touch

1

Sheltered would be a pretty good definition of my life. Ever since I was born I've lived a sheltered life, and while I despised it, I don't think it could have been any other way.

For as long as I can remember I've been different, but it wasn't just that I was a witch. I mean, both of my parents were well respected in the wizarding community, and I drew from their powers to be the amazing witch I am today.

The thing that made me different was something else, something I could do without a wand, something I could do with a mere touch.

My parents didn't know what to think of it at first... they just thought I was a good guesser—that I guessed or I saw what they got me for Christmas before I opened the gifts, or that I guessed trouble at my father's work the day before he was demoted from his position at the ministry... but it didn't explain when I predicted the death of my grandmother when I was seven.

We went for a visit, and all it took was a touch—the feeling of my hand resting upon her warm arm. The image came to my head immediately. Her, with her eyes wide open sitting on the couch we sat on at that exact moment.

My parents were appalled by what I told them, but when we heard the news the next day they decided to look into my ability more.

Dumbledore was there later that afternoon, having received the urgent message from my mother who served on the Wizengamont alongside him. She confided in him, not fully trusting the Ministry to offer her an accurate explanation.

I can still remember the way his blue eyes looked at me. He wasn't frightened like my parents had been, he looked at me with kind eyes and sat before me.

"Valkyrie? My name is Albus Dumbledore, a pleasure to meet you." I watched as he held his hand out for me to take.

Hesitantly, I reached out and took his hand as I looked up into his eyes. Suddenly I could see an image in my head, a large room filled with tables and students. The ceiling was transparent, allowing a view of dark and stormy rain clouds above.

'I'm thinking of the Great Hall at Hogwarts.'

I could hear the man speak, and even though my mind was on the hall before me, I could tell he didn't say it aloud.

"Is the storm dangerous?" I question, pulling myself from the beautiful image of the storming celling to focus completely on the man in front of me.

He raises his eyebrows. Looking down at me in amazement through his half-moon spectacles.

'It is not, it is merely magic.'

I smile at his words, and he returns it in full.

Still holding my hand the man turns away towards my parents, "Worry not, Isabel. She is gifted."

However as soon as his focus was off of me, his hand still firmly attached to mine, I was able to see further.

Its dark and snowing outside. Dumbledore stood in a circular room, objects and portraits decorating every free space. He's looking out the narrow window, but his face was contorted in worry, a frown etched on his face. He looked years older, and there was the smallest cut dripping blood on his left cheekbone.