Luna’s steps were so light it was as if she were walking on the wind.
When she first left Diagon Alley, she still subconsciously clutched the wooden box in her arms, afraid that the wand inside might suddenly disappear into thin air.
But when she passed through the dense yew hedges outside the manor and saw the Fawey family’s gray stone house standing on the hillside, a confidence she had not felt in a very long time slowly rose from the depths of her heart.
The sensation in her fingertips was still dull.
She could no longer smell the sweet fragrance of the roses that often filled the manor’s garden, and her tongue was left with nothing but bland numbness.
Yet in the palm holding the wooden box, she could clearly “sense” the existence of the wand inside.
Not through touch, but through a deeper resonance connected to magic.
She had a wand now.
She could cast magic now.
That realization was like a beam of light, splitting apart the gloom that had hung over her head for the past two years.
Even the overcast weather suddenly seemed much more pleasing to the eye.
The dandelions by the roadside, the moss on the stone steps, and even the ivy crawling all over the manor walls seemed to be dyed with a strange brightness in her eyes.
The gates of Fawey Manor were tightly shut.
The family crest carved into the brass door knocker gleamed with a cold, hard light under the dim sky.
Luna did not use the front entrance.
Instead, she skillfully circled around to the side and pushed open the small door used only by house-elves and servants.
The hinges let out an old, creaking sound, as though complaining about her late return.
The inside of the manor looked even more spacious and empty than it did from the outside.
A neatly trimmed lawn stretched from the gate all the way to the steps of the main house.
In the center of the lawn stood a fountain.
The statue was of a wizard with blurred features, his wand pointed toward the sky, water dripping from its tip with a monotonous drip, drip.
The stone walls of the main house were covered in ivy.
The windows were tightly closed, and heavy velvet curtains had been drawn shut, blocking the light within as well as any prying eyes from outside.
The Fawey family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, had long since lost the glory it once possessed.
Counting her and her younger sister Jonah, there were only seven members of the family left—her father, Abrak Fawey; her mother, Isabella Fawley; her elderly grandfather; two distant cousins; and then Luna and Jonah.
The family line had withered, yet they still maintained their ridiculous airs.
Luna walked quickly along the gravel path at the edge of the lawn toward the main house.
The soles of her shoes stepped over the stones, but all she could feel was a faint, vague discomfort, nothing more.
She remembered how, in the past, whenever she walked this path, she could clearly feel the sharp edges of the gravel.
She could even count how many particularly pointed stones were beneath her feet.
So losing eighty percent of her sense of touch truly did make the world “duller.”
She shook her head, casting away that small trace of melancholy.
It didn’t matter.
None of that mattered.
What mattered was that she was no longer a Squib.
In a little while… should she find an opportunity to show her parents?
The thought had only just emerged when she immediately suppressed it.
No.
It was too risky.
Her father had a violent temper, and her mother cared obsessively about the family’s reputation.
They might not believe that a “Squib” could suddenly possess magic.
They might even think she was playing some kind of “Muggle trick,” and she would only receive an even harsher punishment.
It was better to wait.
Wait until she became more proficient with magic.
Wait until she found the right opportunity…
Luna took a deep breath and pushed open the side door of the main house.
Behind the door was a narrow corridor, covered with a dark carpet that swallowed every footstep.
From the sitting room at the end of the corridor came the low voice of her father, Abrak Fawley, mixed with her mother Isabella’s gentle yet calculating replies.
Luna lightened her steps and moved along the wall toward her attic room.
She had to hide the wand first, then find a way to buy the things her mother had ordered her to get.
Just now, she had been so caught up in her excitement that she had actually forgotten something so important!
“…In my opinion, Cornelius Fudge has a very good chance this time.”
Abrak’s voice carried a deliberately lowered arrogance.
“When I had tea with Lucius Malfoy yesterday, he also let something slip.
He said quite a few pure-blood families are supporting Fudge from behind the scenes.
Investing in him won’t be a mistake.”
“That may be true,” Isabella said hesitantly, “but Fudge doesn’t look like someone with much backbone.
Can he really compete with old Barty Crouch?”
“What use is backbone?” Abrak scoffed.
“What the Ministry of Magic needs now is ‘stability.’ Crouch’s hardline methods have long since fallen out of fashion.
Besides, the Fawley family is only seeking to protect itself now.
Finding a reliable backer is more important than anything else.”
“That’s true.” Isabella’s voice softened.
“Once Jonah enters Hogwarts and builds a good relationship with the Malfoy child, perhaps we can still…”
Luna’s steps came to a halt.
Jonah.
Jonah.
Always Jonah.
Ever since the day she had been declared a Squib, all the attention in this family had fallen on her younger sister, who was four years her junior.
When Jonah learned to speak, her parents praised her for “speaking clearly, with the bearing of a pure-blood.”
When Jonah first displayed magic, her parents had been so excited that they held a small banquet and invited every wizard with even the slightest connection to the family.
Even when Jonah had merely learned a simple Levitation Charm, her father had held up the Daily Prophet at the dining table and talked about it for ages, saying, “This is what the Fawley family should be like.”
And what about her?
Luna lowered her head and looked at her coarse linen clothes, washed so many times they had faded.
There was still soot on the cuffs from cleaning the chimney yesterday.
She quietly moved closer to the sitting room door and looked through the half-open crack.
Her father, Abrak, was sitting in an armchair, wearing a dark green silk dressing gown.
He held an unfolded copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands, his brows slightly furrowed, his expression arrogant.
His hair had already begun to gray, yet it was still combed meticulously, just like the man himself—rigid and obsessed with appearances.
Her mother, Isabella, sat on the sofa opposite him, wearing a purple dress.
She was using a silver pick to select strawberries from a plate, her movements elegant.
Her hair was pale blond, just like Jonah’s.
At that moment, her head was tilted slightly as she listened to Abrak speak, a proper smile resting on the corners of her lips.
Sunlight slipped through the gap in the heavy curtains, casting a small patch of light over them and making the couple look like an exquisite yet cold oil painting.
Luna’s heart beat wildly.
She tightened her grip on the wooden box in her arms and was just about to slip back to the attic while they weren’t paying attention when Abrak’s gaze suddenly swept over her like two cold blades landing on her body.
“Stop.”
His voice was not loud, but it carried unquestionable authority.
Luna’s body instantly stiffened, as if she had been hit by a Petrification Charm.
She lowered her head, not daring to look at him, her fingers digging tightly into the edge of the wooden box.
Her fingertips still had little sensation, but she could feel her nails trembling faintly.
Isabella also turned her head.
Her gaze fell on Luna’s empty hands, and her brows immediately furrowed.
“Where are the things I asked for?”