Willow Song

Willow Song: A Harry Potter Fanfic by Kelleypen

Chapter One - A New Home and a New Acquaintance

Serena snuggled up under the duvet, resisting getting out of bed. Just four days before, her family had been in Thailand, and she hadn't yet become accustomed to the cool Scottish mornings. She smiled as she remembered what day it was: June thirtieth, the day she celebrated her sixteenth birthday. Serena heard Silva making breakfast and happily ripped the covers off. She wandered into the kitchen and found Henry sipping his coffee, beaming at her.

"So today's your day. Happy birthday, sweetheart," Henry glowed.

"Thanks." Serena smiled.

"What plans do you have today? We're almost all unpacked, and I thought I'd make you a nice dinner for tonight," Silva commented.

"Our new landlord said I might use one of his horses if I liked. I thought I'd go do a bit of exploring and pack a picnic lunch, if that's okay with you two." The Samuelsons were used to Serena's independence, having encouraged it ever since they first became her guardians fifteen years before. "I heard there's a ruin of a big Scottish castle and village about seven miles west of here. I thought I might go check it out."

Silva smiled, saying, "Sounds like a splendid idea. You eat your porridge, and I'll pack you a lunch."

Henry got up from the table and returned with a package. He kissed Serena on the forehead, saying, "I took this shortly before we adopted you. I think you're old enough to have it now."

When Serena opened it, she found a silver-framed photo of a beautiful young woman standing next to a much younger Silva. The caption on the back read: 'Serena's mother, Tatienne Verte-Chantes, and Silva, near Lake Athabasca, in Northwestern Canada.'

"Thank you, Henry." The rhythmic motion of her jaw gnawing on her bottom lip was the only outward indication of how anxious Serena was, and she somehow forgot to breathe.

Serena looked at the woman appraisingly. Her eyes were blackish-brown, like Serena's, but they were more soulful and sad. Her olive skin and brown hair were the same as Serena's. The main difference that Serena could see was that Tatienne was prettier. She was taller compared to where she stood by Silva than Serena was, and she had more delicate features, and unlike Serena, she was slender, and had small graceful hands. Serena had heard about her beautiful mother many times, but it was different looking at her.

The Samuelsons had met Tatienne when they were researching their latest academic text. They were cultural anthropologists and folklorists who made a modest living researching, writing, and lecturing for Oxford University. Tatienne had been the Metis shaman for a tribe of Athapascans. Their fascination with each other's work had been mutual. Tatienne had given Serena to the Samuelsons because she knew her life was in danger. The Samuelsons had tried to convince Tatienne to go to the police, but when she refused, finally agreed to take Serena. Her mother had been right and was murdered a month later.

Henry interrupted Serena in her reflections. "I said, what do you want to do about your studies here in Scotland? You're probably qualified to go to the university in Edinburgh, or we can keep home-schooling you and look for someone to train your special gifts."

"I don't know yet," replied Serena. "I need to think a bit and explore my options." Serena had traveled all over the world with the Samuelsons. She was well versed in academics, but she had also spent time studying under shamans, elders, and healers in each place they had lived--cultivating those special gifts she had inherited from her mother. This had left her well versed in the stars, in plants, in the cycles of nature, and in how these things combined to make things better.

Serena went to her bedroom in the rented cottage and got ready for her ride. She ran a brush through her hair--it was straight, but had just enough of a bend in it that it never looked brushed for very long--and rapidly braided it into its usual plait. She grabbed her lunch on the way out.

Serena found the horse, a putty colored mare, in the barn. She brushed her down and patted her as she talked to her soothingly. Then she fastened the saddle and bridle and mounted. It felt wonderful to be back on horseback, as there hadn't been an opportunity to ride during their year in Thailand. She was surprised to find she wasn't rusty at all and quickly made her rhythm one with the horse. She cantered through a wild profusion of low bushes and rocks broken up by fields of oats and barley.

After an hour or so, she mounted the crest of a knoll and saw the castle and the village. Only, they didn't look like ruins. They seemed to be perfectly kept. She observed the castle and grounds carefully as she came down the hill toward the village. The castle seemed almost fairytale-like with its gothic arches, gargoyles, four towers, and turrets. Around the castle were extensive grounds, with a lake in front and a forest behind. This was not like any ruin she had seen before. A bright red train was pulling away from a stop in the village at the front of the castle grounds. She paused on the hill for many minutes, allowing the horse to graze for a minute while she intently studied this place she had never seen before, but had a dreamlike familiarity.

She examined the village again. Something didn't seem right. Then it dawned on her: there were no electric lamps, no power poles, and no electric signs anywhere within its borders. She finally noticed the people mulling around the shops. She was puzzled by their long robes and cloaks and pointed hats. Was this some kind of a movie set or something? She waited another five minutes, feeling anticipation building in her heart.

Passing the first row of thatched cottages, she stopped to read a sign that stated, "Hogsmeade, Great Britain's only all-wizarding village." She slid off the horse and led her to a busy tavern called "The Hog's Head." She tied the mare to a post and walked up to a woman wearing a green tartan robe. "Excuse me," she asked, staring at the woman's oddly pointed shoes, "but what is this place? Is this some kind of movie set?"

"This is the village of Hogsmeade, of course. What do you mean by 'movie-set?'" The angular woman replied with a thick Scottish accent.

"Well, I was told I'd find a ruin of an old Scottish Castle and an empty village here. Instead of a ruin, I find this; and it's nothing like any place I've ever seen before." Serena's eyes took in the odd setting as she spoke.

"What? Are you a Muggle?" the square-spectacled woman asked, astonished.

Serena took a step backwards. "I don't know what you mean by Muggle," replied Serena, bewildered.

The woman eyed Serena skeptically. "Well, I've never heard of a Muggle walking into Hogsmeade before. What I mean is, aren't you a witch?"

Serena looked up into the woman's eyes. As their eyes connected, Serena suddenly understood that she had found a whole community of people like her. Some of her befuddlement eased.

"Perhaps we'd better introduce ourselves. My name is Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry--that school up there," she said, pointing at the castle. "And you are . . .?"

"Serena Willowsong. We just moved in a few miles from here three days ago."

"Serena, nice to meet you. You do know, Miss Willowsong, that you are a witch?"

Serena hesitated, then ventured an answer. "If you mean I have certain unusual gifts and talents, then... well... yes, but I've never called myself a witch before. Am I correct in understanding that everyone here has these kinds of gifts?"

"Yes. And when you looked into my eyes just before we introduced ourselves, how did you enter my thoughts?"

"Well, I suppose that's one of my gifts, though mostly it's a curse. It always happens when I hold eye contact with anyone. I hate it," she said with just a touch of a whine, suppressing the curiosity that dared her to look the professor in the eyes again. "That's why I don't often make eye contact: I don't want to find out anything embarrassing."

"A natural Legilimens," McGonagall said under breath. "Good heavens! How is it we don't know about you? You should have received an invitation to attend one of the magical schools."

"I was probably hard to catch," she said with a wry smile. "My guardians, the Samuelsons, are cultural anthropologists and folklorists for Oxford. We've lived all over the world, moving every six to twelve months. We were most recently in Thailand, but I've lived in Kenya, New Guinea, Argentina, the Northern territory of Australia, Guatemala, all over. I was born in Northwestern Canada."

"I see. I suppose all wizarding headmasters aren't as determined as Dumbledore." She raised an eyebrow. "You said the Samuelsons are your guardians. What about your parents?"

Serena looked deeply into McGonagall's eyes before answering, then, deciding to trust her, spoke freely to someone other than the Samuelsons for the first time in her life. "My mother's name was Tatienne Verte-Chantes. She was from Quebec, but schooled in France. After school she became a shaman for an Athapascan tribe in Western Canada. She gave birth to me about six months after she arrived. She was a Seer and a Healer. I was only a year and a half old when she met the Samuelsons. They were studying the tribe. She had a premonition that she would be murdered and that I was in danger, so she gave me to the Samuelsons." Serena looked down at her feet and finished quietly, "She was killed a month later."

"Do you know who killed her?"

"Yes, but I'm not supposed to know. I've read it in their eyes. They believe my birth father murdered her."

"Do you know which school in France she attended?"

"I heard Silva say it once, but when I looked it up, I couldn't find anything on it, so I decided I heard wrong. What I heard was 'Beauxbatons.'"

"You heard correctly. It wouldn't be listed in any Muggle sources, would it?" the Professor asked with a hint of humor. "Was Willowsong your father's name?"

"No, it's just an anglicized version of Verte-Chantes. I don't know his name."

"How old are you?"

"I celebrate my sixteenth birthday today, but," Serena paused, again searching Professor McGonagall's eyes. "But my real birthday is January thirtieth. We just celebrate on the day they became my parents. You're the first person I've ever told when my real birthday is." She looked into the professor's eyes and saw she understood why her birthday, like her real surname, remained hidden. Then with a touch of wonder, she said, "I trust you, Professor."

The older woman smiled, and Serena got the impression that it was a rare thing. "Serena, shall we go into the Three Broomsticks and have lunch together?"

"I have a picnic lunch on my horse, if you'd like to share with me."

Serena could tell she was taken aback by the offer, but she nodded her head, and they took the lunch from the still-tied mare and found a shady bit of grass.

There, McGonagall answered Serena's questions about the magical world, and Serena answered questions about her life, while they dined on curried black beans and rice with plastic forks, and crunched on fresh fruit and raw vegetables. Serena suppressed a laugh when she saw how polite McGonagall was being about eating the food in her basket; curried beans and raw vegetables obviously weren't part of her regular meal choices. McGonagall queried Serena intently about her education and was relieved that she was well versed in Astronomy, Herbology, and Potions. "And are you a Seer, like your mother?"

"I know things," she said, reflecting. "Sometimes I blurt something out without knowing where it came from and suddenly realize it's true. Other times I'll have a dream and just know it will happen. It comes with a clarity I can't explain."

"Have you studied tea leaves and palmistry and astrological charts and tarot cards?"

"No!" said Serena, looking offended. "Those things are parlor games at best and tools of evil at worst. I don't mess with them. My source is from the Light."

"The Light?"

"Yes, well, God. The Samuelsons promised my mother long ago that they would teach me to only use my gifts in the service of others, never for selfish reasons. I keep them in the Light. I serve God."

"So, are you a Christian?"

"Yes, mostly, but I've worked enough with Shamans and tribal healers to know that all things used in the service of others serve God and add Light."

"Sybil is going to have quite a time with you," McGonagall muttered.

"Who's Sybil?"

"Professor Trelawney, Professor of Divination. I don't think you two will see eye to eye." She smiled with a twinkle in her eye.

They chatted on, and then seeing the better part of four hours had passed, McGonagall asked Serena if she could walk home with her and meet the Samuelsons. Serena explained she had the horse to take home too. To her amazement, the professor turned into a gray tabby cat and climbed onto the saddle blanket behind Serena, and then they rode off towards Serena's house.