The First Signs of a Storm - Prisoner of Azkaban - Book 1

Chapter 1: A Most Sacred Duty

Alexiandra

     Pale blue eyes cast upwards, a look of despair buried behind long lashes, a crumpled sheet of stained parchment, clutched in nimble, shaking fingers. How could such a weak, fragile object such as paper, be the cause of the most agonising heartache? It was almost impossible that words could tear such vicious wounds into the very souls of the recipient.
     A parchment that - for want of a better phrase - changed everything. Resulting in what could only be described as the ultimate act of deceit. A feat which - to those who knew the truth - bore the burden on their weary shoulders. Even still, after 12 long years.
Maybe England had learned to push the past war from their minds, but the war had not ended for all. It's cut still continued to sting.
The war was - for few - thrilling tales of horror and mystery. Nothing but marks in the pages of The Daily Prophet newspaper. The hell Lord Voldemort and his followers raised were mere fantasy in the minds of the young.
But the Wizarding War tarnished the lives of many and forced them to abscond to the unknown corners of the country, fear and terror gripping their every waking thought.

'My Fiercest Friend' - the highest compliment that may be exchanged between two people. The mutual reciprocation of love, when the romantic element is nowhere to be found. A friends' love. A mothers' love.
     But it was love that had condemned them to their fate. Love that had snatched Isabella Molano from her only child. Just as the dutiful friend had left her own great love behind.
     But that is the tainted joy of war that is clung to as Alexiandra's eyes drop back downwards to scan the words she had burned into her memory. The very guilt forcing her to carry it with her at all times. It was like fire to her skin, the scorch of the script ate away at her each time she thought back to the life she had long since buried.
But there was one thing that had remained true; the high affections of her late friend, who had entrusted Alexiandra with her most prized possession.

Yes, if ever there were any indication to how much time had swept by without hesitation, it was the now 16-year-old witch who reminded Alexiandra so much of her parents. The good and - of course - the bad.
That is not to say that Storm was anything but a charming young woman, but - like all teenagers with a rebellious streak (like her father had had) - well, Alexiandra could see how delicately she would have to approach the subject when the girl came Of-Age.
'She will think I betrayed her.' Thought the elder witch from her seat at the small round table in front of the fireplace. 'And when I cannot explain why we are moving, what then?'
Alexiandra fretted to herself, careful to calm her nerves, knowing that Storm would sense her discomfort and undoubtedly interrogate her. Yet, even the thought could bring no ill-will, because Storm was just as curious as her mother had been, if not more so. She just had her fathers temperament. Which at times, was not a good combination.
Letting out a sigh of bated exasperation, Alexiandra folded the parchment in two, the creases well bent from years of rereading and tucked it back safely into the breast pocket of her navy coloured robes. Part of her had wanted to tell Storm everything before she had turned 6 but, every time she got close enough, the vow she had sworn at Isabella's grave reverberated in her mind. And she could not do it. She could not betray the wishes of her late friend.
'Only four more months.' She thought, as if trying to convince herself - once again - to remain silent on the matter. 'Give her four last months of ignorance.' She had lasted 12 years. Mere weeks would scarcely matter.
But until then? What was Alexiandra to do? Accept the invitation of her former associate? Or stay away until Storm was ready? She had not expected to get this far.

"You're not still in a mood with me for winning today, are you?" Came the cheery voice of the witch Alexiandra was charged to protect. Alexiandra caught Storm's emerald eyes and rolled her own. "Honestly, Lexi, I think you're getting a bit - old - to play Quidditch."
Alexiandra - or - Lexi, let out a snigger at Storm's remark.
Lexi stood up from the table, pushing the chair backward against the polished wood floor with the backs of her knees. "Age can be an advantage." Lexi replied, stepping away from the chair. "Physical ability can be outsmarted by wisdom."
Storm paused for a moment, pulling her brown waves into a high ponytail and replied. "True," she nodded in agreement, "but one should look for arrogance in their opponent. Because arrogance is always the downfall of wisdom."
In that moment, as Lexi gazed upon the tall, confident witch who could articulate more than a simple thought, knew she was ready to step back into a world the both of them would have trouble navigating.