The Little Lightning Girl

64- On Your Guard

I read those journals obsessively, constantly wondering why my grandmother hadn't told me anything. She'd always been very private, but now that I read her words, her story... she'd had a whole separate life. Summer was growing to a close, and sixth year loomed. Instead of my usual excitement for Quidditch and classes, dread hovered over me like a thick, dark cloak that I couldn't remove. 

After training one morning, I stood in front of the mirror in my towel, wet hair dripping behind me onto the floor. At first, I just spaced out, but then I started really looking. I had been avoiding my reflection since third year, despite my determination to recover from my... ordeal. And now, looking at the person I'd become since then, I finally saw a woman. 

There were things I recognized. The sharp eyebrows were familiar, along with the upward tilt of my blue-gold eyes. My skin was the same golden-brown of my mother and grandmother, but it was littered with scars. The star-shaped white mark on my temple from the plane crash, and the pale, thin line under my chin were the only things on my face, at least. 

A wet strand of my hair curled into my face and I brushed it away. My eyes moved downward in the mirror and I took a breath before dropping the towel to the ground. A lean, toned body was tempered by the soft curve of my waist. There was a scar on my chest from my first quest, scars on my arms from sword-fighting.  I still couldn't bear to look at my back in the mirror, but I already knew what that looked like without ever having laid eyes on it.  

Despite the scars, for the first time I saw strength in my reflection. I saw it in the muscle on my stomach, arms, and legs. I felt it in the steadiness of my feet, the rock-solid balance that had been instilled in me since beginning training all those years ago. I met my own eyes in the mirror. There was exhaustion, bad memories, and suffering, but there was also a silent steel in my eyes. 

I was strong. There was danger coming, and I'd known for a while that there wasn't anything I could do to stop it. It was coming, and I would meet it when it got here. 

............

September First

At least this time when curious eyes and stares met me at the train station, I was prepared for it. The moment I passed through the barrier and laid eyes upon the Hogwarts Express, people stared. It was hard to tell if they were staring due to my success at the Junior Leagues or the Prophecy, but judging by the general mood behind the stares, my money was on the latter. 

It also made me feel all the more self-conscious about the fact that unlike every other witch or wizard here, I had no escort. My mum had, yet again, been caught up in work, so I'd simply Flooed myself here, using a nearby condemned warehouse as a landing point. I carried only my backpack, as I'd zapped my trunk with a shrinking spell so it, too would fit in the bag. My skinny jeans and plain blue t-shirt made me stick out like a sore thumb in a sea of wizards' robes, but I didn't care. If I'd learned anything in the past couple years, it's that there was nothing to be gained from hiding who you truly were from the world. Yes, there were some things I couldn't afford to blab about, but I wasn't ashamed that I came from a muggle background, that I'd been raised in the muggle world. 

My self-confidence was hard-won, and no amount of blood-purist snobbery would diminish it. 

I'd wanted to climb onto the train without stopping to converse with anyone on the platform, but when a large hand gripped my bicep and yanked me into a shadowy alcove, I understood that I wasn't being given that choice. 

A dark-skinned man dressed in strangely colorful robes stood there looking down on me. I wasn't an idiot, I knew the Minister of Magic when I saw him. I nodded my respect, but took a step away to distance myself from the sheer mass of his body. Kingsley Shacklebolt was a larger man in person than in a newspaper.