Magic, Curses and Gods Amongst Men || HP x JJK

The morning sun bathed the grounds of Château Delacour in a warm, golden light. The expansive estate was a testament to the Delacour family's wealth and status. Tall, elegant spires rose against the blue sky, and the chateau itself was a grand structure of white stone, with ivy creeping up its walls. The gardens surrounding it were meticulously maintained, filled with vibrant flowers and neatly trimmed hedges. Fountains trickled peacefully, their gentle sounds adding to the serene atmosphere.

In one of the garden's many secluded spots, Harry sat alone, dressed in fine, tailored clothing that had been provided to him. The material was soft and luxurious, a stark contrast to the rags he had worn in the pit. He held a book in his hands, its title embossed in gold: Animagus Transformations: Theory and Practice. Despite the comfortable setting, Harry's expression was one of deep concentration, even frustration. His transformation into a thunderbird had been unusual, to say the least. Animagus forms were typically mundane animals, and while rare exceptions existed, they were seldom as powerful as a thunderbird. The book offered little explanation, and Harry found himself coming up short as he tried to understand his newfound ability.

A few meters away, Ciri and Gabrielle were playing together in the garden. The two girls had taken to each other quickly, despite their small age gap. They laughed as they tossed an enchanted ball between them, the ball floating and darting around playfully. Gabrielle's silver hair shone in the sunlight, and Ciri's laughter was clear and bright, a sound that had been sorely missed during their time in the pit. They both seemed carefree, at least for the moment, lost in their game.

Harry's attention was momentarily drawn from his book as he watched the two girls play. Their joy was infectious, and he allowed himself a small smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. His thoughts were interrupted when he sensed someone approaching.

Yennefer made her way across the garden, her black hair flowing down her back in soft waves. She wore a sleek, form-fitting black outfit that seemed designed for dueling, accentuating her curves and lending her an air of elegance and power. Her violet eyes stood out sharply against her pale skin, a striking feature that made her beauty almost otherworldly. As she neared Harry, she caught his attention, and he looked up from his book.

"May I sit?" Yennefer asked, her voice smooth but with a hint of uncertainty.

Harry gestured to the empty chair beside him. "Go ahead."

Yennefer took a seat, crossing her legs and resting her hands in her lap. She studied Harry for a moment, noting the black cloth that covered his eyes. Even with it on, she could see the tiredness etched in his features, the weariness that went deeper than just physical exhaustion.

"Have you recovered from your sickness?" Harry asked, breaking the silence between them.

"I have," Yennefer replied, her tone softening. She hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I wanted to thank you... for what you did for me and Ciri. A lot of people would have taken advantage of us... hurt us... but you didn't." She breathed out, as if releasing a burden she had been carrying. "Apolline told me how much you went through to try and get me medicine... thank you."

Harry didn't respond immediately. He placed his book down on the table beside him, his expression unreadable. "I'm glad you're feeling alright," he finally said, avoiding her gratitude. In truth, he didn't feel he deserved it. He had done what he thought was right, but the idea of being thanked for it sat uncomfortably with him.

Silence fell between them once more, broken only by the distant laughter of the girls. Yennefer watched them with a wistful look in her eyes, her thoughts elsewhere. "It feels strange," she said quietly. "I was so sure we were going to die in that place... I'm not sure what to do next."

"Do you have anyone you can go to? Family or friends?" Harry asked, his voice gentle but direct.

Yennefer shook her head slowly. "No... not anymore." Seeing the doubt in Harry's expression, she added, "It's a long story."

Harry picked up his book again but didn't open it. He had a feeling there was more to Yennefer's story than she was letting on, but he didn't press her. They all had their scars, some more visible than others, and it wasn't his place to pry. Yennefer hesitated, her gaze distant as she seemed to weigh her words. "I come from Poland," she began, her voice quieter now, as though speaking about something deeply personal. "I was born into a society of witches that kept themselves hidden. We lived close to nature, away from the eyes of the world. It was... different from what most people know of magic. We were druids of a sort, practicing ancient rites, communing with nature, and sometimes, on Samhain, we'd even cross through the barrier of the living and the dead."

Harry's interest piqued immediately. He had never heard of such a group before, and his curiosity got the better of him. "That sounds incredible," he breathed out, his eyes narrowing slightly behind the black cloth. "How have I not heard about such powerful witches before? And why would you not take Ciri there? Surely, she'd fit right in."

Yennefer's face hardened, her hands clenching into fists on her lap. "They're all dead," she said bluntly, the flatness of her tone betraying the pain that lurked beneath the surface. Her expression was emotionless, but Harry could sense the raw grief behind her words.

"How...?" Harry asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

"The Templar," Yennefer said, her voice laced with barely restrained anger. "Arthur, the leader of the Templar, killed every single one of my sisters with his knights. They overran our home, slaughtered us, and then made it their new base. Our sanctuary... defiled."

Harry sat in stunned silence. He had known the Templars were dangerous, but to hear they had wiped out an entire society of witches was beyond anything he had imagined. "How did you survive?" he asked, his voice low.

"I was just a little girl at the time," Yennefer replied, her voice softening as she spoke of her past. "My mother... she hid me in a village full of non-magicals. She gave me her journal and grimoire before leaving. She told me she had to go back... that she wanted to save as many as she could." Her voice faltered, and she paused, struggling to keep her composure.

Harry didn't know what to say. The words of comfort he wanted to offer felt hollow, meaningless in the face of such loss. "I'm sorry," he said finally, though the apology felt inadequate. "I wish there was something I could do."

Yennefer shook her head slowly, her expression unreadable. "You saved us, Harry," she said, her voice steady again. "I thought you deserved to know who you saved."

Harry nodded, understanding that she was sharing something deeply personal with him, a part of her past that still haunted her. "What about Ciri?" he asked after a moment. "How does she fit into all of this?"

"That's an even longer story," Yennefer replied, her tone heavy with the weight of unspoken memories. "What Ciri told you back in the pit... about her past, while it wasn't a lie it wasn't the whole truth... I told her to keep it all a secret, that our very lives were at stake."

She glanced over at Ciri, who was still playing with Gabrielle in the garden. Yennefer sighed, a mix of sorrow and affection in her expression. "She's... special. More special than she even realizes."

————————————————————-

(A Long Time Ago)

A large, lavish palace stood deep within a sprawling forest, its stone walls rising high above the treetops. The palace was a sight to behold, with its grand spires piercing the sky and its wide courtyards filled with lush greenery and vibrant flowers. Cobblestone pathways wound through the gardens, leading to ornate fountains and marble statues. Inside, the palace was even more extravagant. The floors were made of polished marble, reflecting the light from crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of battles and triumphs, while massive windows allowed natural light to flood the rooms, giving the place a warm, golden glow.

One of the many rooms in this vast palace was Ciri's bedroom. It was a large, lavish space, filled with elegant furniture and soft, silken drapes. A grand canopy bed took up one corner of the room, its curtains drawn back to reveal the young girl who was still sleeping soundly. The morning light streamed through the tall windows, casting a soft glow over Ciri as she slowly stirred awake. She yawned, stretching her arms above her head before blinking her eyes open. A bright smile spread across her face as she realized it was morning.

With a burst of energy, Ciri hopped out of bed and dashed across the room to the wall where she kept a pencil tucked away. She quickly marked her height on the wall, comparing it to the previous marks. Her smile faltered as she noticed she hadn't grown any taller since the last time she checked. She pouted for a moment, her disappointment clear, but as she glanced out the window and saw the rain pouring down, her mood quickly shifted.

"Perfect weather!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together in excitement.

Ciri wasted no time in getting ready. She pulled on an outdoor outfit, one that was both practical and comfortable, perfect for a day of exploring. She added a hat to complete the look, grinning at her reflection in the mirror before dashing out of her room.

As she made her way through the palace, Ciri moved with an excited, almost bouncing energy. She skipped down the grand staircase, her fingers trailing along the polished banister. The sound of her boots hitting the marble floor echoed through the halls, but she paid it no mind. She was on a mission, and nothing could dampen her spirits. On her way outside, Ciri passed by several guards and servants, all of whom offered her forced smiles and polite nods. She could feel their dislike for her, sense it in the way they averted their eyes or the stiffness in their postures. But despite this, Ciri made an effort to greet each of them with a warm smile. She didn't want to be disliked, even if she knew the feelings were not mutual.

As she neared the main entrance, Ciri spotted one of the servants and hurried over to her. "Excuse me, do you know where my father is?" she asked, her voice filled with hope.

The servant, a woman with a tight bun and a tight-lipped smile, replied, "He is in a very important meeting, miss."

Ciri's smile wavered at the response, her shoulders drooping slightly. "Oh," she said softly, the excitement fading from her voice. Today was supposed to be special, a day her father had promised they'd spend together in the forest. But it seemed that promise would have to wait. She nodded politely, trying to hide her disappointment. "Thank you."

With a heavy heart, Ciri pushed open the large doors and stepped outside into the rain. The cool drops hit her face, and she breathed in deeply, letting the fresh, earthy scent fill her lungs. Despite the earlier letdown, her mood began to lift as she took in the sight of the rain-soaked grounds. Her smile returned as she noticed someone standing in the rain, a familiar figure that made her heart leap with joy.

"Yennefer!" Ciri called out, running over to the drenched woman who stood just outside the entrance.

Yennefer, dressed in a simple servant's outfit that was now thoroughly soaked, looked at Ciri with a mixture of amusement and concern. "Where do you think you're going in such terrible weather?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's perfect weather to go outside!" Ciri replied with a grin, her earlier disappointment forgotten.

Yennefer shook her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Of all the people in the palace, Yennefer was the only one who had ever shown Ciri any real kindness. She was more than just a servant; she was Ciri's friend, her confidante in a place that often felt cold and unwelcoming. "Have you eaten anything yet?" Yennefer asked, though she already knew the answer.

Ciri shook her head, still grinning. "I'll eat later!" she said before dashing off into the rain.

Yennefer watched her go, the worry never leaving her face. However as she stood there she heard some of the whispering from some of the other servants. "I just don't understand why the King keeps her around. That girl... she's strange, isn't she?" one of them whispered harshly.

"She's not just strange—she's a freak. Gives me chills every time I see her," another added with a sneer.

Yennefer's grip on the basket tightened until her knuckles turned white. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of anger and helplessness surging through her veins. It took every ounce of her self-control not to lash out at them. She swallowed hard, forcing down the bile that rose in her throat. Instead, she silently cursed King Arthur and the Templars under her breath, wishing she could do more than just seethe in silence.

Arthur's choices confounded her. Despite having access to non-magical technology, he chose to live as many wizards did, relying on ancient runes and wards to sustain his lavish lifestyle. But the lack of house elves meant that all the menial tasks—cooking, cleaning, washing—were left to people like her. The injustice of it all gnawed at her.

With a heavy sigh, Yennefer made her way inside the palace, heading towards the room where the laundry was processed. The walls of the room were lined with glowing runes, the air warm from the heat they generated. She placed the basket down, piece by piece feeding the laundry into the magical array that would clean and dry them. The runes hummed softly as they did their work, but the sound only made her feel worse.

These runes were more than just convenient—they were likely forged from the suffering of witches like her. The thought made her stomach turn, her magic roiling inside her, pressing against the restraint of the necklace she wore. It was a parting gift from her mother, a means to keep her power in check, but it didn't stop the anger that bubbled within her.

Just as she was finishing up, the kitchen matron stormed in, grabbing her by the arm with a sense of urgency. "You, take this tray to the throne room. The others are already on their way," she ordered, thrusting a tray of food into Yennefer's hands.

Yennefer hesitated, her heart sinking at the thought of entering that room, but she had no choice. Nodding silently, she followed the other servants through the labyrinthine halls of the palace. The other servants seemed unusually eager, their whispers now tinged with excitement. Yennefer couldn't understand their enthusiasm—perhaps it was the presence of the King and his knights that thrilled them, or maybe they were just relieved to be serving such a powerful court. But for Yennefer, every step felt heavier than the last.

They entered the throne room, a grand chamber dominated by a massive round table. The twelve members of King Arthur's council were already seated, their voices filling the room with a grim sense of purpose. As Yennefer approached, she heard one of the men, a tall figure with a bald head and cold eyes, speak with authority.

"We've tracked down the last of the Druids," he announced, his voice carrying a cruel satisfaction. "Soon, we'll have the location of Aithusa."

Another man, seated across the table, leaned forward with a malicious grin. "Finally, we can cleanse this world of the old religion's stench once and for all."

A chorus of agreement followed, the men banging their cups against the table in a barbaric display of approval. The sound echoed in the cavernous room, making Yennefer's heart race faster. She approached the table, setting her tray down in front of Lancelot, who was seated beside the King himself.

Lancelot, a man of imposing stature with a disarmingly friendly smile, grinned up at her as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He immediately dug into the food, his mouth full as he mumbled, "Thanks."

Yennefer forced a small nod, stepping back and bowing slightly, eager to leave the room as quickly as possible. But just as she was about to turn away, Arthur's voice cut through the air, smooth and deceptively gentle.

"Lancelot, how many times must I remind you? Mind your manners," he said, his tone laced with a dangerous undercurrent.

Lancelot swallowed, his expression shifting to one of mild embarrassment as he turned to Yennefer. "Apologies," he offered, more sincerely this time.

Yennefer nodded again, but when she looked up, she found Arthur's gaze fixed on her, his eyes like steel, cold and piercing. It was as if he could see straight through her, and the intensity of his stare made her skin crawl. She quickly averted her eyes, following the other servants out of the room, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest.

Once outside, she allowed herself to breathe, her hands trembling as she clutched the empty tray to her chest. The presence of those men, especially Arthur, filled her with a terror she couldn't fully understand or shake off. There was something deeply wrong about them, something that made her feel like prey in the presence of predators.

She spent the rest of the day in a state of numbness, going through the motions of her tasks without really processing anything. Her mind was elsewhere, haunted by the encounter in the throne room and the lingering fear it left behind.

Later, as the day drew to a close, Yennefer retreated to her small, cramped room in the servants' quarters. She needed to find some semblance of comfort, something to anchor herself. She reached under her mattress, pulling out her mother's journal—a cherished relic of her past. She flipped through the familiar pages, her fingers tracing the words written in her mother's elegant script.

As she read, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. The journal was filled with memories, stories, and lessons—reminders of the love her mother had for her. But as she delved deeper, the entries grew darker, more urgent. They spoke of Ciri and the importance she held, how their coven had watched over her since birth, drawn to the powerful magic she possessed. That was what had brought the Templars to their doorstep, their insidious influence seeping into their lives.

Ciri's mother, the Lady of the Lake, had been a figure of legend—one of the last of her kind, a Fae with a deep connection to nature and magic. Arthur had tricked her, won her trust with false promises, and when she bore him a child, he revealed his true nature. He killed her without mercy, desecrating her remains by sealing them in an enchanted urn, denying her the peace of returning to the earth.

Yennefer's hands shook as she read her mother's final warnings, the words etched into her mind. Arthur had terrible plans for Ciri, plans that would only come to fruition when her magic began to manifest. But frustratingly, the journal didn't specify what those plans were, leaving Yennefer with a gnawing sense of dread.

She sighed, feeling a deep, aching sadness mixed with frustration. Her mother's warnings were clear, but they didn't provide the answers she desperately needed. She yawned, exhaustion finally pulling at her senses. Gently, she tucked the journal back into its hiding place and lay down on her bed, her mind still swirling with unanswered questions.

...

Ciri dashed away from Yennefer, her laughter trailing behind her as she ran toward the forest. The rain drizzled lightly, the soft patter of droplets mixing with her footsteps. She hopped over puddles, her feet barely touching the ground as she sprinted across the vast lawn that led to the edge of the woods. The trees of the forest towered above her, their massive trunks stretching high into the sky. The roots, thick and gnarled, twisted out of the earth, creating natural steps and paths for her to follow. She leaped onto one of the roots, balancing precariously before letting out a gleeful shout and sliding down the other side, her arms flailing as she skidded down the slope.

At the bottom, she paused, brushing mud from her knees as she looked around, her expression thoughtful. The rain continued to fall, but Ciri didn't mind. She was on an adventure. She grabbed a stick from the ground, gripping it like a sword, and closed her eyes for a moment.

"Fairies aaaareeeeee..." she murmured, spinning around with the stick held high, pointing it like a compass. "This way!" She declared with excitement, setting off once more into the dense woods, the stick guiding her as she splashed through the mud.

Ciri darted through the trees, her shoes kicking up droplets of water as she ran. She ducked under low branches and jumped over fallen logs, her laughter mingling with the sounds of the forest. Everything around her felt alive, the very air tingling with energy as she weaved through the ancient trunks. The forest was thick with memories, though Ciri didn't know that. She passed by the remains of old wooden houses, their walls overgrown with moss and vines, the roofs collapsed under the weight of time. The sight of these abandoned homes made her feel a pang of sadness, though she couldn't quite place why. It was as if the forest was holding onto something, a sorrow that she could feel in the very air.

But she didn't linger on that feeling for long. There were too many wonders in the forest to explore. She knelt beside a tree where a baby bird had fallen from its nest, the tiny creature chirping pitifully as it flapped its wings. Ciri gently scooped it up, her small hands cradling the bird as she carefully climbed the tree. She placed the bird back into its nest, smiling as the mother bird returned, nuzzling her baby with relief.

"Safe and sound," Ciri whispered to herself, grinning as she continued on her way.

The forest seemed to welcome her presence, the animals around her unafraid as she moved through their territory. She chased after butterflies, her laughter echoing through the trees as she tried to catch them in her hands. She splashed in puddles, sending water flying in all directions, not caring that her clothes were now soaked through. Eventually, Ciri came upon a small clearing, her breath catching in her throat as she saw what lay before her. In the center of the clearing was a large mound, covered in a blanket of thick green moss. It rose out of the ground like a hill, mysterious and ancient, as if it had been there since the beginning of time.

Ciri's eyes widened with wonder as she approached it, her stick still held tightly in her hand. The mound seemed to call to her, and she couldn't resist the urge to climb it. She placed one foot on the soft moss, feeling it sink slightly under her weight, and then began to clamber up the side, using her stick for balance.

As she reached the top, she stood tall, looking out over the clearing with a triumphant grin. The forest stretched out around her, the trees swaying gently in the breeze, and for a moment, she felt like the queen of the woods. She twirled her stick above her head, letting out a joyous shout that echoed through the trees. The mound beneath her feet felt solid and comforting, a part of the forest itself. Ciri knelt down, pressing her hand against the moss, and felt a strange warmth emanating from it, a pulse of energy that made her shiver with delight.

"This is my spot," she whispered to herself, a secret smile playing on her lips. She lay down on the soft moss, her arms spread wide as she stared up at the sky, the rain falling gently on her face. Ciri's smile began to fade as a feeling of loneliness crept in. She stared up at the sky, the rain still falling lightly on her face, and whispered to herself, "I wish father was here." The excitement she had felt earlier about exploring the forest with him turned into a dull ache. She had wanted so badly to share this adventure with him, but she knew he was busy, as always.

As she lay there, she felt the warmth from the top of the mound beneath her start to grow hotter, almost uncomfortably so. Curiosity piqued, she sat up and looked down at the moss-covered surface. Something seemed to be glowing faintly beneath the green blanket. Intrigued, Ciri began to wipe away the moss, her small hands moving quickly as she uncovered more of the strange, glowing surface.

Underneath the moss was a stone platform, smooth and ancient, with intricate carvings that seemed to pulse with a soft, warm light. In the center of the platform was a symbol, glowing brighter than the rest. It was beautiful and mesmerizing, but Ciri didn't recognize it. Her eyes grew wide with wonder as she stared at it, her heart pounding in her chest.

"So cool," she breathed out, her voice filled with awe. She felt an irresistible urge to touch the glowing symbol, as if it was calling out to her. Without thinking, she crouched down and reached out with trembling fingers, drawn to the light like a moth to a flame.

The moment her fingers brushed the surface of the stone, a sharp jolt shot through her hand, traveling up her arm and into her body. Ciri cried out in shock and pain, the sensation like a thousand tiny needles piercing her skin. The force of the shock knocked her off balance, and she stumbled backward, losing her footing on the slippery moss.

With a frightened yelp, she tumbled down the side of the mound, her body rolling uncontrollably as she crashed through the underbrush. She felt branches and rocks scraping against her skin, each impact sending fresh waves of pain through her small frame. Her knee struck a sharp rock, tearing the skin and sending a searing pain up her leg. Her arm got caught on a thorny bush, the thorns scratching deep lines into her flesh as she rolled past.

Finally, she came to a stop at the bottom of the mound, her body aching and covered in mud and scratches. She lay there for a moment, trying to catch her breath, her chest heaving as she fought back tears. Ciri struggled to stand up, wincing as she put weight on her legs. Her body ached all over from the tumble, but when she looked down at her arm, her heart nearly stopped. Her arm was bent at a strange angle, twisted in a way that arms were definitely not supposed to twist. The sight of it made her feel sick to her stomach, and she could feel the pain starting to flood her senses.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and soon they were streaming down her cheeks as the pain intensified. "It hurts... it hurts so much," she whimpered, her small voice trembling with fear and pain. She clutched at her arm, trying to hold it steady, but the pain was unbearable. "Make it stop, please, make it go away," she begged, her voice desperate as she cried out to no one in particular.

Suddenly, a strange warmth began to flow through her body, starting at her chest and spreading outward to her limbs. It was as if something inside her had awakened, responding to her desperate plea. The warmth soothed the pain, dulling it until it was completely gone. Ciri gasped as she watched in awe, her tears slowing, then stopping altogether.

Her twisted arm began to straighten out on its own, the bones shifting back into place with a series of soft, almost inaudible pops. The scratches and bruises that covered her body faded away, the skin knitting itself back together as if they had never been there. Even the sharp pain in her knee from the cut she'd gotten was gone, leaving smooth, unmarked skin in its place.

Ciri stared at her healed arm in disbelief, then touched it gingerly, as if she couldn't quite believe it was real. "Wow..." she whispered, wiping the last of her tears away with the back of her hand. She flexed her fingers, testing her arm to make sure it was really healed, and when there was no pain, only wonder filled her thoughts.

She glanced back up at the mound, her curiosity piqued even more now. Whatever had just happened to her, she was sure it was connected to that strange, glowing platform. She started to climb back up the hill, determined to see what else she could find, but then the sound of a bell ringing in the far distance stopped her in her tracks.

The bell was her father's way of telling her it was time to come home. The last time she had ignored it, she had been locked in her room for three whole months. Ciri shuddered at the memory; she couldn't stand the thought of being cooped up inside for that long again.

She quickly turned around and started running back toward the palace, her earlier pain and confusion forgotten in her hurry to get home. As she ran, her thoughts kept drifting back to what had happened at the mound. When she was closer to the palace and the immediate worry of getting into trouble had faded, she slowed down, her mind buzzing with what she had just experienced.

"Do I have magic?" she wondered aloud, excitement creeping into her voice. She had always suspected there was something different about her, something special. Maybe this was it.

She stopped and looked down at a stick a couple of metres away from her. "Come here," she said, willing the stick to move towards her. Nothing happened at first, but she refused to give up. She concentrated harder, narrowing her eyes at the stick, and then... it moved. The stick floated up from her hand and hovered in the air for a moment before drifting back into her grasp.

Ciri's face lit up with a wide smile, her earlier fear and pain forgotten entirely. She started playing around, pretending to be an all-powerful witch, hopping on tree trunks and casting imaginary spells at invisible foes. She giggled as she twirled around, feeling more alive and excited than she had in ages. Eventually, she passed through the tree line and ran back towards the palace giddy at the thought of what she could do and how happy her father would be.

...

The next morning, Ciri couldn't contain her excitement. As soon as she saw her father at breakfast, she blurted out the news. "Father, I have magic! I can do things!" Her eyes were bright with anticipation, half-expecting him to dismiss her or perhaps not even believe her.

But to her surprise, his reaction was the opposite. Instead of the usual stern look, his face broke into a wide smile. Not just a smile, but laughter—deep, booming laughter that filled the hall. He seemed genuinely happy, happier than she had ever seen him before. The sound of his laughter attracted the attention of the knights of the round table, who soon joined in the celebration. They cheered and clapped as if some great victory had been won.

Her father, the King, even lifted her up into the air, something he had never done before. Ciri's heart soared; she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so loved, so cherished. For so long, she had believed that her father hated her, that she was nothing but a disappointment to him. She had tried everything to please him, to make him proud, but it always seemed like it was never enough.

But now, with her newfound magic, everything had changed. Her father's smile was wide, his eyes gleaming with a pride she had never seen before. "My daughter, a true sorceress!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with joy. The knights clapped her on the back, their earlier indifference toward her gone, replaced with admiration and respect.

Ciri beamed, her heart swelling with happiness. Finally, she had done something right, something that made her father proud. The doubts and fears she had harbored for so long melted away in the warmth of his approval. Later that day, her father took her into the woods. He told her he wanted to see what she had found, the strange mound she had mentioned. They walked through the forest together, and for the first time, Ciri felt truly close to him. She pointed out the mound, still glowing faintly from the day before. Her father's smile only widened as he looked at it, his eyes filled with a strange light.

"This is a special place, Ciri," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You've found something very important, something that will bring great things to our family."

Ciri couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at his words. She had found something important, something her father valued. For so long, she had been convinced that he hated her, that she could never do anything right in his eyes. But now, all of that was gone, replaced by a warm, glowing sense of accomplishment.

Then her father said something that made her even more excited. "We're going to have a celebration here, at this very mound, just the two of us," he said, his voice soft and kind. "When the moon is full, we'll come back here and celebrate your gift."

Ciri's heart fluttered with joy. A celebration, just the two of them! She had never spent so much time with her father before, and now he was planning something special, something just for them. She nodded eagerly, unable to contain her excitement.

As they walked back to the palace, Ciri's mind was filled with thoughts of the upcoming celebration. She imagined dancing under the full moon with her father, showing him all the magic she had discovered. She could hardly wait for the day to come. The thought of her father smiling at her, laughing with her, made her feel like the happiest girl in the world.

...

Yennefer's heart dropped when she heard that Ciri had shown signs of magic. For years, she had dreaded this day, hoping against hope that Ciri would never develop any magical abilities, that she could stay safe from the dangers that came with it. But fate had different plans. Panic gripped Yennefer as she moved around the castle, trying to gather as much information as possible from the other servants and guards.

The guards were easy enough to manipulate; a smile here, a kind word there, and they were all too eager to share what they knew. Yennefer learned that Arthur planned to take Ciri away on the night of the full moon. The realization hit her hard, a weight settling in her chest. She paced her small room, her thoughts spiraling as she struggled to decide what to do. She even considered leaving—just running away and saving herself. This wasn't her fight. It had been her mother's fight, her coven's fight. Yennefer barely understood why they had been so intent on protecting Ciri, only that she was somehow connected to the Fae.

She packed a small bag, her mind made up. She was going to leave. But as she reached for the door, memories of Ciri flooded her mind—memories of the young girl's bright smile, her infectious laughter, the times she had clung to Yennefer's hand, dragging her along on some adventure.

"Damn it," Yennefer muttered, her resolve crumbling. She couldn't leave Ciri. She couldn't turn her back on the only person who had ever shown her true kindness.

That evening, Yennefer moved silently through the woods surrounding the castle. She stopped at intervals, carving symbols into the trees and murmuring an incantation under her breath. The symbols glowed faintly as she traced over them with a small cut on her finger, the blood activating the ancient runes. With each mark, she felt the forest stir, as if the very trees were awakening.

When she had finished the final symbol, Yennefer whispered a final spell, one she had learned long ago: a call to the forest, summoning its natural power to aid her. The trees seemed to shiver in response, their branches stretching as if preparing for what was to come. Yennefer knew these makeshift golems wouldn't hold off the knights for long, but they would buy her some time.

Breathing heavily, Yennefer sprinted deeper into the woods until she reached a large tree she had marked earlier. Beneath its roots, she retrieved a small wand, worn and smooth from years of use—it had belonged to her mother. She clenched it tightly, feeling a surge of determination. She had one chance to save Ciri.

Using a wayfinding spell she had cast earlier, Yennefer followed the glowing trail that led her to the mound in the forest. The scene that greeted her made her blood run cold. Ciri was tied to the top of the mound, her face streaked with tears, while a hooded figure recited a spell from an ancient book. Arthur stood nearby, overseeing the ritual with a stern expression.

Without thinking, Yennefer lashed out, sending a gust of wind toward Arthur. But he moved with inhuman speed, dodging the attack effortlessly. The hooded figure wasn't as fortunate; the spell was interrupted as he was cut in half.

"Yennefer," Arthur said, turning his cold eyes on her. "I was wondering when you would show yourself." He disappeared from the mound and reappeared in front of her in the blink of an eye. Before she could react, his hand shot out, striking her and sending her sprawling to the ground. "Did you think I didn't know you were a witch? You look just like your mother."

Yennefer's head spun from the blow, but she struggled to her feet, determined not to let Arthur win. He grabbed her by the throat and dragged her up the mound, shoving the ancient book into her hands. "Finish the spell," he commanded, his voice dripping with malice.

Ciri's cries grew louder as she begged her father to stop. "Please, don't hurt her!" she screamed, her small body wracked with sobs. But Arthur's only response was to tighten his grip on Yennefer.

Suddenly, something inside Ciri snapped. With a desperate cry, a wave of energy erupted from her, sending Arthur flying into the forest. The force of the blast shattered the bindings holding Ciri, and she tumbled down the mound, her sobs quieting as the immediate danger passed. Yennefer, dazed but still conscious, crawled to Ciri and pulled her close. "We need to get out of here," she whispered, casting a spell to summon the forest dwellers to aid their escape. With Ciri clinging to her, Yennefer led them away from the mound, deeper into the safety of the woods.

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Yennefer looked at Harry, her expression solemn. "That's the real story," she said, her voice soft yet steady.

Harry nodded, absorbing the weight of her words. "You don't have to worry about them anymore," he replied, his tone firm and full of conviction. "I won't let anything happen to either of you."

A small, grateful smile tugged at Yennefer's lips. For the first time in what felt like ages, she felt a sense of safety, something she hadn't known for years. A comfortable silence settled between them as they watched Ciri and Gabrielle playing in the garden, their laughter a stark contrast to the darkness they had both endured.

After a while, Harry broke the silence. "There's one thing I don't understand."

Yennefer turned her gaze to him, curious. "What's that?"

"Why would Arthur throw you in the pit if he needed Ciri?" Harry's question was direct, his confusion evident.

Yennefer's face fell, her eyes lowering to the ground. It was clear that whatever she was about to say weighed heavily on her. Shame filled her expression, and her voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke. "Some fates are worse than death... But sometimes it's better to control your own fate than have it be decided for you."

Harry's eyes widened slightly as the realization hit him. Yennefer had purposely placed herself and Ciri in that hellish place.

(AN: This chapter is just a little background for two important characters in future arcs. I tried to keep it short but it still came out at nearly 7,000 words. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)

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