HP • Legilimency | 𝐍. 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐘

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

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𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟑𝟏, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟏

Director Persephone Beaufort, in charge of Wool No. 13 Orphanage, took pride in keeping all her children in line and providing them with an impeccable education in terms of etiquette. No speaking out of turn, no making faces, raising voices, or even slumping shoulders. Truly, she was a tyrant.

Persephone was a tall, slender woman, exuding a distinctly French elegance. She would have been quite beautiful if not for the perpetually disdainful expression on her face. Madame Beaufort had always been composed, but then a single stormy night with lightning and countless shooting stars, a hurried knock on the orphanage door, a small blue basket containing a peacefully sleeping baby - everything turned upside down.

She glanced around in haste, finding no one but a tabby cat staring intently from across the street. Square markings around the feline's eyes gave the impression of glasses. The creature regarded her with an almost mournful look, then turned and vanished down a dark alley.

Madame Beaufort shook her head in exasperation, attempting to regain her composure. Who could have abandoned something so precious? She carefully inspected the blanket wrapped around the baby. It seemed to be made of an expensive, truly noble material. There was a name and surname embroidered in silver: Astria Shafiq.

So this was the baby's name? Astria... Meaning star, which was quite fitting considering it was an unusual night, with shooting stars adorning the sky, almost like a meteor shower, if they weren't so swift...

The woman pondered as she gently rocked the child, not fully comprehending what was so special about the little creature that tugged at the strings of her heart, long frozen by bitterness.

Madame Beaufort carried the baby inside, casting a final glance in the direction where the cat had disappeared before closing the door. A breeze rustled the well-tended fences, silent and unmoving against the dark backdrop of the lightning storm, precisely where, many years ago, a similar tale had unfolded. The same place where pure malevolence had grown.

Astria shifted under the blankets, undisturbed. Her tiny hand clutched the single book beside her, yet she continued to sleep peacefully, unaware of her uniqueness, oblivious to her parents' suffering to save her. Completely oblivious to the fact that her life would intertwine with something so dark.

Madame Beaufort ascended the stairs toward the nursery, lost in thought, not noticing the daffodils growing along the staircase in her path.

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𝐀 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

Nearly a decade had passed since the day Madame Beaufort found little Astria on her doorstep, and she could never regretted anything more in her entire life. Wool's Orphanage remained largely unchanged. The sun still rose over the same well-maintained gardens, casting its light on the silver number thirteen on the building's facade.

The only noticeable difference was the peculiar garden filled with strange flowers that blossomed beside a little girl's window. A modest room, containing only a bed and an absurd abundance of books lining the walls.

Outside, walking calmly, was the young Astria, pushing a cart laden with books while softly humming Vivaldi's 'Winter.' This was her favorite activity: returning home after spending the day at London's local library, which was just a few meters away from the orphanage.

Since her tender age of five, Astria possessed a library card. She had learned to walk and read on her own, with such fervor that she devoured all of Madame Beaufort's personal books.