Nothing's Fair In Love And War | Zarry

Prolouge

Real witches wear heels.

That's what his grandmother had been telling him before Harry could even properly walked in his onesie. 'Heel' was one of the very first words added to Harry's vocabulary for the same reason. And that was also what made Harry venerate his granny Miranda during his childhood. Miranda always wore heels. She hated the Bohemia carpet in their living room and she used to threatened Anne that if she saw that carpet with her own eyes again, she would set it on fire herself. Every time she was about to visit, Harry and Gemma would have to roll up the carpet and hide it in the basement behind Anne's old wardrobe. So Miranda could enjoy the echo in the hallway when she stepped on the granitic floor in her eight inches heels, the sound that constantly sprawled in little Harry's nightmare.

"Nothing shows the power of a witch better than a pair of high heels," Miranda liked to maunder in her couch whilst doing Gemma's hair. She always got a little overexcited giving her speech that she didn't even notice Gemma's whimper when she pulled her ponytail harshly. "Yes, you too, young man." She aimed at Harry with the comb, wielding it like a magic wand. Harry twisted his neck slowly, in case his grandmother accidentally shot a spell right in his forehead. "Heels were forbidden during the Elizabethan era. A woman would be accused for using witchcraft if she wore heels. You see that? People fear you because of the shoes you put on!"

Harry believed this theory was just based on his grandmother's obsession with high heels. The most notorious one was a pair of black leather stiletto boots (she hated wedges) that she attended Harry's first birthday with. Harry was wailing like a dying dolphin when Miranda stole him from Anne's arms to tickle his chubby cheeks. That was such an offensive reaction for Miranda's high self-esteem to tolerate. Anne almost fainted when she stepped out of the kitchen and saw her little baby being turned into a frog, croaking and jumping around Gemma who laughed so hard and fell off her chair.

Gemma had always been the favourite child since then. It was not something hard to understand. In general, witches show their talent around the age of seven, but Gemma had already made her pillow flow through the entire lounge and hit right into Harry's face when she was five. She was a handful and always driving Anne crazy with her naughty tricks, which, instead, made her a genius to her grandmother.

"I knew you're named Gemma for a reason, my dear." Miranda always patted Gemma's shoulders proudly, in a relatively louder volume. "You're a treasure, the pride of our family. Y'know who our ancestor was? Queen Morgana, the greatest enchantress of centuries. Don't let those ridiculous folktales make you believe that she betrayed King Arthur. See again? When you're so powerful that people even need to twist the history to make ya despicable. Weak ass."

On the other hand, Harry had never received much appreciation as his sister. In the beginning Miranda did have a lot of expectation on him though – Harry was born on Imbolc, an ancient Celtic feast associated with the goddess Brigid to mark the beginning of spring. The Druidic sorcerers worshipped Brigid, the patroness of poetry, medicine, arts, and crafts. Miranda took Harry's birth as a gift from the goddess. She was quite upset when Anne decided to name him Harry instead of Brian. Even so, she believed that the goddess of wisdom must have blessed her grandson. However, it was another disappointment.

Unlike his elder sister, Harry couldn't even keep a pencil in the air more than half a minute at the age of ten. The only time he made the pencil stay in the air for forty-five seconds, the pencil ended up burning itself and the sudden combustion almost burned the table down.

"Boys don't need to be good at witchcraft," said Anne, trying to save the awkward situation, which absolutely outraged her mother.

"Oh listen to the bullshit came from your mouth, Anne! Are you telling me he's supposed be a terrible witch 'cause – what – he's a boy? Stop giving him excuses!" Miranda held her hands on the hips, stepping her heels forward at Harry, "Y'know what they did in my grandma's generation? Witches weren't allowed to have sons, 'cause boys are irresponsible and unreliable. They'd kill the baby with their own hands if it weren't a girl. Those were days." She touched the pearl necklace on her bosom, slowly shaking her head with a nostalgic sigh, "You shall be grateful for all the knowledge you've been shared with. Don't ya dare to take your honour for granted!"