The Potter Girls and the World of Magic

Candlelight filled the enormous room with a warm, homey glow. The amber light flowed around the room, casting beautiful shadows upon the walls as eager First Years held their hands up in the light as if to play. Floating high above all else within the room, long tables, humanoid figures draped in robes most outdated, ghostly figures communed, their smoky forms almost invisible, hidden amidst the candles as they were. Each quietly watched over the children — small ones and large ones, fearful ones and unbothered ones, awe-struck ones and disgusted ones, all wearing a tie and robe upon which their House colours and Crest made themselves known — cataloguing each new face, each new possible interest within each of their own respective Houses. Whilst, of course, there were only four House Ghosts, the others still considered whichever House they had first been sorted into as theirs.

A number of scents wafted through the air. Whether they be from the students themselves, or from the food which they consumed now, not even the Grey Lady knew.

As you may have figured out by now, Little Reader, this is a Harry Potter X Winx Club fanfiction. So I welcome you, all, to the tale of two sisters, of four mates, two pairs, of a fiery passion, and a frightful past.

To the tale of many sides, even those that remain unseen, of adventure and exploration, of deceit and manipulation.

To the tale of freedom.

I welcome you, Little Reader, to The Potter Girls and the World of Magic.

******************************

Kalmia

Sitting quietly at the Gryffindor House table, an enormous wooden buffet table, for lack of better description, is a young woman with hair resembling ash. It falls down her back in a tangled mess, stopping at the space just beneath her breast. Alight with the reflection and shadows cast by the flickering light, her hair almost seems to be a cascading ‘waterfall’ of glowing embers. A pair of wary jade eyes, hidden away beneath a layer of glass and metalwork, observe the room, as if scanning for a form of danger. The eyes take note of every sudden movement, watching in particular the adults within the room, as the child absent-mindedly feeds herself, at an insistent voice from beside her.

“Kala! You do actually need to eat, you know. Honestly, it isn’t healthy for you to eat so little, and- Don’t you give me that look, Kalmia Lilith Hel Potter! I swear to Merlin…”

At some point, the girl majorly tuned her friend out. Whilst the older girl can be ever so overbearing at times, alongside highly exhausting in her bouts of sudden feverish energy, the Potters’ only surviving Heir does know that much of what her closest friend’s behaviour is born from is a natural nurturing touch. One that most teachers here — sorry, ‘Professors’ — seem to lack so entirely that it’s actually insane, in her opinion. And Kalmia does, unfortunately know a lot about that topic.

After all, the majority of her school career has been spent rushing about, cleaning up the messes of adults, or messes that the adults should, realistically, be taking care of. Thus far, she has dealt with an insane — if cunning, to an extent — hybrid between a mortal man, trembling and simpering like a fool, and a disembodied spirit ridiculously in need of a body and a nose, a schoolwide ostracisation with a ginormous serpent (a basilisk, if she remembers correctly, which she always does) that has guarded the school for centuries on end, apparently. Until, of course, someone decided to lock it away and erase all knowledge of it, according to said basilisk.

Kalmia is certain that she knows exactly who that is as well.

Someone shakes her, motioning at first her plate, and then her stomach, and the girl just barely holds back a laugh. Doing so, before her magic has had a chance to heal any of her non-fatal wounds, numerous as they are, is a foolish idea. Of course, when she is reminiscing over her Second Year, someone tells her to eat, as though her mind is not utterly filled with the thoughts of Hexes and Potions and even Curses that had somehow found their way into her general vicinity to cause her harm.

In the end, it had resulted in extensive research over the topic of Warding. In every area that she could possibly find.

Now, the ‘Girl-Who-Lived’ (most girls live, what she did is survive. Big difference) is highly proficient in Warding herself, whether that be for mere privacy or for protection from harm or for any other reason, so much so that the matter of casting any one of the spells is practically second nature to her, even when she does it by hand. Horrible reasoning, wonderful outcome.

Still.

Continuing to eat, slowly but surely lessening the mountain of food that had been unceremoniously dumped upon her plate by Hermione Granger at an earlier point that evening, Kalmia continues to recount, mentally, the ‘adventures’ (Quests of Suicide) that had taken place over the course of her time in Hogwarts. Third Year saw the appearance of an escaped convict in her life, who turned out to be her godfather, and, finally, a trial — a fair trial — for his innocence, using Peter Pettigrew as an unwilling witness, or whatever it was.

Who cares? She doesn’t. Either way, the rat is dead now, via her own hand at the end of last year. The Triwizard Tournament, during which a minor, whose consent was not given, was made to participate in a dangerous, entirely lethal, inter-school competition.

Kalmia holds absolutely no appreciation for it.

Neither does her sister.

Bloom Iris Loki Potter, adoptive child of James and Lily Potter, at some point during her mother’s pregnancy. One and a half years older than her, and also in Gryffindor. The older girl holds more memories of their parents than she does, alongside holding an almost terrifying affinity for fire.

It would be more frightening if Kalmia weren’t equally skilled, only in the opposing direction.

Speaking of Bloom, the draconic girl has her eyes, sapphire gems, hard and protective, weary and wary, on Kalmia’s person. She can tell; only her sister has that specific stare. Lifting a hand to carefully shift hair from her eyes, the girl makes a subtle sign to the older girl, a reassurance that she is alright.

A soft sigh escapes Kalmia’s lips.

Bloom can be so protective. Smothering, almost.

Reading her older sister’s eyes, she rolls her own. Another person is telling her to eat her food. Fair enough, she supposes, but that fact is not one that she realistically cares for all too strongly. Returning to the plate in front of her, stomach already beginning to twist at the notion of actually having something fill it, over Bloom’s magic seeping into her skin to keep her alive.

Screw the Dursleys.

Loud voices are all around her, all talking over one another, unfortunately causing her sensitive ears to complain harshly and uncaringly, painful twangs filing into her brain. The strong scent of the candles high above floats around the room, swirling and clogging up her nose with a hateful smell, however pleasant it may technically be.

Somewhere in the Hall, somehow, a familiar voice makes its way to her ears. A conversation, it seems.

“But I can feel it, Blaise. They’re here, somewhere or another, and their scent is so mixed with wariness and pain. When, by Lady Magic, is Father going to arrive?”

Is that…

Draco?

Draco Malfoy?

Draco Lucius Malfoy?

Whyever can she hear him, and why is his voice so easy to hear? It might be fading in and out of her conscious brain, the older boy’s conversational complaints, but she does know his voice when she hears it. Merlin, does he intend for everyone in the entire Great Hall to be able to hear him?

Snorting, the girl continues to all but shove the sickening food into her mouth.

Still listening in on the conversation, albeit accidentally, Kalmia finds her focus wavering slightly. Over the years, especially after Bloom’s admission to Hogwarts two years before her, Kalmia Potter’s magical sensitivity has grown stronger and stronger, strengthening with each passing year. Her core seems to actively seek out the magic around her, something that it needs to work very hard for when at Privet Drive.

Now, it seems to be reaching out to the surrounding hall, searching, almost desperately, for a hint, even a small one, of something. Not that she actually knows what that something is, though. But her core is whining, like a small child, complaining and needy. At least in regard to the magic that courses through the surrounding air, mingling with the other atoms that make up her surroundings.

So of course, it takes note when someone enters the Great Hall. This person seems to be an adult, or at least old enough that their core has matured, however old that is (16, hisses a voice in her memory). Judging by how the person’s core and general personal atmosphere seems to reek with a certain combination of lethality and self-confidence, she would say that this person is either in their thirties, of an old and/or well-recognised bloodline, or both. Self-assuredness is good, yes, but this is a slightly higher level than that.

And yet, Kalmia feels her magic subtly probing deeper. All the while, she continues to force as much of the buffet into herself as she can without causing her stomach to go on strike. At some point, Bloom’s beady, sapphire eyes had swept off of Kalmia’s person.

Eyes slowly closing as she concentrates, still with a section of her brain focussed upon feeding her starved, frail body, Kalmia ‘Don’t call me Mia!’ Potter brings her magic to feel out the person, the stranger, from what she is aware. Although… Wait a minute…

Lucius Malfoy?! What’s he doing here?

The dark-haired girl frowns, minutely, as she feels her ears twitch with the strain of eavesdropping, unashamedly, on the conversation between Malfoys Senior and Junior.

…

Bloom is probably also listening, now that she thinks about it. The girl has ridiculous senses, especially her sense of smell. It does make sense, though, if only when one considers her highly draconic nature. Dragons do, after all, have a highly advanced sense of smell. And incredible hearing as well, something that both sisters discovered last year during the Tournament.

“Father! Finally, you took forever. Why on Earth did you take so damn long to get here?!”

“Language, son. How are you? Are your urges settling or nay?”

“Settling, but it’s a slow business. And, oh, they feel so hurt, Father. May I?”

“That is concerning… Go ahead, Draco. I take it that he has not eaten anything?”

“Not really, Mr Malfoy. He’s been too worried for that, refusing to actually eat anything. He is perfectly hydrated, though, if only because I poured a mug of black tea down his throat.”

“Hmm… You have my thanks, Zabini.”

“You can just call me Blaise, you know? I am Draco’s closest friend, after all.”

“Why should I, if you refuse to call me by my own name?”

“…Touché.”

Quietly, Kalmia hums a tune. Something that she and her beloved sister had come up with a few years before Bloom first left for Hogwarts. The two sisters can communicate through a series of melodies that most others cannot understand or even hear, making for a beautifully private language that they needn’t share with any other. Out of the corner of her jade eye, Miss Potter sees a slight movement, a flicker throughout the room. Someone is walking about the hall, likely invisible to everyone else, seeing as no other person seems to have picked up on the strange movements around the hall. Only when the candlelight falls upon them (or when she actually focusses, but that isn’t exactly her point) can she make out their features and admittedly odd behaviour.

Malfoy Junior. Draco Malfoy. And he is… Scenting the air…?

What the hell? Kalmia sighs as she watches him, cataloguing his odd behaviour. As he walks around the Slytherin Table, she notes that both Blaise and Lord Malfoy are also watching him, meaning that his invisibility is specialised.

She thinks, anyway. Maybe it’s just her inordinate magical strength that allows her to see the older boy, in which case Bloom should also be able to see him. Blaise can probably see the Slytherin boy due to his friendship with the male, whilst Lord Malfoy can likely see him due to their familial bond, or some other similarity.

“Hem-hem,” she hears. Dragging both her jade eyes off of the peculiar behaviour of the young Malfoy, Kalmia looks back over at Lord Malfoy. Standing beside him now, a revolting, simpering look on her face, is the new Defense Professor. Professor Umbridge, the Minister’s Senior Undersecretary, according to her research into the Ministry for Magic — that is the actual name of the British magical government, though at some point in reasonably recent times, they decided to illegally alter the name — and an absolute toad. At least appearance-wise, her personality, from what Kalmia has thus far seen, is somewhat different. Even Neville’s toad, she finds, is better than that woman.

Said woman is dressed in an obnoxiously bright pink, making her look just like a small child, unfortunately for the child. It causes both sisters to be unable to take the horrid woman seriously.

“Dolores,” she hears Lord Malfoy drawl as his gaze flickers over to her. “What brings you over to the Slytherin Table?”

The woman’s simpering response makes Kalmia want to vomit. “Hello, Lucius. Why, I thought that since you were here, I may as well come and speak to you. How are things going at the Ministry for you? I haven’t seen you in ever so long, you see.”

“Mmm… My work at the Ministry is going quite well, Dolores. Cornelius has requested my assistance yet again, though the reasoning is slightly too… Delicate, shall we say, to be discussed in front of children. As are most Ministry matters, Dolores. Wouldn’t you agree?” Amusement dances in a pair of jade eyes as they watch the scene from afar, listening in as best she can. How she enjoys listening to people running circles around one another.

Especially when it causes one party to panic somewhat. The Professor quickly backtracks in her attempts to fish for some form of blackmail, her voice hastily telling the Malfoy Lord, “Oh, of course, of course. My mistake. May I ask why you are at the school?”

Malfoy Senior’s aristocratic drawl only serves to unsettle the woman further. “Unfortunately, I must decline, Dolores. The matter for which I am here is equally delicate, regarding my Heir. I am certain that you understand, mmm?”

As the Malfoy speaks, he rises from his seat, clasping his cane firmly as he stares the Professor down. It is a startling realisation when Kalmia notices the Malfoy Heir walking around the Gryffindor Table now, slowing as he comes closer to her. She sees, from the corner of her jewel-like eye, a pair of sapphire eyes narrow, a flame lighting protectively around the light-consuming pupil. Bloom watches the blonde closely as he moves towards her younger sister.

Feeling her body tense in response to the approaching Slytherin, an extreme wariness filling her, Kalmia shuffles slightly nearer to Hermione, who responds by wrapping an arm around the smaller girl’s waist. Ron looks across the table, concerned as he feels Kalmia’s magic shifting restlessly, and slows his feasting.

“Kalmia?” he asks softly.

She only shakes her head, just barely. Later, her magic seems to say.

Suddenly, something clicks in her ears, before she hears feet rushing out of the Great Hall. Malfoy is no longer situated behind her, a slight magical probe tells her.

What was that?

******************************

Draco

Rushing from the luminous Hall, he trails his father’s magical footprint to an empty classroom a little way away from the Great Hall. Away from his Fated as well. As he enters the classroom, nearly crashing into the door in his haste, Draco moves to sit beside his father, knowing that if he doesn’t he’ll start pacing throughout the room.

“Well?” asks his father after a few minutes of somewhat tense silence.

Draco sighs, staring down at the ground, brow furrowed in a mixture of irritation and concern. “It’s Potter.”

“Which Potter?” he hears, and the deadpan tone of voice makes him glare at the older wiccan.

Leaning back against the man, he responds, “Who else? Kalmia Potter.”

The pair are silent for a moment, taking it in properly, something that Heir Malfoy has yet to do. The frown adorning his face deepens as he recalls the exact scent that his Fated had given off in the Great Hall. It was… Wounded. Wounded, pained, and upset.

Draco doesn’t understand why. The girl’s magic was wrapped around her in something of a protective cocoon as he had approached the lions’ table, and as he neared her, she began to feel afraid, it seemed to him. He had also felt something from her older sister, Bloom Potter.

Bloom, as everyone in the school knows, is an extremely defensive older sibling, almost like a mother bear towards its cub. Her temper is legendary, and for good reason as well. The sheer amount of people who have crossed her whilst in a bad mood can all hold testament to that. Apparently, if one believes the rumors, and he most certainly believes the rumors, the older Potter strung Lockhart up by his… jewels, if one understands what he means, for making her younger sister uncomfortable in Second Year. She also has, allegedly, poisoned (non-fatally) a few students who made attempts to use a love potion on either her or Kalmia Potter, sometimes with their own love potions. She’s used botched potions as well, if only for the fact that they can hold immense danger to the consumer.

And, in her case, they always do.

So, in the Great Hall, as soon as he felt his Fated, Mia-bloody-Potter, begin to show even the slightest tremors of fear, he had bolted. Ignoring every Veela urge to comfort the younger girl for the sake of self-preservation in the face of an angry dragon. Even though he had been invisible to everyone aside his father and Blaise, Draco still gets the feeling that his invisibility would only end up prolonging the inevitable doom that probably now awaits him.

“Fascinating choice that Mother Magic has made, isn’t it, Draco?” His father’s voice breaks him out of his musings with ease, and the Malfoy Heir blinks.

What?

“Hmm? Uh, yes, it would seem so, Father,” he responds almost hesitantly. “The thing is though… She felt so… hurt, Father. And when I came near, as if she was able to sense me, even with my being invisible, Potter just felt so… so scared. I don’t like it.”

It doesn’t fit with his image of her, which, admittedly, has altered a lot over the years at this school, with every interaction with the younger girl. But still!

Hearing a hum, the Veela refocuses on the man against whom he is leaning. “No, I don’t like it either, Dragon. However, it shall certainly be fascinating, this… Situation, I suppose, is the best description. We shall have to inform Dumbledore, then.”

Standing, the two Veela straighten their clothing, and Draco warns his father, “Just be prepared for Bloom Potter to be there as well. She adores her sister too much to just leave her.”

A slight chuckle is elicited from Lucius Malfoy as he regards his Heir. “Of course, son. I would expect nothing less from a Potter.”