Bast walked into her house and put her things away, recounting the odd incidents with Rei and her.

“Bast, dear,” her mother called “have you got your things from Diagon Alley?”

“Yes, Mum,” Bast called in. “Where’s Father?”

She heard a great sigh and her mother walked in, her graying hair framing her round face. “He said that he had a couple more things in Knockturn Alley to pick up, honestly, with all of this business with the Death Eaters and . . . and . . . .”

“You-Know-Who?” Bast finished for her.

“Yes, you’d figure he’d be a bit more careful. I don’t know how many times . . .”

“Reesa,” Bast heard from the room in the back, “Reesa, I need your help.”

Bast’s mother sighed and walked out.

The young girl looked around her home. She was in the sitting room, which was built elegantly with pieces of gold and silver tributes to some of the old blood that flowed throughout the family. Pieces of Egypt and Greece and Italy . . . everywhere that their ancestors had traveled in search of deepened magic. The carpets were emerald green with glittering hints of silver mixed in, and the walls shined gold. It reminded Bast of the pictures she had seen of palaces lost in Ancient Egypt long ago.

She stopped at a glass cabinet containing (among many other things) a small silver statue of a sitting cat with a wide band around its regal neck. At its paws was a dusty, spun glass sphere. Bast had been ordered by Amun Sanura to never ever touch any of these things, and she certainly knew better than to disrespect her father. He had always treated her with respect, and she wanted nothing more than to do the same for him.

She was still examining the cat statue as her father and mother walked in, carrying many bags full of musty old papers and potion bottles full of foul smelling liquid. Whereas her mother was short and plump, with curled silver hair and crisp blue eyes, her father still seemed only a young man. He was seventy years old—a year younger than Reesa—but his hair only had small flecks of silver amidst the raven black. His face was thin and pointed, and despite his age, he had very few lines to show his years. His eyes were deep green like Bast’s.

He gave her a nod and sat the bags down as Reesa walked out in somewhat of a huff. Among many other features of his, Bast had also inherited his quiet reservation, most preferring to observe than to take action.

“So you finished your shopping early, did you, Bast?” he asked with calm interest. “And how did you fare?”

Bast smiled and pulled out her wand, displaying it to Amun.

“It’s Maple, dragon heartstrings, and ten inches. It shot odd looking green shapes when I waved it,” she explained as her father examined the wand.

“Very good,” he said simply.

Bast hesitated, and then looked at him carefully.

“Father? Can I tell you something else?”

Her father placed her wand down on the silver table in front of them and looked at her patiently.

Bast sighed, as if buying for time. “Today I met a girl named Rei. We spent the day shopping—I didn’t want to shop by myself—and when she was trying out a wand, a black little ball started flying around, just . . . out of nowhere.”

“Interesting,” her father said quietly.

Bast smiled crookedly. “Well, she called for me to look out, seconds before it was in front of me, and when I raised my wand, I . . . I deflected it somehow. Without saying a thing.”

At this, her father turned instinctively to the glass cabinet behind them and looked at the sphere by the cats silver paws, and then turned back to Bast, his expression hinting at anxiety.

“This girl . . . she told you ahead of time?”

Bast nodded. “It was as if she was some kind of seer or something. It was very odd.”

Amun nodded. “And you deflected the curse without knowing how?”

His daughter nodded again.

Amun stood and handed Bast her wand. She stood as well and looked at him curiously, sensing his worry.

“What does it mean, Father?”

He looked at her through thick black eyelashes, trying to keep his voice steady.

“It means nothing, Bast. Do not dwell. It was merely a chance occurrence.”

“But--”

“Bast Sarah Sanura!” he snapped, making her jump. Very rarely did he ever use her full name and never did he use such a tone with her, “I told you that it means nothing and that you are not to pursue it any further! Is this in any way unclear?”

Bast shook her head quickly. She had never felt need to be afraid of her father before, but the burning within his eyes and the creases along his brow and around the corners of his scowling lips were so defined that she could only tremble.

He nodded curtly and turned on his heel, sweeping out of the room in a flurry of black robes and a temper.

**********

Dear Rei,
How have you been lately? Have you had a chance to look at our schoolbooks? I’ve checked out most of them so far. Transfiguration sounds rough and Potions . . . well, Father has had me try some of those ever since I was little, because they require no wand magic. Let’s just say that I’m not much looking forward to being tested on my abilities in Potions. Charms are deadly fascinating. And History of Magic. Though the first year books aren’t as in depth in concerns to Ancient Egypt, but I know all about their magic, anyway.
I talked to Father about what happened at Ollivander’s the other day. He went all moody and told me not to worry about it. He never acts like that. It was very odd.
Forgive me if this gets to you at an odd hour. I’m terribly nocturnal. I’m up and about at nighttime and nap throughout the day. I had tried a bit of old Egyptian spells—some that don’t require a wand—all summer, but they don’t seem to work. I might break down and concoct some sleeping potion just so I can get my days straight for school. I really don’t want to fall asleep in the middle of class.
Hope this note finds you well and in good spirits. I can’t wait to see you again.
Your friend,
Bast Sarah Sanura

Bast whistled twice and her father’s beautiful black and grey owl, Orion, swooped down onto her desk. She sealed the envelope with a wax imprint of an ‘S’ just behind a crook and flail.

“This goes to Rei Davidson,” she explained; unsure of how Orion was to know where Rei lived. He hooted confidently, however, and fluttered off into the dawning sky.

It had been a week since that day in Diagon Alley, and Bast was now sitting in her room, which was decorated in her two favourite colours; green and black. She stared up at the ebony ceiling and wondered what had her father so spooked. He had never yelled at her before, and she found it unnerving when he had.

Of course, she also knew that he was very strung about her attending Hogwarts. She had heard he and her mother arguing, talking about some mutual friend of theirs that had left Hogwarts and ended up lost, as her father put it.

Bast stood and walked to her bed, lying on her back so as to continue staring at the ceiling. What was Hogwarts going to be like, anyway? She had no fears of leaving home; her parents had raised her to be independent enough to look after herself in a tight spot. But something seemed very . . . odd about it all. She had tried to ask her parents, but they kept hush, saying that they would not want to spoil the surprise for her. Her father, however, warned her to stay serious of her studies and to stay out of trouble.

“Bast,” he called in to her.

“In my room, Father,” she answered with a little bit of a yawn.

He entered her room, looking very serious indeed. “I’ve received permission from the Minister to teach you a couple things before you head off. Get your wand.”

Bast looked at her father bemusedly, but held her wand tight. Her father was a well-respected wizard in the Ministry, working as Head of Department of Investigative Magic, which pieced together new techniques to using magic and combined it with old spells already discovered. His was a job that demanded respect and acknowledgement, but even so, his position did not guarantee that he not be fired if the Minister thought he was up to something shifty, and teaching his daughter spells (that she had no doubt he had discovered, by the look on his face) before she had even attended school seemed to be toeing the line.

“You will first learn to Calm. It’s useful if you’re working with particularly energetic creatures, or are in a fight that is easily avoided. Hold your wand up . . . a little higher . . . good. Now bring it down slowly and say ‘hotep’, accenting the ‘e’. Go ahead.”

Bast brought her wand down gently and yelled “Hotep,” which created a very thick sleepiness in the air around her.

Her father yawned and Bast smiled.

“Er . . . g-good,” he said, trying to stifle back another yawn, “But you sa-aid it to loudly.”

He took out his own wand and waved it once. The tired air seemed to vanish from around them and he nodded at her.

“Try again, more calmly this time.”

Bast raised her wand again and brought it down, muttering “Hotep”.

The effect was much different from the first. The air around was almost serene. Bast wasn’t tired, but relaxed.

“Hows that?” she asked.

Her father smiled at her. “Very nice, Bast. This is complex magic, but your blood allows you to perform it nearly effortlessly. If only you could gain some ability in Potions, but then I suppose work may satisfy that.”

“I think I’m hopeless at Potions,” she confessed.

He looked at her with his characteristic calm, then shrugged slightly.

“Work on it. You’ll do fine enough to pass.”

“I don’t want to do ‘fine enough to pass’, Father, I want to do exceptional. I want to get perfect scores in everything, even Potions.”

Her father sighed. “Bast, I don’t pretend that I wasn’t the same way when I was your age,” he said, making her stop and blink at him, as she rarely heard about how he was at her age, “but you must not obsess with being the best at things. You are human, and there are some things that you are not good at. It is urgent that you know these to be traits, not weaknesses. You and your friend, Rei, seem extraordinarily apt at magic. With that comes immense caution. I cannot stress how important it is for the both of you to not allow you ambitions to overtake you.”

Bast sighed. “Okay, Father. I’ll be careful.”

As her father walked out, Bast laid on her bed, returning to her favourite pastime of staring at the ceiling and thinking. What was her father so afraid of? Something about it had to do with the contents of the cabinet. Something, she felt, also having to do with Rei.

“What are we getting ourselves into?” she pondered.