Magic comes in all different forms, though until now - not like this.
Wanda Maximoff is born a witch. Albus Dumbledore finds her amongst the wreck of her obliterated apartment in Sokovia and takes her back to England; to Hogwarts. But she is not lik...
There is no logical reason why she would keep what happened on Saturday to herself. I've tried to come up with one, obsessing over every possible option – not sleeping, not eating, not studying, not... working.
That girl could have me thrown out of this place. She could have me captured and carted off to Azkaban like they did my father.
They should be coming for me. I should be wallowing and wasting away under the effect of the dementors or six feet under with the Dark Lord's name written in my neck – that's what they did to that muggle girl they captured a week before term started.
The plate of food in front of me suddenly turns my stomach.
I drop the fork and stare across at the Gryffindor table. She sits between Potter and Weasley's younger sister, not talking much – she never seems to talk much, not in comparison to those around her.
Why? Why not tell them?
When she eventually looks away from the chattering Weasley girl, the sweet pear of her green eyes catch on mine. I'm hit with that expression again, that one she had before the incident – studying, determining, heart racing.
I force a necessary steel into my stare, locking my mind behind as many bars as I can manage.
Unpredictable, unfathomable, unsafe... that's what she is.
I can't give her any reason to say something, not even if it costs me a little of my reputation – confusion, flattery, civility... it's necessary.
All of this is necessary to save my family.
Wanda Maximoff cannot believe the truth. I won't let her.
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