Jane came to stand beside her, their reflections merging in the glass pane. It was a study in red hair and green eyes, the same family face mirrored across two generations—one small and smooth, the other older and etched by the exhaustion of the past month.
"Your shoes," Jane said, her voice soft in the quiet room. "You left them behind."
Morwenna looked back at the discarded blue trainers sitting lopsided under the table. "I like them. But my feet like the floor better."
Jane nodded, understanding the simple, grounding comfort of the manor's cool stone. It was a familiar preference in their family.
They stood together for a moment, looking out at the sprawling garden where the mist was finally beginning to lift. Then Morwenna turned and walked toward the low mahogany table where the stack of books waited. She had seen them earlier when Jane brought them in, but breakfast had been a more pressing concern.
Now that she was finished, she climbed onto the velvet settee, her small body sinking deep into the plush cushions. The books were piled high, their bright, glossy covers catching the golden afternoon light. She picked up the first one—a sturdy board book with a brown cow on the front—and looked up at her mother.
Jane crossed the room and sat beside her. The cushions shifted under her weight as she pulled Morwenna close, settling the child against her side, and reached for the book. The scent of vanilla and ink rose from the pages.
"What is this?" Morwenna pointed at the brown and white animal with its soft, pink nose.
"A cow. They give milk."
Morwenna studied the picture with intense focus. "Where do they live?"
"On farms. In wide, green fields."
The afternoon light shifted toward gold, softening as it filtered through the tall, leaded windows. The fire burned low in the hearth, the embers glowing a steady orange behind the iron grate. One of the child's new shoes sat neatly beside the settee, looking small and abandoned in the first hour of reading.
Morwenna turned the thick page. "What is this?"
"A car. People sit inside them and they move along roads."
"How?"
"Engines and wheels. I will show you one someday."
Morwenna turned another page, her small fingers gripping the edge of the cardboard. "What is this?"
"A dog. Like Cinder, but different."
Morwenna looked at the picture of the golden retriever. She glanced at Cinder, who was curled on the rug nearby. One of the fox's ears flicked at a sound only he could hear, his russet fur shining in the firelight. She looked back at the printed dog.
"Cinder is better."
Jane smiled, pressing a kiss to the side of her daughter's head. "I agree."
Morwenna turned the page again. "What is this?"
"A bus. Many people can ride in it at once."
"How many?"
"Many. More than our family."
Morwenna considered this, her brow furrowing with suspicion. "Too many."
"Perhaps," Jane conceded.
She turned another page. "What is this?"
"A playground. Children play there. On the swings and the slides."
The child's finger traced the image of a girl going down a bright yellow slide. The girl in the book was laughing, her arms held high in the air and her dark hair flying behind her.
"Can I?"
"Soon. When you are four."
Morwenna nodded, filing this information away in her mind. She turned another page. "What is this?"
"A television. It shows moving pictures. Stories."
Morwenna's eyes widened, her green gaze fixed on the black box in the illustration. "Moving pictures? Like portraits?"
"Similar. But they are different. The pictures aren't alive. They are just recorded and shown again later."
Morwenna considered this logic. "Why?"
"Because people like to watch stories, and learn new things, and be entertained."
Morwenna looked at the picture of the television for a long moment and then she turned the page.
The questions continued: what is this, what is that, why, and how?
Jane answered them all. Some answers were simple, some required longer explanation, and some led to even more questions. Morwenna absorbed each one, her eyes bright with the effort of learning.
At three in the afternoon, Jack appeared in the doorway. Jane looked up from a picture book about a bear who went to the city for the first time. Morwenna was nestled against her side, warm and heavy with the beginning of sleep. Her eyes were drooping but still open. The stack of books had been reduced to three.
"Your turn," Jane said, her voice a quiet murmur.
Morwenna looked up, her white hair messy. "Dada?"
Jack crossed the room and held out his hand, his black hair with its white streak catching the light. "Come. I want to show you something."
Morwenna slid off the settee. Her feet hit the rug and she looked back at her shoes, then at Jack, and finally at her own feet. She shrugged and took his hand. They walked together toward the library, their footsteps echoing on the stone.
The library felt warm, and the fire was crackling in the massive stone hearth. The smell of old parchment, leather, and beeswax filled the vast space. Jack led her to one of the low mahogany tables near the window where a book was already waiting.
It was old, leather-bound, and the pages were yellowed. The cover was a dark, forest green, and the spine was cracked from years of handling. Jack lifted her onto the cushioned bench and sat beside her. He opened the book carefully, the pages crackling softly in the silence.
"This is about our world. The wizarding world."
Morwenna looked at the pages. There were drawings of ancient castles, people in flowing robes, and strange creatures she had never seen before. The ink had faded in places, but the images remained clear.
"Hogwarts," Jack said, pointing at a drawing of a massive castle sitting beside a lake. Towers rose toward the sky, their stone peaks lost in the clouds. Lights glowed in hundreds of windows, and a great bridge arched over the dark water.
"That's where wizards and witches go to learn magic. You will go there when you are eleven."
Morwenna studied the castle. It looked bigger than the manor and bigger than anything she had ever seen. She traced the jagged outline with her finger.
"I will go there?"
"Yes. With Harry. Your cousin."
Morwenna looked at him, her gaze sharp. "Harry?"
"Lily's son. The son of your mother's cousin."
Morwenna filed this away and looked back at the towering castle. "It's big."
"Yes."
"Bigger than here?"
"Different. Not bigger. Just different."
She turned the page. There were drawings of magical creatures: dragons with iridescent scales and leathery wings, unicorns with shimmering silver manes, and hippogriffs with eagle heads and powerful horse bodies. Jack named each one and explained what they were and where they lived. Morwenna listened, her head tilted to the side.
"This is a phoenix," Jack said, pointing at a drawing of a magnificent bird with red and gold feathers. It was rising from a bed of flames, its wings spread wide in a display of power. "Their tears can heal almost anything."
Morwenna looked at the phoenix. The drawing showed it in profile, its eye bright and its beak slightly open as if it were singing. Then she looked at her own right hand where, earlier that week, she had held cold fire. The memory of it—the silver base, the blue tips, and the absence of heat—was still fresh.
"Mine is different," she said.
Jack stayed quiet for a moment, his hand resting on the page. "Yes," he said. "Yours is different. But it's still flame. It's still real."
Morwenna nodded, satisfied, and turned the page. They sat together for the next hour as the shadows lengthened across the floor.
Jack told her stories of the founders: Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff. He told her of the ancient wars, the hidden creatures, and the magic that was her birthright. Morwenna asked questions and he answered them all.
At one point, she pointed at a drawing of a great serpent. It was coiled, its scales rendered in fine detail and its yellow eyes watching.
"Sss?" she asked in the sibilant tones of Parseltongue.
Jack answered her in the same language, his voice smooth and low. "Basilisk. Very dangerous. Very old."
Morwenna looked at the serpent and then at Jack's face. "Like us?"
He considered the question. "The same blood. But different."
She nodded and turned the page. When the light began to fade and the fire needed more wood, Jack closed the book. The heavy cover met the pages with a soft, final thump. Morwenna leaned against his side, warm and heavy, her breathing becoming slow and rhythmic.
"Dada?"
"Yes?"
"I liked today."
Jack put his arm around her. She fit perfectly against him, a small and solid weight. "So did I."
She looked up at him, her green eyes serious. "Tomorrow we do more?"
"Tomorrow we do more."
She nodded, satisfied, and closed her eyes.