January arrived with leaden skies and a cold that seeped through the stone walls, relentless and biting. The gardens were crusted with jagged ice where the snow had melted and frozen over again, and the lake had become a solid sheet of ice.
Outside, the trees stood bare against the horizon, their branches stripped of everything but frost, reaching like skeletal fingers toward the pale sun.
Morwenna lay on her bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling where the shadows played across the plaster. A green stuffed snake was tucked under her arm, its fabric scales pressed against her ribs while Cinder curled on her back.
The fox was a comforting, warm weight between her shoulder blades, his russet fur rising and falling in time with her slow, rhythmic breathing. She had been staring at the ceiling for a long time, not thinking of anything in particular, just watching the winter light shift and fade across the room.
Her hand moved to the nightstand, seeking the cream envelope that had been sitting there since Jane had given it to her. She hadn't opened it yet, not after seeing the photograph that had stirred such strange, fragmented memories.
She finally picked it up, feeling the soft, expensive texture of the paper before she pulled out the letter and unfolded it. The handwriting was neat and careful, clearly the work of a child trying very hard to be precise and proper.
Dear Nimue,
You are leaving today. I'm sad.
We took the photograph yesterday. I will keep it on my nightstand.
Where will you go after the farm? Will you see the sea? Will you see mountains?
I hope you eat enough. You were always hungry at the park.
I hope we can meet again someday.
Your friend, Hermione
Morwenna read the words twice, her heart giving a strange, heavy thump. She remembered Jane mentioning that the girl's family was moving to a bigger house with a larger garden, but she didn't know where or when.
She folded the paper back up, her face remaining still and impassive. Her heterochromatic eyes, the right a burning, arterial Pyre Red and the left a cold, metallic Sterling Ice, lowered to the letter in her hands.
"This would be interesting," she thought, even if she couldn't remember the exact details of their meeting.
From what her mother said and the letters she had seen, she had clearly met these characters from the stories. They seemed to have deep, established connections with her that she was only just beginning to uncover.
She raised her gaze to the window. The sky was a dull, oppressive grey and the glass felt cold even from a distance, while the branches of the oak tree scratched against the pane like fingernails.
She didn't know if this world was based on the Basilisk-Born lore, the original books, or the films she remembered from before. In her other life, she had only watched the movies and read a few fanfictions here and there. By now, those details had blurred, leaving only the major plot points clear in her mind.
A hint of interest flickered in her eyes, a quiet spark behind her gaze that was subtle but unmistakable. Her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile, but held a trace of intense curiosity.
"No matter what this world is built on," she murmured to the empty room, her voice low and thoughtful, "whether it's books, films, or something else entirely, it doesn't matter."
She looked back toward the grey sky, her focus shifting as if she were looking past the horizon itself. Her family didn't exist in any version of the story she remembered. They weren't in the films or the fragments of fiction she had once read.
That alone was proof enough that this was a branch, a divergence, and something that had already begun to drift away from the established path.
"I'm already outside of it," she said softly, her fingers tightening slightly around the letter. "All these changes. The things already shifting because we exist here. Small causes, widening ripples."
She exhaled a quiet breath and a faint, intent curve touched her lips again. She wanted to see how far those ripples would go and what kind of world they would create in their wake.
Cinder shifted on her back, his tail brushing against her neck, and she watched the window until the winter light began to fade into the purple of evening.
. . .
Dinner was almost over. The plates were empty, the candles had burned low, and the fire in the hearth crackled and popped in the comfortable silence. Morwenna sat between Jane and Jack, her hands flat on the table as she watched the embers. She had been quiet throughout the meal, turning a specific thought over in her mind, but she decided it was time to speak.
"I want to tell you something. About the other life. The truth was... ," she began, but then her mouth stopped.
It wasn't because she chose to go silent. The words were there, lined up behind her teeth and ready to spill out. She tried to shape the first sound, but her throat closed like a tightening fist. Her lips moved, but nothing came out—not a whisper, not even a breath.
"The other life. I remember... ," she tried again, but once more, there was nothing but a hollow silence.
She tried to force the words, her mouth hanging open as her throat strained with the effort.
A frustrated sound escaped her, but it wasn't speech, just a choked noise that made Jack and Jane look at her in alarm. She pressed her hand to her throat, feeling the muscles tense and locked as if they belonged to someone else entirely.
She pushed back from the table so abruptly that her chair scraped loudly against the floor, and then she ran from the room.
.
The nursery was dark and the fire hadn't been lit, but Morwenna didn't stop to notice the gloom. She grabbed a book from the shelf and a short pencil from a drawer, not caring that the end had been chewed. She ran back downstairs to the morning room, which was still lit by the warm glow of the fire. The family looked up in concern when she burst through the door, her breathing ragged.
"I won't stop. I will write it," she said firmly.
She sat on the floor, opening the book on the rug with the pencil clutched tightly in her hand. She began to write, her movements frantic.
The other life. I lived in an apartment. I watched the movies. I read...
But then her hand stopped. She took a deep breath and began again, pressing hard enough to dent the page with the lead.
Harry Potter lives at Number Four, Privet Drive. His aunt's name is Petunia. His uncle's name is Vernon. His cousin's name is Dudley. He sleeps in the cupboard under the stairs.
Jane knelt on the rug beside her, leaning over her shoulder to catch the flickering light on the page. Morwenna felt her mother go very still, and the woman's breathing hitched for a fraction of a second, a soft and startled sound that seemed loud in the quiet of the morning room.
"Morwenna," Jane said softly, her voice trembling.
Morwenna looked up and saw that her mother's face had gone pale, appearing almost ashen in the orange glow of the hearth. Jane stared at the page with an expression Morwenna had never seen before, a look caught somewhere between raw fear and a dawning realisation.
Frowning, Morwenna glanced back at the book, but to her, the words were perfectly clear. Every letter remained sharp and distinct, and the meaning hadn't changed from the moment she had pressed the lead to the paper.
The silence from the adults stretched out, heavy and suffocating. A small knot tightened in Morwenna's chest as she met her mother's eyes again. In that moment of silent contact, she finally understood the truth. Jane couldn't read a single word.
Morwenna lowered her gaze to the page once more, where every line remained intact in her own mind. Yet for the woman kneeling beside her, the ink seemed to have dissolved into something meaningless and blurred. Jane shook her head, her eyes wide as she looked at the scrawl.
"You can't see it," Morwenna whispered, her voice barely audible.
Jane shook her head again, confirming the impossible. "I can't see anything after the first few words. It's all jumbled, ma chérie."
Morwenna's shoulders sagged as the weight of the isolation hit her. Around the room, the adults exchanged grim and knowing glances. Aldric looked solemn, his jaw tight with a tension that mirrored the winter cold outside, while Seraphina pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Nearby, Saoirse stared up at the ceiling, her expression distant as she retreated into her own silent thoughts.
Jack was the one who finally spoke. His British accent was quiet and steady in the tense air. "The protections. They block transmission, not cognition."
Morwenna looked at him, her heterochromatic eyes burning with a sharp intensity. "You knew?"
"We suspected it might be the case. It was part of what Nicholas found when he examined your soul and told us about the other life." Jack's voice remained calm, though a hint of regret coloured his tone. "The universe doesn't want you changing things directly."
Desperate to bridge the gap, Morwenna tried to speak the words aloud instead. She pointed at the page with a shaking finger. "Harry. He lives with..."
The first few words were clear enough that Jack leaned forward in his chair, his brow furrowed as he concentrated. But then, Morwenna heard her own voice change. The sounds leaving her mouth still felt like English to her, but Jane's brow furrowed in confusion and Jack's eyes narrowed.
They couldn't understand a word she was saying. It was as if she had suddenly begun speaking underwater, the syllables warped and distorted beyond any possible recognition.
She stopped. Her hand tightened on the pencil until her knuckles were white, and she tried to write the names again, pressing so hard the lead snapped with a sharp crack. The broken pencil fell from her fingers. She let out a sound that was half groan and half sob, and finally the tears spilled over.
Jane scooped her up into a warm, protective embrace. Her jumper smelled of tea and home, a familiar and grounding scent that helped the girl breathe. Morwenna buried her face in her mother's neck, her shoulders shaking as her breath came in ragged gasps.
Jane held her tightly, her own heart racing. She didn't try to shush her or tell her everything was fine, because she knew it wasn't. She simply held the child while the fire crackled in the grate. After a long time, the girl's breathing slowed and she sniffled, wiping her nose on Jane's shoulder.
"I can't help him," she said, her voice muffled and thick with a grief that seemed far too old for her body.
Jane's hand moved in slow, comforting circles on her back. "You can't help him yet, Morwenna."
The girl pulled back, her face blotchy and her eyes red from crying. "But I know. I know where he is and I know what's happening to him. He is my family, isn't he?"
Jane smoothed her hair back, tucking the raven strands behind her ear with a tender touch. "I know you do, and I know he is."
Morwenna looked at the book on the floor, the broken pencil, and the page now filled with garbled, nonsensical shapes. "It's not just around him," she said, her voice turning hollow. "The protections. They are around me too. Around what I know. The world won't let me change it so easily."
Jane nodded slowly, her expression grave. Morwenna didn't say anything else, leaning back into her mother's chest and listening to the steady, reassuring beat of her heart, even as the weight of her secrets pressed down on her like the winter cold.