Magic? || Years 5-7

Burn Out: On the Run

Harry, Hermione, and Ron spent an awful amount of time locked in a bedroom with Griphook, the goblin, scheming something while Amisty regretted more and more her decision to stay out of it. Not like she was any less busy, what with Fleur having them collect driftwood and help cook whenever they weren't off doing their own thing.

Amisty's own thing primarily consisted of pretending to sleep while she was cataloguing Healing supplies and tweaking old potion recipes. Even if she didn't really have the opportunity to experiment, considering no one would let her near a cauldron. By far one of her most bizarre limitations, since potioneering hardly needed any magic other than the energy itself. Still, under the guise of getting fresh air, she'd scavenge through the nearby cliffs for anything resembling herbs to replenish Hermione's limited stores. Wilting plants were better than nothing, after all.

And, in the sparse moments right where her silhouette drifted from sight of Shell Cottage's windows, she'd stand. Listening to the ocean battering the sandy cliffs, the wind whistling through the grass as salt pinched her cheeks and tangled in her hair. Heard the vaguest whispers of voices, mere shadows of words, dancing along the breeze too quickly for her to make sense of it all.

Warnings, greetings, anything, and everything in between. Not just Wolf Borns, either, but thousands of other spirits tied to the Magick woven into the Earth itself.

She'd tried to talk to Hermione about it, but it hadn't gone very well. Though, that was to be expected. Hermione was a practical witch, a textbook witch, based on fact and recorded history, not the faint wisps of a past Amisty could barely comprehend herself. So, yes, maybe Lŷkos existed, but only because Amisty had seen them. Interacted with them. They weren't figments of imagination or a child's tale, they were real. Magic having feelings? Having instinct and a will of its own as if it were a living being? Preposterous.

Amisty had a feeling that'd change soon enough, after all she's heard with the Horcruxes. Magic was too flexible to have a checklist of rules. Hermione would figure that out in due time.

Once, with her Skeleton Key pressing angry red indents into her palm, Amisty stood at the edge of the cliff and glared out at the horizon. Jaw clenched, eyes red, glistening tear tracks dripping off her chin. They'd all warned her it was unlikely for a Key to unlock the collar, but hope was a fleeting, fickle thing, and she latched onto it while she still could.

Didn't mean it always pulled through.

"It's a talisman, Amisty," Hermione said that night before they went to sleep, hours after Amisty had stormed back into Shell Cottage with an expression so dark even Luna cowered. "It's not like the Muggle keys."

Fat load of good that damned talisman did for her.

Silent, Amisty curled tight into herself, keenly aware of the cold kiss of metal against her skin. Suffocating. A boundary so superficial, so thin, that dreams could sidestep it, but reality couldn't.

"It'll come off eventually—"

"You don't get it," Amisty snapped, harsher than intended but too exhausted to bother apologizing. "And you won't get it, so stop with the whole 'just give it some time' schtick, okay?"

There was a pause. A rebuttal hanging in the air but swallowed instead, leaving everything simmering like a pot just before a boil. Silence that went on so long Amisty almost thought Hermione had rolled over and gone to sleep. Then—

"I won't understand," Hermione said, treading lightly, keeping her tone gentle, soft, "and I am so sorry that I don't, but can we talk about this instead of you bottling it up all the time? You scared us today."