The Girl Who Saw Tomorrow II » Harry Potter

2.51 | M. A. X.

Long chapter ahead. Enjoy!

-x-

Darkness consumed her as she fell through endless nothingness. Then her boots hit solid floor and, with an air of someone who had done this before, she straightened up.

Blue walls, bookshelf full of mangas, comics, anime DVDs and Funko Pop! figures, lightsabers hung and a poster of Anakin Skywalker next to a singular Ravenclaw banner on the wall... Markus's old room was, in all aspects but one, everything like him. The only true oddity was the cleanliness, an almost obsessive-like perfection that Margaret did not attribute to her brother at all, but the maids that worked in their house.

This room was not lived in, and Margaret knew why.

For fourteen years, she and her brother had shared one giant room that had two double beds, two desks, two bookshelves, two walk-in closets - two of everything. They shared one space, even if the decorations on each side of the room separated it in its essence.

After the events of their fourteenth birthday, however, Margaret had come home from her long stay at the hospital and demanded that she wanted to be moved to a room of her own.

"I need my space," she had told Markus.

"Rubbish," he had said. "There's plenty of space here and you know it."

There was, but there was also little privacy. When things around her inexplicably started floating in the damn air in the middle of a nightmare, or worse hurt Markus on accident, he would definitely find out about her powers.

Separating from her brother was not something Margaret wanted to do. But seeing him hurt because of her was something she could never bear. There was little choice left for her.

So, Margaret had moved out to one of the many rooms in their mansion whilst Markus had moved to a room on the other corner of the floor, far away from hers, claiming that he too needed his space. It was out of spite, Margaret had known as much.

Present-Margaret joined her brother on the windowsill, watching in mingled sorrow and fascination as he levitated a few pencils in the air.

This must have been, what, a few weeks after they got their magic? It was extraordinary that he was willing to try it out; Margaret had not done so willingly for months. Her strategy had been to ignore her powers and hope they went away. Which, evidently, had not worked very well.

Markus perked up slightly in his seat, looking out at the meticulously trimmed garden. She followed his line of sight and did a double-take.

Goodness. She was unrecognisable.

Even from afar, past-Margaret's camisole and jeans did nothing to hide her frail frame, her paled skin and her lifeless hair.

There were about half a dozen people with her, causing present-Margaret to scowl at the sight of them. They were her so-called frends. Margaret saw herself throw her head back and laugh; next to her, Markus was frowning.

The shame and guilt threatened to overwhelm her, but there was little time to pity herself as the door of the room opened.

Margaret's breath hitched as their father stepped in.

"Alfréd," she hisses. But he was not Alfréd Xenakis. Here, he was Anthony, the man she had known as her father her whole life.

Or was he? Were they not one and the same?

As if she needed any confirmation, she saw the flash of maliciousness in his eyes, his lips twitching up to a slow, dangerous grin as he looked at Markus.