Within the Wings of a Storm

A Bell Through the Night

*Welcome, readers! This chapter introduces our OC and her backstory. Hang with me, as our leading wizards show up near the end for an Order of the Phoenix meeting. :)

Chapter title from "Rhiannon" by Fleetwood Mac

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The church bell tolled the eight o'clock hour as the sun started to wane. It mixed with the symphony of crickets and cicadas that hung in the early summer air, already heavy and thick with humidity. Rhiannon grew up thinking that hot, heavy air was what trapped the spirits here, as if they danced and cavorted their heady, passionate way along the invisible spectrum of dew and heat. That was the romantic way of thinking about it. Rhiannon's actual way of thinking was that summer in the South was oppressive and hellish.

It was the third summer she had been back home to New Orleans after leaving Ilvermorny, and she still could not re-acclimate. She longed for the crisp air of New England, the lush darkness of the forests and their bright array of color in the fall, even the ice and snow. Summers there were gentle, breezy, and the sun was a friend instead of Satan himself. She had felt alive during her five years at Ilvermorny- alive in every way. And even though she knew she would never return, she longed not just for the sacred, mystic halls, but for who she was when she was there.

She sighed as she strode past the old graveyard with the even older weeping willow trees standing guard over the souls resting there. Rhiannon knew just about every one of their names, having gone for endless walks in the two months since her mother died. Her mother was not buried there; she had insisted on cremation, but somehow visiting the souls of centuries of New Orleans' residents made her feel closer to her mother than sitting next to the urn in the little apartment they had shared. She knew it was because her mother had been a part of something bigger, part of the monolithic spirit that solidified this place in the history of the supernatural.

Her mother Epona had not been a witch. Not in the literal sense. She had never received an acceptance letter from Ilvermorny and was never trained in the magical arts. But her knowledge of the healing arts, mysticism, and even a dalliance in the more useful and strangely beautiful parts of dark magic seemed to be innate. Like she was born of the earth. Part of the very dust of the New Orleans ground and part of the wind that whispered in the willows. When Rhiannon went on these walks she felt her- her love, her power, and her memory.

Rhiannon was grateful she was able to remain on the street where they had lived together and in the little third floor apartment that had been their home since Epona had brought her there as a baby almost nineteen years ago. The apartment was essentially the attic of a 19th century Victorian, built of now-ramshackle dark wood with white adornments that looked like lace. They rented from an old woman named Ms. Pearl, who had been like a grandmother to Rhiannon, caring for her many nights while her mother worked. While she was kind, she was also pragmatic. Tears were promptly wiped away and replaced with chores, for "keeping busy is the quickest way to forget your worries."

When Rhiannon returned abruptly from Ilvermorny after her fifth year, completely distraught once she learned she wouldn't be returning, Ms. Pearl quickly got her a job working as a tutor and mentor for local children in their community. While Rhiannon and Epona scarcely had more resources than the kids she cared for, Ms. Pearl was quick to remind her that there was always someone less fortunate, and self pity was a waste of time and mind.

Being as practical as she was, Ms. Pearl wasn't about to let Rhiannon live rent-free, even after her mother's passing. She remained there only by the blessing of a benefactor from overseas. Another one of the mysteries of Rhiannon's childhood that it seemed she would never understand. Her mother wrote to the unnamed benefactor, and contacted him in other ways as well, all with varying forms of magic. Rhiannon had no idea how her mother knew the man, who he was, or why he took an interest in their livelihood. She only knew that every time they faced adversity of some kind, he seemed to pop back into their lives again.