Fate [Harry Potter Next Gen x Shadowhunters x Winx]

YOUR POV
“What in the Angel’s name have you been doing?!” Mum exclaimed. The six of us walked through the backdoor, covered in blood and reeking of petrol.
“Not now mum,” I sighed, hanging my jacket.
“And you three,” She gestured to the Edwards triplets standing awkwardly in the door frame. “I’m appalled you let her drag you into this - what on earth are we going to do about your clothes?”
I rolled my eyes. I was Squadron Leader – it was my job to drag them into it.
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t hunt today,” Dad sighed, emerging from the hall in his tux.
“Well, you’re lucky I did. We found a-”
“I don’t care what you found,” Mum interrupted. “Get upstairs and get dressed. Now.”
“But I need to report back to-”
“I said get dressed!” Mum snapped. “You can file your report later.”
Knowing I wasn’t going to win that argument, I stormed upstairs, pointedly slamming the bathroom door. I turned on the shower, hearing Dad direct the Edwards to the other bathrooms while Mum offered Ivy and Liam some Chinese takeout with varying shades of grace. Ivy accepted the offer with her usual enthusiasm, but Liam smartly declined - we all knew if he stayed any longer, the conversation would range from strained small talk to aggressive silence. I sighed, hearing him leave as I stepped under the water.
Liam was the one friend my parents disapproved of - they were still incredibly weary of Vampires, even after the Sanguine-Shadowhunter Truce and Dad’s history of being a Daylighter. But Liam was a hybrid: a Daylighter-Shadowhunter. The most harm he could ever do was drink in front of me - being squeamish was my best-kept secret. Ivy, on the other hand, was the apple of their eye. Sometimes, I thought they liked her more than they liked me. Even after my eighth birthday, when I convinced her to turn me (aka the best decision I’ve ever made), they put all the blame on me, saying I’d manipulated her into doing it because innocent little Ivy could never.
Satisfied I’d washed off all the blood - I resolved getting the smell out was futile - I wrapped myself in a towel and headed to my room where Mum had laid my freshly ironed outfit on my bed: a long sleeve, fitted black dress with a high slit and my signature backless plunge. I rushed to dry my skin and tugged the dress over my head, dragging a brush through my curls. In an attempt to hide the fact that my hair was still sopping wet, I braided it over my shoulder and rushed downstairs.
“For goodness sake,” Mum muttered.
“It’s fine,” I smiled, and she took me by the arm, Dad taking the other, they and led me to the ballroom.
It was the day of the first Enotia Ball; a celebration of the formal unification of the Four Realms of Magic, and that year, the celebration of Hogwarts opening its doors to students of all gifts. By the luck of a lottery draw, it had fallen on the Shadowhunters to host, and with my family’s history, the Enotia Ball was being held at my house: the Shadowhunter Institute of New York Mum and Dad had spent months planning the event, from decorating the house to trying to explain to Grandma why knife-throwing wasn’t an appropriate form of entertainment. They’d worked hard, and as we walked into the ballroom, I had to say it paid off.
The ceiling was clearly the star of the show, Michaelangelo’s interpretation of the War of the Reapers painted in its full, ornate glory against the cloudy backdrop of the heavens. The tiered chandelier hung from the centre of the painting – the tip of the Grim Reaper’s Divine Scythe – lighting the ballroom in a warm, moody glow. Adding to the air of grandeur were the ten feet, arched windows lining the gold-awned, pearlescent walls, each one draped in thick, red curtains; the very same curtains I used to play hide and seek behind when I was younger.
Still, the true marvel of the Enotia Ball was that, somehow, it hadn’t broken out in a brawl.
“Simon and Isabelle Lightwood of the Shadowhunter Institute of New York and their daughter Y/N Rose Lightwood,” The Master of Ceremonies announced.
It was no secret that political tensions among the realms were at an all-time high. Even with the formal unification over and done with, opinions on whether or not it should have happened were still heavily divided, and it was events like this that truly made you question if the Unification would ever stick.
From far away, the revelry looked real enough. As Mum, Dad and I walked down the glossy staircase, we watched the Four Realms crowd around the staircases: Shadowhunters, Witches, Wizards, Fairies and Specialists alike, all applauding as the leaders of the Four Realms paraded down the stairs. But if you knew who, and what to look for, the true atmosphere of the Enotia Ball became abundantly clear.
Count and Countess Elwood of the Edinburgh Institute had been the biggest critics of the Unification, organising protest after protest, writing speech after speech in the hopes of protecting what they called ‘the intrinsic way of life’. It was almost amusing seeing them amongst the crowd, scowling in vengeful defeat as they applauded. If you looked close enough, you could see the countess’ back stiffen when a Witch or a Specialist stood too close, her husband’s hand simultaneously tightening around her waist.
According to Uncle Alec, they stormed out of the Conclave the second the referendum results were announced: 51.253%. It was a miracle they’d even been invited to the Ball, even more so that they’d accepted; but very few were bold enough to miss the 100th Enotia ball. It was the biggest event of the century, no matter your political leanings, and that was only reflected in the attendees.
When we reached the bottom of the staircase, we joined the rest of the crowd and turned to face the stairs.
Following us were the rest of the Institute leaders, then the leaders of the Conclave – I made sure to cheer extra loud for Uncle Alec. Next came the Minister of Magic from the Wizarding Realm, then the Kings and Queens of the Specialists. Last were the Queens of the Fairy Realm and their Empress. But even still, there was only one person that anyone truly cared about: the teenage Queen of the Earth Nymphs.
“Queen Bryony Flora Ardhi Oleria!”
The Four Realms had been talking about the supposed Demon Queen ever since the end of the Dead War. The story went that, while her family were being slaughtered in the war, she was fighting for her life, imprisoned by the Demon Queen in the Demon Relam for nearly five years until the war ended and she was rescued by none other than Alexander Reinhardt – the famous Specialist explorer of the Demon Realm.
When she first returned to the Living Realms, no one could believe it. No one in the entire history of Endowment had been trapped in the Demon Realm and survived. No one but her.
Some say she didn’t actually survive, that the Queen Bryony before us was a Demon imposter and I, like many other Shadowhunters, couldn’t deny the plausibility of the story. All it would have taken was one Effingo Demon to have found her in the Demon Realm, kill her, steal her face, and wait to be rescued by Reinhardt. Yet, the second you looked at her, any and all suspicions you had seemed to melt away. She was too beautiful, too delicate, too soft. Everyone had heard the stories of a queen as enchanting as Mother Nature herself. But seeing it in person was another matter entirely.
Queen Bryony glided down the stairs with unparalleled grace, her thin but muscular, ambered honey-toned arms lay delicately on the baby pink of her ballgown, the dancer arches of her feet peeking out from beneath folds of fabric in dainty, golden heels. Her wide, leaf-green eyes bloomed across her face like a swan’s open embrace, staring out at the dance floor in a glossy daze. Her full, cherry pink lips seemed to part naturally, like the buds of a flower, giving her an almost doll-like expression.
Adding to her air of majesty was her famous pet and loyal protector Isonei, the Tausi-Chui, otherwise known as the Peacock-Leopard. Its fur shone an almost iridescent azure, with defensive amber eyes and ears that twitched with every sudden movement. The feathers running down its back and forming its tail danced from emerald to juniper to pear to chartreuse. It was magnificent and, judging by the curved black claws of its paws, completely deadly.
Even still, with all of Bryony’s beauty, all of her ethereal majesty, she appeared out of place. Seated next to the others she looked too young, too small, too soft to command, let alone go to the Demon Realm and live to tell the tale – not that she ever had.
BRYONY’S POV
The day of the first Enotia Ball marked what I hoped to be the end of a long chain of agonising days and sleepless nights.
Months of debate went into convincing Empress Busara and the other Queens on the Elemental Council that I should be permitted to attend Hogwarts. The monarchs were worried that the Kingdom of Ardhi would fall apart without its Queen, and though I wanted to scream ‘What difference could a sixteen-year-old make?!’ I managed to bite my tongue. Rather, I made the compelling argument that, with the Unification finalised, attending Hogwarts could teach me important methods of diplomacy with the other realms.
The Ball was to be my last appearance as Queen – at least until I graduated. But I did not let that dampen the revelry. It was my last day having to meet everyone’s expectations, one of them unfortunately being that I did not dance.
When I first saw my dress – a flowing, cherry blossom pink with live flowers blooming between the folds of rich fabric – my heart filled with hope that I’d be allowed on the dance floor. But advice, which really meant orders, from the Acting High Dragon Priestess stated that dancing would be ‘highly inappropriate’ and it was ‘only right’ that I sat among the other leaders on the stage overlooking the Ball.
So, with the Opening Ceremony finally over, I sat on the flower-covered throne with the Queen of Flames to my right and the Queen of the Waves to my left, I watching with yearning as the other Princesses danced across the floor, laughing without a care in the world as I had, so many years ago.
In that instant, the Demon inside me latched onto my resentment like a flame to a fuse, sending a fierce spike of hot, blinding anger through my stomach. Fire raged in my brain, smoke billowing in fleets of thunderclouds like all of the ugly emotions I had tried so hard to bury shooting to the forefront of my mind. I gripped the arms of my throne as my hands threatened to shatter the very ground below me. Isonei sensed it instantly and rubbed her face against my leg, purring reassurances into my mind. I used it as an anchor back into the world of the sane, taking a deep breath and forcing the tension out of my body in the form of flowers – no one would notice if the hundreds of floral arrangements grew a few blossoms larger.
“Everything okay?” One of my guards asked, standing dutifully behind my throne.
“Peachy,” I said through gritted teeth, not quite loosening my grip on my throne.
It most certainly was not the time for earthquakes.
YOUR POV
“Giselle?!” Someone shouted. I spun around to see Yasmine running over to me.
“Yasmine!” I grinned, throwing my arms around her shoulders. “You were a lifesaver, honestly. Thank you.”
“Are you kidding me?” She laughed. “I should be the one thanking you.” She looked around to make sure no one we knew was listening. “You saved me having to dance with Francis.”
I chuckled. Her parents were unavailingly pursuing an arranged marriage with the Gibson household – one thing I knew for sure about Yasmine: you couldn’t force her to do anything.
“But now that I know you’re alive,” She smiled. “I can finally have a drink!” And she dragged me by the arm to find one of the servers.
“You waited for me?!” I exclaimed in mock gratitude.
“Don’t let it get to your head. If I heard you’d died, I’d be doing the same thing.”
“Good to know,” I chuckled, taking the champagne flute she handed me.
“Who have you seen so far?” She asked as we not-so-subtly prowled the room.
“The Elwoods, the Demon Queen-”
“The Weasleys?” She asked, replacing her already empty glass for another.
“Not yet.” She nodded and took me by the arm – more gently this time – guiding me through the crowd.
The Weasleys were part of the Holy Quaternary of Magus families, accompanied by the Potters – Uncle Albus’ family – the Lovegoods and the Malfoys. It was just a few decades that Harry Potter saved the entire Wizarding Realm from a group called the Death Eaters.
KARSYN’S POV
“You could at least pretend to be happy to be here,” Someone said from behind me. I turned to see Atlas and Atticus in matching belted white and green tunics. I rolled my eyes, a smile tugging at my lips.
“How could I when I have to see the two of you?”
Their faces cracked into wide grins, and they pulled me into a tight embrace. We hadn’t seen each other since the family trip to Egypt, and two months was far too long.
“Where are your parents?” I asked. They pointed Aunt Ella and Uncle Fred II out from the crowd, but before I could say hello, a warm hand grabbed mine and pulled me onto the dance floor.
“Hello,” A familiar voice said. I looked up to see Evander smirking at me.
The second our eyes met, my body flooded with all those complicated emotions I’d been fighting since Egypt. He looked handsome as ever, the diagonal lines of his high-collard tunic enhancing his sharp jawline and hollow cheekbones. His smile faltered slightly as his hand hovered over my waist, looking at me questioningly. I nodded, almost reflexively, the memory of his touch making me hungry.
“You look… nice,” He observed, but the intensity of his eyes said far more.
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I countered, letting him twirl me around the dance floor.
I’d made sure to wear the dress he said I should buy in Egypt: it was a long, black dress with dark, emerald-green snakes coiling around the tight fabric, a generous slit going up my right leg. Mother said I should have chosen something more traditional, but I insisted.
“What are the chances of me getting you alone before school?” He whispered. My heart raced, but I refused to let it show.
“I-”
And then, as if in answer to his question, someone shouted our names. It was Atlas. Naïve, sweet Atlas. I cursed his name in my head, watching him beam at us from the other side of the room. He beckoned us over to the little dance circle my cousins had made: he, Atticus, Lake and Estelle. Evander’s twin, Emeline, was among them. The only two missing from our group were Evander and me. I sighed.
“Does that answer your question?”
And reluctantly, we joined the others.
ALBUS’ POV
My fingers twitched in anticipation, a mixture of yearning, sickness and dread churning in my stomach. For the first time in a decade, I was in the same room as my family – the same realm. Had this been a fairytale, there would be an abundance of hugs and tears and cheers yet, I was plagued with the agonising question: would they even look at me?
It was torture.
Every flash of ginger hair sent a pang of yearning through my body, every familiar, angry face a fresh wave of guilt. Max kept his arm around me, practically keeping me upright as he led me through the crowds. I’d never gone into detail about what truly happened between me and my family, but he understood enough to know my legs were anything but steady.
We passed the orchestra, a sweet, dancing harp solo flooding my ears when, to my shock, I saw her. My little sister, my dear sweet little sister Lily. Tears prickled at my eyes.
Her hair remained the same auburn brown, falling in gentle waves past her shoulders, but that was all I could recognise. Her face had lost all of its soft girlishness, the youthful chub of her cheeks I remembered falling away to the soft curve of her cheekbones, giving her an unfamiliar air of maturity. Her deep-set green eyes were wide as ever, but they no longer dwarfed her face as they had when we were young. I just couldn’t believe it had been that long – that she had become an adult so quickly. So suddenly.
She was not my little sister anymore, in more ways than one.
My grip on Max tightened as I willed her to look at me, notice me, but just as I opened my mouth to call her name, Dad materialised beside her, his eyes narrowing along with any chance I had at speaking to Lily. And there it was, the glare that plagued my nightmares.
His eyes bore into mine with such steely, burning intensity that it was impossible to question what he felt. Hate. But not a simple hate; it was severe disappointment, utter repulsion, and most apparent, regret. Not regret that he had disowned me, regret that he had raised me the way he had, but regret that I had ever been born.
There was something so awful about being hated by the person that made you; when the person that had known you your entire life, spent near every day of you childhood with you hated you for you, was disgusted by your very presence, thought that the very root of you was rotten, it was near impossible not to believe them.
Still, I knew that I had to try.
My heart leapt to my throat as I took a step towards them. The effect was instant. Dad painted on an affectionate smile and led my oblivious little sister deeper into the crowd. I could have sobbed there and then, but Max grabbed my chin and turned me to face him.
“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
Defeatedly, I nodded.
YOUR POV
With Yasmine finally forced into a dance with Francis, I grabbed a champagne flute from one of the serving trays and disappeared into the library to try and figure out how on Earth the Monolith Demon got through without triggering the wards.
The last time anything close to this had happened was during the Resi Massacre, but that was because Lysander Lovegood had cast the portal spell, uniting the realms. Because of that, the swarms of Demons in the Fairy Realm from the Dead War were free to travel between the Realms, resulting in the massacre. That explanation couldn’t apply to the Monolith Demon for obvious reasons.
I went to ‘W’ for wards and instantly noticed that new books had been imported, undoubtedly by Uncle Albus.
After he and Uncle Max came back from their honeymoon, he started trying to find his place in the Shadowhunter Realm, but being a wizard, his options were limited. Eventually, he settled on the library. When I spoke to him about it, he said it helped him to understand our culture, being surrounded by our history. After a few months, it because clear that he’d made the right choice – he seemed more at home than ever.
Satisfied that none of the books had the answer I was looking for, I wandered over to Uncle Albus’ desk to use his computer. He’d left the usual mess: three cold cups of tea, all three-quarters of the way full, about five open books – he had an awful habit of reading more than two at once – a cold cheese toastie (one of the very few things Uncle Max could cook), a notebook full of scratchy doctor’s handwriting and his Wand.
When he got tipsy last Christmas, he taught me a spell as a joke: the light spell. Surprised I could still remember it, I picked up the wand and tossed it between my hands. It felt different than I remembered: less awkward, heavier, more malleable. Out of curiosity, I twirled it between my fingers like I would my stele and found it more or less the same – there was a familiarity to it.
Intrigue spurring me on, I tried it again. Holding the Wand delicately in my hand, I waved it in the air and whispered.
“Lumos.”
Nothing happened.
Then, with a sudden gust of wind, the books flew off the desk and the lights of the library flickered as, to my shock, the tip of the wand began to glow. A loud shatter sounded behind me, breaking my concentration and the light disappeared. I turned to see Uncle Albus rooted to the spot, a shattered mug of tea at his feet.
Albus stepped forward, but before he could say anything, in a flurry of feathers, an owl flew down the chimney, landing perfectly on my outstretched arm.
“I-I don’t believe it,” Albus whispered. There, on the wax seal of the letter in the owl’s beak, was the unmistakable emblem of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.