THE FIFTH FOUNDER ⚡️ [h.p./founders era]

One

Smoke filled my lungs, making my breath even shorter from the sobs that were already choking me. The cruel stench of fire and melting flesh invaded my senses as I watched the blazing red flames engulf my daughter. My young, lively, beautiful, four-year-old Ophelia was charged with displaying witch-like qualities.

Of course the accusations were true, but I was not quick enough to save her. I am a witch, like my daughter, so I thought I could hide her until she was old enough for me to teach her how to hide her special talent. I was foolish and should have left when I had the chance.

I was born into a magical family. My mother and father were both gifted with the talent. They sent me to a school in Bulgaria called Durmstrang Institute. There I learned the basics of magic: how to use a wand, how to hide my magic, how to defend myself. When I turned seventeen, Bulgaria became ruthless, trying to become the next Roman empire, but they were failing miserably. I moved to England all on my own, after a harsh disagreement with my parents. I didn't know anyone, so I lived among muggles. In Bulgaria, wizards and muggles lived together in harmony, as most wizards were trained to hide their magic.

In England, it wasn't like that. Witches and wizards were self taught, or taught by their parents, as a proper school was not a luxury. Wizards used their magic freely here because the sanctity of secrecy had never been taught to them. This terrified the English muggles, so I lived cautiously.

Eventually I met a man. He was looked up to, had a respectable title, and he was nice to me. It wasn't safe for a young girl to be living alone, so I married him for my own safety. Soon after, I had my daughter Ophelia.

Her first act of magical ability was when she was just a baby. She could make doors close and objects move, but she was only comfortable committing magic around me. It was as if she somehow knew that I was like her, that I was magical too.

When she was two years old, she wanted to play with the chickens. Of course I let her because she was an adventurous little girl that deserved to roam around.

As she was chasing the poor chickens around, she fell and scraped her knees. I expected her to start crying, but instead, she stared intensely at her knees until the broken flesh healed itself.  At that moment, I knew she had figured out that she was magical, even if she did not fully understand yet.

And I was terrified.

Two years later and we are back to today. I had taken her to the river with me because I needed to wash our garments. She was obsessed with staring at her reflection in the water, and she discovered that she could change her appearance at will. It was unlike any kind of magic I had ever seen.

I told her to never do it again, but she did not listen.

She was so excited about her newfound gift that she wanted to show her father. As soon as we returned home, she ran to him and changed the color of her hair. I dropped my basket of clothes as I watched in horror.

My husband was furious, and he started blaming me for giving birth to a witch. I ran to Ophelia and took her in my arms because I was afraid of what he would do to her. He snatched her away from me and told me that no child of his would ever be a witch.

He took her to the village, despite my desperate cries for him to stop. As this drew everyone's attention, he put my daughter on the stake where the rest of them once stood.

Witchcraft and wizardry terrified the humans, so the muggles did the only thing they knew to do. They killed. They killed my daughter.

The outbursts and anger shouted by the village people seemed so quiet compared to my daughter's screams. She was all I could hear as I tried to save her.

My husband held me back from joining her in the flames. He did not know I was like her, that I belonged up there with her. He told me that she was better off now and that she did not belong in the world.

He was wrong.