Chapter Text
Most people tended to grow the same few kinds of flowers in their gardens—roses, hydrangeas, and the like. At least, that was true of most families on White Street. Which made the family living at Number Seven stand out all the more.
Their surname was Chron.
The Chrons liked to fill their garden with all sorts of flowers: seasonal and out of season, different species, and several colours even within the same variety, as though they were trying to run a little flower shop right in their front garden. Every so often, one batch of flowers would be replaced by another. Neighbours passing by would glance over and discover that the garden had changed yet again.
There was only one kind of flower that never disappeared, and it was also the one they grew in greatest abundance—peonies.
Some might say that was hardly remarkable. It was their garden, after all; what they chose to grow in it was nobody else's business. But the truly unusual thing about the Chrons' garden wasn't the variety or colour of its flowers.
It was that their flowers always bloomed better—and far longer—than anyone else's.
If you asked Aaron Chron, the man of the house, how he kept the flowers looking so beautiful, he would tell you quite plainly, "I don't know."
Then his habitually sharp blue eyes would soften, just a little, and with a faint note of pride in his voice, he would add, "Peony takes care of all that. She's always had a way with little animals and plants."
The neighbours had no reason to doubt him. Partly, of course, this was because Mr Chron was a lawyer renowned for his integrity, and no one could imagine him telling a lie. But it was also because everyone knew exactly what sort of girl his only daughter, Peony, was.
Peony Chron had turned eleven only a month ago. She wasn't very tall, and her golden-brown hair fell all the way to her waist, making her instantly recognisable from behind whenever she walked down the street. Anyone who saw her might think, It's a good thing her hair falls in waves instead of tight little curls. Otherwise it would puff out everywhere and make her look like a furry little walking tree.
The girl was rather famous on White Street.
Not because she was mischievous, nor because she was extraordinarily beautiful, but because of her mature, polite manner and impeccable marks at school. As a result, she had become the favourite opening line of parents everywhere whenever they wanted to lecture their children:
"Just look at Peony Chron!"
Peony herself, however, didn't particularly enjoy the attention.
The more the adults liked her, the more the other children disliked her.
Nearly all the children on the street attended the same school, and there, away from their parents, they certainly didn't bother giving Peony the same friendly smiles they put on at home.
It should be said that children her age hadn't always disliked her.
Before she started school, back when she still laughed brightly and happily performed her special magic tricks for everyone, they had liked her well enough. But once school began, the other children gradually grew tired of the strange things that happened around her from time to time—and of the tricks whose workings even Peony herself couldn't explain.
They decided she was simply a clever little show-off, a freak who liked drawing attention to herself but had no idea how to fit in.
Her parents had always comforted her, telling her she wasn't a freak, that everyone had something that made them special. But Peony knew better. In the world of children, if you didn't want to be cast out for being too different, the safest thing to do was keep your head down.
And so, little by little, she became quiet and withdrawn. She stopped performing magic tricks for everyone. By now, no one even remembered that she had once been lively.
But Peony's peculiarities didn't disappear simply because she stopped showing them off.
If one of the Gill children pulled her hair, for instance, he might suddenly slip backwards and fall. Or if a group of girls from the class next door mocked her, their hair might somehow become hopelessly tangled together until the only solution was to cut it apart with scissors.
Her mother, Evelyn, was frequently called to the school because of incidents like these, but no one could ever prove that Peony had anything to do with them.
After all, the Gill boy might simply have lost his footing.
And as for the girls... well, hair couldn't possibly fly up by itself and tie itself together.
Things like this happened often enough that even the dullest children eventually realised one thing: whenever Peony Chron was involved, strange things happened.
A more accurate way of putting it would have been that strange things happened whenever someone tried to bully Peony.
But children had a way of remembering only what suited them. They forgot who had started it. They forgot that someone else had been the real victim.
Now, unless absolutely necessary, the other children at school simply didn't speak to Peony anymore.
At first, she had been a little sad about it.
It hadn't taken her long to get used to it.
Being treated like I'm invisible isn't so bad, she thought. At least Mum won't have to worry about it anymore. And Mum and Dad won't have to argue anymore, either.
As it turned out, Peony was still far too naive.
Because even after that, Evelyn continued to argue with Aaron. About all sorts of things.
And then, only a few days after Peony's birthday the previous year, they told her:
"We're getting divorced."
Peony slapped both hands against her cheeks.
Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to drag her attention back to what she was supposed to be doing.
She was crouched at the edge of the family garden, tending to several peony plants.
Summer holiday had begun only a week ago, which was why Peony didn't have to go to school that morning. Even so, it was barely past eight, and normally she wouldn't have been out in the garden this early.
The reason she was there was that Aaron had been busy with a major case the previous week and had sent her to stay at Evelyn's house for a few days.
Peony hated days like those.
It wasn't that she didn't want to see Evelyn.
It was that Evelyn had a new family now.
Peony hated being reminded that Evelyn wasn't her mother anymore.
Mr Kyle Bergman, the man Evelyn had remarried, was perfectly nice to her, but that did nothing to make up for the fact that he had stolen her mother away. Every time Peony saw Mr Bergman, she couldn't help thinking that if he had never approached Evelyn, Evelyn would never have opened her heart to him.
And then she would never have divorced Aaron.
Peony glanced back at the window behind her. The curtains were drawn.
She knew Aaron and Evelyn were arguing again.
Even though they had lowered their voices enough that she couldn't make out the words, she knew what they were arguing about.
It had to be the little tricks she had played on Mr Bergman that week.
Things like making his tie disappear for a while, or causing the bathroom lock to malfunction.
Evelyn clearly hadn't told him about Peony's peculiar abilities. Peony could tell because her mother hadn't scolded her on the spot.
Or perhaps Evelyn still felt a little guilty about everything. Even earlier that morning, when she had driven Peony home and the two of them had been alone in the car, she hadn't told her off.
Instead, Evelyn took her anger out on Aaron.
She might as well just yell at me, Peony thought miserably.
She had already noticed that Evelyn no longer had any feelings for Aaron. Whenever they met, even if they didn't argue, Evelyn never had a kind look for him.
Peony hated seeing Aaron blamed because of her.
But when she was angry, that strange power of hers wasn't always easy to control.
She hadn't actually meant to do those things to Mr Bergman at all.
Peony closed her eyes and sighed.
When she opened them again, she decided not to think about it for the moment.
She glanced around, then cupped both hands around one of the pink peonies. It had begun to wilt, though considering its flowering season had long since passed, that was hardly surprising.
After a moment, something extraordinary happened.
As Peony slowly opened her hands, the peony resting between them was no longer drooping weakly. Its stem had straightened, its petals had regained their lustre, and the whole flower looked strikingly beautiful once more.
Yes.
Peony did this to every flower in the garden.
That was why the Chrons' flowers always bloomed so beautifully, and for so long.
Peony lifted her head, about to do the same to another flower, when something at the edge of her vision caught her attention.
There seemed to be something in the garden that hadn't been there before.
She looked over.
It was a striped cat.
There were peculiar square markings around its eyes, almost as though it were wearing spectacles.
The cat sat in the corner beside the family car, staring intently at Peony.
Far too intently, she thought.
"Hey. What are you doing here?" she asked, trying to talk to it. "I've never seen you around before. Are you new?"
Naturally, the cat didn't answer.
But it didn't behave like an ordinary cat, either.
It didn't lazily groom itself. It didn't turn its head away in disdain and wander off.
It simply kept staring at her.
Peony tilted her head and studied the cat for a moment before giving it a small smile.
"I don't know why, but you look like you can understand what I'm saying. Since you don't seem to be in any hurry to leave, you can watch me bring these flowers back to life."
With that, she went back to work, cupping her hands around one slightly wilted flower after another and restoring each of them to health.
The process took nearly ten minutes.
Just as she closed her hands around the final flower, the sound of something shattering came from inside the house.
Peony jumped.
Still holding the flower, she glanced back over her shoulder and muttered under her breath, "I hope that wasn't my favourite mug."
Adults might have thought Peony remarkably sensible for her age, but there were still many things she didn't understand.
Why Mum didn't love Dad anymore, for one.
Or why the mother who had once been so gentle had become someone who so often shouted and threw things.
Peony listened for a moment.
The argument grew slightly louder, though she still couldn't make out what they were saying.
She turned back to finish what she had been doing.
Then she noticed that something in her field of vision had changed.
Her head snapped towards the corner.
The cat was gone.
"Miss Peony Chron."
A rather sharp voice rang out.
Peony was so startled that she nearly jumped to her feet.
She spun around in the other direction and found a woman standing there, dressed in emerald-green robes, her black hair pulled into an immaculate bun.
Peony frowned slightly and instinctively drew herself in.
The woman wasn't standing outside the garden.
She was inside it.
In fact, she was only a few paces away.
She walks as quietly as a cat, Peony thought.
Then another thought struck her.
No. Wait. How did she get into the garden at all?
Peony glanced towards the iron fence at the front of the property.
Every garden in the neighbourhood was bordered by a low fence, with flowers planted alongside it. Where the fence reached the driveway, it gave way to a large iron gate separating the garden from the street. Families with cars generally parked them on the patch of grass just inside the gate. On the other side was usually a smaller iron gate for people to enter through.
The fence and both gates stood about chest-high on an adult.
Without a key, the only way in was to climb over.
And there was no way anyone could have climbed over without making a sound.
Besides, the woman looked perfectly neat and tidy. She certainly didn't look as though she had just scaled a fence.
So how had she got in?
The woman spoke again.
"Your expression tells me you're wondering how I managed to appear in your garden without making a sound. Miss Chron, I would say you ought not to be quite so surprised. After all, I've been here for at least ten minutes—and you knew I was here."
Peony stared blankly at her.
Then something occurred to her.
Her eyes widened.
The woman nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting into a remarkably restrained smile.
"I see you've worked it out. Yes. I've been here watching you restore those flowers to bloom—as a cat."
She paused.
"Miss Chron, I must say, for a child who has yet to begin her magical education and who comes from a non-magical family, you possess considerable talent. To have discovered, entirely without instruction, a way to return flowers so precisely to their most beautiful state is no small achievement. I imagine that once you have a wand of your own, learning to perform magic properly will not take you very long."
"A wand? Perform magic?"
Peony stared at the woman in confusion.
What she was saying had captured Peony's attention so completely that she forgot she ought to be worried about why a stranger had appeared in her garden, rather than standing there having a conversation with her.
"Yes. We use wands to perform more advanced magic. With a wand, you could even make all these flowers bloom again at once."
The woman gave a small nod.
"Forgive me. I should have introduced myself first. My name is Minerva McGonagall. You may call me Professor McGonagall. I teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts? Transfiguration?"
Peony felt rather silly repeating everything the woman said, but she had never heard either word before.
"Hogwarts is the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in Britain—and the only one. We admit children with magical talent. Children like you."
Professor McGonagall regarded her steadily.
"I know you must have many questions, but for the moment, please put your curiosity aside. There is still a great deal I need to explain to your guardian. Now, would you stand up and show me inside?"
Peony's mind was filled with one word.
Magic.
Yes.
When she thought about it, the little tricks she had always performed seemed far more like what this woman called magic than ordinary tricks.
They were mysterious.
Powerful.
Impossible to understand.
Peony came back to herself as though only now hearing Professor McGonagall's request.
She sprang upright and hurried towards the front door. Then she turned around to face the professor and spread her arms, blocking the way.
"Professor McGonagall, I... I don't think this is a very good time to visit."
Peony's face was stiff with unease.
"My parents are—they're busy. I think perhaps you should come back another time."
Professor McGonagall shook her head.
"Child, I've been here listening for quite some time. I know perfectly well what's happening inside. While it may indeed be rather impolite of me to intrude at this particular moment, I don't believe they ought to leave an eleven-year-old child outside by herself simply because they need to quarrel."
Her expression softened, if only slightly.
"Perhaps my interruption might persuade them to stop. Don't you think it's worth trying?"
"But..."
One look from Professor McGonagall silenced her.
The professor stepped towards her, and Peony moved aside.
Before Professor McGonagall could reach the door, however, it was yanked open from within.
The moment Evelyn Bergman's eyes landed on Professor McGonagall's strange, thoroughly unfashionable robes, her already furious eyes widened even further.
She didn't so much as glance at Peony.
Instead, she turned back towards the house and shouted, "What is it now, Aaron? Are you taking cases from absolutely anyone these days? Work, work, work! I knew that damned job of yours would invade our lives sooner or later!"
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.
"Excuse me, madam. I have not come to ask Mr Aaron Chron to take on any work. I am here to speak with Miss Chron's guardian. Are you—"
Evelyn shook her head and walked straight past Professor McGonagall towards the iron gate.
As she went, she said, "I'm still the girl's mother, but if you're here about something that's happened at school, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for her anymore. Aaron is her sole guardian now. Speak to him."
Peony looked at Professor McGonagall, then at Evelyn.
She hurried back to the peonies she had been tending, plucked a white one, and ran over to hold it out to her mother.
"Mum, this is for you. I know I haven't behaved very well this week. Please don't be angry anymore."
Evelyn looked down at Peony.
Her light-brown eyes, so similar to her daughter's, held a complicated mixture of emotions.
She sighed, took the flower, and gently stroked Peony's soft hair.
"I know you didn't mean to. You never do. I just..."
She stopped herself.
"Never mind. You don't need to know about any of that. Tell your father I've gone home. And if you need anything, you call me, just like always. I don't believe for a second that he can be this busy and still take proper care of you. Look how thin you've gotten!"
Peony nodded.
She watched Evelyn walk through the iron gate and get into her car.
Only after the car had disappeared around the end of the street did Peony close the gate securely and return to the front door.
Professor McGonagall was still there, waiting for her.
Peony curled her fingers into her palm and lightly bit her lower lip as she looked up at the professor.
Professor McGonagall gave her a small nod.
And so Peony went into the house first.
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Below is Peony
