(December 21st, 1989, Atterberry Ranch, Ireland)

Today was the winter solstice.

I knew that, it was easily accessible knowledge. But I could also feel it. I could feel the magic of the solstice radiating down from Polaris. It felt almost angry, like a glare.

The sun had yet to rise, so the stars were still out, and I was standing outside in the snow. I was looking North, at Polaris. I knew that stars couldn't actually be mad, because they didn't have feelings, yet it still felt like the star was filled with spite.

I had a hypothesis. It was functioning in a similar manner to the Trace, the magic was happening because believed and wished for it to happen. A form of collective unintentional wandless magic. Of course if that was the case then it would need to be far stronger than the Trace.

The Trace was not natural like the magic of the solstice, at least not fully. It was a detection spell that drew upon and focused the existing natural magic. Polaris on the other hand was not focused, there were no Ministry wizards sitting at a desk, and casting ‘winter solstice’, the solstice was triggering all on its own. It was magic causing its own channelling. It was… fascinating.

So I was up before dawn, standing in the snow covered lawn, staring at the stars, bundled up against the snow, with a big red scarf and a bigger white jacket protecting me. Not that I needed protection. It was more luxury than necessity, but damn was I luxurious. It wasn't currently snowing, but there were still a few inches of white blanketing everything. It was 9:13 in the morning— still before dawn— when Mom stepped out onto the porch. She was dressed the same as I was— red scarf, white jacket, hand knit jumper underneath— because we always dressed the same. I didn't have a closet, it wouldn't be worth the money or effort, so I just made outfits in the image of Mom's wardrobe.

Mom was wearing red ear muffs and a white toque. Huh, I wasn't expecting that. I had my hood down because I liked having snow fluff my hair. She was holding a cup of coffee in her mittens. I raised an eyebrow at her after I realised that we had been staring at each other for the past thirty seconds, but she just kept smiling gently at me.

I glanced back at Polaris before turning fully to face Mom. I walked onto the porch and sat on the outdoor couch, she joined me on the couch and I leaned against her. Mom had constructed the house on a hill, so we had a great view from the porch, the whole ranch was in view, all the way to the metre high cobblestone wall at the opposite side from us. I hugged Mom's left arm as she drank her coffee with her right.

Our breaths came out in sync, making dual streams of mist. Without moving, I reached out for the clouds with my will. ‘Butterflies’ I commanded. And so the clouds silently burst into a hundred ghostly butterflies made of fog. They landed on Mom, clinging to her clothes with their invisible touch. She just continued with her coffee.

It was quiet and peaceful, the butterflies didn't change that. Eventually Mom spoke. “They’re cute,” she said. “like you are.”

That made me feel all warm and fuzzy, like invisible hot chocolate was in my veins. I snuggled a little closer to her, seeking warm cuddles to protect me from the freezing air. I put a lot of effort into my appearance, and she knew that. My body was beautiful, a work of art that I iterated upon constantly. It was my longest project so far. Everything else, I had eventually finished. But my human form was ever changing, never completed for long.

A long time ago I had thought that I had reached perfection, and then some time passed, and I let my imitation of a human form grow with age as I had planned. After just a few months I noticed the problem, my whole body had shifted, and all the details were warped. I was still incredibly beautiful, but the growth had made it near perfect. No human would be able to spot the difference. Even if I let the body grow till its prime, and then had a human compare that with a perfect version, they would only barely be able to point out a few minor differences. Ever since that realisation I had constantly been fixing minor imperfections. It was always little things, just a tenth of a millimetre here, and a few hundredths of a degree off from the right hue there, but it was noticeable to me. So I fixed them. All of them. All the time.

Admittedly I mostly just did it so I could have something to do. There were only so many perfect death machines that could be designed before I got bored. Over the years I had discovered that diseases were—

‘No, stop it-bad thoughts!’ one of my watchdog systems warned in its cute little voice. It was my voice— we had the same voice—. I was obviously a little narcissistic, but it wasn't my fault I had the cutest voice. Wait… no, it definitely was my fault. What was I thinking of before ‘diseases’? Ah, yes, my archnemesis, boredom.

Didn't matter right now. My body was still near perfect enough since the last time I updated it, and Mom was real comfy, so I was content.

Every few seconds the wind would pick up little wisps of snow, and it was an interesting game, to try and map out the air based off of how the wisps moved. I mostly failed, my predictions only lasting for a couple seconds before collapsing, but that was expected.

Mom was nearing the end of her coffee. I let go of the butterflies. They would last for some time more, or until they were significantly touched. Probably the latter once Mom sat up. She didn't move for some time after she had finished. She sat there watching the sun rise, and I watched with her from my place cuddled against her side.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

I was sitting on the couch, reading a book under the warmth of the hearth. In the corner of the room, in front of me and to the left, was a Christmas tree. Last year I had asked Mom why we celebrated a muggle religious holiday, and apparently we weren't. We were celebrating the Yuletide, which was the time leading up to the midwinter Yule festival. It was originally a pagan holiday before the church forcefully rebranded it. Most muggles see Yule as a historical footnote on the path that led to the modern consumerism centric Christmas, but most muggles are wrong. Yule and the Yuletide preceding it are still one of the largest celebrations in magical Britain.

Although, admittedly ‘in magical Britain’ limits it to being quite small, at least in terms of people celebrating it. I frowned, closed my book, and looked into the fire intensely. Now that I thought about it, the magical population of Britain was incredibly small, worryingly so. Two civil wars in the past century, plus the islands’ werewolf problem, and the recent persecution of muggle-borns leading to a very large decrease in new wizarding families. All that together meant that half of the old families were gone, and the remaining half significantly diminished in size, but there wasn't any influx to fill the gaps. Normally in other places such a situation would lead to an increase in immigration, but the plague of lycanthropy meant nobody wanted to move here.

Hmm. Oh well, I sure am glad that I'm not the Minister for Magic. I'm sure he had it covered. After all, he was a very competent and wise man. It said so in the newspaper, so it must've been true.

I coughed into my fist sarcastically.

For the next half hour, I continued reading my book. It was a workshop manual for a Ducati 851. Mom had gotten me a whole box of vehicle manuals for my birthday. They were a bit bland, but it had been nearly two months and I was only 90% through them all, so I wasn't complaining. When I finished my ‘book’, I decided to head outside. In the past Mom had kept me inside as much as possible when even the slightest bit of ground frost occurred, but I was a big girl now, so Mom had said that I could go outside as much as I wanted!

I was wearing a dark grey jumper and matching skirt already, but the rest of my snow gear needed regrowing. I had stopped growing clothes around my body about a year and a half ago. Someday I would go to Hogwarts like Mom had, and when I did I would need to be in the habit of putting on clothes manually. So instead I grew the clothes by having them blossom from my hands like big crumply flowers, and then I grabbed them off the floor and put them on the normal human way.

I replaced the skirt with thick trousers of the same dark grey cotton. Skirts were nice, but even with shorts underneath they were still far too breathable for this weather.

The outside air was just as crisp as this morning, if a little less cold. It was a little silly, I had spent the time to gear up, but the first thing I did when I got outside was reabsorb all my clothes by turning into an owl. Specifically, a giant version of a snowy owl with four wings and four eyes.

I say giant, but I was only a metre tall when standing. That was, like, 30cm shorter than my human form. I started flapping, two large pairs of wings oscillated to and fro, kicking up wind and snow. This was why I used four wings, it was a joy to optimise, but more importantly it drastically reduced takeoff duration. Soon I was in the air, climbing with a speed of 50km/h at an angle of fifty degrees. To compare that to other birds, that was what one might call ‘Holy shit, how are you generating that much lift?!’

Once I was a few hundred metres up I levelled out my flight. My eyes swooped over the familiar surroundings, this was not the first time I had flown after snow. I glided over the outer bounds of the ranch and the air shifted noticeably. The magical ambiance of the ranch was tightly wound, a viper ready to strike, the wards coiled in an eternal vigilance. Out here though, up above the forest, the air was… squirming. Every little fleck of magic was trying to hide, not out of fear but out of respect. The further I flew the taller the trees grew. I soon found myself lowering into the canopy. The trees were massive, the canopy was at least 60 metres tall, with plenty of branches that I had to dodge in-between. Below me I, flew buy a kaleidoscope of Aeďnels. Butterflies the size of small dogs, they flock together and surround themselves in a mass of fire. Each one individually is barely a match stick, but hundreds can ward off many a magical beast.

Tragically for them, I was not ‘many a magical beast’, I was Artemis Atterberry! I looped around and dived at the swarm, shapeshifting as I went. A spear, thin and deadly, four metres long from tip to pommel. The Fae Wilds shook from a deafening roar as the shadows of the canopy were banished by the screaming fire I had summoned. Three miniature rocket thrusters attached at the base of my blade launched me through the flock with seven thousand newtons of force. Thick metal wires whipped out of me in a spiral, spinning around rapidly as I flew through the swarm at over two hundred metres per second!

The hard metal of my body was bathed in fire for a few moments before the swarm scattered. Nearly half my shaft was buried in dirt from the momentum of my strike, and the remnants of the Aeďnels I had sundered had been turned to paste. That was fine. I shlorped over the nearby ash, scouring it for any tasty remnants. Luckily Aeďnels are fire proof, so it was easy to pick them out from the wake of their fellows’ counter attack. I must've hit at least a fourth of that flock. Very tasty.

After that, I reformed into an owl and flew home. That was a nice snack, but Mom would be expecting me to be home soon for the afternoon checkups. The rest of the day flowed on quietly, the checkups were uneventful, the animals huddled together as they ate, and Mom's lap was as warm and cosy as I had remembered.

She had really comfortable legs, which made me contemplate how tall I wanted to become. On one hand, if I was small I could cuddle better. But on the other hand, if I was big then I could have other people cuddle me. It was by far the hardest question I had ever found. To be smol, or not to be smol. I had spent years contemplating the quandary, yet I was no closer to an answer.

Mom got up and made dinner, and when she did so I became my cuddle-bug form. I clung to her back with my twelve legs, hugging her the whole time as she cooked, light as a feather. I made sure that I had my body cold enough that I wouldn't discomfort her via over heat. She seemed greatly amused, and I let out a happy little purr, which only filled her with more delight. I briefly wondered how I could possibly live without her during the duration of school.

I'm sure I'd find something. Cope somehow. I would have to. Plus, Mom believed in me, so I knew I could do it!

Mom was cutting potatoes for steak fries right now, and I was braiding her hair from my place on her back. I was using my front most two pairs of limbs, meanwhile the rest were still wrapped around her. I braided little strands into wires, and wires into tiny braids, and tiny braids into larger braids until her hair was all woven tightly into three main flows that danced around each other in a dazzling display of my… dedication? Boredom? Love? I didn't know, probably all of those and a little more.

Mom always undid any braids before she got in bed. She used to do it by hand, but a little under a year ago they got too complicated, so I had to tone it down for a few weeks until she could find a spell to undo the braids for her. It didn't work the first few tries, it took her seven weeks to find a spell good enough, and an additional two weeks to fully learn the spell. ‘Ordißium Caeßaries’, the ultimate detangling spell.

Mom asked me to set the table as she garnished dinner, so I slinked off her back and stood on two legs instead of twelve. I pouted briefly, before walking back and forth between the kitchen and dining room, carrying utensils, glass cups, napkins, etcetera. A minute later Mom placed two plates down on the table. We were eating American food tonight, burgers and fries. They technically weren't invented in the USA, but we were eating them In the American style, so they were American food.

I would later go to a ‘McDonald’— during the summer of 1990— and realise that my Mother's cooking had caused me to dramatically overestimate American cuisine.