January 4th, 1992
Little Hemming is terrible. I decided that almost immediately upon first being brought to it at the ripe old age of one year old and I have not changed my mind since.
That isn’t to say it’s not beautiful because it is. It’s a wizarding hamlet and is decorated as such. But everything has remained the same since I first laid eyes on it and, likely, since my parents first laid eyes on it as well. Thus, it is old. And uninspired.
The use of charms is hardly anything interesting, and the only good thing about the town is its bookstore.
It’s called The Query, which I love. It’s owned by one Quincy Alastor, a half-blood whose family has run the Query since Little Hemming was founded. Within its four walls are towers of books, anything but confined to shelves. The youngest of Quincey’s children is ten, and set to attend Hogwarts later in the year. His name is Quinton, and he’s rather well-learned, if a bit shy.
Father spent his time here visiting acquaintances, and Mother spent her time looking at the decor in the various antique shops around. Draco often spent the day playing pick-up quidditch games with the other local children. But me? I spent my time in the Query.
I settled into my usual plush chair with several books from the ‘new release’ section.
I spent my day disappearing into the unknown.
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“Ms. Malfoy,” Quincy greeted me jovially as he made his rounds through the shop, putting away books.
“Mr. Alastor,” I said lightly.
“Enjoying yourself, dear?” he said, pausing in his work to peer at the charm book in my hands. It was on the many charms used for mending cloth more permanently than a simple reparo.
“Mmhmm.” Looking up from my book, I saw the morning light had shifted to afternoon, and my stack of ten-odd books had shifted to only one unread.
Snapping the current charm book closed, I went to lift the stack of books myself when Quincy huffed a laugh, and they started levitating around me.
“Thanks, Mr. Alastor.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen the prices for some of these.”
I gave a sharp grin. “That’s never been a problem before.”
“Indeed,” Quincy agreed lightly.
The books followed us as we made our way to the register, and they settled on the counter in a neat pile. Quincy tapped each book with his wand, and the register began typing on its own.
Quincy peered down at the register and the paper it had printed, then looked back at me.
“You owe twenty and two.”
A wider grin spread across my face, “That’s outrageous. You’re gutting me.”
“Doubtful, Ms. Malfoy,” he responded playfully. “I’ve seen your manor.”
With a genuine laugh, I pulled out my bag and gave the man his twenty galleons and two sickles.
“Fine, but just this once.” I sighed heavily.
“You say that every time.” Quincy laughed.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“And it’s true… when I say it.”
Paper wrapped itself around the stack of books, and Quincy pointed his wand at the freshly wrapped parcel.
“Reducio.”
The towering stack became small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, and I placed it into my bag—which fortunately had a featherweight charm on it.
I held out my hand to Quincy.
“Don’t forget,” I said primly.
“Wouldn’t dream of it —geminio. Here you go.” As he cast the doubling charm, he took the artificial copy for himself and handed me the original.
I looked over the names of the books I’d purchased with fondness.
Brown Charms: A New Way to Woodwork by Percival Moonshot
Theory of Molecular Transmogrification by Annmarie Klein
Bewitching Stone: How to Bend Marble to Your Will by Laborious Windover
Reduce, Reuse, Recycle: Charms for an Enterprising Renovator by Zade Gloombrook
89 Ways to Mend Your Silk So It Stops Snagging by Clementine Hoofman
Measurements: How They Guide Automatic Sewing Charms by Sylvia Feeham
The Best Way to Create Liquid Stone by Johnathan Toole
Bottling: Sprites, Pixies, and More. A Guide to Bottling Faeries by Gillead Hawthorne
The Adventures of Mr. Merle: A Muggle Adventure in Wizarding London by Maryanne Smith
Eighteen Tales of Beheaded WItches by Theophania Alber
Merlin: The Man, The Myth, The Legend by Ambrose Morrigthrall
They weren’t my usual fare, but they would come in handy soon enough.
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“Where have you been all day?” Draco scrunched his nose, “You smell musty.”
“I smell like books.” I corrected. “And you smell like sweat.”
Draco sniffed his shirt, a long-sleeved top that kept the biting chill at bay.
“That’ll happen. It’s no worse than when you’re running.” He shrugged.
I rolled my eyes, “Yeah, okay. Did you at least win?”
A self-satisfied smile spread across my brother’s face, “Of course. I’m the greatest seeker this lot’s ever seen.”
“Unfortunately, that’s probably true.” I laughed at the stricken look on my brother’s face and knocked him with my fist. “Hey, want to learn so cool charms tonight? We can reno your room.”
“Do we have to?” He sighed.
“Yes,” I said, a vicious smile forming on my face. “Besides, I want to practice on yours before I do mine.”
“Do your what, Medea?” Came Father’s drawling voice, and I perked up.
“Oh, you know, just a few renovation charms.” I spoke casually, trying to dim my desire and the extent to which I wanted to alter my room. “Nothing too bad.”
Father’s eyebrow twitched, and I watched the exact moment he remembered I was ungovernable.
“Rather than harassing your brother, ask your mother which guest room she was planning on updating next. You can practice before you leave for next term.”
“Perfect.”
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I slid my latest book purchases onto the bookshelf in my room. It was filled with hundreds of books I’d read over the years and scaled the wall. In order to get to the top, I had to climb up a twenty-foot rolling ladder. It was over a dozen feet long and filled with my treasures. The memories of reading them solidified forever inside my mind, many of which came from the Query.
As soon as I was finished, I met Mother in the Seawinder Suite in the second-floor guest wing. It was a set of rooms that were painted a soft seafoam color with enchanted silver sea serpents roaming the walls and jumping from one side of the room to the other. The accents were all a shimmering silver, opal, and aquamarine.
“Darling, tell me your vision,” she said, sweeping her hand around the room.
I clapped my hands and pulled up some of the latest charms I’d been reading. One of which was a visualization technique from a northern wizard who built his own sprawling manor.
Pulling out my wand, I mimicked the directions from the book —a zigzag movement encased in a swirl.
“Imago animi.”
And a light began to bloom before me.