𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖎𝖒 [h. potter]

PROLOGUE

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Pretty much everyone who lived on Magnolia Boulevard only had one thought when they saw Eleanore Adair.

That poor woman.

After all, she was a widowed single mother of not one, not two, not three, but four children. It wasn't hard to pity someone like that. She was always busy, always exhausted, always had something she had to run to, always needed a quick favor, someone to watch a child (or, in most cases, children). The Adair house was always a mess, scattered with sports equipment and toys and books, the walls scuffed and paint chipping, the floors always evidence of some spill or trail of dirt. The cause? Eleanore Adair's children were pretty much all what one would call "a handful".

There was Emmeline, the eldest, an active girl who always managed to match her athleticism with her extroversion — she could run her mouth as quickly as she could run her body. She could never sit still for long, she always was doing one thing or the other — soccer, dancing, tennis, you name it, she's probably done it for at least a week. Hell, she'd even tried out for a rugby team (she didn't make it on account of her mother's refusal to let her engage in such a violent activity).

Next came Henry, who had taken up an interest in bugs and other small creatures since he was young, tearing up the backyard in search of them and trailing dirt in the house as wandered about with his newfound "friends". He was the source of the majority of the aforementioned trails of dirt that slithered throughout the Adair's house.

Then there was his twin, Lukas, who got a bit too into movies and comic books, and, after watching Terminator, decided that he was the second coming of Arnold Schwarznagger, running and yelling in an awful Austrian accent, causing chaos and scaring his younger sister. The same would happen when he read Captain America comics, watched a James Bond film, or — God forbid — the Batman comics/movies. Those days usually ended up with a lot of crying and something being broken.

And finally, there was little Phillipa — nicknamed Pippa by nearly everyone she knew — the darling youngest child, who, in an attempt to appease her idolized older siblings in any way possible, just copied what they did. She offered to stand in front of the goal while Emmeline shot at her, resulting in a trip to the hospital and a broken nose when Phillipa was 7; she tried swiping lightning bugs and moths with Henry after the sun set and they snuck out the house through Henry's window; and, somehow, she always ended up being the villain, chased down and defeated by whatever hero Lukas chose to be that day. But, when separated from her siblings, she was quite calm, not quite as extroverted as they were. Instead, she would opt to try to build something, discover something new, whether that be finding a more efficient way to do her chores or building a contraption to play goalie for Emmeline so that her nose would remain intact.

However, that wasn't necessarily to say that Pippa was an angel. As a matter of fact, out of all the Adair children, Henry was the one that had the cleanest record when it came to getting into trouble. Pippa happened to get in trouble for the strangest things in school, things her mother couldn't quite comprehend. Like the school reporting Pippa getting into an argument completely unprompted, while the girl held that the other girl had insulted her first. Even stranger was that one time she was nearly expelled for "climbing on the roof." No one actually saw her get up there. Even Pippa herself claimed to have no clue how exactly she ended up on the roof. She was just there. She was a smooth talker too, which probably got her out of a million other incidents that Eleanore would never hear about.

And she was odd too. As they walked down the street, Pippa would tug her mother's arm, pointing frantically at what appeared to be nothing at all. She would say she saw a man disappear into thin air, or a puppy with a funny looking tail. Well, at least she's imaginative, Eleanore would think, dismissing her youngest's wild accusations. Surely, her daughter was just making stuff up. A dog turning into a man? That was just impossible.

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On December 21, 1980, Pippa's eleventh birthday, all of Pippa's odd mannerisms were explained away.

The family was all gathered around the dining room table, upon which rested a haphazardly decorated chocolate cake. Emmeline had offered to bake, and, unfortunately, her athletic coordination hadn't quite translated to baking ability. The cake was semi raw, the middle more liquid than it was solid. The pink and green icing had been globbed on, some areas of the cake bare and others coated with a layer of frosting about an inch thick. Shaky, thin lines of white frosting haphazardly spelled out "Happy Birthday Pip!", the last part of "birthday" crammed onto the edge of the cake. It was a mess, but Emmeline had put all her effort into making it — made clear by the hours she had spent in the kitchen baking that day and the wide grin that adorned her face as she walked to the dining table with the concoction in her hands — so everyone ate without complaint. At least, it seemed they did.

As Pippa tried to choke down her near inedible slice of cake — glob of cake would probably be a more accurate description — she could hear the voices of her family grumbling about the poorly baked dessert.

Is that an egg shell?

I should've just picked up a cake at the grocery store. God, I should've just picked up a cake from the grocery store.

I wonder if this would be easier to eat with a straw?

I think I'm gonna puke.

Yeah, that's an eggshell.

Pippa opted to not say anything about what she heard, for Emmeline's sake. She appreciated the sentiment and the effort, no matter how awful the result was.

The family's small chatter (mostly about the kids' day at school) was interrupted by the ringing sound of the doorbell.

"I'll get it!" Henry sprang to his feet, dropping his fork as he practically sprinted out of the room towards the foyer. The family craned their necks to see who was at their door, but all they could see was Henry trying not to snigger as he talked to an unknown figure.

"He says he wants to talk to Mum! And Pip!"

"Stay here sweetie," Eleanore patted Pippa's shoulder as she got up and joined Henry at the door. Upon seeing the figure in the doorway, the remaining siblings could see their mother also trying to stifle a laugh. They all looked at each other confusedly, as if they were missing out on a joke. Pippa shrugged and turned back around.

It was about a minute before Henry and Eleanore returned to the dining room, and suddenly, Emmeline, Lukas, and Pippa understood what was so funny. Following Pippa's eldest brother was an ancient looking man, older than anyone Pippa had ever seen before. He had a long, flowing beard, matching his equally long and flowing snow-white hair. He wore glasses unlike any pair Pippa had ever seen. The lenses were shaped like little crescent moons, behind them twinkling pale blue eyes. The oddest thing about the very odd man, and undoubtedly the reasoning behind him looking so funny, was his rather...interesting choice of clothing. Yes, interesting was a word to describe his style. He wore a long, flowing maroon cloak —Pippa had nearly mistaken it for a dress, but no, it was definitely a cloak — stars embroidered on it with what appeared to be solid gold thread. He looked like he had fallen out of the pages of a fantasy novel, the old mentor who guided the hero along to meet their villain in an epic duel of fates.

The man wasted no time making himself comfortable, sitting down in the empty chair next to Pippa.

"You're a witch Phillipa, and a very special one at that."