The grass was still damp with morning dew, soaking through the canvas of Morwenna's trainers and leaving dark, irregular patches. She didn't mind.
The moisture felt cool against her skin through her thin socks, and the meadow smelled of rich earth and growing plants. Summer was slowly giving way to autumn, and the tips of the wild grass were already beginning to turn brown.
Cinder bounded ahead, his russet fur a bright streak against the deep green grass. He disappeared into the tall growth, only to reappear a few meters away, ears perk up and tail held high in a playful curve. He circled back, pressed his cold nose briefly against Morwenna's leg, then bounded off into the grass again.
Jack walked beside her with his hands in his pockets, keeping a slow pace to match her short legs. Jane walked on her other side, her red hair loose today and catching the afternoon sunlight in coppery flashes.
They had been walking for a while, and Morwenna wasn't entirely sure where they were going.
They had left the neatly maintained garden behind, passed the stone fountain where water rose in silver arcs before falling back with a steady splash, and followed the path winding toward the creature meadow.
At the last turn, however, Jack had led them left instead of right, taking the path toward the lake. It sloped gently downhill through long, unmown grass.
Morwenna held a stone she had picked up near the fountain. It was a flat, gray disc, smoothed by years of water washing over it. She didn't know why she had kept it, but it felt right in her palm, cool, solid, and heavy.
Ahead of them, Cinder reached the crest of the hill and stopped, his ears pricking forward as he looked down at the lake. Morwenna reached the top beside him and stopped too.
The lake stretched out below them, its dark surface almost still. Occasionally, a ripple appeared where something surfaced before disappearing into the cold depths again.
The island sat like a dark smudge in the center, with the stone pavilion barely visible between clusters of trees. On the far shore, the afternoon haze softened the trees into a blurry line beneath the pale sky.
Jack knelt beside Morwenna and picked up a flat stone. He weighed it in his palm, rubbing his thumb over its smooth, silty surface.
"Do you know what a Muggle-born is?" he asked.
Morwenna looked at him, her brow furrowing. She had heard the word before. It had appeared in the books her father read to her, tucked into stories about Hogwarts and the wider wizarding world, but no one had ever explained it properly.
"A witch or wizard," she answered slowly, searching for the right words, "born to Muggles?"
"Mundane people, ordinary people," Jane corrected gently. She reached down and tucked a stray lock of white hair behind Morwenna's ear. Her French accent gave the vowels a gentle lilt. "That's what we call them. Mundane. Muggle is another word people use, but we prefer mundane."
Morwenna nodded, storing the information in her mind. Mundane, not Muggle.
"That's right," Jack said.
He stood and flicked his wrist with a sharp, practiced motion. The stone skipped across the water once, twice, and three times before sinking with a tiny plink.
"Mundane-borns are born with magic in their blood. It wakes up when they are young, just as yours did. Their magic awakens even though their parents aren't magical." He glanced at her thoughtfully. "Do you know what a Squib is?"
Morwenna shook her head.
"A Squib is the opposite." Jack picked up another stone and turned it between his fingers. "They are born to magical parents, but the magic in their blood stays asleep. It never wakes up, so they can't do magic. Not ever."
Morwenna thought about that. She looked down at her small hands, remembering the frost and cold fire she had held in her palms.
She tried to imagine what it would be like if the cold inside her remained trapped forever, with no way to escape. It was like imagining the snowdrops in the garden never blooming, or the sun rising without bringing any light to the world.
"Like the snowdrops," she said quietly. "The ones that don't come up."
Jack looked at her, surprise and affection softening his expression.
"Yes. Like the snowdrops that don't come up."
Jane rested a hand on Morwenna's shoulder, its warmth steady through her jumper.
"They are still part of us. They carry the same magic as you do. It simply doesn't awaken in the same way."
Morwenna watched her father pick up another stone. He held it for a moment while looking out across the water, then placed it back on the path.
"Come," he said. "Let's walk."
They started down the slope toward the lake. The grass grew long here, brushing against Morwenna's knees, and the ground felt soft beneath her trainers.
Cinder raced ahead, his ears bouncing with every stride, then circled back before darting forward again. He seemed to have endless energy.
"The Keith family is old," Jack said as they walked. "Older than Hogwarts. Older than the Ministry. And a family that old has many children. Some are born with magic that awakens. Others aren't."
He paused, glancing toward the water.
They were close to the lake now. The path ended at a stretch of pebbled shore where dark water lapped gently against the stones.
"The Squibs are the ones whose magic never awakens. They can't study the same things we do or work with magic as we do. So the family built them a place of their own."
Morwenna looked up at him. "A place?"
"A village," Jane explained. She picked up a flat stone from the shore and handed it to Morwenna. "A place where they could live with other Squibs and with mundane people who knew about magic and worked for our family. A place where they could be safe and happy."
Morwenna examined the stone. It was flatter than the one she had picked up earlier, its edges worn smooth by the movement of the lake.
"Why?" she asked.
Jack knelt beside her again, bringing himself down to her height until their eyes met.
"Because they are family. Because they carry our blood. A family that abandons its own won't last."
He picked up a flat gray stone that fitted neatly in his palm.
"Do you know how many families have fallen, Morwenna? Ancient families, powerful families, families that were already old when Hogwarts was built.
They fell because they fought among themselves. They turned against one another. They let small differences become walls, those walls became battlefields, and those battles left graves behind."
He flicked his wrist. The stone skimmed across the water in a long, clean arc, touching the surface four times before finally sinking.
"We remember," he said.
Morwenna knew those words. They were carved in silver above the entrance hall of the manor, where she had passed them countless times without truly understanding their meaning.
We remember.
"That's why the village exists," Jack continued. "Because we remember what happens to families that forget."
Morwenna looked down at the stone in her hand, took a breath, and threw it. It skipped once in a small, hesitant hop before sinking. The splash was tiny, barely disturbing the dark surface.
"Again," she said.
Jane smiled and picked up a stone to show her how to hold it. She demonstrated the movement of her wrist.
"Keep the flat side down and your wrist straight. Like this."
Morwenna tried again. This time, the stone skipped twice, with the second hop carrying it farther than the first, before disappearing beneath the water.
She looked at her mother, who nodded encouragingly.
"Good. You are getting the hang of it."
Morwenna bent to find another stone, closing her fingers around a smooth, cold gray disc.
"When was the village built?"
Jack picked up a stone of his own.
"In the sixteenth century, about four hundred years ago."
Morwenna furrowed her brow. Four hundred years was a number she had heard in the books her father read to her."
"That's old."
"It is." Jack threw his stone. It skipped five times, each hop smaller than the last, before sinking beneath the surface. "It was built before the International Statute of Secrecy."
Morwenna tilted her head. "Statute?"
"A law," Jane explained, picking up another stone. "A very old law. It says that witches and wizards must keep magic hidden from mundane people."
Morwenna looked at her in confusion. "Why?"
"Because people were afraid," Jane answered quietly. "A long time ago, magical and mundane people lived together. Some mundane people knew about magic.
They worked for magical families and lived alongside them. But others were frightened. They didn't understand magic, and they feared what they couldn't understand."
She threw her stone. It skipped twice across the water, each hop clean and straight.
"There were witch hunts. People who were afraid would hunt witches and wizards. Some were killed, and many others went into hiding. Eventually, the wizarding world decided to hide from the mundane world altogether."
Morwenna thought about the books she had read with her mother, the pictures of cars, buses, and supermarkets. She thought about the people in those pictures, living ordinary lives without knowing that magic existed right beside them.
"We can't tell them?" she asked.
"The law says we can't reveal it to them," Jack explained. "We live apart and keep our magic hidden. When we enter the mundane world, we must be careful not to let people see what we can do."
He turned to face her, his expression serious.
"Morwenna, when you go into the mundane world in the future, you must never talk about magic there. Never use magic in front of mundane people, and never tell them about Hogwarts, the wizarding world, or anything else connected to it. Do you understand?"
Morwenna nodded slowly.
"They will be scared?"
"They will be scared," Jane said gently. "Not because they are bad people, but because they don't understand. Things that are different can be frightening when you don't know anything about them."
Morwenna looked at the lake. Its surface was dark and still, broken only by the ripples spreading from the places where their stones had sunk. Cinder sat at the water's edge, ears pricked as he watched something moving beneath the surface.
Morwenna picked up another stone.
"Tell me more about the village."
Jack smiled and turned a stone over between his fingers.
"Before the Statute, some mundane people worked for magical families. They served in the houses, tended the gardens, and took care of all kinds of work that needed doing. They knew about magic because they lived with it every day."
He threw his stone. It skipped four times before sinking.
"When the Statute was introduced, those mundane families had a choice. Some decided to leave the magical world behind. Others chose to stay. They continued working for the magical families, honored their old agreements, and remained loyal to the people they had served for generations."
He looked down at Morwenna.
"The Keith village was built for them too. It was a home for our family's Squibs and for the mundane families who chose to remain with us.
They live together, work together, and look after one another. The mundane families work for us, and we pay them. They also help care for the Squibs, who can't use magic but still need the same things as everyone else."
Morwenna thought about Tilly, who could make her porridge appear at breakfast with a snap of his fingers.
"Squibs can't do magic," she said. "So they live like mundane people."
"Yes," Jane replied softly. "They have ordinary jobs and attend ordinary schools. They marry, have children, and grow old. Their lives are different from ours."
"Because they can't do magic."
"Because they can't do magic."
Morwenna looked down at the stone in her hand and thought again about the snowdrops that never bloomed. They were still snowdrops, still flowers, even if their petals never opened.
"Are they still Keiths?"
Jack and Jane exchanged a glance. Jane's hand returned to Morwenna's shoulder, warm and reassuring.
"Yes," Jane said. "They are still Keiths."
"Even without magic?"
"Even without magic."
Morwenna nodded slowly. She thought about the family motto carved above the entrance hall, then remembered her grandfather's low, steady voice telling her about a family that never forgot its own.
"We remember," she said.
Jack smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"We remember."
Morwenna threw her stone. It skipped three times in a clean line before sinking. She looked at Jack, who nodded approvingly.
"Better."
She bent to pick up another stone, her fingers closing around a flat gray disc smoothed by years of water washing over it.
"The Squibs have families too? Children?"
"They do," Jane answered, picking up a stone of her own. "They marry and have children. Some of those children aren't born with magic at all. Others..."
She paused, looking down at the stone in her palm. "Others are born with magic that's almost awake. It's dormant, but it's still there. Those children are brought into the main family, where they learn about the magical world. They become a bridge between the two branches."
Morwenna's brow furrowed. "A bridge?"
"The main family," Jack explained. "The Squibs who know about the magical world connect us to the mundane branches of our family.
When the magical family needs something in the mundane world, the main family takes care of it. When a child in one of the mundane branches shows signs of magic, the main family contacts us. They are the bridge between the two sides."
He threw his stone. It skipped four times, the last hop carrying it in a long, low arc.
"So there are two kinds," Morwenna said slowly. "The ones who know and the ones who don't."
"Yes." Jack picked up another stone. "The main family knows about the magical world. They know about us. They carry the Keith name and blood, and they know where their family comes from. They are the bridge."
He handed the stone to Morwenna.
"The side families are different. Their blood has thinned over the generations. They know they belong to something old and important, but they don't know it's connected to magic.
They think it's family legend, old money, or stories passed down from the past. They are still Keiths, still our blood, but the Statute keeps them from learning the truth."
Morwenna held the stone in her palm. She thought about the snowdrops again, the ones that bloomed and the ones that didn't. They all belonged to the same patch, even if some never opened.
"They are still family," she said.
Jack nodded. "They are still family."
Morwenna looked out across the lake. The water remained dark and still, with only a few ripples left where their stones had sunk. Cinder was lying on the shore now, his head resting on his paws as he watched the water settle.
"We don't look down on them," Jane said, her voice quiet but firm. "We don't think we are better because our magic awakened and theirs didn't. That isn't how our family works. That isn't how we should treat one another."
She met Morwenna's green eyes, her expression steady and certain.
"A magical person who looks down on a Squib is like a flower looking down on a seed that hasn't sprouted. They are part of the same plant, with the same roots."
Morwenna thought about the seeds in the garden, waiting beneath the soil for warmth. She remembered the snowdrops that had bloomed and those that hadn't. Then she looked at her own hands, which could hold frost and cold fire, and imagined the hands of a Squib, unable to do magic.
"Same blood," she said.
"Same blood," Jane agreed.
Morwenna threw her stone. It skipped four times, each hop clean and even, before sinking into the lake. She watched the ripples spread in widening circles until they faded into the dark water.
"I want to see it," she said. "The village."
Jack smiled.
"Next spring, when you are four. We will go together."
Morwenna nodded and bent to find another stone.
. . .
That night, Jane sat at her desk with the fire burning low in the grate. Its light cast long shadows across the room, and her baby-blue journal lay open before her.
The pages were half full now, covered in her neat, precise handwriting. Each entry recorded another piece of a life she was determined never to forget.
She uncapped her quill.
September 12th, 1983.
We took her to the lake today. She wanted to skip stones. Jack told her about the mundane branch of our family, the village, and the Squibs who carry our blood but not our magic. She listened as she always does, quietly and attentively, her eyes fixed on his face.
She asked if they were still Keiths. She asked if they were still family.
She threw her stone, and it skipped four times.
Jane paused, her quill hovering above the page as she gathered her thoughts.
A letter had arrived from France that morning. It still lay on the desk beside her journal, its seal broken and parchment folded. She picked it up and smoothed it flat.
Grand-mère writes that the solution for the Evans ritual will be ready by December. She will send it herself, along with the instructions and exact measurements.
She will prepare it with the same care she used for her own children and their children, using the knowledge passed down through our family.
The Hive has also found records of two phoenixes whose manifestations were similar to Morwenna's. Grand-mère is sending copies of the relevant texts along with the solution.
Jane read the words again. Her grandmother's handwriting was steady, each loop carefully formed, but the pressure of the quill had left its mark on the parchment. There was a weight behind those words that went beyond ink and paper.
We are closer now. We know what to look for. We know what to prepare. We know what we are fighting for.
Jane set the letter aside and picked up her quill again.
We aren't guessing anymore. We have a shape. We have a path. We have a direction.
She looked at the words on the page. They seemed too small and flat to hold the weight of what they meant, but she wrote them anyway. That was what the journal was for. To record what happened. To remember.
Morwenna threw her stone four times today. The first time, it sank after one skip. The second time, it skipped twice. The third time, three times. The fourth time, four times. She counted each skip, moving her lips silently as she watched the stone cross the water.
Jack says she gets her aim from him. I say she gets her patience from me.
We are probably both wrong.