beautiful dreamer

II. the start

Shafts of sunlight cut through the haze of smoke around the train platform. Lottie stood next to Oliver, who had had to take her as their mother had been needed at her job last minute. Her hands twisted together in nervousness, gaze sweeping over the platform.

Oliver placed a hand on her knotted fingers. "Stop fretting."

She looked up at him. Worry might as well have been carved onto her forehead for how clearly scared she was. "That's like telling Pearl to stop being tall."

He snickered. "Okay. Just take deep breaths. You'll be okay."

"You don't know that," she argued. Tell me I'll be okay tell me I'll be okay tell me I'll be okay don't lie to me I'm sorry I wish you could be are you alright tell me I'll be okay you'll be alright just hold on no no please be okay please don't leave me be okay please be okay please tell me you'll be okay—

"I can guess," he said, tapping her forehead. "Do you know why?"

"Because I'm super amazing and I should believe in myself?" she asked, giving him a look.

"No, Ms. Attitude. Because you're strong." He tapped her forehead again, the motion heavy. Maniacal laughter dancing on stones hands slicked with blood a deadly smile a knife a slash a throat slit bright red the moon shining down— "I think you'll do just fine."

"I didn't," she said quietly, "at home." She'd been lonely until Pearl had come along, and the kids from the neighborhood still avoided her even though they were older.

"It'll be different," he said with a confidence he didn't feel. "Hogwarts is a school for magic, Lottie. You'll be like them."

"Not really."

Oliver winced internally. The thing that had defined her entire life: the fact that she was a prophet. Such a small thing, in his mind. She was his sister. The prophet part was just a small point to that. "Giving up is half the battle lost."

"You read that in a book," she argued.

"Then take it one day at a time, and we'll see where it goes from there." When she didn't respond, "You know Mama can't keep homeschooling you forever."

Their mother, while intelligent, was also one thing that Lottie and Oliver were not—a Muggle. Which meant she couldn't help Lottie with the one thing that hurt her most. And also meant that she couldn't teach Lottie about magic, which was an important step in a young witch or wizard's life. If they weren't taught how to control and channel their magic, it would get volatile and explosive.

"I know," she whispered. "I'm scared."

"Everyone else is too," he said, smiling. "It'll be okay. Trust me."

And Lottie trusted Oliver with everything in her. So she nodded.

"You're going to do so well, mon feu." He rested a hand on top of her head. She turned, suddenly, and hugged him. Almost as fast, she let go. He didn't comment on the hand she furiously swiped under her eyes.

"Goodbye," she said softly.

"Bye, mon feu."

...—.—...

The train ride had been boring, and Lottie was tired. She could smell honey, leather, and something that might've been salt, but she wasn't sure if that was just the school or not. The ache at the back of her mind, always there, was more intense, as if it sensed how many more people were around her. She clenched her hands tightly, trying to ignore it. Blue coat sword at chest books under bed hand on cheek braids in hair rubber boots wet with dew gleam of silver rustle of wings vast sky endless space heart full of love voice singing sweet love songs pain mistrust love cut short hands holding each other soft voice gentle touch flannel on chair bread on counter white knuckles wide eyes fear in the air rain on glass cracked mirror woodsmoke on the wind purple flames—