Witch Weekly
SUNDAY. SEPTEMBER 5, 1971.
Dear Petunia,
I’m very, very sorry for snooping through your things. I promise I’ll never do it again. Please don’t be cross with me. I can’t
Lily Evans is not having a good evening.
The floor by her bed is littered with scraps of parchment. It’s a graveyard of unfinished letters.
Petunia probably won’t even read it. She can be so stubborn when she’s upset! That’s why Lily had waited out the rest of the week before sitting down to write home. But it’s Sunday evening now, and Lily promised she’d write every week. Lily Evans never breaks a promise.
She sighs and tears herself another bit of parchment.
Dear Pet,
Hi! I have so much to tell you. I meant to meet up with Sev on the train, but then I ran into these horrible boys. You should have been there, T
No.
Lily fights the urge to bite her nails as she tears off yet another bit of parchment.
Why wizards choose to write on parchment when there are far more sensible options for paper available, Lily has no idea. It’s terribly strange. Everything here is strange.
Smashing. But strange.
She hasn’t yet worked out how to immediately discern which portraits speak and which are still. She’s nearly gotten lost on the way to class twice, thanks to the moving staircases. And she’s got no idea how to use a quill.
She wishes Petunia were here.
Lily’s older sister has always been a very practical young lady. Plus, she’s two years Lily’s senior, which– as far as Lily’s concerned– means she knows everything.
If Petunia were here, Lily would have a guide. Lily wouldn’t feel so strange.
But Petunia isn’t here. Petunia isn’t allowed here. Because Petunia is not a witch.
Petunia is not a witch, and Lily is. So Petunia is back home in Cokeworth, and Lily is here, in an enormous castle in the Scottish Highlands. Alone.
Not alone. Lily reminds herself. There’s still Severus. Thank heaven for Severus.
So, no. She’s not entirely alone. She’s got Severus– whenever they’ve got class together or a free period at the same time, that is. And her roommates seem fine enough: Mary and Marlene. They haven’t been unkind at all, thankfully. That had been a worry. Lily had loads of worries… has loads of worries.
Neither of them spends much time in the bedroom, though. So, apart from classes, Lily doesn’t see much of either of them. She’s got no clue where Marlene disappears to. As for Mary, it’s usually quite easy to find her: just look for the crowd. Mary seems to be the social butterfly type.
Lily’s not quite suited for that sort of existence.
She’s found she fares much better just left of center spotlight, thank you very much. She’ll be the top of the class happily, but she’d never audition for a school play… Does Hogwarts even have plays?
Dear Tuney,
Sixth time’s the charm.
Dear Tuney,
I miss you. I ’m so sorry that I went through your things. I completely understand why you’re upset with me. However, I promised I’d write you at least once each week, so here I am. Hogwarts is terribly strange. They write using quills here, Tuney. Quills! Like the pope or something!
Severus sends his regards. I know you’re not his biggest fan.
You’ll be disappointed to hear that I have not made any new friends. Or maybe you’ll be pleased. I won’t pretend to know. Either way: it’s still just Sev and me.
Severus is here too. We don’t see each other so much anymore because we were sorted differently. (Long story short: a hat told us to sit at separate tables during meals, and now our schedules are different.) Sev is in Slytherin. That’s the house he wanted, so I’m happy for him. He wanted me to be in Slytherin too, but I was sorted into Gryffindor.
I wish I was in Slytherin with him. Gryffindor is meant to be for the courageous types. I don’t feel particularly courageous, but I suppose
Gryffindor has treated me pretty well so far. The common room is nice, and I have a lovely view.
The boys are awful, though, Tuney. There’s this one boy that seems to be the ringleader. He’s been picking fights since the minute Sev and I ran into him on the train. It’s completely barbaric.
I know you’d set him straight if you were here.
Anyhow, I’m sure you’ll be very busy with schoolwork and such, so don’t feel too pressured to write back. I’ll keep sending plenty of letters.
I love you! See you in three months.
Your Sister,
Lily
Lily finishes off her signature with a flourish. There. That’s decent. She gingerly places the letter on her bedside table to give the ink time to dry.
The door swings open behind her. Lily’s eyes flick up toward the movement.
Mary Macdonald enters the bedroom with a bundle of some sort in her arms.
“Ay up.” She greets, making a beeline for her bed. “What’s that?”
Lily blinks. “What’s what?”
Mary shoots her a quizzical look and gestures vaguely at the field of parchment at the foot of Lily’s bed. “What’ve you been drawing? Can I see?”
“Oh.” Lily feels her face flush. “Haven’t been drawing… just writing a letter.”
She avoids meeting Mary’s gaze by hopping down from her bed to collect the trash.
“A letter?” Mary prompts.
Lily doesn’t fancy the idea of explaining herself any further. Really, what goes on between her and her sister is nobody else’s concern. If it takes Lily six tries to figure out what to say to Petunia, then that’s her business.
A subject change is in order.
“What’ve you got there?” Lily asks nonchalantly.
At least, she’s aiming for nonchalant. She misses it by an inch or so. Thankfully, Mary makes no indication that she’s noticed.
Instead, Mary’s full lips part in a dazzling smile. She holds up one of the booklets from the bundle.
“Witch Weekly!” The brunette proclaims.
On the glossy magazine cover, a pretty witch in blue robes cycles through a handful of poses. Lily eyes the photo. It doesn’t seem like this one can talk, but she’s certainly not static, either.
Mary spreads the rest of the magazines in the bundle out on her bed. It’s a dizzying display of pretty, thin witches in colorful robes. “Alice lent me a few old copies.”
Lily’s got no clue who Alice is, but if these are just her older copies, she must have a whole trunk full of magazines.
“Want to look?” Mary asks.
Lily Evans has never been the magazine type of girl. She’s always found herself better suited to textbooks, novels, and the like. Magazines are more up Petunia’s alley than Lily’s. Tuney’s always said so, too: that it’d be better if her little sister stuck to her Dahl and left Petunia’s Jackie copies alone.
But Mary doesn’t wait for a response before climbing up onto Lily’s bed, magazine in hand.
“That’s Amelie Newton on the front cover.” She points to the blonde witch in blue. “She’s some sort of potioneer, apparently.”
“Potioneer?” Lily raises a brow. Witch Weekly doesn’t seem to be the type of magazine that discusses potioneers…
Mary nods. “Says here she apprenticed under Sacharissa Tugwood.”
Lily recognizes that name! “She’s the witch who invented beauty potions.”
The first-year potions textbook didn’t delve into beauty potions too deeply. Apparently, they were rather complex. But it did mention that their invention was relatively recent. Credited to one Sacharissa Tugwood.
That was the first time it occurred to Lily that magic could be invented.
It makes sense, sort of. Muggle science is constantly inventing things. Scientists are always creating new ways to conduct the elements that have existed since forever. It makes sense that magic might be the same.
The discovery came as a strange sort of comfort. Magic is still being invented. In the grand scheme of things, Lily might not know much less about magic than any of the students who’d grown up with it. She could even know more if she put in an effort.
“There’s an interview with her on page twelve,” Mary makes herself comfortable on Lily’s bed. “If you want to skip there?”
Lily shakes her head, crawling into bed so that she can read over Mary’s shoulder. “No, thank you. What else is there?”
Mary smiles again, and the girls begin flipping through the magazine.
This issue, apparently centered around beautification, is as fascinating as it is feminine.
The girls pore over pages of stylish pink robes and blushing witches and handsome wizards. They’re fluffy, certainly. But they’re also filled with information about a subsection of magic that Lily never might’ve noticed had she stuck to her textbook.
Mary’s voice cuts through Lily’s epiphany. “She’s lovely, isn’t she?”
They’ve come to a pause on a photo of Amelie. She’s leaning over a cauldron and giving the camera a spectacular smile.
Amelie’s got creamy, blemish-free skin and long flaxen hair. Her figure is akin to Petunia’s. That is to say, she’s thin. Thin and willowy. Lily frowns.
“Makes for a nice model.” She agrees.
“I’d quite like to be a model,” Mary says.
Lily lifts her eyes from the page to study Mary’s face.
Mary Macdonald is quite pretty. There isn’t a single spot on her mocha skin. No smattering of freckles, no birthmarks, no bumps. Her eyes are big and dark. They make her look far younger than eleven, in Lily’s opinion. Her lips are full and pouty, and her teeth are all straight. Lily is terribly jealous of her straight teeth.
“You probably could,” Lily says, “when you’re older, of course.”
Mary smiles. “You think so?”
Lily nods and averts her gaze. She doesn’t want to look anymore. She’s starting to feel a bit flushed.
“Thank you,” Mary says, then laughs. “I’d probably forget to move. All my photos would be static.”
Lily furrows her brow. “Static?”
“Muggle photos are static,” Mary says by way of explanation.
Lily knows muggle photos are static. Of course she knows muggle photos are static. She grew up a muggle. But why would Mary’s photos be static? Unless…
“You’re muggleborn?” She asks.
Mary hums. She nods without taking her eyes off the page.
This. This is a huge deal.
“I’m muggleborn!” Lily scrambles to her feet, the magazine entirely forgotten.
Mary’s head snaps up. “You are?!”
Lily feels her cheeks go pink.
She feels a bit dumb for just assuming that she was the only muggleborn in the dorm. But, truly, she never would have suspected Mary Macdonald hadn’t grown up around magic. Mary just seemed so utterly at ease here. She befriended older students, she asked questions Lily was too afraid to ask in class, she was clearly comfortable.
Lily felt like a deer caught in headlights nearly every moment of every day. Was it foolish of her to assume all other muggleborns would be just as nervous?
“I never would have known.” Mary continues, abandoning the glossy pages of the magazine.
“What?” Lily blinks dumbly.
“I never would have suspected. I mean.” Mary sits up on her knees in bed. “You’re brilliant in class! All the teachers compliment your work-”
“Not all the teachers,” Lily mumbles sheepishly. Her cheeks grow even warmer.
Mary plows right through her interruption. “I just assumed you’ve had loads of practice.”
Lily’s cheeks grow hotter still. She laughs and covers her face with her hands. “Thank you? I suppose?”
Mary laughs too. “You’re welcome.”
The silence that falls over the girls is far more companionable than before.
“Quills are stupid, don’t you think?”
Lily’s entire being lights up. Understanding. Her cells sing. Finally, understanding.
“They’re completely primitive!”
Mary brightens just the same. “I keep smudging the ink all over my hands.”
“Me too!”
Lily Evans makes a mental note to alter the letter currently sitting on her bedside table. She has something new to tell Petunia about. Mary Macdonald.