The Girl Who Saw Tomorrow III » Harry Potter

3.14 | Whispers of Albion

The mist still clung to the Lux Palace like a cloak as the first light of the sun cut through the tall medieval spires. Each gargoyle seemed etched with ancient magic, eyes seeming to wink open with the rising sun.

Below, Margaret walked the gardens. From where she stood, the palace loomed like a magnificent beast slumbering in the mist. Lavish, carved arches opened like hungry mouths. Towering above were intricate balconies stretching along five stories of the fortress.

As she strolled, dressed in a delicate cream dress, surrounded by vibrant, blooming flowers, Margaret couldn't help but feel worlds away from reality. It was bizarre, this peace. It felt wrong to admire the beauty of these dainty flowers when chaos was tearing her home apart.

More chaotic, perhaps, was her mind. She fiddled with the hair at the nape of her neck. Her hair used to flow all the way down her back, so it felt strange to have it cut so short, despite it being evenly trimmed now. She could have asked the house-elf to magically grow it back, but she knew that it was more than just about the length. It was about the experience that had shaped her.

Besides, her hair was nothing compared to the scar on her face. It started from the centre of her forehead, cut through her eyebrow, and ended at the apple of her cheek under the golden eye patch. It was thin yet noticeable, and it would never go away.

Margaret crushed the white jasmine in her palm. So delicate, so pure, so weak... Was she any different?

A path sloped downwards as the gardens expanded, covered in a light mist and filled with the scents of blooming flowers. A few gazebos stood prettily amongst the panorama of colours, benches were placed on the sides of the paths, and bird feeders hung from lampposts.

However, as she strolled, Margaret was only painfully reminded of home when she came across a pair of magpies, the forms that Fred and George's Patronuses took. She stopped in her tracks, watching them munch on birdseeds and wondering what Fred thought had happened to her.

Did he think that his fears had come true? Had he done something foolish like going out to look for her alone and gotten hurt?

Margaret hoped not... She really, really hoped not.

Surely, her brother must have narrated what he knew. Fred would have been told that she was alive when Markus had last seen her. But Markus would have appeared alone at the Burrow. Margaret, on the other hand, would have vanished into nowhere. It had been over a week after all, and she still had not found a way to contact them.

"I'm so sorry for all this... Just a little longer, I swear," Margaret whispers to the magpies, wishing somehow Fred could hear her. "I promise I'll be back. I'm so, so sorry..."

As the pair of birds flew away, Margaret blinked back tears and sat down on a bench, suddenly feeling exhausted. She wished she had her wand with her, she wished she could produce a Patronus too...

"I knew I would find you here."

Margaret looked around, almost expecting Charlie or even Rion. But the raven-haired man in the russet brown jacket could only be-

"Merlin!"

Merlin trodded down the cobbled pathway towards her as though it was perfectly normal for a thousand-year-old wizard to join her on a promenade. A bright smile lit up his face, eyes scanning her from afar but not lingering on any of her visible injuries.

Margaret stood up and met him halfway, throwing her arms around him in a hug. Merlin laughed just as he had last time, patting the back of her head.

"Hello there, Goldy," says Merlin as they pull away.