‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - ✦ - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

MR. AND MRS. CAMPBELL, (the second one, at least) of number ten, Grimmauld Place, could say that they were not exactly normal. They were not the last people one would expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they had their wolf's share of mysteries, especially Mrs. Campbell.

Mr. Prometheus Campbell was the director of a company called The Conscious, which edited and published print media. He was a tall, slender man with chin-length, black curls and pale skin, though his most memorable features were his gray eyes, lighter than stone, darker than milk. He had once wed a beautiful, auburn-haired lady named Desirée Rosier, who had passed on from illness far too soon, but what (or rather who) she left behind was a small daughter named Layla, and in his eyes, there was no finer girl anywhere.

Layla was a real beauty; copper -haired and blue-eyed, she was the apple of Mr. Campbell's eyes since his beloved Desirée passed away, not that he loved Layla less when she was still alive.  Even for a toddler, Layla was less prone to tantrums (she still had her moments) than other children, and was surprisingly well-mannered too.

The second Mrs. Campbell that came after Desirée was (in Prometheus’s own words), ‘complex’. Lucretia was formerly a Salazar and even before that, Aureliano. She had perfectly straight, black hair, olive skin and slanted, deep-set brown eyes that always had a warmth to it. She too, had a daughter from a previous marriage, (her husband passed away a year after Desirée), and her 'integration” into the family was considered a scandal in high society — not that Prometheus cared.

Lucretia's daughter, Nahida was a reserved girl with long waves of black hair, slightly large, rounded eyes and a pensive face that hid many secrets. She and her mother migrated to Britain after her biological father passed away, and she could still recall a particular encounter that gave her once ordinary, chocolate brown eyes their signature reddish flecks around the pupils (she'd never tell anyone the specifics of the encounter).

Mrs. Emmaline Campbell, née Joedayne, was a sophisticated woman in her late forties with a complicated history, something which Prometheus didn't want to elaborate on. She looked impossibly young for age; either she was a hidden witch (impossible) or she just aged gracefully.

The real deal in the house, who caused the second Mrs. Campbell and her daughter no shortage of trouble and a heap of uncouth remarks, was not even a Campbell at all. Mr. Otto Joedayne, Emmaline’s father, had chosen to stay at the house after his years of squandering the family fortune left him destitute (Emmaline desperately wanted to leave him with the elements for personal reasons). He was a man with receding gray, almost white hair, very light green, almost yellowish eyes, and a perpetual frown on his face.

The Campbells had everything they wanted; wealth that was inherited from some commoner who gained favour from a jarl during the Vikings period, two, beautiful daughters (though one was not of his blood, much to the other families’ disdain) and a warm, stable relationship but they also had a secret; Layla was… unique, to put It lightly; more unique than they expected.

It happened while they were on vacation in Rome. Layla was seven back then, and the second Mrs. Campbell hadn't entered their lives yet. A random kid was stirring up trouble in the resort that the family was staying at, and she was minding her own business (relaxing near the pool). Said kid had come up to her with a swagger, and said a couple of nasty things about her hair. In a flash, that troublesome child was sent plummeting into the pool, which would've been fine if Layla had actually pushed him into the water.

The problem was that she didn't, and she also didn't know how it happened either, which was how she found herself crying inside the chapel, kneeling on one of the cushions. The sun was setting, the orange glow made more colorful by the stained glass windows depicting murals of saints and angels. Luckily for her, she was alone (she didn't want to be seen crying over someone's insults).

She wasn't crying because someone insulted her, no; she was crying because deep down, she had feared she was much too different to be accepted into high society. There had been times where she'd accidentally made the chocolates float, or the time her great-grandfather cut her hair into an ugly style, only for it to grow back as if he hadn't done it before, and now this — in front of many people too!

“Little dove, why did you cry?”, asked a soothing voice. Layla looked up and around the walls, spotting no one in particular who would call out to her. She wiped her tears, but couldn't stop fresh ones from flowing.

“Who… who are you?”, she uttered.

“I am a friend.”, replied the voice. “I just want to know what's wrong, so that I may help you.”

Layla composed herself; “I’ve noticed something odd about me. If you've watched me grow, you'd remember that time I made the chocolates float or… or the time my hair grew back, and now I hurt someone and at the same time, I didn't. It's all so strange and… and I'm scared! What if I'm too different? What If… what if I'm a witch?”

She was only seven, and she would've believed in wizards and watches being real, but the problem was that she'd  be seen as a bad girl if she really was one.

“And is there anything wrong with being one?”

“You forbid magic. People even say that the big bad fire king likes magic.”

“Only because you'd become too arrogant to recognize your faults with so much power at the wave of a wand. Lucifer likes these types of people, that's why he can befriend them easily. However, there are such things as good witches, as there are evil fairies.”

“So… if I'm a witch, does that mean I'm a big bad sinner?”

“Oh Layla, everyone in this world is a sinner to some degree.  You see, there's this theory about people that they're blank slates when they're born. That is good, because man is given the free will to choose. So, what if you're a witch? You are a human all the same; either you choose to do good or you become evil.”

Layla pondered over it, and for a moment, she was facing a man who was dressed in white robes. He looked like he was from the Middle East, and he was smiling at her.

“Remember Layla, power is just a tool. Whatever you do with it is up to you. Choose wisely, and may you always stay in the light.”

Then, he vanished, leaving a single, white feather on Layla's palm.

She still recalled that meeting, but now that she was older (and her eleventh birthday was fast approaching), she had gained a little more insights about the world, and regarding that incident at the chapel, a new thought crossed her mind; was that actually God who visited her? She shook the thoughts aside when a gentle hand patted her shoulder.

“We’re here.”

Nahida was looking at her with a small smile, a rare sight in the girl. Layla smiled in return, opening the car door and helping her step-sister out of the vehicle.

The family was stopping to buy some baking ingredients on Nahida's suggestion. Layla’s father had always had someone commissioned to bake a cake for her, but this year, Prometheus wanted it too be special. Mr. Jordayne, his grandfather, had been against the suggestion, claiming how it was always tradition for a Campbell to never bake something as a ‘proper’ noble.

“Last I checked, you aren't a Campbell.”, his mother had clapped back. Layla chuckled, and left the adults to their devices while she dragged her sister along, so that they could freely choose which designs they wanted on the cake.

“Um Layla, isn't this supposed to be your birthday cake? Why are you asking me for opinions?” Nahida wondered, her hands brushing against a pack of confectioners sugar.

“Our birthdays are in June, are pretty close; yours is on  the 18th and mine is on the 30th. It's just more convenient to consider this our birthday cake.”  Layla replied, taking the pack that Nahida touched. “Besides, I've grown tired of the commissioned cakes anyway. Oh, molds!”, she added and ran over to the metal pans. Nahida shrugged her shoulders and watched Layla select the ones suitable for a tiered cake.

“You know what? Let's make it an Egyptian mythology themed dessert! Great-grandfather always suggests the boring design for the commissions. So, if my birthday would be truly special…”

“Layla, you know how that old coot hates Egyptian mythology, simply because I enjoy it.”

“Oh Nahihie~ it is our time to get creative! I will make the cake, you decorate. Promise, it will be fun.”

“Layla…”

“Pleaaaase?”

Nahida sighed; she couldn't refuse her elder sister now, not when she was giving her the pleading look.

“…Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you.”

“Yey! Nahihie, you're the best!”

✧

A few days later and the sisters found themselves in the kitchen, mixing dough and having the time of their lives, (mostly Layla),  because Nahida was more meticulous with her decorating task. The two had received plenty of baking lessons in school, which gave them an advantage when they baked their dessert.

“…and an Eye of Horus on top?”

“Yes, with six candles on the first two tiers in total. The last five candles  can be placed in front of the Eye.”

Nahida placed the food colouring on the sugary mixture, blending them with the spoon. “By the way, I've prepared the scarab-shaped decorations last night. Don't eat then.”

“I would never. Oh, and how do you plan to decorate the sides of the cake?”

“I can draw hieroglyphs on them. I'm not sure if I should include the Apep one.”

“Please don't; my great-grandfather will rage.”

Nahida smiled, and watched Layla finish doing her part. She had pre-heated the oven and placed the tiers inside the shelves.

“Girls, there you are. Why are you — oh.” Emmaline interrupted, noticing the predicament, and glanced at the sisterly pair, who were trembling like fishes.

“Don’t worry, I'm not telling anyone. What's the cake for?”

“A school project.” Layla lied. “Nahida is supposed to present one for cooking class.”

“Alright. Everyone's going to buy things at the shop today. Be good girls while we're not around, okay?" Emmaline reminded, and set Nahida aside, then leaned forward so that she was close to the child's ear.

“I’m counting on your little project to succeed. I know it's not for school, but I hope it succeeds anyway.”

Emmaline walked away smiling as Nahida returned to making the icing on the cake. However, she didn't notice a bird perched on the window, a letter tied up on foot…

✧

“Hm? What's this doing here?”

Layla had found a strange envelope on the table, which had an interesting seal on it. The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp, and on the back of the paper read;

Miss L. Campbell
Number Ten Grimmauld Place,
Borough of Islington
London

Before Layla could open the envelope, she felt someone's hair tickling her right shoulder. With a light smack, she swatted Nahida's curious face away, and pinched the younger girl's cheek in the process; “it's not polite to read someone else's letter.”

“S-sorry, was just curious.”,  Nahida reasoned.

Layla scanned the envelope with slightly wide, blue eyes and a confused face; what in the world is this?

“I don't recall ever sending admission requirements to this school. Any idea about this, Nahie?”

“Maybe it's a theater guild, looking for new starlets for their fantasy shows.”, Nahida theorized while working on her scarab-shaped icings. “But it does look legitimate. If only someone from the guild actually shows up.”

“Don’t tempt fate, Lei.”, warned Nahida.

Dear Miss Campbell,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress

Layla blinked once, then twice, and finally placed the letter into her pocket. Nahida returned to working on the last of the cake decorations, just in time for the oven to give off a soft “ting!”

“I’ll leave you to decorate the cake okay? I need to go somewhere to cool off.", said Layla, walking towards the door. Nahida nodded and watched her go; “send my regards to Father Goldstein when you see him okay?”

“Sure sure sure!”

✧

The interior of St. Bartholomew the Great, a venerable London church dating back to the early Middle Ages, was bathed in the soft, amber glow of late afternoon sunlight filtering through the stained glass windows. The air was thick with the scent of incense and beeswax candles, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the ancient stone walls.

The church was a cavernous space, its high, vaulted ceiling supported by massive, intricately carved pillars. The pews, worn and polished with centuries of use, lined the sides of the nave, their dark wood contrasting sharply with the pale stone floor. In the center of the church, a large, ornate altar stood beneath a towering crucifix, its figure of Jesus Christ bathed in a celestial light.

In one of the pews near the back of the church, Father Goldstein sat, his head bowed over a Latin prayer book. The priest was a man of advanced age (if being around his fifties were considered ”advanced age”), his face etched with lines of wisdom and experience. His eyes, framed by thick, bushy eyebrows, were closed in concentration as he murmured the ancient words of the prayer.

On a small table beside him lay a collection of books, their leather bindings worn and faded. One of these books was a particularly intriguing volume: a copy of the "Book of the Dead," (or rather, The Book of Coming Forth by Day, according to a visiting museum curator), an ancient Egyptian funerary text filled with spells and incantations designed to guide the deceased through the perilous journey to the afterlife. It was a curious addition to the priest's collection, and one that hinted at a deeper interest in the occult than might be expected of a man of the cloth.

Layla was standing near the table, and she was oh-so-curious, why something relating to Ancient Egyptian beliefs was among the books Father Goldstein would read — if he ever read it at all.

“Layla, what brings you here at this hour?”

Layla turned around and spotted Father Goldstein smiling at her, his left hand signing for her to have a seat.

“I have a letter to show you.”, she eventually replied and pulled out the letter she and Nahida had found earlier. Father Goldstein tilted his head, and stood up to read the message by the candle, and for a moment, Layla thought he would look furious. He's a priest, she told herself; would he not want to be friends with me now that I'm a witch?

Father Goldstein carefully closed the envelope and handed it back to her but instead of the expected furious look, the priest had a solemn expression on his face.

“I truly want to congratulate you, Layla.”, he stated while the girl twirled a candle between her fingers. “As a Squib, I've always dreamt of attending that school.”

“Then why so serious?”, asked Layla.

The priest took the candle from Layla, and lit it with a match.  Both decided to place it on the altar, and they sat on the front most pew, staring at both the cross and candle.

“Hogwarts isn't exactly the safest school for you.”, he began, noting the shadows that were dancing in the firelight.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever heard of the ‘Hogwarts Serial Disappearances Case‘?”

Layla raised a brow and tilted her head sideways; “It sounds like something that happens in a horror movie.”

“It is more than just a horror movie”, Father Goldstein argued. “This is about real people vanishing without a trace. This whole ordeal has been plaguing Hogwarts since the Black Death.”

Layla chose to keep her opinions to herself. The Black Death huh?, she pondered. Then, her eyes widened.

“My history teacher said that it was seen as the Horseman of Decay.”

“A good analogy, given the fervent beliefs in Christianity at that time. Why have you mentioned this?”

“I have a feeling that…” Layla paused, trying to compose herself; “Is it possible for demons to enter Hogwarts?”

The candlelight flickered for a moment, before it returned to its usual brightness. It was past sunset and Layla ought to be home by now. Father Goldstein merely gave her a glance.

“You are right to assume such things, and I fear that we are thinking of the same thing. Lately, Dark Magic has been resurging into the Wizarding World, especially after Voldemort was defeated.”

“How do you know all this?”

“My older  brother, Jurel, works at the Ministry. Believe it or not, there's a special division dedicated to demonology.”

“And you're a priest.” Layla deadpanned. “Are you sure this is a coincidence?”

“There is no such thing as coincidence, Layla.”, the priest contradicted; “God knows what is coming, and thus I became a priest despite being related to mages.”

A pair of footsteps alerted the two to the presence of another priest, who looked slightly older than Father Goldstein. The man had a purple scarf on his shoulders and a wry smile on his face. He tilted his head when he spotted the Hogwarts letter in Layla’s hands, then lit another candle using a lighter he found on one of the pews.

“You’re supposed to be at home, Layla.”

“My apologies, Father Aris.”, replied Layla. “I simply needed more time to think than usual.”

Father Aristotle Featherington, who often went by “Aris”, was a relatively new addition to the church. He was a well-known exorcist, and the scarf on his neck was an indicator of him surviving yet another mission.

“Why have you come here at this hour?.”

“….Is there anything wrong? I always come here before big things happen to me.”

“Given that letter on your lap, did Romulus tell you about ”it”?”

Layla nodded.

“Oh.”

Father Aris sat beside the girl; “He warned three, incoming Hogwarts first years when they also got their letters. They never came back.”

“What should I do then?”

Father Goldstein gave the redhead a ghost of a smile, and took a black, velvet box out of his shirt pockets.

“Take this.”, he instructed "and promise me never to take it off.”

Layla received the box and carefully opened the lid. Her eyes widened upon spotting what was inside; a silver medallion bearing the visage of St. Benedict, and an intricate pattern of Latin letters at the back. On the bottom part of the saint’s engraved portrait were the letters “L. H. C”.

“F-for me?”

“Yes.”, both priests replied. “Your late mother commissioned it.” Father Goldstein added.

“Thank you both.” Layla spoke up, clasping the necklace herself. She stood from her seat at the chapel, only then realising how later it was, and smiled sheepishly.

“Happy birthday, Layla. May God bless you on your journey.”, said Father Arise, as he escorted the young girl out of the chapel.

“Likewise, Father.”

“Send little Nahida our regards.” added Father Goldstein.

Nahida…? Oh dear!

And Layla sped off homeward.

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╰┈➤ azara speaking

FINALLY! I get toe publish this chapter. Life got busy and I was working on "The Soul War" soei accidentally neglected this prequel. I only decided to work on this because the story of Layla's sister happens after this one, and I need to establish the context of whatever is happening in the next book.

Enjoy~