The Prologue: Meet Marryanna
Hoarce Slughorn sat on one of the benches that littered St. Pancras Station's oblong platform; it was during the off hours, nearly 11 o'clock at night, with few strangling muggles waiting for their arriving loved ones. Despite their on looking, he was proud of his lavender silk blazer over his tan wool vest with the mint green pin stripes. It wasn't his favorite, but it was the most comfortable for lounging in a muggle rail station as he awaited for the 11:03 arrival of an inbounding train from Paris.
He hadn't heard from his sister, Danielle, after she received her Study Grant from the Flamel Foundation in France; regardless, hearing of her sudden demise was a shock to him. As he shifted in his seat, fiddling with a pendent between his fingers, he recalled the details only briefly: Mr. and Mrs. Hurrwood perished without a trace in a laboratory incident, no bodies or evidence of their work. Rumors quickly spread like wildfire amongst the alchemists, some thinking the Hurrwoods were guilty of collaborating with dark arts enthusiasts.
Just before the start of the next school year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hoarce Slughorn was abruptly given guardianship of his niece; out of conveniences, this also meant the girl would be transferring her education to Hogwarts. He had only met Marryanna once before, at a Christmas dinner when his mother was still alive, but he doubted that ten years later the girl would look the same. In other words, he had no idea who he was looking for when the train finally pulled into the station.
Marryanna had a picture of Slughorn from a clipping of the newspaper; it wasn't a good photo, the faces of the entire Hogwarts staff too small to really make out, but she got the jist of his shape. She stepped off the train, her trunk dropped down beside her by a thin faced conductor, before she was hurried forwards so the next passenger could unload. She yanked on the old leather strap, scanning the platform for anyone who looked like Horace Slughorn from her clipping.
He stood from the bench, a stream of various muggles parting around him like eager fish following the flow of the river; Hoarce than gave a smile, noticing she is not only the youngest to step off the late night train, but the only one standing still to find him. He slipped his fingers in his pockets when their eyes met, each sharing a tight knit smile through pursed lips.
"My Marryanna, you've grown so tall," he gave a flick of his fingers out of nervous habit, refraining from whipping out his wand and helping her with her trunk.
"Mr. Slughorn, it's a pleasure," she bowed her head slightly.
"No need for the formalities," he gave her trunk another glance before forcing a bigger smile, "The headmaster has arranged for us to take the train to Hogwarts with the rest of the students at dawn. In the meantime, how about we get a late night meal, hmm?"
She gave a glance over her shoulder, tugging her case a little closer, before nodding. Their shoes echoed differently against the marble flooring; his were heavy taps that landed with a waddling rhythm, her's short and shallow, dull and defeated. Marryana followed closely, eyes wandering around the platform's architecture with a critical curiosity.
Night had darkened the sky, but the stars were trapped in the streetlights; London was no different from Paris, muggle lights flickering like white flames inside glass cages. The few lonely passer bys didn't bother giving her a glance as she dragged the trunk close to her side. They walked a couple blocks from Kings Cross, arriving at a building with windows black like the sky and a creaky sign swinging above the crooked door. It'd easily go unnoticed by Muggles, the doors hidden on a narrow street with a dumpy car parked out front.
Hoarce held the door open for her with an expectant, forcefully polite smile as he finally put his wand in his hand and flicked a charm at the trunk; it lifted out of her hands and clumsily drifted through the door before thudding at the bottom of a set of rickety stairs.
"The Laughing Owl?" she squinted at the peeling paint on the door. The lobby was empty except for a trio of chairs encircled around a fireplace on the opposite wall and a bar with stool seating along the left. There were taxidermy owls perched on the right wall along with a mirror framed with words: leave your key with the Eagle.
"One of the few places downtown open this late, go ahead and have a seat," Hoarce approached the mirror, slowly waving his wand in three little circles as the mirror fogged over. He mumbled to his blurry reflection, but Marryanna wasn't listening as she cautiously approached one of the high backed plushy chairs.
"What's the Misses having," screeched a voice, sounding like it was being churned through gravel before ringing in the otherwise silent room.
Marryanna jumped, turning wide eyed to see a goblin with eyes brightly green and too large for his slender face; he was standing a stool too tall for the bar, only his shoes were hidden behind the lip of the hollywood counter. His nose twitched impatiently as his fingers straightened his buttoned up shirt. She swallowed, recomposing herself. He wasn't unusual looking for a goblin, but she they don't usually staff bars in Paris, nor was she expecting him.
"I'm sorry sir," she nodded, "but I'm alright."
"Get her something sweet, we're waiting for the train in the morning," said Hoarce as he waved a room key he received from the mirror; he then offered it to her which she took with both hands, "I'll have something bubbly."
Marryanna sank into one of the chairs, twisting the key between her narrow fingers as she watched the room. There weren't any pictures on the walls or placards about the owner; not that she'd be interested in any such lore. Hoarce sat across from her, offering her a flute of a golden liquid she didn't recognize.
"I had packed some short readings, if you're interested," Hoarce mentioned, putting the copper stein to his lips before smiling, "You mother always loved light reading on a long train ride-- and I can't imagine you've anything left after the three hours from Paris."
"Two and a half," she corrected, "and I actually have quite a bit left of my current piece," she sniffed the drink, it resembling candied apples with a hint of soft rose petals.
"What is it you're reading?" He pressed.
"Some of mum old works," she shrugged.
"Blast," he scoffed, "That is much too dense to be interesting."
"On the contrary," she looked down the neck on her glass as she dipped her tongue into the juice, "It's all I know of her." Hoarce didn't know how to reply, sighing slightly in defeat as she finally sipped from the glass.
"Oh don't get me wrong, sir," she met his gaze again, "I have little interest in the actual alchemy."
Hoarce gives a sad, knowing smile; his sister was never the nurturing type; when they attended Hogwarts together, she was the tough older sibling who seemed untouched by highschool drama whereas he, the younger brother, felt more like the marshmallow of Slytherin house. Although personalities didn't change much as they grew older and more distant, Hoarce had some little hope that Danielle would change when she had Marryanna.
Hopes that quickly extinguished when Marryanna further added, "My parents were very dedicated to their work, sir. I couldn't be more proud of them." But what she was reading had nothing to do with her mother's alchemy work or her father's laboratory notes; she wasn't about to admit to her Uncle that she'd been keeping a file of conspiracies that lead up to Mr. and Mrs. Hurrwood's untimely deaths.
There was no bringing them back to life, Marryanna knew, but there was a power in knowing the secrets that killed them. She wanted to know, more than anyone, about who was pulling the strings, and to become a person strong enough to stop them. The ambition sparked into a flame the moment they perished, the very second the French Ministry came knocking on her nanny's door with a black envelope sealed with a wax of death.
She quickly tipped back the glass down her throat when her uncle didn't answer before she stood up and gave a courteous smile to the goblin, "I'm gonna try and rest, sir," she explained to Horace and left the glass flute on the bar counter, "will you wake me before we depart for the train."
"Y-yes, of course," he was surprised by her, to say the least, following her movement with a weary gaze as she followed the will to the stairs and disappeared up the creaky steps. He wasn't able to sleep after hearing about his sister, the heartbreak tainted even the smallest things of day to day life. And yet, his niece-- his sister's sixteen year old daughter, was untainted by the travesty. There was no sorrow in her eyes, devastation loomed in the room but hardly touched a hair on her head.
No, there was something else there; a frustration and determination that burned like a defiant challenge. He hadn't seen that kind of emotion in a kid like her before, hardly felt something so fierce in his own heart.
What was he going to do with a kid like Marryanna Hurrwood.