Harry Potter 50 Shades of Gray

Finally, she grasped what the grumbly old man was trying to express to her—he was going to teach her! There was a faint thrum of excitement before it faded away. All she had to do was remember the mouse and the scent of scorched flesh. "I understand," Cyrna said seriously.

He stared once more at her, eyes dissecting, before he dropped his gaze. "Good," he muttered as he shuffled towards the door. Cyrna followed behind, not having a strong urge to stay in this workroom any longer. When she reached the door, he paused, cleared his throat and said, "Review the first chapter of magical catalysts and solvents tomorrow then arrive here by ten."

The alchemist grumbled some other things she couldn't catch before he left.

Nicolas, she finally let herself call him, was the alchemist extraordinaire. But at the end of all things, he was simply a grumbly old man. Tea and scones became a frequent excuse for her to visit him as he worked; a way to playfully bargain for extra lessons. He never turned her away since then, though, of course, he grumbled every time she appeared.

It was the day when he was lecturing on medical potions that she suddenly had a thought. It struck as swiftly and as shocking as lightning.

How did you tell someone about their death, or the fact that you knew they are going to die?

Should she tell them?

Cyrna tried to focus for the rest of their lesson, but it was impossible.

...

October 1st, 1990

There was something about Laufeia's body that seemed to confuse the Flamels terribly. It was during meals, or when one of them dropped by to check on her in the library that she could feel their lingering stare on her hair then eyes. Maybe it was a strange combination of colour—black hair, blue eyes—but she did not think it that strange to warrant the looks.

The confirmation was, aesthetically, a fairly rare combination. But she knew it wasn't aesthetic that drew the Flamel's attention.

Another thing Cyrna realized about her new life was that she didn't know Laufeia well or at all. The reel of memories she had first seen had disappeared back into the recesses of her mind. It was like she knew the memories were there, yet they were not accessible.

Thus, when Perenelle brought up birthdays—"When is yours?" Cyrna suddenly remembered something very important.

Cyrna knew hers, but what about Laufeia's? How old was her body? What if she had missed the age of acceptance for Hogwarts?

Dear Merlin, she hoped she had not missed the letter.

.....

November 2st, 1990

Prince was a willful little creature, and when he wanted things, he more or less got it. Cyrna didn't fancy having to hear his petulant whining if she refused.

Yesterday, he had wanted to explore the grounds. She had indulged him since it had also been a while since she had a walk outside. Yesterday had been a cloudy day—cold too.

The sea breeze carried sounds, ringing clear and distinct. She heard the waves lap onto the share, and the harsh echoes of the gulls crying for food. It hit her with a pang of nostalgia, for these were the scents and sounds she had smelt and heard when Nicolas had first apparated her here.

And so much time had passed since then. Instead of the deep green forest, a beautiful mix of yellows, reds, and browns took its place. Cyrna relaxed back onto the meadows, not minding the dampness of the grass from the morning shower. The breeze was pleasant and she was soon lulled to sleep.

It was near noon, the sun hung at its peak, that she woke to insistently meows of distress. Blearily, she opened her eyes saw a dusty looking Prince with autumn leaves and twigs sticking out of its fur. "Prince," she groaned, sitting up with a frown. She could already imagine how many baths she would need to give him. "You're lucky the Flamels want you around."

He huffed and trotted off a few steps toward the sea before pausing and waiting for her. His ears and tail flicked impatiently.

Cyrna gave in, following her cat down the stone-paved path to the sea. She eyed her cat again and snickered at the red and gold that adorned his coat, colours that were so contrary to his namesake. As if he could hear her thoughts, Prince's ears flattened and his soft purrs turned to a low growl. Then, he gave a snort (that sounded awfully like disgust). In a graceful leap, he clambered into her arms which had been stretched out to catch him.

They continued down the path in this manner. Nearing the sea, the grass became sparser, and soon, they were walking on sand rather than soil—Cyrna stopped abruptly.

Far away stood a figure standing by the shoreline. Waves lapped onto his long robes, wetting it, but the figure did not seem disturbed by this. Donned in a (somewhat garish) purple cloak, embroidered with small stars and planets, he seemed to be rather out of place in the simple tranquility of this remote area.

Cyrna's heart raced as she slowly walked towards the still figure. Prince poked his head out and gazed with interest at the man that, like him, had long silver hair—long enough to tuck into a simple gold braided belt that he wore around his waist. Cyrna was certain that this man, though he had not yet reacted, had already sensed her when she was a distance away. After all, very little could escape the notice of the greatest wizard of all times, Albus Dumbledore.

A few feet away from him, she stilled, hesitating on how she should approach him or if she even should. Then he spoke:

....

Want to read ahead by more than 60 chapters. Then join my pa*treon now.

Link: pa*treon.com/Amelie796 (Remove the *)