《Woven in Runes and Stardust》 A Thread in the Loom The air remembered something the morning had not yet learned ¡ª that even the safest places are only safe until they aren¡¯t. August 15, 1974 The Lovelace cottage stood proudly on the outskirts of Sheffield, a three-story home weathered by time yet brimming with warmth. Its ivy-covered stone walls had soaked up generations of laughter, grief, and whispered magic, holding onto every story as if the house itself were a living memory. Inside, morning light spilled across the worn wooden floors, catching in floating dust motes and glinting off enchanted copper pans that scrubbed themselves in the sink. A teapot hummed softly on the stove, and a silver spoon stirred it in gentle, lazy circles. Near the window, a clothesline strung with fluttering laundry flapped in the warm breeze, watched closely by a small, humming house-elf named Fenny. At the kitchen table, Lysander Lovelace sat with one leg stretched across a second chair, the Daily Prophet held in one hand, a cooling cup of tea in the other. His dark hair, streaked at the temples with silver, was rumpled from sleep, and his wand lay within easy reach beside his plate ¡ª an old habit, one he¡¯d picked up long before becoming a defense attorney for the Ministry of Magic. He glanced up, smiling faintly as Eleanor Lovelace, her apron dusted with flour, stood at the counter shaping dough with practiced hands. A strand of auburn hair slipped free from her bun, and she blew it aside with an impatient huff. "You¡¯re staring," she said without turning around. Lysander¡¯s grin was immediate. "Admiring, actually. It¡¯s important to get the distinction right." "Mm-hmm," she replied, though the curve of her mouth softened. "If you¡¯re so charmed, you could help instead of lounging like a lord." He leaned back in his chair, arms stretched overhead. "I¡¯m performing my vital household role: reading the news and maintaining my devastating good looks." Eleanor snorted softly, her fingers deftly folding the dough into perfect rounds. "One of these days, that charm¡¯s going to run out." "Married me anyway," he said, the warmth in his voice softening the tease. The gentle rhythm of their banter had been years in the making, forged in the quiet spaces between war and rebuilding, grief and new beginnings. Both of them had ghosts ¡ª Lysander¡¯s parents, lost to Grindelwald¡¯s war, his father a decorated Auror killed on the blood-soaked fields of France, his mother following not long after, unable to bear the weight of her loss. The house had come to him then, old and creaking but full of memories, and now those memories mingled with new ones ¡ª children¡¯s laughter, flour fights in the kitchen, quiet evenings by the fire. Eleanor had her own ghosts, though hers belonged to a different war. Her parents ¡ª a wealthy Muggle family who had fled their own war-torn homeland only to be lost to a bombing over London during her final year at Hogwarts ¡ª lived only in the flickering edges of her memory. She¡¯d inherited their fortune at eighteen, old enough to manage it, too young to feel anything but hollow. It had been enough to keep her afloat as she pursued her dream of becoming a Healer, and in time, enough to help Lysander when they were just starting out. "You ever think about them?" she asked quietly, wiping her hands on a towel. "Every day." His voice had none of the usual humor, only a quiet honesty that sat comfortably between them. "I still hear my mum humming when the house gets too quiet." Eleanor smiled faintly. "I sometimes wonder if your parents would¡¯ve liked me." Lysander stood, crossing to her side, hands settling gently on her waist. "They would¡¯ve adored you. My mother would¡¯ve dragged you into the garden to help her plan some elaborate garden party, and my father¡ª" His lips twitched. "He¡¯d have found a way to ¡®accidentally¡¯ test your dueling skills before giving his approval." "Sounds familiar," she teased, leaning back against him. "Your dueling obsession was not subtle when we were at Hogwarts." "It impressed you enough to copy my Transfiguration notes," he pointed out. She laughed, and for a moment, the air lightened. "What about yours?" he asked, fingers tracing lazy circles at her waist. "Do you think your parents would¡¯ve liked me?" "My mother would¡¯ve had you planning Christmas dinner within minutes of meeting you," Eleanor said fondly. "My father would¡¯ve grilled you about every law he could think of ¡ª wizarding or Muggle ¡ª but he¡¯d have liked you. You¡¯ve got the kind of heart he trusted." Lysander¡¯s hand found hers, fingers warm and familiar as they laced together. "We turned out alright, didn¡¯t we?" "We did." Her thumb traced a small circle against his knuckle. "Despite everything." The back stairs creaked, followed by the unmistakable sound of Edward¡¯s thundering footsteps, and then the lighter, faster patter of Artemis trying to catch up. Lysander sighed dramatically. "Here come the dragons." Eleanor lifted her wand, flicking it toward the door, which swung open just as Edward¡¯s voice rang out. "I¡¯m going to eat you, little maiden!" Eleanor shook her head, laughter bubbling up as Artemis shrieked in delight, her giggles echoing through the hall. Lysander let go of Eleanor just long enough to retrieve his tea and return to his chair. "Breakfast first, mischief later!" Eleanor called, brushing a hand down her apron. "I¡¯m just making sure she knows how to handle dragons," Edward¡¯s voice floated back, full of cheek. Lysander turned a page of the Prophet, shaking his head fondly. "Should I be concerned our son starts his day by terrorizing his sister?" Eleanor only smiled, sliding the tray of dough into the oven. "They¡¯ve got to practice for Hogwarts somehow." As sunlight spilled into the kitchen and the familiar chaos of the morning unfolded, the weight of old ghosts faded into the background, replaced ¡ª for now ¡ª by the simple, fleeting magic of an ordinary day. Edward grinned cheekily. ¡°I¡¯d never hurt her, Dad. I¡¯m just making sure she knows how to handle dragons.¡± A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°Very noble of you,¡± Lysander mused, flipping a page of his newspaper. ¡°Though I¡¯d rather you focus on handling your schoolbooks.¡± Edward groaned, shoving a spoonful of porridge into his mouth before his father could lecture him further. Meanwhile, Artemis, determined to be part of the conversation, sat up straighter in her chair. ¡°Are you sure you want to come with us today, Artemis?¡± Lysander asked, amusement lacing his voice. ¡°Diagon Alley can be quite the adventure, but a tiring one.¡± Artemis puffed out her chest, her stormy blue eyes gleaming with determination. ¡°I have to see Eddie¡¯s wand!¡± Edward ruffled her dark curls affectionately. ¡°And I wouldn¡¯t want anyone else there when I pick it.¡± Eleanor chuckled, sliding plates of toast and eggs onto the table. ¡°You two act as if today is some great quest.¡± ¡°It is,¡± Edward insisted. ¡°The wand chooses the wizard, you know.¡± Lysander snorted. ¡°Yes, yes, Garrick Ollivander will be delighted by your theatrics, I¡¯m sure.¡± He then turned to his wife, his expression turning more serious. ¡°Are you certain you don¡¯t need to head into St. Mungo¡¯s today? I know they¡¯ve been short-staffed.¡± Eleanor hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking her head. ¡°I told Miriam I wouldn¡¯t be in today. Besides, I wouldn¡¯t miss this for the world.¡± She didn¡¯t voice what she truly felt¡ªthat moments like these, quiet and filled with laughter, were fleeting. That the world beyond their doorstep was growing darker by the day. That the war they had survived in their youth was beginning to stir again, this time under a new, more insidious shadow. Instead, she simply smiled and poured herself a cup of tea, savoring the warmth of the morning, of her family, of the fragile peace that still remained. The rest of the morning passed in a happy blur of last-minute preparations, until at last, they stepped into the bustle of Diagon Alley, unaware that their world was about to change forever. The late summer sun cast golden hues over Diagon Alley, illuminating the bustling thoroughfare with its crooked shopfronts and lively chatter. The scent of parchment, ink, and fresh bread from a nearby bakery mingled with the sharper aroma of brewed potions, creating a heady cocktail of magic and life. Children laughed, their excited voices rising above the clinking of coins exchanging hands, the hoots of owls protesting their cages, and the occasional explosion from a shop experimenting with new wares. For the Lovelace family, this was a long-awaited day of celebration. Their eldest, Edward, was finally going to Hogwarts. He had been dreaming of this moment for years, ever since he was old enough to grasp the grandness of magic and the legacy that came with it. Lysander Lovelace walked at the head of the small group, his tailored navy-blue robes billowing slightly as he turned to smile at his family. Despite being a formidable defense attorney for the Ministry, today he was simply a father brimming with pride. His wife, Eleanor, walked beside him, her soft auburn curls pinned back elegantly, though a few strands had escaped in the warm breeze. A renowned Healer at St. Mungo¡¯s. They were well-known in the community, and every few steps, someone stopped to greet them with a smile or a brief conversation. Behind them, Edward practically vibrated with excitement, his Hogwarts letter still tucked safely in his pocket, though he had read it at least a hundred times after Receiving it last month. His younger sister, six-year-old Artemis, trailed beside him, wide-eyed as she took in the magical world with a mixture of curiosity and joy. She clung to her brother¡¯s hand, her dark curls bouncing as she tried to match his steps. ¡°I still think you¡¯ll be in Gryffindor,¡± Artemis said decisively, swinging their joined hands as they passed by a small group of older students in their house robes. Edward scoffed playfully. ¡°You just want me to be in the same house as Grandfather.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s only fair! Besides, Hufflepuff would be just as good. Mama was a Hufflepuff, and she¡¯s amazing.¡± ¡°Ravenclaw might be the right fit for you, Edward,¡± Eleanor said, advocating her husband¡¯s old house, squeezing his shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ve always had your nose buried in books.¡± ¡°Or Slytherin,¡± Lysander added with an amused glint in his eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve got the wit and cunning for it.¡± Edward huffed. ¡°I just want to be in Hogwarts already.¡± He turned to his sister, tapping her nose. ¡°When it¡¯s your turn, you¡¯ll probably be in Gryffindor, Artemis.¡± Artemis grinned, but before she could reply, her mother gently pulled her into a firm hug. ¡°That¡¯s years away yet, little one. Let¡¯s focus on getting your brother ready first.¡± The first stop was Madam Malkin¡¯s Robes for All Occasions. The shop was crowded with first-years being fitted into school robes, their mothers fussing over lengths and hems. Edward was ushered onto a small platform as enchanted measuring tapes flitted around him. Artemis, meanwhile, found a bolt of shimmering silver fabric and held it up dramatically. ¡°When I go to Hogwarts, I want robes made of this,¡± she declared. Lysander chuckled. ¡°You¡¯ll have to convince Professor Dumbledore to change the uniform code first.¡± With robes purchased, they ventured to Flourish and Blotts, where the weight of knowledge surrounded them. Edward eagerly stacked books into his arms, debating whether he could convince his parents to let him buy a few advanced texts. ¡°You can read ahead, but let¡¯s focus on first-year essentials,¡± Eleanor reminded him. ¡°Besides,¡± Lysander added, ¡°we have to leave room in your luggage for a pet, don¡¯t we?¡± Edward¡¯s eyes widened with glee, and even Artemis let out an excited squeal. Their next stop was the Apothecary, where the pungent smell of crushed herbs and bubbling liquids filled the air. Artemis wrinkled her nose as Edward examined the jars of powdered bicorn horn and dried billywig stingers. Eleanor showed him how to measure ingredients properly, her experience as a Healer shining through in her careful explanations. And then, the highlight of the trip¡ªOllivanders. The tiny, dust-laden shop was quieter than the rest of the alley, its atmosphere reverent. An old man with silvery eyes appeared from the shadows, peering at Edward with interest. ¡°Ah, another Lovelace,¡± he murmured. ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­¡± The process was meticulous. Wands were tested, shelves rattled, and Artemis clapped each time sparks flew. Finally, a wand of willow and dragon heartstring chose Edward, sending a warm hum through his fingers. ¡°It¡¯s perfect,¡± he whispered, tucking it into his pocket as they stepped back into the sunlit alley. And then the screaming began. It happened so fast. The sky darkened as black-robed figures apparated into the alley, their wands raised. Explosions shook the cobblestones. A woman collapsed near the entrance of Sugarplum¡¯s Sweet Shop, her scream cut off by a flash of green light. A shopkeeper tried to flee, only for a purple curse to hit him square in the chest, sending him flying into a display of cauldrons. ¡°Lysander!¡± Eleanor gasped, grabbing Artemis instinctively and pressing her to her side. ¡°Edward, stay behind me!¡± Lysander ordered, drawing his wand with practiced efficiency. A jet of green light streaked through the air. Lysander turned to deflect it, his wand moving faster than Artemis could register. He pushed them toward the cover of Flourish and Blotts, shielding them from another curse. But there were too many. The Death Eaters had planned this attack. The war was no longer fought in the shadows¡ªit was here, in broad daylight, in front of children and shopkeepers and innocent families. A hex struck Lysander in the shoulder, forcing him to his knees. Eleanor spun, her wand raised, casting defensive spells with furious precision. And then¡ª Green light. A sickly, inescapable glow. Lysander fell. ¡°No!¡± Eleanor cried, her grip on Artemis tightening. She shoved her Children behind her, blocking another curse with a desperate flick of her wand. Edward had drawn his own wand now, his hands trembling but his stance firm. ¡°Run, Artemis!¡± he shouted, voice breaking. But she couldn¡¯t move. Not when her father lay unmoving. Not when her mother was fighting with everything she had. Not when¡ª A jet of green light hit Eleanor square in the chest. Artemis screamed. A raw, soul-shattering sound. Edward turned on the Death Eaters, raised the wand Ollivander had placed in his hand just hours ago, fingers trembling, unsure if it would respond¡ªbut he had to try. Another flash of green. He crumpled. Artemis reached for him, but her small hands found only his wand where it had rolled across the stone floor. Her fingers closed around the smooth wood just as the world tilted. The air was thick with magic, screams, and burning parchment. A curse struck near her, sending her tumbling backward into the shadows of the bookstore. She hit the floor hard, the wand clutched tightly in her hand. Darkness swallowed her whole. Grief and the Girl When Artemis woke, the world smelled of antiseptic potions and fresh linens. St. Mungo¡¯s. Her body felt too small, too fragile, yet every nerve screamed with the memory of fire and pain. The hospital ward was quiet except for the gentle rustling of robes as a woman sat beside her bed, adjusting a blanket over her. ¡°Heavens, you¡¯re awake.¡± Artemis turned her head slowly, her eyes focusing on the kind face before her. It was a woman she recognized¡ªher mother¡¯s colleague from the hospital. Healer Miriam Whitmore. Her sharp green eyes were softened with worry, and her graying hair was tied back in a loose bun. ¡°How are you feeling, little one?¡± Miriam¡¯s voice was gentle, but laced with sadness. Artemis opened her mouth, but no words came out. The weight of reality crashed into her all at once. Her parents were gone. Edward was gone. Everything was gone. Miriam reached out, squeezing her small hand in comfort. ¡°You¡¯re safe now, Artemis. You¡¯re in St. Mungo¡¯s. We¡¯ve been looking after you.¡± Artemis blinked, her mind still sluggish with exhaustion, but something pressed at the edges of her consciousness. A flood of knowledge that did not belong to a six-year-old girl. Names. Events. The past and the future tangled together in an overwhelming wave. Harry Potter. Voldemort. The war that had barely begun. She inhaled sharply, her tiny fingers tightening around the wand still clutched in her palm. Edward¡¯s wand. Miriam noticed and gently pried it from her grasp. ¡°It¡¯s alright, sweetheart. You can hold it later.¡± Artemis let her. She was too tired to protest. Too lost. She curled deeper into the hospital bed, burying her face in the pillow, trying to ground herself in something¡ªanything¡ªthat wasn¡¯t the void of grief threatening to swallow her whole. Miriam sighed softly and stroked her hair. ¡°Sleep, Artemis. We¡¯ll talk when you¡¯re ready.¡± But Artemis didn¡¯t think she would ever be ready. Not for this. The following morning, the quiet hum of the hospital was disrupted by the arrival of the Ministry officials. Aurors in deep red robes stood at the foot of her bed, their expressions carefully neutral. With them was a stern-faced woman from the Wizarding Child Protection Services, her clipboard in hand and wand tucked neatly into her belt. ¡°Miss Lovelace,¡± one of the Aurors began, his voice unusually soft for someone in his line of work. ¡°We need to ask you a few questions about what happened in Diagon Alley.¡± Artemis remained silent, staring at the ceiling. The memories of the attack were still raw, a vicious wound she was unwilling to prod at. Miriam, standing protectively at her bedside, folded her arms. ¡°She¡¯s barely recovered. Surely you can wait.¡± The woman from Child Protective Services, a witch named Agnes Montclair, pursed her lips. ¡°We understand the difficulty of the situation, Healer Whitmore, but we must determine where Artemis will go next. She has no immediate guardians.¡± Artemis finally turned her head, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Where will I go?¡± Montclair softened, crouching slightly to meet her eye level. ¡°We¡¯ve contacted your father¡¯s Great Aunt, Lady Aurelia Lovelace. She has agreed to take you in.¡± Miriam¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°Aurelia Lovelace? Eleanor talked about her in passing. She is an old Witch who never married and who lives alone in the countryside. Are you certain she¡¯s the best choice?¡± Montclair straightened, professionalism returning to her stance. ¡°She is Artemis¡¯s closest living relative. Unless there are objections, arrangements will be made immediately.¡± Artemis barely registered the conversation. Her mind felt like it was breaking apart, fragments of a past she didn¡¯t understand seeping into her consciousness. A library. A warm home in France. The scent of old books and fresh bread. The sound of her children laughing. Children. But not Edward. Not this life. She squeezed her eyes shut as panic bloomed in her chest. These weren¡¯t her memories. But they were. She could remember dying. Lying in bed, old and frail, her husband¡¯s hand clasping hers, her children whispering goodbye. But she was six. She was Artemis Selene Lovelace. She gasped, trembling as the memories flooded her¡ªa 66-year-old retired professor, a lifetime spent teaching in Germany and Britain before settling in France, reading the Harry Potter books to her children, watching the films with them, enjoying a simple life of love and laughter. Stolen story; please report. A different world. A different time. She couldn¡¯t breathe. The room swam, Miriam¡¯s concerned face coming into view just before darkness swallowed her once more. Days passed before Artemis was well enough to travel. The nightmares remained¡ªflashes of both lives colliding in a tangled mess of emotions. She didn¡¯t know who she was anymore. A child grieving for her lost family, or an old woman mourning a life that had slipped through her fingers? The day she left St. Mungo¡¯s, Miriam fussed over her, wrapping a warm cloak around her shoulders. ¡°You can always write to me, Artemis,¡± she said gently. ¡°And if you ever need anything¡ª¡± Artemis nodded numbly, barely registering the words. Montclair led her outside, where an enchanted carriage was waiting to take her to Aurelia Lovelace¡¯s estate. A woman stood by the carriage, her dark eyes sharp but not unkind. Aurelia Lovelace was a relic of another time. She examined Artemis with a calculating gaze before inclining her head. ¡°Come along, child.¡± Artemis hesitated before stepping forward, the weight of two lifetimes pressing upon her small shoulders. The carriage rattled over the uneven countryside road, the rhythmic clatter of hooves against stone offering a steady but hollow comfort. Artemis Selene Lovelace, barely six years old, sat stiffly in the cushioned seat, her small hands gripping the hem of her too-large mourning dress. Across from her sat Aurelia Lovelace, her newly appointed guardian, a woman of imposing stature, wrapped in a deep emerald cloak lined with black velvet. Her iron-grey hair was coiled into a severe chignon, and her sharp, hawk-like eyes observed Artemis with an unreadable expression. It had been weeks since St. Mungo¡¯s, weeks since the attack in Diagon Alley had shattered her world. Weeks of sterile hospital sheets, hushed voices, and adults speaking of her future as though she weren¡¯t in the room. Now, she was being sent away from everything familiar, placed in the care of an elderly woman she had never met¡ªa reclusive pure-blood relative who lived alone in the depths of the countryside. Aurelia Lovelace had been born in 1852, the only daughter of a long line of esteemed pure-blood wizards, raised in an era where a woman¡¯s worth was often measured by the family she married into. But Aurelia had been different. While her peers attended grand balls and entertained courtships, she had buried herself in books and vanished into distant lands, studying the forgotten magics of ancient civilizations. She had written extensively about magical artifacts, creatures long thought extinct, Wars, Tragedies, History and obscure spells lost to time. By the time she was in her Forties, she had carved a name for herself as an eccentric scholar, her works often controversial yet undeniably brilliant. Despite many suitors trying to woo her over the years, she had rejected them all, unwilling to trade her independence for the expectations of a marriage and motherhood. By the time she reached old age, she had become something of a relic herself¡ªrespected, but distant from the modern wizarding world, with her name whispered only in Highly Acclaimed academic circles with respect and Admiration. And now, she was Responsible for a child, Halfblood Great-grandDaughter of her younger brother who had not lived to see his 70th year. Her estate was vast but aged, a grand, isolated manor nestled deep within the English countryside. It smelled of parchment, dust, and ancient magic. Old Moving Portraits lined every corridor, scrolls stacked haphazardly on tables, and enchanted quills scribbled notes unattended in various corners. For weeks, Artemis wandered its halls like a ghost, her grief a heavy shroud that even Fenny, the family¡¯s devoted house-elf, struggled to lift. She ate little, spoke even less, and spent most of her time curled in the library, staring blankly at the pages of books she did not read. The weight of her past life pressed against her like an unbearable burden¡ªshe was a woman trapped in the body of a child, grieving two lifetimes at once. Aurelia, for her part, was not cruel, but she was strict and wholly unprepared for raising a child. She believed in solitude, in disciplined study, in the pursuit of knowledge above all else. She did not know how to coddle, nor did she offer many words of comfort. She hadn''t been in contact with any child for a long period of time since her own childhood. ¡°Grief is like a wound,¡± she had said once, adjusting her spectacles. ¡°It scabs over, but if you keep scratching at it, it will never heal.¡± But Artemis was not yet ready to heal. It was Miriam Whitmore, her mother¡¯s old colleague from St. Mungo¡¯s, who became her lifeline. Miriam visited every week, sometimes bringing along Healer Edgar Dawson, a man with a warm smile who had worked alongside her mother, and Alan Bell , a formidable Lawyer who had worked alongside Lysander in ministry. They did not push her to talk but filled the silence with stories of her parents¡ªEleanor¡¯s brilliant mind, Lysander¡¯s unwavering determination in court, the way Edward had been so excited to go to Hogwarts. They brought gifts: a well-worn teddy bear Edward had once cherished, a bracelet Eleanor had worn in her youth, old letters filled with familiar handwriting, Endless photographs of her parents. Slowly over the years, Artemis began to emerge from the fog of despair. It was the children¡ªEdgar¡¯s twin daughters, Rosaline and Eliza, and Alan¡¯s son, Henry¡ªwho truly pulled her back to the world of the living. At first, she resented them. Their laughter felt like an intrusion, a cruel reminder of what she had lost. But they were relentless, dragging her outside to play, chasing her on their brooms, challenging her to duels with Training wands, inviting her into their circle as though she had always belonged. And then there was Fenny. The loving House elf who had known her since birth, had tended to her parents long before she had come into existence. Fenny refused to let her wallow, bustling about with warm cocoa, freshly laundered blankets, and whispered reassurances in the dead of night when nightmares clawed at her sleep. ¡°Miss Artemis is never alone,¡± Fenny would say, tucking her in. ¡°Fenny is here. Always here.¡± The years passed, and Artemis grew¡ªnot only in body but in spirit. Her old memories no longer felt like a suffocating weight but rather a quiet undercurrent, blending seamlessly with the new. She was Artemis Selene Lovelace, a child with a past she could not explain, but also a future she could shape. She learned to navigate Aurelia¡¯s peculiar ways, finding amusement in her sharp wit and warm care. She found solace in Miriam and the others, the closest thing to a family she had left. She grew close to Rosaline, Eliza, and Henry, forming friendships that tethered her to the present. And when, on a sunny day of April, the morning of her eleventh birthday an owl arrived bearing a Hogwarts letter with her name in elegant green script, she did not cry for what was lost. She only smiled, the weight of her two lives settling into place at last. She was ready to begin again. Tea, Tales, and Owls The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the grand windows of the Lovelace Manor¡¯s sitting room, casting a golden hue over the antique furniture and the fine china set neatly on the table. The faint scent of old parchment and lavender drifted through the air as Aurelia Lovelace poured herself a cup of Earl Grey tea, her gnarled fingers as steady as ever despite the weight of her years. Across from her, Artemis sat curled in an armchair, her small frame relaxed but attentive. Between them, Fenny and Grent, their house-elves, moved efficiently, setting down a tray of biscuits and tarts with an air of quiet dignity. ¡°You¡¯ve grown into quite the young lady, Artemis,¡± Aurelia remarked, her deep-set blue eyes scrutinizing her grand-niece over the rim of her teacup. ¡°Merlin knows, when they left you with me, I had no notion of what to do with a child. A stubborn, too-intelligent-for-her-own-good child, no less.¡± Artemis smirked slightly, stirring her tea absentmindedly. ¡°You did alright. I¡¯m still alive, aren¡¯t I?¡± ¡°Hmph. Credit for that goes to Fenny and Grent, I suspect,¡± Aurelia muttered, casting a glance at the house-elves who were currently fussing over Artemis¡¯s tea. Fenny beamed proudly, refilling the tea with the utmost care. Grent nodded solemnly and put two more biscuits in her plate. Aurelia sighed, setting down her cup. ¡°You remind me so much of my brother¡ªyour great grandfather¡ªwhen he was your age. The same sharp wit, the same determination. He never did listen to me either.¡± She gave Artemis a wry smile before glancing out the window, as if looking into the past. ¡°Hogwarts will be good for you.¡± A silence stretched between them, filled only by the quiet clinking of china. Artemis finally spoke, her voice softer. ¡°I just¡­ wish things were different.¡± Aurelia nodded, understanding the weight behind those words. ¡°Life is rarely as we wish it to be, child. But we move forward regardless.¡± Artemis bit her lip, eyes fixed on the teacup in her hands. The war raged outside the manor¡¯s protective wards. Hogwarts had always been a dream, a symbol of something new and exciting, but now, uncertainty clung to it like a dark shadow. ¡°Do you know, child,¡± Aurelia began, stirring her tea with a delicate silver spoon, ¡°this time of year always makes me think of my school days. Spring at Hogwarts was something to behold¡ªbuds blooming across the castle grounds, the Great Lake thawing, the air crisp with the scent of damp parchment and ink. It was always a time of change.¡± Artemis listened intently, resting her chin on her palm. ¡°What was Hogwarts like when you attended?¡± A smile ghosted over Aurelia¡¯s lips. ¡°I was your age when I first stepped onto the Hogwarts Express,¡± Aurelia said, staring out the window. ¡°Back then, the world was simpler ¡ª or so I thought. The world was different then. Magic was¡­ less tamed, more instinctive. There were fewer rules, but more traditions. We didn¡¯t have half the modern spells children learn now, but we learned to channel our magic through sheer will. And our professors? Stern as anything. Headmaster Aldous Fitzwilliam ran the school with the strictness of a military campaign.¡± Artemis smirked. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine you being an obedient student.¡± Aurelia let out a soft chuckle, sipping her tea. ¡°Oh, I was an absolute menace. Not in the Chaotic sense¡ªno Dungbombs in the corridors¡ªbut I questioned everything. I wanted knowledge beyond what was spoon-fed to us in class. I would sneak into the library¡¯s restricted section with a Disillusionment Charm and pore over ancient texts for hours. It wasn¡¯t about mischief¡ªit was about breaking the mold I was expected to fit as a pure blood daughter of a respected family.¡± Artemis found herself grinning. She had long suspected Aurelia had never been the prim and proper pure-blood lady society had wanted her to be. ¡°Did you have friends?¡± she asked, tilting her head. Aurelia hesitated. ¡°Not many, no. What little bonds I had faded over the time. I wasn¡¯t like you, Artemis. I didn¡¯t form bonds easily. My studies were my company, my books, my closest confidants. There was one boy, though¡ªCassius Bole. He was clever, ambitious. A Slytherin through and through, but we had long debates about everything¡ªmagic, politics, philosophy. He married young and inherited his family¡¯s estate while I¡­ Well, I chose my own path.¡± Artemis studied her great-aunt¡¯s expression carefully. There was no sadness, only the quiet acceptance of a life well-lived. ¡°And you never regretted not marrying?¡± Aurelia shook her head. ¡°Never. Love is not the only measure of a life well spent, child. My work, my studies, the knowledge I left behind in my books¡ªthat is my legacy. But you¡­ you are different. You have forged connections. Those three children who practically live here when they aren¡¯t with their families¡ª Rosaline, Eliza and Henry. You belong to the world in a way I never did.¡± Artemis looked down at her cup, warmth spreading through her chest. Aurelia never spoke in sentiment, not often. To hear her acknowledge the bonds she had formed in the past few years felt¡­ validating. She had not just survived¡ªshe had lived. Aurelia set her tea down with a decisive clink. ¡°Speaking of your little trio, my owl¡¯s brood is well past their fledgling days. You should take one. And I suggest you offer the others to your friends. A young witch needs a reliable owl, and in times like these, the ability to send word quickly may make all the difference.¡± Artemis¡¯s eyes widened in delight. She had admired Aurelia¡¯s owls for years, but to have one of her own¡­ ¡°You really mean it?¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Aurelia smirked. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t offer it if I didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°I think I¡¯ll choose the tawny one¡ªshe¡¯s the fastest,¡± Artemis decided, already picturing the bird perched on her shoulder. ¡°And I¡¯ll write to Rosaline, Eliza and Henry tonight. I know Rose has been pestering her parents for an owl for months.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Aurelia said, leaning back in her chair. ¡°Now, as for your Hogwarts supplies¡­¡± Her expression darkened slightly. ¡°We are not going to Diagon Alley.¡± Artemis set her cup down. She had expected as much. ¡°Because of the war.¡± Aurelia nodded. ¡°Voldemort¡¯s forces are becoming bolder. Attacks are happening in broad daylight. The Ministry is useless, and I have no intention of walking you straight into danger. We will order everything by owl. I¡¯ve already sent inquiries to Flourish and Blotts, Slug and Jiggers, and Twilfitt and Tattings and many more¡± ¡°What about a wand?¡± Artemis asked, though she already knew the answer. Aurelia arched an eyebrow. ¡°Do you feel Edward¡¯s wand has failed you in any way?¡± Artemis shook her head. It hadn¡¯t. If anything, the willow wand had grown attuned to her over the years, responding to her every spell with remarkable fluidity. ¡°No. It works fine.¡± ¡°Then that settles it. A wand chooses the wizard, yes, but magic is not so rigid as to reject a worthy wielder. And you, my dear, have proven yourself worthy.¡± Artemis let out a breath, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction settle in her bones. She wasn¡¯t just surviving¡ªshe was growing, adapting. And as she looked across the room at Aurelia, this eccentric, wise, and fearsome woman who had taken her in, she felt a rare and precious thing bloom within her. Belonging. Fenny appeared at her side, beaming. ¡°Miss Artemis will be needing a name for her new owl, yes?¡± Artemis grinned, reaching for the tawny owl perched near the window. ¡°Yes, I think I will.¡± Aurelia watched her fondly, taking another sip of tea. ¡°Then choose wisely. A name holds power.¡± Artemis met her great-aunt¡¯s gaze and, for the first time in years, felt content in her skin. The following day, the grounds of Lovelace Manor echoed with laughter and the whooshing sound of broomsticks as Artemis and her friends took to the skies. The summer sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the sprawling gardens. The orchard in the distance shimmered in the golden light, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of fresh grass and blooming honeysuckle. Rosaline and Eliza Dawson, identical in every way but personality, zoomed ahead, their matching blonde braids whipping behind them. Their parents, Healer and Potioneer at St. Mungo¡¯s and old friends of Eleanor, often sent them over to Lovelace Manor for safety and company. Henry Bell , a year younger than the girls and the son of one of Lysander¡¯s old colleagues from the Ministry, trailed behind them, gripping his broomstick tightly with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Artemis followed at a steadier pace, letting the wind whip through her dark curls as she watched her friends with amusement. She had always been comfortable in the air¡ªperhaps not as daring as Eliza or as graceful as Rosaline, but flying had become a quiet solace for her over the years. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, I¡¯m going to be in Gryffindor,¡± Eliza declared, executing a rather wobbly twirl in midair. ¡°That¡¯s where all the best duellists go. Brave witches and wizards.¡± ¡°Maybe you should focus on not falling off your broom first,¡± Rose teased, expertly looping around her twin, much more in control of her flight. Henry, struggling to keep up, huffed as he pulled alongside Artemis. ¡°You two are ridiculous. I think Hufflepuff would be nice. They seem friendly. Good food, good people. What more could you want?¡± Eliza scoffed. ¡°You just don¡¯t want to get involved in any of the house rivalries.¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± Henry said with a grin. ¡°Safe, happy, and surrounded by loyal friends. Sounds perfect to me.¡± Artemis listened to them bicker, a small warmth settling in her chest. It was easy to pretend, in these moments, that they were just ordinary children excited for Hogwarts. That there wasn¡¯t a war looming over them, that she hadn¡¯t lost everything once before. Sometimes, when Artemis closed her eyes, she could almost remember flying in another sky, but on an Airplane she hadn¡¯t been on in this life. ¡°Where do you think you¡¯ll go, Artemis?¡± Eliza asked suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts. Artemis hesitated, gripping the handle of her broomstick a little tighter. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°I bet Ravenclaw,¡± Rosaline said confidently. ¡°You¡¯re always reading and asking questions. You know things.¡± ¡°She¡¯s got the attitude for Slytherin,¡± Henry pointed out, ducking to avoid Rosaline¡¯s half-hearted swing at him. Artemis only smiled faintly, though she didn¡¯t voice what she really felt¡ªthat it didn¡¯t matter. Not really. The Sorting Hat could put her anywhere, and it wouldn¡¯t bring back what she had lost. She could picture Edward¡¯s bright excitement before his own first year, how their parents had told him he¡¯d make a fine Gryffindor or Ravenclaw or even a Slytherin. The thought sent a sharp pang through her chest. It was a simpler time. They should have been here. Sensing the shift in her mood, Henry reached into his pocket and pulled out a pilfered biscuit, holding it out to her. ¡°Here. Stole... Er borrowed it from the kitchen.¡± Artemis raised a brow but accepted the offering. Rosaline and Eliza, not to be left out, immediately pulled out their own stash of stolen sweets. Soon enough, all four of them were sprawled out on the grass, munching on biscuits and trading stories about what they thought Hogwarts would be like. ¡°I hope we all end up in the same house,¡± Henry said, licking crumbs from his fingers. ¡°Even if I have to wait a year to join you.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll make sure you have plenty of stories to catch up on,¡± Eliza assured him. As they lay there, Rosaline suddenly sat up and pointed toward the owlery in the manor. ¡°We still need to pick our owls, don¡¯t we? Aunt Aurelia is so good to us!¡± Artemis nodded. Aunt Aurelia¡¯s owl had laid eggs over a year ago, and the young ones had recently begun flying about. It had been decided that each of them would take one as their own to bring to Hogwarts. They made their way over, excitement bubbling up as they entered the airy loft where the owlets perched. The owl loft smelled of dry straw and the faint musk of feathers. Sunlight spilled through the high windows, dust motes swirling lazily in the golden light. The tawny owl Artemis had been watching for weeks ruffled its feathers when she approached, tilting its head as though deciding whether she was worthy. A small, tawny owl with sharp amber eyes. It let out a soft hoot as she reached out, letting her fingers brush against its feathers. ¡°This one,¡± she whispered, feeling an unexpected surge of connection. The owl tilted its head, as if considering her just as much as she was considering it. Rosaline chose a gentle white owl that nipped at her fingers affectionately, while Eliza picked a sleek grey owl that blinked at her with large, intelligent eyes. Henry, despite not heading to Hogwarts just yet, picked a fluffy brown owl that was still a bit clumsy in its movements. As they laughed and debated names, Artemis felt something settle within her. As the sun began to set, Artemis found herself watching her friends, memorizing their faces. They were her family now, in a way. The ache of loss would never truly fade, but she wasn¡¯t alone. Not anymore.