notes.
"Is this Ancient Magic?" – Catherine asked, clearly impressed.
"You know Ancient Magic can be sung?" – Nereida replied, equally surprised – "I didn't expect you to know that. Most wizards have no idea."
"I figured it out by chance during my Ancient Runes class." – the witch shared, trying to chase away the memory of Snape's surprised and intrigued face from her mind – "But I didn't recognise the language you used."
"You figured it out?" – Nereida exclaimed, her eyes widening – "That's… unusual. It might have something to do with your Veela blood. Singing was the original way Ancient Magic was performed, after all. It's at the core of Sirens' magic. Long ago, we made the not-so-wise decision to teach some witches and wizards. Of course, humans couldn't master our language—Melodisian. It consists of both words and melodies. Your kind could mimic the melodies once they were composed, but creating something original was beyond them. Their brains simply work differently. So, they derived other languages from Melodisian and created rituals with just words. Sure, those worked… but they were flawed and far weaker than they would have been if sung."
Catherine listened, completely enthralled. None of this was written in her books, and the prospect of trying to sing again filled her with excitement.
"Do you think you could teach me some of the songs you've created while I'm here?" – she asked, leaning forward eagerly.
Nereida fell silent for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she shrugged and gave Catherine a playful grin. "I guess I can. If you've already sung, you must have some gift. Plus, you're not entirely human. It should be fine. I'll teach you—on one condition: come visit me while you're here. It gets very boring without anyone to talk to."
"Deal!" - Catherine agreed with a bright smile - "I need to go back, though, or Grandma will hunt me down for skipping my training. But I'll come tomorrow!"
"Just be careful with the Whomping Willows." – the red-headed girl warned her – "They're good for protection but a pain to deal with when one has guests. There's a knob near the base of their trunks—press it, and the tree will stop moving for a few minutes. Use it when you come back, so I don't have to heal your broken bones."
Catherine grinned, thrilled by the discovery, and sprinted back toward the covenant. Not only had she found someone to teach her a rare and powerful form of magic, but Nereida had also helped her solve a puzzle she'd been pondering for months—how to safely get past the Whomping Willow at Hogwarts.
In a run-down part of Brixton, South London, a small yellow house stood on the corner of a narrow, rain-slicked street. Its grimy windows, patched with cardboard and newspaper, hinted at the effort to keep the weather at bay, though some panes were cracked or missing altogether, letting in the summer heat. The front door, its faded paint peeling and hanging loosely on its hinges, opened onto a small garden overrun with weeds and litter, where an old bicycle lay rusting in the corner.
Inside, the air was heavy with the earthy scent of damp and mildew, and curling wallpaper exposed patches of bare plaster beneath. Dim light bulbs dangled from the ceilings, their yellowish glow barely illuminating the scuffed floorboards and mismatched furniture—most of it second-hand or scavenged. Yet, despite the shabbiness, the space radiated warmth. Family photographs crowded the walls, vibrant textiles draped over battered sofas, and potted plants in every corner added vivid bursts of green, bringing life to the otherwise dreary surroundings.
In the kitchen, the aroma of chicken stew filled the air, its rich, comforting scent masking the damp. A petite woman stood at the stove, humming softly as she stirred the bubbling pot. In the sink, a pile of potatoes peeled themselves with steady precision. Nearby, a young girl sat cross-legged on a cushion, her head bent over a well-worn book, the pages turned with reverence as she lost herself in its world.
"Jane!" – the woman called, glancing over her shoulder. Her voice was firm but gentle.
The girl hesitantly looked up, her hazel eyes wide with reluctance. "It's almost time for dinner. Put the book away for now and play with something else. Reading for hours isn't good for your eyes."
"But it's such an interesting story!" - Jane protested, clutching the book protectively. Still, she obeyed, carefully placing it inside a wooden chest near the corner of the room, where a small lemon tree in a blue pot stood - "It's about brave princesses and elves who teach them magic so they can become wise rulers! Can we go to Ireland someday? Maybe I can meet an elf!"
Her words tumbled out in a cheerful torrent, her excitement brimming over. She didn't notice the fragrant white star-shaped blooms covering the lemon tree as she skipped past.
A sharp knock on the door interrupted the moment, startling both mother and daughter. The woman wiped her hands on her apron and moved to open it.
Standing in the doorway was a tall blond man, impeccably dressed in a tailored ecru suit. He stepped into the kitchen, his polished shoes clicking against the worn floorboards. His handsome face twisted in barely concealed disgust as his hazel eyes swept over the modest room and its inhabitants.
"Daddy!" – Jane exclaimed with delight, running toward the man with open arms. She stopped abruptly, remembering something, and dropped into an awkward curtsy, holding the sides of her imaginary dress – "I'm sorry, I forgot."
"You should study harder, then." – Duke O'Dargan replied with a faint smile – "Did you finish all the homework I gave you?"
"Yes!" – the girl nodded eagerly.
"Bring it here, then. I don't have much time." – the wizard said, his tone brisk. Jane dashed out of the kitchen, her small feet pattering on the wooden floor as she hurried to retrieve her notebook.
As soon as she left, the Duke's expression hardened. His face became as cold and sharp as steel as he turned to the woman by the stove. She froze under his gaze, her hands trembling slightly, gripped the wooden spoon.
"Did you honestly think you'd get away with this?" - his voice was calm, but the metallic sting in it made her stomach churn - "You left quite a mess behind, Shaula. What exactly were you hoping to achieve by bringing Jane to my wife? Did you think she'd leave me? Or are you so stupid you thought I'd happily accept both of you into the family and we'd all live together?"
The witch swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the floor. "I just wanted her to have the future she deserves." - she murmured, her voice barely audible - "Regardless of what I am to you, she's still your daughter. She's incredibly smart and talented, even at this young age. Is it too much to ask you to take responsibility for your child?"
"Is that what you wanted?" - the Duke chuckled dryly, the sound devoid of warmth - "Fine. I'll take responsibility. I'll send Jane to live as the adoptive daughter of my second cousin, Lord O'More. He has a beautiful little mansion overlooking the Causeway Coast. Their children are grown, so he won't mind, and it's a secluded area. She'll be safe, away from prying eyes, until she's ready to attend the Academy."
"You want to take her away from me?" - Shaula gasped, her mind racing as she tried to think of a way to fight him. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the counter - "I won't allow you to separate us! And for what? So you can disguise her as someone else's child and hide her away like she's some kind of shameful secret?"
"You still don't know your place, woman!" - the wizard hissed, his voice rising as his face flushed with anger. He stepped closer, towering over her - "You've already caused enough damage. Everyone in my House knows about Jane now. You almost destroyed my marriage and my reputation with your foolishness! Luckily, I acted in time to prevent the other Houses from finding out. Do you think I can just acknowledge Jane as my daughter and bring her into the main family? Don't be ridiculous!"
His tone grew colder, each word cutting like a blade. "She's smart and shows a great inclination toward earth magic, but she's still a girl—and impure on top of that."
"Impure?" – the woman shouted, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes – "Because she's half black? You didn't care about race and purity when you were flirting with me day after day, until I stupidly believed you actually cared about me!"
Her words barely hung in the air before she felt it—a crushing force, invisible but brutal, slamming her to the ground. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth as she gasped for breath, her body trembling from the shock.
Shaula stared up at the wizard, her heart pounding. He hadn't even moved. Yet the pain rippled through her body, leaving no doubt about his power. Slowly, she forced herself to stand, clutching the edge of the stove for balance. Her legs felt weak, but she refused to let him see her crumble.
Before meeting Raven, she'd known nothing about the aristocrats or their secretive, ancient powers. As a Muggle-born witch at Hogwarts, the idea of noble titles and magical dynasties had seemed like a distant fairy tale. But now, standing in front of the Duke of O'Dargan, she realised she wasn't living in a fairy tale—she was trapped in a nightmare with no escape.
"Let's try again." – the wizard said, his voice colder than ice – "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Since you've already brought Jane into the light for my family to see, I have no choice but to ensure she's properly cared for and educated—until she can be of use to us."
His words were deliberate, calculated, each one stabbing deeper into the witch's chest.
"However," - he continued, his tone now laced with disdain - "I have no use for you whatsoever. So here's my offer. I can overlook the trouble you've caused me, give you enough money to live comfortably, and, in return, you'll disappear from my life—and from my daughter's life—forever."
The woman's breath hitched as his merciless, hazel eyes bore into hers.
"If you refuse," - the Duke said, leaning forward slightly, his presence suffocating - "I'll still proceed with exactly the same plan. I'll just save my money. And I suppose Jane will be very sad for a while. Choose what's best for you, Shaula."
At that moment, Jane returned, holding two notebooks and beaming at her father. "I forgot to finish the last paragraph of my essay on the properties of dittany." – she informed him with a shy smile – "But it's all done now! Do you want to check?"
"A bit later, Jane." – the Duke replied, glancing briefly at her before turning his piercing gaze to Shaula, who stood silently to the side, biting her lip – "But I have a surprise for you. We're taking a trip to Ireland. Just you and me! Would you like that?"
"Yes!" – the girl squealed, her face lighting up. Then her excitement faltered, and she glanced at her mother – "But… what about Mommy?"
"I'll have to stay in London and look for a better job, my love." – Shaula said, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. She forced a smile as she knelt to Jane's level – "Your dad and I decided it's time for you to meet his side of the family. You might even spend some time with them in Ireland. There are so many things you need to learn before you start school, and I don't have the time to teach you myself."
Jane's lip trembled. "But… when will I see you?"
"We'll be apart for a little while." – the witch said softly, stroking her daughter's hair – "But you have to promise me to be a big girl and listen to your dad. That's what a future lady does, right?"
Jane nodded, sniffling as she wiped her eyes.
"Let's go, Jane." – the Duke interrupted, his tone brisk. He glanced around the shabby room as if it offended him – "You don't need to bring anything. We'll get you a new wardrobe and belongings more suited to your status."
"Take this!" – Shaula exclaimed suddenly, her hands trembling as she removed a thin gold bracelet from her wrist, its delicate heart-shaped trinket catching the light. She pressed it into Jane's small hand, her voice breaking – "Always remember, Mommy loves you!"
"I love you too, Mom!" – the girl sobbed, clutching the bracelet tightly.
Before the witch could say another word, the Duke swept Jane into his arms. With a sharp crack, they were gone, leaving Shaula standing alone in the kitchen, her heart breaking into pieces.