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The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.
~Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
“I miss magic,” announced a little girl of eleven. She was perched on the edge of her home’s kitchen counter, legs swinging, a book discarded by her hip.
“You’ve never known magic, Minnie,” replied her exasperated mother, trying her best to stretch the measly pigeon she shot earlier that day into a meal substantial enough for two.
“Where did the magic go?”
Minnie watched her mum wipe her hands on the front of her apron. She turned toward her daughter. “It’s still out there, if you know where to look for it.”
Minnie smiled. She hopped from the counter and sprinted toward the front door. “I’ll be back in an hour—“
“Don’t you go botherin’ Mister Allaway, now.”
Minnie twisted around and smiled innocently at her mother. “I won’t.”
The older woman just rolled her eyes and flapped her hand in the direction of the door. Minnie was quick to make her retreat.
Minnie walked the wheat fields owned by Mister Allaway, running her fingers along the tall stalks and reading within its shade until it grew too dark to make out the words. This was how Minnie spent every night of her childhood in the highlands of Scotland.
Everything changed one night after she turned seventeen.
Minnie awoke to the thudding sound of a body hitting the floor. She surged from her bed and dashed to her mother’s room.
“No. No-no-no. Mum!”
Minnie dashed to her mother’s side finding the woman writhing in pain on the wood-paneled floor.
“Minnie,” she gasped.
Tears streamed down Minnie’s cheeks. “How is this happening?” she asked with a sob. She gathered her mother into her arms, brushing the hair out of her face. “You are immune. You’re immune!”
Minnie’s mother tilted her head away and coughed, speckles of blood littering the rug. “No one’s immune.”
Minnie was having a hard time breathing. “What?”
“Go,” the dying woman wheezed. “Grab your things. Bring them to me.” Minnie blinked, paralyzed. “Now!” she insisted.
Minnie stumbled blindly to her feet and dashed back to her room. She haphazardly stuffed her pack full of her most-prized possessions, just as her mother commanded, and rushed back to where she left her sick guardian lying on the cold floor. But when she returned, she found the room empty.
“Mum?!”
A clatter sounded from the kitchen and Minnie hurried toward the noise, her heavy bag slung over one shoulder.
“I have my things. What should I do?” she asked, her voice a frightened, shrill thing that she didn’t recognize in the slightest.
“Take this.” Her mother was slumped over the counter with just enough energy to pull a flask from the open drawer and hold it out for Minnie.
“What is it?”
“You must have one drop of it every day. Do you understand—“
“WHAT IS IT?!”
“The cure!”
Minnie’s heart skipped a beat. She mechanically plucked the flask from her mother’s outstretched hand, thinking back over every meal she’d eaten, every glass of water she’d consumed. Every day… for seventeen years. “You’ve been giving me the cure?”
Green eyes disappeared as they rolled into the back of her mother’s head. Minnie watched her mum collapse onto the stone floor.
“You need it,” urged Minnie as she fell to her knees beside her mother, poised to unscrew the flask cap.
“No.” A frail hand rested gently on Minnie’s, halting her in her tracks. “It’s almost gone.”
Minnie’s tears had returned. “You said we were immune.”
Her mum’s answering chortle turned quickly into a coughing fit. “I lied.”
“Why?”
A single tear tinged with red ran down her mother’s cheek. “Your father should have returned by now.”
“Dad?”
“You must go to him.”
“I’m not leaving you!”
“I’m dead already, child.” The older woman’s throat bobbed as she swallowed thickly. “Go. Find your father.”
“Where?”
“London,” was the wavering reply, barely audible even in the silence of the ramshackle house. “Twelve Grimmauld Place, London.”
Minnie nodded. Her mother’s breathing was growing erratic. “Okay, Mum. Okay.”
“One drop a day, Minnie. Understand?”
Minnie could only nod.
An hour later, Minnie was finally able to get up from the floor. She hefted her bag over one shoulder, the flask tucked into her shirt pocket next to her heart. She made her way through the wheat fields, past the old barn, up the cliff, over the bridge, and through the woods, until her feet hit concrete.
It was only when miles of road were behind her did she realize she’d left one of her Great-Grandfather’s books in the drawer of her bedside table.
But she didn’t turn back to get it. She couldn’t.
***
“It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”
~Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
Minnie’s eyes leapt from the page at the sound of a terrified scream.
It had been two weeks since that terrible night, and the journey south to London had been a lonely one. She only had the sound of her boots pounding out a steady rhythm on the concrete roads of southern Scotland for company. She spent most of her days scrounging for food and immersing herself in the adventures of her Great-Grandfather.
She consumed a drop a day. The liquid inside the flask was a strange gold color. She tried very hard not to think about how it was possible for her mother to hide a drop of such a vivid liquid in her food for seventeen years. Sometimes, she even succeeded.
The screaming was growing more distant, and Minnie seriously considered ignoring it. Okay… no she didn’t.
She surged to her feet and charged toward the shouts of terror, her things hauled over her shoulder and the flask tucked safely back inside her front pocket. It didn’t take Minnie long to find the source of the screaming. She dropped her bag at the sight that befell her. There was no hesitation in her following actions. There was only one choice.
She rushed toward the man dragging the wailing woman further into the gorge. Leaping, Minnie kicked the man in the stomach. He doubled over in surprise, and Minnie took that opportunity to jump and wrap her legs around the man’s neck. She pushed all her weight forward, spun, and knocked the man to the ground. She heard his breath rush out of him, and, straddling his neck, she reared back her elbow and followed through to land a clean punch to his nose. He was unconscious instantly.
“Oh my God. Oh my God! Thank you, thank you, thank you so much!”
The woman had her arms wrapped around Minnie in seconds. Minnie blinked down at the stupefied body underneath her.
How did I— How did I do that?
The woman had ceased sobbing into Minnie’s shoulder. “That was amazing,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You were like a superhero or something.”
“Or something,” Minnie agreed.
Both girls got unsteadily to their feet, the adrenaline from the fight gone, their energy sapped.
“Thank you so much. I’m Serra, by the way.”
“Minnie.”
“Where are you headed?” asked Serra with a nervous twitch of her lips.
“Uh…” mumbled Minnie, wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans. “London.”
“Don’t! Don’t go there!”
Minnie startled at the fear in the girl’s voice. “Why not?”
There was a long bout of silence. “Just… the war. It destroyed that place. I was lucky to get out of the city alive. The radiation… it’s bad down there.”
Minnie glanced down at the flask still buttoned securely in her shirt pocket. I have the cure. “I have to go. I have business there.”
Serra’s eyes darted around, before landing on her still unconcious assailant. “You should take this then.” Serra leaned down and pulled a gun from the man’s side.
Minnie took the gun, its weight heavy in her hands. “This is going to save me from radiation?”
“No. But it will save you from the people who survive it.”
Minnie pocketed the gun. She felt… nothing.
“Keep heading north,” Minnie told the girl. “There’s a farm two weeks walk from here. Mister Allaway will take you in. Give him this.” Minnie took the book she’d been reading earlier from her pack and handed it to Serra. “He’ll know I sent you.”
With that final goodbye, sans another of her Great-Grandfather’s books but in possession of a stolen pistol, Minnie continued her journey south.
***
Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.
~Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Minnie’s torchlight burned out three weeks into her journey.
The night was so intensely dark, Minnie couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or not. She almost tried curling up on the side of the road to attempt sleep when her gaze spotted a source of light in the distance.
As Minnie traveled closer, she realized it was a pub of some kind.
People still go out to drink after the world has ended?
When she stepped through the doors of the roadside tavern, Minnie was met with only a handful of people tucked into corners drinking straight from the bottle. Only one of the patrons acknowledged her presence.
“Hullo,” greeted a boy standing behind the bar. He couldn’t have been much older than Minnie. “‘Name’s Luke. You heading North or South?”
“South.” Minnie’s voice was like gravel. It had been too long since she’d last spoken.
Luke grimaced, pulled a bottle from the shelf, and pushed it across the bar toward Minnie. “That’s rough.”
Minnie’s lips bended into something like a genuine smile. “Thanks.”
Luke grinned in return. He nodded toward the book tucked under Minnie’s arm. “What you got there?”
Minnie glanced down at the book and then back up at Luke. “I can—“ Minnie cleared her throat but forged ahead. “I can read it aloud… if you want.”
Luke’s grin was infectious. “That honestly sounds amazing.”
Minnie read into the late hours of the night, taking breaks to drink straight from the bottle of whiskey Luke provided her.
When she woke the next morning, she left the book on Luke’s bedside table, tiptoed downstairs and filled every available space in her pack with booze.
She’d never slept so good in her life as she had that night. It had definitely been because of the alcohol. That was the only explanation.
She set out on her own again, glass bottles clinking loudly at her back.
***
“Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.”
~Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Minnie had put a drop of the cure inside each of the bottles of alcohol she’d stolen from the pub. She realized that meant she’d have to drink a bottle a night in order to ensure she ingested her daily dose.
She spent a week in a drunken haze.
When the week ended, Minnie curled up in a ball and cried. She cried for her dead Mum, for her missing Dad, for the end of the world, and for her loss of innocence.
She buried her favorite book in a shallow grave on the side of the road. She cried for that as well.
***
We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on.
~ Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Minnie had been walking and reading when she heard fighting in the distance. She snapped the book shut and hurried toward the noise.
A boy was straddling a nearly unconscious man, punching him in the face over and over again. She froze in shock at the sight. Her daze was only broken when the boy pulled a switchblade from his pocket.
“Drop the knife,” commanded Minnie.
The boy halted the knife’s descent, the weapon frozen inches above the man’s throat. Watery blue eyes glanced toward Minnie, more specifically down the barrel of the gun Minnie pointed at him.
Minnie physically startled at the weight of the gun in her hand. She hadn’t realized she’d pulled it out and aimed it at a boy who couldn’t be older than fourteen years old. She quickly discarded it, throwing it deep into the woods that stretched on either side of the road.
“Sorry,” Minnie said, tumbling to her knees so she was eye level with the boy. “I don’t— I just— What’s your name?”
“D-D-Dennis.”
“Hi Dennis. I’m Minnie. What’s going on?”
Dennis blinked and swallowed thickly. “I— This man stole from me.” The grip on his switchblade tightened. “My sister— we didn’t have enough food for both of us.”
Minnie’s heart sank. The further south she traveled, the harder it was to find critters to eat. Minnie was starving. The streams closer to the city were usually polluted with radiation. Minnie was dehydrated.
But she had no one else to take care of but herself. She couldn’t imagine watching someone she loved die on this journey south. That was why it was best she walked alone.
Minnie pulled out the book she had been reading and flipped toward the end.
“‘I don’t care,’” she read, her voice a quiet hum in the early morning light. “‘I’ve had enough, I’ve seen enough, I want out, I want it to end, I don’t care anymore.’” Minnie looked up. The boy’s grip had loosened, his arm lowered. “‘You do care,’” she quoted, the words coming to her so easily. “‘You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.’”
Dennis choked on a sob and Minnie reached over to effortlessly extract the knife from his hand.
“Killing him won’t bring her back,” Minnie said as she gathered the boy into her embrace. It was awkward and beautiful. “Take this.”
She held out the heavy book for Dennis. He accepted the tome with a delicacy that boggled the mind.
“Head north,” Minnie told him. “There’s a pub two weeks walk from here. Luke will take you in. Give him this book. He’ll know who sent you.”
“What about you?”
Minnie looked at the road beneath her feet and then twisted north with a look of longing she didn’t fully comprehend. Taking a deep breath, she got to her feet, lifting Dennis up with her. “I must continue south. My journey is south.”
Dennis nodded. “Be careful.”
Minnie forced a smile on her lips. “Always.”
The two strangers went their separate ways. As Minnie stepped over the unconcious man, she heard him moan in pain.
She looked down at the hand that still held Dennis’s switchblade. She pocketed it.
The man received one last blow to the head with a swift kick of Minnie’s boot-clad foot.
It was a quiet trek for a very long time.
***
“It is important to fight, and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then could evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated.”
~ Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince
“Ugh…”
Minnie was so thirsty. She hadn’t met a single person in days. There was no one to barter with, no stream that wasn’t completely disgusting. She was on the outskirts of London proper, bunking in for the night before heading into the city the next morning.
She reached for the flask in her pocket. One extra drop of liquid. Something.
She unscrewed the cap. The flask slipped through her sweaty hand, landed on the book in her lap, and spilled golden liquid all over the page.
“No.”
Her reactions weren’t fast enough. She wasn’t able to save the last of the cure. It was all over.
Time passed and the sun rose over the barren landscape of the post-nuclear blast site. Concrete buildings crumbled in the distant city, the tar-lined road cracked and marred by time, plant roots seeping through the fissures, dotting the scene with new life.
Minnie rose with the sun. She stood, her legs wobbly underneath her. But still she rose. This wouldn’t deter her from making it to Twelve Grimmauld Place. She was almost there, could taste the end of her journey on her tongue.
So she stood and started walking.
She left the book on the side of the road, the gold-stained pages blowing in the light breeze of the new day.
***
“We’re all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.”
~Harry potter and the Deathly Hallows
The street looked deserted, but Minnie knocked on the door of Twelve Grimmauld Place anyway. Her pack was light on her back and her heart felt unprotected without the flask beating against her skin as she walked.
The door opened and she was greeted by a haggard-looking man in dusty robes. “Can I help you?”
“My name is Minerva Potter. My mother told me my father would be here.”
The man grunted and opened the door a little wider to get a better look at Minnie. “Potter, eh? Yeah I remember Remus. Good man. Brought me Felix Felices.”
Minnie blanched at the name. “Felix Fel— You mean liquid luck?”
“Thought he could cure the world with it, Remus did. Thought he could brew more of it using vague recipes from his grandfather’s books. Died, he did, trying to bring magic back into the world. Little did he know ol’ Felix doesn’t work anymore. Magic died the day the sky fell down on us. Not even the grandson of the greatest wizard in the world could bring it back.”
Minnie’s heart jumped in her chest. Tears sprung to her eyes.
But then she remembered words told to an eleven-year-old girl.
“You’re wrong,” she stated, her eyes clear, her spine ramrod straight. “Magic is still out there, if you know where to look for it.”
And Minnie knew where to look for it. It was in the strange acrobatics to stop Serra’s assailant in Scotland. It was in the boy she kept from murder. It was in the warm smile of a barkeep at the edge of the world.
Magic was in the books she’d carried and memorized and left for future generations to discover for themselves.
The resilience of humanity was magic.
Minnie pulled out the last book of her Great-Grandfather’s and handed it to the man in front of her. “I hope you find magic again, sir.”
She twisted around and started back up the road. She headed north. A new adventure awaited.