Golden Girl; 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓦𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓵𝓮𝔂

Fourth Year: The First of Her Kind

The next morning, Bambi awoke with a start. A high-pitched buzzing filled her ears, and everything around her was bright and blurry. The sterile scent of surgical spirit and linens overwhelmed her senses, making the room feel cold and unfamiliar.

"Bambi?" A voice called out, sounding distant yet familiar.

She blinked, trying to focus on the face hovering above her. Slowly the image sharpened, and she could make out the figure, his wiry greying red hair and large green rectangle spectacles bleary, but unmistakable.

"Dad?" Bambi murmured, her voice weak as she tried to push herself up. Her arms trembled, and she swayed, a wave of nausea crashing over her.

"Lay back down," Sebastian said gently, catching her arm and helping her ease back onto the bed. He turned his head, calling over his shoulder, "She's awake!"

Within seconds, Madam Pomfrey appeared, rushing to Bambi's side with a look of concern etched on her face, "Easy now, dear," she said in a gentle voice, quickly beginning an examination, looking into her eyes and turning her head side to side.

"What happened?" Bambi blinked a few more times, trying her best to focus on the moving figures around her.

"You've had an accident," Sebastian said, his warm voice quiet and gentle, "Er, an episode of sorts,"

"An episode?" Bambi repeated, the memories of the night before suddenly flooding in through her mind. Panic gripped her, and she tried to sit up again, her heart racing.

"Bambi Marie, please stop moving," Sebastian said, his voice stern but his tone gentle, "We're trying to put the pieces together, just hold still for a bit longer,"

Bambi forced herself to lie back, her eyes darting to the large leather-bound notebook on her father's lap. It was one of his many research journals, filled with detailed notes and sketches. On the bedside table, she noticed an empty inkwell, a half-full one beside it, and his sleek black quill standing upright, ready for use.

"You're studying me, aren't you?"

Bambi's voice was tinged with bitterness as she spoke, her gaze fixed on her father from the corner of her eye. Madam Pomfrey placed a cool rag soaked with some potion or another on her forehead, helping to ease the migraine that had returned.

"Am I that much of a spectacle?" Her tone was sharp, her frustration evident.

It was humiliating– to be studied like that, as if she were some sort of animal. The very thought made Bambi's stomach churn with a mix of anger and shame. She felt exposed, vulnerable, like a specimen under a magnifying glass. She didn't want her dad to treat her like one of his stupid experiments.

Her father's silence only made it worse, confirming her suspicions. The notebook on his lap, the ink-stained quill—it all pointed to one thing. She wasn't just his daughter right now; she was a puzzle to be solved, a great mystery to unwrap, a new oddity to fill his pages.

Madam Pomfrey looked between Bambi and Sebastian as a silence filled the room. "I'll be right back, how about," She smiled, "I'll let you two talk, and when you're ready for me, I'll be right in my office for any questions." She put a gentle hand on Bambi's arm before turning and closing the curtain behind her.

"We– your mother and I, we had thought that you didn't inherit any of her magic," Sebastian said in a quiet voice, placing his hand on her shoulder, "Bambi, I'm not just studying you, I'm trying to understand you."

Bambi didn't meet his gaze, "What happened?" She repeated, her tone steady and cool.

"That boy who brought you in, Oliver," Sebastian began, "He stayed by your side until I got here early this morning. He said that you two were talking and the wind picked up. He said... you caused the wind to blow really hard, as if there was a storm out... and your eyes were glowing."