PROLOGUE

PART ⅔⸺ all of us, pitiful creatures.

August of  1972

MY FIRST THOUGHT as my feet hit the floor of Borgin and Burkes' chimney was that the Floo system was an outdated, undignified and terribly uncomfortable form of transportation. I was dizzy, nauseated, and to top it all off, I had gotten soot under my nails, in my hair, my clothes, my shoes and, to my great dismay, I was quite sure some up my nose, too.

School shopping, even as important as Rory made it out to be, was most certainly not worth getting soot up my nose.

It had already been hard enough to get me to come, and I only did because we had wands to acquire, which, unfortunately, could not be done without my presence. And so, Borgin and Burkes' chimney was the best way to access Diagon Alley- it was either that or tapping bricks crouched behind the bins of the Leaky Cauldron, and neither Father nor I would tolerate that (although I'm sure Rory wouldn't mind it as much, I knew that her opinion of what was appropriate for  someone of our rank was dodgy at best).

Though, the desire to avoid the utter humiliation of the utilisation of the brickwall passage was not the only reason we made a detour through Borgin and Burkes. No, the main reason was that Father had business here.

Work related affairs, he had said. 

Work related business that was only talked about in hushed whispers and sealed letters. Work related business that was only spoken aloud in the small back office where Father would disappear with Mr.Borgin. Work related business that I did not ask about nor know about.

Not that I did not want to- with time I had become so accustomed to the feeling of curiosity gnawing at my bones that I barely noticed anymore- but I knew better than to.

The squeaky floorboards creaked under my feet as I looked around the shop. The smell of dust and humidity that always reigned in the room was so pronounced that it clung to my body like a second skin. The first rays of the early morning sun- the ones that managed to wind through the narrow passages of Knockturn alley- filtered through the dirty windows of the shop illuminating all its curiosities: Evil-looking masks staring down from the walls, an assortment of human bones laid upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hanging from the ceiling.

I had been here enough times to know the shop like the back of my hand. Still, I always enjoyed wandering the aisles and scouring the shelves and knowing I would always find something there.

Rory, however, preferred to stay tucked in a corner until Father emerged from that small door in the back and decreed that it was time to go.

There was always something interesting to be found there, something new, something I'd never noticed before: a glass case holding a withered hand on a cushion, a beautiful opal necklace, staring glass eye, long coil of hangman's rope, a cursed tea set, or suspicious jars full of things that appeared to still be moving. 

I was particularly enraptured by a bloodstained pack of cards. Yet, when I raised my hand to touch it, I heard a clearing of the throat behind me. I jumped, surprised before a smile crept its way on my face, tugging at my lips.

I turned around, "Hello, Mr.Burke,"

Mr.Burke was a man well into his sixties. Although we were related- he was a very very distant uncle of my mother's, as far I understood-, there were no familial resemblances to speak of.

He was tall, but it was hard to tell because he crouched so much. He looked like he once might have been a very handsome man, but now the remnants of that beauty were too far and too old to be confirmed by anything other than sheer imagination- now all that remained was a stern face, pale skin that was almost translucent, and dark circles so deep they looked carved into the flesh. He also had a pointy grey beard, rugged and harsh, like he so rarely looked at himself in the mirror that he'd forgotten he even had it.

Despite all this, he had a certain air about him, an elegance-typical of those who held blood as pure as his-- that made it hard not to shrink oneself in his presence.

Contrary to his co-owner, Mr.Borgin (who had a voice that was only as oily as his hair) , Mr.Buke was a man of few words and even fewer expressions. That made the fact that he seemed to tolerate me feel all the more rewarding.

Because despite everything, we still had one thing in common : a shared fascination for the ancient, strange, gruesome, and powerful.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," finally declared Mr.Burkes.

I immediately crossed my hands behind my back, trying to look as innocent as possible, ashamed to have been caught in the act. The old man did not say a word, instead he just continued to look at me, with a half amused half mildly disapproving gaze. His eyes bore into my soul, reprimanding me gently for being careless enough to have almost touched a cursed item. Don't let your curiosity get the better of you, Cecile, they said, you know better than that. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks.

Silence persisted.

"Follow me," he finally declared.

He started walking as soon as the words left his lips, while I scrambled to keep up with his steps. His legs were considerably longer than mine and I knew that, no matter how much he seemed to appreciate me, Mr.Burke was not the type to slow down to accommodate me.

He led me to a corner of the shop I knew quite well and affectionately : the library. What made the Borgin & Burkes' library so special was that it was exclusively composed of banned books of all sorts:

"Heard you and your sister are finally going to Hogwarts this year," I barely suppressed the shudder that overcame me, Mr.Burke either did not notice or at least pretended not to because he immediately followed, "so here, pick something, and take it with you,"

"So like, ... a gift?"

"A gift? Ha!" Mr. Burke's laughter erupted, a harsh, old man's cackle that, due to its rarity, struck me as almost beautiful. "No, no. Not really. Think of it more as a precaution-a way to ensure you learn something real, something useful. A guarantee that the Dark Arts won't be lost to this generation. Merlin knows they barely teach anything worth knowing at that school anymore," he added with a disgruntled sigh. "To be honest, I would have preferred to give you a genuine object, something truly wicked... but I can't risk them catching you with it there. I wouldn't want to tarnish your Father's good name."

I stood there, frozen in excitement and overwhelmed by the choices before me. All those books, all that Dark knowledge, just within my reach. I could select any one of them, each promising to teach me something unique. But how to choose?

"Go on, Ms. Drewitt, we haven't got all day," Mr. Burke grumbled, jolting me from my reverie. The old man tolerated my presence, and I was eager to keep it that way.

Finally, I settled on a large volume bound in faded black leather. The tome was ancient, almost medieval in appearance, though its remarkable condition suggested otherwise. The embossed letters on the dark cover read, "Secrets of the Darkest Art." 

(A bit on the nose, wasn't it?)

"Ah, good choice, Miss. Excellent choice, even," Mr. Burke grumbled, his satisfaction evident. "I knew you had good taste, and I would have expected nothing less from a Drewitt. An Owle Bullock, in perfect condition. It's only a replica of the original, of course, but still one of the finest in my collection-well, I mean, your collection now, that is."

I hesitated at his words, "Are sure Mr.Borgin won't mind me having it then?"

Mr.Burke laughed again but this time it was bitter, and it rang with a subtle venom I couldn't-wasn't meant to- understand. "Borgin? That greedy old fool? He wouldn't notice an article was missing even if it grew legs and walked out the store on them. No, no, Ms.Drewitt, you do not need to worry about Borgin."

The old man snickered, like he had just made a very funny joke only he understood the punchline to. Then, suddenly, his face turned serious again.

"Although... I would appreciate it if you could keep this between us. While I believe your father would be amenable to your possession of this book,  I have some reservations about how he might feel if your sister were to discover it, given his protective nature towards her. None of this is news to you, I'm sure, but Ms.Rory is... a witch with upstanding morals and commendable principles. If I can say, I do not think she would approve of such knowledge. Telling her about it would only burden her with a secret would not want to keep, don't you think?"

As he said this, Mr.Burke put his hand on my shoulder, and held it there, waiting for my response.

The weight of guilt at the idea of keeping secrets from Rory suddenly loomed over me, crushing my chest as I tried to swallow the lump that had formed in my throat. But as I weighed the implications of telling Rory the truth, I understood that not telling her was for the better. She'd always been the moral compass of the two of us, and I couldn't shake the feeling that she wouldn't understand, nor would she want to. She would never accept it. As much as it hurt me to keep things from her, I didn't want to burden her with something that could harm her.

For the greater good, I repeated to myself like a mantra. 

Liar, they said, traitor to your own.

It's for the better. Maybe if I repeated it enough times, it would make it sound true.

(It never did).

"I understand," I said, nodding deeply with as much resolution as I could muster, "Thank you for trusting me with this Mr.Burke. I promise to handle it with care."

I tried to school my expression into a carefully neutral one but I was beaming internally. I clutched the book tighter against my chest, as if afraid it would disappear if I let it go. It was mine. I had something of mine now. Not an heirloom, not a gift from Father, but a book that was only and solely mine. Just Cecile's.

(Later that day, when I went Home, I sat at my desk and meticulously, methodically, with as much care as I could muster, signed my own name along the bottom of the back cover of the book. Cecile C. Drewitt.

Like many things, I would grow to regret it years later. When I think of it now, the memory of that signature burns as if I had etched it into my own skin. I did not know it at the time but I bore my own name well- Cecile.)

♠       ♠       ♠

"Ah, Mr.Drewitt! Enter, please! Welcome, welcome,"

Ollivander's shop was tiny, narrow and shabby. Thousands of narrow boxes containing wands were piled right up to the ceiling of the tiny shop, and the whole place had a thin layer of dust about it.

"Good afternoon, Ms.Drewitt & Ms.Drewitt," The old man said , his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

Rory, not losing an ounce of her composure, stepped forwards and held out her hand for him to shake. "Hello, Sir"  she said firmly, "I'm Ember Drewitt,"

"Ah yes," said the man, taking her small hand in both of his hands and shaking vigorously. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. My, my, you look just like your Father! It seems only yesterday he was in here buying his own wand. Dragon heartstring core, rigid, made of Hornbeam. A fine-tuned and passionate wand."

    Mr.Ollivander finally let go of her hand. I discreetly released the breath I was holding. The man creeped me out a bit. 

    "Your mother, on the other hand," His eyes flickered to me so quickly I thought I might have imagined it,  "favored a silver lime wand. Eleven inches. Soft and pliable. Unicorn hair. A strange and unusual combination, but it worked so exceptionally well,"

His eyes wandered off, his gaze so far, like he was seeing nothing. Suddenly, he snapped back into focus, straight at Rory. "Well, now - Ms. Drewitt. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

    "I'm right-handed, sir" beamed Rory.

    The process felt like it lasted hours. Firstly, Ollivander took measurements of her arms, her fingers, her nails, between her nostrils, and many, many other things while a steady stream of polite chatter flowed from Rory's lips. Then, as soon as he declared he was done, the old man started rummaging through his shelves and taking down boxes.

The trying out part took even longer. To be frank, the glass explosions, and the small fires all became very boring after they lost their novelty.  Altogether, Rory must have tried more than a dozen wands before finding the right fit.

When she raised the wand above her head, and brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of silver sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Father smiled approvingly

"Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good! What a wonderful fit-Cypress and phoenix feather, fourteen inches, nice and supple." Mr. Ollivander cried, "How amusing, it so happens that the Cypress tree whose wood your wand is made out of made another wand, whom I've only sold last year to the most intriguing young boy, mind you he-"

"Yes, yes, very interesting," cut Father. While his tone was patient, his face showed -to the trained eye, at least- that he thought none of it.

Ollivander had the decency to blush lightly, "Well, well, yes, after all we are far from done, come over here Ms.Drewitt! Yes, yes, step forward, don't be shy..."

I am not shy, I said to myself, I just do not like you.

"Which is your wand arm?"

I held out my left arm wordlessly.

The same strange routine began once again, but without the commentary from my sister. This time, the whole process felt even more tedious. I tried, tried, and tried, but nothing seemed to work. The wands I tried either caused embarrassing damages, or either-and for the most part- Mr.Ollivander snatched them out of my hand almost immediately.

The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become, while I felt Father grow closer and closer to impatience.

Needless to say, I was looking forward to it being over.

"Looks like we have a challenging customer, huh? No need to fret; we'll find the ideal match here! Let me think... Yes, how about this unique pairing..."

I took the wand. I felt a sudden rush of warmth in my fingers. As I held the wand longer, the warmth spread through my hand and up my arm, filling me with a sensation impossible to describe. It was as if the wand was alive, pulsating with magic just waiting to be unleashed. I could feel the air around me crackling, and I knew that it was the one.

Rory whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander exclaimed, "Oh, how wonderful! Oh, very good. Well, well, well . . .  What a match. . ."

He put my wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, muttering, "I should have thought of this sooner... Yes, yes, how obvious..."

"Pardon?" I said. It was the first words I'd spoken since setting foot into the shop and I must've frightened Mr.Ollivander because he jumped at the sound of my voice. I could feel Rory smile behind me.

"Well," he began as he handed the box to me, "Hawthorn wood, 13 and a half inches, slightly springy, with a phoenix feather core, the same bird as your sister, curiously enough,"

Mr. Ollivander fixed us with his pale stare.

"Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard-well, the witches, in this instance, but still. . . . I think we must expect great things from you two, girls. . . "

While I still wasn't sure I liked Mr. Ollivander, but his words had a strange reassuring effect on me. Rory and I shared a knowing look. It felt good to know we were bound by more than just blood or duty, but by destiny, by fate.

Father paid fourteen gold Galleons for the wands, and Mr. Ollivander bowed us from his shop.

♠       ♠       ♠

The alley was slightly busier on our way back than it was before we entered Ollivander's. The morning rush slowly started coming in, and now witches, wizards, and their children were enjoying a stroll on the warm cobblestones of the lovely alley. The sun warming their skin and the fresh breeze of the dying summer carried their laughter close to the stars. The smell of delicious ice cream, old books, and new ink floated in the air. Rory at Father's side, her hand clutching his sleeve, dragging him along in her excitement at everything, him begrudgingly allowing her to drag him along. All in all, it was seemingly the start of a beautiful day for everyone.

Everyone except for me. Because I could not wait to get out of there.

Everything was too much, everywhere. The ominous silence of the early morning was nowhere to be found- now, the vendors were too loud, I could hear the scraping of chairs, a thousand conversations going on at once but I couldn't focus on a single one. It took everything in me to not claw my ears off so that I could just make it stop. The colours were nothing like the muted tones at home, instead everything was in aggressive shades- blues, reds, pinks, yellows; every single one of them I detested because they were all without exception too bright. It was like needles being shoved repeatedly into the back of my eyes.

Outside is unpredictable, outside is busy and unpleasant, outside isn't safe for you, Cecile.

The people were by far the worst; they bumped into my shoulders with no consideration, I felt their touch  clothe seeping through my clothes and clinging to my skin like disease- viscous and sickening.  I promised myself I would burn everything I wore later. The smell of so many humans was so disgustingly strong and distinct it was nauseating. I could feel bile rising in my throat, threatening to spill.

I could feel their gazes on me, their judgement. They knew that I was not supposed to be here. That I was an outsider. An interloper. A thousand little eyes, burning holes into skin, picking at it like vultures would pick at a carcass with their beaks.

There are so many of us and we are all looking at you, Cecile, the vultures whispered. You are so alone and vulnerable, Cecile, you are like prey to us, they continued. You are not meant to be here. If you stay we will hurt you. We will hurt you and your sister and you Father and we shall rejoice in your family's downfall. But you in particular, because everyone hates an outsider. We all hate the interloper.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Interloper.  My breathing quickened. Interloper. I was trying to shut them out. I knew it wasn't real that I was imagining it all in my head, But it felt real. Interloper. I heard their voices not in my ears but in the thrum of my bones, in the blood running in my veins, in the rapid beating of my heart. Interloper. I picked up my pace. Started walking quicker.  If I could not  stop them from talking, I could still outrun them.

Interloper. 

I felt a small hand grab my wrist. It was warm, soft, and delicate. I loved it. It was so different. I loved it because it felt like everything I wasn't- I was cold, and rough, and harsh.

"Where are you going Cece?" Rory said. Her voice was soft and breathless from running up behind me. Suddenly everything was simpler, softer-the loudness of my thoughts, the harshness of the colours, the nauseating smell; they were not gone, but they were all so easily bearable now. "Come on," she continued, "Papa is getting angry again, you know we can't get too far from him."

"I know that. Sorry. I-I know. It's just that..." I sighed, my chest aching with the weight of all the words I lacked. I desperately wanted to explain myself in an understandable way. "It's just that this all was..."

"Too much, everywhere, all at once?" she laughed softly. "I know that feeling. It happens to me, too," Of course she understood. Rory always understood me. She knew me better than I did myself. I was so relieved that I wouldn't have to explain that it almost jumped in her arms to hug her, however that wouldn't have been very appropriate so instead I just grabbed her hand and gave it a grateful squeeze. 

    "Yes," I answered, looking down at our joined hands, "Something like that."

A small smile creeped up on her face. The kind that made the world softer, the kind that said that everything was going to be alright. She pulled my hand, encouraging me to walk with her, "Come on, we have to get back to Papa," she sighed. Oh no, was she annoyed with me? "We ought to find him before he gets too upset, we wouldn't want to ruin such a beautiful day."

Did I ruin her beautiful day ?

I tried my best to bury all my worry and not let it show on my face. We walked towards Father who was just a few paces behind us, waiting near Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. It was a rather incongruous sight to behold- such a drab and serious man in such a colourful and lively setting seemed unfit. I laughed internally at the image (I was very careful to do it internally because I did not want to imagine what Father would do if he ever found out I was laughing at him).

"Where were you, girls?" He asked once we were in front of him, his voice firm and strict. As it always was.

I wondered why he felt the need to ask the question. He perfectly saw where we were- we had been barely a few yards in front of him. Maybe it was one of his power plays. I had always suspected he enjoyed watching us squirm under his glare. For a brief second, I contemplated not answering his question. However I then remembered that if I did not answer, then Rory would have to, and I had no intention of making her do that, knowing that it would only get us both in trouble.

"I was distracted and got sidetracked. Ember had to come fetch me.My excuses, Father. It won't happen again." I answered stoically, my voice  taking on the monotone quality that I always used when I was talking to Father. With him I could never tell what tone or emotions were appropriate and which ones I would be punished for- through trial and error, I came to learn that it was always a safer bet not to use any.

For a second, I thought he would get angry. For a brief flash in his eyes, I thought that I crossed his invisible line. I thought that he would scream, shout, or get his wand out. That he would hurt us. But instead he did none of this. Instead he just bore into my soul with his inscrutable eyes and I knew that wherever his limit was, I hadn't crossed it yet. That I still had time before whatever the consequence was.

That I would live to fail another day.

"It better not." He simply answered. "Now walk." Father pointed at the end of the alley with his cane, and we got going. Rory hurried to his right and grabbed his cape's sleeve, and I remained on his left-the hand where he held his cane-and walked beside him. 

We advanced calmly for a few minutes, until I heard an excited gasp come from my right. Rory.

"Papa, Cece, look !" She was pointing at the Magical Menagerie, her entire face radiating a kind of excitement I don't think I had never seen on her before.

It was a small boutique, a purple sign with golden writing on it was the only decoration visible on the outside. From what I could see, the inside was small and cramped. Every inch of the walls was covered with the cages of the animals on display. I saw many children my age inside, most of them with their faces pressed against the cages, likely trying to decide which animal they would get to take to Hogwarts with them.

I, for one, had no such desires. Partly because once inside the castle I would already have to care for both my sister and I. Adding another thing to my list of responsibilities- another thing that relied on me to live -was truly the last thing I needed.

But mainly because I hated animals.

They were smelly and noisy. They left hair everywhere (or worse, viscous drool in the case of a toad), and never cleaned up after themselves. They couldn't even talk for Merlin's sake!  I didn't understand why one would go to such an extent for something you couldn't even make a friend out of. They just sat there and looked at you with their big dumb eyes. Ugh.

"Papa, may we go inside, please?" Pleaded Rory, her eyebrows scrunched perfectly with an expert pout on her lips. Her begging face. That was a rare one. It was audacious of her to ask something of Father, especially after such an exceptional day. I knew my sister, and I could tell there was something she wanted desperately.

"Ember, we have already spent much more time than is preferable here." He groaned menacingly, looking around at the alley in disgust, "We must get you and your sister home at once."

"But Papa please," she continued with the same masterful expression, still persevering, "You know I've always wanted a pet. It is so boring being home alone all the time."

Well, that wasn't very nice, I thought. If Father were not there, I would've elbowed her to the  ribs, but he unfortunately was so I just shot her a dirty look. Rory winced at then pretended not to have noticed.

She continued regardless, " I just want to take it with me to Hogwarts, you'll barely see it at home, I promise! Please." She said, dragging out the last word like her life depended on it. Her act was convincing, I gave her that. It almost brought tears to my eyes. But Father was not a man one could convince with feelings and emotions, however sincere they may be.

"Ember," he began, his voice now sharper and deeper than it was moments ago, testament of his patience thinning, "I have no intention of staying in this pathetic, wretched place for longer than I strictly have to. I have already made an exception by letting you two be here today. Do not make me regret it." He raised his cane, bringing the handle dangerously close to my sister's face while she bore into his eyes, unflinching. A warning. "Now get walking."

I knew my sister like I knew my own mind. I was well aware of how stubborn she was. She wasn't going to budge. But neither was Father. I needed to find a way to diffuse the situation somehow, before it escalated past the point of no return.

"Actually Father," I began before Rory could open her mouth and make things worse for herself, "It's still rather early in the morning, is it not? I believe we could be in and out before the blood traitors and the rest of that disgusting crowd start truly pouring in." I looked away from him to gaze at my sister, "You have raised a wonderful heiress, Father. You've modelled her after yourself, with all the ideals and values of our great family. Her strong will and tenacity are to be admired, and she gets them from you. There is no doubt Ember will make a fine successor to you, one day. But you have to admit, Father," I tilted my head up to look him straight in the eyes, "She is not budging unless she gets what she wants. While I believe that to be a necessary evil- after all one does not have such a strong personality without somewhat of a cost- I think it might be quicker and easier if you just give her what she wants for today."  I look around at the frivolous passersby with visible distaste on my face, "And I say this as someone who has just as much desire to get out of this hellhole as you, Father. Maybe even more."

There was a long moment of silence that stretched into an eternity. Had I pushed beyond what was reasonable? Did I go too far? Was he angry? Did I anger him more than he was before? Had I chosen the right words, tone, emotions? Did I make things worse for Rory and I? I tried to study his expression, looking for a hint of an answer- in his eyes, face, in the downturn of his lips, in the grip of his cane- but all I was met with was glacially indecipherable. The silence continued, growing louder every second.

In a painstakingly slow movement, Father took his pocket watch off of his waistcoat and looked at it. 

More silence.

"Ten minutes. Not a single second more." He finally said.

Rory's face broke out in the biggest grin I had ever seen. "Thank you, thank you, thank you Papa! I promise we'll be quick!" She grabbed my hand and ran straight inside the store, dragging me with her. "Thank you too Cece," she whispered near my ear once we were inside. She gave my hand a grateful squeeze and let go of it, excitedly disappearing inside the thick crowd inside.

The boutique was a lot bigger inside than it appeared from the outside. Still, there wasn't much room, mostly because of the sheer number of people crammed inside. Every inch of wall was hidden by cages. It was smelly and very noisy because the occupants of these cages were all squeaking, squawking, jabbering or hissing. I took a little tour, making the most out of the little freedom I had to be by myself. I still made sure to glance at Rory who was at the other side of the shop, having a lively chat with a witch with heavy black spectacles near the cat cages.

There were all sorts of animals. I saw a pair of enormous purple toads sitting, gulping wetly and feasting on dead blowflies. A gigantic tortoise with a jewel-encrusted shell was glittering near the window. Poisonous orange snails were oozing slowly up the side of their glass tank, and a fat white rabbit kept changing into a silk top hat and back again with a loud popping noise. Then there were cats of every colour, a noisy cage of ravens, and, on the counter, a vast cage of sleek black rats which were playing some sort of skipping game using their long bald tails.

Rory was still talking to the saleswoman, but this time Father was at their side as well. They were probably deciding which cat she would take home with her. I briefly considered getting a pet myself, just for equality's sake. Maybe an owl would be nice? The idea was quickly scrapped- while it was true they weren't as disgusting as the likes of toads and tarantulas, I had no one to send letters to, which entirely defeated the purpose of an owl.

I made my way back to my sister's side. She now had a small white kitten cradled in her arms.

"There you are Cece!" she said, her voice high and breathless with happiness. "Look! This is our new friend for Hogwarts! Say hello to Alvina." She continued, holding up the kitten high for me to see.

I had no intention of being friends with a disgusting ball of hair, but I did say hello to Alvina strictly out of fear of Rory's wrath.

The little Alvina was indeed quite charming. She may even have been the most beautiful cat in the entire store-her white coat was almost sparkling silver and looked as smooth as silk, she had piercing blue eyes of the most vibrant shade I had ever seen, and all of that was topped off with a pretty pink nose and the most perfect little ears. All in all, she was objectively a little whimsical wonder.

In my opinion, she was alright.

"She's the most perfect little thing, isn't she? Mrs.Bell even said that she was half-Kneazle!" cooed Rory.

The saleswoman- Mrs.Whatever-her-name-was - hummed in agreement and readjusted her horrid spectacles, "Yes, she is quite a beauty. Rare things, those hybrids. In very high demand as well; your daughter is very lucky to have such a unique little friend." She said with a shrill and haughty voice. "Of course I must warn you sir, they can be quite expensive-"

Father raised his hand, silently interrupting whatever rubbish she was about to spout. "I assure you, money will not be a problem." For a second, he almost looked offended that she had even thought about bringing up the topic.

Taken aback by Father's abruptness, she continued this time turning her attention to me, "Ah! You must be Miss Ember's sister! What would you like for yourself, my dear...?"

She left the end of her sentence hanging, obviously waiting for me to give her my name, or to introduce myself and have a little conversation with her. I did not.

I hated talking to people, and for the most part I didn't if I could help it.

I pretended not to hear her and turned my attention to the cats inside the cages, pretending to be enraptured by the smelly little lumps of hair agitating inside. Father and Rory were now at the counter, paying for the furball and whatever else it needed. I only had to keep up my act for a few more minutes. Not that it mattered to me- I could have done this for hours. I was quite good at it because I truly didn't care if I seemed impolite or rude.

I was absentmindedly looking at the cats when something grabbed my attention. At the very back of the cage, a tiny little shape. Half buried under the fillings was a fragile, trembling, miniscule tortoiseshell kitten.

Incomparable to the delicate beauty of Alvina, this one was frumpy and scraggly, its coat was matted with dirt and composed of muddy shades of vile orange and dirty black. It was missing half an ear and bore a scar on its left eye.

To be frank, it was a hideous cat.

And it was staring right at me with its big dumb eyes.

"What about this one?" I suddenly said, pointing at it.

Mrs.Whose-Name-I-Had-Forgotten, who had been slowly exiting the scene, likely uncomfortable with my silence, seemed taken aback by my question. "Well..." she began, readjusting her spectacles on her face. Again. "That's the little runt of the litter. It happens every once in a while, that a cat is born just too weak and fragile for their mother to waste resources on them." She sighed, "We don't expect that one to make it very long on its own. Nature has cruel ways sometimes."

"What's its name?"

"Oh, darling, we don't name those who aren't going to last long- it makes us attached to them." She said unceremoniously, "Now, it has been lovely talking to you, but I fear I may have other customers in need of my assistance." She turned her back to me and started walking away, but then stopped clean in her tracks, "She's not going to sell, you know? You can just take her for free if you want to, love." She added softly, in the tone of secrecy. Mrs. I-Let-Kittens-Die-Under-My-Watch finally disappeared into the crowd of customers.

Father and Rory, now done at the register, were making their way towards the exit, bags upon bags carried in a precarious equilibrium in my sister's arms. I took one good final look at the cat before taking a step towards them. What a pitiful lonely thing, I thought wryly. I was walking quickly in order to reach them, yet still a few yards behind for them to notice me. I turned around one last time, taking a good final look at the cage.

What a pitiful and lonely thing.

I glanced at Rory and Father, then back at the cage.

What a lonely thing.

I sighed, turned around, grabbed the kitten, and got going.

♠ ♠ ♠

(6267 words)

AUTHOR'S NOTE !!             

First of all : any questions, comments , concerns ?

Hi guys!!!,

I think I'm just gonna skip out on the apology for the time between updates, I think you guys probably know how it goes by now.  I honestly don't even have an excuse, it just suddenly occurred to me that this work still existed and that I've been radio silent for almost (???) a year so I completed this (already half finished, mind you,) chapter and just published it. By definition, it is absolutely not proofread so let me know if there are any mistakes. I might even take it down and republish it later, after edits have been made.

(To be fair though I'm right in the middle of Uni applications and it's kicking my butt!!!! I have enough cortisol in my body to kill a horse!!!! I am on the edge of a heart attack at all times!!)

On the topic of the fic: we're almost 20 000 words into this story and still no regulus / marauders / canon characters in sight???? What is happening???? Well do not fear!!!!! I promise that they are gonna get here rather soon(ish.... 🙃), but i hope that you guys are enjoying our little OCs' adventures right now! To be fair, I did say that this was going to be a very OC centric fic!

As always, if you enjoyed this chapter, please consider :

Commenting / voting / sharing / adding to your reading list / sacrificing your first born child to me / performing blood rituals in honor of my characters

Thx for reading <3,

Lots of love,

lu'.

QOTD: What do you guys think of the characters so far? Who's your favourite? What do you expect to see from them? What do you think of the fact that the story is so centered around the original characters?

MY ANSWER: Well can't say too much without spoiling my own work but obviously I cannot understate how much I Love my little baby Cecile. I cannot wait to show you how she grows into herself and to get into the real plot of this thing and finally get all the canon characters in here (in just a few itty bitty chapters, be patient lol)