The Darkest Witch

Belinda: One Hundred Seven Days Before January

Scotland
Hogwarts
Belinda

On Sunday afternoon, Belinda received two letters, one from Lucius Malfoy and one from an unexpected witch, her mother's remarkably intrepid friend, Lucinda Belfast. She ripped the sleek black envelope from Lucius first, expecting it to be bad news.

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Dear Belinda,

Congratulations! The first release of your book was beyond successful. Sold out within minutes. The second release will be off soon. I heard news that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will use it as their official textbook for Alchemy. With that being said, the press is adamant to at least have one article published about you. Narcissa has arranged for a journalist, one that is most trustworthy. She has informed me that the journalist will arrive at Hogwarts, Saturday, next week.

She sends her best regards to you and Draco.

Sincerely,
Lucius Malfoy

༻༺

As she expected, it was straightforward and brief and filled with terrible news.

News about the press was always terrible news. The unfamiliar stares from unfamiliar people asking inordinately familiar questions made her feel uncomfortable. It felt as if the locked doors of her life was forcibly being pried open without a hint of empathy nor compassion. Every journalist she met had done so with passion, burning her boundaries with hellfire.

Regardless, Belinda learned to tolerate it — them.

She smiled. She spoke. All for the people that she adored. Unlike the people she'd met in closed quarters and well-pressed suits, the people who spoke to her outside public libraries and wide-open streets greeted her with genuine smiles and kind words. Their exclamations of pride and joy whenever they read about her in the papers brought immense warmth in Belinda's chest. They made the cold experience of having asked personal questions less excruciating.

Although, by now, Belinda had already mastered how to run around those questions.

She folded Lucius's letter back on its envelope and made her way past the brick entryways. Then, with far better expectations, she opened the brown envelope and started to read again.

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Dear Belle,

Yes, I am not dead. Fortunately, I am still in one shape. My trip to the Caribbean had nearly cost me an arm and had definitely earned me a notice from the central office to immediately return back to London — I honestly don't know which one I fear more.

Nonetheless, I am expected in Hogwarts by Saturday of next week, to interview the most brilliant witch of the year.

I wonder who could it be.

Lots of Love,
Lucy

༻༺

Belinda couldn't hide the excitement on her face. It's been years since she last saw Lucinda. Her mother's friend was always in another country, writing stories about lost cities and stolen artifacts. Trying to take hold of Lucinda Belfast is similar to catching air with your bare hands, impossible.

She read the letter again and again as she went through the hallways, reminded of late nights she spent with her in France, talking endlessly about her escapades and her short-lived lovers. Even as a young journalist, Lucinda was a dreamer. Belinda liked that. She loved her. When she finally reached the bottom of the stairs, she was too preoccupied with the letter in her hand that she did not notice Angelina Johnson, walking in the same direction, equally distracted with her thoughts.