𝔸𝕝𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖

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      You liked the series as a child—truly you did. 

        The word like might have been an understatement. It was a well-known fact among your family that you went a bit crazy for the movies (and later on, the books) as soon as you drank in the story of Sorcerer's Stone. 

        Born in the late 1990s, your family had already accrued some of the movies, and when you were old enough,  you watched them as often as possible. You'd always been fascinated with the idea of magic, and to watch an average boy learn he's a magical child, famous in the wizarding world, mesmerized you.

        Sometime during middle school, you discovered your mother had some of the books. 

        You flew through the pages faster than you'd ever read anything before, absorbing one book after the next within a short manner of days. When you finished the fifth novel, you were horrified to find that the next one wasn't even out yet. That was one of your easiest memories to recall, you moaning and groaning to various family members that you had to wait. Which, at the time, seemed like a fate worse than death. 

        The story of Harry Potter was entrancing enough that you revisited the stories over the years as you grew up, rereading them whenever the feeling arrived. You watched the movies as they came out too, some of them more religiously than others. When you'd gotten older,  you found yourself reading the books less and less, settling for the films—even though you knew how much the adaptations left out.

        However, growing up sheltered made for a naive and innocent girl; it took several years before you started realizing how much was wrong within the Harry Potter universe. When those rose-tinted glasses finally shattered, the neverending list of plot holes and inconsistencies practically screamed in your face, but that wasn't all. Society and characters within the stories behaved in ways that disgusted you, and while this was the work of someone's imagination, it didn't sit well with you.

        Dumbledore's manipulation and control over Harry and his childhood; the lack of mental health and care (at least, as far as you could see); ableism toward squibs, slavery of house elves; antisemitism regarding goblins; the way lycanthropy was depicted as a disgusting disease, symbolizing diseases such as HIV and AIDs. 

        You were probably so upset regarding the latter considering how much you adored Remus Lupin's character. You couldn't stand the idea of him being mistreated for his lycanthropy—especially given that he had been turned against his will. But still, the bad reputation that came with being a werewolf persisted. 

        And don't get yourself started on the many, many flaws within the magical system. There were already a multitude of spells for wizards and witches to use to ease their daily lives, and considering that practically anybody could create new spells, you wondered how the hell there could still be any problems. 

        Why did Harry never find a way to cure his eyesight? How come poverty and financial classes still existed? So many things could be conjured and fixed with the wish of a wand—so why were there still so many issues within the universe of Harry Potter? 

        When you spent your time being overtly critical, you had to remind yourself it had been too long since you'd read the books—and considering that was a given even in your past life, you didn't know if you could truly trust your memories. There was a strong likelihood you'd forgotten about laws and restrictions, so maybe there were reasons behind these holes in the story. 

        It never changed how disturbed you were to be stuck here, though—you found yourself so irritable at the situation sometimes that you never thought about when you were here, or who you may come across. 

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        July 9th, 1963

        The first time Rosamund and Thomas thought they had a genius for a daughter was when you were three years old. They always believed that you were a smart baby, given how you seemed to understand everything they said and how quickly you seemed to wrap your head around everything they taught you. Still, the word genius only came into their minds on your third birthday. Much like when you shocked them by walking by yourself, you'd been practicing speaking clearly when they weren't around. It was usually in the dead of night considering how little your parents let you be alone. You wanted to wait for the perfect time to reveal your eloquent tongue until you thought it was considered normal for your age...

        But you overshot it. 

       If you were being honest though, one of the biggest reasons your grand reveal took place on your birthday was because your patience was running thin. Since you were a helpless baby, you'd been babbling and speaking via broken words, but you grew tired of it. It took so long for Rosamund and Thomas to translate your baby babbles correctly, that you found yourself socially exhausted asking for the most minor of things. 

        That was how you landed yourself in such a pickle. 

        You thought it be another normal day. Rosamund woke you up for the morning and supervised while you dressed yourself, like usual. You thought it strange that Rosamund took care to fix your hair—normally it was a quick brushing or a simple ponytail, but today Rosamund folded your thick locks into a fishtail braid—but you didn't think anything of it. When you and your mother came downstairs, Thomas had prepared poached eggs, grilled tomatoes, buttered toast, and sausages for breakfast like he did every Saturday. 

        They ambushed you a short while after you brushed your teeth. A new children's book Thomas brought home was taking up your attention. You were flipping through the pages in the den, sitting on a lush carpet when Rosamund and Thomas approached you with sly smiles. 

        "Do you like the book, Ardie?" Thomas asks, lowering himself until he's lying on his stomach in front of you, propping his head up with his hands.

        A dopey smile grows on his face when you nod, one you were well accustomed to by now. Thomas always had that look on his face when he watched you do the most mundane of things and it reminded you of other fictitious men. Like all the fathers in Manhwa you've read, who were hard, frightening, and emotionless beings until they're near their little girl, and they turn into a pile of mush. You had yet to see the menacing side of your father, but by his appearance alone, you could picture it well. 

        At least Rosamund was the voice of reason here. When you glanced her way, she remained in her stance, watching you and Thomas with fondness in her eyes, but her eyebrows were raised in disbelief. 

        "Darling, you're getting distracted." Rosamund sings with a chuckle. 

        "But can you blame me?" Thomas asks without taking his loving gaze off of you. "Our little girl is in front of me. How dare I think of anything else?" 

        When you let out a snort, Thomas blinks at you in surprise—and next thing you know, you're lifted in the air, the world in front of you nothing but a blur as your father swirls you in circles. He doesn't stop, forgetting how easily dizzy your toddler-sized head gets, until Rosamund scolds him. 

        "We have a surprise for you, little love," Rosamund says, squatting down until she's at eye level with you. 

        You tilt your head and your furrowed eyebrows create lines on your otherwise smooth forehead. Normally, surprises were a good thing, but in this universe, you shuddered at what your parents had in mind.

        "A surprise?" You eventually find yourself able to ask. 

        Rosamund nods and pats your head, literally about to part her lips to say more—until Thomas interrupts in his avid excitement. 

        "A playdate!" 

         When you didn't react the way Thomas had hoped, his large grin fell off his face, but Rosamund was more prepared for it. She seemed to wrap her head around your quick wit a lot more easily than Thomas, who was more of a child than you were at times. 

        "Don't be so sullen, Arden." Rosamund smirks, and for a moment, you almost roll your eyes at her avid amusement. "They're lovely boys, and a bit older than you, so you should have fun." 

        "I'm okay. I don't need friends." You grumble, crossing your arms and letting a pout form. "Papa is the only kid I need to play with." 

        Crickets were the only sound filling the Ramsay household until Rosamund snorted. When Thomas feigned offense, she devolved into full-blown laughter. You watch with wide eyes when Rosamund teases Thomas, telling him how he's so childish even their three-year-old noticed, and you stubbornly try not to join in on the laughing fest.

        Just as you thought you might have gotten yourself out of this silly playdate, Rosamund wipes a tear before it falls down her cheek, and much to your chagrin, shoots you down.

        "Try and meet them with an open mind, love. Who knows, maybe you'll make a best friend out of them one day." 

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        One failed tantrum, two stints of silent treatment, and three hours later

        You weren't offended in the slightest when two boys stood in front of you, both just as displeased with this playdate as you were. They behaved as nothing but smiling angels in front of their mother and your parents, but as soon as they left the three of you in the backyard, those smiles vanished within a millisecond. 

        However, you couldn't deny how familiar they looked and felt—especially when you heard their names.

        Fabian and Gideon.

        Both boys had curly red hair, although the taller Fabian had a head of fire, and Gideon's hair donned a coppery shade. They shared similar eyes, but where Gideon's irises were colored like a dark, stormy sky, Fabian's was as silver as a sickle. Their faces were the same otherwise, even sharing an identical pattern of freckles that heavily dusted their chubby cheeks. 

        For a moment, you thought of the Weasley family, but you shook your head, dispelling the thought. 

        "I can't believe Mum stuck us with a baby," Gideon mutters. 

        Fabian crosses his arms and sends you a glare, as if all of this was your fault. Technically, it might have been. When you shocked your parents with your alleged genius speech, they were sick with worry. Thomas fretted that he wasn't smart enough for you to grow, and Rosamund was concerned that a date with a child your age wouldn't have been stimulating enough.

        Hence the idea to set you up with the children of a close friend. Fabian and Gideon were six-year-old twins, so your parents thought maybe they'd be more your speed, and if they weren't, at least there were two of them to keep you preoccupied. However, all the three of you were doing was having a face-off, little to your parent's knowledge—they were sitting inside buzzing with hopeful anticipation. 

        "I grew out of the baby stage when I turned one, thank you very much." You retort, wearing an equally distraught expression. "I'm considered a toddler these days." 

        When they only respond with an image of paralyzed and astonished faces, you fight off a triumphant grin.

        Didn't expect that, did they? 

        If asked about it, you would have sworn Fabian and Gideon stayed like that for several minutes. Watching you with bug-wide eyes and jaws dropped to the floor. Not a sound came out, save for the whistle of the occasional breeze and baby birds chirping up in their nest. 

        "You don't have to play with me anyways," You say, gesturing to a chest sitting on the wooden porch when you add, "There are some toys in there to keep yourselves busy. Don't mind me." 

        The twins continue to look at you, saying absolutely nothing, so you shrug and shuffle to one of your favorite spots underneath a large tree. The shade of the humongous alder tree was perfect for warm days just like this. Earlier, you hid an activity book inside your cardigan, and good thing too—it had all sorts of puzzles to keep you busy for however long this playdate would last. 

        However, just as you start flipping through the pages, you feel a warmth on both your sides. You didn't need to look to know the twins were sitting with you now, and you couldn't help but wonder why. You may be something akin to a budding genius to them and your parents, but you were also a mere toddler in their eyes. Why bother with you when they'd undoubtedly have more fun with each other? 

        "You don't like toys?" Gideon nudges you with a gentle shoulder, and when you finally look at him, he's feeding you a sweet toothy smile. You couldn't help but find him adorable with that smile, dimples poking out and cheeks pinkening. 

        "They're okay." You lie and look away, pretending to be invested in a sudoku puzzle. "I play with them sometimes. Just not all the time." 

        Fabian snorts in disbelief.

        When you turn his way, he ruffles your hair affectionately. Fabian wears a similar smile as Gideon, and while he doesn't have dimples like his twin, you notice Fabian missing a front tooth, and it's just as cute. 

        "You want to see something cool?" He asks, his smile turning mischievous. 

        Although you're feeling a little hesitant, you nod. Fabian looks around to his left and right, then to your house, like he's about to spill a dangerous secret. When Gideon gestures for you to look at Fabian's hands, he places them on the earth, pressing hard enough to flatten the blades of grass. You watch with a curiosity you can't deny, and when his hands glide across the grass, various flowers grow and bloom in front of your very eyes. Each was bright in color and just as beautiful as the other like a floral rainbow; orchids, lilies, roses, daisies, and even sunflowers decorated the small area. 

        With a gasp, your eyes widen and your gaze flashes from the flowers to Fabian, to Gideon, and back to Fabian again. 

        "How...?" You wonder aloud, your voice nothing more than a ghost of a whisper.

        You were well aware that magic was your life now, and not only you but everyone around you would use it. That fact was proven loud and clear by now—but Fabian was only six years old. You remembered reading about accidental outbursts of magic in the books but only recalled Lily Evans using it on purpose, and you were sure she was older than Fabian and Gideon when she did it. 

        "We're pretty gifted too. That's probably why our parents wanted us to meet." Gideon answers, and you only now realize how articulate his tongue is. "We learned not long ago that Fabian has an affinity for transfiguration." 

        "What about you?" You can't help but ask when Gideon doesn't supply anything about himself. 

        He laughs and pats your head, shrugging when he says, "Who knows? These days I like mixing all sorts of stuff. I might be a potions master when we get to Hogwarts." 

        "Can't you tell? Gideon's the modest twin." Fabian grins. Leaning forward, he whispers, "I think he'll be proficient in charms, or maybe he'll become one of those big and famous historians. He likes reading." 

        "I hope I'll be good at something." You admit. "I'm excited to learn." 

        "You sound like Molly." Gideon wrinkles his nose in silent dismay. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he sounded bitter when mentioning her. "She's our big sister. We used to play together all the time, but even when she's home these days, all she cares about is school." 

        You're reminded Gideon is only six years old when he frowns. Brilliance and affinity for magic aside, he and Fabian still have the feelings and thoughts of two little boys. Oh, to be an actual child and not a toddler with the mind of an adult, where the only thing you're fretting about is your big sister only having time to work on schoolwork you couldn't possibly wrap your head around. 

        It brought a foggy memory to the forefront of your mind, so vague and distant that the only thing you're left with is bittersweetness in your heart.

        "Dad says she's preparing for her owls for next year. I don't really know what a bird has to do with it, but it seems important." Fabian shrugs. 

        Gideon sneers and takes his negative energy out on the flowers Fabian grew, plucking them out of the ground and tearing at the petals. "The owls? Please. Mum and Dad might think she stays cooped up in her room, reading all those books, but all she does is sneak letters to the great Arthur Weasley." He mutters in a mocking voice. 

        The second you heard that familiar name, it was as if your world stopped. That earlier breeze no longer gave you goosebumps and your heart began to leap out of your throat, making you feel a sense of panic. 

        "...Arthur Weasley?" You murmur. 

        "Yeah," Fabian answers. "You have to promise not to tell our mum, but Gid read her diary last week. Arthur and Mol started dating just before the school year ended." 

        'No freaking way.' You thought to yourself.

        You were trying not to freak out. Really, you were. You had remained too flabbergasted by your reincarnation and the reality of existing amongst witches and wizards to wonder what characters you might run into. Molly and Arthur Weasley...

        It was a fair assumption that the Weasley family was one of your favorites when reading and watching the series. You were obsessed with them and their home. How they took in Harry so often and easily, not even aware of the full extent of his abuse; how the burrow always felt like coziness and comfort incarnate. 

        What are the odds? 

        The two brothers who you only read about in passing, the younger brothers of one of the few motherly figures Harry Potter ever had—just so happened to be the playmates you didn't want to meet a mere few hours ago.

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