𝕄𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝔻𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕

A letter came that evening. It landed directly in Sekhmet’s lap during dinner in the Great Hall. She knew it wasn’t from her father, it was too soon for him to send another. The letter looked nondescript, with regular pale parchment and a red seal. Upon further inspection, Sekhmet noticed that the letter was almost glittering, its paper reflecting the light of the candles like glass. It was most likely protected by blood magic if Sekhmet had to guess. Sekhmet paused in hesitation, her nerves going haywire after having read her father’s letter. Her experience with receiving letters was never good, in fact, it was usually pretty bad. That being said, Sekhmet had always been told that her curiosity was what would get her killed, so she might as well just play into her questioning nature.

 Sekhmet grabbed the knife next to her plate in the Great Hall, slicing the very tip of her pinky and allowing the blood to dribble down onto the letter. The seal changed then, and she saw it for what it was—the Deathly Hallows symbol. Sekhmet froze. Of course, the symbol with one of the darkest connotations and connections to her family would be what was sent. Her mother’s family had followed Grindelwald after all, so it was no surprise that the sender would use such a powerful, dangerous, and recognizable symbol to contact her.

Sekhmet knew what the symbol was; knew the truth of its origins. Many wizards and witches believed the symbol to be affiliated with dark magic considering that Gellert Grindelwald had used it as his symbol during his reign in the early 1900s. While he had used it, Sekhmet never viewed the symbol as a bad one. Sure it wasn’t great that such a powerful symbol had been tied to a dark wizard but that didn’t make it inherently bad. She knew that the magic in ancient artifacts was different than what it was today— more powerful to the point of almost being impossible. Sekhmet’s family was from Egypt after all; she had seen her fair share of ancient magic that, by all means, shouldn’t have been entirely possible. So, despite the many reservations around the existence of the Deathly Hallows throughout Europe, Sekhmet believed in their existence and ability. 

Sekhmet ripped open the letter, tearing the seal in half in the process. Her eyes recognized the handwriting as her grandfathers almost immediately, but instead of the letter being in English this time it was written almost entirely in Russian.

моя внучка (moya vnuchka: 𝓂𝓎 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒹𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇),  

Я отслеживал ваш прогресс через ряд нераскрытых источников. Мне стало известно, что недавно вы были в лазарете после довольно серьезного обморока. Я предполагаю, что вы узнали истинную природу этого вопроса. Эта сила является продуктом проклятия крови нашей семьи. Она позволяет вам видеть проблески будущего, но знайте, что эти видения нельзя изменить. Будущее произойдет так, как оно должно было произойти — никакое вмешательство не может его изменить. 

Я оставил вам подарок на случай, если вам понадобится поговорить об этом нашем общем проклятии. Повторите фразу «Ostende mihi vocem tuam in pretio visus nostri.», чтобы использовать предмет. 

Я надеюсь услышать от вас скоро, но не забудьте прислушаться к моему совету.

(𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝒶 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓇𝒸𝑒𝓈. 𝐼𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝒶 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒 𝓃𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒹𝓊𝒸𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎’𝓈 𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒. 𝐼𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓈𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝓋𝒾𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝒹. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜— 𝓃𝑜 𝓂𝑒𝒹𝒹𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒 𝒾𝓉.   

𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝒻𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶 𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓀 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈. 𝑅𝑒𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒽𝓇𝒶𝓈𝑒 “𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉” 𝐼𝓃 𝑜𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓉𝑒𝓂.  𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝒹𝓋𝒾𝒸𝑒.)

- твой дедушка (tvoy dedushka: 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇)

Sekhmet let her eyes rest on the words in the letter, her mind racing. She knew there was no changing the future in her vision, it was bound to be as it was and even playing with the fates themself wouldn’t change that. She knew that what she saw would always happen, but she also knew that small decisions could change how the future of those visions played out.

 To say she was frustrated would be putting it lightly. Between her father and grandfather consistently meddling in her life in increasingly vague ways she would probably have a better chance of getting straight answers from a muggle fortune teller. 

How dare they? How dare they toy with her future as though she were no more than a pawn on a chessboard? Like she was no more than a favor to be used and a object to be used. And how the actual Hell was her grandfather spying on her? What business did he have with her that was so important he had to invade her privacy? Could she trust this man? Did she have any other choice? Who on earth was stalking her for her bloody grandfather?

Perhaps contacting him was worth trying. After all, she had nothing to lose. If her grandfather had no idea about the true nature of the curse then she wouldn’t be any more clueless than she is now. Despite the worry, some part of Sekhmet felt as though the words written were true. She figured that the price for being able to see the future was the inability to change it, but she also knew that the visions of seers weren’t quite as they seemed. Maybe, in some twisted and even more complex way, this curse could prove useful to her. 

Sekhmet was mulling over her decisions when Pandora tapped on her shoulder. Her fingers gripped the letter tight, her knuckles white. Sekhmet’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, her mind coming back to the present. 

Pandora looked at Sekhmet knowingly in sympathy. It was as though nothing ever got past her. Her whimsical nature seemed to be an integral component of her aptness, allowing her to see the truth for what it was more often than not. She nodded at the letter, her eyes falling to the part about Sekhmet contacting her grandfather. Despite her not knowing a word of Russian Sekhmet was almost sure that Pandora knew what was happening. Sekhmet’s green eyes clashed with her blue, trying to find an answer she wouldn’t get. 

Just then, Barty commented something regarding Evan that had the table go into a fit of snorting laughter. Dorcas was quite literally choking on her sip of pumpkin juice while Evan’s face went as red as a tomato. Sekhmet looked at Regulus in amused confusion, her attention pulled away from the prior topic before she heard Evan open his mouth to comment.

“At least I wasn’t as bad as you! I may have gotten caught by Bellatrix my first time but at least I didn’t have Emmeline Vance going and rambling on about how she saw you try and put the moves on some French girl in Madame Puddifoot’s of all places!” Evan exclaimed his arms waving in large movements around Barty’s frame as his voice pitched higher in embarrassment. 

“Didn’t that girl flat-out reject you, Barty? Like literally hexed you two ways to Tuesday whenever you tried to hold her hand?” Dorcas chimed in laughing, her whole frame shaking in amusement as she looked at Barty.

“I’ll have you know that this was all before I found out I was” He looked around the Slytherin table to make sure no one heard, eyeing everyone within earshot warily, “gay,” Barty said voice stern but quiet. 

Britain hadn’t yet normalized homosexuality, and despite the Wizarding world having its own oddities that it deemed normal it seemed as though being queer was simply “too much” for them. Sekhmet thought it was absolutely ridiculous to hold such notions. All of her friend group, including herself, was not entirely heterosexual. They each liked who they liked simply because of who they were— gender hardly mattered whenever the person you were talking to made you feel like the sun reincarnated.

Sekhmet nodded to Barty and Evan who were holding hands and looking around the Great Hall in distress, their shoulders tense with fear. 

“There’s no need to worry, I have us under a personal Muffliato Charm that I created. The people eavesdropping won’t be able to make out a single coherent word of what we’re saying.” Sekhmet smiled in supportive reassurance.

“Not like anyone would want to hear their incessant flirting anyway,” Regulus broke the previous tension, talking to Sekhmet teasingly as if the two in question couldn’t hear them.

She picked up her now cold tea, taking a sip as she shook her head at Regulus and she smiled. She listened to the continued conversation among her friends, Evan and Barty going after Regulus claiming that “they did no such thing”. The flickering candles causing a warm light to fall over the Great Hall put Sekhmet at ease. She would go over the letter more later, but for now, she would be with her friends— and Merlin, was she beyond grateful to have them.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Professor McGonagall, although a sweet lady, was getting on Sekhmet’s last nerve. Obviously, Transfiguration required some theory work, but for the last three days of this class to have consisted of just that was beyond ridiculous. Sekhmet was itching to pick up her wand, and she was considered to be a patient person. Regulus wasn’t much better beside her; opting to completely ignore McGonagall in favor of sketching in the notebook she’d gotten him years ago. He’d never shown her its contents but she was never one to pry, understanding the importance of the privacy of others. 

Sekhmet was so overcome with boredom she had taken to counting every single thread on her Slytherin uniform. While she was twirling her hair and zoning out on the board felt someone nudge her foot under the table. She subtly looked up at the culprit, who was none other than Dorcas Meadowes. 

Dorcas gave her one of those cheesy smiles that she was so known for and passed her a note in response. Sekhmet looked at her in question but quickly pocketed the note when she noticed McGonagall looking their way. Sekhmet looked back down at her work, moving her quill as if she were taking notes regarding the lesson. Once the professor looked away, Sekhmet pulled the note from her pocket, ripping it open to read its contents.

“Hey, do you want to go to the Quidditch opening season party tonight? Everyone is going to be there and I’m sure Regulus would go if you asked him. “

Sekhmet read the note and pointedly ignored the smirking face that Dorcas had drawn next to her last sentence. She tried her best to hide the blush rising to her cheeks, keeping her face straight and raising an unimpressed brow at her friend. 

Regulus and Sekhmet’s friend group, for the longest time, had teased the two about the nature of their relationship. The two were closer than regular friends, they knew that, but it was simply how it’d always been. Sekhmet had been more of a confidant to Regulus than anyone— even Sirius when their relationship was still good. Similarly, Sekhmet had always been more herself with Regulus than even her brothers could see. He made her feel safe enough to drop the perfect pureblood daughter act when he was around, and she made him feel like more than a spare heir. 

Sekhmet debated her answer, looking over to Regulus who paid her no mind. He was Seeker and team captain, making him required to attend even if it was just for appearances. Not to mention that Evan and Barty were on the team as well. Evan had been a Chaser since his second year and Barty had joined in his third after being consistently harassed by his friend. Barty had ended up being a great addition to the team, being one of the best Beaters for Slytherin in the past 50 years. 

She truly did have nothing against parties, she just didn’t enjoy them much. More accurately, Sekhmet didn’t enjoy the drunk witches and wizards who seemed to get too handsy or forward with their actions while at parties— Mulciber at the Halloween party being the most recent example. But perhaps she would go if only to have fun with her friends. She did enjoy party games and liked engaging with others so maybe this could be fun. She wrote back to Dorcas, scribbling her response out on one of her notebook pages and then proceeding to rip it out and pass it over. 

“Yeah, I’ll go. What time is it? And more importantly, what are we wearing?”