Abigail was wrapped in an ill-fitting coat—a hand-me-down from the farm's mistress—as she sat on the small stool in the motel, staring blankly at the man who bought her with a piece of "paper."
He was a thin elder man, appearing to be around sixty years old, with neatly combed silver hair tied into a loose bun at the back, a lean face, and deep lines on either side of his mouth.
He wore a refined turtleneck with a coarse wool hunting coat outside, his whole posture standing tall and imposing.
Abigail cast a timid glance before quickly lowering her head, her fingers nervously picking at the ball of yarn on the sleeve.
The man stood opposite Abigail, his voice neither gentle nor harsh, merely calm as he said, "They told me you once folded space for a moment?"
Abigail shrank her neck slightly and whispered, "Sorry, sir… I don't understand…"
Though the man spoke with an inquisitive tone, he didn't seem to require Abigail's answer. His gaze swept across the girl's pale face, her disheveled hair, her hands covered with calluses and scars, and her shoes with holes.
Abigail awkwardly tucked her feet under the stool.
The elderly man's gaze returned to the girl's eyes, speaking as though to himself:
"Fear, desire, survival instinct, untamed primal magic power… a troubled life, yet no dark forces brewing…"
"It's truly remarkable how you children continue to surprise me, much more interesting than those dull adults."
Abigail's heart thumped, afraid to speak and even more afraid to look up at him.
The old man's gaze was frightening, making the girl feel as though she were being pierced through.
The person across pulled over a chair to sit down, not attempting to comfort or physically touch her, just sitting and gently asking:
"Tell me, at that moment, what did you feel? Was it the space itself? Or some string pulling at you? Or did you simply not want to be there?"
The question was somewhat odd, beyond Abigail's scope of knowledge;
Yet even stranger, she found herself able to comprehend its meaning and instinctively began to recall.
The sensation was too vague, too swift… seemingly vanished in an instant…
However, some force compelled the girl to repeatedly think back to that moment, as if pulling a deeply hidden thread from a tangled mess.
It was difficult.
Yet, a child without many distractions had less "tangled mess" within, she tried for a long time and finally caught that fleeting light.
Abigail began speaking involuntarily, not even knowing what she was saying; by the time she came to her senses, her mouth felt parched, and the old man opposite showed a satisfied smile.
"Indeed." He murmured: "Children at the time of magical outbursts are the closest to that level…"
Abigail blinked, looking at him in confusion.
The old man snapped back to reality, smiling slightly, and with a casual wave, a stream of clear spring water descended from above, landing perfectly in the motel's glass cup.
"Drink some water." The old man placed the cup before the wide-eyed Abigail and said, "You should be feeling thirsty."
Abigail dared not ask questions, nor refuse, only slowly drank a few sips of water.
The old man watched her obedient demeanor, the smile in his eyes growing deeper.
He leaned forward slightly and seriously said:
"Child, what you have is seen by some as a devil, others as a divine gift; but to me, it is actually a material… an extremely rare and unstable material."
"In the wrong furnace, this material will blow everything up, including yourself; but in the hands of the right craftsman…"
His gaze seemed to pierce through her, envisioning a broader scene.
"—It can be forged into a key, opening some… doors forgotten by the world."
Abigail still didn't understand, only listened silently and disoriented.
Seeing her expression, the old man couldn't help but laugh at himself for speaking of things even adults might not accept to a child.
He changed his tone, leaning back in his chair, and kindly said, "Your name is Selena Abigail, right?"
This sentence she could finally comprehend, Abigail breathed a sigh of relief and hurriedly said, "Yes, sir."
"Then I'll call you Serra from now on." The old man gave a faint smile and said, "My name is Sophelus Reck, you can call me teacher. I will teach you some… special knowledge."
Abigail said softly, "Special… knowledge?"
The old man produced an old magic wand as if by magic, placing it before Abigail and said, "Take it, give it a wave."
Abigail glanced at the old man, reached out and gently grasped the "stick"; she glanced at the old man once more, somewhat clumsily waving it lightly.
Suddenly, as if a wondrous force erupted through her arm, it surged through the stick and emerged from the tip—
"Bang!"
A burst of flame directly shot onto the opposite wall, leaving a large charred mark on the white wall.
Startled, Abigail threw the stick with a whoosh, springing up from the stool.
The stick hadn't even hit the ground when it suddenly suspended in midair by an unseen force, drifting leisurely back to Reck's side.
"Don't be afraid." The old man said, "This isn't anything dangerous, just a magic wand. And you, Serra, you are a witch."
…
Over the next half year, Abigail followed "Teacher" Reck, traveling to many places. They would leave one city in an instant and arrive at another unfamiliar one.
Teacher Reck said it was a magic called Apparition, which is also what she did when her magic erupted.
Unlike the first life-and-death moment of teleportation, every subsequent Apparition was uncomfortable, but Abigail feared being left behind and never dared to complain.
She learned some simple small magic from Teacher Reck, such as the Scouring Charm. Whenever Abigail happily reported her learning achievements to her teacher, she would always receive a gentle compliment, the happiest moment of her day.
She sensed that Teacher Reck's purpose in moving them around wasn't tourism or work, but searching for something. Abigail knew she couldn't help, the only thing she could do was avoid causing more trouble for the old man.
Until one day, a mysterious visitor arrived at the hotel where they temporarily resided.
Wearing a cloak, when she knocked on the door, Abigail thought it was a visiting sales child; yet when she took off the cloak, Abigail gasped in surprise.
The visitor's appearance was very odd; she was shorter than Abigail, yet her head was disproportionately large, with a sharp long nose and ears like two willow leaves stuck horizontally on her head.
She glanced at Abigail and turned to ask Teacher Reck: "You've taken on another student? Aren't you afraid of her turning you into the magic prison like the last one?"
Teacher Reck said indifferently, "This child won't betray me."
"Why won't she?" the visitor sharply asked, "You're too old to believe in love or loyalty, those boring things, aren't you?"
Teacher Reck leaned against the chair and gently laughed: "Because I will ask Grimson to help reshape those painful memories for my little Serra… By the way, do you like this piece of news?"
He placed the newspaper in front of the visitor.
Abigail was pouring water for the guest, and she casually glanced at it.
The newspaper showed a very handsome man laughing silently with his head raised.
Having been with Teacher Reck for such a long time, Abigail was accustomed to these moving photos, she secretly guessed in her mind: "Has this person encountered something good? Laughing so happily…"
The headline was long, Abigail didn't know too many words yet, she could only pick out parts she understood and stutter in her mind:
"Thirteen… Black… the Potters?"