immortality [wizarding world] | ⚐

九

the start of mathilda

note: ambrose is mathilda, mathilda is ambrose. for the storyline's purpose, i have used 'mathilda' instead of 'ambrose'. please keep in mind that ambrose/mathilda does not know what her purpose is, but solely bases her actions on her instincts and her 'gut-feeling'. if you have any questions, please ask them.

Mathilda Salvar blinked her eyes open to face a brand new day.

She had moved into a small cottage just off of the blooming village of Hogsmeade, near the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had heard grand things about the school, and hoped to apply there to teach her favourite subject, Astronomy.

However, in the heat of mid-July, she had found the castle to be rather empty.

She had sent an owl to the only person she knew in the entire country – Rowena Ravenclaw, who had been a dear friend of her late aunt – and she had gotten a brief reply to wait until the 15th of August, when Helga Hufflepuff would return.

Despite this minor setback, Mathilda had nevertheless bought her cottage, with high hopes that it would provide confidence in getting the job. She had even studied the English language with immense vigour for the past year, and although she still had a Spanish accent, she had fallen into the language fairly easily.

Today was different. Mathilda could feel it in the air. She had had the strangest dream the night before – one of a very powerful young wizard and an equally powerful witch dueling.

It was strange, yes, but Mathilda brushed it off. She couldn't, however, brush off the importance of this day.

She stuck her head out of her window, to see if anything around her had physically changed, but she couldn't see anything significant. The scorching sun had risen from its' peaceful slumber, and Mathilda shielded her face to see that nothing had moved.

She paused, hypnotized by the way the trees swayed in the gentle wind.

Today, the breeze whispered.

Today, the flowers sang.

She frowned, and turned to the inside of her cottage. There was no sign of anyone breaking in, but to be safe, Mathilda pulled out her wand.

"Homenum Revelio." She said, with a clear voice. But nothing happened. She sighed, and rubbed her forehead. Had she fallen sick again? Her health was poor, and her stature too thin. She had caught a horrible virus when she was 12 – a magical one, that had spread throughout Spain – and had never been the same, no matter how many spells had been cast on her or potions she had drunk.

Finally, in order to clear her mind, she decided to go for a walk in the village. She hastily threw on some clothes and gently combed her fingers through her hair. Just as she was tying on her belt, her door flung open. Mathilda whipped out her wand, her hands trembling.

"H-Hello?" she asked in English, her voice laced with fear. When no one answered, she took hesitant steps, holding her wand out in front of her.

When she had deemed that there was no other presence in the house but her, she lowered her wand, and collapsed into a seat. Her frail heart was pounding against her chest, and she had broken into a cold sweat.

She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, and immediately felt better. She stood, grabbed her sturdiest cane, and walked out of her cottage, locking the door behind her.

The blistering sun had become brighter than it had been moments ago. Mathilda took a heavy breath and started her journey to Ollivanders, where she had previously met and befriended the owner, Ophelia Ollivander.