Reactance | James Potter

Chapter 1

THE PERIWINKLE SKY was dotted with clouds. Some were large, others rather small, but they all seemed to keep their distance from the sun. Wales was not a place known for its warm weather, and so the sheer brightness of the sun was an enjoyable sight. Yes, the wind was still cold and there was a slight tinge of chill in the air, but it was impossible not to enjoy the sun.

The breeze blew through a patch of flowers: red, yellow, and orange roses all danced together to create a blur of colour— like an artist had splashed together a rainbow on a canvas. This garden surrounded a vast meadow of pure, lime green grass. The grass was long, much longer than it should have been in fact, and it too swayed with the wind which almost caused for it to completely cover the sight of Olivia Randaloff.

She was laid in the centre of the field, her eyes closed against the sun's rays. Blades of grass tickled every bit of skin that her flowing, pink dress exposed: her shoulders, her arms, her face. She was smiling at the touch, the back of her eyelids a white colour from the brightness of the sun directly above her. Loose, long locks of dark brown hair cascaded around her head like a halo; it was sure to become both knotted and dirty, but Olivia was at peace. The tranquility she felt was too dire to give up, even if it meant she would later have to brush through her hair for the second time that morning.

How long she had laid there was a mystery. It wasn't often that she found herself in this position, for the sun never seemed to like Cardiff very much. And so, at every possible opportunity, Olivia would climb past her mother's garden and lay amongst the land. Unfortunately, this moment was cut short when the call of her name was carried over by the wind. It reached her ears, like the sound of a coin clattering onto a stone floor, and shattered the silent world she had drifted off to in her mind.

Slowly, her long lashes fluttered apart to reveal a light pair of green eyes. She stared up at the clouds with her arms pressed against her chest, the tips of her slim fingers drumming a silent tune on the dress' bodice. The voice called her name again, and Olivia finally found the strength to push herself to her feet.

She wasn't tall, she never had been in fact. Standing at about five foot three, poor Olivia was shorter than a majority of the girls her age but this fact didn't fret her. For, while she may be smaller, she prided herself on being more powerful; Olivia was a sixteen year-old student at Hogwarts School, working to become a hit witch.

"Olivia!" the voice called for the third time, louder now but still the epitome of sweetness. Olivia hurried through the field, careful to avoid every rose in her path, and soon found herself feet away from the front porch of her family's house. Her mother stood in the open doorway, the usual soft smile on her lips and an adoring glint in her eye at the sight of her only daughter. "Olivia, we must leave now or you'll miss the train."

Her mother, Astoria, was the kindest woman that Olivia had ever met. In fact, she was the kindest person for most of the people she had ever encountered. Astoria was also a witch but, at her older age of forty-three, she had long since given up most of her magic in trade for a different life: a forever — a happy-ending, if you will — with Olivia's father, a Muggle who never could quite grasp the concept of Astoria's other world. That man, Harold, could be seen over Astoria's shoulder now and inside of the small kitchen. He was sat at the table with a cup of tea in front of him and the morning's newspaper in his hands.

Olivia returned her mother's smile, her brunette locks blowing slightly in the wind as she tried her very best to soak in a final dose of sunlight. Her voice, as smooth as dripping honey, was filled with happiness as she said, "I've brought my trunk into the hall, can we stop at the bakery in London along the way?"

Astoria ushered her daughter inside, closing the door behind the two of them with a quiet snap. The house was rather small, but had more than enough space for the family of four. It was warm, as it always was, because Astoria insisted that the Muggle thermostat must consistently be kept at exactly seventy degrees. In her opinion, it was the perfect midline between hot and cold.