The Witch Trials
Salem, Massachusetts, 1693
Hushed whispers settled over the square as Agatha was dragged to the stake by her own kin. Lucia watched from a distance, studying the girl who wore a mask of feigned calm—though her mother’s steely gaze bore into her soul with the weight of disappointment.
It was all too familiar. She had seen Agatha wear that same look as a child, whenever she tried to hide her mistakes from their mother. Every time, their mother would give her troublesome daughter a look that promised a punishment harsher than scrubbing cauldrons for a month. But this time, the mistake was graver, and the punishment far bleaker.
Agatha had been found guilty of drawing the Salem witch trials upon their coven, using dark magic to steal power from "lesser witches" who had chosen to live in hiding among ordinary people. Her greed had led to suspicion, accusations, and ultimately, the deaths of many innocents. Lucia watched the trial unfold in silence, her strange lavender eyes observing more than anyone else could see.
She had the unique ability to perceive things beyond the physical—the ebb and flow of magic, the symbols of power woven through the fabric of the world. It was a gift she had been born with, though it came at an ironic cost: she could see magic but not wield it herself.
Lucia had known of Agatha's actions, but as a simple potion maker with no magic, she couldn't have stopped her even if she’d tried. Just as she couldn’t stop this trial, though she knew what the outcome would be.
Without another glance, Lucia turned away from the trial, retreating to her small home. The coven would soon be destroyed; that much was certain. Once again, she would be left alone, forced to survive as she always had.
Lucia Hargrevee had always been a survivor. Two lives ago, she’d been a typical university student, working day and night to afford an education, rising up from a life of hardship to become a law graduate. Cruelly, just when she believed her future was bright, she was struck by a car and awoke once more in a world of wands and spells.
Her second life had been kinder. It had unfolded in the Harry Potter universe, where she was reborn into a family of mixed-blood wizards, blessed with magic of her own. She fell in love with magic from her first spell and dedicated herself to it, mastering potions, charms, and hexes. Graduating with honors, she became a skilled potions master, opening a little shop in Hogsmeade. It was a peaceful life until the Second Wizarding War erupted. In the end, she and her Muggle-born husband were killed in the violence that consumed Britain.
Her third life began in 1684. This time, she found herself in the body of a young girl with her mother, hiding in the dark woods of Massachusetts. Her mother, a gentle potions maker, was accused of witchcraft and hunted by a frenzied mob. Together, they fled, hoping to find refuge among a hidden coven rumored to exist near Salem. But illness claimed her mother before they could reach safety, leaving Lucia alone in a world that feared and hated those with powers like hers.
Desperate and hungry, Lucia wandered the woods for three days until she stumbled upon the coven her mother had sought. The coven leader, Elanora, took pity on her and brought her in as her own. Whether it was out of compassion or because Lucia and her daughter were of the same age, she didn’t know. She only knew that she had found a new home and a new mother.
The coven members weren’t cruel, but they were pragmatic. Lucia could not wield traditional magic, and the coven had no place for someone who couldn’t contribute. However, the knowledge she’d gained in her past life as a potions master proved valuable. Even without magic, she possessed a deep understanding of potions and charms, knowledge that most of these witches lacked.
So they let her stay, and in return, she shared her knowledge, adapting it to their ancient craft of potion-making. She studied the herbs, roots, and minerals they used, merging her understanding of magical and non-magical ingredients. She discovered ways to blend them into potent brews that could heal, protect, and enhance—potions far more powerful than any the coven had seen.
Over time, her reputation grew. Her potions became sought after, filling gaps where other magic failed. Lucia’s charm-making, though unconventional, was equally impressive. She wove delicate silvery threads of magic through her fingers, enchanting objects with protection and warmth, binding spells into necklaces, bracelets, and amulets that kept the coven safe with the power of runes.
But Lucia wasn’t content to simply be a hidden talent within the coven. She wanted to use her knowledge of the future to shape her own fate, to rise above the shadows of history.
The screams outside her cottage had quieted, replaced by steady, purposeful footsteps. They stopped at her door. A knock.
“…Come in, Agatha.”
Agatha entered, her face a mask of feigned surprise, fingers clutching the locket that had once belonged to their mother. “What? Am I no longer your sister?” she asked, a glint of mockery in her voice. But her knuckles were white around the locket, her confidence cracked.
Lucia met her sister’s gaze without a word.
“…I killed Mother,” Agatha said, her voice wavering. “The coven elders, too.” She paused, searching for the right words. “I didn’t leave because I… I don’t know.”
Lucia looked at her, unmoved. “And now?”
“I’ll leave. This forsaken coven doesn’t deserve me.”
There was a hunger in Agatha’s eyes—a need for power that had driven her to destroy everything she had. Her words were laced with desperation, but Lucia felt nothing.
Their bond had long since dissolved into ashes.
Lucia turned her attention back to her cauldron, stirring slowly. “Then go,” she said softly. “If that’s what you want, leave and don’t look back. But what you’ve done will haunt you.”
Agatha scoffed, masking the tremor in her voice. “You don’t understand. You have no magic, no ambition. All you do is brew your silly potions. At least I wanted something more.” Her voice cracked, but she steadied it with a sneer. “I’ll find greatness without you.”
With a sharp turn, she stormed out, leaving behind the acrid scent of scorched herbs. Lucia didn’t watch her go. She kept her eyes on the cauldron’s shimmering mixture, the purples and silvers swirling like memories she’d rather forget.
As the door slammed shut, Lucia felt a faint ache—a glimmer of sadness for the past, for what might have been. But she had grown accustomed to loss. She had survived many losses, may pains and many lives, and she would survive this one, too.
Outside, the chaos of the night was beginning to die down. She knew other witches would come soon, drawn by rumours of Agatha’s deeds and the tragedies that followed. The coven would be no more, scattered or dead, leaving only a few remnants of a hidden legacy. Perhaps a new one would emerge in turn of the fallen one, But it wouldn't have been the home she once knew. The knowledge weighed on her, but she held her head high. She was a survivor, always had been.
And she had her own path to carve.
For years, Lucia had remained hidden within the coven, helping quietly, preferring her potions and charms to the schemes of power-hungry witches. But now, she realized, she could no longer stay hidden. She had a duty—not to Agatha, not to the coven that had all but disintegrated—but to the memory of her mother and to the fragile spark of magic she still carried from her previous lives.
And so, Lucia Hargrevee, the girl who had once belonged to two different worlds, stepped forward, her heart carrying the weight of a legacy that stretched beyond life and death, beyond time itself. She would make her mark—not as a witch in a coven, not as a pawn in someone else’s game, but as a healer, a creator, and a force of her own.
(End of Chapter)