Hogwarts 1933

The gardens of Greengrass Manor stretched out beneath a deep blue summer sky, the kind of English afternoon that seemed to go on forever. Classical music drifted through an open window - one of Vaughan Williams' compositions, where the notes literally danced in the air as they played. Two young girls lay in the grass beneath an ancient oak tree, the elder blonde and fair, the younger dark-haired, both watching enchanted musical notes swirl above them like golden fireflies.

"That's The Lark Ascending," eight-year-old Daphne explained to seven-year-old Astoria. "See how the notes spiral up, just like a real lark? Professor Williams wrote it after watching birds over the Downs. Father says he used to conduct with his wand instead of a baton."

Astoria reached up, trying to catch one of the floating notes in her small hands. "It's beautiful, Daph. Play it again?"

Daphne smiled and flicked her mother's borrowed wand. The ethereal melody began anew, the magical notes forming patterns of birds in flight above them.

"When we're at Hogwarts," Astoria said dreamily, "we can charm all sorts of music to dance. We'll make the whole Great Hall sing."

"We'll have our own special corner in the Slytherin common room," Daphne agreed, "right by the windows that look into the lake. And we'll watch the merpeople swim past while we study."

Beyond the formal gardens, where their mother's roses stood in orderly rows, the grounds of Greengrass Manor gave way to wild meadows and ancient woodlands. Here, on summer afternoons, the sisters would venture with packed lunches and their favorite books, seeking adventure.

"There's a unicorn just behind that oak tree," Astoria would whisper, her green eyes sparkling with imagination. "See how the wildflowers bend around its hooves?"

Daphne, though older, never dismissed these flights of fancy. Instead, she'd add to them, drawing from the bestiaries she loved to read. "They prefer girls, you know. Especially pure-hearted ones like you. If we stay very still..."

They'd spend hours constructing elaborate fairy houses from twigs and leaves, Daphne explaining how real fairies lived while Astoria arranged tiny acorn cups as tea sets. Their father had enchanted an old tree house to look like a miniature version of Hogwarts, complete with tiny moving staircases. It became their favorite spot for picnics, where they'd share sandwiches prepared by their house-elf, Thistle, who doted on both girls.

Rainy days found them in the manor's vast library, where Daphne would read from the Tales of Beedle the Bard while Astoria acted out each part with dramatic flair. The Tale of the Three Brothers was their favorite - Daphne would wrap herself in their mother's old black cloak to play Death, trying to make her voice sound deep and mysterious while Astoria struggled not to giggle.

Their mother would often find them reenacting famous historical events, with Astoria invariably playing Morgana to Daphne's Merlin. These performances usually took place in the grand ballroom, where the crystal chandeliers cast rainbow patterns on the walls and the enchanted portraits offered enthusiastic applause.

In winter, they'd build snow wizards in the garden, enchanted by their parents to wave their stick-wands at passersby. Evelyn would charm their scarves with green and silver colors.

Through it all, their parents maintained a balance. Encouraging their play while ensuring they learned the grace and dignity expected of the Greengrass name. Proper tea was served each afternoon, where the girls practiced their manners with their mother, and their father would spend evenings teaching them wizard's chess in his study, the pieces offering conflicting advice in their tiny voices.

It was on one of these nights, their father lowered his evening copy of the Daily Prophet with a slight frown. "Minister Malfoy's pushing through another set of regulations about ancestry registration. Making it mandatory to declare blood status when applying for Ministry positions now."

"I suppose he thinks he's protecting our traditions," Evelyn remarked, though her tone didn't sound very convinced.

"More like desperately shoring up his base before the Provincial elections," Alexander replied, folding the paper carefully. "Though heaven knows what he'll do next. The way things are going..."

He trailed off, catching sight of his daughters' curious faces, and smiled instead. "But never mind all that right now. Who's ready for another game of chess?"

But as Astoria's ninth birthday approached, a shadow began to fall over their idyllic world.

"She should have shown some sign by now," Daphne overheard her mother saying one night, her voice tight with worry. "Even the smallest bit of accidental magic..."

"We'll find answers," her father replied softly. "Discreetly, of course."

Daphne's heart had nearly stopped when she realized what they were discussing. That night, she crept into Astoria's room and held her sister as she slept, making a silent promise that nothing would ever come between them.

The halls of Greengrass Manor had always seemed to echo differently at night. Daphne knew this because she had spent countless nights wandering them, searching through the library's ancient tomes by wandlight. Tonight was no different, though her usual measured pace had given way to something more urgent. She had promised Astoria she would find an answer, and Daphne Greengrass did not break promises to her sister.

The grandfather clock in the entrance hall chimed midnight as she pulled another leather-bound volume from the shelves. This one was older than the others, its pages brittle with age. Daphne handled it carefully, remembering her mother's lessons about the proper treatment of books. The title, barely legible in the dim light, read Uncommon Manifestations of Magic: A Historical Record.

Her eyes were growing heavy, but she pressed on. Somewhere in these pages had to be the answer she sought. She refused to accept what their parents had been told. Astoria was not a squib. She couldn't be. Daphne had seen the magic in her sister's eyes when she talked about Hogwarts, about the day they would walk its halls together.

A soft creak of floorboards made her look up. Astoria stood in the doorway, her dark hair falling loose around her shoulders, still in her nightgown. At nearly nine years old, she was small for her age, though she carried herself with the natural grace of the Greengrass bloodline.

"Daph?" Astoria's voice was barely a whisper. "I had the dream again."

Daphne set the book aside immediately, opening her arms. Astoria crossed the room and curled into her sister's embrace, fitting perfectly as she always had. "The one about the sorting hat?"

Astoria nodded against her shoulder. "I just sat there with it over my head for ages. Everyone was staring at me, and it wouldn't say anything at all."

"That's not going to happen," Daphne said firmly, running her fingers through her sister's hair. "We're going to figure this out. I promise."

"But what if we don't?" Astoria pulled back slightly, and Daphne could see the tears threatening to spill. "What if I really am a... if I can't..."

"Then nothing changes," came their father's voice from the doorway. Alexander Greengrass stood there in his dressing gown, his blond hair – so like Daphne's – slightly mussed from sleep. "Nothing changes about how much we love you."

Their mother appeared beside him, dark-haired like Astoria. "We heard voices," Evelyn explained softly, crossing to join her daughters. "Darling, you should be in bed."

"I almost had it," Daphne protested, gesturing at the pile of books. "I know there has to be something we're missing."

Alexander surveyed the stack of texts, his expression softening. "You've been at this for weeks, haven't you?"

Daphne lifted her chin. "I'm not giving up."

"No one is asking you to give up," Evelyn said, settling onto the sofa beside her daughters. "But perhaps we need to consider... preparing for other possibilities." She reached out to stroke Astoria's cheek. "The school in Switzerland has an excellent reputation. And you could still come home for holidays, be a part of both worlds."

"I don't want to be a part of both worlds," Astoria whispered. "I want to be a part of yours. I want to be with Daphne."

Alexander joined them, perching on the arm of the sofa. "You will always be a part of our world, magic or no magic. You are a Greengrass."

"The best Greengrass," Daphne added fiercely, making Astoria give a watery giggle.

"Now then," Evelyn said, drawing her wand. "Since we're all awake, we might as well have some hot chocolate." With a graceful flick, she conjured a tray bearing four steaming mugs. As she did so, Daphne felt Astoria tense beside her, and her heart ached at how even such simple magic now brought her sister pain.

They sat together in the library's comfortable darkness, sipping their chocolate and talking softly about nothing in particular. But it was not possible to forget the weight hanging over them.

The next morning dawned crisp and cloudy. Daphne woke early as usual, but when she went to check on Astoria, her sister's bed was empty. She found her in the garden, sitting cross-legged among their mother's prized roses.

"I was trying to make them move," Astoria explained without looking up. "Like Mum does when she's arranging them. Not even a petal."

Daphne sat beside her, ignoring the morning dew soaking into her robes. "Do you remember when we were little, and you used to make up stories about the roses being fairy houses?"

Astoria smiled faintly. "Everything was simpler back then."

"Everything will be simple again," Daphne promised, though she didn't know how she could keep that promise.

The days that followed fell into a pattern. Daphne continued her research, now aided by her parents who wrote to colleagues and called in favors seeking any information about late-manifesting magic. Astoria tried desperately to force some sign of magical ability, growing more withdrawn with each failure.

Then came the morning when an owl arrived bearing a Hogwarts letter addressed to Daphne.

She found Astoria in their father's study, curled in his large leather chair and pretending to read. Without a word, Daphne crossed to her and held out the unopened envelope.

"Would you like to do the honors?"

Astoria stared at the letter for a long moment before shaking her head. "You should open it. It's your special day."

"It's supposed to be our special day," Daphne said quietly. "Both of us. Because we'll both be going eventually."

"But it's not, is it?" Astoria's voice cracked. "It's just yours. And that's... that's fine. Really. I'm happy for you, Daph. You'll be brilliant at Hogwarts."

"I'm not going."

Astoria's head snapped up. "What?"

"I said I'm not going." Daphne set the letter down on their father's desk. "Not without you. We'll wait. We'll figure this out together."

"Daphne Greengrass!" Their mother's voice rang from the doorway. Both girls turned to find their mother looking stern. "You will do no such thing."

"But-"

"No." Evelyn crossed the room and took Daphne's face in her hands. "Listen to me, both of you. We are Greengrasses. We face our challenges with grace and dignity. We do not hide from them, and we do not let them stop us from living our lives."

"I'm not hiding," Daphne protested. "I'm staying with my sister."

"And what would that solve?" Evelyn asked gently. "Would it make Astoria happier to know she was holding you back from your future?"

"No," Astoria whispered. "It wouldn't." She stood up. "Open your letter, Daph. Please?"

With trembling fingers, Daphne broke the seal. The parchment was thick and creamy, the emerald ink gleaming as she unfolded it. "'Dear Miss Greengrass, We are pleased to inform you...'" Her voice failed as Astoria wrapped her arms around her waist.

"I'm proud of you," Astoria murmured against her shoulder.

That night, Daphne returned to the library with renewed determination. She had worked her way through most of the likely texts, but there were still a few she hadn't tried. Her wandlight fell on a slim volume bound in faded blue leather, tucked away on a high shelf.

The title was barely legible: Extraordinary Cases in Magical Development. It looked ancient, the pages yellow and brittle. Carefully, she began to read.

Hours passed as she worked her way through accounts of unusual magical manifestations. Most were useless – cases of accidental magic triggered by extreme circumstances, or magical abilities that had been suppressed by trauma. But then, near the end of the book, she found it.

Her heart pounding, she read the passage again. And again. She thought she had to be misreading. Could it really be this simple? She ran from the library.

She burst into her parents' bedroom without knocking. "I found it! I found it!"

Alexander and Evelyn sat up, instantly alert. "Found what?" her father asked, reaching for his wand.

"The answer! Listen to this!" Daphne held up the book, her voice shaking with excitement as she read: "'In 1576, the case of Augustus Weatherby created much discussion in Europe. Young Weatherby, age 12, had shown no signs of magical ability throughout his childhood, leading his family to believe him a squib. However, when given his father's wand to hold, he produced immediate magical effects. Further investigation revealed that in extremely rare cases, a witch or wizard may require the focus of a wand to first access their magic. This condition, while uncommon, is not unique to the Weatherby case...'"

She looked up to find her parents exchanging glances. "Don't you see? We've been waiting for accidental magic, but what if Astoria just needs a wand to start?"

"Daphne," her father said gently, "that's a very old book, and even it says such cases are extremely rare..."

"But what if?" Daphne insisted. "What do we have to lose by trying?"

A moment later they were all in Astoria's room, Daphne practically bouncing with excitement as she explained her discovery to her sleepy sister. Evelyn held out her wand.

"Remember," she cautioned, "if nothing happens, it doesn't mean-"

But something did happen. The moment Astoria's fingers closed around the wand, green sparks shot from its tip, illuminating her astonished face in an emerald glow. For a moment, no one moved. No one breathed.

Then Astoria burst into tears, and suddenly they were all crying and laughing at once, hugging each other in a tangle of arms and joy and relief. Daphne held her sister so tight she thought her heart might burst.

"You did it," Astoria kept saying. "You found the answer. You did it."

"No," Daphne corrected, wiping tears from her cheeks. "You did it. The magic was always there."

The next day, they made a special trip to Diagon Alley, despite Astoria having over a year before she'd be going to Hogwarts. Ollivander seemed unsurprised by their story, as if he had been expecting them. "Unusual cases are often the most interesting," he remarked as he began pulling boxes from his shelves.

It took nearly an hour, but finally, a wand of rowan wood with a unicorn hair core chose Astoria. The moment her fingers closed around it, silver stars burst forth, dancing and swirling around her like snowflakes in a gentle breeze before slowly fading away.

"Most appropriate," Ollivander murmured, while their parents handled the payment. "Rowan for protection, unicorn hair for purity of heart. A wand for one who knows what it means to overcome obstacles."

The summer that followed was filled with joy as Astoria worked to catch up on the magic she felt she had missed. She proved to be a quick study, her determination driving her to master even difficult spells. Daphne helped her practice.

All too soon, September first arrived. The morning dawned clear and cool as they prepared to leave for King's Cross. Daphne found Astoria in the garden again, but this time she was using her wand to make the roses dance.

"They're not as graceful as when Mum does it," Astoria said, letting the flowers settle back into place.

"But they're dancing," Daphne pointed out. "And next year, you'll be showing me new ways to make them move."

Astoria turned to face her sister, her expression serious. "Promise you'll write to me? Tell me everything?"

"Every single day," Daphne assured her. "And I'll be home for Christmas before you know it."

"It won't be the same without you here."

"No," Daphne agreed, pulling her sister close. "But think how wonderful it will be next year when we're there together."

Later, standing on Platform 9, Daphne held her sister in one last fierce embrace as the warning whistle blew. "I love you," she whispered. "And I am so, so proud of you."

"I love you too," Astoria whispered back. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

As the train pulled away from the platform, Daphne caught a final glimpse of her family – her father's tall figure, her mother's elegant wave, and Astoria, standing straight and proud between them, her wand now securely in her pocket where it belonged.

She wiped away a tear and turned to find her compartment, knowing that somewhere in her trunk was a letter Astoria had slipped in when she wasn't looking. She would read it later, when she needed to feel close to home. For now, she had a journey to begin, and a story to write back to her sister.