The Answer to a Prayer
Freya was grateful at first to be home, to get away from school and all her classmates. She quickly remembered, however, that Christmastime was one event after another. The Felwich family was very old and well-connected, which meant that Freya and Morwena were related in some way to just about everyone in the Wizarding World. There were several family events in different wizarding villages where Freya was supposed to socialize with some of the very classmates she was so eager to avoid now that school was out.
The first night back, there was a stiff and formal event at the Emerald Club where she and her sister were expected to uphold everyone’s old and outdated version of what a Slytherin girl should be. The Felwich sisters wore matching taffeta dresses of a deep green color, and thick white tights. The room was large, overly warm and stuffy, full of people she didn’t care to know better. Freya stood by Morwena’s side and listened to her talk to Umberto Calais, while assiduously avoiding Reginald Dennison and Jason Carter, who were nearby.
Another event brought her to the Poysenberry House, where she and Denise gossiped about boys all evening. This wasn’t too bad, as Freya just recycled talking points from her discussions with Alyssa and Meriko.
On the Tweny-third, Freya’s family hosted the Covenshires. Tess gave Freya a hug and a kiss on the top of her head before running off with Morwena. Aylie, who was about to turn eleven, had a thousand questions for Freya about Hogwarts. It was fun being the expert to a younger girl, but the interrogation was wearying as well, as Freya wanted to forget about school for a while.
Christmas Eve found her at the Ashfeld Estate. She was stuck with Shona while Morwena went off with Rhiannon to scheme in private. Shona the Tomboy only talked about sports now, either Quidditch or some Muggle game called Football.
Benedict, true to his word, sent a prompt letter. It was simple and to the point: “Have a safe and happy Christmas.” There were a few details about the events he’d been attending. There was no declaration of love, no musings over their kiss. Still, she saved the letter, folding it and sticking it into her diary.
In the whole lead-up to Christmas, there was just one mystery for Freya to ponder: Morwena had received an unexpected gift. An owl had come by the house with a stack of cookies wrapped in a red cloth.
When Morwena read the note, her face flushed and she said, “Oh my goodness!”
“Who is it from?” asked Freya.
“One of the prefects,” answered Morwena, though she wouldn’t say which one. She brought the cookies back to her room without even offering one to Freya.
It’s a boy, thought Freya. If it were, say, Lara Guishar, she would say ‘They’re from Lara.’ Indeed, a few days later, Morwena received a bundle of cookies from Lara. Morwena not only told Freya who they were from but offered one to her.
Freya sat on the floor of her room, leaning against her bed, eating a sugar cookie cut in the shape of a snowflake, and pondered. When the gift was from a girl, Wennie just says who it’s from. The other cookies were from a boy, a boy that she likes. That’s why she wouldn’t tell me.
Does she think I’ll rat her out to Cyrus? Would he even care if a boy gave her a bundle of cookies?
It’s got to be a crazy crush if she won’t even share the cookies with me. She had to have them all to herself.
Is it from Philip? No, Philip isn’t a prefect.
Later that day, Morwena and Freya went into town for some last-minute Christmas shopping. Freya had all the gifts she was responsible for, so she was just browsing. She let Morwena get ahead of her and then began to trail behind. Morwena was looking left and right, as if she were waiting for someone.
That someone turned out to be Philip Harkenborough. The two exchanged a quick hug. Freya closed the gap between herself and her sister. She heard Morwena ask, “What should I get him?”
“You don’t have to get him anything.”
“Yes, I do,” answered Morwena fervently. “And, I must admit, I’m not much of a cook. Most of my baking adventures end in disaster.”
“How about a book?” suggested Philip. “He’s mad about Quidditch, and he misses all the games in the summer. Get him a Quidditch book.” Philip took Morwena by the arm and led her into the nearby bookstore.
Freya, following quietly, saw Philip select the book himself from the shelves. Freya turned away and perused a set of teen romance novels while Morwena brought the book to the cashier. Watching her sister from over the rack of books, Freya reviewed what she knew.
The secret admirer, the cookie baker, is a boy, a prefect. He’s friends with Philip Harkenborough. If he can’t watch the pro Quidditch leagues play during the summer, then he must be Muggleborn.
Answer: Liam Wren.
Wennie likes him and she’s embarrassed to admit it. After all, he’s Muggleborn without proper lineage like Cyrus. Also, no Slytherin can leave a gift unanswered. She’ll want her gift to be more than what he gave her. A way to show that she likes him, and also a way not to be in debt to him.
Freya was curious what Morwena had to say about Prefect Cookie-baker Hufflepuff Liam Wren, but Morwena wasn’t likely to confide in her.It’s all in her diary, which, unfortunately, has counter charms on it specifically for me.
I wonder what Tess knows about this.
Christmas Day arrived. After a quick breakfast and a few small gifts from Mum and Dad, the four of them got into their Rolls Royce Phantom and sped off to Druid’s Gove. This was the town where Freya and Morwena were born, and where they lived prior to moving to Godric’s Hollow right before Morwena started at Hogwarts. They were to spend Christmas morning with Great Grandmother Felwich.
The Grove was sparsely populated, with few houses and many trees. Everything was covered with a blanket of white. I should go walking later if I can get away.
At Great Grandmother’s, more aunts, uncles and cousins were waiting. There were toddlers and children in grade school. After a long, drawn out brunch, there was another round of gift giving. Great Grandmother Felwich gave Freya a box containing a doll with a glass head and eerie eyes that looked vacant one moment and alive and real the next.
Freya was sweet and gracious to her grandmother, but afterwards, she sat in a corner and sulked. Why did she give me a doll? I’m thirteen now! I don’t play with dolls!
She studied the doll’s clothes, her dress, apron and witch’s hat, and fitted the little wand into the doll’s porcelain fingers. This thing is ancient. It probably belonged to Grandmother when she was a little girl, or to one of her sisters. Why didn’t she give it to one of the younger girls?
She answered her own questions: Because they would just break it and pull its hair out. Because the vacant eyes would give them nightmares.
Morwena hardly fared any better. She received a cedar chest with a dress inside and a gauzy white veil. Grandmother said, “You’re getting of age, young lady. You need to start filling up your Hope Chest with things you’ll need when you start your own family.”
“You know I’m planning to go to college,” said Morwena.
“Yes, but only until you find that right boy,” said Great Grandmother.
Freya observed this from her corner, the doll in her lap. Grandma is so old-fashioned. Yes, Wennie wants to marry Cyrus, but she wants a career, too. She’s said plenty of times over the years that she’s worked too hard in school to be just a housewife.
After all the presents were opened, Morwena and Freya were drawn into a game of Cross-Spell, similar to Scrabble except that all the words must be incantations. After the game, Freya excused herself. She put on her coat, hat, gloves and scarf and announced to the group, “I’m going for a walk.”
“Don’t go too far,” said her mother, “I’ll need you and Wennie to help with dinner.”
Freya was afraid that Morwena would ask to come with her, but Morwena had attached herself to an uncle who worked at Ministry. He was regaling her with stories of political backstabbing. This was fine by Freya. She was weary of company.
Outside, the snow was crisp and even. The pathway was slick, but she took slow, careful steps. After the busy clatter of her great grandmother’s house, the silence was heavenly. Freya walked down the path to the main street. Following the sidewalk, she made her way to the knoll where Umberto had once taken Q.
The sky was overcast, but the clouds were not so heavy as to make her fear it was about to start snowing again. All around her was white. Snow sat on the eaves of houses, hung on the pine branches, and lay in big piles along the sides of the road.
Freya climbed the knoll with slow, steady steps. Reaching the summit, she gazed down in the direction of Faerydale, just as Umberto and Q had done some years earlier.
Her breath shot out in jets of steam. She rubbed her hands together. I wish Benedict were here, she thought. I wish he really loved me.
Someone was walking towards the knoll from the opposite direction from where she had come. Freya had turned towards home when the figure called out to her, “Is that you, Felwich? Hold up a bit, will you?”
She turned back towards the boy, now climbing the knoll with long, quick strides. She couldn’t see his face for the scarf and hat he wore, but she knew his voice: Aiden Thompson. She scowled to have her brief moment of solitude interrupted, but by the time Aiden reached her, she had put on a polite smile.
“Hullo Thompson,” she said. “How was your Christmas?”
“Lovely,” he said, clapping the snow off his gloves. “Yours?”
“Fine.”
“What brings you to Druid’s Grove?”
“I used to live here,” answered Freya.
“Yes, but you don’t now. Visiting family?”
Freya nodded. “My Great-Grandmum.”
“Splendid. Nice to get away from school, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But there’s been so many holiday events since I’ve got back, it hasn’t really seemed like a break.”
“I know what you mean. You know, I was thinking about you. I was just saying to myself, ‘Freya Felwich and I ought to be better friends.’ And here you are! Answer to my prayers.”
She expressed her skepticism with a snort. “Part of the reason we’re not friends, Aiden, is the company you keep.”
Aiden sighed. “Unfortunately, that can’t be helped. You’re in the same boat, though, aren’t you? I mean, you and Pitchfork, that was a marriage of convenience more than anything.”
This statement was uncomfortably close to the truth. Freya, with feigned aggrievement, “But I love my Slytherin sisters! We make such a good team!”
“That you are,” said Aiden. “And Dennison is foolish for trying to cross you all the time. He should let the whole thing between Alyssa and Ben Took play out. He’s a fool for trying to stop it. It hasn’t deterred Took and it isn’t helping him win over Alyssa.”
Freya had no interest in playing matchmaker for Alyssa. She pushed the conversation onto a different track. “My sister says Dennison has a Dark Magic book.”
Aiden’s face was grim as he nodded. “He does have one. I haven’t seen it. Don’t know what it looks like, but he reads it at night with the curtains drawn around his bed. Damned thing gives off an aura that’s as dark as a demon’s.”
“Why not report him to Gregor?”
He shook his head. “We don’t want to move until we know for sure what it is we’re looking for. My job is to keep my eyes open and report back what I see.”
“To Gregor or to Umberto?”
Aiden looked slyly back at her. “Does it matter?”
“Why do you hang out with that creep Dennison, anyway?”
“Like I said, can’t be helped. If I can’t get him to change his ways, I’ve got to at least out-live him. He’s going to die young.”
“Says who?”
“Says our resident seer, Lara Guishar.”
Freya gazed at Aiden and prodded. “You know, I never heard the whole story about that. What did she say to him?” Benedict had told her something about it, but she wanted to hear it again from Aiden.
It had been over a year since Lara Guishar had uttered the Doom of Mahglin, yet Aiden Thompson easily recited it to Freya. It had been burned into his memory:
Mahglin, It is your ambition to become a Dark Lord,
But in this you shall fail!
You take your strength from Hate
But Love is the stronger power still,
And She shall undo all that you attempt!
Turn from this path
For nothing awaits you at the end of it!
Not fame nor infamy, not followers nor slaves!
Naught shall you gain
Save an early death!
“Goodness!” said Freya. “It must have been frightening to hear her say that.”
“We were all scared out of our wits,” admitted Aiden. “Except for Dennison, who needed frightening the most.”
“So, knowledge is power,” said Freya, matter-of-factly. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Stay alive.”
“Are you more likely to stay alive by hanging around Dennison? What if whatever comes to kill him kills you, too?”
“That’s a risk, for sure,” said Aiden. “But, if I make myself his enemy, he may come and kill me before his fate catches up with him. That would suck.” Freya laughed indulgently. Aiden continued, “My goal is to break away from him as soon as I can, but to do it on good terms. I don’t want him to think of me as a foe to be dealt with. I want him to have other fish to fry.”
“And then have one of those fish kill him?”
“Exactly.”
“You don’t want to do the deed yourself?”
Aiden shook his head. “Don’t want to end up in prison. Better to let someone else do the dirty work.”
“Sounds wise.”
“In the meantime, let me know how I can mend fences with you, Alyssa and Meriko.”
“I’ll mention this to them.”
“And, just between you and me, if things between you and Alyssa ever sour, Terrill Reese and I would make a good pair of allies for you.”
She laughed and smiled up at him. “I’ll take that under advisement. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be getting back before my family starts to worry about me.”
“I’ll walk with you,” he said. “I was needing to stretch my legs after a big Christmas feast.”
They walked together, side by side, gazing at the lighted windows of the houses at the top of each snowy lane. “This is right out a Christmas song, isn’t it?” remarked Freya.
“That it is. Walking in a Winter Wonderland. Speaking of Christmas, did you get any interesting gifts?”
“I got a scary porcelain doll from my great grandmother.”
Aiden laughed. “Splendid! I mostly got jumpers, hats and mittens. I did get a set of books from my sister. A very nice three-volume set of The Lord of the Rings.”
“Such a typical gift from a Ravenclaw sister! And what did you give her?”
“Wouldn’t presume to pick a book for Sadie. If she hasn’t read it already, she isn’t interested. Found her a nice wool beret. Bright blue. Looks good on her.”
“My sister got a bag of homemade cookies from Liam Wren.”
“Yes, Sadie got one, too.”
“Did she now?”
“Yes, and she let me have one of the ginger snaps. It was quite good.”
“Morwena didn’t share any of her cookies with me. But that’s interesting about Sadie. I guess Wren sent cookies to all the prefects.”
“Not just the prefects, either. Jill gets a bag from him every year. So does Hark. That’s what Sadie told me.”
“How interesting.” This bit of information more than made up for Aiden intruding upon Freya’s solitude. “We’re almost to my grandmother’s. Thank you for walking me home.”
“You’re welcome. See you on the train.”
Freya made her way up the cobblestone path. Inside the front door, Morwena was waiting for her. “Who was that?”
“My secret admirer,” said Freya.
Morwena looked crossly at her. “The Thompsons live here. It must have been Aiden.”
“Yes, it was Aiden.” With a devilish smile, she added, “He was telling me about the wonderful bag of cookies Liam Wren sent to his sister.”