Till the Last Petal Falls / Marcus Flint

0.6 - Something Lost, Something Refound, and Something New

Dahlia didn't know what to feel as she stood in front of the portkey, waiting for Madame LaRue. Traveling by an old, umbrella-like magical artifact was strange enough without considering the visit to Aveline Manor. Genevieve's encouragement had helped her brave the journey earlier that day, but now, sitting next to the portkey and waiting for her professor to drop from the sky as she had half an hour ago, Dahlia felt nervous. Seeing her family's manor through the walls didn't help her anxiety. She wished her father could be here; he would have loved the experience of reclaiming what was once theirs. But the twelve-year-old girl was scared of the unknown. Despite feeling the blood magic and the powerful wards surrounding the manor—tied to her magic alone—Dahlia was scared. She didn't know what she would find inside, and it made her more nervous than ever.

She knew she was tougher than this; the manor had been passed down through generations, and Dahlia was now the lady of House Aveline. She would not disappoint her father and grandfather. She knew her mother hated everything magical but wouldn't deny both Harry and Dudley the chance to experience magic before attending school. Yelena had been ecstatic when Dahlia told her about her cousin Harry Potter during the Christmas break. She had squealed, run to the bookshelves to grab an old newspaper, and shown Dahlia everything. By the end of the night, Dahlia had learned another ground-shattering piece of information: Harry was famous. Everybody knew him and House Potter. He was the only living Potter and the Boy Who Lived—the one who took down the Dark Lord as a baby. Yelena had recounted the Wizarding War that took place ten years ago and how abruptly it ended. Dahlia just listened, pushing it all aside for the time being. Once she had control of Aveline Manor, she would talk to her family about it. Harry had a right to know.

"Good morning, Miss Aveline." Dahlia jumped out of her train of thought at the voice, standing up at once while answering her professor. She was right; despite feeling tired, the hour was early, barely ten o'clock. Madame LaRue wore her usual blue robes with a witch's hat neatly placed on her head. Her hair looked slightly puffed; Dahlia guessed it was due to the "sending students off to their homes for the summer" ceremony. It was why she had to come alone and wait. Not that she wasn't allowed to walk inside the walls, but she had chosen to stay outside and wait for Madame LaRue.

"I see you haven't walked in. How do the wards feel?"

"They are tugging at my magical core. It feels different," she tried to describe as she followed her professor towards the big, metal doors of the manor. "I get this feeling every time I perform magic, and I got used to it. It's kind of nice, but blood magic is different. It's even stronger than I've felt before; it almost surrounds me from all directions."

"That's because it does. Familial magic is mainly for protection. You are under the protection of charms that have been around for centuries," her voice was calming, easing Dahlia's rising worries. It was good to know it was all completely normal. "You should keep in mind that charms back then were more... intense. Wizards didn't have many restrictions, which gave them the right to do whatever they wanted. Do you know why it's called blood magic?"

The young girl shook her head, "Yelena didn't want to talk about it, and Sophie had no clue."

"Of course she wouldn't. She barely knows the basics, and it's far more than she's allowed to know." Madame LaRue loved her niece Yelena but had to admit the girl pursued information like a moth to a flame. She feared the girl would face the moth's end. "It's called blood magic because real blood is involved. The wards are grounded through your bloodline. It's an old pure-blood practice long abandoned by most houses, but since yours has only recently been restored, the tradition stands. Nowadays, lordships are secured through paperwork. Back then, every child born to the family was bonded to the estates through blood magic, determining the inheritance order. A few drops from each member were brewed into a special potion and fed to the ground of the estate to soak. When we say the manor 'remembers' you, it's not a metaphor. It remembers your blood even though you haven't been bonded to it 'properly.' Your ancestors made sure everything stayed in the family this way. Does that make sense?"